Really Weird by Sharon S. Scott "She's acting weird, Karin. Really weird." Margaret held the phone tightly while Karin demanded specifics. "You want examples? How about she's stopped drinking Diet Coke and has started in on the hard stuff. Classic Coke. And she wanted a rare steak for lunch." "So?" Karin's crisp California accent indicated that Margaret was making a mountain out of a molehill, and that she had more important things to do. "She's a vegetarian. She doesn't eat anything that can wink at her, remember? And we were at Victoria's Secret at the Eaton Centre today, and she didn't even scream when I waved a pair of frog bikini briefs in her face. And, Karin, you're not going to believe this, but she was singing "Froggie Went A-Courtin'" in the shower this morning. It's scary." "Quit worrying. Maybe she's just finally seen the error of her ways, or she's gotten some therapy or something. She'll be okay." "Karin, listen to me! She's stopped humming "I Burn For You" when she sees Nick!" That got through to the blonde vampiress. "This *is* serious. When did all this start?" "After that little incident at the Raven. I'm scared." "Just stay put. Don't leave the hotel." "She's insisting on going to the karaoke." "Well, keep an eye on her. Don't let her get in trouble. And keep me informed, okay?" "I'll do my best. Oops, here she comes--gotta go." She hurriedly hung up the phone as the door to the room opened and Scottie came in with an armful of candy bars and Cokes. "Margy! We're in luck! They restocked the candy counter in the gift shop and refilled the Coke machine!" "Don't you think you ought to lay off all the sugar?" She watched in amazement as several candy bars disappeared down her roomie's gullet in a matter of seconds. "I've decided that chocolate is a girl's best friend. Forget diamonds. Forget men. Chocolate is the answer to everything. See, Nat's going about this cure thing all wrong--chocolate! That'll cure him!" "You wish. Would you quit dancing around the room? You're making me dizzy! Besides, it looks silly in cowboy boots and a black leather jacket." Scottie heaved a sigh, perched on the side of the bed, and looked down at her feet. "Yeah, well, I never owned a pair of cowboy boots before. I didn't know how comfortable they were- -and I like the pointy toes. Good for kicking things out of your way." "Just don't put on a mini-skirt with them, okay?" "I promise." She shuddered at the memory of Laura Garfield's get-up. "Boots go with jeans. It's a rule or something." "Or something. Speaking of rules, can I announce a few for tonight? For the karaoke?" "I'm listening." "No grabbing Nick. By the ankle, or anywhere else. Got it? No singing. You know you have a voice like a fr..." "Go ahead, say it. Like a frog. I know. I can take it." "No nasty remarks about LaCroix. There'll probably be lots of Cousins there, and we don't want to start a fight, do we? Okay? Are we agreed?" Scottie pondered a moment, and then nodded her head. "Agreed. Can we go now?" Margaret sighed, picked up her purse, and started toward the door. She didn't see Scottie uncrossing her fingers and smiling. ************************************************************* The Fix by Karin Welss A dial tone sounded hollowly in the spacious, austerely furnished townhouse. Karin grinned and put down the phone. "It worked! It worked!!" she exclaimed excitedly. Annoyed, Jennise looked up from her Apple Powerbook. The sound of rapidly clicking keys slowed and came to a stop. She shoved her black-leather-and-chrome chair away from the ebony dining room table. " worked?" Her amber eyes were glowing with flecks of gold annoyance at the interruption. "The vampire hypnotizing thingie! I actually got it to work on Sharon Scott!!" Karin was practically dancing around the table, her twirling toes coming perilously close to the modem line snaking across the polished hardwood floor between the dining room table and a phone jack in the wall. "That was Margaret on the phone just now. She says that Scottie is, like, really frogs now." "Oh, goody," Jennise said, with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. "I hope you managed to plant those post- hypnotic suggestions, too?" Karin stopped twirling, but her smile remained. "Yeah, I think I got those right, too. Everything just fell into place so perfectly--Scottie willing to do for Nicky-boy, AND get rid of her frog phobia into the bargain..." "And the big Karaoke contest is at the Regal Constellation tonight." Jennise finished. "Things should get very... interesting. Shall we?" "Why not?" Karin agreed, cheerfully. "A bunch of tipsy writers making fools of themselves up on stage and in front of a mike--how can we resist?" "And we have to make sure that thing with Scottie goes down okay," Jennise cautioned. "Let's go!" Very shortly thereafter, the front door slammed shut, and the throaty growl of the plum-colored Saturn's engine could be heard fading in the distance. Abandoned on the dining room table, Jennise's PowerBook gave a single forlorn beep. ************************************************************* Rise and Shine by Cousin Deborah RRRIIINNNGGG! RRRIIINNNGG! Deborah sat up groggily, trying to figure out where that annoying ringing was coming from. RRRIIINNNGGG! RRRIIINNNGG! Oh, yeah, phone, pick up, ok... If only I could find the phone, she thought Finally she found it and managed to yawn out a greeting "Hellohhaww." "Deborah, wake up." a voice spoke briskly. "You've been asleep for hours. In fact, you've slept the whole day away. Come on, up." "Dianne, is that you ?" "Yes, of course. Get up. LaCroix is *not* happy with you and even though I heard from reliable source at the police station that you're "uncle" is now the one in lock up, but I don't have any faith in their ability to keep him there. If he gets out (and I think he will), you will be a sitting duck conked out like you were earlier. Now get yourself together, I am coming to get you and we are going out to get lost in a crowd." Deborah was sure she was still asleep. She thought Dianne had said Uncle was in jail. She checked the phone set in her hand. Yup. It was attached to the phone. She musta heard right. "Uncle is in jail?" she repeated "OK, look, I'll be right there, coffee in hand. Think about where you want to go. See ya soon." and with that, Deborah's Mercenary of choice, hung up the phone. Deborah hung up and swung her legs off the bed. After a few, less than ladylike yawns, made her way to the hospitality bar near the TV and took out a Diet Coke. She wandered to the window a looked out over Toronto. It was getting dark. She turned and looked around the large room as if realizing for the first time that she was indeed alone and that might not be such a good thing. Suddenly she was glad Dianne had suggested getting out of there. She'd make it up to Uncle somehow, but in the meantime best to stay out of his way. *Well, I better get myself together.* She thought as she made her way towards the closet to find a change of clothes, *It won't take Dianne very long to get here from Merc headquarters. I wonder where we can go. It has to be public, crowded and frankly I am due for some fun.* While she was laying out her outfit, an inspiration hit her like a ton of bricks (No not *that!* Down, down I say. He's not here. Not in my scene.) Of course! That's it. Karaoke Night at the Regal Constellation. It was the perfect answer. Nothing bad ever happened at Karaoke Night. (Well, I mean apart from bad singing.) In addition to that, it was bound to be crowded. After all the hotel was filled with those people attending the writers conference and all sorts of other people were always coming and going. Much happier than she had been since she'd fallen asleep, Deborah began humming, warming up for later. ************************************************************* Music of the Night by Dianne T. DeSha As Dianne approached Deborah's room she paused for a moment, then put her ear to the door. , she thought in amazement. At her knock the sound stopped and Deborah opened the door looking far more conscious than she had sounded twenty minutes ago on the phone. "OK," Dianne demanded, "What's up now? I came over here with a triple espresso prepared to drug you into some semblance of wakefulness and I find you bouncing around singing..." Dianne stopped as a terrible thought crossed her mind. "No, you're *not*..." But Deborah just grinned and pulled the Merc into the room, closing the door behind her. "Karaoke Night! It'll be fun! And Uncle will *never* look for us there!" Dianne groaned, not bothering to point out that is wasn't _us_ that LaCroix would be coming for, it would be _Deborah_. "Lots of people who can't sing getting drunk enough to think they can?" she asked cynically. "Well, different strokes, I guess. Have a ball and give them a round of "Feelings" for me. It's been nice knowing you..." "No!" Deborah stopped her. "I'll need protection!" Dianne shook her head an started to protest when Deborah cut her off, "And I've got just the thing for it!" Deborah grinned, holding up a small, yet perfectly lethal-looking dagger. "My own sword smith made it for me," she continued, turning it slowly so that its finely crafted handle caught the light. Dianne's eyes lit up. the Mercenary scolded herself half-heartedly. she thought, smiling and reaching for the exquisite piece, *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* Dianne thought grumpily, wondering how badly she was going to regret her moment of weakness before the night was over. As they entered the predictably Polynesian-themed room she saw a woman already on stage, putting her heart into her song. "Turn your face away from the garish light of day..." <"Music of the Night">, Dianne named that tune, just as Deborah grabbed her arm. "That's Valery, Valery King!" she hissed excitedly in the Mercenary's ear. "Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world; Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before; Let your soul take you where you long to be-- Only then can you belong to me...." Valery was doing a nice job of it too, Dianne thought while scanning the room with a professional eye. She had to admit that Deborah was right, they were probably as safe here as anywhere--maybe safer. Quite a crowd had gathered already, and a few seemed to be actively working on their stage- fright. *Very* actively in some cases, she corrected herself, noting the number of empties still in front of them. As Valery finished her number, to a rousing round of applause, Dianne ordered a club soda and settled back against the bar, preparing for what might well prove a most _interesting_ evening. ************************************************************* That's What Friends Are For by Cousin Deborah (Special Guest Chanteuse - Valery King) ******************** Deborah grabbed Dianne's arm. "That's Valery, Valery King!" she hissed excitedly in the mercenary's ear. "Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world; Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before; Let your soul take you where you long to be-- Only then can you belong to me..." "I wonder what she's doing here" Deborah mused out loud as they made their way to the bar. "I saw her in... Oh, let's see April I guess it was... Doing Rigoletto, I think." As Valery finished up with crowd applauding wildly (it *was* much better than one expected of Karaoke performing in general), Deborah got her drink, downed half of it and told Dianne she'd be right back. "But where...?"--too late; she was gone. Dianne shrugged and turned back towards the bar. "Barkeep!" she said, "Let's run a tab. I have a feeling we'll be a while." ************************ By the time Deborah got to Valery, someone had already taken her place on the stage. Someone whose friends should have stopped them. Deborah ignored it. Those were the pitfalls of Karaoke. She finally reached her quarry. "Excuse me... Pardon me, hey lady watch the cigarette will ya'?... Excuse me... Valery?" "Yes." "Oh, I just knew it. I'm Deborah Menikoff, I saw you back when you were in Rigoletto, oh way back in April." "Oh, yeah, hi. What are *you* doing here? You're not from Toronto are you?" "No I came because Unc... Uh, for the writer's conference. I work for a publisher and we like to keep an eye on what's out there. That kinda thing." "Well, the hotel is filled with them. Come to think of it," she added, looking around, "An awful lot of them are here in the bar. Lots of sessions were canceled." "Oh, how come?" Deborah asked, all innocence. "Someone said there was dead body found in one of the rooms and the police have been all over the place." Deborah was about to respond when she saw Dianne signaling her from the bar. "Um... Look, Valery, I've gotta go talk to someone right now but will you be here later?" "Sure thing. I'm filling in for a friend who works here. She's the regular performer but she is also supposed to encourage people to perform and stuff so I'll see you later." Valery waved as she walked over to a table of tipsy revelers, intent on finding a new sucker for the stage Deborah made her way back to the bar and as she approached she saw that Dianne was getting ready to leave. "Where are you going?" Deborah demanded. "*We* dear, we are leaving. Your sparing partner is here." Dianne was trying to push Deborah ahead of her. "My sparing par... Nick! Well, wait, wait, stop shoving me." Deborah grabbed the doorjamb to prevent being pushed right out of the bar. "Why are we leaving? He's probably here checking on something else. It can't possibly have anything to with us." At Dianne's look, she amended, "_Me_, I mean. Nothing to do with me." Dianne didn't answer. She just sighed, and seconds later Deborah knew why. "Good evening." Nick blocked the entrance to the bar. "You weren't leaving, were you? I'd like a word. Shall we?" He indicated the bar they had just left. Dianne spoke haughtily, "I assume, Detective, that my client and I are not being formally questioned at this time? The Tiki Room hardly seems the right place for that sort of thing." No, it's informal. For a formal inquiry we would need a lawyer, and we don't have one here." He looked at her pointedly. Not at all disturbed to have been found out, Dianne nodded and asked "Then you won't mind if we order something to drink?" He shook his head. After they had gotten their drinks, they made their way to a table near the back. Once seated, Deborah spoke up, radiating sincerity, "Detec... Um, Nick? May I call you Nick?" He nodded slowly as if not sure it was such a good idea. After all, she'd slapped him pretty hard. She continued, "I would really like to apologize. I mean, I shouldn't have hit you. I was way outta line... And about the rest " she looked at him and paused significantly... Ummm... About people being able to change?" He nodded again, still wary but less so than before. "Well I was thinking that maybe you were right." His eyebrows raised. She held out a hand, "Truce?" He looked at her for a moment very surprised, but as she continued to look at him straight on, he found he believed her. In fact, he was sure she regretted hitting him. She seemed like a nice girl. She'd just been scared, he decided. "Truce," he agreed. As Deborah pulled her hand back, she knocked into Dianne's drink causing the Merc (who couldn't believe the exchange she had just heard) to yelp. "OH! Dianne I am so, *so* sorry. Oh, gosh I don't have a napkin, I... Nick, could you get a towel or something from the bar?" "Sure," and he was up and gone. "_What_ are you doing?" Dianne asked, thoroughly exasperated. "This is one of my favorite blouses!" "Drying you off," Deborah said sensibly. "Don't worry, it's just club soda." "Not that, though we will discuss that additional fee later. I meant that little speech just now. You expect him to buy that?" Deborah shushed her, quickly glancing around. "Oh stop it," Deborah whispered. "He *did* believe it. He wants people to be good and so he thinks they are. Instant gullibility. Just add water... Or rather club soda. And speaking of which, there's nothing wrong with your blouse. I would have knocked over my drink but it would have stained something. Play along with the abject apologies for now. I want to know what's happening and exactly what they have on Uncle. If I can fix it, I'm back in his good graces. Now hush! He's coming." Nick came rushing back with a pile of paper towels. "Thank you," Dianne said mopping at her damp blouse, "I appreciate it." "No problem," said Nick, handing her a replacement drink as he sat back down. He looked at Deborah, "Since you mention it, I should also apologize. I should not have shouted like that. It was inexcusable. *And* I should thank you for not pressing charges, though..." he added with a small grin, "Next time you need a real lawyer for that." Dianne snorted. "Did _you_ buy it?" He nodded. "Real enough, then." Nick started to glare at her. Deborah rushed to diffuse a potential argument. "Well, I guess we all did things we shouldn't have really. Now, what can we do for you, Nick?" "I need your help." he spoke quietly but with great feeling. "I want you to help get whoever is responsible for Stonetree's death." Just when Dianne would have snorted in disbelief again, a foot connected with her shin. She added injuries sustained on the job to the list with the blouse, and shot a look at Deborah. Deborah was ignoring her. She was too busy speaking to Nick. "Of course," she was saying reassuringly. "We'll help anyway we can. After all, isn't that what friends are for?" ************************************************************* And the Show Goes On by Cousin Deborah (in a recurring role as the emcee: Valery King and a special performance by Hyo Moon) The emcee's voice filled the bar, "And now Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to introduce our next singer! Please give a big round of applause to Ms Hyo Moon, who will sing...," she leaned to the left of the stage for a moment and then straightened, "The hit Toni Basil tune as a dedication to her favorite bartender...," another pause and another lean, "With whom she has 'an understanding'." A spattering of applause and a few gasps of surprise greeted Hyo Moon's appearance and the beginning of the intro music. ******************** Deborah was sulking. Her attempt to wheedle information out of Nick had not quite gone as she planned. He was apparently quite willing, in fact, eager to believe that she had turned over a new leaf and regretted slapping him. *Well* she thought, *I do regret slapping him... Only once. I should have done it *twice*. She finished another screwdriver and signaled to the bartender. "Barkeep!" "Name's Dan-o," he said as he placed another drink in front of her. "You mean as in book 'em?" she asked. "Yeah, like that," he answered as he wiped a spot on the bar. "Are you with this conference that's here?" he asked. "In a sense, why?" "Well, it's just that I saw you talking to that guy earlier and he's been around asking me a lot of questions about the conference and the people here for it. He's a cop right?" "Yeah, but what was he asking you for? You a writer?" "Nah. But you know how it is. Bartenders hear things. Weird things. And besides, the guy that was killed. He was here. One of the writers I guess. He talked about some woman he was having problems with and with his book and all. Seemed like a decent guy. Since you were talking to the cops, I thought maybe you knew something about it. I hope they get whoever did it. _Shame_ the things that happen to decent folks." He shook his head. The silence that followed was filled with the dulcet tones of Oh Micky, you're so fine, You're so fine you blow my mind, Hey Micky! Hey Micky! Yeah, shame." Deborah repeated. She was getting an idea. It wouldn't be easy but it might be useful. "So, lots of people come in here. Must be pretty interesting having total strangers telling you stuff they don't tell anyone else," she ventured. He shrugged, "Part of the job. People talk to people behind bars. They can't help it." "Still, I think it would be interesting. At least for a while." *Should I?* she thought glancing around. She didn't see Nick anywhere. *Probably out harassing a desk clerk or something.* She faced Dan-o again. Then as if suddenly struck with an idea she asked "Hey, could I come back behind the bar for a while. I've always wanted to," she gushed. "I won't be in the way, I promise. I'll just do the basic stuff. I know I can do it. Gosh knows I drink enough of it." "Well... We aren't suppose to le..." "Oh come on, just for a while. I'll be no trouble at all," she assured him. "Well..." "Please?" she pouted rather prettily. It was a skill she had developed as a young child. "OK, just for a while." As she hopped off the barstool to come around the bar, he asked, "Hey, you know how to make Zombie Beachcombers?" "No, why?" "It's one of the guests. She's been in at some point almost every night this week and she always orders Zombie Beachcombers. Lots of'em. Here I'll show you" Dan-o gave Deborah a tour of what was where behind the bar, ran over some of the basics and generally filled her in. Seeing two new customers approaching, he went to deal with them, leaving Deborah alone to practice making a Zombie Beachcombers. A woman approached the bar, but Deborah was so intent on what she was doing she didn't notice. "Barkeep, I'll have a... *What* are you doing now?" Dianne demanded. "Making a Zombie Beachcomber... Or rather, I am trying to make one. I don't think it's going too well." Deborah held out a glass, "Would you taste this please?" The applause at the end of Hyo's performance drowned out Dianne's answer (which is just as well since it would be a highly inappropriate word for a PG-13 story.) Dianne watched as Deborah, left with no guinea pig but herself, tried the Zombie Beachcomber, anticipating the worst. *Where was the nearest emergency room?* Dianne wondered. *And should that be time-and-a-half? Flat Rate? Metered, perhaps?* The result, while not fatal, was almost amusing enough to make Dianne consider giving Deborah a discount on this whole protection gig. *Almost.* * * * * * * * * The emcee was back on stage, "Ladies and Gentlemen, a big, *big* round of applause for that last performer. And now, a song I'm sure you all know and love..." She paused as someone whispered in her ear. "Oh, sorry... And now a slightly altered version of a song I'm sure that you all know and love sung by a performer..." She paused for yet another whisper, "fine... A *group* of performers who I am sure we will all enjoy. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Mission Impossible gang singing "On the Road Again." As the emcee stepped back, four women came on stage to share with the audience a musical tribute to their most recent adventures. * * * * * * * * * * * Deborah poured out the rest of drink and started again. "I guess it's harder than it looks," she muttered. "Would you care to share with me *why* you are behind the bar and *exactly* what you hope to accomplish there?" Dianne was learning that with Deborah, the questions had to be pretty specific. As Deborah started to speak, Dianne leaned across the bar as she added, "And if you tell me that you are making beachcombers and hope to accomplish a drinkable one, I will cease to work for you. _And_," she finished with great emphasis, "there are no refunds." Deborah blinked a little. No refunds? * * * * * * * * * Back on stage: On the road again, Just can't wait to get on the road again, The life I love is stealing caddies with my friends, and I can't wait to get on the road again. As the song continued a few members of the audience looked very confused but some were looking more and more amused by the minute. Far more amused than the song alone really warranted. * * * * * * * * * * * "Well it's obvious. I want to make sure I know what's happening with this case, and Nick was no help at all, so I needed to be behind the bar." "Because...?" *Really!* Dianne thought, *It's like pulling teeth!* "Because everybody, including Joe Stonetree, talked to this bartender about things that were bothering them and if we know what was bothering Stonetree we are halfway to knowing who offed him." Deborah finished up just as she completed the second beachcomber. She didn't look as anxious to try this one and looked around for another guinea pig. She looked at Dianne who just laughed. "You couldn't pay me enough. _No one_ could." Deborah shrugged. "Fine." She turned and called, "Dan-o! I'm done with my drink. You want to come check it out?" ******** "Thank you, thank you, Mission Impossible Gang! A big, big hand for them ladies and gentlemen!" ********* Dan-o came over, took the glass, and looked at it. "Looks good," he said. Then he drank it. Then he passed out. No one saw him fall. No one except Dianne and Deborah. They looked at the unconscious man on the floor and then at each other. ************************************************************* The Trouble With Dan-o by Dianne T. DeSha "Do something." Dianne just looked at her employer for a moment, then at the unconscious bartender slumped on the floor at their feet. "Get rid of him," Deborah insisted. "What do you mean 'Get rid of him'? You're starting to sound like a bad gangster movie." "I'll take over the bar, it's perfect timing. I can get _loads_ of information this way." Deborah glanced down, poking the body gingerly with her toe, "He'll be fine. Just stash him somewhere for the rest of the evening so no one makes a scene or anything." "And where do you suggest I 'stash' him?" Dianne countered. "That's _your_ job!" But as Dianne started to protest Deborah gave in, "A rapier." "Rapier?" "To match the dagger." Dianne still looked unconvinced. "With *sapphires*," Deborah wheedled. "Oh, all right," Dianne sighed, reaching down and grabbing the limp form under the arms. "Let's go, Dan-o." _________________________________________ Luckily everyone's attention was still on the stage. Cousin Candice, emboldened by the success of the Mission Impossible Gang, had apparently stayed to do a solo number: "You are here, so am I, maybe millions of people go by,..." Dianne knew when not to waste an opportunity. All eyes were on Candice as she eased the unconscious bartender out into the room and dragged him quietly towards the service exit. "But they all disappear from view, 'Cause I only have eyes... for you...." <*@#$!*>, Dianne thought as she gauged the considerable distance still to go and came to a quick decision. The applause for Candice was very enthusiastic... And loud enough to cover the sound of Dianne hastily shoving Dan-o into one of the darker (and, fortunately, empty) booths. "Thank you Candice, that was wonderful!" Valery enthused, reclaiming the microphone. "And now we'll take a break for a few minutes. Refresh your drinks and muster your courage, because in fifteen minutes we'll be back with more opportunities for *you* to be a star!" <*Fifteen minutes?*> As people began milling around Dianne groaned to herself, muttering every exotic curse she knew. (She decided, after a brief moment, that she didn't know _nearly_ enough.) Realizing that she was stuck here for the duration, she tried to shift her body into a more natural position. Preferably something that didn't _so_ much look like she was standing tight against the booth because she was the only thing holding this guy upright and on the seat. She was notably unsuccessful. , she muttered to her oblivious companion, She made a mental note to add a nice long massage--make that a full day at a nice spa--to Deborah's tab. Twisting her head around so that she could scan the room-- --Dianne saw something that made her _vow_ to learn some particularly colorful curses when this was all over. , she added to herself as Nick smiled and continued his approach. Deborah, predictably, was nowhere to be seen. Dianne assured herself. , she groused, Realizing her time and options were equally limited, the Mercenary took advantage of a group of highly intoxicated patrons who managed to distract Nick momentarily by almost running him down. With a few judicious pushes, shoves, slides, and twists she managed to seat herself in the booth with her charge in a manner that suggested they had retreated to this darkened corner for a bit of "privacy". Nearly choking on the smell of dear Dan-o's breath (), Dianne didn't know whether to be offended or relieved when she felt Nick's hand touch her shoulder. She twisted her head around to scowl at him, using her body to shield his view of her companion as much as possible. "Uh, excuse me Ms...," he began, before realizing the only name he had for her was one he knew to be only a nom de guerre. Dianne took advantage of that pause to go on the offensive, "Do you mind, Detective? I'm a bit... Um... *Busy* at the moment..." She tried to blush innocently, but didn't think it worked. "Well, I did have some questions..." "Can we go over them _later_... _Please_?" She turned her head for a moment, as though responding to a murmur from her (still quite comatose) companion. "Is your... Um... Friend all right?" "He's _fine_," she assured him, just managing not to snarl in exasperation. "Just a little... Uh... 'Overwhelmed'. We just wanted a little time... Out of the crowd and all..." , she thought, "Well, I suppose if you could come by the station... A bit later, perhaps?" Nick suggested. "I *promise*," Dianne answered quickly, her fingers crossing reflexively as she spoke. "*Later*." With a slightly embarrassed expression, the detective finally left. Dianne, however, found herself still stuck in the booth and desperately hoping no one else would stop by for a chat. she realized, growing desperate. A quick glance at Dan-o's watch (she could no longer reach hers) confirmed she had seven minutes left. Spotting a fellow Merc, she decided she needed help, and _fast_. "Lane!" she called, struggling awkwardly to her feet again and standing so as to disguise the fact that the bartender had slipped into a particularly bizarre position. As he neared her with a friendly smile she grabbed his arm and pulled him into a conspiratorial huddle, "Lane, I need a favor, a distraction." , she thought. As he looked at her warily, she hurried on, "Volunteer as the next singer--tell Valery you want to go on _now_." "Me?" he looked surprised, but not overly alarmed. "What would _I_ sing?" She reached in her back pocket and handed him the folded square of sheet music, silently thanking the Goddess that the Boy Scouts had _nothing_ on a Merc's preparation! "*No*!" Lane yelped, drawing the attention of nearly half the room. "I meant distraction *away* from me!" Dianne hissed at him in annoyance. She cut off any further protests, "It _has_ to be done by someone! And using a foreign language will help take the edge off!" He just glared at her until she gave in, "Ok, what do you want?" "A dagger like that," he said, pointing to her waist. With muttered curse Dianne untwisted her jacket so that it once more concealed the weapon. "It's only a _song_!" she protested. "Whatever the market will bear," Lane countered, craning his neck to try to see behind her. "And you sound pretty desperate." Shifting again to block his view, Dianne conceded defeat. "Fine, a nicely worked dagger, but no jewels!" she insisted. "Done!" Lane broke into a grin. A grin that faltered slightly as he looked again at the music in his hand. "But do I _really_ have to..." "Go!" Dianne snapped. "*Now*!" As Lane dashed off across the room in search of Valery, Dianne sighed. This was not going particularly well--even _she_ winced slightly as she mentally added one more dagger to Deborah's invoice. , she rationalized. It was, after all, against her own personal policy to actually pay for anything _herself_. And she happened to know that Deborah had her own, personal sword smith... As the music started people turned instinctively towards the stage and Dianne hauled Dan-o into a more convenient position. "*Sentimientos..., nada mas que sentimientos...*" The Mercenary shuddered once--"Feelings" was just too much of a cliche in *any* language--then dragged her burden out of the booth, behind the enraptured (stunned?) crowd, and into a storage room--where, for a moment, they _both_ collapsed. ************************************************************* Lurking with LaCroix by Croaker Place: Arcadia, Tir na n'Og, call it what you will. When he could see again, it was dark. *Of course it's dark... It was night when you left the jail. So where am I?* another part of him asked. *In the woods,* the first part replied. And so, indeed, they were, LaCroix and the strange youth. The edge of a rather beautiful wood. Also, it was twilight, which was about right, he thought. The trees seemed to be mostly fir and pine... Animal life everywhere, birds, squirrels, wolves, all the fauna one would expect in such a forest... Were that forest transported directly from ancient myths. "Come, and quickly... We haven't much time." "Time for what?" "To get to where we're going." "Where are we going?" "Where you have to be. Why are we still standing here?" "Because you're not walking." "Oh," the youth finished, and started walking. And they walked. And walked. For what seemed, to LaCroix, like hours. He'd been on long marches before, and his vampiric stamina was great, but they still seemed to be taking quite a while. "Don't worry," the youth said when he asked about it, "Time doesn't mean much here." "Oh," was all he said to that. There didn't seem to be a lot to say, despite the thousands of questions running through his head. For some reason, he didn't feel very curious at the moment. Then, his sharp eyes caught a fleeting glimpse of a humanoid form moving amidst the trees, and he suddenly realized where he was... *** Flashback *** In mortal years, it was 1697. LaCroix had been hunting alone in the woods, following the trail of a mortal girl who'd come out seeking her lover... Not knowing that Janette had already found the lad, much to his (quickly ended) displeasure. Then, everything changed. The woods were somehow brighter, though still night, and more -alive-. "Who goes there?" came the voice. "I, Lucien LaCroix, go here. Who are you to demand it of me?" "The warden of this place, M'sieur. It is barred to your kind, you are not welcome here." "Foolish boy... I am not barred from anywhere!" Enraged by the prattling guard's talk, LaCroix had jumped at him... Only to find himself sprawling as he tripped over a tree root, back in the mortal-realm forest. There was no trace of the girl. *** End flashback. *** "Come on, we're almost there!" the youth called to him. "Don't just stand there... It's almost sunrise!" And so it was... The youth broke into a jog, and led them on quickly to what seemed like just another tree, at first. "Here we are..." "Where?" "You'll see. You're supposed to be there already... You'll only be a few minutes late. Don't worry." "Don't worry," he grumbled. "Don't worry... Pfaugh. I should- -" "Oh no you don't. Try it, and you'll land back in your cell this time." *THIS time? Did the youth know of his first encounter, then?* "Very well... Where is it, again?" "Here." And the youth pointed out the hole in the tree, and Lucien LaCroix stepped in... The next thing he saw was the light. Not sunlight, but artificial light. *Good,* he thought, *it's still dark out.* Next was the crowd. Which all of a sudden parted, to reveal a -very- familiar face... ************************************************************* First Steps, Trembling by Catherine Boone Catherine and Courtney lurked silently in a far booth of the Tiki Room. Courtney was intently watching everything and everyone in the noisy and getting-ever-more-crowded room while Catherine slowly going into a stupor, but whether it was from the drinks or from simple boredom, she couldn't tell. "Come _on_, Courtney." Catherine begged, "We get all hot to get to Toronto when we hear about this writer's conference, pack our bags overnight and take an entire week to drive here from LA, and we aren't _doing_ anything! We came here to meet people, didn't we?" Courtney's eyebrows lifted slightly in a particularly Cousinly fashion. "We _did_ come to meet people. Publishers. Preferably sober ones." She cast an aggrieved glance over the room and sighed. "Hopeless." Catherine's eyes wandered across the room, lighting up as they hit the stage. Catching Courtney's eye, she nodded toward the stage and broke out in an evil grin. "You know you want to." Courtney looked at her askance, but that only fueled the fire. "The stage is calling to you. Can't you hear it?" She cocked her ear, whispering, "Courtney... Courtney, come here. I need you..." Courtney gave her a patented "you are a moron but, out of friendship, I won't say anything" look, and ignored her, hoping she would snap out of it soon. Unfortunately, it was not to be. Having seized upon the perfect opportunity to make a fool of herself (always a favorite pastime) _and_ Courtney at the same time (second-favorite), she grabbed Courtney's wrist and began to drag her toward the stage, rationalizing the whole way. "Come on, we've both sang in front of audiences before. In large choirs, of course, but that's a technicality, and where's your sense of adventure, anyhow?" "Catherine." Her voice was soft, the knife in her hand was not. And the _very_ Cousinly smile was enough to make Catherine drop her hand as if it burned her. "Oh, darn! I forgot you carried that thing! Courtney...?" Courtney's smile only grew wider and more wicked, and as she began to advance toward her, Catherine wondered exactly how much hot water she'd gotten herself into. "Courtney, I'm sorry! Calm down. Can't we even talk about this? C'mon, just put the knife away... Please?" As she backed away, Catherine scanned the room, judging distances as best she could... *Now!* She suddenly grabbed Courtney by the wrists (Watch the knife!) and swung her around, hoping to spin her into the mic (while it wasn't being used) and force her to do a number. *It's for her own good. Really.* But even as she swung, she saw that Courtney was a good four feet from hitting that mike. For an instant, she went limp in defeat, her Great Plan completely wrecked. Meanwhile, Courtney saw an opportunity of her own and took advantage of the moment (and the momentum) to swing _Catherine_ around, nearly throwing her off her feet, but more importantly, smacking her directly into the microphone, which promptly gave a loud screech of static, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. *Oh, dear.* Catherine closed her eyes, then opened them again, but the crowd stubbornly remained in firm reality, and they were beginning to look annoyed, to boot. *OK, a song, they want a song, any song...* She thought with growing urgency, yet her mind remained as blank as the Void. *ARRGH!! YOUAREASELFRESPECTINGKNIGHTIEDOYOUWANTTOEMBARRASSYOURENTIREFA CTIONINFRONTOFEVERYONE!!!* And seemingly of its own accord, her mouth opened, and she began to sing. Sister moon will be my guide In your blue blue shadows I would hide All good people sleep tonight I'm all by myself in your silver light I would gaze at your face the whole night through I'd go out of my mind, but for you She kept her eyes tightly shut, singing only for herself, and thought of nothing but the words until the last phrase fell. Sister Moon Then the applause started, so she finally peeked an eye open and recognized only the fact that the crowd was no longer annoyed, so she managed a weak smile and nod of thanks before she beat feet back to the secluded booth where Courtney sat with a smug grin. "So, did you meet anyone interesting?" she asked innocently. Catherine wore a pained expression. "Next time I come up with a bright idea like that, I give you full permission to knock me senseless. Deal?" "Deal." They resumed their surveillance of the room as another brave soul stepped out of the crowd to sing. ************************************************************* Karaoke, Anyone? by J. Michele Freemon The young woman paused in the doorway of the Tiki Room, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. She let out a low groan when she saw the crowd. "Just my luck," Michele muttered. "I finally get up the nerve to do this, and there's a convention in town!" She sighed and headed for the bar. "Just a shot or two of Dutch courage..." Wading through the crowd, she managed to find a spot at the long bar and glanced around for the bartender. The only person behind the bar was a young woman, but she didn't seem to be paying much attention. Michele tried for a subtle glance, moved on to waving, then banged on the top of the bar a couple of times. No response. Finally, she stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. The bartender turned her way at last. Unfortunately, so did most of the rest of room. Michele felt the blush creep from her breastbone all the way up to her scalp. "Sex on the Beach?" she managed to sputter through a clenched jaw. The bartender looked puzzled. "Uh, no, thanks. Too much sand." It was Michele's turn to look confused. "Uh.... Oh, skip it. Vodka shot. And leave the bottle." The woman behind the bar grinned and put a shot glass and a bottle of Absolut in front of Michele. "Thanks," Michele said, tossing a twenty down on the bar. The bartender scooped it up and went back to her conversation. "What am I doing here?" Michele muttered to herself, shaking her head. "Singing in the shower is one thing, but this...?" Several shots later, her mood had lightened considerably. She glanced up at the stage, wincing at the decidedly off-key crooning. "I can do better than *that*! I can do better than that dead drunk!" 'You're gonna have to,' the last vestige of rationality replied, before fading into the alcoholic haze. Ignoring it, Michele weaved over to the sign-up sheet. ***** "Let's hear it for that last singer! Wasn't she great?" Valery's enthusiastic clapping drew only a lukewarm response. "Well. Okay, our next suck... Er, singer wants to dedicate this song to everyone's favorite Uncle." Valery grinned and stepped back offstage. Michele ever-so-carefully walked into the spotlight and placed a tall stool behind the mic stand. Cautiously perching herself on it, she grabbed the mic and nodded to the dim figure operating the karaoke machine. The first few guitar notes of "You Go To My Head" wafted from the speakers, and Michele closed her eyes tightly, shutting out the staring audience. You go to my head And you linger like a haunting refrain And I find you spinning 'round in my brain Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne You go to my head Like a sip of sparkling burgundy brew And I find the very mention of you Like the kicker in a julep or two The thrill of the thought That you might give a thought To my plea casts a spell over me Still I say to myself "Get a hold of yourself Can't you see that it never can be" You go to my head With a smile that makes my temperature rise Like a summer with a thousand Julys You intoxicate my soul with your eyes Tho' I'm certain that this heart of mine Hasn't a ghost of a chance in this crazy romance You go to my head She held the last note as long as she could, then popped her eyes open and scurried off the stage. "Hey, that went pretty well. At least nobody threw anything!" The smattering of applause finally registered and Michele let out a small squeak. "Ooo, they're clapping! They're actually *clapping*!" She gleefully bounced back over to the bar, grinning with an over-inflated sense of success. She poured yet another shot as she contemplated the possibility of an encore. "Nah. Better not press my luck." ************************************************************* Bar Girls by Abby "So, this be the place," Abby said as she lowered her sunglasses. Sure, it was night time, but after growing up with the song "Sunglasses at Night" she couldn't help it. Her face turned a sickly shade of green as she progressed deeper into the bar. She wasn't sick, though after the hotel's buffet it was a surprise, the green paint was reflecting of her pale, white face, instead. She sidled up to a large semi-circle of a bar in the middle of the room. "Margarita, please. Without the salt." Abby said to the female bartender. She nodded to confirm that she heard the order and went about making it. "That'll be $4.99," the she said as she handed the drink to Abby. "$4.99? Huh?" Abby asked as she sipped at the drink. "Discounting," she shrugged as she pocketed the five dollar bill Abby handed her. She began to turn, but Abby's hand gripping her shoulder stopped her. "I think you forgot something." The bartender blinked innocently. "My penny, remember?" The bartender threw a penny at Abby and stormed away, muttering about lousy, cheap customers and how she should have stayed in Vegas. A hand reached around Abby and grabbed the margarita from her. She shoved her elbow into the person behind her. Knowing it was a guy from the shape of the hands, she was hoping she could hit him a little below his stomach. *Sheesh, This is MY drink!* "I wouldn't do that, Abby," a masculine voice said in her ear. "Besides, you don't drink." Spinning around on her heel, Abby found herself face-to-face with Nick. "Uh, hi," Abby mumbled quickly as she grabbed the drink from his hand. *Mine, thank you very much... Geez, I'm talking to myself again!* "I didn't think you drank either," she said. Her eyes danced in the bright rainbow lights. Nick grabbed the cup from her hand once more and dropped it unceremoniously onto the bar. The bartender looked up, but then quickly looked down when she saw Nick. She put the wine glass she was cleaning down and disappeared to the back room. "What are you doing here anyway?" "I'm buying a puppy dog. What are you doing here?" Abby replied. She knew others wouldn't be so snide with him, but that wasn't any fun. He smiled back. "Ok, I deserved that one. But you really shouldn't be here. LaCroix has heard that you're new around here and he wants to 'meet' you." "Why? Everyone knows I'd follow you to the ends of the earth," Abby said. *Sheesh, I sound pathetic.* "And everyone knows you'd probably fall off, Miss Oblivion." "Hey! You're supposed to be the nice guy! Remember?" She pouted deeply. The door to the bar opened again. Everyone went silent when they saw who was standing in the doorway. Well, everyone but an old woman in the corner. She was mumbling something about her daughter's "not so fresh feeling." LaCroix smiled at everyone. ************************************************************* Really Weird (2) by Sharon S. Scott A very bad voice singing "Roxanne" very loudly assaulted their ears when the elevator door opened. Margaret sighed. It was going to be a long night, and she already had a headache, as well as strict orders from Karin to keep an eye on her roommate. "Remember, you promised to stay out of trouble tonight." "I'm an adult. You don't have to treat me like a three year- old." "Just stay away from Nick, okay? Promise me that?" "No problem. He's made it very clear that he wants to stay as far away from me as possible. Of course, he doesn't always get what he wants." Scottie's smile was not reassuring. They paused at the door nearest the elevators, then Margaret pointed to a table in the far corner and led the way through the crowds around the bar. "This will do nicely. Just stay put, and I'll get us something to drink. I expect you to be here when I get back." "Who died and made you Mother Superior? Jeez, what a grouch." At the long-suffering look that crossed Margaret's face, she regretted the tone she'd used. "I'm sorry. I'll stay put. I promise." "Okay. Judging by the size of that crowd, it may take a while. I'll be back." She probably didn't realize she sounded like Arnold Swarzenegger. Scottie watched her standing patiently in line at the bar, then took a look around the room. She spotted Nick immediately. He caught her eye, grimaced, and looked away. Schanke was too busy keeping an eye on the group around the stage to pay much attention to dark corners. "Captain Cross" was nowhere to be seen, but he always turned up, sooner or later. She lit a cigarette and watched the crowd. Tall, short, and medium redheads; blondes, both natural and un-; lots of raven-black tresses; but very few gray heads other than her own. Everything from shorts and t-shirts to prom dresses and tight black leather; from bare feet to 5-inch spiked heels. An overwhelmingly female crowd. She tried to match faces with the names she knew from the lists, which was mostly impossible. People rarely looked like they wrote. Suddenly the canned music stopped, and the erstwhile reggae singer came to a screeching halt. As several of the mechanically-inclined members of the audience tried to determine the cause of the malfunction, a steel-gray cat strolled off the back of the stage, wove its way through the forest of human legs, and disappeared under the tables. The music machine was found to have become unplugged somehow, and once the power was restored, the music started again. Mercifully, with a new singer. Scottie returned to watching the crowd and waiting for her Coke. Then something soft and warm and furry jumped into her lap. The cat rubbed its head against her hand, demanding attention. She obliged, and the cat wound its way up her jacket, ending up wrapped around her neck, its head on one shoulder and tail hanging down the other. "Make yourself to home, cat." The cat twitched its tail, then grew still as it watched the humans. "This is a little warm, but it'll work until I have a hot flash. Then it's down you go, understood?" The cat didn't seem to be worried. Margaret finally returned with the soft drinks, put them down on the table, and stared at the cat. "Where'd she come from?" "The back of the stage. She may or may not have been responsible for stopping that Sting wannabe. If so, she deserves a prize." The cat thumped her tail twice, which the two women decided was a yes. Margaret reached over and gave the cat a few good scritches, at which the animal peeled herself off Scottie's neck, jumped gracefully to the tabletop, delicately sniffed the Coke, and hissed at the glass. "Well, she obviously doesn't like Coke. Wonder if she'd like some cream? We might be able to liberate some from the restaurant." The cat's purring signaled her assent. Scottie finished her Coke and stood up. "You want to stay here with her? I'll be back in a minute." Intrigued with the cat, Margaret just nodded. It was an hour later that she realized Scottie hadn't ever come back. ************************************************************* Lurker (6) by Maddog "How are we gonna get to his desk?" Maddog whispered as they peered round a corner into the office. The Lurker Tesseract had deposited to two trouble-makers in an empty interrogation room in the station. "I thought you had a plan," said Rastro. "I thought it was your turn," said Maddog. They regarded the problem. Cops to the left of them, cops to the right, and right in front the desk of Don Schanke, their current target. The man himself was seated behind it, munching a bagel and complaining about paperwork. "Hell," said Rastro, "Just tuck in your shirt and try to look official. And put that can down." "Haven't finished it yet," protested Maddog as she attempted to tuck her thick black cotton shirt into her rather tatty jeans. "And that's a stupid plan. Nobody could mistake us for anyone official." "Then we need a distraction. Think of something." Maddog looked blank for a second, but was saved from having to put her brain into gear as the fire alarm went off. "Brilliant!" exclaimed Rastro as the squad room emptied in seconds. "How'd you do that?" Maddog shrugged. "Probably another Lurker." They scurried over to Schanke's desk and deposited their gifts, arranging them strategically for maximum effect. Ten minutes later the faint hum of the Tesseract went unnoticed as the officers came noisily back into the room. "Settle down," Cohen had to raise her voice to be heard. "Just a false alarm. Somebody trying to be funny." "No, Captain," one of the younger officers said, "I think someone trying to be funny." He pointed to Schanke's desk. "The Complete ABBA Collection," proclaimed the gold letters on the Special Edition boxed set. "Greatest Hits of the Seventies," all 17 volumes, were arranged in a delicately- balanced pyramid on upside-down Dunkin' Donuts boxes. "Hey, great!" exclaimed Schanke. "This only just came out! It's even got the 'Muriel's Wedding' soundtrack in it. And all on CD! Nick, we can play it in the Caddy!" Nick, pale as he was, went even paler. "Nooooo," he wailed, wondering which of LaCroix's minions had planned this. ************************************************************* Cousins; Cousins Everywhere (OR: Further proof that I am not above going for the cheap laugh.) by Cousin Deborah Menikoff * * * * * * * * * * * * Picking up the microphone from where the last performer had dropped it in their haste to be off the stage, Valery spoke to the boisterous crowd "Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together and welcome our next brave soul..." she passed, as if expecting someone to join her on stage. No one did. "Our next brave soul..." she repeated. "If you will excuse me for *one* minute, she must be nervous. In the meantime..." as she left the stage she hit the button on the sound system and the crowd heard the opening refrain of by Elton John. * * * * * * * * * * * * Deborah was pretty sure that she'd gotten the hang of the whole bartending gig. It wasn't so bad after all. There had been one moment of panic when Nick had approached one of the customers at the bar but as soon as she'd seen who it was, Deborah ducked in back. After a few minutes she saw that it was safe to come out and that there were new customers. As she passed by the table, she overheard parts of the conversations "Scottie, I don't know why you are carrying on like this. It's *just* a song." "It's not *just* a song. It's "Jeremiah was a Bullfrog" and I am not singing it!" The second speaker sounded pretty adamant and Deborah placed a mental bet on her. The she passed a larger group of women "But what if they end up here?" asked a nervous voice "No one is going to pressure you while you're with us. Think of us as Switzerland." Switzerland? Why on earth would you want to be thought of as Switzerland? Cheese was all well and good, clocks weren't bad and generally useful as a rule but... *Oh of course,* Deborah thought to herself. *Neutral. They're Die Hards.* Finally she made it back to the bar, extra lemon slices in hand and was delighted to see her recent partner in misfortune, Lashoka. Both rushed to speak at the same time. "Lashoka! You're out, I mean you're here. Where have you..?" "Deborah, I called your room over and over and there wasn't any answer. What do you mean where have I been? I was at the police station and then I cam straight back here." "Well so did I. It took a while of course. I had to call Dianne and then she had to get..." "Dianne?" "Yeah, well I don't know any lawyers in Toronto so I called Merc headquarters and got some help. What did you do?" "Uncle got me out." "What!?" Deborah was stunned "Uncle." Lashoka repeated "He just walked me out of the station. Just like that. No muss, no fuss." "He's not angry about the whole radio signal thing?" "No, not at all. In fact the whole thing has brought me back into the fold so to speak. We were very chummy as I left." Deborah gave a huge sigh of relief "I am so glad to hear that. I have been wracking my brains with ways to get on his good side... Bad side, rather and now you tell me there's no problem. We're fine." Lashoka shook her head. "No, *I'm* fine. You are in a spot of trouble. You called outside help. By not trusting him to get you out, you've given him doubts about your sincerity as a cousin." When she saw Deborah was going to speak, Lashoka held up a hand. "Hey, I've been there, ok. I've heard all the excuses. Just be aware of it. He'll end up testing you somehow and you need to be ready." "Great." Deborah muttered Essay or multiple choice?" "What?" "Nothing." Deborah sighed and then shrugged. She'd figure something out. "You want a drink or something?" she asked. When Lashoka hesitated, Deborah added "On the house. Tonight all Cousins drink free." A small voice piped up "What if you don't know if you're a cousin anymore?" Deborah turned to see the nervous woman from the Die Hard table. "I thought you were a Die Hard. You were sitting with them. Who are you?" "Lt. Darkstar." Lashoka slapped her forehead "Hey! I know who you are. You were spying on the Ravenettes, right? You were supposed to call the radio station and check in. What happened?" "It's a long story. But it was like this..." * * * * * * * * * * * * Valery was back. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I am told that our next singer would like to dedicate this song to a very special friend in the Toronto police department. I am sure you will was to join her, considering how much we have seen of them in the past few days. And now, please welcome the brave, the talented and perhaps just tad nervous... Sharon Scott!!!" Through the smattering of applause, a slight scuffle could be heard. "No Susan, no! I don't want to do this. He'll think I'm nuts." "You said, as long as it wasn't the frog song, you do it. It's not and you will." Susan pushed the reluctant chanteuse out into the spotlight and faded back off stage chuckling to herself. As Sharon stood there clutching the microphone, the music started and her eyes (along with everyone else's) widened appreciably. The song was "Ain't Goin' Down Till the Sun Comes Up." by Garth Brooks * * * * * * * * * * * * Lt. Darkstar finished her tale with "...and so I'm feeling very conflicted about the whole thing. I was so sure before that Cousin was the way to go but then the Die Hards got me out from between Uncle and Nick and then... Then there's the whole Nick thing." she hesitated Deborah prompted "The whole Nick thing?" "Well, it's just that... I think I... Ohhh..." she put her head down on the bar as if she couldn't face them. The two other Cousins looked concernedly at their confused compatriot but as they were about to pursue the topic, Valery appeared next to them. "Lashoka, you're up next." and then she was gone again. "OK. Be right there. Look Deborah, would you take care of this? I gotta go on next." "You're going on? I mean, to sing? What are you going to do?" Lashoka smiled. "You'll see," and she followed Valery to the stage area. Deborah watched Lashoka leave, still wondering what she could expect. Then she turned her attention back to the problem at hand. Lt. Darkstar. "You were saying... The whole Nick thing? Come on. It's just the two of us. Everyone else is watching the stage." There was no answer. "It *can't* be that bad" Deborah insisted. Lt. Darkstar looked around, assuring herself that everyone else was more concerned with the song. When she looked back, she took a deep breath and blurted out "I am really really attracted to Nick. He's so cute, I just don't know what to do! What am I..." she was silenced by the hand Deborah had quickly placed over her mouth. "Hush! Do you know what you are saying? You can't just blurt that out. Here, have a nice Zombie Beachcomber. I am really getting quite good at them. Of course, you're a Cousin. You drink, I'll explain. By the time you are done with this, you'll see reason." Deborah smiled. * * * * * * * * * * * * As Valery came on stage to introduce the next song, she was forced to wait a moment for the cheering for Scottie's performance to die down. There were cries of "Brava!" and "Encore!" and a very distinct "I told you so." After a moment or two, the crowd calmed and Valery was able to introduce Lashoka, who came on stage and said, as she readjusted the microphone, "I would like to dedicate this to anyone who has been in police custody in the past few days... And you *all* know who you are." And with that, Lashoka launched into a rockin' and rollin' rendition of "Jailhouse Rock" and the audience danced along. ************************************************************* Deus ex Machina: Bird Watching by Lorelei Feldman and Tuppence Tuppence's work transcribed by Diane Echelbarger Lorelei stood on top of the scaffolding that supported the fake, ivy-covered wall. She looked skeptically at the structure and raised one eyebrow, then turned to the large stagehand next to her. "Are you sure this thing's going to stand up to my weight? It feels like it's shaking every time I lean on it." "Sure, babe," he grinned. "I climbed it this morning, to make sure. Just keep a good grip on the ivy and you'll be fine." <*Yeah, right*. I hate heights! The last time I tried climbing a wall I had bruises on my side for a week! How do I get myself into these things? I'm gonna kill myself. I know I am*.> She closed her eyes and winced as the stagehand climbed down, shaking the ivy with every step. The director walked into the 'alley' below. "Lorelei?" she called. "You ready? Got your cues straight?" "Yeah, sure. You say 'action', I climb down. How hard could it be, right?" She joked. "And I've got my lines just fine." "OK," the director said, then turned and called. "You two ready for this?" The two stars walked onto the set. A Costume Assistant followed them, fussing with the woman's headdress. The man tugged at the hem of his tunic. "You *sure* it's supposed to be this short?" he asked the costumer. She sighed. "Look, I told you, that Eshelberger woman sent *fifteen pages* of documentation for that outfit. It's accurate, *believe* me." His fellow professional grinned. "Now you know how I felt when they put me in those skimpy dresses first season," she told him. He scowled at her. Lorelei just sat and stared, glad the tall ivy covered her from view. *I'd drool if it weren't so tacky. I still can't believe I'm really here! Now, if I can just concentrate on what I'm doing and not make a complete idiot of myself..." She took another deep breath. "OK," the director shouted, "We're running behind schedule again, so let's make this good, folks!" She walked around the corner of the set. "Quiet on the set!" The two professionals positioned themselves at the mouth of the 'alley'. "Lights!" The house lights went out, and the special 'night spots' kicked in. "Camera!" Lorelei saw the little red light on top of the camera below light up. "Action!" Lorelei pulled herself together and quickly but gingerly lowered herself over the side, holding onto the ivy with a death-grip, and digging the toes of her boots into the cracks in the 'wall'. Once all the way over, she relaxed a little, and reached down with her left hand for the next grip. A small gray shape darted to the edge of the platform and swatted at the Ravenette's right hand. With a muffled "Yip!", Lorelei lost her grip and fell to the floor, landing with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. Looking up at the two pros and, summoning her memories of school productions and "101 ways to save face", Lorelei quickly began her lines as though nothing had happened. After all, couldn't medieval people be klutzes as well? Tuppence purred softly as she began her climb down the scaffolding. ************************************************************* Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by Dianne T. DeSha and Deborah Menikoff "I wouldn't do that if I were you." The low, soothing voice from directly behind her made Lt. Darkstar jump. "You don't want to know what happened to the last person who drank one of Deborah's Zombie Beachcombers," Dianne said, removing the sinister glass of dubious liquid from the table and returning it to the bar. "I'd really hate to have to go through all that again." "Wha...?" Lt. Darkstar mumbled as she looked back and forth between the Cousin and the Merc. "Really, Deborah! LaCroix should have no doubts about your loyalty. Only a true Cousin would consider poison an appropriate recruiting aid." Lt. Darkstar looked at Deborah, eyes wide. "I *wasn't* poisoning her! That woman over there has had three already and she's fine." Ignoring Deborah's indignant protests, Dianne laid a friendly hand on Lt. Darkstar's shoulder. "You _can't_ be a Cousin, dear. They're far too intolerant of free-thinking--see how much trouble you're in already?" Deborah continued to make noises of protest, which Dianne continued to ignore. "You obviously need flexibility," she continued, positively oozing reassurance. "But the Die-Hards are, well..." she groped for the best possible wording, "Rather _dull_, don't you think? I mean, all that neutrality is very noble and all, but what do you get to do except try to keep the peace?" "Not to mention that being thought of as Switzerland is not all *that* great," Deborah interrupted. "Certain parts of Switzerland didn't give women the vote until the mid 1970's. Very noble." "Be a Mercenary, a real free-spirit!" Dianne was getting into her sales pitch now. "There is very little *free* anything with Mercenaries," Deborah interrupted. Dianne continued undeterred, "You can pull off a very Cousinly maneuver one minute, then turn around and do something special for Nick the next." _What_ that would be, Dianne had no idea, but from the look spreading across Lt. Darkstar's face, her own imagination was doing the rest. Dianne thought. Deborah threw up her hands. "Oh, great. Now look what you've done. She's mooning over that dithery detective again. Lt. Darkstar, hey, hey listen up! There is nothing remotely attractive about a man who rushes off leaving his mother and sister alone, unprotected in the early 13th century... Are you listening to me?" But she could see that she was not getting through. Dianne continued her efforts, "Choose who you work for, change your preferences every time if you like, earn great pay... *And* you're backed up by the entire Merc Guild. And even LaCroix knows better than to mess around with us!" She finished with a triumphant grin. "Hey, I _hired_ you remember!" Deborah finally managed to get in with a snarl. "And I'm paying you *well*!" , Dianne chuckled to herself. "I'm doing what you paid me for, but that doesn't mean you own me. Besides, I *am* supposed to be Recruiter for the Mercs... Can't be lax in my duties to my Guild." With an indignant snort at Dianne, Deborah leaned down in Lt. Darkstar's very confused face. "Listen to me. I understand that you felt abandoned. We weren't there when you called... Mea maxima culpa. The DieHards took you in, hey, that's their job. Shelter those who need it. They would've done it for anyone." Deborah paused, thinking about the wisdom of her next statement. Then she figured she might as well. "As for thinking you may be a Knightie... Well, gosh darned girl! I'm not blind. The boy is certainly easy on the eyes but get real! He is incredibly immature, self-centered, dithery, and he has absolutely no convictions. He abandoned his family for the Crusades, he abandoned the Crusades for LaCroix and Janette, he abandoned LaCroix for a dream, and _trust_ me, as soon as he realizes that that is what it is, he'll abandon everything here... Followers included." Deborah stopped, out of breath. Lt. Darkstar was staring at her. "Nice job," said Dianne sarcastically. "I think you've sent her into shock." After a moment, Lt. Darkstar blinked. Dianne took that as a promising sign. "And _that's_ exactly why loyalty to a single faction is so foolish!" she said, capitalizing on Deborah's point. "She's right, Nick _can't_ be relied upon... Do you really think *LaCroix* can? The balance of power is constantly shifting, you need the flexibility to move with it. Have you ever read Machiavelli?" Lt. Darkstar, if possible, was by this point looking even more confused. "But what _is_ a Mercenary, really? I mean if you don't follow..." Dianne cut her off, pulling out her pocket dictionary. "See, right here: 'Mercenary: (noun) a free-lance fighter, *adventurer*'." Deborah, peering over her shoulder, continued reading, "'(adjective) Ruthlessly seeking personal advantage, corrupt, unscrupulous, praetorian, unethical, unprincipled, venal'..." Dianne snapped the book shut in her face. "*Adventurer*," she repeated seductively (with a glare at Deborah). "Come on," she purred in Lt. Darkstar's ear, "You _know_ we're the ones having all the fun!" Lt. Darkstar looked at Dianne and seemed to consider this carefully. Deborah, who felt that the whole point was being missed slammed a beer onto the bar, bringing attention back to her. "*I* am having tons of fun and I resent the implication that I am not." Deborah said with great conviction she shot Dianne a withering look. "And before you go trashing loyalty, Ms. I- live-in-a-glass-house Mercenary, I would like to point out that you have loyalty to your guild." Dianne rolled her eyes, but Deborah continued. "Look, there's nothing wrong with loyalty... My point is that Nick--and I am only talking about Nick here--isn't worth the loyalty. On the other hand, have any of us ever doubted what Uncle meant to accomplish and what his goals were? No. Has he ever swayed from the attainment of these goals? No, not in centuries. Now *that* is commitment." "That," Dianne said, "is blind devotion to a despotic megalomaniac." "Well it's better than being to devoted to the pursuit of personal gain," Deborah retorted. "Well better that I seek my own gain than someone else's!" Dianne insisted. The two recruiters glared at each other. Lt. Darkstar looked at Dianne, then at Deborah. She thought for a moment that they had forgotten her existence. When Deborah spoke, her voice was deadly calm and dangerous. Dianne, who up to this point had seen Deborah simply as a serious handful, was surprised to see this side of her. She was beginning to see why Deborah had become a Cousin. Deborah looked straight at Lt. Darkstar. "I am going to bottom line this for you. You will remain a Cousin, and be privy to all the benefits and privileges thereof, by committing yourself to Uncle and his cause. But--and please pay close attention--you will also receive, in addition to all this, a three-bedroom pie de terre at Trump Tower in Manhattan, an all-expenses paid shopping spree in the city of your choice, and, finally, the entire video collection, uncut versions, of the television show of your choice. All you have to do," Deborah enunciated each word carefully, "is denounce Nick and all he stands for. Agreed?" Lt. Darkstar's eyes widened. *The whole video colle... But to denounce Nick? How? She couldn't poss...* She swayed dizzily for a moment. Dianne turned on Deborah, protesting vigorously, "Hey! You told _me_ that _I_ was getting..." "Agreed?!" Deborah raised her voice a fraction. "I... I... I can't." Lt. Darkstar broke down into tears with her head down on the bar. Deborah, her voice back to its usual bouncy self, looked at Dianne and said, "See, I told you she wasn't a Mercenary. Now run along dear, we Cousins are having a family reunion." With a snort of her own, Dianne left. She _still_ didn't buy Lt. Darkstar as a Cousin, but it was obvious she was no Merc. Dianne shook her head in disbelief. , she mused, making a mental note to add a few more "adjustments" to Deborah's bill. ************************************************************* What Goes Around... by Lorelei Feldman and Diane Echelbarger Lorelei sat in a booth along the wall of the Raven, playing with her glass of Martinelli's and idly watching some of the more luscious men (mortal and otherwise) dancing out on the floor. She thought about going out there herself, but she just didn't feel like it just yet. Besides, she really didn't feel like getting her new outfit all sweaty; dry-cleaning was a pain. As she sat there wasting time, she wondered what was happening back at the hotel. When she'd gone in just long enough to shower and change, she'd noticed a banner for Karaoke Night in the bar, and the talk in the lobby seemed to indicate that most of the convention, and a good deal of other people, were going to be there. She'd thought about going herself, but Janette had insisted she stay at the Raven; something about a possible job later on. *It's probably just as well. After all, the last time I was in a Karaoke bar, I got dragged up on stage with about five other women, to sing,* she still shuddered at the thought, *"Delta Dawn"*. Her skin crawled and she grimaced. *I'm definitely better off here. And so is the music.* Janette strolled over to the bar, where Miklos refilled her glass of the "House Special." As she sipped it, she leaned up against the countertop and glanced around the club, taking notice of all her mortal followers that were still there. As her eyes strayed to Lorelei, she wondered just how she could play this little card that had fallen her way; after all, it wasn't every day, or decade either, that one got an opportunity like this. Her appearance was quite uncannily like that other young lady... Her eyes became unfocused as she thought back upon that evening, remembered with vampiric clarity... <> Nick, Isabelle, and Janette make their way down a deserted street. The mortal girl is in the middle; each vampire has hold of one arm. The gates of the Convent de la Sacre-Couer can be seen a short distance ahead. Suddenly, Nick and Janette stop and turn to face an alleyway on their left. Six thugs in rough clothing step out of the alley and move to circle them. They are armed with wooden cudgels, quarter staffs, and knives. Nick pushes Isabelle behind him and Janette. The leader, a big, broad man with a broken nose, steps forward, slapping his club against his palm. "Well, well, what have we here, my friends" he grins. "Two pullets and a cockerel." He looks Janette up and down, insolently, and licks his lips. "A very *pretty* pullet. I'm going to enjoy plucking that bright plumage, pretty bird." Janette, face tight with rage, begins to step toward him. Nick lays a hand on her arm and stops her. "We have no quarrel with you," he tells the bandit. "Leave now, and we will not call the watch." The bandits laugh, mockingly. Their leader grins. "The cockerel knows how to crow!" he says, and takes another step toward them. "No, master cockerel, we will not leave. Not until we have what we came for. Take them!" The bandits rush them. Nick pushes Isabelle back, quickly. She staggers into the wall and falls. As she goes down, one of the bandits grabs for Janette, and another swings his cudgel at Nick's head. Janette, eyes blazing, catches her attacker by the arm and flings him across the road. He hits the wall with a and slides bonelessly to the ground. Before he lands, she seizes another of the bandits and buries her fangs in his throat. Simultaneous with this, Nick catches his attacker by the wrist. Bones snap as he wrenches the shoulder out of joint and flings the man into one of his companions. The two remaining bandits try to flee, but Nick flies the width of the road and grabs the leader by his tunic. Slamming his captive against the wall, he rears back, fangs extended and eyes aflame, ready to feed. It is at this moment that Isabelle regains her feet and looks about her. A few feet away, Janette, her chin blood-streaked, tosses aside her victim like a rag doll, and reaches for another. Across the road, Nick buries his fangs in the bandit leader's throat, snarling. Horrified, she flees down the road, stumbling in panic, toward the convent and safety. Neither vampire notices. They are too caught in the throes of blood-lust; too intent on satisfying their hunger. Isabelle has almost reached the gate, when a silent form floats down to land in front of her. It is LaCroix, in a calf-length, severely black version of Nick's tunic, and his usual full, hooded cloak. She screams, and tries to flee, but he catches her easily and pulls her to him, bending her head back to expose her throat. Isabelle's scream has broken through Nick's blood-hunger. He looks up from the torn throat of his victim and reacts in horror. "LaCroix!" he shouts "NO!" and flies to where the pair stand. He is too late. As he lands, LaCroix drops her limp body to the ground, and delicately wipes a red trickle from the corner of his mouth. "Why, Nicolas," he says, raising one eyebrow, "Surely you did not intend to keep all this bounty to yourself?" Nick drops to one knee, cradling Isabelle's body in his arms. "She was Fleur's," he chokes, smoothing her hair from her face. "Fleur's line. The last---" He buries his grief-twisted face in her hair. LaCroix says nothing, just stands there, expression frozen, staring down at Nick and the shape in his arms. Silent. Janette walks up to them, glances from Nick to LaCroix, and cautiously places a hand on LaCroix's arm. <<> Yes, surely there was some way to turn that resemblance to her advantage. If not now, later... Janette walked slowly back to her office, contemplating possibilities. ************************************************************* A Question for the Ages by Susan M. Garrett There'd been too much to do and definitely not enough time to do it in. Like sleep. Susan hadn't seen a lot of sleep. Which, of course, was why she was sitting in a bar, listening to varied renditions of impossibly cliched or kitsch songs and wishing desperately that she remembered her room number. The hotel tended to give out keys with fake room numbers on them--Susan had tried that number and it hadn't worked. She had a sneaking suspicion that if she asked someone, at the Karaoke night, they'd be able to tell her what her room number was. And that thought was what kept her awake, listening to Karaoke and nursing an Amaretto. Until, of course, she saw Janette, who was desperately trying to pretend that she'd slipped in by accident and wasn't really here to find out why the Raven was empty and everyone was crowded in the Tiki bar at the Regal Constellation Hotel, thank you very much. It was then that Janette saw her and pushed her way through the crowd. Susan had a moment of two of grace because of the wall to wall people. She considered asking Janette if she knew what Susan's room number might be, then decided that she didn't really want to know if Janette knew. So she frantically marshaled what was left of her conscious thoughts, searching for a question that might keep Janette from launching into a brief but bitter tirade about Ravenettes who weren't where they should be and should know better. Janette had reached the table and barely opened her mouth before Susan launched into the only question she could come up with on such sort notice. To whit: "Why do so many list members want to have sex with a vampire?" Susan was no less surprised than Janette at the question-- although it was something she'd thought about for some time, she hadn't thought it was quite that close to the surface, or in the little metal, glass covered booth covered by a sign that said 'break glass and use in case of emergency.' But it was a fair question. And it managed to take some of the wind out of Janette's sails. She pulled up a chair beside Susan, snagged the ashtray, tossed the collection of Amaretto covered paper straw papers from the ashtray in disgust, then lit up a cigarette and regarded the stage thoughtfully. Susan hadn't really expected an answer, but--realizing that she was actually going to get one--waited with baited (actually, Amaretto-tainted) breath. "Are there many?" asked Janette distantly. "Seems like it. I mean, half the Cousins either want to get laid by LaCroix or spanked by him." Susan nodded at Janette's raised eyebrow. "Sometimes both." "Really?" "And the Knighties..." Susan shrugged and flicked one of the wet paper straws across the table with a fingernail. "Well, you'd sort of expect it. I mean, they're not after him because he's a rocket scientist." "In a manner of speaking," corrected Janette. She took a drag from her cigarette. Susan cleared her throat. "Miklos hasn't been around that long and everybody's hit on him. God knows the Ravens and Ravenettes haven't been shy--it's the same thing the Cousins do with LaCroix, they either pant after you or go toe-to-toe with you and play 'my fangs are bigger than your fangs' to get your interest. And then there's Alma..." "Alma," said Janette slowly, taking another drag from her cigarette, "is shy." "Which I wanted to mention to you." Susan looked around and lowered her voice. "I've been noticing a few Ravens and Ravenettes have gone 'missing' lately. If you could check up on Alma... We really try not be as gauche as the Cousins. LaCroix is biting his people. I mean, we don't want our motto to become, 'The Few, the Glamorous, the Undead,' do we?" "Point taken. I'll look into it." Janette tapped out her cigarette in the ashtray. "But that doesn't answer your question." She paused long enough to take another cigarette out of her cigarette case (God only knew it came from and Susan was certain that was information Man Was Not Meant To Know), then eyed Susan thoughtfully. "What do think?" It was Susan's turn to pause. As she didn't smoke and her drink was almost gone, she did the only thing she could to catch a moment's thinking space--she took off her eyeglasses and cleaned them off with a dry cocktail napkin adorned with Tiki gods. "Other than the standard psycho-sexual frustration theories? Or the vampire-charisma-stuff-that-I'm-not-about- to-mention-in-a-bar theory?" "Other than that. Yes." "I think--" having run out of delaying tactics, Susan shrugged, "that I don't have the faintest idea. Which is why I asked you. Half the time you bite people, mortal people, or even vampire people, you guys seem to go into rush overdrive." "Ummmmmm. Well, sometimes. And sometimes we're just... ." Janette looked pointedly at the remains of Susan's glass of Amaretto and Susan realized that her boss was without a drink. A . A drink. "Then again," said Janette, leaning back against her chair, eyeing the crowd, as if searching for prospective donors, "we have secrets. I don't know if you know this, but--" The latest Karaoke victim finished and the thundering applause drowned out most of Janette's words. Not gifted with vampire-augmented hearing, Susan strained to make out most of Janette's words. "--Which would explain it," finished Janette, waving away the waitress, who had veered toward the table. Wondering if Janette had said what she thought Janette had said, Susan pondered the new information solemnly, then picked up her glass of Amaretto and slung the rest of the alcohol down her throat--she needed a good belt. "Does--" she cleared her throat, the Amaretto having burned away at least one layer of throat cells, "does know about this?" "A few. Words gets around, after all." Janette shrugged. "With all you seem to know about vampires, I'm surprised you know." "That's not really what interests me. I mean--" Susan cleared her throat again as Janette raised the other eyebrow. "I , there are other aspects about vampirism that interest me. History. Immortality. The whole hair thing." "Hair thing?" "If you're brought across on a bad hair day, are you stuck like that for eternity?" Janette picked up her cigarette case, which almost instantly disappeared (where the ?--oh, never mind...), turned and stalked away from the table. "Some people are just sensitive," decided Susan. She picked up her empty Amaretto glass and sighed. Then again, maybe Janette didn't the answer to that one. And vampires were careful to pretend that they knew everything about everyone. So Susan sat back against her chair and mulled over the possibilities of checking with the front desk for her room number. That, after all, was a question for the ages. ************************************************************* Lurker (7) by Maddog The tesseract deposited its occupants in the middle of Captain Cohen's office. They were getting confused by jumping timelines in and around the War but figured, what the heck, rent a wreck. The two Lurkers glanced around and took stock of their surroundings. While sticking her nose into one of the numerous drawers on the Captain's desk, Maddog pulled out a mass of sticky papers. "Gross, she's had this gum so long its melted all over these receipts." "What are they receipts for?" "Hmm, they all seem to be for roast beef sandwiches with extra horsey sauce and chocolate shakes. Could it be the Captain has a drinking problem we don't know about?" "Working around Nick and Schanke would drive me to chocolate," Rastro replied, pulling a hat out of the bag she was carrying. It was a Bubba Gump Shrimp hat and had several fly lures stuck through it. "The hat turned out well, don't you think?" "Yeah, but still think it was gross jumping into that box full of dead fish with it to make it smell authentic." "Realism is very important, at least in fanfic," Rastro explained. "You got the rest of the gifts?" "Sure do," Maddog took out two heavy duty weed whackers from her interdimensional mass compressing pocket. She began dancing with them. "Do whacka do, whacka do do do," she sang. Rastro put the hat on the Captain's seat, noticing slightly that a fish head had been trapped in the brim and was now sliming its way across the seat's fabric. "Fish heads, fish heads, ooey gooey fish heads," she chanted taking one of the weed whackers from her Lurker companion. "Whacka do, whacka fish head, whacka do!" "Hey," Maddog cried out as she spotted the Captain's dress jacket. Pulling it on, she pointed the weed whacker at Rastro and said, "Badgers, we don't need no stinking badgers!" Leaping on to the desk, Rastro responded, "Use the whacker, Luke!" Jumping down from the desk, Rastro held her weedwhacker up at attention in front of her. Maddog copied the movement then bellowed, "Samurai Weed Whackers! Hai ya!" "Lurker dog," Rastro spat out, "You have no honor and let out really stinky farts after bean soup! Hai ya!" The two Lurkers started fencing with the weed whackers, engaging the motors so that the fish line (and wasn't that an original use for that product) was spinning madly about. Unfortunately, the two lines connected and wrapped themselves around each other. The weedwhackers were wrenched out of the Lurkers hands and spun themselves around in helicopter faction until they hit the ceiling and then crashed onto Captain Cohen's desk. Maddog tiptoed around to take a look at the damage. The files about Stonetree's death were now partially shredded and Captain Cohen's autographed picture of Greg Brady was totally ruined. "You know, Rastro, maybe we should stop making such big messes." "Mess, what mess, I don't see anything do you?" "Nah, hey, you wanna go over and sniff men's cologne's until we find one that smell good on LaCroix?" "No, we did that last night. Let's go over to the men's robe department and see if we can find a nice soft one that'd look good on Nick." "Did that two nights ago. I know, let's go over and look for a tie that'd match all of Schanke's suits! We can find some other Lurkers to help." "We'll never find it," Rastro sighed as she activated the tesseract and carried the Lurkers away from the demolished office. ************************************************************* With A Little Help From My Friends (1) by Diane Echelbarger, Jennie Hayes, Karen Weston and Di Sudduth Diane almost didn't go to Karaoke Night. Almost. She walked into the Tiki Room and looked the crowd over. She didn't recognize anyone at first, which was par for the course. She was about to leave when she spotted Jennie Hayes, sitting with a bunch of other people at a table. She wove through the crowd and tapped Jennie on the shoulder. "Hey, Jennie! Can I sit with you?" "Yeah, no problem!" Jennie said, and snagged an unoccupied chair from the next table. "Everyone, this is Diane. Diane, this is my partner, Sharon, and Elaine from the Crown Defender's office, and Betsy and Amparo from the precinct. Oh, and this here's our psychological consultant, Di. This is gonna be confusing." A chorus of "Hi!" echoed around the table. Diane took the chair and squeezed into the hole the others made for her. Jennie handed her the song card. "So, whatcha gonna sing?" she asked with a grin. Diane skim it quickly, then handed it back. "I think I'll just watch. I'm no good at this stuff," she said with a wry smile. "Hey, c'mon," Jennie encouraged her. "They've got most of the songs from "White Nights" there. You love that stuff!" The rest of the group also made encouraging noises. "Maybe later," Diane said with a notable lack of enthusiasm. Jennie frowned a moment, then smiled. If Diane had seen that smile, she would have left the Tiki Room, and probably Toronto, immediately. Unfortunately for her, she was busy introducing herself to Betsy, who was sitting on her other side. Jennie shot a look at Di, who raised an eyebrow in response and nodded slightly. "My turn to fetch drinks!" Jennie declared brightly. "Whatcha drinking, Diane?" "I'll have a Han Solo." Diane reached for her purse. "Don't bother, we're running a tab," Elaine told her. "You can settle up later." "What's a Han Solo?" Amparo asked, as Jennie pushed through the crowd to the bar. "One part dark rum, two parts Bailey's," Diane told her. "They're great. A friend of mine invented them." They chatted and introduced themselves until Jennie returned and distributed refills. Diane got an on-the-rocks glass filled with a pale, milky-brown liquid and lots of crushed ice. She took a sip. "It tastes kind of funny, Jennie. You sure they got it right?" she asked. "Well, they were out of dark rum, so the bartender used light," Jennie explained. "Oh, OK." The women chatted, and listened to the singers. Every so often, one of them would put her name on the list to sing. Di fetched another round. While she was gone, Jennie handed Diane the song card again. "They've got _Separate Lives_", she pointed out. Diane hesitated, but at that moment a middle aged man in a rumpled suit began cranking out a truly awful, off-key version of _With A Little Help From My Friends_. "I don't sing soprano," she said quickly, and sat the card on the table. Jennie chuckled, then looked up. "Oops, my song's up next," she explained as she got up. "See ya in a little while." Di returned and distributed the second round, just as Jennie got on stage and began to sing "Come to My Window". "Wow, I've never actually seen her sing in front of people before. I know she said she used to, but lately she just keeps saying she's too out of practice," Diane mused, then began to pay attention to the song. "I would dial the numbers just to listen to your breath. I would stand inside my hell and hold the hand of death. You don't know how far I'd go to ease this precious ache. You don't know how much I'd give or how much I can take. Just to reach you..." As she sang, Jennie's eyes swept the room, noticing that she and her friends weren't the only ones connected to their case who were present. She made note of where the familiar faces were, and saw a strange look on both Nick's and Nat's faces as she sang the next verse. she mused. "Keeping my eyes open I cannot afford to sleep, Giving away promises I know that I can't keep. Nothing fills the blackness that has seeped into my chest, I need you in my blood I am forsaking all the rest. Just to reach you..." "Hmm...Jennie kept saying how she loved this song. I'm starting to see what she means," Di put in, with a sly glance at Diane, just as Jennie began to sing, "I don't care what they think! I don't care what they say! Jennie smiled, noticing Di's wink just as she completed those phrases. Exactly the words she wanted Diane to hear as she worked on her second drink... ************************************************************* With A Little Help From My Friends (2) by Diane Echelbarger, Jennie Hayes, Karen Weston and Di Sudduth "Wow. Not bad at all. I hate to think what you sound like when you're *in* practice," Diane commented as Jennie returned to her place at the table. "Oh, it's more like I can consistently sound like that, instead of the croaking and pitch-wobbling I do half the time now," Jennie responded. "My voice seems happy tonight, so I figured I could manage to get up on the stage this once." She latched onto the drink that was waiting for her. "Ahh, it's nice to wet the old throat now, though." Halfway through her drink, Diane began humming along with the performers. Jennie smiled *that* smile again. When Diane's glass was almost empty, Jennie handed her the song card for a third time. "How about _Snake Charmer_?" she suggested. "You like that one." Diane's sense of self-preservation was fast being replaced by a warm, slightly detached feeling. "Dunno..." she said, a little fuzzily. "I'm outa practice..." "Aw, c'mon," Jennie urged her. "We all want to hear you sing it, don't we guys?" The table agreed en mass, and Diane gave in. "OK," she agreed with a broad, slightly spacey grin. "Put me on the list." Elaine fetched another round. ********** Karen Weston finished reassuring her 3 year old son that Mommy loved him and would bring him a Mountie hat just like the man on Due South wears, and hung up the phone. She was glad she'd come to the writer's conference, but wished it had been a little closer. Luckily, her husband, A. E., didn't mind taking care of all three kids on his own occasionally. Then she grabbed her purse and her room key and headed for the elevator. Jennie had said she and a bunch of friends would be at the Karaoke session tonight, and she was looking forward to meeting them. By the time she got downstairs, the Tiki Room was packed. A young man was just finishing up a rendition of _Those Were The Days_ as she entered. She paused to give her eyes a chance to adjust, and someone bumped into her from behind. She said "Sorry," automatically, and was three steps inside before she realized who she'd spoken to. She watched as Detective Schanke pushed his way through the crowd to where a slender, dark haired woman was talking to a man with curly blond hair. she thought, At that moment, she spotted Jennie, sitting at a crowded table in the middle of the room. She walked over, while some woman with a passable but undisciplined alto voice began belting out _Snake Charmer_ with *great* enthusiasm. "Bad babe, I got news for you. It's all right!" "Hey, Karen! Glad you could make it!" Jennie said. "Have a seat, I'll introduce you later. You don't want to miss this." She gestured to the stage. "Long bloond hair, shooort black dress, stand-ing there,uun-im-pressed" Karen took the seat next to her, and looked up at the woman on the stage. Her jaw literally dropped. "Is that *Diane* *Echelbarger*?", she asked, stunned. "She never does stuff like that!" "She's a snaaake--Charmer!" "She does now," Jennie grinned incorrigibly. "One look, I'm a bas-ket case. I get shook." Karen stared in shock at her three year old's godmother. Diane was really getting into the song, complete with classic-rocker-style microphone moves. Karen thought she *might* be doing Buddy Holly. Or maybe Elvis... She watched in stunned silence for a few minutes. When the instrumental section started, Diane played along on an invisible guitar. Karen wondered. The crowd was cheering her on. "Bad boys checkin' out each other's hair-styles. "She ain't gonna last in this rooom full of rep-tiles!" "What is she *drinking*?" Karen asked. "Well, she *thinks* they're Solos," Jennie told her. "But I had the bartender make them with two shots of 151, and one of Bailey's. That's her third." "Music gettin' tough. "C- C- Can you get my heart to pound!" Karen looked at the half-empty glass in front of her. Diane almost never drank. A glass of wine or two with dinner, an occasional tot of Bailey's. Nothing stronger, and never more than two. Then Jennie's recipe registered. "Jennie, that's backwards," she said. "I'm- I'm- I'm on my knees... I can't think!" "Yeah, I know," Jennie said. "But I figured she needed to unwind." "Now I'm just a liiiittle worm!" "Well, she is *that*," Karen agreed, as Diane began the final chorus. "She's a snake! Charmer! She's a snake! Charmer! Yeeeaaaah!" ************************ At another table, Schanke had broken off his conversation with Nick to watch the crazy woman on stage. She was either completely blasted, or a grade-A exhibitionist, he wasn't sure which. And the song she had chosen... "I don't get it," he muttered. "I never heard that song until yesterday, and now I swear it's following me." "What's that, Schank?" his partner asked with a grin. "Nothing," he said. ************************ The crowd cheered Diane enthusiastically as she bowed and left the stage. She walked rather unsteadily back to the table, where someone had wedged in another chair for her. "That was fun!" she said, and almost missed the chair. "Karen?" she peered blearily across the table. "Hi, Karen!" "I think you overdid it," Karen told Jennie. Jennie studied Diane a moment. Her usually overcautious friend seemed blissfully unconcerned with the fact that she was going to be the talk of the writer's conference tomorrow, and probably for many days to come. "Maybe you're right," she said. Diane just smiled. Jennie took the oportunity to pounce on another at her table. "Come ON, Di! You've been staring at that song card all evening. You *know* you want to get up there.." Di smiled sheepishly back. "I suppose if I don't I'll never hear the end of it, will I?" "Nope! Now, whatcha gonna sing?" "I noticed this one song on the list, and it's been positively *haunting* me lately! Seems that every time I work with homicide this one tune just won't leave me be. So maybe if I sing it it'll get out of my head?" "Maybe so." Jennie teased. "Which one is it?" "Put me on the list for _The Night Calls (My Name)_" answered Di. "I'm heading to the bar for another shot of courage. Another Solo, Diane? Jennie, I'll have the bartender whip up something *really* special for you!" ************************ After a couple more rounds, Nat appeared at the table. "Well?" she asked, "you guys ready? I think we're up next." "Wha's this?" Diane asked Jennie, quite unsteadily. "Oh, some of us agreed to do a song with Nat earlier. You were... Distracted," Jennie returned. "I'm gonna sit this one out." Diane didn't look like she'd be able to make it to the stage, so Jennie nodded her agreement. The rest of the group accompanied Nat up to the stage, then began a rousing chorus, only wavering a little unsteadily. "Connect these bones, dry bones, dry bones, Connect these bones, dry bones, dry bones..." Jennie noticed, delighted. "The toe bone's connected to the foot bone, The foot bone's connected to the heel bone, The heel bone's connected to the ankle bone..." Jennie sneaked a quick peek at Nick and Schanke. Both watched the stage avidly; Schanke with obvious amusement and Nick with a look that said Nat would be getting teased about this later. Looking back at the performers, though, she realized that Nat was really enjoying herself and had managed to forget her troubles for the time being. She threw herself even more into the performance as the group continued... "The shoulder bone's connected to the neck bone, The neck bone's connected to the jaw bone, The jaw bone's connected to the head bone..." ************************************************************* If You *Don't* Please by Lisa McDavid "What did you say was in this?" asked Valery King doubtfully, as Mission Impossible caroled on-stage. She had never actually met Lisa McDavid face to face before, and was beginning to think she should have kept her amateur standing. "Oh, odds and ends in mango juice," said Lisa evasively, sipping her first Zombie Beachcomber of the evening. This time she would have to be careful, with no Feliks to mesmerize her hangover away. Suddenly all the bar talk stopped as though turned off with a switch. Even Mission Impossible's rendition of "Bad Moon on the Rise" choked into silence. Lisa hastily put her glass down, then reconsidered and finished it instead. The scorpions, she reminded herself, had been real. On the other hand, scorpions would be far more pleasant than LaCroix if he'd found out--Just the thought caused Lisa to signal the nearest waitress frantically for a refill. "My friends, I beg you to consider well what you do!" said a deep, rich voice that sounded like LaCroix, only more so. "Alcohol is the Devil's poison--one day singing, the next day Sheol. Nay, repent ye of the evil while there yet remains time..." One of Mission Impossible, braver or of higher altitude than the rest, ventured the first few bars of "Father, dear Father, Come Home with Me Now." The first row of spectators dived under their seats, but the apparition that was so like LaCroix only turned a look of tearful compassion on the songster. "12 Steps may be reached night or day at 555-0000," he continued, "Overeaters Anonymous at ..." Even in the indirect lighting of the Tiki Room, the white he wore from head to toe made him look like a slumming angel. Wait a minute! White? Yes, white, including cowboy boots and dingo hat. Lisa slumped with relief. So Lakhbah, like LaCroix, was much too old and powerful for killing. She ought to have guessed. Lisa took a long pull from her second Zombie Beachcomber. By the time she came up for air, the bouncer had regained his wits and escorted the the intruder from the premises. Valery smiled benignly. Like Mr. Sulu in a certain episode of the Original Star Trek, with an armful--well, in this case, tummyful--of this stuff, she wouldn't be afraid of a supernova. She must remember to thank Lisa profusely for introducing her to this novel way of flavoring mango juice. Lisa finished her second Zombie Beachcomber. Too late, she remembered her resolve to take it slow. An idea was beginning to form out of the liquor fumes in the back of her mind. "Valery, I have this idea..." And that was how the goody reel for the third season of Forever Knight came to feature Lisa McDavid and Valery King on-stage live at the Tiki Room of the Regal Constellation, singing, with highly evocative moves, imitations, and self- produced sound effects. "We are Siamese, if you please." "We are Siamese, if you *don't* please." "We were never resident of Siam," "But there are no finer cat than I am." "Do you see that thing swimming round and round?" "I think we could reach in and make it drown," "If we sneakum up upon it carefully," "There will be a head for you," "And tail for me!" ************************************************************* Bar Girls (part zwei) by Abby Albrecht to set the scene... Lakhbah was a hallucination brought on by too many beachcombers ingested by Lisa... special appearances by Lisa, Valery (Lisa told me too), Dianne, and Darkangel LaCroix surveyed the room like a king. He wanted to make sure he knew everyone in bar, and that everyone knew him. The old woman kept talking about buying her granddaughter her first bra until he began glaring at her. "Talk about oblivious," Abby remarked to Nick. He chuckled lightly and nodded. The laugh drew LaCroix's attention from the old woman and onto Nick and Abby. The old woman shrugged, and mumbled something about the young people today. A Knightie at the next table smiled, but did not say a word. Lisa and Valery stared open mouthed from their seats at the bar. Air escaped Lisa's mouth as she attempted to scream. *It isn't real! He isn't here! He can't be here!* LaCroix began to walk forward, but stopped suddenly in front of Lisa's table. *It _is_ him!* Lisa thought frantically of what she should do. He probably wasn't very happy with her right now. *Wait a minute. Who let him out of jail?* Screaming, Lisa ran from the bar at Warp 10. LaCroix watched her leave, but didn't do anything to stop her. That would be taken care of later. In the time it took to watch Lisa leave, Abby and Nick had gotten onto the stage and had begun to sing "All I Ask of You." "Say you'll share with me, One Love, One Lifetime." LaCroix went forward slowly. Nick, he knew. It was the other person that had him confused. She seemed so familiar, yet... *+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+* Flashback The warm air blew though her long, beautiful hair, pulling it slightly as if it did not want to leave her. Lucius sighed heavily, wishing he was the wind so that he could caress her in the same way. Her body lay seductively on the grassy knoll, protected from any sharp sticks or blades of grass by a large rug and five silk pillows stuffed with the down of 1,000 baby ducks. Lucius knew this because he had to pluck the birds himself, and he had the bite marks to prove it. But he loved every scratch he had, because it was his link with her, his first gift. There would be more gifts, of that everyone could be sure (especially Dianne, the guard who didn't seem to like him very much), but this was the first. Looking up from his thought, he saw Dianne smiling at him wickedly. She knew something, but refused to tell him. He was going to ask her again, but just then his goddess awoke. She rolled over slowly, her few coverings trying to keep up. Lucius was so taken aback by her lovely legs [authors note: hey this is my story. I can have nice legs if I want. So stop laughing Dianne and Perri!] that he didn't notice the wink Abby gave to Dianne. Laying on her stomach, Abby beckoned Lucius closer. "Lu. Rub some more oil onto my back." He was shocked. She was allowing him to touch her! And she called him Lu! He slowly rubbed the oil into her soft skin enjoying every moment. "Don't forget your date tonight," Dianne reminded Abby. "Oh yes. Balthazar, correct? Lu, have you met him?" Abby smiled coyly at Lucius. She knew Balthazar knew Lucius, he had in fact been his commander in the army. She also knew they hated each other. *But, that is where the fun starts.* "I know him madam. Why do you ask?" "He has asked me to marry him, and tonight I'll say yes." Lucius stared silently at Abby's back. He had to change her mind. Somehow... *+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+* LaCroix clapped along with everyone else. A bloody tear rolled down his face as Abby and Nick walked off the stage. Realizing it wasn't a good idea to let others see him cry, he wiped the tear away quickly leaving a red smudge behind. Nick saw LaCroix and tried to steer Abby away from him, but she wouldn't put up with that. She grabbed his hand and dragged him right up to LaCroix. "You going to introduce us?" Abby asked. "Abby, this is Lucien LaCroix. LaCroix, this is my good friend Abby." "Hi Lu! It's nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you." LaCroix was silent. *Abby? Lu? What in the names of all the gods was going on here? She looked just like the other Abby.* He grabbed the Kamikaze Darkangel was carrying back to her table and downed it in a split second. Everyone watched him do it, stunned... ************************************************************* Stopgap by Dianne T. DeSha As the shock of the alcohol hit his system, LaCroix managed to gather himself. Ignoring the stares of nearby patrons--and the haunting sight of the eerily-familiar Knightie in front of him--he buried all thought of his weakness, his Achilles' heel. Spotting Deborah and that insufferable Mercenary she'd hired over by the bar, he strode purposefully in their direction. ************************************************************* Your Total Comes to.... by Cousin Deborah and with a *great* deal of input from Dianne la Mercenaire When she saw LaCroix enter the Tiki Room, Dianne knew that immediate action was needed to avoid disaster. She made her way to the bar where she had left Deborah talking animatedly to various customers. Now she saw that Deborah was alone and that suited her just fine. "Deborah" "Yeah, what can I get for... Oh, Dianne, you're back! I thought you were off sulking about the whole Ltdarkstar thing." Deborah grinned. "I was _not_ sulk... Look, never mind about that!" Dianne said sternly. "You have bigger problems." The faux bartender saw that the Mercenary looked very grave indeed and sobered quickly. "What's the problem, you look so serious? Did someone die or... Oh my God! Dan-o! I didn't pay you to stash a _dead body_. I paid you to stash an unconscious one!" Realizing who she was talking to, she felt compelled to add, "And I am _not_ paying the 'dead' rate. He was alive when I asked you!" "No, no. It's not that. Though I _am_ adding on a bit for all the trouble I had getting him into one of the empty guest rooms." As Deborah opened her mouth to protest, Dianne cut her off. "Hey, I couldn't take the elevator with him; I had to go up the stairs... I *am* adding on. _End_ of discussion!" "Fine. Then what is it?" "LaCroix just came in," Dianne pointed out. "So?" "'So?'! Deborah, he's not too pleased with you, if you'll recall." "Oh Dianne! That's so nice. You're worried about me!" "You're darned right I'm worried! If he gets to you, how will you pay these outstanding charges?" Dianne held out an invoice. Deborah glanced down and gasped. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - To: Cousin Deborah Menikoff From: Dianne la Mercenaire Re: Invoice for services rendered *General Protection 1 sapphire-encrusted dagger *Bartender Disposal Service 1 rapier (to match) *Private Advice to Potential Karaoke Night Participants *Expenses to be Reimbursed 1 designer silk blouse 1 worked dagger (for Merc Lane) *Damages for Personal Injuries Sustained in the Line of Duty 1 kicked shin 1 week at four-star spa (to recover from sore back) *Additional Surcharges and Miscellaneous Taxes... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "Now just wait one minute, missy!" Deborah huffed. "I _gave_ you the dagger already, so off that comes. And what is this... _Who_ is Lane and why am I giving him a dagger? I don't just give daggers to every Tom, Dick, and Lane that asks, you know." "You think getting someone to sing "Feelings" _in Spanish_ comes cheap?" Dianne objected. "Oh, and don't worry... 'Spur- of-the-moment improvisations' and 'quick saves' come under that last heading..." "What is this about your blouse? Your _blouse_ is fine. It was club soda." "Hey, dry cleaning's expensive..." "Kicked shin? When did I? ...Oh. But I didn't kick you _that_ hard." Dianne just glared. "Oh, all right! ...One kicked shin." Deborah continued to peruse the bill. "A *spa*! You want to go on vacation and I am supposed to cover that?" "It's a medical expense. Consider it 'Worker's Comp'," Dianne countered. "And if you want to collect miscellaneous taxes, I want to see how you file all this stuff with the IRS!" "Oh don't worry...we have an *arrangement*..." Dianne's voice trailed off and a slight smile crossed her face. #################### [At the premiere, near the back of the room] Deborah was chuckling quietly, "I can't _believe_ they actually wrote that I paid that bill. Only on TV!" "Oh, that reminds me," Dianne said, taking a piece of paper from her pocket. "Here." "What's this?" Deborah asked curiously as she took the paper. "Well what the heck do you think it is?" Deborah looked down. "An _invoice_? Dianne...!" "Shhh! We' re still on." ############################# Deborah just stared for a moment in shock. "Arrangements" with bartending vampires was one thing but the _IRS_? Giving a slight shudder she decided that she probably didn't even want to know. She also decided not to argue anymore about the bill. Uncle would cover it. Sure he was a little miffed at her presently but she was sure that she could convince him of her loyalty. She had _plenty_ to tell him. "Where exactly _is_ Uncle?" Deborah asked, glancing around. "He was over there talking to Nick a minute ago." Dianne looked around as well, while at the same time reaching for the invoice. If she was going to have to get Deborah out of another jam, she might as well amend the bill now. It was while she was busy making her financial adjustments that LaCroix approached them. Seeing Deborah behind the bar may have taken him aback but he hid it well and simply said, "Come out from behind there. I wish to talk to you... Now." He turned to Dianne, "You leave us." "I think _not_!" Dianne said firmly, taking a seat at the bar. "I wasn't asking," he growled at her. "I will deal with _you_ in my own time." "Oh, _really_,... Lu?" Dianne was pleased to see LaCroix blanche at her words. It wasn't everyone that could claim to be able to do that. "Very well. It doesn't matter in any case. You are not a Cousin and therefore of little use or interest to me." He turned back to Deborah "You on the other hand..." Deborah, who'd been trying to get a word in edgewise, spoke up very quickly, "Oh, Uncle let me explain about the police station! I should've known you would get me out but I didn't want to endanger your disguise and I thought it would be better to handle it myself and leave you for more _important_ things." She gazed up imploringly at him. Dianne thought. Seconds later, she thought she was going to proved right. He reached out and put his hand on Deborah's shoulder. Dianne tensed, prepared for anything. "It's all right," he said. "It is?" Deborah asked. "It is?" Dianne repeated. She _hadn't_ been prepared for that. "I heard your discussion with Ltdarkstar." He glanced at Dianne, "_Both_ sides." Dianne shrugged. "Just doin' my job." He looked at the terribly-relieved Cousin. "Your reasoning and arguments were exceptionally sound and _passionately_ delivered. How could I doubt your loyalty after I heard that?" ###################### [Back at the premiere:] "You know," Deborah said, "I think we did a very nice job considering everything." She gave a satisfied glance at the Merc standing next to her. "Sure, considering that Maureen nearly had me drummed out of the Guild right before we shot that scene, I think I managed pretty well!" "Look, I know you are upset about that, but hey! We did manage to get a little of your own back in those last-second rewrites.... Which reminds me... Shhhh! Here it comes! ####################### LaCroix turned to Dianne. "_You_ have been... Problematic," he said dangerously. "You seem determined to bring my wrath down upon your head. Why?" "It was a job. Nothing personal... Lu." She drew back sharply as he snarled at her. He was a tad too close for comfort. "I have lost my patience with you... Mercenaries. Perhaps you need to be taught a lesson in what _I_ consider 'the Bottom line'." "Uncle," Deborah interrupted, "If you want to teach the Mercs a lesson, I think there is someone your time is better spent on. And she is here." LaCroix looked at Deborah inquiringly and she pointed across the room. "She's over there." He whirled around and his eyes lit upon Maureen the Mad. The very same Mercenary that had reneged on her assignment. He smiled, Dianne all but forgotten--which, of course, had been Deborah's whole goal. Sure the Merc's fees were outrageous but she _was_ a lot of fun. Deborah had come to regard Dianne as a friend rather than a one-woman rescue squad. And she was pretty sure that, beneath all the bills, fees, and invoices, Dianne felt the same. LaCroix spoke to Dianne, "Bring her to me." "Wait!" Deborah interrupted. LaCroix glared again. Deborah laid a hand on his arm, "Uncle, think a moment. If she sees Dianne go straight there from talking to us, she may get suspicious." LaCroix nodded, so she continued, "Dianne, go sing something. Distract them a bit. Then...." "Then bring her to me," LaCroix repeated softly. His voice was like ice. Dianne hesitated briefly. "A three bedroom pied de terre at Trump Tower, was it not?" LaCroix whispered to her. With that, Dianne saluted smartly and hurried away. As she did, she heard LaCroix say to Deborah, "You know, she has potential that we should explore more... Fully." ************************************************************* A Knightie on the Town by Perri Smith with Sharon Scott Perri stood in the entrance of the hotel bar, silently watching as Scottie completed an out of breath rendition of "Ain't Going down 'Til the Sun Comes Up." She was certainly impressed--she couldn't get through verse two without running out of breath. She started to head for Scottie's table, but got sidetracked by Nick, sitting at the bar next to Abby. "Hi, you two." "Perri! When did you get here?" Abby asked in surprise. "Couple hours ago." "Did you bring..." Perri shot her a warning glance that cut off the question. "Yes, I brought them. How are you, Nick?" "I'm doing pretty well, all things considered." He leaned over to brush a kiss across her cheek, which she accepted with a smile before sliding onto a barstool on his other side. "What's your pleasure?" he asked. "Bailey's." He ordered. "So how goes the investigation?" "Off the record?" Perri rolled her eyes. "I'm here on personal business, not business business," she answered. "I'm just being nosy." "I'm starting to wonder just how many of your friends are involved in this, and how many of them are framing how many others. Do you by any chance have a score card?" She shrugged and grinned. "Hey, I'm at least as confused as you are. I just got here, remember?" "Yeah, I know." Out of the corner of her eye, Perri saw the crowd start to drift away from Scottie's table, and decided she needed to drift over there. "You two going to be around later?" "I believe we have a performance scheduled," Nick said with a gallant bow towards Abby, who smiled. Perri raised an eyebrow. "This I've got to see. I need to talk to Scottie, I'll see you later." "Without Scottie, I hope." Perri's other eyebrow went up. "You still embarrassed about that? Jeez, Nick, it's not like you haven't been known to get out of control on occasion. Have a heart." "Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. "How did you hear about it anyway?" "Are you kidding? I've heard three separate versions since I got here." She slid off the barstool, taking her drink with her, and headed for Scottie, sliding into a chair. "Hi there. Nice Garth imitation." "Thanks." Scottie didn't look particularly happy. "How are you doing?" "I've been better. Nick thinks I'm loony, Margaret's watching me like an English teacher (you have no idea how hard it was to slip her), I have *no* idea what's going on with the investigation, and I've missed most of the sessions at the conference. I don't wanna even think of what else may go wrong--I shoulda just stayed in Waco." She stared morosely at the empty stage. "Are we gonna get you up there?" "Not if I can help it. I go off-key when I have to do solos." Scottie's mind shifted into high gear. "What if we did a duet? I'm a tenor--maybe we could team up?" "I don't know..." Perri dragged out. "What would we sing?" Scottie grinned, looking much more cheerful. "We're both from the Lone Star State, surely we can think of something. The Eyes of Texas?" Perri suddenly remembered something. "Noooo," she said slowly, "I've got a better idea..." *** Valery was back up on stage to do the intro. "And joining us tonight are two Texans we all know and love... Well, some of us," she added, looking towards a conspiracy of Cousins in one corner. "In an encore appearance, Sharon Scott and joining her, Perri Smith." Scottie and Perri came out, Perri giggling nervously and vibrating in place. Scottie looked like she was trying not to laugh. The music started and they jumped right in... To a medley of "Wizard of Oz" tunes. They started with a very warbaly "Somewhere Over the Raven" -- "Somewhere over the Raven, Miklos pours. And the blood that you dare to drink could make him yours..." Reducing several Ravenettes to fits of laughter, then segued into "We're Off to See the Nickie," -- "We're off to see the Nickie, The wonderful Nickie of Oz. We hear he is a champ of a vamp, If ever a vamp there was." to Nick's extreme embarrassment and Abby's delight. Then they switched to "If I Only Had a Donut," causing several FoD's to threaten to throw said donuts at the singers, and ended with, of course, "Ding-dong, LaCroix is Dead." Half the room remembered the lyrics from the list and sang along. If Nick hadn't already been dead, he would have been in serious danger of dying laughing. They wound up to a huge round of applause and death threats from the Cousins. Perri laughed into the mic, "Don't blame me, I believe credit for that particular thread goes to Bruce Grey." They left the stage fast, Perri dragging Scottie to Nick for protection. "Not up to your standards," Perri managed to gasp out, "But I think it went pretty well." "Not bad, as long as LaCroix never hears about it," Nick agreed, starting to get control back. Perri shrugged. "Hey, the first ones were mine, but Bruce has to take all of the blame for the last one." She was reduced to giggles again, in serious danger of falling off the barstool. Scottie looked close to joining her. Nick looked at Scottie and seemed tempted to let her fall. Then a grin broke out and he reached out and steadied both of them. "Thanks," Scottie forced out, almost shocked into seriousness by his action. "No problem," he smiled. She returned it, then started laughing again from sheer relief. Nick caught Perri watching the whole thing with a distinctly smug grin. It widened as she caught his eye, then she winked. He returned it. ************************************************************* Knighties in Knots by Sharon Scott and Perri Smith "So, why did you haul me up here?" Perri asked, knowing there had a be a reason other than a free trip to Toronto and the dubious pleasure of singing for assorted friends and enemies. Said enemies were across the room--the two Knighties had chosen a dark, deserted corner in which to talk. Scottie thought carefully before speaking. "Because... Nick needs help." "Nick needs *our* help? He's the cop, and Cousinly comments aside, he is good at his job. Why does he need us?" "Because there's more going on here than he knows about." Scottie lit another cigarette and looked everywhere except at Perri. "Like what?" Perri was starting to get a bad feeling about the whole thing. "You're a reporter and I'm a librarian. We're both trained in research techniques, right? We know how to ferret out information." "Yeah, and... " "So if we know how to find it, we also know how to hide it." "Reporters rarely *hide* information. It's their job to make it public," Perri said in a slightly offended tone. "What if you knew it would do irreparable damage to someone you cared about? And would *not* serve the public good? Then would you conceal it?" Perri wasn't sure this conversation was going anywhere other than in circles. "Now we're into ethics? I just took this class... Oookkkay. I think my answer would be that I'd have to know what kind of information we're talking about, and who would be hurt by it." There was a long silence from the other side of the table. Finally Scottie spoke, in a very quiet voice. "Nick. It'll hurt Nick. At the least he'll have to leave town and the life he's made here. Leave Natalie. Leave Janette. Worst case scenario? He might die the true death. And not by his own hand." Dumbfounded by the implications of that little speech, Perri sat openmouthed. "Whoa," she finally said. "That's pretty serious. What the hell do you know?" Scottie still wouldn't look at her, and didn't speak for a long moment. Perri crossed her arms, sat back, and waited. "You remember that thread someone started on the fic list? About whether Stonetree knew Nick is a vampire?" "Yeah." "He knew." She paused, letting that sink in. "Oh lord," Perri said softly, not as a curse, but as a heart- felt prayer. "He wrote a manuscript, his memoirs, and he included a lot of material on the existence of vampires in general, and Nick in particular." The words came tumbling out now. "Whoever killed him did it to try to get rid of the manuscript." "But who..." A culprit came immediately to mind. "LaCroix. Out to 'protect' Nick again. And if he can cause him some pain in the process, so much the better. Damn him." "As far as I'm concerned, that happened a long time ago," Scottie said with a small flash of humor. But her tone turned serious almost immediately. "But I'm not sure he murdered Stonetree. Ordinarily I blame everything on him, but in this case... I don't know, I just have a gut feeling." "But why the other cops?" Scottie shrugged. "Maybe to cover Stonetree's murder--make it look like a serial killer so people wouldn't look so hard for a motive for the murder of a well-known and respected police captain. You know how much they like the serial killer motif on this show." "And then we promptly started running around setting people up with motives for Stonetree, which blew that plan out of the water," Perri finished, sinking lower in her chair. "So