I have no idea if it is being used this New Year's Eve - I just
took creative license with it. I mean, if ever a castle begged to be in an ass* story, this one
did! Special thanks go to Shon for making sure I got it done in time. If you'd like to comment on
the story, email me at souvien22@yahoo.com *** "The Stroke of Midnight" by Souvie Blending in with
the shadows of a tall spruce tree as if born from their substance, he observed the building across
the street and the dwindling line of guests entering. The clouds, thick and stagnant, shrouded the
moon's glow and lent the night an air of mystery. A soft blanket of new snow covered the ground and
helped to muffle footsteps. He smiled to himself; the perfect night for a heist. Nymphenburg Castle
was bathed in muted light, from outside as well as within. No loud and raucous celebration here.
The guests would be ringing in the new millennium in stately grace and impeccable decorum. He slid
back the cuff of his black tuxedo and looked at the Bulova on his wrist; time to get moving. He was
known as "Midnight", jewel thief extraordinaire. Some half-wit journalist had tagged him with the
moniker early in his career, and to his dismay, it had stuck. It sounded girlish to him, but no one
had asked his opinion. Now he was older and couldn't give two cents what the press wrote about him.
He strolled up the long drive, past the precision-trimmed hedges and the frozen pond with its
fountain, turned off during the long winter months. In the spring, the gardens around the castle
rivaled those at Versailles. Now the barren trees shook and rattled in the cold wind above him and
the flowers lay dormant, waiting for Persephone's sweet smile. At the door, he handed his
invitation to a burly, craggy-faced footman. The man inclined his head and motioned him to enter.
The forged document was perfect, as he knew it would be; he'd paid enough for it. A nab of a
champagne-filled flute from a passing waiter and then a leisurely stroll through the foyer to the
Great Hall. Most of the rooms, as well as the east and west wings, had been cordoned off for the
gala but they held only passing interest for him, anyway. The heavy Baroque ornamentation leered
back at him from every corner. Former Bavarian rulers had spared no expense. Tonight's little
gathering of 300 or so guests to ring in the new millennium was the brainchild of Bavaria's
Minister of Economic Development. Nymphenburg Castle, situated right in the heart of Munich, would
not have been his first choice. He'd have much preferred something smaller and more isolated. As
usual, no one had asked his opinion. There was a lavish buffet set up in the main room with an
abstract ice sculpture in the middle. A quartet played in the corner, a saucy Latin number. The
trick was to be seen without being conspicuous. Just another face in the crowd. He lounged in a
corner and thought about the latest object of his affections. No flesh and blood woman; his quarry
was much more substantive, at least in his mind. He was a jewel thief and one of the best, if not
*the* best. He was after the "Vale of Tears", a necklace comprised of three blood-red rubies, so
perfect and dark that they were almost black in color. It was part of a display entitled "Jewels of
Bavaria" and had been featured in a special showing earlier in the day. Now it rested just two
floors up and three rooms over. And by the time the clock struck twelve, it would be his. Two
glasses of bubbly later, he noticed her rounding a statue of Cupid. He'd seen her earlier; he
couldn't help it. She was not one of those drop-dead knockouts that grace the covers of fashion
magazines; her beauty crept up on you and heated your skin like the last rays of a summer sun. He
watched her approach. White Versace dress, long and high- necked - not body-hugging but still
tight. Designer pumps and matching handbag. She was closer now. Honey colored hair and crystal blue
eyes. Her nose was too small, her bottom lip too full. Somehow it all worked on her. It wasn't so
much her looks as it was her attitude; the presence she wore like a second skin. He didn't move an
inch, just waited for her to come to him. He could smell her designer perfume now and see the
necklace she wore around her neck. Well, well, this was certainly interesting. He graced her with a
slow smile. "You must think me really forward," she said, "but I noticed you when you came in
earlier." Her English was flawless with only the faintest trace of an accent. "My name is Margot,
Margot Helling." He extended his hand and grasped hers lightly. Placing a lingering kiss against
the delicate skin on the back of her hand, he replied, "Not forward. Captivating, but never
forward." Her answering smile was coy. "And you would be?" "Forgive my manners, please. Garrett
Anderson." She was becoming a distraction he wanted, but didn't need. Any other time but tonight.
"That's a lovely necklace you're wearing." She fingered the stones absently. "Why thank you. It's a
copy you know, of the one that was on display earlier. 'das Jammertal' they call it, or 'Vale of
Tears.'" "Fascinating." Damn but that was a good copy. He'd wager his Corvette that Sergei had made
it. He was the best when it came to making jewel copies. Back to business now. He made a show of
looking around the room. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I promised Lady Breeden I'd dance at least once
with her." "Of course," she said, graciously. He kissed her hand once more. "I hope I'll be seeing
you later." His eyes conveyed his meaning quite clearly. "I'd count on it," she answered, her voice
dropping an octave. She turned and left then and he drew in his breath. He felt like he'd been
sucker-punched. The back of her gown was open all the way to the gentle swell of her buttocks. She
was not model slim, but curvaceous. Rubenesque would be the word he'd use for her. Quite
appropriate considering their surroundings. 'I've got to stop this. Concentrate, old chap,' he
admonished himself. He turned and crossed the room, seeking out a garish old dowager whose cackling
laugh could be heard in all corners of the room. He led her out on the dance floor, just in case
Ms. Helling was watching. Hopefully she didn't personally know the woman. If so, and she confronted
him with it later, he was confident he could cover himself. After all, he'd spent the last 22 years
doing just that. The dance finished and he noted the time; fifteen minutes until midnight. Some of
the guests were arming themselves with party favors already. He started edging toward where his
floor plans had shown the servant's staircase would be. A shrill voice intoned, "Luis! Oh Luis!" Of
all the parties she could have attended tonight, why did Madeline von Bregen have to pick this one?
Ducking into a darkened alcove and pressing himself flat against the stones, he waited until she'd
given up her search for him and joined the rest of the crowd. Great. She'd cost him two minutes
that he could ill afford. That was one of the reasons he liked to work in the dead of night when no
one was around. The less socialization he did on the job, the less likelihood of getting caught. He
found it amazingly simple to slip up the stairs to the third floor. He was counting on the Y2K
computer glitch to give him a slight edge around the pressure-sensor casing for the necklace. It
helped, too, that there was a hidden flaw in the security system. Despite their sterling
reputation, Fortress Security Inc. had an embarrassingly shoddy alarm system on their own offices.
The jewels were in the upper Minstrel's Hall, a room about the size of Garrett's whole Manhattan
condo.

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 The object of his desire was in the far right corner, surrounded by a network of infrared
lasers. He knelt by the black casing affixed to the wall. He'd set his watch with the clock in the
main hall and checked the time now. One minute to go. As he drew a small box from an inside pocket,
he could hear the merriment downstairs picking up. He attached the box, a specially modified surge
suppressor, to the side of the laser casing. The infrared beams had a 3-second delay on them, from
the time the beam was interrupted until the time the alarm went off. That, coupled with the
10-second delay provided by the Y2K glitch in the mainframe, should give him the time he needed to
see the necklace safely in his grasp. The guests below started to count down. "5" "4" He flipped a
switch on the suppressor. "3" The beams became visible for a split second and then disappeared
again. "2" He crossed the floor to the glass display case. "1" He lifted it gingerly. The
grandfather clock in the entrance hall began to chime the hour. "HAPPY NEW YEAR!" Delighting in the
shiver going up his spine as he grasped the stones, he carefully replaced the glass top, and
stepped back outside of the laser area. Just in time, too, as his watch chimed with the 10 second
count off. He removed the black box and slipped it back into his pocket. He spared a few moments to
hold the necklace up for inspection. Through the dim moonlight coming in through the stained glass
windows, he admired the workmanship. The intricate links in the gold chain seemed to have been
wrought by a fairy hand, so tiny and perfect were they. "Well, hello again, Mr. Anderson," a soft,
feminine voice said from the doorway. Margot took a step into the room, the necklace gleaming
around her neck as brilliantly as the original he held in his hand. "Or should I say, 'Midnight'."
He frowned. "I'm afraid I'm confused." "Come now," she chided. "I'm not stupid. Who else but the
greatest jewel thief of the decade would be brave, or foolish, enough to steal the 'Vale of Tears'
with so many people around?" "I bow to your superior deductive skills, madam," he said with a short
bow. "What do you intend to do now?" He was amazed at how calm he sounded, considering his heart
was racing 90 miles an hour. In the guise of wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers, he slipped
the necklace into his pocket. She walked closer. "I'm well aware that you could knock me out and
just disappear into the night, but I don't think that's your style." She laughed at his upraised
brows. "But I think we both know what I want." "And if I give you..what you want..?" "I'll forget I
ever saw you." She was close enough now to finger the buttons on his crisp, white shirt. 'What in
the Hell are you doing?' his mind screamed at him. 'You must leave...now!' As his gaze locked onto
hers, his mind shut off as all available blood left it for a more appropriate location. With a fury
to rival a tropical storm, the two came together in a passionate kiss. Her hands went to his face,
his arms around her waist. Sweeping her up, he walked with her in his embrace toward the Aubusson
carpet in the center of the room. As they reached it, he lowered her until her heels touched the
floor. Pulling reluctantly from the kiss he turned her around. He swept her hair to one side and as
his hands began inching up the skirt of her dress, he alternately sucked and nipped at her neck.
His mouth moved to the top of her spine and then he began to lick downward, toward the tantalizing
swell of her buttocks. As he reached his goal, he lightly pushed her over. Gasping in surprise, she
looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes widened as he spread her legs, kneeling behind her. With
nothing on below the waist other than a stark white garter and hose, she made a delectable picture.
Margot's eyes flashed then slammed shut in pleasure as he blew lightly across her moistened thatch
and pressed his lips and tongue against her heated skin. A stifled moan escaped her lips as his
tongue lanced across her swelling clit. Bringing his fingers up, Garrett spread her lips open wider
and plunged his tongue deep inside. Her knees almost gave out and he placed his arm around her hips
to steady her. Sliding his thumb up to her burning clit, he began to stroke it in small, fast
circles. Her pulse pounded in her throat and she swallowed convulsively. Margot bit her lip as the
rest of her body screamed out with her escalating orgasm. The waves of passion crashed over her and
the pressure between her legs burst in a tidal wave of electrical impulses. Garrett held her up as
she trembled and shook with the force of her orgasm. As she re-oriented herself to her
surroundings, he stood and unfastened the front of his trousers. Dropping them, along with his
briefs, into a pile around his ankles he lay down on the carpet and pulled her atop him. She
growled at him as she lowered herself onto his tumid member. Her thighs locked around his hips in a
viselike grip. Her hands digging into his shoulders and his hands resting on her hips, she started
to move up and down on him in a dance as old as time. Slowly at first and then faster and harder
she moved, her nipples puckering against the smooth fabric of her dress. The muscles in his thighs
and ass tightened as he felt his release building. The revelric sounds from below, and the
knowledge that they could be caught at any time, only heightened their passion. Her breath started
to come in shallow gasps and it wasn't long before the tenuous quiver of her voice joined the low
groaning of his. Crashing over the edge, he drew her into the depths of the maelstrom with him.
When the room stopped spinning, Margot got to her feet. She tugged down her skirt, straightened her
necklace and smoothed her hair, while Garrett deftly slid back into his pants. She walked over to
him and ran her hand through his short, black hair. Green eyes twinkled back at her. "Does this
mean I can go now?" he asked. She laughed and stepped back, sweeping her arm to the side in a grand
gesture. "I always keep my promises...Midnight." He refused to rise to her goading. He tipped off a
smart salute. "Until next we meet, Mags," he said, and walked out of the room as if he hadn't a
care in the world. Margot stood there, lost in remembrances until someone clearing their voice
startled her back to the present. "Papa! You startled me so!" An older gentleman, with her same
crystal blue eyes, walked out of the shadows. "How long have you been there?" she asked, her cheeks
flushing. "Long enough," was the semi-stern reply. "How could you, Margot? That man is a thief."
"It's okay, Papa," she said with a carefree laugh. "He only took the necklace in the case; the
paste. The original is still here, safely around my neck." She smiled at the brilliance of their
plan. "Is that so?" her father questioned. "Then why is there a deep 'M' carved into the center
stone?" "What?" She fumbled behind her to unfasten the necklace and hold it to the light. Sure
enough, a crooked 'M' had been scratched into the surface of the undeniably fake 'Vale of Tears.'
"He must have switched them, but.." her voice trailed off. She could guess when, but not exactly
how. He must have known all along! Her eyes flashed fire as she trembled in barely concealed rage.
No one played Margot Helling for a fool! They would meet again. She didn't know when or where, but
there *would* be a next time! As she stormed out of the room, her father following closely, she
could have sworn she heard his laughter echoing down the deserted halls. 

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