Staring into the Mirror, a dreary and sleep deprived face stared back at the rugged looking blonde. HE grimaced, as if trying to chear the mirror version of him up. He wondered idly if he had been slipped something at the Station. But no, hardly any such luck he was sure. This was some sort of psychological mumbo jumbo. Johnny didn't have a Patron per say. He payed his respects to the Norse Pantheon in different ways from time to time. He wore a Thors hammer next to his old ring around ihs neck. He wrote runes, but he never communed directly to his gods. He had met elves, feries and unfortunately, a Troll. He knew about his world being something of a intersection. But this was new. This was unrelated to his connection to the Arcane Puritas; The Stream.

The Stream, a living, pulsing form of raw power. It leaked from its world to this and his stupid carcass picked it up like a siphon. He was a beacon for nasties of all kinds, and every night his dreams were tinged by surreal things from the edge of his own sanity. This night though, the dream had been not his own, but ALIEN. It had not belonged to his mind, or the stream. He groaned before he cracked his neck a little and then almost slipped on a whiskey bottle in his living room. The mans home was much like himself, a mess. It also smelled like he did by the end of most days, of whiskey. He looked around, picked up the bottle and went to put along the others in the kitchen. His very own little altar to his life of self pity.

Grumbling, he pulled on a pair of clean, black pants, slipped on a white and blue striped shirt, some suspenders and a pair of rugged looking worker boots. As he all but kicked his own door open, he grabbed his blue trenchcoat and wrapped it around himself. The inside lit up briefly as his arcane riddled body activated the runes he had painstakingly sewed into its inside.

”Lets see.” He mumbled as he flipped trough his phone. ”17 messages? Odins eye. That is a lot” He flipped trough them and his face paled. They were all from a friend of his, A seer. A talented one. Madamme Jones was New Yorks oldest seer. Her husband, Dr N'gabi Jones was a respected voodoo practitioner who legend had it, battled the Ku Klux Klan affiliated magicians back in the day. The woman herself was the most regal, most dignified person Johnny had ever met, and her visions were something you rarely asked for, because their accuracy was unnerving and tended to have people in a mild states of panic.

”Come to Station 7, Now. Your life may be in danger.” Read the last message. She had never let him down before. And if she was this frank, he wasn't taking any chances. He went right back up his apartment, rummaged for a bit and found a old snub nosed revolver he had hidden underneath some tiles in his bathroom. He slipped it into his inner pocket and headed right back out. He was having a creeping feeling of paranoia as he walked the streets, Worst then any he ever had before.

He made it to the club without incident however, giving the massive woman of a bouncer a nod before he shuffled down the stairs, trough the maintance door that led down further stairs and then into the main bar. The music was low and subdued, the lightning only slightly dimmed. IT was in the middle of the day and only a few had visited so far. One old man, who looked like he may be homeless, sat in one corner, reading his fortune trough a rats entrails. Johnny nodded to him. The man, who some people knew simply as The Rat, nooded back.

Johnny slowed his steps as to not look to much in a hurry and headed right for the backrooms. He found The Madamme sitting at a small table, looking regal as ever. But beneath that exterior he saw tense, on the edge nerves. Johnny sat down infront of her.

”What's all this then Madamme. I am paranoid as it is.” Johnny complained as he fixed the woman with a business like, if a bit nervous look.

”Hush child. You do not know what is coming.” Madamme spoke, and Johnnys blood felt like it had frozen in his veins. He felt a shiver up his spine from the sheer intensity of her words

”What is coming..:” He asked, blinking as if blinded by a sudden light.

”I do not know it true nature. I have called some others aswell. Some people you may have met. They to have seen it. Seen him.” Madamme spoke in her unmistakenly haiti grown accent. Her mannerism was relaxing somewhat, now that she had Johnny there. But the edge never went from her voice or her eyes.

”Oh..” Johnny spoke quietly. There had been others who seen him? Seen the same dream. ”Oh fuck me.” This was something else. He was being dragged down into something nasty, he could feel it.

”Language.” Admonished the old lady, and Johnny scratched the back of his head. ”Sorry Madamme.” They sat in silence, awaiting the other arrivals.

GM NOTICE:

You all have received a note, a message on your cellphone or a messenger of some kind, calling you to the club. Madamme Jones is one of the heaviest hitters in the NY magic underground. Being called by her tells you exactly how important it is for you to meet with her. If you need to interact with her in your post, hit me up and we'll collab the exchange.

Mira's eyes flew open with a start, her heart racing and pounding thickly behind her ribs. The remnants of her unnerving dream seemed to echo on in her core, chilling her to the bone. She slowly sat up in her bed, only to be met with the sights and sounds of a thick swamp. The buzz of insects invaded her ears, like the white noise of nature. The trees above and around her blocked out most of the sun. Her bed was floating in the muddy bog, but it was still somehow sturdy. Without any sort or preamble, not even a warning of bubbles, a greenish and pale fleshy mass rose to the surface of the water next to her bed like a twisted form of greeting. Boleyk's naked body was bloated and his limbs lolled around uselessly in the swamp water. Algae festered in his long matted hair which trailed behind him in the water like a tail. When Mira had first met him, when they forged their contract, he appeared to be much more frog-like and monstrous. Now when they contact each other, he appeared as a human, sometimes varying in age and states of decay. She suspected that his more bestial form was his true one, but there was no way to be sure.

Boleyk's lips breached the water's surface, his cloudy half open eyes remained under water. “I hope I didn't startle you.” He said, his sarcastic voice deep and phlegm ridden. When they spoke to each other, it was always in their native language.

Mira rubbed her eyes, irritated. “I was trying to sleep, Boleyk.”

“You still are. Sorry for intruding, as usual.” There was a small movement beneath the surface as he floated slowly closer towards the edge of her bed. Then, he added with a smirk, “Don't go into hysterics.”

Mira sat up, relaxing a little and adjusting the shirt and shorts she had went to bed in. Sitting cross legged, she informed the water spirit, “If anyone here is the moody one, I would assume it's the frog thing sitting miserably in his swamp all day who bothers the only person he knows in the middle of the night just for a chat. Boleyk, please, why did you drag me here?”

Boleyk frowned and sank back into the still dark water. He soon resurfaced, bringing his whole head out of the water this time and asked, “You were disturbed while you slept. It was that dream again, was it not?” At the sight of Mira's nod, he muttered quietly, “I thought it might be.”

“I don't know what it means. But it has to mean something, right?” Mira asked, frustrated.

“Why don't you ask a friend about it, dear heart? Tell them your trusted comrade Boleyk sent you.” He grinned hideously, the water lapping at his teeth.

“If I had anyone to ask I wouldn't bring you up.” She said flatly before adding, “No offense.”

“Why? Oh, I see.” Boleyk adopted a mocking expression of exaggerated shame, pleading, “Do I...embarrass you, sweetie?” Mira scooted back out of disgust as Boleyk breached himself onto her bed, rolling around and getting muck everywhere. He twisted his head to look at her, the toxic sarcasm was almost tangible. “Are you ashamed of me? Why can't you be seen with me in public?” His tongue flopped out of his crooked mouth as he grinned, dead eyes rolling madly. “Introduce me to your friends, Mira! I'm sure we could all get along!”

Mira, who was quite used to this kind of behavior after being bound to this creature for two years, simply said, “Boleyk, there are no friends for you to embarrass.”

Boleyk dropped the act, now deadly serious. “Then perhaps you should work on that.”

Mira was silent as he slid off the bed, trying not to admit to herself that he had indeed struck upon a sort of truth. He floated belly up now, lazily moving in a circular motion. “There are other matters at hand.”

“What is it?” She asked, grateful for the change in subject.

“You did not get that charm I wanted.” Boleyk said, twisting his hair in his hands.

“Well, I got caught. Sorry to disappoint you.” Mira crossed her arms.

“No matter, I have something else in mind for your payment. Now, this place you are in, what is it called?”

“It is New York City.” She answered dutifully. “I've heard some call it The Big Apple.” She repeated the phrase in English.

“New York City. The Big Apple.” Boleyk sounded them out on his blue lips, then shook his head. “I do not like this English, this clumsy-tongue. This city is starting to bore me, it is nothing but noise and rocks. You have been in this large fruit for far too long.”

Mira had been afraid of this. She was prepared for it, but she was hoping that he would be satisfied for longer. Mira tried to explain it to him.“Boleyk, I was doing well. I've had interviews-”

“And now you can have interviews and do well somewhere else. We'll speak again soon.”

“But-”

In a flash of light, Mira suddenly found herself sitting upright in her normal, clean bed. She was in that now familiar large room, and hers was just one of many beds, some were occupied and some were not. Dim light from the windows crept in as Mira grabbed the backpack that was next to her bed. Not wanting to waste time, she exited the room quickly and quietly, leaving to get changed and start the day.

---

Mira strolled through the warm, clean lobby of the shelter, dressed in a pair of black sneakers, worn blue jeans and a simple gray hoodie. She was seen by William, one of the assistants who volunteered at the shelter. He quickly waved her over to his desk. “Klara, hey!” She approached him, wondering why Will had decided to start volunteering at such a young age. When she had spoken to him these last few months, he seemed like a sweet man, if a little slow. She thought perhaps that he genuinely cared about the rest of people staying here, though he did not seem to know what to say to her when they talked. It was an odd discrepancy.

When she made it to his desk, he asked, “I heard you had an interview yesterday, something in customer service? So, uh, how did it go?”

Mira shook her head. “Not good. The man, he kept looking at my head. He said too that he could not understand me, which is...” She searched for the right word.

“Bullshit?” Will offered, then he quickly looked around to make sure no one else heard him.

“Yes, bullshit. I'm understood enough.”

Will jumped in his seat a little, as if remembering something. “Oh! I totally forgot!” He rummaged through the tray on his desk then pulled out a plain envelope with her name written on it. “Someone left a message for you late last night. I don't know who, I just saw it on my desk this morning.”

Mira's brow furrowed as Will politely handed over the letter. The curiosity was plain on her face, the only one who might contact her was her family, but they didn't know where she was. She opened it and read the letter, a knot tightening in her stomach as she did so. She recognized the sender's name. It was one she'd heard in the company of other people who were...magically inclined. And if someone of that importance was sending for her...

“...um, Klara?”

“Ah, I'm sorry. I need to go.” Mira said quickly, stuffing the letter in her pocket hurriedly and heading towards the door.

“Uh, okay, well make sure to come back in time for curfew!” Will called after her as the door closed behind her, leaving him in awkward silence and the uncomfortable thought that he still had six more hours of work to do.

---

It had been a bit of a struggle for Mira to find Station 7 even with the directions in the letter, but now it stood before her. Or rather, a bulky bouncer did. Mira waved at her as she passed by, impressed by the other woman's bulk. She pushed her way through the maintenance door and stepped smoothly down the stairs, eventually finding herself in a softly lit bar. Mira almost never found herself in places like this. She didn't have the taste that her fellow magic users seemed to have. She couldn't begin to imagine the terrible mark on the world that a powerful drunk would leave.

After glancing at the older man in the corner, she pulled the crumpled letter out of her pocket, just in case anyone questioned why she was here, and made her way to the back rooms. Mira stepped into the only room that seemed occupied at the moment only to see two people sitting at a small table. One of them was an older woman who carried herself as if she was sitting on a throne. The other was a man closer to Mira's age, perhaps older, and he was draped in a blue trench coat.

The older woman met Mira's eyes as she made her entrance, her gaze freezing Mira in her tracks. She held up the letter nervously, staring back at the woman with mixed fear and curiosity. “Hello, I have this letter? Did you send it?”

The Madame smiled warmly at the girl and waved at one of the chairs. "Have a seat dear. And I did." Her demeanor was notably nicer towards Mira then towards Johnny. Johnny for his part, eyed Mira. "Hello Mira. Seen a man in black lately?" He asked, trying to play his own paranoia down.

Mira stuffed the letter back in her pocket clumsily and sat down as she was told, the older woman's smile putting her at ease somewhat. As Johnny asked if she'd seen the man, Mira looked up in surprise at him. "Yes, yes I have. As I slept. I don't know why." She reached out the table with the offer of a handshake. "I don't know your name, uh Mister..."

"Rune. But most call me Johnny. And we met, albeit briefly. I believe you wanted to steal one of my charms at the time? Something like that." He shot her a wry smirk.

Mira rubbed the the back of her neck, embarrassed. "Ah, I thought you were, uh, familiar. I'm sorry about that, sometimes I must do these things. My contract is...annoying at times." She hissed something vulgar in Ukrainian under her breath.

"No hard feelings" Johnny assured her as Madamme raised a eyebrow at him. "What? I can't be mad with everyone trying to steal things from me. I'd end up constipated."

Mira smiled a little at Johnny's joke, though she wasn't sure what 'constipated' meant due to her unfamiliarity with English. Here eyes wandered to the empty chairs at the table and she asked Madame, "How many others?"

"I sent out a few" She said, less warmly. "I expect less then that three or four others." She eyed the empty chairs as she said this.

“I see...” Mira said to herself. The thought of all of them sharing that disturbing dream was a bit frightening. She was new to this world of magic and wasn't sure what was normal and what wasn't. Mira supposed that the only thing left to do now was wait.

“Till a voice, as bad as conscience, rang interminable changes on one everlasting; whisper day and night repeated--so: 'Something hidden. Go and find it.'” It was Kippling; and there was more, but she failed to remember it at the moment.

She’d caught a ride with a local college student and they ended up in a dive bar, singing karaoke and taking shots with the regulars. She was forever chasing the easy distractions of the mundane; and in the blur of drink and smoke there was slurred laughter and she could swear she once even forgot about the dreams that ached without the aid of sleep. She retired to a hotel room with her new found companion, who passed out immediately.

She flipped through the channels, finding nothing relevant. She touched at the lines of fate leading to and from the snoring boy next to her. She had learned how to gingerly prick a line and gain glimpses of knowledge without entirely consuming. The arcane sent an ecstatic tremble whenever she did so and would favor her with a glimpse of his past or future, sometimes it was hard to tell. He was a sweet boy and her smile was genuine caring, but she was a fickle thing and soon she was rolling a few spliffs. She eventually pulled the bedside table up to the bed and spent the night propped up; alternating between swigging a bottle of Carlo Rossi, smoking cigarettes and spliffs, and always toying with the cards. Occasionally she glanced at her two day old phone. She knew a text was coming.

At first she thought she that this new nagging presence was because of her recent ventures. She’d been practicing, let’s say, tempting other people's fates in her favor; simple little nudges in a path that may benefit her own. She thought this was a punishment for that, at first. But she had begun to feel them, and the cards were leaning towards others. There was something else, and when the phone, whose number she had shared with no one, received a text there was no surprise. Her stomach fell a little, knotting with anxiety until she had taken a few strong pulls of the Carlo. She grabbed the phone from the bedside table and her face became unreadable.

She was quiet and careful as she slipped out of the bed. The sun had yet to even kiss the horizon and the boy slept deeply, untroubled. She took a moment to appreciate the boy’s situation. Her own envy was buried beneath a superiority earned through medling. She brushed her teeth, all in as much silence as she could muster. She didn’t want to shatter the moment.

She slipped into a front button knitted sweater that fell almost to her knees over a plain white t-shirt and jean cutoffs, shorter than the sweater. She pulled on some hiking boots sitting in a chair across from the bed. She took one last drink of the Carlo and grabbed a twenty from the boys wallet while placing a kiss on his forehead. He barely stirred as she grabbed her bulky hiker's pack and slipped out, easing the door closed.

Once outside she glanced at the sun and took a deep breath.

“So it begins…” ...it began so long ago.

She forced a smile and headed towards Station 7.

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

By the time she found the place the sun was proudly glaring upon New York City. Janis Joplin shades attempted to protect eyes that were sensitive due to inebriation and lack of sleep. She’d been here before, when she first got to New York. She’d even had the pleasure of meeting Madame Jones, albeit briefly. One of her cousins from the old country did work for her from time to time. Vavara had felt the woman was like breathing in the most fulfilling breath while suffocating. Her nerves and the arcane and the moment were twitching beneath her skin as she smiled past the bouncer and found her way to the bar. She hoped this meeting with Madame Jones would be more delightful, though she heavily doubted it. Even thinking of the woman made her need a drink. So she found her way to the bar closest to the far back room where destiny awaited. It could wait a few more moments.

“Beer and a shot of vodka please.” She batted lashes at the bartender, it was instinct because her eyes were still covered by the large sunglasses.

The bartender approached Varvara with her order. Doing the decent thing nad wiping the counter before putting the coaster and the glass down. "You know. I never though I'd see you in here again." The man spoke. With a voice like velvet smoke, and light brown eyes so intense they were almost smouldering ambers, there was something very wrong about him. Not fully human. "After what happened With Rune."

Vara smiled and beneath the large glasses you could see the pleased expression lighten her features. "Who is to say it is even me anymore, hmmm?" The smile remained as a brow raised up from beneath the glasses. She placed a few bills on the counter, pulled the customary straw from her drink and set it aside. "I mean, do we even know anymore?" She pressed the glass to lips and took a deep sip, before once again engaging the bartender. "How have we been?"

She really was just stalling, mostly, there was a hangover threatening somewhere in the background. She wasn't listening to it though. She took another sip before she spoke, "Who is here?"

"Some ukrainan postorder bribe. Shaman type. A Irish gal, feytouched.." The bartenders smiled. "You are still you. Rune didn't fuck that up.. yet." He nodded to the backdoor. "Yet." He said again and his smile was the worst kind of shit eating grin.

She followed his glance to the backdoor and sighed. “I know. I know.” She wiggled a few of her fingers at him like she was setting some sort of curse. It wasn’t funny, but he’d teased first. Her expression was nothing but exhaustion and forced happiness as she grabbed her drink and headed towards the back door.

She didn’t knock, but she did tap on it with her drink and then push it open. She slid past Morgana, her fingers touching across the girl’s side. She didn’t try and steal anything but memories, but she was empty handed either way. The madame obviously had some sort of protection for the room’s occupants. She wasn’t surprised. No bother, She slid to the opposite side of the wall and nodded to the other occupants of the room. “Names Vara.” She raised her glass in a semblance of cheers.

She bowed her head in respect towards M. Jones. “I’d love to say it was a pleasure, Madame Jones,” she smirked and took a sip of her drink before glancing at Johnny, and then back at the Madame, “but it doesn’t take a reader to see pleasure isn’t the prominent feeling.”

((Collab with **Hellis))

Weslé hadn't been sleeping all that well for a few nights now. He had been having dreams, the sort that start off feeling very far away and abstract and end as though they're right in your face, hideous, inescapable, and bizarrely enticing. Every time he jerked to consciousness, he did so with a sense of guilt. He couldn't place his finger on it, but he knew the dreams were trying to tell him something and that he was opening his eyes in fright before all had been revealed. This borderline poetic clarity usually didn't set in until long after it was too late to settle back into bed. Today was no different. Tossing his bare legs from the bed, he felt something brush against his foot once he'd made contact with the floor. With a disgusted curl of his lip, he smashed his heel down on the retreating arthropod, realizing fully after a couple of moments that he had just ended a cockroach's life and its stamp was clearly visible on his skin. It was New York, after all, and this wasn't an uncommon sight, but he still retched at the thought and hobbled to the bathroom, hesitant to place his foot down in case some vermin brethren would be attracted by the scent of their fallen comrade.

As always, the shower ran too cold for him and he loosed several curses, which bounced gleefully in the tiled shower. Toweling himself off after his emergency sanitation, the voodoo practitioner noticed that his phone's light was blinking with the promise of a text message or two. When he finally checked, it turned out that there was a whole lot more than just a couple.

Two from women he'd fucked rather recently, which was usual. He'd actually really liked the third one who'd stayed over, and noticed with some dismay that she was the only one not to make contact. Eight texts from the lowlifes who insisted he owed them money. He smirked, knowing they'd be doing a lot more than sending caps-locked texts if they knew what he'd really made off with. The one that really stood out to him was from Madamme Jones. To call her a living legend of the arcane sounded much too much like a slight against her age rather than a compliment to her powers, but no other phrase came to mind. He'd met people, friends of friends and bed-partners of enemies, who had seen and even talked to the good Madamme, but he had never been quite so lucky. The text, however, set his whole arm ablaze with the feeling of magic. It was as though he was holding the old crone's hand in his. He wondered how she could have known how to contact him, despite knowing just how many copies of his number ran through the mazes of the city alleys, but a deep voice reminded him that there were many easier way for types like her to communicate.

"You're not going to ignore it, are you?" Ogun asked, sounding almost impatient. The loa didn't emote much, but Weslé had become attuned to the slight lilts in his voice.

"I get the feeling that I can't. She'd probably send a raven next, no?" His thumb hovered over the screen, tempted to respond, but he slipped the phone into his pocket and proceeded to find a shirt so he could get out of there. Station 7 wasn't too far away, and he'd been meaning to find a new place to drink after he'd learned the bartender at The Silver spoke Creole just as well as his mama back home. He subconsciously touched his lip to ensure it wouldn't be swollen when he went to meet the seer.

He prepared to travel down the fire escape, knowing all too well that the front door to the complex would be once again crawling with goons after him or the other unscrupulous tenants he called neighbors. Various numbers and letters meant to mark the building's address had been notoriously stolen by people living there, and Weslé cast a loving glance at the large 7 that sat on his floor before shutting the window behind him. Whatever the Madamme wanted from him, he knew he'd have to be on his best behavior. This wasn't going to be a job for a con man. He jostled the pack that hung over his shoulder and listened with satisfaction as all of his equipment clanked and bumped around.

"You haven't done anything but parlor tricks for weeks. I shudder to think what kind of ass you'll make of yourself in front of her," Ogun scoffed, right in the man's ear just as he always did.

Weslé was irked enough as it was with his situation, being unable to get a real job or a moment to himself to practice, and he didn't need to be reminded of his continually rusting skills. He jerked his middle finger up quickly, knowing he couldn't exactly flip off a loa who had no physical presence but still enjoying the act, and muttered, "Dan bounda ou."

"Ou ka repete souple?" came a voice, distinctly not divine this time, from beside him. He paled. He had shit luck, every fortune teller and Chinese restaurant had told him that. It really seemed unfair that everyone on this shithole block was apparently from the islands, and even more unfortunate that they'd all spent time in gangs while he was off honing his craft.

He could barely see out of his eye and it stung whenever he smiled, but you should see the other guy he kept thinking to himself. He'd swung his pack so hard that his assailant stumbled back, hit the bricks, and slumped right down. Death seemed unlikely, but Weslé silently prayed for memory loss or paralysis. He whistled as he continued, lifting a bottle of water from a kid and his cooler, pressing it to his bruised eye whenever he had a moment.

He ditched the Dasani for a glass of DeKuyper and alternated between sipping and placing it innocuously to his wound, both helping to soothe the pain. He'd dawdled long enough, he decided, and downed the remaining liquid courage before sliding into the meeting room. He caught the tail end of an introduction, and pretending he'd been there the whole time, decided to also but his name forward.

"Please, call me Baron," he nodded in greeting and folded his arms over his chest, looking at the people in front of him. If he wasn't mistaken, he'd actually seen a couple of them before. Most of them, he thought, he remembered from bumping into them on the street in sections of the city where the Veil was known to be more than just a discount bridal outlet. It wasn't like he'd carried on conversations with them. "I'm glad to know I wasn't the only one summoned to be here today. A message from the Madame isn't exactly the most pleasant thing to wake up to," he smiled, "With all due respect, I was half convinced I'd be dead before I got here, but if you've called a group together then I feel a bit more at ease."

”Nobody will call you Baron” The Madamme spoke calmly. Her eyes was not unkind, but it was clear the boy did himself no favors by trying to take a moniker owed to the most famous of the loa. ”You can be happy my husband is not here. His crow would give you no rest for taking that preposterous nickname” She grinned, the admonishing tone melting away quickly into amused, wry humor. The old, African woman produced a large cigar. ”You have an Loa to appease boy, you should try and show him the same reverence that you show the Baron of the Dead.” She placed the cigar on the table. She wasn't going to smoke it Johnny realized, she was giving it to the young Voodoo Priest. ”Keep this on you. Do not smoke it, it is not for you.”

”what is going?” Johnny asked before he could stop himself. Madamme fixed him with a look that made him quickly shut his mouth before she decided him to be a nuisence. Her elegant, slender fingers fished up bowl from a drawer on her side and put in the middle of the table. She then poured into it a clear liquid that smelled of embalm fluids and herbs, many which were entirely foreign to the Swede. Then she produced piece of parchment that contained what Johnny realized to late, was a finger. Cut of neatly lowest joint, she dipped the severed body part into the bowls and spoke a few quick words. Suddenly, the tip of the finger lit up like the wick of a candle. The blue light shone brightly as all other light sources suddenly seemed to be absorbed into it. Suddenly they were sitting at table that seemingly swam in darkness.

”You are right to worry.” She smiled a far less kind smile towards Johnny, the blue light flickered across her face. ”I called you all here to hopefully save your lives and others with them.” Her eyes were reflecting the light in a strange way.

”What comes for us all is... alien, strange and powerful. IT can hide itself even from me, and its agency is unknown.” She said as her voice grew very silent, very still. ”The vision you saw, was likely afforded to you trough a lapse in his judgement and the work of a seer more powerful then me. Someone was trying to find a way to reach out to us.”

”But why us?” Johnny asked, more then a little flabbergasted.

”Because all of you tie to the old world. Because he didn't have time to be to picky. Because in a way you all have things that might help unlock the puzzle. Your not the only Magus with the vision fresh on their mind. Others I found, have decided to ignore it. Some have set out on their own, some I heard vanished.” At that last part, there was a look of profound loss and sorrow in her eyes. ”Like my charge and protoge, Mimi.” She said. ”She saw it to, and went to see a friend of mine about interpreting it." She seemed to waver if only briefly. ”They found her car abandoned with no trace of her, on the interstate. That's when I decided to contact others and warn them.”

”Feytouched, you are already dealing with a otherwordly. Your patron is part of a different order then this reality, and they might help you shed some light on things. Your magics roots run down your blood line, and you are in contact with the Fair Folk. They know of the terror of a giant. And you are a born traveler, something that will aid you.”

”And you” She looked to Ververa ”Are a seer in the making, but one touched by the Arcane rather then the wisdom of ceremony or the blessing of a patron. And due to the careless actions of another, you are now coursing with it. Should it fail to eat you, your gift will be the thread of which the rest must follow.”

”Her eyes swept to young ukrainian girl. ”It was unclear to me at first why our unknown soliceter chose you. Your patron is noticably... selfish.” She shook her head. ”I believe, the answer lay with your heritage, much like that of Ververa. Your exact purpose is muddled, like the swamp of that being you serve. In time it will become clear however, of this I am certein.” There was a certein sneer in her tone whenver she mentioned her 'patron' but when she spoke directly to the girl, her voice was assuring and kind. Her eyes flickered back to 'Baron'-

”You share the faith of my Husband, you are young nad foolish, but talented. Your quick wit, coupled with someone who know the different faces of the magic like Johnny and your own Loa benefactor, will be usefull. And out of all of you, I can only trust you. Becouse you would never risk the wrath of my husband, for that be the Wrath of Legba AND the Baron”

”lastly.” She spoke to Johnny. There was no warmth in her voice at all. ”You are no suprise. Your arcane pulse flare like a beacon for any seer of any talent, I am guessing his visions find you due that. You are a walking lure for those who do not understand the nature of your predicament. But, I suppose your talents with runes and old world magic in general, will be needed, of this I am dreadfully certain.” Johnny could not help to think he was getting a bit to harshly put down here. But he had long ago learned to respect elders with magical talents and their opinions.

"Now. I assume you all have many questions for me. Please. I will answer best I can."

Mira listened intent as Madame Jones spoke, her hand curled under her chin. Even as the room swam in darkness and the older woman spoke of their fates, Mira’s expression never seemed to waver beyond quiet contemplation. The truth was, she was shaking inside. The thought of this malignant seer breaking through their dreams as his plans left the fate of the world hanging in the balance frightened her. Even so, joining up with these people to try and find out what was going on would solve her current problem of getting out of the city as soon as possible. Mira’s concern about finding a stable job and making a life for herself was swept away by the Madame’s dark omens. Mira could even feel a sort of nagging in the back of her mind. Perhaps it was Boleyk, sending faint tremors through their bond, nudging her in the right direction, or whatever direction he wanted her to go. She knew that he could see and hear everything she could, so it was quite possible that he was urging her from afar.

Then, the Madame turned her attentions to each person at the table, allowing Mira the chance to gain some insight on the others. She recognized them, but only from fleeting encounters and knew almost nothing about, aside from Johnny. When Madame turned her gaze towards Mira, she froze in her seat, the awkwardness of the situation hitting her full force. As the older woman mentioned Boleyk’s selfishness with a sneer, Mira could practically hear his temper tantrum even now. Already she dreading her next communication with him.

At Madame’s mention of her heritage, Mira’s heart leapt into her throat for the umpteenth time today. She had hidden her contract from her family, not wanting to get them wrapped up in magical matters that might endanger them. The thought of this affecting them back home where she couldn’t help them was bone chilling. Even worse was the idea that they were involved already, or had been the whole time.

“Now, I assume you all have questions for me. Please. I will answer the best I can.”

Mira snapped out of her reverie, meeting each person at the table with a brief inquisitive glance before asking, “...when and where do we need to go?”

She felt a wave of deja vu; not the kind that came with stolen memories but a juxtaposition of hazy and concrete at the same time. It felt like it was her own thoughts, probably a memory from childhood. All of the children boasting and toying with a thought of maturity until a matriarch quickly grounds them with a simple glance. Madame had such a glance, and even her calm tone commanded reverence. It put her in an adolescent mindset.

The wave of immaturity could only slightly be attributed to the drinking; mainly it was her coping mechanism when flight was not an option. So she couldn’t help but snicker into the lip of her glass as the Baron was singled out; but it was when it was Johnny’s turn to get the evil eye that pushed Varvara to an actual snort, followed by a soft laugh. She stifled it as quickly as possible with a strong pull from the beverage, her shoulders and chest were still bouncing in a silent giveaway of her amusement. She regained her composure by the time the Madame began her concoction, clutching her drink to her chest as she leaned forward to get a better look.

She wrinkled her nose at the smells, some familiar, but she was unable to be sure. As the finger was displayed Vara finally pushed her glasses to the top of her head, revealing bloodshot pale blue eyes that lit up with curiosity.

When the Madame said that the stranger invading her dreams was a seer, a more conflicted expression sat upon her features. She twirled the ice cubes around in the glass. She was trying to weigh the stakes and it knit her brows together. The sigil on her neck began to stir with a little more fervor; tension calling out the voice licking at her brain.

“a seer…” she gasped a little into the last of her drink. As the Madame addressed the group and Mira glanced her way she pulled her shades back over her eyes and twirled the ice cubes in the otherwise empty glass.

Madame: "I suggest you leave as soon as possible. Get what you need, I can arrange a car for you. I believe I know just the one." Madamme answered the Ukrainian girl before her glance reached to Varvara.

"A seer. Yes. One I do not know of. If he or she still lives. I do not know. Whoever it was, also saw what we saw." The madamme spoke. You might find this person along the way. I would not be surprised, that if he lives, he will broadcast again."

"Do you care if I have a smoke?" Beneath the glasses she was worried, nervous. Her free hand had already begun sifting around in her purse.

"You can refrain to indulge just yet girl" She admonished her. "You have a lot to learn when it comes to resisting bad impulses."

She stopped digging around in her purse and stared down at the remaining ice cubes. Of course her elder was right; she had many impulses. The worms twisted in the rune at the base of her neck. She could feel the wispy claws of fate trying to twitch about the room.

((Collab with Hellis))

Punctuality was never one of Noah’s finest qualities, in fact, the method of decorum didn’t register at all in his woefully short list of propriety. One could fill of a thimble with the mannerisms Noah did practice, aside from his daily intake and ingestion of anything and everything mind-numbing and soul-bending. However, rare circumstances arose in the most peculiar of ways, tangible and unnerving of course, but startling in their collections. Such was the state of mind he roused from, clutching nimble fingers against the matted tresses of his unruly locks, ripping through the impossible maelstrom of brunette curls to cease the bounding orchestra of voices within his mind.

In various tongues they spoke, communing with him through violation, and they all uttered of the same thing that had been plaguing his dreaming-aware and state of trance. It was a gargantuan creature with no name, bestial and ancient and it terrified Noah to the roots of his spirit quaking in the confinements of his mortal being. Constantly warped into a induced stupor, not much effected his reality when the outer realms spoke within his fragile mind, but shaking in the throes of withdrawal and disturbance; the fine lines of brittle woe and terror marked across his visage. Eyes wide, the ecru of his complexion paling in dread, and a fair tremor causing his twitching gestures to claw at the sensitive skin concaving at his temples. He inhaled, sputtered, and exhaled shakily until he reined in some degree of composure to still his thoughts and the voices weaving about the jumbled pieces.

He didn’t have an answer as to what he kept seeing, and he hadn’t dared to seek out Ray to inquire to what exactly that creature was. But, someone had found it, and someone had a malicious purpose to its’ awakening, and Noah felt a hopeless sense of inevitability burn into his mind as a crude sigil. Tearing away from his tresses, his fingers finally settled into a clasp at his down-turned mouth, perching on trembling lips as thin elbows prodded against equally thin knees. Contemplating and in desperate desire of a fixture, Noah sorted through the voices and spirits teeming about the lobes of his consciousness; attempting to make sense of the manic sputtering and wails like Ray had instructed of him during numerous nights lost to the late hours. Each timbre and cadence seemed to vocalize and whisper the same thing; the end. But, an end to what? Their worlds, the various realms, or their fickle existences? Endless possibilities bade inquiry in his mind, hopping over the over as his thoughts often did, and producing a jumbled and hectic mixture of hypothesizes and conclusions that didn’t have any foundation.

Of course, each of these formalized objectives were better left unspoken and unanswered, and Noah was determined to shutter himself off from further violation by these horrid dreams and visions. He rolled off from the lumpy motel mattress, finding his knapsack within easy distances and plucked it from the pine green carpeting, purposely dark enough to distract from stains, he mused. Noah did his best to collect the remains of psyche as he plunged into the depths of his collection: packets, sealed baggies, rolled up, bottled, liquid vials; crushed into powders or bloomed in natural plants; he had anything and everything he could indulge in. Some introduced peculiar visions and scenery, others pelted him into a trance of ecstatic dance, and some numbed him entirely within and without or altered him enough that he could participate. Noah’s arsenal knew no boundaries or limitations, and a quick ritual he performed each time he sealed the sack kept it from prying hands and curious glances.

He snorted. Magic used to smuggle entheogens to and fro across the country, Ray would be appalled. Of course, the mundane wouldn't be able to discern the details and contents of his possessions, but, others might and he couldn’t risk anyone obtaining his habits. They’d go beyond the brinks of exotic insanity.

His hazel eyes lit up a fraction when he procured his fixture for the day, immediately letting the chemically enhanced tissue paper settle and dissolve on the abused palette of his tongue. The concoction was an assortment of venoms, the exact brew containing the delicate amounts Ray taught to him; enough to warp the senses, but not enough to keep you unaware, he had said. Noah indulged in only one, for the moment, and made sure to keep the contents within easy reach atop the rest of his wonderful sweets. He exhaled, the crawling tendrils of bliss slithering across his mind, blanketing the voices in a fog of silence.

Only then, fixed into a stupor, did he notice the letter.

“Madamme...” He muttered, tracing the looping penmanship of the moniker and felt the finest tremors of power slip through the grooves of ink. The paper felt peculiar to his hands, the message cryptic but detailing in so few words. He didn’t ask how, or why, for Ray’s tutelage taught him that sometimes there really never was an answer to the arcane. It didn’t make the situation any easier, however, when he became addled with a decision to follow the missive or simply hitch his way out of the city. Of course, where could he go, other than across the sea, and the daunting task of smuggling himself onto some dismal barge made him grit teeth and purse his lips.

“Well...” Noah whispered, idly floundering around for his clothes and leaving the directive letter on the discarded bedding. There wasn’t a specified time, only the written urgency, but Noah had the nagging sensation that he was definitely past the respectful introductions. If this Madamme was anything like his peculiar intuition was telling him though, she was already well aware for his lack of punctuality. Still, Noah took his time in meandering through dressing, slowly donning cotton and denim, lacing battered black and white sneakers, and sliding on the fleece of his jacket. Twining a scarf around his neck and tucking the wild mass of his hair into his hood completed the ritual of his wardrobe and with a careful ritual of concealment, he grasped his knapsack and shoved the letter into the space of his pocket.

“Guess it won’t hurt to meet this.. Madamme...”

Thus he left, slowly and dawdling as his world began to swirl in colour and euphoria.

---

Station 7 proved complicated for Noah to locate, becoming turned around numerous times, and distracted by a plethora of oddities that his lucid state of mine honed in on. It was on chance, and the same person directing him in the opposite direction, again, that he found the establishment. Knowing a ritual for clairvoyance, but lacking the means to perform it, Noah sheepishly muttered to himself of gathering the materials for such later before embarking across the threshold. His posture tensed upon coming face to face with the bear of a woman standing guard - a bouncer, he thinks -, fixing Noah with a stare that made his spine rigid and his reflexes to bundle within a coiled spring. He almost fished for the letter in his pocket, but a directive nod proved such unnecessary, but none the less did he keep his fingers crumbled around the sheaf of paper as he descended down the stairs... And more stairs.

Blinking away the haze, and possibility of a never ending stairway, Noah admired the dimly lit setting, wishing he could slunk off into a booth or a corner and loll the day away in his blissful trances.

“Not what we’re here for,” he drawled, dragging his heels, seemingly guided by the pull of something to the rooms nestled within the back. The bar called to him, next, along with the man seated in the corner, and he almost stopped if not for the surging amount of energies battering against his mind. He clutched at his sack, contemplating in partaking on another blot of the venom when hushed voices slid through the barrier of his awareness, addling his mind in a hiss that made Noah rush forward and thus barge into the occupied room. There was a switch, a sudden blink of magic that shuttered off the invading spirits and lines calling to him, and Noah, suddenly aware, blinked at the assemblage before him. Swathed within the dark, the Shaman boy eased himself further in, shutting the door behind him with a hushed click and fumbled for some method of greeting even when distracted by the troupe.

A unit of four, thus far, hazel peering at each of them within the magical gloom. He didn’t recognize a single one, not that he expected to, but Noah found himself nearly daunted by the lot. They were... Interesting, being the only description his mind could accumulate, that and something more; they were here for a reason.

“Uh...” He glanced up, aside, in a complete rotation to take in everyone once more until his lips tipped into a grin, lopsided and perhaps a bit bashful that was Noah to a fine tee. “You must be the Madamme... Am I late?”

The Madammes eyes swept across them all, and she made a face that reminded Johnny of a dissapproving grandmother. Here was a magician powerfull enough to command the respect of the entire New York magic scene, looking at them for help. And yet it was like being lectured for stealing cookies. Baron seemed noticably taken aback by the admonishing, clearly the old crone was someone who commended even more respect from the the young vodoo priests community. Johnny actually winced as she all but berated him for trying to use the Baron Moniker. Johnny gave the afroamerican youth a smile of apologetic sympathy and shrugged.

Mira spoke, and Johnnny leaned in to hear the answer. It was a good, direct enough question. One he had no doubt the madamme would dodge with some hokey, vague answer. To his suprise, she didn't. She was very frank about them leaving as soon as possible. The swedish rune mage started to feel a bit nervous about the whole deal, more then he had been before. The Madamme was not known as someone who spoke this frankly to anyone, about anything. Not even her husband. He felt his fingers dig into the table, biting his lower lip. The other might not know it, but the fact that she was so clear and purposefull was terrifying.

As if to give him a heart attack, the door opened suddenly behind them and a rush of hair blew away the smoke from the ”finger candle” And just like that it was like a giant eye focused on all of them. For a second, he though the darkness around them solidified to a living breathing mass and as he glanced up he saw a eye the size of a full moon stare down at him, the ceiling having melt into that of a alien sky. He felt like throwing up on the spot, but swallowed dryly. Then something clicked in the back of his mind.

”CLOSE THE DOOR YOU IDIOT!” He realized what had changed at the same time he yelled. He was suddenly on his feet as he vaulted over his own chair trying to get out of the room. He tackled noah to the side and slammed the door close. The Darkness soon subsided as the smoke was allowed to resume its undisturbed path upwards now that there were no sudden gusts of winds. He stared at the table, then at Noah.

Madamme, looking a little shaken, looked at Noah wearily. ”Your mentor really failed with teaching you warding. Either that or you are reckless to the magic around you” Her voice was strained, like she was holding something in. ”It appears... fate... will not let me hold her outside the weave of threads now that the enemy has seen us...” she said as she snuffed the candle out. Johnny was about to ask what that meant, when the Madamme, true to form, let her eyes fix on the ceiling, A lump formed in Johnnys chest, somewhere close to that shriveled thing he called a heart. The powerfull seer closed her eyes only for them to open in blaze of white fire. Johnny almost fell over at the sudden blast of power that punched trough the room at that moment. His tattooes felt hot with it, the runes in his coat all lit up and then died out again. He knew then that Madamme just had tapped into her gift on command, a unfanthomable feat for a Seer. No drugs, no enhancments. Just pure command of her own gift. When she spoke, Johnnys suspicions of hokey bullshit was confirmed, but it was real, proper hokey. The kind that needs to be decyphered, not disreagarded.

”It knows it has been seen. You most leave, now before it is to late. Find the new Gods dwelling, descrated by the Fallen Light. T here you shall find your first clue.” Her voice was strange, like there was a chorus of other voices speaking for her. Johnny felt the hair of his neck stand on end.

”We need a goodamn location you hag” Johnny yelled, he felt like a caged animal. The shadows were creeping back into the room again, and it felt alien. She snarled, pointing a finger at him. ”O-Outside.. Williamsport” Her eyes grew wide, and she clutched at the amulet around her neck ”GO!”

Jarred out of his state of panic he looked to the others, ”You heard the lady, lets go. If we stay any longer it is going to be really difficult to save the word or whatever it is we are meant to do” He looked to the madamme who stared up and something that neither of the younger crowd could see, her white blazing eye sockets spilling with strange wisps of fire and, he realized, fate itself.

The breeze had only gingerly caressed some stray tendrils about her face before she felt something wrap about the base of her neck. It tingled at her fingertips and up her arms, prickling the hairs to attention, curling along her nerves and seeking out fate lines of its own. It felt like a sensual scratch on her psyche, numbing the present. Her pupils gasped beneath the dark sunglasses before her neck tensed and forced a rigid gaze on the ceiling. Her lips parted and she barely whispered, not speaking to anyone in particular…

"Wer mit Ungeheuern kämpft, mag zusehn, dass er nicht dabei zum Ungeheuer wird. Und wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein. "

The glass that had surprisingly remained between her fingers this long chose to shatter at the exact moment Johnny lunged clumsily for the door that she had yet to acknowledge. It was the shattering and yelling that finally jarred her focus. Her breath came out like a hiss as the room seized up and collapsed back upon her, her lungs betraying a trembling fear that the glass no longer could. Shaking fingers reached quickly to rub at the symbol on her neck, security blanket and sanity source still intact.

Reality seemed like a teasing tide, washing over her only to recede and leave her in her own mind, with the ever nagging company of the arcane. Even as Noah was being admonished she could feel the changing fate lines in the room, crackling and dissolving and reattaching. That pesky little voice in her mind pleaded with her to give in for a moment and see what would wash over her as she stared into a ceiling that appeared more and more like an ordinary ceiling, but apart of her was searching beyond still, calling out...or being called out to. She wrung her twitching fingers around her purse strap and allowed her eyes to mimic her fingers with jerking glances about the room beneath the dark shades. Her lungs were still leaping in her chest when the Madame surged with power.

Other than the awkward cadence of her lungs and her convulsing fingers and twitching blank eyes she seemed to shut down. Until she began to repeat, like a feather barely coaxing the air, the directions the Madame had given them.


“new Gods dwelling, desecrated by the fallen light.

new Gods dwelling, desecrated by the fallen light.

new Gods dwelling, desecrated by the fallen light.”

As the fate that seeped from the Madame began to infect the lines of those in the room she started to back towards the door. It crept around them and her eyes followed pensively as she inched towards the door. She bumped into one of the others and only then did her eyes release the lines long enough to bolt for the door. She didn't even wait for the others, but speed walked out of the bar, grabbing a recently opened beer from a patron on her way out. When they exited they would find her leaning against the outdoor wall of the bar, greedily inhaling on a cigarette between sips of beer. She continued to obsessively flick the cigarette while her tan hikers boot tapped nervously and she seemed lost in thought.