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[h2]New Orleans, 21:00, Friday Night.[/h2]

The city of New Orleans was rarely dormant. Even as winds and waves and natures wrath had torn trough it, the city would eventually rise. Its inhabitants were hardy folk, festive folk and the kind of people who would put their roots down and not let any hurricane tear them from where they made their home. But this night, something was different. The City seemed almost oppressive in its nightlife. It was as if a unconscious beat had gone and rattled the populace. There was a urgency in the club goers movements and the pedestrian pulled their purses and valuables a bit closer to the body then usual. 

But most noticeably was the homeless. More of them braved the light where they risked police and less kind souls. The darkness of their alleys seemed more predatory, more vile then usual. Some of them were acutely aware something was terribly wrong. Old souls who had lived on the street all their lives. Others, people who were unaccustomed to the harsh reality they found themselves in were reacting almost on instinct as their skin prickled. And as night fall, this feeling began to creep upon the soul of six magicians. Six practitioners of the arcane arts who could feel the beat not like some primordial instinct buried in the human brain. But who felt is  like doctor putting stethoscope to his patients chest and hearing dying heartbeat.

 The nigh was sickly and the darkness held horrors untold. 



[h2]New Orleans; The Nespado Hotel, 21:45, Friday Night.[/h2]

The Nespado was the only places magicians considered truly neutral ground in New Orleans. With a city so saturated in different magic practices and many ”too big for their hoods” personalities, the Nespado stood as a place where nobody dared levy a spell or a curse. Thus, it was here Johan always made his first stop. Right now he was laying on his back as the humid air drifted in from the sea nnd the swamp, making the heat even more unbearable for the northerner. He clutched his phone to his ear like it was a lifeline.


”Pick up the phone...” Johan mumbled as got up from the bed and approached the minibar. He took a small bottle of scotch and poured himself a glass. ”C'mon doll..” He muttered under his breath as he took a swig of the alcohol.  This was bad. Remi had been like anchor for them both. And he knew Varvera would take her death or disappearance a lot harder then he did. And he was wreck about it.

He sat trying to call her for a good hour and a half before he fell back into the bed. Eyes drifting close as exhaustion, both mental and physical, caught up with him. The phone slipped out of his hand as he fell into slumber. But his dreams were dark and foreboding, and his slept a shallow, panicked sleep.



[h2]New Orleans; Remis Study  22:20,  Saturday Night.[/h2]


Remis study was cluttered beyond compare. Only Remi knew how to navigate the piles of books, items and strange objects that lay strewn about in a organized chaos sort of way. Pile upon pile of books lined the walls next to bookshelfs that were cluttered with artifacts big and small. A single skylight window would shine light directly onto her workbench during the day. 

Johan ran a hand trough his hair. Around him, the air was still. There was no spark of magic. None of the tomes infront of him had even the barest hint of latent arcane. He felt like he would be sick. Ever since he had arrived to the city, he had felt out of sorts. And now he stood on the oaken floor of Remis Study and reality was many times scarier then he had been able to imagine.  He turned papers over, looking at notes, lifting artifacts carelessly out of their boxes. For if they had been dangerous before, they were now all but dead and inert. Another testament to how fucked things were. He had heard nothing of any being that could just erase any trace of magic on such a scale before.

”Fucking...” He lifted up a pair of rune inscribed armlets he had made for Remi himself. ”That's fucked” He mumbled softly as he put them down again. He leaned foward, resting his hands on the wooden surface of remis desk. ”Where the hell are you Remi” He sat down in one of the chairs as his mind raced. Every ward he had checked had been dead. Yet there was no indicator of a outer forces.  Nothing added up. Magic was so varied it could be any number of things. But even so, this was just incredibly illogical even for magic. This went against everything he knew. Power could not undo power without a trace. Everything left residue. And that's when i struck him. There was no remnants, no echos magic. But also, there was no latent energy, no ghostly whispers of memories ingrained in the walls.

A sudden cold gripped him then. What had he just stumbled upon. He tugged his coat around himself without thinking. Waiting for the others to arrive. People he never met before, but others who owed Remi. People who did magic. He hoped one of them had any idea what was going on.