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[h1] New Orleans; 21:45, Friday [/h1]

[i]"I need to police. I think someone is in my apartment. Please hurry."[/i]

Those words were playing on repeat from the laptop on the coffee table in front of the only occupant in the room. It's blue light, the only source of illumination in the pitch black room, washed over the figure seated in front of it. James Wang's shoulder length locks of black hair hid his face as he let his head hang, his hands covering his mouth as his brown eyes stared at the screen weightlessly.

He had come to New Orleans to ask his older friend and confidant on any new developments in the magical world before he ended his hiding period. He was shocked when his bugs in the city's communication systems had picked up those terrifying words from Remi's address. He hadn't believed them when he had first heard them, and so had called Remi's phone, then house phone, and she still didn't pick up.

Letting his hands fall, his lips were pressed into a straight line. Looking over at the clock on the bottom right hand of his computer screen, his hands mindlessly reached over to the shoulder holster sitting to the left of the computer. Sliding the black leather over his dress shirt, he clipped the straps to his belt. Rolling up the sleeves of his black sweater, he revealed the tattoos on his arms which he glared at. His gun, a black Browning Hi-Power, laid disassembled in front of him. His hands flew over the pieces with practiced ease, before sliding the pistol in the holster and securing it.

He would have to prepare for the next day. The police would be swarming the place. It would be a miracle if the place would be empty tomorrow.

But for his friends, James would pull off any miracle.

[hr]

[h1]New Orleans; Remis Study  22:22,  Saturday Night.[/h1]

James had been sprinting over the rooftops for nearly twenty minutes, leaping and twisting silently on the backdrop of the moon and the orange glow of the street lights. To an outside observer, his face seemed to be a blob of darkness, a constantly shifting ball of living shadow engulfing his head. For him, he could see perfectly well. His eyes adjusted to the minimal light given to him for his task, and he could feel the wind whipping through his hair, tied into a tight bun. When he saw the familiar rooftop of Remi's home, he put all of his power into a leap over the roof, dropping onto the roof with a muted thud and rolling to displace the impact. He rooled to a stop five feet from the skylight window.

The first thing James noted was wrong was the lack of familiar weight of magic in the air. Magic had always seemed to be a tangible thing to even a contract user like James, and Remi's residence had always had the comforting weight of wards around it. As well, some of the artifacts James had sent to the women had immense magical power. He couldn't feel any of those eldritch and wyrd energies. It was as if it was a magical dead zone, which was both discomforting and angering.

Remi's whole life had been about magic, to have it gone from the scene of her disappearance (not death he tells himself, no body was found) was almost insulting. It was as if the perpetrator was mocking her by making her life work meaningless.

Taking a deep breath, he sneaked over to the edge of the window and saw the large man sitting in a seat in a circle of six seats. He was tall, James noted, at least six feet three and had a large bushy blonde beard with a large side cut of the same color. He was a large, dark overcoat, but James could see the glinting piercings and jewelry along with the intricate tattoos that peeked out from under the sleeves. He was wary, his posture screaming both nervousness and sadness that indicated that he knew what was going on.

Touching the rooster tattoo on his throat, James deepened his voice and threw it behind the other man.

[color=aba000]"Who are you?"[/color]