[b]New Orleans.
Saturday, 10.00 PM
The Nespado Hotel.[/b]


Isobel always loved the Nespado. Magic was, in her not so humble opinion, far too overrated by the magical community. It could be so [i]coarse[/i] the way some magicians wielded it, a blunt hammer to smash through their problems. The strict adherence to avoid any offensive displays of power suited her quite well. It left someone with only their wits and charm to protect them, which Isobel had never underestimate like so many of her colleagues. Here of all places it could be used to garner much reward. Every magical corner of New Orleans in one place, every rivalry and power struggle boiling up to the surface, perfect for the enterprising mind to take advantage of. Unfortunately she was not here for that today.

She sat in the hotel lobby in a relatively undisturbed little corner. Her long legs were crossed, sheathed in black denim which contrasted with the pristine white of her sleeveless blouse. The shiny black leather of her heels glimmered in the hotel lighting which, if she were to stand, would add around six inches to her already considerable height. A glass of wine was idly being caressed by a long, pale finger as she browsed the local newspaper – a surprising goldmine of information to those with a trained eye. To the casual and discerning observer alike Isobel looked poised, relaxed even with a sort of languid grace but they would be wrong. Isobel had felt the unsettling presence for some time now grating against her mind, setting her on edge. [i]Remi[/i]... she sighed softly, she owed a favour. Debts were more valuable than currency in the magical world and Isobel knew more than most the importance of keeping herself the black. She had to find out if she was OK, for her sake as well as the other woman’s. 

Her phone rang just as she drained the last dregs of the amber liquid from her glass, placing it on the table beside her before she answered the phone. “Ah, Mhairi,” She answered, folding the paper and placing it on her lap, “Did you have a word with the gentlemen as I asked?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Came the girl’s reply, her voice quavering ever so slightly with nerves, “He said he checked out the apartment last night … no answer.”

“I see,” Isobel replied, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the back of her phone as she considered her options. The man in question was an old contact of hers and … not one to be ignored. If he couldn’t elicit a response then there was little chance that she was there in any fashion. “Thank you,” she said as she hung up, standing and sliding on a slate grey overcoat before making her way into the New Orlesian night, her heels clacking against the smooth floor as she tried to keep her face calm and mind clear of the maelstrom of possibilities that raged across her mind. “Oh Remi … what in hells have you done?” 

[b][center]~*~[/center][/b]

Isobel's pale hand pushed the door open noiselessly, silently walking into the chaos of the apartment. She stared at the large, blonde man in the midst of the scholarly debris with an appraising look. She doubted he was a scavenger coming to pick the carcass of Remi’s artefacts as several items of impressive value were already on the floor apparently discarded. She continued to watch for a couple of minutes, straining to hear the man’s mutterings under his breath wondering if it would prove useful. His speech was mixed with a healthy dose of profanity but the summary of his outpourings seemed mostly concerned with Remi’s welfare. His accent was slight, she would guess Scandinavian of some extraction but anything more specific was impossible.

She raised an eyebrow at the disembodied voice that sounded across the room and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Hello,” She said as she made her way further into the room, “Whoever is lurking about I suggest you come down, evidently we’re all here for the same purpose. Besides, I make a point never to introduce myself to faceless voices.”

Her gray eyes regarded the tattooed figure before her, flicking from his head to his boots with a slow, deliberate pace. “Strange …” She said, half to herself, Isobel had long been used to the faint presence at the back of her mind of background magic. She had only been to Remi’s a handful of times yet had always noticed the concentrated, almost electric, energy that hung around the place. Now there was none it was quite disconcerting, like a clock whose tick you never noticed until it had stopped. She closed her eyes, her mind roaming across the room with a subtle presence. Like a piece of silk brushing against skin her mind probed for the faintest scrap of magic within the room and worryingly could find none. “It’s almost like we’re in some form of vacuum,” she said, “Necrotic energies from the Undying Realm perhaps?”