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As Primrose searched, her mind wandered. Back to home, where it often leapt. She recalled an instance when her mother said something peculiar. Primrose was fairly young at the time and did not get good at overhearing her parent's conversations until much later. She was only able to catch snippets of the speech. One that stuck out to her was "voodoo". What her mother was saying about the mythical practice was beyond her. More than likely her mother was condemning it. Her mother often looked down on other forms of magic that were not "pure" in her eyes.

Primrose shook herself back to the present. She needed to move on from them. If she was to be her own person, she needed to not dwell so much in the past. Her eyes locked back on the computer screen and her search. As she did so, she noticed something odd. Or rather, something that stuck out. In every report or article she read using her search terms, one place kept coming up. It wasn't a place she was familiar with (though she hardly ventured far from her usual haunts). Madame Lafitte's in the French Quarter. It appeared to be a lounge of some sort. The French Quarter is no stranger to mystical elements, though she wondered what a club like that had to do with a dead guy in a car with symbols on his body.

As she thought, Fynn knocked on her door and came in, offering her some pizza. The last time she had pizza was in some bougie restaurant that had such toppings as white truffle, escargot, and actual gold flakes. It was absolutely disgusting. "Yes," she said, grabbing a piece. It looked greasy. She took a bit, letting the flavors hit all at once. She was right, it was greasy and messy. In other words, it was perfection. She set it down so as to not inhale the entire piece. "That sounds useful. Tell me, did he stop at any place called Madame Lafitte's? It is some club in the French Quarter. My search led to that place constantly. In fact..." She quickly pulled up the department's files and searched for the club. She found only one result. The report shared very few details. The only thing that stuck out was a small notation made: Aua, das tat weh. "What does that mean?" she asked to no one in particular, but Fynn could see what she was referring to.

"We can check out his residence. This club also seems sketchy. Any idea how Mal and Jaelle are doing? Or Eleanor? She's not back yet."