New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case Files

[Gotham Witch]

Reluctantly, "Samantha" agreed to let me stay the night, deciding she wanted to go to class and stay at a friend's house afterwards. She realized it was a bit strange letting a stranger use her house like this, but the apparent haunting had convinced her it was probably worth it.

I took my usual precautions before setting a candle up on the table, doing my usual enchantment trick to help me fish out the entity or entities. I had no idea how long it would take, so this seemed a good way to conserve my energy while I snacked on granola bars and watched a bit of Mad Men.

I haven't really watched TV in months. So sue me.

It wasn't until about midnight when things began to get weird. I noticed the flame on the candle begin to bend erratically, fluttering around as it randomly dimmed and brightened. This happened just as the temperature in the room took a dive.

Murmuring a spell, I glanced around for an invisible presence. Nothing, yet. Glancing at the candle as I looked about, I realized it was trying to stay out of my line of sight. Cute.

I was about to prepare something else before I heard the door in the bedroom begin to slam as Samantha described. Picking the candle up by the holder, I quietly began to creep towards the source of the noise.

That's about when a box of granola bars hit me in the back of the head.

I spun around, seeing nothing. The door continued to slam. I was starting to get rather annoyed at this point.

Walking into the bedroom, I could see the door slamming on its own, exactly as Sam described. Suddenly, the shutters on the window began to shudder in what was probably an attempt to scare me. I did admit to flinching, but not much past that - until a book went flying towards my head, missing me by a few inches as it landed in the closet.

As I stepped out of the way, I could make out through my arcane-enchanced vision an amorphous blob like thing floating about, picking up several beer cans and flinging them towards me. Thankfully, they were empty as they hit me in the arm, landing with a scutter.

That's when the thing tried to get into my head. As it dropped out of sight, I could feel it prying at the edges of my mind, trying to get in. What it wanted, I'm not sure, but I knew it wasn't going to get in - a pinch of blood and a neat little symbol on my hand ensured me of that. But I knew I needed to get rid of it.

I went back to the living room, laying out a few components and made a couple precautions, before beginning to murmur the incantation to banish the damn thing.

Now that it did not like.

The candle bent towards the kitchen as I began to hear the scuttling of knives, spatulas, whisks, and other metal implements. I did my damnedest not to flinch as the whole assemblage of metal began to fly towards me, knives first.

Remember that part where I said precautions?

The objects all stopped about 4 inches from my face before deflecting off of an invisible wall. It took everything for me not to panic as I watched them hit the ground in a scattered pile, saying the final words of my incantation.

There was a weak, almost far away scream before the room temperature returned to normal. I glanced at the candle; the flame looked normal.

I made it a point to clean up the young woman's house of any scattered knives and kitchen implements before she came back, leaving a couple charms on the walls to make sure nothing came back. If I thought she was grateful when I first showed up, I couldn't even begin to describe the gratitude she gave me afterwards.

Sometimes I really just enjoy that feeling of helping someone.

[Gotham Witch]

The other night, I got an unusual request from an unusual customer.

A friend of Astral's - the woman who, as some of you may remember, tried to eat me after turning into a giant caterpillar - called me requesting my help. Apparently he had gotten my number from Mdm. Laveau, owner of the Border - I can't say I was particularly pleased. Her and I were going to have words later, voodoo priestess or not. But I digress.

I met Ginger at one of my typical neutral ground meets near the LES - a Shawarma place near 3rd Ave. I came dressed for work - both because I was going stir crazy in my house as well as just in case this was going to be a doublecross by someone bent on revenge - it wasn't my fault what happened to Astral, but I know how these sorts of things affect people, you know?

Ginger was about as nervous as he was last time I saw him - and that was after I smashed a couple fingers on his friend to keep him from trying something arcane and stupid. I tried to calm him down a bit by apologizing for the last encounter, giving my condolences about what happened to Astral, and that I would help to the best of my ability. He just nodded, eating his gyro before explaining the situation.

Apparently a friend of his - the one whose fingers I smashed - had an unusual accident involving a subway train the previous weekend, when I was out of town. This was followed by another friend of his ending up in the hospital after the brakes on his car mysteriously locked up, and another one laid up at home after falling down some stairs and breaking his leg.

I have to admit, the whole thing did sound rather unusual for a spate of bad luck. Nonetheless, I wasn't an expert on bad luck, jinxes, hexes, etc. - a point I informed him of such. That's when the kid told me that it wasn't curing their luck he wanted me to do, but to see if he could help a friend of his, one who seemed awfully convinced something was going to happen to him.

I asked why he didn't visit his friend to try and help. Ginger confessed that he did - but that his friend wouldn't let him in, dead set on something trying to kill him. He gave me an address and asked to see if I could help. Against my better judgment, I promised I would go visit.

This was going to be an interesting day.

[Nemesis]

You should have consulted with me, Auntie Mel. I know a thing or two about jinxes, hexes and curses.

[Gotham Witch]

I didn't have a lot of time, Cynthia. The 'client' urged me to hurry and go see. Of course, had I a bit more foresight, I might have taken a moment to ask some more questions and realize how fishy this was sounding.

The door was slightly ajar to the friend's apartment when I arrived. A lot of people leave their doors cracked a bit when they're home. But considering no response when I knocked, and considering also how paranoid this fellow was, it all seemed slightly suspicious.

That sour taste in the air of recently evoked dark magic wasn't helping either. It was faint, and I could feel it rapidly evaporating, but it still wasn't a good sign.

Withdrawing my sidearm and glancing around to make sure nobody was around, I carefully nudged the door open, glancing about as I stepped inside.

There was a broken plate on the floor, with the remains of a spaghetti dinner looking over a day old. The TV was still on, rerunning an old episode of some reality TV show.

There was some sudden movement in my peripheral as I was glancing towards the kitchen. Quickly, I spun around and... nearly shot a large felis domesticus.

"...nice to see you too." I murmured as the black, long hair cat nuzzled my gun hand from its counterpart perch - after giving me a sniff of approval. She was a Siberian by the looks of it - normally I sneeze my pants off around cats. This one wasn't doing much to me - my eyes weren't even watering yet.

Glancing past the cat, I saw something odd - it was a red cloth bag, flannel by the looks, sitting on the counter. The top looked to be carefully sealed with wax. It had all the hallmarks of a mojo hand, usually used for protection.

Considering the now vanished taint of dark magic, I gave the thing a sensing. It didn't 'feel' wrong - really, it didn't feel like much of anything. There was a faint enchantment upon it, though it seemed to be barely clinging to life. The cat, however, had a strong interest in it, hissing at it slightly as I prodded at it with a ball point pen.

Good enough for me, I thought. Putting on some gloves, I grabbed the mojo hand by the a loop and dropped it into my bag.

Walking back down the hall, I heard a drip, drip, drip from the bathroom. Glancing in, I was greeted with a blood smeared bathroom- and my client's lifeless friend, laying in the tub.

i gagged a bit as I put a hand over my nose, looking over the scene. He had been dead a few days based upon the bloat. Along wrinkled flesh I could make out the deep cuts in his wrists and the kitchen knife he had apparently used to do it. Despite being a filled tub, he was in full clothes, a deranged look upon his lifeless face.

I nearly jumped again as the cat gave an almost sad "Mrow.". Looking down, I see that she had came behind me, looking at her presumed owner.

This created a problem - I knew people who could probably scry the knife for something useful. The problem is it was evidence for possible foul play. Eventually, someone was going to show up looking for this guy and realize something is up. Even if it was a suicide, there was just a bit too much weird about this.

That's when I heard a police siren from out the window stop right outside the building. I peeked outside to see a couple police officers quickly walking into the building, looking rather purposeful.

I immediately realized I was where I didn't want to be right about then.

[Nemesis]

Are you a wanted felon now, Auntie Mel?

[Eilonwy Solstice]

This reminds me a lot of when Khavik set me, as Celeste, up. Here. The police came, but she—I mean, I—escaped by adhering to the ceiling and climbing out a window. But it’s nice to read just where Esme came from.

[Grace]

Well Mel, how did you avoid the police and their ever awkward questions?

I think Esme and Diana should meet. Keep her away from Mr. Fluffers though. He's an animal.

I remember that thread, last time it resurfaced. Back from the dead like the originator.

[Gotham Witch]

Aww, you spoiled the surprise, Wie

And 'Grace' - Esme might be just a bit too much cat for Ol' Snaggletooth.

Yes, I did adopt the cat after this - or rather, she adopted me. Though as someone noted, perhaps I needed a bit more stereotype in my life.

I did about the most mage-like thing I could - I hid in the kitchen closet, took a deep breath and willed a bit of magic up. Not dealing directly with anything in the weird, this took a lot more effort than I cared to admit. That said, I didn't want to be the woman in the apartment with a suicide victim.

I was almost afraid it wouldn't work as the police knocked on the door, nudging it open and peeking about. I saw them announcing themselves, and noting the broken plate on the floor. Just as they were about to investigate further, their attention was drawn - shock - to the cat, who meowed incessantly as they entered.

The officers were about to ignore her before she began to rub against one of their legs before glancing down the hallway where the man's body was. The older of the two officers decided perhaps the cat was onto something, before suggesting he and his younger partner check it out.

After which point, I immediately and quietly began to creep out of the apartment. The fact a couple basketball playing youths nearly ran square into me was evidence enough that I was invisible, at least.

I went into a back booth of a lounge bar as I ordered an iced tea and considered what just happened. The cops picked an oddly inopportune time to show up and nobody had seen me go in - far as I was aware. It was entirely possible that it was simply bad coincidence of course, but ruling that out, the only one I knew when I would be there was Ginger. Hm...

That of course left me with two pieces of evidence - the dead body I couldn't more closely examine, and the mojo hand in my... well, hand.

After giving the thing a good 'look over' - some sort of protective charm by the feel of it - I opened the top and poured its contents out onto a small appetizer plate. I felt the enchantment clinging to the reagents briefly as they spilled out before slowly evaporating, leaving me with a small rodent skull, a small metal chain, a small broken ring, a pinch of grass, a cat's eye shell (the gem, not an actual feline eye), and a bit of scented tobacco.

This had all the hallmarks of a hand used to ward away evil. Clearly it did not work, based upon the corpse in the bathroom back at that apartment. Still, something was up about this apparent mix. There was a hint of foul scent on the tobacco. It took me a few moments to realize it was some kind of excrement (and that I was glad I was wearing rubber gloves). The rat skull as also strangely deformed.

I needed to talk to someone who knew bokars in this town better than I did.

[Eilonwy Solstice]

Aww, you spoiled the surprise, Wie

I needed to talk to someone who knew bokars in this town better than I did.

Er . . . sorry?

I won’t mention who the logical choice for that would be then, garnered from on board and in person talks, then.

smiles

[Gotham Witch]

Madam Laveau was rather intrigued when I presented the hand to her, noting that debasing the tobacco - itself not always a standard element in a protection - was almost certainly deliberate and would have done something for the spell. Of course, -what- that did is a better question - she was of the New Orleons tradition, not Haitian, but she could figure out that while it had the trappings of a protection hand, it was likely something more sinister.

Adrienne kindly noted to me that the bag itself was stylistically similar that of a certain Houngan she knew in Inwood, all the way up in north Manhattan past Harlem. There was a likely chance he'd want to know that someone was using his style of mojo hand for sorcery. She asked me to take the Inwood Bound A to show him the bag, along with a bag of shrew phalanges that she said she owed him - I'm only maybe kidding.

I had a real funny feeling as I got off the train at 205th St. I paused as I got out of the station, looking about. All I saw were people walking about in the neighborhood of largely Caribbean descent - nothing terribly suspicious. Despite this, I had the distinct feeling like I was being watched.

Prosper Obin had a discreet looking shop set between a laundromat and a Caribbean grocery store. It didn't look like much on the outside. Howeve,r the place gave me the heebie jeebies in ways that I couldn't quite put my finger on - perhaps it was the influence of the loas? I admit I was not much of an expert on such traditions, and might have just been superstitious, but aside from an expected bit of ambient magic energy, I didn't sense much to specifically suggest why it was spooky.

There was an odd earthy aroma as I entered the priest's little office. The place was pretty sparse, though with a lot of African sculptures and art on the otherwise bare walls. A large stoic looking Haitian looked at me the moment I walked in, raising a hand up to gesture me to stop. Upon inquiring about his employer and his availability, there was some chatter in the other room. The imposing looking bouncer let me through the beaded curtain.
Oddly, I didn't think too much about how expressionless the bouncer had been. I was way too overtaken by the earthy scent of the place. It was pungent, distractingly so.

Houngan Obin was a lot younger than I'd have expected - he was about Adrienne's age (indeterminate 30s), fairly handsome, and wearing a hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip flops. He shook my hand as I came in and helped me to a chair. There was some strange herb burning in a small bowl - the source of the pungent smell - next to several dolls an an unusual wooden idol, as well as a candle burning on an ornate holder. Several lines of unmarked clear jars marked his walls, along with dolls and other vodoun paraphernalia. After handing him the materials Adrienne owed him, he thanked me as we began to chat.

I showed him the debased mojo hand, as well as noted Adrienne's theories regarding whether it was someone deliberately forging his style. His expression was... odd. It wasn't quite unreadable - not by normal standards - but I was having difficulty making out what it was - somewhere between fury and amusement.

He made it clear that someone had 'clearly' been tampering with his hand, and not to worry - it would be dealt with soon. Though I really should have inquired more to ask what he meant, how he knew, etc, I took him at face value and didn't think more of it - even though some part of me felt something amiss about... something.

He spoke presumably about what he thought was going on, and waxing a bit about the nature of man and spirits in thickly accented English. It sounds like I'm glossing it over, but to be honest, that's the best I can do - I really don't remember the fine points of the conversation. Heck, as time went on, I was having difficulty focusing on the fact I was in a conversation.

By this point, I was aware that I was having a high drift factor, but could do little about it as I was staring off. I hardly noticed the smell of the pungent herb at this point - not to mention whatever he was saying or movement around me - as I found myself almost mindlessly staring at the candle on the table. The way it flickered and danced so capriciously left me trying to find patterns in something that was simply impossible to find such in. The whole thing left me hypnotized.

Somewhere along the line, the talking ceased. I was by this point blissfully in my own little world, finding the dancing flame to be nearly all consuming as I didn't really notice two firm pairs of hands go to my shoulders, or Obin moving from his spot, fishing about with the light clank of jars for something or another.

Drugged or hypnotized in a houngan's establishment. Wow, thinking back I was rather screwed.

[Grace]

Were you screwed, Mel? Were you really?

[Gotham Witch]

Shush, Red.

Things were awful strange after that.

I vaguely remember some materials being set up on the table for some ritual as I sat there passively, unable to do so much as blink due to the trance I was in. As such, there was no point in them tying me up or otherwise sedating me - my entire world was a dancing flame.

I remember vague chanting from multiple sources, and strangely I also recall the air in the premises getting a bit chillier, though that sensation quickly passed.

I couldn't help but feel movement after awhile, though not from anything worldly. Really, it was like my entire perception of reality shifted towards something ethereal, capricious dancing and movement of otherworldly beings always just in the corner of my eyes. We weren't alone in the room, but I knew I wasn't meant to see who our spiritual visitors were - the mythical loa perhaps?

I saw what I thought to be Obin moving around, his form blurred save for a series of silver, translucent strings along his fingers. Whereor who they led off, I'm not quite sure, but they seemed to move in tune with the other folks in the room, his hands making subtle little motions that seemed to be manipulating figures far too large for real world physics as they slowly moved objects around in a precise manner.

If none of this makes sense, I remind you I was very out of my mind at this point.

The puppet master was saying something, but I didn't hear anything. The candle by this point I had largely stopped obsessing over, but I still found myself unable to think or move as he reached for something glowing in a bowl, ethereal strings glistening as he slowly moved his open palm towards my face.

Suddenly those string-holding hands jerked away, and the next thing I felt was a sharp pain on my face.

I snapped back to reality with a gasp as I found myself on the floor,, my cheek stinging as the heavy Siberian cat from before was sitting on my chest, licking my cheek where it had taken a swipe at me. I hardly paid her any mind as I looked around, my mind still groggy from whatever had just happened to me.

The room had been set up for some sort of ritual, with several candles and the idol that was on the table knocked over. I noticed there was blood around me in a circle - none of it mine - and could sense the slowly dissipating tingle of magic. The bowl on the table - glowing when I was under the influence - was a more greyish white at this point, some of it dusting the ground where Obin had presumably dropped it.

A bookshelf had found itself knocked on its side, the bouncer- one of the puppets whose enchanted strings that Obin was holding - was slowly trying to crawl out from underneath despite how painful having that bookshelf on him should have been. Two of the other men were staring off mindlessly, like mannequins with no manipulator.

I had seen their auras just seconds ago. What should have been vibrant colors full of life were still and empty, directed along by another's will. They were zombies, but they were not dead.

Obin - wearing what seemed to be traditional Haitian priest clothes - was busy trying to put his shirt out from where the cat had knocked the candle over on him, cursing at me and the feline. He was attempting to direct thd mindless men to apprehend me, but he couldn't quite communicate with them as he was putting himself out.

What in the hell did that cat just do?

I had enough sense to scramble to my feet, the cat getting out of my chest as Obin finally put the fire out. Grabbing a handful of powder from the table, he spat at me before attempting to blow it in my direction.

Strangely, I had some idea he had just tried that before, my hand swept towards him, focusing a bit of will as the white cloud splashed right back in his face. He gasped and wheezed as he grabbed his face, before I did the logical thing of kicking him straight in the chest and sending him tumbling into his kitchen.

Obin said something as he got up, as the two servants of his sat up, glaring at me wordlessly as they attempted to grab me. I punched one in the face briskly, followed by a shot to the ribs - getting absolutely no response of pain from him. Even that little human luxury was foreign to them.

Summoning a bit of power, aware of the conjure at play here, I pushed my hand towards the zombie's leg. It was enough force to knock him on his face, causing his cohort to stumble as well before he tried to grab me. He fell short as I snapped my fingers, a dark cloud of smoke instantly filling the room as I hoed he was still using eyes to see.

That would be the point I decided to run for it. It wasn't going to be long before Obin was on his feet again and odds are he had more zombies to throw at me - and I had a bad feeling about the spirits in the room as well, if they were still there.

[Gotham Witch]

I've been meaning to finish this up for awhile, but... things have been hell of late. Still, I'll feel better forcing myself to finish this

A pair of pale arms attempted to grab me as I fled out the door into another room, said arms being just slow enough for me to duck out of the way. Looking up, I saw that they belonged to a familiar face.

It was two of Astral's friends. I had met them at the bar that night before that demonic-possessed encounter.

I stared in disbelief as his blank eyes stared back, not sparing time for pleasantries as one attempted to grab me again. Being more than a bit ponderous, I had time to grab both his arms and turn about, flipping him onto his back in a textbook move that might have made Darcy proud - though I spared the stomp to the ribs as I didn't want to cause damage for something that didn't seem likely to do much. Clearly they weren't feeling pain, so there was little sense trying to inflict it. Besides that, they were still alive - zombies only in the mindless sense.

That didn't stop me from tripping the other and throwing him with a hip toss onto the other one, of course, before breaking into a run into the next room.

Something was amiss as i crossed into the next room - it was a hallway with multiple wooden doors, terminating about 30ft ahead into a T-Intersection. The din from the rooms on each side was one of laughing, chanting, and an unearthly music.

Wanting to get out before anyone noticed me, I quickly dashed towards the intersection, only to find both paths at the end also split into identifcal T intersections. Picking one, I find myself at the same intersection.

It would seem I was in some kind of unusual maze. Lovely.

Rather than pick random doors and risk something happening, I paused to assess my surroundings. There was a definite buzz of magic in the air, through it was all around me, too thick for me to pick out a source.

Calmly (ish) I put my ear to one of the doors. I could hear music and talking in what sounded like Haitian creole, as well as some sort of dancing. As I put my hand on the door handle, I shivered, suddenly feeling like someone walked on my grave.

I removed my hand. I decided that that particular door was a bad choice. The problem is that all the doors looked alike, from what I could tell.

I dropped some jelly beans out of my bag (I always keep candy on hand in case I end up dealing with fey), before I began to walk down the hallway, taking a few turns and leaving different colors behind so I could orient myself. It would be about 10 minutes and a few more turns before I came across the blue one I set about first after a left turn. Hopefully going the other way would take me through a different set of rooms.

Then I heard a voice echo from behind me, calling out my name.

I turned around and saw Renee, the girl out of that group who helped me during the investigation. She seemed to have all of her wits about her, and practically ran up to me, looking downright terrified.

I asked what she was doing there as she walked up to me, looking all worried. Immediately she went into this long tirade about her ginger friend, immediately began to spill the beans about a deal he made with Obin - to get revenge on us for what happened to Astral.

Suddenly it all made sense - this whole thing was a setup to get me. What happened to his friends was the bait to draw me in. He was probably the one who called the cops, trying to get me arrested. Whether he expected me to visit Obin or not, hard to say - but the sorcerer clearly tried to make me one of his zombified servants.

I stopped the girl's rambling mid sentence, before asking her in a very level tone, "Did you help him set this up to get revenge on me?"

"No!" she pleaded, "I tried to help him all these months, but it wasn't helping. He blamed us for not caring about her, and you for what happened in the tunnels. When he came to Obin, we tried to talk him out of it, but... you saw what he did to my friends?"

I nodded weakly. She broke down sobbing even more.

Compared to what she had been through, I really hadn't been through much of anything that day.

That was when I felt a weird presence in the room - that annoying, vague feeling of hair standing up on your neck, but you not being quite sure what it was triggering it Suddenly, the young woman gasped, stammering as she put her hands on her head, crying out, "Oh god! What's happening!"

"What's going on?" I asked, putting a hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

Big mistake.

I felt her hand grasp my arm tightly - far stronger than someone her size should have been able to manage - before a sharp, painful force struck me i the side. I gasped, looking down in shock - there was a very large knife that had just appeared in the girls hand, at that moment going right through my ribs.

The girl's expression went from terror to one of sadistic glee as she smiled at me, holding me firm as I went into shock, warm blood staining my shirt.

"Welcome to my home, girl."came her response, her voice masculine, heavily accented and utterly inhuman as she let go of my arm, letting me collapse to the ground.

Sinister laughter filled the hallways as I slowly began to pass out.

[Gotham Witch]

Through the pain and haze of what seemed to be my death, I became aware of several things.

For one, I wasn't dead. Not yet, anyway.

It was difficult to explain - it was like I -wanted- to leave my body - for the last time, likely. But my very soul just wouldn't fade away, pinned to my body through some arcane means I was barely able to fathom.

Secondly, there was a presence near my body. I couldn't actually smell him, but he gave my very being the impression of cigars and rum.

It took me a moment for my vision to clear to realize his bare foot was on my chest - well, my body's chest - and he was apparently pinning my soul to the rest of me. My eyes followed up his leg to his well tailored black suit, rather scary looking grin, half smoked cigar and his distinctive tophat.

"It is not her time, Kriminel." said the figure with a raspy tone, exhaling some smoke.

"The prayers were made. I have been asked to make it her time, so I did... Baron." came the response. Instead of seeing the girl who stabbed me, I saw another African man, and if it was possible, this one was even scarier looking than the first as he waved that long, blood covered knife at the man hovering over me.


"You cannot get revenge on the wronged party. Besides..."The "Baron" tapped his cigar out, the ashes fading before they hit the ground next to my face as he shrugged,". This one has unfinished business. My answer is final - I won't open the door for her."

Baron Kriminel was about to argue, before he paused suddenly. Sniffing the air, all present could make out the smell of burned chicken and petrol wafting down the hall.

Licking his lips as he grinned with crooked yellow teeth, he gave a blood-chilling laugh as he walked away, waving,"I'm hungry. Have her, Saturday - she'll be lucky to live through Sunday."

With Baron Kriminel gone, his 'boss' looked down at me with a smirk. Shaking his head, he rather firmly patted my side - where I had just been stabbed, as he said simply, "If we're both lucky, I won't be seeing you for a looong while, child."

I woke up to me holding my side as he slapped me, gasping as I sat up.

There was only a very shallow scratch along my flank, my cut, bloodied shirt being the only evidence that I had been moments from death not so long ago.

Baron Samedi was gone, and I was alive.

I looked around to realize I was in a side room, likely an extension of the hut from before. The windows and door leading outside to MAnhattan were wide open.

The girl who had been... compelled to stab me was barely conscious, but after a quick check, was alive - but a bit bewildered about what had just happened, asking why it looked like I had been stabbed and if I was okay. After assuaging her fears, I assured her she was alright, before telling her to leave and go find Madam Laveau.

I had business with Obin.

[Ron Caliburn]

I really hate it when they use children.

[Gotham Witch]

Children is a relative term here - they weren't much younger than me. Sometimes you grow up quick.

As I stepped outside, there was a cab waiting for me. Sitting behind the wheel was a familiar Jamaican cabby.

Not needing a hint, I got in, and he immediately peeled off, the worn leather creaking beneath me.

"Before you get ideas, Kriminel don't give up so easily." The cabby noted to me. It was about then that I noted there was a faint smell of petrol in the car, along with something else.

"I think you have a leak." I noted.

"Only the best oil for burning the best chickens." he responded calmly.

That explained the smell that was making me a bit hungry. Did I mention I couldn't eat chicken for awhile after that?

"Why did you... how..." I was having trouble assembling words.

"I listen." the Cabby's reply was brief, before he glanced at me in the mirror, his dark gaze piercing, "That cat be wiser than you, you know."

I just hmphed at that, rubbing my side unconsciously.

The cabby ignored my annoyance as he continued, "Though I wager it wasn't the only reason you were alive today..."

I glanced down at the tear in my shirt before noting quietly, "Saturday."

There was long silence in the car as he looked back at the road, and I looked out the window. I could see we were going through Morningside Heights - not the most direct route to the Border, but I imagine that's because he had a detour in mind.

Finally, e stopped in front of an old new age book store, before glancing at me and saying simply, "Some of us are cursed with interesting times."

I looked at him, then at my destination. I handed him a fare and got out, not knowing what I was going into.

I closed the door to the cab as I watched the Cabby drive off, before realizing something was rubbing my leg.

I picked up the large Siberian briefly, rubbing her behind the ears with a sigh as I looked at the store. She licked me on the cheek where she had scratched me - probably her way of apologizing, even if it was to save my life.

I rubbed her belly briskly for a few moments before I put her down. Meowing, she immediately padded her way to the store, beckoning me to follow.

As if this whole thing couldn't get any stranger, I of course followed.

[Ron Caliburn]

You can always trust a cat.

[Sparks]

Y'know Mel, I spoke to Adrienne the other night. She said that people in the know said Obin had skipped town, but the "loa" were staying silent on the matter.

Any idea what that means?

[Ken]

Hey, small world. I live in New York. Recently moved here.

[Gotham Witch]

I've been here the past 4 years or so, though I grew up on Long Island.



And Sparks, not a clue. Though I was informed he skipped town.

Hm, I need to finish this story soon.

[Gotham Witch]

Almost 8 months. I really should be more prompt on finishing these.

I followed the cat into the store. Unlike a lot of the other new age stores, which cater to bored, higher-wealth clientele looking for a bit of novel paganism paraphernalia to feel special, this one was more akin to a second hand store, filled with rows upon rows of occult writings. Most of which were probably fraudulent, but I spotted a few gems.

"Can I help you?" a woman behind the counter asked as she dropped a box of books on the counter. She glanced down as the large fluffball meowed down at her, a look of surprise on her face, "Esme?"

"...the cat led me in here." I said sheepishly.

"That's my friend Edward's cat. What happened?" She asked with concern. Ushering me and the cat towards the back with some concern, she led us to a pair of chairs at a table with a coffee maker and a copy of John Parson's Three Essays of Freedom.

I sat down, and explained what had happened, rather at length. I was rather worried whether or not she was going to believe me. After I finished, however, she had a spooked look about her, glancing at me apologetically.

"I'm sorry. I feel partially responsible. I didn't know he (Ginger) would do this, but I'm the one who told him about Mr. Obin. I didn't realize that... I'm so sorry." she looked down in guilt.

"It's alright. You had no idea about any of this." I patted her hand assuredly, oofing slightly as Esme jumped in my lap, purring and nuzzling my arm for attention, "I need to find him though, before he does something more stupid."

She nodded, before giving me his address, "He was asking me the other day about some books that I told him I didn't have - hexes, curses and whatnot. I'm not sure why he wanted them. That sort of knowledge is dangerous."

I nodded, neglecting to tell her I knew exactly why he wanted them. After a bit, I thanked her and stood up, cat in arms.

By this point, Ginger probably knew that Obin's attempt on me had failed, and Obin himself had probably collected himself and was looking for me.

I didn't have a lot of time.

[Gotham Witch]

I got a call from Adrienne Laveau a bit after I left the new age shop, cat still in tow. She at length apologized to me, unaware that Obin was the sort to do that. She was going to find him and have him stopped - she didn't give me details, of course. Apparently for her, by messing with me, Obin had messed with Adrienne - it was now personal.

I asked her what to do should any more zombified minions of his were to attack me. She explained it was an issue of purging the 'zombie powder' from their systems. Likely, it would be something that would take some preparation and I wouldn't have time to do i, so she recommended I simply incapacitate them and leave them for her people to deal with.

As for Ginger, I had an idea what he was going to try and made some appropriate countermeasures. Being in league with a bokor didn't change the fact he was a second rate hedge wizard at best.

Before I got on the train, I desperately tried to get rid of the cat. Despite my protests, Esme refused to go away, however, doggedly staying by my side even when I got on the Coney Island-bound F.

Ginger had a flat in Park Slope of all places. I expected something a bit less posh I admit, but I regress. He lived in an old brownstone that had a rather shaddy lock on the front door. Needless to say, getting in wasn't hard, and finding the correct door was even easier.

Ginger hadn't locked the door, which I thought was rather odd. Carefully, I propped it open. The house was rather sparse, devoid of much but old furniture and a small shelf of books, many of which were sitting on the kitchen table in various states of half-read.

I found Ginger sitting in a circle, murmuring what was clearly a spell with a weak, almost nervous tone. In front of him, he had an open Bible, my name written on a piece of paper in what looked like blood (ew), pieces of smoldering charcoal in a metal bowl, and some various spices.

The disturbing part was I felt magic in the air. This wasn't just a hoax or a half-baked attempt - he was going to try and do something major.

As I opened the door, he looked up at me, a look of panic on his face before his gaze turned towards his kitchen. Almost instantly, I heard slow, heavy footsteps before I saw a pair of large, heavyset men, still wearing high-visibility yellow vests, steel toed boots, and hats.

Immediately one tried to grab me. Like I noted earlier though, zombies are kind of slow - I grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him head first into the front door, smashing it open. The second one managed to grab my arm though, and bloody hell as he strong.

As I was struggling to free myself, I heard a loud hiss and some cursing. As I looked over, Esme had thrown all 15+ pounds of herself at Ginger's face, digging her half inch claws into his face and breaking his concentration as he fell over. As I watched him fall over, I felt a 'popping' sensation in the air - usually what I feel when someone levys a spell against someone.

Luckily enough, nothing happened - at least not to me.

Seconds after the spell went off, Esme jumped off of Ginger's face. However, there was a cracking sound as I saw the ceiling just sort of 'give way'. Ginger screamed as, with little warning, the ikea couch from upstairs collapsed through the ceiling, crushing him violently. As fast as it happened, he screamed no more.

I just stared in shock for a moment, before taking the time to grab my assailant and throw him onto his back to knock him out. Apparently, taking out his 'controller' was enough to bring him back to his senses, as he was bewildered and in pain as he glanced at me in confusion, clearly not sure what the hell he was doing there.

After I convinced both construction workers that they were victims of gas poisoning while on the job, I got them and myself out of there. Officially, Ginger's death was ruled an accident - there's no way to account for a ceiling collapsing and a couch dropping on you - but that's because one can't can't blame a 'misfired hex' for cause of death.

I was rather lucky - that could have all happened to me.

This was all an odd situation. Ginger died because he blamed me for Astral - believed that something could have worked out had I not been there, and I was the reason his friend was dead. In his pursuit for revenge, he victimized his other friends and affected other innocent people. It's safe to say my conscience is clear. But still...

As for Mr. Obin, the claim is he left town, but nobody has seen him in months. I'm starting to wonder if perhaps he angered the wrong party - Adrienne claims complete innocence in the matter, but there are other less human entities that may not have approved of his behavior.

The cat was another matter. Despite having just been owned by someone, it clearly had decided to adopt me. Even today, I sit here typing this with an overgrown black fluffball purring in my lap. I suppose considering she saved my life twice, I can put up with it.

At least she's mostly hypoallergenic, though she's getting a bit fat these days.

[Grace]

Clearly you spoil your cats.

[Gotham Witch]

Both of them, really.

[Grace]

That reminds me. Just so you know, I won't be able to check up on Diana now. She's gone to the compound with Hannah. I've advised her not to drink the Kool-Aid. Beyond that, it's out of my hands. I think Clint and Damia are going too.

[Gotham Witch]

No problem. I appreciate you checking in on her though. Thanks Red.

[Hannah]

For the record I didn't serve any Kool-Aid while they were helping me rebuild.

Some lemonade, sure, but no Kool-Aid.

Hannah

[Gotham Witch]

I'm currently recovering and resting after a trip to Ottawa, but I figured I would share a story from a few months back, and maybe some thoughts too.

I used to do the paranormal circuits - psychic conventions, new age gatherings and the like for a few years when I was going to college on Long Island and at UMass, and one or two in New York City. I am not, as a general rule, the sort who enjoys large gatherings of people I do not know - crowds were never a thing of mine. However, it's hard to find someone I share common interests with in activities that most people rank somewhere between 'insane fiction' and 'satanic worship'.

I of course am talking about magic, the art, sorcery, the thing that has both saved my bacon and given me nightmares for weeks depending. Regardless, I used to hit shows up so I could perhaps meet others who practiced. I figured I couldn't be the only one curious to reach out and meet others.

Many - possibly most, even - people who show up to these things are deluded individuals or hucksters. The vast majority have no shred of either magical or psychic potential whatsoever. While many who attend these things may have genuine interest, quite a few of them likely don't really believe that actual powers exist and many just come because they are bored teenagers looking for a fad to follow or looking for a hilarious afternoon out making fun of the crazy people.

The skeptics never bothered me. I've seen and conjured up too much to be shaken by cynics and have nothing to prove to them. It was a recent event, however, that reminded me why I stopped pursuing the circuits in the first place.

The problem is not the skeptics, as I've noted. Rather, it's the exact opposite - the eager young believers, the ones with little to no experience that are willing to do anything to learn the craft. Most of them will wash out. A smaller segment will get themselves hurt or killed - if they're lucky. Only a select few will not only learn magic, but do so responsibly enough to live to old age.

If I recall right, I've had five people ask me to teach them magic when they found out I was a sorceress. I turned them all down for various reasons - too inexperienced to teach, too immature to learn, no real potential, no time, etc. The one excuse I never mentioned was a personal one - I didn't want the responsibility. That means more than just the time and effort to teach someone who may or may not succeed, but responsibility for what they do with the power they might wield. Read back a few pages and you'll understand exactly why I don't teach people I don't know. I've been accused of hoarding and trying to keep knowledge away from those who would seek it - fair enough, perhaps, but with magic I will take no chances.

I got a call from a friend a few months back about a novice practitioner based out of Hoboken. He had been one of the five who had tried to apprentice himself to me for lessons. The kid was... eager to say the least. I believe of the five who had shook me down wanting to learn, he probably had the most promise - energy, belief, and he seemed reasonably sharp. Still, my policy is always the same - no apprentices. I pointed him to some resources but told him teaching was simply out of the question. He seemed rather disappointed, but didn't force the matter. This all happened about 4 years ago.

I was figuring, and hoped, that he'd end up a competent practitioner.

Roll forward to a few months back, and a friend of mine was calling me noting that he had apparently disappeared. He was supposed to show up to a convention in Newark a few weeks before, and none of his friends had seen him before or since.

I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point I gained the reputation of the 'finder' of New York's weird community. Despite the fact I barely knew the kids (maybe 3 conversations between us, ever), the kid's friends specifically asked if I could find him. I wasn't quite sure what to think about that, but agreed to help nonetheless.

With the kid's address in hand and a ticket along NJ Transit's NE Corridor, I was on my way.

[Nemesis]

Your views on teaching others raise a lot of questions with me, Auntie Mel.

I'm currently apprenticed to Dr. James which has been great but I'm still very heavily influenced by my first teacher, much to the consternation of many, including myself. Sometimes I wonder how I would be different if he had been my first master.

And there is my sister, Rook. She's probably still young enough to learn and I'm proof that the potential must exist within her. Shouldn't we ensure that potential is developed towards constructive ends?

Finally there is my sister, Hannah. She's never had any teachers at all. Her preferred method of learning is to leap off cliffs to see what happens. Somehow she has managed to keep missing the ground but it's a big target and no one is that inaccurate.

Magic is a dying art. Isn't there some responsibility to see it passed onto the next generation? And to ensure that the next generation develop their talents in safety and with responsibility?

[Gotham Witch]

There should be guidance for young and budding arcanists - it just won't be from me. Any would-be apprentice deserves the fullest attention. Simply put, I don't have the time nor really the expertise for pedagogy - at least not yet. My stance might change someday.

Is there some responsibility to keep the art going? If I don't expect such of myself, I can't really expect it of others - though I'm happy people like Dr. James can still do so. Considering the harm and aid magic can rend - often at the same time - It's an interesting question to say the least. In the end, I can only with certainly claim responsibility for the ones I enable.

But I digress.

Going back to my eager would-be recruit, some investigation revealed that he hadn't exactly been a recluse. His roommate, who I caught between working his three part time jobs, told me that he hadn't seen him in well over a month. Of course, that wasn't all that was fishy. The man looked utterly exhausted, as if he had barely slept in months. He had a glazed over stare and wouldn't stop smiling as he kept trying to excuse himself, claiming he had to go to his meatpacking job to make more money.

Some investigation of the arcane sort revealed that he had been mentally tampered with, and something was forcing him to work himself nearly to death. My first thought was the missing roommate, but he couldn't have possibly been this competent - could he?

Regardless, I managed to break whatever was encorscelling the poor man. His head was rather fuzzy, and he wasn't able to tell me a whole lot. He was exhausted had apparently been occupied working three nearly full time jobs because his roomie needed the money, but managed to point the way to his vacant flatmate's room before passing out from exhaustion.

'Negotiating' with the lock to his room took some time, but when I finally did get in, I was, in a disturbed way, impressed. Besides the usual collection of would-be arcanist literature - Crowely, Shopenhauer, Andreae, Hartmann, etc - was some literature I did not recognize right away. Picking up one of the books, I popped it open to reveal some rambling text that almost seemed to sway and crawl upon the page. It's an enchantment I've seen before - one that entices you to read on and become wrapped up in the text, enchanting yourself in the process.

What precisely the enchantment on the book did, I couldn't be sure without either reading it (bad idea) or more analysis. Further exploring of his room, however, was more productive; some bank notes suggested he had a substantial amount of money piling up from at least three sources. The books he had on circles - not all of which were inaccurate, alas - and the shopping list of very unusual materials suggested he had something big and expensive planned.

Naturally, it seemed that the boy got himself in over his head with something. It didn't help that I wasn't quite sure what. Fortunately he left a receipt with a storage locker in Long Island City that might hold the answer...