Guys,
I though I'd do a short write-up of the Angel game (hopefuly the first of many). However I figured it was only fair if I give my fellow players (and the Ref) a chance to say "yagh" or "nagh". If anyone has any objections please let me know.

There must be a million stories of what happened after the hurricane tore threw New Orleans. This is mine. Well not just mine but…oh, you’ll see.

Like about a thousand others I had ended up being brought to The New Orleans Dome by the National Guard. I can’t say I liked the experience. It was noisy and smelly and there was no privacy. I couldn’t wait for the all-clear so I could see what had happened to my home.
In the crowd I had caught sight of one or two demon-folk, trying to stay unobtrusive. It seemed a good idea but, clearly, destiny had other plans for yours truly. I noticed some kind of disturbance in a secluded “corner” of the arena and something prompted me to go check it out. As I got closer there were shouts and screams and folk moving the other way, towards me, as fast as the crush would allow. I spotted some kind of small metal tower, may be it had been set up to support a PA system or lights. Even in my human form I’m pretty nimble and was able to quickly shin up the tower to get above the press of bodies and get a better view.
Vampires, six of them. They were feasting on maybe ten humans which was both greedy and stupid but what can you except from vampires. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve been in my share of fights but I don’t consider myself a warrior or anything and the idea of taking on six-to-one odds didn’t do anything for me. Still I couldn’t do nothing so I shouted down to the vampire gang to cut it out before they started a riot or something. I got their attention but not in a good way. Four broke off from their feeding and started to head towards me.
I was just starting to feel like a cat stuck up a tree when my very own knight in shining armour leapt to my rescue. Except this Lancelot was wielding metal bar with great gusto, part of a camp bed as it turned out, rather then a sword. At about the same time another guy charged into the two vamps that were still feeding; swing one of those sticks-and-chain weapons that you see in kung-fu movies.
Maybe I should have stayed where I was or even just tried to get away, it would have saved me a lot of trouble later on. But no, I had to do my bit. Leaping from my perch I shed my human guise on the way down and landed claws first on one of the vampires. Me and Lancelot were soon fighting for our lives. Lancelot clearly knew how to fight but he didn’t have the most ideal weapon in the world and was outnumbered two-to-one. Catlike reflexes and a misspent childhood helped me evade the vamps’ fists and I managed to rip up a couple pretty badly. Not that I liked getting bits of vampire under my nails and in my fur, particularly these ones who stank of stagnant sea water (could have been worse, they could have stank of sewage).
Mr. Ninja-Sticks was giving it his all as well, I noticed. A third guy had come over to help…well not help him exactly but to begin dragging the vampire’s victims to safety and shouting at the cops to put down their doughnuts and do something..
I guess the Sun-Dodgers hadn’t expected such stiff opposition and soon made a break for a side door. Lancelot had actually managed to batter one into unconsciousness with his trusty weapon but the retreating vamps dragged her off. Before they had split one said something to the others that sounded like “carte rouge”.

So this is how I met The Three Musketeers; Detective Sanierre (he was the guy who saw to the victims‘ safety), Rufus “Tunes” (the guy with the sticks) and Sam Wishbone (Lancelot).
I wouldn’t say that Sanierre and I hit it off straight away. He tried to shoot me twice for no real reason, which was odd because I usually make a good first impression. I guess he was just in shock about the whole vampires and demons bit. Changing back into my human form seemed to calm him down a little.
Tunes seemed to be a little more “in the know” about the supernatural, and took the vampire attack in his stride. I warmed to him at once. I got the feeling that Sanierre and Tunes went way back.
As it turned out that Sam, as well as being a mean arm with a metal bar, was quite the expert on the occult. He was also British. Not in a Hugh Grant “Gosh, golly, wow” kind of way but in a “Come and hav’ a go if you think your hard enough” kind of way.

Something about the whole vampire attack seemed not to add up. I mean, the needles had still been sticking out of the “junkies” arms when they had been attacked, all of them! No, this was something else. I had heard stories of vamps injecting their prey with special, magical narcotics to get high on their blood but I had never known it to happen here in New Orleans.
Sanierre commandeered the syringes and a National Guard APC (which was very noisy and stank of diesel and sweat, yuck) and we headed off to a hospital. We took a little detour on the way. Sanierre had his daughter with him, a cute little tyke called Trinity, and he made the driver head out to his mother’s place so he could drop her off. Until he handed his little girl over to Mama Sanierre the detective never left her side. He looked like he expected me to try and eat her at any moment. Surprise, surprise; he made me wait outside at his mother’s house too.
Once we got to the hospital the Detective led us to some lab and went about bullying the chief Science-Guy into getting someone to test the syringes. I’m not sure where he got them from but Tunes brought me an unexpected present; some cleaner clothes. I used a Decontamination Shower that I had spotted close by to have a thorough clean, the first one I had had in almost two days!
When I had finished the results were back on the mysterious drug and guess what? The scientist was baffled. Other then the fact it contained water and hint of lemon he couldn’t make out a thing.
So what to do now? We decided to split our efforts; Sam had a supply of occult tomes back at his house that might hold a clue so he and Sanierre headed there.
Remember how I said that I had spotted a few supernatural types lurking around The Dome? Well I figured that they might know something so Tunes and I headed back there. We ran into a couple of police and National Guard check-points on the way but as they only insisted that we go to The Dome it didn’t cause any trouble. On the way Tunes and I got chatting, he was a chilled-out kind of guy (apart from perhaps where vampires were concerned) who, I soon learnt, had a rather relaxed attitude to private property.
It took me a while to track down any of my friends back at The Dome, I guess they were making themselves extra scarce after the vampire incident, but finally I spotted Benny. Benny might look like a chubby-faced kid with curly hair to the uninitiated but he was in fact a Kreen Demon, a probably the oldest person in the arena by several centuries. I worked my wiles on him and he let slip that, if I wanted to find out about Carte Rouge I should head for Bourbon Street.
Tunes and I headed for the address of Sam Wishbone, esq. Of course this meant going away from The Dome (which the cops wouldn’t like) and into some areas that were still flooded with really nasty water. My solution to both problems was pretty simple; I ducked into an alley, shifted back into demon form and then it was up and across the roofs. Tunes’s option was even more straight-forward, he jacked a police launch he found moored near by.
The inside of Sam’s house looked like a cross between a Voodoo Shop and a museum of medieval weaponry. British with a house full of occult tomes and bladed weaponry, did I smell a Watcher?
Anyway Sam hadn’t been kicking back since we parted. His research had revealed that, while vampires narcotics were as old as the hills, they had never been popular in New Orleans and for one very good reason. It seems that some time ago the six most powerful demon families came together to become the uncrowned kings of The Big Easy. They called themselves the “Corps Rouge”. One of the Corps Rouge’s pet hates was drug use amongst demon-folk and they dealt harshly with anyone who broke their rules. Could it be that the hurricane had weakened the Corps hold on the city, a weakness that someone had been quick to exploit? If so then Sam has also found a likely suspect as to who the trouble makers were. There was a group, vampires mostly, who styled themselves the “Corps Noir”.
Whoever was responsible it looked like time to head for Bourbon Street and snoop around before more humans ended up with needles in their arms and vampires at their throats.

I was eager to get out and start looking for the “Carte Rouge” but the Three Musketeers were less enthusiastic. Well Tunes and Sam were unenthusiastic, Detective Sanierre was just plain asleep. So I did the only sensible thing under the circumstances and left them behind.
A short trip across the rooftops of New Orleans and I was at Bourbon Street. Even with the lateness of the hour and the depth of the flood water, thirty feet, there were still plenty of humans up and about. Mostly they sat on the roofs or balconies of their premises with shotguns, daring anyone to try looting what was theirs.
Starting at one end I worked my way up the street, “sniffing” anyone I saw for a demonic aura while keeping an eye out for any club, bar, pool hall or strip-joint called “Carte Rogue”. Occasionally, I think, a human might have caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of their eye as I darted overhead but in my demon form I can move as silently as the proverbial cat.
I got to the top of the street, turned around and come half way down the other side, all without much luck. There had been vampires about though, mainly in the upper stories of unoccupied buildings.
Then I spotted Sam, Tunes and Detective Sanierre rowing along the street. Tunes had ditched his stolen motor launch when he first arrived at Sam’s house. Instead the three were now in a battered old rowing boat with Detective Sanierre at the oars and Sam bailing.
The three rowed up to a flooded pool hall called, with stunning originality, “The Pool Hall” where the detective and Sam started to question the owner about “Carte Rouge”. Just as I was wondering how to rendezvous with the guys without being spotted by the humans, I noticed something that had evaded me till then. Beneath the floodwaters oily, garbage-strewn surface there were distinct shapes swimming around in the depth. Vampires don’t breath; could they be using the water to come and go as they pleased beneath the human’s noses?
A few coins deftly thrown in Tunes’ direction got his attention and I pointed out an alley where we could meet up.
Jumping down to join the other in the boat I shared what little I had discovered. They didn’t seem as impressed as they should have been by my discovery of critters in the water below. Sanierre’s nap seemed to have reinvigorated him, though he was still so intense, I expected him to pop a vein at any moment. He suggested that we check out the attics until we found a vampire, any vampire, and get them to tell us what they knew about Carte Rouge. It was the closest thing we had to a plan so we tied the boat to a fire escape and, heading up it, began a search.
We hit pay dirt on our first try, a vamps’ nest in the third story of a deserted bar, but at that point the vampires were not at home. In amongst all their squallor, whoever these vampires were they needed to go out and “Turn” a house-keeper, we found a small pile of discarded wallets.
It was only about an hour or so till sun up so we decided to stake the place out and see who came home to roost. There were three ways into the “nest” room; a window that led directly into it, the fire escape that led into a room next door and a set of internal stairs that went down into the flooded bar below.
We waited. Tunes relaxed with his favorite herb while Sam and I filled Detective Sanierre in on the wonders of the demon world that had passes him by for all these years.
It was about half an hour before dawn when my supersensitive ears detected someone heading up the fire escape, dragging something heavy by the sound of it.
The Three Musketeers took up positions around the fire escape window; Tunes had his ninja-sticks ready, Detective Sanierre his pistol and Sam produced a samurai sword from under his coat. They weren’t messing around then.
At the last moment it occurred to me that the vamp, assuming that is what I could hear, might take one look at the four of us and just dive into the water. Quick as a flash I dashed to the nest room, swung through the window, up onto the roof and headed back to the fire escape to cut off the vamp’s escape route. Quick as I was the intruder encountered my friends first. I could hear the detective telling someone to step in and kneel down (odd to think he had said something similar to me only a few hours before) and a women’s voice protesting her innocence.
I reached the roof’s edge overlooking the fire escape to see Tune’s examining the motionless body of a woman. She looked like she was asleep. I guess that was the “something heavy“ I had heard being dragged up the fire escape.
I dropped down beside Tunes and caught a glimpse of Detective Sanierre’s “suspect”. If the women was a Sun Dodger she wasn’t wearing her hunting face and perhaps this was making the detective a little unsure of the situation. One sniff with the old Hellcat nose was enough to dispel any doubts, Sanierre’s new friend was vamp and so was Sleeping Beauty on the fire escape, perhaps she had only recently been turned by the other vampire and had yet to begin her new, un-life.
When I broke the news the active vampire flew into action and tried to put the pinch on our resident representative of New Orlean’s Finest. Big mistake. It looked like Detective Sanierre had borrowed one of Sam’s swords too and the pair quickly put the smack-down on her while Tunes whipped out a stake and Dusted the second, inert vampire.
We set to work questioning the remaining vamp. Her name was Claire and one of the I.Ds we found was hers. The interrogation was a sobering experience with Detective Sanierre doing the old “Good Cop, Bad Cop” bit but without the Good Cop. When it was clear Claire wasn’t going to tell us anything useful Tunes Dusted her.
We did manage to learn a few things though, Carte Rogue was the name of a vampire gang and Claire herself had been turned only two nights ago by some guy.
While we were debating what to do next I heard the sound of something sloshing around in the water down the corridor. I tensed for action, expecting Claire’s nest-mates to come running in baying for blood. When nothing happened we looked out into the corridor. It was empty. Well almost empty, there was a small bag lying on the floor that hadn’t been there before. The way I figured it someone, most likely another vamp, had come up the internal stairs to get to the nest. May be the prowler had heard us or smelt the Vampire Ash in the air. Which ever, they had fled and, I guess, dropped the bag in their haste. Inside the bag were more I.Ds, these ones all female.
It was decided to row back to Sam’s place to rest and get to grips with the situation. Since the sun was up and there were more folk about I was going to change back into my human guise. Just before I did I glanced down into the water again and there were those swimming shapes once more. They defiantly weren’t humanoid but at the same time they weren’t crocs. I was determined to see if I could have a word with them, though the guys didn’t seem too hot on the idea. They rowed off a little way while I, getting closer to the water, began beating the surface with a piece of two-by-four I had found. That got their attention and one swam up to have a look. Even when “he” was only a meter below the surface I couldn’t make him out all that well. His face had a half human, half reptile look about it with a massive lower jaw. I couldn’t make out any limbs but they might have been tucked in tight to the body.
We had a little chat, I didn’t want to hang around too long in case a human saw me. The demon hadn’t heard of the Carte Rogue but confirmed there were plenty of vampires coming and going beneath the floodwaters. I tried to tease some information about Corp Rouge out of him, though I wasn’t sure how The Three Musketeers would react to the idea of turning to the “demon mafia” for help. It was a moot point as it turned out, my new friend either couldn’t or wouldn’t help on that score. You didn’t find the Corp Rouge, he said, they found you. He also predicted that the water would subside in three days, which was nice of him.

Conversation over I, now in human guise, joined the others and we began to row back to Sam’s. It was then that Detective Sanierre decided to drop a bombshell. The fight in The Dome hadn’t been his first brush with the supernatural as I had assumed. During the fury of the hurricane he had been attacked by his wife, who was now a vampire, and his eldest daughter killed. That explained a lot. He speculated that Carte Rogue might have been responsible for turning his wife.
We bumped into a police patrol who directed us to a police staging area. There a sweet cop called Lieutenant Smith supplied us with some tuna subs (yum) and rather tepid coffee. We were also able to swap our old, leaking rowboat for one without a hole. Detective Sanierre got hold of a street map of New Orleans and marked the addresses from the I.Ds on it. Most were on Canal Street and the few that weren’t were very close to it.
Most of us just wanted to get some shut eye but the detective pointed out that we could stop by a couple of the addresses as we rowed home.
The first one was for a lady called Michaela. We rowed up to her second story window and called out to see if anyone was home. No reply. We peered in through a broken window and saw a figure, obscured by shadows, sitting up against a back wall. Detective Sanierre pulled out his flashlight and illuminated a grizzly sight. Michaela, if it was her, had had her face and neck slashed to ribbons and she was sitting in a pool of her own blood. I almost lost my tuna, the boys took it in their stride. Sam and Detective Sanierre climbed in to have a look around. I wanted to stay behind and well away from what was left of Michaela but they called me in to give the place a once over. Yes, I could smell vamps but even with the neck wound this didn’t look like a vampire feeding to me, not with all that blood splashed around going to waste. I could also smell male sweat. Male vampires or a group of vamps and a group of men? I couldn’t tell. Perhaps it had been a vampire attack after all but the vamp had been forced to flee when unexpected company turned up. There was a trail of bloody foot prints but we soon lost them when they went below the waterline.
Rather guiltily I took the time to rifle Michaela’s wardrobe for a couple of changes of cloths, the fact her cloths were so nice only made me feel even more like a heel.
Sam scooped up a large amount of the victim’s blood, informing us that there was a spell in his collection of books that might reveal some useful information. We could certainly use some.
Our next, and final stop, before heading back to Sam’s attic was to the home a lady called Annabelle. It was also very tidy, no nasty surprises this time, with no signs of a struggle. It was empty of the living, dead or undead. There was some evidence to suggest she owned a cat, including a pot of Catnip (luckily I wasn’t in demon-form, I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself in front of the guys). Detective Sanierre appropriated her address book so he could investigate possible links between the people who’s wallets we’d recovered.
It looked like a coat was missing, maybe Annabelle was just out and perfectly safe but with her wallet in the possession of Carte Rouge I didn’t feel all that optimistic.

When we got back to Sam’s place he pulled out one of his dusty old books and a number of weird bits and pieces to prepare for his spell. Even though Sam didn’t look like he was looking for volunteers, I’d heard that these things worked better the more people who have a hand in it. Both Tunes and Detective Sanierre looked like they would rather be anywhere else so I volunteered to be Sam’s Lovely Assistant.
The spell took a couple of hours to do with Sam doing most of the work and yours truly reading out a chant or throwing some ju-ju powder into a flame when he gave me the nod.
Then the spell was done things went from dull to all around unpleasant as Sam and I got to experience the last few hours of Michaela Carter’s life.
It was a little disorientating at first as we seemed to be both disembodied observers and seeing the world through Michaela’s eyes simultaneously. Not that it was just pictures, we could hear what she heard and feel what she felt. Michaela had stubbornly refused to move out of her flat when the hurricane had hit and now, as she huddled in the darkness with the storm raging outside, she was thoroughly regretting that choice. All of a sudden she became aware of a strange luminescence and before her disbelieving eyes six men walked up the stairs from her flooded first-floor. Three of the intruders were clearly vampires, they had their hunting faces on, but the other three were obscured by brown robes. Despite the fact that they had come up out of the water the robe-guys seemed completely dry. Within moments the vamps were tearing into Michaela, for all intense and purposes tearing into Sam and me. The robe-guys somehow seemed to be holding the vamps back from feeding and during the attack carried out some kind of ritual of their own while scooping up some of their victim’s blood (there was plenty of it around).
I think Michaela must have blacked out during the attack because the next thing I remember the six were gone. She was too weak from her wounds to move or even cry for help, not that there was anyone about to hear her. Then suddenly there was. The first was muffled from head-to-toe in black robes so not an inch of him showed. Michaela was terrified that this was the Grim Reaper himself come to collect her, though I would have thought that death was a blessing considering the state the vamps had left her in. Bastards.
The second was a vampire; a real Lestat with elegant, “olde worlde” cloths, long hair and a poet’s brow. I mean, I would have if he hadn’t been a Sun Dodger.
As Michaela expired by inches before them these two guys had a quick chat. Black Robes commented that all was going to plan, even if the storm was a bit more ferocious then he had expected. Lestat replied that their numbers were growing but he couldn’t understand why he had been told to turn so many women. Black Robes gave the enigmatic reply that “the power” was “drawn from women” but pretty-boy wasn’t convinced saying that female vamps always cause trouble by getting hysterical and going after their families (I’m glad Detective Sanierre didn’t hear that). Despite Black Robe’s attempts to calm him, “Nathanial” started acting like a Prima-Donna and flounced off. Black Robes walked after him without a backward glance at poor Micheala who hung in there for a few more minutes before surrendering to the darkness.

Well that sucked. Sam and I filled the other two in on what we had witnessed. Sam suggested that the ritual and blood letting had been some kind of blessing.
It was decided that The Three Musketeers would check on the addresses on the ID’s. As for myself I had a far better plan. I knew an adept called Milo out in Baton Rouge who might be able to get a reading off of the IDs themselves (it was a shame we had left the wallets behind). So, as the boys rowed off I headed the other way. Of course they had the only boat so I had to keep to the rooftops for most of the journey and now it was daytime but I’m pretty sure I pulled it off without being spotted.
Milo’s place was set up in a basement under an old church, which gave me another reason (apart from the people about) to keep to my human form. Even them it wasn’t comfortable. At the front it sold voodoo trinkets and tours for tourists but there was small bar at the back set up for demon-folk. It was here that I found Milo and as I was his only customer I had his undivided attention. Milo ran his “psychic third eye” over the ID cards. They broke down into three groups. Three of the owners of the cards were dead. Three were alive, though to Milo’s psychic antenna “alive” could also cover vampires and the like as well as more conservative ideas of living. The smallest pile, consisting of one ID, belonged to someone neither dead nor alive. Weird. I looked at the ID, it belonged to one Sally Smith. Milo wanted the “dead” IDs as payment, which seemed fair enough.
I headed back to Sam’s attic. There was no sign that the guys had been back so I headed to Canal Street looking for them.
It didn’t take me long to find their boat. Unfortunately then I had a little mishap. I probably shifted back to human form a little too early and as I made a final, “easy” jump down to the boat I missed and landed in that slimy, filthy water. As I floundered around trying to grab hold of the boat I felt an arm take hold of me and Detective Sanierre dragged me aboard. As I lay there like a half-drowned kitten, justifiably feeling very sorry for myself (not that I got any sympathy from my stone-hearted companions) The Three Musketeers filled me in on what they had been up to. They had visited two of the homes on the list; Maria Robinson and Sally Smith. Neither were home and both apartments looked like they had been the scene of a struggle. It appeared that both the women had something in common, they had both been barmaids at “Blue’s Bar”. So that is where we rowed to next, or rather the guys rowed as my impromptu dip had really taken the spring out of my stride. I filled them in about Sally’s rather odd state of mortality.
Surprisingly Blue’s Bar was running a limited service from an up-stairs room and as we approached the sound of a saxophone floated through the air. The Three Musketeers headed in while I looked after the boat. From what I later learnt it looked like Detective Sanierre’s winning manner didn’t score any points with Blue, the bar’s proprietor and sax player, but the guys picked up one or two pieces of information. Sure, Blue knew Maria and Sally. In fact it appeared he knew most of the girls who had vanished. He figured that they were with all the refugees at the Dome. When asked if the girls had mentioned anything odd before the hurricane Blue remembered that they had spoken about some skinny guy with an English accent. Nathanial kind of had an English accent.
Sam had clearly got the taste for magic and wanted to cast another spell, this time to track down the mysterious Sally Smith. We stopped off at her apartment to pick up bits and pieces more intimately associated with Sally, an old doll, some toothbrushes and a mug with a lip-stick mark on it, and then it was back to the attic again.
I’ve got to say that by now I was bone tired as well as soaked. I stripped off, towelled down, re-dressed in some of the cloths that I got from Michaela’s place and then curled up in a chair and had a catnap. Detective Sanierre and Tunes followed suit (the sleeping bit, not dressing in Michaela’s clothes) but Sam went to work.
When I woke up a couple of hours later there was a fowl smell in the air and somehow Sam had turned the trinkets from Sally’s house into a rather misshapen crystal that he had suspended on a string. The crystal, he said, would act like a compass pointing towards Sally. I couldn’t help but notice that Sam looked pretty tired but he was determined that we should set out at once.
We rowed westwards. It looked like the waters were slowly starting to recede. We headed away from the city and into what, on a normal day, would have been the swamps.
It had been a long tiring row and Tunes and the detective were starting to flag when my attention was drawn to a small, odd island sticking out of the muddy waters. I guess before the flooding it had been a mound. Instinct told me this was something odd and, as the boat drew near, I shifted to demon form and leapt lightly across. In the centre of the island was a worn and chipped stone slab about the size of a table. Lying scattered about were lengths of rough rope. There had clearly once been a number of poles sunk into the top of the mound but after the hurricane only the broken off stumps remained. The others climbed ashore. Sam was convinced that the crystal was pointing to the slab and he was able to translate some random looking scratches on its surface as a dedication to The Temple of Orion. By scrapping away at the mud around the slab Detective Sanierre found a small space under it. Tunes’ plan to lever up the stone almost cost us an oar. Instead we undermined the slab on one side by digging a trench and then tipped the stone over into it. The space underneath was crammed with little knick-knacks. There were several pieces of paper on which people had written down their wishes, that someone they fancied would fall in love with them, that they would be rich and happy, that sort of thing. The prize find was a strange doll fashioned from sticks. Detective Sanierre said it was warm to the touch and, after checking it with the crystal, Sam announced that it was the depositary of Sally Smith’s soul. Very ghoulish.
So what to do now? We had recovered Sally’s soul but had no idea where her body was. Nor were we any the closer to finding Cart Rogue, Nathanial or the man in the black robe. So, once again, it was back to Sam’s attic. After all this rowing I was going to have to spend a fortune on skin treatments for my poor hands.
The journey back, through the silent, turgid waters, wasn’t pleasant. I was sure that there was something out in the swamps that was watching us. Something unfriendly. I guess that The Three Musketeers felt it too, they looked pretty jumpy.
When we finally got back we were surprised to find a note stuck through Sam’s window, cordially inviting us the grand re-opening of “Blue’s Basement” at midnight. Excellent, I love a good party. It was about six o’clock so we could get some much needed shut eye. I can’t say I slept that well though and was troubled by nasty dreams.
A little after eleven we were all up and about. I did what I could to spruce up my appearance, well girl has got to look her best doesn’t she?
No one had heard of “Blue’s Basement” but “Blue’s Bar” seemed like a safe place to start looking. It seemed we were on the right track, someone had hunted down hundreds of jars, put candles in them and set them adrift in the waters around Blue’s Bar. There were very welcome sounds of life and music coming from within and when we entered, greeted warmly by Blue, found the bar full of people. I even spotted Benny.
At midnight Blue made a big announcement that all were welcome in his bar (not everyone looked like they knew what he was talking about but most did) and a trap door in the floor was thrown open to reveal a second, bigger bar below with, luxury of luxuries, electricity!
We headed down. There was already a crowd down there with more then one demon in it. This was just my sort of bag and I felt at home at once. Tunes made a good stab at fitting in, even if he did cause a riot of laughter when he asked if anyone knew anything about voodoo dolls. Sam was a bit of a wallflower, I guess his Stiff-Upper-Lip got in the way. Of course Detective Sanierre was…well Detective Sanierre and within ten minutes he had got into an argument with Blue and stormed back up-stairs. Honestly I think he’s incurable. It wasn’t too long before I could no longer see the other guys, I guess they had followed the detective’s lead and left.
I managed to get a promise of a job, when things settled down a bit, from Blue. I know what you’re thinking, being one of Blue’s barmaids seemed to be a dangerous occupation but I figured I could look after myself.
The drink flowed and a good time was had by all. I linked up with a few buddies I hadn’t seen since the hurricane and heard news about some others. It wasn’t all white wine and dancing on the tables though, I did manage to find out some interesting things.
Nathanial seemed fairly well know, He claimed to be an elder vampire but no one had ever seen him do anything to back up that boast. He was supposed to hang his cape at an old plantation belonging to at wealthy family called the Dubois. Now the Dubois were an interesting lot in their own right. They had “The Sight” and were the only humans in the Corps Rogue. I managed to pin down four of the other six families in the Corps too. There was The Temple of Orion, a druidic order that had come across from Europe. The Krentaught, a family of big, red demons that looked like the Christian idea of Satan. The Kappa Carnivale, a conglomeration of smaller demon families that were a sort of “Demon Police“. There was The Milliau Regarre, blue skinned dwarves with supernaturally sharp senses and the ability to blend into any natural environment. Nasty little devils was the impression I got. The sixth and final family elluded me.
A lot of the party goers knew that the vamps were up to something but I’m disappointed to say that most didn’t seem inclined to do anything about it. I guess it was down to me and the Three Musketeers then.
I rounded off the evening on the arm of a cute demon called…well actually I forget what he was called, and we heading back to his place.
The sun was up when I returned to Sam’s attic. There was no doubt that the water was on it’s way down, maybe soon everything would be back to normal.
The guys had also heard about Nathanial and the Dubois, though they didn’t know that the Dubois were part of Corps Rogue. Sam had dug up some interesting history on the family, back in their slave owning days they had been rumoured to be steeped in voodoo and black magic. There was even a reference to a plantation that had burnt down in mysterious circumstances. This looked like a good lead but how to find the plantation?
Detective Sanierre took us to The Hall of Records and flashed his shield about. By comparing some old and new maps we pinned down the plantation to a spot about two miles west of the Druid’s Mound. Sam also had the brainwave of looking up the family-tree of Sally Smith. Guess what? She was descended from slaves owned by the Dubious. We checked a couple of more names of the disappeared and in two out of three cases it was the same story.
Detective Sanierre managed to commandeer us a pick-up. It was time to head for the plantation.

About two miles east of the Ceremonial Mound we found the Dubois Plantation House. It looked like it had once been a large, opulent affair, conjuring up glamorous images of Southern Belles in gorgeous dresses being wooed by hansom cavalry officers (at least it did to me, I’m certain that The Three Musketeers have all the romance of three tree stumps). Now it was all neglect and decay. The grand house’s wooden, upper storey had caved in and the swamp was slowly but surely reclaiming the grounds.
There were a couple of large outbuildings so I decided to check there first. Since we were away from prying eyes I was in demon form so I felt safe enough. One building was more intact then the other but both seemed empty from a quick scout and I couldn’t smell any trace of vamps or demons.
I caught up with the other in the grand house itself. Tunes was on guard in the entrance hall while it looked like Detective Sanierre and Sam had found Nathanial’s nest. I could smell his vampiric aura but he hadn’t been there for a while. Nathanial had certainly made an effort with the place. It looked like he had collected together the most elegant and serviceable furniture into one room. The three of us searched the room. Sam found a legal contract safely tucked away in a writing deck . The document, drawn up by Wolf, Ram and Hart, had Nathanial promising to provide twenty female vampires for someone called Tundra Storm It threatened him with unspecified, but no doubt nasty, consequences if he failed to deliver. That was nothing compared to the letter I found in a waste-paper bin. It was from the afore mentioned Tundra Storm to the elusive Nathanial discussing their ambitions. It seemed that Mr. Storm wanted to replace someone called Treeholm as the head of The Temple of Orion while Nathanial wanted a seventh seat on Corp Rogue. In the letter Storm warned Nathanial to be wary of “the Krents” as they didn’t like vampires. The name Treeholm meant nothing to me but could Krents be a reference to the Krentaught demons?
Leaving Sam to collect up Nathanial’s books, which seemed an odd mixture of occult tomes and high-school year books. Detective Sanierre and I continued to search the lower floor. In the kitchen we found a rather ominous butchery table. The back door was open and there was an obverse trail leading off through the bushes towards a huge tree. The detective and I followed the trail. We got about half way when the quiet was broken by Tunes, calling us from the big house, wanting to know what he should be doing. With a sour look on his face Detective Sanierre went back to collect Tunes and Sam. He did tell me to wait where I was but I’m sure he didn’t really mean it so I stalked along the trail to see where it went. It ended outside an old chapel with a huge tree growing out of the roof. I went to peak inside but before I touched the door I could feel a holy aura coming off of it. I could have gone in, honest, but I could already hear the others crashing down the path like a heard of trolls so I thought’s I’d wait.
For some reason Detective Sanierre was more interested in the size of the tree then seeing what was in the chapel and discussed it at length with Sam (must be a guy thing). I got so impatient that I almost opened the door myself, holy aura or no holy aura, but Tunes came to my rescue. Crossing the threshold it became clear that the aura didn’t extend inside, maybe in years gone by some God Botherer had blessed the door to keep some poor demon out.
Inside it was clear that someone had done a lot of redecorating. The pews were all gone and where the alter should have been there was now the truck of the tree with a stone slab, just like the one on the mound but in better condition, in front of it. The walls were almost obscured by thick vines that arched over head to form…well an arch. A soft, green light filtered down from above. Laying serenely on the slab was a sleeping beauty dressed all in white. Sam pronounced it to be the soulless body of Sally Smith in a magical state of suspension. Before we could do much more we had company. A figure dressed from head to toe in white robes stepped out from behind the tree while six more figures, these ones in familiar brown robes, appeared from the sides.
A stand-off ensued. Mr. White-Robes, or rather Tundra Storm, was as arrogant as they came, making out that we were in the wrong and he the offended party, the cheek! All this “you can’t touch me” business only got on Detective Sanierre’s nerves, as you might imagine. And when I pointed out that the brown robes were the same as the ones who had set the vampires on poor Michaela Carter he decided it was time to arrest Mr. High-and-Mighty Tundra Storm and the brown-robes as accessories to murder. He tried to clap Storm in irons only to be thrown back across the room by some unseen force. This only raised the stakes to “resisting arrest” so Detective Sanierre tried to shoot him in the leg only to have the bullet hit some sneaky, magically force field. Tunes took the opportunity to make a grab for Sally. This, along with the shooting, seemed to snap Tundra Storm’s patients and he ordered his acolytes (the brown-robes) to throw us out.
Three acolytes made a grab for Detective Sanierre, he was too quick for two of them but got grabbed by the third. Another three bundled on to poor Tunes who was caught completely off guard. I leapt to his aid and was soon batting brown-robes about like oversized mice. Storm took cover behind the big tree. As it looked like Sam and the detective had the other three in hand I leapt after him but as I rounded the tree there was no trace of Storm. I decided that a quick climb of the tree was in order, purely to see if I could spot Tundra Storm making his escape (honest).
When I got down Sam was looking over a rather nasty head wound an acolyte had received in the short fight. In his usual rough manner Detective Sanierre began questioning an acolyte called Oakleaf. As far as Oakleaf was concerned we were the ones who were in the wrong and he knew nothing about Nathanial and Carte Rouge. Then I had a brain wave, remembering the letter we had found in Nathanial’s nest I asked if we could speak to Treeholm. Surely he could help us when we provided proof of Tundra Storm’s skulduggery. As it turned out Treeholm was a she. The acolytes didn’t know where she lived, they just tended to want to speak to her and she would appear out of the tree. Detective Sanierre gave Oakleaf some encouragement to “want” Treeholm to appear. When that didn’t seem to work I, very politely, addressed myself to the tree and asked if Treeholm could honour us with an audience on a matter of grave importance. My appeal earned me nothing barring an “are you out of your mind” look from the detective.
When Detective Sanierre started questioning a second acolyte we had a sudden breakthrough. The acolytes of The Temple of Orion usually occupied a small vault under the chapel but since the hurricane Tundra Storm had forbidden them from going down there.
We quickly found the trap door and, armed with the detectives flashlight (even I can’t see in total darkness) Tunes and I headed down. The trap door led to a set of stone-cut steps that descended into what was probably the Dubois ’s family crypt. Just as we reached the base of the stairs my senses went berserk. I could smell stale blood by the bucket load and the auras of multiple vampires. I grabbed Tunes, who had insisted in his sweet, macho way of going first, and pretty much dragged him back up the stairs. When I got back to the top I was a little disconcerted to find all the acolytes securely bound and gagged, courtesy of Detective Sanierre. Honestly I thought I had wandered on to the set of some weird druid porn movie!
In hushed tones we discussed our next move and it was decided that we should all go down and deal with the vamps. The silence was both puzzling and worrying. Despite what the movies tell you Sun Dodgers don’t sleep during the day, in fact I don’t think they sleep at all. So why couldn’t I hear the sounds of who-knows how many vamps impatiently waiting for the sun to set?
In the first chamber beyond the stairs we found an alcove in which had been staked twenty small glass jars, half of which were filled with blood. Peaking into the second (and final) chamber I found fifteen female vampires lying around in what looked like a deep sleep. They hadn’t been given a make-over and laid out neatly like Sally, it looked like they had just been dumped there. Still, seeing sleeping vampires was so odd I had to listen for a few moments in case I could here any heartbeats. Nope, my ears and nose agreed, they were all vampires. Now we were left with the problem of what to do with them. An early suggestion was to pour gasoline into the crypt and torch them. Tunes volunteered to go and get the gas while the rest of us waited in the darkness. I don’t know about the other two but every single one of my nerves was on edge, if the vamp-ettes woke up we wouldn’t stand a chance. After a few minutes Sam quietly pointed out that burning the vamp-ettes was probably not as good a plan as it sounded. Instead we should all stack one each . If the others stirred we could flee to the safety of the sunshine outside and fall back on the burning plan. If they didn’t stir we could work our way through the group, staking as we went.
After about twenty minutes the silence was suddenly shattered by Tunes calling down that Treeholm had arrived in response to my request and was waiting to talk to me.
Ha, Hellcats 1, Detectives 0!
Treeholm was probably the nicest human I had ever met. She had silver hair, was mature but youthful and radiated an aura of wisdom and kindness. She also knew exactly the spot on my head where I liked to be tickled. Once Sam had shown her the letter and contract we had found she explained that, while she had been aware of his ambitious nature, until now Treeholm had not known that Tundra Storm was a traitor to The Temple of Orion. While the other members of her order had been trying to soften the hurricane’s savagery and lessen the after-effects he had been doing the opposite, enhancing the destructive nature of the storm and exploiting the chaos for his own ends.
She also finally explained about Sally Smith and the doll. Sally was a new recruit to the temple who had lived a rotten life up till then. She was voluntarily undergoing a ritual that would benefit both her and The Temple. It helped the Temple of Orion by creating a stronger link to the spirit world and helped Sally by purging her of the bad karma she had built up in her life. To be honest both Storm and Oakleaf had said something similar but the difference was I believed Treeholm.
Treeholm assured us that Tundra Storm’s actions would be addressed by herself and The Corp Rouge but that Nathanial was out of her control. On the subject of Nathanial, when Sam asked about the “sleeping” vamp-ettes Treeholm suggested that they had probably been placed into a magical sleep before being turned so they would remain innocent of their vampiric nature.
The conversation started to become a circular argument about what was to be done about the vamp-ettes and I got bored. Tunes had mentioned that someone had wrecked the pick-up, which suggested that either Nathanial or one of his allies were still around (slashing the tyres seemed a little…mundane for someone called “Tundra Storm“). So I went on the prowl. I found a second, disused, vampire nest in the house. By the posters and odds and ends this one looked like it had been used by an adolescent boy. Nathanial had been pretty young in Michaela’s vision. I guess that for the first few decades after being turned he had lived the same sort of life he had as a human, all computer games and girlie-mags, before re-inventing himself as the elegant and sophisticated Nathanial he now was. I also found a small cellar under the kitchen in which a large amount of money and several fake sets of I.D for Nathanial were hidden : driving licenses, passports, that sort of thing,. I finally found his trail but it was about twelve hours old and heading back towards New Orleans. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out who had done the number on our pick-up.
By now the Three Musketeers had worked out a compromise with Treeholm about the vamp-ettes, she didn’t want then destroyed while in (or under) their sacred place so they guys dragged them out and dusted them in the great outdoors.
It was a long walk back to New Orleans but, thankfully, still day light. We wracked our brains for where to look for Nathanial. Sam came up with the answer when he found Nathanial’s picture in one of the New Orleans High School year books. It looked like he had been a popular guy, star footballer and no doubt King of the Hallways. Maybe he might have gone back there.
We found the High School empty and locked up. While Detective Sanierre and Tunes tried to prove who was the alpha-male by picking the padlock on the front door I spotted that the upper storey windows were insecure. A quick change followed by a hop and a skip and I was in the school. My initial plan was to let the guys in through a fire-escape but they were all locked up too. While I wandered the deserted halls I popped my head into a changing room and chanced across a cheer-leaders uniform. Now I never went to High School so I never got a chance to be a cheerleader (something I would have been perfect for), and there the uniform was clean and just my size. How could I possibly resist. And if you think about it, it made sense, ‘cos Nathanial was an ex-jock and therefore cheerleaders were his natural pray and therefore I could lure him out.
I finally came up with a plan to get the Three Musketeers in, I threw one end of a fire hose out of the window, but by then Detective Sanierre had finally picked the lock and the guys were in. The detective clearly didn’t get my brilliant cheerleader plan but it didn’t matter as Nathanial clearly wasn’t there. What we did find was his old school records. Nathanial had been the big man at school, the captain of the football team and shoe-in for Homecoming King, but then he had got one of the cheerleaders pregnant and it all came crashing down. He had stuck out school for about another year and then suddenly dropped out. I guess that was when he was turned. From the records we got his home address, maybe we had the right idea just the wrong place.
Nathanial’s parent’s place was neatly boarded up, I guess they still lived there but had evacuated because of the hurricane. Except, that is for a couple of the boards for the external entrance to the basement that had been pulled away. I volunteered to go first. It was tight squeeze and I had to go down feet first. I was halfway through when someone grabbed my ankles. I was yanked into the cellar and hurled against a wall. Luckily I’m pretty elastic and bounced off with only my dignity bruised.
There he was, Nathanial, right in front of me. He looked just like he appeared to Michaela as she lay dieing. That thought made my blood boil and I lunged at him claws first. I’ve got to admit he was fast and dodged my slashes with embarrassing ease. The Three Musketeers quickly joined the fray and Detective Sanierre, clearly empowered by some unresolved, vampire-related issues, knocked him down with a couple of whacks his sword. Before Nathanial could get up I dusted him.
Strangely, during the fight Nathanial never attacked back. Sam suggested that he knew he had failed to carry out his contact with Wolf, Ram and Hart and preferred death at our hands to whatever punishment lay in store for him. There were a few dusty old boxes in the basement with his name on that he had opened. They had contained mementos from his childhood, no doubt packaged away by his parents when he had vanished. Before you start to feel sorry for Nathanial I should also say there were some out of place items of jewellery, no doubt trophies from the women he had recently killed and resurrected as vampires. The speed with which Detective Sanierre snatched one up and put it in his pocket spoke volumes.
So Nathanial was dust as were most of his vampire gang. Tundra Storm’s plot was expose and no doubt Treeholm and the Corp Rouge would catch up with him soon enough. On a personal note I had found a new job and made three new friends. So all in all a couple of days work I could feel proud of.
Who knew what adventures tomorrow might bring?

So the Three Musketeers and I bust down the door and there are these seven guys. They were dressed in hooded robes, standing around a circle of glowing, mystical energy and chanting in a language that was very unpleasant to hear, particularly if you have poor, sensitive ears like mine.
Tunes says something funny but one of the robed guys, the leader I guess, doesn’t get the joke and says “kill them!”. Four of them break away from the circle and advance on us with obverse hostile intentions while the other three keep up the chant.
Well you can guess what happened then; a quick and brutal fight.
The robed guys had knives. Well I say “guys” but under the robes they were Lyrok Demons. Ever met a Lyrok Demon? All yellow and wrinkly. And the smell is something else! They’re not the toughest of demonfolk, more noted for their brains then brawn, and are obsessed with their “Lyrok Prophecies”. Not that anyone outside the clan knows what the Prophecies say. Probably your standard, human-phobic demon nonsense about purging the human race I imagine.
Anyway, “the robed guys had knives“. Tunes had his ninja-sticks, Sam had a great, big samurai sword, Detective Sanierre had a shotgun. And me? I had my claws, not to mention my natural grace and élan . So all in all the Lyrok’s didn’t stand much of a chance.
Quicker then it takes to tell five of the demons were dead, one was dying and the last was out cold (that was my doing). Unfortunately we were not in time to stop the circle from reaching it’s mystical critical mass (a “critical blackmass” you might say). There was a burst of lightning and a ball of light that rapidly expanded and then contracted, a bit like in that Arny film. However what was left behind was not something as loveable as a killer robot from the future but far, far worse: A second Detective Sanierre!
This second Sanierre was all transparent and, before we could do anything, it said something to the effect of “see you soon, brother” and then ran off through a wall.
As you can imagine we were all a bit surprised by this turn of events. After quickly studying the circle Sam decided he needed to head back to his books to see if he could work out what had just happened. Detective Sanierre and Tunes elected to stay behind and question the remaining Lyrok Demon. Yours truly decided to head back with Sam, during the fight I had been standing too close to one of the demons when it had caught the full force of a shotgun blast and I was coated in it’s ichors. And you think that Lyrok’s smell bad on the outside…
Back at Sam’s I hit the shower. When I finally felt that I had the smell of Lyrok off me I had a peak at what Sam was up to. He was deep in his books so I thought it was best not to disturb him and turned on the telly instead.
It wasn’t long before Tunes and Detective Sanierre arrived. They hadn’t been able get anything out of the Lyrok. Sam had been far more successful with his books. The circle, he told us, had been intended to summon a powerful, mystic assassin called a Hunter Spirit. However something, no doubt something called “us”, had made the ritual go wrong and what had been called up instead was a type of Doppelganger Spirit called a “Mocker Spirit”.
Doppelgangers take the shape of a chosen “victim”, in this case our own lovable Detective Sanierre, including all their memories and talents but are superior to the original. Now most Doppelgangers will try to get rid of the original and take over their life but a Mocker Spirit has more going on upstairs and will often try to make the original’s life a living hell.
As you might expect Detective Sanierre didn’t take this very well but for a second or two I thought he had gone right off the rails as he went to Sam’s kitchen , grabbed a knife and attempted to slit his wrist. No, it wasn’t a suicide attempt, but rather he wanted to mark himself so he could prove to us he was the original Detective Sanierre and not the Mocker Spirit. Unfortunately the detective’s nerve failed him (it had been a trying afternoon) and Tunes had to make the cut instead. Of course, since it was a demon, I would be able to “sniff” out the Mocker if we were confronted by it but, no, it would take far more then an evil, super strength twin to make a certain Detective Sanierre put his faith in little ol’me.
Anyway, once he had done playing with knives the detective dashed out to his car an was away. It was obvious where he was going. If the Mocker Spirit wanted to make the detective’s life hell his first target would be his mother and daughter. This was not good news as, if the Mocker was there, Detective Sanierre didn’t stand a chance (“superior to the original” remember). Unfortunately Sam doesn’t drive and I hadn’t been able to replace my poor scooter that had been tragically washed away in the flood. Luckily Tunes rose to the occasion and boosted us a car.
By the time we got to the detective’s place he had already packed off his mum to collect little Trinity from school and take her on an impromptu holiday. Of The Mocker there was no sign. Sam had been thinking about that on the way over and had come to the conclusion that the manner of it’s summoning could have altered The Mocker’s behaviour. It still would probably like to torment Detective Sanierre in time but perhaps it had other priorities. What we needed, he said, was a look at the oh so secret Lyrok Prophecies.
We split up to do some legwork. Since it was still daylight and most of my contacts don’t come out till sundown I headed home for a catnap. That evening I headed over for my shift at Blue’s Basement and took the opportunity to quiz the regulars. It tuned out that there where three written copies of the Prophecies. One was in The Vatican Library (not the most demon-friendly of places), a second at some dusty old New England university (far too close to mother’s stomping ground for my liking) and the third right here in New Orleans in the possession of an eccentric billionaire and collector or rare tomes called Anton Phibbs.
Before calling it a night I popped back to Sam’s to share the news. Sam had found out pretty much the same information. Both Detective Sanierre and Tunes had heard of Mr. Phibbs, it seemed he was a big fish in the murky waters of the New Orleans underworld. Not someone to be taken lightly. We decided to pay him a visit the next day and see if we could negotiate access to the Prophecies.
When I got home I immediately smelt the lingering aura of an unfamiliar supernatural being. Carefully checking around I could see that my things had been slightly moved, as if by a careful search, but it appeared that the intruder had not taken anything or, worse, left any mess. I could only imagine that it was the Mocker Spirit but it was long gone.
I settled down to sleep with thoughts of reclusive billionaires running through my head. “Kitty Phibbs”, it had a ring about it. In my imagination he morphed into a sort of mix between Hugh Heffner and all my favourite movie hunks.

The next morning I bounded out of bed ready to take on the world, and maybe bag myself a billionaire in the process. I kept to my human form and dressed to catch the eye of a single guy.
Leave it to Detective Sanierre to spoil my good mood. He was really, really offensive that morning and within ten minutes of meeting up with the Three Musketeers at Sam’s house I had stormed out, vowing to myself that I would not return until I had solved the Mocker problem single handed! I would make Detective Sanierre eat his words and finally admit that he was better off for knowing me. I was still working out how to put my plan into motion when Tunes caught up with me. He was really, really sweet about it all and managed to make me see sense about the “going-it-alone” bit.
Oh yeah, there was one other odd thing that happened before we all set off in Detective Sanierre’s car to see Mr. Phibbs. Stuck to the fridge door was a sketch of a young woman. I was sure I recognised her and asked Sam who she was. Sam told me he had drawn it based on a description of a woman Tunes had seen in a dream.
Anyway we drove the roundabout route to Mr. Phibb’s estate. Tunes had rung ahead and made us an appointment for 11 that morning. We were told not to bring any weapons but the detective’s shotgun and Sam’s sword were in the trunk, Sam had a big, scary knife in the glove compartment and Detective Sanierre had his gun with him.
The gates of Mr. Phibb’s mansion were a promising start, all gold with his initials worked into them. We were buzzed in and told to park around the side where we were met buy two security guys. They had more muscles then a pair of steroid abusing bodybuilders and there was something about their eyes that told me that they were no more human then I am.
After relieving Detective Sanierre of his gun they lead us around the back to the pool. It was just how I imagined it and could picture myself spending many hours frolicking in the waters or just bathing in the sunshine. I was brought down to earth with a bump though. Rather then the dashing playboy with a body that spoke of the best personal trainers money could buy, Mr. Phibbs had a pigeon chest, reseeding hair and a weak chin. To make matters worse he was wearing a very unflattering pair of trunks and drinking a far too colourful cocktail. Life is so cruel to me!
We got down to business. Sam introduced himself as a fellow enthusiast of occult matters, I was his “associate” and the detective (not that we mentioned he was a cop) and Tunes were Sam’s bodyguards. A conversation full of double meanings, where the things unsaid were as important as those vocalised, followed. In the end Mr. Phibbs made the following offer; He wanted Detective Sanierre and Tunes to go fetch “Catherine’s” skull . I got a bit worried for a second there but he meant the famous voodoo queen Catherine, whose grave was in the heart of New Orleans, rather then yours truly. While they were about the job Sam and I would stay at the mansion as Mr. Phibbs “guests and entertainment” (I was not sure if the later was supposed to sound friendly or sinister) during which time Sam would be allowed to have a read of the Lyrok Prophecies.
During the negotiations Mr. Phibbs had offered us some refreshments. Tunes and Detective Sanierre turned him down but I had whatever it was that our host was drinking and Sam requested a cup of tea. Clearly tea wasn’t a common beverage at the Phibb’s Mansion and it was served with the milk carton along side. Casually I took a look at the “Missing” picture on the carton and there was the woman from Sam’s picture! As subtly as I could I pointed it out to Sam.
Now the Three Musketeers didn’t exactly leap at Mr. Phibb’s offer so they headed off to the ornamental gardens for a conference. I was left with Mr. Phibbs. Despite his poor appearance a billion dollars can turn a gal’s head and I went on a bit of a charm offensive. He played it cool but I could tell it was only an act. During our conversation it learnt that, like many a bored billionaire he had had many hobbies until discovering he had a real aptitude for the occult. Through this growing talent he had developed an interest in being able to predict the future that boarded on an obsession. Mr. Phibbs felt that if he could tap into the latent power of Catherine’s remains his visions of the future, something that is notoriously imprecise across the supernatural community, would be brought into focus.
Soon enough the Three Musketeers were back with their answer, Detective Sanierre and Tunes would get the skull but only if Sam could verify the Prophecies first. Mr. Phibbs took Sam inside and on a quick visit to some high-security vault. When they returned Sam gave the thumbs-up. The dealt was agreed and the detective and Sam would be on their way but first there was the small matter of the figure buffet that Mr. Phibbs staff had brought out for us.