Continued from The Grand Ball



The fervor with which Jensen gripped his hands surprised even Jay. Who, lets face it, tended to be the most dramatic in whatever group he found himself.  "Alright. I guess we'll take that as a yes." He grinned, pat Jensen on the hand and looked at Natalie. She looked bright eyed enough for the looming 17 hour journey in three planes.

It was the first time outside the walls of the Kremlin in longer than Jay wanted to think about. The fresh air filled his lungs in a way he hadn't appreciated before. Some of the others from among the Nine were below ground far longer than himself. Jay learned to work the power faster than most, if not all of them, according to Karim. Some of the others were as strong as Jensen, and in the case of Michael, stronger. But the speed at which Jay learned was remarked upon. Julian and Dominick reminded him almost hourly. 

So no wonder they were going batshit crazy down there. Men just weren't meant to be locked away in the dark. It did fucked up things to the mind; six months down there? Longer? Jay shivered to think about it. He'd be crawling the walls. Literally. Probably end up having conversations with the blank patches of canvas, scrawling out anything and everything to cross his mind, until the scribbles were incomprehensible. 

The fresh air felt great. A Kremlin employee approached, offering to drive them to their destination. The car was welcome cover. Windows blacked out, as soon as they rolled through the gates, tourists lined the barricade to get a closer look at the inhabitants. Media and paparazzi flashed. Jay stared above the heads of them all, though. The new triumphant arch loomed like a fortress. The power with which it was built was unbelievable. So much power. Jensen was a kitten next to Ascendancy. It really was hard to believe the man .. wasn't something more than a man. He swallowed and turned his gaze upon the city instead. They had three stops to make. The nearest was the former French embassy that the Legion now occupied. Jay had no idea if his stuff was still there. Though he had to assume when Jacques and Ascendancy struck their arrangement about his .. service.. that his belongings were accounted for.

The sprawling mansion was lined with flags of the Legion, but no other markings designated it as occupied by foreign officers. "You should probably stay here. I'll only be a few minutes."  He swallowed, catching Natalie's eye. It's not that she would be uncomfortable there. The Legion headquarters was her temporary home, after all. 

Jay didn't want her to see what the others would say the second he walked in.

The security code flashed green, the door unlocked. He faced two Legionnaires posted at the front. He set his jaw, let them see him. "Henri, Vernier," he looked from one to the other until their disbelief turned to utter confusion. His intuition wasn't wrong.  

"Jay, you're not dead."  Henri relaxed the worried stance gripping him tight. 

Vern's gaze was fixed upon the uniform. Jay didn't blame him.

"I've been reassigned."  He turned an arm. Showed the winged demon and sword stitched upon one shoulder. The patch of DI was on the other.

A former citizen of DIX, Henri's eyes flashed wide. Vern's expression turned to disgust. He was born Moroccan. To the man's credit, he held Jay's gaze tight as tension. And he half worried they wouldn’t let him in. So he called the power to grasp just in case. He'd be polite, talk. But they weren't going to slow him up more than a minute. There wasn't time. They were barely going to make the airport as it was. And the next option for a flight was another four hours delayed from the current plan. He eyed their weapons. Vern was alert. It would be easy to neutralize him. Though Jay heould hate to do it.

Jay stepped easy around them. But he didn't release the man's gaze until he was across the foyer. "I'm just here to get my stuff. I'll be gone soon enough." 

Henri waved him through, but Vernier made a move to intercept. If he was no longer a Legionnaire, it meant he wasn't cleared to wander the mansion alone, but they Henri didn’t care. Vern on the other hand.. He reluctantly returned to his post.

Jay was halfway up the stairs when he overheard Vern's comment: "traitre*." 

He grit his teeth and hurried. Vernier didn't know how right he was.

When he returned to the car minutes later, he was changed into jeans, undershirt and a short-jacket. He wore the same boots from the Dominion's uniform but otherwise, there was no other sign of it. He dumped a bag in the trunk and slipped into the front seat, but Jensen would know that he didn't release the power. 

The power built walls. Walls were useful.

A few minutes later, he released it, but didn't say anything about what happened inside.

Age: 26

Origin: Unknown (Some midwest state in the middle of nowhere)

Occupation: Grifter/Con Man

Aliases: John Lee, Danny Murphy, Barry Rogers, David Smith, Alex Kennedy, Richard Martin, Tobias Johnsen, Noah Preston, Alexis Trottier

Description: Xander is 6 foot even. He is muscular but not overly so. He prefers running and boxing to weights but will lift to get stronger. He has ice blue eyes and inky black hair that he likes to style in a faux Mohawk. He likes to wear comfortable jeans and t-shirts with cool sayings. But he wears a suit well. Xander has several protection brands, the eye of horus on his left shoulder, the eye of rah on his right shoulder, a pentacle over his heart, a triquetra  on the inner side of his left hip

Personality: Xander has a hedonistic nature.  He believes in a pleasurable life at the cost of everything else.  He is a very good liar and exceptional con artist. He was raised with an us against the world mentality that when his parents died became me against the world. He's a hard worker and always gets the job done. Xander needs to be in control of everything.  He doesn't trust easily and once broken it's hard to earn the trust back.  He is a very passionate lover, but he doesn't take any relationship seriously.  He's got a mild exhibitionist streak that rears its head at times.  He believes in finding the truth even if it's ugly it's one reason he thrives in his chosen career path.  He likes to control which truths make it to the right ears.

Supernatural Powers: Xander can see images in a person’s aura (like Min) He doesn’t always understand what they mean. (Prophet)

History: Xander was born to a single mother. His father died shortly after his conception. His mother never told him of his demise, not really. But Xander saw it in his mother’s aura. The pain the tragedy and the hurt she was going through. Her death was not a surprise. He found her when he was 8 years old with her wrists bleeding into the bath he’d drawn for her.

But before that Xander and his mother lived a good life. She taught him everything she knew. School was boring but it was required - she said you gotta have book smarts as well as street smarts to make it in this here world. So Xander did as he was told. 

And when he first started seeing the colors, he was afraid. Xander couldn’t stop seeing them. And that was when he saw the darkness in her aura. The death and the pain. He saw images of a man bleeding out. He saw things he didn’t understand at the age of 5. When Xander told his mother what she saw she was afraid. Not of him, but for him. They searched for months to find someone who didn’t think he was crazy.

They found an old witch woman who said Xander could see the soul. See truths in it. She didn’t offer to teach Xander, but his mother left him anyway. It wasn’t until Xander told the witch woman what he saw when he looked at her did she offer to help him. But before she would teach him he had to survive. 

Xander was five, he’d survived so far and his mother wasn’t there to say no. The first brand upon his chest made Xander cry out in anguish. It burned. He cried. It was torture. But the witch didn’t stop there. She pressed three more into his skin, one at each shoulder and one on his hip. Then she told him her name, though Xander would never repeat it again. There was power in a name, and Xander never offered up his own. Xander Mitchel was a ghost. No one knew his name - no one but his mother and the witch who taught him about his gift.

The witch taught Xander what the colors meant the surrounded people. She taught him to translate most of the images he saw. They always came true, if they were the future, and if the past it was such a strong emotion it was usually all Xander could see. She also taught him how to ignore it, turn it off so it wasn’t blinding.

Xander’s mother came back a little more than a year later and yelled at the witch woman. She scared her son. His mother was about to strike the woman when Xander stepped between them and spoke softly. “Mommy, it’s okay, it’s to protect me. To protect her. To protect you.”

His mother had asked to protected her from what, Xander never told her to protect her from the evil within. The witch hadn’t considered his viewings to be a gift, they were a curse sent from the to torment me. She only taught Xander because he saw her death. There was nothing she could do about it except teach me. She didn’t have long to live.

But the images around his mother were worse now that he understood. Xander lived with the lights off most of the time, he couldn’t bear to see the images around her. But once his mother found out that his images came true, they used it to find the best payouts and the most lucrative payouts. And that’s how they lived for another three years. And then she commited suicide with a bath he’d drawn for her. He still saw the image of her lying in the water. It was a nightmare he saw anytime he saw death in the auras. 

Xander was a child when he became a man. He couldn’t own anything. But there were ways around that. With Xander’s gift he knew what strings to pull and how to manipulate a person so that they would do exactly what he wanted. He never hurt anyone, and he only took what someone else didn’t need. He never took from the poor, in fact he gave some to them whenever he had a chance.

But Xander wasn’t alone for long he fell into a group of people who all worked the same thing doing various things. Anita was the oldest, she was almost an adult at 18. She was like their mother. And she acted like it most of the time. They weren’t homeless, though they did bounce from one location to the next to keep the authorities off their cases. 

Junior was next he was 17 but no one knew why anyone called him Junior, he said that was all anyone had ever called him. Trevor was 15 when Xander joined them, and he was the first one to introduce Xander to the fine art of using sex as a tool. Trevor was with Lillian she was some rich girl they all stayed with from time to time. Xander thought she was a slut even at that age and when he was 14 he got the full experience. Xander was second youngest, Diana was the baby, she was five and she was Trevor’s little sister. They had just a tragic story as Xander did, both parents dying, no living relatives and when you run away from your foster home continuously they soon forget about you.

Xander wouldn’t know about that he never stayed around long enough for anyone to find him till he found this group.  They taught each other things and helped each other out. They were sort of a family, but none of them were really close. A few of them were considered friends, but Xander didn’t tell anyone his true name. Knowing his name was against his own rules. They all played their own games. And helped each other out, but they were still alone in this world. No one fully trusted anyone else. But they needed each other to get through growing up. 

No one ever really questioned him growing up, and by the time he was a teenager he had enough connections to fake whatever identity he wanted. Criminal masterminds always wanted his talents. Even the low level scum who couldn’t afford his prices wanted what he had to offer. Xander’s visions always came true and they all knew if he said something was good, it was good.

By the time Xander was 16 he’d made a name for himself in the midwest. He moved east and spent a few years making scores on the east coast before he decided to try his hand at the precious CCD. America wasn’t what it once was. So with his newly minted CCD ID Xander made his way across the ocean. He was 18 when he first set foot in the CCD.

There he didn’t have connections, the challenge was new and through his gift and his acquired wealth from his former life in American, Xander grifted his way through what was once England, and then France. He hit Spain for a few months. The Ukraine was next, and he eventually moved into what was once Italy and the City of Rome where he learned through his visions to avoid the men with the ouroboros tattoos. These men and women were deadly snakes, and the visions surrounding them were awful. Their deaths were always gruesome and that’s all he saw for them. Just death - lots and lots of death - theirs and others.

Xander moved on quickly from Italy finally into the center of the world - Moscow. He was there when the big announcement about Ascendants and channelers was made, and the giant monument the Ascendancy created it. He wished he’d have been there when he did it. Xander had seen strange things around men and women with the sickness. He always saw their deaths and Xander wondered what images he would see around those who had survived. Where they any different.

Moscow was ripe for the pickings. Xander only had to find his next mark but who would it be?

I hate you guys. You've given me insomnia from laying in bed mind spinning with stories. 

*sips coffee.

[[OOC note: Vena is a PPC, however has her own account due to being a reborn god]]

Bio: Born of a wealthy business magnate in Mumbai, India, Vena has lived a privileged life, accustomed to a large and multigenerational family. She has always been more interested in people than business, and as such her interests have always erred on the side of the arts, dance being at the foremost of her passions. Growing up she was especially close to her cousin, Ishya, who was something of the wild child to Vena's conservatism (and probably a terrible influence). It was Ishya's persuasions that pushed Vena to spread her wings beyond India, prompting her to study dance and performance art at the prestigious Julliard School in New York (father was not pleased).

Three years later she dropped out, when halfway through a routine her nostrils filled with the acrid stench of blood. Her stomach dropped, her balanced wavered, knees skinned on the hard floor. She remembers cupping her hands to her face, surprised to find that her nose was not in fact bleeding. That day Ishya stopped returning her calls.

By now Vena already knew her brain was wired differently, its senses muddled, and was aware too of her uncanny perceptions. So she did not doubt the dread she felt when the phone just kept ringing.

She returned home to her family, only to discover Ishya long gone on worldly travels, her trail cold. The flash of brief glimpses -- smells, sounds -- urged her toward to a path she didn't know how to follow, so Vena searched on blind instinct, but always found her head pointed back to the same place.

Moscow.

She moved to the city on vague assurances to her father that she would look to find a husband. Though she knows she is now in the right place, nothing yet has sparked a further epiphany. In the meanwhile she graces Moscow's socialite scene, networking amongst them for a hint of Ishya's whereabouts. She has made a life for herself, and is currently the girlfriend of Scion Marveet.

Reborn God: Lachesis/Lakhesis, Greek fate

Abilities: Vena will only channel if she is taught, and thus has no idea of her capabilities. 

As Lachesis reborn, Vena has an uncanny connection to the Pattern. She's gifted with an innate perception of people's threads, lending her intuitiveness in her interactions with others. In the main this ability is woken by touch, or at least enhanced by it. Sometimes, though rarer, it may work also with objects -- particularly when they are closely connected with a person.

She can direct the ability to a degree but has not discovered how to control the information relayed or its relevance or importance. The feedback blends with her synasthesia and so often requires translation. Past, present and future all fall under her remit, though she cannot distinguish between them. Most often what she discerns comes in relation to another -- that is to say she mostly picks up on connections between people.

She can generally sense where people she knows are in a room without having to look, and can usually intuit where to find others on a larger scale. This is most reliable when she has a direct connection with them.

Though technically a prophet, she has not formalised this skill beyond her talents listed above, and thus far has made no fortellings.

Description: Diminutive in height. Thick black hair, and chocolate dark eyes. Vena is beautiful, and knows it. She is attracted to power, likes to feel looked after, and enjoys the finer things in life. Her mannerisms are warm, sultry, and invite confidence. The interest is genuine; she enjoys getting to know people. Though what she chooses to do with the information is entirely discretionary.

She hadn't seen the nice lady doctor in a few weeks. At first, Mara thought it was some sort of holiday until the whispers began. Then the daily charge nurse disappeared. Finally, her favorite cook, the one that slipped her honey-swirled-butter for her bread rolls, stopped coming to work.

She was playing chess with an older man named Slamet when excitement rippled through the wing. 

The patients with-it enough to notice the disturbance moved across the floor, slippers padding swiftly, to huddle around the window in the door. A woman was screaming in the hallway. Hysterical new patients weren't uncommon.

But this was different. This was the cook. 

Daiyu's eyes flared wide.

A bigger crowd had gathered than Rowan had anticipated. Her reputation from New Orleans did not follow her across the pond, so, really, she was only expecting three or four people; if any. Voodoo didn’t have much of a scene in this part of the world, despite the Ascendancy and his promise of refuge for those that could wield magic. She had been sure she’d find someone here that knew the secrets of the Loa, of root working, of secret swamp magics. There wasn’t anyone like that in the First Dominance and if there was, they had to be hiding.

                Rowan had flown out here about a year ago, searching in vain for her twin brother, Aiden. It should have been way easier to find him. Punk-rock author movie stars weren’t exactly common and Aiden was the loudest one of them all. At least he had been. Everything changed since he had fallen into that coma; and not just for him. Rowan had changed and so had the rest of the family. Mother insisted that Father knew more than he had been letting on, but the crazy old coot refused to speak on the subject. Oh, he had hinted plenty of times that he knew exactly where Aiden had run off to. Mother had spent countless nights fighting with him about it, but eventually, he just started working late, not coming home until Mother was passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of Grey Goose nestled under her arms.

                Aiden had to have come to Russia. There was no other option for him. Rowan had spent a year and a half trying to convince him to leave the states with her and make a new life out here in the new heart of the World. He gave her the cold shoulder. He didn’t want to open up to her anymore. Did he actually blame her for how things went down with Kyle? Fucking bullshit that was. She didn’t tell Aiden to cheat. She didn’t tell him to stick with Kyle just to keep the band together! But no. He just had to go thinking with his dick. Men. All of them were the same… Well, most of them were… Her late husband had been different. The Saints had crafted him especially for her… And they also decided she wasn’t worthy of him… Fate was so fickle.

                With a huff, Rowan brought her thoughts to the present and looked around at the crowd assembled. There was a light whisper here and there. She wasn’t stupid. There were no true believers here. That wasn’t a bad thing. She wasn’t a believer when she attended her first ritual, but it only took one to convince her. That was partially the point behind tonight. If she couldn’t find anyone out there that ‘Rode with the Loas,’ then she would make believers out of the entire city if need be!

                It was time.

                Rowan threw both arms in the air, gesturing for silence. A hush fell over the crowd. Every eye turned to her as the band behind her struck their drums. Ten men beat out a steady tribal rhythm, four women accompanying them with rattles and tambourines. Rowan would have liked to have had more authentic instruments, but these would have to do. The band was hired, they weren’t practitioners as was tradition, but Rowan thought a few might be coming around. They had been on her payroll for the last six months if anything they wouldn’t be leaving her anytime soon.

                The vibrations from the drums seemed to amplify as Rowan lost herself to the rhythm. Her body began moving of its own accord with the music and that familiar light sprung up behind her shoulder. Papa Legba ready and waiting, as always. With a flick of her wrist, seventy-seven candles in varying colors sprung to life around the perimeter of her circle. A thick chalk line marked the boundaries of the large circle and no one was allowed to cross it’s threshold, lest Rowan command a Loa into the body of another, in which case the Loa would take control and enter the circle, adding to the magic being worked tonight.

                Rowan’s body dipped and writhed with the beats of the drums, somewhere a trumpet started playing. She didn’t hire a trumpet player, but she welcomed it. The sound seemed odd in contrast to the tribal beats that her band played, but it worked, and that was what Voodoo was about, using what worked. For instance, the herbs and powders that Rowan was now tossing about the circle. It seemed half hazard at first, but eventually, a symbol appeared in the herbs. It looked like a cross with other crosses, circles, and stars all mixed into its design. Rowan pulled a Cuban cigar from somewhere inside her bodice and lit the thing. She took five long puffs while dancing; then she pulled a flask out from her sleeve. Dark rum sloshed about the inside of the aluminum flash, Rowan taking a long swig and then spitting it out into the air. She spun in place, scattering the rum from the flask in all directions.

                Then she stopped, arms outstretched towards the heavens once more, and she yelled out in a loud and commanding voice, “Papa Legba! Papa Legba open the gate for me! Atibon Legba, louvre port-la pou mwen! Papa Legba! Now!”As the words left her mouth, the flames of the candles shot five feet into the air as if they were each a mini flame thrower. Rowan took five more puffs of the cigar, blowing it all out in a circle around her. The candles died back down to their normal, steady flickers. The crowd gasped and sank back a little, but no one left.

                Rowan felt the energy coursing through her, like a proud river, carrying her down into the womb of Erzulie Dantor. It was the most delectable feeling in existence, better than sex even! Rowan spun round and round, chanting loudly, “La Fanmi semble, eneo; la fanmi semble, non! E agoueto, ca hinde; na’pe hin’de o! La fanmi semble, eneo; na’pe hin’de Papa Loko Ati-sou!”

                She kept chanting those same lines over and over until a strong gust of wind picked up and rushed through the silent crowd. Voices seemed to be carried by the wind, voices most of these people hadn’t heard in years. The voices of their ancestors. Looks of shock passed on many faces of Rowan, but she didn’t notice. Papa Legba was inside of her, riding her soul so that he may touch the physical plane once more, and it was marvelous. The light coursed through her and she just kept dancing and chanting.

Hey all!

Aiden's sister, Rowan, is joining the story. I'll be making a post as her today. She will be holding a public voodoo ceremony in Moscow. The OOC intent behind it is just to introduce her to the story, but i also wanted to use it as an opp. for some of your characters to meet her without having to plan it out. It's open to all (as usual), so feel free to hop in.

Who knows? You might see a dead relative or two during the magic.

Character Name – Rowan Finnegan

Forum Account Name – Rowan_Finnegan

Age – 33

Origin – Dublin, Ireland

Occupation – Voodoo High Priestess and Rootworker, income is supplemented by the family trust fund put in place by her Father, Seamus Finnegan. (Previously a Middle School Teacher, quit to pursue a ‘higher purpose.’)

Psych Description – Warm, yet cautious. Rowan calculates every move she makes, never letting anyone think anything about her she didn’t personally intend. Driven by the desire to be valued, Rowan often finds herself playing ‘second-fiddle’ to other people’s schemes in her pursuit for acceptance (despite her need for individuality.) She almost always has a smile on her face, unless she’s having a bad day; nothing can make her smile then.

A very organized and calculating woman, Rowan has a tendency to act motherly towards those around her. She genuinely has a big heart, but sometimes these affections are just a performance; Rowan almost always has something up her sleeve. Very good memory, Rowan does her research and typically knows more about people than she lets on.

Very protective of her family and friends, the rest of the world can burn so long as her circle is taken care of. Is not above bribery to get things done. Has been known to work with all different types of people, except bigots. She hates bigots. Rowan forgives but never forgets.

In relationships, Rowan is loyal, loving, romantic, and submissive. She prefers monogamy and serious relationships, rarely indulging in one night stands.

Rowan is very earthy, enjoys long meditation sessions, and spends most of her free time in her garden or in the kitchen.
 

Phys Description – 5’10”, 150 lbs. Lean-muscular build. Irish and French ethnicity. Hazel eyes and dirty-blonde hair, lightly curled, long, and thick; worn loosely. Slim, arched eyebrows accompanied by angular, sharp facial features; very attractive. Dresses in monochromatic shades of black and multiple layers. Her style is often described as ‘American Witch.’ Often wears light makeup, preferring to highlight her natural beauty over heavily-painted illusions. Typically wears jewelry containing the remains of animals (feathers, teeth, claws, etc.) and natural materials (crystals, clay beads, leather cord, etc.)

Rowan’s preferred fragrance is a touch of amber and orange peel essential oil. High, yet raspy voice; shares the same strange Louisiana-British accent as her twin brother. Has a tattoo on the small of her lower back depicting the Veve of Papa Legba interlocked with the Veve of Erzulie, all in shades of black, red, and pink. Although her appearance looks slapped together and accidental, she takes great care in crafting the persona; she shares her brother’s outlook that appearance is everything.

Powers and Supernatural powers – Unnatural control over the elements Water and Earth. Both elements respond to her emotions and thoughts. Rain tends to manifest around her, even inside, although most would blame that on faulty plumbing.

She is a Prophet and can discern the future through vague dreams and her tarot cards. The information is rarely specific, however. Rowan is very good at figuring out the meaning of it all, but she is not always correct.
Animals follow her around and tend to listen to her if she makes a basic enough request that is not out of character for the animal. Cats especially tend to gather around Rowan.

Can heal minor injuries with her Hoodoo cures (gris-gris bags, candles, etc.) she is weaving when doing so but doesn’t realize it.

‘Keening’ – Death wail. Tied to an ability reputed to have originated with the Celtic Goddess, Brigid, Rowan discovered how to use the One Power to amplify one’s voice beyond bearable magnitude. Upon experiencing a miscarriage, Rowan accidentally gathered multiple threads of Air, Water, and Spirit to her, before releasing them in a loud shriek that killed all who listened to it. The Weave was accidental, but not forgotten; Rowan holds this knowledge in case she has cause to utilize it in the future. She has not been able to make it work again, however.

Block – Can only channel when performing Voodoo or Hoodoo/Rootwork

Current Strength Level – 18

Potential Strength Level – 38

Are you a reborn god – Brigid  
                    
Bio – Born in Dublin, Ireland during a violent thunderstorm on 08/01/2013 (Leo. Blood Type: O Negative) and raised in New Orleans, LA, USA. Rowan had an older twin brother, Aiden. Their father, Seamus Finnegan, came from a long line of architects and their Mother, Marie Brown, was the product of a torrid love affair between a vivacious French-man and a rebellious Irish-Catholic girl. Marie would grow up to become a very level-headed Judge, finding notoriety in the criminal justice system. The pair met at Trinity College in Dublin, during the year 2003; they quickly hit it off and married shortly after graduation. Aiden and Rowan were born a few years later and the small family moved to the States. Seamus bought a parcel of land in Metairie and began building a house for the family; although almost a decade later this modest dwelling would be expanded to five times its size, rivaling any of the older plantation mansions in the area.
 
When the twins were 7 years old, many disasters struck the globe. The United States was not spared these tragedies. As sad as it was, some good did come out of it; Seamus Finnegan’s construction company was kept busy during the years of the tragedies and the small family quickly saw their financial situation turn from dismal to golden (around this time is when the family home began its rapid expansion.) Seamus suddenly found himself taking on contracts with very wealthy individuals and even some high ranking government officials. With the new found wealth, the twins were quickly sent off to the finest schools money could buy and her young mind was allowed to flourish. Rowan was especially skilled with mathematics, history, and science; but she was often held back by her reputation. She was a troublesome child that often caused disturbances in the middle of her classes. Rowan would get a detention for every A+ she got on a test, and that happened very frequently.
 
By 18, Rowan had cleaned up her act after many threats from her Mother and Father. It was around this time that she began attending public Voodoo ceremonies in New Orleans. Her parents were worried once Rowan became a regular at these gatherings. What none of them knew was that during Rowan’s first ceremony something very strange happened.

As the high priestess invoked Papa Legba, and then Erzulie Dantor, a light appeared behind Rowan’s shoulder. That light poured into her as the drums were beating and the voodooists danced and writhed while the Loa rode their bodies. That light coursed through her and she felt the energies of the earth. Flowers sprung up all around the ceremony site, surprising everyone. Rowan knew it was because of the Voodoo and she knew she could wield it like no one else could. Every ceremony after that, something strange happened; whether it was flowers growing from the cement or the voices of dead relatives reverberating through the air.
 
Unfortunately for Rowan, after a few months, she developed a block. She didn’t know she had or even what a block was; but from then on, Rowan could only Channel when performing Voodoo rituals and later Hoodoo root working. She had not met another that could do the same since. Rumors started surrounding her as people noticed those strange things only happened when she attended the rituals. (A few years later, Rowan would begin a search for other Voodoo Practitioners that could do the same as her, but she would fail and give it up 14 months after starting the search.)
 
Before her 19th birthday, she was initiated into the religion and began studying under the local Voodoo Queen, Mama Jazmine. The older woman taught Rowan everything she could, and even started teaching her Hoodoo (American Folk Magic, many often confuse it with the Voodoo religion) and imparted upon her a love for gardening. After her apprenticeship was up, Rowan moved north to attend the University of Chicago; there she attained a degree for teaching.
 
After graduation, Rowan moved back to her family’s manor in Metairie. Her mother, Marie Finnegan, used a few connections to secure Rowan a position at one of the local schools. The first few years in the position went off relatively easy, but it wasn’t long before Rowan began to get bored with the daily monotony. She began practicing Voodoo again, which she had all but forgotten about once she enrolled in college. There was something about it that was calling her back again. She began having strange dreams and nightmares that often woke her in the middle of the night, sweaty and frightened.
 
After a time Rowan began to think she was psychic. As a Voodoo priestess in New Orleans, she was expected to perform divination, any form really. Rowan preferred Tarot cards. It was hard not to love the classics. She hadn’t touched the cards often, no one ever wanted a reading from her when she was younger. After the dreams started up, she sought out answers in her cards. Events would be spelled out to her in the cards and those events always unfolded within the week. It was due to her cards that her twin, Aiden, even thought of starting his punk band, Blarney Stoned; and that had launched him into the realm of superstars. Once word got out about that, countless citizens and tourists flocked to the Finnegan Manor, seeking Rowan and her famed cards.
 
Rowan left New Orleans for a time, and her steady career as a middle school teacher, going to her twin brother once his band split up. The band had split because Aiden was cheating on his boyfriend, the drummer of the band. Although he didn’t show it, Aiden was a wreck, and if he lost his best friend and boyfriend, Kyle, then Rowan knew she was the only person in the world that could comfort him. They spent the summer touring the Mediterranean on Aiden’s yacht. During that time, Rowan helped steer Aiden down a new path that ensured continuing success.
 
She returned to Louisianna the following October and met a man shortly after. His name was Barney Smith, a poet from California that had come to the South to find himself. It was love at first sight between the pair and he proclaimed Rowan his muse. They married a year later and Rowan found herself with child. Two months before her due date, Barney and Rowan found themselves hospitalized after a drunk driver slammed into their car. Barney passed away the day after the accident and Rowan’s suffered a miscarriage. Overcome with grief, Rowan spontaneously Channeled and the resulting weave killed almost everyone on her hospital floor. The official cause was said to be a ‘gas leak,’ the news proclaiming it a freak accident.
 
By 30, Rowan found more heartache as her twin brother fell into a coma. The family grew closer than they ever had before, rushing to Aiden’s side. Rowan slept at the hospital more often than not. After losing her husband and unborn child, she worried that she might lose the only other person in the world that was important to her. Then there was the Channeling to deal with. She knew that’s what it was. The Ascendancy had talked all about it and the Sickness and the Atharim. She didn’t know what to do about it. The accident at the hospital was just that. An accident. She did not want to touch the magic, she couldn’t go through something like that alone. If Aiden didn’t pull through, Rowan might have ended her own life.

More dreams started coming to her, like the ones she experienced years ago. Rowan hadn’t touched her cards in months, not since her husband passed. Perhaps the two were connected. She picked them up again, usually reading them to kill time while she waited around in Aiden’s private hospital room. They told her many things. Aiden would pull through, he had a great destiny and a great past, she would find love again, she also had a great destiny, they had to go to Russia. Everything would be okay if they went to Russia… If they didn’t… Well, she never liked the Tower card. That one kept popping up every time she tried to figure out what would happen if they stayed in the states.

Aiden woke up on Christmas day of 2044, and the entire family had been gathered in his room. It was all too perfect, almost like a movie. There were many tears and laughter that day. Aiden was okay and all was right in the world.

Rowan spent the next year trying to convince Aiden to leave the states with her and relocate to Russia. He listened patiently as she divulged everything the cards had told her. He smiled and nodded, but didn’t believe her. Not completely. He went on to make his failure or a movie and ignored all of her advice. She chased the man all over the country as he promoted the movie, but he still wouldn’t listen. Then he became a recluse and she was turned away at the door to his mansion day after day. Finally, one day she came, determined to shove past the butler and make her brother see some sense; but that day, she arrived and had been admitted.

She was full of joy and relief until she learned that Aiden had fled the country.

“That little fucker is going to Russia. I just know it!” Rowan would exclaim to the butler before rushing back home to pack her suitcase. She was in Moscow the following day, but she found new trouble. No one knew where Aiden Finnegan was, or if he even was in the city. Her cards said he was though. Her cards and her dreams said he was close by… She just couldn’t pin down where exactly… And so she took off into the city, looking for answers, and more importantly, Aiden.

Aiden sat in the back seat of his limo, which was parked on a quiet city street. The Red Pit’s neon lights cascaded down onto the sleek black car, giving it a look like someone splashed bright paint all over it. The restaurant specialized in American BBQ, southern BBQ to be specific. It was the closest thing he could find out here that remotely resembled Cajun and Creole cooking. They didn’t use the ‘holy trinity’ in their recipes, but Aiden could live without that. He had never been big on the celery anyway.

                The last few hours were a blur to him now. As soon as Sage had signed off from their VR meeting, Aiden had rushed about the house in a mad dash to pack his bags and get Lasher all set up for the trip. The dog was currently sitting next to Aiden, head sticking out of the window, his drooling face not knowing which way to look as a few locals made their way down the city sidewalks. Lasher was very well behaved, he never barked at anyone unless Aiden willed it. The training lessons weren’t cheap, but he was very thankful for them in the end.

                The food was already ordered and hopefully bagged up, just waiting to be grabbed by Aiden. Sage was nowhere to be seen, yet. Aiden was starting to get nervous. What if the man bailed on him? It wouldn’t be the first time Aiden had been stood up. If it happened again… well, sitting here in a stretch limo had a way of taking away any sting that might come with rejection. Living far away from here would help too; Aiden didn’t often come into Moscow, so there wouldn’t be any risk in running into Sage after a possible rejection. That would be too embarrassing.

                Spending a year or two in a coma had a funny way of keeping you out of the loop. On the ride from Suzdal, Aiden had watched the videos Sage supplied of Nox training. Aiden had to watch it over and over to really believe any of it. The magic in the video could have been faked. But then there were the stories about the Ascended and the Sickness, things Aiden knew about but really never paid attention to despite moving to the area. It’s what had sparked the ideas for this new novel, but Aiden had gone in a completely different direction with his research. After that first spark, he dove right into reading about different myths and legends, not once looking back at what the Ascended was saying on the world stage.

                It was much worse than Aiden feared. The Atharim? Aiden had heard nothing about them until today. He had been excited to learn how to use magic, but if there were those out there that would kill you for doing so… It was like the Salem Witchcraft Trials all over again! Perhaps this really was all a bad idea. A fireball manifested above the car as Aiden felt fear rise up in his gut. He fought it back down and the flame winked out. Aiden scrambled around in his seat, trying to see if anyone walking by noticed.

                “Safe… I think… An assassin wouldn’t be obvious about anything, though… Oh, Sweet Mother, what have I gotten myself into?” Aiden said to himself.

                He almost told the driver to turn back and go home, but then Aiden remembered what Sage had said about the Sickness… Aiden could die either way. At least if he stuck around he could see Sage again and he was starting to like looking at the man.