The explosion that was Michael's demise sent shockwaves through the physical and physic planes. Across town, in a small church that sheltered the few faithful, Father Luther looked to wards the greenish glow that briefly illuminated the sky. He drew an unnecessary breath and steeled himself for the coming days. His eyes turned towards the one symbol that had granted him peace since this affliction, and unlike so many of his kind, he was able to look upon it with the same love as before. He knew that there was a reckoning, the Seraphim spoke it to him in the quiet of his daytime slumber and his Faith swelled.

He walked to the soup kitchen built in the shadow of the church, and turned to the man that stood in line before him.The cold air causing the vagabond’s breath to show, as he gratefully accepted the hot broth that the Father Luther ladled into his bowl. Yes, thought Luther, I am ready.

Tabitha Stein looked up from her book at Maximillian, who simply shrugged. Neither knew what had happened, but it was obvious to both that some form of Dark Thaumaturgy was at work. They both exchanged knowing nods, and together rose and went to the small room that served as their permanent circle. Tabitha, whose powers of invocation and divination were beyond many in the New World, began to collect her materials. Maximillian silently scorned her hedge magic traditions, but could not deny their accuracy.

Purposefully Tabitha began her ritual. Walking deosil, she traced the circle with her athame, pausing at the four directions to call forth the element’s guardians to protect her during her magickal working. Lighting each of the two candles on the altar for the Dark Goddess and Her Consort from eons past, Tabitha began chanting, invoking their presence.

Maximillian looked about the room, now metaphysically known as being ‘between the worlds’. He could feel the energy building around him, threatening to consume him for his blasphemous thoughts. He forced himself to relax, and silently brought to his lips his most devastating spell - just in case. Soon, Tabitha ceased her chanting, and sat in meditation while she communed with the devine for guidance.

After several minutes, Tabitha stirred and slowly opened her eyes, as one would awaken from a deep slumber. She turned to Maximillian and slowly shook her head. Vissago was still alive. Maximillian nodded and turned to leave the room.

Tabitha smirked at his back, for she had withheld information from him. She didn't want the Council of Seven to know about it just yet, as she knew that's where Maximillian was going, to report back to his masters. Having broken their hold centuries before, Tabitha had long held firm against the pressures of her Clan's continual requests for 'updates', giving them only enough information to keep them from calling for her return to Prague. No, she would keep this one to herself for the time being. Her dark spiritual guide had told her of a 'dark time', 'a plague', and a 'prophecy from the ages'. She didn't want them to know, because she did not know. And that was the most disturbing piece of information of all.

Also at that moment, in a small corner of the downtown district, an old woman looked at the tarot cards that were spread out before her. Her face was still. Only the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth indicating that she was indeed alive.

The wind blew suddenly into this candle lit room, extinguishing them and causing all about her to fly about in the small whirlwinds that formed. A fell voice echoed it's laughter and the small amythyst crystal she kept around her neck warmed. Holding it before her, she saw the faces of the triumphant trio. A grim smile creased her stoic face and with an arcane word, spoken in a time and place long before, the room righted itself. The candles, lit once more, illuminated her path though she had walked it so many times before.

She hid her black mirth as she pulled the cliché book lever. The old bookshelf swung back silently on ancient hinges, revealing the hidden room. Before her, carefully arranged, were the trappings of her profession she thought were long behind her. Casually she began to remove the items she needed - wooden stakes, crossbow, and holy water. She reached up and grabbed her Franchi SPAS 12, a bandolier of dragon breath shells, Beretta 9000s, MP5-K -both with extra ammo - all silver of course, and finally a small pouch of silver powder.

As she walked back into the room, she absently picked up various potions and powders to complete her armaments. Methodically she changed into her custom-made, insulated, muted-black combat fatigues, in order to defeat the prying eyes of the Wolf kin, and the kevlar plates that would ensure her throat and other vitals were protected. Finally she added the night vision equipment to her belt and began to strap on her weapons. She covered herself with a many pocketed robe that served to hide her armaments and also to add an element of mysticism and craziness to her appearance 'Often one can hide in plain sight when one looks like a cliché from "Bewitched"' she smirked to herself. A quick enchantment and she moved out into the alley behind her.

The hunt it seemed was on again, maybe, if the cards were to be believed, for the last time.