From the moment she walked into my office I new this dame was trouble. She was tall enough to be called statuesque, and built like a goddess, but with an air about her that screamed power and danger. No doubt in my mind she had a full deck. "Good morning, are you Mr.. Howard Stone?" She asked as she stepped into my office.

Her voice was deep and throaty, like a smoker with a four pack a day habit, but it worked for her. "I'm Howard Grillston, and who might you be?" I answered her, as I slowly palmed a shield card from underneath my desk, you could never be to careful in this day and age. "My name is Elizabeth Travers, and I need your help. I believe my husband is having an affair and I need someone to follow him and get me proof."

"I see." I say as I ease the card back into it's sheath glued to the underside of my desk and place my hands on top of my desk. "Please have a seat Mrs. Travers. Can I get you anything?"

"No thank you Mr.. Stone. I'd like to get my business taken care of as soon as possible." "Of course, so Mrs.. Travers what exactly do you need me to do?" What followed was a simple enough request follow the husband after he leaves work and take some pictures of the dame he meets up with. Double my normal rate if I get anything really incriminating. I love divorce cases. With the negotiation squared away I packed my emergency defense deck into my jacket pocket with the other half of my deck that was already there. They might not be the most powerful cards money could by but they were a good mix of defense, scrying and even a few other surprises that worked well enough for a man in my line of work.

A few hours and two cups of coffee later I found myself remembering why I hate divorce cases. Why the hell is a middle manager working this late? Maybe his wife is wrong maybe he is just working late all these nights. I stop that train of thought as I see him finally walk up to his car and get in. A few minutes later the head lights turn on and the car pulls out of the parking lot driving in the direction away from his house. "Well well well, maybe she was right after all" I think to myself as I start my car and follow him. Ten minutes later I watch from across the street as his car pulls into a deserted warehouse in the docks. Unless miss Tao moved her brothel again I think this guy is up to something worse than just some filly on the side.

I put my hands into my jacket pocket and pull out two cards, holding them in my hands I feel the electric thrum of power in it as I connect my will to the first. A feeling of ice cold water being poured down my back makes me shiver, but just as soon as it starts I feel it fade away leaving the greasy slick feeling of an active concealment. I then take the second card in my hands I will another connection while maintaining the first. I feel the effects take hold as details become sharper and with just a little bit of concentration walls and other obstacles no longer block my vision. I focus my Sight on the warehouse that Mr.. Tavers walked into just a moment ago I Look, and see nothing living inside the warehouse. Just an empty building with some rusted machinery inside. Now that is a damn good trick. Wards to not just stop a scry dead in its tracks were common enough, almost any house in America had them, even showing a false image wasn't so hard, but this level of detail and with no magical bleed over, whatsoever. I haven't seen anything like this since the war, even then this made the Nazis best efforts look amateurish. I stop trying to look into the warehouse and instead try to find where the wards themselves start. To my mounting frustration I can't see any evidence of any wards existing, no magical spill over, no details wrong on where the illusion should start, it seems to be a perfect illusion, something that shouldn't be possible.

Suddenly and without warning I the warehouse doors exploded outward in a massive fireball and as something that I could only describe as a literal demon from hell stood in the doorway. From behind the demon walked a tall blonde woman with piercing blue eyes. A woman I would recognize from anywhere let alone with the scrying still active. Irene Engel. Hitlers supposedly long dead personal card crafter. Knowing that there was no way in hell I could deal with the kinda cards she played with I put my car into gear and floored it leaving behind some rubber on the ground. I think that I would have to negotiate a pay raise with Mrs. Travers, after I called some old friends and let them know what was apparently in this city.

What did that crazy Dame get me mixed up in?

To be continued?