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Your skin crawls as you slowly open your eyes. It's dark - of course it is, as it it's the middle of the night. You're lying in a reasonably comfortable bed in a strange motel. Not your first choice, but it worked for a night.

Or so you assumed.

Your sleep has been plagued by strange noises and other, unexplainable things. The smell of old perfume, an occasional sensation of a soft and careful touch. You blew them off, clearly your anxious mind was playing tricks on you. It's just you in this old motel room, your bags and maybe a bug or two.

Despite what went on in it, the room was not visually romantic.  It started out well enough as a spare bedroom, until the bed was removed in favor of more room for Nathan and Maria's activities - or, to be more specific, for more room for Nathan because of Maria's activities.  Then the cabinets and desk went, then the paintings, until finally the room was bare.  Today, however, the floor was covered in tarps and Maria's pet project, an industrial-sized tire pump, sporting a few more mechanical additions.

    Hilda sat in a metal folding chair in the corner of Bellatrix's furnished basement, trying her best to ignore her coven's ongoing meeting and get some much needed work done on an important potion for a very powerful and well connected client. But a room full of inflated eighteen to twenty-four year olds was hardly the proper work environment for alchemical research.

"Okay, heisters, we've got a lead on the scientist.  She's working on a private island a mile off shore - guess those research grants can get you some cushy labs.  You're heading in by boat; once you're there, find the scientist and her little project and bring them back here in one piece.  I've got an idea for lifting them off the island."

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