NOTE: time change.<br/><br/>Isolde woke earlier than usual, 5am.  Her sleep had been fitful after the night with Herr Buchannon and Michael Bonnet. She had been so disturbed by the Angel’s visit that she felt she must try one more time to reason with Darcy. Coming in well after midnight, she had gone straight to the kitchen table which she used for a ritual altar. Out had come the drawing of the Pentacle and the shallow cauldron along with five white candles.<br/><br/>Pouring the water while doing the incantation, Isolde attempted to bring Darcy to consciousness. The only reward she had had for her pains was the perfect blonde cousin with a snarling laugh upon her face. Wicked bitch, Isolde thought with rancor. There was no reasoning with her. The Ice Queen had finally been consumed by the evil she had toyed with for so many lifetimes. Herr Buchannon was correct. The only way for her to be stopped was through death and with the help of the Angels (Isolde thought of them irreverently as a ball team), her cousin would be finally cast into outer darkness where she would no longer be allowed to regenerate. So mote it be.<br/><br/>But now, she was awake and troubled once more by the sensation that something was going on in her flat that she was not fully aware of. She did not wish to know and she was seriously considering moving in with Herr Buchannon in response to his offer.  Dressing with trembling fingers, Isolde skipped coffee and breaking her fast to hurry to the clinic.<br/>The lights were still out and setting moon still shed the only light on the streets. Isolde was blowing smoke into the frigid air as she unlocked the door. Inside, she locked the door behind her and set about turning up the old radiators and lighting small lamps. A spirit of oppression seemed to ride on her shoulders as if she were carrying the burdens of Munich on her slim shoulders. Setting a pot of water on the small camp stove to brew coffee, Isolde checked the charts from the day before. She sank down in her office chair and stared at page after page of the same disturbing report.<br/><br/>Patient- male, mid twenties, appears awake but not exactly alert. Eyes glazed over and repeating a phrase over and over again. “ Heil Queen of Heaven and the fruit of her loins”. No sign of fever or any physical discomfort. Admitted by family member… with the name and address listed.<br/><br/>She had never heard of any epidemic that dealt in those kinds of symptoms or hallucinations. Could people have been eating bad rye bread? Was there a rash spread of strange drugs among young men, perhaps at the pubs? Pouring herself a cup of the strong black coffee, she read on through the records but couldn’t seem to find the common link. Isolde frowned,<br/><br/>“Surely not.” Isolde said aloud in horror. Had Darcy somehow managed to carry out her diabolical plan to make the people her slaves? Where was that abomination she had created in her own image?  She chided herself. One did not look at magik to explain the working on science . especially on misadventures of this magnitude. There had to be a better answer.<br/>The sun was just coming up when a knock disturbed the silence. Isolde invited a bent old woman inside.<br/><br/>As the woman and her son entered, Isolde could tell he shared symptoms with those men from yesterday, except he was foaming at the mouth, reaching for her saying, “Heil Queen of Heaven and the fruit of her loins.”