Owen sat back. It was certain sure that Hatcher wouldn't be much of a help.<br/>He hadn't the slightest idea what was going on and how bad the situation might really be.<br/>Calling a few exorcists and necromancers and hoping everything would be fine was like assuming that  the friendly police officer would get rid of the entire Chinese Army that had just landed in your backyard.<br/><br/>Owen shook his head and smiled joyless as Hatcher told them that the original owners of the manor had "returned from Europe at the end of World War I with an unexplained and mysterious fortune."<br/>Even a half-drunk redneck with his shotguns in his arms would have given you more information without being asked for every tiny bit.<br/>If it wasn't for the 25.000 bucks Owen would have already left. Well, actually that wasn't the truth. Deep down inside him still was something left of a man who cared about others but pretending to be a bad guy felt a lot better in a world like this.<br/>"Listen Wade, you don't look like a rookie to me. We most certainly should decide whose work this probably is. If you believe that this..." he pointed at the pictures "migth be the work of some demon, good ol' Lucifer himself calls "gramps" I shall be dammed to go in there without a little...preparation.“<br/><br/>In this moment two strangers appeared at the table.<br/>The priest emptied his whiskey and ordered a new drink.<br/>„Who do we have here? A pretty version of Lady Gaga and Sherlock fucking Holmes?“, he mumbled and introduce himself by grumbling his name.<br/>Let's see what you have to add to our little group of freaks, Owen added in his thoughts...