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Welcome back, cats and kittens, to the gray radio hour. Your source for news of the hidden world as you journey down the eastward path, coming at you live from the far side of nowhere on a signal that, as far as Uncle Sam, Pope John Paul, and the Order of King James are concerned, doesn't exist. If you're just tuning in, I am your host, the inimitable Auntie M. Nancy. Before we get to the meat of today's discussion, I invite each and every one of you pilgrims to take a deep grounding breath as we welcome the first year of this new millennium. Those of you lucky enough to see the eclipse on Christmas got front row seats to the ushering in of a new chapter that I'm sure will bring much needed change over the coming months. For those whose magic revolves around star math, keep your eyes to the skies for the total lunar eclipse next week on the 9th, as we collectively experience a great cosmic exhalation. And perhaps a shudder. Speaking of the road is looking a little darker lately, isn't it, Kitties? Yes, yes. We who are in the know understand that illumination means nothing without the shadow. Completing the masterwork means following the road down into the dark and dirty. It's half the fun. Incarnation necessitates the highest highs, dancing nakedly with the lowest lows. A betrayal for every joy, a petit mort for every gran. And it's that granmore that I want to talk about today, my lovelies. Specifically, it is my sad and solemn duty to announce to you all that my informant within the order of King James has confirmed the passing of our dear brother in arms, the Argonaut. According to my source, he fell in battle just after Christmas in a confrontation with the Jamies. Further information has been obscured to the rank and file within the Order, but believe me when I say it's only a matter of time before we suss out what they're hiding. I know that this news comes as a shock to many. For over a decade we have been captivated by the legend of the Argonaut, a former Jamie who saw the light in the darkness and came over to our side in the name of true love. We laughed and cheered as he and his witch bride evaded capture time and again. And we wept tears of compassion as death separated them forever. We wondered with burning curiosity what could have become of him these past eight years since. The only clues coming from scattered details of jobs he undertook along the way. His pilgrimage is at an end, it seems. But his legend is only just beginning. A moment of silence, if you please. Now, unlike many of you, I had the delight of knowing the man behind the myth, as well as the witch who stole his heart. They were beloved friends to me before tragedy took one and caused the other to walk a darker, more hidden path. My one solace, dear ones, is knowing that whatever dark road they now walk, they walk it together. My next bit of news, my lovelies, it threatens that solace. It threatens it mightily. One might even say it vexes me. It would seem that within a week of the Argonaut's passing, his name was used during a Grey Page's petition in Iowa City, Iowa. The details around this job are fuzzy at best, but those we talked to described a young black girl between the ages of ten and twelve in the company of an adult white male of medium build, afflicted by demonic possession. The tainted being acted in deference to the girl, who identified herself as the Argonaut. They were last seen heading west out of the city three days ago on I-80. Now friends, your Auntie M is many things, but a fool I am not. This girl, whoever she is, turning up days after the Argonaut's death while using his name and Grey Page's profile? Well, this girl knows something. And as you're all aware, in this game, knowledge is power. I want to know what really happened to my friend. I want answers, dear ones, and I'm willing to bargain for them. Whosoever brings this girl to me, alive and unharmed, shall earn a boon to be called in at a time of their choosing. Keep your eyes trained on the backroads and byways. Work together if you think it will serve you. Apprehend the pretender and bring them to the far side of nowhere. And if anyone gets in your way, well, before you send them to hell, tell them Auntie M. Censure.