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"Ah, Rob..." Doctor Hartford sounds tired, and he pauses a moment after he speak, "they've already stopped by. I'm alright, Lucy...fell down some stairs."

You hear him sigh, "You should have told me where all of that came from, Rob. The test results are in, though, did you get my letter?"

The trolley isn't running any longer, and you don't own a car, so you have to walk. Luckily, as you predicted, the streets are empty save for yourself and a single stray tabby cat which you spot only once.

The Thiasus is a club on Newbury Street. Not the fanciest, though not exactly run down either. As you approach, a chill runs down your spine- you lie to yourself and explain it away as chilly night air. With one hand wrapped about the can of mace in your jacket pocket, and the feel of the colt at your hip (hidden beneath the folds of your jacket), you confidently approach the door.
And the bouncer immediately lets you in. The club may only be open for another forty-five minutes, but lonely men can buy a girl quite a lot of drinks in forty-five minutes.

You step through the doors and into a dark, smoky room. At the back, a single strobe-light flashes over the DJ booth and music blares at an almost deafening tone. You were right about the place being mostly empty. While this isn't the most popular club out there, there's usually more than the forty or so people you count now, milling around the dance floor or, mostly, sitting or standing at the bar.

"Oh! You're quite a ways out, huh?" she replies as the car turns around a corner, "I'm from Sandwich, out on the cape. It's...the closest thing to rural we've got in Massachusetts, so I came out here to the big city the first chance I got. That was quite a while ago..."

You don't have much that you could pawn, maybe you'd be able to make about 50$ that way and it certainly isn't enough. But there are other ways you could make money on the quick.
It doesn't matter much, however. Legally, you already own the painting.

There are a variety of ways to defend against evil spirits. It's said that the ringing of bells will scare them away, for example. A more proactive form of defense might be a witch jar, also known as a witch bottle. After creating it, you would need to place it over your door.

You aren't able to access the internal stairwell, as the only person who lives in the building at the moment (a Michael Raguel) is not presently home. However, there is a fire escape on the side of the building. The ladder is raised, but you're able to jump and pull yourself onto the first level. From there, it's a simple matter of climbing up the creaking stairs.

You reach the roof of the three-floor building, and prepare to hunker down and keep an eye on the streets. It could be quite a while.

"I think that's all," Joe replies as he takes the book, flipping through it for a moment. As the two of you walk back to the register, he asks "So, are there different kinds of spirits? How do you know the sort you're dealing with?"
There's a bemused tone to his voice, or perhaps it's just boredom. He clearly think you're some level of insane.

still around, cap'n

You should be able to use contact+inhaled gas to get the desired effect. Have it be really hot, maybe, and then give it a syndrome that causes rot in hair. Have it be emitted by an undirected gas interaction.

Marissa Allen smiles as the car pulls out of the lot. "Oh, it's no trouble, really. I have to screen applicants, and I noticed that you're not too far from my apartment."

As she drives, she carefully takes side-streets and the occasionally illegal turn to avoid commuter traffic. So, where did you say you were from, again? I don't recognize the accent."

"Oh," Mister Edwards replies distractedly as he dials a number, "I was thinking about 1500$? We can negotiate, of course, when I come back."

You look the documents over in the backroom. There isn't a lot of information about the previous owners listed, and some of it isn't even in English (French, you'd guess), but it would appear that the last time it sold, it sold for around 9500 francs. There is no information on why anybody sold it. The rights of ownership are spelled out rather clearly: As the owner of this painting, you may not enter it into a Gallery for sale though you may freely display it. If you acquire the proper license, you may sell it privately however.
You notice that Mr. Edwards has already signed the release forms, effectively giving you possession of the painting. Perhaps he hasn't yet noticed this?

As you speak to Joe, Mister Edwards makes a call and Terrence enters the backroom with some paperwork.

Joe looks at you as if you have two heads. "Ah...I'm not really sure. Are there particular...fields?" He glances at the stack of books you've led him to as the bell above the door rings. Glancing over, you catch a glimpse of Mr. Edwards getting into a car. "I believe she wanted something called 'Conversing with Spirit Guides,' though?"

A shopping bag on her arm, Annie practically bounces past you on her way to the exit. "Well, I guess we better pick up that book now, huh? I told him to just ask you, since it's just a guide to building hard drives, but he didn't want to bother you with it. You know how Aurel gets..."
She flashes you a smile. "Anyways, it's just down the street."

The two of you walk along for a bit before coming across a somewhat run-down used bookstore. Annie glances at the sign up top, and nods. "Well, this is it! I hope they don't take too long..." As she enters, you glance back for a moment as a taxi pulls away from the building across the street: A slightly better kept store by the name of The New Age Haven.

You glance around, but this is a residential area and aside from some rather well-lit alleyways between apartment buildings there doesn't look to be many places for someone on foot to hide away. There is, however, a conspicuously empty moving van across the street from the targeted building. Someone has left the cargo doors open, and the drivers or owners don't appear to be anywhere in sight.

You quickly jab Dr. Hartford's number into your cell phone, beads of sweat dripping down your brow. What if he's dead? What if something worse has happened? You could really use a fifth of whiskey right now.
Ring.
The shop is empty, and the backroom, used to store meat, is freezing. Your breathe coalesces in the air, but despite this you're flush. Maybe it's just the sudden anxiety talking.
Ring.
Still no answer, but it's only the second ring. Finally you start to shiver. To your left a hunk of cow meat slowly rotates on its meat hook.
Ri-Click.
"Hello," Dr. Hartford's familiar voice speaks, "Rob?"

You can put three specialists together, and they'll train another specialist at a rate of 1 per...year or season, or something like that, I believe.

I haven't been involved in combat yet, but it looks like fun.
As I said earlier, I'm really enjoying the entire feel of Modieval. It's pretty cool.

I think Polca had enough attractions for spring. I think that after I get away it would be good to move onto summer.

+1
I'm cool with a season change. The recent chaos is a nice way to end things, I think!