So, this is a sequel to PTK, and it is going to explore the storyline from PTK a little further. Please enjoy!
Camilla Paige stood at yet another door, knocking firmly. She had knocked at a lot of doors in her life, most of them very rarely open for her to step through. Waiting impatiently, she checked her phone for messages and flicked absently through her apps until someone made their way through the house to answer the massive, rather ornate, door. The place was massive and by massive she meant douche-bag levels of architecture, the building shooting up into the sky in resemblance of something vaguely phallic. Camilla shook her head, hoping this was a false lead and she could get on a plane back home by nightfall.
The hinges squeaked a little as the door swung open before her and Camilla's gaze dropped from the many floors of iron, steel, and concrete to see a primly dressed man with short-cropped hair staring expectantly down at her. She gave him a nod, flashing her electronic badge from the screen of her phone so that he would know she was legit. He let her through the door and closed it behind her silently. Camilla paced forward a bit then turned on her heel to face him.
"You called?"
The man's face remained impassive as he observed her, hands held folded in front of him in what was probably the most polite pose of judgmental appraisal she had ever seen. He stepped around her and past a large round table with flowers perched in a rather pretty arrangement in the center. Camilla kept her body loose while she waited for the brief explanation as to why she was standing in a mansion halfway across the country from her home base. She was a patient woman and in no rush for answers that would come to her eventually.
"This is a rather delicate situation," the man said finally.
Camilla nodded compassionately, "It always is."
He turned a little, stepping away, "Then you will understand that whatever you hear or see here is not to be turned in on a report."
She smirked and gave a shake of her head, "You don't work with my kind of people very often, do you? We don't write reports, and we are discreet."
"Good," the man replied curtly, his expression suddenly moved from impassive to dour. "If you will follow me?"
Obediently, Camilla stepped in behind him as he moved through several very large, very air-filled rooms to an elevator. He keyed in a code and the doors slid open with a soft swish of sound that led Camilla to believe that they were a little more high tech than your average office building. On the ride down the man, who introduced himself as Agent Coulson, gave her a short description of the events leading up to her being assigned the case. A ritual had been attempted with the blood-letting and the raging supplicant aiming to please its master. There was a young girl involved who had barely survived the ordeal, though medically speaking she was just fine. The ritual was familiar, the result of a pattern of murders that were slung clear across the state. She had seen it before a few years back, knew that pattern like the back of her hand—fifty murders and the call of the demonic, thwarted only by the skills of a single girl fresh out of college.
Camilla was impressed with her cunning as it had taken something like an army to stop it the last time around and that was with full understanding of the consequences should they fail. She had been tracking the supplicants for too long and was always a step behind, which had very nearly dulled her motivation to nothingness. The council had been convened for a month already with no decision and, with no other course of action, she had to simply keep moving forward. The others were taking leads across the region, but this was their clearest source. She needed to catch the trail quickly, or risk another cycle of the ritual coming to pass with another victim that may not figure it out so easily.
Ducking into a conference room, Agent Coulson intimated that she should sit in one of the cushy chairs around the perimeter of a large, shining table. Camilla dropped down and draped her arms over the sides while the agent left, presumably to get the girl. The place reeked of sterility and it made her itch to run her hands over the surface of the table just to ruin the cleanliness of it. Everything about the room was angles and pale, putrid paint. She couldn't wait to get outside again.
The doors of the conference room opened and a short, bouncing brunette strolled in with this wide, effervescent smile that had Camilla figuratively stepping back. This was the girl who had thwarted the invocation of a demon? This pale, innocent thing with her oversized sweater and bohemian messenger bag had dropped a supplicant all by her lonesome? Camilla had thought she'd seen it all, but she continued to be surprised by the resourcefulness of people the council would most likely deem too common to be called upon. It never failed that when it came down to the matters of life and death, most of humanity reacted much the same—that is, in the name of self preservation—there were some, however, that were a smidge more prepared than others.
"I'm Darcy," she said, her hand thrown out in front of her in greeting.
Camilla shook it lightly and pulled away, offering the chair next to her, "Camilla. I hear you've been through an ordeal."
"Yeah, got half the house blown off in the process." She chuckled a little, tossing her curls over one shoulder. "So, Coulson says you have questions."
Camilla glanced behind Darcy, wondering if the agent would always hover like a mother hen or if it was just for this one girl. It didn't matter, Camilla could talk with her just as easily if she were in a crowded restaurant. She shifted a little in her chair, and leaned an elbow on the table casually.
"Tell me what happened, with as much detail as you can manage."
Darcy could get a little off topic, but Camilla got most of the story—the murders, the book, the ritual—all of it had happened before in much that same way. She was so incredibly lucky that the supplicant this time was a little too overzealous and that there had been an opportunity for distraction. Yet, Camilla remained impressed that Darcy hadn't fallen deeper into the rabbit hole and that there hadn't been a full on demonic possession. That didn't mean, however, that she had gotten away clean. The ritual had left deep, jagged scars down the length of her arms and torso, scars that couldn't be healed by mortal means. Camilla didn't touch them, but she did take a long look as Darcy pulled up the sleeves and hem of her sweater.
"How are the nightmares?"
Darcy had the good grace to look away and scratch at the skin beneath her chin while she thought, "They're okay."
"But getting worse, more violent." They always did, and it never failed to bring the bearer into a state of depression and anxiety.
"Yeah," was the only reply she got.
Camilla sympathized with Darcy, knew the horrid things that were playing nightly in her mind, remnants of demonic memory. "Those will fade in a year or two."
"I hope so," Darcy replied and for the first time her expression dropped into melancholy so that Camilla got a glimpse of the toll the situation had taken on the girl. She couldn't dwell on that now, maybe later when she had the answers she needed.
"And the other mark," Camilla said lightly, pulling back to sit deeply in the chair.
Darcy blinked and dropped her eyes to the floor in false innocence, "Other mark?"
Shaking her head, Camilla smiled gently, "There is always one more mark, Darcy. Please show me." She was gentle enough in her tone so as to not seem like she was making demands on the poor girl, but she really did need to see the mark of initiation. It would tell her where to start looking for more information, and tell her what kind of demon they were trying to call. Most of the marks in previous cases had been marred by the final kill wound that would draw the demon out through the body of the sacrifice. Darcy's still beating heart was a good sign that the mark would be unblemished and Camilla could send the name through to her superiors and maybe bring the demon out of hiding.
Sighing, Darcy dropped the neckline of her sweater down between her breasts in a movement that, in any other situation, would have been considered obscene. The crosshatched pattern shocked Camilla so much that she couldn't help the sharp intake of breath. Recovering, she pulled her phone from her pocket and sent Claire a message to point her in a direction for research. She would need to touch base with her later, but for now she had bigger things to take care of, namely Darcy. They were far from out of the woods with this particular demon and though it chafed a little that she was going to have to work on him yet again, it didn't change the fact that Darcy would have to be protected for a little while longer.
"I'm about to say something quite shocking, and I need you to please keep calm," Camilla intoned very lightly as she replaced her phone. "Let me preface this by saying that I have been doing this a long time, and I am very good at my job. This ritual has been happening all over the world, every couple of decades, for centuries by supplicants who want to bring forth one demon or another. Everything is exactly the same, from the oppression to the glyphs, but this particular ritual is for low level demonic spirits. They wreak a little havoc before someone on my team eradicates them. However, the mark you have is no simpering force of hell scum—that's a heavy hitter you've got there."
Darcy looked momentarily taken aback, but her wide eyes soon rolled and her expression opened to amusement. "You know, I think I'm actually flattered."
"You shouldn't be," Camilla replied as her brows drew together. "You should be terrified."
She shrugged, "Maybe a little too much has happened and I lost the ability."
Camilla's eyes closed with the thought of just how much she would have to teach Darcy to get her ready for what was coming. The mark was so clear and as much as she wished it wasn't, Camilla knew that there were hard times ahead for this lively girl with her thick rimmed glasses and easy conversation. The ritual was just one step in a long line of demonic fury aimed pointedly at Darcy and Camilla hated to be the one to break it to her. Knowledge was power, after all, and Darcy had a lot of learning to do in a short amount of time.
"Darcy, that mark on your chest is the sigil of Astar, a high ranking devil in hell." Camilla let that sink in before continuing. "You've been marked for either death or possession and unless we move quickly, you won't be able to stop it."
Face paling, Darcy held Camilla's gaze for several long seconds before she whispered, "What do I need to do?"
There was a fighter inside her, which was surprisingly refreshing for Camilla when she was used to crying and wailing and the gnashing of teeth when delivering this kind of news. She wanted to laugh a little and pat Darcy on the back, but now wasn't the time for joviality.
"Hey, how you do know all this stuff anyways?" Darcy asked, sliding both legs beneath her, half hanging from the side of the chair.
"It's my job to know these things. You could say I'm a specialist in demon extraction." It was as close to the truth as she could get without completely destroying that part of her mind that found security in knowing how the world worked. Camilla had been introduced to it early, not even into her teenage years when she caught her first glimpse of true evil. Most of the population believed that demons and devils were figments of the imagination or fairy tales, which often led to their downfall. If ignorant, a single person could bring down unholy amounts of devilry unknowingly, risking not only their own lives, but also the lives of those around them.
Darcy seemed to take her explanation in stride, "You're, like, an exorcist."
"I've been known to perform a few exorcisms in my day," Camilla replied carefully, a little off balance by the semi-calm expression on Darcy's face. "It seems Astar has taken a shine to you, which is a life threatening condition."
"How do we fix it?"
"Carefully," Camilla replied after a beat. "I won't lie to you, it's really not in my nature. The best we can hope for right now is to bind him and send him back to hell. He'll climb right back out after a while and we'll have to do it all over again, but it will keep you safe in between."
Leaning forward, palms on her knees, Darcy gave her an earnest look, "How do you know these things?"
Camilla leaned forward to level her eyes with her, lifting the fabric of her shirt and turn a little to the side. She exposed the scar that mirrored Darcy's marking perfectly on the apex of her left hip before dropping the hem and leaning back again. "Because I lived it. I'm still living it right now."
Darcy's jaw dropped a little as she returned her attention to Camilla's face. She nodded and twisted her fingers between her knees. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."
Camilla shrugged, "You need to trust that I know what I'm talking about. This is going to be difficult, but I think you'll be okay." Not exactly a lie, but near enough that Camilla had a hard time pronouncing the words. Lying was not an easy task, especially when she had been brought up with the knowledge that a lie could destroy the purity of a ritual—a lie on the consciousness could derail the destruction of a demon midway through.
In all probability Darcy was not going to be okay, but she had to believe that she would be or they would certainly fail in binding the demon. It didn't make sense for Astar to choose another victim when his first was sitting right there, was still alive and still bore the sigil. She wondered if he had given up on her and moved on. Even if he had, that was no reason to let her guard down. She would need to be extra vigilant to make sure that he wasn't coming after her in a roundabout, using Darcy to bring her into the fold. Camilla almost sighed, fully aware of how paranoid she sounded in her own internal monologue.
Shifting her attention to the agent still standing placidly near the door, Camilla called out, "I need to see the room where the ritual happened."
Agent Coulson's head tilted to the side before he pulled his phone from his jacket and sent a text in silent acquiescence to her request. A few moments later, he got a response that seemed positive because he was opening the door and gesturing that they should follow. They returned to the main floor, entered the living room, and moved down the hall towards an empty section of the house that was roped off for construction. Camilla raised a brow at the hanging translucent tarps near the outside wall, which had clearly been demolished after the ritual had been disrupted.
"You weren't kidding about destroying the house," Camilla commented with half a smile.
"I know, right," Darcy drawled, "I'm lucky it didn't come out of my paycheck."
Coulson pulled some of the tarps aside and Camilla stepped through, her eyes lifting to the walls and eyeing the blood splatter. Most of Darcy's blood had to have been used to create the glyphs and initiate the ritual, so the huge splash had to be the result of the supplicant's sacrifice. She sneered at the stain, knowing it would soon be painted over and forgotten. That was how most people dealt with the remnants of evil, they glossed them over with shiny reflective denial and moved on without a second glance. She wished that were entirely possible for the girl standing awkwardly nearby, her feet scuffing the tiles while she waited for Camilla to conduct her investigation.
Kneeling down, Camilla pressed her hand to the floor near the center of the room, feeling for the resonant power. True evil always left a footprint that could be read by someone who is perceptive enough. Rising to standing, Camilla breathed deep, catching traces of leftover sulfur that would take a few weeks to fade completely. Everything looked as it should have been. Her only question was why the supplicant thought that they could call Astar with this measly ritual. She had a feeling he would be offended at the very thought of a mere blood sacrifice and chanting in his name. The vanity of this particular demon could not be understated.
"Darcy, how old are you?" Camilla asked absently while she took a few pictures and passed them along to Claire. The researcher wouldn't need a lot of information as they had come up against Astar a few times.
"Twenty five, why?"
"It doesn't make sense," Camilla asserted with a frustrated huff. She turned to Darcy and held up a hand, palm out, "No offence, but you're far too old for his liking."
Darcy pushed her hair from her face and lifted her brows in question, "How old were you when it happened?"
If it had been any other person, Camilla might have dropped her shoulders and threatened her life, but Darcy, from what she could tell, was about as sincere as they came. The question wasn't sarcastic or facetious, just curious, and that warranted an answer in her book.
"The first time," she said, "I was twelve."
"First time?"
"Yeah," Camilla replied, "As I said, he'll climb right back out of hell and start the process over again. I was fifteen the second time, and your age the third." She chuckled a little, "I'm getting better at binding the little sucker, but he's tenacious. He doesn't like to let go of his playthings."
"I'm not a plaything," Darcy urged, her voice taking on a tinge of anger.
"Of course not," Camilla backpedaled, seeing the flaring of emotive rage in her eyes. "But he certainly sees you that way."
Coulson stepped forward diplomatically, "Are we finished here?"
"Yes, I'm finished," Camilla murmured. "Thank you."
Without replying, Coulson led her back to the living room where they sat to go over the game plan. Camilla took a moment to take in atmosphere of the room, her eyes following the pale trek of evil that had been carved into the walls and ceiling. The building would be forever marked by the damage left over from the ritual, but most buildings were nowadays. People—good people—had been taught that demons no longer existed and that magic was a toy to be used at their leisure. They had no idea the dangers is presented, couldn't possibly understand the consequences of their dabbling in the long run. She couldn't put the blame on them fully, though, because her own agency propagated that same theory to protect their secrecy. The council came to the decision that it was necessary during the last bout of witch trials when some of their most prolific potentials had been killed, set ablaze on fiery pyres, despite their innocence.
Darcy sat uncomfortably for a moment, but soon gave in to the visible urge to speak, "I'm not an expert on this stuff, but shouldn't we totally be calling in reinforcements?"
"I have sent a message to the keeper, she'll get the word out to our people. What I'm more focused on is how to keep you safe from Astar until we bind him again. It would be better if I knew why he wanted you."
Darcy shrugged, "Beats me, I'm just an assistant."
"I'm sure you are," Camilla replied off handedly, fully prepared to grill the girl for every detail of her life from birth to the present. Astar was particular about those he sought for possession or sacrifice, he liked them young—the younger the better—and he liked them in their pure form. He would taunt and cajole and oppress them until their either took their own lives or the life of someone else. In the meantime he would send vision of hell to them, separate them from their families, and disrupt their psyche. Camilla could see that he hadn't got very far in his usual cycle. Other than the scars from the ritual, Darcy looked perfectly fine, seemed to be holding it together remarkably well, and had none of the usual signs of being oppressed by the damned. It really didn't make a lick of sense, which only served to intrigue Camilla more.
A man suddenly breezed into the room dressed in a sharp suit and gold rimmed sunglasses, a tall blonde woman at his side typing furiously on an ipad. He noticed them immediately, though his attention soon returned to a small clear device in his hand.
"Pepper, am I late for something?" He said to the blonde, changing directions on a dime and heading towards them.
"No," the woman he'd called 'Pepper' replied, "Your schedule is clear up through tomorrow afternoon. You have a luncheon with marketing to work on the PR we've been getting—wear the navy suit I have hanging in your closet. They'll find that the least threatening."
"Tell me, are all marketing guys sensitive or is it just ours?"
Pepper sighed, "Wear the suit, do the luncheon, and try to be cooperative."
Mr. Coulson cleared his throat a little, drawing their attention back to the present.
"Tony Stark," the suited man said, "Who are you?"
"Camilla Paige."
"She's an exorcist," Darcy interjected with a happy smile.
Mr. Stark glanced down at Darcy and seemed to be connecting things in his head. "As you can see," he began, "Our little demon has left the building. We're not in need of an exorcist."
Camilla had been told that many times only to be called back later with desperate pleas and agonizing screams. The sting of rejection no longer phased her, though it still irked her to be dismissed so easily. She wasn't certain how much Darcy had told her coworkers and it was usually considered best practice to keep her mouth shut. Standing, Camilla pulled her card from her back pocket, smoothing the edges. She handed it to Darcy and gave her a nod before stepping out and around the couch towards the exit.
"Wait," Darcy called. "Tony, she… knew about the marks and she knew about the nightmares. She's been through this before and I think she can help." Camilla almost smiled in her surprise that Darcy would hop on her metaphorical bandwagon so quickly. But, she was definitely right in that Camilla had been through it before, three times to be exact, and of any of her teammates she was the most qualified to rid Darcy of Astar's focus.
Mr. Stark looked hesitant, his cool gaze wandering to Camilla before returning to Darcy's upturned face. "What do you know?"
Clearly, the question was aimed at Camilla and she took a moment to watch Darcy's grateful expression gather lightly. "I know that it's not over. I know that this is unusual for the entity we are dealing with. I know it won't stop. And, I know that if you don't accept my help now, the odds are that Darcy will be dead in less than six months if she's lucky—days, if she's not."
At the mention of Darcy's demise, Mr. Stark's eyes flashed with some kind of latent anger, "How do we know you're not working with them?"
"You don't, not really. But, I come from a reputable agency; your Mr. Coulson can verify that."
Coulson stood and button the jacket of his suit, "They tell me she's very good."
"I'm the best," Camilla corrected. She didn't like having to defend herself when they had so clearly asked for her help, but she supposed it was good that Darcy had such a good support system in place already. She would need it for the days to come. There would be no mercy from the demon seeking her out, and Camilla could not afford to coddle her this late in the game. Until the others arrived, they would be simply building defenses in case the demon showed up again or began the process of oppression within the house.
Mr. Stark still looked unsure, and Camilla wasn't about to spend more time trying to get into his good graces. She would prefer to have Darcy's confidants on her side, but there was no time for niceties when things could get ugly fast. Darcy, herself, was taking the news like a real trooper, which was a nice change and Camilla definitely appreciated not having to be the shoulder to cry on.
Turning to Coulson, Camilla asked, "Is there a motel nearby? I need a place to crash when I'm not, you know, here."
Darcy piped up, "She can stay here, can't she Tony?"
Mr. Stark's response was swift in the negative, "No. No way. We don't take in strays in my house."
"Hey!" Camilla exclaimed, wondering a little at the offense she was feeling so suddenly, "Can you try to be a little less unpleasant?"
Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, "You mean a little less offensive than an exorcist arriving just a little too late while a demon rips her open?" He nodded to Darcy, who looked anxious at the rising tension.
Camilla's eyes narrowed, "I'm sorry I can't fit in to your schedule and time frame. But, if you'd like to make an appointment with the next supplicant who wants to use Darcy was a blood sacrifice for demonic invocation, I'll make sure to pencil you in."
"Great! We'll see you then."
This was going nowhere fast and Camilla's patience was thin already what with the surprise of Astar's change in tactics and the ridiculously adept Darcy making all the right moves at every turn.
"Look," she said, pressing her palms to the side of her head, "I'm not here to screw around. I have a job to do and if I'm going to be hindered at the very start, I can walk away right now. I don't think you get that I was assigned to this to save your ass but my alternate plan is now to drop you on it. Repeatedly."
Mr. Stark's eyes seemed to lighten a little in something close to sardonic amusement, "Bring it."
"Children!" Mr. Coulson called out. "We need to play nice. Ms. Paige has said that there isn't much time and we can't waste it by fighting."
"Who's fighting, this is just a lively debate," Mr. Stark slipped in while taking a cup of coffee casually from Pepper. Camilla simply shrugged and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, shifting on her feet while she waited for some kind of directive from the agent.
Mr. Coulson looked between them for a moment before giving a nod of his head, "We've got a room here you can use if you want."
Camilla shook her head, "I think a motel would be better."
"I really must insist that you stay close, Ms. Paige. The incident occurred less than a week ago and the… symptoms of Darcy's predicament are increasing daily."
She didn't like the little jab of guilt he'd thrown in, but that didn't mean that he was wrong. It really was objectively better if she stayed close enough to observe regularly, and Darcy needed some teaching so that she could be prepared in the event of a relapse. In a small act of rebellion, she pretended to think about it, eyes reaching upward in false contemplation. It was then that she noticed the shining swath of magic coating pieces of the woodwork and the plaster above them. Brows drawing together, she studied the symbols that would be invisible for an uninitiated layman but, as she focused, shone plain as day against the path of evil that had touched the house. They were scattered and sporadic, juvenile in their execution, but consistent in that they were peppered throughout every surface in the room. The walls, the ceiling, the floors, even the baseboards and quarter round had a little splash of glyph thrown on them.
"Mr. Stark," she said after a moment, "I believe someone is working protective magic in your building."
He scoffed, though his eyes followed her gaze curiously. "Anything else you want to reveal?"
Camilla's eyes dropped to Mr. Stark's face, noting the tightened muscles and the strained wrinkles around his mouth. "Someone here is a witch, though not a very good one if the symbols are any indication of their power."
"Want to tell me who it is, Ghostwriter? Maybe we can get a straight answer out of them." He threw back the cup of coffee, setting the cup down hard against the marble side table.
Camilla shrugged, "They're protective spells mostly. I'll have to rewrite a big portion of them to make sure they hold, but someone must have noticed the incoming evil and set about to set up a defense. It's a novice job, but it must have protected the house a little from Astar's invasion. I doubt the rest of the building would be standing, otherwise."
"Your room has been prepared," Coulson remarked lightly, effectively ending the conversation and pointing Camilla back to his request.
She ran her hand over her ponytail, feeling the strands that had loosened around her face, "It could be weeks before I can leave."
"We're prepared for that," he replied with this irritatingly serene look on his face.
"Of course you are. Okay, lead the way."
Her room was more of the beige, but it at least had a window which she immediately opened to let the air circulate. Coulson waited a moment by the door to make sure she had everything she needed. He handed her a map of the areas she was allowed to traverse and indicated that he would have housekeeping send fresh towels and linens at least once a week. To be honest, the room was a bit cozier than she had imagined. Most of the building was filled with the smell of metal, but here she could scent the laundry detergent used in the bed sheets and the faint smells of disinfectant wafting from the bathroom.
The layout was simple, a bed, nightstand and en suite bathroom, furnished better than a lot of motels she'd stayed in on previous assignments. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Camilla sent gratitude out into the universe for the clean room and clean bed. Most importantly, she sent gratitude for the clean bathroom. She had gotten her suitcase, a faded pale blue thing that she had picked out at a vintage store, from her rental and she grabbed it on her way into the bathroom. Lugging it to sit on the counter, she slipped the locks and pushed the lid upwards. Pulling out a fresh set of clothes, Camilla threw them on the back of the toilet and leaned down to run a bath.
While soaking in the heat and tranquility of the water, Camilla went over her thoughts about the case. Darcy was an interesting girl, incredibly adaptable if a bit flighty, but she wondered how Astar had gotten involved and why he chose a victim way past adolescence when his pattern had been established for as long as his name was on record. The untrained witch in their midst was also an interesting turn of events, but not uncommon in a hub of supernatural activity. The case could be opened and shut again if she could get Astar to lurk out of his hiding spot so she could perform the binding ritual. Trouble was, Astar was known to circle his prey for years before going on the offensive and to call him forth was something she wasn't comfortable with attempting on her own. She would have to settle for asking questions around his usual haunts in the city and hoping to pick up his trail.
Ducking down into the water, Camilla held her breath and let the vibrations of the liquid soak into her bones. She would need to be focused for this, couldn't afford to get sidetracked by unnecessary connections and patterns. Astar had been hunting for her soul since she was twelve, wanting her to gain power and prestige within his own circle of demons. She had eluded him with the help of the agency and Claire by constantly moving, working her way through the globe investigating other demonic rituals and the victims thereof. It pained her to see Darcy standing so vulnerably in the line of Astar's fire. She would soon need to follow the same path, though maybe Camilla could find a way to redirect Astar's attention back to her so that Darcy might be able to live some semblance of a normal life.
Let me know what you think. I know, I know, no Clint yet, but believe me, he's on his way.