Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds. My fic does not make me any money. However, this story does belong to me.

Author's Note: Written for a Halloween spooky story challenge. Bete read by the very patient and generous greenwich who deserves a huge thank you. Please read and review.

Trickster

The car started up the long driveway to the Gardman house on the outskirts of Seattle. Jason Gideon was driving, with Aaron Hotchner riding shotgun. Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan were sat in the back. As they approached the house, Gideon brought the vehicle to a stop and the four men took in the imposing building. The stonework was grey and dark and there were few lights on.

"How many other officers are there?" asked Hotch.

"Three," replied Gideon, "Maybe four. The rest have gone back to the station to start pulling together the evidence. JJ is there to deal with any media enquiries."

"And we're here to view the scene and work on the profile?" asked Morgan. "What about the little girl?"

"Still here," said Hotch grimly. "There was nowhere else to take her and her nanny is with her. It might help us to talk to her."

The occupants of the car jumped as a large black bird swooped down and landed on the hood. It cocked its head to one side, as though assessing the four agents and then flew away, its broad wings swooshing in the cold late afternoon air.

"Whoa!" cried Morgan. "What was that?"

"A raven," replied Reid, leaning forwards. "Judging by the curved bill and expansive wingspan. Usually regarded as a bird of ill omen, it features heavily in European myth and legend."

Gideon smiled. "The raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan under my battlements."

"Macbeth," responded Reid quickly. "Interestingly, it is thought that England will remain safe from invaders so long as there are ravens at the Tower of London. In fact, the British government now actually maintains a raven presence at the Tower, even clipping their wings to prevent them from flying away. Ravens are also found in Native American . . ."

"Enough!" cried Morgan, holding his hands up. "Reid – the bird facts are really something, but I was just asking what it was." He opened the car door.

The young man blushed. "Sorry," he said, slightly embarrassed.

Morgan looked chastened. "No," he said, "I'm sorry – it just made me jump."

Hotch turned round. "Are you scared of birds?"

"Ornithophobia," started Reid, "The fear of . . ." His voice trailed off. "Sorry," he muttered.

"No!" said Morgan in exasperation. "I am not scared of birds. I just get," he shrugged, "a little spooked sometimes. Doesn't everyone – c'mon Reid, we all know you do?"

The rest of the team looked at him. "OK," sighed Morgan. "Just me then. That Hitchcock movie gave me nightmares."

Reid turned to Morgan with a grin as they got out of the car. "I saw The Birds when I was five years old. Not as spooky as The Omen though. And have you seen Ringu – the Japanese film?"

Hotch slowed down and frowned at him. "Your mom let you watch horror movies when you were five?"

Reid laughed. "Of course not. She barely even let me watch TV. But I had a deal with my babysitters. Most of them were my mom's students. They had to let me stay up and watch horror movies with me – and in return I didn't tell her they were drinking, making out on the couch and paying me to write term papers for them!"

Morgan shook his head. "And you wonder why you're scared of the dark?"

The conversation died away as the agents gathered at the doorway. The mood turned sombre. Seven people had died here - five members of the Gardman family and two of their staff.

Gideon turned to the others. "With Elle still on sick leave, we're going to be spread pretty thin. Let's walk the crime scene, then talk to the witnesses."

A man stepped out of the shadows. He held out his hand. "Officer Williams from the Seattle Police Department.

Hotch shook his hand. "I'm Special Agent Aaron Hotchner." He gestured to the rest of the team. "Special Agents Jason Gideon and Derek Morgan, Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid. Can you tell us what happened?"

Williams nodded. "We got a call from a Hazel Thomas, Amber Gardman's nanny," he said. "When the officers got here, they found the bodies of Charles and Fiona Gardman, their sons Hamish and Cameron and Mr Gardman's mother, Julia. Also dead were the housekeeper, Jennifer Southwell and the chef, Jean-Pierre Duvivier."

Williams led the way into the living room. "Mr and Mrs Gardman were found in here, the boys in their bedrooms. Julia Gardman's body was on the stairs, while the housekeeper was in the dining room and the chef in the kitchen. All had their hearts removed. The bodies are at the morgue."

"And has anybody found the missing organs?" asked Reid. Morgan made a face at him and shuddered.

Gideon shook his head. "If this is some kind of ritualistic sadist, he has most probably taken them to consume them later."

"And how come Amber and her nanny were left alive?" asked Morgan. "Why not finish the job?"

Hotch flicked through the file. "According to Hazel's statement, she was putting Amber to bed at the back of the house while the rest of the family were downstairs. She came out of the room, saw Julia Gardman's body and then found Hamish and Cameron. She says she called 911 and then ran up to the attic with Amber as she could hear some movement downstairs. There is a panic room up there and she locked herself and the child in until the police arrived."

The team looked around the living room. It was large and lavishly furnished. The blood stained rug looked garish against the pale cream furniture.

"Let's see the rest of the house," suggested Gideon, heading for the hallway. It was tiled and the sounds of their footsteps echoed eerily.

"These are the stairs where Julia Gardman's body was found," said Hotch, pointing towards the wide curving staircase.

The agents walked slowly upstairs, carefully avoiding the bloodstains on the carpet. Reid looked out of the windows. "It has been snowing on and off all day," he said. "There were no vehicle tracks leading away from the house. The killer could still be nearby, or could be on foot."

Gideon rubbed his chin and nodded. "He could be waiting – if he wants to use the hearts of the whole family, he might be looking for another opportunity to get to Amber."

Morgan put his hands on his hips. "Why on earth would someone want to eat the hearts of a whole family?"

Hotch turned to him. "The heart is the symbolic centre. The Gardman family are rumoured to hold knowledge and artefacts relating to nearby Native American lands. To take their hearts could be to take back that power."

Morgan shook his head. He shuddered. "Whole place gives me the creeps. Why do we have to talk to Amber here?"

"She is terrified and refusing to leave the house," said Gideon. "In a familiar setting, such as her own bedroom, she may feel relaxed enough to tell us anything she knows. Reid – can you and Hotch go and talk to her?"

"Oh great," muttered Morgan. "Like Doctor Spooky is going to put her at ease."

Reid glared at him and then headed up the stairs behind Hotch. Gideon turned to Morgan. "Derek – are you OK?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," replied Morgan. "I just don't like this place."

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The pinkness of the six-year-old's bedroom was overwhelming. But it was not pretty pink, not little girl pink. 'This is raw colour', Reid thought, 'like dripping meat.

Hazel Thomas leaned against the wall, biting her fingernails. Amber was sitting on her bed, clutching a pink fairy doll. She was pale and small, her long dark hair tucked behind her ears. She was wearing a pink nightgown.

Reid smiled at her. She glared back at him. He tried a welcoming wave. She pulled the doll tighter and said, "Go away, you're scary."

Hotch motioned him to move back and squatted next to Amber. "Hello Amber. I'm Aaron," he said gently. "Does your dolly have a name?"

Amber screamed at him abruptly and then stopped. The nanny rushed over and put her arms round the child. "Can this wait?" she asked.

Hotch sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I guess so," he replied. "Maybe the child psychologist would be a better person for her to speak to."

Reid made to follow him out of the room. He yelped as something hit him between the shoulder blades. He turned round to see Amber aiming large toy train at him and ducked. Then he hurried out of the room.

He was surprised to find his hands shaking. He had faced down the barrel of a gun in Illinois and nearly got himself blown up more recently, but this little girl had spooked him. Admittedly, he wasn't very good with children, but for a child who had just lost her whole family, she seemed scarily composed.

Hotch turned to him as they jogged down the stairs. "We need to get her to a place of safety as soon as possible. I'll let Gideon know and these officers can take them."

Reid touched him on the shoulder and pointed out of the window. There was now a blizzard. "Don't think we're going anywhere soon," he said softly.

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Gideon gathered the rest of his team and the other officers in the hallway. "With the weather conditions, none of us can leave. However, the unsub may still be nearby. I want Amber and Hazel moved to the panic room and the rest of the officers posted at the front and back doors. Myself and Agents Hotchner, Morgan and Doctor Reid will use the drawing room as a base to start putting together a profile."

Once inside the drawing room, the team started to lay out their working area. Hotch fetched coffee for everyone and they sat for a while in silence, reading through the information the local officers had provided.

Getting up and stretching, Gideon walked over to the map of the Seattle outskirts laid out on the table. He studied it in silence then shook his head.

"Can we get some more information on the local area?" he said.

"Any chance of talking to Garcia?" asked Reid.

Hotch shook his head. "The snow must have knocked the phone lines out and there's no cell phone reception either." He paused. "We're on our own with this one."

Reid picked through the crime scene photographs on the table. He stared at them, unconsciously rubbing his neck, the way he did when he was thinking. "There's something familiar about these," he muttered, reaching for his satchel.

Gideon approached him. "What do you see?" he asked gently.

Reid rummaged in his satchel and pulled out a file. "I was looking through some unsolved cases over the weekend and the photographs look similar."

Morgan tapped him on the shoulder. "Reid – time off is for relaxing, not reading case files. You really do need to get out more."

Reid ignored him. "Look at these," he said, placing another set of photographs on the table. "The Bairstow family in Tacoma in 1942."

All of the bodies had gaping wounds in the chest. Gideon picked up a photograph of a little girl. "Looks like the same MO but how can it be the same guy? These murders were sixty four years ago!"

Reid was becoming excited. "And these," he said, thrusting another set of photographs at Gideon. "The Muir family in Portland in 1922. All of them had their hearts ripped out."

Morgan shuddered. "I don't like this," he said, "This is weird. Is this a copycat?"

Hotch was studying the file Reid had taken from his satchel. "Seems unlikely," he said, "There was very little publicity about the Bairstow murders – the remaining relatives were keen to keep things as quiet as possible in case it affected their business interests. They were property developers." He stopped and looked up. "On disputed Native American land."

Reid was studying the photographs intently. The rest of the agents were studying Reid. Suddenly he jumped up. "Look!" he cried, "Do you see this?"

Hotch, Gideon and Morgan peered at the two photographs the young profiler was holding. Hotch and Morgan shook their heads, Gideon stared harder.

"I give up, genius," sighed Morgan. "What is it?"

Reid was so excited he could hardly speak. "L . . . look!" he spluttered, jabbing at the photograph, "Th . . . there!"

Gideon squinted at the picture. "A shadow?" he asked.

"A f . . . f . . . feather!" squeaked Reid. "A raven feather. There's one in every p . . . picture."

Morgan snatched up one of the photographs. "You're saying a bird did this?" he asked, incredulous.

Just then, one of the remaining police officers burst into the room. "It's Williams!" he cried, "He's dead!"

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Hotch frowned as he looked at the body. It lay beside the back door, which was slightly open. Flurries of snow kept darting through the door, settling briefly on Williams' body. The heart had been torn out.

"I thought all entrances and exits to the house were being guarded?" Hotch snapped at the officer stood trembling next to him.

The officer nodded. "Williams was guarding this door," he said, his voice cracking.

"Well now you're guarding it!" replied Hotch. "How many of you are left here?"

"Um, me and two others," mumbled the officer.

Hotch sighed heavily. "Radio the rest of them. Tell them the unsub may very well be in the house." He paused. "What's your name?"

"Daniel Milner, Sir," replied the terrified officer.

"Well Milner," said Hotch firmly, "Keep your eyes open and your gun in your hand."

Hotch was puzzled as he headed back to the drawing room. Williams' body had felt stiff but he should only have been dead for less than an hour. Maybe it was the cold? He tried to reach Morgan on the radio, but there was no signal. He had gone to check on Amber and her nanny.

Hotch swore under his breath and started wearily up the stairs. The winter weather outside seemed to have pervaded the house, making the air icy. He shivered and buttoned his jacket. He needed to speak to the others.

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Back in the drawing room Reid was pacing, engaged in his typical thinking out loud. "The significance of the raven feather – is it a calling card from the unsub? Trying to draw attention to Native American issues?"

He pushed his hair away from his face. "The legendary raven was a trickster," he said quietly, "He got away with everything."

Reid turned and paced back again. "Does the unsub think he is invincible? Or is it – no! Can't be!"

Reid stopped, lost in thought. Gideon waited a moment, then approached him. "What is it?" he asked gently.

Reid looked at him, wide eyed. "But it's impossible!" he blurted.

Gideon raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Remember, I told you to think outside the box? What have you found?"

Reid shook his head. "It's just mythology," he replied.

Gideon placed his hands on the young man's shoulders. "We have eight dead people. Anything that you know could help. Morgan's not here to laugh at you. Now tell me what it is."

Reid swallowed hard and bit his bottom lip. "A shapeshifter," he said softly. "In mythology the raven is a shapeshifter, able to take on the form of other creatures."

"And the hearts?" asked Gideon, nodding to encourage him.

Reid shrugged. "Not sure about that," he replied, "But raven is greedy and eating the heart may help sustain the shape change."

"This is good," smiled Gideon. "Now what else? Go back to victimology. Why the Gardman family? Why now?"

Reid thought for a moment. "The Gardmans have betrayed the Native American tribes who lived here originally. They got rich through exploiting land that wasn't theirs. The raven is here to take revenge, to claim the heart of this family – just as the local tribes had their heart destroyed." He looked expectantly at Gideon.

"Good work," smiled Gideon. "Now – how do we stop it?"

"Salt," said Reid. "A line of salt across the doorways will keep the shapeshifter from leaving. At least that's what I've read."

"Kitchen it is then," said Gideon. "Keep your weapon handy."

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In the Gardman house kitchen, Gideon and Reid looked for a large container of salt. They found only a salt cellar. Then Reid spotted what looked like a larder door. Gingerly he opened it, shining his flashlight inside. Then his shoulders dropped. "Oh no," he said, his face crumpling.

Inside the larder, in the middle of the stone floor, was the body of a little girl. Her long dark hair was spread across the floor and the large round blood stain on her front contrasted with the pink of her nightgown. Her chest had been ripped open.

Gideon put a reassuring arm round Reid's shoulder. Then he bent down and gently touched the body of Amber Gardman. "She's cold," he said softly. "She's been dead for hours."

Reid blinked back tears. This never got any easier. Why hadn't he worked it out sooner? He squatted down and took her hand. It felt like ice.

"Reid," said Gideon, "She was dead before we even got here."

The colour drained from both their faces as the realisation hit. "Then who is that in the attic?" asked Reid. But Gideon was already running out of the room.

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Morgan turned the attic door handle and pushed. There was something in the way. Peering round the door, he jumped at the sight of Hazel Thomas lying on the floor, a familiar looking hole in her chest. "Damn it!" he muttered. He reached for his radio. "Hotch," he said, "Hotch – are you there?"

There was silence.

Morgan stood for a moment, unsure what to do. Then he tried the panic room. The door was open. "Amber?" he called. "Where are you sweetie? I'm with the FBI – I'm going to help you!"

He heard a noise on the floor below. Hurrying down the stairs he shouted "Amber? Are you hurt?"

In reply the sound echoed again. It sounded like the croak of a bird, probably from one of the far bedrooms. Then there was silence. Morgan stood panting in the darkened corridor. His hands felt cold and clammy and he was starting to sweat. Where were all the others? Being alone in the dark was making him uncharacteristically nervous.

He heard footsteps at the other end of the corridor. Even with the flashlight, it was too dark to see the other end. Fighting the instinct to run away very fast, he crept along, holding his gun in front of him. The sounds were coming from the end bedroom. Taking a deep breath, Morgan slowly opened the door. He shone his flashlight into the room. There was a bed, a dresser and some chairs. Something ran across his feet – maybe a mouse. He struggled not to cry out.

Breathing heavily and with his heart pounding, Morgan slowly slid along the wall, feeling for the light switch. He heard a movement and spun round, his flashlight illuminating two figures. When he realised who they were, his mouth fell open with shock.

"Reid," he gasped. "What the hell . . ."

Reid was staring at him. He was standing behind a kneeling Hotch. Reid had one hand clamped around Hotch's mouth and the other was pointing his gun at Hotch's head.

"Reid," said Morgan, "Put the gun down." He kept his weapon trained on his colleague. "What are you doing?"

Reid gave a strange smile. "I caught him. This is our unsub!" He moved his hand away from Hotch's mouth and instead hooked his arm tightly around Hotch's throat.

"Spencer," gasped Hotch. "You're tired. You haven't been sleeping well. It's me, Aaron."

Morgan was confused. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Are you going to shoot him," asked Reid, "Or shall I? Even I can't miss from this distance."

"Reid," warned Morgan. "You need to put the gun down."

"I found the bodies of the other officers downstairs," said Hotch with difficulty.

"And he killed them," said Reid. He increased the pressure on Hotch's throat. "Don't listen to him. He's lying."

"I was coming to find you," choked Hotch. "Please, Spencer, I don't know why you are doing this."

Suddenly the room was illuminated. Morgan turned quickly to see Gideon with his hand on the light switch. Then he turned back.

Morgan kept his eyes on Reid. "Please Gideon," he said. "Tell me this isn't real."

"One of them is a shapeshifter," said Gideon quietly. "The unsub keeps switching bodies."

Morgan let out a hollow laugh. "Of course he does."

Gideon gritted his teeth. "Just believe me," he hissed. "There's no time."

Hotch looked pleadingly at Gideon and Morgan. Reid pressed the gun barrel harder into Hotch's temple.

"Spencer, we can talk about this," gasped Hotch.

"Shall I do it?" asked Reid, looking quizzically at Morgan. "Do you dare me?"

Morgan stared at them both. His eyes filled with tears. "Put the gun down, Reid," he said. "Don't make me do this."

"Shoot me and you let him get away," said Reid. "I'm going to count to three – then I shoot. One, two . . ."

A shot rang out and Reid crumpled to the floor. Morgan stared in horror as Hotch pitched forwards. "But I didn't . . ." he said.

"No," said a voice behind him. "I did."

Morgan spun round. "Reid!" he cried, "But you . . ." He turned back to where the body of his friend still lay.

Reid put a hand on his shoulder. "That's not me," he said softly. Then he walked over to the body. He took a handful of salt from his pocket and scattered it in a circle around the body.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the prone figure seemed to stretch and shrink back, the pale skin turning darker. Black feathers pushed through the flesh as the arms elongated and the trunk contracted. Nobody spoke as the body changed from that of Reid to that of the raven.

"Oh man," sighed Morgan, "Not that damn bird again."

Hotch's face had finally returned to a normal colour. "What was that all about?" he asked.

Reid smiled at him and helped him to his feet. "I'll explain it all," he said. "You didn't really think that was me, did you?"

Hotch managed a faint smile. "Is – that – what killed all those people?" he said, pointing to the raven.

"The bird or some other form of it," replied Reid. "It's been taking revenge over the years for the wrongs done to the indigenous people of this area."

Gideon walked over to the bird. "Is it dead?" he asked.

Reid shook his head. "No," he replied, "Just trapped. The salt circle will keep it there if it remains unbroken." He walked over to the windows and checked they were shut tight.

Gideon sighed. "If all the other officers are dead, we need to contact the station, get them to send some one up here to guard this thing until we figure out how to destroy it."

Hotch dusted himself down. "The others are definitely dead. I found the bodies when I was looking for Morgan." He looked at Gideon. "I could really do with getting out of here."

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"What the hell do I write in my report?" asked Morgan as the team headed down the stairs.

Reid shrugged. "The truth I guess," he said. "As you saw it."

"Reid," said Morgan, "You shot you. You feeling OK?"

"I'm good," smiled Reid. "At least I was on target. Anyway, Doctor Spooky can handle the weird and wonderful." He paused and winked at Morgan. "I just struggle a bit with the dark."

Morgan punched him playfully on the shoulder – a little harder than was necessary.

The snow had stopped and the sun was starting to come up. "We should get a cell phone signal further down the road," said Gideon, "Let's go."

He opened the door and the team followed him to the car.

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Upstairs, a mouse scuttled across the bedroom floor. It paused by the circle of salt and scrabbled at the carpet, dislodging a few grains.

The car headed back down the path, all noise muffled by the fallen snow. Everyone was silent. Gideon was keeping his eyes on the road ahead as he drove. Something flickered in the rear view mirror and his eyes glanced up instinctively. It was a raven, flying out of the Gardman house, wings flapping against the gloomy sky, disappearing into the distance.

Author's Note: This one of the reasons for the delay in updating Retribution. Sorry. That one should be finished before long.