A/N: Alright so, this is very much an AU fic. Categorically I'd call it Modern Fantasy since I'm drawing inspiration from both Constantine and The Dresden Files for this. I'm really hoping this goes well as this is my first fic in ten years and I'm nervous as hell. Thank you so much to TheAmethystRiddle for being my beta! This is probably going to be a bit of a long fic, but I have it 80% plotted out so I know where it's going. This is going to be T for now due to dead bodies and rest, just fyi. Hope you enjoy, thanks for reading and please review!

Trigger Warnings: gore, dead body description

Blood Rites

Chapter One: In Which Lisbon Hires A Consultant

The red and blue lights of the police car flashed starkly over the stucco walls of the classic 1950s bungalow it was parked in front of. It was still dark as Agent Teresa Lisbon pulled the SUV up in front of the cordoned-off house, the headlights briefly illuminating a few uniformed officers talking to neighbors that peered anxiously at the open front door. She downed the last of her coffee as she turned off the car, hoping it would be enough to get her through what was shaping up to be a very long day. Apparently the scene beyond that front door had the potential to be a media nightmare and Sac PD had generously dumped the case on the CBI's Serious Crimes Unit.

Lisbon climbed out of her vehicle and ducked under the crime scene tape, making a beeline for a tall man standing on the front porch. "Morning, Rigsby. What have we got?" she said, joining him at the top of the steps.

"Hey Boss," he grimaced, pulling a notepad out of his jacket pocket. "Victim is the homeowner, a white female, 28, named Jessica Shaw. No sign of forced entry or struggle. LEOs are still canvassing the area but so far no one saw or heard anything until about 3:30am, which is when the neighbor on the left there," he pointed to a gentleman with a blanket around his shoulders standing behind the crime scene tape, "said the screaming woke him up and he called 911. Uniforms got here at 3:47 and everything was quiet. Front door was open and they found... well..."

Rigsby gestured at the front door, trying to come up with the words. Lisbon frowned. "Coroner confirmed time of death yet?" she asked.

"Not yet," he replied. "Still waiting for her to arrive, along with forensics. Apparently there was a triple on the east side an hour ago. Pat said to tell you she'd be here as soon as she could."

She nodded, lips twitching slightly in irritation. "Great. Cho inside?" she asked, turning to head into the house.

"Yeah," Rigsby said. "I'll be in in a minute. Gonna check on the canvas."

Lisbon walked through the front door, expecting to find the cause of everyone's skittishness, but she was instead greeted with a fairly standard living room. Well, the couch was a hideous shade of yellow, but other than that it looked fairly normal. TV; pictures of-she assumed-the victim and friends and family on the walls; and the general lived-in mess of someone too busy for regular housework.

"Cho?" she called, peering into the kitchen and wincing. Apparently the last remodel in here was the 70s, judging by the avocado-green everything.

"Back here, Boss. Master bedroom," came Agent Cho's voice from down the hallway. Following it to the only open door, she was forced to stop on the threshold and stare as the copper tang of blood and musky incense smell hit her nose. Her stomach rolled.

"Oh crap," she muttered, looking around and resisting the urge to cross herself. There was blood everywhere. It covered the body lying in the middle of the full-sized bed, deep slashes scattered from head to toes making a ruin of the young woman. Red splashed out from her corpse like an epicenter, the white sheets soaking in it. Somewhere she could hear a slow dripping sound.

There was back splatter on the night table and lamp, arterial spray on the headboard, and castoff on the lone dresser. The walls were drawn all over with symbols and odd runic markings in blood, covering wallpaper, windows, and paintings alike. None of them she recognized and strangest of them all a large, round smiley face with closed eyes above the fake wrought-iron headboard. It gave her a sense of dread as she looked up at its dripping smile.

"Yeah, you said it," Cho finally responded from the other side of the bed. He looked down at something on the floor, his expert poker face in place despite the carnage around them.

"There's no way this is all from her," Lisbon said, gingerly making her way over the slightly splattered hardwood floor to him. Forensics would have a litter of kittens if they contaminated anything before processing.

"It's not, they had some help." He pointed a rubber-gloved hand down to a plastic bucket at his feet, still half full with blood. "There's way more here and on the walls than our vic could have had in her. That weight I'd say, 4.9 liters, maybe?" Cho sized up the victim then looked carefully around the room. "There's at least 2 liters in this bucket, probably another three on the walls, and whatever's left doesn't even begin to account for what's soaked into the bed."

Lisbon shook her head and said, "This person came prepared, knew what they were doing, knew how long they had to get out of here and how to do it without being seen." She headed back to the door, gesturing at the walls around her. "And this, this is a whole new level of weird. I'm going to see if I can get a specialist to come take a look at the scene. Rigsby said forensics was going to be a while. Sit tight."

In the hallway she pulled her cell phone out of her blazer pocket and dialed a number. He'd probably pick up, but no way in hell would he be happy about it.

"Hey, Bosco, it's Lisbon. Sorry, I know it's late, apologize to Mandy for me. But I need a favor. Can you get me the number of the occult consultant that you mentioned was really good? … He's in your phone as 'that asshole'?"

The shrill ringing of his cell phone yanked Patrick Jane back to consciousness far too early for his liking, and he groped blearily at his bedside table for the offending noise maker. A glance at the alarm clock told him it was barely after 5am, only a few hours after he had managed to fall asleep. His insomnia had been a near nightly pestilence for years and last night had been no exception. 'Somebody had better be dead,' he thought uncharitably as he flipped open his phone, sparing a look of irritation at the unknown number, and pressed it to his ear. "On a scale of chupacabra to zombie dire wolves how big is your problem?" he grumbled, hoping they'd either have a reasonable answer, or be intimidated into letting him sleep.

There was a short pause before the woman on the other end answered, sounding slightly thrown. "Is this uh, Patrick Jane? The... wizard?"

He couldn't help but smile. What a lovely voice to wake up to that was, despite its incredulous tone. "Speaking, previously sleeping. How can I help you, Ms... ?"

"Agent. Senior Special Agent Teresa Lisbon of the California Bureau of Investigation," she said. "Sorry to call so early, but we were hoping you could give us some insight on a murder that occurred tonight. I've heard that you sometimes consult for Sac PD on cases with an occult connection."

Jane rolled on his back and rubbed his eyes. "I didn't know I was on the CBI's consultant radar. I'm certainly not on their payroll," he hinted. If he had to get up this early in the morning to look at a dead body, he was sure well going to get payed for it. As Grace-his friend and landlord-reminded him often, he didn't get to live in her back cottage scott free, and crossing into Nevada every month for rent was a bit excessive. Also he was running out of casinos to get banned from.

This Agent Lisbon was apparently rather good at reading between the lines since she quickly replied, "The CBI would be more than happy to compensate you for your time."

"Then you have yourself a consultant, Agent Lisbon," he said, pushing the covers off and getting out of bed. "What makes you think this is occult? Did someone leave a pentagram lying around?" He'd gotten several calls for cases that had gone that route. Murderers thought they were clever trying to throw the cops off. Little did they know drawing a pentagram and using a pentagram were two very different things. Jane grinned to himself as he pulled a suit out of his closet and started exchanging his pajama pants for slacks.

"Not that I saw, no pentagrams. There's symbols, kind of runic looking, drawn on the walls in blood-maybe the victims-and one big smiley face."

"Maybe the victim's blood?" he asked, pulling his dress shirt on and buttoning it up.

She blew out a breath and said ruefully, "There's a lot of blood here. Much more than one person. Whether it's human or animal-what? Hold on." He could hear her cover the phone and speak to someone for a moment before she came back. "Coroner's here, I need to go. Can I text the address to this number?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, shrugging into his vest. "Try to keep them from contaminating the body too much before I get there? There's less to read the more people touch it."

"O-kay, I'll... see what I can do."

"One last thing!" Jane said, suddenly curious. "Where did you get my number from?"

There was a small pause before she responded. "Bosco, Sam Bosco. He said you were instrumental on a case once."

"Ah. Yes, he would. Alright, thank you, I'll see you at the crime scene." He quickly hung up and pocketed his phone, reaching into his dresser for some socks. Hitching up his pants, he sat on his bed and began pulling them on. It had been a while since he'd seen Bosco, but he'd never forget the night that led him to stop giving him so much shit.

Bosco's son, a fourteen-year-old with even less sense than facial hair had picked up the wrong book in some secondhand shop and decided to try his hand at the rituals he found inside. Two possessed kids and a dead cat later, Bosco had called him, desperate enough that the consultant he liked to poke fun at in the station was now his best chance of getting his offspring off the ceiling. Patrick got there just in time to stuff the demonic joyriders back in the Hellbox they were summoned out of and keep the pair of youngsters from losing their sanity. As it was, brother and sister had both gotten enough of a scare that they'd probably never touch the occult again.

As cliches went, it was one of Patrick's most hated. "People messing with things they shouldn't" seemed to be a basic human trait they couldn't shake as a species. Patrick grimaced as he slid on his worn, brown shoes. Surely he was proof enough of that. Then again, he'd probably be out work if they didn't meddle. Honest work, at any rate. Well, honest enough.

It only took a few more minutes to finish getting ready: running a comb through his curls, getting a quick cup of tea for fortification and the like, before heading out. He locked the front door of the tiny guest house he resided in and tapped a pattern on the peep hole. His could feel his wards spring back into place around the house cleanly and, satisfied, walked out the dark backyard garden through the gate.

The house his car was parked next to was a nice one on the corner, in a quiet neighborhood of other nice houses. Large and old, with big trees in every yard, it was the type of place he certainly couldn't afford on his own. After the event that caused their friendship, Grace Van Pelt was grateful enough to him to rent him the tiny guesthouse in the back. Five years later, though, his rent was due promptly on the first and no amount of charm or smiles could save him from her ire if he was late.

He unlocked the car door and slid into the front seat of his old Citroen. The phone beeped for a new text message and he quickly pulled it out of his inside suit pocket. Jane opened the message, studying it as he started the engine. 7436 Faire Dr, Sacramento 95821. North of the river somewhere. Popping open the glovebox, he fished out a map of North Sacramento and flicked the overhead light on. In its dim glow Jane shook the paper out and smoothed the creases out on the passenger seat.

Grace kept saying he should just get a GPS instead of relying on his hokey maps, but he balked every time at the idea of mounting a plastic monstrosity on the dashboard of his beloved classic car. Besides, technology and Patrick Jane just did not get on well, and while he appreciated that the sweet redhead was a lightsaber shy of being a technopagan, it didn't mean he was willing to put such faith in the stuff.

Without much difficulty he found his destination, flicked off the light, and folded the map back. After stuffing it back in the glovebox he signaled and pulled away from the curb. It shouldn't take him more than forty minutes to get there at this hour of the morning, and he had a feeling this Agent Lisbon didn't like to be kept waiting.

Lisbon was carefully going through some paperwork on the victim's dining table when a uniformed officer poked his head into the house. "There's a Patrick Jane at the tape for you. Says he's a consultant? He didn't have a badge," he said.

She sighed and stood up, grateful for the break. "Yeah, he's with us. New guy, no badge yet. I'll come get him," replied Lisbon as she stripped off her latex gloves. So far nothing in the victim's personal possessions had offered a clue as to motive. According to everything they had found thus far she was a yoga instructor that came home one night and died horribly.

Pushing that to the side in her head, she walked out to the porch and looked where the officer helpfully pointed. A blonde man in a three piece suit was studying the flowers in the front bed, the lightening sky washing the yard with a soft, yellow light. Despite everything it was probably going to be a lovely spring morning. "Mr. Jane!" she called, beckoning to him when he looked up.

Quickly he left off his examination of the lavender and walked over, nearly bounding up the front steps. "Agent Lisbon, I presume?" he asked, holding out his hand with a bright smile on his unexpectedly handsome face.

"Yes. Thank you for coming on such short notice," Lisbon said, shaking his hand. A funny tingle warmed her palm and she let go of his hand. Resisting the urge to rub her hand against her jeans, she waved to the door, ignoring how his smile seemed to widen a fraction. "Sorry again to pull you out of bed at this hour but we don't have a, uh... an expert in weird on the payroll. The Bureau normally frowns on hiring psychics, but we could really use some background information on these types of practices. Detective Bosco assures me that you're very knowledgeable."

"Really, he did? That must have been like pulling teeth," Jane remarked, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets and studying her. "Also I'm not a psychic."

She smiled in amusement. "Because there's no such thing as psychics?"

"Ah, no, there are, I'm just not one of them, though I could probably pretend I was rather convincingly." Jane pulled a hand out of his pocket and gesticulated through the air with it as he spoke. "Mostly I use observation and Sight to pick up on what others miss. Throw in a pinch of magecraft and a very diverse skill set, et voila, you get me." He smiled unrepentantly and shrugged at the look on her face. "You can find me in the yellow pages under 'wizard' though, so we could just put that down on the forms I'll have to sign later, mm?"

"Right. A wizard. I thought Bosco was joking." Lisbon said, her expression halfway between stunned and incredulous. Wondering what nonsense she was getting herself into, she settled her countenance and waved her arm at the door. "Shall we?"

"Sure, might as well," he said amicably enough, gesturing for her to go first.

She led him in the living room and paused to look back at him when he stopped in the entryway. The smile had disappeared from his face and his eyes darted around the room, large and serious.

"Do you want to go right back to the bedroom or look around the house? Coroner took liver temp and went for coffee. And not happily, I'd like to add," she added, frowning. Was he going to move from that spot?

Truthfully, Jane was playing for time. The second he stepped over the threshold of that house the miasma of black magic was like a punch to the face. Someone had done something sick and evil here and it could be felt, the invisible energies drifting through the air like oily dust motes. It was making his skin crawl and he was barely in the door.

Sliding on a expression self assurance, he bolstered his mental shields until the sick feeling in his stomach eased and smiled at Agent Lisbon. "Let's get the worst bit over with, shall we? Back there?" he asked, pointing down the dim hallway.

She nodded and led him to the room at the end, stepping aside to allow him to enter and look about, and to allow her to watch his face. Cho and Rigsby were inside taking pictures of the scene. Both looked up curiously at their appearance. She had told her team immediately after securing Mr. Jane's services. Rigsby had looked just as sceptical as she felt about calling in someone that advertised themselves as a wizard. Cho had remained silent about the matter.

Jane's gaze flicked immediately up to the red smile looming down on the occupants. Despite Jessica's body (now tastefully covered in a plastic sheet) centered in the middle of the room, that face still drew the eye. Lisbon wasn't quite unnerved by it enough to shudder, but she did momentarily touch the gold cross at her neck. Her new consultant glanced at her curiously before turning to incline his head at the other men in the room.

"I'm Patrick Jane, hi," he said with a strained smile.

Rigsby nodded back. "I'm Agent Wayne Rigsby. That's Agent Cho."

"Hey," Cho said evenly before going back to photographing the markings on the wall.

"Riiight." Jane stepped up to the bed and lifted the plastic tarp to the side. Rigsby paused to watch him.

Holding a hand over the victim's face, Jane looked her up and down. With a mental twist he pulled up his magesight, allowing him to see the energies in the room. They coated her and the bed in a film like the blood drying on her skin. Oily and grey like greasy soot, they confirmed what his gut told him the second he walked in the door.

"So," Jane continued. "Agent Rigsby thinks I'm a fraud and probably more than half mad. Agent Cho is quite a bit concerned that I'm for real and this was actually witchcraft." Ignoring the uneasy looks on the men's faces, he carefully he flipped the tarp back over Jessica Shaw's body and looked speculatively at Agent Lisbon. "And despite trying to ignore that nagging little voice inside, you know something real happened here. You're right, by the way. You should really listen to your instincts more, Agent Lisbon."

Lisbon opened her mouth to respond to his ridiculous assumptions but Cho beat her to the punch. "Was it actually witchcraft? What really happened?" he asked, looking-for him-almost worried.

Jane turned to look at him, obviously pleased to have been asked. "Yes it was, and... I'm not entirely sure yet. I think the answer will lie in the translation of these runes. Good call on their being runes too. Who made the connection?"

Lisbon sighed. "Me. I thought they looked like... druid scribbles." Mr. Jane looked back at her keenly, making her feel like she'd been put in a spotlight.

Fortunately Rigsby had apparently been watching too many Mel Brooks movies recently. "Funny, they don't look druish," he quipped.

Jane smiled at him, amused. "Now the real question is, have you taken pictures of under the bed yet?"

"Under the bed?" Rigsby looked questioningly at Cho, who shook his head. "Nope, should we have?" he asked.

"I have a feeling you're going to need to move it to get a proper look," Jane said.

Lisbon stepped forward before the other two could move more than a step towards the bed. "Hold on, let's see if there's even anything under there." Pulling a small flashlight from her pocket she kneeled down, lifting the sheet up carefully. As she peered under the full bed she could feel a pair of eyes skimming over her backside interestedly. "Jane," she warned, knowing full well it wouldn't be the other two.

"Sorry," he muttered, sounding rather not sorry at all while Rigsby made a slight choking noise.

Lisbon rolled her eyes and bent over to get a better look. What the beam from the flashlight illuminated made her jerk back in surprise. "We need to move the bed." Standing up she considered how best to go about this and pointed to the open area to the left of the bed. "Did forensics finish over there?"

"Yeah, finished everything," Cho replied, setting his camera down on a hamper in the corner. "The took their own pictures, samples of the blood splatter, a few hairs, and what little fingerprints there were. Mostly the place was wiped clean. These are just the close ups of each symbol you wanted."

"Good. You and Rigsby very carefully lift and move it. Do your best not to jostle the body. Pat's already upset I asked for the delay," she said, taking Rigsby's camera from him and stepping out of the way to stand next to Jane.

Cho and Rigsby each took an end of the bed, gingerly lifted it a few inches, and walked it to the side. It took only a few feet before the bed revealed its hidden evidence and the men set the bed down to stare at it. Another symbol, this one burnt into the hardwood. It was pentacle, but heavily modified. Words none of them recognized were written in a blocky hand around the outside of the circle and inside the circle more symbols filled in the blank places between lines. It was a sickly, ominous thing in a room already filled with ominous things.

"Well," said Jane evenly. "I could use some tea." He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway, headed for the kitchen.

Lisbon turned to her subordinates and handed Rigsby back his camera. "Document everything. Take samples of the wood burn. Finish taking pictures. We're going to work this like every other case, no matter what some mad wizard says. I'm going to get Pat in here to take the body; you just give her the samples to take back with her. After you finish up with that, get back to the office and start pulling up everything you can find on Jessica Shaw."

"Yes, Boss," they both responded.

"Meanwhile, I'm going to go pick Gandalf's brain," she sighed, turning to go after her shiny new consultant.

"Really, Boss?" Rigsby called after her. "That was a little nerdy."

"Hush!"

The tiny kitchen was a wonderfully peaceful spot (despite the horrendous colour) in that house, and Jane was all too happy to hunt through the cabinets until he found a well-used teapot. Filling it with water, he set it on the burner to boil and started digging through the victim's extensive tea collection drawer. It was in this state Agent Lisbon found him, trying to decide between camomile and oolong.

"Hey!" she said, making him glance up. "That's evidence! You can't drink that."

"Nonsense," he rolled his eyes. "They didn't come in here once. And before you ask, no, I can't pull information out of day old tea leafs." He jerked his thumb at the sink just as the kettle started whistling. "Do you want a cup?" he asked, pulling the kettle off and snagging a mug from the dish drainer.

"No!" She replied, scandalized.

"Mm, pity. This camomile smells heavenly, very calming." He continued making his cup while she leaned against the fridge, watching him moodily.

"What did you mean 'they?'" she asked, suddenly realizing what he said.

Jane turned to face her, putting the weight of his hips back against the counter. He carefully took a sip of his tea before answering her. "The writing on the wall has two distinctive finger sizes in the blood. Rituals like this are sacrificial, taking a life in exchange for something. I'm not familiar with any of those runes though so I can't tell you what was exchanged for her life and-" The ringing of his phone interrupted him loudly. He fumbled it out of his coat pocket with one hand and looked at the name.

Madeleine Hightower. Shit.

"I uh, have to take this, sorry," he apologized to Lisbon, setting down his mug before stepping into the living room to answer the call.

"Madeleine, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Jane asked, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Good morning, Patrick. I'm sorry to call so early but I heard you were already awake." He could hear the smile in the woman's voice and despite his better judgement he rolled his eyes. Sure enough... "Patrick Jane, don't you roll your eyes at me. This situation is not something I can ignore. I'm going to need you to drop by with your new friend."

He rubbed his thumb against his index finger, eyes flicking towards the kitchen doorway. He could hear the quiet clink of china and pouring water coming from the kitchen, and smiled slightly. Apparently she was unbending enough to get a cup of tea. Probably the strong stuff, too. "You want me to bring Agent Lisbon?" he clarified.

"Yes I do."

"Why?" Jane was incredulous. Teresa Lisbon was by no means aware of the existence of the Red Council, and Madeleine Hightower asking him to bring her along was practically ridiculous.

Typically, she ignored the question. "I'll expect you both within an hour."

"We just met, she's not going to come with me just because you want her to. What, do you expect me to hypnotize her into coming? She's a grown woman, and a cop. With a gun." Despite the fact that Jane very probably could do just that, the idea made him feel strangely uncomfortable. Hypnotizing smug idiots that deserved it for comeuppance was one thing. Doing that to pretty law officers with fascinating green eyes was entirely another.

Madeleine sighed, exasperated. "Fine. Teresa Lisbon, CBI, right?" He could hear her flipping through pages, probably one of her Reference Books. "Ah, she works for Virgil, lovely. I'll give him a call. Now, get out here." She hung up.

Childishly, he made a face at the phone before tucking it back in his pocket. This, was probably not going to go well. Jane walked back to the kitchen and leaned against the door jam. Agent Lisbon was cradling a mug between her hands. Irish Breakfast, of course.

She looked up when he cleared his throat. He looked speculatively at Agent Lisbon for a moment, tapping his lips with one finger before gesturing at her with it. "So... how are you with dragons?"