Author's Note: Well, hard to say if anyone's reading this (except for the one fellow-author/possible-alter-ego who is kind enough to read my efforts no matter how weird they sound) but I refuse to be deterred. SOMEHOW, I will bring more readers to this fandom. If it kills me. Which it may.
Warnings: Strauss-bashing, Ciani-bashing (well, not so much Ciani-bashing as Ciani-torturing), slash, blood and guts
Disclaimer: I own the clothes on my back and half a flooded apartment. Nothing else.
A.N.2: I know I mentioned more humor. That's probably going to show up next chapter instead, it seems to be a bit tardy at the moment. Don't think that means you're escaping the gore when it does show up, though. And be warned, I have been known to have a slightly sick sense of humor.
The ringing of the telephone was ear-splitting in the silence. Groaning and grumbling, Damien flung out a hand and groped blindly in the darkness, until he finally managed to get hold of the receiver and bring it to his ear.
"This had vulking well better be important."
"Morning to you too, boss." Derek Morgan's voice drifted through the speaker. "We've got a situation: pretty gruesome. Murdered girl, found in a downtown business: the PD think it might be some kind of ritual killing. Hope I'm not interrupting anything - you got a girl there?"
"Jump in a volcano, Morgan." Damien growled, rubbing at his eyes. Two minutes awake and he could already feel the pressure that heralded a headache. He obviously needed to see the department Healer again: the woman claimed that it was just stress and there was nothing she could do, but there had to be some solution, even if only temporary. "What's the address?"
"Ah... 3472 Gees Street."
"Are you kidding me?" Damien was on his feet like a shot, heart pounding. "Not the Fae Shoppe?"
"Yeah - don't tell me you know it? It was the owner who found the body, a Lady Ciani: old friend?"
"Oh, thank God she's alright." Damien sighed, relieved. "I didn't even know she was back in Jaggonath. Yeah, I know her. I'll meet you at the scene, all right?"
"Sure thing, D." Morgan hung up before Damien could find something else to yell about: the older agent was famous for his hatred of early mornings. Groaning irritably and cursing every criminal ever born, Damien managed to don a suit and make himself at least moderately presentable before staggering out the door and saddling his horse. The rebuilt Fae Shoppe was halfway across Jaggonath, and Damien had no intention of walking that far this early in the morning.
When he arrived at the scene he was greeted by the sight of a young CSI staggering out of the front door and losing his breakfast all over the sidewalk. Damien winced. That was never a good sign.
Hotch met him in the doorway, expression even grimmer than usual. "It looks like a bad one. The store owner's holding up surprisingly well, but the techs are having trouble staying the room long enough to process the scene."
"Ciani's tough, she's probably seen worse." Damien said heavily. "Better have her wait out front just in case: I'll take a look at the body then question her myself."
Whatever he had been expecting when Hotch led him into the room with the body, it wasn't this. The body of a young, dark-haired woman lay in the middle of the room, absolutely drenched in blood. Her entire torso had been split open by a deep, ruler-straight gash that ran from her collarbone to her navel. Other gashes adorned her once-creamy skin, just as precise and carefully executed as the first. Sickness washed through Damien, though for a completely different reason, and he looked around, dreading what he might find.
Candles. Sigils and symbols, chalked carefully onto the stone floor. The marks of ritual Working, a spell written in blood.
Damien forced down any trace of emotion and stepped forward, studying the girl's body with the clinical detachment which had served him so well in the BAU - a detachment cultivated during two years of watching a ruthless adept slaughtering his prey. "Some kind of ritual killing. The cuts are deep but precise, no signs of hesitation. They're placed to avoid major arteries: she bled out over a long period of time. Sadistic as hell, and not particularly fast, so they weren't afraid of getting caught." He looked up at the far wall, where massive letters spelled out Murderer. "The letters are sloppy on the edges, which means whoever did that was probably in some kind of emotional turmoil. Obviously some kind of message, but it's hard to guess to whom. Could be to the victim, could be to whoever the fantasy is constructed around... hard to say without more info."
"How do you do that?" Hotch asked, his face slightly green. Damien looked up at him, startled.
"Do what?"
"I've been in this job for eight years and I still almost lost it when I walked in here." Hotch said, staring at Damien. "You've only been here five years and you didn't even blink. How did you get so inured to this kind of carnage?"
Damien looked back down at the girl's body and sighed. "I was a Knight of the Flame, Hotch." he said softly. "I fought demons, and five years ago I fought the worst demon anyone's ever seen. I saw horrors on that quest that would turn your hair white: adepts who had been threatened with death by my own Church, who thought themselves children even as their bodies decayed and putrified. Strong, healthy rakh, twisted into nightmarish abominations that fed on human souls. Humans driven so deeply into desperation that they tore each other apart like rabid wolves, sacrificing their fellows in a last-ditch attempt to survive. People have asked me how I stayed sane through that nightmare, and sometimes, Hotch, I think that maybe I didn't."
Leaving the stunned profiler behind, Damien went back out onto the street. Ciani was standing a few feet away, a cloak wrapped around her shoulders, talking in subdued tones to a police constable. Sighing, Damien walked over to them.
"You can get back to the station, Neil, I've got this."
The constable nodded and hurried away. Ciani turned, and despite the horrible sight she had witnessed her green eyes brightened slightly. "Damien! What are you doing here?"
"I'm the Unit Chief for the BAU team assigned to this case." Damien said, conjuring a tired smile for his ex-lover. "Can you tell me exactly what happened?"
"Not much to tell." Ciani said quietly. "I came back after meeting with a trader - I live in the flat above the shop now - and when I opened the door, I found... that."
"Was the door locked when you got back?" Damien asked.
"Yes. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary - and I didn't sense anything in the fae either." Ciani said, her expression troubled. She looked at the door of the shop for a moment, then whispered, "You know what this reminds me of, don't you."
Damien's stomach plummeted, and he swallowed hard. "It can't be him, Cee." he said softly. "You didn't see how much he's changed. Besides, this doesn't feel like him. The murder itself is similar to what happened to his wife, but the words on the wall... that's not his style. The rest is cold and calculated, but the writing's too messy, the murderer was either very angry or suffering an attack of remorse. Neither fits him. He's killed too many times to be remorseful if he was already that far gone into the shadows again, and you've seen him when he's angry, he only gets more collected than usual."
Ciani shivered. "I pray to the gods that you're right, Damien. Because if he's killing again... then no one is safe."
Those words lingered in Damien's mind all the way back to the FBI headquarters. As his team walked in, about to start their investigation into the victim's identity, Strauss stepped out of her office.
"Agent Vryce, in here, now!"
Damien stifled a groan. "Yes, ma'am." He glanced at Hotch. "Get started without me."
Damien entered the office and shut the door behind him. "Yes?"
Strauss gestured for him to sit down. "I wanted to let you know that you're going to have help on this investigation. We're bringing in another unit to assist you, a team of specialists."
Damien sank into the chair, gaping at her. "You're kidding. We are the specialists!"
Strauss gave him a flat look. "It's a new division we've just formed: the Ritual Crimes Task Force. They're specializing in the cases where crimes are committed in an attempt to gain influence over the fae."
At those words, Damien couldn't help but remember the ghost of a beautiful red-haired woman, her eyes shining with faith and love despite the ghastly wounds that marred her shapely form. Sickness roiled in his stomach: would Gerald have strayed down that road again? Surely not. Surely, he would make the most of this second chance...
"I really think my team can handle this, Supervisor." Damien said, careful to keep his tone respectful. It didn't help much: Strauss's disapproving look turned into a glare, and she closed the file sharply.
"This is not up for discussion, Agent Vryce." she said in a clipped tone. "The lead agent of the task force will be here in one hour: you will bring him up to date on the situation, and you will work with him to solve this case. Do I make myself clear?"
"Very, ma'am." Damien said heavily, groaning inwardly. Just what he needed: another bureaucratic paper-pusher full of theories with no real guts. He restrained his impatience, though, and simply nodded. "Is that all, ma'am?"
"For now." Strauss said, already opening another file. Biting his tongue, Damien rose and went to inform his team of the impending arrival. As if they didn't have enough problems already. The last thing they needed at this stage was an interloper messing with their investigation.
Although, if it really was Gerald Tarrant behind this murder... then the whole FBI wouldn't be enough to bring him to justice.
