The imposing columns of the federal courthouse loomed over the two as they jogged up the white granite steps towards their meeting with the prosecutor. Booth had spent most of the meeting attempting to pry information about the lawyer out of the FBI's database but had met with limited luck. The guy, Edward Leary, seemed incredibly boring by all accounts. He'd come from a slightly better than average second-tier college, done reasonably well in his time as a city lawyer, then made a few higher profile contacts in the government, booting him up the food chain. No wife, no children, a small family out of southern New Jersey, and really an unremarkable life spent flopping about in the middle of society. It was on that point that Bones and Booth began to disagree.

With heels clipping up the stairs, one hand on the wrought iron banister, Bones argued her point. "It is clearly the case that he is looking for an angle with which to advance his career. Providing him with this sort of opportunity will make him look more attractive."

"Yeah, but Bones," he said, pulling open one brass-bound door as they reached the upper landing, "his higher-ups don't care about relics in graveyards. They care about the big stuff: high-profile mobsters tossed in jail, terrorist rings being cracked, and making the evening news by putting away the bad guys."

"Well that is very short sighted," she complained. "Science will always last longer than trivial history."

Inside the courthouse, a pair of slightly portly officers confronted pair as Booth flipped open his badge. They wanded Booth first, then up Bones' body with what Booth perceived to be a bit too much gusto. He had to restrain himself from demanding that one of them knock it off as he ran the metal detector one too many times across the young woman's chest. She seemed to take no notice, though, and happily swung her jacket about in an effort to give them more access. Meanwhile, Booth had to catalog every beep and warning as the other cop commented on his numerous firearms, regardless of how much he protested that yes, he was armed because that was his job.

They eventually passed through the blinking gates of security and started down the green-grey marble halls, stopping periodically to ask where Prosecutor Leary had stashed himself. A few twists and turns later, they found themselves sealed behind the brushed steel doors of the elevator up to his office. Booth tilted his head up, watching the numbers light up in succession, and felt it necessary to warn her, "Just let me do most of the talking, okay? Like we said."

She also craned her neck upward. "Yes, of course," she said, a bit distantly. Was she regretting her commentary or planning out her best method of approach? He sort of hoped the latter. She tended to do better when she had something worked out. On the fly was definitely not Bones' forte.

The stepped onto the fifth floor and glanced around for some sort of signage. Booth wrinkled his nose and then launched into a fit of uncontrollable coughing. There was something horrifyingly rank about the air around them. It was like the worst subway toilet in all history with a side of chemical warfare for extra kick. He hacked and wheezed, nearly doubling over from the strain. He grabbed both knees and made an effort to clear his lungs without tipping over.

"Booth, are you okay," Bones queried, gesturing him towards a carven chair that probably had seen a hundred years of the corrupt legal system pass by.

"Yeah, just...something," he looked at her strangely. "Bones, do you smell something? I mean, really foul," he tested.

She gave a quick sniff and dramatically flared her pale nostrils as the janitor rolled his bucket down the hall. "Other than the use of chemicals far too harsh for these surfaces, nothing seems out of the ordinary."

Booth tried again. "I mean, it doesn't smell like...cat pee? Farts? Anything?" He then remembered the sorts of situations into which she regularly trod. Half of her job was spent mingling with bloated bodies that had disgorged a load of bacteria and decaying mess onto her shoes. Something like this probably wouldn't reach her consciousness.

She shrugged and then an argument lit her eyes. "You know, Booth. Sensory hallucinations are not uncommon in people with recurr-"

"Bones. For the last time. I don't have a brain tumor. Maybe I can smell it because your nose receptors have all died in protest of your work," he snarked slightly. He took a moment to collect himself. The stench was less overpowering, in part because he was adapting and in part because he was consciously working to block it out.

She shot him a dagger-filled glance as they began to walk forward. They turned a corner and Bones flagged down a nearby janitor to get directions to the prosecutor's office. She need not have done so, regardless of her desire to practice her Spanish, because Booth suddenly knew where they were going. He knew because he could feel a wave of energy rolling towards him. It pulsed down the corridor, saturating everything from the scuffed linoleum floor at his feet to the curving light fixtures dangling above his head. Demon stench and demon magic, palpable now to even his relatively dull senses, was emanating from what was likely the prosecutor's office in front of them.

His vampiricly-enhanced perception was not quashed enough to completely miss the presence of this level of black magic. However, with the signet on, his human senses apparently translated what he felt into an unpleasant smell. Now that he was consciously blocking the awful scent, which had added another layer of repulsiveness, he could feel the actual cause. Things had just become even more complicated.

He walked forward towards the office, uncomfortably twisting the ring on his left hand. If he took it off, he'd have better luck with whatever was behind that door, but there was no telling what he might run into on the way. If it was a demon, it might have warded the door against vampires. Booth might slip by unharmed as a human, but there was no guarantee. If this guy was linked to a daywalker, he probably had the knowledge of how to protect himself against all sorts of nasty creatures.

Bones was suddenly beside him. "So, his office is right-" and she watched him, almost trancelike, twist the doorknob and walk in.

An incredibly dull-looking, book-filled room opened before them. The only window, caked with decades of D.C. smog and grime, was mostly obscured by stacks of folders. A few metal-backed chairs were scattered across the threadbare faux-Persian rug and the desk looked like it had been dragged out of a high school dumpster. Behind it sat a middle-aged man, trim with just a hint of grey in his chestnut-colored hair. His face was growing a vaguely pink flush as he stood up and gesticulated with annoyance towards his visitors.

Booth quickly collected himself. "Knock, knock," he said sardonically. "Sorry to interrupt. We wanted to get a hold of you before you vanished off to court."

The two men stared at each other. Booth appraised him fully. There, yes, a hint of silver on his wrist that was probably a form of talisman. The prosecutor's greenish eyes seemed slightly too wide for his face and his skin seemed covered in a slight sheen, as if he'd been buttered regularly. Definitely working with demons. For his part, Mr. Leary was just that, looking slightly askance at the two of them as Bones began her introduction.

"My name is Temperance Brennan. I'm the chief forensic-"

"I know who you are, Dr. Brennan," he said. His voice was like rocks crunching under tire treads. "I'm just trying to figure out why you're standing in front of me without holding a report about the judge in your hands."

"Hey, watch it," chided Booth. "Her work ethic is probably a hundred times better than yours. These things take time." He spun one of the chairs on its leg, turned it backwards, and straddled across it. He leaned his head on one hand and tried to act bored. He found that seeming completely uninterested tended to throw people off enough for him to maintain decent control of a situation with absolutely minimum effort.

"And you are," gestured the prosecutor with one fleshy palm.

"Agent Seely Booth. FBI. I've been assigned to this case and to Dr. Brennan."

"I see," said the man evenly.

"Listen, I know that this case is a huge deal, but there's more at stake here. There's an amazingly rare relic at the bottom of the grave." As he continued his explanation of the historical importance of the concrete, part of him was boggling at the whole thing. Here he was, feigning interest in archeology to a man who was working with demons, while sitting in a room probably covered in things that could fry his vampire self in seconds.

Half way through Booth's recounting of the history of the religious cult and the significance of the find, the prosecutor took note of the ring on Booth's hand. He stared at it, then at Booth, then back at the ring. The prosecutor's skin tone went a few shades paler, then flushed. His eyes took on a sudden glint of recognition. "Shit," thought Booth. He'd gotten so used to people not knowing about the occult that he didn't think to conceal the massive magical flag he was wearing. Booth tucked his hand into his pocket self-consciously and concluded his monologue, wanting nothing more than to flee now that his cover was blown.

"All we ask is for another 24 hours to excavate it. Then, you can have your site," he said with agitation. He just had to buy enough time to figure out what was underneath the sigil and how to neutralize it.

"Yes, yes, of course." The man's voice was suddenly smooth and placating. "I quite understand. Please complete your survey and schedule the excavation at your leisure." He smiled with genteel patience, showing a bit of his ragged teeth. "However, if you'll indulge me?"

Bones looked almost ecstatic at the prosecutor's sudden change of heart. Booth was worried that she'd start bouncing for joy. "Yes, of course."

"Would you permit me to be there when you bring up the stone? I certainly am curious to be part of history."

Booth gritted his teeth as Bones answered with exuberant surprise, "We would be happy to have you there," she said breathlessly.

"Wonderful," the prosecutor said, reaching out to shake Bones' hand. Booth leapt up from his chair and reflexively swatted her arm away as she stretched it out.

"Booth," she said with aggravation.

"Sorry Bones I...thought I saw him pick his nose." Of all the excuses to select, that was one of the worst, he berated himself.

The prosecutor chuckled indulgently. "And one can't be too careful nowadays with all the germs floating about." He bowed slightly. "Thank you for your visit Dr. Brennan. Though," and he paused thoughtfully. "Would you permit me to speak with Agent Booth alone?"

Even in her excited state, Bones looks a little hesitant. Booth nodded towards her. "Yeah, go on Bones. I'll be out in a second." She retreated through the door and the two men were alone.

The prosecutor's demeanor changed completely, as did the whole room. It took on a profoundly unpleasant miasma that oozed out of every surface. Long shadows cast by absolutely nothing appeared on the walls and a dim red glow emanated from the man in front of him. Booth was unimpressed with the theatrics, but didn't say anything. He was at a disadvantage right now and antagonizing his host would lead to things he didn't feel like dealing with.

"And I trust you will not interfere, daywalker," said the man with disdain.

"With what, your excavation of William Russell," Booth retorted, before catching himself.

The prosecutor dodged the question. "After all, you cowards tend to slouch along history's dregs, pitifully clinging to your lost humanity. I doubt you remember what it is like to be a vampire, though I'm guessing whomever you were before you put on that ring was profoundly uninteresting." He stared at Booth through half-lidded eyes, derision-laden eyes. "What were you? Some mistake made during an especially passionate bout of rutting?"

Booth found the silver lining. This man had no idea who Booth was, which meant that he didn't really have any magic of his own. Even the most incompetent back-alley wizard could see through the slight glamour that let Booth walk around unrecognized. The prosecutor was merely a pawn whose abilities were probably limited to looking scary and executing the whims of someone much more impressive than he. Everything wasn't as screwed as Booth had feared, but he deflected the question instead of lying.

"If you dislike daywalkers so much, why are you trying to dig one up? You could just, I don't know, kill me here and take whatever you needed." Booth tried to pry some more information loose, but was unsuccessful.

The prosecutor smirked. "Ah, Agent Booth. So uncreative. Think of all the uses for an ancient vampire who has been starving underground for a few decades. But don't think too hard," the man mockingly cautioned. "It's likely that this whole thing will get, ah, messy."

"Wait, you're going to unbury a vampire in front of a few dozen scientists and technicians," said Booth incredulously. He bit his tongue to avoid asking Mr. Leary just how stupid he was.

The shadows shifted around the prosecutor. "Let's just say that the whole graveyard will be the scene of an unfortunate accident right around the time that the stone is ready to be removed. Some leftover ordinance from the Civil War. A pocket of gas. Quite tragic."

Booth's face went red with rage, but the prosecutor gave another half-smile and a raise of his shoulders. "Or you try to keep that pretty doctor away long enough for me to execute my plan with minimal bloodshed. Either way, the daywalker is mine."

"You know I'm going to stop you," growled Booth.

"Hah, no," mocked the prosecutor. "I sincerely doubt that you can. Besides, there are any number of individuals who would be all to happy to remove one more vampire from the world," His smile was broad and certain. "And with you staked, who will protect your partner?"

Booth seethed, but made no reply. There was no use in tipping his hand right here. Not without knowing who was pulling the strings.

The room returned to normal and the prosecutor rose. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have court in fifteen minutes and I must prepare. Good day, Agent Booth."

Booth stepped out into the corridor, where Bones began to pepper him with information. The dig would get set up tomorrow and they'd hopefully have the stone removed in the next few days. The prosecutor had been so helpful, hadn't he? A tribute to Booth's amazing negotiation, she crowed, linking her arm around his elbow.

Booth more or less tuned her out as he replayed the conversation with the prosecutor in his head. His options were awful. Say nothing and watch the lab get killed. Stall for time and try to handle it all himself. Try to involve other vampires, most of whom would rather see him killed. Or, Booth decided, finally do what he'd been putting off for so long: get his friends to understand who he really was so they could help him, just as they had on so many other cases. His resolve hardened. It...was time.