A/N: Here we are, back to Vegas! Quick reminder, this is set around season nine, so there are spoilers for everything up to the episode with Lady Heather.(I can't remember the title.) I still down't own CSI:!

"Brass, did you get an ID on our Jane Doe?" Greg asked, walking down the hallway with the homicide detective.

"Yeah, Bernadette Saeto. Address in Henderson. Occupation is listed as bartender at Masquerade." Brass said.

"Masquerade? I've only heard rumors about that place. Very exclusive, never had a call there." Greg said. The pair entered the Trace lab.

"The owners are good about keeping trouble out of their club. I checked, there has never been a call out to the club, or any of the surrounding businesses." Brass said.

"Trace on your vic is glitter lotion, chemical makeup very specific, sold only by one company in Nevada. Xineohp Industries. Here's the address." Hodges said, handing over the printout. Greg grinned.

"Two blocks from Masquerade." He said.

"Let's go see the mystery club." Brass said.

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The sunrise over the desert had a claming effect on Verity as she and Nick rode in the cab to the hospital. Nick had laced his fingers in hers, and was gently stroking circles in her palm. The cab slowed and the driver turned to face them.

"Here you go. Ranos be with you, Watcher." He said, and Nick noticed the glimmer of amber shifting in his eyes. Verity smiled and squeezed his hand.

"Thanks Rick. Give Hannah my love." She replied, and climbed out of the cab. Nick paid the fare and followed her into the hospital.

"He was a wolf?" he guessed, and Verity nodded.

"Azelban clan. Hannah is his wife. They just had twins. Reyslin was to bless them next week. Vincent was going to be the godfather." She said, sorrow washing over her face. Nick slid his arm around her shoulders and hugged her tightly as they approached the front desk.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked.

"I got a call that Reyslin Jones was here. I'm his emergency contact." Verity explained.

"I.C.U., third floor." The receptionist replied. The pair thanked her and made their way to the ward. Verity was stoic until they arrived outside Reyslin's room. Seeing her friend surrounded by machines, with wires and tubes leading from his arms and chest, nearly brought her to her knees. Had Nick not been supporting her, she very well might have.

"I don't understand. Reyslin's survived so much over the years. He's never been hurt this badly in my lifetime." she whispered. Nick held her close, pressing a kiss into her hair.

"Miss Cale? I'm Doctor Silva, I've been treating Mr. Jones." The woman was older, with auburn hair streaked liberally with grey. A pair of sliver rimmed glasses sat perched on her nose, and she wore a simple black dress under her lab coat.

"How bad are his injuries?" Verity asked.

"He came in with massive head trauma, several broken ribs, and a shattered wrist. We've managed to stabilize him, but at this point, it's just a matter of waiting. We won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up." The doctor explained.

"Realistically, what are his chances?" she asked, her violet eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The doctor's eyes held only sympathy.

"The longer he is unconscious, the less likely it is that he will recover. As time goes on, you may have some difficult decisions to make." She said gently. The tears began to slide down the younger woman's face and she turned to look through the window.

"Reyslin has a living will. He said that he did not want to be kept alive by artificial means. If your diagnosis is that he will likely not recover, than I will follow his wishes and ask you to turn off the machines." Her voice trembled, but she held her head high.

"We still have a few tests scheduled before we make a determination. I will let you know the results. You can go in and sit with him if you would like." Dr. Silva said. Verity nodded and moved into the room, sitting carefully in the chair next to the bed. Nick stands next to her, offering his silent support. Verity slid one hand into Reyslin's, shocked at the papery feel of his skin.

"Who did this to you Reys?" she whispered. The quiet hiss of the ventilator and the steady beep of the heart monitor were the only sounds. She looked up at Nick.

"Can you feel anything from him?" she asked quietly. Nick looked over at the still form and focused. The steady hum of the machines faded, and he found himself in a dark room. He looked around and spotted a small eagle, covered in blood. Nick advanced slowly, and saw Reyslin's eyes staring back at him. Suddenly, the bird was gone and Nick was gripping the back of Verity's chair. She was staring up at him, concern evident in her expressive eyes.

"I think he's gone. I'm sorry, Ver." He whispered. A single tear slid down her face, and she stood, pressing a soft kiss to Reyslin's temple.

"I'm gonna find out who did this to you." She vowed, and walked out of the room, her eyes steely. Nick looked at the still form before him for a moment, then followed Verity. Once outside, Nick grabbed her arm, realization dawning on his face.

"You said that Jim Brass called you about Reyslin, didn't you?" he asked. She nodded, confused. Nick pulled out his cell and began to dial.

"Brass is a homicide detective. Why would he call you about an aggravated assault? I think there is another body connected to this case."

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Greg Sanders and Catherine Willows followed Brass up to the door of Masquerade, blocked off by a single bouncer, a tall African American man built like a football player, his hair braided into tight cornrows. He stood in front of the doors, his arms crossed over his chest.

"No entry." The deep, rumbling voice reminded Catherine of the actor, Michael Clark Duncan. Brass held up his badge.

"I've got a day pass." He replied. The impassive man's eyes drifted over the other two, and Greg shook his head, barely noticeable to the man. The huge man turned, allowing them to pass. The inside of the club was dark, and the pounding rhythm of the music pulsed through their bones. A tall woman with neon green hair and silver face paint approached them.

"Welcome to Masquerade. How can I help you?" she asked, her voice cool, her tone pleasant.

"Jim Brass, Greg Sanders, Catherine Willows. You have a bartender named Bernadette Saeto?" Brass asked her. The woman nodded, and gestured for them to follow her. They wove though the crowd, heading for the offices. Suddenly, a woman appeared from nowhere and caught Greg's arm, pulling him close.

"Gregory! I've missed you!" she cried, her burgundy eyes glimmering in the dim light. Catherine blinked. The girl had a pair of horns attached to her head, but they were very small, placed right against her hairline.

"Victoria, I'm working right now. I promise I call you later, okay?" he said quickly, disentangling himself from her arms. Pouting, she leaned forward and ran her tongue along his earlobe.

"I'll hold you to it." She purred, before turning back to the crowd, vanishing as easily as she had appeared. Catherine watched Greg return to her side, his eyes slightly unfocused.

"You alright, Greg?" she asked, as they moved into the quiet of the offices.

"Yeah, just wasn't expecting that." He said, his vision straightening. The trio stepped into the office, facing a man with silver hair leaning over a desk. The woman moved next to him and leaned down, her hair shadowing their faces for a moment. When she stood, the man was looking at them. His clear brown eyes looked at each of them in turn, focusing on Greg a second longer than the others.

"Melissa tells me you are asking about Bernadette. Today is her day off, so I'm not expecting her. She isn't in trouble is she?" he asked.

"Ms. Saeto was found dead last night along with a man who was beaten very severely. We think that he tried to help her when he was attacked." Brass said. Surprise was evident on the man's face, and Melissa gave a little choked sob.

"How did she die?" he asked.

"She was stabbed, several times. We found the murder weapon nearby." Catherine replied.

"Bernie didn't have any family. We would like to handle the arrangements." Melissa said, grief coloring her voice.

"You can call the coroners office about that, Miss…?" Greg asked.

"Mrs. Melissa Relsman. My husband Alan and I own this club." She replied.

"When is the last time you saw Bernie?" Brass asked.

"Yesterday. She had just finished her shift, and she mentioned going to the temple to ray for a friend who died recently. We made plans to attend the funeral together tomorrow. Vincent was a good friend to us all." Alan replied.

"Vincent Kobiyarow?" Greg asked. Alan nodded, and Catherine stepped forward.

"Do you know the name Reyslin Jones?" she asked. Melissa looked up at the trio.

"He used to work for Firestone Pharmaceuticals. Last year he moved into the private sector, working for Kayson Investigations." She replied. Brass pulled a business card from his pocket.

"If you can think of anything that might help, please call us." He said, before they wove their way out of the club. Brass was already on the phone, requesting information about Jones' employer. Catherine gave Greg a look.

"What?" he asked.

"Just wondering what was holding those horns on her head." Catherine said coolly, climbing into the Denali.

"Who said they were removable?" he breathed, so softly Catherine could not hear.

A/N: Okay, next chapter has Verity's version of investigating, and the first person to guess who in the lab is a magik gets virtual cookies! Here's a hint, there are at least three, not counting Nick.