Chapter Text
Frank sits behind his desk, feet up on top of it and a book in his lap while his sandwich is mostly forgotten on the plate. With the scene he came across this morning, his appetite isn’t brilliant. Feud wars between any kind of shifters don’t typically give the most appetizing scenes, but were-tigers tend to be particularly bad. The loss of appetite is well worth it though, because at the very least the territorial disagreement had been settled.
The bell above the entrance door chimes and a woman’s voice speaks. “Is this the supernatural detective agency?”
“Sure is. What can I help you with?” Mikey responds. Frank reaches for his phone, making a note to talk to Ray about the name. Maybe they really should include that they focus on the supernatural into the name. This woman isn’t the first and, unless they change it, likely won’t be last to ask for the clarification.
He stops typing though when the next sentence reaches his ears. “I’m here to report a murder.” Murder?
“Murder?” Mikey asks, surprise coloring his voice. With how stoic he typically is, that tells Frank that the woman must actually look serious.
“Yes. It’s my brother, Owen. He went out three days ago and never came back. The police found him last night but they’re claiming it’s gang violence and that Owen must’ve gotten involved with the wrong people. But I know him, he wouldn’t have gotten involved in that. He really wouldn’t have! And he was acting strange before he left. I think he was possessed.”
Frank gets up from behind his desk, walking into the reception room. The woman in question is young and very clearly upset. Her eyes are red, there’s a bit of mascara smudged beneath her eyes, her foot is tapping nervously and her fingers are drumming along the counter between Mikey and herself.
“Was there any proof of a possession?” Mikey diligently asks, eyes briefly flicking in Frank’s direction. Mikey may be the only human working at the agency, he still has an uncanny ability to notice either Frank himself or his partner Ray before they’ve announced themselves.
“Not the classical signs. But he was acting as if he didn’t even know me nor our parents. He skipped out on training the kids' baseball practice without even calling out, which he’d never do. And there was something peculiar at the-” for a moment the woman falls silent, her fingers stop tapping and turn into a fist instead. Frank can see her chest rise and fall deeply three times. “At the crime scene. Apparently he’s got two vertical wounds parallel to each other on his back, between his shoulder-blades. And on the ground, matching the position he was found in was a charred outline of wings.”
“Wings?” Mikey repeats. Frank steps into the reception proper and the woman turns around when she sees Mikey’s eyes move over to Frank solidly now.
“Wings aren’t a typical sign of possession. Demons actually extremely rarely possess wings, in fact. It is much more likely someone drew them on the ground,” Frank states, hoping to temper her expectations. They don’t usually get cases with this kind of weight behind it, they’ve never actually investigated a murder. A kidnapping once, which fortunately had a semi-happy ending. The mother hadn’t been happy that her ex-husband had turned their son, who was just a teenager, into a vampire, but aside from forever getting carded when getting a beer and requiring a detour to the Red Cross on the way back, the boy would at least be fine. Still, tensions often rise enough without high expectations for results. Results they simply could not always deliver, as much as it might pain both of them. Being clear in what you can do helps in keeping a calmer environment, even if it’s often not want they want to hear.
“He had the wounds on his back too,” the woman protests. Frank at least is sensitive enough not to point out someone could’ve just carved them in. He doesn’t need to give a grieving sister such a vision.
“What’s your name?”
“Deborah. Deborah Jenkins,” she responds.
“Mikey, would you please bring us a carafe of water and two glasses? Mrs. Jenkins, please follow me.” Frank leads the way into his office, resuming his earlier seat without feet thrown up this time and gesturing for Mrs. Jenkins to have a seat as well. Mikey enters a brief moment later, putting a tray on the desk with the requested items. “Thank you, Mikey. Now, Mrs. Jenkins,” Frank pours them both a glass full, setting hers close to where she’s taken a seat. “Are you really sure the classical signs of possession weren’t present? Your brother didn’t become more prone to anger outbursts, there were no sulfur scents around the house or places he visited, he didn’t feel an inconsistent temperature to his surroundings?”
“No. No, I didn’t smell any sulfur but I didn’t see him enough to be able to tell if he had outbursts or temperature issues. He started acting distant only two hours before he left. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Have you spoken to anyone who has seen him since?”
“Nobody claims to have seen him anymore. Jared, his mate, hasn’t even seen him and they hang out practically every evening. My mom would often joke they’d stay single forever with how much they hung out with each other instead of girls. He hasn’t texted or called either, the police found his phone.”
Frank remains silent for a moment. It sounds like really the only thing that’s out of the ordinary, if one could ever call a murder ordinary, is the wounds and the winged outline found. “Mrs. Jenkins, I will ensure that I can visit the crime scene and I will ask the police to allow me to review the results of the autopsy. If the results don’t indicate your brother was possessed, I will not be able to work the case. The agency does not have jurisdiction to work on cases that involve only humans. If the results indicate that your brother was possessed, we will take on the case to hunt the demon that possessed your brother. It will not be to hunt who killed him while possessed. It might be that we do find out, because the circumstances of his murder were supernatural, but if not, I’m afraid we still won’t have jurisdiction. Would you accept that?”
Mrs. Jenkins nods determinedly. “It is the demon that got him killed. I’d prefer both, of course, so I hope the circumstances were supernatural. But I’ll settle for getting that demon.”
“Good. Mikey will have some forms for you to fill out, including one that asks for more information regarding the case. Please feel free to write down anything you can think of. It’s very difficult to give us too much information to work a case on. He will also take your contact information so we can reach you regarding the results of the preliminary research whether we’ll be able to work the case. I will get started. Some signs of demon activity are volatile, making the first hours vital.”
“Yes. Okay. Thank you, Mr. ?”
“Iero. You can remain seated, I’ll send Mikey in.”
“Schechter,” Frank greets the police chief when the phone is picked up.
“Hi Frank. To what do I owe this call?”
“Quick and to the point, huh?” Frank smirks to himself, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Convenient in this case. I’m calling to request short-term access to a crime scene. Very short-term hopefully. Murder of Owen Jenkins?”
“Oh, the Jenkins boy.” Frank hears some shuffling before Schechter continues. “His sister came to you guys, huh? I’m not surprised. My men reported she’s very convinced he was possessed. They’re not so convinced, apparently he was tied to gang activity before, though never convicted. They certainly didn’t smell sulfur at the scene.”
“Did they say anything about the wings?”
“A guy is found like that and you think there wouldn’t be any talk about it? You’re clearly not one of my men, Iero,” Schechter huffs bemusedly. “They didn’t know what to make of it though. Forensics scrubbed some of the char off the street to investigate what it is, that might help once it gets back. Anyway, if you do insist on checking it out, and I suspect I know you enough that you will, happened in the lot behind Joe’s hardware store.”
“Middle of gang alley, huh?”
“Yep, another reason my men don’t think it’s anything non-human. Anyway, I’ll give the uniforms a head’s up to let you in.”
“You’re the best, Schechter.”
“Well, normally I’m very glad to help you take over one of our cases. This one though, I fear you might be wasting your time. I’ve got a shape-shifter burglar case for you to work on if you realize the same. I’ll bet you like a mystery case like this, all different finger prints and witness statements and security footage.”
“Honestly, yeah. If it genuinely turns out to be nothing, give me that. Besides, you forget that Ray’s my partner. His lycan nose can pick up a shape-shifter’s trail, I’m sure. It’ll be a blast to see your men looking very shocked at us having solved the unsolvable case.”
“Yes, because we all know non-humans don’t have some benefits when it comes to certain things, don’t we, Frank? Such as playing a game of poker with a cheating warlock who casts spells to be able to check his opponent’s cards.”
“I would never do such a thing. It's not like I purposefully cast the permanent enhanced senses spell just so I could see your cards on my way to the toilets ,” Frank claims.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“We should play some this weekend. Keep Saturday free, would you?”
“Next weekend, fine. Don’t come over this weekend. My girlfriend probably won’t appreciate your presence.”
Frank chuckles. “No, she probably will not. I’ll see you then, man. And thanks for sharing the reports when they’ll come in.” With that, Frank hangs up the phone and turns the ignition on, driving off towards Joe’s hardware store.
Frank parks his car at the side of the road and walks up to the uniforms guarding the perimeter. Frank doesn’t recognize them but with Schechter having called ahead, they allow Frank to duck under the tape after checking his ID.
Frank takes in the scene in front of him with some surprise. Not even at the supposed wings. He can see charred lines across the lot, but from this angle, standing at the entrance to the lot and on the floor rather than directly above them or at least higher up, they seem to have a random pattern. No, the thing that catches Frank’s attention is the amount of branches, leaves and clutter across the lot. It looks like a proper fall storm had passed through. Frank might figure that there had been one he’d slept through and that miraculously neither Ray nor Mikey had brought up, except that Frank hadn’t seen a single other sign of it the entire way here. Including the small side-road that ends in this parking lot.
Frank takes an overview picture before he steps forward. Schechter always gets them the pictures his men have taken when they’re allowed to work the case, so they don’t have to be perfect or cover everything, but Frank always takes a few himself to talk it over with Ray if they’re not sure it’s supernatural or not.
Owen’s body has already been removed, but given that Frank had been told about the charred lines, he follows them to where they end, finding a minimal amount of blood present on the asphalt below. He scans the parking lot to see if he can see blood anywhere else but comes up empty. “Weren’t actually killed here, were you bud?” Frank asks the absent body. Even quick-healing demons would leave more blood behind if their host dies.
The charred outline is big. Much bigger than Frank had expected. Standing his, admittedly not that impressive, full height, he can barely see the end of the charring and it certainly isn’t with enough clarity to take in the full overview. He’ll have to ask access to the roof to be able to see them properly before he leaves the scene.
Frank’s phone buzzes and he finds a text from Schechter, stating the preliminary facts of Owen Jenkins’ death are in his mailbox. He opens it finding the list of facts Schechter can tell them. Well, Frank supposes he can’t, officially, but it’s at least not so detailed Schechter wouldn’t be able to defend himself if anyone were to press charges for sharing info.
- Found October 4th at 10.17 PM.
- No weapon found on crime scene
- Visible wounds: stabbed in abdomen, two parallel wounds on back (curious, ME’s preliminary mentioned they seem to originate from inside his body). No other wounds.
- No witnesses that we know of
- From the uniforms: no smells or cold spots present
Frank dials Schechter’s number again. “You know I can’t include more information or the pictures,” Schechter states before Frank gets the chance to say anything at all.
“Hello to you too. Yes, well aware. I was calling to ask if your men reported anything about the static in the air? Or that it looks like a storm passed through?”
“Static?”
“Yeah. It’s a good thing I don’t have a date tonight, my hair’s going to be shit once I leave here.”
Schechter snorts at that. “Good that you always note the important bits. Nope, I don’t have any reports on static. That’s hardly anything supernatural either, though, is it?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Frank acknowledges. “Fine. Was there any talk at all about where he might’ve been dragged from?”
“You think he wasn’t killed in place?” Schechter questions.
“There’s only a small amount of blood here. I highly doubt that amount of-” Frank trails off when he sees a man walk onto the crime scene, ignored by the uniforms guarding the perimeter. There’s no visible badge on him. “Your men aren’t meant to be present at the moment anymore, are they?”
“No. Aside from the uniforms keeping the scene secure anyway.”
“Some guy just walked in. They’re not stopping him.”
“Maybe one of them headed back? If they saw him this morning then it makes sense they’d let him in, the uniforms haven’t switched shift yet.”
“I’ll ask them. Thanks for the info,” Frank thanks Schechter before hanging up the phone and heading to the uniforms closest to where the man had passed through. “Hey. Can you tell me who the detective is?”
“The detective working the case? I think it’s Lobank,” the one on the right states.
“The detective that just walked in here. That guy?” Frank points to where he’s standing and the two men’s eyes follow his finger before turning back with furrowed brows.
“Funny guy, are you?” with that they turn their back on Frank, leaving Frank to look at the man in surprise. It’s not until he’s only three yards from the guy that he notices him shimmering at the edges. Right. The guy has cloaked himself invisible. Frank knew his permanent spell to improve his senses would pay off one day. Okay, maybe he’d hoped more than he knew. He only did it because of the threats he and Ray both kept getting three years ago, he figured if he can sense danger approaching he’d be much safer. Ray warned him against it, stating how permanent spells are ill adviced for a very good reason and that Frank was just a young, inexperienced warlock besides. He’d been right. Frank had been really, really ill for two weeks. To such a point he’d been brought into the hospital and with a respiratory tube through his throat for a few days. Spell had worked and he’d recovered, but so far he could’ve done with temporary spells. But now Frank would finally be able to tell himself and Ray that it’d finally had some use.
“Mind informing me what you’re doing on this crime scene?” Frank asks once he’s standing directly behind the guy.
“Same as you, most likely,” the guy says, not even turning around.
“Except one of us isn’t hiding themselves. Come on, man, let me escort you out.” Rather than allowing Frank to do that, the guy pushes himself off the floor, jumping up high and hanging in the air. Frank almost gawks. There are very few beings capable of flight, really. But then he sees the guy already descending again, slowly, and he realizes the guy is hovering rather than flying. “Cool party trick,” Frank drawls once the guy is firmly on the floor once more, this time with his face towards Frank. He looks familiar, but Frank’s fairly sure it’s not one of the detectives. Frank’s been at the bureau often enough, he feels like he’d remember having seen this guy. He’s got a pretty, delicate face and his long, black hair only serves to make him paler and more delicate. Frank hates to think it, considering the guy probably isn’t invisible at a crime scene because he’s a peach, but he’s beautiful.
“Is it really all that useful to escort me out? There’s really not all that many people who’d be able to see me re-enter, especially among the regular cops,” the guy points out.
“You’re at a crime scene illegally. I could pull you into visibility and hand you over to the uniforms. I’m sure you’ll get out, but it’ll take some time.”
The guy gets an amused twist to his lips. “Wouldn’t you much rather know why I’m here than have me removed? How about you choose. I’ll either leave now or I can tell you why I’m here.”
It’s not as if he can stop an invisible guy from getting back in. Sure, he could perform spells on uniforms to enable them to, but for right now at least, there’s too much distrust between humans and non-humans for them to volunteer for it. And he’s hardly going to stand here for days to check it himself. “Dude, you already told me you’d sneak back in. So fine, tell me why you’re here.”
“I believe these,” the guy moves his hand along the charred outline, “were caused by a dying angel.”
“A dying angel?” Frank repeats.
“Yes. I believe whoever was killed here was hosting an angel at the time of their death. Someone killed the angel while it was being hosted there. Angels leave behind an outline of their wings upon their death.”
The guy looks serious enough. Still, Frank can’t help but snort. “Yes, I forgot that is a well-known fact. Everybody knows angels exist and the fact that they leave their wings after death is well-documented.”
“It’s not well-documented at all. It’s incredibly rare than an angel finds their death on earth. Doesn’t mean there aren’t any people left to know it.”
Frank examines the guy. He certainly looks serious enough and he’s not looking like he’s about to flee because he was discovered sneaking into a crime scene. “How were you going to confirm it?”
The guy smiles now. “If it’s an angel that died here, there has to be some of the angel’s essence present. I would expect it to be either with the blood or within the outline of their wings. You clearly have good eyesight if you’re able to see me. See anything silvery white here?” Frank shifts so that he can look in the direction of the outline while simultaneously having the guy in his vision. He might pretend not to be a flight-risk because he thinks little of his chance of getting away unseen and use this distraction as a chance to run.
He doesn’t though and he follows Frank as he approaches the base of the wings, finding a small amount of a silvery white substance. It’s a strange texture. Neither solid, liquid nor a gas but rather a combination of all three, not touching the asphalt but clearly attached to it. “Excellent. Well, excellent that you found. Quite unfortunate that it’s there,” the guy says.
“Why’s it unfortunate.”
“Because it means an angel was killed on Earth.”