“Come on come on come on!” Nemesis leapt across another alley and skidded to a halt on the building, the gravel and roofing detritus almost taking his feet out from under him. He stopped to catch his breath a moment—running, jumping and vaulting sixteen blocks took a lot out of a man. He shook his head and pulled off his mask for a moment. Sweat plastered his hair around the temples and forehead. He wiped at his face and forced himself to take several long, slow, deep breaths. He checked his watch and shook his head. With a reluctant sigh he pulled his mask back and on and took off again.

For the third time Edison looked down at mile marker three, and then into the gloom off the bike path. A few yards across the swath of grass, on the edge of the tree line, a trio of shabby sawhorses formed a rough triangle marking the crime scene. He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. If he had passed this spot in total ignorance, he still would have felt something bad happened here.

Hudson City's parks had a reputation for being unsafe at night, but that didn't mean they were empty. On his walk down the bike path he'd heard people conducting the world's oldest transaction. Anyone could be watching right now. Had someone watched Darcey Brown's murder? Would they stand idly by and watch another?

"Get a hold of yourself," Edison muttered. This was just a job. And he had his guardian angel to look after him. Smiling grimly, Edison stepped off the path and walked slowly towards the murder scene, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Edison ran a hand over the peeling paint of the sawhorses, which he now saw were joined by police tape, as he walked around the spot. It wasn't just nerves or imagination - there were strong psychic impressions here. Delving further was not going to be fun.

Well, he would wait for Nemesis. That was perfectly sensible. Edison took the flashlight out of his pocket, flicked it on, and trained it on the ground. In the movies, amateur detectives always found an important clue that the police overlooked. Life was never like the movies though.

Edison had been at the park for about twenty minutes before Nemesis arrived. The parking lot was fairly serene, with large trees looming nearby, casting ominous shadows on the already dark pavement. There were a few lights illuminating one end of the lot, but the lights on the other end had been vandalized. Despite the late hour the park was still lightly occupied, and the chances that the clientele here at this hour, were interested in the scenery, was very slim.

The vigilante strolled out of the darkness, staff held loosely in hand, his body taut with energy. He gave the man standing there the once over—he’d stopped to observe Edison Palmer from a short distance long before he’d made his presence known; it also let him catch his breath—and took up a relaxed stance a few feet away. He was a big man, dressed in his usual grey-and-green togs, with his customary staff held in hand and a belt of pouches and gadgets around his waist. His eyes were hidden behind bluish goggles, his mask covering the rest of his face and head except for his mouth and stubbled chin.

“Edison Palmer, I presume?”

"Christ," Palmer snorted. "And you must be the guy who sneaks up on people."

Nemesis smiled politely but made no move to shake hands or otherwise close the distance. “I’m Nemesis. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. I guess we’re going to be working together for a bit.”

"Guess so." Edison returned the precise smile and gave Nemesis the once over. The mysterious vigilante already lived up to his reputation in one way: like the fans said, the man was hawt. There's just something about a man in uniform, Edison mused, and thought about his own outfit. He probably didn't look like a crimebuster in his fancy shoes, designer jeans, vintage blazer and Free Britney! T-shirt.

"I was just waiting for you," he said smoothly, "to begin my reading."

Nemesis nodded. “Not sure what that means but if it’s the psychic thing I was told about, by all means, do your thing. I doubt the locals left me much to work with.” He took a few steps around, giving the scene a cursory glance to get the layout. “Let me know if you need anything from me.”

"Just keep an eye out, I guess," Edison replied. He gazed at Nemesis for a moment. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from this Nemesis but it wasn't this casual attitude. Were superheroes as disappointing as everyone else?

Edison shook his head slightly and vaulted over the sawhorse. He trained his flashlight's beam back on the ground, looking for bloodstains or any other telltale signs. After a few moments he chose a spot and sat down, Indian style, before it.

Nemesis pulled his own flashlight out but didn’t turn it on. Instead he took up a position several paces behind and to the side of Edison Palmer, the better to see what the man was doing. He didn’t know what to expect from a “psychic detective” but it sure as hell wasn’t a Free Britney! tee. He wondered just what he’d let Ophilia get him into.

Edison stared at the trampled ground for what felt like a long time. He'd spent the last half hour trying to psych himself up for this moment and still felt unready. The gift was unpredictable, but whatever it showed tonight was sure to be unpleasant. With a deep sigh he placed both his hands on the ground and willed the earth to tell its story.

The night air, rich with the smells of growing things, took on a metallic tang. The smell of blood rose up and a whirl of images - a man in shadow, a woodcut of an angel, a knife - raced through Edison's mind faster than he could make sense of them. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. The gift wouldn't be forced. You could only be receptive and let it touch you.

And hope it didn't grab you.

Edison grunted as something stabbed into the back of his neck. The sky and the ground traded places. A tall gaunt man and pretty woman with shimmering hair looked down on him. They were nervous. He could feel the sweat on her palms. He could taste the fear in her mouth. They were efficient but clumsy. They had a syringe and a knife.

There were screams. Wet, weak cries from Darcey as the knife cut into her flesh, again and again. She couldn't move, she was paralyzed, but the pain...the pain was searing and unrelenting. Whatever they had stabbed into her neck, did nothing to mute the pain.

He could feel the oddest sensation as shock cloaked the debilitating pain, a tickle of sorts as the burbling trail of blood bathed her abdomen and pooled beneath her. He almost choked on a feeling of regret, the most unrecognizable sensation of a mother's love and failure to protect. It was the last unsettling impression, before an overwhelming feeling of nausea swept over him as his blurry eyed gaze focused on the beautiful woman that hovered over him.

Mild distaste showed on the faces of the man and woman as they quickly completed their grim task. Darcey tried to scream again when the baby was ripped from her with a horrid squelching noise. The man and woman conferred, now anxious, and then the piercing wail of a newborn came from the darkness.

The last scream came from Edison. He scrabbled backwards awkwardly, clutching his stomach with one hand, knocking over the sawhorse behind him. A shudder went through him, as if he could shake off Darcey's anguished last moments.

Nemesis moved immediately to the man’s side and knelt beside him. As weird as it was, this was a little more in line with his expectations. He had little faith in psychics, but he wasn’t the sort to deny evidence viewed with his own eyes. Whatever else happened, this man had reacted to whatever he’d seen.

"A kitchen knife," Edison muttered. His eyes sought out Nemesis in the gloom. His face was sweaty and pale. "They cut her up with a fucking kitchen knife," he said.

Nemesis didn’t say anything for a long moment. He wanted to give the psychic a moment to recover from…from…whatever it was that just happened. When he did speak it was in low, patient tones.

“Who?” he asked. “Who did this? Did you, um, see who did it? See anything that we could move on?”

Edison felt blood rushing back to his face as he considered the moment from Nemesis's point of view. The man of action was patiently waiting while Edison sat around feeling stuff and screaming like a girl.

"It's all kind of a jumble," he said. His hand drifted up from his stomach and idly tugged on something underneath his shirt. "There were two of them. At least, I saw two of them. There could have been more, I guess. One was a tall, thin man. I didn't get a strong impression of him.

"But I'd recognize the other one if I saw her. Young, very pretty. Wearing a silver wig for some reason." Edison paused, trying to piece the vivid impressions back together.

"They took her by surprise and injected her with something." He added darkly, "It wasn't an anesthetic. I couldn't - she couldn't move properly. They took the baby..." He sat up straighter, remembering the most important part.

"The baby was still alive when they left."

Nemesis nodded once, accepting the information. It matched with what he already knew. “I know,” he said, still talking low. “They used a paralytic. She was completely paralyzed, unable to move, but aware of everything.” He swallowed. “Edison, I—we—need something to go on. Some way to find them. Anything at all." There was a muted sense of urgency in his voice.

Edison stared at the grass. Usually a second reading was unproductive, but the impressions here were strong. He might be able to learn more...or he might have to experience Darcey's death all over again. His guardian angel couldn't protect him from that.

"The angel," he muttered. "I got this strong image associated with both of them. A woman with wings. It was sort of sinister and crude, like an old woodcut."

Nemesis shook his head slightly indicating he didn’t understand. “You saw a woodcut of an angel?” He reached to his utility belt. “Can you draw it?”

"Let's see," Edison replied. He accepted the small pad and pencil from Nemesis with a slight smile. What else has he got in there, he wondered. Barely looking at the paper, he began sketching.

"Being psychic isn't all it's cracked up to be," Edison said to fill the time. "Not in my case, anyway. I pick up all this stuff but I don't necessarily know what it means. What I see isn't always literal either. Actually a lot of the time I don't really see things. I just get a feeling."

He looked at his handiwork. "Could be a tattoo," he said. He handed it over to Nemesis.

Nemesis took the pad and frowned over it for several long seconds. “Well,” he said slowly, “That’s not really an angel, but if this is accurate it’s pretty damn close to that goth place over on North Harrison--The Succubus Club. Besides being on the door, they stamp the hands of their customers with that.” He gestured with the drawing. “It’s a bit rowdy, and always odd, but probably worth checking out. Maybe someone there knows our faceless duo.”

He stood and offered a hand to Edison. “If you’re up for it, that is."

"Goths are so cute," Edison smiled. He accepted Nemesis's hand and sprung up. "And I hear they have a fetish room."

Nemesis chuckled. "I hear they have more than one." He looked around, getting his bearings. "It's about twelve blocks or so from here--a little more than a mile." He returned his attention to the psychic detective. "Did you bring transportation or are we hoofin' it?"

"What, no Nemesismobile?" Edison smirked.

Nemesis snorted in amusement. "Not in the budget. Besides, it's rare I can't run, jump or swing my way somewhere in a reasonable amount of time, and if I get lazy I just ride the buses and trains hither and yon." He shrugged. "It's not as cool but it saves wear and tear on the ol' Sketchers."

The psychic stared for a moment, then shrugged. "My car's this way," he said, and set off down the bike path. "Maybe you should ask the DiSantiagos for a raise," he added. "Then you could get yourself a bus pass. Or at least better shoes than Sketchers."

Nemesis wasn’t sure how to reply. He was thinking how close to the mark Palmer’s comment really was. He thought about denying monetary incentive but decided the little subterfuge was acceptable under the circumstances.

“I’ll have my own ride soon enough,” he said instead. “But you’d be surprised how quickly I can cover ground when I need to. And it’s hard to be sneaky if I have to find parking first.”

Palmer chuckled appreciatively, and they continued in silence for many minutes. It wasn't until they had climbed into the car and were cruising down Onondaga that Palmer spoke again.

"You work a case like this before?" he asked.

Nemesis shook his head. He seemed comfortable enough in the car, one arm resting on the door, his staff in the backseat. He could have been out for a Sunday drive, except for the uniform. “Not even close. Mostly organized crime stuff, a few random things here and there, but nothing like this.” His eyes tracked something on the street for a second before he turned to Palmer. “You?”

For one desperate moment, Edison thought he was going to laugh. His last "case" was finding a lost earring. Now here he was, talking shop with Nemesis. Get a hold of yourself, he thought. Edison Palmer can still roll with the big dogs.

"Me either," he admitted. "I've read about ritual sacrifice, but this doesn't track with anything I've ever heard of. Symbolically, it's all wrong."

Nemesis nodded. “There’s definitely something hinky in Weirdsville,” he replied. “I’m not up on my occult work yet, but it might not be about sacrifice at all. It could be misinterpretation, misdirection, or plain and simple insanity.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “The whys are less important than the whos at this point. I’ll figure out the reasons later. Right now I’m more concerned with finding whoever—whomever?” He shook his head. “Finding the person or persons behind this.”

"Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself," Palmer mused, "but it is weird. All these modern cases of ritual abuse and what-not, they do always turn out to be the work of crazies. But they also always seem to be based on some limited understanding of blood magic. Infant sacrifice doesn't square with that."

Palmer sighed and stole a glance at Nemesis. The big man - and Palmer flashed on all the mornings he'd blown off the gym - seemed unimpressed with his attempt to play the expert. Well, he'd just have to figure out what did impress the vigilante.

The drive into Guilford was as uneventful as a drive could be when you had the imposing presence of a masked vigilante in your passenger seat. Traffic was fairly light and they made it to their destination in less than fifteen minutes.

Any chance at subtlety was abandoned once they parked and Nemesis got out of the car. It wasn't that the streets or sidewalks were crowded, but every single person that was present, took an immediate and intense interest in Nemesis. Jaws dropped and heads turned, it was almost as though everything around them became perfectly still as the two of them walked to the door of the Succubus Club.

Nemesis smiled and waved as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You realize,” he murmured to Edison, “That you’re now associated with a known vigilante. Hope your rep will survive.” He glanced once more to the car behind them. His staff lay inside, left behind but missed. Nemesis stifled a sigh and strode forward with casual purpose.

"Just try to keep up with me," Edison replied cockily, but the joke had hit close to home. Notoriety was the last thing he wanted.

After the immediate shock wore off, a flash broke the night as someone attempted to take a picture of Edison and Nemesis as they pulled the door open to the club. The paranormal investigator felt a chill deep in his bones as he looked at the blood red succubus on the door.

"That's it," he informed the vigilante. "That's definitely what I saw."

The bouncer took one very long look as Nemesis stepped through the door, he made no move to stamp their hands or to ask for an ID, nor did he offer up the cover charge. Instead he remained standing in front of them speechless. He was almost as tall as the vigilante but the way he shrank away when he looked at him detracted from his big burly frame.

”Oh, come on,” Nemesis said jovially. “Surely I’m not the most colorful character to come walking up to your door, and we both know this isn’t nearly as much spandex as you’ve seen in one place.” He glanced over the door man’s shoulder. “We’re looking for the silver-haired girl. The pretty one.” He smiled his winningest smile at the man. “I owe her a spanking.”

"Trust me," Palmer interjected, "no one wants to miss out on one of his spankings."

The bouncer visibly relaxed when he realized that Nemesis wasn't there to cause trouble, and a broad smile spread across his face. He leaned in closer to the vigilante so that he could be heard over the near deafening throb of music. "That'd be Trinity. I...uh saw her earlier, but I don't know where she is." He nodded his head towards the dancefloor and stepped back invitingly. "It's on me."

As Nemesis and Avatar passed the bouncer, they saw him saying something into the radio piece that he was wearing. "No Shit. Nemesis is in da house! If you see Trin, lemme know."

Cleaned up some old tags