"Blair?" Ellison stood next to his partner's desk, shifting from foot to foot. Those who knew Ellison might normally have been amused by the uncharacteristic nervousness the detective demonstrated. But following the window rattling shouting match that had taken place in their captain's office just minutes before, no one was feeling very amused.

"What?" Blair snapped, pausing in his out-of-character abuse of his computer keyboard to pin his partner with angry, deep blue eyes. Then he lowered his eyes and sighed. When he raised his eyes again, the hostility was gone, replaced by a deep sadness. "I'm sorry, Jim. I shouldn't snap at you. Unless you've come to plead his case." Some of his anger returned as the thought occurred to him.

Raising his hands in denial, Jim rested a hip on his partner's desk. "Not me, Chief. Now don't take this the wrong way, partner, but you're a big boy and more than capable of fighting your own battles. You didn't need me to stand up for you in there and Simon doesn't need me to defend him, either. He was wrong and he admitted it. You'll work this out and come out the stronger for it."

"Yeah?" Blair sneered. "And on what do you base this sudden sagacity?"

"Experience," Ellison said softly, regarding his best friend seriously. "Lots and lots of experience."

Taken aback, Blair studied his partner for a long moment and then leaned back in his chair, grasping each end of a pen between his thumbs and forefingers. "Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Jim Ellison?" he demanded. Although the smile was wan, it was a beginning and it warmed Ellison's heart.

"I don't know what you mean, Sandburg," he said gruffly, his warm expression belying the tone of voice.

"To coin your phrase, Jim, don't take this the wrong way, but since when do you play the wise sage to my angry warrior?"

"It's what partners do, Sandburg." As if enough had been said on the subject, Ellison rose from his partner's desk and turned toward his own. But he couldn't resist tossing off a parting shot. "But don't make a habit of it, Conan. I'm allergic to sage, you know."

Chuckling at his partner's joke and suddenly feeling much better, Sandburg turned a pensive gaze on the shuttered window of Simon Banks' office and regarded it thoughtfully for several minutes. Then, shaking his head and smiling at his partner, Blair stood and crossed to Simon's door. At the soft "Enter" that greeted his knock, he pushed the door open, and could have sworn he heard a collective sigh of relief from the room behind him.

"Blair," Simon greeted him in surprise, his expression clearly showing that he didn't quite know how to proceed.

Blair strode the short distance from the door to Simon's desk and extended his hand. "I'm sorry for overreacting, Simon." Blair calling him Simon told the police captain the statement was delivered on a personal and sincere level. "While I can't say that I'm not still angry at your automatic assumption that I leaked that report to the press, I can say that I forgive you. And, looking at it from your side of the desk, I suppose it had to look pretty bad."

Simon came around the desk to take the extended hand and grasp it warmly. "Thank you, Blair, I appreciate that more than you know. You had every right to be angry and, in honesty, I don't think you overreacted. I'm more than ready to put this behind us, but, if you don't mind my asking, what changed your mind so quickly?"

Blair chuckled softly, "Jim."

"Excuse me?" Simon queried in disbelief. "Did you say Jim?"

"Yep. He shuffled his sentinel deck and played a shaman's card on me."

Simon returned to his oversized desk chair and settled comfortably into its depths. He reached for a cigar and drew it under his nose, appreciating the rich scent of his favorite tobacco. "Oh," he nodded, "another one of those sentinel things?"

"Actually, it was one of those friend things," Blair smiled. "Now, you're right, we've got a madman to catch. Think I'll go work on that for a while."

Blair drew the office door closed behind him and grinned at the rest of the bullpen who regarded him expectantly. "Don't you guys have anything better to do than listen to petty arguments between your co-workers?" Then he returned to his desk and drew the Cascade map with the crime scenes marked on it over for closer inspection.

Two hours later he was still deeply engrossed in his study when his partner tapped him on the shoulder and suggested an early lunch. Sandburg eyed Ellison suspiciously. "Not Sneaks."

Ellison laughed and clapped his wary partner on the shoulder. "No, not Sneaks," he confirmed. "Just lunch this time."

"Okay, you're on, Ellison." Blair reached over to grab a jacket to guard against the slight chill that had followed the overnight passage of a cold front, but hesitated when his phone rang. Ellison glared at the offending instrument, certain it was going to curtail his lunch plans. Sandburg rolled his eyes and delivered a long-suffering sigh as he lifted the receiver. "Major Crime, Detective Sandburg speaking."

"Mr. Sandburg?" the caller inquired nervously, although Blair had clearly answered the call with his name and title.

Choosing not to correct the oversight, Blair simply responded, "Yes. Who is this?"

"Um, you probably don't remember me, Mr. Sandburg. My name is Cody Atkins." He was right, Blair didn't remember him. "I was in your Anthro 101 class a couple of years ago."

The prompt jogged Blair's memory and he vaguely remembered a quiet student with passable grades. A frown creased his brow and he settled slowly back into his chair. Concerned at Sandburg's reaction to the call, Ellison crossed his arms and pretended indifference while shamelessly tuning in to the other side of his partner's phone conversation. "Oh, yeah, Cody. Right. Good to hear from you. What can I do for you?"

Cody's voice dropped to a whisper. "I, uh, heard you were on campus the other day. You know, um, asking about new, you know, religious groups?" His voice trailed off on the last phrase, sounding more and more uncertain as the conversation progressed.

"Yes. Yes, I was. Do you have some information for me, Cody?" Blair sat up straighter in his chair, cast an interested glance at his partner and wiggled his fingers next to his ear in what was apparently his new signal that Jim should use his sensitive hearing. Jim nodded, as if he hadn't already been listening and Blair turned his attention back to the subject of his call. "Cody? Are you still there? Do you have something you want to tell me?"

Blair (and Jim) could hear Cody breathing on the other end of the line, so they waited impatiently while he made up his mind. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "But I can't talk here. My roommate might come in. And I can't... I just can't come to the police station. Can you meet me somewhere later tonight?"

Jim shook his head vehemently, wagged his finger in a negative gesture at Blair and then glared when he responded, "Sure, Cody, no problem. My partner and I were just headed out for lunch. How about we meet you somewhere and kill two birds with one stone?" Blair winced at his own phraseology, but pressed on. "How does that sound, Cody?"

After another few moments of silence Cody acquiesced. "I... I'm supposed to be in class in 20 minutes, but I guess I can skip it. I... I just can't stand this anymore!" Cody's voice broke on a sob.

With absolutely no certainty at all of the validity of his next statement, Blair assured his former student, "It's gonna be okay, Cody. Look, why don't we meet you at the Goofy Goose?" Jim raised his eyebrows at the proposed location, but Blair waved him off. "It's about halfway between the precinct and the campus. It should be far enough away from campus that the chances of anyone you know seeing you are pretty slim. Do you know where it is?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know where it is, Mr. Sandburg. I can be there in about 45 minutes, if... if that's okay?" he asked hesitantly

"That's cool, Cody. We'll see you at the Goofy Goose in 45 minutes." Blair placed the receiver on its cradle and turned excited eyes to this partner. "This could be the break we need, Jim!"

"Let's hope so, Chief, because so far we've got zip and I'm getting nervous this creep is gonna strike again soon." He reached over Sandburg's head to snag both their jackets and tossed Sandburg his as he enquired, "What do you know about this kid, Sandburg?"

"Not much, really. I remember he was a so-so student, passable grades, nothing stellar, less than avid enthusiasm for anthropology. Pretty much my usual Anthro 101 student. Out for an easy elective. Wonder what he wants to tell us?" he mused, absently slipping his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and checking to make sure he had his weapon. He didn't think he was ever going to get used to that. "He sounded scared."

"Which leads me to the question of your agreeing to meet him like that."

"C'mon, Jim. It was clear he wasn't going to talk to us here and he was scared silly to talk to us on campus. What's the big deal? You do it all the time. I had no intention of meeting him somewhere isolated, late at night, by myself, so I offered him an alternative. It's in a public place, in the middle of the day, with my partner and senior officer..." Blair glanced quickly around and added quietly, "not to mention my sentinel, present. How much safer than that can it get? Now, c'mon, if we get there fast enough, maybe we can eat before he shows up."

"But The Goofy Goose?" Ellison grimaced. "With a name like that, am I going to find anything on the menu fit to eat?" He trailed his partner out of the bullpen, repeatedly suggesting a side-trip through the Wonder Burger drive-thru.

"Why didn't you tell me they had home cooked food, Sandburg?" Ellison grunted, leaning back in his chair and happily patting his satisfied stomach. "That was great."

Blair had ignored Jim's continued requests to stop for some "edible" food and had barked out "turn left here" and "take the next right" instructions until they'd pulled up in front of The Goofy Goose Home Style Diner. Their arrival had beaten the lunch rush, and Jim had been pleasantly surprised when they were quickly served plates nearly overflowing with hearty, stick-to-your-ribs home style fare.

"It was too much fun to listen to you whine," Blair teased, finishing the last bite of his enormous vegetable platter and wiping his mouth with a napkin. Any further response was forestalled when Blair announced, "Cody's here."

Jim twisted in his seat to follow the direction in which Blair subtly pointed. A young man, perhaps 23 or 24, stood by the hostess stand, anxiously scanning the crowd assembled in the dining room. He was slim with blonde hair combed away from his face and soft brown eyes that currently looked extremely frightened. His clothes, though clean and well fitted, were wrinkled and not well matched.

Having spied Jim and Blair's corner booth, Cody cast a nervous glance around the restaurant and politely refused the hostess's seating offer. He approached the table and slid into the booth on Blair's side. "Thanks for coming, Mr. Sandburg," he greeted Blair, then dropped his head slightly and peeked uneasily through his lashes at Jim.

"It's Detective Sandburg, Cody," Blair corrected, "and this is my partner, Detective Ellison." Jim nodded and kept his expression neutral, satisfied to let Blair take the lead while he monitored Cody's responses.

Cody swallowed hard and opened his mouth to speak, only to jump in panic when the waitress asked him if he'd like to order. He offered an apologetic, chagrined smile and asked for a draft beer. "I'm not really very hungry," he explained to both the waitress and the other men at the table.

"What did you want to tell us, Cody?" Blair prompted gently when it seemed that Cody's courage to talk had waned. "You said it was something you couldn't stand anymore."

Cody's eyes roamed the dining room, refusing to rest anywhere for more than a second. The waitress brought his beer and he took a large gulp, as if using the cold, bitter liquid to bolster his courage. Then he stared at the glass for a long moment, watching as a bead of condensation wound its way from the rim to the base and pooled in a ring on the table.

Cody raised his eyes to take in the warm, concerned expression on his former teacher's face and choked back a sob. "Oh, God," he groaned softly, leaning forward and touching his forehead to the cool rim of the glass in front of him. "Melissa."

Jim's eyes met Blair's over the blonde man's bowed head and knew that his expression mirrored his partner's shocked one. Whatever they had expected from the meeting with Cody, an immediate reference to Melissa Wakefield had not been it.

Cody raised his head, took another drink of beer and then took a deep breath. "Melissa and I were in love," he explained. "We were planning on getting married once we got out of college in another year or so. She was so excited." He paused and smiled softly. "So was I. I'd never met anyone like her, so warm and caring and giving. She was really something." Jim got the impression that that was a high compliment from the grieving college student sitting across from him. "I'm an anthropology major, Mr... uh, Detective Sandburg. Did you know that?"

Startled by the swift change of subject, and reminded of his earlier erroneous assumption, Blair stammered slightly, "Uh, no, Cody, I didn't know that. That's, uh, great. Of course, I'm a little biased." He smiled briefly then urged Cody to continue. "So you and Melissa were going to be married?"

"Yeah. Anyway, Melissa was a psych major and I'm a anthropology major, so we found that a lot of our interests overlapped."

Jim bit his tongue to keep from demanding that the young man simply get to the point and forced himself to be patient. He was uneasy, the feeling that something bad was going to happen growing by the minute.

"We had lots of deep discussions about the nature of God and the Devil, paganism, ancient tribal religions, the druids, all that stuff. She sure could make you think about things. So one day she came to my apartment and started telling me about this guy she met on campus. Tall guy, dressed in black. She said he was telling everyone how he believed that man was meant to savor life to the fullest and to bow to no one save the almighty. She said at first she thought he was from some high profile evangelical group and was talking about God. But as she continued to listen, she realized he wasn't talking about God, he was talking about the Devil. To him, Satan was the almighty."

"Did she mention his name?" Blair asked, trying to contain his excitement. He was ever cognizant of the fact that the man beside him had recently lost the woman he loved and deserved sympathy and respect, even if he had valuable information to give.

Cody shook his head and Blair's spirits plummeted. "No."

"What happened after that?" Jim prompted, finally entering the conversation.

Cody regarding the large detective for a moment, took a dejected breath, then resumed his contemplation of his beer glass and continued. "Mo," he paused and smiled affectionately, "that's what I called her, had been searching for just the right thesis topic for her psych class. She decided that the opportunity to join a Satanic cult and analyze the mindset from the inside was just too good an opportunity to pass up."

"So she joined," Blair supplied.

"Yeah. He was waiting outside the psych building again the next day, and she stopped to strike up a conversation with him. She joined him that afternoon, fully intending to get the inside scoop for a few days and then bail, write her paper and collect her degree."

"What happened?" Blair asked quietly as Jim unobtrusively waved the approaching waitress away. He didn't want Atkins spooked again.

"I... I was afraid for her and well, more than a little curious about the whole thing myself." His eyes searched Blair and Jim's faces for understanding and then settled on Blair's. "I mean, anthropologists are supposed to be curious about subcultures and stuff like that, aren't they? You know, get in and get down and dirty with 'em?" he demanded.

Doubting Cody's motives were anthropological in nature, but not wanting to pass judgment, Blair murmured, "I've always thought so," then urged Atkins to continue. "So you joined, too?"

"Yeah. And it was really cool at first, you know? There were about a dozen of us and this dude had the whole shtick down-- the gowns, the incense, the chanting. You name it, he knew it. Said we had to call him Master and wouldn't tell us his real name. He told us if we wanted to come to know the Dark Lord and the pleasures he had to offer, we had to bow to the Master's will. That Satan only came to those who obeyed the Master. Besides, there was this really cool side benefit in that almost every ritual ended in an orgy. It was so kinky, but exciting, too. So we played along, going to the rituals, chanting the chants-- you know, playing the game."

"But it stopped being a game, didn't it, Cody?"

Atkins squeezed his eyes shut and replied to Ellison's query in a strained voice. "Yeah, it did. The Master said we had to give blood offerings to Satan, that he (Satan) would be angry if we failed to appease him. So, we started taking people's pets." Cody shook his head in despair. "Then we'd go out in the woods somewhere just outside the city and conduct this sacrificial ritual to Satan. God, the things he did to those poor animals-- it turned my stomach! Mo hated it, too, but we justified it in the name of research. Then one day the Master announced that Melissa would be his priestess. He started, I dunno, acting like Satan should be worshiping him instead of the other way around or something. Things were really getting freaky by this time and Mo and I decided it was time to get out. We had more than enough research for both of our papers and... and... Melissa was pregnant." Silent tears began to stream down Cody's face, but he continued his story. "We went to the Master and fessed up about the pregnancy. We didn't tell him we weren't true believers, just that Melissa was pregnant and that we'd had a change of heart and thought it was time to think about someone other than ourselves."

"How did he take it?" Blair asked, glancing around the restaurant to make sure they weren't attracting unwanted attention. Satisfied that the other patrons were deeply ensconced in their own conversations, he turned his attention back to Cody.

"He kind of ranted about it for a while, telling us that we were to think of no one but Satan and him. He said that our child should be born and raised into the sect-- to know him as Master and to be destined for greatness in Satan's eternal darkness. He literally begged us to participate in just one more ritual-- one guaranteed to ensure the good health and long life of our baby. Hell, neither one of us really believed in his crap. We'd both studied enough about satanic cults to realize that this guy wasn't a true Satanist and that he really was a head case. But it seemed harmless enough, if it got us out from under him. So we figured we'd have to sacrifice another poor animal, make some promises we had no intention of keeping and then we could be on our way." Cody's voice dropped to a mere whisper. "The ritual was Wednesday night, at a site in the Lange campground east of Cascade."

Blair glanced at Jim. The anonymous call reporting Melissa's body had come Thursday morning.

"Melissa and I showed up, figuring things would go like they always did. We'd all drink a little wine, do a little chanting and dancing, perform our sacrifice, play our little game of swearing to serve the Master and Satan, have some kinky sex and then go home. But it was different this time."

Neither detective needed to ask what the difference was, so they remained silent as Cody continued. "When we got there, we all changed into our robes and formed a circle around the fire, just like always, while the Master lit the candles and prepared the alter with the incense and the black drape. The Master had a chalice of wine and he did the usual incantations dedicating it, and us, to Satan before he passed it around for us to drink. Then he prepared a special chalice for Melissa, saying it was a non-alcoholic version that wouldn't harm her or the baby. He insisted she drink the whole thing before he went on with the rest of the ritual. She made some terrible faces, like maybe it tasted awful, but she drank the whole thing."

Cody took another long draft of his beer and shook his head at the recalled horrors his memories were dredging up. "The Master started chanting and we started dancing around in a circle, calling Satan's name. I always felt kind of silly doing that, but then something in the wine would kick in and it was nothing but fun."

"You think he drugged your wine?" Jim asked, making a notation in his notebook.

"I'd like to think I wouldn't be so amenable to twirling around in circles screaming Satan's name without some sort of help," Cody smiled grimly. "And then suddenly everything changed. The next thing I knew, the Master had Melissa lying on the sacrificial altar instead of the usual dog or cat. She was naked. I remember thinking there was something not right about that, but my brain was getting all caught up in the ritual and I just kept dancing. She wasn't moving, but her eyes were open, so I thought she was okay, you know? I mean, she didn't look or act scared or anything, so I thought maybe she was just playing along with him.

"Then he started screaming about how she had been intended to be his but that she had been defiled by another and was no longer worthy of him. That the evil had to be destroyed." Silent sobs wracked Cody's body and it took him a minute to regain his tenuous grip on composure. "I remember laughing at the way that sounded and wondering what it took for Satan to consider something evil. I wondered what the Master meant when he called on Satan to guide his hand, and then I saw the knife!" Cody hid his face in his hands and shook his head in denial of the events he was recalling. "Oh Dear God, he was cutting her and Melissa was screaming and he was screaming that she'd betrayed him and would never betray him again and he just kept cutting her and cutting her and..." Cody's voice began to rise, and he broke into deep, wracking sobs. Jim swiftly looked around and realized that a few of the remaining lunchtime patrons were beginning to dart curious looks their way.

"Chief," he warned quietly, managing to catch Sandburg's eye. Blair's eyes echoed the horror that Jim felt.

Visibly shaking himself, Blair reached out to clasp Cody's bicep. "Cody. Cody!" he whispered hoarsely. When he was sure he'd gotten the young man's attention, he asked, "Why didn't somebody do something, Cody? Why didn't you stop him?"

"I don't know about the others, but I couldn't stop dancing. It's like I was hypnotized or something. I knew I should stop what was happening, but I didn't seem to have any control over my body. It's like part of me was in control of myself, but the rest of me wasn't. I couldn't stop dancing to save Melissa's life," he concluded softly. "I couldn't stop dancing and she couldn't stop screaming."

Later, back at the station, Jim and Blair were once again in the conference room, staring at the map of Cascade and updating their captain on Cody's confession.

Jim could tell Blair was badly shaken by Cody's description of the events that night. Staring fixedly at the map, he was pale and quiet and occasionally shook his head as if still unable to grasp the details of Cody's gruesome tale.

Simon clenched his teeth around his unlit cigar and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. "God, what a story," he sighed.

Able to come up with no good response to the statement, Jim chose to remain silent.

"What else was he able to tell you?" Simon inquired, leaning forward again and using the momentum to fall back into the relative mental safety of a policeman's analytical mode.

Sensing that Blair was still too disturbed to talk openly about what they'd learned, Jim quickly stepped in to fill in the blanks. "When we asked Atkins why he didn't come forward immediately, instead of calling it in anonymously, he said he was afraid. Afraid of the Master, whoever in the hell he is, because he told him he'd kill him, too, if he told what he knew. And he was afraid he'd go to jail as some sort of accomplice. But he said he couldn't live with the guilt, so he had to tell us. I couldn't assure him that he wouldn't have to shoulder some legal responsibility in this whole mess, but I told him I'd see what I could do, given the likelihood of his being drugged."

"Where is he now?" Banks questioned.

"Downstairs in lockup for the moment. I didn't really know what to do with him," Jim admitted. "He was pretty much out of it after spilling his guts, so I was kind of afraid to leave him alone, and until we know who this 'Master' is, I'd feel better if we had him in custody as a material witness, anyway. I tried to get him to tell us who some of the other members were, but he clammed up on that. Said he didn't want to get anyone else in trouble for something that was his fault."

"How did the members of this cult know where the rituals were being held?" Banks turned to gaze at the map once again, as if it were a giant Ouija board waiting to magically spell out the answer for him.

"According to Cody, this Master character left notes and maps to the sites in their home mailboxes, but he says he never saw him do it and he doesn't have the notes anymore. They were instructed to burn them at each of the rituals. Cody says he never called them on the phone, so there aren't any phone records to trace or a caller ID to track down."

"Thorough," Simon growled. He pushed to his feet and moved to stare out the window into the bustling bullpen beyond. "Damn it, gentlemen! This guy is foiling this investigation at every turn, and I'm getting damn tired of it!"

Jim had just opened his mouth to echo the sentiment when Blair suddenly leapt out of his chair with an angry, "Sandburg, you're an idiot!" Startled, he and Banks watched as Blair stalked to the map, grabbed a marker and swiftly connected the locator dots on the map with bold, ragged lines. With seconds, the pattern became clear. The sites of the pet mutilations and Melissa Wakefield's murder formed a perfect inverted pentagram.

"It was staring me right in the face!" Blair declared, slamming the marker onto the table in disgust and turning to glare at the offending symbol. "Given the nature of this case, you'd think that would have been the first thing that would have occurred to me! Stupid!"

"Lighten up on yourself, Chief. Yours haven't been the only pair of eyes staring at this thing for the last few days and it didn't occur to any of the rest of us either," Jim pointed out, moving to stand by the map and tracing the pattern with a hyper-sensitive finger. He could almost feel the individual fibers that composed the paper and could detect the uneven edges of the marker lines. Feeling himself sinking into the sensations, he stepped back from the edge of the zone out and addressed the map. "Now that we see you, you son of a bitch, what in the hell can you tell us?" he murmured. "You might tell us approximately where the next ritual will occur, but we need you to tell us when." He sighed and turned, expecting to see his co-workers looking at him as if he'd lost his mind. Instead, he was surprised to note they, too, suddenly appeared to regard the map as if it were a living entity.

That evening found them no closer to an answer than they had been at lunchtime. Still fighting off the effects of his cold, Sandburg tired easily and had only halfheartedly protested when Jim suggested that they continue their study of the facts at home. Jim had then played his trump card and pointed out that Blair hadn't been able to spend much time visiting with his mother.

"Hi, Sweetie!" Naomi greeted her son with a hug and a kiss on the check as he entered the loft. "How do you feel today?" she asked, laying a hand across his forehead.

He smiled and gently pulled her hand away. "Tired," he admitted. "But, other than that, I'm feeling pretty good." He slid past her into the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice and noted an odd assortment of items scattered across the kitchen counter. "Uh, Mom? What's this stuff?"

"Oh, Darien wants to take me on a moonlight picnic this evening, isn't that romantic? I told him I'd go tonight, but that he had to let me spend some time with my son after that. You don't mind do you, Blair?"

"Of course not, Mom! Like I said, I'm kind of tired tonight anyway, so stretching out on the couch and imitating a slug sounds pretty good to me right now. You enjoy yourself and we'll talk tomorrow evening, okay? Maybe by then I'll have licked this stupid cold and I'll be better company."

Naomi kissed her son again and began gathering her picnic items as she declared, "You're wonderful company all the time, Blair! I'm glad you got home before Darien picked me up so I wouldn't have to leave you a note like I did before."

Jim, meanwhile, had been rummaging in the kitchen cabinets for Blair's favorite herbal tea. "Hey, Blair, where's that tea you like so much when you're sick?"

Surreptitiously grinning at his mother when she raised an eyebrow at Jim's solicitousness, Blair answered, "I'm out, Jim. I made the last Thursday evening and keep forgetting to get any more."

"How about I run out and get you some more?" Jim offered.

"Nah, that's okay, Jim. I can do without it."

"It's no trouble, Sandburg," Jim persisted. "You don't sleep well without it when you're sick and when you don't sleep well, I don't sleep well. I'll just call in a pizza, grab your tea on the way to pick up the pizza and be back before you know it."

"You know, Jim, at some point we really are going to have to buy groceries," Blair chuckled as Jim grabbed his keys from the basket and pulled the loft door open.

"I know that, Suzie Homemaker, but not tonight!" Then Jim was off on his mission.

Still looking at the closed door, Blair shook his head fondly as Naomi put her arms around him once again. "He takes good care of you," she pointed out.

"Yeah, he does," Blair acknowledged. "But tonight he's also in the market for a major dose of grease. As if he didn't have more than enough at lunch." Blair's face fell as he recalled their emotional and shocking lunch.

Naomi noticed and reached up to touch her son's cheek. "What's the matter, Sweetie?" she asked softly, concern clouding her normally vibrant eyes.

Without Blair really intending them to, the horrors of the day came tumbling out. It was an abridged tale, to be sure, but even the edited telling was a form of catharsis. Of course, there were confidential things about the case that he couldn't tell Naomi, and then there were the horrific details that he refused to tell her. But she got enough of the gist of his day to pull her son to her and hug him fiercely. "I'm so sorry, Baby. Look, when Darien gets here, why don't I tell him I've changed my mind? I'll just stay here with you."

"I really appreciate that, Mom, but no. I'll be okay. I think I really just need to eat some of that greasy pizza, drink some of my magic herbal tea and sleep for three days." He smiled to ease the worry reflected in his mother's eyes and reached out to tap her gently on the nose. "You go have a good time tonight. But, I am going to hold you to that promise to spend more time with me over the next few days."

Blair heard the knock on the door as Naomi hugged him again and promised, "I will, Sweetie." He pulled the door open and greeted his mother's date warmly. "Hey, Darien, c'mon in. Well, if the kitchen counter's any indication, Mom's more prepared for a week's hike than a moonlight picnic."

"Your mother is a very special woman, Blair." Darien's words were warm enough, but his voice was cold and his eyes seemed to bore into Blair's, making him shift uncomfortably.

"Yeah, well, you won't get any argument from me there."

Naomi pushed an armload of picnic items at Darien and chided, "Will you two stop talking about me as if I'm not here? It's enough to make a girl blush." She gathered her own armload of supplies and effectively ended the conversation by heading for the door.

"I'll see you again soon, Blair," Darien said, and Blair had the insane urge to ask him if that was a promise or a threat. Then he silently admonished himself for letting the events of the day get to him and closed the door behind the departing couple.

Thirty minutes later, when Jim returned with the pizza and tea, he found Blair stretched out on the sofa sound asleep, the contents of the Wakefield file once again scattered around him. "Guess he can sleep without that tea after all," Jim chuckled to himself, sliding the steaming pizza from the box onto a baking sheet and placing it in the oven, which Blair had obligingly turned to 'warm' before succumbing to the siren's call of the sofa. The loft quickly filled with the fragrance of oregano, tomatoes, sausage and cheese, which had teased Jim's senses all the way home from the pizza parlor.

Jim quietly ascended the stairs and removed his shoes. When he came back downstairs, he efficiently swept the paper melee back into the manila folder and moved it into the kitchen, out of harm's way. Taking care not to wake his partner before it was necessary, Jim cautiously pulled two plates from the cupboard, retrieved the pizza from the oven and doled out portions for each of them. Grabbing the plates, some napkins and a couple of beers, he set up an impromptu buffet on the coffee table next to the couch on which his partner slept. Then he reached out to gently roust Blair from his nap. "Time to eat, Chief. You'll sleep even better on a full stomach."

Blair grunted and then stretched himself into full wakefulness. "I wasn't asleep," he vowed, "I was just resting my eyes."

"If they'd been any more rested, Chief, you'd have been comatose," Ellison retorted, sliding a plate in front of his partner. "Eat."

Halfway through his first slice of pizza, Blair noticed that Jim seemed distracted by something. He'd eaten only a few bites of his own pizza slice and then had placed it carefully back on his plate, a pensive look on his face.

"What is it, Jim?" Blair asked, abandoning his dinner as well.

"It's that smell again. The one I picked up on Darien Cantwell the other night."

"So? He was here, you know, to pick Naomi up for their picnic," Blair explained patiently. "He got here about five minutes after you left, I guess. Why are you just now picking it up?"

"I'd been cooped up in the truck with oregano and Italian sausage," Ellison pointed out defensively. "My nose was still full of that scent when I came in. Then, when I put the pizza in the oven, it permeated the loft. I guess I've finally acclimated to the pizza scent enough to pick up the other one. And it's not really that big a deal, Chief, it's just that I know I've smelled that scent before," Jim insisted. He frowned and concentrated harder. Then his eyes widened and the face he turned to his partner was stark white.

"Jim! What's the matter, man?" Blair demanded, jumping to his feet and leaning over to grasp his partner's shoulder.

"Hazelnut," Jim said simply. "Cantwell smells like hazelnut."

"Like Simon's coffee?" Blair questioned, his weary mind still trying to get its figurative arms around Jim's statement.

"No," Jim said softly, his eyes never leaving Blair's face. "Like the Melissa Wakefield murder scene." He watched Blair's expression change from confusion to shock as the significance of the statement sank in. Blair dropped heavily back onto the couch. "Darien?" he queried in shock. "You think Darien has something to do with the murder?"

"I think it's got to be more than simply a coincidence, Chief, don't you?"

"C'mon, Jim!" Blair desperately tried to rationalize the coincidence. "The man runs a business that specializes in herbs and spices. Wouldn't it stand to reason that his body might assimilate some of the stronger scents in his shop?"

"I stopped by his shop to get your tea, Sandburg. I assume he'd already left to come here, because a young woman filled my order. I didn't smell hazelnut in his shop, Blair. I only smelled it on him!" His dinner forgotten, Jim strode into the kitchen to grab the Wakefield file. Pulling out the crime scene location map on which Blair had also superimposed the inverted pentagram, he returned to the living room. Blair followed his partner's actions with a worried eye but didn't move from his position on the couch.

Jim sat next to him, pushed the remnants of their dinner out of the way and laid the map across the coffee table. After taking a quick look, Jim pointed to a spot on the map. "You said you couldn't believe the pentagram was staring you in the face all this time, right Chief?" Blair nodded, leaning forward for a closer view of the map. "Well, I can't believe I missed this!" Jim's finger stabbed at a point on the map. Blair was forced to don his glasses to read the tiny type that designated the streets, then he stood to get an even closer look. His breath caught in his throat as he realized where Jim was pointing. In the center of the pentagram, shining like a beacon now that they knew that it was there, was the intersection of Prospect Avenue and Vista Drive. The corner on which The Olde World Spice and Herb Shoppe sat.

"Oh, my God, Jim," Blair breathed in horror. "He's with my mom!"

Naomi Sandburg and Darien Cantwell walked hand-in-hand through the dense forest, following a trail only faintly visible in the dwindling evening twilight.

"It's not much further, my dear," Darien assured Naomi, steadying her when she stumbled over an unseen tree root. "And the view will be well worth the walk. I promise."

"I'm all right, Darien," Naomi smiled as they resumed their walk. "I can't wait to see this wonderful clearing you've described."

"Yes," Darien Cantwell said softly, glancing away so Naomi couldn't see his sneer in the fading light. "It's to die for."