01x05 - Sacrifice

[bunniefuu]

Previously on Witchblade: How do you like staring into your own future, Sara?

The Witchblade took hold of her, shook her around discarded her like a damaged doll.

The blade weaves a web, unbreakable.

It's orchestrating your life now.

- Who are you?

- Gabriel Bowman.

Just dropping off an item, delivering goods.

So nothing happens by chance.

- What are you doing here?

- What are you doing here?

I came here to learn about this thing.

They say it gives you all sorts of powers.

Uh, strength and agility, clairvoyance, care to confirm or deny?

Everything in your life connected your heart, your dreams, your work.

Sara! It draws to itself, to you only what you need to teach you to achieve its ends.

Hell, what's one more curse, right?

Sara Pezzini, a New York City detective drawn into a chance encounter with a supernatural w*apon.

Each day, each mystery, each encounter will ultimately reveal her true destiny.

All human skills are perishable.

Just like fruit.

You leave them on the shelf too long, they rot.

They decay.

They stink.

I'm sure you're trying to tell me something important here.

I am.

Homicide will consume as much of your life as you allow it to.

Ah, you mean, like, be sure to leave room for a love life?

I meant, don't forget to spend more time at the gym and the sh**ting range.

Yeah.

Talk to me.

White female, 40 to 45.

Cord ligatures around the neck indicate strangulation but there's no petechial hemorrhaging in her eyes.

You don't see that every day.

And check this.

Pez, you okay?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm fine.

Never seen anyone stabbed like this.

Stabbed?

It's more like Like it's staked.

Through the heart.

Vampires?

Why don't you go interview the person who found the body?

Vampires.

This is a weird one.

What time did you discover the body?

Six-seventeen a.

m.

Scared the rats off the body, secured the scene, didn't touch a thing.

- Nice job, Mister?

- Officer.

Brian Reilly.

Two L's.

Bunker Force Security, Badge 412.

Iona, no.

Excuse me.

Iona, don't go in there.

- Brian, what happened?

- Nothing, let's get you out of here.

The boys at the mission are freaked.

- Is it anybody we know?

- No - Excuse me, miss.

- Iona McCleary.

I run the soup kitchen up on Claire Street.

I may want a list of names, your customers last night.

No way, my mission is a sanctuary.

And my men are homeless.

It doesn't make them evil.

Hey, hey, let's just step inside where it's a little warmer.

Come on.

Hey, could you get me a picture of this?

ASSISTANT: Sure, Pez.

Rune, Gaelic, old.

- Can you read it?

- No.

- Who can?

- Uh, college profs, druids, Wicca people.

- You know any?

- Hmm, maybe.

It was found scratched on the wall at a m*rder scene.

A possible human sacrifice.

Oh, get out.

Oh, um, I'll ask around.

Do that.

Anything on our other deal?

Uh-huh.

It was once in the private collection of Adolf h*tler.

He was an avid collector of objets de puissance.

- Objects of power.

- Right.

Uh, Holy Grail, True Cross, Shroud of Turin.

And this?

Yeah, rumor has it.

But, it was stolen by one of his own SS lieutenants to give to his mistress.

So is this cool or what?

Whoa, somebody's cranky.

- What's your problem, Pez?

- No problem.

Perishable skills, just keeping sharp.

There's other skills you need much more urgently.

I sense a lesson coming.

Empathy, intuition, relaxation, breathing.

- Breathing?

- Yeah.

I got a back caseload that sucks.

You're gone.

I got a rookie partner believes in vampires.

- Breathing.

- Exactly.

You're in heaven, Danny.

I'm in New York.

You try to get empathy in this town, you get your ass kicked.

And here I am trying What?

You got a visitor.

- Conchobar.

- Concha-what?

He's an alt-Irish rocker.

A poet.

Bono?

The Pogues?

No, the guy's an original, sells out every show on word of mouth alone.

However, I have tickets.

So dress down, chief.

- Casual or skanky?

- Oh, surprise me.

Oh, hey.

I know you.

Listen, I gotta go.

I'll catch you later, okay?

Hey, did I see you here last week?

I thought so, yeah.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Good song.

Good band.

I know you.

Sara Pezzini.

- Now you know me.

- No, we've met.

We'll figure out where.

- You don't like beer?

- I don't like mud.

Aye, a scrappy one.

You have no idea.

You are, like, so great.

I can't believe you're not, like, on MTV or something.

I mean, really, you are awesome.

It's rude to intrude when a man's talking to his wife.

Oh.

Right, sorry.

- Your wife?

- Future.

My, aren't we confident?

You too?

Conchobar, the symbol on the banner, that's your name, right?

- You read runes?

- No, just that one.

It was found carved on the wall at the scene of a recent m*rder.

I haven't k*lled anyone lately.

- So, what was it doing there?

- Same thing it's doing over there and there and back there.

I hear I'm all over town.

So where did she die?

Why "she"?

Give me a moment.

A new tune, then?

Unfinished as yet, but I'll give you what I have.

An ancient tale and a tragic one, like all things Irish.

# Bid Goddess rise, from mist of memory # # Rise, the fair Cathain # # In battle the equal of every man # # And every love disdained # # Her heart was locked # # In a roundtower's keep # # And none that gate could unbar # # Till rose a prince in Ulster's east # # His name was Conchobar # # By day she taught him feats of arms # # With sword and mace and bow # # By night they kindled passion's fire # # That only lovers know # # So king and warrior thus were joined # # In battles, blood and love # # The throne belonged to Conchobar # # To Cathain, the Witch's Glove # # Dark rivals rose against the king # # To challenge for his throne # # All Ulster in the balance hung # # Without its champion # A druid he sent to sacrifice # # An offering to Cathain # # A maiden fair with flaxen hair # # Not once, but two-times slain # # Two-times slain # Your case is not a homicide.

Not a homicide?

That's right.

The freak strangled her with a silk cord, captain.

Then rammed some kind of sandstone spike through her chest.

After she was dead.

Your DB was a Jane Doe.

Homeless woman stolen from the morgue.

What?

You get this from the coroner's report?

That's right, but you should have caught it at the scene.

You've got theft of a body, illegal sale of human remains ritual mutilation.

But, my apologies to the Village Voice, no human sacrifice.

Well, maybe he didn't k*ll this time.

But he will.

When he does, we go to work.

Until then, you move on to something else.

That's a big mistake.

Excuse me.

Read this.

- "Captain.

" - Yeah.

On your desk it reads "Detective.

" - I know that, I'm just saying that - I know what you're saying.

You know what I'm saying?

Yes, captain.

Breathe, just breathe.

- What?

- I have information you need.

This is my private phone number.

It pertains to your current case.

I have 50 current cases.

Ritual m*rder, mutilation, druidic sacrifice.

Big international mogul like you must have better things to do than to watch my every move.

Don't flatter yourself, Sara, I read about it in the Voice.

How fast can you come over?

He'll be with you shortly.

"Sea god's daughter, Cathain, was stronger than any man in battle.

Yet she lived alone in far Connemara and fought off all who dared approach.

" At last, the crown prince, Conchobar persuaded her to teach him in the ways of the sword and the bow.

And nightly, he tutored her in the arts of love.

When at last he ascended the throne Conchobar begged Cathain to lead his armies.

And for love, she agreed vanquishing all and uniting the kingdom.

An absorbing tale?

Nice pictures.

You said you had something for me, something about my case.

Not everyone can read a language dead a thousand years.

What do you think?

What do I think?

You spike my private phone number, lure me here on business and actually ask me what I Everything in your life connected now.

The blade weaves a web.

Cathain was an ancient Irish w*r goddess.

But her legends must have some basis in fact considering she wore the Lann Cailleach.

Gaelic.

"The Blade of the Witch.

" Cut to the sacrifice.

It is said that if Cathain can be resurrected she'll reunite the scattered Celtic tribes and lead them to their rightful glory.

If a worthy offering is made.

A worthy human offering.

So that's my guy's motive?

Perhaps.

A less devout druid might summon you Excuse me, summon Cathain with darker purpose say, to steal the Lann.

Cathain is a tragic figure.

So be careful, Sara.

You know what they say about history.

JAKE: Her name's Debra Mason.

Found her purse in the gutter outside.

C.

A.

Suspects the autopsy will show dr*gs or alcohol in her system before she was k*lled.

Yeah, let's hope so.

So much for our non-case.

This girl was alive and well last night.

I saw her at the show.

Conchobar.

Let's go get this guy.

I'll go.

You go to the morgue.

Aren't we supposed to be working together?

Somebody sold the first body to whoever k*lled this one.

If we find one, we find the other.

Okay, maybe, but still Talk to Vicky Po in Forensics.

She digs you.

- She does?

- Yeah.

She'll tell you who the smart money likes for body theft.

While you go after Conchobar.

Gee, rookie, you trying to protect me?

- What time is it?

- Six.

Morning or night?

Good party?

Oh, yeah.

So plenty of people to confirm that you were here last night.

Nope.

It was a party of one.

That's why it was good.

There's been another k*lling.

Right out of your song.

Druid sacrifice.

Uh, "A maiden fair with flaxen hair, not once but two-times slain.

" You hear a song once, you know it by heart.

Your mark was found on the wall.

Again.

I can't prove I didn't do it, if that's what you're hoping.

Now, why would I hope that?

In your song, the king spurns the warrior babe till he needs her to defend his throne.

She won't return so a druid offers sacrifices to win her back.

- Is that about the size of it?

- You must be Irish.

- Half.

- And your daddy told you bedtime stories?

Not this one.

How does it end?

Don't know.

Can't tell you till I finish writing the song.

The Witch's Glove in your song, what did that mean?

Part of Cathain's legend.

She wore a gauntlet.

Made her invincible in battle.

But it also cut her off from the rest of the world.

So, detective, do you think you've got your man?

Right in here, Mr.

Vaughn.

Fricking grave robber.

I didn't do nothing.

I don't give a rat's ass about you.

I wanna know who bought the body.

I can't tell you, I - That's police brutality.

- Not even close.

But keep jerking me around.

All right, all right, all right.

I don't know his name.

He caught me outside the morgue one night, flashed a big roll, told me what he wanted.

You gave it to him?

She's a dead wino headed for the furnace.

I got kids to feed.

Live ones.

Would you know him if you saw him again?

Would that get you off my ass?

A man could have dreams about being arrested by you.

The handcuffs, assume the position.

Do you flirt every cop who arrests you?

Aye, do you flirt with every suspect?

- I'm not flirting.

- True enough.

It isn't really flirting if you intend following through, right?

In that case, I'm not flirting either.

Pezzini, meet your necro.

Is this your buyer, Mr.

Vaughn?

Wh?

What do you want me to say?

JAKE: We want you to tell the truth.

Truth?

Truth is, it was dark.

The guy wore a sweatshirt with a hood.

I never saw his face, only his cash.

Describe body type, height, weight.

Could have been him.

But it could have been someone else.

The business we was doing, you don't wanna look too close.

All right, you give my partner a detailed description.

Then you do not leave town.

When you help us nail this bastard, we'll consider what we're gonna do to you.

Jake, get him out of here.

I got it.

Come on.

What about me, Sara?

Am I free to go?

For now.

You want me to follow him?

No, no.

I got him covered.

Morning.

- Something eating you?

- No.

Good, so where are we?

I've been here all night questioning that lowlife Vaughn running down records, doing scutwork.

How was your evening?

- Uh, short, I lost him.

- You lost him?

A senior Homicide cop can't track a ranked civilian?

So the senior Homicide detective went and waited outside his apartment where he showed up a short time after, turned out the lights and went to bed.

Alone.

Smartest thing a guilty man can do.

Ooh, tell me an all nighter got you something more than that.

Okay.

Two bodies, two different warehouses.

Uh-huh.

Owned by the same company.

That entire stretch of riverfront.

Interesting.

Both sites guarded by the same security company maybe even the same guard, who kind of fits the description.

Rock 'n' roll.

Let's go talk to him.

I already have.

While you were busy.

Okay, Jake.

- This is personal, isn't it?

- No.

It is.

This is you and me.

Hey, you were the one who told me to go get a love life.

JAKE: I never said that.

JAKE: When was the last time you saw Brian Reilly?

He stopped by yesterday before he quit to say goodbye.

Quit?

He was afraid they'd fire him after those killings.

Said quitting would look better on his record.

JAKE: Well, his office doesn't know he quit.

In fact, they're holding a paycheck.

Brian Reilly's a good guy.

He's brought men in when they're too drunk to stand.

And helped me out when they got too rough but careful never to hurt them.

See, Brian just hasn't found the Savior yet but he acts more of a Christian than a lot I know.

Do you happen to know his religious affiliation?

Wounded Irish-Catholic.

I see them all the time.

They try all sorts of strange paths before they find their way back to the way.

- What kinds of strange paths?

- I told you, officer, he's a good guy.

Working down here, you develop a nose for predators.

And I'm telling you, he's not one.

"King Conchobar could not hope to keep the throne without Cathain's skill in battle so he sent a druid to summon her back.

The druid first sacrificed an old woman to the goddess but Cathain was unmoved.

Next, the druid sacrificed Cathain's own sister, the fair, vain Deirdre.

And he slew her twice strangling her with a silken cord, then stabbing her with a dagger of stone.

Still Cathain would not return to fight the kingdom.

" And they all lived happily ever after.

The last page of this chapter, it's missing.

You're kidding.

You're right.

Hmm, pity.

I believe the next chapter pertains to the death of Conchobar.

- He dies?

- Mm, rather painfully, I fear.

You do know that my m*rder case is following exactly along the lines of this story?

Of course.

I called you, remember?

The last victim's name was Debra, not Deirdre, but close.

And she was both strangled and stabbed.

- Imagine that.

- And you cut out the last page of the story?

Deface a priceless, one-of-a-kind masterpiece?

What kind of monster do you think I am?

I'm working on it.

I'm sure this happened long ago.

This book is centuries old.

This cut looks fresh to me.

How can I argue?

You are the detective.

Where's your partner?

I owe her an apology.

Oh, we're just splitting up to cover more territory.

But she's your training officer.

You guys should be joined at the hip.

Well, she's got her own way of doing things.

Oh, yeah.

So do you.

Nice work on that suspect, Vaughn, last night.

Yeah, well, sometimes you have to pretend to use a little force.

Yeah, I saw you pretend two or three times.

But that's all right, I got your back.

I mean, this case of yours, you know, this isn't some who-cares ghetto drive-by.

I mean, this bastard that we're looking for is out there k*lling women.

Not on our watch.

Am I right?

Right.

SECURITY: Hey.

- Hey, gotta talk to him.

I need a favor.

Consorting with the cops.

My ma would be so pleased.

Could you be serious for one minute?

Does this mean you trust me, detective?

Yes.

In that case, I'm at your service.

I told you I got a m*rder*r taking his cues from the lyrics of your new song.

- I want you to sing the last verse tonight.

- Sara.

We'll pick a place, we'll write something, a method Sara, I respect what you're attempting, but I can't do that.

- Sure you can.

- I can't.

I'm a bard, Sara.

This may sound pompous but the blood of ancient kings and singers runs in my veins.

You're right, that does sound pompous.

Why do you think I sing here after midnight for beer and twopence?

Why do I turn down record deals?

And this song, this tale, is ancient.

Sacred.

I just can't just abase it.

- Not even to save a life?

- For any reason.

Ladies and gentlemen, here he is, Conchobar.

But, uh, cheer up.

This famous missing verse you're after, the one with Cathain?

I finished it last night.

Wait, no one else has heard it?

Not unless they came to sound check.

# But Cathain, she would ne'r return # # To fight the king's own w*r # # Till the druid did a virgin bring # # To Connemara far # # The fair Iona, pure and sweet # # On the self-same table lain # # And by the Corchlach's hungry stone # # The innocent was slain # Iona.

Hey, hey, hey # # Hey, hey, hey # Brian?

Hello, Iona.

I'm sorry I disappeared on you.

I heard you stood up to the cops for me.

Uh, I've been thinking about a lot of things.

What sort of things?

Oh, you know, life, death, you, the Savior.

- Do you have time to talk?

- Of course.

The name's Iona, l-O-N-A.

She was at the first crime scene, right?

Yeah, Iona McCleary.

She runs a street mission on Jones Street, why?

She's our next victim.

He's gonna choose one of his two original altars.

Why would he risk that?

I'll tell you later.

You take the first one, I'll take the second.

- Be there in 10.

- Make it five.

- Brian, where are we going?

- Right over here.

This place scares me, Brian.

It's not this place you should be scared of, Iona.

No! No, no! Bid goddess rise, from mists of memory Rise the fair Cathain To raise a newfound Irish king To wear the Witch's Glove The fair Iona, pure and sweet Upon the table lain And by the Corchlach's hungry stone The innocent was slain Stop.

- Who are you?

- I am who you think I am.

- Liar.

- You summoned me.

Not yet, the ritual's incomplete.

I heard your call.

You want me to train you to fight as I once trained the king.

Until Ulster's sons with sacrifice Bid her return once more That's right.

You want past glories restored.

Perhaps you even want this.

Here I am.

Let Iona live.

- Liar! - No.

Impostor! Spare her life.

This I command.

You?

That sh*t, you all right?

- It wasn't you?

- No.

They're in there.

One down, one alive.

Go cover.

All right.

- Go on, champ, take a bow.

- For what?

Hey, not hogging the credit's fine.

Taking it when it's due is also fine.

It's not due.

Look, I'm sorry I doubted you last night.

- Ah, forget it.

- Good work, Pezzini.

I'm not quite finished, sir.

Hey, your perp had a victim bound and gagged and ready for the blade.

- You saved a life.

- Yeah, but not his.

I'll make that trade any day of the year.

Congratulations.

- What?

- Uh, in here.

The last wearer of the Witchblade was named Elizabeth Bronte.

She was an American spy in World w*r II.

She's a real Mata Hari.

She wormed her way into h*tler's inner circle, took a lover: An SS colonel named Rolf Germer.

Who stole the Witchblade for her.

You already told me this.

Wait, it gets weirder.

Letters indicate that Elizabeth Bronte's intel was key in breaking the Enigma code.

- Which won the w*r.

- Well, which certainly helped.

She must have been a hell of a woman.

So where's the weird part?

This is Elizabeth Bronte.

That's you, Sara Pezzini.

That's this.

You wanna explain this to me?

I wish I could.