Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The air was cold and the street was filled with puddles. The orange light from the lamp post shone on the man walking down the street. The smoke from his cigarette follows him dutifully. His steps are soft and his heels click-clack on the sidewalk.

It was late night and the area seemed deserted.

He raises the coat flap to protect his face from the cold wind. Then the man stops suddenly. The air stalls and the city falls into supernatural silence.

“John. It's been a while,” The gargoyle says.

“Hello, mate. How's it been?”

“Same old. Same old. But things are heating up down here. I've been hearing about apparitions from my pals.”

“And that's my business why?”

“Don't play. Ya know I'm too old for this. My patience has long gone.”

“Fine. What can I do then?”

“I think things that weren't supposed to leave their bounds are spreading through the countryside.”

“Things? Better be more specific, mate.”

“I'm not sure. That's your specialty anyway, not mine.”

“Great.”

“They are fucking with the balance, ya know? Nobody is happy when that happens. It messes with their business, attracts attention from the mortals, and brings forth those who should lay dormant.”

“Demons?”

“Don't think so.”

“Brilliant. I love walking into a fight blind.”

“I think whatever it is has a natural predator, or something. They have been disappearing as fast as they've been appearing.”

“So something bad brought something worse?”

The gargoyle nods. “I don't know what it is. Never seen things like this before, nor have my pals.”

“Great. Amazing. Even better.” He throws the bud of a cigarette on the floor and pops another one out. “Want some?”

“Nah, I don't fuck with addictive substances. That shit can kill ya, ya know?”

“Suit yourself,” He says. The flame illuminates his face, bright blue eyes, stubble and soft lips, and then it's gone.

“Ya know ya gotta look into it, John.”

“I don't got to do nothing, Barnaby.”

“But ya will.”

The man doesn't answer. “Bye, Barnaby.”

He turns and leaves. The night hugs him, completely engulfing his form, until the only thing that is visible is the ember and smoke.

“We are fucked,” Barnaby says to the darkness.

The darkness does not answer.

At home, John Constantine flips open a newspaper.

Chapter Text

At this point people and the press were already surrounding the crime scene. Multiple ambulances had been deployed to the area and more were on the way. Cops tried to keep everyone under control and grab all the contact info they could. No one noticed the man in a trench coat.

Yet another witness was released and had to be escorted by the police to avoid the vultureous journalists. Not a single person saw the yellow line get lifted and paid no mind to the man who walked into the scene. He moved through the cops, unseen, stopping only when spotting a witness.

The poor girl was around 17. Her hair had recently been dyed black, the paint ran down her neck from sweat, her dark make-up had been ruined too. She was wearing a very mall-goth outfit. She had sat down in the world's saddest lawn chair, the iron had bent awkwardly and the girl had to lean to the left so as not to fall.

“Tough day, luv?”

She looked up, startled, and shook her head when he offered her a cigarette. He shrugged and lighted his.

“What happened here?”

“I already told the cops what I know.”

“I bet you didn’t. You seem like a smart girl. You know the pigs wouldn’t believe you, but I will.”

She stared at him, surprised. “You’re not a cop?”

“Nah. I’m more of a… specialist.”

“Like forensics?”

He did not look like CSI. If she didn’t see him standing on this side of the yellow line she would have thought he was a random drunkard. 

“Sure, luv. Now tell me what you saw.”

She looks at him and then away. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Then tell me what you remember.”

She hesitates. “I was at school. My friend was showing me this new singer she was obsessed with, afterwards everything was blurry. I remember opening my eyes and standing in there,” she pointed at the club behind her. “I have no idea how I got there, or whose clothes are these, or what I was doing there. I do not use drugs.”

“I believe ya. Keep going.”

“I was standing there and… I could hear a noise, like someone unplugged an electric guitar. Suddenly a fight broke out in the front. I think someone was fighting the singer. I don’t know. I was way in the back, so I couldn’t see very well. And then that thing that holds the stage lights came down on the stage and everyone was running.”

“I see. Thanks, luv.”

“Do you know what happened?” She asked, hopeful.

“No clue.”

He paused before entering the club. “Any idea who the singer your friend wanted to show you?”

“Yes! It was such an easy name to remember. I think she even sang it in the song a couple of times. It's…” She frowned. “I could have sworn I remembered it.”

He nodded and walked in.

The club was a wreck, but most of it came from the people rushing towards the exit. It was easy to tell because some detective had left a block of notes on top of the counter.

Nice, he thought.

Besides the information about the wreck, there were also notes on other clues. For example, the cables that held the stage lights up weren’t cut. They snapped. The bartender, the owner and none of the witnesses seemed to remember who was performing that night. Or what had happened in the last few days. Typically the bar would tell the musicians to bring their instruments, but there were no signs of the drums, or guitar, or bass, or even a single triangle. Many of the witnesses had been reported missing previously, though none of them were missing for longer than 30 hours. Many of the witnesses were dehydrated or hadn’t eaten in hours, but that was normal in concerts, specially amongst stupid teenagers.

That last part wasn’t in the notes, but he knew it from experience.

He dropped the notes back on the counter and walked around. The cops were still ignorant of his presence. So John climbed on the stage.

It was a funny feeling, to be back at the stage, even if for the wrong reasons. If he closed his eyes he could’ve almost heard Gaz’s voice or Veronica’s. But they were long gone, buried an ocean away from this particular stage. Dille-dalling about the past wouldn’t help nobody, but the stage always tugged at the strings of John’s old coal heart.

The glass in the lights had broken, which wasn’t odd, but even the light bulbs seemed to have exploded. It was the case with all lights near the stage. The place seemed prepared to host a rock band, with all the right equipment for at least two guitars, a bass, and the drums. But, besides the equipment, there seemed to be no proof that said instruments were ever on that stage. There was no water bottle around or any sign that there was ever a water bottle. If you’re singing for an emo/rock/mall-goth band you’d need water with you. John also knew that from experience.

There were no signs of a fight either. A concert fight is very different from other kinds of fights. You’re typically surrounded by people and if you were to attack a member of the band there was surely at least one fan in the audience who would intervene. There should be at least a broken bottle. A broken anything. John had a lot of experience with shitty rock bands, emos and mall-goths, but especially with concert fights.

He climbed down from the stage, not letting nostalgy stall him any further, and swiftly made way towards the room in the back. He waited for some of the cops to leave and walked in, closing the door behind himself. John sat down in the very old chair, and put his feet on the table. He went through some of the papers from the owner, before booting up the computer. The password was written on a post-it note stuck to the side of the screen. Fucking idiots.

He found the footage, which thankfully hadn’t been deleted, and watched the events of last night.

People started filling in around 6 PM, which explained, more or less, the 30 hours missing from these people’s lives. To his surprise the crowd was quite eclectic, with people every age and every social status. They were all wearing matching T-shirts. Though John couldn’t make out the name, he could see the logo was some girl with green hair and corpse paint. Not very original, but bands like this hardly are.

Around 10 PM, the band entered the stage and the recording became corrupted. The video had no sound, but the computer screeched unnaturally. John closed the video.

Afterwards, John left the city. Whatever it was that had caused that was long gone now, there was no point in sticking around.

It seemed to have a similar M.O. of demons or faeries, thralling people and sucking their energy. But with none of the evidence that usually came with those. Demons were specially messy beings, but whoever had fed here had left not a single evidence behind. On the contrary, the lack thereof was the biggest evidence he had. That and a poster he had found folded into one of the drawers of the office at the club for a singer named Ember.

Chapter Text

to Someone else, 06/10/2013

Chapter Text

“Someone down there really hates me,” he joked. The streets of New Orleans were always beautiful, but always attracted the occult. Which is why I’m here, I suppose.

It seemed to have hit the entire city at once this time. Instead of turning them into emos, it spawned magical objects around town. It wasn’t that weird of a thing to happen in New Orleans. But the beings of the city were too old and experienced to ever do something so out in the open like this, specially something that could start a fire so close to the Houle Forest¹.

This time the occultist did not have to go to a specific place to investigate. Just about any street had people that had been affected by the weird magic or seen something out of the ordinary. If he chose to walk down Bourbon street, it was for purely selfless reasons and had nothing to do with the bars. Besides, it’s not as if he is even allowed in most of those. The Lafittes certainly want him dead, while Catherine might just want him.

He walked right in the middle of a bachelorette party, who was dancing in the middle of the street underneath the neon lights. His coat got tangled with the beads around the neck of the bride-to-be pulling them closer than what’s proper. John smiled at her.

“That’s quite the way to say hello, luv.”

The bride-to-be blushed.

“Sorry, I’m a bit drunk.”

“Yeah, I can see that, luv” he pointed at the big green cup with a swirly straw. “Is that pina colada I smell?”

“Do you want some?” She asked boldly.

“If you’re offerin'.”

He leaned towards her to sip from the straw, keeping eye contact. Her friends whistled behind them.

“Delicious,” he said. The bride-to-be swallowed dry. ““Right then, let’s see if we can sort this out. Not that I’m complaining about being tied to a lovely lady like yourself, but I reckon there’s some bloke out there who might not be too chuffed about it.”

She nodded laughing and helped him.

Once he was free, he turned around to face the other girls. “So, is this the ladies' first time in New Orleans?”

They jumped at the opportunity to gush about the city, their plans for the next few days, the wedding and just the type of sordid gossip Constantine enjoyed. When they seemed to have gotten used to his presence, he asked. “Have you seen anything odd lately?”

The mood shifted quickly. The bride-to-be, who had kept her lips wrapped around the tip of the straw the entire time, started chewing on it nervously. Some of them shifted awkwardly.

“Oh, you can tell me,” he smiled at the future bride, “I’m a Scorpio.”

No, he was not.

She looked amongst her friends and leaned in to whisper. “Earlier today something weird happen'd with a friend of ours.”

“Is she not here?”

She shook her head. “No, she had to go to the hospital. She passed out.”

“What happened?”

“Everything was fine for most of the day, but during lunch she was acting weird. And then, half way through it, she turned into me! Like, an actual perfect clone of me, with my voice and everythin'. I felt in an episode of The Twilight Zone.”

“I see.”

“And then it got even more freakier,” One of her friends interrupted. “She started to freak out because she forgot her own name.”

“And then?”

“Well, we all had a pretty big fight. But one hour later she was back to normal, then she passed out. She said she didn’t remember what happened.”

“Tell me, luv. This mate of yours, was she jealous of you?”

“Well…”

“Yes!” Another one of the girls said.

“Jenny!”

“What? We all know it’s true. She had a crush on Colton before you guys started datin', she always copies your hair styles and she constantly makes fun of the way you talk! That’s jealousy if I ever seen it.”

“She is not that bad! Really, she doesn't mean any…” she turned around and found Constantine gone, “harm.”

 Walking around and talking to people he was able to come to a few conclusions.

1. This being was a feeder;
2. Everyone affected had wished for something;
3. None of the wishes had happened as people imagined it.

It seemed like standard genie behaviour, if Aladdin was a biography. However, real Jinni were not like in Disney movies. Much like christian demons, you could command them by knowing their names or by worshipping them. The idea of genies in bottles comes from jinni kafir being sealed away to prevent any possible harm they would try to commit.

It reminds him of Garry and Mnemoth. Only an idiot would put a demon in a bottle and only an even bigger one would keep the bottle. Bollocks, Gaz, why do you always ruin everything?

Regardless, whatever had done all of this had been posing as a genie or was a different type of evil all together.

John Constantine knocked at a red door in the French Quarter. They were far away from the port but he could smell the river and the fishes. It's not all that bad, London always smelled like piss and mistakes and he still loved her. 

John could swear that standing there again, after so many years, did not evoke any type of feelings. Then the door opened to reveal a little black girl, no older than 10. She had a round chubby face, blue eyes darkening with the weight of her scowl, her hair was pulled up and she was in a school uniform.

“Are you Constantine?” She asked.

He nodded. “Is Marie here?”

“ Oui, Maman has been expecting you,” She had that weird accent that only bilingual children had.

“Maman?” He asked. “Marie has a daughter?”

The little girl rolled her eyes. “Get a grip, mister.”

She turned around, disappearing inside the house. He walked in, a bit out of his element and closed the door behind them. John followed the little girl upstairs.

“ Maman, cet idiot est là.”

“ Céline! Ne l'appelle pas comme ça!”

“ But he is!”

“Céline, go change your clothes,” the woman's french accent was much more prominent.

The little girl crossed her arms and pouted. She mumbled something Constantine could not hear and left, leaving the two of them alone.

Marie was sitting on a small couch seemingly losing a battle against a needle, a thread and button. Her beautiful hair was braided, with a couple of trinkets adorning it. She wore a golden floral dress, making her look even more so like a goddess. The dress ended just below her knee, revealing a metal prosthetic leg.

John avoided looking directly at it. It made him feel cold and it was rude to stare. She could have put some spikes on it, make it punk at least, instead of the clinical metal.

“Hello, Manon. Long time no see.”

She pursed her lips. “John.”

Marie was quite a talented prescient and had been born in Marseille, France. After a bad run with a hunger demon, and an eventful meeting with Constantine, she had moved to New Orleans. Though, last time he had seen her she did not have a daughter.

“Should I be worried about those blue eyes of hers?” He asked half-joking, gesticulating towards where the little girl had absconded. John ignored the knot on his throat.

Marie fixed him a glare. “Many men have blue eyes.”

He shrugged.

“What do you want, Constantine?”

What’s all this, then? Can’t I pop ‘round to see an old mate?”

“Non.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. I was wondering if you knew what had caused the commotion around the city today.”

“I see the future, not the past.”

“Well, you knew I was on my way, Manon. Is it really so strange that I might think you’ve got a bit more up your sleeve?”

She rolled her eyes. “I saw a woman. Dark 'air and red eyes. She was mad, but to no one in particular.”

“Right. And did you see what happened to her?”

Marie shook her head. “I saw green. Neon green. Infinite neon green. Extending from where you stand until the end of the universe in swirls.”

“In swirls?”

She nodded. “There was someone. A person. They took 'er, I think. She did not want to go.”

He nodded.

They stood there in silence for a moment. Constantine looking through the window and Marie sewing the buttons of a shirt.

“Manon…” He started.

“Non,” She stopped him. “You do not have to say it. I know.”

She looked up at him and he stared at her.

“You already carry enough guilt, John. You need not to blame yourself for what ‘appened to me.”

“Manon, come off it, be serious. It was my fault, plain and simple. I should’ve handled that whole mess better, I should’ve—well, you know.”

“John. I knew it.”

“What?”

“I… I saw what would 'appen.”

“Wait? What?”

“I knew that I would lose my leg if I stayed with you that night.”

“Why? Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you warn me?”

She shrugged. “If I 'ad, you would 'ave left. Earlier, I mean. You would 'ave left earlier.”

“That's bollocks!”

She sighed. “I planned to tell you this a long time ago, but you disappeared. It 'urts to walk now, so I decided to wait until you came to me. I did not know you'd take so long.”

“But… What the hell, Manon?”

“I know, I know,” She raised her hands in surrender. “I know it is a weird choice to make. A leg for being with you just a little longer. But down that path I saw 'appiness for myself.”

“God's, when I said that earlier I was joking. Is… is Céline actually my…?”

Marie laughed at that.

“Non, non! I met 'er father later. Actually, you've met 'im. 'E was the nurse you handed me to that day.”

“Oh. Great. I mean, I'm glad… You know what? You know what I mean.”

She smiled at him. “So, don't feel guilty about me no more, mon coeur .”

He nodded and smiled. “Whatever you wish, luv.”

The weight of his chest didn’t feel any lighter, though. John Constantine always felt as if dragging around a ball and a chain.

He paused. “I suppose I should get out of your hair.”

John turned around, but she grabbed his hand. “Wait! There is something else I wish to tell you.”

“What?”

“The blind Greenwich witch awaits you.”

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes Constantine wishes he had learned music theory and put some effort on his music career. Then, perhaps, he would not have to go through this bullshit. The rain in New York wasn’t that bad, but the buzzing feeling of magic was giving him a headache.

The witch’s lair was one of those basement houses that went by unnoticed by the passersby. He could have gone to her store, but that place is filled with seals and different types of magic that would probably pulverise John Constantine on sight. And this time he hadn’t even done anything! 

He walked down the stairs and knocked on her door. The door opened almost immediately. Madame Xanadu stood there sporting a scowl.

“No. Go away. I don’t like you,” She said.

“I’ve been told by another psychic that you were waiting for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wrong. I am expecting someone else.”

“Well, let’s expect them together. Preferably, inside.”

The inside of her house was not much different than her store, though it was certainly cleaner. Not that he judged her much for it, she had an employee that was supposed to take care of that. She had a great love for trinkets, filling every corner of her house with them, some were magic, but most were just rubbish decor.

Her walls were covered in tapestry, her cabinets had expensive wine, and her shelves had ancient vases. Constantine sat down on a velvet chair in her living room across from the couch where she sat down. She was drinking some kind of herbal tea.

Madame Xanadu was possibly one of the most powerful psychics he knew. She was also the most annoying one. It’s what happens when you give someone almost unlimited power and immortality.

“Have you been to the homeland recently?” She asked.

And that was the one thing that united them. Their inability to go back to England.

“Not in a few years. You?”

“Not yet.”

“Planning a trip home?”

She laughed. “You’re cruel.”

He shrugged.

“You know I have not a home to return to.”

“Camelot might be gone, but I’m sure the land still is there,” He argued, lamely.

“It’s not the same.”

He quietly agreed and she did not say anything else. Liverpool had been a very different kind of home, but London… God, London was as far gone to him as Camelot was to her. It was mostly fine, but some days it would rain in New York and he could almost pretend… Nevermind that.

The rain hit the window and someone in the apartment above walked particularly loud. Madame Xanadu, old Nimue Inwudu, singhed and got up from her chair. When she came back she had a deck of cards in her hands.

“I might as well read something while we wait.”

Madame Xanadu was blind to all things worldly, but that did not mean she could not see. Her vision was far better than John’s.

She scrambled her deck and pulled a card out. Then another. And another.

“Our friend won’t be long now,” She said looking over the cards, “She must have got my message now. It will be soon.”

She turned to show him the cards and he acknowledged it. Tarot wasn’t his biggest fort, but he couldn’t fault her reading.

“Our friend? I didn’t realise you had friends.”

She glared at him and sarcastically said: “How are you, Master of the Dark Arts?”

He huffed. “Can I smoke here? I’m craving a cig.”

“You’re not the only one,” She pointed him in the direction of the closest window.

He opened the window, but didn’t bother to turn on the light. He preferred the dark, anyway. And Nimue isn’t going to notice the difference.

Before he could finish his cigarette someone rang the doorbell. Madame Xanadu and him exchanged a glance. She got up to answer the door and he put off his cigarette.

He heard voices and laughter getting closer. To his surprise, in walks a younger woman, wearing a magician's outfit and a top hat. They both talked and Madame Xanadu gestured for her to take a seat. She sat down in the same chair Constantine had been in.

Enter Three Witches.

“By the pricking of my thumbs,/Something wicked this way comes,” He said.

She jumped off her seat and turned around.

“My, oh, my. Who would have guessed you were the madam’s secret guest, Zee?” He said, walking out of the dark.

“Oh! John! You scared me!” She visibly relaxed. “What are you doing here?”

“I got an invitation.”

“I didn’t invite you,” Madame Xanadu said.

“But someone did,” He countered. He sat down in a different chair and sprawled in it.

It was true most times. Nobody with a sane mind ever invited him places, but magic? Magic guides if you know how to let her. 

“Uh… Why did you want us– I mean, why did you want me here?”

“I assume that you both have noticed the weird occurrences lately?”

John and Zatanna both nodded.

“I’m not sure what it is.”

“It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before,” He agreed.

“Really?” Zatanna asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you admit to not knowing something before.”

“That’s because I typically know things, Zee. That’s my job.”

“Right. Right. ‘Master of the Dark Arts’ and all.”

He rolled his eyes. “So, lady. What do you know?” He asked Madame Xanadu.

“Nothing as of right now. But I’m going to find out,” She gestured to the deck of cards. “I called you here, Zatanna, so you could help me amplify my powers. You can help too, Constantine, I suppose.”

The Homo magi were not a homogeneous people, so it made sense that Madame Xanadu would want Zatanna’s help. After all, she is the most powerful of her kind. The most beautiful too, if John was to give his honest review.

“Alright! What do we do?”

“Let’s all ask ‘What is causing the supernatural accidents?’ together.”

Zatanna nodded and Constatine straightened up. Madame Xanadu started scrambling the cards.

“?stnedicca larutanrepus eht gnisuac si tahW” Zatanna spoke in reverse. She didn't have to, and yet she always did. And people call him a show-off.

“What is causing the supernatural accidents?”

When they said that, one of the cards jumped from Madame Xanadu’s hand. It landed on the table, with the drawing facing up. It was the Knight of Cups, typically the card depicts a knight riding on a white horse and holding out a golden cup as if he bears a message from the heart. However, not only was the card reversed, but his horse and armour were dark. He also carried a flaming sword in his hilt, his horse was heeling, and the golden cup was bubbling.

“That can’t be good,” Zatanna said.

“Took the words right out of my mouth, luv.”

They looked up to Madame Xanadu, whose eyes had turned white.

“I see a jealous knight, riding through infinite green. His laughter echoes through space, and fear follows him like a loyal dog. Unrealistic expectations, unrealistic goals, unrealistic attempts,” She said. “Let’s draw another card. This time we ask ‘Who is trying to stop the knight?’”

The other two nodded and she started scrambling the cards.

“?thgink eht pots ot gniyrt si ohW”

“Who is trying to stop the knight?”

This time the entire deck started to glow. Yet again another card jumped up. Madame Xanadu catched it and slammed it down. The card seemed to fight her for a moment before giving up.

Typically the King of Cups sits on a large stone throne and wears a blue tunic and a gold cape. In his right hand, he should hold a cup representing the emotions, and his left a sceptre, showing power and control. However, in this card the crown was red, his cape was green and black and instead of a sceptre he sported a red ring. His cup was also bubbling. He had a very young appearance and he looked worried.

“A king rises against his knight. The crown is divided and people abuse it for their own gain. Seeing the vulnerability of the king knightless, a war brews. But the king is compassionate and diplomatic, he maintains control despite it,” She says. “Now let’s try another. Let’s ask ‘How can we help?’”

 “?pleh ew nac woH”

 “How can we help?”

This time the card allows itself to be drawn, as if it waited patiently for Madame Xanadu to find it. Yet again the drawing in the card is weird. Typically the Death card shows the Messenger of Death – a skeleton dressed in black armour, riding a white horse. Death carries a black flag decorated with a white, five-petal rose, reflecting beauty, purification, and immortality and the number five representing change. But this death was different. The background was completely dark, the helmet was closed, so they couldn’t see the skeleton, and instead of a white horse it rode a white motorcycle. In the flag, instead of a flower, there was a small bird. And in the sky the moon showered the land with a beam.

“I see smoke clearing off and a well full of green. Change comes for everyone. Endings sometimes reflect new beginnings. Someone crawls out of the well. A skeleton.”

The magic atmosphere around them suddenly dissipates and Madame Xanadu’s eyes go back to normal.

“Ok,” Zatanna says. “That was very straightforward. I think?”

“The cards often are,” Madame Xanadu agreed.

John didn't think so at all, but alas.

“So there is a jealous guy, who is to blame for all of this. The is a slightly better guy who is trying to keep control of the situation. And the way to help is to change? Someone? Or ourselves?” Zatanna tries to make sense of the reading.

“I believe it is more of a matter of feelings. Unrealistic expectations created this situation, someone more level headed is trying to fix it, and to change is the only way,” Madame Xanadu hypnotised.

Zatanna nodded and turned to Contantine. “John, what do you think?”

He was staring at the death card. “That’s not a moon.”

Zatanna turned to the card. “What do you mean?”

“The moonlight should spread everywhere if that was a moon. That is very focused. Like a spotlight or…”

“A signal,” Zatanna said, eyes wide.

“A dark knight, a signal and that flag. Doesn’t that bird look like a robin to you?”

“Oh, my God.”

“If that’s Batman, then we can assume that those two are also descriptive, right?”

“Yes, I suppose you can,” Madame Xanadu agreed. She looked mildly impressed, though Constantine didn’t know why. He thought it was public knowledge that he knew his shit.

“Miss, would you mind if we take it with us?” Zatanna asked.

“No. Not at all. I have twenty different decks.”

“I bet if I had asked she would have said not,” Constantine mumbled.

“Thank you so much! I guess we will have to go to Gotham, then,” Zee said.

“Great, just what I wanted.”

“C’mon, John! It will be fun.”

“You always say this, Zee, and it never is.”

She chuckled and helped him out of his chair. Her hands were soft and warm. He let go at the same time as she did, but he couldn’t help but rub his hands against his leg, chasing the warmth. 

“When shall we three meet again?/In thunder, lightning, or in rain?” Constantine said, jokely.

Madame Xanadu lighted a cig and answered. “When the hurly-burly’s done,/When the battle’s lost and won.”

There was a moment of silence while they waited for Zatanna to continue with the next line, but she seemed completely lost.

“Uh…”

“Girl, do you not know Shakespeare?” Madame Xanadu asked her.

“Uh, no?”

Constantine laughed.

“I can’t believe even the heretic knows it and you don’t,” Nimue said.

“An idiot tried to bring Shakespeare back from the dead. So I had to learn some lines,” He shrugged. “Let’s go, Zee. Before Hamlet actually crashes this witchy meeting of ours.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

By the time he woke up it had been ages. His legs felt like jelly from walking senseless around the city. He stumbled and was forced to lean against the wall. It wasn’t a new sight for him, just another drunkard walking home.

He let himself fall to the gutter and just sit there on the curb. He had to massage blood back into his legs and when that didn’t work he took off his shoes to massage his feet directly. He massaged his neck and tried to get his bearings about him.

The air was warm, but humid, with a clear smell of saline. The sky was as dark as night with heavy grey clouds and everyone was walking around with umbrellas. He would’ve thought it was the old country if not for all that gothic and clearly American architecture that leaned above him, gargantuan. And there was that feel to the magic here, battered and bloodied. He groaned and tried to get up.

His feet hurt so bad that he immediately missed a step falling to his hands and knees. Not a single passerby said anything. Lovely. He managed to climb into his feet eventually and all but barged into a dinner nearby. The waiter gave him a disgusted look, but filled his mug with coffee and that was enough.

Once having eaten, he started cataloguing his injuries.

Besides the legs and feet from all the walking, and the scraped hands and knees, he also had burns on his sides as if something had nicked him. He smelt like death too, which wasn’t unusual for him with all the running around morgues that he is prone to do. And there was this ghost pain inside his ribs too, he would’ve figured he had run his mouth to the wrong knobhead if it wasn't for how directly interlooped the pain was with his bones. He also had a headache, but that could be just about bloody anything.

 Something had crawled inside him and died.

It reminded him of the Baltimore case, where a bunch of folks had just gone and forgotten all about the show they had nearly starved to attend. There were similar symptoms all over Michigan and in Newport. While the one in New Orleans hadn’t really erased anyones memories, they had completely lost control of their faculties too, hadn’t they? And let’s not even mention the machine revolution in Wichita or the librarian war in Raleigh. He doesn’t even want to think about Jacksonville.

There is the connection he had been looking for. Control or lack of thereof. Not that it helped to identify what kind of magical creature this could be, if it was really only one kind. Most things craved control anyway.

John leaned over towards the man sitting on the stool next to him and smiled, though the man didn’t seem very pleased with that at all.

“Hey, mate. Can I have a look at the front page?”

The man clearly thought that John was some kind of beggar –and, to be fair, John was some kind of beggar– and decided that he would rather lose a page of the paper than to give him a quid. What an ungenerous git!

 The front page read:

GOTHAM GAZETTE

Thursday, June 26th

Well, that explains the headache then.

✯✩

Zatanna woke up like she always did and went downstairs to have a cup of coffee. She had gone to sleep in her work clothes so her chest hurt from where the suit wrapped, and her feet? Oh, her feet hurt tremendously. Someone should make a spell that forces heels to be more comfortable, really.

She might do it herself, she thought. Surely someone already wrote something about comfortable magic before and all she needed to do is modify it for her shoes. Later she would ask her home if it had any books on the subject.

She looked through the window into a small arboreal area. Clearly not a forest by the way the trees were spaced, but maybe a park? God, she hopes her house hadn’t shown up in the middle of Central Park again. Though she wouldn't mind it that much. It was a very pretty view, if you could ignore the rain clouds.

Her home was magical, like most of her things, and tended to wander. The House of Mysteries, John called it, but Zatanna preferred to say The Residence of Magic, since it’s where her mistress lives. She giggled to herself.

There was a knock at the front door followed by the very loud doorbell. Now, that was weird. The house was enchanted to never be seen by non magical eyes and, to Zatanna’s immense annoyment, often let magical beings in without warning her. She once got caught in a towel by Jason Blood, which wasn’t as mortifying to her as it had been to him. The poor man.

She opened her door in her robes, only to find herself with a face full of Bruce Wayne.

“Bruce!” They had been friends for a very long time, but barely ever got to see each other outside of work. “What do I own the visit?”

He smiled at her, that tiny smile of his, the real one. “Hello, Zatanna. Very nice to see you, but I should be the one asking that.”

That’s when she noticed that he was also in his robes and, even more weird, the giant mansion behind.

“Oh. What the fuck?”

✮✯

“We seem to have lost about 36 hours.”

Thirty six hours again.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Well, John, I don’t know what to tell you. You just got here and I woke up with Zatanna’s house in my backyard.”

“Could I bother the gentlemen and the lady for some coffee? Or a cuppa?” Alfred said.

“Coffee, please and thank you,” Zatanna mumbled.

“One for me too, if you don’t mind, Alfred.”

“Green tea?”

Alfred nodded.

“Then I’d love a cuppa. Thanks, mate.”

“I can’t believe you drink tea,” Zatanna said.

“Zee… I’m english.”

“Yeah, but like, tea is for fancy people. Like Alfred.”

“Are you saying I can’t be fancy?” He teased.

“I’m sure the lady only means that tea is a refined matter.”

“Yes. Exactly. Very refined.”

Constantine pointed at Alfred. “Oi, you posh bastard. You’re supposed to be on my side! Talk about betrayal.”

Alfred smirked. “Forgive me, Mister Constantine, but the only queen I serve is the Queen of England.”

“OI!” Constantine failed to hide a smirk of his own. Zatanna giggled and he felt warm, before even touching the cuppa.

“Well, Bruce, do you remember anything from last night? Or just the previous 30 hours?”

Bruce frowned and looked between the two. “No. No, in fact, I don’t.”

“Clearly magical if it got you to forget something, bats. Not that I needed proof—I could tell by the bloody headache.”

Zatannad looked a bit concerned at John, who just waved her off.

“There is more to that.” It wasn’t really a question, but Constantine nodded just to be polite. “Catch me up to speed.”

It was a bit of a roundabout conversation. They tried to either explain how they got to the same seer’s living room and then decided to come to Gotham, only to spend most of the time arguing about the phenomena and interjecting in each other’s story. Bruce, to his credit, listened to all of it very patiently.

“What kind of spell could do this?”

“There are too many to count,” Constantine answered.

Bruce nodded and got up from where he had sat by the counter. “Let's see if my cowl recorded something last night.”

“Your cowl has a camera?” Zatanna asked.

Bruce smirked back in response.

Unfortunately, the cowl had recorded mostly static. They had watched as the three of them left the cave in the batmobile, how they met with Red Hood, since whatever they were after was in “his turf” as he put it, and that was it. When the static finally stopped, the four of them seemed aloof and weird . They were talking as if they had been thralled. The exact same M.O. as most of the others.

“What exactly are you after?” Bruce asked.

“Well… It’s a bit complicated, mate.”

“We have time.”

“We aren’t entirely sure,” Zatanna said. “It’s very different from any other magical creature that we ever had contact with.”

“Could it be a witch or a wizard?”

“No, we don’t think so.”

“That seer mate of ours did a card reading,” Bruce pulled a face but didn’t interrupt. “Turns out there’s some bloke—or thing —like a dog with a bone, mucking about in ways we have no way of knowing. Then there’s another poor sod stuck cleaning up after it. And somehow, you’re the answer, mate.”

“Me?”

Constantine gestured to Zatanna, who took the Death card out of her tophat and gave it to Bruce.

“A Dark Knight.”

 Bruce hummed. “And what exactly am I supposed to do?”

Constantine shrugged.

“Change things?” Zatanna said, wincing at her own uncertainty.

Bruce made another face.

“It does look like Batman,” Bruce murmured to himself. “But I don’t believe in fate.”

“Sure, mate. But this is the only lead we have so far.”

Bruce hummed again. 

“Well, let’s focus on the memory loss, for now. I'll call Jason. Can either of you figure out a way to identify this spell?”

Constantine and Zatanna traded a look. “We can shorten the list through the symptoms,” she suggested.

“If you get Jason here we can try to detect the spell.”

Bruce nodded.

To Constantine’s surprise Bruce called the punk on his own personal phone, instead of using that giant overkill of a computer. While he did that, Zatanna made herself comfortable on the main bat-shaped chair and Constantine went to sit next to her and play with her long luxious hair. Apparently, they were going to have to wait a lot longer than they expected, since Jason seemed to refuse to pick up.

“Are you sure he is home?” John asked, a bit baffled.

“Yes.”

“Maybe he is just busy! Working or something,” Zatanna tried with an awkward smile.

“No. He is home,” Bruce sighed and tried calling again. When that didn’t work he sighed one more time and leaned against the table to furiously type on his phone.

The two of them couldn’t see what he was saying, but if the hard line that used to be his mouth was any indication, then the conversation probably wasn't going well. The two sort of… Kept watching. John found it quite similar to watching a car crash; you know it’s awful, but you can’t look away. Though, he supposes he has always been a bit morbid.

“Uh… Bruce, it’s alright. We can cast the spell without him,” Constantine sent her a doubtful look. “Probably.”

“No, it’s fine,” It did not look fine at all. “Do you have your phone on you, Zatanna?”

“Yes?”

“Right, then I will text you his number and you can call him,” Bruce rubbed his face with a hand and then ran it through his hair. The poor sod was looking far more depressed than he had when he realized he had memory loss. 

“Sure.”

“Are you hungry? I can bring something over.”

“I wouldn’t say no to some toast, mate,” Constantine said at the very same time Zatanna had said “No, thank you.”

She elbowed on the gut and glared at him.

“What? He offered.”

“Alright, I’ll be right back.”

They waited until he had left to call Jason.

“Hi, Jay,” Zatanna said, cringing when he picked up on the first try.

“Hey, Zee. I didn’t know you had my number,” his voice was muffled, but if Constantine leaned towards her he could hear what he was saying. There was a bit of mirth in his tone, like he was genuinely happy to hear from her. 

“I didn’t. Your father gave it to me.”

“Oh, of course he did,” John couldn’t see Jason’s face but he was sure the boy was rolling his eyes. “So what’s up, Zee? Need somethin’?”

“I was wondering if you remember anything about last night.”

There was a pointed silence from the other side, followed by Jason’s much more tense voice.

“Should I?”

“No clue. All we know is the four of us met up in Crime Alley yesterday chasing some sketchy lead, and then— bam —thirty-six hours just gone. ”

“Yeah, yeah, hang on—I’m checkin’ my helmet cam right now… Ugh. Footage is trash. Nothin’ usable. Sorry, Z.”

“That’s alright. If you can come over to the cave we can try a tracking spell or an identification spell. See what we find.”

“Oh, that’s what Bats wanted? Jesus, why didn’t he just say that? I’m on my way.”

Zatanna ended the call and gave John a haunted look.

He shrugged. “Kids. Cunts, all of them.”

She punched him in the chest for that. But it didn’t make him any less right.

Chapter Text

What a small city , Constantine thought. But if magic only ever stayed where I wanted it to, then most of my problems wouldn’t exist to begin with.

The city itself was regular, but it thrummed with such ancient magic that it made John’s legs buckle and Zee gasp. It felt like… It was worse than Gotham. Thicker than New York City. Much more unpleasant than Los Angeles. Far younger than London. Positively necrotic.

They had wasted hours looking at the city through satellite images and whatnot until Batman had been satisfied and they could teleport into an empty alley in the center of the city. Batman, whose costume was the hardest to hide, ironically, was going to travel rooftop to rooftop as per usual, while the other three would stick to the ground. Zatanna had to make herself some sort of civies , which meant black leggings and random Gotham U sweatshirt. Jason’s usual get up was as close to civies as it got, so he simply traded the helmet for a face mask and cap, and zipped up his jacket.

Since Zatanna had taken, out of her own volition, the job of keeping Jason distracted by making pleasant conversation, John was in charge of the tracking spell. And, while he was used to this sort of trick, the entire city had this smog of magic and death that made it harder for him to concentrate. It smelled a bit like eggs. Boiled eggs.

“So, what have you been up to? We didn’t get to catch up much this morning,” Zatanna fretted behind him.

“Oh, you know. Cleanin’ up the streets, takin’ out the trash, same ol’, same ol’. Been listenin’ to a lotta Ted Talks too, ya know?” John was pretty sure that Jason either had been hanging out with Tony Soprano, or he was pushing a little too hard on the Jersey accent on purpose.

“Really?!”

“Yeah! Who’da thought it takes an enterprisin’ mind to run a criminal operation!”

“Oh!”

“But hey, I ain’t complainin’. It’s been a blast, ya know? I love a good challenge. And lemme tell ya, there ain’t nothin’ more excitin’ than plannin’ a good ol’ assassination!”

“Oh…”

“To be fair, most of the competition didn’t give me much trouble. It’s like prison rules, ya know? You go up to the biggest, baddest guy in the yard, take him out, and present his head to his little buddies — sends a message real quick. No one’s gonna wanna mess with ya after that!”

“Jay —”

“Please, Zatanna. We are on the job. Call me Hood.”

“Okay… Hood, are you telling me all of this just to make me uncomfortable?”

“Depends… Is it workin’?”

Zatanna elbows him on the side and curses when she hits the kevlar. Red Hood chuckles away. It’s a good thing that they are having such a lovely time, because Constantine is about to spoil it.

“Zee, can you take a look at this map?”

The tracking spell was a rather simple one. In their business they ended up doing it so often that it almost became second nature. You breath, you shit, you make tracking spells! However, since they weren’t tracking just from biological residual (hair, blood, etc) but from the magic itself, the spell was slightly more complicated than usual. Which means it could go phenomenally wrong.

“Well, that’s… odd.”

“What’s odd?” Jason asked.

“You see that dot?”

“Yes?”

The dot in question blinked out of existence and then back.

“Is it not supposed to do that?”

John opened his mouth to say something rather rude, but Zee interrupted him.

“Nope. It isn’t.”

“It seems like it’s close to the university.”

“How lovely! We are looking for either an uni teacher or a student.”

“Or a retail worker on the campus’ bars, or a cleaner, or a TI person, or the dean or…”

“Blimey, are you always such a killjoy, junior?”

“Do not call me that. And yes, I am.”

“The point is: we won’t be able to find them once we get there,” Zee interrupted the two of them.

“Can’t you just cast it again?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it will work better the second time.”

“So what do we do?”

“Well, we go to the university, obviously,” John started walking again.

“But what is the plan?”

“Oh, you know,” John made a broad gesture towards nothing in particular.

“No, John. I don’t know,” Red Hood damn nearly growled.

“We’ll just pop in, and I’ll work my charm. Easy.”

“Seriously? That’s the plan?”

“Why? Gotta a problem?”

Red Hood made a frustrated noise and gesticulated around. “Of course, I do! That’s a shit plan.”

“Have some faith, will you?”

He didn’t, but at least he stopped grumbling. The walk to the university campus didn’t take very long, but the closer they got to it the weirder the energy was. At some point people started staring at them. They didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop them, just watched as they walked past.

Although the city was small, it was in no way small enough that three strangers would elicit this response. It was a bad omen, a really bad one. It wasn’t the first time John got these kinds of looks either, but usually it was while walking through a group of cultists or something. This? This was supposed to be a bunch of uni students.

“What's got ‘em all spooked?” He muttered, making Zatanna frown at him.

Red Hood slowed down suddenly and then leaned over to whisper. “Bats tell me that we are being tailed.”

“No shit.”

“How do we proceed?”

John didn’t answer. He simply stopped walking and turned around. He spotted the person following them almost immediately. It was a young girl drinking a cola and wearing full goth get up. She didn’t seem concerned with being spotted, so he walked up to her.

Zatanna and Red Hood scrambled to follow him.

“Can I help you, luv?”

“You could leave,” She said without missing a beat.

“Why would we do that?” Zatanna asked.

The girl gestured around them where the passersby were, suddenly, pretending they weren’t seeing them.

“This is Ghost county, sweetheart. We don’t take well to occultists.”

“Really? I could swear this was Kane,” Hood said.

She ignored him.

“We don’t mean any harm!” Zatanna said.

“Right. What do you mean, then?” She said, tongue sharp like a wip.

“Oh, we are looking for someone. Maybe you can help us.”

“I doubt it,” She took a swing for her cola like it was alcohol. And it might have been, for all John knew. He had never seen that brand anyway.

“You see, someone erased most of our memories of yesterday.-" The girl, who had been glaring daggers at Constantine, whipped around to look at Zatanna.

“Are you for real?”

“Yes!” Zatanna said. “We just want them to undo the spell and then we will leave.”

The girl groaned and ran her hand over her face.

“Fineeee. I’ll help. But the four of you have to follow the rules.”

Constantine had no idea how she had been able to spot Batman, but alas a win was a win.

“Very well.”

“Give me the map.”

He handed the map over to her, it was mostly useless now that the spell had faded away. She pulled out a sharpie from her bag and started to draw on it.

“Do you guys know what a sundown town is?”

The other two nodded, but John shook his head.

“During Jim Crow, there would be all-white towns that would enforce segregation to the max and, to restrict where non-white people could live, they would tell them to leave the town by sundown or else. You can guess what happened to the ones that couldn't.” Hood explained.

The goth girl nodded and turned the map so they could see. “Not to draw a false equivalancy between two different marginalized groups, but you can consider Amity to be a daybreak town for the inhuman, supernatural or not,” She said.

“You.” She pointed at Hood, “avoid these areas at all cost and you two, avoid it after sunrise.”

She had circled most of the districts on the outskirts of the city. She then pointed at the non-circled areas, mostly central-ish districts. “These are neutral areas, mostly just houses and that sort of stuff.”

Then, she pointed at the circled center of the city. “This is what we call No-Man’s land. Affectionately, of course. If you go there after sunrise you better be prepared.”

“For what?” Zatanna asked, but the girl ignored her.

“This over here,” She circled the area where they were. It was south of the park and began in the port. Part of it got really close to the center of the city and it ended where the high school began. “Is Ghoul District. It is safe, mostly.”

“You guys have a way with names.”

She ignored Jason too.

“The person you’re looking for can’t be tracked with a spell. So just, I don’t know, find a place to sit down and he’ll come find you.”

“Ah, yes. What a lovely idea. I love being a sitting duck for God knows what.”

She glances at him. 

“Well, you’d be a sitting duck regardless, sweetheart. This is his town,” She then gestures to the map. “Mostly. We are working on it.”

“And where are you going, luv?”

“I have a life to take care of, occultist. Oh! And do tell your friend on the roof not to follow me, will you? I’ll be able to sniff him from a mile away, anyway.”

She turned around and left.

“Okay…” Zatanna said. “Is it just me or is this situation just… not going as we thought it would?”

Jason glared at her from behind his cap. “That’s why we’re supposed to plan more and not just pop in and work our charm.”

“Duly noted, mate,” Constantine said, annoyed.

It was hardly the first time that Constantine had been caught off guard. Not even the first time he had been caught off guard by teens. But the entire situation was putting him on the edge. They should be chasing the king and the knight and death, but instead they were looking to undo a memory loss spell in a town that ‘doesn’t take well to occultists.’ What a fucking waste of time.

Also, how come there was a county nicknamed “Ghost County” and nobody had ever told him? Why the hell was it in Illinois?

See? This is the kind of mess that makes one miss Los Angeles.

Chapter Text

To Someone Else, 12/06/2014

Chapter Text

While the Bats kept arguing on which cold rooftop they should sit on for hours, Constantin made a b-line for one of the bars. Life is too short for you to waste it outside of a bar, or so he thinks.

The bar he picked was one of those shitty college bars that sold cheap booze and weird cocktails, that had huge TV’s that only worked on game days, and that had a lost and found box bigger than its patronage. It was aptly named Twilight Zone. There was an old jukebox playing some kind of old blues, maybe two or three patrons nursing beers and peanuts, the world’s stickiest floors ever and a bartender that seemed to be barely of age. John wasn’t about to judge though, if he had waited for the legal age to drink he would have killed himself before he even knew how to say Abracadabra. And a sticky floor doesn’t always mean it won’t be a good time.

He sat down on the stool and the boy-slash-bartender leaned towards him.

“Good night, mister. How can I help you today?”

“Whiskey, neat. Please and thank you,” That last part was an afterthought, if all the times people from rural bumfuck nowhere frowned at John’s big city manners were any indication, anything less than goody two-shoes polite might piss off the boy-slash-bartender. And one thing John knows for sure is that you never want to piss off your server.

The boy nodded, served him a glass and placed a cute scifi-themed cupholder in front of him. The boy had incredibly dark hair with incredibly blue eyes to go with it. Blue eyes. Ice cold blue eyes. Manon and Céline. Gaz and Astra. Cheryl and… The devil had blue eyes. Hell was blue eyes. John shook his head and downed his drink.

“Cheers, mate.”

The other most notable thing about the boy, besides his electric blue eyes, had been the scars on his right hand. They crawled up his arm like snakes and followed a pattern that could only be an electrical burn. Rounded bubbles in the palms and fingers and roots on his forearm. But it was well healed, and not particularly deep.

John looked away.

The jukebox started playing a familiar tune. A single voice and a guitar. Constantine, that had spent Oh, so much time! shredding his vocal cords, could recognize talent when he heard it. There was something almost supernaturaly good about the song.

Of course, that was a mighty white thing to say. Just because a black blues singer was talented, did it mean he had made a deal with the devil? Well, no. But he was pretty sure that this one had. Though no one could say for sure.

He kept listening to the crooning of the guitar and the man’s smooth voice. The music slithered through the floor and up John’s lungs until it felt like the singer was singing directly at him. Through him. The music tasted sweet on his lips and smoky down his throat, like tobacco and apple from a hookah.

“Hey, mate,” John said suddenly, making the boy turn towards him. “Is that Robert Johnson playing?”

The boy looked up from where he was cleaning glasses. “It might be, yes.”

“Never seen a jukebox that had his music before.”

The boy smiled. It was not a particularly kind smile, mind you. He smiled like he was in on a joke that was probably about you. He smiled like he was about to let you know that you had your fly down this entire time and everyone had noticed.

“Oh, that old thing? It only plays whatever it wants.”

Coming from someone else, Constantine would have interpreted it as an annoyed joke made by a poor innocent person that didn’t know they had a cursed item in store. However, it was clear that this wasn’t the case. It wasn’t unheard of people buying magical items, but there was something more there.

It was tempting, so tempting, too much of a delicious wound for John not to dig his fingers in.

Suddenly again, he wondered where the others were. Sure, Batman couldn’t exactly follow him inside, but he expected that Zatanna would have catched up by now to yell at him for splitting from the group. He glanced at the door and then back at the boy, who had gone back to cleaning cups.

“Would you like me to change the music?” The boy asked without looking at him. His smile wide, his features trickster-like.

“Sure, mate.” Famous last words.

Robert Johnson stopped singing abruptly. Constantine could hear the disc changing and what sounded like light grumbling. To his absolute surprise an even more familiar voice started to sing.

His voice. The Mucus Membrane.

John all but jumped from his chair and marched towards the jukebox. The closer he got the clearer it was.

And into the dark across the park

I ain't no mark for the venus of the hardsell

He leaned over to look at the needle, only to find the jukebox completely empty of discs. He turned around again and only then noticed that at some point the bar had completely emptied out. Except for the bartender.

Saints and sinners, new beginners 

Lipstick traces and tv dinners

Cigarsmoke bars and expensive new cars 

The acapulco dive and the media jive

“Cut it out!” John snarled and started marching back.

The boy looked at him with mild surprise. In the mirror behind the counter, where they kept the booze shelf, John could see his own glowing blue eyes. What a terrible reminder of what he was. What a tragic face.

Without any fanfare, the music stopped. Another different kind of music started, as if nothing had happened. The boy kept looking at him with curiosity and alarm, but no fear.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Let's wait for your friends,” The boy said. “Here. Have another glass, it’s on the house. For your troubles.”

John sat down again. Far more upset than he had ever expected to be on this trip. The problem was not listening to his own music, though he had to admit it made him cringe, or even his own voice. But Gary’s guitar riffs, Beano’s slightly off-beat drumming and Les’ barely decent bass skills.

He closed his eyes and pressed the knuckles of his thumb into his eyelids until he saw spots and stars. If he was going to be honest, which he almost never is, he didn’t exactly miss Les or Beano. He never gave a fuck about them, really. They were his mates back then, but that had been three decades ago. The only one he actually misses is Gary. But even then, it’s hard to miss the bastard when he haunts his every step.

The dipshit doesn’t even give John the courtesy to grieve him in peace — not that John deserves it — because he keeps coming back to bother him. That’s what you call a friend, right? What a joke.

The door slammed open. And in walked discount Mystery Incorporated. Red Hood had his gun drawn and Zatanna had pulled out her wand. Even Batman seemed on edge. Hell, this sounds like the beginning of a joke.

“A Magician, a Crime Lord and Batman walk into a bar.”

“This isn’t funny, John! We were worried!”

“What about?” He says lazily, gesturing with his glass.

“You’ve been missing for an hour,” Batman said, eyes trained on the bartender who had all but jumped out of his skin.

“Only you could walk into a bar called Twilight Zone and lose track of time,” Jason joked, but he had put his helmet on. Huh, it was probably the effect of the music.

“Well, at least I managed to track down Mr. Ghoul District,” John shrugged.

The boy groaned. “I keep telling them to stop calling it that.”

Zatanna turned towards him, as if only noticing his presence now. “You’re the one who took our memories?”

“Allegedly,” The kid put down the glass and glanced at Red Hood’s gun. “You like The Twilight Zone?”

“Sure, kid.”

“I’m your age.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

The boy frowned.

“Your friend said this town is yours. That true?” Red Hood pressed.

The boy shrugged. “Allegedly.”

“Why did you take our memories?” Zatanna asked.

The boy cringed and gestured towards the stools. “Take a seat.”

“I’m fine standing,” Jason said.

“Suit yourself.”

Zatanna took a seat next to John, just to be polite, and Batman chose to stand on her side, covering both their backs and Red Hood, who was turned away from the entrance.

“Uh. Where should I begin?”

“Who are you?”

“Oh! Right. Where are my manners? I’m Danny. Nice to meet you all, again.”

Why does every nutter need to have a perfectly normal name? John thought. Jim (Craddok), Jim (Corrigan), Jason (Blood), Andrew (Bennet), Alec (Holland), Abigail (Arcane), Stanley (Manor). I reckon his surname must be weird, they almost always are.

“Danny? That’s not a very good villain name,” Jason said.

So-called Danny smiled at him.

“Really? I thought it was quite intimidating.”

Red Hood snorted and gestured with his gun.

“Why don’t you tell us why you took our memories, pal?”

It was Danny’s turn to snort. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

That was the wrong thing to say, because in the time it took for Batman to say “Don’t!” Red Hood pointed the gun lower, took the safety off and fired. Zatanna gave a startled yelp and John nearly fell off his stool.

Danny slowly looked down towards the leg Hood aimed at.

“Nevermind. I stand corrected.”

“Red Hood,” Batman growled.

“Hood! What the hell?”

“Jesus Christ. Mate, are you alright?”

“Me?” Danny asked. “I’m fine, look.”

The boy stepped away from the counter so everyone could see his spotless blue jeans. John couldn’t see it, but he could feel Red Hood frowning.

“I don’t miss.”

The boy shrugged. “I’m a very hard target to hit.”

“You’re standing within arms-reach,” Batman stated.

Zatanna, who had recovered from the scare, leaned in. “Wait, I thought Ghost County didn’t take kindly to ‘occultists.’”

“We don’t.”

“Then what are you?” Zee asked.

Red Hood shot again, making everyone, but Batman, jump.

“Ancients! Do you mind? We are trying to have a conversation over here,” Danny said, clearly annoyed.

“Ghost County… You're a ghost or somethin’?”

Danny waved him off.

“It depends on who you ask.”

“What could a ghost want to do with our memories?” Zatanna asked.

A lot of things, John thought.

“So… About that,” The boy cringed again. “I didn’t mean to?”

“You didn’t mean to?” Jason repeated.

“Take your memories, I mean. I didn’t mean to. Very unfortunate accident. Wrong place, wrong time, really. My bad.”

“Is that so…” Batman said.

“Then you wouldn’t have a problem giving ‘em back, would ya?”

“Oh, not at all. But I don’t think any of you are going to want that.”

“Why’s that?” John asked.

“It’s a rather invasive experience. Though, I imagine you, Mr. Constantine, must be used to it by now.”

“There are tons of things one can get used to, if they put their mind to it.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Danny said, though somberly.

“What exactly was the spell you used?” Zatanna asked.

“Oh, I didn’t use a spell. I told you I’m not an occultist, but I have a buddy that knows tons of tricks. Nothing compares to you, though! Miss Princess of Prestidigitation.”

Zatanna raised an eyebrow. “Okay, putting that comment aside. Then how did you take our memories?”

“I overshadowed you all.”

“Overshadow?” Batman asked.

“You know,” Danny said and then made a gesture, putting one hand on the table then the other hovering above it. “Over. Shadow.”

It was interesting watching the moment that the two control freaks understood just exactly what the boy was implying. They straightened up and fell into a more defensive stance. While you couldn’t see Batman’s hands beneath his cape, there was movement that implied that his hand had gone to his belt. Jason did an aborted motion, as if he had thought about grabbing something from his belt as well but remembered he was still holding his gun.

“You possessed us?!” Zatanna yelled.

“No!” Danny said, raising his hands in surrender. “Well, yes! But not really.”

“What the hell does that even mean?!”

Danny looked at Constantine and gestured as if saying can you explain?

“I’ve got a tattoo that prevents unwanted possessions,” John said, rather calmly. “So it was either a wanted possession, or there is something fundamentally different about this ‘overshadow’ and a regular possession.”

“Yes. Exactly. Thank you.”

“Is this what you meant when you said it was an ‘invasive experience’? You would have to ‘overshadow’ us again to return our memories.” Batman asked.

“Yep.”

“I’m going to make a guess that it wasn’t a welcomed possession, was it?” John asked.

Danny grimaced, but nodded.

“Oh, but now you’re giving us the luxury of a choice? How very kind of you…”

Danny shrugged. “There wasn’t time for it earlier.”

There was a moment of baffled silence, until John broke it by laughing. Zatanna glared at him and Batman sighed.

“What? It’s funny.”

“Constantine,” Red Hood growled.

“You're quite the pragmatic little fella,  aren’t you?” John turned towards Danny, “I bet you only told us the bare minimum.”

Danny leaned over the counter and, in a move that would usually be from sleight-of-hand, but John doubted it, produced a card. Constantine’s contact card, which he really needed to stop giving people. Especially strangers and, least of all, children.

“Aren’t you the Master of the Dark Arts? Figure it out.”

“A’right. I dunno about you lot, but I ain’t lettin’ this little punk possess me. No way,” Red Hood said, already stepping away towards the door.

Danny shrugged again. “Why don’t you folks just head on home, think it over for a day or two, and then, if you’re still up for it, I’ll do it?”

“And how, pray tell, are we supposed to contact you?” Zatanna asked.

“Don’t worry about it. He can’t hide from me.”

For a second Constantine thought the kid was going to point at him. He was typically easy to track and, for most supernatural beings, it wasn’t that hard to follow a magic signature. However, to everyone’s surprise, Danny pointed at Jason.

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means exactly what I said.”

For a second John feared that Red Hood was going to jump the kid, regardless of whatever secret power he may have. However, Red Hood simply stood stock still and assessed.

“You goading me into a fight. What for?”

Danny, who seemed surprised with this show of restraint, shifted so he was fully facing Red Hood and with his back towards Batman.

“Don’t you want a fight?” He asked, seeming genuinely curious.

“Why would I want to fight someone like you?” There was some underlined meaning in the way he said ‘like you’ that, while John could’ve figured out on his own, he was really not interested in ever finding out.

That made Danny smile. “It’s the polite thing to do.”

“What is? Me fighting you or you goading me?”

“Both.”

John gave Zatanna a confused look, but she didn’t seem to be following the conversation either. He could’ve looked at Batman, but he wasn’t going to get anything from that. So he simply shrugged.

“Alright, kids. That’s great and all, but it’s best if we get going, yeah? Before that sunrise and what not. Do you mind if we open a portal here?”

Danny didn’t take his eyes away from Jason. “Not at all.”

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