Billy was nearly late for one of the League meetings. He’d overslept and was still shoving his hair into place as he walked outside. “…Work here?” He looked back behind him, where he’d certainly not been working. “I stay here.” Most nights, anyway.
He didn’t recognize the man, but that wasn’t exactly unusual. Plenty of people came and went around Lucifer that he didn’t know. The last time someone had just shown up asking, though, it had turned out to be his son that Lucifer had just not mentioned existing. Hopefully that wasn’t about to happen again. “Last I checked, yes. Can I help you? He’s uh…” in the shower “indisposed.” So much for the meeting. He didn’t want to take off without knowing what was going on, though, even if it turned out not to be his business. Lucifer probably wouldn’t begrudge him if he managed to get rid of somebody he didn’t want to see anyway.
“Oh right, you stay ‘ere...,” John smirked, gesturing to the grandiose building, his cigarette leaving a blueish trail in the air. “Well, Lucifer ain’ one to change his ways, so I reckon tha’ still sounds like hard work t’me.”
“Don’ worry, mate, I know Lucifer attracts all sorts. I ‘spose I’m somethin' of an old friend... in so much as he ‘as any friends,” John continued, depositing the cigarette between his teeth before rummaging through the pockets of his trench coat.
“’Ere’s my card,” he said triumphantly, finally locating the small crumpled rectangle of printed & written text;
Anton really did wish he would have taken a different route that day. He would have preferred to stave off the knowledge that Constantine was in the city for just a little while longer — he wasn’t afraid of him, far from it, but John was annoying as all hell and seemed to find exactly which button to press to rile him up. That alone was irritating.
“Unfortunately,” Anton grumbled as he watched a pair of teenagers roll down the sidewalk on their skateboards, though the goading snapped his attention back to the blonde. He lifted a dark brow. “Why? You’re not looking to rekindle an old flame, are you?” Though Kara and Evangeline weren’t necessarily secrets, Anton wasn’t keen on parading around that nugget of information.
“Well, we always did ‘ave fun together, didn’t we?” John grinned, throwing a wink in Anton’s direction. “I mean, I wouldn’t be adverse to th’ idea, if ya fancied a tumble for old times sake, but I’m not ‘ere because’a you, mate.”
Realising that his cigarette was getting quick short, John tapped another from the packet in his coat pocket before chaining it from the remains of the one between his lips. He drew deeply on it, the tip flaring brightly as John filled his lungs.
“So wha’ are you doin’ ‘here then?,” he asked, smoke billowing from his mouth as he spoke. “Don’ get me wrong, th’ place seems nice enough... I jus’ can’t see you bein’ ‘ere as a pivotal part of your Dad’s plan for Celestial domination, tha’s all.”
One side of Anton’s nose twitched up into a sneer; he clenched his jaw, but resorted to rolling his eyes instead of the growl that itched to come out. “I’m not sad, I’m not down, and I’m not blue,” he ticked each one off with a finger before burying that hand in a trouser pocket. “Besides, I can run circles around the Witch Boy.” It was no contest, but he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to bring it up.
Anton couldn’t help but to smirk at John’s outburst. “Had to ask. Ghost Rider ran through here not too long ago, so I can’t be too careful.” He omitted mention of his Father. “Tourist? Not here for something else? Or someone else?” Zachary was an acquired taste on all fronts, one that even Anton wasn’t too keen on, but his cousin on the other hand. He tensed at the line of questions and sniffed.
“Are we having a nice conversation or are you interrogating me? What, a guy can’t enjoy-” Anton gestured vaguely around him at the goings on. Strangers in bikinis walked by, seagulls cawed incessantly by a hot dog stand near the pier entrance. He wrinkled his nose. “-all this?”
It was fun to antagonise Anton, especially since if the stick were any further up his arse, he’d have had a tree growing out of his mouth. John smirked as Anton ticked off his fingers, silently giving himself a point in the process.
“Christ, Ghost Rider? Are they really still using ‘im?” John muttered at mention of the name. “Tha’ bloke deserves t'be sent back to th’ Eighties where he belongs....”
“Just makin’ chit-chat, mate... tha’s all,” John continued, shrugging noncommittedly and ignoring Anton’s question. “Didn’t figure you for th' urban livin’ type, or are you finally settlin' down an’ playin’ Happy Families wiv’ someone, eh?”
...
The crowds began to die down when she caught sight of the familiar man once again. He was hard to make out from where she was standing. She hummed in confirmation before turning back to the open stage door. To the last of her fans, she signed the last few autographs and bid them a good night. The remnants of her smile faded when she turned back towards the door.
Once she was back inside, she conjured another door in front of her with the snap of her fingers. If he was still there, she could catch him, lest he walk away while possibly puffing away on another cigarette. Walking through the conjured door, she stepped into the alleyway where she potentially spotted her fellow sorcerer. It was, literally, a shot in the dark, but she was not about to turn back without confirmation.
“Hello, John.” She kept her tone firm but not harsh enough to sound hostile or even upset. She did not step out of the shadows, but her eyes gazed over at the other’s backside, lips pursed in anticipation. The silence left her little time to contemplate her words. Although he came to watch her show, his intentions never seemed clear. She took only a step or two forward, stopping at the second click from her black pumps.
“I see you haven’t changed that familiar habit of walking away. Not that I’m in the mood to chastise you for that this time around.”
Magic doesn’t have to be flashy. It doesn’t have to be loud or bright, unless you specifically want it to be. Magic was, at its core, a reflection of the magician, and Zatanna’s magic was beautiful.
John felt the spell before it manifested, like the pressure of a breeze against his back. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the first scent of jasmine as mystical energies acted to reshape this little corner of the World. The sensation lasted barely a fraction of one second, but it was enough to transport John back to a time in his mind when they’d both been happy and in love. Learning together and laughing, her magic always feeling like warm summer nights in jasmine gardens, while his stubbornly felt like a drunken fumble behind a nightclub followed by a cheeky doner kebab on the way home.
His magic was effective but grimy, while Zatanna’s was classic elegance personified. They should never have worked as a couple...
“‘Ello, Zee.” John turned at the sound of her voice, accepting her barbed comment about his behaviour with a slight nod of acknowledgement. He wanted to say that he hadn’t been walking away, but that he’d let her know he was here so she could find him anytime she wanted, whenever she was ready.
But this wasn’t the time or place for that. Instead, John uncharacteristically kept his mouth shut, walked towards her and took gentle hold of her arms, his thumbs stroking the nighted fabric of her sweater.
“I just heard ‘bout what happened, Zee,” he said quietly, leaning closer to be sure that she heard him, squeezing her arms as he spoke. “I know Bruce was a good friend of yours. I’m... really sorry.”
John’s efforts at dowsing while the café (before being rudely interrupted by Anton) had highlighted a few hotspots of concentrated magic. Two of the largest were a building downtown - which the tourist map had labelled as a nightclub - and another place in the theatre district.
He’d check out the nightclub later, but the combination of magic and theatre inextricably brought one family’s name to the forefront of John’s mind - Zatara.
There were other popular and famous stage magicians of course, but few blended real magic with stagecraft in quite the way that the Zatara family did, but it was John’s history with that family that gave him pause. Before anything else, he needed to know if she was here.
Taking a cab to the edge of the theatre district, John decided to walk the last couple of blocks and was immediately aware of promotional posters stuck to bill boards and plastered like layered mosaics on boarded up shopfronts.
~ See the AMAZING & MYSTICAL ZATARA SIBLINGS! ~
Join ZATANNA & ZACHARY ZATARA as they perform SPECTACULAR MAGIC in their first-ever joint live shows!
Their shared residency begins soon at The Majestic Theatre. Box office now open!
The some of the posters had clearly been up a while, as they were torn and peeling at the corners, so John had no idea when the shows had started, but the concentration of magic suggested that they were still going on... or something was.
Finally reaching the theatre, the place was a hive of activity. Work men in high visibility vests and hard hats were carrying timber and tools into the building through a side entrance, and the sounds of construction were coming from inside. John had spent enough time around the Zataras to know that they often changed their shows, adding in new elements, tricks and sets to make sure things didn’t get stale (and to promote repeat attendance). It was likely these guys were working on something similar... and something big by the looks of it, which might explain the high concentration of mystical energies.
Whatever was going on, John wanted a closer look. Taking off his trench coat and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, John lit his cigarette, grabbed an abandoned hard hat and cast a cantrip under his breath as he followed a couple of workers inside. Some people looked his way, but quickly diverted their attention as the effects of the spell made them lose interest almost immediately.
John chuckled to himself. Sometimes it was more useful to be boring than to be invisible. With his Cloak of Disinterest firmly in place, the Laughing Mage started his exploration of the building.
The night was turning cold. Shallow puddles from earlier rain reflected the passing traffic, made up almost entirely of taxi cabs. The patrons of theatres and clubs in this district were spilling out onto the street, chattering about their evenings and looking for a way home. This was probably the busiest the place had been all day, and in a few minutes it’d be a wasteland again; at least until the next performance and the next Happy Hour in the bars.
John Constantine wasn’t sure how long he’d been leaning against the wall, watching the alley way opposite, but it was long enough for the cold to seep into his bones and threaten to make him shiver… Well, at least he’d come prepared.
Unscrewing the lid of the hip flask, John lifted it to his lips, enjoying the spiced molasses flavour of the liquor as it burned his throat on its way to warming his belly. And after the whiskey, came the obligatory cigarettes; the tip flaring brightly as he inhales the smoke deep into his lungs, then sighing contentedly on the exhale. ‘A flask of Johnnie Walker an’ a pack of knock-off Silk Cut, an’ suddenly everything’s right with th’ World,’ John thought to himself with a wry smile, taking another drag as a small group started to gather in the alley way.
The weak pool of luminescence from a broken street light highlighted top hats and fishnet stockings, the common uniform which most of the crowd were wearing. John shook his head, wondering how they managed to stay warm wearing next to nothing in this weather, especially hanging around in alleys while hoping for a glimpse of their idol. He remembered the young girls in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, dressed only in mini skirts and t-shirts, seemingly immune to the biting wind that blew in from the North Sea, and assumed it must be something to do with the energy of youth.
“Proof positive you’re finally gettin’ old, my old son…,” he mumbled to himself, wrapping the trench coat around himself a little closer.
The alley way ran alongside ‘The Majestic Theatre’, a grand palace of entertainment & drama which had played host to some of the biggest names in entertainment to pass through Star City. Tonight, the old theatre had been filled with magic and miracles the like of which it had rarely seen - not since Zatanna Zatara had begun her residency anyway.
John had managed to score a ticket for tonight’s performance, but came in late and left early, much to the irritation of the patrons sitting nearby. It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed the show - far from it, in fact, Zee always put on a great performance - but John didn’t want the beautiful magician on stage to suddenly notice his presence in the audience… It was awkward enough that they still moved in the same magical circles, without running into each other elsewhere. Besides, he didn’t want Zatanna to think he was stalking her. After all, he’d only sneaked into a handful of her shows in the past three or four years… And that didn’t class as stalking, right?
Drawing another smoke-filled breath through the cigarette, John watched the growing crowd as they shuffled anxiously about on leather boots and high heels, hugging themselves (and each other) to keep warm. Chuckling to himself, John buried his hands into his pockets, cigarette dangling from his lips, thankful for his ubiquitous trench coat and the blessed warmth of tobacco and alcohol.
An unexpected cheer went up from the crowd, grabbing his attention. The alley was flooded with light spilling from the now-open stage door, bodies moving closer and hands reaching out as if in supplication.
And suddenly, there she was.
Zatanna was as captivating as he remembered. Having changed out of her stage clothes, she was dressed in black leather trousers and a loose fitting, asymmetrical sweater. Tiny sparkles sewn on the wool caught the light that framed her through the doorway, looking as though she’d caught the night sky itself to wrap herself in. Long, raven-coloured hair rolled down her shoulders and the elegant magician offered a bright and earnest smile to her gathered worshippers fans.
Watching her sign autographs and pose for selfies, John realised that he’d been holding his breath. He understood why they loved her so completely. Zee was effortlessly beautiful; equal parts graceful and charming, but open and welcoming as well. It was no wonder that these people gathered for a moment with her, trying to take a tiny piece of that beauty away for themselves… Something good and true to sustain them in the dark loneliness of their own sad lives.
“Them…? D'ye nawt mean ‘You’, yer wee shite-bag?”
The words rose unbidden in John’s mind as he watched from his shadowed position across the road. The voice wasn’t his own, but he was too cold and tired to decide which one of his inner demons or ghosts it was. Not that it mattered much; especially since they were absolutely bloody right…
He’d done everything he could to distance himself from Zatanna since he’d walked out and she didn’t deserve any more pain on his account... And yet here he was; afraid to get too close but still wishing she’d look up and notice him.
It didn’t take much. A little glamour spell, one last drag to flare the tip of his cigarette and suddenly their eyes met. It was just a fraction of a second, but it was enough. She knew he was back.
John flicked the butt into the gutter and turned away. He’d had enough self-punishment for one night and the last thing he needed right now was to see the pain in her eyes while he was sober. She’d want to talk, but they’d probably argue. No, that could wait for another night...
"Green hair! Fuckin’ green hair... tha’s bloody epic, love. I used t’know a girl wiv’ green hair back in Newcastle... She was a right fuckin’ goer, I can tell ya!”
It would come as a surprise to no one that John Constantine was drunk. It was his first night back in Star City and, as was traditional, he was dragging his poor abused liver around as many watering holes as he could manage to stay upright for.
Having latched onto first a bachelorette party and then a group students, John had found himself having the time of his life in a bar inside District X. It was like drinking in the Star Wars Mos Eisley Cantina and John thought it was hilarious, even if no one else did.
“You ‘aven’t got a light, 'ave ya, love?,” he slurred at the green haired girl, placing a broken cigarette between his lips. “I’d ask the bloke on fire over there, but I reckon he’s about t’ pull that bird an' didn’t wanna cramp his style.”
“Last time I checked I wasn’t fucking blue. Take that back,” Anton retorted with a tense finger point in John’s direction. He’d removed his own cigarette from between his lips to let it smoke lazily as he expelled the remnants of his inhale through his nose.
There wasn’t a moment did he expect to run into John fucking Constantine. An asshole from the same cloth, the blonde was both favored company and an ill-timed guest. It wasn’t every day that Anton ever saw the older man, so of course he had to wander over to see why the hell he was in the city in the first place - and when he planned on leaving.
“I live here,” he returned stiffly, though with lifted brow and a quick glance over of John. “What are you doing here? Last I heard you were in BFE, so what gives? Zadkiel didn’t send you after me, did he?” The last thing that Anton wanted to deal with was a rogue angel on the loose. Supposedly, he was still locked away in Hell, in a personalized torture session.
“No need t’be so defensive. We all get down and a bit blue sometimes, my old son... no shame in admitting that,” John smirked, unjustifiably proud of himself and his pun.
He’d always liked Anton. Not because Anton was particularly good company, but he was always entertainingly easy to wind up and seem to take everything so seriously.
“Zadkiel?? You can fuck right off!... D’you honestly think I’d ‘ave anything t’do with that two-faced piece’a shit? Naah, if he ever crawls back t’the mortal plane then I’ll help you to send him straight back to Hell.”
“As for me? I’m just here as a tourist, mate... Here t’see the best sights that Star City ‘as to offer,” The Magician continued, still grinning and dropping ash on the map as he folded it back up. "I’m surprised to find you here though, t’be honest... I thought you’d either be sitting on the throne of the Celestial City or decorating your own cell down there by now, not livin’ in some urban backwater like this.”
“So wha' happened, Anton? You finally give up on that infernal destiny bollocks or wha'?”
John Constantine’s recent exercise in dowsing had managed to highlight a few areas of concentrated magic in the city, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of divination that would tell him what or who was actually responsible. For that, he actually had to get off his arse and look for himself.
Flicking his lighter closed, John drew a deep lungful of smoke from newly lit cigarette and gazed up at the tall building in front of him. It was clad in what looked like white marble, with gold details and flowing curves that had pretensions of being part of the 1920s architectural revival. It also oozed so much magic that John felt like he needed to scrub the inside of his skull with bleach.
If you’re a sensitive person, then magic can feel different depending on who’s performing it and what their reasons for it are. Some magic would feel like summer sunshine warming your skin... others might feel as if tiny shards of ice are being driven into your flesh... But this was like getting a happy massage after eating a dozen oysters. Whoever wove the spells into this place wanted to make sure that the people inside had a very good time.
It was also very, very familiar... Like that uncomfortable, yet slightly exciting feeling when you accidentally encounter an Ex, along with their new partner, and you both realise there’s still a spark there. Awkward, but oh so tempting.
John decided that he was going to finish his cigarette before making any further decisions of what to do next, when someone with dark hair came bursting out of the doors and almost tripped down the short stairs to the sidewalk.
“Oi mate!,” John called out, dropping his cigarette and crushing it as he hurriedly walked towards the young man. “D’you work ‘ere? Is this place owned by some bloke callin’ himself Lucifer Morningstar?”
My name is John Constantine. I am the one who steps on the shadows, all trench coat and arrogance. I’ll drive your demons away, kick ‘em in the bullocks, and spit on them when they’re down, leaving only a nod and a wink and a wisecrack. I walk my path alone because, let’s be honest… who would be crazy enough to walk it with me?
Dowsing was, to be frank, a load of bollocks. At best, it was a channel for natural intuition or sensitivity, but at worst it was guess work disguised by spiritual mumbo-jumbo, and John Constantine hated himself for having to resort to it.
Actually, there were lots of things which John hated himself for, but this was just the most recent.
He was sat in the sunshine outside of a trendy café, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and receiving dirty looks from the patrons as he frowned at a map of Star City spread out across his table.
He’d picked the map up from a tourist booth a couple of blocks over, which had been run by a very attractive young woman who’d offer to show John the best tourist sights during his stay. He’d assured her that his taste in sights tended to be a bit more dangerous than a nice girl like her was probably aware of and, after offering her a wink and wolfish smile, he’d left with both his map and her cell phone number.
But that was an adventure for another day. Right now John’s attention was focused on the pointed shard of metal that hung from a chain over the map, as he moved it slowly across the two dimensional cityscape, until a shadow fell over the chart. Exhaling an irritable plume of smoke, John looked up expecting to see the sour face of a self-important barista from the café, but instead recognising a familiar face.
“Well, bugger me...,” he exclaimed around the cigarette, grinning up at the tall, well-dressed figure before him. “...If it isn’t Klarion the witch boy’s stunt double. What th’ actual fuck are you doin’ ‘ere, Anton?”
Larry had worked on the coaches for 28 years and was longing for retirement. Over that time he’d experienced every shade & colour that humanity had to offer from his spot in the driver’s seat. He’d seen people desperately running away from their old lives, and others hopefully looking for a new beginning. Larry had watched those passengers who knew exactly where they were headed and them who didn’t care and just wanted to get lost.
This guy was definitely the latter.
He’d barely moved the entire trip. Even now his off-while socks with their holes where his toes poked through, were hanging over the armrest into the aisle, while the rest of him was hidden behind the rows of seats in front.
Larry remembered a shock of blonde hair and beige coat when the guy had come aboard with an open-ended ticket. That was usually a clue to which ones were the wanderers; they didn’t have a final stop on their tickets, just a direction of travel. Well, wherever this guy had hoped to get to, he’d arrived, since he was now the last person left on Larry’s coach.
“Excuse me, Sir...,” Larry said, having left his place in the driver’s chair and walked halfway down the coach. “Time to get off.”
“Eh wazzat...?”
The voice was groggy and muffled by the magazine which covered the person’s face as he sprawled across the seats. It didn’t look at all comfortable, but he’d clearly managed to sleep despite that fact.
“I said, it’s time for you to get off. This is the last stop”
“Alright, alright.. I hear ya, chief. Gimme a sec to find me shoes an' I’ll be right wiv’ ya. “
The man dropped the magazine and rubbed at his face, blinking a few times in what appeared to be startled surprise as he glanced out of the window. “Where th’ bleeding hell are we, anyway?”
“Star City... Last stop, Sir.”
“Yeah, I heard ya. I’m going... My compliments for your driving, best kip I’ve had in weeks,” the man said over his shoulder as he staggered down the aisle towards the exit, trying to pull on his shoes as he went.
Larry shook his head and smiled to himself as he watched the man wander down the street outside the coach, before returning in the opposite direction a few seconds later.
---
It had been a good while since since he’d been in Star City, but if this was where serendipity had decided he was supposed to be, then who was he to argue.
Placing a cigarette between his lips, the stranger took a golden lighter from his trench coat pocket and inhaled the bluish smoke as he put its flame to the tip, before closing it with a SNAP.
“Right then, first order of business,” John Constantine said to himself, turning up his collar and pushing fingers through his unruly blonde hair. “Which way to th’ pub, cos I need a fuckin’ drink.”
