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?”
