Worth His Salt

Hellblazer

Chapter One

Disclaimer: Characters belong to someone else. I am merely playing with them for personal amusement.

Special thanks to DrayceVixen for authentic Cockney dialect. Would have been impossible without her help.

Her mobile rang. She rolled over, her hand flailing about the bedside table to stop the noise. She connected with the small phone and brought it to her eyes. The blue screen told her it was 2:30 AM. The number told her it was John. What could he want at 2:30 in the morning? God. Not that. I haven't showered. Ugh. And I had a rough day at work. She flipped the cover and put the phone to her ear. "John, it is Iris. What is it?"

There was a pause at the other end. She heard voices, not John's. She pressed the phone harder against her ear and sat up.

A slurred voice grated into her ear. "'s this the bint John's been shaggin'?"

Another voice, "'And it over, pillock. Yer pissed." Iris listened, frowning as a third voice came in, louder and more distinct.

"Naw...Give' it ter me. Yeah. You the Crankshaft Pub girl?"

Iris stared at the phone, incredulous. She replied carefully. "Where is John? Why do you have his mobile?"

"Bollocks to that, girl. Tell me..." he was interrupted and Iris heard the drunk man shout in the background, "Arsk 'er if she's John's bit a strange! That's the bint we're arfter."

Iris frowned. John must be in trouble if these people have his phone. She heard some kind of scuffle. It sounded like the men were fighting over the mobile. She heard grunts and snorts and some muffled curses. The man with the clear voice must have been victorious, for his voice returned, breathless.

"Are you 'er? Answer me, girl."

"Yes," she blurted out. "What is going on?"

"Well now, John's in sum kind a trouble. Looks bad. I dunno who else ta ring. Y' might be able to do sumfink for 'im."

"What...exactly did you have in mind?" Iris was out of bed and moving to the closet, her phone against her ear. She pulled down a sweater and yanked her jeans from the back of a chair. The voice on the phone mumbled something and she could hear the three men having a drunken discussion in the background. "What?" she repeated louder.

"Chas'll pick you up. 'E's a cabbie. Where d'ya live?"

Iris thought about it for one second, certain she was not going to give out her address to these blokes. "I will meet you in front of the Crankshaft, "she countered.

"You gotta motor then?"

"Yes."

"You comin' now?"

"I'm on my way now."

"Bring yer stuff."

"My...'stuff'?" Iris stopped on the stairs. My stuff? "What stuff?"

"Y' know," the voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "Yer stuff. Y' know, what you and John muck about wif."

Uh oh. Iris stopped, and returned to her room. Her stuff was in a bag in the closet. This wasn't about visiting John in jail, taking him to hospital, talking him out of a business deal, being his second at skittles, or even holding his head over the toilet. She shouldered the bag and headed for her door. "I've got it," she said to the voice on her phone. "Are you going to tell me what you're on about?"

"Nah. Just get 'ere." The phone went dead.

Iris saw the cab as she pulled into the empty car park. It was idling, illegally parked in front of the darkened pub. She turned off her engine and waited. She felt none of the dread or even the prickles she had come to recognize as danger warnings. The cab is safe. What about John? She reached out a tendril toward John and felt it blocked. But no terror. I am safe. She opened the door and stepped out, then turned around for her bag. Let's see what this is about.

The cab ride was awkward. The driver kept looking at her in the review mirror. He didn't appear to be drunk, didn't appear to have much to say, but his cheek twitched every time he looked at her. He would clear his throat, like he was going to speak, then shake his head and remain silent. Iris looked out the window. This is not a very nice neighborhood. The ride was mercifully short. Apparently the Crankshaft was a local haunt.

She was greeted by a cacophony of voices as the cabbie opened the door for her. Iris counted three men, two women and a boy of about six. All were in a state of agitation, except the child who merely looked up at her with unrestrained curiosity. His comment reached her ears first. "So yer the lady John's been shaggin'."

Iris blinked. "Shouldn't you be in bed at this hour?" She asked him.

"Naw. Mum said I could watch."

The group was quiet now. Everyone stared at her expectantly. One of the women, bottle-blonde with a weathered face pointed at the ceiling. "'e's up there."

"I'll show her." The cabbie touched her elbow and pointed toward the stairs. Iris followed him up, the stomping footsteps of the rest of the horde behind her. She was led to a small bedroom, sparse, wood boards, no carpet. A small metal bedstead was pushed against the far wall. Then she saw was John's body, prone, in the middle of the floor. He lay unmoving, his face slack, his eyes...blinking. She approached, letting her shoulder bag slide off her arm to the floor. He was lying in the center of a chalk pentagram, candles burning down low at the five points, dribbling in rivers of white wax. She stopped at the edge of the salt circle that surrounded him.

Iris went down on one knee, the toe of her shoe inches from the line of salt on the floor. She was careful not to lean too far in. She rubbed her chin, then turned to her audience. "How long has he been like this?"

The fat man in glasses snorted. "'Is whole soddin' life."

"Shut yer gob, yer pissed," spat the man with the orange hair. He turned to Iris. "Three 'ours. I think. When d'you 'ear that thump?" he asked the other woman, the one with the green hair.

She answered, "I sent the kid orf t' bed at eleven. 'E ran down around midnight, said John was in trouble. So, three hours, give or take."

"Followed 'im up, smelled sulfur in the hall somfin' chronic. Knew that bloody git was at it ag'in."

"Thought about pokin' 'im wif me brolly." The fat man pointed to the umbrella leaning against the bedstead. "But I knew not ter cross that salt."

"Has he said anything?" Iris could see that he looked like he couldn't move. Maybe he could make a sound. Perhaps earlier he did.

"Nah. Just blinks. One fer 'yes' and two fer 'no'."

"You stupid bugger. It's one for 'no' and two for 'yes'."

"So did he say 'yes' to send for the bint or not?"

"'Ow many times did 'e blink when yer arsked 'im?"

"Three."

"Christ."

Iris interrupted them. "So you heard a thump, smelled sulfur, came upstairs and found him thus."

"'Found him thus'" the men laughed, choked and slapped and punched each other. The cabbie laughed. "John's movin' up in t'world, shaggin above 'is station."

Iris sighed. "So no one saw what was happening before the thud?"

"I did." The little boy came forward and bent down level with her eyes. "I was watchin' 'im through that hole there." He pointed to a small hole in the wall.

"What did you see?" Iris asked quietly.

"'E drew the star, lit candles, made the salt circle. 'E made a smaller one over there. I saw 'im sit in the middle. 'E said some stuff, there was light, some stinkin' smoke and 'e went over like...that." The little boy made a gesture with his hands to imply that after the flash John was felled like a tree.

Iris looked across the salt at John. Only his eyelids moved as he blinked. What was he summoning? Inside the circle was a lighter, a pack of cigs, some incense, a brazier. She sniffed, trying to detect what kind. Copal. Okay. A minor demon, then. He must have made a mistake. She looked around the room. There. An empty glass on the bureau. She turned to the green-haired woman, who appeared to be the boy's mum. "Had he been drinking?"

"Me name's 'Chelle. "Gin. 'E'd been going on about sumfink. Gettin' right pissed. Said 'e was going to 'get ter the bottom of 't'."

Iris took a deep breath. Well then. She opened her bag and took out her athame and touched the salt with the tip. Nothing. She frowned. There should have been a vibrational warning, a slight shock. But there was nothing. She pushed the tip over the salt and felt nothing pushing back. Not a thing. Puzzled, she turned the knife on its side and scraped the salt away, opening the circle wide enough to allow her body to pass through. She entered and knelt beside John, careful not to touch him just yet.

She bent over him so he could see her. His icy blue eyes blinked at her. She smiled reassuringly. "Once for 'yes', and twice for 'no', John," she whispered. "Are you in pain?" The eyes blinked once. He looked at her with such desperation she felt a bit of it herself. "There's nothing here, John. I sense nothing."

He blinked twice, disagreeing.

Iris held her hands six inches over his body, feeling the air for anything that might be poking him or touching him. Nothing. She moved them up and down his legs, then his arms, coming to rest at the end of his hands. There lay his lighter. His lighter. Iris sat up straight. "How long did you say?"

"'Bout three 'ours, give or take."

"Oh god. I know what hurts." Iris crossed her legs and sat down beside him. "Why did you wait so long to get help? He can't go this long without a cigarette. You should know that."

"We didn't wait," the woman answered. "We rung everyone we could fink orf. Billy no mates here. You're the only one oo'd come."

Iris lifted John's shoulders onto her knees so his head was in her lap. She picked up his cigarettes and the lighter, then put one of the cigarettes in her mouth and lit it. She took it out and grabbed his chin, but before she could get the filter end between his lips, the cigarette leapt away from her, hovered in the air before her eyes, and disintegrated with a pop in a tiny explosion of tobacco and paper. As the shredded tobacco fluttered down all around them Iris saw a big tear drip from the corner of John's eye and splash on her knee. Iris muttered, "That's how it is going to be, then." She turned to the cabbie. "Get to the all-night Chemist and bring back some nicotine patches."

"You daft cow. That's more than thirty quid. Not bloody likely."

Iris rolled her eyes. "I have cash in the bag. I'll pay for it. Get it out and hurry, this is killing him."

"Not really."

"Nah."

"E's not dyin'"

The blonde haired woman snorted, "Serves 'im right. Rich told 'im to quit wankin' about wif demons in 'is house. Takes hours to get rid of the smell."

"Please," Iris nodded toward her bag. "Just get the money and go." The cabbie fumbled around in her bag, pulled out her wallet and counted out the cash. He set the bag down and went out. Everyone else had taken a seat on the floor to watch the show. Rich indicated her athame.

"I seen 'im use one of those. You gonna skewer some demon?"

"No. There are no demons here. He made a mistake somehow. I wish I knew what he was trying to do before it all went wrong."

"'Ee was goin' on about sumfink someone had taken from 'im. 'E wanted it back." The little boy sat just outside the circle, watching her.

"Do you know what it was?"

The boy looked uncomfortable, glanced at his mother.

"Please, tell me." Iris squeezed John's shoulders.

"'E said it was 'is 'mojo'. Dunno wot that is," He lowered his eyes. "Sounds like sumfink me mum would wallop me for."

Iris laughed. No demon, only nicotine fits, and a silly summoning gone bad. Mojo, indeed. This will be easy to fix. She lay John back on the floor and reached for her athame.

As her finger touched the handle, the room lights flicked off, a freezing blast blew out the candles and the heavy smell of sulfur choked her next breath.