"A naked dwarf carrying an overweight opera singer."
The bouncer moved aside and Angela Dodson walked into Papa Midnite's Place. A wave of heat hit her and music pulsed in her ears, making her skin throb. The club was packed.
Loud whispers met her as she waded through the congested dance floor. "Blessed Twin," they breathed in awe, "False Mother," they jeered in derision. She scoffed inwardly. As if she'd had control over any of that. Deftly ignoring them, she reached the back room.
Behind a huge desk covered in an assortment of ancient looking artifacts and neatly stacked papers sat Papa Midnite. Amused, she looked him over, fleetingly wondering where he'd gotten the eye-catching outfit of forest green leather and creamy linen. But all thoughts of amusement deserted her when her examination reached his eyes. There was nothing vague or flighty in his gaze. A big man and ageless, he sprawled in his seat, imposing and almost regal in his bearing, watching her with a hawk's precision. Unnerved, she waited.
When he spoke, his voice was smooth and mellow. "I have heard a great deal about you Ms. Dodson, though I never expected we'd meet." His eyes said otherwise. If a body needed information on spiritual matters, Papa Midnite probably had the answer. Whether or not he gave it was another story.
She'd found him by way of a satisfied customer. Happy with his lost pet's recovery and feeling chatty, he'd mentioned a joint where the weary PI could cut loose. "Midnite's Place is neutral ground. But don't cross him. He's a panther in his tree, watching and waiting." His pet spat acid and he absently scratched under its chin. "Don't mess with him unless you have good intentions. No. Even then, don't mess with him."
A club where both sides congregated? She'd had no intention of ever willingly going. She suppressed a sigh. Well. The best laid plans, and all that.
"It is all well and good," he intoned before she could explain her presence, "to worry about the fate of others. But without proper training you leave yourself vulnerable. Especially now that you've succeeded in isolating yourself even further."
Annoyed, she pressed her lips into a thin line. He seemed to know as much as they said he did. It was true- she was here for someone else. It was also true that she'd quit the Force. For a while she'd stayed on, called up John when something came along she couldn't handle on her own. That had been the extent of her contact with him. A possessed body, grunts of acknowledgment from cynical peers, a hint of that smug expression, then 'See you around, Angela" in that mocking tone sure to set Weiss off, and he was gone again.
Yeah. See you.
But that got old fast. And the number of dead and dying in her mind's eye and direct line of sight grew daily. One too many sideways glances from her partner, a stern reprimand from her boss- hell. She'd've been out of a job soon anyway. She'd had to call it quits. For the past two months she'd done PI work along with the exorcisms.
Not that he knew. She wondered how pissed he'd be when he found out. And he would- she'd already made something of a name for herself; the almost mother of the devil's son, a powerful psychic- whether she used her gift or not- wouldn't go unnoticed. Well, he'd find out tonight if he didn't know already.
She'd woken up this morning with the violent urge to warn John Constantine.
Midnite's voice sliced through her musings. "The life of a true psychic is often lived in solitude." He puffed on something distinctly sweet and herbal, staring at her all the while. She swallowed, wondering why she suddenly felt like a schoolgirl under the Headmaster's strict gaze.
Resentful, she replied, "It's better that way."
"Of course it isn't." His expression never wavered. Her stare turned recalcitrant and she refused to answer. He took in another long drag of his pipe. When he didn't speak again she turned to go. Before she could reach the door his voice came, "You'll find John five minutes out East of St. Broadway. His place is a quarter mile down."
She hesitated before giving a short nod and continued out into the club's main room. She ignored the looks and slurs, plowing her way through the writhing mass. Momentarily caught between two undulating bodies, a hand caressed her thigh and trailed lightly up her arm. Then came a sultry whisper so close it sent a shiver up her spine.
"Well, if it isn't Constantine's little slut."