Chapter 2: An Englishman in New York (and L.A.)
Greenwich Village, Manhattan
If there's one thing that John Constantine hated about telephones, it was the fact that they rang at the most unwanted of times. And no matter how important the call was or who was at the other end, he knew that it would more likely than not end in some sort of catastrophe or another. In this case, he was practicing a particularly difficult spell when the phone interrupted his train of thought.
Bollocks.
Lighting a cigarette and pouring himself a glass of gin, he picked up the phone.
"Hello."
"Er- hello? John?", asked a familiar voice.
"Giles?" That was a name he hadn't said in years. The last time John had seen him Giles had accepted his 'destiny' and became a Watcher. As far as they were both concerned the Watcher's Council were a bunch of the stuck up, tweedy arseholes who ponced about with a holier-than-thou attitude towards the rest of the supernatural world. But times change and apparently so did he. Oh, how the mighty fall. He took a swig of his gin and continued, "Well, as I live and bloody breathe! How'd you get this number? I thought you'd given up on me after Newcastle."
"Francis is very cooperative, more so than you've ever been. He sends his regards by the way."
"Of course, he is, the soddin' wanker." Chas, sometimes you can be such a cunt.
"Yes, well going by your usual pleasantries, you understand why I still have some reservations about contacting you, but this isn't a social call. There's a situation going on at Sunnydale and we could use someone of your… expertise." Sunnydale? California? Now, where have I heard that before?
"Nice to know that I'm still wanted, mate." he said, voice dripping with his usual sarcasm. "By "we" I'm guessing you're referring to you and the Slayer, eh? Well, at least the Watcher's Council are still maintaining their reputation of utter uselessness seeing that you're desperate enough to call me."
"Unfortunately, you're quite right. There's been a recent string of killings here and frankly we haven't a clue as to what's behind them. I was hoping that you could assist in our investigation."
"Is that so?" Interesting. And way to downplay the obvious hesitance, Giles.
"Yes. Yes, it is. Look, John, you know that I'm not one for confronting emotions or regrets well. But if this is about Ravenscar, if you want me to apologize, then I'm- "
"No. No, Giles, don't you dare apologize for that." His voice was low, near trembling with self-loathing. I may have hated it, but I fucking deserved every minute of that hellhole- hang on a tick. "Wait, did you say "Sunnydale"? As in one of the most active Hellmouths on the planet?"
"Ye- Yes, I did. So, you understand why our situation is so precarious. If any unknown force has managed to-"
"Yeah, yeah, spare me from your bloody Oxbridge ravings." he interrupted as he poured himself another glass of gin. Well, this just got interesting. And by that, I mean 'has the potential to turn into another fucking bloodbath.'
"I know we haven't been on the best of terms, but we do need your help and if I must beg for your assistance then- "
"No, don't bother pissing yourself asking for my help. I'll do it."
"You will?"
"Did I not just fuckin' said I would?" Christ on a bike, was he always this slow?
"Ah, yes. Well, I- um… thanks you John for- "
"Don't thank me yet. I'm only doing this to see if what you're dealing with is worth my time at all. I'll catch the first flight out tomorrow. I'll call you when I get there."
He hung up the phone before Giles could say another word. Well, here I go again. Finishing his gin and blowing out his prayer candles, he turned and looked out of the window of his New York apartment. In the frigid metropolitan outline, only one singular word graced his thoughts as he reflected on the implications of his new case.
"Fuck."
Sunnydale, CA
The Bronze was the proverbial 'diamond in the rough' for Sunnydale's more youthful denizens. As the only nightclub in the whole town, its flaws and limitations were accepted as a necessary evil. Better to have a shit nightclub than no night club at all, eh?
Such a spot also became a popular center for the town's more demonic inhabitants. Or at least that's what Darius heard when he first arrived at Sunnydale with his master. Oh, the wondrous potential that this town contains. Stepping into the party atmosphere of the club he was immediately floored just by how crowded it was. Apparently, this pathetic little joint was more popular than he thought.
It's a pity that this wasn't our first stop. We could've had a feast on the first day.
Weaving his way through the crowd, he spotted a woman on the dance floor. The slim brunette was emanating sensuality in every aspect of her. From the way that her hips swayed in beat to the music to the smile that streaked across her full lips, he could tell that she was a heart-breaker. He felt pity for the men dancing with her. That was as close as they ever would get.
On her own it seems. How very lovely. I bet she'd taste fantastic.
As he sauntered his way over to her through the sea of people, another young woman went up to her. She was smaller than the brunette and a redhead too. Fascinating. He could hear their conversation quite easily amidst the noise of the club.
"Faith! There you are! Buffy said that she needed some help over at Restfield Cemetery."
She could see the annoyance on the brunette's face flicker for just a moment as she turned to the redhead and responded, "Gotcha. Just let me get my jacket first."
"Okay, but hurry up. She thinks that she may have found a lead." The redhead then ran off to the exit and out into the night.
The brunette walked right past Darius on her way to get her jacket from her seat. He didn't get a chance to talk to her, but as she passed him he gave her a seductive look. She paused for a second, her face contorting into one of lust. Turning reluctantly to the exit, but not before smirking and giving him a quick wink, she ran out of the club following the waiting redhead.
'Faith', eh? Fascinating. Very fascinating. And quite alluring as well.
His eyes then spotted a rather lonely looking girl near the bar. She also didn't appear to be with anyone. Darius smiled as his eyes focused on his new target.
I love this town.
The world of the supernatural and the arcane, John learned once upon a time, is a world whose surface matched the rest of the natural universe quite accurately. It was a world where systems of order were intricately weaved out amidst all forms of life and existence. It could branch out from the furthest corners of reality to matter on a sub-atomic level. Its patterns and maneuvers could affect beings and events separated by the chasms of time and space, while at the same time be affected by beings and events separated by the chasms of time and space. In short, it was vast, beautiful, chaotic, and made not a single lick of sense.
If you asked John Constantine, why he thought this, his response would be one word: Slayers. No, seriously. Slayers.
Having just arrived at LAX, he walked through the cesspool of corruption, greed, and unnatural warmth that was downtown Los Angeles as he pondered the nature of the Slayers. They were supposed to be the Chosen Ones. The lucky, little shits hand-picked by the heavenly host to safeguard the planet because those winged-wanks couldn't be bothered to do it themselves.
As far as he was concerned, he didn't mind that the Slayer line existed. In fact, he quite liked having the Slayers around. I'm not a soldier. So, anything to make sure that I don't have to be the poor sod on the front-line is alright with me. It was the fact that only one girl in all the world was chosen to be the leader in this fucking war. That's right. One poor 14-year-old potential is chosen at random by God knows what, and in a flash she is to exist as nothing else but the killer of all things that fuck about in the night. It's just not right. A young girl like that is supposed to be living out her life and not have to have the job of saving the world from all the things that drove me into the loony-bin.
But he knew that it was more than anger at the higher powers of the universe that was making him 'sentimental'. The image of a young girl whose life was destroyed by supernatural forces beyond her control reminded him of that night back in 1989. Reminded him of the night everything changed. Newcastle, the old gang, the botched exorcism. And her.
He remembered how she screamed as she was taken.
He shook away his thoughts as he entered the cacophony of commuters that was Union Station. Making his way to the ticket booth, he purchased a ticket for the next train to Sunnydale. He moved his hand to his coat pocket for a cigarette, but his eyes caught the sign above:
NO SMOKING ZONE
He rolled his eyes and mumbled to himself, "Oh, for Christ's sake…"
Stepping onto the platform, he lit his cigarette and waited. He had his hesitations about doing this. He hated having to deal with vampires. Bloody annoying, those lot are. But if the blood-sucker doing this is carving out his reign of terror on the Hellmouth, the implications go beyond terrible into the realm of 'an utter catastrofuck'. Also, being a practitioner of magic meant that his presence on the Hellmouth would amplify his powers. And that could only end in trouble. Get in, solve the case, and get out. Don't stay longer than necessary.
Stepping on the last of his ciggy, the train pulled into the station and he quietly boarded. With the California landscape rolling past his field of vision he drifted slowly to sleep. He knew that he'd need a short nap. He suspected that this would be the last bit of peace he'd have for a while.
As his eyes slowly closed, one final thought slithered across his mind.
Now if only I could get rid of the nightmares.
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