Chapter 6: Breaking Glass
"So, what's the plan when we get to the house?", Buffy asked as she and the irreverent exorcist made their way to site where the last victim was found.
"Oh, don't you worry about the details Summers. I may have a spell or two that could point us in the right direction", he said as they neared the house. "For the moment, you're here to ensure that we don't have any unwanted encounters, so to speak."
Last thing I need is a cock-up on day one.
"So, for now I'm just playing bodyguard?" she asked trying to suppress her annoyance.
"In a way. I see it more as you playing your role."
"And what is my role?"
"The Slayer, of course", he responded, as he remembered his encounter with the young brunette at the motel. "Or a Slayer, at least."
The other Slayer, eh? She seemed far more interesting. There's something different about her.
The police tape was still there when Buffy and John arrived at the scene of the last murder, 353 Kearny Blvd. There didn't seem to be much of a police presence, save for a single officer stationed at the door of the house. He was probably there to keep the scene safe for the CSIs. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small card box and removed a deck of cards. He shuffled the deck for a few seconds, before pulling out two cards and handing one over to a thoroughly confused Buffy.
When Giles said that this guy was good with magic, I don't think he meant this.
"Okay… and what am I supposed to do with the ace of clubs?" she asked, perplexed as to his actions.
"Just follow my lead." He placed the deck of cards back into his pocket as he strode up to the door of the house with an air of confidence and authority. She hurriedly followed behind. As expected, the officer stationed at the door moved to block their entrance. But before he could get a word in edgewise, Constantine lifted his six of diamonds card to show to the officer.
"I'm with the forensics team", he said, adopting a decent American accent. "The boss wants another sweep of the scene, check out if we missed anything."
The officer nodded with a bit of hesitation as he took in Constantine's story before giving Buffy a suspicious look.
Noticing his attention on Buffy, John spoke up, "She's with the CSI training program over at the university. Supposed to help on cases, get some field experience, you know how it is." He turned to give her a slightly knowing look. The card, kid. Show him the goddamn card.
Buffy, remembering the card that Constantine had given her, immediately held it up to the officer and smiled. "It's a bit of hassle, but it gets me my college credits."
His doubts alleviated, he stepped aside and lifted the police tape to let the blonde duo in. Giving the officer a curt nod, the two of them stepped inside the house.
"Okay, that was awesome. What did you to those cards?", she asked, marveling at the magic she had seen. "Is it some kind of spell?"
"It's a spell, but not one of mine. The whole deck is charmed. It's got quite a bloody history, but the gist of it is that each card takes the appearance of whatever its holder needs."
He stopped his explanations as they took in the scene of the crime. What always surprised John about murder scenes was the serenity of the whole place. He always found that the chaos that comes with taking a life is always met with some form of subsequent peace. There was tape on the floor that outlined the place where the victim was found and numbers on the floor that indicated blood splatter, in this case only two drops.
Squatting near the outline of the body, he checked to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. Sure, he felt a bit of a twat doing it, but he always trusted his own senses first. Magic may be a handy tool, but for John Constantine, it was always a means to an end not an end to a means. He learned that lesson the hard way at Newcastle. It always goes back to Newcastle.
"It looks like our little fanged friend has a habit of cleaning up after himself", he said, spotting nothing out of the ordinary. "I should have just the thing. And make sure our fellow law enforcer doesn't interrupt."
"Are you going to do a spell?" Buffy asked as he set his carpetbag down on the coffee table.
"More or less, he responded as he quickly opened the leather bag and rummaged through. As Buffy watched the door for the officer outside, she peered back at the mage in a trench coat. She was quite curious to see what this "master of the dark arts" was going to do.
Removing what appeared to be a folded piece of yellow paper, he brought out his lighter and set the paper on fire. As the smoke from the smoldering paper billowed, he blew the fire away and began reciting a spell.
"Ximbatik kaajal ak bin-ka-aak-abtal"
The smoke emanating from the burning paper seemed to increase as it began enveloping the room. Buffy's eyes widened as the wisps of smoke began to coalesce around them manifesting a scene in front of their very eyes.
A young man, who appeared to be in his early thirties, and a slightly older woman, who looks to be around forty, appeared from the smoke. The two figures were making out on the sofa, quite intensely. Trying to suppress her voyeuristic feelings at the sight unraveling in front of her, Buffy slowly recognized the woman as the last victim.
John hid a small smirk at Buffy's uncomfortable blushing as the two ghost-like figures started to moan passionately.
As the two figures moved onto the couch, the man slowly moved his mouth away from hers and started kissing downwards, toward her neck. The woman's expression seemed to change as the man's love bites turned into something else. Her face seemed to scream out in pain, but she made no noise. And the man appeared to be draining the life out of her, as if he was sucking out her blood.
The man raised his face revealing two fangs protruding from his mouth, but unlike the usual vampires, revealed no vampiric face.
That's weird. He's definitely a vamp, and he definitely gave her the vamp love-bite. But why didn't his face go all…lumpy?
Buffy looked on in confusion as the smoke began to dissipate. John's face remained guarded as he dwelled on the recent developments. They both stood motionless for a few seconds before Buffy broke the silence.
"Did we just… Was that…?"
"Our victim's final moments? In short, yes." He said as packed up his bag. "It's a Mayan spell. Recreation of a scene via smoke. It comes in handy for these sorts of things."
"The face of that vampire, have you ever seen one that looked like that before?"
"No. No, I haven't. Which makes this all the more dangerous."
"Why is that?"
"Because it means I might have to stay here longer than I expected."
Raising an eyebrow, Buffy wondered what he meant by this. He seems to want to get this whole thing over with quickly. And I doubt it's for the "greater good". Meanwhile, John reflected on Buffy's words as he recalled what Manny said to him earlier. Whatever is behind these killings is not of this world.
"We're finished here. Come along, Summers." He quickened his pace out of the house, Buffy trailing behind. The sun had fully set over the horizon by now and darkness had flooded the town. John pondered this newest revelation to the case, as he sighed quietly to himself.
There's always a bloody catch, eh?
The Previous Night
Darius always had a love for the theatre. His earliest memories of being a child were that of watching the troubadours and actors and travelling performers as they wandered across the countryside of his homeland performing tales of wonder and adventure. They'd bring stories back from far off lands and perform them for his village. And at night when he'd close his eyes, he would dream of those stories. He'd dream of the splendor of Constantinople, the wealth of the Arab kingdoms, the holy cities of Jerusalem and the Levant, and the foreign traders of the Silk Road. He made a vow to himself there and then that one day he'd become an actor and travel the world, that he would see it all. In a way, it had come true.
He was always the best at playing human. The others never bothered to learn how to blend into a crowd. They relied quite a lot on seduction and individuality. Not that there was anything wrong with that. In fact, Darius did pretty much the same thing. The difference between him and the others is that they caught their prey reminiscent as to how a hawk catches its prey: swift and uncaring. They'd swoop in with full awareness as to what they were, indifferent if they stood out or not. Darius preferred to be the wolf in sheep's clothing. He'd connect with his prey and then drink up every ounce of them that he could. He never had to play the part, but he felt it made the act more intimate and romantic, almost like a work of theatre.
Such was the case for Emmeline. He'd met her over at the Bronze the other night, having failed to catch the attention of his intended prey. He recalled the brunette, Faith, and how she held as much temptation in her eyes as he held in his. It was a pity that he couldn't explore her further. But then, he spotted Emmeline and his hunger crawled back. She was alone and she was quite beautiful. Naturally, he was drawn to her. Silver-dyed hair, grey eyes, and a slim red dress. It fascinated him as to what lengths humanity would do to feel individual. To feel wanted. To feel alive. It fascinated him because in the end, he went the greatest length and here he was. Desiring to feel human more than anyone else that in doing so, he ceased to be.
Emmeline was wonderful. He managed to make a night out of their meeting. They went back to her place and together they acted out their parts, the lonely woman cast out of society by her own whims, the stranger from a strange land desiring to take her forever. And they did. Their lips met with the whispered dialogues of a thousand lovers from the pages of literature. It was like a play, the act itself. Every motion, every word, every gasp was intended to be an illusion, or a replication at least, of the real thing. Any iota of love or desire that was there or could have been there was buried under the weight of history, sonnets, pastiches.
And like every good play, the end was guaranteed to bring surprise.
As she drifted off to sleep, he began a trail of kisses that started off on her lips, trailing down her cheeks and jawline as they made her way to the spot he craved, her neck. Just as he reached her vein, he quickly brought his fangs out and gave her the sweetest love-bite she would ever receive. It came as a shock to her, eyes fluttering open at the renewed ecstasy of the moment. But then she began to feel instantly faint, as if her life was bleeding out, as if he was literally sucking life out of her.
The last thing Emmeline would ever see was the sight of her lover, lips stained with her blood, pressing one final kiss to her lips.
As he dressed he thought about the whole night and all its players. He hadn't forgotten about the sultry brunette who had left before her role could be explored, but he figured that he'd find her again. Looking at the lifeless body of Emmeline, he noted how a glass of water that was on her nightstand had spilled, breaking into pieces onto the floor.
It's always the little things, in the end.
Leaving the house, he checked the time on his watch and noted that it was nearly sunrise. Making his way back to the others, he pondered a single question about the night's events.
It's all theatre, regardless if it were to be tragedy or comedy. But did I play my part well?
I'm teasing who the big bad is. There's probably someone out there who's clever enough to know who it is.
Please review! I've no idea what I'm doing so, every bit helps!
