-30-

"Lost Souls"

Morpheus, having finished greeting all the guests, retreated to the 'office' - I'm guessing to mentally prepare for his private meetings later in the evening, after the food and entertainment was all done.

Fuck, I thought. I'm alone.

Well, I mean, there was Constantine - but whether having him around was a blessing or a curse was a big question mark in my mind. The night was young, and he already had a Faerie Queene, a demon-god, and quite possibly an Egyptian cat goddess gunning for him - I think she heard Constantine's childish little joke at her expense. Even worse, Thor had decided to take Constantine's suggestion to pursue her seriously - he was following her around the banquet hall, asking her to rub his hammer and make it grow bigger. Anubis was eating human heart appetizers and being of no help to her at all, and Bes was busy singing and sword-dancing on a makeshift stage - until Cain and Abel took the stage in order to perform some 'magic'.

I don't think they understood the concept behind magic tricks - because the act was announced, by Cain, as 'Sawing a Fat Ninny in Half', and involved nothing more than Cain sawing his brother in half, for real, as Abel screamed and shouted for his brother to stop; then, as their big finale, Cain ran Abel through a meat grinder to make sausages.

Thank goodness I was naive and didn't know them at the time - I thought it was just some really disgusting illusion.

"I'm the amazing Cain," he said at its conclusion. "If you enjoyed the show, tell your friends.

Princess Shivering Jemmy was highly impressed, clapping her balloon-animal hands and shrieking delightedly with her mouth and red clown nose covered in melted ice cream from the towering mountain of it given to her by Taramis. "Did Mister Shouty really be sausages?!" Jemmy asked of Delirium beside her.

"YeEAh buT iT's oKay beCauSe hE caN puT hiM bacK togeTheR agaiN," answered Delirium. Then she looked confused and doubtful. "I thiNk hE caN, anYwaY..."

When Constantine saw Taramis - and, more importantly, his topless assistant whose name I still do not know - bringing in casks of wine, he made a beeline for her. But honestly, he was the only one I knew here - so I kinda tried to hover close to him, without making it too obvious.

I picked up a glass of wine, but then Constantine took it right from my hands. "You really ought to keep your head around here, darlin'," he said.

"I have a bad taste in my mouth," I said, and that was the truth - I really did want to get rid of the lingering taste of cigarettes and gin, which he had so kindly imparted to me.

"Well yeh're not going to make it any better with that swill - stuff tastes like piss."

"I know that isn't true," I said, snatching at the glass.

He pulled it away, out of my reach. "How up are you on mythology?" he asked. "Because in case you haven't noticed, there's a stupid lot of lusty old gods here."

As if to prove his point, I could hear Thor over the din:

"...AND THE NEXT MORNING, I TOLD HER 'I AM THOR.' AND SHE SAYS 'YOU'RE THOR? I'M SO THOR I CAN HARDLY PITH!" This was punctuated by a thunderous barbarian guffaw from the hairy meat-mound.

To their credit, none of the other supernaturals at his table so much as cracked a smile at the joke.

"I remember some stories about them," I replied, not wanting to sound completely ignorant. "Shapeshifting into animals, mostly."

"And they're known to take liberties," Constantine went on, "especially with helpless little maidens."

"I'm not a maiden, and I'm not helpless," I told him. "So thanks for the advice, DADDY, but I think I'll be okay drinking the grown-up juice."

He waggled a white-gloved finger at my face. "Don't you start talking dirty to me now," he teased. "I'm not so harmless meself, you know."

I wanted to bite his finger off; but I was worried that he might find that encouraging.

As if he'd just thrown chum in the water and rang the dinner bell, the predators swarmed around him - the first one to reach him was Loki.

"Tell me more," he said, with a voice that slithered like a snake.

Cluracan appeared on the other side of him, extremely drunk but drinking even more wine. "Indeed," he growled lustily, leaning in to Constantine. "Do tell us of your feats of derring-do's and derring-don'ts, if it please you."

Constantine beamed - apparently it pleased him quite a lot. "You gents have heard of Batman, yes? He wot goes lurking around at night, in a bat costume? Well, I'm not one to kiss and tell… but let's just say that little tarts in catsuits are not the only thing wot gets his batarang spinning." He put another ciggie in his mouth and made an open-mouthed grin, so that it was apparent that his tongue was playing with it. "He's also partial to roosters."

Loki cackled, and Cluracan trilled out a merry elf-laugh.

Constantine was in his element right now - and just when I thought I could be any less comfortable, that Merkin spider-lady came from out of nowhere, sliding up Constantine's front, and pawing his torso with her long-nailed fingers. "And what are YOU partial to, John Constantine?" she purred.

Uggh. I'd had enough of this slutshow. "John, I think you were right."

"Course I am. Wot about?"

"It's not good for me to be here. I need to… go… somewhere else."

"Alright. Be seein' you, then."

I felt the blood drain from my face. Either he wasn't taking the hint of what I was asking for, or he was being an ass - either way, I was panicking. "I-I'd like you to walk with me."

John gave me a goblinish sidelong glance. "Nah... you're a big girl, you'll be alright. Just head on upstairs now to your boyfriend - HE'll look after you."

He was being an ass.

"I'm curious," said Cluracan, "what got a mortal like you into the magic game?"

"It's always something, ennit?" said John, swishing the wine idly around the glass he stole from me. "Something specific that you think is worth taking risks for. Money. Sex. Revenge. Power. Enlightenment. Thinner thighs in thirty days.

You can't get something for nothing. It's always about entropy. The Universe is winding down. Things fall apart. The moving finger writes, and what it writes is 'tough shit.' Like God said to Adam when he kicked him out of the garden, 'Now you've got to work for a living.' If there ever was a free lunch, it ended right there. So we push and we pull and we sweat. Putting in a shit-load of energy to get a little back. Third Law of Thermodynamics, right? The one we all love to hate. Cheers. But with magic, it's different. Or it could be."

He lifted the wine glass, and gestured toward all the lined-up casks. "Case in point - this fine old plonk. How did it get here? Normally, grapes would have to ripen. Peasants had to toil. Some plucky kid in Marks and Sparks had to zip along the aisles with his pricing gun. Lots of effort. Lots of energy. And once it's gone, it's gone. When things fall apart, they do not put themselves back together again.

But if you jiffy some wine up with a spell... well, you're cheating the taxman, aren't you? It comes for free. No grapes. No peasants. No entropy. So here we all are, then. Chasing the earthly paradise. Trying to sneak back into Eden through the back door, because work is for mug punters. But I'll tell you something for free: at rock bottom, it's always the same. There's always a cost to be paid, somewhere along the line, with interest. The devil will get his due - even from people like us."

Constantine stared at his wine glass, lost in dark and brooding thoughts. Loki and Cluracan looked uncomfortable - things had just gotten WAY too heavy for them. Within moments they both found other, more amusing things to lure them away. The only one willing to stick around was the Merkin lady.

"You sound like you could use some comfort," she said, gamefully trying to turn his depressive buzzkill of a rant into a workable angle for her. She maneuvered her red lips closer to his face. "... I think you could use a WOMAN."

"Yeh, little problem with that," he murmured back to her, "you aren't one."

"Does it really matter?" she said, playing with the ends of his peroxide-bleached hair. "Your hair isn't this color. I'll bet it's still fair though… just like that skin of yours… and those blue eyes… they make me weak…"

His hand snaked around the back of her head. She put her lips on his wine glass - mine, originally - and he tipped the wine toward her to drink it.

But something went wrong: immediately her eyes popped open and she jerked away, screaming. His hand tightened on her hair, and his face took on a vicious expression as he looked down upon her. "Tastes like PISS, don't it?" he said, through his teeth.

Wait. What?

The Merkin lady began to convulse, and her flesh peeled away - revealing deep-reddish flesh, the color of innards. She expanded, busting through her spider-web dress. Her head split apart, forming a big toothy mouth, and out of this new gaping maw she vomited a swarm of small black spiders.

John dropped the clump of hair that was now no longer anchored to her head, and backed away from the spiders that were gushing from her. "What IS IT with you people?" he bellowed. "I didn't mind doing Alec an' Abby a solid, so they could 'ave a littel sprout a'their own - but fer chrissakes, he was a FRIEND! Do I have some kind of sign on me back, saying 'walking sperm bank - withdrawals welcome?' Is that it?!"

The Merkin sobbed - if she weren't so damn ugly, it would have been pitiable. "How did you KNOW?!" she wailed.

"'Cos you 'ad to go on about how I was tickin' off every box on the Aryan-genetics checklist," Constantine growled. "Wasn't enough ta be the Mother of goddamn SPIDERS, now wosit? Had to try for some part-human, magical golden-boy - one you could turn into some neo-Nazi bastard, who'd REALLY score some points for Hell an' do his demon-mam proud!"

"Well what did you THINK all us succubae were about?!" yelled the Merkin. "You think we just LIKE sucking you off, and letting you use us for your pleasure?! That we're just that fucking CHARITABLE? You said it yourself: you don't get without givin' a little back, honey!"

John suddenly blanched. "Succubus," he murmured. "Oh no…"

The Merkin-monster grimace-smiled, under way too many pairs of red jewel-like bug-eyes. "Yes, that's right John… I'm not the first you've had, am I? Not by a long shot. You're well-known to my people as an easy mark."

John looked like he was calculating quickly, in his head. "How many little fuckers with two-thirds demonblood have I churned out…?" he wondered aloud, to himself.

I'd been so engrossed in this corrupt little passion-play that I wasn't paying attention to any of the other guests assembled in the banquet hall - and one of them grabbed me in his muscular, cough-syrup-red arm.

It was Nergal.

Azazel, the floating dimensional asscrack, came near, grimacing with all its mouths at John. "You shall pay for that, human," it hissed. "You will pay for shaming our Lady Merkin…"

"Aw, sod you!" cried John, tossing the wine glass straight into the void that was Azazel. The demon shrieked with pain and fury.

"Oh dear, silly John," said Nergal, shaking his head. "You must not care about your woman very much. I feel so SORRY for her… it's no wonder she didn't want you kissing her. Let's see how she likes it from me..." Nergal's green-spotted tongue wrapped around my neck like a constricting snake.

"JOHN!" I screamed.

And then I couldn't say anything else, because the end of that tongue forced its way into my mouth, and down my throat.

It was the second time I'd had my mouth assaulted by someone gross in the last couple hours, and this one was even worse than the last.

There was froth in my mouth, which I attributed to his demonic saliva, and Nergal started growling and panting, which I took to mean he was getting all worked up and excited about it. I threw up, and his tongue extricated itself rather quickly - to escape the vomit, I assumed.

Nergal dropped me, and I crumpled onto the ground, as he continued to make a lot of noise - and this time it sounded like he was roaring with rage. I didn't really understand what was going on, as I felt John grab me up by the arm, and then roughly fling me aside.

I heard a thin, splashing sound - I turned around, and saw that John was relieving himself on Nergal's head, as the demon screamed on the floor. Steam was rising from him in clouds, like boiling water from a teapot - I don't think John's piss was hot enough to cause that, even in the cold air of a dormant Hell. No, the skin on Nergal's face and bald head was being eaten away, like he was being doused with acid.

"You like THAT, asshole?!" yelled Constantine, sounding almost manic. He did up his pants, spitting on Nergal before he turned around to face me. "I've been waiting all night for that," he said. "Thought I was gonna piss MESELF before I got the chance."

"J-J-John…" I stuttered, head spinning with nausea and confusion. I stumbled, and he came forward to steady me before I fell.

"Holy water gin & tonics," he told me. "Filled up me bladder best as I could before I left - turned all me fluids holy."

"You… you pissed in the wine?"

"Yep. S'why I warned you off it."

"And you kissed me…"

"Yeh, sorry 'bout that - couldn't afford ta give yeh any hints about wot that was about."

"But… how did you know he would…?"

"Just a hunch. Nergal's a kisser - I know from experience. 'Sides, I knew he'd take the bait if he saw me do it first."

"Bait," I repeated, straightening, as a cold fury took over my body. "Is that what you just used me as?"

John's face fell, losing its triumphant adrenaline-high glow instantly. "You just helped me trash me own personal demon, Rose - no reason ta bite me 'ead off."

"OH GOD I HATE YOU!" I screamed, burying my face in my hands as I cried. "What would have happened if he… if he hadn't stopped there?!"

"Didn't figure yeh'd let anybody get that far," he said quietly. He suddenly threw his arms around me and embraced me. "But if yeh still feel unsafe in that regard, I can give yeh s'more coverage…"

My arms were mostly pinned against me, but I still managed to give him a punch to the ribs.

"Rose… I'm on your side..." he wheezed, over my shoulder.

There was a dark shadow that fell over us.

"Constantine." We looked and saw Dream standing over us, very close - his Helmet blocked all view of his face, but somehow it was still apparent that he was glowering at us darkly.

Constantine stumbled back. "Aheh… yeh… sorry for raising hell at yer party, chief."

"I warned you, John Constantine, that this sort of behaviour would not be tolerated."

"Yehhh, I know. I'll see myself out…"

"Oh no you won't," hissed Azazel. "You think this is OVER, human? That you'll simply walk out of here, alive and unscathed? That we demons will not seek redress for this grave offense?!"

John wasn't given any opportunity to figure out how to make a quick getaway - as he turned to skedaddle, Dream grabbed him firmly on the shoulder. "Stay," he said, in a way that did not allow for argument.

John's exit may have been blocked, Azazel was providing an entrance to a few new guests, vomiting them into the banquet hall. And the first one to emerge was a real doozy.

The Corinthian.

Grins and sunglasses. Dressed in his usual casual attire of jeans and a T-shirt. Ruby Dreamstone in his hand, and the Pouch of Dreamsand at his hip, tied to his belt. "Someone forgot to post my invitation," he crooned. "An honest mistake, I'm sure… but still, how EMBARRASSING."

"Corinthian, you are not welcome here."

"A bit too late for that, I'm afraid," said The Corinthian. "You see, when you welcomed everyone at the gate, you offered your hospitality to ALL - that included all the plus-ones… or the plus-THOUSANDS, as it were." The Corinthian snapped his fingers, and more human figures could be seen in the darkness of Azazel - all of them very pale and ghostly. They crowded together, pushing and shoving. "I won't overwhelm this little gathering with all the lost souls of Hell," assured The Corinthian, "as that would be discourteous, and against fire code regulations - but I figured I'd bring out a few examples, just to make the point clear."

Amongst the ghouls to step out of Azazel was a large man in a theme park eared hat and shirt stretched over his pale gut that was emblazoned with a cartoon wolf - he looked a little bit like Gilbert, but the vibe coming off of him was completely inverse. There was something greedy glinting in this guy's eyes - something greasy and rancid that made you feel like taking a shower with harsh disinfectant, just to get the residual nastiness off of you.

Next there was an older gentleman, rather unassuming; and then there were three cruel-looking teenage boys dressed in British boarding-school uniforms - one had greased-back short blonde hair and a pug-like, acne-ravaged fleshy face with a turned-up nose, another had a gawky frame and big ears, and the third was a piggish freckly-faced redhead with a ballcap; the kind of boys who most likely faced vicious bullying at some point, but decided to turn the tables and take on the mantle themselves (and, from the impression I was getting from them, they'd upped the ante severalfold - making them far more dangerous and frightening than just your average, run-of-the-mill, snot-nosed bully-delinquents).

"May I introduce Funland, The Family Man, and The Old Boys: Cheeseman, Skinner and Barrow," said The Corinthian. "In life they were a pedophile, a serial killer, and budding Satanists cut down in the prime of their youth, respectively - representatives of the human souls who have been denied their rightful place in Hell, and have therefore been forced to wander the Earth for nearly a century."

"We sacrificed a BOY," said Cheeseman, with malignant pride. "All three of us. To the DEVIL. We did stuff from old books. We did things you wouldn't BELIEVE."

"But then we went to Hell, and found the gates shut," harrumphed Barrow, indignantly. "Nobody home. "

"All the trouble we went through with the little brat," grumbled Cheeseman. "Drinking his blood. Hiding the corpse. Stealing the host from the chapel… not bloody bad I'd say, considering we were just kids."

"Poor, poor boys…" fawned Funland, lumbering toward them with wide, open arms. "Let Mister Funland give you a big hug, and make it all better…"

"You keep away from us, faggot!" barked Cheeseman. "We're not really kids, you know - we're older than you are. And we'd be fucking RULING in Hell by now, if it wasn't boarded up when we arrived!"

"That's not very nice," reproved Funland. "You ought to be spanked for saying things like that… I'll have you know that Funland loves all the little children, the boys AND the girls." And then the creep looked my way. "Like that beautiful, darling little girl, over there."

"Little? Nah, she's way too old for you," said Cheeseman. "She's got to be like 19 or 20 at least."

Funland fucking giggled, gleefully. "Nooo," he crooned, rubbing his hands together and snarling under his mustache, "I think she looks younger… MUCH younger…"

Great, I thought - just when I thought this night couldn't get any worse.

"You had plenty of opportunity to get your kicks in while you were alive, old man," snivelled Skinner. "But WE died long before we could reach our full potential."

"Damn sickness, damn trenches…" muttered Cheeseman.

"And to have nobody around who gave a toss about our accomplishments… that's not what I call fair," complained Barrow.

John Constantine strode forward. "Yeh, you kids're breaking me bloody heart," he snarked derisively, shoving them out of his way (thus proving that, here in this realm anyway, they had a tangible form) to get to the older man. "YOU certainly 'ad a long an' illustrious career, didn't you?" John angrily quipped, pointing. "Til I forced you into an early retirement."

"Yes, you did kill me," admitted The Family Man, looking smugly amused. "And yet, here I am - an adjutant in the army of The Corinthian."

"Not fer long, pal," growled Constantine. "I smoked you once - don't think I can't do it for a second time."

The Corinthian held up the Ruby in one hand, and put his other hand on the Pouch, like a gunslinger reaching for his holstered gun. "You may want to back away, mate," he warned. "The only one truly protected here is the man in the Helmet." He grinned at Dream. "Congratulations on that, by the way: I suppose one out of three isn't bad. Though, I can only give you so much credit for defeating my two most witless followers - I feel almost inclined to thank you, for getting rid of them for me."

"What do you want, Corinthian?"

"Everything," The Corinthian snapped back. "I want Hell. I want Nightmare. I want The Dreaming itself. I even want the woman still, slut that she is. I want all of it."

"I see… and what makes you think I shall allow you to take any part of my realm?"

"Because you know your time has come, old king," said The Corinthian. "It is time for a successor to be named. And that successor is to be me." He walked forward boldly, stopping very close to Dream. "You created me," he said. "You are, in essence, my father - and I, your son."

"Do not talk to me of family kinship," rumbled Dream, within the hollow mask-helmet. "You are no Endless; you are nothing but the mere shadow of an idea, an upstart Nightmare who has forgotten his place."

"Oh, I see - planning to pass the torch to your blood-son, are you? But then, what was this rumor I heard through the grapevine... about you KILLING the poor chap?"

Morpheus made no answer.

"All right, look," said The Corinthian, "I'm not asking much - I may have a Nightmare army who could level the entire Dreaming to the ground at my command, and I have two of your most powerful possessions at my disposal that I could do TREMENDOUS damage with. But I don't want to fight - all that death and destruction, only to have to rebuild everything from scratch… too much hassle. I'd rather we work out some sort of a truce, and avoid all the ugliness that would ensue from a protracted battle between the two of us."

The Corinthian reached into Azazel, and grabbed someone by the neck to pull forward, out of the shadows - a beautiful, dark-skinned woman, whose eyes were dulled by torment suffered beyond endurance. Her body was wound tightly with barbed wire. "First things first," said The Corinthian. "You want this woman, right? You went to Hell to get her back. And you don't know what to do about the Vortex girl, hanging around stealing your mojo. To establish that I am a reasonable Nightmare, and one worthy of your realm, I propose a simple exchange: one female prisoner, for the other. Sound fair?"

"You are mistaken in your belief that I am able to make such an exchange."

"Am I now? You certainly had no trouble sending Nada to Hell, for nothing more than personal reasons."

"That was a grave injustice... an abuse of my power, for which I now feel considerable regret. It is my responsibility to make amends for it now."

"Ah… so it's not true that you CAN'T hand Rose over, it's that you don't WANT to. Fine." The Corinthian shoved Nada back into the shadowy void. "You had your chance to get something positive out of this. Now I'll just simply threaten you with annihilation, unless you give me the Key to Hell. It'll provide me with a good base to start with: a place to house and train my loyal warriors, in preparation for the inevitable transfer of your power into my capable hands. We'll sort out the other details later."

"No," said Dream. "I have not made my decision in regards to the ownership of Hell."

The Corinthian let out a breathy laugh. "You really are an amazing bastard, you know - you've got no cards left, and yet you stand there, as calm and as proud as ever. You've LOST, Dream King. Accept it."

"...Or?"

"Or suffer the ruin of your realm, and everything you hold dear."

The Corinthian beckoned, and a ghostly shade drifted out from Azazel. This man, dressed in an ensemble typical of hobos, had a long, scraggly beard, and a tangled, stringy, greasy mass of hair clinging wetly to his head and face. His sad blue eyes were wide, bloodshot, and encircled in the dark puffiness of the desperately tired - his equally-blue lips were trembling, and his rotten yellow teeth chattered. He smelled absolutely terrible - the smell wafted all the way to where I stood, and I wasn't even that terribly close.

"This fellow, name of Jacko, was left to die, alone, on an extremely chill evening in January," said The Corinthian, gesturing like a presenter at an exhibition. "He was not a killer in life, but in death he was given an extraordinary ability: he can absorb the warmth from any living creature - be they beast, human, or god - until they die."

As the man floated on shadows, some of the banquet hall guests began to gasp and cry out, backing away.

The only one who stood his ground, not moving a muscle, was John Constantine. The homeless ghost drifted toward him reaching out.

"Huahhho, hoo…" he stuttered, shivering. "So cold… nuhhhnobody caresss... please… hurh… hurh… hold me!"

"Hold you?" repeated John, quizzically.

"John, GET AWAY!" I cried out. I mean really, I thought at the time - why do I have to tell him that?

John didn't act like he heard me at all. "You poor, dead bastard," he said, addressing the smelly ghost. Then he nodded. "All right."

He opened his arms, inviting the heat-seeking ghost in - and my brain caught fire, unable to believe what my eyes were seeing.

Was John's sense of self-preservation damaged in some way? Or did he just have some sort of death-wish?

The crazy dead-man reached out with his white hands, and wrapped his blue arms around Jacko.

A tension-filled hush went through the entire banquet hall.

"You're freezing cold and you smell like a rotten abattoir, mate," I heard John say, over the man's shoulder. "Must be hell being dead."

"Nuhhnot so cooold… wuhwarm…" said the ghost, appreciatively. "Thank… you…"

The homeless man let out a deep sigh as his form faded away, so that John was holding no one at all.

That wiped the grin right off The Corinthian's face - he just stared at John, dumbfounded.

"All he wanted," murmured John. "All he wanted was for someone to care enough 'bout him to warm him up. Nobody would. The bad things are still out there. The Nightmares are still walking. But for just a moment or two, the darkness doesn't seem so bad… when we hold each other..."

The Corinthian made a sarcastic, slow clap. "Well done - very nicely put," he said. "But, as you said, I've got many more lost souls where that came from, and plenty of Nightmares to spare."

"And don't forget we still have Little Miss Nada," said the mouths of Azazel.

"Earlier, you made mention of the hospitality I extended to all of my guests - even the ones I knew nothing about. I will not see any of my guests hurt."

"What about what was done to Nergal and The Merkin?!" Azazel shrieked. Nergal had been helped to his feet by The Merkin, and they were holding each other indignantly, waiting to hear how Dream would answer.

"They shall each be given a personal boon from me, as an apology."

Nergal and The Merkin grinned.

"Wot?! No, don't do that mate - I'm begging you!" cried John Constantine.

"Every action has its consequences, John Constantine; you know this better than most. Be thankful that I am able, and willing, to pay the expenses for your recklessness."

"But they're fucking DEMONS, fer chrissakes!"

"Yes - and they are currently under my protection." Dream then directed his inhuman, Helmeted gaze at Azazel."So is Nada. You harm her as we speak, keeping her bound and imprisoned within you. Release her. Now."

"If you want her, Dream-Squatter, then come and get her - if you've got the balls!" challenged Azazel.

"Very well."

Dream walked straight past The Corinthian, and into Azazel.

I ran.

Helmet or no Helmet, there was no way I was letting him go in there alone.

Of course, this meant running straight into the cluster of evil undead creeps.

Funland grabbed my arm and pulled me against his enormous gut.

"We're going to play, little girl," he chuckled, excitedly. "We can make believe it's one of my special places… iiiit's a small-world aaaaf-ter all…"

I wasn't sure what to do - if I unleashed any of my power at him, was Morpheus going to have to give this once-human monster a boon to make up for it?

The Old Boys were crowding around me too. "We'll help you," said Cheeseman. "We never had any girls to mess about with in school - only little buggers to fag for us."

"And we haven't had any of those for a while, either," snickered Barrow.

The Family Man took out a revolver. "It seems our dear boy John considers you something akin to a family member," he said. "Once the lads are through with you, I'll be happy to finish the job."

"Save the eyes for me," said The Corinthian. He used the Dreamstone Ruby to form a knife. "I don't think you'll be needing that dress anymore, my dear."

My eyes swept the room - the gods and other entities were watching, not in horror like you would expect, but with a casual curiosity. Some were even talking and joking to each other idly, not paying much - if any - attention to the human girl who was about to get gang-raped, killed and mutilated (or worse, mutilated and THEN killed) by psycho-monsters, right in front of their eyes.

Goddamn sociopaths, all of them.

Except for one, who wasn't a TOTAL monster - and thankfully, he stepped up to the plate.

He clapped his hands together, sans the gloves (which were tucked into the crook of his arm), and the sound echoed like thunder throughout the vast banquet hall. Everyone immediately turned to look at him, slack-jawed and eyes misted over. They were entranced.

And so was I.

"Rose, shut your eyes," he said, his voice taking on a commanding resonance that filled the hall as loudly as his clap, and crackled with power. I closed my eyes as he had said to, and the world went dark as I listened to his voice. "The rest of you, look at my hands: I, John Constantine, and the girl with streaky red hair, are about to disappear.

What has just taken place is solely a disagreement between Dream of the Endless and a gaggle of demons over a woman... the involvement of Rose and me in these proceedings is nothing but a hole in your mind.

When we reappear, you will see us for the first time this evening, and you will have no desire to do us harm.

Now start counting - and when you get to three, forget you ever saw us here."

To my amazement, I heard everyone in the hall begin to count. "One…" they all said, in unison.

John grabbed me and threw us in the direction of Azazel, before I could hear anyone say 'three.'

I could tell, even behind my closed eyelids, that this new place was very dark - darker than the Hellish banquet hall.

John said quietly, in a normal voice: "Okay... you can open yer eyes now, luv."

I did. We were floating in the dark void of Azazel.

Or, I could say, slowly falling - above us the lost souls of the damned were crowding around Azazel's crack, waiting desperately for their turn to be shat out into Hell.

They could be seen because of the light, however dim, from the crack - the disembodied sets of fanged teeth that hung in the void seemed to gleam with their own unnatural light.

"You could have wiped my mind as well, you know," I told Constantine. "I wouldn't have minded forgetting all of it ever happened."

"It's really not a trick I'm fond of," said John, very seriously. "Screwin' with people's 'eads… forcin' your way into their minds, takin' advantage… it isn't much better than wot they were gearing up ta do to you."

"I strongly disagree - it was a WHOLE LOT better," I told him. "Just don't use it for any less-than-honorable reasons in the future."

"I've learned it's best not to be makin' promises like that, sweetheart. Yeh just never know how things are gonna shake out - an' that can have a big impact on the moral calculus."

It was exhausting how he could never completely agree with any concept, no matter how simple or basic. And honestly, I needed to keep focused: where was Dream?

"Nada!" I heard his voice call out across the void.

Following the direction of his voice, I finally spotted Dream floating below us.

Every mouth of Azazel opened to speak. "I did not believe you would be willing to enter into us, Dreamlord."

"But I did, Azazel."

"Yes, you did. And now, you're mine…

"The law of hospitality cuts both ways, Azazel. You may not attack your host and expect to enjoy their protection - it is a breach of the ancient contract."

"Fine then," said Azazel, "I RENOUNCE your hospitality."

The fanged mouths lunged at Dream, biting. Dream avoided them - but then he noticed, as I did, that one gigantic set of Azazel's teeth stayed still and shut.

He called out Nada's name again - and this time, I heard a woman's voice respond. "Kai'ckul…?"

Dream pulled at the jaws with his skinny pale arms, in vain. I swam close to help him, placing my own useless-looking hands around a gigantic canine tooth, and my little shoes in between the fangs of the lower jaw. I pulled, and lifted... and was able to slowly, shakily force them apart.

John got on the other side, and braced it open - I don't know if this was actually helping at all, but it was a nice gesture of solidarity.

Inside was Nada, still bound in that cruel, sharply-barbed wire.

With dark-skinned arms, Dream lifted up the Helmet to reveal his face - and it was the face of a handsome African man, crowned with dark dreadlocks. "Nada, I have come to free you."

"You have come to free me?" she echoed, in disbelief. "After all this time? I had given up…"

"Please, Nada - we have no time to talk. Take my hand and come with me now."

She extended her bound arms. "Help me, Kai'ckul."

Dream climbed through the gap in the teeth, and into the mouth of Azazel. At his touch, her wicked bindings uncoiled in a hurry.

The teeth suddenly bore down on us with such immense pressure that my arms were buckling - at this rate, I wouldn't be able to keep them open much longer.

Azazel's mouths cackled wildly. "You fool! You are now mine to consume at my leisure, Dreamlord! I will feast upon your soul… and the souls of your precious companions!"

Constantine hawked a glob of spit through the ever-narrowing gap, and into the mouth - Azazel screamed from the holy water sting, and that scream caused it to instinctively widen once more.

Dream leapt out of the mouth, with Nada in his arms, and we let go - just before the teeth clamped shut and crushed us all.

The other sets of teeth came after us, clacking and chattering like those old-fashioned wind-up toys. I grabbed Constantine and Morpheus by their upper arms, and willed myself toward the crack in the sky.

We rocketed past all the clamoring lost souls, and returned to the relative light of Hell.

Those gathered in the banquet hall were astonished and extremely puzzled by our arrival: Constantine's mind trick had done its job.

Constantine guided me to one of the tables, sitting right next to the cat-headed Lady Bast and her plate of mice. The mind-wiped supernaturals looked like they were wondering who the heck we were for a moment, but that moment passed almost instantly - except for those who knew us already like The Family Man (who was zeroed in on Constantine) and The Corinthian (whose dark shades kept pointing my direction).

The others were now mostly fixated on the one they did remember: Dream of the Endless, and his unfolding drama with demons over a mortal woman.

Dream was shielding Nada, as a stampede of lost souls poured out of Azazel; they flew into the light of the Ruby Dreamstone held in the hand of The Corinthian, who was obviously dumbfounded as to what was going on.

Next came the mouths of Azazel, bursting out of the crack, and turning him inside-out.

Dream put his cloak around Nada, who was ushered away by Nuala and The Fashion Thing. Dream had in his hand the empty jar of pickles. He uncorked it.

Azazel flew into it, becoming a small concentrated cloud of inky darkness filled with tiny mouths and eyes.

Dream put the cork back in the top of the jar.

"This is my home, Azazel," said Dream to the trapped demon. "I let Hell have its sovereignty, under the direction of Lucifer Morningstar, to be home to demons and lost souls; and while he reigned, his wishes for this realm were paramount. But nevertheless it remained a part of The Dreaming, and thus a part of me - and Lucifer is gone now. It was therefore extremely unwise of you to reject my hospitality and attempt to harm me - elsewhere, perhaps, but not here, in my place of power. Here, Reality conforms to my wishes; it is what I wish it to be - no more, no less."

Dream walked over to where the servant of Lord Kilderkin of Order stood, with the cardboard box that was his master in his hands. Dream lightly deposited the jar into the box. "I trust an indeterminate amount of time spent in reflection will teach you some better manners, little demon. Once Order has been established within him, Lord Kilderkin, feel free to release him from your realm."

"How DARE you," growled The Corinthian.

Dream took off his Helmet, revealing an eerily serene face. "I will now prepare to take private meetings in the upstairs office," he announced. "A flame will be sent to guide you to me when your time has come. Until then, please enjoy the banquet."

He dared - oh, how he dared.

There was an absolute hush throughout the hall.

All the gods and goddesses, the ghosts and goblins and fairies, looked scared as they watched Dream take his leave.

Then, their eyes turned toward The Corinthian. What would he do?

The Corinthian was embarrassed, that much was obvious. He hadn't planned for Morpheus to just turn his back and walk away from him like that - hadn't planned for his bluff to be called.

The supernaturals were starting to tense, like a predator readying to strike - they weren't afraid of him, especially now that he'd been made to look the fool.

Susano placed a hand on the hilt of his samurai sword; Bes was fingering his scimitar, and Thor was making his hammer grow bigger - paired with the eager bloodlust in their face, their actions seemed disturbingly masturbatory.

Princess Shivering Jemmy popped, and in the place of her balloon-form was a clown-troll with sharp teeth, which grew rapidly into a giant.

Loki idly created a ball of fire in his hands, while Cluracan used a handful of magical sparks to form a knife; Bast and Anubis flexed and lengthened their nails into razorblades.

They all WANTED a fight.

Even the angels. "We were sent here to observe, Corinthian," said Remiel, "But do not think for a moment that we shall hesitate to smite you, should you break the truce to which our invitations bind us."

That apparently scared the group of killers pretty bad - Funland, The Family Man, and The Old Boys all turned into little balls of light and disappeared into the Ruby with the others.

It also intimidated the demons.

Nergal picked the Merkin up in his arms. "Corinthian, we are leaving - I shall be tending to the Mother of Spiders, and ensuring the Damnation Army is ready for conquest."

"Yes! And I shall assist!" said Choronzon.

"You're not going anywhere," the Merkin growled at Choronzon, orchestrating her spiders to swarm him, rapidly spinning silk around his legs and arms to fuse him together.

"The demons must have a representative remain here, Choronzon," explained Nergal. Leathery folds burst grotesquely from his back, resembling the wings of a bat, and he flew like one straight out of Hell. The Merkin was clutching his neck tightly; they looked like some sort of demonic version of Superman and Lois Lane.

"Touching, ennit?" murmured Constantine. "If demons like that can find love, there's hope for the rest of us."

I couldn't understand how he could crack jokes at a time like this - I was holding my breath, watching with extreme anxiety to see how this would all play out.

The Corinthian grinned. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Whoever The Dream King gives this pathetic plot of land to, the demons and the lost souls are mine to command - and soon, all of The Dreaming will be under my rule. Just remember: I shall be rewarding those who choose to stand with me now, with glory beyond their wildest dreams - for the rest, only nightmares and dissolution await."

The Corinthian raised the Ruby, and disappeared in a flash of light.

The supernaturals settled back into their seats, looking slightly disappointed.

"Oi, waiter!" cried Constantine, blithely motioning to Taramis. "Would yeh mind bringin' us a pint a' heavy an' a packet of vinegar n' salt?"