The next two days passed in a slow, uneasy haze within the house. Constantine, ever paranoid, could be in any room at any hour with a random assemblage of tools from the kitchen or bathrooms.

When asked what he was doing, he always answered, "Reinforcing the wards. My magic's pretty crap in a space I don't own, so I'm hoping quantity can make up for quality."

Research on both travel and the enemy largely fell to the Question, who remained confined to her own space most of each day. She turned up occasionally to prepare coffee or try getting a few more answers out of Sadie's fractured memory, but mostly she investigated the various routes out of the city and toward Rome by herself.

When applicable, Sadie probed Arlington's memories for answers and Cassandra occasionally updated Bruce when financial projections changed. But mostly the two were left to themselves, usually in the kitchen with bags of roast chicken crisps or a big jar of Nutella. And whenever Cassandra would let her get away with it, Sadie unintentionally played twenty questions with her girlfriend's secret history.

"So when we first met, the time I was dragged down into that underground chapel, you were already working for Batman? Is that why they had you?"

The memories weren't particularly kind of Cassandra, but she nodded anyway. "Terrible."

"I'm sure," Sadie said. "Were you already in the Angel costume? I'd think that would make them go easier on you."

Cassandra shook her head. "I was, earlier version. Stephanie said later it was gaudy. Didn't make things that any better."

"I guess it wouldn't have, I heard from the news you were the guy who took him—" Sadie stopped mid-thought and her eyes widened. "Wait a minute, Christmas Eve 2009… I drove you home from the hospital that night! You turned around and fought the Seraphim right after I dropped you off?!"

That reexamination made Cassandra smile a little. "If you think about it, you helped me do it."

"I uh… wow." Sadie laid one hand over her mouth as she thought it over. "I really did, didn't I? I mean, how much of this stuff has tied back to us?"

Cassandra still had her share of loyalties and secrets to keep. But some of the little lies she'd told only ever belonged to her in the first place, so they were hers to release. "Not actually a…" she paused to pick out the word, she hadn't told the lie directly in some time. "In-som-niac?. Easier to explain than being on patrol."

Sadie's gawked at her as her mouth slipped open involuntarily. "You can't be serious. You've been calling me late at night for years while you were, what? Skulking around on rooftops?"

"Rooftops, gargoyles, bell towers." Cassandra shrugged. "Wherever, when things went quiet."

"That's just wild." Sadie leaned against an open palm as she tried to piece together another question. As Cassandra decided to cut her off after one more, she settled for, "So, like, you were working for Batman before the angel costume, right? What were you going before that?"

Although Cassandra had meant to issue her warning first, that question actually tripped her up. Bruce had always been there to explain it to anyone who was on a need-to-know basis, and everyone else had been there when she made the choice. None of her friends or comrades had ever actually asked her to go into details about that. And beyond that wondering, she found she did actually appreciate someone actually asking her.

After a moment to ponder what was and was not confidential information, Cassandra decided she could tell the truth. "Used to be Batgirl."

"No way!"

"I did," Cassandra said. "Liked it, but the new one is great too."

"I guess I knew there had been at least two." Sadie scratched at the back of her head as she tried to remember the details. "The redheaded one and the blonde one—the one we have right now, you know. But I'm not sure I'd have ever recognized you in the suit."

"Very form fitting." Cassandra raised one open hand and lowered it, as if she pulled an invisible blind down over her body. "Tight and black. And I kept to the dark."

"Huh… if you still have that costume sitting around back home, you should let me see it sometime. Tight and black sounds pretty hot."

"Very hot," Cassandra said. "And the full facemask made it—"

Sadie burst out laughing. It took Cassandra a few extra beats to realize the double entendre, and when she did she also laughed in embarrassment. "That's enough, you're done now."

"Hang on, hang on, just one more."

"No."

"I swear I'll be on my best behavior. Pretty, pretty please?"

Cassandra breathed an exasperated sigh, but she was still having fun with the talk. So she said, "Fine, one more."

"So, you switched from Batgirl to the Angel uniform, title and all. What brought that on?"

After a moment's consideration, Cassandra shrugged. "Just wanted to. Right after I converted. Thought Gotham could use more hope, less darkness."

"You're really something, you know that? I already knew, after we ran out of the subways together, but man." Sadie managed a dumbfounded shake of her head. "And you never even thought to brag about it?"

From the adjacent hallway, Constantine rolled his eyes as he passed by the kitchen. He passed through into the den where the Question sat an aged desktop computer and clicked a few commands every few seconds. She glanced over when Constantine splayed down on the couch across from her, his trench coat and tie laid over a chair, and a cigarette in his mouth. As he took a drag, he glanced up at the Question and asked, "What are you hiding under that mask?"

"Scars." The Question sat down across from him. "And partiality, I guess. My predecessor was something of a radical back when he first got started."

"Mmm." He fiddled with the Silk Cut for a moment. "Those lovebirds wearing you out yet?"

"Am I picking up some condescension there?"

"Young love's a sweet thing," Constantine said. "And I'm getting too old for sweet things. You figured us a way into Rome yet?"

"I think so," the Question said. "Getting in without a rental car or a flight wasn't easy to figure out, but since you insist on staying away from the airport—"

"Oi, as well I should! That's the very first place the pious bastards are gonna look for us."

"Our next best bet is a series of trains. It'll take most of a day, but if we can get through undetected, it's mostly a straight shot."

"An American who actually knows how to work mass transit? Guess there really is such a thing as miracles."

The Question ignored the backhanded compliment. "How's the magic situation?"

The magician gave a quick "Ugh,", then said, "The house can sense I'm an intruder. The homeowners are probably second guessing hard if they remembered to turn all the lights out and the grill down all the way off."

The Question was only trying to make conversation, but that response piqued her curiosity. "You can't be serious. That can't actually be where that feeling comes from."

Constantine shrugged. "People get attached to their homes, homes get attached back. I'm trying to keep the magic to a minimum here, if I tried to summon some fair folk or a demon for their advice, we'd really set off all the alarms."

The mind of the Question was torn between wanting to know whatever she could about his words, and also clinging to her perception of the world. She knew the paranormal existed, she'd faced it before, and the lingering mark of one of those encounters was forever etched, red and angry, across half of her hidden face. But the version of the world Constantine went on about featured not just fairies and ogres, but angels and demons. That included the demons Mama and Papa said got ahold of her, and the God she'd decided couldn't fit into her life anymore.

Aloud, she said, "Well, I couldn't book until the day after tomorrow. Keep up your work until then."

On the inside, she wondered about Constantine's, "lovebirds." Just how much she and the Angel of the Bat had in common, if she had any advice to offer them both, and if that Cassandra girl really could keep both her faith and her love alive. It didn't seem helpful to appear invested in that situation, but, she admitted, she was rooting for them.

The four gathered in the den the next night around eight PM. Everyone, including the cell phone that projected Batman, sat in the same places as the night of their arrival. The Question maintained the floor most of the time, Batman only occasionally joined in to ask about compensating her.

"We'll get off in Rome late tomorrow night," she said. "We can hail a cab into Vatican City from there." The Question looked toward Sadie. "And you think you can get us to this Father Day from there?"

Sadie nodded and tapped her forehead. "I know the way, I know who to talk to, just don't ask me to explain it."

A grumble came out of the phone. "And you're totally sure you can trust that, Ms. Leach?"

"I can't explain how you get through the Water Temple either, but I can do it just fine." When no one responded to the claim, she huffed. "Really? The highest rated video game of all time means nothing to you people? Tough crowd." When Cassandra gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, Sadie sighed and said, "Thanks, Cassie."

"This Father Day better know why that band of crusaders was hunting down Arlington," Constantine said. "Or at least how to get the poor sod's armor and memory off of the two of you and into the hands of someone who actually has some stake in this."

The Question turned toward him, crossed her arms, and said, "I'll still have a stake in this."

"All right, all right fine," Constantine said. "But as for these two—"

"They killed someone. Then hit behind my faith." Cassandra clenched a fist. "I have one too."

Sadie tried for a smile. "Well, you know I'll be behind you through whatever. I'm just not sure if there will be anything I can do to help at that point."

Cassandra scratched at her back. "You're fine. Doing more than enough."

Constantine breathed a sigh as he looked between them all. "Well, now I can't hardly run afterwards, now can I? You bunch bleedin' hearts—"

A creak echoed from the house's lower level. The four suddenly went silent as they looked toward the hallway that twisted back to the front door. Constantine's eyes went wide as he felt his shambled but hard-crafted wards crumble to magical dust in an instant. Up from the door came the complaint of, "Je te l'avais dit, Anton! Nous avons laissé les lumières allumées." Or, translated to English, "I told you, Anton! We left the lights on!"

They were all about to be caught trespassing with their strongest line of supernatural defense gone.