He walked up to the girl as she was stumbling home in the rain, not really being able to see for the clouds, rain, and general nastiness that was the weather that day. Somewhere in the universe there was probably some unwritten rule that everything strange and life-changing had to happen on a crappy day. She'd just gotten called up before the headmaster for the … she didn't even remember how many times it had been anymore. The lecture had been the same as usual: clean up her act or she was out on her ass. The only reason she'd been let into the school at all was her smarts, and blah blah blah. They'd keep her in the school, of course, it looked good on their records. Half the other students weren't even trying, or were so doped up that they just didn't get it. She didn't much care either, but she did what she had to in order to to get by. And that was pretty much what she was doing, getting by, when the Stranger walked up to her that afternoon.
"Jenna Constantine."
He sounded like a nonce, or some kind of special policeman. Either way, she wanted nothing to do with him. "Piss off."
He only looked faintly resigned; he didn't even look irritated, she noted with a certain amount of trepidation. "I see the temperament of the Constantines travels by blood as well as by contagion,"
"Go away," she translated, just in case he hadn't understood her the first time. "Speak-a de Ee-nglish? Fuck-a de off-a. Leave me alone." Just in case he hadn't gotten the message the first ten times.
"I am afraid I cannot, Jenna Constantine. There is very little time, and you are in great danger."
That didn't sound good at all. On the other hand, it also sounded like a great line to give barely post-pubescent girls to get into his car. "What the hell are you on about? What danger?"
"I will explain, if you will walk with me."
She considered her alternatives carefu… "Yeah, sure." What the hell. Walking couldn't do any harm. Not if she kept one eye open and one hand down her pocket on the small, highly illegal flick-knife she carried just in case of trouble. She'd had to whip it out on several occasions, but never actually used it. Still, it looked intimidating.
The man ended up leading her around to one of the cafes that dotted the streets, like high-class pimples on what would have otherwise been a nicely decadent neighborhood. After a few minutes, he led her up to two other guys in trenchcoats, one in red sunglasses and carrying a cane, his coat hung over his shoulders. The other was dressed in brown with a somewhat battered hat, the most normal looking one of the group. All three of them looked like the sort of guy who would randomly appear in a dark alley and stab you to death, if you were lucky. Modern day Jack the Ripper.
"Oh Christ, the dirty-pervert Mac brigade. Ok. I'm here. What do you want? Group costs extra," she added. Belligerent Jen. They probably thought she was some sort of snot-nosed little kid. They were also probably right. The man in white gave her a thoroughly disgusted look; he probably thought she was actually serious. Brown-coat just shook his head, and the stranger didn't seem to get it.
"Doctor. Mister E… this is young Constantine."
The man in white stared at her as though she was something icky he'd just squashed with the A-to-Zed. She didn't much like that, and glared back at him. Well, glared up at him. He was quite a bit taller than she was. Danger, hell, he looked like something she'd be in danger from, not someone who would protect her from danger.
"Are you absolutely sure we need her?" he said, in a voice like the wind in a haunted house. She didn't like that voice; it was a voice that sat in a darkened room and thought darkened thoughts while most people were out in the sunshine having fun. This one was the serial-killer, she decided, and the other two were the kiddie-perv and... she didn't know what. Maybe the necrophiliac who took his turn when the serial killer was done.
"No, you don't need me. Bye now," She turned and started walking. Her sense of self-preservation wasn't dead enough that she was going to hang around with a man like that. Somehow the first guy in the trenchcoat had gotten in front of her though, and held up his hands. She pulled out the knife and flicked it open, standing crouched and terrified.
"Please, Miss Constantine. We are not here to harm you in any way. We are here to protect you." The voice came from behind her, and it wasn't the scary one, so it had to be the man in the brown coat, Dirty-Pervert.
"Yeah, well, your friend there seems to disagree," she backed up a little against the fence so she could see all of them. "And just what the hell do you need to protect me from anyway?"
"You have a gift, Jenna Constantine," said the strange man, "And an impressive ... some might even call it terrifying... heritage behind it. We can teach you how to use that gift, if you will come with us."
She gave him the patented Jenna Constantine and-I-care-why? look. "Gift. Uh-huh. What sort of gift? My dazzling wit? My charming personality? My huge tits?"
"Magic."
That… certainly wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. What the hell were these guys? Religious zealots? They didn't look like it… well, the other two didn't. The doctor and whoever else that was didn't, but the white-coated fellow certainly looked like he could pass for one. One of those ultra-tightarsed ones. She hated them. "Magic," she said, skeptically of course. "That sort of magic you do with a wand, then? All that Harry Potter crap?" Her eyes narrowed suddenly. "Did Eddie put you up to this?" Eddie Padullo was notoriously rich and equally annoying, and he'd been trying to find new ways to get her attention lately, each one more obnoxious than the last. She didn't think it was out of any sort of affection, more just to get a rise out of her.
"You have inherited the talent for magic from your father, who is himself a powerful magus, though he would not call himself that." This was from the doctor, and it made absolutely no sense.
"My father? What ... my father is a coked-up pillhead. The only magic he has any talent for is the kind that comes through a needle." Which, she admitted to herself, could be what they were talking about, but somehow she didn't think so. These guys looked weird, but clean.
"Your true father," the man with the white turtleneck and black trenchcoat said, "Whatever else he may be, is a powerful Magus, and it is his blood that flows in your veins, not the blood of the man you know as your father…"
"My 'true' father..." Granted, she'd known for years that Bruce Constantine wasn't her biological father, per se. It was especially easy to figure out when he was dark haired and dark eyed, and she was actually a natural blonde. "Look, I never knew the guy. I'm not even sure Mom really knew who he was." Or remembers. Or cares.
"Nevertheless, the heritage has been passed on. Whether you know him or not, whether you wish it or no, you have a talent and a heritage that is a danger to you and everyone you care about." From his tone of voice, white-coat didn't like either her or this John Constantine very much. But he also sounded deadly serious.
"Okay..." she said slowly. "Say I believe you. Say magic really does exist, and you guys are old friends of this 'John' bloke. What does all this have to do with me?"
"It is, as they say, a long story," said the normal-looking man, "And this is not the sort of conversation that's suited to street-corners." He made a sort of inviting gesture at the door to the cafe they were standing near, ignoring the disgusted noise from the man in white. Jenna looked at him speculatively.
"You buying?" She asked pertly. The man chuckled.
"All right."
The ordinary-looking man in the brown coat accompanied her into the cafe. The other two remained outside for a few minutes, talking in whispers. Jenna heard just enough to make her edgy, something about are you sure? and have no choice. She wasn't sure what to make of it, except that it bothered the hell out of her. But what, really, could she do? Besides, now she was curious to know about her genetic father. She ordered her coffee with the more ordinary man, and sat down. After a while, the other two joined them.
"Jenna Constantine."
He sounded like a nonce, or some kind of special policeman. Either way, she wanted nothing to do with him. "Piss off."
He only looked faintly resigned; he didn't even look irritated, she noted with a certain amount of trepidation. "I see the temperament of the Constantines travels by blood as well as by contagion,"
"Go away," she translated, just in case he hadn't understood her the first time. "Speak-a de Ee-nglish? Fuck-a de off-a. Leave me alone." Just in case he hadn't gotten the message the first ten times.
"I am afraid I cannot, Jenna Constantine. There is very little time, and you are in great danger."
That didn't sound good at all. On the other hand, it also sounded like a great line to give barely post-pubescent girls to get into his car. "What the hell are you on about? What danger?"
"I will explain, if you will walk with me."
She considered her alternatives carefu… "Yeah, sure." What the hell. Walking couldn't do any harm. Not if she kept one eye open and one hand down her pocket on the small, highly illegal flick-knife she carried just in case of trouble. She'd had to whip it out on several occasions, but never actually used it. Still, it looked intimidating.
The man ended up leading her around to one of the cafes that dotted the streets, like high-class pimples on what would have otherwise been a nicely decadent neighborhood. After a few minutes, he led her up to two other guys in trenchcoats, one in red sunglasses and carrying a cane, his coat hung over his shoulders. The other was dressed in brown with a somewhat battered hat, the most normal looking one of the group. All three of them looked like the sort of guy who would randomly appear in a dark alley and stab you to death, if you were lucky. Modern day Jack the Ripper.
"Oh Christ, the dirty-pervert Mac brigade. Ok. I'm here. What do you want? Group costs extra," she added. Belligerent Jen. They probably thought she was some sort of snot-nosed little kid. They were also probably right. The man in white gave her a thoroughly disgusted look; he probably thought she was actually serious. Brown-coat just shook his head, and the stranger didn't seem to get it.
"Doctor. Mister E… this is young Constantine."
The man in white stared at her as though she was something icky he'd just squashed with the A-to-Zed. She didn't much like that, and glared back at him. Well, glared up at him. He was quite a bit taller than she was. Danger, hell, he looked like something she'd be in danger from, not someone who would protect her from danger.
"Are you absolutely sure we need her?" he said, in a voice like the wind in a haunted house. She didn't like that voice; it was a voice that sat in a darkened room and thought darkened thoughts while most people were out in the sunshine having fun. This one was the serial-killer, she decided, and the other two were the kiddie-perv and... she didn't know what. Maybe the necrophiliac who took his turn when the serial killer was done.
"No, you don't need me. Bye now," She turned and started walking. Her sense of self-preservation wasn't dead enough that she was going to hang around with a man like that. Somehow the first guy in the trenchcoat had gotten in front of her though, and held up his hands. She pulled out the knife and flicked it open, standing crouched and terrified.
"Please, Miss Constantine. We are not here to harm you in any way. We are here to protect you." The voice came from behind her, and it wasn't the scary one, so it had to be the man in the brown coat, Dirty-Pervert.
"Yeah, well, your friend there seems to disagree," she backed up a little against the fence so she could see all of them. "And just what the hell do you need to protect me from anyway?"
"You have a gift, Jenna Constantine," said the strange man, "And an impressive ... some might even call it terrifying... heritage behind it. We can teach you how to use that gift, if you will come with us."
She gave him the patented Jenna Constantine and-I-care-why? look. "Gift. Uh-huh. What sort of gift? My dazzling wit? My charming personality? My huge tits?"
"Magic."
That… certainly wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. What the hell were these guys? Religious zealots? They didn't look like it… well, the other two didn't. The doctor and whoever else that was didn't, but the white-coated fellow certainly looked like he could pass for one. One of those ultra-tightarsed ones. She hated them. "Magic," she said, skeptically of course. "That sort of magic you do with a wand, then? All that Harry Potter crap?" Her eyes narrowed suddenly. "Did Eddie put you up to this?" Eddie Padullo was notoriously rich and equally annoying, and he'd been trying to find new ways to get her attention lately, each one more obnoxious than the last. She didn't think it was out of any sort of affection, more just to get a rise out of her.
"You have inherited the talent for magic from your father, who is himself a powerful magus, though he would not call himself that." This was from the doctor, and it made absolutely no sense.
"My father? What ... my father is a coked-up pillhead. The only magic he has any talent for is the kind that comes through a needle." Which, she admitted to herself, could be what they were talking about, but somehow she didn't think so. These guys looked weird, but clean.
"Your true father," the man with the white turtleneck and black trenchcoat said, "Whatever else he may be, is a powerful Magus, and it is his blood that flows in your veins, not the blood of the man you know as your father…"
"My 'true' father..." Granted, she'd known for years that Bruce Constantine wasn't her biological father, per se. It was especially easy to figure out when he was dark haired and dark eyed, and she was actually a natural blonde. "Look, I never knew the guy. I'm not even sure Mom really knew who he was." Or remembers. Or cares.
"Nevertheless, the heritage has been passed on. Whether you know him or not, whether you wish it or no, you have a talent and a heritage that is a danger to you and everyone you care about." From his tone of voice, white-coat didn't like either her or this John Constantine very much. But he also sounded deadly serious.
"Okay..." she said slowly. "Say I believe you. Say magic really does exist, and you guys are old friends of this 'John' bloke. What does all this have to do with me?"
"It is, as they say, a long story," said the normal-looking man, "And this is not the sort of conversation that's suited to street-corners." He made a sort of inviting gesture at the door to the cafe they were standing near, ignoring the disgusted noise from the man in white. Jenna looked at him speculatively.
"You buying?" She asked pertly. The man chuckled.
"All right."
The ordinary-looking man in the brown coat accompanied her into the cafe. The other two remained outside for a few minutes, talking in whispers. Jenna heard just enough to make her edgy, something about are you sure? and have no choice. She wasn't sure what to make of it, except that it bothered the hell out of her. But what, really, could she do? Besides, now she was curious to know about her genetic father. She ordered her coffee with the more ordinary man, and sat down. After a while, the other two joined them.