The next day was a Saturday, with warm breezes and a sunny blue sky. It was rare for London, and Pete could hear people on the street laughing and chattering as they went by.
Unfortunately, Pete was stuck in the Wisdom's flat reading Inferno for her advanced literature class. Harold Wisdom was even more adamant now that Romany had moved back in that Pete stick to her studies and not misbehave. Pete looked at the detention notice she'd gotten for smoking outside the school yesterday and was currently using as a bookmark. She decided she'd 'lose' it and hope Romany wasn't the one to take out the trash—she wasn't in the mood for another lecture about her smoking, or the way she dressed, or the volume of Billy Idol on her record player. And she definitely wasn't in the mood for the Inferno.
But somehow thinking about John Constantine and his scruffy, engaging smile made the entire cooped-in-the-flat situation much more bearable.
"Spirits of air and fire, hear me now and answer my call!" Pete groaned. Romany was sitting outside on the Wisdom's fire escape, using the rare sunshine to 'cleanse' her large collection of crystals. The window leading on to the fire escape was in Pete's bedroom, and it was much too warm to keep the window closed. "Fire and air, wind and flame, heed my desires!" Romany intoned. Pete stuck her head out the window.
"Shut up, Romany! Clean your bleedin' rocks somewhere else!" Romany, who had a scarf wrapped around her head and was weighted down with several long silver charm chains, glared at Pete.
"These are precious stones taken from the Mother Goddess earth, not rocks, Pete."
"They could be the crown jewels for all I care, Romany. I'm tryin' to study so I can get out of this madhouse some day, so if you don't mind could you please summon your dark gods another time?!"
"I'm going to tell Da on you, Pete Wisdom. You're an intolerant little blighter."
"You do and I'll tell him the 'friend' you were sleepin' with last night happens to be male and sings lead in a punk band."
"Speak of the devil," said a voice from behind Pete and Romany. They both jumped. John was standing in the window of Pete's room, grinning at them.
"What are you doing here?!" Romany cried, jumping up and running over to give him a kiss that was, in Pete's opinion, better featured in a porno movie.
"I let meself in," said John with a wink.
"The front door was locked," said Pete. John shrugged.
"I'm a man of many talents."
"Let's go out," said Romany, tugging on his arm. "We can go down to Picadilly Circus and check out the new magic shop." John looked at Pete.
"An' leave your sister all by 'erself?" Romany rolled her eyes.
"Pete would rather be broodin' in her dark cave with Dante Aligheri and his blokes than out in the fresh air, Constantine. Trust me."
"Toerag," Pete muttered.
"D'you want to come with us?" said John, holding out a hand to help her in from the fire escape. Pete bit her lip. She did want to go out with John, but she knew Romany would make life miserable for her if she said yes.
"Yeah," she said. "I can read Dante any time." Romany glared daggers at her from behind John's back.
"John," she said sharply. "You don't want to get Pete in trouble, do you? She has to stay 'ere and read, and plus she'll just be dragging after us whining she wants to stop and 'ave a fag the entire time, and she--"
"I think you want Pete to come," said John, locking his eyes with Romany's. "You can spend quality time with your sister. It's a fantastic idea." His voice was soft and level, slightly hypnotic. Pete felt herself yawn. Romany blinked once, then smiled brightly at John.
"I guess it won't matter if she tags along this once."
"Right," said John agreeably. "Let's go, ladies."
Pete followed behind Romany and John, deciding that John Constantine had a rather cute arse. That was when Romany wasn't grabbing it.
Pete had never really been jealous of her older sister before. If anything, she'd been damn glad that she wasn't Romany. But every time she saw her with her tongue halfway down John's throat, Pete definitely wanted to be her sister. Or kill her. She couldn't quite make up her mind.
"John, I want to go in there."
John frowned. It was a clothing shop, and it seemed to cater more to Romany's taste than his. If he went in there, he'd probably come out looking like bloody Prince Valiant. "Why don't you go on in, luv. I'm gonna stay out here an' 'ave a fag."
Romany kissed his cheek. "All right. Pete, you coming in or blackening your lungs with me boyfriend?"
As if there was even a question… "I could use a smoke meself."
"I won't be long," she said, giving John a somewhat seductive look.
Romany went into the store, and John sat down on the curb, took his cigarettes out of his coat pocket, and handed one up to Pete. "'ere."
Pete took it, sitting down next to John. "Got a light?"
"Of course." Pete put the cigarette in her mouth, and John lit it. Their eyes met for a moment, and Pete felt her whole body shiver. John turned quickly, getting a cigarette out for himself.
"So…do you love me sister?" Pete asked, breaking the awkward silence.
John sputtered. "Love? 'ell no. I mean, I like Romany an' all, but love. I don't think so."
"But you're shaggin' 'er."
John flicked his cigarette. "Well, yeah. Your sister's a bloody goddess in the sack." Pete blushed a deep crimson. "Sorry. Probably shouldn't 'ave said that."
"It's all right."
"So what about you, Pete? Got yourself a lil' boyfriend?"
"No," Pete admitted quietly. She felt like such a loser.
"That's surprising, cute girl like you. No boys at your school puttin' notes in your locker?"
"I go to an all girls' school."
John winced. "Tough break, kid."
"Yeah. Me da thinks it's best. He's been real strict ever since Mum left."
John was quiet for a moment. "Where'd your mum go…if you don't mind me askin'."
"She changed 'er name to Moonbeam and joined some commune. Romany's followin' in 'er footsteps, I think."
"Moonbeam. Yeah, I could see Romany doin' that. So what's your name? Somethin' crazy like that?"
Pete took a drag off her cigarette. "I already told you me name's Pete."
"Yeah, but you also said it's a nickname. Wot's it a nickname for?"
"I don't want to say. It's bloody awful."
John nudged her with his elbow. "Oh come on. It can't be that bad."
"Let me put it this way—I'd rather be Moonbeam."
"So you won't tell me, huh?"
"No bloody way. And don't go askin' me sister, either. That wouldn't be very nice."
"All right, luv. I'll be nice this once then."
Pete felt color creep back up to her face again. She liked the way it sounded when he called her "luv." "So 'ow'd you meet me sister?" Pete asked, wanting to change the subject.
"She an' some of her friends came to one of me gigs. We snogged fer a while, an' I decided I liked 'er all right. She's a nice lookin' bird."
"Yeah. She got all the looks in the family."
John noticed the bitterness of Pete's tone and the harsh way she flicked her cigarette. "'ey. You're pretty, too, Pete. You'll be bloody gorgeous when you grow up."
Pete smiled a little at the first part of John's statement, but frowned again at the last. "Thanks."
They sat in silence for a few more moments until Romany came out. "You two done polluting your lungs?"
John stubbed his cigarette out on the sidewalk. "Yeah." He stood up, glancing at Romany's bag. "Wot you buy?"
"I'll show you later," Romany said with a purr. "I think you'll like it."
John gave her a crooked grin. "We'll see. Right now, I'm hungry. 'ow 'bout we go get something to eat?"
"Sounds all right to me," Romany said, linking her arm with John. Pete sighed as she got up and followed after them.
Pete poked at the piece of fish with a chip. She'd lost her appetite somewhere around the part where Romany had started feeding John. Pete wished she was older and prettier. It wasn't fair that Romany had an actual chest and she was still flat as a pancake. She ground the chip into a mashed heap.
Romany looked over at Pete, giving her little sister a smug smile. "Not hungry, Pete?"
"No."
Romany leaned over and gave John a deep, lingering kiss. Pete got up from the table. "I have to go to the loo," she mumbled, hurrying off so fast she tripped, hitting her knee on the pavement. She got up without looking back, hot tears stinging her face.
John stood up, but Romany grabbed his hand. "Where are you going?"
"To check on Pete. She seemed upset."
"Oh she's just like this. Throws little temper tantrums. Ignore her, she's being a baby."
"I'll be right back," John said, ignoring Romany. He went after Pete and found her sitting behind one of the shops, crying and smoking a cigarette. "'ey there."
Pete turned around. "Go away."
John knelt behind her. "I'm sorry if we upset you out there. I didn't think about Romany an' me makin' you uncomfortable."
"I don't care wot you do with Romany. Shag 'er silly. Makes no difference t'me."
John signed, running a hand through his hair. "Pete, I know it's 'ard for you, bein' the younger sister an' all, but you don't 'ave to be 'ard on yourself. Yer a pretty girl." He gave her a mischievous grin. "I bet when you grow up, you'll be even prettier than Romany."
Pete looked up at him. "You really think so?"
John looked into her blue eyes, still damp with tears, and swallowed. "Yeah, I do."
Pete smiled. "Thanks, John."
"Fer what? Speakin' me mind?"
"No. For bein' nicer to me than any of Romany's other wanker boyfriends."
John ruffled her hair. "Well, you're welcome. Come on, let's go back to the table. Your chips are gettin' cold."
"I'll be back in a minute. I don't want Romany to see me face all blotchy."
"All right." John stood up. "See you in a bit, Pete."
"Yeah, see you in a bit." John left, and Pete continued to puff on her cigarette.
"Romany! Pete!" Harold Wisdom stood in the center of the living room, hands on his hips. He had just come in and was still wearing his Scotland Yard badge. Pete stuck her head out of her room.
"What is it, Da?" Harold glared at her.
"Get in here now, the both of you." The two girls came and stood in front of Harold.
"What did Romany do now?" asked Pete. Romany bristled.
"Me! You're the one who's gettin' written up at school for puttin' saftey pins in your uniform!"
"Quiet!" Harold shouted. "I'm pissed off at the lot of you, for different reasons." He turned to Romany. "You--who's this boyfriend of yours?" Romany bit her lip.
"Just a bloke, Da."
"Yeah? Well, I did some checking on this 'bloke' Constantine--apparently he's been in trouble with the cops up in Liverpool and here, too. Him and that group of degenerates that call themselves a band are into some sort of cult activity!"
"It's 'occult', Da, and there's nothing wrong with it!" Romany shouted.
"I'll be damned if you turn into your mother, Romany!" Harold said. "I'll not see one of my offspring making a fool of herself with some creepy delinquent who runs around killin' chickens an' chantin' to the forces of hellfire!" Romany opened her mouth to scream back at Harold, but Pete spoke up.
"John's not like that." Harold and Romany both looked at her.
"Do explain," said Harold.
"He's a nice guy," said Pete. "I've spent plenty of time with him, and he and Romany both believe in that freaky stuff, but he's not going to chain her to an altar an' sacrifice her. He's not a bad sort." Pete saw Romany look at her almost gratefully--her word carried more weight with Harold than Romany's ever had.
Harold narrowed his eyes. "That true, Romany? Because his police record says different."
"Give 'im a break, Da. He was a kid when he was in trouble. He's more responsible now." Romany gave her father her sweetest smile. Harold sighed.
"If he 'urts you, I'm going to break his bloody head in half." He turned to Pete. "And you, Pete Wisdom, the next time you decide to gallivant off with yer sister and her degenerate fella instead of finishing yer homework, I'll chain ye to the bleedin' bed." Pete nodded.
"Yes, Da." Harold slipped off his jacket.
"Now I'm going to 'ave a drink and watch the match, and I don't want to be bothered." Romany nodded and slipped back to her room, grateful to have escaped the full breast of Harold's wrath. Pete sat down on the ottoman as her father collapsed into his recliner.
"Rough day, Da?" Harold nodded.
"'Ad a triple murder at one of those bloody clubs in the East End. Breedin' ground of sin, they are." Pete felt a sudden stab of worry. John's club was in the East End.
"Which club, Da?" Harold shrugged.
"One of those little basement jobs, some sort a fringe fetish place. Didn't have a name." Pete let out her breath. She couldn't stand it if something happened to John.
Pete got up and took a beer out of the icebox for her father, popping off the cap and handing it to him. He grunted his thanks.
"I'm sorry I worried you, Da," she said. "I just wanted to have a bit of fun with Romany and John." Harold waved his hand.
"Go finish yer studies, Pete, and leave me be." Pete turned and went back to her room.
John Constantine's flat--if you could call a single room with a rusty sink and shower in a closet a flat--was nearly overflowing with the three other members of the Seminal Fluids.
The room wasn't very big to start with, and it was crammed full of books, odds and ends of equipment for the band, and several arcane objects that served John well in his other, less socially acceptable job. Not that singing with the Fluids was going to get him tea with the queen, by any stretch.
Although it would have brought a crooked smile to his face to hear Pete defending him against being a 'creepy delinquent', John was very much involved in the occult. It was how he had met Romany Wisdom--she had seen his pentacle necklace, identical to the one she was wearing at the time, and they had struck up a conversation.
John was good with things supernatural--he had a feeling for demons, ghosts, poltergeists and their ilk. The rest of his band did too--although none of them reached the heights that John did.
Two of them were sitting on his bed, and Rich, his guitar player, was on the floor.
"Constantine, would it kill you to buy some bloody furniture?" John looked up from where he was flipping through one of his thousands of books on all things creepy.
"All I need's the bed, mate. Why waste yer money on earthly trappings? We're all goin' the same place when we kick." Rich frowned.
"Speak for yerself, mate." John flipped the book shut and stood before his three accomplices.
"Alright, gents--we all agree that after last night's happenings this is getting out of hand." Spike held up a file folder with the Scotland Yard logo, marked OPEN CASE--CONFIDENTIAL.
"'ow'd you get a hold on this?" John smiled.
"Convinced the file clerk to let me borrow it for a spell." Spike looked at the gruesome photos contained within and shuddered.
"Three people--bloody hell." Rich stood and looked over Spike's shoulder.
"They're...torn apart, almost."
"D'you have any idea what this is, Constantine?" said Derek, his bassist. John nodded.
"Yeah, after stayin' up all night with me books. I think what we're lookin' at here is a terror elemental." His three sidekicks stared at him blankly. John sighed. "Terror elemental--a formless demon feedin' off negative emotion--hate, fear, pain and, well, terror." He took the file back and looked down at the three murder victims. He wouldn't have cared about them, except for the fact that the murders had taken place in the basement of his club, which served as a small private fetish parlor with the punk show above as cover. It was the best--and only--gig the Seminal Fluids had had in some time, and John was determined to keep it.
"So what are we goin' to do?" said Rich. John sighed, lighting half of an already-smoked cigarette.
"Elemental demons are bloody hard to exorcise, bein' formless. They only take shape to feed, so barrin' usin' one of us as bait..." He looked around at the band. "We need some firepower of our own."
"What kind a firepower?" said Derek suspiciously.
"The big bad demonic kind," said John with a grin. "An' I've found just the bloke to help us out." He flipped open another, much older book to the appropriate page. Rich took it and looked at it.
"Bloody fuckin' hell, Constantine. What is this thing?"
"Gents, meet Nergal, ancient Mesopotamian war god and a dedicated knight of Satan." The three others crowded around the book.
"'e don't look like the cooperative type," said Spike. "In fact, 'e looks like the eatin' yer head type."
"Stop bein' a bunch of nannies, you lot," said John. "Nergal is just what we need to get rid of this thing in the club."
"Constatine, have you read all of these nicknames?" said Rich incredulously. "Look at this one--King of Rage. Master of Pestilence. Bringer of Strife." He closed the book. "We do not want this tosser summoned up."
"Fine, Rich," said John. He could have easily made his friend go along, but John had a few--very few--morals about where he used his powers of persuasion. "Then we can just wait until the elemental gets tired of feastin' on leather-clad perverts and makes 'is way upstairs to eat our fans." Rich looked down. "Those people in the file, fucked in the 'ead as they may have been, were innocent," said John. "We got an obligation 'ere."
"'e's right," said Derek. "I'm in."
"Yeah, me too," said Spike. They all looked at their reticent guitar player.
"Fine," said Rich with a sigh. "Let's do it."