"John, you care to explain why Romany's lil' sister is sittin' out in the audience?"
"Go bugger yerself, Rich. It ain't your business."
Rich held up his hands. "Only lookin' out for ya, mate. Romany don't seem like the most stable of women. Might put a bloody curse on ya—make all your teeth fall out."
John rolled his eyes. "Please. Romany couldn't curse me. Besides, we weren't that serious anyhow."
"Serious or not, she's not gonna be happy when she figures out you're shaggin' 'er little sister."
John glared at Rich. "I'm not shaggin', Pete, all right. So just lay off."
"Why not?" Spike asked. "She's a bloody good-lookin' bird, that one."
"I'm just not."
"Well then, can I?"
John turned on Spike, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket at pushing him against the wall. "No," he growled. "You lay one 'and on that girl, and I'll feed you to a demon. Got it?"
Spike nodded as best he could, his face completely white. "Yeah, Constantine. I got it."
John dropped Spike. "Good. Now let's get on stage. We got a set to do."
I'll do anything
For my sweet sixteen,
And I'll do anything
For little run away child
Gave my heart an engagement ring,
She took ev'rything,
Ev'rything I gave her,
Oh sweet sixteen
Pete couldn't help but grin from ear to ear, knowing John was singing to her. Granted, it wasn't the most romantic song in the world, but for the moment, he was her Billy Idol. He looked at her and made his lip curl, and she laughed. He was perfect.
Built a moon
For a rocking chair,
I never guessed it would
Rock her far from here
Oh, oh, oh.
Someone's built a candy castle
For my sweet sixteen
Someone's built a candy brain
And filled it in.
Despite the less-than-stellar playing of the rest of the Seminal Fluids, Pete liked John's voice. It somehow managed to be smooth and rough at the same time, just like the rest of him. He met her eyes from the stage, and Pete felt her entire world narrow to just the two of them. She never wanted the moment to end. She wanted to stay this happy forever.
Well I'll do anything
For my sweet sixteen
Oh I'll do anything
For little runaway child
Well, memories may burn you,
Memories grow older as people can
They just get colder
Like sweet sixteen
I see it's clear
Baby, that you are
All through here
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
Pete saw a small cluster of groupies at the bottom of the stage, looking up at John was hopeful eyes. She smiled to herself. They could wish all the wanted to, but John Constantine was hers tonight.
Someone's built a candy castle
For my sweet sixteen
Someone's built a candy house
To house her in.
Someone's built a candy castle
For my sweet sixteen
Someone's built a candy brain
And filled it in.
And I do anything
For my sweet sixteen
Oh, I do anything
For run away girl.
Yeah, sad and lonely and blue.
Yeah, gettin' over you.
How, how do you think it feels
Yeah to get up in the morning, get over you.
Up in the morning, get over you.
Wipe away the tears, get over you, get over, get over...
My sweet sixteen,
Oh runaway child
Oh sweet sixteen
Little runaway girl.
My sweet sixteen…
"So 'ow was I, luv?" John asked, sliding into the booth next to Pete.
"You were wonderful," Pete said, leaning over to give John a kiss. She started to pull away, but John held her close, enjoying the taste of her. A part of him still said that it was wrong for him to be with her, but he didn't care so much anymore. Romany was a big girl. She could handle it. And as for Pete, well, he'd just have to take things slow.
That thought did give John a little bit of a pause. Since when did he want to get into relationships where he had to take things slow? He pulled back a bit, looking into Pete's eyes. Since right then. He liked Pete, and he decided she'd be worth any sort of wait.
That didn't, however, mean that he planned to keep her at arm's length until she was old enough to be in a serious relationship with him. She was a quite pretty girl, and there was a fire in her that called to him. He pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms loosely around her small waist. "I was singin' t'you, y'know," he said, nuzzling her hair.
"I know," Pete said, kissing his stubbled cheek. "And I think I like you even more than Billy Idol."
John laughed. "You better. Wouldn't want to have to go pound the tosser's face in."
Pete looked at him with mock outrage. "Billy Idol is not a tosser."
John ran a finger under the thin strap of her dress. "He would be if he ever stole you away."
Pete blushed. "Don't worry. I wouldn't leave you for anyone. Not even Johnny Rotten."
"Luv, I do believe that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Pete smiled. "Kiss me, John."
John pulled her to him, more than willing to fulfill that request.
It was close to dawn before Pete got home that night. She was tired, but she felt like she could fly. John hadn't left her side all night, and she'd been happier than she remembered being in a long time.
Pete started to jump up on the fire escape and climb back up to her room when she noticed the window was closed. "Bloody 'ell," she muttered, realizing someone had found out she'd left.
She sighed, walking back around to the front of the building. She might as well face the music. No matter what her father said, she was going to keep on seeing John. Harold was just going to have to deal with it.
When she came into the flat, she found Romany sitting on the couch, her face buried in her hands. She looked up at Pete, her face streaked with tears. "Romany?"
"Da's dead…" Romany said. "He's dead."
Pete stumbled back, her hand going to her mouth. "No…" she whispered.
"He…'e went to look for you an'…an' 'e was attacked. They killed 'im."
Pete let out a choked cry as she ran to her room, throwing herself on the bed. Her father was dead, and it was her fault. If she'd just stayed home like he'd told her, it never would've happened. And to make it all worse, the last thing she'd ever said was that she hated him…
Pete sobbed into her pillow, wishing she could take it all back, but knowing she never could.
Harold Wisdom's funeral was held on a miserably rainy afternoon. Pete huddled inside her school raincoat as the priest chanted over her father's grave. She'd stopped feeling anything except numb days ago.
She and Romany had barely spoken since she'd come home the night Harold had died. She didn't have to talk to her sister to know how Romany felt--she could see the resentment threaten to spill over every time her sister caught her eye.
Pete's mother was standing between the two girls, wearing a black skirt and blouse, looking for all the world like a normal mourning widow. She was weeping, the rain and tears soaking her face and the front of her shirt.
Inspector Bainbridge, who had worked with Harold in the homicide division of Scotland Yard, moved out from the crowd of mourners to give the eulogy. The priest had asked Romany and Moonbeam to do it, but they had both refused. Pete was glad--none of them knew anything about Harold. They didn't deserve to speak at his funeral.
"Harold Wisdom was many things--a kind, generous man, a great investigator, at times hard to work with." There were a few chuckles from the detectives in the crowd and Pete felt her spirits lift for a moment. "I know he would be heartwarmed to see you all here today," said Bainbridge. "And heartbroken to know that his two girls must face life without him. Because above all, Harold was a loving, devoted father. We all remember that Pete and Romany were the light of his life. They say the true measure of a man is his family. If that's true, then Harold Wisdom was the greatest man among us."
Everything that Pete had been suppressing in the four days since Harold had died suddenly sprang to the surface, and she felt herself start to sob. Moonbeam put her arm around her, and the other around Romany. Pete leaned into her mother's shoulder, grateful for any comfort. She looked up to see Romany glaring at her with an expression of such unbridled hatred it made Pete shiver. She ducked out from under her mother's arm and walked away from the graveside, Romany following her.
"Where do you get off?" Romany spat. Pete blinked away her tears.
"I'm sorry, Romany. I know you blame me for Da getting...you know..." Pete didn't want to be having this conversation. She knew nothing she could say could ever make Romany--or herself--believe that she wasn't responsible for Harold's death.
"You took me boyfriend," said Romany in a low voice. "And now you've taken Da. Are you happy now, Pete? Do you feel good?" Pete had never heard Romany talk to anyone like she was talking to Pete now, and it frightened her.
"Romany..."
"I hope you lose someone someday, Pete. I hope you know how I feel right now." Romany turned on her heel and went back to stand beside her mother. Pete started to follow her, but she knew she couldn't go back to the funeral. She had to get away from all of the death. She'd said her goodbyes to her father--even though she knew she'd never be free of his ghost.
"You look a sight, luv." Pete jerked her head up.
"John!" She fell into his arms, and John held her tightly. "What are you doin' here?" He kissed the top of her head.
"Figured y'might need a shoulder to cry on." Pete stayed pressed against him.
"I need to get away, John," she whispered. "Can I stay with you for a while? I don't think I can go home with Romany." John hesitated, but then nodded. Who was he to deny a girl who had just lost her father a safe place to stay?
"Of course you can, luv," he said. "Come meet me at the club tonight with yer things and we'll go on back to my place." Pete nodded. John reached up with his shirttail and wiped her face. "It wasn't your fault, Pete. I 'ope you know that." Pete didn't say anything, she just shrugged and walked back to the graveside. John watched her for another minute with worry, and then left the cemetery.
"Will you lookit this place?" said Rich, turning in a slow circle at the center of the basement. The lights were off, since the club wasn't yet open for the night, and it was dark except for the flashlights John, Rich, Derek and Spike held. Rich flashed his light over the various harnesses and contraptions that lined the walls.
"Bloody 'ell," said Spike. "Energy's thick as thieves down 'ere." John took a deep breath. Spike was right--the fetish parlor was awash with fear, pain and a thousand other twisted emotional residues willing and unwilling victims. John fingered his pentacle necklace. It felt slightly warm. John felt a shiver travel up his spine. That was never a good sign--it meant a presence of powerful evil was near. Get a bloody grip, Constantine, he scolded himself. He'd need every ounce of his considerable powers to conjure up Nergal and rid this place of its terror demon.
"Oy, John," said Derek. "Where d'you want me to set this beast up?" He was holding the portable altar that John and his band used for exorcisms and various other rituals.
"Center of the room, mate," said John. "Let's make this quick--that bloody creepy manager'll be 'ere soon, an' I don't want to 'ave to explain why we're summonin' a demon in 'is basement."
Spike and Rich started drawing Nergal's sigil on the floor in chalk while Derek and John set up the altar. John was nervous--he'd never called someone as powerful as Nergal through before, and he half-wondered if Rich hadn't been right to be worried.
But if he was successful that this, he could do anything. He'd get as famous as Alestair bleedin' Crowley and he could stop hiding his dirty little secret from the world.
Yeah, dream on, Constantine.
His three friends stood around the circle, and John walked slowly to the center. He clicked off his flashlight so only candlelight remained, gleaming dully on leather and metal. John swallowed once to make sure his voice came out strong, and then began to speak. "Hail Nergal, King of Rage..."
Pete stood in a corner of John's club, scanning the crowd anxiously. The opener band was still onstage, but John and the Seminal Fluids were usually waiting to set up by now. Pete wondered if he'd ditched her, if she'd made him leave by asking to stay in his flat...
"Pete!" Pete turned to see John come bounding up the stairs from the basement, looking flushed. The rest of his band followed him. Pete smiled a little.
"Thought you skipped out on me, Constantine." He grinned, kissing her on the cheek.
"Hardly, luv. Got your things?" Pete nodded.
"Brilliant," said John. "We'll leave right after me set." He leaned down and kissed her softly. Pete felt the weight of the day lift off of her. She was finally going to get away from Romany and the horrible, crushing knowledge of her responsibility for her father being dead. Maybe in time she could even forget...
There was a roar from below--not so much a roar as an avalanche of sound that shook the club and vibrated Pete to her core. Glasses and bottles fell off the backbar and the opener band's amplifiers blew in a shower of sparks. In the vacuum left by the massive sound, Pete heard John curse.
"Bloody 'ell."
The club erupted in screams and panic as patrons tore for the exits. Pete turned to see the basement door blown off its hinges and a mass of smoke and light emerge. The smoke resolved itself into a figure, at least seven feet tall. It seemed to be made of black vapor except for it's red eyes and it's teeth, which were shiny, sharp, and far too many.
"John Constantine," the figure intoned. "How dare you presume to enslave me?"
"Fuck!" Spike screamed. "It's bloody Nergal!" Rich grabbed John by the arm.
"I thought you 'ad him sealed in the basement!"
"I did..." said John helplessly. "I did..." Pete watched in terror as the huge being took a step into the club, and then another.
"For this insult," said the figure, his voice grating on her ears like fire. "I demand sacrifice--and you shall give it to me!" Nergal swept Spike up into a hand that had grown massive enough to encircle the drummer's waist, and held him up, his gullet expanding as he shoved Spike into it and bit down.
"No! NO! AHHHHGGH!" Spike's scream tore the air.
"SPIKE!" John started for the figure, his blue eyes enraged, but Rich held him back. Nergal walked forward again, the floorboards where he had stepped bursting into flames.
Derek was the next, his death as gruesome as Spike's. Rich turned to John. "We 'ave to stop him!" he shouted over Derek's screams and the roaring flames.
"How the bleedin 'ell do you propose we do that?!" John screamed back.
"You're the mage!" Rich shouted at him, his face contorting in panic. "This was your idea! Do somethin--" The clawed hand impaled Rich from behind, and jerked him back into Nergal's waiting gullet. John turned to Pete.
"Run." Pete shook her head. She had no idea what was going on, but she wasn't about to lose John to an overgrown cloud of smoke.
"I'm stayin'." Nergal roared again, seeming to grow larger with each passing second. Most of the club was in flames, but there was still a clear path to the bathroom door. John grabbed Pete and pushed her through, slamming and locking the door behind them. He yanked a piece of white chalk out of his pocket and scrawled a crooked symbol on the wood, then turned to Pete.
"Listen t'me," he said. "Ye can't help me. You have to run--now!" Pete held on to his arm.
"I'm not leavin' you!" The door shuddered, Nergal howling on the other side. John's symbol flashed with blue light, then vanished.
"Fuck!" said John. The door shattered.
"Constantine..." Nergal hissed. "Your time has come." John looked at Pete, his eyes calm.
"Go, Pete. Right now. Please. I can't lose you." Pete looked at the thing behind him, then at John's peaceful face, and nodded.
"Y'better get out of here alive, John Constantine, and come find me." John nodded.
"I promise. Now run!" Pete threw open the bathroom window and slid out, easily fitting with her small frame. She turned back only once. The last thing she saw was Nergal looming over John, and then something inside the club exploded, throwing Pete to the ground and into blackness.