II. The Theological Society
Ophelia sat on the hotel bed, staring down at the files that her client had given her and sucking on a lollipop. She had just recently given up smoking, and found that only candy could keep her from reaching for her nonexistant pack.
Apparently the pale guy's name was John Constantine and he sounded like a real freak. His mother died giving birth to him, nearly killed his own father using a... Ophelia lifted the paper close to her nose, squinting. It couldn't possible say what she thought it said.
Spell?
"Okay I totally don't believe this crap," she muttered to herself but kept reading. Apparently there had been some sort of suicide attempt when he was a teenager, and he had been dead for seven minutes. Ophelia couldn't imagine having to live with death so young in life. Then again, she had lived with even more. Perhaps she and the newest job had something in common.
Feeling like her client had screwed her over on the information, Ophelia flipped open her cellphone and called one of the contact numbers that was neatly typed on a sheet in the back of the folder. Her client didn't pick up until the eighth ring, and by then Ophelia's impatience with the man had reached its crescendo.
"What the hell is this stuff? Exorcist? Spell-caster? Escaped from hell! You made up total bullshit and put it in this thing, didn't you?" she exclaimed the second she heard the click of his picking up.
"You're obviously not from around here," came her client's snide voice. "If you knew anything about the occult you'd recognize the name of John Constantine. None of that is made up, believe me."
"You're expecting me to believe that this guy... had his lung cancer cured by Satan? Even I would've made up more convincing information about someone. Even his name sounds phony. You know, if you didn't want to tell me much about this guy, you could've just said something and made both of our lives easier."
To Ophelia's annoyance, another click sounded. The one of the client hanging up on her. She tried calling him again several times, then gave up out of annoyance. She was about to just accept what her client had told her when she realized that Constantine didn't have a sleeping pattern. Which meant of course, that Constantine didn't sleep, which was very unlikely.
Ophelia threw the folder on the floor in a brief bout of anger, and climbed off the bed, stretching luxuriously. Her client had gotten her a really great hotel room, and as tempting as the mini bar was, Ophelia was exercising self control. Which meant she needed to leave the room before she started eating five dollar peanuts out of spite. She donned a leather jacket over the clothing that she had worn to meet her new client. Beneath her skirt were concealed two daggers, at the base of her spine was a gun. Two more daggers were concealed on the inside of her boots. Ophelia had truely learned the art of carrying weaponry without notice. She needed it, especially in LA, where cops were always looking for a reason to frisk a pretty girl.
She picked up the folder one last time and decided that she would go to a haunt of Constantine's. Maybe she would catch a glimpse of the man. Unless, of course, this place was as made up as the rest of the file was about him.
The doorman hailed a cab for her outside, which prompted Ophelia to give him her fallen angel's smile. It was one that had nearly spurred a civil war in a Eurasian country. She figured that the old man could use something nice to think about when he returned to his empty apartment later on.
"Where to, miss?" asked the taxi driver.
"The 'Theological Society' please," she replied, spurring a strange look from the man. She certainly wasn't dressed to go there, but Ophelia was bored and up to anything new and strange.
After a relatively short drive, the cab pulled up outside of a very foreboding building that seemed almost out of place in the middle of LA. Ophelia paid him and tipped him nicely before getting out, shivering slightly. It didn't seem like the kind of place she wanted to be in, especially with her profession. Glaring angels looked down upon her and everyone seemed to have the same look upon their face. The 'I know what you do for a living' look. It was one that her former agent used to give her all the time when she objected to something he said. She couldn't help but feel bad that she had killed him for looking at her that way.
Ophelia climbed the stairs and entered the building, which seemed a good deal like a library. At the end of the long central aisle was a huge fireplace with chairs in front of it. The place seemed deserted. Ophelia loitered a little bit, then found herself looking through the book cases at the hundreds of books in languages that she didn't understand. More than once, she heard the creak of floorboards, and knew that it wasn't herself that was making the sound. She finally found a book in Latin and took it off the shelf with the mind to read it. Ophelia had begun learning Latin in third grade: the curse of being a Catholic schoolgirl.
At first glance it looked like a cookbook with a lot of made up ingredients in it, but once Ophelia really began reading it, she realized it was something else. It seemed to be ways to summon up demons. She found herself immersed in reading the rituals when someone cleared their throat making her jump and flinch for her knives. She blushed when she realized that a priest was standing before her, looking confused.
"I'm sorry I scared you," the priest said. His voice was comforting, but with a tone of power in it that made Ophelia respect him. He was the kind of priest that could scare away any demons this book conjured up. Ophelia closed the book and put it in its proper place before turning to him.
"I'm sorry... should I not be here?" she asked him.
"Oh no, there's no problem with you being here, it's just strange that you know how to read Latin. Most girls at your age only speak Spanish or French as a second language.
"I had a very strict school," she admitted. "Father, may I ask you a few questions?"
"Of course, will you join me at the fireplace? It's much more comfortable then in this drafty aisle," the priest suggested, gesturing to the armchairs in front of the fire. Ophelia nodded and followed him there, settling in a thickly padded chair. "Now, how may I help you?"
"Well you see Father, I've been rather curious about this man lately, and I would like to get to know the real him a little better, and I figure that you're the best person to talk to," she told the priest, who seemed to understand.
"It's so nice to see that at your age you are still interested in learning about Christ," the man told her with a smile.
"Oh no, no, no Father. It isn't about Him. It's about a man that comes here sometimes. Perhaps you'll recognize his name... John Constantine?"
The priest's attitude towards her seemed completely changed and he leaned back in his chair, looking pensive. A long period of silence followed in which Ophelia continuously fidgeted and questioned her reasoning for coming here. Finally, the man broke the silence.
"Constantine... I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since the Mammon incident..." he muttered, as if to himself. Ophelia tried not to grow impatient.
"But what can you tell me about him?" she asked him.
"He's a man both cursed and blessed with a gift given to few. The gift of sight."
"Sight as in seeing? I'm pretty sure a lot of people can see, father."
"No, see in a different way. Constantine can see the angels and demons amongst us, and he has a gift that none have been able to accomplish, though not for lack of trying."
"What gift is this?" Ophelia asked, finding herself interested.
"The gift to go in and out of hell as he pleases. Something not even the powerful Satan can achieve. It makes him a thorn in the side of a lot of people."
Ophelia's eyes widened. So her client hadn't been lying. She needed to start trusting the people she was working for more often. Behind her, the door to the Theological Society opened and someone stepped in. The priest looked up with something near shock, then back at Ophelia. She didn't turn around. She didn't want to know who was standing in the doorway, because she knew that the moment she found out, she was going to have to rethink her plan.
"You stay here, child. I'll attend to his matters and get him on his way. Then you may leave," the priest told her, looking at her with a warning in his eyes. Ophelia had a feeling that he knew what she did for a living and that he didn't want any sort of confrontation in this building.
The first thing Constantine noticed when he walked in was the fact that there was someone else there. For a moment he thought it could be Gabriel, but quickly remembered that Gabriel wouldn't set foot in here after he was made human. Whoever it was, they were completely hidden from him, their back to the door.
Father Anthony stood from the footstool he had sat on in front of the armchair that the other person was settled in, whispering something to them before approaching Constantine.
"H-how may I help you, John?" the priest asked, looking nervously behind him.
"Someone bothering you?" Constantine asked, trying to see the person in the chair, but the priest stepped in his way.
"N-no bother at all. How can I help you?"
"This afternoon I found a demon that had partially made it into this world," Constantine told the priest, who looked confused.
"What do you mean 'partially'?" Father Anthony asked him incredulously.
"Half-in, half-out of a mirror. I wanted to ask you about it before I head over to Midnite's. You ever hear about something like that?" Constantine asked. Behind the priest, a pair of boots appeared over the arm of the chair. He found himself momentarily distracted with curiosity.
"Well in old folklore they used to cover mirrors with black cloths after a person died so they wouldn't be trapped in the mirror forever, but I've never heard of a demon being trapped in one. Sounds like something strange is up," the priest replied thoughtfully. "I'll look into it more for you, but I can't think of anything like that off the top of my head."
"Alright, thanks Father," Constantine said and turned as if to go to the door. Father Anthony turned away from him in relief, going back to where the woman was sitting in the armchair. Constantine opened the door to the Theological Society, but allowed it to close, remaining inside. He ducked into the shadows where he was certain no one would see him.
"Was that him?" came a woman's voice. It was quiet, but with a strangely icy undertone, a businesswoman's voice. Constantine crept forward, still in shadow.
"It was. May I ask who you are?" the priest asked.
"Who I am? My brother says it best:
'Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favor, and to prettiness.'"
Constantine recognized the quote from somewhere, but couldn't remember what he remembered it from. Suddenly, the woman stood, revealing herself in the flickering light of the fire. Pale brown hair fell in loose tendrils from a ponytail, framing her face. Her clothing was black and easy to move in, as it fit her like a second skin.
"Is something the matter?" Father Anthony asked her, sounding worried, or frightened perhaps.
"There's someone else in here. I can hear them breathing," the woman replied in a cautious whisper. Constantine remained quiet. He wasn't breathing heavily, he knew it for a fact, but it seemed that she was staring in his general direction. Her eyes were a pale grey, without a speckle in them. Constantine stepped deeper into the shadows, hopefully out of sight.
The woman was upon him so quickly that Constantine didn't have time to defend himself. Dagger drawn, she attacked him, her heels soundless on the wooden floor. The woman flew at him, tackling him to the ground with a strength that surprised him. Knees pinning his arms to the ground, the girl strattled him, holding her sharp blade to his neck.
"How long have you been here?" she demanded, her voice still quiet and cold. Constantine failed to be impressed however. His legs were still free.
Gathering stamina from the initial adrenaline rush, he kicked up, surprising the girl who was forced onto her back by his legs. This time he was strattling her, legs pinning hers, stretching her arms above her head so she couldn't stab him.
For a moment, he couldn't act, just staring in surprise at the girl, who struggled against his grip. She was too strong to just be a tough girl from the wrong side of LA, she had to have been trained by someone. The thought made him worry a little.
Someone cleared their throat and both Constantine and the girl stopped their struggle in order to look up at Father Anthony who was looking at them worriedly.
"Constantine, get off of the girl," the priest said. Constantine looked at him defiantly.
"She tried to stab me!" he exclaimed.
"Do you promise not to stab John if he lets you go?" Father Anthony asked the girl, who had started squirming again, trying to take advantage of the distraction. Her struggling was to no avail, however, and she gave up momentarily.
"Ugh, fine. I won't stab him if he lets me go... right now," she replied. Constantine wasn't sure in which context she was using right now. Did she mean let her go right now? Or she wasn't going to stab him right now? Nevertheless, Constantine stood, followed by the girl, who didn't accept his offered hand, and tucked her dagger back into her boot.
"You go sit in the corner," Father Anthony said to the girl, who begrudgingly did as she was told. "And YOU Constantine. Go home."
"But..."
"Just leave, Constantine. The last thing I need is a murder in this building, alright? Now go."
Feeling like a teenager sent to his room, Constantine left the building angrily.
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Just so you guys know, the quote is from Act 4, Scene 5 of Hamlet by William Shakespeare. I'm not going to pretend I can write that well.
