Chapter Five
Time passed. It could have been five minutes or could have been fifty minutes. The tea kettle was growing more and more insistent for attention. Reluctantly, they drew apart and headed for the kitchen. He took only one crutch with him, leaning on it reluctantly. There were a few new touches that she'd added. The apartment looked brighter and so much more like a home now than when he'd lived here by himself. There was even rugs on the stone floor.
"Sit," He said, pushing her gently towards a chair. Absently, he noticed that she had changed the fabric on the seats. Bright sunflowers now lived where dull fabric once had. He liked the change and hid a smile as he turned to the counter. A border of blue and yellow squares sat neatly just above the work surface, dividing the wall into two.
He used a tea towel to take the kettle from the stove top and made tea in a teapot he'd never seen before. Sunflowers seemed to be invading his apartment. She stood, pretending not to notice his glare and took milk from the fridge. Intercepting him as he made his way slowly to the table, she took the teapot from him and set it on the table, next to the mugs that were already there.
They both sat, each holding a mug of strong tea. She sipped hers before speaking. With both hands wrapped around the mug, warmth was starting to creep back into her body. She was actually starting to feel safe again.
"What are we going to do?" She asked. He didn't know if she meant the relationship or the city. He chose to address the later, thinking that it was the easier problem to solve. He felt awful for not telling Angela about his marriage, but at the time it had been easier not to say anything. He'd never meant to hurt her. He loved the woman too much for that.
"Mass deportations. It won't be easy." He said, thinking that nothing in his life was ever easy. The truth was, he no longer expected his life to be simple. "We're gonna need help." He had a few people in mind, but had no way of knowing if they were still in the city or even if they were still alive.
"I know where to find some." She said, her tone only slightly smug. He was surprised, but tried not to show it. She took his lack of reaction to be disapproval, and scowled at him. "Jesus John." She swore, giving him another dirty look.
"So what's he called?" He asked, trying to keep the peace. John wasn't sexist, but most people in his line of work were men. It was a fact.
"He's a she." Angela said flatly.
He managed to hide the shocked expression before Angela saw it. "Her name?" He asked again, wondering if he knew her.
"She's called Solitaire. At least, that's what she says she's called. I doubt it's her real name."
"I've never heard of her." John admitted, shaking his head as he tried to place the name. Something about it was familiar, even though he knew he didn't actually know her. Somewhere, he had heard something about the girl. Gossip travels fast, no matter what it's about.
"She turned up just after you… left." The significant pause in her sentence was a pointed one. "Started killing half-breeds who crossed her. She's good at what she does." There was a strange note in Angela's voice that he couldn't figure out. "She's only young." Angela added, almost as an after thought.
"What does she use?" He asked, a memory tickling the back of his mind. He thought that he had heard about her, even though their paths had never crossed.
Angela smiled a wicked grin. "That's the best part- she has a sniper rifle that she uses, plus a few other modern toys. None of the old ways for her. I doubt that she knows them."
John's memory offered up the titbit it had been holding back. "She used to work in New York, didn't she? She left after some trouble with the cops."
"Correct. Now she's working your fair city. You should meet her John, you'll love her." There was a mere trace of dry humour in her voice.
"I'll bet." He muttered. "So where does the girl wonder live?" He asked, excitement starting to bubble in his gut. It was a long time since he'd chased anything remotely demonic. It was time he was back in the game.
Angela told him the address and then went to fetch her car keys. John was still not allowed to drive, and Angela enjoyed the fact that he was dependant on her, even if it was only for transport. She came back from the bedroom carrying two sets of keys. One of the first things she'd done when she moved in was to have the locks changed. She handed John a brand new set of keys that matched those new locks. She half expected him to be angry, but he simply took the keys from her with a muttered thanks.
While she'd been out of the room, he'd slipped his jacket on and he put the keys into one of it's pockets, fastening it safely so that they couldn't fall out. They left the apartment, John using one crutch for support. He hated the damn things and couldn't wait to get rid of them. Angela closed and locked the door, bolts engaging with a satisfying clunk of metal against stone. On impulse, John traced his fingers over the markings he'd carved into the door. The runes of protection and defence felt rough under his fingers, but gave him a feeling of confidence.
He was John Constantine. He'd beat death twice. What where a few thousand half-breeds but a mere annoyance, a distraction from the big plan? Before the night was over, he'd be invincible once again. Nothing would stop him. He would become… He stepped back, breaking contact with the door. He shook his head to clear the thoughts away. He didn't know where they had come from and didn't like them much. John Constantine or not, he could still bleed. He could still die.
Realising that Angela was waiting for him in the car, he turned and hurried to catch up. Neither of them noticed the lone crutch, laying abandoned by the locked door. The drive to Solitaire's apartment was a long one. She lived on the other side of the city- the side which had been hit the hardest. John felt like he was driving through a war zone. The streets were lined with burnt out cars, litter lining the curbs like summer snow. Old newspapers blew listlessly down the street, the wind toying with them like a cat with a mouse.
Angela drove slowly, avoiding the worst of the debris. More than once, they were forced to drive around a pothole in the road. Buildings hung open to the elements, their fronts blown off. The smashed windows felt like sightless eyes to John, begging him to do something to stop the destruction. It hurt his soul to see the city he loved and hated with equal measure so utterly destroyed. Even when- if- he won it back from the half-breeds, he doubted it would ever be the same. When you fix something, no matter how well, you can always see the scars left behind.
What he found worst was the gangs of half-breeds hiding in the shadows, waiting for the night to set them free on the city once again. A few times, he saw residents, normal humans who had had their lives ripped apart. They watched the car go past with dead eyes, not caring that he could save them. They had ceased to exist in their own minds and so ceased to exist in the real world. He heard Angela curse softly and didn't have to look at her to know that she was crying. He wished that he could find the release that tears offered, but the ball of rage growing in his chest stopped the sorrow from emerging.
Angela stopped in front of an apartment block that had survived better than it's neighbours. "This is it." She said, casting a wary look down the street. The both slid out of the car at the same time, John staying behind Angela to shield her from any attack. The main door hung open, half torn from it's hinges. Dust was thick in the air and he held back a cough. Angela led the way up the stairs, counting floors. They emerged onto the fifth, and she peeled off down a dark hallway, scanning the doors for the number they wanted.
She knocked once, and before she could knock again, the door was yanked open. The business end of a shotgun was pointed at them. The girl behind the gun looked like she had no qualms about using it if she doubted them even the tiniest bit.
"Solitaire." Angela said, turning slightly to John. "This is John Constantine."
The dark blonde tipped her head, studying them both. "I heard that he was dead." Apart from a silver ring on her thumb, she wore no jewellery. The jeans she wore hung low on her slim hips, held in place by a thick leather gun belt. She wore a simple black vest top under a battered leather jacket that looked a size too big for her.
"You heard wrong." Angela knew she sounded tough and uncaring, but it had to be done. "He's very much alive." She kept eye contact with the other girl. Neither of them was willing to back down.
"How do I know you're not lying?" Solitaire asked warily. So much suspicion from someone so young was tough to take.
John started to take his jacket off, freezing as Solitaire swung the shotgun so that it was aimed at his head. He smiled slightly at her, and resumed taking his jacket off. He let it fall into a pile on the floor, not caring that it would be covered in dust. Left sleeve first, he unbuttoned the crisp white shirt and folded the sleeve back. The right sleeve followed suit, until his tattoos were visible. He held his arms out towards her, showing them to her.
Those jaded grey eyes took in the scars on his wrists, then moved slowly over the black tattoos.
"I guess I heard wrong." She said and stepped back from the door, granting them access. He grabbed his jacket off the floor, shaking the dust off it. She laid the shotgun reverently in a gun rack by the door, not bothering to engage the safety. Angela knew enough to know that it wasn't a hunting shotgun. It was made for war. Solitaire saw her looking, and said "It's a Remington 1100. Used by police forces the world over. It works just as well to blow the heads off the half-breeds."
John was impressed by the apartment. It was small and cramped, but the sheer firepower the lined that walls made him feel like they stood a chance of winning the war against the half-breeds. He had no doubt that the girl new her weapons. In front of him, Angela knocked a box of shells off a low table. The box spilt and John knelt to replace them. He was impressed to see that they were made of gold. Keeping one, he stood. The narrow hallway opened up into a medium sized room.
John entered the room, noting that Solitaire was sat down, breaking down a gun to clean it. "Blessed gold?" He asked, holding it out to her. She nodded without taking her eyes away from her work. "Where did you find so much?"
She tipped her head and looked at him. "Half the churches in the city are abandoned. It's easy to find what you need." She picked up a glass bottle and tossed it at him without looking. He snatched it out of the air. "Holy water?"
"You got it bro." She said. "Not to be rude, but what do you want? You didn't drive all this way just to make small talk."
John sat on the sagging couch, leaning forward slightly. "We need your help."