Slowly, I come to. It's the oldest cliché in the book, but I don't know where I am... There isn't a single part of my body that doesn't hurt. I can't move my hands. I don't think I want to open my eyes, partly because my head's spinning, but partly because I've got this god awful suspicion I'm tied to a chair.

I try to concentrate. I can hear the girl - the Slayer - talking, but I can't focus on what she's saying. Then I catch the words '...demon blood...' and I groan out loud. Bloody hell, I am tied to a chair. My hands are tied painfully behind my back, and the ropes are cutting into my wrists. I suppose I should be thankful that she didn't just stake me while I was unconscious. She must think I'm not human. She thinks I'm dangerous... well I can't argue with that... but she probably thinks I don't have a soul.

'I think he's waking up...' she says. I force my eyes open, and stare around the room... I can see a stage, and a sound system... Jesus Christ, I think it's a club! I almost laugh at the irony of it, but my chest screams in pain, and I groan instead.

'Slayer...' I whisper. She scowls at me. 'I'm Constantine. John Constantine,' I say desperately hoping she's heard of me, but she stares at me blankly. 'I need your help!' I say quickly.

'My help?' she says incredulously. 'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just stake you!'

'Because I'm too young to die...' I almost quip, but I take one look at her deadly serious face, and decide against it. I don't think she'd appreciate humour right now.

'I'm not a demon,' I say fiercely. She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. 'I've got demon's blood fucking around in my system. It's a long story, all right?' She looks at me suspiciously.

'Look, I need your help...' I plead. 'Something's after me.'

'Which is why you came crashing in though the skylight of the Bronze...'

'Yes! No!' Jesus Christ, I'm making a mess of things... 'I was attacked! I was thrown through the skylight...'

'You're lying. There was no one there!'

I take a deep breath. 'Not by a someone. By a something. And... it was invisible.'

She's silent for a moment. I think she wants to believe me. But Slayers aren't the most naturally trusting people, and I don't exactly inspire confidence. Christ, my arm's killing me. I suddenly realise the ropes are soaked with blood...

'Slayer...' I say, my voice tight with pain.

'What is it?' she asks, although not as impatiently as she might have.

'Please... untie my arms. I'm bleeding...'

'He is, Buffy,' someone says. I look up at the speaker – a red haired girl – and grimace my thanks. Then I look down at the floor, where blood is beginning to pool at my feet.

Suddenly, the Slayer – Buffy – grips my shoulder and looks into my eyes.

'Can I trust you?' she asks quietly. 'I need to know if I can trust you...'

'I... I don't know...' I answer hesitantly. She smiles

'At least you're honest,' she says. She kneels down next to me, and quickly but gently drags free the ropes. I catch my breath, and then grip my hand to my chest.

There's a long, jagged gash in my arm and it's bleeding like hell.

'You're a mess!' the Slayer says cheerfully. 'We'd better get that sorted...'

'Not the hospital...' I murmur. 'Too many... awkward... questions...'

'I know the feeling,' she says, almost sympathetically. 'All right then, I'll take you to Giles and...'

Hang on a second... Giles? The name sound familiar. God, could that be... was that his name?

'Giles?' I say 'Giles as in... Ripper?'

Buffy stares at me.

'Bloody hell! It can't be... Constantine?

I stagger against his doorframe. I bet he's wondering if I'm drunk. Jesus Christ, he looks old. His hair's beginning to grey, and he's wearing tweed. I mean, I probably don't look too hot myself right now... but tweed! That really is pushing the limit.

And he's a Watcher. That's hard to take as well. Ripper never liked authority, or destiny... as a Watcher, he must be up to his eyeballs in both. In a way, I'm disappointed in him. The Watcher's council stands for everything we both used to hate: for faceless bureaucracy; for corruption; for all the power seeking, authoritarian bastards who tried to get one over on us. I can't imagine him working for them, taking orders from them. Not him. Not Ripper the rebel...

'Hey Giles!' Buffy says. Her accent is already beginning to get on my nerves, and I've only been in the country a few hours.

'Buffy... what... where did you... I mean... Constantine?' says Ripper. I smile weakly at him.

'He came crashing through the skylight at the Bronze. He said he was a friend of yours, so I brought him to you...'

'Friend!' says Ripper disdainfully. 'Constantine, what are you playing at?'

'Nothing! I mean...' I stare at my feet. 'Look, I need your help...'

'Why am I unsurprised?' Ripper says with a sigh.

'There's something following me. I was attacked... beaten up... by something invisible. I need your help. I don't have anyone else left to turn to...'

Ripper looks me up and down. I can tell I really am in a state; I'm leaning on the doorway just to stay standing.

'You'd better come in,' Ripper says eventually.

The Slayer grins brightly.

'Well, duty calls! I gotta patrol. I'll leave you guys to it, I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do...' I hear the door slam shut behind her, and then there's silence.

My head's spinning. I bury my face in my hands and groan. Ripper's unsympathetic.

'Headache?' he asks cheerfully. He's making tea. I'd find that amusing if I wasn't in so much pain. The black eye from where someone – or possibly something – punched me is coming up nicely, and the whole of the right hand side of my body is cut and bruised. The blood's all ready soaked straight through the bandage on my arm… that was the broken glass from the window I smashed. I've twisted an ankle too, and I think the headache's from where my head connected rather too hard with a snooker table.

Ripper comes and puts a cup of tea and a couple of aspirin on the table next to me. I'm pathetically grateful, even for the tea. The tea I had on the aeroplane came in a crappy polystyrene cup with a stupid paper handle that fell off. It leaked and was too hot to hold, and I was jumpy anyway, so I ended up spilling more of it than I drank. Tea should come in mugs… Ripper's given me a cup and saucer which is a right laugh, especially since I've seen the 'Kiss the Librarian' mug he's got hidden in his kitchen. His taste hasn't improved.

It's not like I drink that much tea anyway. I'm John Constantine. I drink beer. I drink whisky. But tea? Tea comes in big, steaming mugs with loads of sugar in for when something terrible's happened to a favourite relative. Or else you drink it at two o'clock in the morning in crappy little cafes when you're too depressed even for whisky… This is such a weird thing to be thinking about, when they'reafter me, and I'm up to my neck in shit I'm probably not going to be able to get out of cos I've pissed off one bastard too many, and I'm already as good as dead, but I'm still selfish enough to drag another mate to hell with me.

'Ripper…' I call, almost forgetting that this old hellblazer's gone respectable.

'Bloody hell, Constantine, don't call me that!' he calls angrily from the other room. He's pissed off with me. I don't blame him. I'm probably the last person he wants to see, even socially, let alone crashing through the window of a club with demons hot on my trail, begging him for help, and then coming home to bleed all over his nice clean furniture.

'Sorry. Mr Giles. Rupert. Giles…' It's awful not knowing what to call him, when we used to be so close. Rupert's such a silly name, and I can't call him Mr… I settle for Giles, even though it makes him sound like some kind of butler or chauffeur.

'What is it, Constantine? I don't have time for this!' he snaps, coming into the room with a mug of tea in one hand and a book on the occult in the other. It's not one I recognise. I take a deep breath.

'Look. There's some stuff I haven't told you. I don't know what it is that's after me, but I've got a fairly good idea of why...'

'You've pissed somebody off, I should imagine.' Ripper – I mean Giles – says, engrossed in the book. He flicks through until he finds the page he's looking for, and then hands it over. It's open at a page on invisible assassins and how to summon them.

I stare at the page blankly. There are hundreds of different types: assassins that never give up, assassins that drive the victim insane first, some that that kill slowly, some that kill instantly, some that want paying, some that needing binding, some that seek justice, some that seek revenge... Any of which could be after me.

And if Giles tries to protect me, if he stands in their way, they'll kill him too. The worst thing - or maybe it's the best thing - is that he knows it, and he still hasn't turned me away. Although it's been years since we knew each other, although he's a different person now – hell, he even has a different name! – he's still willing to risk his life for me. And I'm just selfish enough and desperate enough to let him.

I press my hands against my aching head and close my eyes.

'I don't want to cause you any problems…' I say quietly. He looks up at me suspiciously, and then his expression softens.

'You don't look so good,' he says, suddenly sympathetic. He rests a hand briefly on my shoulder. 'I suggest you get some rest.'

'Thanks, Giles. I really mean it. Thank you. And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry...'

He half frowns, and then he half smiles, and although I know he's willing to risk his life for me, I still can't tell if he's forgiven me yet...