Relevant Inspiration:
Deprived by the Crimson Lord
Disclaimer: I'm not a Brit, or French.
[Sorry for the delay, everything is explained in the post-script.]
Enjoy.
-II-
John Constantine spent the rest of the afternoon surveying the grounds of the Chateau, walking among the groves of trees, through glades of knee-high grass, and when his charge finally left the beach to go inside, across the dunes beside the cobalt waves. Behind silver lenses, he took notes. He saw the trails that the smaller animals wove through thickets, he saw the crushed grass where a large beast had lain, and he saw where tiny bubbles broke the gentle waves several dozen yards from where the tide lapped at the sand.
The land the Chateau was built upon had no natural caves that he could find, no massive trees to climb, but most importantly, the wards ended on one bank of a thin river that curved to form two sides of the grounds. With the ocean as a third side, and a heavily wooded bramble of shrubs and ash trees, the Chateau would be well defended from most non-magical means of transportation.
John took a second to consider all the ways that he would choose to infiltrate the Delacour's home, were that his mission. After compiling a not insignificant list, he then began planning for each one of those scenarios. While it was very unlikely that somebody could just happen upon the property, the massive defensive wards also having a string of runes that copied the 'notice-me-not' charm, he knew that anyone could paraglide or HALO jump through the wards without much difficulty. While falling at that speed, a mind would be so overwhelmed with the desire to pull the parachute cord before impact that the effects of the charm would be easily shrugged off.
More likely, however, was the possibility that someone could already know the general location, and arrive with either a Seer, a Sniffer, or another magic sensing creature and would thereby find the Chateau via its potent wards. John thought more about that possibility, and decided to add some rune-work of his own outside the perimeter of the wards.
His silent musing was interrupted by a brief buzzing in his head. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a protean-charmed franc, and squeezed it once. The buzzing turned into a voice.
"Deposit has been confirmed. Operational funds have been assigned. See a Gringotts to complete financial preparations." John recognized the voice. His handler had been a former operative as well, and was renowned for both his cold efficiency, and, when warranted, his brutality. The voice turned into buzzing, and then then buzzing stopped. Silence.
Alejandro paced back and forth in front of 0762. "Beirut." His voice was gruff, and showed his age. The response was level, measured, and emotionless.
"Lebanon."
"Sanctuary?"
"Tenuous. Possible only through the Royal Garden Hotel."
"Address."
"The corner of Alfred Nobel and Emile Edde."
"Address."
"I don't remember." 0762 didn't see the strike coming, but he knew it was the moment he acknowledged his failure. The blackjack slammed into his collar bone with the full force of the ex-Medellín assassin's considerable strength. He heard the crack, followed by a more quiet pop. 0762 kept his face devoid of pain. Alejandro stared him in the eyes, their faces only inches apart. A silent stand-off. Then, Alejandro nodded.
"Johannesburg."
"South Africa."
"Sanctuary."
"None. The M1 becomes R101 and dead-ends in Pretoria, where we have several."
"The Dragon School."
"Established in 221 BC, located in Taibai, China. Maintained by The Dragon Family on behalf of its founder, Ying Zheng."
"Location."
"33.935 N, 107.550 E…approximately."
"Agents?"
"None. The one we had was forced to fake his death to bring us its location."
"Hogwarts."
"Established in 990 AD, located in Scotland. It has no specific coordinates due to an "Unplottable" ward."
"Agents?"
"One. A great-grandchilde of the Director."
"Good. Compose yourself." 0762 nodded, and took a second to pop his shoulder back into place. He rolled his head and neck to test the broken collarbone. A spiral fracture, not a buckle. He met his trainer's eyes.
There was no warning when Alejandro lashed out, he moved like a viper. 0762 barely blocked the strike with his good arm, then countered with an attack of his own.
John came back to the present when he heard the voice repeating, "…copy. I say again, asset, do you copy."
"Goldflour, your message has been received, Royce out." John replied in his lilting brogue, and then placed the coin back into his pocket. He stopped, briefly running one finger along its smooth edge, before walking towards the ward-line to add those extra-defenses he had thought about. Save for the waves breaking, the birds chirping, and wind rustling the tall grass, there was silence once more.
"Fleur Isabelle Delacour, I have told you once, and I will tell you again. This. Last. Time. Your father and I have already agreed that you will have a bodyguard this year."
"Oui, maman, but I am turning 18 this year, even if you do force this bodyguard situation on me, I will be old enough—"
"I do not know what nonsense you read in your own time, but in the real world, there is not a magical age at which your parents must stop caring for you."
"But I can contact the ministry, cancel the contract in my name."
"Non. The contract is not through the ministry. And even if you were to somehow gain legal freedom, we would still have him protect you from the shadows."
"Maman, this is not necessary."
"Ah, mais oui, it is."
"Il sera visible comme une mouche dans un verre de lait."
"He will not be so visible, he is almost your age."
"How can he protect me if he is so young?"
"He is…special. Trust me, he will be better than I or your father at keeping you safe this year."
"A little boy who can keep me safer than mon pere et ma mere. I can't wait to see him."
John finished his last sextuplet of runes, and stood up, brushing the loose sand off of his slacks. He glanced around, taking in once more his surroundings, before he began his trek back through the trees and shrubbery towards the chateau. He looked down at his hands as he walked. Idly he evanesced the dirt and grime, before repeating the inspection and cleaning on his slacks and shirt. He didn't need to check to see if he would trail grass clods, sand, or mud when he walked into the spotless stone hallways, the runes beneath the layers of calluses on the bottom of his bare-feet took care of that.
That evening, sitting at the dining room table, Sebastien Delacour couldn't help but smile at his younger daughter. While his eldest still hadn't come downstairs yet, unusual considering the sushi that her mother had prepared had always been one of her favorites, little Gabrielle was leaning halfway across the table to watch the newest addition to their household spin a chopstick between his fingers, enthralled by the movement. The ends of the chopstick burned and crackled with a gentle flame, and John Constantine spun and flipped the utensil like a miniature baton. With a flick of his wrist, the bodyguard sent the chopstick spinning in the air, arcing like a boomerang around Gabrielle's head. The girl giggled, her eyes aglow with joy as she followed its path back to his nimble fingers.
Sebastien watched as the young man's head cocked to the side, as if hearing something, before the chopsticks flames went out, and he quickly placed it back beside his plate. John stood up, a quiet, "Sorry." murmured to the pouting little blonde, and he bowed slightly to the gorgeous girl who was just now entering the room. Fleur wore a strapless lavender gown that hugged her full curves, a moonlight white choker, and her hair done in tresses that cascaded over one shoulder. She was, in a word, gorgeous. No, John realized, she wasn't gorgeous, she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. His face however, stoic as always, betrayed not his emotions. He pulled a chair out for Fleur beside her sister. "Miss Delacour."
"Thank you, Monsieur…"
"Constantine, ma'am."
"Monsieur Constantine." Fleur took the seat with a beautiful laugh, unleashing a dazzling smile towards her new bodyguard. Sebastien narrowed his eyes ever-so slightly. He recognized the near-unnoticeable shift in his daughter, and then felt her allure as it washed over the room. The Minister of Arcane Defenses almost stood and yelled at his daughter, but he stopped himself. He knew that his Veela wife and youngest daughter were immune to the effects of the allure, and he knew that he was also one of the few men capable of throwing off the allure, but he realized he didn't know if John was. Instead of losing his temper, he leaned back in his chair and watched. And it was because of that decision, that he got to see the look of abject shock on his daughters face as John Constantine turned around, and walked away from her, around the table, and back to his seat across from the sisters. He got to see her jaw drop, her eyes bulge, and her laugh turn into a surprised choke.
"Fleur, no using your allure on guests, especially not at the table. And John, we don't wear sunglasses at the table." Apolline said, as she strode into the room, graceful as ever despite the huge platter of various fish held in her hands. Dozens of rolls of sushi, and a veritable rainbow of sashimi covered the tray. Sebastien smiled again, it was rare enough to see his daughter humbled so badly, but to see her look at her lap flushing and abashed at the scolding too…needless to say he would hold this moment in his armory of blackmail for many years to come. John, however, looked directly at Apolline.
"I'm sorry ma'am, but I have a condition with my eyes. The glasses help." She stopped briefly, pausing mid-stride, before continuing to the table, and placing the platter down.
"Well in that case, you can keep them on."
"Thank you, ma'am." The silence that followed was not the heavy silence after someone is fired from their job. It was not the shuffling silence of two lovers quarrelling. It was the silence of a group of people watching the snow patter down outside while waiting for a kettle to boil water for their cocoa. And eventually, much like the fate of that tender silence, the kettle boiled. Fleur stood up, and slammed her hands on the table.
"Non, I will not have him as my guard! He may be able to resist my allure, but he is just a little boy. Monsieur John Constantine, I challenge you to a wizards duel!" Sebastien stood up.
"Fleur Isa—"
"Monsieur Delacour, while I appreciate your intervention, it is important for Miss Delacour to be able to challenge me if she does not think me deserving. If she indeed can easily defeat me, than I believe it would be understandable if we annul our contract and you would be paid back your full deposit plus an extra quarter-million for wasting your time. However, should I win, I believe Miss Delacour would not be remiss in accepting my services." The boy said from his position at the table, still seated and with his chopsticks still clutching a piece of sushi. Fleur bristled.
"I accept your terms. I will not lose." She turned on her heel, and headed for the door through which she had entered. "I will change, then we will duel."
"Miss Delacour." She stopped, then turned, cocking her head.
"I will never duel when it comes to protect you. I will only fight. Therefore, I must inform you—" Fleur cut him off with a slice of her hand.
"Call it what you will. It makes no difference to me." Turning away to continue walking, she didn't hear her father's brief hiss of annoyance. She didn't see her bodyguard bow his head in deference. She did hear his voice once more drift after her.
"As you wish."
Sebastien, Apolline, and Gabrielle sat together on the plush cushions of a wicker bench outside the chateau. In front of them, on opposite sides of a gravel lane, were John Constantine, dressed in his usual attire, and their daughter, dressed in the light dueling outfit that she wore in all her school competitions. She was standing in the classic pose used by both circuit duelists, and fencers, feet perpendicular and the foot closest to John extended ever-so-slightly in the beginnings of a lunge. John, conversely, stood at attention, feet shoulder-width apart, his hands clasped in front of him, and his body facing Fleur. He stood unnaturally still.
Sebastien looked back and forth between the two youths, then spoke. "The terms have been set. The rules are clear. No spells may be cast that have the purpose of killing, or grievously injuring the other. The duel ends when one of you is unable or unwilling to continue. You may begin when you are ready."
Fleur, her wand in hand, spread her arms, and gave a mocking bow. In lowering her eyes, she made one mistake. Her only mistake. She didn't see John move with spectacular celerity, a wand seemingly materializing in his hand. She didn't see him fire a trio of spells within the space of a heartbeat. Instead she bowed, looking looked down at the gravel path with a smirk on her lips, confident. Then everything went black, and silence reigned.
(This should be the longest post-script y'all will ever see in my works.)
N/B: \HALO stands for High Altitude Low Opening, and is a type of parachute jump.
\A Blackjack is a type of club, similar to those carried by police.
\"Visible comme une mouche dans un verre de lait" is a French colloquialism similar to 'stand out like a sore thumb.' Literally, 'as visible as a fly in a glass of milk.'
\N/B stands for Nota Bene, latin for 'know well'. This section serves to explain any details I think might confuse some readers without spoiling the plot. Therefore, you shouldn't have to look anything up after reading this section.
Authors Note:
Apologies for the delay, and thanks for the patience. My moronic boyfriend and co-writer refused to go to the hospital when he couldn't move due to abdominal pains, so I dragged him against his will. Turns out, I made the right choice because he had a very nasty case of appendicitis. The doctors said if we had arrived only a few hours later, it could have been life-threatening. I have spent the last few weeks worrying about him, nursing him back to health, and then whacking him with a pillow for making me worry. I'm happy to say he is better, and at this moment is looking over my shoulder and complaining about this Authors Note. As for the next chapter, in the words of CD Projekt Red, it will 'come when it's ready.'
[Boyfriend's Note: So, to translate her sass, hopefully just a few weeks, unless Vi wants to take a turn making an emergency hospital stop. And yes, for CDPR fans she is very happy with the name they chose for Cyberpunk 2077's hero.]
Read, review, and share this story with your friends if you like it,
Semper,
Vi
