Part XV: Adila
Jade glanced through the glass pane of the front of the store. Chas was leaning against the railing of a balcony, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking slightly impatient and mostly bored. Jade stifled a laugh, "Boys," she muttered to herself, and went back to perusing the racks of Wet Seal. She figured that when John said 'stuff' he was probably referring to various items, clothing included—after all, she only had two pair of pants, and a couple of shirts. So they had gone to the mall, and Jade had been browsing for more than a little while now, Chas dutifully standing outside and holding her bags for her. She did a once over of the store, not seeing anything she particularly wanted jump out at her, and walked out the door, "Hey!"
Chas looked up from where he had been in serious danger of falling asleep and nodded tiredly at Jade, "Can we go?" His voice had just the edge of a whine to it, and he was blinking his brown eyes in a decidedly puppy-dog fashion—Jade couldn't help but smile softly to herself.
"Yeah, I'm about done," She grabbed a couple of the bags from him, "I just need to stop a couple more places."
"Jade," Chas began reasonably, "John wears the same thing every single day. You don't need," he checked the bags he was holding, "Five pairs of jeans, sixteen t-shirts, and eight black tank tops."
She glanced over her shoulder reproachfully, "He gave us five hundred dollars, Chas. Obviously, I was meant to spend it somewhere." She turned back to step on the escalator, muttering to herself, "Might as well spend his money, he's messed up my life enough in other areas."
Chas groaned and stepped onto the escalator behind her, "But what else do you need? You have everything! Everything a girl could possibly need or even want…" He noted the glare she threw at him, "Okay, well maybe not…but really, what else do you need?"
Jade ignored him, and continued walking ahead, chuckling to herself at his whining.
"Jade? Jade where are you going—Victoria's Secret? What do you need in Vic—" Chas paused as his teenage hormones kicked in, "On second thought, go ahead. I'll just wait out here. No, wait, maybe I should come with you—"
Jade turned to him, her eyes laughing, "Chas." He did his best puppy-dog expression, the one that even John couldn't resist—okay, John could resist it, but John Constantine was a fucking machine, Chas had decided—and pouted. She laughed and tossed her bags at him, "Stay."
"Where's Chas?" Angela asked John, struggling to keep up with his fast-paced strides.
He didn't look at her but replied, "With Jade. I took a cab here."
"Oh," she replied lamely, "Well, I have my Honda, do you want a ride?"
"Where?" John continued walking, not slowing his pace at all.
"Well," Angela gestured at the slip of paper in his hand, "To wherever Gabriel is sending you."
John glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, "You're not coming."
"John," Angela made an exasperated noise, "How do you expect to get there?"
"Cab." He replied noncommittally.
"Why didn't you tell me about a prophecy when I asked you last night?"
John drew in a sharp breath and stopped, turning to finally look at her. She could feel tension, irritation, and anger literally rolling off him in waves. Tentatively, she brought her eyes to his, and immediately wished he'd continued walking and ignoring her. His eyes were flashing with frustration, "Why didn't you tell me you were being pulled into Hell?"
Angela swallowed hard as his dark gaze swept over her frame once, and flicked away in disgust, "John, I—"
"Let's go," John cut her off abruptly—a niggling thought in the back of his mind telling him not to leave Angela alone had won out over his desire to keep her out of the entire situation, "Figueroa street."
Angela opened her mouth to further discuss the topic at hand, but one glance told her that John had officially closed it. Biting her lip, she nodded, fumbling for her keys.
"What'd you get?" Chas pestered Jade for about the fiftieth time since they'd started toward the exit, "Can I see?"
"No!" Jade laughed as she yanked the bags away from his prying eyes, though Chas noted, for the umpteenth time that day, that her laugh was—though convincing—reserved and didn't quite crack the guarded look in her dark eyes.
"Alright, alright, let's get going, then." Chas held a glass door open for Jade, "John probably needs the car."
Jade nodded, slipping on a pair of dark sunglasses as she stepped into the light. Chas stepped out after her, fiddling with the shopping bags as he closed the door behind him. Outside the mall it was bright, their only shelter the cement awning above the entrance. Mild gang members, mall staff, and irate husbands were scattered about the entrance, smoking. Jade gave a longing look toward a young worker as he lazily exhaled a cloud of smoke, while Chas coughed at the sudden influx of foreign molecules invading his lungs.
"Jade."
The dark-haired girl turned abruptly at the sound of her name, only to find it coming from the lips of a familiar black-haired boy, "Jack!"
Chas scowled at the other boy, who was leaning nonchalantly against a stone pillar, smoke filtering through his lips. Jade walked over and Chas watched, noting that she was giving Jack a genuine smile now. He caught her by the arm, "We should go."
Jade tossed him a defiant glare, "Just a second."
Chas didn't let go, "No, really, we should go."
Jade's dark eyes considered him for a moment, measuring his obvious conflict. Gently, she tugged her arm away from him, "Just a minute, Chas. John is resourceful. He doesn't need the car immediately."
Chas opened his mouth in protest, but clamped it shut as he looked over Jade's shoulder, at the dark-haired boy whose eyes were gloating mildly. He scowled again, but leaned against the wall near the door, setting a couple of the bags down and crossing his arms in what he knew was clearly a pouting gesture, but he didn't care. He watched through narrow eyes as Jade made her way over to the asshole—somewhere in that brief conversation with Jade, Chas had decided Jack was most definitely asshole-material—and sat next to him, taking a quick drag from his cigarette. Chas started, about to jump on her for smoking again, but she held up her hand and handed the cig back to Jack, a gesture of reluctant defeat. Jack whispered something in her ear and Jade laughed—genuinely, again—and gave him a look that made Chas want to throw up. Chas wasn't entirely sure why the way Jade was looking at Jack wanted to make him throw up, so he decided to ponder that for a while.
"Chas?" Chas blinked up at the sudden calling of his name. He'd finally realized why he disliked Jack, and the way Jade was acting around Jack. Because Jack didn't know her—not that Chas did, but he was fairly sure he knew more of her than she'd ever let anyone know in a long time—and because the only reason Jade was acting that way around Jack was because she was physically attracted to him. Chas still wasn't entirely sure why that bothered him, he just knew it did.
"Yeah?"
Jade was standing in front of him, hands on her hips and shopping bags looped around her wrists. A secret smile played across her features, "Are we…going?" She prodded him verbally.
"Oh…uh, yeah. Yeah, let's go." Chas led the way, throwing a last warning glance over Jade's head at Jack, who raised a lazy arm in salute. Chas hurried across the parking lot.
"Take the right."
Angela's eyes widened in surprise, it had been the first thing Constantine had said to her since they'd gotten into her black SUV. She could still feel tension radiating from his lean frame, so she nodded, flicking the turn signal. They drove in silence, passing average-looking houses, all red brick and varied trim, "3002," John stated, and Angela drew the car to a stop, in front of green-trimmed house.
"John, I," Angela started, unsure of what to say, "I just wanted—"
John's lips cut her off roughly, and as she leaned into the kiss, he pulled back, "Stay in the car." His voice was hard, his tone final, and Angela opened her mouth to object anyway.
"John, I—"
He cut her off with a glare, and she clamped her mouth shut. Heaving a deep sigh, she threw her arms across her chest dramatically, sinking down into her seat. She looked like a pouting child, but she didn't care. John snorted in amusement, and climbed out of the car, trotting up the steps of the green porch and knocking rapidly on the screen door.
"So, did you have a nice talk with your little boyfriend?" Chas asked, not caring that he sounded bitter and sarcastic—not unlike his role model.
"He's not my boyfriend." Chas glanced over at Jade, and was infuriated to see color rising to her cheeks, "Just met him, actually."
"Right." Chas let out a breath, wondering what the hell had happened to the cold, unimpressed, haughty Jade Constantine in the past fifteen minutes—she was blushing and acting like a typical teenage girl, all you had to do was throw some hunky boy in her path. Disgusting, Chas thought to himself, She should really—
"CHAS! WATCH THE ROAD!" Jade was yelling, her hand gripping his arm. Chas looked up, swerving out of the way just in time to miss a little girl lying in the middle of the road.
"Jesus," he hissed, looking over at the girl, "What the fuck…?"
Jade was already out of the car, running toward the little girl. A woman was coming out of the house they were stopped in front of—they were on a back road, a neighborhood—and she looked the part of a mother, hair flying about and a tattered apron tied messily around elastic-waist jeans and a large t-shirt. She was wiping her hands on her apron, hurrying down the stone steps, noticing the little girl, screaming for her to get up.
Jade had stopped, halfway to the child, eyes frozen wide in shock. The mother had also stopped—in fact, it seemed as though time had stopped, and Chas looked around for some divine being responsible—before realizing that it wasn't Satan, just the horror of the scene that had frozen the world.
Then, the mother let out a scream. An endless, unearthly wail; her hand flying to her messy hair, blue eyes unable to turn from the scene, "WHAT! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BABY?"
A tired-looking woman opened the door. She was dark, possibly African. Older than John, perhaps mid-forties. Wearing a simple white linen pantsuit. She looked elegant. And tired.
John nodded deeply, "Ms…Abatyan?" He muttered, the slip of paper in his hand fluttering with nerves and the breeze.
She regarded him silently, so he continued, "A…friend referred me to you. I have a…problem, and I was told that perhaps you could help?" He paused, rolling words around in his mind, "I'd…very much appreciate it. My name is Constantine. John Constantine."
She continued to look at him appraisingly, and he shifted his tall frame awkwardly under her scrutiny. A light flared in her brown eyes, and one corner of her mouth tilted upward, "Isn't your next line, 'asshole'?" She turned and walked back into the house, kicking the door gently behind her.
John stared a moment at the oak door in front of him, as it slowly glided shut. A soft click, and he was locked out.
After a couple of minutes, he raised his hand again, and knocked, "Ms. Abatyan? Please, I need to ask you some questions! Ugh!" John gave the door a mighty thump and leaned his head against the doorframe, trying to figure out what he was going to do.
The door slid open again, not at all cautiously. Adila smoothed back her black hair and looked past the young man before her, "Miss Dodson is not safe." She walked away, this time leaving the door open behind her. John glanced back at the car, where Angela was still pouting. He looked toward the house, and then back at the car again.
"Fuck," he muttered, before cantering back to the SUV, "Angela, come on."
She threw him a defiant glare, "You said to stay in the car. Look. I'm staying in the car."
"Since when do you do what I tell you?"
Her glare intensified, but she unbuckled her seatbelt, "Fine."