THORN
It took Zatanna about four hours of research to realize she knew shit about trans-planar dimensions. She went through every single book, text, commentary, footnote, tome, papyrus, clay tablet... absolutely everything that might hold a sliver of information to help her. Xenoworlds by Geleth, One Hundred and One Ways to Cross Between Universes by Alain Poutiére, Realities by Enrico Massimo and Book With No Title by Unknown were the biggest hopes she had, unfortunately to no avail. So much for a home library she thought.
― To hell with this. ― She fumed, irritated, ― I'll just go to his apartment and see what I can find.
The sable haired woman put her leather jacket over her shoulders, grabbed the keys and went toward a back door of the building. The place opened up in an outdoor area, Norway maple leaves forming a glowing yellow carpet everywhere on the ground, fringed by the back of tall brownstone buildings in every direction. Someone should rake this mess...
She entered a small opening between two buildings with fire escape ladders far too narrow to be functional above her. She skipped a brown-black puddle, circumvented a large moss-green dumpster and finally got out onto 87th street. Zee then headed west and walked 3 blocks, eventually turning right and stopping before a big warehouse gate, spotted with rust at the sides and the bottom where it touch the ground. A key was produced from an internal chest pocket and she thrust it into a lock. Although the gate seemed to have seen better days, the lock was abnormally silver and shiny. With a little effort, she opened it wide.
Inside, at the very centre of the warehouse, Thorn was sleeping. Zatanna removed the cover sheet, raising a ghastly cloud of dust.
― Rotaripser no! ― Zee conjured, most out of reaction. She was magically able to breathe as if there was no dust at all, but no tangible apparel appeared over her face though.
From under the cover sheet, Thorn looked like a large animal hibernating. It was a Confederate X132 Hellcat motorcycle. It had 500 pounds, the bodywork all black and chrome, with coppery exhaust pipes. People say that pets are the reflection of their owners. Thorn was indeed the machine version of its master, almost like the transmogrification of Zatanna Zatara into a bike. Perhaps the saying did carry some wisdom after all.
Her hand ran over Thorn's gas tank and handlebars, like a tamer carefully reaching out to a dangerous animal, feeling the coolness of the metal on her delicate ivory fingers. Then she got a hold of the black helmet, strapped it on and climbed onto Thorn. Donning the leather gloves, she tried a peremptory roll on the throttle. Thorn roared in response. For about forty minutes, Zatanna and Thorn were a merry couple, enjoying the company of each other, percolating the traffic in zigzag moves and riding the wind as freely as it gets.
Constantine's apartment wasn't really his home. He spent more time travelling and hustling whatever poor bastard he could swindle than anything else. John barely used this place for sleep, let alone actually living here. No one's ever heard of a couch potato grifter after all.
The place was very messy, with hints of a struggle, and gloomy. It had an eerie dust mist that spun and danced awkwardly under the white light from a lamppost somewhere out in the street.
― If I were a bloody numpty, where would I be? ― She said in a forced British accent, bobbing her head in a pantomimic fashion. ― I'd have been trapped after soaking a bottle of scotch dry? Or I'm so stupid that I summoned the wrong kind of guest to my residence?
She looked the place up and down, moving furniture around and inspecting objects that drew her attention. There was indeed an empty bottle of cheap scotch, although she had mentioned it just as a joke.
― What the fuck, John?... This shit it probably better suited to unclogging toilet plumbing. ― Zee protested, holding the bottle by the neck with pinched thumb and forefinger. She then threw the bottle away.
After finding some bras and two panties - which she guessed to belong to other people, because they were either smaller or larger than what would be John's number if he had decided wearing women underwear -, the magician gave up trying to use the knowledge she gathered throughout the years watching CSI.
Time for the big guns.
VANISHED IN THIN AIR
Zatanna stood in the middle of the room. She was upright, with her eyes closed, breathing slowly and quietly. There was a gracefulness about her figure, tall and slender and fluid. Yes, she was fluid, like the gentle flow of a river. Her hair meandered through her head and neck and shoulders, cascading over her back, faintly billowing at the tips. Her arms moved with the grace of a gazelle, in delicate and lightning fast movements, sure and unfaltering. The boot clad legs walked firm strides, planting every step onto the ground like a deep root sunken into the earth.
Her hands were brought together and her hands, joined, formed a upside down triangle shape. The thumbs were the base and the outstretched fingers formed the sides of the geometric symbol. Her breath became even slower. Her chest moved ever so slightly, just enough to smooth the wrinkles of the leather fabric of her jacket.
What started as a silent chant, slowly bestrode her mind and became a whispered recitation.
― Alem khazat ghool. Alem khazat ghool...
The dust mist seemed startled, somewhat offended by the chant. It spun away, revolving in itself and sucking its way out through the small crevasses it could find towards the cool night out there. The chant rose in a steady crescendo, becoming a booming invocation in Zatanna's voice.
― Alem khazat ghool. Alem khazat ghool. Alem khazat ghool. ALEM KHAZAT GHOOL!
For five full seconds, everything was absolutely still. An unnatural stillness, where everything froze, the time seeming to hold its breath waiting for something to happen. And then, indeed, something happened. Something extraordinary and bizarre and completely unexpected: John walked in staggering and bleeding, barely standing on his feet.
The Englishman opened the door with the little strength he had left about him. He leaned against the door, trying to steady himself, but seemed to fail at the attempt when the door yielded to his weight. John lurched forward in an attempt to find something else to support his weight. He ended up knocking a lamp and a couple of objects onto the floor.
His coat was ruined. Half of it was shredded and torn while the other half was tinted in dark brown. Constantine still bled profusely, though the amount of blood on him and his coat, besides most of it being already dry and cracking, indicated that someone - or something - had a large contribution to the blood shower John took.
The Brit fumbled in a side pocket, getting hold of a dark-gold Zippo lighter. Although he was clearly hurt and utterly useless, he still managed to deftly light a cigarette up. Old habits die hard, as the saying goes...
He lurched himself on a sofa and fainted, cigarette on his lips and all. The only sign that he hadn't really passed out was the bright orange glow at the tip of his tobacco stick. It still shone in vivid colours, cracking as the embers slowly crawled their way up the cigarette's body, while smoke drifted out in lazy puffs from his nostrils.
In Zatanna's eyes, that was everything she expected from him. He'd gotten into some trouble, messed with the wrong folks, things got a little rough but he'd eventually get away with whatever trick he's pulled this time and come out (mostly) unscathed. All in all, it was not a rare sight.
However, suddenly he opened his eyes wide. The pupils dilated and he gripped the sofa armrest tight in a instinctive reaction. His sky blue eyes wandered wildly around, looking for some hidden peril lurking nearby. He took the Zippo lighter to his side, like a knight holding his most trusted sword before an attack, and brought his free arm protectively at his face level.
Then the door swung open with a boom. Constantine's face was pure terror and bewilderment.
― Why are you doing this? ― John yelled at the door. His voice came out as a chilling terror shrill, hardly intelligible, ― what the bloody fuck is wrong with you, mate?
Then Batman launched himself forward, tackling John at his waist level and landing into the kitchen. The tangle of bodies went clean through Zatanna's, completely undisturbed by any physics law that might say otherwise.
The masked vigilante raised his clenched fist to deal an ending blow, but John's enchantment was faster. Before Batman's gloved knuckles touched Constantine's face, both men vanished in thin air.
The brunette felt exhausted, as if she had run the New Amsterdam City Marathon back and forth. Every second she spend into the vision were brought upon her, weighting her down to her knees. She breathed with difficulty, but it was expected to be like this. After a couple of minutes and a light-headedness, she finally gathered enough strength to stand up again.
With the knowledge of Constantine's disappearing, she'd have to ask the Bat what John could possibly do to upset him that much. Finally I'm getting somewhere, she thought. But I've gotta rest for now.
A SHADOW DENSER THAN SHADOW
Zatanna went out into the street again. It was two in the morning and her breath steamed in front of her. The street was completely silent and dead. Thorn was covered in a fine powder of frozen dew, glinting in white and blue and chrome.
She took the first step toward Thorn when she heard a loud flick of a switch. Two pairs of lampposts, at both far ends of the street, went out. Then two more. And two more. It was coming in her direction and she bet it wasn't a coincidence.
The magician didn't move a single muscle, didn't mount on Thorn, but didn't let the handlebar go either.
The urban sight became darkness and only the night sky had distinctive features about it. It was funny to think that the whole universe is always there, vast and imposing, yet we usually do not and cannot see it because such grandiosity is blinded by our petty human cities and their petty street lights.
Well, the universe was definitely there, just like a presence that emerged from within the shadows. It wailed and whimpered with an otherworldly noise. The noise wasn't some sort of entreaty, however, but a warning.
A paw made of a shadow denser than shadow thumped on the ground, reverberating the pavement under Zatanna's boots. A pungent scent took over the air, apparently leaking out of the shadow beast's "mouth". It smelled of rotten food and vinegar or some sort of fermentation sub product.
― I suppose you're here because I've seen something I shouldn't, isn't it? ― She asked the shadow thing. It didn't reply. ― My best guess is that you're not here to kill me, but rather teach me a lesson. Stomp once for yes, two for no.
Her voice didn't betray her, but her hands were shaking. It was clear that the beast was a guard. The question is "what is it guarding?".
Even though magical and spiritual beings aren't essentially animals, their behaviour is in fact very similar. Smart beings are terrible guards because, unless they're bound by some mystical principle, they are likely to turn against the summoner and do whatever they want to the detriment of their original assignment. Geleth's Xenoworlds had an entire chapter about those kind of creatures and how to tell whether it is a smart one playing dumb or a true mindless being.
There was a big chance that the shadow beast was a mindless one. Thus she wouldn't want to make any sudden or sharp movements. Zatanna slowly disengaged Thorn's kill switch and reached for the start button.
The acrid smell got stronger and two sets of yellowed dagger-like teeth stood out from the darkness everywhere around it. It does have a mouth, then. Shit!
Thorn came to life, spurting light in front of it. Zee didn't have time and little room for manoeuvre. The tires screeched over the pavement and the sidewalk when she took a sharp turn of the handlebar to the left, making Thorn fishtail before darting forward through the pitch black road.
As soon as she gained some distance, Zatanna heard the noise of something liquefying behind her. She didn't dare to glance behind and stealing a look at the side mirrors were useless. Instead, she rolled the throttle as much as she could. The wind made a stark whooshing sound in her ears and her eyes hurt a little with particles of dust hitting her unprotected head. Better that than being eaten by shadow, she decided.
After turning right into a (also dark) avenue, she heard the liquid noise again. It sounded more like a slosh now, more "substantial" than the first one. Then, out of nowhere, two sets of yellowed dagger-like teeth appeared again, but now it was slightly above her head and under Thorn's tires.
Zatanna felt the smell strong as ever for a second and suddenly it faded away completely. All the lights in the distance from New Amsterdam, the whole skyline of the biggest city in America, the endless infinitude of the universe were gone.
She was swallowed by the shadow.