Wych Cross, Sussex

"Sun's coming up." said Logan.

The old truck carrying the four men drove through the long and twisty road, heading to a mansion in the distance. The sun was indeed rising at the early hours of morning. Judas took his hands off the steering wheel to pull on a black ski mask, and slip into a pair of leather gloves, then took control of the wheel again.

They soon arrived at their destination, a chained gate that kept intruders out of the massive mansion surrounded by an ample and neglected garden. They all got out, Judas who was still covered from head to toe, Skinner, Logan who shattered the chains with a strike from his claws, and John Constantine, who was in his early fifties, was tall and thin, had slightly spiky blonde hair and blue eyes, wore a formal shirt and tie below an old brown trench coat and had an ever present Silk Cut cigarette lodged between his lips. Constantine, a Londoner magician, occultist, con-man as well as another long list of equally dubious things, he had a reputation all men envy, after all, how many men can boast of having tricked the devil time and time again?

"Rumor has it that the first Lord Magus of the order is buried in the grounds, whatsesname, Burgess, Roderick Burgess." said Judas.

"He'll be perfect," said Constantine as he lit a new cigarette, "We'll call him up."

"..From the dead?" asked Logan.

"Are you sure you can do it?"

"I'm a nasty piece of work, chief, ask anybody. You just keep slicing doors for us, o'right?"

They went on and broke their way into the mansion, where Judas discarded his mask and gloves. The inside was a real dump; it was obvious that the mansion have had better days. Broken pieces of furniture were scattered around, there were broken mirrors and signs of looting that occurred in the past.

"Can you feel the flux?" asked Constantine.

Judas paid attention as to focus on the mystical flux in question.

"Yeah, it's coming from down stairs."

"Right, I don't see any stairs heading downward."

"Oh, Burgess was an old school magician, he's a big fan of shouting names, diabolical pacts, orgies and…" said Constantine in a knowing manner.

"Secret passages through the study?"

"Exactly."

Surely enough, there was a hidden passageway behind the shelves in the library, it wasn't hard to figure out which, since there were no book except for one area where the books were fastened to the wood of the shelves, they walked down the spirally staircase till they reached a long forgotten ceremonial hall, it was dark, dusty and poorly ventilated. The floor was covered in engravings of Celtic letters, interlocking circles, pagan symbols, pentagrams and Latin phrases.

"Alright, squire. Should we begin?" asked Constantine.

"Have at it."

Constantine took off his trench coat and folded up his sleeves, he then went to work, drawing a circle inside a triangle in chalk, placed three small lit candles on each corner of the triangle. He then pricked his wrist with a blade and bled into the center of the sigil.

"Hey," Constantine started arrogantly, "Morris Brocklesby! Daemon King! Roderick Burgess! Lord Magus or whatever it is the fuck that you go by, get your pipe sucking arse down here now!"

"What the hell is he doing?" wondered Logan.

"He's trying to summon Burgess." explained Judas, "Though he is taking some liberties with it."

The air started to thicken and a smell of sulfur suddenly grew heavy, someone was about to arrive, and they were unlike most people you know.

"Appear, you spell-casting tantric-fucking prats!"

Smoke started to gather in the hall, and the ghostly forms of a group of robed men appeared, one of them was more corporal looking than the rest, but still was slightly transparent. He was a bald-headed, slightly pot-bellied man with a large hook nose and something of the look of a gypsy about him; he also was holding a pipe in his hand which he frequently took puffs from. He was Burgess, the Lord Magus of the order.

"What do you want, breathers? What is your cause for disturbing out sleep." he asked in a Cornish accent.

"We have questions." said Skinner.

"Concerning?"

"Dorian Gray."

"Hmmm, how is the vain bastard?"

"Quit bastardly."

"There will be a price."

"I'm shocked," said Constantine with a mocking gasp, "What be it?"

"Blood."

"Aah!" said Judas as he pulled down his sleeve, "Say no more."

Judas then turned to explain to Skinner, saying, "Ghosts need the tears of the living to live short intervals as human, Vampiric blood does the trick just as well."

He cut his wrist and started bleeding into an old dusty flask he found on the floor.

"Alright," said Burgess as he took the bottles blood, "We'll answer your questions. But we'll take one only."

"One what?"

"One man, It'll be him!" said Burgess as he pointed at Logan.

"Alright," said Skinner after a moment of hesitation, "Logan…"

"I'll do it."

Logan stepped forward, cautious but sure, the ghosts circled him and the group began to fade into oblivion.

"Hey, Logan!" called Judas, "Whatever happens, don't drink anything they give you!"

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"Life isn't easy, as you must know by now, and it's choke full of surprises. One day you're in the care of a familiar face, and then next day you're being abducted by an Australian Vampire."

Peta the cat was drinking from a bowl of milk while Turkish talked to it as they both sat in the kitchen.

"I know it too; one day I'm killing international criminals for the benefit of other international criminals, getting an honest years pay for a dishonest week's work, entirely free of moral confusion and emotion, and the next day I'm thrust into what people seem to think is a noble cause, and the old ticker has the first moments of innocent anticipation. Also take this other example, one day you feel the sky is brighter than usual, the grass is green on all sides, you don't even feel the urge to shoot petunias or bastard picking on students-slash-waitresses, you kiss someone who promises to walk by you on your way for some noodles or something in the days to come once you're done with your noble cause, and then not next day, but the some night there is spies coming back from the dead and kiss what you've been kissing just a few hours before. And then you're back where you started; only you know that where you are is the best place is for you, and the tragedy is it's not great at all. I'm making little sense, right? Not even I am sure what I'm saying, I'm not drunk or anything, I'm just disgusted. Disgusted at the hand that fate has dealt me, disgusted of this cigarette in my hand, disgusted of this kitchen, disgusted of the rifle I'm expected to caress whenever they say so. I'm disgusted of Bond, Sutler, Blair, and most of all that bitch Natalya. Well, maybe that's too much, I guess if I was intimate with someone who died and came back, I'd be randy for him as well, or her, rather, wouldn't I? I'll be alright in the morning, but right now I have this urge to truncheon something half to death. You of course, totally understand what I'm saying, Right?"

Peta the cat got up and scurried out of the kitchen, leaving the half filled bowl of milk alone.

"Pussy."

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It wasn't a place, but a state f mind. It was something forgotten, something lost, something dreadful.

Logan looked all around him, the members of the order stood a variety of distances from him but Burgess was facing him directly.

"Where are we?" asked Logan.

"Where isn't exactly a function that applies to this place, we're at the beginning of time and the end of it."

"What!"

"It's a bit difficult to fathom, and you're not here to learn metaphysics. What do you want to know?"

"I want to know how Dorian was resurrected."

"We resurrected him."

"Why?"

"So that he could share his immortality with us, needless to say, our plan fell short and Gray managed to get away with all he wanted."

"How did you do it?"

"We submerged his portrait in a substance known as Lazarus, performed a number of rites and spells that brought him back from the dead, in a ceremony he reestablished his oaths and was immortalized."

"How can we kill him?"

"The only way to inflect harm so severe as to overcome Gray's immortality is for Gray himself to damage his portrait. Inflicting damage to the portrait yourself won't work. He will be then stripped of his immortality and can be killed by any fatal wound."

Logan quieted for a minute, and the order made no sign or sound, as if though eagerly anticipating his next question. But as for Logan himself, being in this place was forcing some buried memories to resurface.

"Be gone now, Immortal."

Suddenly, Logan was torn from his surroundings, felt himself being barreled through time and space, through the very fabric of the cosmos, and found himself back at the hall beneath Burgess' mansion. Constantine, Skinner and Judas still stood where they were when he left them.

"How long was I gone?" asked Logan.

"You're kidding, right?" asked Skinner, "They surrounded you, and then disappeared and you asked how long you have been gone. Did you go anywhere interesting?"

"Yeah, I did."

"And?"

"They told me how to beat Gray…"

"This is nice and all," interrupted Constantine, "But would you mind going back to London, like right now?"

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Dorian sat at his disk with the lights dimmed and a vat of Cognac in his hand. He sat facing several screens that played several segments in loop. One was of Jekyll wreaking havoc over those demons in that facility in Rome, another was of Logan battling several Agents on end during the Shadows' raid in Crawley, a third was of James Bond in action during a mission that had happened while he was still working for MI6, a fourth showed a heavy security escort surrounding an American VIP's car. A bullet pierced the tainted glass and was permanently lodged in the VIPs head. The shooter was never found but the people behind the Assassination were caught, they said the man responsible was a freelance Turkish sniper. A fifth screen showed images of Skinner, Natalya and Judas, detailing each's exploits and achievements.

All was quiet for now, Judas hadn't supplied any information about upcoming operations, work on Project FATE was going ahead as planned, Sofie wasn't speaking to him for some reason, but he attributed it to that time of the month or that fact that most women are insane.

He briefly started to think about his centuries long life, as he often did when he was alone. Immortality seems like a good idea, till you realize you're going to spend it in boredom. By the time Moriarty had came to him, he had already spoken every language, traveled to every corner and experienced every sensation.

He smiled to himself as he watched the group, truth be told, he had hoped they'd arrive for decades. He'd been the League's leader for sixty years, overseeing recruiting, planning and have lead them into battle. But when he though about it, there was never a real threat, they'd either be attacking or would be attacked by a pitiful minor organization that would take three days worth of intelligence and an armed detail of Agents to thwart. Of course, there were plenty of challenges during the cold war, but nothing like this. In his heart he thanked Jekyll and Skinner for bringing a measure of excitement to his life.

Too bad he had to thank them by executing them...