There was blood everywhere. It was on the grass. It was on the tables. It was on the food that was on the tables, mixing in the punch bowl. It was staining unopened presents and banners.
Tiny bodies littered the lawn. They had been crying for some time, sobbing and screaming, but one by one they went quiet. There were a couple of adults there too, but they were dead too.
Honestly, the whole scene was hil-arious, eh heh!
Bobo the Clown chuckled and giggled as he gazed at his latest masterpiece. His colorful clown suit was stained with random splotches of blood, but it wasn't anything some lemon juice and hard seltzer couldn't wash out. But more importantly, did any get on his face?
Lumbering over to a window, Bobo caught sight of his reflection. He could see his white-painted face, blue diamond around his eyes. The red paint around his mouth was angular and pointed, not rounded like contemporaries. The guy that taught him to play the party clown once told him kids were more at ease with rounded shapes rather than pointed ones. Bobo liked the way the pointed shapes looked on him though…
Wait…what was that?
He heard a sound, soft, whimpering. Ooooh! That was a whimper! Bobo swung himself around and searched the bloodied backyard. His dark eyes darted around until—there!
By one of the tables was a little child, a boy, crouching next to one of the legs, trying not to be noticed. Now why would he do that? Bobo began to walk over to him, his large clown shoes stepping on arms and legs, making him look as if he were stumbling around.
But he eventually reached the table and knelt down. "Hey there, little boy!" he greeted gleefully. "Are you having fun at this stuuuuupendous birthday party?!"
The little boy began to sob, crying uncontrollably. Now that just wouldn't do. "Hey there, you're not supposed to cry!" Bobo admonished as he reached a hand out. The boy shrieked and tried to pull back, but Bobo's hand was too quick, grabbing onto the little boy's chin. He held it hard, which stifled the child's crying. Ahh, so much better.
Then he held up his bloodied knife. "Now, now, little boy, I know you're having fun. Everyone has fun at a Bobo the Clown show!" He paused. "Oh! I know! You're just shy! Well, Bobo knows how to fix that!"
He pulled on the boy's chin, forcing him closer. The kid tired to shriek, but it was muffled by his mouth being clamped closed. "Now, I know what you're thinking," Bobo said. "You're wondering how I get the red paint on my face so red. Well, as it so happens, I'm willing to show you!"
He held the knife up against the boy's neck. "Now pay attention, little boy. I can only show you this once."
Zatanna gasped as she flung herself forward, sitting straight up in the chair she had fallen asleep in. Gone was the scene of the bloody birthday party and in its place was her room, with its still-made bed and sparse furnishings. The dark-haired woman panted over and over, the only sound that could be heard. Raising a hand up, she pressed it against her forehead, feeling how hot and sweaty it felt. In fact, her whole body felt as if it were sweaty and gross.
Goddamn, did she hate clowns.
As a kid, she never had a problem with them. Heck, there were a few that had been in the Zatara Troupe at one point. All of them had been cool guys, their nicotine additions aside. Nothing ruined a clown's image like finding a group of them playing poker in full makeup, smoking down cigarettes and cigars one after the other.
Well, as long as you didn't count the murderous clowns at least.
As she had gotten older, her taste for clowns had completely vanished. One guess as to why.
Still panting, Zatanna took several moments before she began to slow her breathing down. She felt sore too, but that was because of the chair she had been sleeping in. After that first story she had witnessed, no way was she taking a chance with the bed. Yeah, you try sleeping in one after watching a couple get eaten by one.
Leaning back in her chair, the chair groaning from the shifting of her weight, the magician stared into the dark room. Perhaps she could fall back asleep, squeeze in a couple more hours. Well, that was assuming it was the wee hours of the morning and not around dawn. She wasn't exactly certain which one she preferred. As she sat there though, a problem began to arise.
She couldn't get back to sleep.
Yeah, great, perfect, she was too wired to fall back asleep. It didn't help that the chair wasn't all that comfortable either. The support was just in all the wrong places, no matter how much she adjusted herself. Ugh, just what she needed with a murderous hag running around and her staying in a sentient house that kept feeding her horror stories. What, was it out of nice, uplifting stories?
For a moment, she felt that just by thinking about it, the house's presence would fill her head and give her one such story. Instead, she sensed…nothing. Either the house didn't have those kinds of stories—which was a depressing thought to be honest—or it just wasn't in the mood.
After awhile, Zatanna got tired of just sitting in the chair and decided to get up. Tossing the blanket she had been using onto the bed—stopping only to watch it in case the bed tried to eat it—she then headed for her room door. Opening it, she found the hallway dimly lit.
And then she felt the house's presence. Oh goody. For a moment, Zatanna thought she was about to get swallowed up into another story, but instead she felt…nothing. As in, there was no intent, which she had been feeling throughout her stay here. In fact, she got the feeling the house just wanted to make certain she could get around alright without tripping around in the dark.
Well, that was certainly…helpful?
Deciding not to question it, Zatanna closed her door behind her and began walking down the hallway. It wasn't like the hall was completely dark, just dimly lit with the occasional candle here and there. It did make the corridor creepy though, like she was walking through a haunted house. There was also a chill in the air, one that made her shiver a little bit. It didn't help that she only wore a top that barely reached her belly button, held up by thin straps that went over her shoulders, and short shorts that exposed quite a bit of leg. That's right, she liked showing off her legs. If anyone had a problem with that, then they could take a hike.
Crossing her arms beneath her bosom, Zatanna just aimlessly walked, the sound of her bare feet on the floor her only company. She really had no idea where she was heading. She didn't really care to explore this entire house, but she just couldn't stay still either. Eventually though, she found herself coming to a stop in front of a door. Before she stopped herself, she knocked on it.
Now why was she doing this?
Some time passed and the magician knocked again. She did this a couple more times before the door eventually opened up. On the other side was Constantine, still dressed in his clothes, though with some minor alterations. For one, he wasn't wearing his coat. Two, the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing his rather manly forearms. And three, he had taken off his tie.
Honestly, it was quite an attractive look.
"Something ya need, love?" Constantine questioned her, giving her an odd look.
Zatanna rubbed her forearms with her hands. "Not really. I just couldn't sleep," she confessed.
"Sorry to hear that. Not sure I can help ya with that."
Well, yeah, she had expected as much. She honestly had no idea why she had come to the guy; her feet had just brought her here. Their last conversation was starting to return though, and a thought popped into her head. "Well, I did have some questions," she eventually said. "About the tantric art stuff."
Constantine stared at her before he opened his door more. "Why don't ya come on in then. Let's see if I can't educate on the matter."
John Constantine had never met John Zatara. He had heard of the guy; who hadn't? He was generally looked at favorably, especially by the old guys with centuries of life under their belts. They talked about him being compassionate and understanding, even when he shouldn't have been.
Constantine was pretty certain such compassion wouldn't be present if he were alive to find out what he and his daughter had just done.
Standing in his room, John pulled his shirt on. He buttoned it up, though he gave little thought to which hole each button belonged. He was off by either a button or hole, or in one case completely skipped a hole. He looked unkempt, even for him.
Glancing over his shoulder, Zatanna Zatara laid passed out on his bed. She was still dressed in what he assumed was her sleepwear. The duvet was still made, so she was laying on top of it, one leg stretched out, the other flopped over on its side, bent at the knee. One arm was draped over her exposed belly, the other covering her eyes. Her hair spread out over the pillow her head was on, a breathtaking smile on her face. She was practically glowing as she slowly breathed.
No ifs, ands, or buts about it, Zatara was a beautiful woman. How she didn't have a bloke in her bed every night was beyond him, but hey, he wasn't complaining.
Grabbing his trench coat, John threw it on, stuffing his arms through the sleeves. Neither of them had needed to get undressed, but he preferred to do his tantra shirtless. Now though, he had some business that needed to be taken care of. It shouldn't take long; Zatara wouldn't even know he was gone, especially after her first foray into the tantric arts.
He was rather looking forward to accompanying her further on that journey.
Leaving his room quietly, John kept working on his shirt buttons. He eventually got them all on, but he was definitely now off by a hole. The top button was in the second from the top hole, which left the bottom button without a hole. Considering he was gonna be stripping when he got back, it hardly mattered if he was presentable.
Walking down the hallway, he stuffed his hands into his coat's pockets. He sorely wanted to pull out a cigarette and smoke, but it was his understanding the House of Mystery didn't care for smoke in non-smoking areas. The hallway was one such place. Far be it for him to irritate the very building he was in. That was just bad manners.
He purposely got himself lost in the corridors, mostly to make certain the others weren't spying on him. What he wanted to do was none of their business, and certainly had nothing to do with the hag.
When he reached a place he felt was optimal for tonight's rendezvous, he then spoke out loud, "Hey, House o' Mystery. Care to chat?"
Initially, nothing happened. John didn't mind, he was quite patient. "I understand you enjoy storytelling," he continued unabated.
That's when he felt it. It was a presence in his head, a sensation on his skin that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. Oh yeah, he had the House's attention now. And it was—
"Hold on now," he quickly said before he was plunged into one of the multitude of stories the House of Mystery loved to tell. He had seen it on the others' faces when the House was trying to entertain them. Hell, he vividly remembered it seeping into his consciousness when they all first arrived. He had never felt anything so insidious before. The only ones not affected from what he had seen were Anita and Jason Blood. Since Anita owned the house, it made sense that she would have instructed the House to not badger her with endless tales. As for Jason, well, he was Jason Blood, and there weren't a lot of supernatural entities that wanted to mess with him.
As for him, well, he had politely told the House to bugger off when it tried to entertain him again after their impromptu meeting in the sitting room. Surprisingly, it had done just that, though maybe that was because it had the others to pay attention to. Well, now it was time to interact.
"Now, I know you love a good story," John continued. "But how often is it that you're the one to receive the story, eh?"
He could feel the House's presence. It seemed befuddled by this. He could feel the curiosity, as if it were encouraging him to continue.
"So, I've got a right slobber knocker of a story for ya. However, I won't tell it for nothing. I'm gonna need somethin' from you. So here's the deal: I tell you my story, and you do me a solid. We have a deal?"
The presence remained if only for a few moments. Then he felt it giving off an encouraging vibe. It seemed the deal had been accepted.
"Then we have a deal." John cleared his throat. "So there's this bar…"
This was certainly a group of strange bedfellows Jason found himself with. Perhaps they weren't the strangest, but they were certainly diverse.
He had seen the look on the woman, June Moone. The realization that she was effectively cursed to be stalked and hunted because of her possession of the Sworn Book of Honorius had been devastating to her. Unfortunately, there was not much that could be done. Jason was loathed to talk possession of it lest his darker impulses be drawn out. The horrors he would unleash would be unfathomable. It was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't lost control with the tome so close.
So he could not spare her that fate. He trusted John Constantine even less than himself, so he was also not one to take the tome. Zatanna Zatara was too inexperienced to protect it. Detective Chimp and his followers weren't ideal either. Anita was a curious option, but she too declined to accept the responsibility. Her reluctance fit in with her decision for reclusivity.
Jason could sympathize with Ms. Moone; really, he could. He knew a thing or two about curses.
The red-haired man sighed. Just because he sympathized didn't mean he was willing to chance something worse. As unfortunate as it was, Ms. Moone was their best choice in keeping the tome. It was a responsibility he wished he could spare her, but there really wasn't any other choice at the moment.
The fire in the fireplace was reaching the point of scantly popping, the wood within it having burnt to near ash. Embers were all that were left at the moment. He still remained in the sitting room in which they had convened their meeting. He was rather restless this night and had not sought out his own chamber as of yet. However, he wasn't wasting this time needlessly.
Whenever he found himself in such a situation, Jason had found it an appropriate time to search for answers. His readings into the Hag had given him some insight. Now, he needed more. He wasn't familiar with the House of Mystery having a library, and even if it did, it would contain books that were only relevant to its previous caretaker. The House would have no issue with leading him to that area, but Jason had his doubts that he would find the answers he desired.
Reaching inside of his coat, he pulled out a deck of tarot cards. They had been a gift to him from Nimue many centuries ago. Every so often, he would seek out their wisdom, if not their foresight. Heh, he must have been quite desperate if he were turning to foresight at this stage.
Seated on one of the couches, Jason leaned forward so that he could use the coffee table positioned between the two. Though the fire's light was waning, he still had plenty of light from the light source in the ceiling. Holding his deck in one hand, he used the other to remove the top card, placing it face down on the table. He placed a row of four at even intervals. Then he made a second row of four just below the first one. He then set the deck down and stared at the backs of the cards.
His eyes began to roll into the back of his head before his eyelids shut closed. Reaching a hand out, he hovered it over the top left card, reaching out with his magical senses. No, not this card. He moved to the card immediately to the right. Again, he felt nothing.
This continued down the row, and he felt nothing. So he moved his hand to the bottom leftmost card and did the same. When he moved to the next card, he felt a tug. Immediately, he stopped, allowing his hand to hover there for a moment. This time, he could feel something drawing him to the card. Opening his eyes, he then reached for the card, flipping it over.
Jason stared at the card. This can't be…
Flipping the card back over, he swept up each card and returned them to the bottom of his deck. He shuffled it and once again created two rows of four cards. Once more, he eyes began to roll his eyes into the back of his head before he closed his eyelids. He held out his hand over each card, calling upon his magical senses. This time, he reached the end of the top row when he felt the same pull.
When he flipped this card over, he could feel his stomach drop. It was the same as the previous time. Did he dare try a third time?
No, no he did not. Just because he did not like a fortune did not mean it was inaccurate. He had received the same card twice and he would be a fool to ignore it further. Only a fool disregarded ill news because it went against their desire. Nimue had taught him this a long time ago.
So he braced himself. With renewed determination, Jason stared at the reaper card, a scythe held in one hand by a robe-covered skeleton. He knew the pronouncement of death.
Leaving the card revealed, Jason closed his eyes and held his hand out again. He felt the pull immediately when his hand hovered over the bottom left card. Flipping it over, he didn't bother opening his eyes as he continued his search. He felt the tug again when he reached the last card, flipping it over as well.
This time he opened his eyes, seeing the three revealed tarots. Death was coming, he read. Before the rise of dawn, one of seven would die.
That made Jason frown. One of seven? But there were eight of them here…
Unless he was classifying them wrong. Seven people were targets. However, how else could you group them? Only six of them were homo magi. Seven of them were human, so that was possible. Six again were under the age of one hundred, so that wasn't it. All eight of them were united in the same cause…
…unless…one of them wasn't?
Jason turned his head from the tarots, looking in the direction of the stairs. The others had seen themselves to bed after their gathering. While he could vouch for himself, if he were truly honest, he could not vouch for any of the others. Was one of them seeking out the Sworn Book on Honorius?
And then he heard a blood-curdling scream.
Smoke wafted up from the end of the pipe. Detective Chimp slowly inhaled on it, causing the coals within the bowl to glow a lovely orange. He could feel the smoke and hot air seer the back of his throat before he raised a hand up, removed the pipe, and blew out the smoke.
They really hadn't made much progress today on this worrisome case. All they had achieved was finding a place they felt comfortable hiding the Sworn Book of Honorius. After that, it had largely been a wash.
While the others debated the merits of who would keep the tome, who had what powers and the like, the chimpanzee felt they were glossing over something rather important. Why was the Enchantress after the tome? It was currently assumed the hag wanted it for its spells and powers it would grant her, but he felt that was quite simplistic. "Because every malevolent spirit would want it," was not a solid reason.
Perhaps if the Enchantress was a baser apparition, perhaps that would be justified. She would only be acting on instinct, much like an animal. Yet, according to the encounters he had heard from the others, there was sentience to this hag, an intelligence that was seeking something.
But what was it?
Taking another hit from his pipe, he pondered on this for some time, eventually coming to the conclusion that he knew too little of this hag to properly form a hypothesis. More evidence was needed, which was something he wasn't going to get inside of this strange house. This was his first time within the House of Mystery, and it was certainly living up to its namesake.
Such ruminations could be thought of later. The most pressing matter was what their next move would be. They couldn't stay inside of this mysterious house forever. They needed to find and subdue the hag to put this to an end.
So what did he know of this hag? She had significant magical powers if the reports he had heard were any indication. She had no issue attacking the sanctuary of Madame Xanadu, a formidable fortune teller. One did not cross the madame without having supreme confidence in themselves, especially in enemy territory.
Now that was a thought. Though the detective was no expert on magic by any means, he was familiar with that population. His interactions with them throughout the years had earned him the confidence of the Homo magi as they liked to call themselves. So he had learned from that community those that were held in high regard, low regard, and everything in-between. He also learned about certain aspects of magic, like the user holding a distinct advantage in a specific location.
Madame Xanadu was a master of her domain, that being her fortune telling parlor. Either this Enchantress felt herself to be the superior of the two, or she had no qualms against charging in and taking what she wanted. Or it was entirely possible that it was both, or neither.
So how did one defeat a creature like this?
It would seem he would need to confer with one of the magic users. They would know something. Though, if they did, would their need for sanctuary be warranted?
Detective Chimp sighed. It would seem he would need to take a more active role in leading future discussions. They had gotten quite off topic and that couldn't happen again. He knew he was out of his element in this House of Mystery, which was why he took a backseat during the meeting. Now though, it was clear they needed direction, and he could at least offer that.
Getting up from his seat, he walked over to his room door and opened it, entering the hallway. His mind was far too alert for sleep. There was little point in trying to slumber, so it was best that he tired himself out. A short walk should suffice.
At least, that had been his idea. The moment he left his room, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise up. He felt unease and he couldn't help but search the hallway he was in. There was something off about this place, and his baser instincts were fighting to make themselves known.
Nervously, he took another hit on his pipe, the leathery pads of his feet making smacking sounds with every step he took. He blew out the smoke and he…he felt as if something were drawing back, almost offended. It was a strange sensation to feel.
That was when he came across another—Anita Soulfeeda. The older woman entered the corridor he was in from an intersecting one and her eyes immediately fell upon him. "Would you be so kind as to put that out?" she ordered. Though her words were civil, her tone was quite stern.
"Certainly," Detective Chimp responded, holding his pipe at his side. The coals would slowly die themselves out, so long as he didn't take a hit on it. "I did not know my host was against smoking."
"Only in the undesignated areas," she flippantly responded. "The House does not care for it."
The chimp raised an eyebrow. "The House," he repeated.
"Surely you have felt its presence. It is not fond of smoke."
The way Anita spoke of this house, it was as if it were alive. Perhaps it very well was, thus the sensation that he was being watched could be explained. He had seen quite a bit of the impossible in his life, so who was he to deny sentience of a structure? "I apologize. I had not realized," he apologized.
Anita just stared at him, her eyes glancing to the pipe every few seconds. "You did not know and were not informed," she eventually said. "Pray tell, what brings you out at this time of night? It is quite late."
"I was having some difficulty sleeping," the chimp answered, "and I felt a short stroll would help tire myself out. And you, Madame?"
"I hardly sleep," the older woman informed him. "Such time is wasted when one could use it to further themselves."
"Not everyone has your gifts," Detective Chimp pointed out. "Sleep is a necessary, biological response."
"Then it is something I recommend that you partake in."
Not very welcoming, was she? "In a moment. Is there some place you are heading?"
"I was heading to my own chambers, if you must know."
"Then allow me to escort you there. One can never be too safe."
A small, amused smile appeared on her face. "Oh, I believe I am quite safe here. The House will see to that."
"Then allow a chimp the knowledge that you returned to your quarters safe and sound. I simply could not sleep if I knew you were wandering these halls alone."
Anita sighed. "Very well. It is this way."
The two fell into lockstep, walking at the same pace. However, they didn't go very far when a rather strong odor reached the chimpanzee's nose. Immediately, his nostrils flared open, and his face twisted from the stench.
"Is something wrong?" his host asked, noticing the look on his face.
"There is a foul odor I am smelling," he admitted. "And it is getting stronger."
Anita frowned, but then her eyes began to widen and water. "I believe I am smelling the same thing."
The two of them came to a stop. Instinctively, Detective Chimp held out an arm in front of Anita, signaling for her to stop. He sniffed the air, his head turned from one side to another. His host's perfume was interfering with his sharper sense, but it could not completely block out the rather familiar scent. Cautiously, he took another step and then another, slowly leading the two of them further down the hallway.
Eventually, he reached a door where the stench seemed its strongest. "I believe it is in here," he whispered, reaching a hand up to grab onto the doorknob. "Are you prepared?"
All he received in response was a nod.
Taking a breath—which was a mistake as he breathed in more of the stench, which made him want to wretch—the chimp turned the knob and slowly opened the door.
The moment it was open, Anita let out a blood-curdling scream.
