Author's Note: Sorry for the slightly later chapter. I've had a very busy month and have run down my three-week posting buffer, so I only just finished this. Hopefully this hasn't impacted the quality too badly, but I plan to build up my buffer again in a couple of weeks, when I should have enough free time to do so.

I'm very happy with how this chapter came out regardless, even though the entire second half was fully improvised, and wasn't in my original chapter plan. I wasn't planning on having Huntress show up again this soon, but I think this works a lot better. I hope you all enjoy!

I've got to admit, I don't know an awful lot about how things work across the pond. I'm not exactly the type to go yelling about how those awful yanks ruin everything and should never have gotten uppity enough to stop being a colony, but it's just not my home, you know? Oh, I've been to the states a couple of times. Mostly during that whole fiasco with the old Bog God and the Ivunche.

But the Swamp Thing, for all some people insist, is not a super. Not a hero or villain, he just plain doesn't move in that world. He's… bigger than that. More important than that.

Which meant I couldn't go to him for help, and unfortunately, I only have one other contact in the states I could really go to.

And the man is a total twat.

I agreed to meet him in a garden he'd set up which dominated an entire floor of the skyscraper he owns. When I walked out of the elevator he was busy watering a tall mediterranean palm tree that bashed and bucked awkwardly against the ceiling. The whole garden was like that, twisted or tortured in some way. Tomato fruit grown out of season, banana out of climate. Trees with not enough room to grow. There was a pond with gorgeous lilies and lotuses floating atop the water… with Giant Hogweed at the back, which I knew full well would poison any water supply it touched.

The owner of this place was Papa Midnite, and he was torturing the poor plants. Every one he'd bound a soul into, an enemy of his usually, but sometimes the loved ones of an enemy he couldn't actually kill himself, yet.

And he was torturing them whilst they couldn't fight back.

He stood watering one affectionately in a bright white suit, and a matching top hat. He was a brute of a man, his body a slab of muscle barely constrained by the sharp outfit.

Maybe I was being unfair on him. He wasn't that big, or that brutish. His jaw wasn't that heavy set and his eyes weren't that cold and dead. But once you've seen somebody beat another man to death with their bare hands for giving them a funny look, you start paying a little less attention to the fancy clothes and a little more to the parts of their body that let you make sure they aren't about to do the same to you.

"Ah, John. They told me you were coming, but I expected it to be some trick. Are you finally here to pay off your debt?" He spoke, deadly casual. Never looking up at me, never looking away from the plants as he watered them out of a can.

I'd been led up here by zombie labour, a pair of brain-scoured victims who shambled back to the elevators and left us all alone once I'd been delivered to their master. They were the voodoo kind of zombie, not the hollywood kind. Still technically living, just hexed and drugged so badly they were functionally braindead.

"Here to accrue a little more, actually, mate. I'm after a certain somebody and much as I know you ain't quite the right guy to ask about it, I was hoping you could at least tell me who I need to ask." I said. I direly wanted to keep my eyes on him. Not to stare at the plants, not to hear the faint implication of moans in the fluttering of the leaves, noises that could just be a trick of the acoustics… or could be something worse.

But that would be showing weakness, so I did my best to pretend to survey them casually. It was this little game we both played. Pretending to be disinterested in the conversation, showing confidence, avoiding the appearance of desperation. Surely the pretty, deeply disturbing orchids were more important than some petty talk of business, right?

"Of course you are. Your debt is coming close to due, you know. And the last would-be sorcerer who tried to renege on their debts with me, well…" He yanked a petal from a tulip in the garden. I could almost feel the surge of pain it felt. I could smell it on the air, floral and fragrant.

That scent would have been pleasant, if I didn't know what it meant.

Yeah, I did not want to end up as one of the plants here.

"Well, maybe we can figure out a repayment plan today then. For now, though…" I took a breath. I couldn't really believe I was actually saying this, but…

"I need to find the Scarecrow."

"Hah!" He didn't even feign disinterest now, barking out a laugh as he looked right at me. "Oh, now that was not what I expected. The Scarecrow, John. Really. Dealing with the Gothamites? I thought you smarter than that."

"Not exactly doing it by choice." I grumbled, frustrated. "Besides, you deal in demons and loa. Voodoo and summoning, he's just a mortal man. Shouldn't the great Papa Midnite be able to track him down?"

"John…" He turned away from me, towards a window. Overlooking the city, the glittering lights of New York arrayed before him from his tower, cars and trucks dancing past in the night. "You are in my debt for my aid in banishing the arch-demon Mnemoth. Do you recall? How many died to that demon, do you know?"

"Uh-" I tried to cast my mind back. Mnemoth was nasty business, a demon of gluttony who starved people even as they gorged themselves, be it on food or anything else they could get their hands on.

"A dozen, maybe?" I tried. Trying to ignore my thoughts of the fact one of my oldest friends, Gary Lester, was amongst the dead.

"A dozen, yes." Papa Midnite nodded, turning back to me. "That was the most deaths in one go due to supernatural events in New York in many years. Gotham has a murderous rampage on that scale from their supervillains each week. The Scarecrow has killed more in the past four years than Memnoth has, without a doubt."

His voice got lower, booming and echoing through the room as he stood silhouetted against the light from the glass window, saying

"I realise these villains are only men, John. Most not even possessed of powers such as ours. But they scare me much more than any demon. I would not go there, in your place. And if you die before repaying me I will be very displeased at having to go through the effort to claim the debt from beyond the grave."

I met his eyes. I didn't shiver with fright or tremble in my boots. I didn't even want to. I'd already seen what the kind of maniac that infests Gotham could do. But I'd also seen what regular old men could do without even the kind of ability that qualifies you as a supervillain. Just any old maniac with a knife and a grudge. Or worse, a mobster with a gang and murderous intent. Viciousness, and a system backing them.

Gotham wasn't anything special in that regard, it was just that the monsters there wore stupid outfits and pranced about a bit before the murder part.

"Look, I don't need the whole speech, mate. You know how to find him or not?"

His brow twitched in irritation. He liked the theatrics and was pissed I hadn't gone all starry-eyed and started cowering at the speech. "Yes, John, I do. But first… we should discuss payment."

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Look I'm strapped for cash at the minute, so-"

"I was thinking something more… valuable, than cash." He said, returning to the garden, walking to the elevator. He pressed a button on the intercom and said something into it.

"Not giving you my soul, Midnite. You'll have to get in line if you want that." I replied, watching the elevator, curious as to what might be about to follow.

"Nothing so gauche." He said, waving a hand dismissively at me as the elevator opens and a slab of a man stepped through with a box in his hand. The man himself was glassy-eyed, another example of that old zombie labour Midnite was so fond of, stark naked too. He walked up without a word and offered the box to me.

It's was heavy metal brick, with little skulls engraved around the rim. Sealed, with no obvious way to open it up and get inside, though from the way the weight shifted about whenever I moved it, it was clear there was something rattling around inside. Something fairly thick and heavy unto itself, too. I shook it a little, but that didn't get a reaction out of Midnite. Not fragile then, either.

"If you are going into Gotham, you will deliver this for me. It is for the one known at the Penguin. I am sure you will be able to find him."

"Penguin, huh? uh- Look, I don't know all of these metahuman guys by name, any clue how I ought to find hi-"

"He runs an establishment called the Iceberg Lounge." He cut me off with a faint quirk of his lips, amused. "He is as mundane as they come, I assure you. Rather more like your local London crime lords, bar the… eclectic name. I think you will like him."

I hummed at that, thoughtfully. The things people do to fit in, picking a name and a gimmick when you're otherwise perfectly normal. Though that said, I've seen what mob guys can do when they're trying to impress a crowd above their station, and it's rarely pretty.

"I'll do it, sure. Sounds easy enough. So my information, then? Seems you know the names of all these lads, how do I find the Scarecrow?"

He turned around, walking to a small patch of azaleas. It was one of the few plant patches I couldn't see anything wrong with at first. It wasn't overcrowded or underwatered or poisioned. Or at least so I thought, until he brushed the flowers aside and took out a freaking human skull that was nestled inside the bush.

Its eyes were glowing, too, staring right at me. Christ, had that been there the whole time?

"You are in luck, John." Papa Midnite said, one hand caressing the skull affectionately. "I have received whispers of the one who calls himself Scarecrow, and not from the corners you might expect. Whatever he is planning, it seems it affects both the magical and mundane worlds. My sister here has been griping all week. It seems he's been butchering matters. Striking deals with demons and spirits and elementals of ill repute, with poorly-worded deals and contracts. Though I for one think she's simply upset he didn't come to us first, aren't you?" He gave a stern glare at the skull, but his eyes were soft and affectionate. The kind of needling reserved for loved ones, not made out of actual anger.

"Wait, you'd even want to be dealing with that psychopath? I've barely met him but from what I've read in the papers he sounds, uh…" I started, surprised. Not to mention creeped out by the way he was petting what was apparently his sister's skull. I wondered if that was his literal sister or if he only meant it in the 'witches coven' sense.

"Oh, no. The man is an idiot and a madman. I'm a legitimate businessman, I have no room for clients I can't trust. Even with demons, I deal in contracts, and I would never trust him to hold to one." He grunted, offended.

"Mate, you just said you want me to deliver this-" I rattled the brick he'd handed me again, and heard the contents rattle inside. "-To the bleeding Penguin."

"The Penguin tried the costumed villain act years ago, and learned his lesson after the fourth or fifth beating by the Batman. He and I share much, including a total lack of ambition to rule Gotham, New York, or any other city. Or for that matter any desire to get into open brawls in the streets with the Justice League. We have our patch, do our jobs, and make our money. And as a result, despite our names and gimmicks, we remain safe from the League."

"Sure, sure." I laughed at that. "You just go by 'Papa Midnite' and go around flashing your magic powers to anybody who looks. Not supervillainous behaviour at all."

His nostrils flared as he glared at me harshly. None of that affectionate stuff he was giving the skull, that had genuinely gotten under his skin. "I know you don't appreciate the difference John, living where you do. But I assure you, the difference is that I understand the value of a repeat customer… a true supervillain would have killed you where you stand for that little bit of disrespect."

"I'm quaking in my boots." I said, as I mimed the action, my legs positively trembling, knees knocking together. "Look, mate, you've handed me your package, are you going to tell me where I need to go or not?"

He sighed in frustration, putting the skull aside. For all his claims of being a regular businessman, he didn't half like the theatre that came with his position. Hence the giant magical torture-orchard and the creepy skulls.

"I do not know, though I can direct you to one who does." He said, plainly, shoulders falling as he dropped the scary voodoo priest act. He sounded more than a little annoyed to be speaking so directly, though, to be honest. "The Swamp Thing is concerned by the Scarecrow's activities and has been organising meetings with another Gotham villain. Poison Ivy. Apparently whatever this plan of his is might be disruptive to the local environment. Fear Gas in the local water supply again most likely, or some such nonsense. You know how to contact him, I am sure."

I resisted the urge to groan at that. Of course. 'Doesn't move in that world' my arse. Going to the old bog god had been my first instinct, and now I'd wasted a bloody trip… and gotten deeper into Midnite's debt for nothing, too.

"As I know this information might not be as valuable to you as you were expecting it to be…" He said, making me start a little. I didn't think he was reading my mind, but I still had to keep from flinching in case it really was some kind of trick and not just a coincidence he'd said that right as I was thinking it. "I will also consider some part of your debt settled if you make the delivery I requested. And will not instead add to your debt as price for the information."

"Very generous, mate, very generous." I grumbled, rolling my eyes. "Right then, you need anything bloody else, or am I good to go?" I was already making for the elevator as I spoke, hauling the giant hunk of metal he'd given me alongside me.

"You may leave. I will return to my skulls… and have my sister monitor you closely. Do not lose that package, John Constantine, or I will be very displeased indeed."

I tripped deliberately over the lip at the door to the elevator, faked dropping it just to catch it, wondering if I could make him jump, but he didn't even flinch.

I didn't give him a response as the elevator doors closed behind me, waiting until I was safely on my way to the next floor to mutter "Bloody wanker." to myself.

In the corner of the room I saw a faint glow. Two purple glowing eyes staring at me.

Of course the bloody skull could see anywhere in the building. I flipped it the bird and held the finger there for the whole trip down to the ground floor and out the building. The eyes followed me out of the elevator, but vanished once I left the building

I called over a cab and asked them for the nearest train station. Now I had a contact and a delivery to make, It was time to actually go to Gotham. And from there, to figure out how the hell I was going to arrange a meet with the Swamp Thing. The guy didn't exactly use cell phones, and generally didn't like to meet with me for 'petty mortal matters' such as this.

—

I'd heard it takes forever to get anywhere in this bloody country. I know America is a much bigger country than the isles, but it's still mostly overblown. The only time you're really making a three day train trip is if you're trying to go from coast to coast. The trip down to Gotham from New York was only a couple of hours, about the same as a trip from Manchester to London.

It was night by the time I disembarked at Gotham station, though frankly I suspected it was always bloody nighttime here. I needed to figure out a hotel room, first of all. Shouldn't be hard, the train station had maps for tourists and I'd picked one up almost immediately.

I stepped out into the city streets, and the first thing that struck me was the architecture. I'd heard stories, seen photographs, but this place really was something out of a gothic nightmare. The dang train station exterior had gargoyles on it, dimly lit by warm light through the windows which cast their faces in shadow. I'd seen actual 17th century cathedrals with less spires and arches than this building, which I guarantee you had been built in the last two hundred years.

I hated this place already.

Doubly because I apparently couldn't find a taxi anywhere to get me to the hotel I needed to sleep in.

Triply because when I got sick of trying to flag somebody down and tried walking my way there I picked up a tail in under five minutes. I mean I'd heard this was an easy city to get mugged in, but this was absolutely ridiculous.

Fortunately, it wasn't exactly a common mugger who was following me. Whoever was doing it was chasing me across the rooftops.

Good news was, that was more hero behaviour than villain, the bad news was it was probably a bad sign that they'd ambushed me less than five minutes after I got here. Were they watching the stations, watching me, or was it just coincidence?

Either way, I deliberately rounded a corner into an alley, wanting to get this over with. They were clearly here for a chat, so I might as well make it easy for them and save myself the hassle. I made a little mental bet with myself about which one it would be. The big bat himself? One of the Robins, Batgirl?

Or the most likely scenario, it was the only one of the bat-family who was even aware I existed. The one I'd met during that fiasco with the Red Lantern a few weeks back.

Huntress dropped down in front of me, and I just stood there, not even flinching. She had me cornered in this alley, but given she didn't have her crossbow out, I wasn't worried that she was here with ill intent.

She was done up in her full costume, full black leather with purple highlights, a white cross over the chest, and her belly and thighs showing. Plus a cape and a mask that was just two bloody purple triangles sticking off her face. She had to be cold, wearing that little, but she wasn't shivering. Maybe she really was metahuman, with the power to show as much skin as she bloody wanted without freezing to death.

Not that I was complaining, it gave me one hell of a view and she was showing off a gorgeous set of abs.

Plus a gorgeous set of some other things, too.

Right though, John, get your jaw off the floor and stop staring, half the point of an outfit like that is to distract you and you're falling right for it.

"You, uh-" I said, after getting my brain off her abs and on to business. "You really need to figure out a new playbook, you know. After the first rooftop-stalking it really gets old. The old cat-and-mouse routine was fun last time, but…"

"But this time you just backed yourself into an alley on the spot and let me catch you immediately. That eager to see me, huh?" She quirked a smile, cocking her hips as she looked me up and down.

"Mostly just wanting this over with. Are we here to pick up where we'd left off, then? Changed your mind about kicking my ass for pulling one over on you back in London?"

"Oh, that's old news. Besides, we parted on good terms, right? I wasn't expecting you to accept my… invitation, quite so soon. If at all." She took a step or two towards me, putting a sway in her step.

I kept my eyes off her legs and on her face. Last time we'd met she could barely keep from trying to punch my face in, and even if we'd shared a pint afterwards and parted on decent terms…

The sudden switch to flirtatiousness was setting off alarm bells in my head. What did she want?

"Actually, I'm here for different reasons entirely. On business, so to speak. I don't suppose you could lend me a hand, for, ah, old time's sake?"

"And what, dare I ask, might that business be?" Ah, yeah. I caught it this time. She smiled a little wider but there was a moment's delay. It took her a moment to process my answer and then she tried to overcompensate to keep up the casual, confident facade. She was trying to figure me out, then, and without giving away that she had anything more than a passing interest in the topic of conversation.

Well, no better way to deal with that than to be blisteringly direct, then. If nothing else it'll be funny to see her reaction to it.

"Trying to track a girl who really oughta be your problem, not mine. Plant girl, uh- Poison Ivy? Apparently she's having a meeting with the Bog God out in the forests or something, need to drop in to have a little chat."

That made her start. She reeled back a little, and this time after the pause to work through the implications of what I'd just said she didn't even bother to try to hide it with a smirk or a smile or by showing a little more leg.

"What do you need to talk to her for?" She tried, a little more tensely than before.

"Relax, I ain't swinging for the other team. But I also ain't feeding you the whole story unless you agree to help. You'll just run off and try to handle it yourself, and I've seen the damage you can do when you go off half cocked." It was my turn to be confident, now. I put my hands in my pockets, standing tall, facing her down whilst she tried to figure out whether it was worth it to tell me what I wanted to know.

And the fact she hadn't instantly started hedging told me she knew something I could use, at least. Otherwise she wouldn't've needed to bother contemplating it, she'd've given me a flat 'no'.

"I know a likely spot they could be meeting. No need to tell me what you plan on doing, though. I figure you'd just lie or omit something important anyway, so… I'll cut you a deal?" She took out the crossbow from her belt, but she didn't point it at me. She didn't even make any threatening gestures, she just started playing with it with her fingers, running a fingertip across the drawstring.

"I'll escort you down there in the morning. Don't worry about her seeing you with a hero and running, I'll stick to the shadows once we get too close. I'll see what you're all about in person… and you get to have your chat with Ivy. Sound good?"

I considered it. I was kind of hoping this would be a private chat, but unless Huntress was going to bug my clothing, which I was going to have to check for anyway, she didn't have any way to make out the details of the conversation from a long distance… and I doubted I'd be saying much I had to hide from her anyway.

On the other hand, I didn't like the idea of having somebody chauffeuring me around the city like I was some lost yuppie. And on the third hand…

She knew the city and I didn't. If I went blundering about at random I was likely to get my arse stabbed in an alley, or worse.

Christ, I was gonna have to accept her help, wasn't I?

I sucked in a breath through my teeth, indecisive, before with some reluctance giving her a "Fine, sure. Just promise me you won't keep waving the crossbow about like you usually do? You know you hit me with it last time right over a spot somebody had nailed me with an axe a few days before? My shoulder's stitches needed stitches."

"Hah, oh, this?" She raised it up and waved it over me, acting casual, but I could see her finger on the drawstring. I flinched, and I'll admit it, even though it was a mistake. She let out a laugh at my reaction, before spinning the crossbow around like she was a goddamn cowboy and shoving it into the leather holster strap thing on her belt. "I'll keep the weapons away unless you cause trouble or get into some, don't worry."

"Comforting. This is Gotham, you are aware that's essentially a guarantee that thing will be coming out almost immediately, right?"

"I know." This time when she smirked she meant it, eyes lighting up with a thrill just at the thought. "That's why I specified."

Cheeky fuck. I couldn't help but let out a laugh at that one, giving her a smile.

"You're staying at the Orchard Hotel, right?" She asked me after a moment, quirking a brow.

"What? Screw that, too bloody posh. Do I look like I have that kind've cash?"

"The Justice League will comp you, then. I'll meet you th-"

"Whoah, whoah, whoah." I cut her off, raising my hands. "Not taking cash from the bloody League to stay in a poncy hotel on your dime, doubly since it's somewhere you probably picked out just so you can keep an eye on me easily. I'll find my own place, you meet me back here in the morning, deal?"

She tilted her head at me, setting her jaw a moment. Pondering whether to push the issue, before backing off with a nod. "Fine, fine. Have it your way. Find your own place. Though if you're thinking about getting the motel on Hafwin Lane, it's a front for Mr Freeze. Don't."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Yeah, I- I was thinking about that one. Are there any places around here that aren't fronts for somebody?"

"Yes. The Orchard. I told you." She said, giving me a flat look, speaking slowly like she was talking to an idiot.

"...I think I'll take my bloody chances. Thanks though, I'll bear that in mind." I replied, stepping forward to brush past her. She stepped aside, didn't shoulder-check me. Let me go.

"Just stay out of trouble, John. I'll meet you here. Don't miss it."

I gave her a wave as I left, rounding the corner. Making my way to Hafwin.

Riddler front, huh? Note to self, try not to engage anybody in conversation and keep your head down. Hopefully it was a front in the sense of 'still does legitimate business, but funnels the cash to the boss' sense, and not just 'they literally just put signs saying 'motel' out front but the inside is a full-on meth lab' sense.

Maybe I'll peek in the windows first just to be sure before going inside, that ought to keep me safe enough, right?

…

Christ, I hate this city.