Author's Notes: So this one got away from me. 6k words, jeez. That's more than I usually do. This is another non-buffer post. Hopefully it'll be the last, I've got a two-week holiday I plan to spend on a writing binge. Normally I'd suspect this negatively impacted the quality, though to be honest if anything I think this is one of my best chapters, but maybe you all disagree. Let me know what you think!

As an aside, I only just realised you're allowed to do chapter notes like this on so I'm going to be editing these in to all my prior chapters. You guys probably have no clue this fic's meant to be a sequel to The Ones We Leave Behind or anything. Hopefully it'll help this thing be a bit more readable on this platform.

"If you're going to do this, you need to be prepared."

We were sat in a small diner a few streets away from the Iceberg Lounge. It was actually a really nice place, a cozy little shop on a street corner with a 'Betty Boop' theme and some genuinely lovely coffee. Huntress sat across the table from me as she tried to walk me through the 'plan of attack' for the Iceberg Lounge.

"I really don't see the big deal, love." I told her. I was starting to get exasperated with her attempts to babysit me, frankly. She'd been a big help so far, she'd saved me from two muggings and showed me around town, sure. But she'd been no help during the little chat I'd with Poison Ivy, and well… "He don't even have any powers, right? What's he gonna do, shoot me?"

She let out a sardonic chuckle at that. "What would you do if he did shoot you?"

"Be very embarrassed and die, probably. But that's just the thing, nobody ever actually does. Same reason nobody ever shoots Batman anymore, and they all muscle up to the stupid bloody ultra-death-ray things and overcomplicated traps. Nobody thinks something so small as a gun would ever take."

"Batman gets shot a lot, actually, he's just good as pretending he didn't get hit. Or that it doesn't hurt."

"Exactly!" I exclaim through a mouthful of croissant. I cough a little, wiping away a few crumbs. Got a little overexcited there. I swallow before finishing. "Exactly. It's the legend what keeps him safe, same with me. Nobody ever believes the Laughing Magician would get taken down by some random ponce with a revolver."

"Maybe over in magic-land, but in gotham? Laughing Magicians are a dime a dozen, and Penguin's a big name. It's the same kind of game you're playing, sure, but you need to adjust to the new players and pieces. You'll need somebody he's actually scared of backing you if you're gonna meet him without getting shot down." She kicked her legs up, leaning back on the chair, as she said "Which is why I'm going in with you, this time."

"Uh, you're kidding me, right?" I asked, right as the lovely waitress came back with an extra refill for my coffee. I gave her a nod and a "Thank you, luv." Before taking a long sip. I wasn't totally sure I could read Huntress yet, not properly. Wasn't totally sure why she was so insistent on tagging along with me for this whole caper, other than the general super-heroic desire to take down Scarecrow. But…

"You know why Ivy didn't kill me the other day? 'Cause I managed to convince her we were on the same side. I show up with a hero in tow, armed for bear and in full costume, he'll figure he's under attack and shut right down. Or worse, he'll assume my buddy who gave me this-" I rapped my knuckles hard against the thick metal box housing the package Papa Midnite gave me to deliver "Sent it as a trap, and then they're pissed at me too. You really think Penguin's gonna go shooting the delivery boy like that?"

"One:" She held up a finger at me. I suppose I was lucky it wasn't her middle one at least. "He's an unstable monster who kills people for no reason regularly. And if what's in there is secret, yes, he absolutely will kill the messenger if they see it. Two:" A second finger. Now she was in fact flipping the bird at me. She was an American, did she know what that meant? Most of 'em don't. I thought I could see the faintest hint of a smirk, though. Wait, it couldn't be deliberate, could it?

"Two, I've met you. You really think you can go a full meeting without mouthing off at him?"

Okay, she had me there. "I'll play nice. Promise." I grumbled, taking another bite of that croissant. It really was pretty good. "Believe it or not I can be polite when me life's at stake."

"No, you really can't." She sighed, looking resigned for a moment, before looking aside. She spent a second or two quietly, considering things, before suddenly sitting forward, getting a gleam in her eye that I really, really didn't like. "Tell you what, care to make it a bet, then?"

I was curious now, despite myself. I put the food aside for a moment, as I asked "Oh? What's the wager?"

"The Iceberg Lounge is an actual lounge as much as it is a supervillain hangout. I won't go in with you during the delivery… but I will be hanging out in the lounge itself. In civilian clothes. If you don't make me get changed and come save your ass by the end of your meeting… maybe you'll catch a glimpse on the way out."

That took me aback. If I was still eating that croissant I would've choked on it. "Isn't showing yourself in your civvies meant to be… some big gesture of trust, or something? The hell are you extending that to me for?"

"Psh, like you'd be able to recognise me anyway."

"Let me guess, you'll be wearing actual pants?"

She let out a genuine laugh at that, low and throaty. "Yeah, exactly. You only ever look at my legs anyway, without them bare you won't have a chance."

I looked away, guilty as charged. Not that I was exactly going to admit that out loud to the lady I knew full well could kill me in seconds if I pissed her off.

"And if I do make you get changed?" I hastily redirected.

"I get to kick your ass for being an idiot once I've saved you from the Penguin. And also probably steal that package of yours too whilst I'm in there, see what's inside for myself."

On the one hand, Papa Midnite would kill me if she took the thing. On the other hand, if I needed saving and she didn't swoop in, Penguin would kill me anyway, so...

Eh, fuck it. Sounded like a fair trade to me. "It's a deal." I agreed. I extended a hand and we shook on it, before I looked across the table.

"What, ain't you gonna touch your food?" I asked her. Two bagels and a cup of some kind of fancy tea was sitting untouched on the table in front of her.

"Don't like the food in this place anyway."

"Wait, you're telling me you dragged me to a Betty Boop themed bloody restaurant and you don't like the food? Please, please tell me there's not another reason you picked this place to come to."

"It's the only place that's not paying protection to a villain and that's within walking distance of the lounge!" She defended, perhaps a little bit too loudly to be totally convincing. "If I was going to take you somewhere I liked…" She tapped her chin a moment, pondering the question. "There's an Italian place off 3rd that does actual Italian food and not just pizza. Reminds me of home, a little."

See, these are the little moments where I actually start to wonder if there isn't a person under the silly outfit. The moments where she slouches a little, where her stomach rumbles audibly at the smell of the food. Where she remembers home. Italy, huh? She didn't look Italian… and she had a thoroughly Gotham accent, but I knew neither of those things meant anything, really.

And then she shook her head, like she was awakening from a dream. The person behind the mask was gone, and Huntress was back in the building, as she lounged back again, catlike, confident, and just a little predatory as she asked me

"Are you ready to go, then? Or are you going to sit here enjoying the coffee whilst Scarecrow furthers whatever plot it is you're trying to stop?"

I'm not terribly sure what I expected going into a place called the Iceberg Lounge, run by a guy called the Penguin. Some huge ice-rink with a bunch of actual penguins flapping about? A little polar-themed zoo with a really nice cocktail bar attached?

Instead what I got was a scene that was at once all too familiar and all too strange. I walked right into a high-society party. Men and women in suits and ties and dresses that cost more than I made in a year were drinking fancy martinis and chatting about high-powered business deals and whatever old money families got up to in their spare time. Mostly shagging their immediate family members and doing boatloads of drugs, in my experience.

And plotting to make een more money by fucking over everybody around them, too. Can't forget about that.

That much I was intimately familiar with. I'd wheedled my way into places like this many a time to raid the snacks table and swindle some poor sod with more cash than sense out of their coke money. The disturbing part was the other half of the clientele, the half that the hobnobs were swarming around like they were bloody celebrities.

Men in costumes strutting about like they owned the place. The damn supervillains, getting fawned over by the rich and powerful.

Most of them had guards, of course. Every one had a pair of big burly bouncers with official lounge id badges escorting them. These guys were clearly lounge staff and not the villain's own henchmen. The Supervillains couldn't be trusted to play well with others, I was guessing, and so they needed a little supervision.

Some guy in orange and green was pulling a trick where he stuck his hand in a mirror and took items out of it. He seemed popular, despite the fact I had no clue who he was and his outfit was fairly uninspired and shabby. A guy with some kind of raygun and his head in a fishbowl stood out as the only villain wearing a suit and tie too, though the suit fit poorly over his armour. He was also the only one who was actually trying to engage the aristocrats in conversation rather than just showing off to them. Mr Freeze, I was guessing.

Ivy and Harley seemed to have taken a corner seat and had raised some oversized snapping flytraps to ward off the aristocrats, though I could see some poor sod who couldn't've been eighteen clutching a bloody hand and glaring at one of the man-eating plants. Poor idiot had probably tried his luck at getting past them and only gotten lucky enough not to lose the hand entirely. Harley gave me a wave when she saw me looking and tried to beckon me over. I ignored her as best I could.

In fact, I tried to ignore all of them, everybody in the room. See, after introducing myself to the bouncer at the front door and showing him the package, they'd apparently decided I was here on metahuman business. I'd gotten my own two bouncer escorts, which meant all of the tourists here to gawk at the villains had apparently decided I was one too. Oh, I didn't look the part. About half of them were wrinkling their noses in open contempt at my shabby coat and untrimmed stubble. The other half, on the other hand, were trying to swarm me, asking questions, my name, what I could do, if I had any powers.

"Piss off!" I growled at one for getting a little too in my face. He'd tried to block my path and I'd nearly tripped, dropping the heavy bloody brick of a package I was carrying, none of them seemed all that upset by the insult. If anything the open aggression only made them more eager to ask me questions. The bouncers were apparently used to this, and did their best to cut through the crowd. They were six feet tall each, but they looked a little scared of actually manhandling the bloody upper-crusters, which meant we had to do a bit of swimming to get to Penguin's office.

"So what can you do?"

"You aren't one I recognise, do you have any powers? Other than shabbiness."

"C'mon, give us a show. I'm sure I can make it worth your while. How does fifty bucks sound for a demonstration?"

Christ, I hated being gawked at. They were treating me like an animal at a petting zoo, and a few were even getting handsy. They-

"Oi!" I shouted, as one of the pricks tried to grab my ass. I caught the wrist of an little old lady with emerald earrings and gave her a furious glare. She just leered at me, though only after giving a glance to my two guards to make sure they were watching. The two bouncers stared down at me in disapproval… but didn't stop me. Yet.

Right, these aristocrats were assholes, but not suicidal. The bouncers are here to protect these guys from the villains, not the other way around.

She didn't look scared of me. If anything, she was smirking like the cat that got the cream, the dirty old bitty.

"Oh no!" She practically purred the words. "The villain has caught me. Are you going to do anything about it? I can hardly wait."

"Y'know what? You buggers want to know what I can do?" I slowly raised a hand and poked her once right between the eyes, holding my finger there for a second and humming out the words "Defricatus urina tibi senex pythonissam!"

I let go of her wrist and she drew back, a little shocked, but mostly confused, asking me in an uncertain tone "Excuse me? What did you just do, young man?"

"You'll see in about three days." I said, turning my back and waving a hand dismissively at her. "Might want to spend a little more time with your grandkids in the meantime, if they'll even still see you, you old cow. Not gonna have much time left for it afterwards."

"After what? After what, you bastard!?"

The old lady tried to grab me, but apparently the bouncers had decided it was suddenly very important that I get to the Penguin as soon as possible. One of the two split off to hold the lady back whilst the other took me by the shoulders and practically carried me right through to the office. The crowd parted like the red bloody sea to let us through. Funny that. But at least it meant we were actually inside the office in no time.

I hadn't even done anything to the old lady, just poked her and muttered some nonsense latin. But well, by the time she figured that out, I'd be long gone. And maybe she'd be more careful next time trying to manhandle random strangers.

The bouncers led me to the back of the room and up a flight of stairs to a suite overlooking the lounge floor. The door opened to reveal the Penguin himself.

To say he was a portly man would be an understatement, the guy was practically a sphere. A sphere with a very expensive fur-lined coat, a monocle and a cigar. With a crooked nose and a top hat, he was almost a caricature of a wealthy criminal. Give him a 'stache and he could pass for Mister Monopoly.

He was kneeling at the feet of a woman with raven hair, in a scarlet cocktail dress and diamond earrings, kissing the back of her hand. She seemed to be smiling, charmed by the round little turd. She was another one of the nobs from downstairs by the look of her, since nobody else could probably stand to be around a guy who looked. And frankly nobody else would be two-faced enough to actually smile as he slobbered all over her hand.

He stood again, before saying in a gargled British accent "A pleasure meeting you, Miss Bertinelli, though regretfully now our time must come to an end. Oi have another appointment, you see. We'll discuss this matter more soon, however."

"Enchanté" She replied, smooth as silk, before withdrawing her hand and turning to go. She paused just for a moment as she left to look me up and down. At least she wasn't one of the ones to turn her nose up at my coat, though she did eye the box in my hand with barely veiled interest. She made her way past me, brushing up against me as she went out the door. She pressed close enough my old Londoner's instinct kicked in to make me check my pockets, make sure they hadn't been picked. I wondered what that was about, but figured it was best not to speculate. My attention turned to the Penguin instead, and his attention turned to me.

He grabbed an umbrella cane from the table and smacked it down on the ground, leaning forward onto it like it was a walking stick. "You must be Papa Midnite's delivery boy. Which makes you John Constantine." He adjusted his monocle as he stared me down. I was really starting to feel self-conscious with the way people kept bloody looking at me tonight.

He knew my name, though. That set my nerves right on bloody edge. How'd he know my name? Papa must've told him, but why the hell would he-

One sentence in and I was already on the backfoot. I tried to recover by dropping the heavy metal box on the table with a crash. I knew it wasn't fragile, but he didn't jump at the noise, and nor did either bouncer who'd escorted me in, both of whom were standing by the door now, well back from the conversation.

"Depends on who's asking." I told him, staring right back at him, refusing to flinch, refusing to lose the little staring contest he'd started.

His lips set into a thin line as he appraised me. "You know who's asking, but oi should introduce myself regardless, so oi don't have you at a disadvantage. Well, more than oi already do, anyway. Oswald Cobblepot."

Great, straight to the threats. I straightened myself up, staring him down. "Bloody charmed, mate. So do I get to know what's in the package, or…?"

"Oh, this ain't the package." He rapped his knuckles on the slab, making a hollow thunking noise. "You are. Been askin' Papa to send me stuff like this for months now. Wards mostly, protection spells. And he keeps sending warlocks to guard them." He was trying so, so hard to stick to a received pronunciation accent, but his voice sounded like he smoked ten packs a day and little bits of his native accent… which was something cockney-adjacent? I wasn't quite sure, but whatever it was it kept slipping through.

"So what, the box is empty, that's why there's no lock?"

"Oi didn't say that." He said. He grabbed his umbrella and stuck the tip into one of the rivets like it was a screwdriver. I heard the tell-tale 'ker-thunk' of pressurised air and suddenly there was a hole where the rivet used to be. Jesus, the pressure that umbrella… gun… thing must've needed to knock out a rivet… it must have been even worse than that one weapon from No Country for Old Men.

He repeated the process about a dozen times before slowly, almost reverently, he lifted the lid off the box, unveiling what looked like an old navajo dreamcatcher. The strings shimmered in every colour of the rainbow, feathers hanging off it that sparkled in the light. "This's going on moi bedroom wall. You like it? It's supposed to ward off attacks through dreams, and you never can get enough protection these days." He held it up and I gave it a proper look. I had absolutely no clue if it was the real deal or not, tribal magic like that wasn't my specialty. It was shiny, which usually meant a fake, but if Papa Midnite was vouching for it…

I gave a sagelike nod, saying with utter confidence "An object of great power. I'd be careful with it if I were you, mate."

He seemed satisfied with that, but for now he laid the dreamcatcher back in the box, putting the cover back over it. "But like oi said, that's not what I'm here for. No, you're the far more interesting package here. Oi want to make you an offer."

Did he now? I took out a silk cut, lit it up. I hadn't seen any 'no smoking' signs but I'm pretty sure it's federal law over here not to do it indoors or something. I blew out a lungful of smoke before I said "I'm listening. But you'd better make it good, I don't usually deal with small fry like you."

If the insult annoyed him, it didn't show. Frankly, I'd made my delivery, and wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. But I was curious about this offer, and I had a feeling the bouncer wasn't gonna let me just walk out. Penguin was right, he had me at a disadvantage here, so if he wanted to keep me here to make this offer there wasn't much I could do to stop him.

This was why I needed to stop walking into people's lairs unarmed.

"The world's getting bigger lately. Gods walking the streets. Used to be, being the richest man on the block made you the most powerful man on the block. Untouchable by the law, the capes, or anybody else. But there's a ceiling to how far money alone can get you now. These days, even Lex Luthor, the old bastard, gets taken down regularly by a flying freak with metahuman powers. Nevermind 'small fry' like me"

He turned to look out the suite window, down at the crowds of flocking aristocrats swarming around the villains in the lounge below. "Metahuman abilities are the real source of power, now. But those powers come in all kinds of stripes, and as much as Gotham's awash with scientists, madmen and aliens… we're rather lacking in magic. A couple of us are starting to experiment with it, though. A little birdie told me you've been picking a fight with the Scarecrow? Oi can imagine why, he's one of the first ones to get the idea, and oi don't plan to fall behind."

"A little plant more than a bird, I imagine." I grumbled, casting an eye towards Ivy's seat in the corner.

"Harlequin Duck, actually. Much like a duck, she's vicious, unpredictable, and prone to getting into uncomfortably… aggressive sexual relationships."

I gave him a quizzical look at that, not even sure how I was supposed to respond. He turned back to me, puffing up his chest as he said "Degree in Orinthology. Oi'm not some common thug, you know."

"So you're trying to, what, poach some of Midnite's lads, then? Starting with me? Start your own little magic corps?" I made a show of considering it, taking another drag of my cigarette… and blew the smoke right in his leering little face. "Piss off."

He coughed viciously, wheezing for breath, eyes watering. One of the bouncers stepped forward, but they backed off after Penguin gave them a harsh glare. I expected some kind of rebuke after the smoke, to get thrown out or something. Or more likely, to need Huntress to bail my arse out after all.

Instead, after recovering his breath, he fished a cigar the size of my damn hand out of a pocket and puffed on it, taking a deep breath in and blowing his own cloud of smoke right back at me.

"Mine's bigger than yours." He grinned, toothily, as I was reduced to a coughing fit for twice as long as he was, whilst he let out a cackling laugh at the sight.

He graciously gave me a chance to regain use of my bloody lungs and stand up before continuing his speech. "Oi'm not like Scarecrow, you know. He's a vicious old bastard. Turn your brain inside out just to make an impression. Crazy old bastard thinks he's helping people, too. There's a reason they keep locking him up in Arkham despite his pretentions to science, he thinks scaring people to death is bringing them closer to some kind of screwed up enlightenment. Pah." He spat before turning, looking me in the eye. He was about a foot shorter than me, but he had a wild look as he spoke. For all his restraint, the calm tone, the strictly controlled accent…

Those eyes still had a maniacal look to them. One that worried me more than a little.

"If you upset him, and you aren't protected by somebody, your death'll be more painful than what oi'd give you, or almost any of the others in my line of work. Oi'll be that protection for you, though. All you need to do is be my protection, too. My protection against the mystic arts."

What he didn't know was that I already had protection. What he didn't know was that I already had a friend in this system watching out for me, and what he really should have known was that that I'd heard worse threats than just getting my brain turned inside out from two-bit demons who I'd sent packing back to hell in the course of a lunchtime.

"I'll pass, thanks mate. If I wanted to pay protection to a man in a nice suit I'd go back home and chat to Harry Cooper. I'll be leaving now. Make sure the thugs don't block the door or I'll put a hex on this place before leaving."

I turned to go, and obligingly, the bouncer really did step aside. But I was stopped in my tracks when I heard Penguin's reply.

"Wait, you know Harry Cooper?"

"...Hold on, you know Harry Cooper?" I nearly stumbled over the words, having to keep myself from stuttering as I turned back to him.

His RP accent dropped for just a second as he threw his arms back and said "Harry's an old mate from back home! The Coopers and Cobblepots used to be brothers back when we still lived in England! He's still in the business over there?"

It took a moment for my brain to shift gears. I- faked RP accent, business suit, legitimate business operation with criminal stuff out of an office near the back…

Bloody hell, I've been going about this all wrong, haven't I? The Penguin isn't a ruddy supervillain, he's a goddamn mobster!

"Know him? Last month I helped him off a guy out from under the Justice League. I know his kid!" I replied. Neither of those were good memories, but I still let out a chuffed smile. The only lie I told him was pretending I was happy about any of those things.

"Well come on then! Sit down, sit down." He grinned, making his way towards a small liquor cabinet in the back of the room. When he walked I could see why they called him Penguin, he waddled there and back, needing to make a visible effort to keep from bloody flopping over onto the floor without his umbrella to use as a cane. He picked out a red wine and two glasses, pouring one for himself, and one for me.

I took a sip. It was good stuff, expensive too.

Ciggies and wine, now this was a lifestyle I could get used to.

"I'd heard Harry'd picked a fight with the Justice League recently. He's been making a big stir with it. Do you know if he's planning to step into our world, then?"

"Nah, mate, nah. Not a snowball's chance. If anything I think he wants all that metahuman crap out of 'his' city. Lost a buncha guys to an alien gizmo and went ballistic, blames the League and, well, you know what was always gonna happen next after something like that."

"Ahh, the way paths diverge, eh? Once we were so alike, and now almost opposites. Oi should talk to him, oi think, see if oi can't sway him. Start up a joint venture, perhaps." He stirred his wine in his glass, gazing thoughtfully into his reflection. I hoped I hadn't just accidentally started up a metahuman smuggling ring or something by mistake. "Perhaps with you as the middle-man to reintroduce us? Or- no, no, that would be rude. Oi'll go myself. Though oi hope you'll at least consider my offer to assist me with magical affairs? I'm utterly ignorant in that field, and oi could use help fixing it."

"I don't need protection, Penguin." I told him, going cold. "Me own talents are protection enough. Don't need to be taking charity or patronage."

"Oh, no, no! Protection was the offer back when oi thought you were a jumped-up hero who'd just picked a fight with Scarecrow to make a name for himself. But oi'm getting the impression you're more a man of business." He chuckled, putting the glass down, penting his fingers as he gazed at me with that maniacal look again.

"Ten thousand dollars for a month of your time. That's all oi ask. And that's only if you survive this affair of yours with the Scarecrow. Oi won't waste money on a dead man, or one who picks fights he can't win."

"I'll… consider it." I said, taking another sip to stall for time to react to that. I settled for keeping my poker face up. That… was rather a lot of money. And just to help him protect himself? No going out actually doing the dirty business? I know I'd be helping a monster, but… I'd done so much worse, for so much less.

Was I really considering it? Maybe.

But he was right, I had things to survive first before I decided on any of that.

"Your consideration is all oi ask. Right though! I believe in that case our business is concluded, and oi have a very important meeting with a rat-themed gentlewoman coming up in about five minutes. Charles, Escort the lovely gentleman out… and this time make sure none of the tourists get too handsy, will you?"

He bowed his head to me as I stood up and made my way out. I will admit, that was not how I'd expected this meeting to go. I'd expected a monster and gotten a mobster, instead. One who I rather liked, when it came down to it, even if I didn't know if I'd be taking his offer. I'd worked with the mob before, sure, but only ever under duress.

Though I had bills to pay, and ten thousand dollars, even after the piss-poor conversion rates these days, would help me out of rather a lot of duress, wouldn't it?

This time the two bouncers did their job of guarding me properly. Little miss handsy had fled the building as best I could tell, and nobody else dared approach me to ask me to pull a rabbit out of my hat for them. I scanned the room anyway, thoughtful. Seemed I'd won my little bet with Huntress, but I was rather struggling to collect my prize. I didn't see any scary, hardass women in civvies hanging in the bleachers. Just the hobnobs and the villains, in their fancy dresses and their fancy dress. The Bertinelli woman who'd been meeting with Penguin was still about, chatting idly with a couple of her peers and looking thoroughly bored with the conversation, but nobody else really stood out.

Made me wonder if she'd shown up at all, or if she was just hanging on the roof or something and had lied about showing up out of costume. I was rather doubtful she'd want to risk outing her identity to me anyway, so that made more sense.

Still, I was going to give her one hell of an "I told you so" once I got back. I'd made it through the meeting without her help, all on my own.

I was rather proud of meself for that, and no mistake.

I got back to the motel on Hafwin lane maybe an hour later. I really hadn't seen any signs of it being a Mr Freeze front since I moved in. It was a rather nice place, as a matter of fact. Once I got in I went straight to the bathroom, figuring it was about time for a piss and a shave. These meta types respect appearances too much for me not to put some effort into looking good for our planned raid on Scarecrow's warehouse tomorrow.

Christ, our planned raid. I really was getting sucked into this vigilante stuff, huh? I mean, I was going to hang in back cowering whilst Huntress did all the legwork, but even so.

I grabbed my razor and stared at myself in the mirror. Five-o-clock shadow and bags under my eyes, as always, just how I liked it. I slicked my hair back, put on a crooked grin, and my reflection winked back at me.

Wait, hold on, it winked? I hadn't winked at it.

I leaned forward to get a closer look, and my reflection kept smiling. It reached down, pulled out a sealed letter from out of frame, and said in an oh-so-familiar voice "Howsitgan, old mucker? Special delivery for yas."

My reflection reached out of the mirror, the surface rippling like water as it placed the letter in the sink. I made a grab for its hand but it snapped it back, wagging its finger at me before going right back to being a regular old reflection, mirroring my every movement.

First thing I did was take that fucking mirror and smash it. Motel'd give me a bollocking but they could stick it where the sun don't shine, since I'd be out of the country as soon as I turned in my keys anyway. After that I took a moment to let my pulse go down from a million beats a second, and opened the letter up.

It was in old, crinkled parchment paper that looked a hundred years old and crumbled under my touch. The ink was blotted and stained, and the words were written in crooked, jagged letters.

"What do you fear, John Constantine?

You get one warning.

Leave now.

Before those fears become a reality."

Attached was a photograph. New and modern, the edges crisp and sharp. The resolution was perfect, it was like looking through clear glass, and I knew just by looking it was taken recently.

It was a photograph of a familiar house back home in England, looking through a familiar window and into a familiar kitchen, with a familiar man standing inside.

It was a photograph of my childhood home.

And it was a photograph of my father.