Sabine spends some time with Constantine.
Note: made the executive decision to make a certain magical abode that is featured heavily in this chapter more cozy and whimsical than creepy.
C/W: alcoholism, exposition dump
Chapter 29 of What's Up, Danger?: Friends on the Other Side
Gotham—
Jason spent part of his mid-afternoon stretching on the yoga mat. The crossed wires in his brain had calmed, finally, when he flopped on his back in corpse pose. Ironic, really. Breathing steadily and eyes shut, his limbs felt like boneless jellyfish tendrils wafting in the sea.
In winter, daylight didn't last long in Gotham. His bedroom was already dark by the time he rolled up the mat and packed it away in his closet.
Spectral white light bathed the corner of his bedroom where his phone sat on the top of his dresser.
His dark eyebrows pinched together when he checked the notification—a voicemail from Sabine. Phone on do not disturb mode during his impromptu yoga session, he must've just missed the call.
He tapped the play message icon and listened to the voicemail she left for him—
"Hey, Jason, just checking in. Sorry for calling out of the blue like this. Maybe I should've texted instead. Uh, well, good news first then? I found Constantine. He's…interesting. Yeah, let's go with that."
She huffed out a short laugh at her watered-down choice of words.
"Surprised there's reception here, to be honest. I'm in a pocket dimension…so if you don't see my location, um, don't worry about it, okay? I'm safe here…I think. Crap, that didn't sound reassuring."
Sabine paused and audibly swallowed.
"Constantine wants to take me to the 'Mouse of History?' Or House of something…not sure I heard him right because he's slurring. Don't know if cell reception or location sharing will work there. So…I wanted to give you a heads up in case I'm offline for a bit—"
Her voice was cut off by the sound of warbled cursing of a man's gruff voice in the background. Constantine, he figured before she said it.
"—Sorry, Constantine wants to go now. I'll text you when I can, okay? Take care, bye."
Curiosity ate at him and vile thoughts filled his brain. He attempted to look up her location and, true to what she said, the pin drop was nowhere to be found on the map app. That familiar pang between his ribs came back and ached like a bruise.
What was supposed to be a reassuring comfort was now a reminder that Sabine was off the edge of the map, where there could be monsters or worse.
The portal spat them out in front of a fireplace.
Sabine wasn't aware at what point the streets of London melted away when she hurried after Constantine. One second ago, they were making their way through a drizzly back alley in London—Constantine muttering under his breath and waving a hand in the air to summon a large, incandescent orange circle—and now they were here, in a living room bestrewn with comfy looking chairs. An assortment of relics and curios sat on pedestals and the fireplace radiated a warmth that soothed her to the bone.
Sabine slipped her jacket that was covered in a smattering of raindrops off her shoulders, finding herself too hot near the dancing glow of the flames.
Constantine stood idly and Sabine shot him a quizzical look.
"Are we waiting for something or…" she trailed off. A figure descended from the ceiling and Sabine's eyes bugged out. For a second, all thoughts left her as they were joined by the new presence.
Constantine took charge of the introductions with lackluster energy and a wry grin. "Orchid, Sabine. Sabine, Orchid."
She took in her new acquaintance's appearance with curious eyes. A tall, purple feminine silhouette with pitch black scleras containing amethyst-toned irises who was, for lack of a better word, nude. Lavender wings, almost colorless and translucent, hung low from her back.
"Hello," Sabine greeted with a tiny, unsure smile and an extended hand, "nice to meet you."
Orchid's eyes flicked down to Sabine's outstretched hand, expression neutral. Her arms remained at her sides and her eyes slowly floated back up to Sabine's face.
"Hello," Orchid echoed back.
Hesitantly, Sabine's hand dropped back to her side. Okay, then.
Constantine faced the blaze, the smoldering glow haloed his profile. His hand clutched the edge of the mantle for balance. Even in the orange and yellow light, he looked pale and nauseated. Like he was barely holding himself together.
"Gonna bugger off for a minute," he excused himself, a hand over his mouth, "be right back."
Sabine watched his retreating back as he wobbled off down a dark hallway. She shifted her weight on her feet, feeling undeniably awkward alone with Orchid.
They delved into complete silence for several beats, the crackling of the flames creating a homey ambiance. Sabine took the opportunity to let her eyes roam around the new surroundings. The living room was spacious and seemed well cared for, except for a few silvery spider webs in the high corners. But maybe those remained untouched to preserve the spooky atmosphere of the house.
Orchid tilted her head, divining something was amiss somewhere in the house. "It appears John is…indisposed," she said.
Sabine let out a resigned huff, unable to conceal her disappointment. "Yeah, from the way he was at the bar…" she tapered off, deciding it was better to leave some things unsaid. "Should I, uh, come back another time?"
Although she wasn't sure just how on earth she could leave. A glance out the windows revealed a twilight void lacking any sort of landmarks as if the house was floating in space.
Orchid's expression changed. Her dark lips morphed into a thin smile. "You are a guest, you may stay."
Sabine quickly understood why it was called the House of Mystery. Almost all the floorboards creaked and groaned under her footfalls, making it nigh impossible to move around silently. The rooms and hallways constantly shifted and changed, the eyes in every ghostly portrait she passed tracked her movements, and soft, eerie whispers came from behind locked doors. The labyrinthine structure turned her around more than a handful of times during her explorations to pass the time.
Oddly enough though, the house seemed to provide for its inhabitants and guests unprompted.
She hadn't gone looking for a bedroom, but one appeared with an en-suite bathroom.
She wasn't tired but she leaned over the bed and pressed her palms into the mattress, testing its comfort. The lumpy bed's springs squeaked under the applied pressure.
Off in the distance, she swore she heard Constantine retching.
She plopped down on the bed and leaned back on her palms. Outside the window directly across, glittering stars shot by and left ghostly vapor trails.
Sabine must have dozed off because she woke up from her short nap feeling utterly sluggish…and hungry.
Pushing herself up, she picked up the whiff of an herbal aroma. Seeking out the source of the pleasant scent, she saw that set atop the nightstand by the bed was a steaming cup of tea and a tray of sugar cubes. Next to it, a pile of still-warm scones and a handful of jam jars in assorted berry flavors.
Sabine plunked two sugar cubes into its liquid depths then took a considerate sip.
There were still times when the sight, or even the thought of food, made her sick despite the empty pit in her stomach. So, she drank the tea until it went cold in her hands. Even then, once the temperature dipped to unacceptable levels, it mysteriously warmed up again, allowing her to finish it.
Deciding it was better not to waste or ignore the house's peculiar hospitality, Sabine gathered a handful of goodies and continued wandering about without a set destination. There wasn't much else to do while she waited.
Scone in her mouth, she nearly bumped into Orchid when she took a left turn. Any sense of fleeting levity she felt dissipated.
"Oh, hi again," Sabine said, hurriedly brushing some crumbs off her mouth.
Orchid didn't return the greeting and instead slotted her hand against Sabine's intrusively.
"Woah, hey—" Sabine protested as the purple fingers spread to match hers in the air before realizing…that she saw nothing from Orchid. Not a hint of emotion or a deep-buried memory. She shifted uneasily and stared at their joined hands, numerous questions rising and catching in her throat.
"John didn't say it," Orchid's calm voice came out, "but I am a physical manifestation of the house."
"Oh," she said lamely. She wondered what the significance of that meant exactly and tugged her hand away.
Something flickered behind Orchid's eyes as they raked over Sabine. As if her touch had been her odd way of getting to know her. She disappeared again, silently drifting up, up, and away.
Sabine stared at the empty space on the ceiling where Orchid vanished. It was going to take a bit longer to get used to this.
Hours later, when Constantine was finally lucid, he summoned Sabine to one of the many studies in the house. Upon entering, she mentally noted the stocked liquor cabinet wedged between a bookshelf and a desk in the space.
The color was back in his face, and his hair was less disheveled, but his tie seemed perpetually askew. Perhaps he had concocted and imbibed some magical hangover cure.
"Gotham's full of magic," he started without provocation, "portals to Hell, Lazarus Pits, cursed tombs, restless spirits…the works."
A singular brow raised, Sabine asked, "Then why doesn't Batman find someone to…undo all of that?" Her eyes searched Constantine's scrupulous face in the low light.
Constantine snorted as he rummaged through the liquor cabinet and fixed himself a whiskey. "Fixing an entire city with magic is above my pay grade."
Sabine's eyes stayed on him. "Well, I'm not saying you would be the one to do it…"
The sorcerer placed a hand over his heart in feigned hurt. "Ouch, someone's got their claws out," he chuckled blithely, followed up with a crafty look leveled at her, "and you're nowhere close to being able to pull it off. Anyway, Batsy has a thing about magic users in," with his free hand he punctuated the rest of his sentence with air quotes and dropped his voice several registers to sound rougher, "—his city."
Sabine crossed her arms and let her gaze fall to her boots. She tried to choose her words carefully when she said, "So I've heard. He sounds…controlling."
Constantine clicked his tongue, concurring. "Oh, you have no idea, love."
Her tongue pushed against the back of her teeth. She had been lucky enough to never encounter him—Batman—and Jason never spoke about him. The red bat on the chest plate of Red Hood's uniform indicated that he had some sort of working relationship or association. Maybe she should ask about him when she returned to Gotham…
Getting to the heart of the matter, Sabine pressed because she couldn't leave the topic alone, "But what does this—any of this—have to do with the…thing…you bound there? And why shouldn't I be in Gotham?"
He sipped at his whiskey before casually dumping himself onto a comically large maroon chaise in the middle of the room. An uncharacteristically sobering expression came over his face as he sank further down into the velvety cushions.
"Sometimes, the only way to contain things with power is to bind them somewhere with power," he exhaled breathily. "And, like I said, Gotham's bursting with it—practically overflowing. Tried to send it packing to Hell, but didn't have the juice for it then. Did the next best, or worst, thing."
Sabine made an aggrieved noise as she tried to soak up all this information. So it was a demon? Fuck.
"And it's not so much you as it is your bloodline," Constantine rambled on, taking another indulgent gulp of whiskey. "Didn't you ever wonder where your mom got it from?—where you get it from?"
She gave him a stoic shake of her head accompanied by an indifferent shrug. It had never occurred to think about her mother's family, who they were, or where they were from. For the first eight years of her life, it had just been the two of them.
"She never talked about them," Sabine said quietly.
Constantine's knowing grin was a slippery thing. "Liv's mum, Alice Aberdeen, was a secretary at some accounting office if I recall. Never met her myself, but Liv swore up and down she made the best cobbler. Think they had a falling out soon after you were born, though, then Alice passed away shortly after."
A wisp of sadness stirred inside her chest hearing about the family she never knew and the slight envy that her mother would confide in this with Constantine.
Constantine's willingness to share didn't get derailed by the look of dismay on her face. He waggled a finger and continued, "Now, Liv's father—your grandfather—was Jasper Winters." He pronounced the name as if it held some profound meaning or revelation.
Unsure how to respond, Sabine's face puckered dubiously. "Who?"
"Liv never told you that she found him, did she? Her biological father?" His lips curved into a frown, then he amended, "Well, found his body, then found out he was her dad and one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world. Was one of the best. The whole affair was a messy situation."
Sabine's jaw went taut, fearing the worst. "Was he…how did she find him?"
"Body dried out like jerky? Yeah," he affirmed sullenly. "That's how I met Liv. I was investigating what happened to Winters when our paths crossed. Someone sent her a letter claiming to be her long-lost father. It was a trap to lure her in. She was like you, didn't know a lick of magic, but had the potential.'
'Demons are cruel, obsessive beasts," he went on, eyelids drooped so that his eyelashes cast shadows over his cheekbones, "they'll fixate on someone and it doesn't just end when they die—no, no—they go after all their descendants too. Torment them, torture them, kill them…they want everyone to suffer."
Sabine gazed mutely at him as a dog pile of emotions washed over her. She did not like where this was going, but needed to hear everything. For too long the entity haunted her and seeped into her everyday life, turning everything to shit.
Words stuck in her throat, she got the answer to the question that felt almost too scared to ask.
"Furcifer," Constantine said, not looking at her. The very name itself threatened to tear open old wounds. "His name is Furcifer."
She writhed internally. Goosebumps erupted on her upper arms.
"Furcifer," she repeated, all prickly. She shelved her arms across her chest and dread pooled in her gut.
Constantine's voice grew more and more distant, "Thought we sorted Furcifer out back then, banished' em, but years later he resurfaced with an ax to grind with Liv. He's a shadow of what he once was. Wasn't able to get rid of him completely, managed to obliterate the fucker's body. What's left of him—it's wrong to call it a soul—is in Gotham, trapped there." The last bit he all but mumbled, "Who would've guessed that you'd move to New Jersey, to Gotham of all places."
"You…knew about me?" Sabine tried to shove down her shock.
With a circular flick of his wrist, Constantine swirled the dark amber contents of his glass, refilling it without pouring from the bottle. "Knew Liv had a kid, figured binding the thing across the country would keep you safe enough, but then you went and moved to the damn city. It's like…some fucked up twist of fate."
He watched as helplessness spread across her face. He had hoped after spinning his tale she'd come to the insidious conclusion on her own. There was nothing else he could say to smooth things over. And by the visible tremble of her bottom lip, he reckoned she knew what Furcifer wanted—her.
Sabine lapsed into miserable silence. The swirl of horror was overwhelming, sinking into every crevice in her brain. Yup, she hated this. Hated knowing. But a part of her already knew. She tried to bury it, tried to ignore it.
The blood drained from her face. "I think I need some time to myself," she told Constantine, trying to control her tone. It took her three steps to cross the room. "To think about…all this."
Sabine left the study, a mind-melting alarm ringing inside her head and something uncomfortable unfurling in her chest.
"Take all the time you need," he said, wincing.
He tipped the glass to down every drop as soon as the door swung shut behind her. The buzz of alcohol eased the burden of delivering terrible news on his conscience.
Complete emotional depravity undoing her, Sabine sat up in bed with her chin on her knees. Despair was a wave, tidal in its height and strength, pulling her under into its dark depths. Inescapable.
Furcifer. Demons. Jasper Winters. Her mother. Magic. Constantine pieced together the snippets for her. But instead of feeling relief, bile burned in her throat and her stomach twisted into fear-laden knots.
In addition to the horrific realization of what Furcifer wanted, the sum of what all that death meant…
At least she had answers and wouldn't return to Gotham empty-handed. If she even went back to Gotham. She didn't have much there, but it was hers. Her school, her classmates, her friends…she had scraped out a small life for herself in that behemoth of a city. One that she cherished. But would she fight for it?
Her head dropped and her knuckles dug into her cheeks. She swallowed down a pained noise that threatened to turn into a sob.
Another problem for another day to mull over.
Although the house was brimming with magic, the rooms were cold and too big for its few occupants. Loneliness seeped through her body.
Stewing in thought, Sabine pulled out her cell phone and glanced at the battery status on its dimmest setting. Somehow, the device was fully charged, but the house had no reception or signal. If only there was a way to contact Jason and let him know that she was safe—losing her goddamn mind—but safe.
And at what point should she contact her dad and let him know what was happening? Waiting until shit hit the fan didn't seem like the opportune time. She hated keeping so many secrets from him and pretending everything was fine when she visited.
Orchid appeared, passing through the closed door with no consideration for privacy. Her intense gaze focused on Sabine in a way that made her feel like her very soul was being observed under a microscope and every stone in her mind turned over.
She took in Sabine's troubled expression until, passively, she said, "Come, there's a library. Perhaps you will find something suitable for your needs in the meantime."
Hoping a distraction would stifle all her nagging thoughts, Sabine accepted the offer.
No sunlight broached the House of Mystery. Sabine was unsure if that was due to its interdimensional nature or if it was because, even when she looked out one of its many deeply curtained windows, it was perpetually dusk.
The library was no different. Brass sconces mounted along the walls softly lit the grand, two-storied room. The energy inside was bewitching, the size and shape of the library seemed to mismatch the size of the house. Towering shelves ran along the perimeter walls and the alluring scent of paper and ink clung to the air. Tomes fluttered across the expansive space, sorting and reshelving themselves. It was dingy, but void of dust. And spiderwebs adorning the thin spaces above the shelves.
Orchid escorted Sabine down the staircase, to the center of the library—the shape of which strangely reminded her of a hollowed-out cake mold.
Sabine's tired and probing eyes swept around the room, taking in the hundreds, if not thousands, of books.
Curiously, she asked, "Constantine mentioned wards…is there anything here that could help? Maybe something for protection?"
Orchid gave her a pleased nod, rounding on the first bookshelf. "Yes, but John would like you to start with spell work. Develop a base, he said."
Sabine didn't argue. It didn't seem like a good idea to disagree with the will of the house, or John Constantine for that matter. What little she knew about magic fit into a thimble in comparison to them, most likely.
The House of Mystery's library may have lacked labeled sections like the university or public city libraries Sabine was accustomed to, but Orchid was able to divine where every tome was placed with a marksman's precision. She gathered an armful of books to unload into Sabine's arms.
A desk, paired with a comfortable reading chair and a single pull-string lamp, materialized out of thin air once Sabine swiveled around, searching for a place to offload the heavy books.
Sabine spent the next several hours hunched over in the chair, pouring over book after book. The tea mug next to her refilled itself whenever the contents dwindled.
Most of the languages were indecipherable to her, written in a script that didn't even appear human. Or maybe her exhausted eyes were playing tricks on her. She yawned to chase away the weariness.
Even with Orchid's guidance, flipping through the many volumes was a daunting and overwhelming task. The language barrier proved a difficult hurdle. She couldn't make out what she was skimming, even if it appeared interesting.
"This is Lower Demoniac," Orchid supplied over her shoulder, pointing to the jagged red symbols on the page and diagrams.
"Oh, right," Sabine said dumbly before closing the book and adding it to the growing pile of ones she couldn't read.
Eventually, she managed to find a copy written in Modern English with short Latin phrases weaved through the text.
Let's start with something small, she thought, leafing through the volume and ignoring the spells that listed ingredients.
She settled on a straightforward illumination spell that required a short phrase and a hand gesture: four fingers held together and pointed straight up and thumb tucked in and bent against the palm.
As with the locator spell, words and intent were paramount.
She stood up, holding the book open in one hand, and faced her other palm straight out, mimicking the hand symbol in the text.
"Fiat lux," she said.
Her hand wreathed in light but the magic flickered in and out like a flashlight in need of a battery change.
"Fiat lux," she repeated with more resolve and more of a command.
Light cut through the library in a dazzling beam.
She blinked in disbelief and stared at the display until the light gradually dimmed.
Her eyes, wide and bright, landed back down to the book.
Was…was that all it took? To think that one of the biggest impediments to learning magic was being able to read the dang material. She supposed it wasn't so different than any other area one chose to study then.
A sense of excitement hooked into her, growing as she flipped through the pages. What else could she do?
However, the fuse of delight was short-lived when Orchid ushered her off to bed and insisted she needed a bath.
Side-eyeing her as they walked, Sabine asked, "How long was I in there?"
She stopped in front of the familiar bedroom door, squares in shades of brown with shapes it was too shadowy to fully make out. There were so many doors in the house that lead to god-knows-where, but this door—her door—was always the same.
"Half a day," Orchid replied flatly before departing through the solid floor.
Clean and as rested as she could be under the circumstances, the reek of cigarette smoke drew Sabine out onto the porch to investigate.
In the murky twilight outside, she could make out the silhouettes of monolithic cypress trees. The silvery moon was hook-shaped against the blanket of stars beyond it.
The air smelled wet and pungent. Heat and humidity coated her skin, making her clothes cling to her frame.
She found Constantine perched on the steps, unattended and relaxed, with a lit cigarette clutched between his fingers.
He looked over his shoulder at her and rubbed at his forehead. "House doesn't like it when I smoke inside," he said, voice scratchy.
Sabine shrugged one shoulder. "I wasn't going to ask."
He rolled his eyes. "Just like how you're not gonna ask if you can join me and then you're gonna bloody sit down—"
"—Yup," she cut in smoothly, planting herself down onto the stairs with him. She leaned her side into the railing and exhaled, quieter than a sigh.
A minute of silence rolled by, punctuated by wind sweeping through tree branches and ruffling nearby reeds. Off in the unseeable distance, insects buzzed a high-pitched symphony.
It dawned on Sabine that the ground at the bottom of the wooden steps mirrored back the night sky and tree line with a strange muddy symmetry. It wasn't grass or soil or earth at the bottom of the stairs but water, she realized.
"Where…are we?" she asked in an enchanted dazed, blinking owlishly.
Nicotine burning hot in his lungs, Constantine answered with, "Louisiana. Somewhere in the swamps." He breathed out a corkscrew of white smoke.
Fascinated, she twined an arm around a carved baluster and continued to admire the partially submerged terrain. The view was like something out of a fantasy novel. "I didn't know magic could be so—"
Constantine groaned, "—don't say cool."
"Magical," Sabine insisted with a pixie-like smile. "This is magical. And so cool."
Constantine shook his head, affronted. "It's a swamp."
"Well, I'm impressed," she said, spurred on by his indifference.
He rolled his eyes as he pinched the cigarette between his lips and inhaled. He leaned back on one hand and tipped his head skywards, exhaling the smoke in an eruptive plume into the humid air.
"So, do you always have trouble controlling it?" Constantine prodded out of nowhere, blue eyes slanting her way.
Her eyes drifted sideways to meet his. "Controlling what?"
"Your magic," he pressed.
"Oh," she said, swatting away a mosquito. "It…kind of just happens?"
"Happens when? Does something trigger it? I need details."
Sabine slumped into herself, mind skittering in search of the right words to explain her experiences. "Stress? Or when I feel upset. Sometimes it's just a thought, like 'I wish I was somewhere else', and then poof—I've teleported. It's, uh, pretty chaotic."
He nodded, attentive. "Magic can be unpredictable, especially when the user doesn't know how to focus it. Saying's overused but it's like learning to ride a bike," he coached, "your balance is gonna be wobbly at first—you might fall, have a few accidents, things…might blow up in your face—but when you get used to it you don't think about it anymore." He nudged her foot with the toe of his shoe. "It's because you've ignored it for so long that it's harder to control it."
Sabine's disposition changed, bereft. "There wasn't anyone around to teach me," she said, "…not that I wanted to learn until recently."
Constantine's gaze flitted back to the swamp with an agreeable hum. "Kicking a demon's ass is as good a motivation as any."
They fell into an understanding hush, a pleasant twist from their previous interactions.
The thought that maybe Constantine wasn't so bad wormed into her mind.
She fidgeted and her knees knocked together. Her chin dropped and her heart hung heavy as her thoughts snagged on Jason. She swallowed, "It…it's also making it hard to get close to someone."
The corner of Constantine's mouth quirked up, shamelessly intrigued. "Go on, go on, don't be shy," he urged.
She refused to look at him, cheeks blistered a deep and unflattering shade of splotchy red. Why did she even say anything? It was too late to withdraw her confession.
"There's this, uh, guy…and almost every time we touch, skin-to-skin, I see what happened to him…his death, the Joker, green water…," she mumbled, voice muffled against her shoulder.
His eyes snapped wide open and he slapped his knee, inappropriately gleeful. "You're horny for one of the bat brats? The dead one?"
Sabine cleared her throat and said tersely, "He's not dead." Only a second passed before she narrowed her eyes and followed with, "And how do you know about that?"
"Dead, undead," Constantine grumbled in a way that conveyed there was little difference between the two states of being, or un-being, to him. "Of course I know, you think someone takes a skinny dip in a Lazarus Pit, reanimates, and it doesn't make magical front page news? Well…eventually anyway."
Carelessly, he flicked the ashen remains of his cigarette into the swamp water. The water gurgled and a rush of air bubbles burst on the surface in protest.
"Never met him myself," he admitted breezily, "but I've heard some stories and rumors. Apparently, he's got a nice ass." He paused, thumbing his chin, "Or is that Night-what's-his-name?"
Sabine's heart slammed against her ribcage. She found that it did that a lot lately when it came to Jason. But now that Constantine had sowed the idea into her mind, she did have eyes and could plainly see that Jason had a nice body underneath his baggy clothes and the tactical armor he wore…
With a conversation-ending huff, she scrambled to her feet.
"I'm going to see if I can find anything in the library on wards," Sabine stammered hastily, marching back inside. It was impossible to hide the growing flush that splayed across her cheeks. Clenched fists swung by her sides as she disappeared into the house.
Constantine didn't bother smothering his howl of laughter at her expense.
Sabine couldn't keep track of how many volumes she sorted through before finding one that aligned with her objective, a heavy navy blue book with gold lettering and deckled edges—The Practice and Theory of Magikal Wards.
Scanning through the index in the front matter, Sabine gleaned there were many types of wards; protection, curses, barriers, luck, shields, traps, anti-magic…
She combed through the pages, scanning whatever useful information she could. Some wards required complex sigils to be carved into wood or chiseled into stone.
Other, lesser, wards could be drawn with ink or paint, or even traced in dirt or sand.
Others required blood. Goat's blood, virgin's blood, dead man's blood…the caster's blood. Cold dread consumed her as she skimmed over the pages with trembling hands.
The more powerful and complex the ward, the higher the price.
With her camera phone, she took shots of anything that seemed useful and practical…even a few of the blood wards.
Orchid had firmly instructed her that none of the books could leave the house, so Sabine made an album of pictures saved on her phone full of spells. A personal digital compendium for her perusal.
One of the protection wards caught her attention—a triangle with a cross sitting on top and the rune of an eye drawn inside. With a finger, she traced over its shape on the page.
Was she really going to be one of those people that covered their homes in weird symbols? Well, if it helped…the neighbors could gossip to their hearts' content about the up and coming witch next door. She didn't care as long as she could protect herself and those she cared about.
At some vague point, too engrossed in reading, she slipped off into sleep. She woke up with her numb arms splayed over the table and her right cheek squished against the pages. Dumped over her shoulders was a cozy crochet blanket, made lovingly of soft loops and multicolor fabric.
A ceramic mug in the middle of the desk was full of the bitter scent of coffee this time, oh thank god.
Sabine twisted her hands into the fabric, rearranging it, and curled her palm around the warm cup. She brought it to her lips and sipped.
The house pushed quietly, gently against every one of her previous instincts and preconceptions about magic. It wasn't her home, but it was a home. Old wood built on even older foundations with baffling details and tarnished furniture. Everything about it was off, and it seemed content taking in stray associates of Constantine. Fitting.
The weight on her shoulders eased at little, hot coffee an acceptable consolation in lieu of a hug for now.
Now aware of Sabine's linguistic limitations, Orchid sussed out another beginner's primer of spells and left her to it.
Sabine sighed deeply to herself. Rooted in the chair at the desk, she faced her palms towards each other over her cup of cinnamon apple tea.
She inhaled aromatic notes of spice and imagined the most unforgiving blizzard in her mind, as unrelenting as the one that currently pummeled the house's windows. The chill from the nighttime snowstorm seeped in through the cracks.
Let's try this again. "Glacies," she said purposefully.
Light blue and shimmering, ice crystals bloomed from her fingertips. The fragile and crystalline pattern spread and grew in complexity. The crystals interlocked in the middle, forming a misshapen icicle.
In perfect abysmal timing, Constantine shuffled through the doorway. He made a low noise in his throat to redirect her focus to him.
Concentration broken, the meager ice spell fractured before her eyes. The poorly formed ice cube splashed into her tea, coating the mahogany table in wet droplets.
Her eyes zipped up to him as he descended the creaking staircase. "Good morning," she said, not an ounce of pep in her voice.
Or was it afternoon? Or evening? Time was funny here, melting its passage into a dreamy haze. The house had a strange way of making her forget just what hour or day it was…
Hands buried in his deep trench coat pockets, he glanced at the open book next to her elbow on the table and said, "The reading's dryer than a bone, isn't it?"
Sabine flexed her fingers, the pads still felt nippy. "It's not so bad, but Orchid said it was your idea."
Constantine scoffed but didn't deny it. He paced the length of the shelves and set his shiny eyes on her. "How about something a touch more…hands-on? Reading's fine and dandy, but if you can't apply it out there,"—he gestured towards the windows—, "then you're just spinning your wheels."
Curiosity piqued by his offer, the space between her eyebrows knitted together and her dark eyes hardened. This was John Constantine, after all. She had to be cautious.
"What did you have in mind?" she asked, suspicion lacing her tone.
Constantine pushed a hand through his graying hair. "Just a simple summoning—an imp. Easy as snapping my fingers. And we'll see what you can do."
Sabine stood up and stepped a foot closer to him. "See what I can do?"
"Yeah, you know? A tussle. Not against me," he clarified. Sensing her concern, he coughed into his hand and hastily added, "Supervised, of course. Just an imp—a tiny one—a kitten's claws are sharper, honestly. You could probably punt it clear across a football pitch if you wanted."
He must have been rubbing off on her because she considered his proposal. It didn't sound too difficult. And she did want to know how to defend herself. What better way than hands-on experience?
Her teeth clenched as she sucked in a sharp breath. She made her decision and gave him a curt nod. "Okay, I'm game."
"Good, good," he said, rubbing his hands together.
Constantine moved so methodically and practiced. Sabine now saw that under his cynicism and self-destructive habits, he was every bit a professional at this—a perfectly drawn chalk circle, lined with a sprinkling of salt, graveyard dirt, and a pinch of powdered bones he fossicked out of a nearby darkly painted cabinet.
He directed her to stand in the middle and, without so much as a warning, he snapped his fingers—the resounding crack echoed off the walls like a dinner bell.
A puff of black smoke filled with embers swirled in front of her before dispersing, revealing a small creature no taller than her knee in stature; red-skinned, pointy joints, curled horns, and a mouthful of teeth as pointy as freshly sharpened pencils. Its high-pitched cackle washed through the library.
Alarmed by the sight, shock lit up in Sabine's veins like exploding firecrackers. She pedaled backward until her back slammed into the barrier of the salt circle.
The imp fixed its malicious eyes on her and, without hesitation, gnashed its terrible teeth as it leaped toward her.
She threw herself out of the way and watched as the imp bounced off the invisible barrier and ricocheted to the floorboards. It shook off the shock of the impact and laser-focused on her again, claws glinting dangerously in the light.
Without thinking, her hand shot up. "Fiat lux!"
A shaft of blinding white light projected from her palm, slicing through the space. The imp stumbled back, disoriented, scrubbing at its eyes and seeing spots.
Heartbeat pounding in her ears, she used the distraction to scramble together what brain cells she had to sort through her racing thoughts. If she could just keep it from moving, stop it in its tracks—
She barely managed to utter 'glacies' when the imp scurried in her direction again on all fours like a rabid animal.
Her boot landed on its chest, pinning it down. Its claws scratched at the leather, leaving gashes, and it shrieked so horribly she wanted nothing more than to cover her ears.
Even with the upper hand, she wavered too long and her facade of determination evaporated. Panic consumed her as she tried to conjure the ice spell she hadn't mastered for the second time.
"G-glacies—"
The imp trashed its limbs under her boot and wiggled free with surprising strength, crawling up her thighs with the agility and dexterity of a spider. It whipped around her back where she couldn't grab it.
Ice spell frosty on her hands, she tried to snatch it as she felt one of its paws rake across her shoulder blades.
The last thing she remembered was a red blur of fangs and claws colliding with her face.
When Sabine came to, her face was fraught with pain. Her first reaction wasn't to check her wounds—she could feel them on her face, a cut on her eyebrow and a split lip—but to move and get up. To get away.
Her mouth tasted metallic and blood dribbled down her chin. She swiped at her face with a hand, smearing blood across her palm and chin.
A pile of frozen ichor and bones was all that remained of the imp. So she had managed to freeze it after all, but when?
The barrier lifted and she stumbled outside the ring. She moved too fast for her frightened state. Her dizzy head made her body sway.
Constantine swooped in quickly towards her. He used an arm to support her body and keep her steady on her feet. His right hand pulsed with magic and hovered above her broken skin, emanating a soothing coolness.
"Won't fix the scarring, but will stop the bleeding and take away some of the pain," he stated.
Sabine's brain lagged, stuck on how woefully unprepared she was to take on such a minor demon.
She closed her eyes against the glow of the healing aura and murmured, "You said it would be easy."
He tsked and guided the mending magic over her cuts. "I said the summoning would be easy. Not half-bad for a first attempt. Just…rest for a minute." Concentration was ingrained in the lines on his face until he pulled his hand away, satisfied with his work. Then he said, "Let me know when you're up for round two."
Her fretful eyes grew wide and sought his. "You're kidding," she said in a raw tone. Her body jittered from a brew of adrenaline and fatigue. The pain had ebbed away but a fragment of fear lodged itself in her chest.
Constantine's growing smirk was nothing short of devious, like the satisfied cat who ate the canary.
A/N: somehow managed to squeeze out another chapter despite playing Tears of the Kingdom!
Furcifer is from Constantine (the first episode was inspo for this fic's back story). Thought about mixing it up with a variation of the name, but they all sounded so silly—Furtur, Ferthur, Furfur…
We'll see some of what Jason's up to in the next chapter!
Thanks for reading! Take care :)