Boston had been a hop-jump-skip from Salem. The Zatara Troupe had arrived at the theater and had gotten a couple rehearsals in, all in preparation for the night. It was already late afternoon, and perhaps a couple hours away before it was showtime.

Zatanna was in her dressing room, putting on the finishing touches to her stage costume. She had made a couple of changes over the tour, namely wearing thigh-high boots. She had definitely taken a liking to them since she first tried them on. She still had her fishnet stockings of course, and they were visible on her thighs, the parts that were exposed between the top of her boots and the costume brief she wore.

Putting them on did take some effort, however.

Using the divan, she held her leg up and rested her foot on it. She leaned over, gritting her teeth as she reached for the zipper. It was dangling at her ankle, and she had to strain to reach for it. Finally, she grabbed onto it, and pulled it up the length of her leg, sealing it within the boot. On the bright side, she was working on her flexibility doing this.

Still, she didn't care for the stretching, straining sensation she felt doing it.

There was a knock at the door, followed by it opening. Zatanna spared a glance to it, seeing Constantine entering the room. "You took your sweet time," she commented as she finished zipping up the boot, then lowered her leg down to the floor.

"Tends to happen when you're thorough," the unshaved man shrugged as he shut the door behind him. "I got us a couple leads."

"Good." Zatanna looked at her reflection in the mirror, then began applying a powder foundation to her face. "I kinda wished you had gotten them earlier."

"And I wish you were taking your clothes off instead of putting them on, but we all have to live with our disappointments."

"Oh, those will come off later," she grinned. "Whether you're here to enjoy it remains to be seen."

"I would hate to miss that show," he replied. "Especially after all the practice you've done lately."

She actually turned her head to smile wider at him before returning her attention back to the mirror. "So, what did you find out?"

"Later, some of the stuff is on the upsetting side of things, and you need to be focused on your night job."

Alright, that certainly was a mood killer. The smile on her face dropped upon hearing those words. "It's that bad, huh?"

"Yeah, but then this sort of thing is rarely a good thing either."

"How in the world could thirteen kids getting killed be a good thing?"

Constantine shrugged his shoulders. "I can't think of any, thus the rarely. There may be that one spell for the greater good of mankind that may require such a sacrifice to succeed, and no one has actually used it."

"And what are the odds such a spell even exists?" Zatanna asked pointedly.

"Not bloody likely, but I wouldn't gamble against impossibility. We can literally muck around with reality itself with magick."

That was a fair point, though it did nothing to weaken Zatanna's own point. "Is there anything you can tell me that isn't upsetting?"

"I brought those books we talked about. Again, it's something for you to look at after the show—and hopefully after our own encore performance."

"Depends on how tonight goes." Done with the foundation, the dark-haired woman began applying some blush to her cheeks, using a makeup brush for the application. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, there's a guy I'm going to need to see. I'll probably do it while you're doing your show to save us some time."

Zatanna stopped her work. "Is this something involved with our case?"

"Potentially. He's just a guy I'm going to get information from."

"Then I want to come with."

Constantine stared at her. "Uhh, I think it's best ya don't. I've dealt with this guy before, and he's not a guy ya want to get acquainted with. I know loan sharks less predatory than him."

"What's the worst that can happen? He tries to suck out my soul? Pfft." Zatanna was rolling her eyes, then began applying blush to her other cheek. "Been there, done that, and I'm still here. Get me another reason not to come."

"Because this guy and I have some history that I'd rather you not know about."

"You've got history with everyone. Need I point out that just about everyone seems to want to spit on you every time we run into them? I hardly doubt this would be any different."

Constantine stared at her before he sighed. "How about this saves us some time, points us in the right direction, and we can go do that hero stuff you like doing?"

"I do like hero stuff," she admitted, "but I'm getting more immersed with the magic world too. I'm probably going to run into this contact of yours at some point, so why not make it now?"

"You know I can just go see this guy, regardless of what you want."

"And I can just track you to wherever it is you're going, then go by my lonesome to put my nose where it probably doesn't belong. You and I both know that it would be best that you chaperone me so that I don't get in over my head. So instead of you having to make two trips, you might as well just cool your heels, wait for me, and then we can go see this contact of yours."

Constantine snorted. "The sad part is that I wouldn't put it past you to do something that stupid. Fine, have it your way. Just know that I think it's dumb that you want me holding your hand through all of this."

"Hey, hand holding is a key aspect of any relationship. I am very much a traditional girl, so if I want to hold hands, we're going to hold hands."

"You're not that traditional if our bedroom is any indication," he retorted with a smirk.

Zatanna just cooly stared at him through the mirror. "Careful, I know a spell that'll give you some major blue balls."

"Consider me informed."

The two of them fell silent at this point, which was just as well. Pulling out an eyelash wand, Zatanna began running the little brush through her eyelashes. She wasn't much for talking when she worked around her eyes. Constantine just stood there like a statue, just waiting. He could have left, but she figured there was something else he wanted to discuss and was just biding his time.

It was several minutes before she was satisfied with her work there and put the little wand down. "So this guy of yours, I'm guessing he's like the Oblivion Bar and likes to trade in enchanted artifacts," she said once she was ready.

"That is the coin in these circles," he grunted in confirmation.

"Have you gotten your hands on one of those artifacts? That's something you could do during my show if you absolutely have to do something."

"Oh, believe me, I got that covered."

Zatanna raised an eyebrow. "Mind sharing with me what you got?"

Constantine stared at her reflection in the mirror, much like she was doing to his. Then he shrugged his shoulders as if saying, "Why not?" The entire time, he had both of his hands shoved into his trench coat's pockets, but now he pulled one out and reached inside of his jacket. Much to her surprise, he pulled out a sheathed sword.

Now just how was he hiding it inside of his coat? Oh right, magic. Stupid question.

"So you found a sword," she observed.

"Not just any sword," Constantine gently chided her. "This bugger is the Black Sword of Mordred."

Again, she raised an eyebrow. "Mordred sounds kinda familiar."

"You yanks are so uncultured," he replied. "Mordred is the supposed heir of King Arthur. Little bastard if you ask me, but what kid isn't? This is his black sword he allegedly wore when Camelot fell. Legend states it has enchanted properties."

Huh, well that was kinda neat. She knew about King Arthur—what person hadn't? Hell, Jason Blood had all but confirmed it had been an actual place when he admitted to being one of the Knights of the Round Table. She just…you know, didn't actually look more into it. She just wasn't familiar with the whole story, though Constantine clearly was. Probably had something to do with him being British, she assumed. Upon hearing his little story, she had to ask, "What kind of properties?"

The blond man walked over towards her, coming to stand next to her. "Why don't you find out for yourself?" He even held the sword and sheath towards her.

Zatanna tilted her head to one side, looking up at the man. "If I must," she relented before she raised a hand up and grabbed onto the sheath.

Immediately, she felt herself getting pulled forward. It was the same sensation she had felt in Salem, only a hell of a lot stronger. In fact, she was practically sucked right into the sword.

Gone was the dressing room. Instead, Zatanna found herself standing in the middle of what looked like an advancing army. Everything was that dull brown color, darker colors becoming shades of brown while brighter colors were dimmer.

Alarmed, Zatanna looked around and saw the army was definitely not human. Big, muscled trolls were dressed in armor, each one holding swords, axes, and cudgels. They all had dead-looking expressions on their faces, marching in formation to what appeared to be a castle in the distance.

There were already fires present from within the castle and its walls, though that had to do with the catapults launching burning pitch high into the air at it. Other catapults were flinging large boulders at the castle as well, pounding the outer walls.

"How much longer, Mother?"

Whipping her head back, Zatanna found herself standing next to a towering black horse. In fact, there were two horses. The one she was closest to had a young boy dressed like he belonged at a Renaissance Festival. He had fair hair from what she could see, cut at about shoulder length. He had a sword strapped to his waist by a belt, one that was in a sheath much like the one Constantine had held out to her. At least, the dark-haired woman thought it was the same sheath. All sheaths looked the same to her.

There was a second black horse next to the one she stood next to. On this horse was a woman with flowing black hair. She was in a gown that also looked like Ren-Fair stock, but it seemed to hug her in all of the right places. There were shadows over her face, so it was hard to get a good look at her.

"Soon, my child, soon," the woman reassured her son. Her voice was rich and vibrant, clearly filled with love for her son. "Camelot will be yours."

An incredulous look appeared on Zatanna's face. That castle was Camelot? The actual Camelot? And who were these two? Mordred? And his mother?

Suddenly, the woman's head perked up and her head turned. The shadows that had been covering her face moved, allowing her to see more.

Zatanna gasped.

"There is someone here that doesn't belong," Madame Xanadu said, her face hardened into steel, her eyes staring right at her.

Suddenly, Zatanna was yanked backwards. Gone was that faded world and she was back in her dressing room. Constantine was on a knee, his hands on her shoulders, a concerned look on his face. "Zee, you back with me?" he questioned her.

The magician shook her head. "What…what just happened?" she couldn't help but stammer.

The blond man sighed. "Looks like you got yanked into another memory."

She blinked her eyes. That had been a memory? Like that time at the Palace of Fine Arts? Well, it did kinda feel that way, she had to admit.

"Why did I get yanked into a memory?" she couldn't help but ask then.

"I'm gonna need a little more info before I can answer that," her boy toy told her, much to her annoyance. "Tell me, have you felt like you're getting pulled in different directions at once? Maybe you're seeing things that don't actually belong."

"What, like seeing ghosts?" Already, Zatanna felt like she didn't like where this was going. That pulling feeling Constantine mentioned was a little too on the nose for her to ignore.

"Possibly. Have you been seeing dead people?"

The dark-haired woman thought about this. Perhaps she should tell him something she had been experiencing recently. If there was anyone that could give her some idea of what she was experiencing, it was another magic user, right? "Well, when we were in Salem, I was seeing these people dressed up like Puritans or Pilgrims, or whatever you want to call them. They would just appear, walking into my sights, and then disappear when my attention was pulled elsewhere."

Constantine nodded. "Did you see a vision when you touched that sword?"

"I…I guess you can call it that."

"What did you see?"

Zatanna swallowed. "I saw this army marching on a castle. There was this boy on a horse and a woman he called Mother. They were talking."

"The boy, was he blond, looked like he had a stick up his ass?"

She considered that description. "Definitely blond, a little stiff in the saddle, I guess. I did get the feeling he was used to being catered to."

"That sounds just like Mordred," Constantine said, sounding certain of himself. The way he had said it though made Zatanna frown.

"You sound as if you've met him," she pointed out accusingly.

"Well, we have crossed paths," he admitted.

Zatanna blinked her eyes at him. "Are you kidding me?!" she practically shrieked. "But…but…that would make him a thousand years old!"

"So is Jason Blood, in case you weren't counting."

Okay, yeah, she had somehow forgotten that part. She could admit that. Still, it was wild to know that John had actually met other ancient people.

And speaking of ancient people…

"Then the woman that he was with…" she ventured.

"His mother, Morgan Le Fay."

Morgan…Le Fay? Okay, she really needed to look into King Arthur lore because she was sorely lacking it right now. "You're certain that was her?" she couldn't help but question.

"Mordred goes wherever his mother goes. They're practically a packaged deal," he told her.

A frown appeared on her face as she considered those words. If that was true, then it had been Morgan Le Fay that Mordred had been speaking to, and it had been her that seemed to look right at her.

So why did Morgan Le Fay look exactly like Madame Xanadu?

Johnathan could feel his heart pounding in his chest. It was nighttime, thankfully, so it made his job easier.

The moon was large in the sky, not completely full, but certainly working on it if Rajir was right. A full moon was coming and he needed to be ready. Why was he so anxious? A simple robbery didn't compare to those kids he had killed. They had actually fought back with their little hands and fists, not that they would live with him cutting them up. Now that he thought about it, he was angrier then because of their struggling.

So, he had powered through with sacrificing them as per his order, anger fueling him to the point he hadn't noticed when they were all dead. Now though, he was all alone, just him with his thoughts, and he could feel himself being antsy. It simply didn't make sense.

You would think this robbery thing would have been his first task versus the murder stuff. No matter how Rajir framed it, it was murder and he was totally on board. This was completely different from suburban living; it made him feel alive! Hey, you'd be a zombie too if you lived in the suburbs. Mankind wasn't made to be sitting around in their little houses, happy with their lot in life. Working some stupid job until they were tossed aside by the greedy corporate fat cats. No, life wasn't meant for that.

And he had never felt more alive than when he sliced and diced those kids.

Alright, it was game time. This should be easy. Get in, get out, simple right?

So, because this was Salem, everything was about the Witch Trials. They had museums, they had plaques, they had parades—Halloween was insane, he'd have you know. But, out of all the places he went too, it was this little village on the coast, a veritable time capsule for what life was like back in the pilgrim days.

The Salem Pioneer Village was this little plot of land fenced off by a tall wooden fence. A sign proudly proclaimed it as PIONEER VILLAGE: SALEM IN 1630. Small wooden houses sat practically even distances from each other, each one with a thick stone chimney on one side, a thatched roof, and little windows with wooden doors to cover them. Heh, if he didn't know any better, it was a 1630's version of a suburb. No wonder those pilgrims went nuts and started killing everyone.

Scaling the fence had been easy. Hell, it was just a slightly taller version of the wooden fence in his neighborhood. Once over, the young man didn't feel as exposed, so he began walking over to the little wooden houses.

He had been here before, multiple times even. It was a thing for the local schools to do a field trip here every few years, so he knew this place well. For the most part, most of the little houses were "allegedly" what they looked like back in 1630. So the insides were designed and decorated for how things would have been back then.

However, because this was involved with the Salem Witch Trials, there was always some tribute to those that had been killed. In this case, there were a few houses set aside that were devoted to specific victims.

One of those dedications was to Martha Carrier.

If their claim was to be believed, her little house was exactly as it looked when she had been alive. Dirt and gravel crunched beneath his feet as he searched the little houses, finally finding hers towards the end closest to the coast. A little plaque had been fused to a large rock just outside of the building, proclaiming it as Martha's house.

A grin appeared on Johnathan's face. If this really was her house, then that mirror Rajir told him about should be here. If it wasn't, then it had to be at the Witch Museum just down the road. That one would be…more difficult to get into, so here was to hoping it was kept in this crappy little house.

Heading to the door, he stopped and stared at it for several moments. He didn't see a door knob or handle anywhere, nor any sort of locking mechanism, which you would think would be there because teenagers existed and they were dumb enough to try and steal something from here.

Kinda like him if he thought about it, but unlike some dipshit teenager, he had a greater purpose for what he was doing.

Hesitantly, he raised a gloved hand up and pushed on the door. Incredibly enough, the door slowly swung open, the hinges creaking as it did so. Huh, this was going easier than he thought. Stepping into the house, he saw it was bathed in darkness, the light from the moon in the sky the only light source.

He could make out a bed and a table on one side of the room. The bed was made and honestly didn't look all that comfortable. On the table were various bowls with some grainy-looking crap in them. It could've been dirt and dried grass for all he knew; clearly it was just for show. On the other side of the room, he saw various tools and stuff hanging on the walls. Huh, for a house that was supposed to be a woman's, it had a lot of man stuff in here.

It was then he saw it. A stray moonbeam hit glass and caused it to reflect, drawing his attention. A smirk appeared on Johnathan's face as he noticed a mirror hanging on the wall, the glass framed by silver. Out of all of the things here, it was clearly the most expensive piece.

And it was hanging right there for all of the world to see. How the hell had it not been stolen?

Heading to the mirror, he reached up to pull it off of the wall, only to discover that it refused to move. Frowning, he tried to pull harder, only for it to not budge at all. He tried to push the thing up the wall, to the left and then the right, and got nothing for his efforts.

What the hell was this? Why couldn't he pull this damn thing off of this stupid wall?

Pressing himself against the wall, he tried to look behind the mirror, a gap the width of a piece of paper the only thing he could see. He tried to wiggle the mirror around to see if he could get a better look and got something for his efforts. He was able to barely see some sort of hook towards the top of the mirror, which was no doubt how it was hanging from the wall. It was also most likely why he couldn't pry the damn thing off of the wall.

So what did he do now?

Looking around the dark hut, Johnathan began to wonder if there were any tools here he could use.

John was taking this seriously.

Zatanna wasn't certain how to handle that.

He had this look on his face that made her not want to interrupt him. It was frowning, but not from displeasure, but thought. This was his thinking face. Well, maybe a concerned thinking face? She had seen the guy wear a convincing poker face before, but clearly the gears were turning. The gears were definitely turning now, but that frown made things seem different.

"Well, I'm starting to think we've found your specialty," Constantine mused, his facial features softening.

"My specialty?" the dark-haired woman repeated questioningly. "What does that mean?"

"I think we've had this conversation before, love." Her gentleman caller was sitting in a chair, leaning backwards into it. "Each magic user has a talent for certain spells and such. Has something to do with personality and how each mage thinks. That's how it was explained to me, anyways."

"So, like, it's like having a mage better at healing spells and another with killing spells?" Zatanna was just trying to get an understanding of what Constantine was talking about. It just so happened the first two examples had something to do with healing and its complete opposite, death.

"That's as good of an example as any," he shrugged. "In your case, you seem to have a thing for memories."

She blinked her eyes owlishly. "Memories? Uhh, how?"

"You said it yourself, you keep seeing the past. You have this pulling sensation, sometimes literally getting sucked into memories. That's what happened when you touched Mordred's sword. It's the same thing that happened at the Palace of Fine Arts."

"But that one was a trap left behind by Enchantress," Zatanna countered. "She wanted someone to stumble into that."

"True, but I wasn't the one that got sucked into it," the blond man pointed out. "Heck, I didn't even sense it until you stepped right into it. I guess it's true Enchantress weaponized it, but it certainly hid the fact that you can't go two bloody steps without seeing a ghost's past life."

Okay, well, it was certainly an explanation, even though Zatanna didn't really believe it. She was not some witch that could see every single memory. If that was the case, there wasn't a square inch on this planet she could go and not stumble into some left behind memory. And how was she seeing these memories anyways? The sword, sure, there was probably something enchanted about it. But how did it explain her seeing Puritans walking up and down Salem?

Her mind couldn't help but point out that Puritans did live here, much to her chagrin. However, that did bring up a point. "Alright, say you're right, that I am flypaper to memories or whatever. It can explain Enchantress' trap; it can explain what just happened with the sword; but tell me this: how does it explain me seeing Puritans walking down the street here? Huh? Huh?"

"In a way, memories are like magic," Constantine replied, not the least bit stumped by her question. "They can taint an area. You've seen it with your magick vision; we all have; how various magicks linger even centuries after they were made. Memories, particularly bad and traumatic ones, act the same way."

Well, that was troubling. With Salem's history, she couldn't argue that something bad didn't happen, so she was getting pulled into the memories of the people that lived there. "So, what, I can't go anywhere now because I'll see some grizzly murder?"

"That's entirely possible unless you train to get that power of yours under control."

That caused the dark-haired woman's head to perk up. "Wait, I can control this?"

"'Course you can, you just have to put in the work."

"Well, sign me up," she said enthusiastically. Then she batted her eyelashes at him. "Care to be my teacher?"

"I don't teach," Constantine grunted back.

"Aww, why not? Just think of the…situations…we can find ourselves in." Zatanna was giving a coy look now. "I could want to do some extra credit, anything to get a passing grade. I'll do anything."

Okay, yeah, this was getting into bad porn territory, but there was a reason teacher/student relationships were taboo. And considering the sudden interest she saw on Constantine's face, he was starting to come around to the possibilities too.

Heh, men were so easy to manipulate.

"So what I'm hearing is that you're willing to make this worth my while," the blond man said, leaning forward in his chair. "I'll have you know that I won't go easy on you."

Zatanna rolled her eyes. "Pfft, you forget who you're talking to. I had Xanadu as a teacher. If you think she was a cakewalk, then let me tell you about—"

Immediately, he held his hand up to stop her. "Oh, you don't have to tell me. I've heard the horror stories and I don't care to live 'em. That said, you can't compare me to her. I don't want to hear how she does things when you don't like how I do 'em. That's annoyin' and I won't play that game."

"I think I can deal with that. Besides, she probably would have already banished me to some interdimensional world where I have to fight off bad memories in the form of failed, nightmarish exs, or something like that."

Constantine blinked his eyes. "That's oddly specific."

Zatanna shrugged. That was how Xanadu did things, and honestly, she was looking forward to a less nightmarish experience. Constantine had shown her things she had no idea about, and they were a lot more pleasurable than her old mentor's methods. She knew which teacher she'd preferred at this juncture. "So, when do we start with this training of yours?"

"Obviously after your show, though, I think it would be best that we get you working on the basics before we meet my contact. He's not a pleasant guy, and I'm certain he'd take advantage of a new face." Constantine sighed. "Either I'm just tryin' to stall, or I have a legit reason to postpone. Not sure which I prefer."

This caused the magician to frown. "This guy isn't that bad is he?"

"Zee, there's a reason why I want to meet him alone. If you and I had just met, I probably wouldn't have cared. Problem is that I'm getting attached to ya, and I'd rather not ruin that pretty face of yours."

"Aww, you do care." She gave him a winsome smile. "Alright, either go get yourself a seat, or stay backstage, because I have a show to go do. And you better not turn around and go see this guy yourself because I will make you go back to do it all over again."

"Whatever you say, love."