Everything had been going so well too. They were on the road, making good time, and what do you know, the tire to the trailer carrying all of the props for the show just had to blow. Yeah, flat tires happened, and they were a nuisance when they did.

The worst part was that it had to happen in Salem of all damn places.

They had taken a wrong turn on one of the highways heading to Boston and went further north than they had intended. So after a course correction, they ended up coming down to Boston from the north rather than the southwest. Normally, this wasn't a big issue or anything.

Apparently, Salem was basically a suburb of North Boston. She had not known this until she saw the city limits sign. She had also thought Salem was further inland than that, so imagine her surprise when they drove smack-dab into the heart of the Witch Hunt Capital of the World.

Zatanna had been joking about the sleepy little town, but there was a very well known, very bloody history here. It was so infamous that it left a black mark on history itself.

And don't get her started on what it did on the magical plane.

All of that bloodshed, negativity, outrage, and terror had twisted the area far beyond the physical plane. From the moment she and her troupe had pulled over, Zatanna could feel it clawing at her. She was visibly uncomfortable, glancing around as if some crazed mob was about to pop up to drag her away for her own witch trial. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other frequently, her arms crossed beneath her bosom as her hands clutched at her elbows.

A model of serenity she was not.

Constantine wasn't here either; the British bloke was off doing whatever errand he needed to do. Damn it, where was he when she needed him? She could really use a shoulder to lean on.

"How's the tire coming along?" she called out.

"For the fifth time, we're working on it!" one of the bigger men in her troupe called back, Brandon. He and a couple of the guys were kneeling around the blowout, doing who the heck knows. There was clear annoyance in his voice, though she guessed that had something to do with how often she had been asking.

"Take a chill pill, Zee," Jane told her, the light technician standing right next to her. "They're working as fast as they can."

"Would if I could, Jane," Zatanna responded, unable to help fidgeting. "But you have no idea how awful I'm feeling right now."

"Really? You don't look sick." Jane frowned as she actually studied her. "You okay, Zee?"

"Not at all."

"Do you feel sick?"

"Sick, no." The dark-haired woman gestured with one hand to the town around them. "It has more to do with this place than anything."

"Not sure that I follow," her friend admitted.

"Alright, so you know I can actually do a little actual magic, right?"

"Yeah. That's what you told all of us before doing a few tricks. I still don't know how you're doing it all, but if you say it's magic, then it's magic."

"Well, there's a few other perks that come with it—for instance, I can sense magic now."

"Really?" Jane sounded interested in that. "So what are you sensing right now?"

Zatanna gave the woman a look. "We're in Salem, Massachusetts, Jane. You tell me. You know what they do to people that were suspected of witchcraft? They tortured them, burned them, hanged them, and in one poor guy's case, crushed him under a crap ton of rocks. That kind of thing has a way of tainting magic among other things. Right now, I am feeling every bit of that."

"Seriously? But didn't all of that happen, like, centuries ago?"

"Uh huh. And it's still as raw and ugly as if it happened yesterday. Kinda tells ya just how horrible it was."

"Wow. That…that sucks."

Yes, it certainly sucked.

And, as if that wasn't enough, there was this nagging sensation Zatanna kept feeling. Maybe nagging wasn't the right word; more like she kept feeling as if she were being constantly tugged on. As she turned her head to look back at her crew still working on the blasted flat, the world around her began to take on a brownish tint to it. The more modern city design faded as trees appeared in their place. The images of the city and nature were superimposed on each other, so she never lost sight of either, but it did make it look weird.

Of course, that's when some guy dressed like a Puritan walked into view.

Zatanna shut her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them again, gone were the trees and the Puritan guy, the scene of her crew still working on that damn tire was the only thing she could see.

That. That was what was happening to her. It was just like that time at the Palace of Fine Arts, where she was forcibly dragged into a memory due to a trap spell being left behind. For whatever reason, the memory had that brown tint to it, why that color she didn't know. There had to be a reason for it, but it escaped her at the moment.

Faintly, she wondered if there were similar trap spells lingering in the area. It would certainly explain why she was getting pulled into a different era there. It was something she could talk to Constantine when she saw him.

"Well, it looks like we're not going anywhere for awhile. I'm going to get a Snickers," Zatanna declared as she dropped her arms to her sides and began to walk off.

"Get one for me too!" Jane called after her.

Currently, the troupe was parked in a parking lot that belonged to one of those small shopping centers. It had been fortunate the driver of her out-of-commission truck had acted as quickly as he had to get off of the road. Zatanna hit the sidewalk, walking away from the shopping center and down the four-lane highway that allegedly passed right through Salem. There were a few house-like buildings up ahead, ones with signs that declared they sold Salem-specialty items. No doubt those were mass-produced souvenirs concerning the Witch Trials in some regard. They really leaned into the whole thing.

From a business standpoint, that made sense. Everyone was aware of what happened in this town centuries ago, but instead of trying to sweep it under the rug and ignore it, it was put on display for the whole world to know. But such a tragedy didn't stop people from trying to make a quick buck off of it. It was kinda like Transylvania leaning into Dracula and vampires. Now, she had never been to Transylvania, but she had seen pictures.

Walking further down the road, ignoring the little businesses here and there, as well as the McDonald's across the street, she eventually found a little park. From the first look, it appeared like a peaceful place. The grass was cut short, the leafy trees provided some shade. It looked rather nice.

Too bad Zatanna just felt the same horrible feelings.

The dark-haired woman sighed. She really could have used some company, or at least someone that knew what she was going through. Coming out to her troupe had been exciting, but none of them knew just what she had gone through, how learning actual magic had changed her. They were all nice to her and treated her the same when they had toured before. There was a little incredulousness with some of the things she did now, but for the most part these people accepted her.

So it wasn't them that made her feel this way. No, she had fundamentally changed. Things couldn't go back to the way they were before San Francisco and learning magic, before saving the world with what would become the Justice League, before that fateful trip to Gotham and the fire.

She had entered a whole new world because of magic. It was strange certainly, and she was still getting used to that, so she didn't really fit in there yet either. She didn't fit in with her old world or her new world, so where did that leave her?

A terrified scream rang out, breaking the serenity of the park.

It seemed she was left to go see just who was screaming and why. Well, that part hadn't changed for her at all.

Immediately, Zatanna went running into the park and into a wooded area. There were hiking trails that vanished into the woods, and the magician picked one to follow. She just followed the screams to know if she was on the right one.

FYI, she was, just so you know.

Thankfully, the person screaming wore bright colors, so after several moments of running, Zatanna picked them out from between the trees. Going off the path, she slowed to a jog so that she didn't trip on anything, be it a bush, tree root, or some errant vine. Fallen leaves crinkled and crunched beneath her stomping feet.

The sounds of her approach alerted the person—make that woman—who was screaming. She was dressed like she had been out jogging, so she must have been using the trails for that. She spun around, terror in her eyes, and she immediately launched herself towards Zatanna. "Call 9-1-1!" she screamed. "Oh God, please call 9-1-1!"

Zatanna had to ignore the urge to ask why this terrified woman couldn't. Everyone had a cell phone glued to their hands nowadays, so why couldn't she make the call? Instead, she asked, "What's wrong? What happened?"

That was when she looked beyond the woman, and her face went pale. There was blood everywhere, several bodies that she didn't care to count out just now, and lines drawn into the ground that made a pentagram.

She knew what this was.

Damn it, why was she always the one to find the grounds of a ritual sacrifice?

The police had sectioned off the area with the yellow police tape you saw in movies. They covered a rather large area, going so far as to block off a couple of hiking trails. The idea is that the killer may have used one of the trails to leave, potentially leaving some kind of clue behind.

There was also the issue of the blood. It was literally everywhere. The ground, nearby trees, rocks, leaves, bushes, just everywhere. A couple of blood spatter analysis had been brought in from Boston to figure out the cast-off patterns.

The sun was setting when they had finished their work. There were a couple of cops standing guard to make certain the scene wasn't messed with. This made things a little trickier.

Fortunately, one invisibility spell solved that.

Zatanna stared down at the outlines that had been left behind to mark where the bodies had been. Constantine was at her side, just arrived from wherever he had been, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. Just because they were invisible didn't mean they couldn't be detected by cigarette smoke. The smell alone would give away their location.

From what she could tell from the outlines, there had been thirteen bodies. That was a lot for a mass killing, but what was worse was just how small those outlines were.

That's right, all of the victims had been children.

Zatanna had hung around long enough to give a witness statement, but she had overheard from a few of the investigating officers that a group of kids had gone missing. What were the chances those kids were the victims here? If there was one thing she had learned about these morbid cases, there wasn't such a thing as a coincidence.

She really wished that wasn't the case this time.

The bodies had been positioned within a large, drawn pentagram. The pentagram had been drawn with black spray paint, so that was still visible. The bodies formed a circle within the pentagram, feet pointed to the center, heads pointed to the outside. Large blood stains were another marker for where the bodies had been.

From what she had overheard from the blood spatter guys, a knife had been used on all of the victims. They had been stabbed over and over before their throats were slit. That…that sounded like a horrible way to go. Zatanna could only imagine the sheer terrors the kids felt as they watched each other die, right before it was their turn.

No, please, stop!

That nagging, pulling feeling was back, and it had come with voices—a child's voice to be exact. Zatanna instinctively jerked, pulling her mind back to the present. Yeah, if she thought what was happening was happening, she really didn't want to see a bunch of kids get slaughtered. Talk about asking for nightmares.

"Any idea why this was done?" Zatanna whispered to her fellow magic detective. She kept her voice low, even with a second spell making the guards deaf to them. Still, there was something about this place that made her want to not speak much louder.

"Clearly, it's a ritual," Constantine grunted back, his voice just as low as hers. It seemed he felt the same way. "Not a summoning one, thankfully. Those don't require this many sacrifices."

"Then why kill this many people? And kids at that?" Anger was leaking into her tone. There was just something wrong about this having kids involved.

"Unfortunately, there's a lot it could still be. A portal to open communication with a child-napping spirit. A ritual to grant significant magical energies. Or maybe it's just some sicko that wanted to kill some kids and got off positioning them this way."

That last one was the worst of all. It meant these kids died for nothing, not that dying for a blood ritual was any better. At least there was a purpose for those, as horrible as they were. Being killed for no other reason than for someone's perverse sense of pleasure just made it even worse.

And here she thought witch burning was the worst thing she would come across here.

"I can look into this a little more," Constantine said. "Some of the symbols look familiar, so that's a starting point. I'll let you know what I figure out."

"I don't think I'm leaving until we figure out just who did this," Zatanna spat back. It wasn't because she was mad at Constantine, but she couldn't keep her vitriol to herself at the moment.

"Yes, you will."

Zatanna whipped her head up to stare at the blond man incredulously. "How can I possibly leave a crime scene like this? Without finding who did it?"

"Because we're not going to get the answers in two minutes," Constantine told her. "There's a couple of tomes I need to read over and there isn't exactly a control-find option with a book. While I work on that, you have that gig in Boston you need to get to. You got people relying on you to actually do the show. You need to see that through while I get us started on the groundwork."

Honestly, Zatanna couldn't care about Boston at the moment. In fact, she really wanted to cancel the rest of the tour, that being two more shows. That wouldn't make or break her at all.

Yet…as much as she hated to admit it, the troupe was relying on her to do those shows. This was their first tour after over three years of inactivity. It wouldn't look good if she canceled shows on the very first tour. Those theaters wouldn't want to work with her if she got in the habit of doing that, which would limit where the troupe could go.

And John was right, they were going to have to go the slow route on this as well, which meant a crap ton of reading. They weren't going to find something instantly. Sighing, she gave into logic. "Alright, but maybe I can look at one of those tomes? I can do some reading during my down time."

"Not a bad idea. I'll see about getting you one." Constantine continued to stare at the scene.

For a brief moment, Zatanna felt as if her boyfriend knew more than he was letting on. It was almost as if he did recognize what he was looking at, but didn't want to say it out loud. She hoped that wasn't the case.

This wasn't good.

John lit a cigarette, sucking on it until its tip burned brightly. He tossed away his match, letting out a cloud of smoke from his mouth. He didn't begin inhaling, not after the first cloud.

He had already seen to Zee gettin' back to her troupe. They were staying in a hotel in the area, mostly due to Zee getting caught up in the police investigation surrounding that little public display of death. It was evening time by the time they had finished with their own look, so it was going to be real dark real soon. It had been decided they would stay here before finishing on the trek to Boston.

Which was just as well. It gave John some time to get his thoughts together.

For instance, he had seen a circle like that before. There were some variations to it naturally, but it had all of the same characteristics. A drawn pentagram, a knife used to kill those who were the sacrifices, the number of which was always thirteen.

The victims usually being young.

The oldest he had ever seen were teenagers, around thirteen to fourteen. Most of them were around ten, give or take a couple years. This group looked the right age, unfortunately. The way they were positioned was different, but again, he had seen other versions. The creepiest one he had ever seen had the victims seated at a table, practically having a tea party. The pentagram had been drawn into the table with the very knife used to kill them all. Their blood had been collected in a few tea pots, and then served in teacups to each of the victims. There were no signs of ingesting, so it was likely the literally bloody tea had been served after the sacrifices had been made.

And the one absolute commonality between them all was that they were made by one person.

"Bugger all," John grunted before he took a drag from his cigarette. He was planning on seeing this very person sooner rather than later, but he hadn't expected this. Normally the guy was based out of San Francisco, but last he had heard, he had moved without leaving a forwarding address. What were the chances he had come to Salem? If that bloody circle was any indication…

He blew out the smoke, watching it rise up into the air. Worse still, this whole thing had caught Zatanna's attention. She was still in her idealistic phase, the one all new magic users went through in the beginning. To many older Homo magi, they found that phase charming in the new users. John had long since lost that charm. No doubt she would want to investigate and get to the bottom of who killed all of those kids.

Sad part was, she knew how to figure out a puzzle. She had been pretty quick to figure out what was going on with the Enchantress hag back at the House of Mystery. She was either a natural, or someone had taught her very well how to figure stuff out. The blond man certainly doubted her father had considering he hadn't taught her anything about real magic, instead showing her all of his charlatan tricks as a performer. It made you wonder where she learned how to investigate.

So what did he do now? Did he continue with what he was doing? Did he try to keep Zee out of this matter? Did he let her go digging for answers she might not like?

Or…

Alright, this was going to take some work, elbow grease, and some good ol' fashion finesse. Lady Luck would have her spotlight too before long as well. It would be best if he controlled the investigation, or at least Zee's involvement in it.

Hmm, yeah, he could work with this.

First off, he needed to get his hands on those tomes he had mentioned. With the blood ritual having already been done, he needed to know just what his top suspect was up to. It never hurt to have that knowledge. Even though he knew this ritual as a hallmark by now, he still wasn't certain as to its actual purpose. That was poor oversight on his part.

He also needed to speak to a couple…acquaintances of his as well. They would know for certain where the top suspect was, and if he was indeed in Salem. John had his doubts honestly, mostly because your top guys rarely worked in a place like this. Not to say that Salem was a dump or anything, but it was just too on-the-nose. You practically expected a witch, wizard, warlock, ghost, or demon to be hanging around here.

No, he felt the man was close, but not here.

Seeing he was halfway through his cigarette, he considered tossing the rest away, or to finish it off as much as he could. He took another drag just for good measure before he flicked it away. Alright, it was time to get to work. He had books to gather and a favor to call in.

The basement was bare, which was a necessity. One did not want to leave a trace of one's presence after they were gone.

The room was lit up by candlelight, and even then only by a few candles. Each one was placed in a strategic place in the basement, offering up as much light as it could, though that didn't stop the shadows from playing at the edges. The candlelight seemed to pulse, causing the light it gave off to alternate being brighter and dimmer.

There were two men present as well. One was prostrating himself before the other, on one knee with their head bowed. The other stood straight, arms crossed over his chest. He was responsible for this latest inductee, and the younger man needed to prove himself.

He had done well for his first time.

"You've passed your first test," the trainer congratulated. They were the same words he had been told when he had a master, and he could still recall the elation he had felt upon hearing them. That same master would not approve of his current situation, however. In the back of his head, he knew he needed to tread carefully and lightly lest his activities become known.

"Thank you, Rajir," his mentee responded, never once raising his head up. Ah, yes, he also recalled that pose intimately as well. It was strange being on the other side of it now, but Rajir rather liked it. The respect it conveyed was intoxicating. "I am ready for my second test."

"Is the thirst of your blade not quenched?" Rajir asked bemused. "Or does it thirst for more?"

"It only wants what is required of it."

"Thirteen children is quite a requirement."

"It…it was."

Rajir stared down at his pupil. His Arabic features were softened by the candlelight, but the hard gaze he directed at the younger, Caucasian boy was meant to harden his resolve. What they were doing was not for the faint of heart; any weakness needed to be weeded out. The man they were trying to draw the attention of could sense it out and consume it in a heartbeat.

Rajir had already successfully completed his initiation. His pupil, Johnathan, had only just begun.

Because of his…background…Rajir had been put in charge of identifying potential inductees for his new master. Of course, he had been given the fertile land of Massachusetts to work with, which was challenging in and of itself. The area was, to be blunt, full of weak, entitled sheep that had little stomach for life's difficulties.

Take Johnathan, for example. He came from a modest suburban home, with parents that offered a modest lifestyle. Apparently living in a middle class suburb was not up to Johnathan's liking, and he began acting out, at first to challenge his parents, but now to seek acceptances with people that were not easily impressed by teenage theatrics.

The boy disliked his comfortable home and sought something more. Well, Rajir saw this potential and took him under his wing. Already his faith had been rewarded in his latest protege. Now he just needed to bring him further into the fold.

"Your next test will not be as arduous as the first," Rajir said then, noticing the stiffness in Johnathan's shoulders lessening. Clearly he was relieved by this.

"We have a unique opportunity before us," Rajir continued. "There is a full moon approaching, which will allow us to make contact with certain spirits. If we are to prove ourselves, we will want to communicate one of these spirits."

"How do we talk with a spirit?" Johnathan quickly asked. He was clearly interested in this next task.

"We will need a silver mirror," Rajir told him, "but not just any silver mirror. My contacts inform me that there is a mirror that will suit our needs well. It formerly belonged to a Martha Carrier."

Johnathan perked up upon hearing that name. He clearly knew that name. "Was she actually a witch?" he quickly asked.

"No, she was not," Rajir shrugged his shoulders. Martha Carrier was one of those poor, unfortunate souls that had been falsely accused and executed during the Salem Witch Trials. In her case, she had been accused of leading an army of three hundred witches, who inflicted illness and death upon her neighbors.

The irony was that there was an army of three hundred witches at the time; the leader of whom was more than happy to let poor Martha Carrier take the fall. Her name was Annie, her last name lost to time. She had been marshaling a force of her brethren, no doubt as a response to the hysteria at the time. She had begun drawing suspicions from the residents of Salem and took advantage of the confusion when Martha Carrier was accused, escaping the witch hunt for a time.

Rajir had been challenged to discover what had become of her, finding that she spent the rest of her days in a cabin in the woods just outside of a small village. The hysteria eventually found her and put her to flame, though she had spoken a curse upon the ones that burned her.

That small village became the dark city of Gotham. With the rot and evil that infested that city, one had to wonder just what curse had been laid upon it and the descendants of those witch hunters.

Regardless, that tangent was not necessary for their task. When Annie fled Salem, she had left her possessions behind, many of which were considered to belong to Martha Carrier. This included the silver mirror he was most interested in obtaining.

"Though she wasn't a witch, she was mistaken to own a number of objects that were enchanted, the one we wish to procure being the Silver Mirror of Martha Carrier. You are to locate it and obtain it before the full moon arrives."

"I will see that it is done," Johnathan quickly agreed.

Rajir gave the boy a comforting smile. "I have my faith that you will. Now go. There are other preparations that need to be done, which I will see to. Do not fail me as the consequences will not be enjoyable."

The character of Annie in the last scene is based off of the one in Bruce Wayne: The Road Home. Bruce had been thrown through time thanks to the Omega Sanction and at one point was a Puritan witch hunter in Colonial Gotham. He met a woman called Annie that was thought to be a witch and ultimately was tried and killed during a witch trial. However, she did speak a curse onto the witch hunter who found her guilty, and that turned out to be an ancestor of Bruce's. In this case, I've turned her into an actual witch who fled Salem. Unfortunately, there was no last name mentioned in the comic, so she'll always be known as Annie.