The dirty, silver bus trudged its way into the bus port. The brakes squealed shrilly until it came to a full stop. A few moments passed before the door was opened, the bus driver dropping down the steps until he was on solid ground. He turned to his right and began opening the luggage compartments along the bottom of the bus, the doors sliding upwards one by one.

A mix of people wearing heavy coats poured out of the bus, immediately hunting down where their luggage was kept. A couple men just began pulling suitcases out and setting them on the ground, where other bus riders would snatch them up. A couple of old ladies gabbed with each other, each sparing a glance to try and look around the men unloading each luggage compartment.

A man in a rumpled suit then exited the bus. He squinted eyes as he looked up at the dull-looking morning sky. It was early, even if the bus was behind by ten minutes. He checked his wristwatch just to make certain and internally shrugged.

So, this was Salem.

It felt exactly how he thought it would feel. There was this sadness that permeated the air. Your average person wouldn't have caught it, but those sensitive in the right ways could. He unfortunately could.

Running a hand through his red hair, absently brushing against the white streak that was in it, the man began walking away from the bus. He didn't have any luggage, so there was no point in hanging around. He was also kinda blocking the doorway to the bus, so the other passengers had been waiting for him to move so that they could get out. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he headed for the bus terminal. He needed a map since his cell phone was a couple percentage points away from dying. He could charge it once he found some diner to sit and eat at.

Entering the terminal, he saw the usual sights. Tile floor, front desk, a few ropes linked up to posts to help line up passengers so they didn't just get in each other's way. There was a little stand in the corner full of little pamphlets. The redhead made a beeline for it and picked up a couple. Reading them, he immediately put them back. Those were brochures for sightseeing, and he wasn't here for pleasure.

Heh, as if anyone would come to Salem for pleasure.

When he realized he was heading to this cursed town, he had audibly groaned. Spending life on the road as he had, you would think he would have come here at some point, but you'd be wrong. No, he had been everywhere but here, and based off of the feelings he was getting, that was a good thing.

He didn't like feeling the horrors that tainted this place. It stirred something within him that really didn't need to be bothered at the moment.

So he kept up his search through the pamphlets until he found one that was useful. It was a map of the town with its various attractions, but more importantly there were hotels and restaurants marked on it. Seeing as it was free, he pocketed the map and headed for the main entrance.

He nearly collided with a group of college-looking kids, who were too busy staring their phones rather than looking where they were going. He got a couple of mumbled apologies, to which he just brushed off. Exiting the terminal, he saw a rather quaint-looking street, tall trees sprouting out of sections of the sidewalk. The leaves were lovely shades of orange, red, and yellow. It was practically picturesque.

Pulling out the map, the man unfolded it and began trying to get his bearings. The terminal was…here, which was where he was. There were a couple motels over by the highway, which he would go to eventually. As for food…looked like there were a couple of mom-and-pop places within walking distance. Well, first thing's first, he wanted a bite to eat.

That's when he felt a presence. Hmm, presence was perhaps not the best word here, but it would do. He could sense something not altogether human. This caused that little something inside of him to perk up.

He closed his eyes. Where was it coming from? He reached out with his senses, physical and arcane.

That inhuman feeling suddenly vanished. The red-haired man opened his eyes. Whatever that was, it wasn't on this plane, of that he was certain. More like it was looking into this realm, desiring it, but retreated once it detected his search.

That…that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Was it a demon? A devil? Something worse? It was hard to say with the backdrop of Salem. Its sadness was hiding things, of that he was certain. He had come to investigate, so he would be figuring out what was haunting this haunted town.

But first, a bite to eat.

Walking down the sidewalk, eventually he came up to one of those mom-and-pop places he saw on the map. Opening the door, a small bell rang. He glanced up to see the offending bell just above the door. It was something he had seen the world over.

Returning his attention ahead of him, he saw a sign that said SEATING AVAILABLE. Guess he could take any seat he wanted. There were a number of booths along the wall next to him, so he went to the one in the back corner. Seating himself facing the door, he just calmly waited. There were a few other patrons around, but it seemed they were all more concerned with their own breakfasts.

A middle-aged woman suddenly appeared next to him. "Welcome to Paddy's," she greeted him, setting a menu down along with a glass of water. "Anything I can get for ya?"

"A little time to look at the menu please," he responded as he picked it up.

"Take your time, Sugah," the waitress responded. "I'm Gladys, so if you need anything, just let me know, Mr…?"

Huh, a waitress that wanted to know his name. How unusual. Though, if he thought about it, she was used to seeing her regulars, so she knew them by name and sight. He was a stranger, so he was either a tourist traveling through, or he was new to town. If it was the latter, she'd want to get to know him so she could score a better tip.

He had to give credit where credit was due, she knew to work her customers. He glanced up at her, a small smile on his face.

"Name's Jim Corrigan, ma'am."

Finding Rajir's Antiques and Accessories was less magical than one would think. Google was a thing, ya know, so using a spell to find it was a dumb way to go about it. It was honestly anticlimactic when the internet literally pulled up a map of it with its exact location.

Kinda made ya wonder how people used to find places before the internet.

The worst part was that Zatanna had asked out loud how they were going to find this antique shop a second before the answer slapped her in the face. Constantine had just given her a look that said, "Seriously?" Then he said they could look it up online, talking as if he were speaking to an idiot.

She was not an idiot. She just had moments that made her look unintelligent was all.

So here they were, one Google search completed, and standing in front of the store. It was in one of those small shopping center places, you know, the ones with off-brand stores that sold the same stuff Walmart did, but at slightly higher prices. And staring at the building, it was a little rundown looking, as if the only time it was washed off was when a storm rolled in.

It screamed that there was a possible potential murderer hiding out here.

They didn't go in, not immediately. See, they needed to make certain that their guy was indeed here. While walking into the store would have been a simple, direct solution, John felt there was a less intrusive way about it. So they walked around the store towards the back. Zatanna even took the blond man's hand in hers, entwinning their fingers together.

This caused the Brit to give her a look, one eyebrow raised.

"What?" Zatanna asked pleasantly.

"You want to explain what you're doing with my hand?"

"I'm holding it."

"I can see that. Why?"

"Because you're a boy and I'm a girl, and I wanted to hold your hand. Besides, if anyone looks at us, they'll think we're just a couple out and about, trying to do some shopping."

"Eh? We're a couple?"

"Considering we've been screwing each other on the regular, I would say yes, we are."

"Ah, so there was a limit to those romps, eh?"

It was Zatanna's turn to give him a look. "Just how many times did you think you could get in my pants and not think we're a couple?"

"Well, never been with a gal long enough to find out. You're my first," Constantine admitted.

Her look turned cheeky in an instant. "Awww, I've popped your cherry. How sweet."

"Heh, to think I still had one of those."

By that point, they had reached the back of the building, where there were random garage doors present. This was where the stores could receive shipments without it interfering with business. There were also cars present, most likely belonging to the employees.

More importantly, there was a van with the logo for Rajir's store.

The couple walked over to it, slowing their pace as they reached the back and saw the license plate. LSP 17P6, it read. They had a match.

"So what now?" Zatanna asked. "We got our van. Do we try to get in and find anything incriminating?"

"Considering how careful these blokes have been, I doubt they'd be so lazy as to leave something behind," Constantine said. "Just look at the tires. Not a speck of dirt on them, and we know they've been in the woods. It's been cleaned recently."

The dark-haired woman glanced at the tires and yeah, those looked brand spankin' new with how clean they were. Either they were new tires, or someone spent some effort cleaning them. "Then what do we do?"

"We go say hi."

Before she could register what those words meant, Zatanna found herself being pulled back towards the front of the building. Internally, she wondered why they even bothered to check for the van if they were going to go inside at all. About the only thing she could think of was that they confirmed at least one of their suspects was inside, but wouldn't they just be showing their faces to the men they were trying to find?

Before she could voice her concern, they were entering the store. A bell rang, alerting the store employees to their presence. Much to Zatanna's surprise, there wasn't much around as far as merchandise. The store was a wide-open room, with a counter to her left, a cash register sitting on top of it. To the right and back of the store were some antiques, none of which were all that appealing in her eye. Either someone had bought out the store recently, or they were doing a lot of business here.

Hmmm, why did she smell a front?

"Welcome!" she heard a voice call out from the back. There was a door there, which was partially open. There was no way to see what was beyond it though. "Feel free to look around!" the male voice instructed them.

"Why don't we mosey around, love?" John remarked and began to circle around the store. Zatanna just followed along, her hand still in her boy toy's. There was a rather boring vase they ran into first. In fact, she really couldn't tell if there was anything special about it. She had tried looking at the vase through the mystical plane and…yeah, nothing. There was nothing mystical or enchanted about this vase. It was literally, just a plain, disappointing vase.

Ughh, she had been hanging around magic too long. The ordinary and mundane were now boring as heck.

They moved on, finding a stand that had some buckles on it. They were old and wore, a couple of which even had rust on them. Something a pilgrim had once worn? Nah, that was too easy a reason for how badly maintained they were.

The next display was a little more interesting. There were a series of masks, each of different origins. There was one that was clearly a domino mask with feathers glued onto it for decoration. A little thin stick was attached to one end, something for the wearer to use to hold it in front of their face. Another mask was tribal looking, painted with dull colors with a couple feathers attached as well. Then there was one mask, white, porcelain, which made Zatanna think of the face of an owl.

"Welcome to my store," the same voice spoke then, drawing their attention. "Is there something that interests you?"

Zatanna and Cosntantine turned, finding a man of Middle Eastern descent. He was bald, with facial hair surrounding his mouth. There was a kind look on his face, one that most likely hid the ruthlessness of a killer.

"Just lookin' around," Constantine answered. "The misses here does enjoy antiques."

The dark-haired woman resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Yeah, sure, pin this expedition on her.

"Is there something in particular you are looking for, ma'am?" the man asked pleasantly.

"Uhhh," she responded, trying to think of something. The first thing to pop into her head was the owl mask, so she decided to run with that. "I've never seen a mask like this white one. What is it made of?"

The man walked over to them, spotting the mask in question. "Ahh, you have an eye for quality ma'am. That is porcelain."

Just what she thought. Nice to have confirmation though. "How old is it? Do you know?"

"At least one hundred years. Possible two hundred. It has a mysterious past, you know."

"It does, does it?" Constantine grunted.

"Indeed, Sir. Would you like to hear it?"

"I would," Zatanna pipped up. Hey, if she was the one that was supposed to be excited about antiques, she might as well play the part. "What is the story, Mr…"

"You may call me Rajir, ma'am," he told her. The bald man had her full attention now. "You see, there was once this group of people. All of them wore masks, watching from the shadows. They knew everything, every person, every building, even how many trees there were in the forest. It was said that they ruled the world; nothing happened without thir knowing and blessing."

"Sounds like them conspiracy nuts," Constantine murmured. "Who were these blokes, the Illuminati?"

"Something like that," Rajir shrugged. "It is just a story after all. I do not know the origin of this mask, but I can say it does not come from here."

"Makes you wonder where it came from," Zatanna said out loud.

"It most certainly does." Before Rajir could continue, a phone began ringing. "My apologies, I must go answer that. Please continue to look."

Immediately the man walked over to the counter with the cash register, moving behind it and answering the phone. The couple just looked away. "Smooth," Constantine complimented her, his voice low. "Nice goin' scorin' his name."

"I have my moments," she shrugged.

"It's time we left. I'll explain once we're out."

Seeing no reason to argue, Zatanna just began walking to the door. She waved at Rajir, who just nodded at her gesture, still caught up with his call. Once they left the building, the bell ringing behind them, they walked further down the sidewalk before they started speaking.

"I think we have our man," Constantine said after awhile.

"Really? You think?" the dark-haired woman questioned eagerly. "What makes you think so?"

"While you had him blubberin' about his Illuminati, I was taking a good look at him. That ain't no simple storeowner, I'll 'ave ya know."

"So what's next? We come back tonight and make him confess?"

"You have a show ya have to get to," the blond man reminded her. "Last show of the tour, yeah? You need to go see that through."

Aww, crap, she had forgotten about that. And with their prime suspect less than fifty feet away!

"We can't just let him go kill any more people," she pointed out. At that point they had reached the corner of the building, a sidewalk the only thing between them and the street.

"He won't, not yet anyways. I'll stay behind and keep an eye on 'em. Remember, there's two of 'em, and we need to find his partner too. Chances are that bloke will come waltzin' right up to Rajir there, and we'll have both gents. Then we can go in for the kill."

"You won't do it without me, right?" the magician questioned. She honestly couldn't help herself. The last guy she partnered up with had an annoying tendency to sideline her at any hint of danger. The reason he did it was sweet, but it didn't annoy her any less. Besides, she wanted to be there when they busted these monsters.

"No worries, I'll wait until you get back," Constantine assured her. "I'll only step in if they're about to butcher another kid. You know, be the hero and all."

"Alright then, I'm holding you to that," Zatanna said. She even squeezed his hand tighter to make certain he knew she was being serious. She wasn't certain if the message she wanted to convey was delivered, but it was the thought that counted.

And hopefully she could get out of doing more than one encore. That would be the only thing that held her up in Metropolis and the last show of the tour usually went on and on to ensure they left a lasting impact. Had to keep bringing people back to their seats after all.

A guy could go really far with the proper introduction.

Corrigan was a few feet away from a police car, an officer keeping a suspicious eye on him, his partner sitting in the driver's seat, using the radio.

Yeah, this wasn't what it looked like.

Just minutes ago, Jim had walked up to the cop car and introduced himself. There were two police officers who clearly didn't believe his credentials and were in the process of confirming them. That was alright by him. The sooner they did their due diligence, the sooner he could get to work.

In the meantime, the redhead just glanced about the area, his hands dangling at his sides. He would've preferred to have them in his coat pockets, but that would only make his fellow two cops here more nervous, if not trigger happy. They didn't know his pockets were empty, and a strange guy approaching them out of nowhere was not a good way to gain trust. So, in the interest of not becoming a police shooting statistic, he kept his hands where they could be seen.

There was a park in front of them, the police car actually parked on the grass. A treeline kept hidden the place he wanted to go. Though, it was unusual the squad car wouldn't be in the parking lot.

Suddenly, Officer O'Brien stood up out of the car. "Well, this guy isn't lying. The Captain cleared him."

O'Brien's partner gave him an incredulous look. "Are you seriously telling me this guy is a private dick?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying, Milton."

Milton looked at Corrigan. "He doesn't look like a P.I."

"That's sort of the point," Jim couldn't help but reply. "If I looked like a P.I., then I couldn't really do my job that well, could I?"

Milton looked like he wanted to say something about that, but O'Brien cut him off. "Let it lie. The Captain called this guy in personally. Let's show him the crime scene."

As much as Jim wanted to thank the officer, he bit his tongue. It was quite clear that neither man was happy that he was here, but they had little choice in the matter. Him just being pleasant could be seen as being obnoxious. No sense in riling up the locals.

And yeah, not looking like a private investigator helped him do private investigator things. You need someone followed, who would give him a second look? Yeah, his red hair stood out, but it wasn't like he was drawing that much attention. Heck, the way he dressed, the way he stood with bad body posture made people ignore him.

But, he wasn't here because of his presentation, meaning his wardrobe. No, he was here because he had a solid reputation as someone that could solve supernatural cases, ones that seemingly had no answer and were just flat out bizarre. It was sort of like bringing in a psychic when you had exhausted all possible means of investigating.

While he hoped that all leads hadn't been fully vetted and discarded, he knew desperation when he heard it. He just had to keep it on the down low that there was something magical or supernatural about this case. He rather doubted he could win over two men that were already skeptical about his presence.

As they began walking to the trees, Jim couldn't help himself and asked, "So why are you guys parked this close to the trees? I can't imagine the city likes having a car parked in their park."

"Dumbass kids," Milton grunted. "Last night a couple of them snuck onto the scene and ran off when confronted. So now we're positioning ourselves closer so no more of those idiots try the same thing."

The redhead just groaned. "What is it about death and the macabre that attracts them?"

"Who knows," O'Brien shrugged. "Here's the path," he then indicated. "It's not that far back."

Taking the lead, Jim followed the path with the two officers following him. Soon, he found the crime scene, the outlines of where the bodies were, along with police tape still cordoning the area off.

He didn't like the look of this.

He really didn't like the feeling he was getting from it either.

People had died. Based off of the outlines, they were little, children more than likely unless the perpetrators had found dwarfs. Considering what he had been told by Captain Leary, the captain O'Brien had mentioned a couple times by now, it had indeed been kids. A surge of emotions welled up within Jim.

One of them he had to quickly stamp down on. As much as it was called for, there was a time and place for it, and this wasn't it.

"How many?" he eventually asked, his tone quiet.

"Thirteen," O'Brien answered him. "All from the same school. We're looking into just how the kids were kidnapped, but nothing so far."

"Thirteen," the redhead murmured. He tilted his head to one side as he regarded the outlines. "Were they positioned that way when they were found?"

"The outlines are exactly how the kids were found," Milton confirmed.

"Well, it's clear someone thought this through, right down to the smallest detail." A troubling thought occurred to Jim, one that wasn't well received. "Thirteen," he repeated himself, a frown appearing on his face.

"Something wrong, private dick?" Milton questioned.

He ignored the jab. "I'm hoping I'm wrong about this, but I think something similar has happened before."

"You've got to be shitting me," Milton swore.

Jim really wished he was. "Tell me, gentlemen, ever heard of a place called Mount Diablo?"

Both officers glanced towards each other, curious looks on their faces. Eventually, they both shook their heads. "Well, it's this place outside of San Francisco," the redhead explained. "Some years ago, a busload of kids went missing. They were eventually found on Mount Diablo, their bodies staged in ways that, well, they didn't naturally die in those positions. Care to guess how many kids there were?"

"I get the feeling you're going to say thirteen,' O'Brien responded.

"Unfortunately, yeah. Thirteen kids, just like the thirteen here, each positioned after they were killed."

There was a silence that fell over them. "Did…did they find out who did it?" Milton eventually asked, his attitude long forgotten."

"They did," Jim told him. "But…the guy got away. Reports on how that happened are sketchy and force you to either be a skeptic, or accept it at face value. Either way, the perp got away, and hasn't been seen again."

"Don't tell me the prick came out here and did this."

"It's an unfortunate possibility, or perhaps even worse is that someone found out about that little story and decided to be a copycat. I don't want to cast stones or anything, but considering Salem's history, there had to be someone that's into the supernatural and macabre."

"That's practically the entire town," Milton said. "You can't escape the merchandise for witches, especially with Halloween just around the corner. But how would anyone find out about some crazy murder on the other side of the country?"

"Pretty certain we have the internet to thank for that," Jim responded. A tingling sensation began to tickle at his fingertips. That repressed emotion was starting to rear its head back again, and Jim wasn't certain he could hold it back for much longer. He was being beaten down by the negatively that infested this area. The fear, the terror, the blood lust, it all became a phantom that was just ready to attack. His defenses, be it mental or magical, were being eroded with every passing second.

"I've seen enough of this place," the redhead suddenly declared. "You have reports at the police station, yes?" The two officers nodded in response. "I'd like to see them, if I can."

"Yeah, sure," O'Brien responded. "I'm sure the Captain will give you anything you want. Need directions to the station?"

"If you would be so kind."