The bell rang as the door struck it. Rajir just so happened to be behind the counter, tallying the day's sales, so he merely looked up and saw Johnathan storming in.

The boy looked different than when he had last seen him.

For one, his nose was swollen, glowing a brilliant red. Towards the bridge of the nose were the early signs of a bruise forming. Hmm, his young protege had been on the wrong side of a punch to the face. Heh, he wasn't too surprised since the boy could be quite sullen and impolite to those he did not respect. It went without saying that he did not respect a lot of people.

"Fucking bitch," Johnathan seethed, beginning to pace back and forth, going from one side of the room to the other. Rajir remained silent as he watched this. It was clear the youth wanted him to ask him what his troubles were, he just didn't want to say it without prompting.

So Rajir returned to his task, writing on a small piece of scratch paper with a pencil. The emotional outburst of a teenager was a low priority for him.

"Can you believe this?!" Johnathan eventually exploded. "Some goddamn bitch punched me!"

Rajir blinked his eyes before looking back up. A woman had done that? What on earth would possess a woman to—never mind, this was Johnathan. He must have been at fault.

However, considering the damage he saw, he knew a well-placed punch when he saw one. This woman was used to hitting things and knew how to hit them. Just who had Johnathan provoked?

"And why was some woman punching you?" he eventually questioned.

"It wasn't my fault!" Johnathan eagerly exclaimed. "I was just minding my own business when the bitch bumped into me. Instead of being apologetic, she copped an attitude and then punched me."

The bald man felt there were some details left out. One did not go from bumping into another person, exchanging a few words, and then getting punched in the face. But then they were in America. American women were outspoken to a degree that he found shameful. A woman was supposed to serve the man in her life, be it her father, brothers, or husband. That was the culture he had grown up in and missed it greatly. The women of the West showed no such fealty, proudly proclaiming their wants and needs for equality and respect. They wanted the roles of the man, yet wanted the same protections a man offered to women.

But that was a subject for another time. There were more important matters that needed to be discussed, and the youth's outrage would have to take a backseat. "Then perhaps it is serendipitous that we have a new task."

Johnathan perked up at this. "What are we doing now?" he greedily asked.

"Our master is arranging a ceremony for us, but there are preparations we need to see to," Rajir told him, setting his pencil down on the counter. "Specifically, more souls are needed."

There was a serious look on the young man's face, though the swollen nose took away some of its effect. "How many do we need?"

"We do not need as many as the previous time. That said, the more we obtain, the more likely we will be held in high esteem. At minimum, three or four."

"Do they need to be kids again?"

"That was not specified, but I highly suspect we will be dealing with the same demon that we encountered on the full moon. I am told it has a preference for young souls, so it would be to our benefit if we present a similar sacrifice."

Johnathan nodded. He seemed lost in thought for a moment before, "Let's say we get the four kids. What if we also gave an adult soul with them?"

"I don't think it would hurt matters."

A grin began to appear on the youth's face, one that resembled a shark. "Then I know one soul we can give it: the bitch that punched me."

Though Rajir's face did not change, he did feel a wave of disappointment. The boy was letting his personal feelings get in the way of their task. That was one of the first things he had learned under his first master: do not let personal feelings affect the mission. Such feelings led to mistakes, and mistakes led to failure.

It went without saying that failure would not be tolerated.

Yet, they were in need of a soul, and if done correctly, Johnathan could have the revenge he sought. He would have to show him how to do so and not get caught. It would have to happen after they got the number of souls necessary—business before pleasure after all.

"Do not let your feelings get the better of you," Rajir warned him. "That can only lead to disaster and what we are doing is greater than either of us."

Johnathan was quick to nod his understanding. "Yes, of course. I just…I need to make that bitch pay. Haven't you ever had someone that was a pain in your ass and you just wanted to get rid of them?"

No, he would safely say he did not. However, getting rid of a problem, a thorn in one's side while making it useful, he was familiar with that. He just so happened to have his own thorn, the blond boyfriend of a recent customer. He did not entirely believe the story of him keeping an eye on the store for the customer, or at least using it as an alibi. It may very well be true, but it was safer to assume one's paranoia was correct.

Perhaps Johnathan was onto something here.

"I believe I can see your point," he eventually admitted. "There has been someone concerning me as of late. Let us obtain the souls we need, and then we will add them as a bonus to our offering. We can kill two birds with one stone this way."

Johnathan grinned. "Emphasis on kill."

Yes, emphasis on kill.

They met back at the motel, all three of them. That was good because there was nothing good on the TV and they were well past the time slot for any decent soap operas.

Zatanna was so bored out of her mind that she was thankful when Corrigan returned. Their little interaction with Johnathan Tanner hadn't gone the way they had hoped, so it was all up to Corrigan to salvage their latest investigative attempt.

"I have bad news," was the first thing out of the redhead's mouth.

"You take that back," Zatanna snapped. "You take that back and tell me you have all of the answers and we can go bust some heads in."

Corrigan stared at her. "I don't think you can demand a better response just because you don't like what you hear."

The dark-haired woman groaned. "I don't want to hear that. Just…just tell me something that can move our little case along."

"I take it your side of things didn't go so well."

"You can say that again," Constantine finally chimed in. He was laying on the bed, just like he had during their soap opera break. Zatanna had been cuddling next to him, mostly because it felt like a good cuddle time, but had moved off of the bed the moment their third member had shown up. "Zee here popped the kid in the nose. I had to be the comforting shoulder."

Corrigan stared at them. "That…doesn't really help our investigation. Why, may I ask, did you punch the secondary suspect?"

"He clearly asked for it," Zatanna said flippantly.

"So much so that Constantine, out of all of the people in the world, had to calm him down?"

"Kinda tells ya how screwed in the pooch we were," the blond man added.

The redhead sighed. "Then I hate to tell you that our primary suspect is a ghost. He had no background to speak of, even with banking records. He just showed up in Salem one day, was approved to open his store, and has been here ever since."

Constantine frowned. "If that isn't shady, then I don't know what is, and I've been involved in my fair share of shady deals."

Zatanna spared the blond man a glance. That was a subject for another time, even if it ate at her curiosity. "So that means he's using an alias? Or did some fraud, or something?"

"Most likely the alias, so unless we have more concrete identification, we won't be able to learn anything about his past. Clearly he has a connection that allowed him to do what he shouldn't have been able to do, that being opening his own store. We were fortunately able to get a name for that connection."

Well, that was good news in Zatanna's book. That gave them something to look into at least.

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming," Constantine observed.

Corrigan nodded. "The contact is Eldon Peck."

Constantine perked—scratch that, he nearly threw himself off of the bed. His sudden reaction surprised Zatanna, causing her to snap her head towards him. She saw the Brit with his legs over the edge of the bed, shoving himself up onto his feet with his hands. "You've got to be shitting me."

"I think I'm missing something," the dark-haired woman remarked. The name kinda rang a bell, but she didn't recognize the tune.

"Suffice to say, Peck isn't a well-regarded name in our line of work," Corrigan told her. "He's recognized as having significant power, but there are rumors that he's involved in dark magicks."

That certainly didn't sound good. "What else can you tell me?" she pressed.

"No use beatin' 'round the bush," Constantine said. "You've met Peck, Zee."

That caused her to raise an eyebrow. "Uhh, I think I would recognize someone that has the kind of reputation you claim this Peck guy has. Those guys tend to leave a wake of destruction behind them."

Corrigan's eyes were darting between the two during this exchange. "You know Peck too," he mentioned, his attention settling on Constantine. "Where can we find him?"

The blond man sighed. "He owns a club in Boston. Doesn't go by Peck currently—calls himself Brother Night now."

There was a flash before Zatanna's eyes, one of that creepy-looking guy, with his skin all pulled back, and red eyes that seemed to stare right into your soul. A shiver ran down her back at the very thought. She had known, she knew there was something wrong with that guy. Now she had her confirmation. She wasn't happy about that in the slightest, but it was a good thing to know her instincts were right on the money.

Corrigan was pondering this. "We need to tread carefully here," he warned them. "It's obvious that Peck has some financial power, what with being able to give our primary suspect, Rajir, his very own store. More than likely, it's just a front, but for what or why, there is no telling at the moment. Based off of the rumors I've heard, he'll also have some dark magicks at his beck and call." He then directed his full attention to Constantine. "You know more about him in his Brother Night persona. What can you tell us about him?"

Constantine stared at the redhead for several moments. He then spared a glance at Zatanna before he let out a sigh. "I've had…a couple dealings with him. The latest one just concluded itself. I was in a bit of a pinch, so I went to him for some help. Traded him my soul, and he pulled through. I was able to get it back in a recent trade."

A scowl was now on Corrigan's face. "He's in the soul trade, is he?"

"There's a trade on souls?" Zatanna questioned. "As in, like, a black market for it?"

"An apt description," the redhead confirmed. "Only those with malicious intents are involved, and Peck—or Brother Night as he calls himself—fits that sort of world. I believe we will need to suspend our current investigation until we've dealt with this menace."

Wait, what?! Suspend their investigation?! But there were kids that had been killed! "Are you freaking kidding me?!" Zatanna shouted. "We can't stop now! What about those kids? And the other ones that could be used in those damn rituals?!"

"There are some things that are beyond this plain," Corrigan responded, not the least bit intimidated by her outburst. "The dealing of souls is something that needs to be stopped. There's a balance that—"

"No! No fucking way!" she seethed. "I'm not letting any more kids get stalked and slaughtered. You may want to let them die, but I won't!"

"Zee," Constantine said gently, "Corrigan may be onto something here. If Brother Night is giving assistance to Rajir, then he's likely arm deep in what's goin' on 'ere. We stop him, we stop this whole thing. We might be able to find a more solid connection between them, and then we'll have those bastards cold."

"But in the meantime, more kids will be stalked, hunted, and killed," she pressed. She didn't wait for an answer as she immediately headed over to a chair, where her jacket was draped over the back. She snatched it up and then stormed over to the door.

"Where are you goin'?" Constantine called after her.

"Where I need to be, between two killers and a town's worth of kids." Zatanna shoved her way past Corrigan, who stumbled a step to one side. She stopped when she got to the door, grabbing the knob with one hand. Sending both of them a scowl over her shoulder, she then added, "If you want to go mess around with Brother Night, you're going to do so without me."

She then ripped the door open and slammed it closed behind her.

The door slamming wasn't unexpected, but it still had the impact of creating silence.

Corrigan stared at the door. The emotions coming off of Zatara pulled at something he hadn't been aware existed. Well, to be fair, it was something he hadn't felt in a long time, so it almost felt foreign to him. He understood anger and rage, but those feelings resided somewhere else inside of him, effectively cutting him off from them.

So it was through this lens that he felt that it was almost as if there was something else driving the woman.

"I guess we're down one," Constantine surmised, scratching the back of his head. He was so matter-of-fact with that assessment, it was like he wasn't bothered by the woman storming out at all.

"Is she normally this…emotional?" Corrigan asked, looking at the blond man.

"Don't let her 'ear that," he replied. "Or any other woman, matter o' fact. They get touchy 'bout stuff like that."

Apparently. She wasn't thinking with logic, which dictated that they go after the source of the problem rather than the symptoms. In this case, Eldon Peck, or rather Brother Night, was the source. If they stopped him, all of this ended. They would be cutting off the head of the snake, so to speak.

Yet, there would be the unfortunate circumstance of more innocents dying. No doubt Rajir and his protege would continue on until they were receiving further orders from their leader. It seemed this was the sticking point for Zatara.

Something tugged at him. It was barely noticeable at first, but it came on strong with every passing second. Oh great, another divination—

"Zana."

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

Those words echoed in his head. A dark void seemed to suck Corrigan out of the motel room, leaving him in darkness. Those words though, they had been spoken softly, gently, yet they seemed to reverberate all around. The redhead glanced around him, hoping this latest vision would get on with itself.

Then came the sound of stones cracking. The void receded and in its place was a ruin. Some forgotten, desolate city perhaps. Corrigan looked around until he heard another sound in this crumbling place.

Crying…

He sought out with his green eyes for the source of it and found a figure hunched over in the debris. He didn't move a step, yet he seemed to be circling around the figure, their dark hair covering their face. They were dressed oddly. Some sort of blouse and jacket, fishnet stockings.

The hair fell away and Corrigan recognized Zatara. There were tears falling from her eyes, and she was clutching at something black. Her face was twisted with grief, though he could no longer hear her sobs.

What was she clutching at? He felt something…he wasn't certain what. The feeling was familiar though. The same feeling he had when he had been told of the woman's lineage. The same feeling when he warned Constantine about a dark angel.

This moment, whatever it was, it was very personal. It held great significance to her, and she clutched at it much like her form was grasping at the thing in her hands.

The void rushed in.

And then the motel returned. Corrigan's eyes were glazed over, but gradually he began to realize where he was.

"You okay there?" Constantine asked him.

The redhead resisted the urge to jump upon hearing those words, instead shaking himself out of the daze he felt. "A divination," he answered. "They happen from time to time."

And they did. They usually helped to provide some insights, though it seemed purely random when he would receive them. There had been times where Corrigan wished these visions actually provided a more helpful picture rather than leaving things open for interpretation. You know, "here was the answer to your question" instead of "here's some of the answer, go figure it out." Alas, this latest one would be of little use against their impending foe.

"Something to help us with Brother Night, I hope," the blond man ventured.

He shook his head. "Insight into our incensed companion. I sense great loss in her."

Though he didn't seem troubled by this, there were subtle signs of interest from the British man. "Go on."

"She's suffered; she knows what it's like to be helpless and lose those because of it," Corrigan said. The woman kneeling in the wreckage, grasping at that…black…cloth? The sight of it told him what drove her without saying as much. "And now she had the power to stop such things…hmmm, no wonder she was so passionate upon her departure."

Constantine stared at him before he shoved his hands into his coat pockets, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "She's not like us," he mused.

"No, she isn't."

"She's been at this for a little while now, but it's hard to forget it wasn't all that long ago she was introduced to our world," he continued. "She's still learning while we're too familiar with the status quo. We've learned to look at the big picture, and she's still stuck in the details. I'd almost forgotten what that was like." His face hardened. "The toll of magic and sorcery."

"As have I," Corrigan agreed. The toll of magic and sorcery indeed.

"So…do we go after her?" Constantine lowered his head to stare at the redhead. "Or do we let Zee handle her end with Rajir while we take care of Brother Night?"

Though he had this appreciation for Zatara's motives, Corrigan knew he couldn't forgo his own. He had been at this for too long to know the best course of action was to tackle the problem head on. Helping Zatara in her endeavor would improve her opinion of them, but it would keep the citizens of Salem and beyond in danger still.

It wouldn't be the first time he disappointed someone, nor would it be the last.

"I will go handle Brother Night," he finally answered. "Your help would be appreciated in the matter. I do understand if you decide to join with your companion instead, though."

The corner of Constantine's mouth twitched up. "Eh, I'm of the same opinion as you. We deal with Brother Night, we finish this whole thing, and I'm all 'bout being the most efficient."

Corrigan nodded. "Then if you would do me the favor of taking me to this club of his."

She was upset. She was really, really upset. Had that meeting happened? Had they had that actual conversation?

Don't get her wrong, Zatanna understood the point. This creepy Brother Night guy was the one giving Rajir and Johnathan their marching orders, so it made sense to go stop him. Yet, they also knew that the two lackeys had no problem killing children, and were likely to do it again if not stopped. The children—hell, no one—should be left behind as a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter.

She had been taught better than that to forgo human life. She knew men that would rather destroy themselves than let someone else come to harm.

So why was it John and Corrigan were so willing to let it happen?

She couldn't understand it; she didn't want to understand it. It was insane that it was even being considered! How could they even think that was acceptable?! At all?! No life should be forfeited like that!

Unable to stand looking at them any longer, she had to leave. She needed to go clear her head. So the dark-haired woman went walking, her pace nearly making her jog or run, whatever the difference was. Half of her expected one of the men to come after her, but neither had. That only upset her more.

Eventually, she was in some part of Salem she didn't recognize, though that wasn't saying much. There were a lot of places in Salem she didn't know. At the very least, it wasn't one of the rundown, beware-all-those-who-come-here places. Her walk hadn't done much to clear her head as she hoped, her emotions still raging inside of her. She wasn't seething like she had been though, so that was something. Coming to a stop, she then turned and leaned her back against the wall of a building. She pulled out her cell phone and opened her contacts list. Her thumb scrolled through the list until she found the one she wanted.

Bruce Wayne.

She had it opened. All she had to do was hit the little call icon, and she'd be talking with the one guy she was certain would understand her. She would tell him what was going on, he'd tell her that she wasn't crazy and that she needed to protect the kids, and he'd be there in a few hours to help her. Then everything would be alright. She only needed to make the damn call.

It didn't matter that they had broken up, and she was seeing a new guy. It didn't matter that she admittingly still had feelings for him, whatever else their breakup indicated. He was the guy that helped others when they couldn't help themselves. He was the right guy for this. He was a hero, no matter how much he denied being such. Hell, in her eyes, he was her hero.

So why wasn't she making the fucking call?

Zatanna squeezed her eyes shut. Yeah, they had broken up amicably, but she didn't want to trouble him either. He had Gotham to take care of, and things were still rough out there from what she had read. Yeah, she kept up on him, like he was no doubt keeping up with her. Maybe he didn't know everything, like what happened in the House of Mystery—though knowing him, he probably did because…reasons? Regardless, she knew if she needed help, he'd come.

Yet, she didn't want to trouble him either. How did it look when she was the one to make the call on putting a pin in their relationship, only to go crawling back to him when things got tough? It wasn't a good look, not that he'd hold it against her. She was a bloody adult, and adults didn't go running like a child to their parents when they were in trouble. She needed to handle this, even if getting help was the more tempting option.

Gyah! This was all so frustrating!

By the time she opened her eyes, she saw the screen had gone dark. Great, her phone timed out. Zatanna lowered her hand and phone to her side and stared out into the street. What was she supposed to do now? What could she do? It went without saying that she knew what needed to be done, it was the how that was the problem.

The dark-haired woman took in a deep breath, held it, then let it out in a sigh. Alright, let's think about this logically, just like Bruce would do. So she knew Rajir and that punk he was with were killing people. No solid evidence was there, so she needed to find some of that. She also needed to make certain they weren't about to kill again. John Constantine's wards were being messed with because of an enchantment by Brother Knight, so the magic currently in play was of no use.

So she needed to go put physical eyes on them. That wouldn't be a problem. She'd stake them out and do it better than Constantine had. Pfft, what was the guy even thinking by just lingering around the front of the store anyways? Hadn't he ever done a proper stakeout? Bruce wouldn't have made that mistake.

Besides, she had an in with that Owl mask thing. She could make a whole show about trying to pick it up or something. Alright, she'd just head back to the antique shop and—

As it so happened, a white-paneled van drove by. Her eyes glanced up in time to see the logo of Rajir's antique store on the side of it. Immediately, her eyes focused on the van, watching it drive the speed limit down the street. Her blue eyes were wide as she watched.

No freaking way, was her first thought. Then she realized what it meant for Rajir's van to be on the road. Either he was making a delivery, or he was about to go trolling for new victims.

Like hell was she going to let him find any.

Unfortunately, she didn't have a car ready to follow behind. Fortunately, that wasn't an issue. See, she had been out on patrols with Bruce, so she knew how to teleport around a city much bigger than sleepy old Salem. She had figured out the best way to move around while conserving her magical powers so that she wasn't exhausted from repeated use.

Heh, it looked as if Bruce was helping her out after all.