Buried in the past so many moments I want back
Tomorrow doesn't hold until yesterday

If I fall back into you
Don't fight it, don't fight it
Show me what we've got to lose
Don't hide it, don't hide it

Memories stuck in my head
All the things I should have said
If I fall back into you
Don't fight it, don't fight it

-Don't Fight It by 10 Years


The situation was familiar. There was some big, unknown, insanely powerful creature in the same room as Zatanna, and she was at the moment where she wasn't certain how things were going to play out.

The first time had been with the Prince of Hell, Etrigan. It became really apparent which way things were going to go there. As for the Spectre, well, either he was going to blow her off or smite her. Maybe even rip off her skin like he had done to Nebiros. Considering how much skin care she had gone through to get the skin she had, the dark-haired woman really hoped she wasn't skinned.

The Spectre leaned in towards her and Constantine. There was some kind of thought happening behind those green glowing eyes, as if he hadn't come to a decision on what he was going to do with them. Even with the remaining magical barriers between them and this guy, there was no sense of security or safety. Zatanna could feel the power behind him and she was ready to admit that she didn't stand a chance. She could raise an infinite number of shields and she was certain this guy could get through all of them if he wanted. She was an ant to this guy's elephant.

Then the Spectre's face hardened. He had come to a—

His eyes then rolled back into his head, gnashing his teeth. His head began to tilt backwards as if someone were pulling on it. Then he let out this enraged cry before he was pulled backwards, rapidly rushing away. His features blurred until he was only this beam of white and green light, snaking through the air until he vanished right into Jim Corrigan's chest.

The redhead jolted where he stood, as if he had been punched in the gut. He staggered backwards, looking as if he were trying to catch his breath. Then he dropped to his knees before slumping backwards onto his ass.

Well…that had been anticlimactic. Zatanna would take anticlimactic though. Anticlimactic meant she was alive and not dead or worse.

It was several moments before the magical shields were allowed to fade away. Getting onto unsteady legs, both she and Constantine cautiously approached Corrigan. The private eye had taken to laying on his back, his arms and legs sprawled out as he breathed fast, his chest going up and down. Not gonna lie, she had forgotten all about the guy. She had assumed he had become the Spectre, or faded into some other reality, or...well, just didn't exist on the plain. Apparently he had been here the entire time, possibly just hidden away by the awesome power of that giant green demon punisher.

Constantine nudged the dark-haired woman, which caused her to look up at him. "Say something," he whispered.

"Why me?" she shot back, keeping her voice just as low as her so-called boyfriend.

"Because if I say somethin', I might brin' that avengin' angel back. You it'll ignore."

Well, it was kinda of hard to argue that logic. It just meant she really needed to find out what this guy had done to get the kind of reputation he had garnered with just about everyone.

Turning her attention back to Corrigan, she then called out," Uhh, is it safe? Or should we expect more?"

Corrigan just kept breathing before those breaths began to slow. "It's over…if that's what you're asking…" he told her. "The Spectre…is back where he belongs…"

"Oh. Good. Well, would you mind telling me…exactly what he was? Because I'm pretty certain I saw the closest thing to God and he did not look friendly."

The redhead chuckled a dry, amused laugh. "That's one way to look at it. The Spectre…is the spirit of vengeance…in physical form. He's been known to…smite every once in awhile."

"And you…just so happen to have him as a secret weapon or something? Does he live in your chest like a jack-in-a-box?"

"Well, perhaps not as a weapon. Ever since we came to this place…he's been wanting to break out. I just couldn't keep him contained any longer…so I let him run amok for a moment."

"Might want to let the rest of the kids in the class know next time," Constantine grunted as he decided to take a seat on the floor next to the man. Seeing no reason not to join them, Zatanna did the same. "I had heard rumors of your come-ins and go-ins. Didn't realize we had that order of things on our side."

"Question: what exactly are we talking about when it comes to this Spectre guy?" Zatanna interjected. "I know I'm the new girl on the block—somewhat. I'd appreciate an explanation."

"Oh, a simple question," Corrigan mused. "Which does not have a simple answer, I'm afraid. Easiest way I can explain it is that the Spectre is a manifestation of powers beyond our comprehension. He rides passenger in my body and even I do not have the exact understanding of what he is exactly. But suffice to say, he is very powerful; an extension of God-like beings if that makes any sense. He likes to smite those he deems deserving of retribution. Demons are usually at the top of his list for such smitings."

Whether they all had the same idea at the same time, or it was just one big coincidence, all three of them turned their heads to look at the pile of haphazardly folded flesh that had belonged to Nebiros. That was all that needed to be said about the Spectre's opinion about demons.

"We're gonna have to do somethin' about that 'fore too long," Constantine remarked. "Even now, the wrong bloke messes with that and we've got ourselves a sad state of affairs."

Zatanna wasn't going to ask what the worst that could happen in regards to the skin. Considering it came from a demon, she was willing to bet nothing good could come of it, so yeah, putting it in safekeeping was best.

However, it was at that moment the magician realized there was something—or rather someone—messing. "Where's Brother Night?" she asked, her voice louder than necessary.

The other two men looked around before grimacing. "What're the chances that wanker made himself scarce durin' holy retribution?" Constantine suggested.

"In light of seeing a body or the actual disposal of the man, it's safe to say he slipped out." Corrigan looked up towards the ceiling. "And he's definitely no longer here."

Following his gaze, Zatanna soon realized what he meant. The ceiling was no longer intact; the same could be said about the walls. There were naturally the places where damage had been caused by the fighting that had taken place, but there were untouched areas that looked as if they were rotting away. In fact, she was seeing more and more of the rot the more she looked.

"It would seem Peck had been using his magic to convey the appearance of a majestic house," the red-haired man observed. "But the entire time we were in a rotting husk."

"So now what?" Zatanna couldn't help but ask. "Do we go after him? Or do we call it quits?"

"After tonight, Peck's going underground again," Corrigan said. "Just like he did after Mount Diablo. It'll be some time before he resurfaces again. Without a lead on where he went, there's no real choice but to wait."

That honestly wasn't what Zatanna wanted to hear, but she also knew she wasn't at one hundred percent either. There were some people you went after and others you left well-enough alone. After everything, she was more than willing to admit that Brother Night was formidable in his own right; going after him now might land them all in a worse state than they were now.

Though maybe that Spectre guy could finish the job for them if they were to point him in the right direction? That idea had some promise.


The place was a hovel. It was in a rundown neighborhood on the outskirts of Boston. Blighted was a term thrown around when describing it.

Brother Night nonchalantly entered the main room, which was visibly rotting. The walls were covered in spray paint, graffiti markers for the local rift-raft. The carpet was torn up and stained from unknown substances. There was a layer of grime that made it look brown.

Clearly this place needed work, but that would come in time. For now, he needed to rest.

The ghoulish man had seen the private detective enter the room and had instantly sensed something off about him. He hadn't been this way at Club Night, so that change was surprising. The man had been bursting at the seams with…holy magic.

The red-haired man had been the source of the holy magic he had sensed earlier, which had prompted his opening of the rift. Withdrawing was the better part of valor, so Brother Night had taken the opportunity to leave before further unpleasantness had happened.

He had been in time too. The moment he had teleported himself outside of the house, he had felt something powerful form a barrier around the building. Nebiros' presence could no longer be felt, which was rather alarming. His knowledge of the supernatural and demonic was extensive, and demons were not so easily overwhelmed.

His retreat became much more hasty after that.

Raising a hand up, it began to glow with Brother Night's magical energies. In response, a high-back chair appeared in the middle of the room, as if it had been there the entire time. The carpet beneath the chair's legs began to knit itself together, repairing what had been damaged through neglect. He took a seat in the chair, crossing one leg over the other.

It seemed he was going to have to rebuild. That was going to be a nuisance. His club was no longer safe to go to, and his country home housed a holy spirit. There were his safehouses, of course, but the timing to reach them put him at risk of discovery. No, this hovel will have to do before he moved on. No one would look for him here, after all.

So what was the next step? Obviously avoiding the spirit he felt at his country home was a top priority. That man with Constantine would need to be avoided at all costs, at least until he reestablished his territory once more. One needed all of the advantages life provided, and he would not take on someone that had the potential to be stronger than himself.

Perhaps something could be done with Constantine. He was a man with an incorrigible reputation. The blond man had come to him at one point for assistance and even sold his soul as compensation. Further business ventures could be had, he was certain.

Which brought him to the last of the triumvirate, the daughter of John Zatara. She had an idealistic streak about her, one based in moral superiority. She would be tough to turn, though if she continued to associate with Constantine, then perhaps she could be swayed. She held such intriguing potential that he couldn't wait for another encounter to learn more. For now, it would be best to not press his luck with her. No doubt she would try to defeat him, which would be bothersome.

As for him, a number of his allies were no longer available. Reaper was not in this dimension, which was irritating. The boy had been possessed by one of Nebiros' underlings, but a weak one at that. Its usefulness was limited, not to mention the holy spirit would have disposed of it if it was within its barrier. Rajir had been defeated on too many occasions, so he was no longer a viable option.

Yet despite these setbacks, Brother Night knew he could rebuild. He had done it once before after leaving San Francisco, and he could do so again. He had plenty of time, and his experience told him to take advantage of this. Rushing would only leave him exposed.

No, he had not come this far to be overcome by a mistake. In the meantime, he would need to consult his network. He was owed some favors and it was time to collect.


Captain Leary ran a hand over his face. "You can't make this shit up," he muttered.

Corrigan watched his old friend, lounging in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. With everything wrapped up, he needed to report to the captain his findings before he left town. Of course, with cases like this, there was hardly ever a clean ending.

"Do you have any leads on this Eldon Peck?" the police captain asked. Though his hands weren't stained with their blood, Brother Night was ultimately responsible for the murder of those thirteen children that started this sorry matter. Without him, Rajir and Johnathan Tanner wouldn't have kidnapped and committed the murders.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much to help Leary to get someone prosecuted for the massacre. "Unfortunately, I don't," the private eye admitted. "He's fled his night club in Boston, and his local residence has also been abandoned. Quite frankly, I don't know where to find him."

The older man sighed. "We'll keep an APB on him, maybe he screws up." Even his tone indicated he highly doubted that would work. "We'll also issue a warrant, so long as you've got solid evidence linking him to the murderers."

"That I certainly do." A little magic went a long way to get that evidence. Needed phone records showing frequent communications between Peck and Rajir? No need to get the phone company involved. Obtaining security footage of Rajir meeting in the same places as Peck? He got those too. Along with showing how Peck had gotten Rajir the antique store, and there was without a doubt frequent communication between the two men.

However…

"I have to ask though," the redhead began, "how is Rajir doing? I understand he was practically catatonic when he was arrested."

"Practically, hell," Captain Leary retorted. "He is catatonic. He's in the hospital right now, but the doctors have no idea if he's going to come out of it or not. They have no idea what's wrong with him either. Every test they've done shows this guy is a healthy man in his prime. There's nothing to explain the coma."

That caused Corrigan to grimace. He had left out what had caused the catatonia, namely Zatanna Zatara magically tearing his mind apart. She claimed she just took his memories, but it was pretty clear she had done more than that. He had seen her after the fact, and while he could believe her intent was on a memory wipe, her emotional state had gotten the better of her. It wouldn't be too surprising to him to find out that she had done far more damage than she intended.

Faintly, he wondered what exactly set her off to do such a thing.

Unfortunately—again with that word—it seemed that it would be some time before anything legal could be done about Rajir. If he stayed in a coma until he died, then it was highly unlikely he would ever face a trial for his misdeeds. If he did come out of the coma, there was a chance he might not even remember his involvement in the murders, which opened so many doors for complex legal doctrine to come into play. After all, how could you charge an amnesiac with murder?

Suffice to say, there was no way to find out how this would play out until Rajir awoke. That was for the legal system to grapple with; Corrigan's role in this was officially over.

"What about that Tanner kid?" Leary suddenly inquired, shaking the redhead out of his musings. "He was our prime suspect and suddenly he's gone."

"Well, that one is more definitive than either Peck or Rajir," Corrigan answered. "He's dead. Rajir decided to use him as one of his victims for whatever ritual he was trying to do."

Leary stared at him before he rubbed his face with a hand again. "Disgusting," he muttered. "I know the kid did some bad shit, but to get used that way? That's just terrible."

The private eye just nodded his agreement. He wasn't going to lose any sleep over the kid dying though; he had played with fire and was burned because of it.

"I gotta know one thing," the captain said. "What is it with these witchcraft rituals and killing people? I just don't get the thinking behind it."

"I don't think you want to know that answer," he answered him.

"You're probably right, but in the interest of understanding the why, I probably do."

Corrigan leaned his head back so that he could stare at the ceiling. Well, his old friend had asked. "When it comes to the supernatural, life is a very strong catalyst," he began. "Think of it like fuel. By sacrificing someone's life, you're fueling the ritual you're performing. The stronger the promised outcome of a ritual, the more life energy is needed. If you follow that logically, then the more lives you take, the stronger the ritual will become."

Leary stared at him. "You're right, I didn't want to know that part. Sorry I asked."

"I'm sorry I told you. I rather wish I didn't know it either."

The older man sighed. "Well, I wished we had a better outcome, but what's done is done. I'll see to it you receive your money for the case. Stay in touch."

Corrigan nodded. He knew a dismissal when he saw one. Suffice to say, Salem was changed because of what transpired. The ritual massacre, the deaths of innocents in the streets, the deaths of the police, and even the betrayal of a murderer would leave a black mark here, in a place that was infamous for having such markings.

There was a reason Corrigan didn't like Salem; this was just another one.


"We are fastly approaching the 48-hour mark of the kidnapping of Alice Simmons. Simmons, a high school student at Gotham High School, is also the niece of New York Senator Warren Simmons. She was last seen at Marrows and 68th Street.

"Gotham City Police Department has said they are working day and night to find young Alice and return her to her family. Police Commissioner James Gordon had this to say..."

Zatanna didn't pay much mind to the news. It was more background noise than anything. The high-profile kidnapping was making national news though; probably had something to do with that senator uncle breathing down people's necks. It was a crappy situation.

Though right now, it was the furthest thing from her mind. She held her phone in her lap, her contacts app open. There was Bruce's number on screen, yet she hadn't contacted it. She wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to make the call.

He had to be busy, right? Heck, that kidnapped girl was probably on his desk and he was combing through all of the clues. She'd be found soon enough, so why would he need to spend any time talking to an ex? That sounded low priority, even to her.

Yet, she couldn't get it out of her head. Rajir's memories, Bruce's resurrection from the Lazarus Pit; it was living rent-free in her mind. Part of her wanted to just let him know he could talk about it to her because she got it. She understood it. At the same time, would he want to talk about it? That wasn't something people wanted to talk about…or did they?

How had she gotten here? It wasn't that long ago she had been contemplating asking him to come up to Salem to help her out. Why was offering a sympathetic ear making her stop? That didn't make sense, right?

Maybe it had to do with what she had done right after discovering those memories. Zatanna had lashed out and now Rajir was…well, it was hard to tell. She didn't know much other than he was receiving medical treatment, and that was it. He wasn't dead, that much she was certain.

Honestly, she needed to get out of this city. Salem was a town of bad history and worse memories. Maybe that had something to do with it. She was in such a negative environment that she felt bad about herself. Getting away would probably fix things.

The door to the motel room opened. Turning the screen off, Zatanna looked to the door and saw Constantine strolling in.

Now this was a complication she hadn't been thinking about.

All this time since they had stopped Nebiros from entering this world, and the dark-haired woman had been thinking about another man. She really hadn't thought about her current love interest. She did want to know if he was alright, but after getting confirmation, her mind had begun to wander.

She really didn't like that.

But she had discovered some things about the guy she hadn't known previously, and that was just making her a wee bit uneasy. Like him selling his soul to Brother Night of all people; she still didn't know the full story behind that. She couldn't imagine why he would do something like that to begin with, and now that she knew what kind of person Brother Night was, she really didn't approve.

"You doing okay?" the blond man asked her as he walked over to the bed. She was laying on it with her back against the headboard and her legs sprawled out in front of her. Constantine shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto a chair before he flopped onto the bed.

"I guess I am," she shrugged. "I don't think I did anyone any favors though."

"Favors," he repeated.

"Yeah, with Rajir. He's the one that killed those kids, but there's no telling when he'll actually go on trial. I did that."

"Can't say I blame ya," Constantine shrugged. "Man wasn't exactly innocent, even with the kids as his victims. Someone like that has a couple o' bloody skeletons in his closet, ya know?"

That was probably true. Still, it'd be awhile before anything could be done about his crimes. That didn't exactly soothe the grieving family members.

Zatanna began to move herself, sliding down the bed and rolling onto her side so that she and her British boy toy could spoon. Constantine reciprocated as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into him. She could feel his chest against her back, his breath tickling the side of her face and ear. She kinda liked that.

"It'll be okay," he continued to reassure her. "The main thing is that we stopped a demon from raisin' a ruckus. The Spectre did the heavy liftin' o' course, but I ain't complain' about the results."

"That reminds me," Zatanna responded. "What did you do with that skin?"

"Took that to a safe place—Cain's safe in the House of Mystery," Constantine answered her. "If we let it be, some poor sod was gonna find it, and the skin would probably attach itself to them. Nobody deserves that fate."

Zatanna shuddered. She wasn't certain what that was like, but she could only imagine some skin crawling onto her and sealing her inside. If she wasn't claustrophobic, she would be then. Turning her head, she looked at Constantine over her shoulder. "Thanks for being here," she whispered.

"Wouldn't trade it for the world," he replied back, just as softly. That made her feel warm and fuzzy on the inside and she snuggled back into him. Now this she could get used to.

"Do we need to leave any time soon?" she murmured after awhile.

"Not that I know of. Probably should leave Salem at some point. We've overstayed our welcome."

Amen to that. "Where are we going?"

"Any place you'd want. I've got no place I need to be."

"Sounds like it's vacation time. I don't think I've had one in a long time."

"Then that's something we need to correct, don't we?"

Zatanna couldn't help the smile that appeared on her face. She definitely liked the sound of that. Unfortunately, her smile lost some of its luster as she spied her phone. Even with the screen dark, it just reminded her of what she had been thinking earlier.

She needed to stop looking to the past. Looking into memories was great and all, but she was pretty certain she'd get lost in the wrong ones if she weren't careful. Already she was wistful for someone that unfortunately wasn't available. Right now, she had someone who was here, right now, right next to her. He wasn't going anywhere. He deserved her attention.

After all, you could only live in the present.


A rustle of feathers was the only sound made. Landing on the window sill, the crow dug its nails into the bricks. It gave enough purchase for it to keep its balance.

There was no cawing. Instead, it turned its head in a jerking fashion until the side of its face was parallel to the window. It could see into the room, where two people lay, one behind the other. They held very little interest.

It scanned the room with its eye until it found it. It stood in the corner of the room, radiating a dark aura only it could see. Its master wanted it to see things beyond the physical and had granted it this power.

The long object felt just like its master, marking it as hers. The master would be happy to know the treasure that was found. It cawed in triumph before hopping around, its back to the window. It looked out over the parking lot before it opened its wings and took to the air.


This ends it for Toll of Sorcery. Thanks to everyone that read and reviewed the story, I really appreciate it.

Moving forward, Anonymous Void is about to bogart our updating schedule. Currently posting on Mondays and Thursdays is Catalystic Epoch, the first foray into the Flash in our little universe. Starting next Tuesday and being posted on Tuesdays and Fridays will be the next installment of our series, Sins of Regret. Both will be posted by on AV's account.

As for me, I had a hankering for a return to Gravity Falls, so I'll be posting another Gravity Falls story. It's called The Society of the One Eye for anyone that's interested. I haven't decided when I'll begin posting, but it probably won't be for another week or so.

Again, thanks to everyone that read, reviewed, and enjoy this story. I've got another Zatanna story in mind that needs more fleshing out, but there's been some setup in this story as to who the big bad will be—hint, hint to anyone interested.

Until next time,

ShadowMajin