So you got your soul back...what now?
Constantine looked at the titles of the dusty old tomes in the church, not sure what he was looking for. Endless rows of books he had to search through. It would take the rest of his life.
As he rounded to the other side of the bookshelf, a commotion startled him and he just barely caught the girl before her head hit the floor.
He kneeled next to her, books forgotten as he tried to figure out what was wrong. Her deep red hair spread out like a blood-red sun around her pale face. He looked down and saw.
Etched in her arm in deep bloody scratches, was a single name.
Mammon.
She opened her eyes and screamed.
John Constantine jerked awake, sheathed in cold sweat. The girl screamed like a fucking banshee. Although, given the circumstances, he probably would too.
He rolled over and looked at his alarm clock. 6:25 a.m. Early morning. But it was never too early to the half-breeds.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, acknowledging he would never get back to sleep. This dream was just too similar to all the dreams he'd had in the last month. The same girl, a wierd connection with Mammon. He hoped the little fuck wasn't trying to break through again. He didn't want to deal with that again. Especially since Angela was gone, and she was the best psychic around in these parts. About a month ago, she'd been promoted and sent across the country to another police department. And so it was that John had bid goodbye to the woman he was coming to love.
Pulling on a white shirt and the black pants from the day before, he stuffed his wallet into his coat pocket, deciding to get a nice irish coffee from the coffee shop around the corner. Casting an eye at the runes on the doorway, he closed the door and headed down the hallway.
As he rounded to the other side of the bookshelf, a commotion startled him and he just barely caught the girl before her head hit the floor.
He kneeled next to her, books forgotten as he tried to figure out what was wrong. Her deep red hair spread out like a blood-red sun around her pale face. He looked down and saw.
Etched in her arm in deep bloody scratches, was a single name.
Mammon.
She opened her eyes and screamed.
John Constantine jerked awake, sheathed in cold sweat. The girl screamed like a fucking banshee. Although, given the circumstances, he probably would too.
He rolled over and looked at his alarm clock. 6:25 a.m. Early morning. But it was never too early to the half-breeds.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, acknowledging he would never get back to sleep. This dream was just too similar to all the dreams he'd had in the last month. The same girl, a wierd connection with Mammon. He hoped the little fuck wasn't trying to break through again. He didn't want to deal with that again. Especially since Angela was gone, and she was the best psychic around in these parts. About a month ago, she'd been promoted and sent across the country to another police department. And so it was that John had bid goodbye to the woman he was coming to love.
Pulling on a white shirt and the black pants from the day before, he stuffed his wallet into his coat pocket, deciding to get a nice irish coffee from the coffee shop around the corner. Casting an eye at the runes on the doorway, he closed the door and headed down the hallway.