Second Chances Part 13
Disclaimers in Part 1.
The rest of that day Constantine spent in the company of the young angel, suddenly having found many citywide supernatural situations that he needed to show Chaz immediately and get his opinion on.
That successfully wasted most of the day. Thus Constantine was able to stave off any self-reflection until that evening, back in his apartment.
But there wasn’t any overlooking the rumpled sheets, or his trousers from yesterday. Those had been nicely hung up over the back of a chair. The halfbreed had shown an appreciation of John's Italian suit, at least.
The halfbreed had shown his appreciation quite well.
John spent the rest of the evening making himself even crazier than usual, helped along by Jack Daniels.
What the fuck had he been thinking? Oh, it was all too clear what you were thinking, said Jack Daniels. Constantine turned the bottle around so the label faced away from him.
Ah, who cares, it was just a fuck. That’s all it was. He did that on occasion, and with demon halfbreeds too. Well, with one demon halfbreed, Ellie, until she’d showed up at the Ravenscar hospital that night of Mammon's downfall and gotten herself killed with the rest of them. Thus starting a decline in his already-marginal sex life, which last night had seen its only action since Ravenscar. Not that he’d seen that much action before, either, Ellie or no...
Maybe from Sebastian’s perspective, it was a pity fuck. Constantine was the one who’d been injured and crying in his sleep.
John winced. Shit. Pity fuck. He’d never hear the end of it from the halfbreed.
But maybe it hadn’t been a pity fuck. Sebastian had been eyeing John from the beginning. And he'd been eyeing the halfbreed back. They did get on, in a strange way, one outcast to another.
The demon had always been too goddam enticing anyway, in suit-and-tie or jeans and denim shirt. Couldn’t blame John for taking, if the halfbreed was willing to offer.
Of course there was no way it could continue. Sebastian - Balthazar -- was a much stronger entity than Ellie had ever dreamed of being, and he was much more aligned with Hell’s ruling powers, rather than being an erratic freelancer, as Ellie had been. It would be stupidity of the highest order for an occultist to pursue a relationship with one of the higher-ranking demons.
Pursue a relationship? Jack Daniels asked. Shit, listen to you. ‘Pursue a relationship.’ Why don’t you just keep fucking him and leave it at that? Hell, you know plenty of binding and compulsion spells, you could keep him neutralized for the time it would take you to --
“Shut up, Jack,” said Constantine, and went to bed.
He lay awake half the night waiting to hear a knock on his door. Not that he’d never admit it to anyone, even himself. Insomnia from too much whiskey. That was it.
***
A week without any contact from Sebastian.
But then, Constantine hadn’t initiated contact either.
He forced himself to stay busy during the days, evenings too when possible. And when it wasn’t possible, he worked on a bottle of Jack Daniels.
Looks like he’d stopped smoking just in time to develop a major drinking habit. First his lungs, now his liver.
After a week - six days, five nights, not that he was counting - Constantine decided he’d go to Midnite’s. He hadn’t been there in a few weeks. It was about his regular cycle time.
Constantine walked into the club with his nerves keyed up, not sure what he’d do when he came across Sebastian. Act as if nothing had happened? Insult him, as he usually did? Behave decently for a change?
He didn’t see the halfbreed before taking his place at his corner table.
He spent a jumpy half-hour, even made an investigatory tour to the toilet, before he admitted to himself: Sebastian wasn’t there. The halfbreed wasn’t at the club this night.
Shit. Had the halfbreed lost his job? Sebastian had said he had to talk to Midnite about skipping his work shift. Or was this his night off?
Or - what if he were gone? Left? Remembered his Balthazar identity - if he hadn’t remembered it already, and hadn’t been playing John like a gullible fish - what if he had remembered his identity and chose to return to Hell, or to the Westside luxury of BZR Securities and his old penthouse suite, back in the game as John’s opponent of old….
There was nobody to ask, and even if there had been, John wouldn’t have asked.
He sat at his back corner table, and fiddled with his drink, and brooded.
It was past eleven, with the club near capacity, when there was a commotion near the front door.
Patrons began crowding around, trying to see, blocking others’ views in the process. John stood up, trying to get a sense of what was happening.
The crowd surged back like a wave, opening a space towards the front of the room, while John was pressed again the back wall.
Sebastian appeared.
Even from this distance, John could tell: the halfbreed was angry, angrier than John had ever seen him. Balthazar never got truly angry. Pissy, yes, sarcastic and flippant. But Balthazar never allowed anyone to make him truly angry. He never permitted anyone the satisfaction.
Until now.
Sebastian stepped over to a large table, put his fingers against the edge, and snapped his hand up as if he were shaking out a napkin. The six-foot table flew into the air, crashing down on shrieking patrons, glassware shattering.
Over on the opposite corner of the room, John saw Papa Midnite push through the crowd and stand with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, watching but not interfering.
Sebastian said into the ensuing quiet, “I want to know who killed Miguel Allarde.”
Shit. Miguel. Constantine closed his eyes. Some demon finally got the better of the old man. It was no consolation to think that the old fart was probably having a wonderful time up there in Heaven, talking the wings off every angel in his vicinity.
Sebastian said to the crowd, “You killed him to get at me. So here I am. Let’s finish this. Right now.”
By unspoken agreement, the crowd moved, people stepping out of the way, revealing a group of a half-dozen demons standing together. The tallest one bared his teeth at Sebastian.
Sebastian took a step forward -
Midnite spoke: “Outside.”
The tall demon extended an arm to invite Sebastian to proceed them. Sebastian gave a tight smile and stalked deliberately, cat-light on his feet, out of the room and out of John’s view.
The crowd broke into a roar of noise and movement. Constantine pushed forward; if those demons had murdered Miguel Allarde, they were subject to deportation, and damned if he was going to let Sebastian have all the fun. Besides, taking on a pack of demons was no minor feat, even for Balthazar at his full strength - Sebastian might need help -
Someone lurched against his back, knocking John into a demon halfbreed, who snarled and shoved back. The immediate vicinity broke into a fight, demons and unaligneds and angels alike scuffling, no one sure who had started what.
Then Midnite’s goon squad was there, restraining the most out-of-control patrons, breaking up the opponents. John raised his hands in a signal of his good intentions and made his way towards the exit as quickly as possible.
He burst out of the club and up the stairs to the street.
The street was empty.
He spun right and then left. There was no sign of Sebastian or the other demons.
John suddenly had a bad feeling about this - a very bad feeling.
But he’d never been precognitive, not to any degree.
It was probably nothing.
The rest of that day Constantine spent in the company of the young angel, suddenly having found many citywide supernatural situations that he needed to show Chaz immediately and get his opinion on.
That successfully wasted most of the day. Thus Constantine was able to stave off any self-reflection until that evening, back in his apartment.
But there wasn’t any overlooking the rumpled sheets, or his trousers from yesterday. Those had been nicely hung up over the back of a chair. The halfbreed had shown an appreciation of John's Italian suit, at least.
The halfbreed had shown his appreciation quite well.
John spent the rest of the evening making himself even crazier than usual, helped along by Jack Daniels.
What the fuck had he been thinking? Oh, it was all too clear what you were thinking, said Jack Daniels. Constantine turned the bottle around so the label faced away from him.
Ah, who cares, it was just a fuck. That’s all it was. He did that on occasion, and with demon halfbreeds too. Well, with one demon halfbreed, Ellie, until she’d showed up at the Ravenscar hospital that night of Mammon's downfall and gotten herself killed with the rest of them. Thus starting a decline in his already-marginal sex life, which last night had seen its only action since Ravenscar. Not that he’d seen that much action before, either, Ellie or no...
Maybe from Sebastian’s perspective, it was a pity fuck. Constantine was the one who’d been injured and crying in his sleep.
John winced. Shit. Pity fuck. He’d never hear the end of it from the halfbreed.
But maybe it hadn’t been a pity fuck. Sebastian had been eyeing John from the beginning. And he'd been eyeing the halfbreed back. They did get on, in a strange way, one outcast to another.
The demon had always been too goddam enticing anyway, in suit-and-tie or jeans and denim shirt. Couldn’t blame John for taking, if the halfbreed was willing to offer.
Of course there was no way it could continue. Sebastian - Balthazar -- was a much stronger entity than Ellie had ever dreamed of being, and he was much more aligned with Hell’s ruling powers, rather than being an erratic freelancer, as Ellie had been. It would be stupidity of the highest order for an occultist to pursue a relationship with one of the higher-ranking demons.
Pursue a relationship? Jack Daniels asked. Shit, listen to you. ‘Pursue a relationship.’ Why don’t you just keep fucking him and leave it at that? Hell, you know plenty of binding and compulsion spells, you could keep him neutralized for the time it would take you to --
“Shut up, Jack,” said Constantine, and went to bed.
He lay awake half the night waiting to hear a knock on his door. Not that he’d never admit it to anyone, even himself. Insomnia from too much whiskey. That was it.
***
A week without any contact from Sebastian.
But then, Constantine hadn’t initiated contact either.
He forced himself to stay busy during the days, evenings too when possible. And when it wasn’t possible, he worked on a bottle of Jack Daniels.
Looks like he’d stopped smoking just in time to develop a major drinking habit. First his lungs, now his liver.
After a week - six days, five nights, not that he was counting - Constantine decided he’d go to Midnite’s. He hadn’t been there in a few weeks. It was about his regular cycle time.
Constantine walked into the club with his nerves keyed up, not sure what he’d do when he came across Sebastian. Act as if nothing had happened? Insult him, as he usually did? Behave decently for a change?
He didn’t see the halfbreed before taking his place at his corner table.
He spent a jumpy half-hour, even made an investigatory tour to the toilet, before he admitted to himself: Sebastian wasn’t there. The halfbreed wasn’t at the club this night.
Shit. Had the halfbreed lost his job? Sebastian had said he had to talk to Midnite about skipping his work shift. Or was this his night off?
Or - what if he were gone? Left? Remembered his Balthazar identity - if he hadn’t remembered it already, and hadn’t been playing John like a gullible fish - what if he had remembered his identity and chose to return to Hell, or to the Westside luxury of BZR Securities and his old penthouse suite, back in the game as John’s opponent of old….
There was nobody to ask, and even if there had been, John wouldn’t have asked.
He sat at his back corner table, and fiddled with his drink, and brooded.
It was past eleven, with the club near capacity, when there was a commotion near the front door.
Patrons began crowding around, trying to see, blocking others’ views in the process. John stood up, trying to get a sense of what was happening.
The crowd surged back like a wave, opening a space towards the front of the room, while John was pressed again the back wall.
Sebastian appeared.
Even from this distance, John could tell: the halfbreed was angry, angrier than John had ever seen him. Balthazar never got truly angry. Pissy, yes, sarcastic and flippant. But Balthazar never allowed anyone to make him truly angry. He never permitted anyone the satisfaction.
Until now.
Sebastian stepped over to a large table, put his fingers against the edge, and snapped his hand up as if he were shaking out a napkin. The six-foot table flew into the air, crashing down on shrieking patrons, glassware shattering.
Over on the opposite corner of the room, John saw Papa Midnite push through the crowd and stand with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, watching but not interfering.
Sebastian said into the ensuing quiet, “I want to know who killed Miguel Allarde.”
Shit. Miguel. Constantine closed his eyes. Some demon finally got the better of the old man. It was no consolation to think that the old fart was probably having a wonderful time up there in Heaven, talking the wings off every angel in his vicinity.
Sebastian said to the crowd, “You killed him to get at me. So here I am. Let’s finish this. Right now.”
By unspoken agreement, the crowd moved, people stepping out of the way, revealing a group of a half-dozen demons standing together. The tallest one bared his teeth at Sebastian.
Sebastian took a step forward -
Midnite spoke: “Outside.”
The tall demon extended an arm to invite Sebastian to proceed them. Sebastian gave a tight smile and stalked deliberately, cat-light on his feet, out of the room and out of John’s view.
The crowd broke into a roar of noise and movement. Constantine pushed forward; if those demons had murdered Miguel Allarde, they were subject to deportation, and damned if he was going to let Sebastian have all the fun. Besides, taking on a pack of demons was no minor feat, even for Balthazar at his full strength - Sebastian might need help -
Someone lurched against his back, knocking John into a demon halfbreed, who snarled and shoved back. The immediate vicinity broke into a fight, demons and unaligneds and angels alike scuffling, no one sure who had started what.
Then Midnite’s goon squad was there, restraining the most out-of-control patrons, breaking up the opponents. John raised his hands in a signal of his good intentions and made his way towards the exit as quickly as possible.
He burst out of the club and up the stairs to the street.
The street was empty.
He spun right and then left. There was no sign of Sebastian or the other demons.
John suddenly had a bad feeling about this - a very bad feeling.
But he’d never been precognitive, not to any degree.
It was probably nothing.