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Issue Fourteen
"Bell, Book and Candle - Part 1" |
John Constantine woke to find a stranger in his hotel room.
“Arise, John Constantine, for a dark quest awaits us.”
“Well, it can ‘await’ till after I’ve had a cigarette and a cuppa,” Constantine replied, sitting up and running a hand through his unkempt blonde hair.
The Phantom Stranger frowned.
He was a dark figure in a navy-blue long coat, hat and white gloves. The brim of his hat cast a shadow across his eyes, that resembled a mask.
“There are dark forces at work in this city...,” The Stranger said.
“Well, big surprise. This is New York,” Constantine interrupted. “Be a mate and hand me my trousers.”
The Stranger’s sigh was like the dry breeze from a recently opened tomb, as he fetched the requested garment. Constantine put on his trousers, fished his socks out from under the bed, and lit a cigarette. After several puffs, England’s foremost occult investigator felt up to dealing with dire threats to the world.
“You must be desperate if you came looking for the likes of me,” he muttered.
“I believe a gathering of the four is needed to deal with the coming threat,” The Stranger intoned.
“All four of us?”
The Stranger nodded.
“Wonderful. The Trenchcoat Brigade strikes back.”
The scruffy Englishman and the Stranger entered the hotel’s restaurant, looking for the third member of their party.
Two things gave Constantine hope for this little crusade he was being dragged along on. Not only was their table in the smoking section but there was an attractive, young woman sitting at it.
Rose Psychic was the partner to famed detective Dr. Richard Occult. They, like Constantine, specialized in cases involving the supernatural. In the course of one of their early cases, involving the fate of the world, a spell had merged their souls into one. Which meant that only one of them could be present on the earthly plane at a time.
Constantine preferred the female half. Not only was Rose easy on the eyes, but she also tended to be less ‘doom and gloom’ serious when dealing with mystical matters.
Rose stood as the two approached the table.
“Hi, John. Good to see you again,” She gave him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek.
“What can I get you folks?” The waitress asked, once the three mystics were seated.
“I’ll have the french toast,” Rose said. “and a small orange juice.”
“Just water,” The Stranger said.
“Cup of tea and if I can get a couple of muffins,” Constantine muttered, stabbing out his cigarette.
“We have blueberry, apple and...”
“No, luv. When I say muffin, I don’t want one of those big hunks of dough covered with raisins. A proper muffin.”
“But, I...,” the waitress muttered.
“Don’t mind him,” Rose explained. “He’s English.”
“Oooh. I get it. Be right back with your drinks.”
“So, what are you lot up to?” Constantine asked. “Not exactly a place I’d expect to find either of you hanging bout.”
“We were pretty surprised to find you in New York too,” Rose replied. “In fact, I was about to fly over to London to look for you.”
“A mate of mine ran into some trouble, so I came over to help,” the Englishman replied, with forced casualness. “Once it was sorted out, I thought I’d earned a bit of a holiday.”
“That is not quite the story we heard,” The Phantom Stranger said, quietly.
‘Did you come to New York just to chat with me?” Constantine snapped, starting up a fresh cigarette. “Or is there a point to this little reunion?”
“Why?” Rose smirked. “You planning on catching the matinee of ‘Cats’?”
‘If we may dispense with the frivolity,” The Stranger intoned. “There is a grave task before us and much still to do.”
Constantine rolled his eyes and blew out out a wisp of smoke. Once the waitress had brought them their breakfasts it was down to business.
“You know of the Cult of the Curse?” The Stranger asked.
“Yeah, sad bunch of berks.”
“Not anymore,” Rose said. “They’ve gotten themselves a ... patron, I guess you’d call it, and have become very active and very vicious.”
“Vicious? Last I heard they got slapped around by that girl with the lightening bolt on her blouse.”
“As Rose has said,” The Stranger explained. “Their new patron has given them power and a purpose. The Cult is now active within this city and...”
“They threaten reality as we know it,” Constantine interrupted. “Save that speech for the tourists. Specifics. What are they up to and why couldn’t they wait till a decent hour of the day to do it?”
“I’d forgotten how much fun you are before noon,” Rose smirked. “We are not exactly sure what they are up to.”
“Then why are you...?”
“The Cult of the Curse is behind the recent attack on Rook’s.” The Stranger told him.
“Christ,” Constantine breathed.
Rook’s was a well known ( in the occult community) repository of numerous obscure, powerful and usually cursed books and artifacts. It was a sort of Barnes and Noble’s for the supernatural community, with better coffee.
“They must be desperate,” he continued. “Even the evil bastards respect Rook’s as neutral ground and’ll be out for the Cult’s blood for pulling this stunt. What’d they get?”
“It is unknown at this time,” The Stranger replied. “We do not know if the break-in was a robbery or merely vandalism. Some declaration of war on the supernatural community, perhaps.”
“Don’t play the vague game,” Rose scolded. “Tell him.”
“Tell him what?” Constantine muttered, glancing back and forth suspiciously at his table mates.
“We believe they took some of the scrolls of Satanis.”
“Christ, it’s never good news with you lot,” Constantine muttered. “Especially, because, if memory serves me, I was the one that said we ought to burn the bloody things last time.”
“We can asign the blame later,” Rose said. “For all we know, the scrolls burnt to ash during the break in.”
“Right, so what’s our next step?”
“We are only three,” The Phantom Stranger replied. “We need to contact E.”
“Then let’s go visit Mister Sunshine and get this damned thing over with,” Constantine said, stubbing out his cigarette then draining the last of his tea.” Every sodding time with you lot, it’s got to be the fate of the world.”
“But, I haven’t finished my french toast,” Rose grumbled, taking a last forkfull before following after the others.
A small tenement building in Greenwich Village...
The old man shuffled across the foyer, towards the front door.
“Coming, coming. You should move so fast when you’re my age,” He muttered, reaching for the doorknob.
“Greetings, Jacob ,” The Phantom Stranger murmured.
“Ah, it’s you. Thought it might be.”
‘He spoke of us coming?” The Stranger asked, as the trio filed into the building.
“Hasn’t spoken of anyone for awhile now.” The old man replied.
“He is here, isn’t he?” Rose asked.
“Yes, yes. Just not in a... sociable mood, you might say.”
“Might we?” Constantine muttered, lighting a cigarette. “Could you just point us towards the crazy bastard’s room.”
“Up the stairs, third on the right,” Jacob grunted, cocking a thumb in the direction. “Don’t bother knocking, just go in.”
He then shuffled off to his own first floor apartment.
“What is it a contest, to see who can be the vaguest?” Constantine muttered. “Just once, I want to deal with the supernatural community and get a yes or no answer.”
“Are you really grumpy?” Rose asked. “Yes. Is there any hope of you acting like a civilized person...?”
“Not bloody likely,” Constantine smirked back at her. “Where’d the Stranger get to?”
“Up here,” The Phantom stranger intoned, from the second floor landing. “Join me.”
“Did you see him walk off?” Rose asked.
“I hate when he does that.” Constantine replied.
The apartment door swung open at the Stranger’s touch, and the trio entered.
“I thought my flat looked ratty,” Constantine muttered, peering around.
The apartment was small with only a few pieces of furniture, all covered with drop clothes and a thick layer of dust.
“Is this the right room?” Rose asked.
The Stranger merely pointed to the floor, where the others could see the path of footprints. Next to the right footprint was a small circle. The mark left by the tip of a cane.
“Let’s get this over with,” Constantine said, following the path.
The other rooms were much the same, dust, drop clothes and a distinct lack of human habitation.
They found Mister E in the bedroom.
The bed was a bare mattress on a plain wooden frame. E was lying on the mattress, fully dressed, entirely in white from his shirt collar to his shoes. He still had on his white overcoat and even his cane was white.
The only traces of color to him were smokey lensed glasses and his jet black hair.
“Could this get any creepier?” Rose asked.
“Is it me or is he not breathing?” Constantine asked.
“E is in a healing trance. It would appear his last case did not go well,” The Stranger intoned.
Constantine strolled up to the unmoving form and leaned over.
“Bastard’s breathing,” He muttered, reaching over and shaking Mr. E gently by the shoulder. “Come on, sleeping beauty...”
“John, be careful,” Rose cautioned. “There are rituals that need to be observed in most healing spells...”
“Relax love, I have done this before.” John said, moving his hand towards E’s dark glasses. “It just takes a... urrrkkk...!”
A hand reached out and locked onto John’s wrist with an iron grip. E’s other hand clutched a sharply pointed wooden stake, which was now jabbing into the Englishman’s neck.
“Shitte!”
“Omigod!” Rose exclaimed.
“It’s me, you stupid berk!” Constaine hissed, as he felt the wood dig deeper into the flesh of his throat.
“E, stop this.” The Stranger did not raise his voice, yet something in his tone got through to the man in white. Mister E released his grip on John and as the Englishman stumbled back, he slowly sat up.
“Ah, it’s you.” He muttered, casually, as he returned the wooden stake to his overcoat pocket. “What do you want?”
“We are going to investigate the recent actions of the Cult of the Curse,” The Stranger said. “I believe we four will need to pool our resources.”
E nodded and stood up.
“They were responsible for the attack on Rook’s?” He asked, turning to face his visitors.
“Yes,” The Stranger replied. “We are still trying to discover weither it was merely an attack or if something has been taken.”
“Have any of you spoken to Rook himself yet?”
“He was knocked around pretty bad during the break in,” Constantine answered, rubbing at his neck. “He’s in the hospital. Be a day or so before he’s up to talking. I peeked in on him soon as I heard bout the fire.”
“What action do you suggest we take?”
“We should gather what information we can,” The Stranger advised. “Hopefully our varied sources and methods will point us onto the true path.
“Richard put out some feelers before we came to fetch John,” Rose said. “I can call the office and see if any of them have left messages.”
“I too, have informants I can consult,” The Stranger added.
“Fair enough,” Mister E nodded. “Let us go our own ways, then return here to compare notes.”
“What about me?” Constantine asked.
“I will require assistance,” E replied.
“What? You can’t tell me that...? Damnit he did it again!”
Both John and Rose glanced about the room, but could find no trace of the Phantom Stranger.
“Well then, I’ll leave you boys to it,” Rose replied, giving John’s arm a playful squeeze, then heading for the door. “I’m going to see if I can sweet talk Jacob into letting me use the phone. Be back soon.”
“Harlot,” Mister E muttered under his breath.
“You behave yourself,” Constantine snapped. “Now, what’s this clever scheme you need my help with?”
“I have an idea to gather information,” Mister E said, propping his cane against the bedside table and rummaging in the pockets of his overcoat. “I need you to fetch some items.”
The blind occult investigator took several pieces of chalk from his pocket and placed them on the table. Then he took out a rather large and much used knife and stabbed it into the wood.
“Uh-huh, I’ll just pop out and fetch you a black goat and a couple virgins, shall I?”
“There is a news stand on the corner,” Mister E replied, oblivious to the sarcasm. “I will require three periodicals and some bottled water.”
“Right, anything in particular? A nice copy of Barely legal? Or maybe...”
E’s frown was enough to motivate Constantine to keep any additional remarks to himself.
“Right. Back in a mo’.”
Several phone calls later, Rose returned.
Constantine was stretched out on the bed, smoking. The Phantom Stranger stood by the door, his hands in his coat pockets. Both were intently watching Mister E.
The blind occult investigator was kneeling on the floor sketching something out in chalk. There were several magazines scattered around him as well.
“What’s going on?” Rose asked, out of the corner of her mouth.
“Bibliomancy,” The Stranger replied. “E believes he can divine the truth about the assault on Rook’s using...
“I know what bibliomancy is,” Rose interrupted. “Using books to predict the future or as an oracle spell. It’s not all Richard”
“My apologizes. E believes he can discover what the assailants were after. John Constantine is skeptical.”
“Isn’t he always?”
“I am in the room,” The Englishman muttered.
“I require quiet,” E snapped.
“Proceed,” The Stranger said.
E’s circle was complete, and all around it were written various runes and mystical spells. The blind occultist then took the three magazines and let them fall open on the floor. They landed within the circle. E held his knife in one hand and with the other he made a gesture over them, the whole time muttering under his breath. E then slashed at the magazines with his knife. Rose flinched back silently at E’s intensity.
“Friggin drama queen,” Constantine said, rolling his eyes and taking a long drag on his cigarette.
“There,” Mister E announced, standing up and returning the knife to his coat pocket. He reached out and retrieved his cane, then tapped over to the bedside table and helped himself to the bottled water.
Rose and John both hurried over to see the results of E’s spell.
The circle was littered with what looked like confetti, only three strips of paper remained that were still readable and larger then a child’s fingernail.
“Bell stuffing, “Rose read as she scooped them up. “A ‘read to your kids’ ad and scented candles? Are you sure you did the spell right?”
“Bell,” The Stranger said, peering over her shoulder.
“Book and Candle,” Mister E finished.
“Shitte,” John muttered.
“As I feared,” The Stranger muttered, darkly.
“You guys are doing it again,” Rose muttered. “If Richard was here, you wouldn’t be playing the vague game.”
“If you feel your meager skills are not up to...” E began.
“Leave off it,” Constantine warned the white clad mystic. “Or you and I...!”
“Oh, enough!” Rose snapped. “God, you two are so full of testosterone it’s a wonder you don’t slosh when you walk.
“It’s not testosterone that E’s full of...” Constantine muttered.
“I’ll let you boys get on with it then,” Rose said, a faint light washing over her petite form. The glare brightened, till it was painful to look upon. Even Mister E glanced away. Once the light had faded, Rose Psychic had been replaced by Dr. Richard Occult. He was tall and slim, and dressed in various shades of brown. Tan trench coat, brown fedora, trousers the same color as a Hershey bar.
“So, the Unread Book, the Unrung Bell and the the Unlit Candle,” Occult said, quietly. He nodded in greeting to his three associates. “We have our work cut out for us, I see.”
“It can’t ever be easy,” Constantine muttered, stubbing out his cigarette on E’s bedside table. “Be a pleasent change to bump into you lot and not have it be the goddamn end of the bloody world as we friggin know it.”
“As, always, John Constantine,” Mister E said. “You feel the need to exaggerate every...”
“Don’t give me that Shite,” John interrupted. “You know well as I do that the Bell, the Book and the Candle are summoning relics. Powerful ones. Anybody who gets them isn’t doing it to consult poor, deceased Uncle Bertie to find out where the key to the hope chest is!”
“I agree with John,” Occult said. “If they require those three items, then most likely they seek to summon and control a most dangerous entity.”
The Englishman gave E a ‘so there’ sneer, then realizing it was wasted on the blind man, fished a fresh cigarette out of his coat pocket.
“So, what do you suggest we do?” Mister E asked.
“Beat them at their own game,” John smirked. “We find the relics first.”
Elsewhere....
Two figures occupied the massive, shadowy chamber. One kneeled in fearful obedience, the other paced, limping around the kneeling man.
“You have the scrolls?” The pacing man asked, quietly.
“Yes, my lord, and the fire should leave them no clues as to what was taken.”
“Excellent. Have my scribes been able to decipher them and find the relics locations?”
“Two, my lord. The candle still eludes us.”
The limping man paused, and nodded to himself thoughtfully. He was a tall man, handsome, board shouldered, with thick curly blonde hair that flowed down the back of his neck. When he stood still, his followers were reminded of Greecian statues. This image of beauty was obscured by the cold glint in his eyes and the cruel smile that played about his lips.
“I have heard whispers that the Englishman is in the city. Make well sure that Rook’s shop is watched. Anyone who follows our trail too closely must be either brought into our ranks or...”
“Or...?” The kneeling man whispered.
“Rendered so that they cannot share any information they may have stumbled upon.”
To Be Continued....