Who: Zatanna & John Constantine What: Kicking demons out of the local churchgoers and their church When: Friday evening, August 26th Where: The Episcopal Church, Santa Ana Warnings: Medium? Demonology, magic, cursing, religious topics. Status: Complete
The Episcopal was a pretty church, the red bricks were a nice touch, Constantine thought as he made his way down the sidewalk nearing the building, flicking away his cigarette before going near God’s house. Not that God and he had a misunderstanding about where he would and wouldn’t be smoking.
He hadn’t need to grab much--the church itself would probably have more artifacts at it’s disposal than he’d need to bring, assuming it hadn’t been swallowed up by it’s rather negative presence at the moment. Just to be safe, he’d stored a few small things he’d come to acquire in the pockets of his coat. He would have tried to get something for Zatanna, had he not assumed she wouldn’t go with the idea, being as she was determined to stick alongside him where it was nice as deadly, despite his attempts to dissuade both kindly and rudely.
John didn’t want to be a dick. Despite popular belief, it wasn’t what he wanted, ever, but the more his dreams cycled in, the more of his friends, acquaintances, lovers etc that died in line while in his presence was more than he could count on two hands. While the OC was not that lifetime, it wasn’t really something he wanted to try and test, much less live through again. But since this was a favor and she had insisted she go..he would deal with things as they came. For now.
He met her at the entrance to the church, frowning as the familiar chill of unease set over his shoulders. The place practically stank of demonic presence, dark sulfur emanating from it’s crevices. “You manage to get everyone out, love?”
They didn’t want to have to worry about playing hero to any martyrs or would be sacrifices.
A church was meant to feel like safety, to be scented of incense and piety. But adding the stench of rotten eggs tenfold, that unpleasant aroma of sulfur, was tickling Zatanna’s nose and creeping beneath her skin - the aura of the currently possessed place did too, a black sort of energy that was clearly malevolent. She wasn’t particularly faithful, believing in God and the Devil and souls because she’d seen it all, because the proof was there and it boiled up - but the finer details of worship sort of got lost for her; however, she knew the existence of demons and the suffering that came with them. Which was why she wanted to help these people who worshipped here.
They were standing by the protection sigils that Zee had drawn with chalk on the ground, her best efforts to prevent evil from crossing, coming or going, before John got here. “I did,” she promised, and curled her fingers around his coat collar to draw herself closer and kiss him. He tasted like sweet tobacco and old-fashioned Silk Cuts, the usual Constantine flavor. Of course she’d be here with him - she was fearless, her of rabbits and doves and divination.
Well. Maybe that wasn’t entirely true. For one thing, she was afraid he’d leave and claim it was for her own safety, even if Zatanna had been the one to leave him in their dreams (a good percentage of the time she did the dumping and she didn’t want a repeat of the roller coaster). “Just took the right command, and they cleared out. So now I’ll follow you.”
He was glancing over the sigils she’d drawn with interest, a smirk pulling to his face before she’d kissed him. He returned it, albeit tentatively, as his hand caressed the small of her back. Which was more than he needed to be giving into at the moment but she made it so difficult to argue and now was not the time. John nodded off towards the entrance. “Let's see if anyone else is home.”
There were a number of ways he could summon forth the cause of the church's problems. But as usual, Constantine resorted to magic last, and investigation first. Opening the door he stepped over the threshold, locking it behind them once she’d stepped inside. The entrance to the mass hall was dimly lit with candles as one would expect, but the corners of the room had begun to collect dark ash, not left from a lazy janitor. Running his hand over one of the pews as he meandered through he felt a few claw marks, some along the wall.
Obviously there was someone or many somethings hiding in the shadows. John couldn't tell if it were one powerful entity or many by the mix of energy.
“I'm addressing the entity inside here,” or entities, John called out to the stained glass room toward the podium. “Make yourself known.” Things were always easier with names. Not that demons would hand out a business card.
There really was no telling which demon this was - not without playing a little game of ‘getting to know you.’ Zatanna stepped into the church after John, keeping his trench coat in her sights as they observed what markings had already been left behind. Ash and soot, scratches deeply embedded in wood, Bibles haphazardly placed - like they’d been lifted and then tossed, in some act of defiance over prayer.
“Three scratches,” she noted, checking out a particular trio on the wall. It was pretty though, the stained glass painting beauty throughout the room. A stark contrast to the black aura of the place, the way it felt chilly and wrong.
She was a magician, she would call upon her tricks - but carefully, knowing this was more Constantine’s wheelhouse than her own. Her eyes closed and magic ebbed and flowed into the air, it writhed, it was a pulse which beat steadily. With it, she sensed darkness and where those unwelcome energies were waiting in the wings, hiding in shadows - and she tugged, just a little. To help force them out.
Whatever it was didn’t seem to like that, though. But Zee didn’t particularly care.
A deep, guttural growl echoed down the walls of the building, making the pews and candles shutter. Three scratches, mocking of the holy trinity. No question in a demonic presence as opposed to spiritual.
From the corner of the roomed emerged the would be priest, dark circles beneath his eyes, the iris white and cloudy. Not that the possessed needed those to see. It wasn't a shock to see what should have been the most divine of followers taken. But Constantine didn't expect the other two figures to follow in, hollow eyed civilians--or what used to have been. A small boy, a middle aged woman, both carrying the same snarl as the priest.
“That's quite a lot you've got there, father.” John professed as if intrigued but rather by the gang itself rather than a single demon. One could only presume since they hadn’t vacated the premises at Zatanna’s command that they were there of a different mind than talking with the almighty.
Stepping further back to keep the distance between them, John leaned closed to Zatanna, eyeing the possessed as the crept along the podium warily. “Are we married to the idea of keeping this building intact?” He couldn’t very well burn them out of their misery. They used the living flesh of the humans they’d taken host as a shield. That would have been too easy. But to send them all back to hell together would require work that didn’t leave the option of keeping things very clean at all.
The fact that these clearly possessed humans remained in the church and didn’t immediately respond to her spoken commands, to the spells she spun - yes, that was yet another hint about what they were facing. And that was something that John usually dealt with, not Zee - and while she was capable, if she studied and focused, it did not come as easy to her. Zatanna’s magic was blood, salt, bone, ancient and forbidden sorceries. His was tricking entities who thought they were above being tricked, and flying far past probability lines.
Oh, and sending demons back to Hell. Demons, they had powerful magic of their own - and maybe Zee’s specialty wasn’t fire and brimstone, but she could protect him. She could protect the human bodies of the ones taken.
If it meant that the church was something of a casualty, then so be it. “Not particularly,” she murmured huskily, fingers curling into fists by her sides. “We just need to save them. They matter, the building really doesn’t.” As historical and important as it was.
“Right. Probably best to keep them in one piece. Could you help me round them together, love? I need to lay..a trap.” John wasn’t above letting the people die so that others could be saved--if it needed to be done, then it needed to be done, it didn’t mean he wanted to.
Getting one demon to hold still was already something of a problem. A group who undoubtedly were strong enough to hold a church would likely laugh at the words he spit at them from across the room. But if there wasn’t a bother on being kind to the building then Constantine could make an impressive mess while he sent them all to the sodding hell where they belonged.
Even less likely that they were to remain still as the former humans, frothing at the mouth hissed and sputtered to the walls, like bloody cockroaches while the padre lept to the pews about them, hurling what were once holy items about the room with the dark energy he harnessed. John hissed, snatching Zee to duck behind the few bit of pews that were still intact, muttering curses under his breath. “They know we can’t hurt those bodies. Don’t let them touch you, and don’t listen to anything they say.”
He should have put a bloody protection spell on her a long time ago. She was more than capable of handling herself but since there was possession flying about the room that was about the last thing he needed.
It was like a scene from The Exorcist come to life - objects telekinetically moving, possessed people skittering on the walls and down stairs; that was all pretty commonplace when their bodies were used as unwilling vessels to dangerous creatures from the pits of Hell. But no less creepy. Zee crouched carefully behind the pew, because the tornado of holy relics tossed like confetti looked heavy - books, candlesticks, things to dent a skull. They were displeased, these demons.
“I’ll herd them,” she promised, before uttering tsud for the effect of turning the projectiles into something harmless. They disintegrated, the sounds of sand raining onto the stone cold floor. “You lay your trap - and this will be over before we know it.”
Then she rose, vivid blue eyes darting to each of the bodies that demons were using as meatsacks, in all different corners - puppet strings, it would have to be that. The effects of her magic were largely dependent on the words she chose, and let’s just say she had to choose carefully. Zatanna ignored the more demonic aspects of them - she focused on their very human flesh and blood, their muscles, their limbs.
“Drawot em,” she commanded of them.
Strings stretched between them, trails of gossamer in the dim light of the church. They shrieked and they hissed, but their bodies were human and they had no choice about their muscles responding. “Drawot em,” louder this time, again, as she felt the uncomfortable energy closing in around her; it was very prickly, and that was putting it mildly. She would not let them touch her. Not under any circumstances, even as they drew closer with their snarling and growling.
Before they knew it eh? Well, John trusted Zatanna to keep the snarling beasts away from either of them as he pushed off of the floor and down the ascending pews toward the podium, away from the writhing demons in the magical twinings of her trap. He shouldered aside what remained of the pathway to the stained glass, leading up to the stage, kicking away idle fragments of books (sorry Jesus) and clearing the floor so that he could draw a containment sigil of his own design.
His warm mana lit up the floor where Constantine wrote, scraping the chalk marks as fast as he could, keeping an eye on the demons hold over the people as well as their magic bindings.
Standing back to his full height, John pulled a flask from his coat to douse along the circle of the floor, double checking his marks for accuracy. When the circle was lined from the fluid in the flask--holy oil from Jerusalem, he fished out the bronze lighter from his pocket, stepping back away from the circle. “Alright Zatanna, in they go, if you would love.”
She’d herded them, forcing them into one spot from where they’d scattered into separate corners. One, the padre, even tried to leap away, growling words involving terrible things regarding our Lord and Savior - he got a few personal digs in too (such a shame to be doing all this for someone who will never love you) and ultimately, he seemed to be the strongest, whereas the woman and the little boy? Their vessels didn’t allow for such shows of rebelliousness. Perhaps the priest was the ringleader, the one who would have possessed a whole army if he could have - the connection between the body and the demon within was strong, but the demon had to be careful too. A harsh break would mean that its lifeline to the world of the living would be severed for good.
Of course, that’s precisely what they were going for.
“Pots,” she glared at him just as he had at her - telekinesis wasn’t something she called upon often but, hands extended and her eyes glowing and teetering on the edge of a violet shade, she gently (well, as gently as possible) sent the priest into the center of the circle with a wave of energy that pushed him there.
For the others, it took a tug on the puppet strings, a flex of mental muscle - the woman and the little boy, flailing limbs and nails that dug in, dragged along to the circle and leaving scratches with their nails on the floor.
The ringleader was a rightly annoying bastard. Though John expected nothing less, there usually was one, and by what he’d already inferred from the group it was obvious that the demons had tried to make a nest. The sods weren’t powerful names in their own right, no Furcifer or Pazuzu, but the more they nested the stronger they became, drawing on the energy of the building and the poor souls who’d come inside.
Thankfully Zee was wise enough not to listen to their petty nonsense--they reached for anything really, nasty words on those you’d loved or lost, his mum and his brother, etc and so on. “You’ll have to be more creative. I’m afraid I’ve heard all that before,” John flicked his lighter on and let it fall into the oil, which caught ablaze faster than the demons could make new insults, hissing amongst themselves like a corner of packed rats within the blazing seal they stood above. They even tried to embody the personas of those they had possessed, letting the rot and darkness fade from their eyes, stealing the voices of the little boy who was now doe-eyed and shaking, confused as to why he was where he was, the woman crying out in fear and the ‘priest’ asking John what he was doing. Something about condemning innocent souls to hell or some such nonsense.
“Don’t worry father, this only works on demons.” Raising his hands, palms outright, Constantine felt the familiar tug into his magic, time slowing down and a pressure in the back of his ears that polluted his hearing, like being held under water. “Per júdicem vivórum et mortuórum! Sed enim mundi Creator!”
The fire rose as did their cries, sucking the black matter of the demons from the bodies of their hosts like a vacuum, flames licking the air and swirling the mass of demonic entity towards a portal to hell, where they belonged. “Qui habet potestatem mittere in infernum! Ut abire ex regno protinus!. “ In a flash of light it dissipated, fire and all, the weight in the air lifted and the bodies of those inhabited, free.
Zee could tell the demonic entities were struggling to hang on, to keep that connection to the living world because they were hungry for freedom and had gotten too caught up in trying to take it for themselves - they were trying to crawl toward it but failing. The threads were cut and the fire dissipated, the smell of something burning still stinging the air over the coolness of the stone floors and on the walls. She took a breath, blinking to clear the spots dancing in front of her eyes thanks to the brightness of the flames.
The sounds of the anguish that had been nothing but a trick before, from the boy especially, still haunted her a little - it wasn’t truly them, but it was still harrowing to have to hear. She stepped closer toward the people on their hands and knees, confused and disoriented no doubt. The boy was crying, only this time it was really him.
“It’s alright,” she soothed, kneeling to tend to them. “They’re gone now.” Then she glanced up at John, to make sure he was fine. “You’re okay too, bunny?”
Bending over to collect his lighter, John surveyed the confused hosts as they came to, holding more sympathy for the child than the others, giving Zee a small nod. “Fit as a fiddle, love.” He offered a hand to help the woman up, and then the priest, regarding him carefully, as it shouldn't have been so easy for a demon to take a man of such high faith. Not that it was impossible. But demons usually had more of a knack for killing priests than keeping them hosts.
“I trust you didn't mean for your house to get so dirty, mate.” It was sort of his business if people were giving into demons and opening portals onto their plane. “You should probably think about getting this place cleansed. Properly.”
Holding the man's gaze for a second Constantine turned his attention back to Zatanna and the boy, letting his hands fall to his coat pockets as he knelt beside them. “The OID might want to look into that man. Interview the other church goers, those demons didn't get in here by themselves.” But the little boy was still teary eyed and he needn't get into detail in front of him. John offered a small smile. “What do we do about our friend here?”
“Interview the priest, you mean?” It was asked quietly as Zee looked back at him, assessing briefly, a squint of her eyes - and at first glance he appeared normal, so it would seem. But there was a strange tint of red in his aura. That could mean a number of things, but in this case, the dark muddy tinge to it indicated dishonesty. Something was amiss. “Alright,” she nodded, and she’d ask John for more detail later.
There was a silent agreement that taking care of the boy was first and foremost. “We’ll make sure he gets home okay,” she said, brushing her fingers over his hair as he sniffled back another round of tears - obviously he was trying to be strong, but he was very young. No doubt he was still scared because of what had happened to him. “I’m sure he’s had enough excitement for awhile.”
They all had, but there was still another investigation to do. Now that situation with the priest was going to bother her.
He nodded when she asked about the priest, sure to fill her in more when their little lad was taken care of. As far as the priest was concerned, they could handle him later, and the woman could surely find her way home. Or to a hospital. The state of the church could have been worse but again--that wasn't his problem.
“You should all get some water in you,” Constantine spoke allowed so the others in the room could hear, pushing back into his feet and offering his hands to Zatanna and the boy. “You're probably all dehydrated.”
He'd leave the direction to Zee now, as his part to play was done. What her organization did now was not up to him.
Water, and treatment for injuries - both external and internal, thanks to having their bodies used as demonic punching bags. Zee turned toward the adults, the woman who seemed near tears herself and the highly suspect priest - she would ensure they got the medical care they needed, and the Mistress of Magic was more efficient than any ambulance.
“Ot eht latipsoh,” she spoke at them, a jumble of alphabet soup to their ears no doubt - but they’d feel a tug behind their navel, and then off they went. When they woke up, they wouldn’t even remember how they’d gotten there in the first place.
She placed her hands on the boy’s shoulders. He’d receive transportation of the normal variety - Zatanna wasn’t what one might call maternal, at least she didn’t think so, but she had a soft spot for the young ones anyway. It was just that she didn’t think she wanted children of her own. “Will you meet me back at my place?” she asked John, trusting that he’d find his way in alright. Raven likely wasn’t home for him to scare the girl, which was a good thing.
“Sure thing, love. I'll see you there.” If she'd have proclaimed aloud that she wasn't maternal John didn't know if he could agree. She just had too much passion for taking care of others, children especially--though even he couldn't rightfully be a complete ass to a child either. Even if he had awful luck with them.
This one didn't look as though he'd give her any trouble. He was a quiet little thing and still in shock. Poor little sod.
He fetched the Silk Cuts from his back pockets, pulling one from the box, patting the boy’s head gently before backing away towards the door, nodding at Zee. “You'll be alright lad, you're in good hands now.” Confident she could handle the boy, John made his way out of the church and headed for her home. There was no cousin of hers to frighten with the presence of an odd stranger letting himself in to wait for Zatanna.
John didn’t have to wait for long. After seeing that the formerly possessed boy got his doorstep safely, she appeared - literally - in her living room. Sure, she had an actual car, but it was so much more efficient to move from where it was parked in the garage to inside the house in the blink of an eye.
She slipped out of her faux leather jacket, seemingly unnecessary in the summer heat but recent events seemed to inject a chill within her bones, and now in her fitted tank top and matching faux leggings that fit like a second skin and were tucked into tall boots, went to find her scouser company - even if John wasn’t in her line of vision she could always smell him. Smoke and embers, wood and whiskey.
“What dirtiness do you think the padre is into, then?” she asked, stopping by the bar to pour glasses of plum brandy from the crystal decanter.
Much as he had the curiosity to browse her place John stuck to the sitting room. He did take off his coat and roll the ends of his sleeves up because it had been a long day, and he was knackered.
Taking a deep breath John applied pressure to his temple as he thought on their padre problem, rubbing his head. “Could be a manner of things really, but a demon couldn't make it’s way that deeply inside him if he were doing what he was supposed to.” Whatever the bloody hell priests were held accountable for these days. “Everyone is prone to their bouts of depression or a weak mind. But a father of the church should be equipped for that. He shouldn't be that weak, he let that demon in. Maybe he didn't know what it really was going to do, but he let it take him.”
It wasn't John’s job to try and find out why people did what they did, that was beside the point, anyone could be chided with pour offers. Sometimes you did stupid things and were open to alternate offers to an otherwise shitty life. He'd been there.
“And everyone has their price, I suppose,” Zatanna said, knocking back the brandy - it tasted like plum essence, baking spice, vanilla, and turpentine. It was bitter and she needed that right now. “He made a deal with a demon and, surprise, it wasn’t what he anticipated. But you’d think a priest would know better...”
Which meant that he was likely desperate. People did idiotic things when they were desperate - Zee knew that well.
Slinking on over to where John was, she offered the second drink she’d poured. And poured herself onto his lap, hugging him with her knees. “The OID will find out what exactly the guy’s problem is - “ Yes, the OID that was just her and Lina, currently, and she wished John would officially join up. But he preferred teaching, Zee couldn’t fault him for that. “Thank you though. For helping.”
“Everyone has their price,” he agreed, letting his hand fall to rest on the arm of the couch, glancing up at her. Most people made the mistake of putting their religious beliefs, and their leaders, atop a pedestal, forgetting they were all humans at the base of everything. Same thoughts, emotions, desires, and struggles as the rest, just in a different package. John didn’t blame them, they didn’t know any better.
But it was no excuse for a young boy and innocent woman looking to be positive members of the community to loose themselves to what they thought was the path of God, the one who was supposed to help them.
And where was God? Letting John fix the mess for him, and others, like Zatanna. Because he could.
Constantine took the drink thankfully, murdering it back and down his throat quickly before he could think much more on it and get cranky. As opposed to his normal mood which was somewhat suppressed while being hugged betwixt her knees. “Anytime, Zee.” He patted her hip with his free hand, fingertips tracing patterns over the fabric of her clothing. John knew she wanted him to join and that he could be of more help if he did, but he couldn’t give up teaching for a number of reasons, more than just for himself. “And if they--you find he’s more trouble than he seems, I’ll step in again. As much as you need.”
When he touched her, it felt like those fingertips were painting fire on Zatanna’s skin. Her clothing was on the thin side anyway - and she needed the touch as much as she needed the drink, probably even more. “I’ll let you know,” she promised with a dusky chuckle.
Then kissed him again, and it felt like the air just left the room. Utterly magnetic, and chipping away at the unsettling chill and dark energy residuals she'd taken from that episode in the church. All of that melted, bits and pieces and chunks until everything was sliding away into the deep. It didn’t matter right now.
"Stay with me?" she asked hopefully. Zee was tired too, and even if she passed out three minutes later she wanted to know that John would still be there.
John sank into the pacifying energy of the room, and her lips. The stress of expelling the energy on the large spell and just the general roll of his work week mixed with his night time job dissipated into the air. How was he supposed to tell her no, even if he wanted to leave? How was he rightfully supposed to be cautious on the airs of his memories that showed nothing but darkness in the way of those he felt so deeply about when she made it not seem to matter so much?
It wasn’t bloody fair at all.
“So long as your niece doesn’t mind,” he smirked, arms drawing tighter around her as if there were any more space preventing them closer, cupping her face to steal another kiss, ignoring the nagging of logic or ‘what ifs’ at the back of his head.
“She’ll have to get used to it,” Zatanna smiled into that kiss - there wasn’t any way John could steal them, when she gladly gave those displays of affection so freely to him. “I sort of like having you around.”
Shifting a little on his lap, she mostly settled on the side of him, arm slung across his chest as she tucked her head beneath his chin and just let out a long sigh. She wasn’t worried, not about this and how right or wrong it was or wasn’t. Perhaps she should have been but their whole lives here were meant to be a twist on former beliefs that were cemented and ingrained within them. Fate was something that allowed for variations - and that was something she found comfort in.
So she knew, ultimately, it would be fine. It had to be.