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“Wind’s in the east, mist comin’ in. Like somethin’ is brewin’, about to begin. Can't put me finger on what lies in store, but I feel what's to happen all happened before.”
~ Mary Poppins
Clark wasn’t sure if he liked Metropolis very much. It was noisy, it was fast-paced, there were so many people and vehicles, and there was no privacy for when he wanted to go for a real run. Yes, he had a scholarship for the best journalism course in the USA at Metropolis University, but he really missed Kansas, Smallville, Ma, everything. Even though the Smallville community had rallied around him to help pay for his initial trip to the East Coast, with all their bake sales and car washes and church rummage sales, right now, he just wanted to go home. The dorms were cramped when compared to a whole farm, the cafeteria had nothing on Ma or the local diner, and all the big city folks looked askance at him and his “hick accent”.
“I said put your hands up!”
Oh, and the muggings. Those weren’t the worst part, but certainly annoyances. He raised his hands slowly, wishing that this would hurry up so he could get to class. He was fairly sure he was bullet proof, after that one drunk turkey hunter, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to draw attention to it. Pa had wanted him to stay low until the right time, and this probably wasn’t the right time.
Clark complied with the mugger’s demands to hand over his wallet, slowly. It was a good thing that Mrs. Wilkerson had done so much internet research on his behalf, and printed off a textbook’s worth of notes on how to survive in the big city. On that list was to not keep much of value in his wallet. Otherwise, he would have been bankrupt by now. Mr. Wilkerson, retired Navy, had been more hands-on in his worry for Clark, and insisted on showing him how to duck and throw a punch effectively. Wow, his homesickness was bad if he was missing the Wilkersons. He and Ma both had grown weary of their matchmaking efforts and neighborly kindness in order to find dirt to gossip about.
“Big lad like you, letting a twerp like him pull a gun on ya?”
How had he not noticed this man come out of nowhere behind the mugger? He really needed to stop zoning out like that.
The mugger yelped out a curse and started to spin around. Clark reacted. This blond man didn’t deserve to get shot. He reached with his super speed and moved the mugger’s gun so it would fire over the man instead of at him. The bullet hit and buried itself in the brick building.
The mugger jumped back from the other two men, his gun shakily pointing back and forth between them as he inched backwards. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“Liverpool originally, London mostly now. ‘ow about you, mate?” the blond man casually lit the cigarette hanging from his mouth, then nodded at Clark. “Surely not from around ‘ere. Not with that aura around you.”
“I’m sorry?” Clark asked, quite confused.
“You’re not tryin’ to hide it, are ya? Doin’ a rotten job of it. Even I could tell.”
“I’m from Kansas.”
“Not unless you came ‘ere through Oz.”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Big fella like you, lettin’ a runt like that pull a gun on ya, and just standin’ there and takin’ it. Givin’ ‘im your wallet without a fight.” The man let out a long drag of smoke. “And then lettin’ ‘im run away like that.”
“I didn’t have anything more than a couple dollars in it.” Clark shrugged, knowing that the mugger was running down the alley in the next block by this time. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to be late for class if I don’t hurry, so…”
“All right, mate,” the man said, shrugging. “You wanna pretend you’re ‘uman, go right ahead.”
Clark paused for a very brief second, then kept walking. He was going to honor his father’s last wish.
Constantine watched the college student walk away at a fast clip, his eyes narrowed. Surrounded by an aura of not-human , but almost entirely acting like he was human, except for very small ticks that wouldn’t be noticed by most people. But still, not what he was here for.
He stepped further into the alley, finding the soot smudges on the brick wall. Another unusual thing. As though something had caught fire, if fire typically went over three hundred degrees Fahrenheit. It was only just October, so no way it was someone starting a fire to keep warm. He pulled out a map from his pocket and marked the place with a black marker, then shoved it back in his pocket with a grimace. There was no residual magic there, but a faint trace of otherworldly presence.
A beeping sounded in another pocket of his trench coat. He sighed as he fished out his pager and looked at the numbers. He then dug around through several pockets before pulling out a coin, which he flipped into the air and said in a deadpan manner, “O’Doyle rules.”
Anyone passing by would have heard tires screeching and seen a racecar appear out of thin air, flames erupting from its tire tracks as it skidded to a stop near Constantine. The driver’s door was flung open and a man stepped out, drinking a slushee.
“Whaddya want, O’Doyle?” Constantine asked, dropping the coin back into his pocket.
The demon Damian O’Doyle took a deep slurp, then said, “You know, if you answered your phone occasionally, you wouldn’t have to summon me to get my information.”
“Can’t answer my phone if I’m never ‘ome,” Constantine smirked.
Damian shrugged. “Eh. One day they’ll make phones you carry in your pockets and you’ll always have people calling you. You watch. You been paying attention to the Realms lately?”
“Should I be?”
“You should. Rumors say that someone’s trying to let the mad king out.”
Constantine narrowed his eyes. “Why the ‘ell would someone wanna do that?”
“Why do people do anything, Con? We both know it’s either for love or power. Seems like power in this case.”
Constantine frowned and lit another cigarette. “They catch the sod?”
“Doesn’t sound like it. Johnny said the Observants are on high alert now, so the culprit might not be able to get in again. But you know how those eyeballs are.”
“Yup,” Constantine blew out with a lungful of smoke. “For what’s worth, I’d prefer they don’t let Dark out. Be an ‘ell of a mess to clean up after.”
“You and me both. You want a tip on your case?”
Raising an eyebrow, the magician asked, “What’s it worth?”
“Ohhh, say… calling me shortly before you die?” Damian smirked. “Gives me a shot at grabbing your soul before anyone else does.”
Constantine scoffed. “Not bloody likely, mate. I won’t be dying for a long time if I ‘ave anythin’ to say about it.”
Damian laughed out loud, rocking back on his heels. “Mortals.” He climbed back into his car, closed the door, and leaned out the open window. “I do mean it, Con. Keep an eye on the Realms. Some of the Council are on edge lately, cracking down on excursions. Would hate to see anything happen to my favorite playground, ya know?”
“Ta,” Constantine answered with a roll of his eyes. “Take care of yourself, O’Doyle.”
“You too.” The car tires screeched again, and the car sped through the alley, flaming tire tracks left behind, until the car disappeared.
Constantine dropped the butt of his cigarette on the ground and ground it out with his heel. He glanced at the soot on the wall again, sighed, and walked away. Time for more investigation.