charming smile - actually something quite grim. “What if I told you that God and the Devil made a wager? A kind of standing bet, for the souls of all mankind…”
Behind him, the streetlights began going out as he caught up with her, began raspily talking away as he strode beside her. “Humor me. No direct contact with humans. That would be the rule. Just influence. See who would win.”
She just kept walking. He managed to suppress a coughing fit. And noticed the streetlights going off, one by one, up ahead of them. He stared…
“Okay” Angela said at last. “Humoring you. Why?”
“Why?” He looked up and down the streets. Was it just a power outage? “Why’d they make this ‘bet’? Who knows? Maybe just for the fun of it. No telling.”
Angela shook her head. “Oh. It’s fun. So what should I do when a woman’s murdered or a mother drowns her baby? Who should I go looking for? A devil with horns? I don’t think so. People are evil, Mr. Constantine. People.”
They crossed an intersection. Streetlights on the side streets to their right and left were cutting off too, Constantine noticed. Darkness was closing in on them, a snuffed light at a time, pools of shadow joining to flood toward them. And there was no traffic. Only parked cars. He saw no one around at all.
“You’re right,” he said, wondering which way the attack would come from. From the darkness, he guessed - and the darkness had them surrounded. “We’re born capable of terrible things. Then sometimes something else comes along and gives us just the right nudge and we do truly evil things.”
“What - demons? Ghouls?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. Thanks for sharing. Really. But I don’t believe in the Devil.”
“You should,” Constantine said feelingly. “He believes in you.”
The last of the lights near them went out, and they were in near-complete darkness. In the dim light from distant parts of the city, he saw her look around. “Power outage?”
“Not likely,” Constantine said. “Not that kind. We should go… “
Constantine made out just one light within walking distance. Distinguished by its shining alone out there, against the black velvet of the dirty night. A raspy guttural wind raced toward them. That malevolent gust he’d noticed earlier had been a kind of foreshadowing of this wind.
The wind of dark, malodorous, crackling wings.
“…Fast!” Constantine blurted. He grabbed her arm, jerked her along with him. “Come on!”
And they ran.
Something soared not so very far overhead - Constantine could smell its reptilian soul. Could feel the icy bite of hatred in its shadow as it passed over them, blotting out what little starlight there was.
And that noise - a rasp of leather on leather. “What is that?” Angela gasped, meaning the noise, as she trotted beside him toward the light in the distance. It hadn’t been as far as it had seemed. “Wings!” Constantine said. “Wings…”
Coughing, running and slowing and making himself run a little more, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat, found the piece of sacred cloth that Beeman had given him.
“And maybe talons,” he added.
The light up ahead was an illuminated statue of the Virgin Mary, set up in the recessed poster window of one of the abandoned movie theaters that lined this decaying strip of downtown Los Angeles. Above the statue a sign read: UNIVERSAL MISSION - JESUS CRISTO ES EL
SENOR. The statue was a single beacon in the darkness, its shine setting off a kind of aura of silk flowers the local believers had lovingly arrayed around it. The old theater had been converted to a church for the local Chicanos.
But the light from the statue was fading as they approached it. And the sound of the leather wings was getting louder.
They came puffing up to the grated theater front, pinwheels of oxygen deprivation flashing in front of Constantine’s eyes. He looked around, trying the grate. Locked solidly.
He stood there, puffing,
Behind him, the streetlights began going out as he caught up with her, began raspily talking away as he strode beside her. “Humor me. No direct contact with humans. That would be the rule. Just influence. See who would win.”
She just kept walking. He managed to suppress a coughing fit. And noticed the streetlights going off, one by one, up ahead of them. He stared…
“Okay” Angela said at last. “Humoring you. Why?”
“Why?” He looked up and down the streets. Was it just a power outage? “Why’d they make this ‘bet’? Who knows? Maybe just for the fun of it. No telling.”
Angela shook her head. “Oh. It’s fun. So what should I do when a woman’s murdered or a mother drowns her baby? Who should I go looking for? A devil with horns? I don’t think so. People are evil, Mr. Constantine. People.”
They crossed an intersection. Streetlights on the side streets to their right and left were cutting off too, Constantine noticed. Darkness was closing in on them, a snuffed light at a time, pools of shadow joining to flood toward them. And there was no traffic. Only parked cars. He saw no one around at all.
“You’re right,” he said, wondering which way the attack would come from. From the darkness, he guessed - and the darkness had them surrounded. “We’re born capable of terrible things. Then sometimes something else comes along and gives us just the right nudge and we do truly evil things.”
“What - demons? Ghouls?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. Thanks for sharing. Really. But I don’t believe in the Devil.”
“You should,” Constantine said feelingly. “He believes in you.”
The last of the lights near them went out, and they were in near-complete darkness. In the dim light from distant parts of the city, he saw her look around. “Power outage?”
“Not likely,” Constantine said. “Not that kind. We should go… “
Constantine made out just one light within walking distance. Distinguished by its shining alone out there, against the black velvet of the dirty night. A raspy guttural wind raced toward them. That malevolent gust he’d noticed earlier had been a kind of foreshadowing of this wind.
The wind of dark, malodorous, crackling wings.
“…Fast!” Constantine blurted. He grabbed her arm, jerked her along with him. “Come on!”
And they ran.
Something soared not so very far overhead - Constantine could smell its reptilian soul. Could feel the icy bite of hatred in its shadow as it passed over them, blotting out what little starlight there was.
And that noise - a rasp of leather on leather. “What is that?” Angela gasped, meaning the noise, as she trotted beside him toward the light in the distance. It hadn’t been as far as it had seemed. “Wings!” Constantine said. “Wings…”
Coughing, running and slowing and making himself run a little more, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat, found the piece of sacred cloth that Beeman had given him.
“And maybe talons,” he added.
The light up ahead was an illuminated statue of the Virgin Mary, set up in the recessed poster window of one of the abandoned movie theaters that lined this decaying strip of downtown Los Angeles. Above the statue a sign read: UNIVERSAL MISSION - JESUS CRISTO ES EL
SENOR. The statue was a single beacon in the darkness, its shine setting off a kind of aura of silk flowers the local believers had lovingly arrayed around it. The old theater had been converted to a church for the local Chicanos.
But the light from the statue was fading as they approached it. And the sound of the leather wings was getting louder.
They came puffing up to the grated theater front, pinwheels of oxygen deprivation flashing in front of Constantine’s eyes. He looked around, trying the grate. Locked solidly.
He stood there, puffing,
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