work in recent events. Powers of darkness and light both.
Someone had tried to kill them - but someone or something had also brought her to him. It wasn’t something Hell would have wanted.
He felt like a drink. But he also felt something else.
Just a flicker of light, somewhere inside him. A chance.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, frowning.
“You really believe she wouldn’t commit suicide? You sure about that?”
“Isabel?” Her frown became a scowl. She dug in her purse, found a breath mint and chewed it up meditatively, looking out at the night sky. Neither one of them was in a hurry to leave the comforting domain of the statue of Christ’s mother.
At last she answered him. “Never in a million years.”
Constantine made up his mind. “Let’s be sure.” He started off toward his apartment. They’d need a few things from there. He wondered if Detective Dodson would cooperate. “Let’s see if she’s in Hell.”
EIGHT
F irst time in a couple of years I’ve been alone with a respectable woman in her apartment, Constantine thought. And what am I here for? Only the last damned thing I really want to do.
Sitting on the edge of the recliner, Constantine rummaged through a cardboard box of odds and ends from Ravenscar, while Angela, in the kitchen, filled a large plastic bowl with water.
She carried the water carefully in, trailed by her cat. “Was it supposed to be hot or cold?”
It didn’t matter and he didn’t bother to say. “Are these all of Isabel’s things?”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this…”
Constantine straightened up from the box to look at the cat rubbing against his leg. “How about the cat?”
“Duck? Yeah, why… uh…?”
“Duck?” He smiled and picked up the cat. “Cats are good. Half in, half out anyway.”
Angela licked her lips. “So if this is some kind of spell or something…”
He sat back in the recliner and looked at the cat.
Seemed to see something in its eyes that looked across the stream of time.
“…don’t you need, like, candles and a pentagram for this to work?”
Constantine looked at her, deadpan. “Why - do you have any?” He smiled to show he was kidding and to hide the fact that he was scared. He was used to a lot of things. What he was about to do was something you couldn’t get used to in ten thousand years.
Some had tried to get used to it for just that long and more.
He pointed, and she put the bowl of water down in front of him. He let the cat jump up onto an armrest as he removed his shoes and socks, then put his feet into the bowl of water.
“This is crazy,” Angela said, staring at Constantine’s feet in the water.
“Yes,” Constantine agreed.
But he meant it differently. Feeling some surprise that he could be more scared in this moment than he had been in thinking about it earlier. He’d have thought that was as scared as anyone could get. Apparently there weren’t any limits.
He cleared his throat. Made sure his voice didn’t tremble as he said, “I need you to step outside.”
She looked around-this was her apartment. Then back at Constantine. “I’m sorry?”
“Angela? Please.”
She let out a slow breath, then nodded and went to the hallway door.
Constantine looked around. There was a TV and stereo in an entertainment center, against the wall to his right; potted plants dripping vines down between the TV screen and the shelves of DVDs; prints of paintings by Turner and Whistler. There was a pink ottoman on the light blue carpet; a cabinet of books, some of them from a classics book club, some bestsellers, a Bible, a Webster’s dictionary, a few police manuals, and a slender book he recognized: Time and the Soul by Jacob Needleman.
He smiled. This was Angela’s house, an accretion of her choices, and it made him feel good, somehow, to look at it. But in a moment it would all change…
“God,” Constantine muttered, “I hate this part.” He drew a deep breath and took
Someone had tried to kill them - but someone or something had also brought her to him. It wasn’t something Hell would have wanted.
He felt like a drink. But he also felt something else.
Just a flicker of light, somewhere inside him. A chance.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, frowning.
“You really believe she wouldn’t commit suicide? You sure about that?”
“Isabel?” Her frown became a scowl. She dug in her purse, found a breath mint and chewed it up meditatively, looking out at the night sky. Neither one of them was in a hurry to leave the comforting domain of the statue of Christ’s mother.
At last she answered him. “Never in a million years.”
Constantine made up his mind. “Let’s be sure.” He started off toward his apartment. They’d need a few things from there. He wondered if Detective Dodson would cooperate. “Let’s see if she’s in Hell.”
EIGHT
F irst time in a couple of years I’ve been alone with a respectable woman in her apartment, Constantine thought. And what am I here for? Only the last damned thing I really want to do.
Sitting on the edge of the recliner, Constantine rummaged through a cardboard box of odds and ends from Ravenscar, while Angela, in the kitchen, filled a large plastic bowl with water.
She carried the water carefully in, trailed by her cat. “Was it supposed to be hot or cold?”
It didn’t matter and he didn’t bother to say. “Are these all of Isabel’s things?”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this…”
Constantine straightened up from the box to look at the cat rubbing against his leg. “How about the cat?”
“Duck? Yeah, why… uh…?”
“Duck?” He smiled and picked up the cat. “Cats are good. Half in, half out anyway.”
Angela licked her lips. “So if this is some kind of spell or something…”
He sat back in the recliner and looked at the cat.
Seemed to see something in its eyes that looked across the stream of time.
“…don’t you need, like, candles and a pentagram for this to work?”
Constantine looked at her, deadpan. “Why - do you have any?” He smiled to show he was kidding and to hide the fact that he was scared. He was used to a lot of things. What he was about to do was something you couldn’t get used to in ten thousand years.
Some had tried to get used to it for just that long and more.
He pointed, and she put the bowl of water down in front of him. He let the cat jump up onto an armrest as he removed his shoes and socks, then put his feet into the bowl of water.
“This is crazy,” Angela said, staring at Constantine’s feet in the water.
“Yes,” Constantine agreed.
But he meant it differently. Feeling some surprise that he could be more scared in this moment than he had been in thinking about it earlier. He’d have thought that was as scared as anyone could get. Apparently there weren’t any limits.
He cleared his throat. Made sure his voice didn’t tremble as he said, “I need you to step outside.”
She looked around-this was her apartment. Then back at Constantine. “I’m sorry?”
“Angela? Please.”
She let out a slow breath, then nodded and went to the hallway door.
Constantine looked around. There was a TV and stereo in an entertainment center, against the wall to his right; potted plants dripping vines down between the TV screen and the shelves of DVDs; prints of paintings by Turner and Whistler. There was a pink ottoman on the light blue carpet; a cabinet of books, some of them from a classics book club, some bestsellers, a Bible, a Webster’s dictionary, a few police manuals, and a slender book he recognized: Time and the Soul by Jacob Needleman.
He smiled. This was Angela’s house, an accretion of her choices, and it made him feel good, somehow, to look at it. But in a moment it would all change…
“God,” Constantine muttered, “I hate this part.” He drew a deep breath and took
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