The Invitation

by Carla Jablonski

  Tim sensed a gap between him and whoever had been in front of him. Zatanna must have pushed them away with her backward speaking.

  The murmurs continued, but now they addressed Zatanna as well. “I am the Queen of Mirrors! Woman, give me the boy or one night your reflection will sneak out of its frame and cut your sleeping throat!”

  “If you stand in our way we will feed the boy your heart before we cut his own out to increase our power!”

  Smells came to Tim: sulfur, lizards, mud. Something flicked the side of his face and his eyes popped open. Tentacles reached for him over Zatanna’s shoulder. A clawed hand had its talons in Zatanna’s long hair. Tim felt nauseous from the fear. We’re done for, he thought.

  Then—“Constantine!” a shocked voice called out.

  Tim whirled around. Slouched in the doorway, John Constantine lit one of his ever-present cigarettes.

  “Nobody touches the boy,” he said.

  All murmurs, all movement, stopped. Time seemed suspended in the dead silence. Constantine took a step into the room.

  “That’s right. The boy’s mine. And in thirty seconds me and him, and the witch, are going to walk out of here. Oh, yeah,” he added. “The owl too.” He surveyed the room for a moment. “You know who I am. My reputation. Or you ought to. Now…” He paused to take a deep drag from the cigarette. “Does anyone here really want to start something?”

  Tim held his breath. Zatanna’s grip on his arm tightened. No one moved. No one spoke.

  “Right,” Constantine said to Tim and Zatanna. “Come on, you lot. We’re leaving.”

  Tim didn’t need to be told twice. He beat it out of there fast—so fast he was outside and breathing hard before Zatanna and John had left the building. He leaned against the wall and took in great gulps of night air.

  Tim wondered what would have happened if John hadn’t shown up. What kind of magic would they have performed on him? Would he be dead now? Or perhaps death would have been a better alternative to what those creatures had in mind. What was he mixed up in?

  And yet…shot through Tim’s fears was the glimmering knowledge that he was somehow important. Important enough to kill. To fight over. To defend. It was a heady feeling.

  The door to the club slammed. “I could have stopped them, you know,” Zatanna complained.

  “Yeah, you probably could.” John sounded amused.

  Zatanna, on the other hand, sounded exasperated. “John, you don’t have any power to speak of. Any one of them could have torn you to shreds. But they—they were scared of you.” Her wide eyes searched his face for answers. Answers Tim didn’t think she’d get. He knew that much about Constantine by now. “I don’t understand what happened back there.”

  “Magic.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Seriously, John.”

  “A good magician never reveals his secrets, love. You taught me that. But it helps that they’re all a few guppies short of an aquarium.”

  “Speak English, can’t you?”

  “I speak perfect English,” John protested. “So does Tim. It’s you that’s got the funny accent.”

  John gave Tim a wink.

  Tim laughed and Zatanna shook her head. Then she touched a hand to John’s cheek and turned his face to the streetlight. Tim could see a dark bruise under John’s eye, and what looked like burns along his jaw.

  “What happened to your face?” Zatanna asked. “What happened in Calcutta?”

  “The usual.” John shrugged her away.

  “Mr. Constantine.” Now Zatanna sounded like a kindergarten teacher reprimanding a small child. “Are you mysterious about everything?”

  “Who, me? Transparent as glass, I am.”

  An expression came over Zatanna’s face that Tim had seen frequently on Molly. She wasn’t backing down. “It would be a lot easier to protect Tim if he and I both knew what was threatening him.”

  “Yeah,” Tim seconded. “I have a right to know. I mean, it’s all about me, isn’t it?”

  John gave them a weary look and ran a hand through his blond hair. “All right, all right. Calcutta is a stronghold of the Cold Flame. It’s where they’ve been putting up, lately. We wanted to take them out—weaken their numbers. So we did.”

  “But why are they after me?” Tim asked. “I’m not the one who can do magic.”

  “Not yet. They don’t want you to live up to your full potential,” John explained.

  Tim snorted. “My teachers at school already say that I’m not. Living up to my full potential, I mean.”

  “Well, the Cold Flame don’t want you to live—at all,” John said grimly. “Because if you develop in the way that you could, you might become a great threat.”

  “There’s more to it, isn’t there?” Zatanna asked.

  “Not yet,” John said. “Right now their goals are clear. They may shift.”

  “What do you mean?” Tim demanded.

  “If they can’t kill you, then they will try like Hades to win you over to their side,” John said. “Which would put you and me on opposing teams.”

  “I would never do that!” Tim exploded. “How can you say that?”

  Zatanna put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Tim. We both know how you feel.” She looked at John. “Now that you’re back, does that mean you and Tim will be leaving?”

  John nodded. “Places to go, people to see. All that.”

  After all the recent excitement, Tim wasn’t sure he wanted to have any new experiences. He felt that the ones he’d had so far would hold him for quite some time. Besides, he liked Zatanna and her cheerful sunny house, and he’d hoped she would teach him some magic tricks to show Molly before he had to leave.

  Before he could protest, though, Zatanna turned and placed her hands on his shoulders.

  “Tim, it was great meeting you,” she said. “Call me the next time you’re in the States, okay?”

  Well, that ended that. Tim forced a smile. “Of course,” he told her. “You’ve been terrific. Thanks for everything. Except the soy milk,” he added with a grin.

  Zatanna gave him a squeeze. “No problem. You were a great house guest. You and Yo-yo.”

  Yo-yo hovered in front of Zatanna and nodded his head as if to say good-bye.

  Zatanna put her hands on her hips and crossed to Constantine. “Now, John Constantine. I don’t think I’ll ever understand you. Not if I live to be a thousand.”

  “No? And I’m such an uncomplicated bloke. You’re slipping.” They smiled at each other. “Give us a kiss and I’ll be out of your life for another year or so.”

  Tim turned away as they kissed. He only turned back when he heard John speaking again.

  “By the way,” John said, “I almost forgot. We haven’t got passports or tickets. Uh, could you, y’know, twitch your nose or something?”

  Zatanna shook her head and laughed. “Jerk. You’re practically useless. Stropssap dna stekcit raeppa.”

  Tim felt groggy, as if he were awakening from a deep sleep. Then he tried to sit bolt upright and felt himself restrained by a seat belt. How’d that happen? he wondered.

  They were back aboard a plane, once again without seeming to travel there. Tim, who had never been outside of England in all his thirteen years, had now flown over the ocean to New York City, traveled across the huge United States to California, and was back on his second international flight. All within the space of what? A few days? His head swam.

  “Okay, kiddo,” John said, leaning back into his seat. “So what have you learned so far?”

  “Learned?”

  “Yeah. Come on. I’ve dragged you halfway around the world, you’ve been introduced to, insulted, or threatened by some of the most powerful practitioners of the art in existence. What have you learned?”

  “I dunno. That all of them except Zatanna are about as well-balanced as upturned eggs.” He could have made a point of including John Constantine in that group but decided against it.

  “Yeah, t
hat’s a good beginning.”

  Tim thought more about what this trip had shown him, what was new information. “And that they don’t live in the same world that most people do. Their world is like a shadow of ours. Dark and distorted, but still connected. At least with the bad guys. I guess with the good guys too. Like Zatanna. She’s half in and half out of ordinary living.” He twisted in his seat to gauge John’s reaction. “Am I making sense?”

  John looked thoughtful. “More than you know.”

  Tim sensed admiration in John’s blue eyes and he smiled. It felt good to have earned this elusive, unpredictable fellow’s respect.

  Constantine reached for the headphones in the pocket of the seat in front of him. “Dr. Occult will be your guide for the next leg of the trip.”

  “Where’s he going to take me, then? Tibet? Outer space?”

  “Fairyland.”

  Tim stared at John, who fiddled with the headphones, calm as a quiet lake. Tim stared some more. Finally he managed to find his voice. But all that came out of his mouth was…

  “Fairyland?”

  Chapter Eight

  IT HAD HAPPENED AGAIN. One minute Tim was squeezed into an airplane seat with a ginger ale on his tray table, and the next minute he was…where? He looked around. Some pretty, misty countryside that looked bucolic. Dr. Occult stood nearby, watching Yo-yo circling overhead.

  He wished they’d quit doing that to him. This unconventional travel threw him off his game. Tim wondered if he had broken the sound barrier or the speed of light with all this hopping about. His molecules had to be scrambled by now.

  Was this Fairyland? He scanned the landscape. It just looked like a prettier part of England than he was used to. The large telegraph towers dotting the horizon confirmed that he was still in the so-called “real” world. Unless fairies communicated via telegraph or cable lines. Constantine must have been kidding about Fairyland, Tim decided. He was a joker, Tim knew, even if he didn’t always get the joke.

  “Where’s Constantine?” he asked.

  “With the others,” Dr. Occult answered.

  “Which is where?” Tim asked.

  “Not our concern, at the moment,” Dr. Occult answered. “Come, we are near our destination.”

  Tim followed Dr. Occult along a winding country road. The damp day had left the path soggy and muddy, and the grass smelled wet and green. Nearby, a trickling stream meandered through the hilly banks. Yo-yo’s attention was diverted by rabbits, or birds, or insects going about their business and oblivious to the strange trio journeying through their territory.

  This isn’t so bad, Tim thought, gazing around at the peaceful greens of trees, shrubs, and grass. If he could just get used to the shock of being transported suddenly from one place to another, he’d be fine. Star Trek had nothing on this! Tim’s shoulders dropped; he hadn’t realized they’d been hunched up near his ears. Fear still lurked inside him, but he was finally relaxing into the adventure, starting to feel as if this could be his world, his life. Maybe I’m not crazy, he thought, reaching for a tree branch and shaking down some dew-flecked leaves. As whacked as it was, somehow this kind of living made more sense than things did back in London.

  “So are you a real doctor?” Tim asked his companion.

  “Am I a real doctor of what?”

  Tim shrugged. “I don’t know. What kind of things can you be a doctor of?”

  “I’m not a medical doctor, if that’s what you mean. Although I can set a bone or stanch the flow of blood if need be.”

  “Dr. Occult,” Tim pronounced. He shook his head. “It’s a funny name.”

  “Name?” Dr. Occult raised an eyebrow, but he was smiling, so Tim realized his error.

  “Thing to be called, then,” Tim corrected himself.

  “We must wait here.”

  They were beside a large apple tree, each branch drooping under the weight of the bountiful fruit. A low fence separated the fields, and, all around them, as far as Tim could see, there was open pasture. Off in the distance he spotted woods, and beyond that, hills.

  “Wait for what?” Tim asked. A fairy escort?

  “For the sun to set. We must leave in twilight.”

  The sun was low on the horizon, so Tim figured they didn’t have too long a wait. Yo-yo settled onto a nearby branch. Tim plucked an apple that dangled in front of him.

  He looked at Dr. Occult, feeling more at ease with him than he did with the others, despite Dr. Occult’s formal attitude. Tim liked John the best, but he wasn’t exactly a comforting presence. With John, he felt constantly on high alert; it was exciting but exhausting.

  “Will you tell me something?” Tim asked.

  “Possibly.”

  Tim snorted. Never can get an easy yes or no from these guys. He took a bite of the apple. “You four,” he said, chewing. “Who are you? I mean, Constantine. He’s just a bloke, isn’t he?”

  Dr. Occult gazed off into the distance, as if trying to decide how to answer—or whether to answer at all. “John Constantine,” Dr. Occult said. “Yes. He has seen a great deal, and now he dances on the edge of the known like a crazy man. Because he is John Constantine, and because he is alive.”

  Tim took that in. Did these trench coat guys go to a special school to learn to speak in this high-handed, overly poetic way? “So you’re saying it’s just who he is, to be that way.”

  “Yes. It is his nature.”

  Tim chewed his apple thoughtfully. Dr. Occult at least was a little more forthcoming with answers, even if he had trouble understanding them. “How about Mister E? Is he really blind?”

  “Oh yes. He is an extremist. He fights what he sees as the forces of darkness. That is his only purpose; it’s what drives him. But sometimes I suspect that all he can see is darkness. However, he can travel in ways that even I cannot.”

  Tim remembered that Zatanna hadn’t seemed too crazy about Mister E either. Maybe none of them liked the guy, but he had some skills, so they put up with him. Like choosing Bobby Saunders for football. He was a pain, but boy, he could kick. And more important, you didn’t want him playing for the other team.

  “And the other one?” Tim asked. “He spooks me. He seems really…different.”

  “The Stranger? Ahh…I have encountered him many times in the past.” Dr. Occult slipped his hands into the pockets of his trench coat and nodded. It was hard for Tim to make out his face under the brimmed hat. “He walks his own path. One that began too long ago, and I suspect has no end in sight. I do not know his story. I know no one who does. Perhaps he has walked for such a long time that he himself no longer remembers.”

  How could someone forget who he is? Tim decided not to bother asking and skipped to his next question. “And what about you?” he asked. Would Dr. Occult be as open about himself as he’d been about the others?

  “I am your guide through this stage of your journey, Timothy Hunter. And you may trust me. Empty your pockets.”

  So that’s that. Interview over. Oh well, I did the best I could.

  Tim tossed away the apple core, rummaged through his pockets, and pulled out the contents. String, a stubby pencil, two markers, keys, coins, gum, lint. A trading card.

  Dr. Occult peered at the objects in his hands. “Leave the keys and the coins here,” he instructed. “Cold iron will not be welcome where we go. The rest you may retain.”

  Tim looked around. “Where should I…?” He didn’t want to lose his stuff. “Got it!” Kneeling by a large tree root, he dug a little hole and put his coins and keys into it. He patted the dirt over the top.

  “Hope I can remember where I put them,” he said, standing back up again. He knocked the dirt from the knees of his jeans.

  “Listen to me carefully now,” Dr. Occult said. “There are things you must remember. You must obey my orders explicitly and in all things, no matter how petty or strange they seem to you.”

  “Oookay,” Tim agreed. He didn’t like just accepting terms without knowing what they were. W
hat if Dr. Occult told him to jump off Tower Bridge? Would he do it? That’s what Molly always asked. But it wasn’t as if he had much choice. And Dr. Occult knew a lot more about where they were going than he did.

  “Secondly,” Dr. Occult continued, “ask no questions or favors of those you meet on our travels. Accept no gifts or foodstuff without my permission.”

  Tim nodded. Keep your mouth shut, he translated for himself, and no goodies. He sighed. That meant no souvenirs. Too bad. He would have loved to pick up some kind of magic toy for Molly.

  “Thirdly, remember your manners. Etiquette will be important where we go, and good manners are gold. For a trivial impoliteness you could find yourself cursed with donkey’s ears, or worse. And lastly, never stray from the path. No matter what you see, or hear, or feel.” Dr. Occult studied Tim seriously, gazing deep into his eyes, as if he could burrow into his mind to make sure the rules stuck. “Do you understand?”

  Tim wiped his hands on his shirt. His palms had grown sweaty while he listened to Dr. Occult’s instructions. “I suppose.” He had been feeling more comfortable with all this magic stuff—until he was bombarded with all these rules! Everything with magic is so complicated, he thought. So filled with consequence.

  Dr. Occult nodded. “Good.” He gazed up at the sky. Streaks of purple and pink dyed the clouds, and the sun hung fat and heavy in the treetops. The sky above was deepening to indigo. Mist rose as twilight spread across the quiet countryside.

  “We are ready to begin our journey. Wait here,” Dr. Occult said, and he pointed to a small gate that stood alone in the distance. “I will walk across to that wicket gate. When I wave to you, then walk as I walked, along that path. When you cross the stream, take care not to get your feet wet. Yes?”

  “Fine.” Tim nodded. This whole thing seemed bizarre to him. He watched Dr. Occult make his way down the hill, toward the stream and then to the gate, which Tim hadn’t noticed before. In fact, he was pretty sure there had been nothing on that side of the stream until the sun had gone down. But other than the gate, all he could see there was more of the same pretty countryside. Nothing special. Why there would be a lone wooden gate, unconnected to any fence, he couldn’t imagine.