While Buffy and the goddesses were battling vampires, the object of
their search was only moments away from making her grand entrance.
At the Bronze Oz sat in the converted storeroom that served as the
“dressing room” for the club’s acts. A few days before a club owner from
Los Angelus had called saying he’d heard good things about Dingoes Ate
My Baby. Explaining that he would be passing though Sunnydale on
business Friday the owner asked if it would be possible to see the band
perform. Since the Dingoes were on good terms with the owners of the
Bronze they’d managed to secure use of the club for a few hours before
it opened. The other members of the band were now in the main club area
grabbing a quick dinner. Oz, who had already eaten, opted for a little
alone time in the cramped dressing room.
After making himself as comfortable as he could in a folding chair Oz
opened his backpack, grabbed his Diskman and began to root though the
half dozen or so CDs in his pack. After a few moments he selected one.
“Black Sabbath’s Greatest Hits. Gotta love the classics.”
Oz removed the CD from its case and was about to place it in the player
when suddenly the CD seemed to jump from his hand. The disk flew a few
feet though the air, stopped, turned itself mirror-side up and then
began to float.
Oz’s eyebrows arched but remained calm. “My CD has gone UFO. Wild.”
It was then that a hand shot up from the CD. Oz was startled and fell
out of his chair. “Wild” was beginning to look like a major
understatement.
While the teenager watched a woman with dirty blonde hair, a necklace of
animal teeth, a black leather outfit and red marks on her face emerged
from the CD. In his time in Sunnydale Oz had seen a lot of strange
things and managed to keep his cool. But everyone has their limits. Oz
outright boggled.
Mara looked at Oz.
Oz looked at Mara.
“Boo!” said Mara.
Oz flinched.
Mara snickered, lowered herself to the ground, grabbed the CD she’d
emerged from out of the air and looked at it. “Nice choice,”
complimented the demon. “Looks like those self-righteous religious
groups were actually on to something when they called this stuff ‘devil
music.’” Mara then crushed the CD to pieces.
“Who are you?” fumbled Oz, worried that he might end up with the same
fate as his CD.
“Name’s Mara, kid. Demon first class, unlimited.” Mara suddenly got a
puzzled look on her and she squinted at Oz for a moment.
“Hey, kid, you’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”
Oz managed a nod.
A smile appeared on Mara’s face. “Good ‘ol Sunnyhell. The place hasn’t
changed a bit.” The demon then brought a hand to her mouth and blew the
werewolf a kiss. “See ya around, Fido. Mara’s got herself some business
to take care of.”
In a flash Mara was gone, leaving only the faint smell of brimstone
behind her.
Oz pulled himself to his feet and ran a hand though his hair. It was
orange this week. “Whoa. I gotta call Buffy.”
Just then a voice from the club called out. “Oz! Yo, Oz! Get yer ass out
here! It’s showtime!”
Oz cursed. The club owner and the rest of the Dingoes were waiting. With
a sigh the teen realized there was no getting out of this. As he grabbed
his guitar Oz hoped that the audition would be short. And that his delay
in telling the others about Mara wouldn’t be a costly one.
~*~*~*~*~*
New York City, New York
On maps of Manhattan you’ll find it listed as West Mid-Town. But the
residents of the area have for decades given it the colorful moniker of
Hell’s Kitchen. Due the high crime, poverty and drug trade in the area
many people feel the name was well chosen.
Located in this section of the city is a bar with the rather odd name
of Soma. The residents of the area do not drink here. In fact, if you
were to ask them they’d say that they’d never so much as seen anyone go
inside. Upon father questioning one might learn that the bar had been
there as long as anyone could remember and, for reasons they couldn’t
explain, no one from the area had ever been inside.
This is by design. Or more accurately magic. For Soma is a place that
caters to magicians, witches, occultists and beings who are more than
human. In the City That Never Sleeps it is a place where those who move
in shadows and speak in tongues long forgotten can go, relax, have a
beer, watch some baseball and swap spells.
“Go, Speed Racer! Go, Speed Racer! Go, Speed Racer, gooooooo!” blared
the TV.
The screen filled with static for a moment and then Urd floated out. The
goddess landed and cast her gaze around Soma’s barroom. To her surprise
the place was empty except for two men sitting in a corner quietly
talking. Both had failed to notice her arrival.
The first man was clad in a dirty sportcoat and a battered fedora. The
other man sported a normal shirt and slacks and a tan jacket that looked
reasonably clean.
“So I say to Aries ‘Aries, man, just put down the ax and we can talk
about this.’ But Aries, what with being a God of War and all, he ain’t
having none of it. So he swings the ax at me and damn near takes off my
head. But he swung just a little to hard and gets a bit off balance. So
I run around and nail him in the back with a couple of kidney punches!
Boom! Boom! Boom!”
The other man nodded politely, clearly not believing a word of it.
The first man continued on oblivious to the arrival of Urd and his
drinking companion’s disbelief. “So I just nailed Aries with three
kidney punches, right. Well, just like that guy folds like a cheap card
table. Heh, some freakin’ God of War, huh?”
Urd began to clap. “Bravo! Great story. It would be even better if it
wasn’t a steaming pile of crap.”
The two men looked up to see the goddess striding over to their table
and taking a seat. “You’re one to talk, Urd,” said the first man as he
took a puff off his cigarette. “That story was just as true as some of
the tall tales I’ve heard you tell.”
Urd gave the man an amused smile. “You haven’t changed a bit,
Whistler.”
Whistler shrugged. “I’m like Coke. A winning formula you just don’t
mess with.”
“You’ve always seemed more like Billy Beer to me but whatever,” said
Urd. She then looked at the other man at the table. Urd took mild
satisfaction in the fact that the man was trying to look at her cleavage
without being obvious about it. “So, Whistler, who’s your friend?”
“The names Doyle,” introduced the man in a noticeable Irish brogue.
“It’s me great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Urd.”
“Just Urd is fine. Well, it’s nice to know that Whistler knows at least
one person with some social ski--” Urd trailed and stared at Doyle.
Something about him was making her senses prickle.
“The answer to your question is that he’s half human half demon,”
informed a voice with a English accent.
Urd turned to see a man with dirty blond hair in a worn trenchcoat
strolling out of the men’s room. He was somewhere in his mid to late
thirties, sported black slacks, a white shirt and black tie under his
coat. “Hello, Urd. It’s been a while,” greeted the man as he lit a
cigarette in a well-practiced fashion.
Urd shook her head in bemusement. “John Constantine. Why am I not
surprised to see you here?”
Constantine smiled slightly as he took his seat. “I’m like a bad penny
that way. Always turning up where you least expect.”
“So what brings you to the Big Apple?”
“I could ask the same of you,” replied John.
“Business,” sighed Urd. “Or more accurately, Mara.”
“Mara? What’s she up to now?” asked Whistler as he took a swig from his
beer.
“Nothing good, I can tell you that,” muttered John. “That Mara’s a nasty
one.”
“No kidding,” nodded Urd. “I’ve got reason to think she might be in
Sunnydale.”
John shook his head. “Shite, Sunnydale? That’s the town on top of the
Hellmouth, innit?”
“That’s the place,” confirmed Whistler. “Mara in Sunnydale. Damn, that’s
a disaster just waiting to happen. You got any idea what she’s up to?”
Urd shook her head. “Not a clue. Actually, I was hoping you’d heard
something. You always seem to have your ears against all the right
keyholes.”
Whistler took another puff from his cigarette. “Sorry, but the last
thing I heard about Mara was than she was in hip-deep with her bosses
back in Niflheim over that Lord of Terror escapade. How you dealing with
that, by the way?”
The goddess hesitated for a second. “I’m dealing. Not the best
experience of my life but I’ll get over it.” Urd then looked at Doyle.
“Hey, Irish, you’ve been awful quite. You know anything about Mara?”
Doyle seemed taken aback for a moment then shook his head. “Sorry, no. I
try to avoid demons like that as best I can.”
Urd then turned her attention to Constantine. “What about you, John?
Seen any weird signs on the ‘ol Synchronicity Highway?”
The Englishman also shook his head. “’Fraid not, luv. Believe me, I wish
I did know somethin’. I still owe that demon bitch some payback from the
last time I got dragged into one of her messes.”
“Dammit!” cursed Urd as she slammed her fist into the table. “Mara’s
still several steps ahead of us. Belldandy isn’t going to like this.”
Whistler shifted in his seat and looked uncomfortable. “Uh, so how is
your sister? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
Urd gave Whistler a withering look. “Still plenty pissed at you if
that’s what your asking. Even if she won’t admit it.”
At that Doyle arched his eyebrows. “Oh? I’ve heard a story or two about
Belldandy in my time. She’s supposed to be one of the sweetest being
alive. What could our boy here do to make such a kind lass mad?”
“None of your damn business, shamrock,” glowered Whistler.
Urd grinned at the man’s discomfort. “You really want to know? Well,
some time back those two were at a party I was throwing and Mr. Manners
here tried to feel her up.”
“He tried to cop a feel off Belldandy?!” squawked Constantine. “You
perverted bastard! How could you do that to a nice little thing like
her? I ought to kick you one right in the bollocks.”
“I was drunk!” protested Whistler. “And I apologized later.”
“You only said your were sorry after she knocked your ass though eight
dimensions,” snorted Urd.
Whistler winced and rubbed his jaw. “I can still feel that punch when it
rains. And it was only five dimensions.”
Doyle snickered.
John, however, let out a loud and long string of laughter. “Serves you
right, you bloody twat. Still, it’s a bit hard to picture a nice girl
like Belldandy doin’ somethin’ like that. Even to a arse like him.”
“Don’t sell her sort,” warned Whistler. “An iron fist in a velvet glove.
That’s Belldandy all right.”
“True,” concurred Urd as she stood. “John, Whistler, it’s been fun
seeing you again. Nice to meet you too Doyle. But I’ve gotta get back to
Sunnydale. The Almighty only knows what trouble Belldandy and Skuld have
gotten themselves into without there wise and beautiful older sister to
watch out for them.”
The three men called out some good-byes as Urd head back to the TV. Just
as she was about to dive in the goddess stopped and turned back to the
others. “Before I go, John, you never did tell me what you were doing in
the States. London is your normal beat.”
Constantine took a moment to light another smoke. “’S his bloody fault,”
said John as he pointed to Doyle. “Him there has visions. From the
‘Powers That Be’ he says. Shite, I’ve had some dealing with those same
powers and I’ll tell you that they’re all bastards.”
“Yeah, you’re on the blacklist of a lot of people upstairs,” nodded Urd.
“So why are you helping him out?”
“Turns out the half-breed there is a friend of me old mate, Brendan
Finn,” replied John.
“And since any friend of Brendan’s is a friend of mine…” smiled Doyle.
A deadly serious look then crossed the man’s face. “But jokes aside,
John’s helping me out because if he doesn’t a whole lot of people are
going to die.”
“One of his visions said there’s somethin’ nasty brewing in Los
Angelus,” clarified Constantine. “It also said that I’m the only one who
can put a stop to it. Since I thought it’d be a good idea to have the
Powers That Be owing ‘ol John a favor I agreed. ‘Sides, it’s been ages
since I had a proper seaside holiday and LA sounds a lot better than
another trip to Blackpool.”
“Never dull moment for you, John,” mused Urd. “You guys take care. I
gotta run.” With that, she dived back into the TV.
“Good luck yourself,” said Whistler as he took another drink. “You may
need it.”
“And just what do you mean by that?” inquired Doyle.
Whistler looked uncomfortable again. “What I told Urd wasn’t a 100%
true. I did hear something about Sunnydale recently. Rumor is that
someone powerful and bad has something cooking out there.”
Constantine narrowed his eyes. “So why didn’t you tell Urd that, you
turd? That could be Mara you heard about.”
“Relax, Limey,” snapped Whistler. “First of all, it wasn’t Mara. The way
I heard it was that it was someone a lot bigger than her. And the reason
I didn’t say anything to Urd was that it’s not a story I put a lot of
stock in. You both know how demons love to BS. I hear stories about guys
plotting stuff for the Hellmouth all the time. Most of the time they
turn out to be nothing but crap.”
“Bastard,” snorted Constantine. “Let’s hope it doesn’t turn out to be
anything. ‘Cause if anything happens to those girls, especially Skuld,
I’ll be taking it out of your arse.”
“And if something does happen with the Hellmouth, we’d best pray the
Powers That Be are on Urd’s side,” added Doyle.
“And the Slayer,” said Whistler. “Let’s hope Urd has both the Powers
That Be and the Slayer on her side. If she doesn’t, then the world could
be in for a really nasty ride.”
~*~*~*~
For those wondering, John Constantine is the star of the comic book
series Hellblazer. His mention of knowing the goddesses comes from the
fic "Dire Fates" by Rod M and David Tai. "Dire Fates" was the story that
got me into OMG so I couldn't pass on the chance to have John show up
for a visit.
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