“It doesn’t matter. He belongs with you.”
The owl flew to Tim’s shoulder. Tim liked how it felt there, now that he was used to the sharp talons. “Hey, Yo-yo,” he cooed to the bird, which gave its feathers a quick ruffle and hooted.
“Right, then,” Constantine said. “All set?”
Tim nodded, stroking Yo-yo’s delicate brown feathers. The bird shut its eyes with pleasure.
Constantine turned to head out. “Take care, love,” he called to Madame X over his shoulder. Without another glance back, he left the apartment.
“Uh, it was nice to meet you,” Tim said to the woman. “Thanks for everything.”
Madame X didn’t answer. She just looked troubled. Tim wasn’t sure if it was because of him, the card reading, or John Constantine. “So, uhm…’bye,” Tim said, then hurried to catch up with Constantine.
“She didn’t seem very glad to see you,” Tim observed as they went back down the stairs.
“I suppose you’re right about that.”
“Did you really steal her, what was it, Wind Egg?”
“In a manner of speaking,” John admitted. “I meant to return it, but it got slightly damaged in a scuffle with a troll in Birmingham.”
“Oh, sure,” Tim scoffed. “There are trolls in Birmingham. Right.”
“If you know where to look, yes.” They stepped outside and started walking quickly west. “Listen, we need to get out of here, and fast,” John said. “I’ve received word that they’re on to our whereabouts.” He took a cigarette pack from his pocket. “I had figured we’d have a good week before they found us. Bad call.”
“Do you have to smoke those filthy things?” Tim asked, theatrically waving smoke away with his hands. “And who are on to us?”
“The ones who want to kill you.”
Tim stopped so suddenly that Yo-yo let out a screech and dug his talons into his shoulder more sharply. Tim ignored the pain. “Kill me? Why would anyone want to kill me?”
John turned to face him. “Think about it, kiddo. You are at the brink of serious power. You don’t think people would kill for that? To extinguish it forever or to harness it for themselves? Either way, you’ve got a whole lot of people after you. And some of them aren’t even people.”
“Oh.”
“Cheer up, Tim. Our side has plenty of muscle too.” John started walking again, assuming that Tim would follow. He did, but it took a few blocks before he picked up his pace to match John’s again. People wanting him dead was a bit much to process.
They strode along the city streets in silence. They’d gotten close to the river, and the neighborhood was fairly deserted. Most of the bars and restaurants were closed at that time of day, and people were probably at work. An old woman strolled by, walking a dog. A man in filthy clothes rummaged through a garbage can. Neither paid any attention to them. Tim had no idea where they were going, or if John had a destination in mind, but it seemed smart to keep moving. Yo-yo’s bright eyes flicked from side to side as if he were keeping a sharp lookout.
“Listen, I just thought of something,” Tim said. “My dad. Shouldn’t I ring him or something? I mean, he’ll be worried sick about me by now. And how am I going to explain that I’m in New York?”
“Don’t worry about your dad,” Constantine said. “The rest of the Trenchcoat Brigade will have taken care of that already.”
“Taken care of…?”
Constantine laughed. “Don’t sound so ominous. They’re just keeping track of the details, is all.”
They turned a corner and passed a derelict slumped against the wall, a bottle of cheap booze beside him. Tim’s nose wrinkled; the guy reeked. “Posh area,” Tim commented wryly.
Suddenly, Yo-yo shrieked and leaped into the air.
“Look out, kiddo!” someone called.
Tim and Constantine whirled around as if they’d been choreographed. Tim’s eyes widened in shock.
A beautiful woman in a flowing dress was standing behind him, brandishing a razor-sharp dagger—and it was aimed right at Tim!
Things happened fast—Yo-yo flew at the woman’s face, and the drunk bum leaped to his feet, hitting the woman with his bottle. She slumped into his raggedy arms, dropping the dagger to the sidewalk.
“I’ll take care of this one, Constantine,” the derelict said, indicating the unconscious woman. “You need to take better care of the kid.”
John grabbed Tim’s arm and hurried him away. Tim’s head swiveled around, to see what would happen next. But the derelict and the woman had both vanished. Yo-yo settled back down on his shoulders.
“What was that about?” Tim asked Constantine, who was walking briskly.
“Haven’t the foggiest,” his companion replied.
“But he knew your name!” Tim protested.
“My name?”
“What you’re called, then,” Tim grumbled. “And who was that lady? Was she one of the people who want to kill me?”
“We have to keep moving,” Constantine said.
Tim shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. I can’t believe I’m walking along, uh…”
“Twelfth Street,” John provided.
“Twelfth Street, with an owl on my shoulder. An owl that used to be a yo-yo. I don’t believe I’m in America. I definitely don’t believe that people are trying to kill me. I don’t believe…”
“In magic?” Constantine stopped and turned to face Tim, his arms crossed over his chest.
They stood gazing at each other on the quiet street. Tim didn’t know what to say, because he truly didn’t know his own answer. He couldn’t tell if John was angry or challenging or disappointed. He wanted his respect, and if John believed in this magic thing, then maybe he should too. But not even John is perfect, he thought as he coughed from some lingering cigarette smoke.
John broke the silence. “Look, we’ve got to get you someplace safe.” He strode to a car parked at the curb and opened the door to the passenger side. “Get in,” he instructed, then walked around the front of the car.
Tim’s eyes widened. “Oh, bloody hell,” he exclaimed. “Now you’re stealing a car?” Tim was incredulous.
As if in answer, John opened the driver’s side door.
“Are you sure you’re one of the good guys?” Tim asked.
“I guess it all depends on who you ask. Are you getting in or aren’t you?”
What choice did he have? He ducked into the front seat, and John slid in behind the wheel.
“Can you drive?” Constantine asked.
Tim laughed. “I’m only thirteen,” he said.
“Oh well, I suppose it will have to be me, then.” John turned the key in the ignition. He backed up and hit the car behind them, lurched forward and banged into the car in front. Then he jerked the car out into street. “Don’t worry, it’s not far.”
Tim was stunned. How could a smooth guy like Constantine be this bad a driver!
“Where are we going?” He asked, quickly buckling his seat belt. He cringed as John drove too closely to the parked cars, smashing a side mirror as he went.
“San Francisco.”
Tim’s mouth dropped open. He swiveled inside his seat belt and stared at John. “But—that’s on the other side of the country!” His eyes flicked out the windshield. “Watch out for that car!” he shouted.
John made a sharp turn, barely avoiding an oncoming BMW. He pulled onto a main street. One with lots of cars. And trucks. And innocent pedestrians.
“San Francisco is thousands of miles away!” Tim exclaimed. “That trip would take ages, and I’ve got a chemistry test coming up! Plus I promised I’d ring Molly.” He was about to explain that he couldn’t possibly be away so long when Constantine’s terrible driving distracted him. “On the right, John!” Tim yelled. “You’re meant to drive on the right side of the road here in the States!”
“Tim, go to sleep.” Constantine sounded annoyed.
“Huh?”
; “Go to sleep.”
Tim felt himself sink into darkness. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but it was as if there were weights attached to his eyelashes. It was a relief to let them fall.
All at once, Tim jolted awake, his heart pounding. He must have been dreaming—he had a terrible sense of danger, of a chase—a car chase, like in the movies. He blinked, shook his head trying to clear it, and blinked again. As the scene came into focus before him, sweat beaded on his forehead.
What am I doing here? He was standing on the edge of a cliff, and two cars were burning in the chasm far below him. Constantine was staring down too, and Yo-yo circled overhead. Isn’t that car the one…His head whipped around. No car.
“Wh-What happened?” he asked John.
“A small disagreement over the placement of our cars on the road.” Constantine sighed. His voice got serious. “They’re still after us.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t your driving?” Tim asked.
Constantine grimaced at him. “I wish it had been. The sooner we get to San Francisco, the happier I’ll be.”
“Where are we now?” Tim asked, peering into the darkness around him. They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.
“In Southern California.”
Tim’s mouth dropped open. Wow. We seriously booked if we’ve made it all the way across the country in a single night. Then he remembered his geography. San Francisco was in the north. And California was a long skinny state. Their destination was still miles and miles away.
“Uh, we don’t have a car anymore,” Tim pointed out. “What are we going to do?”
“Stick out our thumbs, walk, and hope.”
Chapter Five
TIM WAS TIRED, COLD, and hungry. His feet hurt. They’d been walking along this highway for ages. He shivered. Wasn’t California supposed to be warm?
The few cars that passed kept going. Eyeing John’s battered trench coat and dangling cigarette, and his own jeans and grimy T-shirt, it occurred to him that only a stark-raving loony would pick them up. And then where would they be?
“Can’t you do something?” Tim asked.
“Like what?” John replied.
“I dunno…‘magic’ things along.”
“Doesn’t work that way,” John said. “At least, I don’t work that way.”
“Then how does it work?” Tim grumbled. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me stuff?”
“You think you’re not learning?”
Tim rolled his eyes. That wasn’t an answer. He watched Yo-yo fly ahead and land on a tree branch and thought about the kind of magic that made Yo-yo. Reading cards was all well and good, but it wasn’t the kind of magic that Merlin had. The kind he wanted.
“I want to—” Tim began.
“Catch that ride?” John cut him off.
Sure enough, a car had pulled to a stop up ahead of them.
“Quick!” Tim said, bounding forward. “Before he changes his mind!” He dashed to the car, Yo-yo flying behind him.
The driver had rolled down his window. A man in his forties stuck his head out. He was wearing conservative glasses, a long-sleeve shirt, and a sweater vest. “Need a ride?” he asked.
Tim had been wishing for a ride, but now that there was one in front of him, he felt uncertain. “Only if you aren’t a weirdo trying to kill us,” he blurted.
The guy laughed. “You’re British, right?” he asked, obviously noting his accent.
Tim nodded. What did that have to do with anything?
“You Brits have such an offbeat sense of humor,” he said. “Never fails to crack me up.”
John had by now joined Tim. “Are we getting in?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah,” Tim decided. With John along, he figured it was okay to accept the ride. He lifted his hand and Yo-yo landed on it.
“The bird too?” the driver asked.
“The bird too,” Tim replied.
John sat up front next to the driver, while Tim sprawled across the backseat. Yo-yo perched behind John, balancing on the back of his seat. The car drove off.
“You tourists?” the driver asked.
“You might say that. I’m John Constantine.” He jerked his head toward the backseat. “And this is Tim.”
“Hi,” Tim said, observing that the man was a much better driver than John. He started to relax. The man reminded him of American professors on television. “And the owl’s name is Yo-yo.” Yo-yo ducked his head as if saying hello.
“I’m Terrence Thirteen,” the man said, introducing himself. “Dr. Terry Thirteen.”
“The ghost-breaker?” John asked.
“You’ve heard of me?” Dr. Thirteen smiled.
“Yeah,” John replied. “Read your book. Funny meeting you like this.”
Tim sat up and rested his elbows on the front seat rest, leaning between the two men. Could John have somehow arranged this meeting? He didn’t think Constantine believed much in coincidence. He wondered what the man’s book was about. And if Thirteen was his real name.
The sky was brightening slightly, but it was still dark. “Do you have an interest in the subject?” Dr. Thirteen asked John as he navigated through the ground fog that now surrounded them.
“Well, Tim here is sort of interested in magic. You must have firm opinions on the subject.”
Dr. Thirteen laughed. “You could say that.”
“Why?” Tim asked. “What do you know about magic?”
“Well, Tim, I’ve been investigating the occult for fifteen years now. You know, magic, spooks, witch cults. You might call me a professional debunker.”
“You mean you prove that they’re fake?” This surprised Tim. He gave John a quick glance. What did he think of this?
“In fifteen years I haven’t seen one thing that didn’t have a rational explanation. Either it was a hoax, or a fraud, or—most often—people wanting so much to believe in powerful forces that they’d convinced themselves of the existence of magic. They’d take simple coincidence or delusion as proof of their superstitions.”
Tim leaned back in his seat. “Fifteen years,” he said, letting out a low whistle. “That’s longer than I’ve been alive.”
Dr. Thirteen grinned at Tim in the rearview mirror. “Yes, Tim. With all that experience, I think I can say with some certainty that if magic existed, I would have found some evidence of it by now. And I haven’t.”
Tim nodded slowly. Yesterday, he would have immediately agreed with Dr. Thirteen. But now…well, everything was different now.
Tim fell asleep for a while, and when he awoke, the sun had risen. He looked out the window and saw something he recognized—the Golden Gate Bridge. San Francisco already! Terry gave them a short tour—pointing out the old island prison of Alcatraz, the marina where yachts and house boats bobbed gently in the bay, and the Ghirardelli chocolate factory. He let them out at the Fisherman’s Wharf turnaround. The whole area smelled strongly of fish and seaweed, and the calls of the seagulls seemed to make Yo-yo nervous. He dug his talons deeper into Tim’s shoulder.
“Magic is a nice hobby if you’re planning to entertain at a party,” Dr. Thirteen told Tim, leaning out of his window. “But otherwise, don’t waste your time on it.”
“Thanks for the ride,” Tim said.
Dr. Thirteen drove off. Tim watched him go, wondering how John would react to all that they’d heard.
“That bloke,” John said. “He doesn’t believe in magic at all. And he’s right.”
“What?” Tim’s head snapped up so fast it startled Yo-yo, who took off into the air. “What do you mean, he’s right?”
Constantine shrugged. “Magic doesn’t exist. For him.”
A cable car ground to a stop, and Tim and John helped the conductor and several prospective passengers turn it around, and then hopped aboard. Yo-yo flew alongside them. At this hour of the morning, with the sun just rising, the trolley was nearly empty.
“I don’t understand,” Tim said.
“You have to cho
ose it, you see,” John explained. He gave Tim a squinty, sidelong look. Tim wondered if John ever looked at anything straight on. “That’s what we’re offering you. The choice. If you don’t want magic, you’ll never see it again. You’ll live in a rational world in which everything can be explained.”
That doesn’t sound so bad, Tim thought. What was John trying to tell him? Or was he trying to tell him anything at all? It was hard to figure out.
“This is us,” John said after they’d ridden awhile. He rang the bell and gracefully stepped off the cable car before it had come to a full stop. Tim scrambled after him. The guy lopes along like a panther, he thought.
“But if you choose it,” John continued, as if he’d never stopped speaking, “well, it’s like stepping off the sidewalk into the street. The world still looks the same on the surface, but you can be hit by a truck at any second. That’s magic.”
“But that sounds dangerous. Why would I want to do that?” Tim asked.
“I guess some people prefer life in the fast lane. But I’m not the one deciding. You are.”
They walked along in near silence again. The only sound was the flapping of Yo-yo’s wings. Then another sound: Tim’s stomach growled. Loudly. How embarrassing. Tim slapped his hand over his stomach.
“You can have breakfast at our next port of call. And sanctuary too, with any luck,” John promised with a grin.
“Are we dropping in unexpectedly on another one of your friends?” Tim asked.
“As it happens, yes.”
“Oh, and that worked so well with Madame Xanadu,” Tim scoffed. “No thanks.”
“Zatanna isn’t anything like Madame X,” John said.
“Zatanna?” Tim repeated. His eyes widened as he looked up at John. “Zatanna the lady magician?”
“The very same,” John replied.
“I’ve seen her on TV! She’s brilliant! You know her?”
John smiled. “That’s the first time you’ve actually sounded excited since we started this little journey,” he said. “I’ve finally managed to impress you.”
“Wait a minute,” Tim stopped, suddenly anxious.
John gave him a quizzical look. “What are you worrying about now?”
The Invitation Page 6
