Post by Admin on Oct 22, 2014 16:26:03 GMT -5
Zatara
Issue #2: “A Dramatic Sting”
Story and Art by Hushicho
Edited by Mark Bowers
Issue #2: “A Dramatic Sting”
Story and Art by Hushicho
Edited by Mark Bowers
Eddie always enjoyed Zach's company, but there were times when all he wanted to do was to shut himself inside his makeshift workshop. His gadgetry had taken a back seat since his transformation; now that Zach had some business to attend to, Eddie thought he'd get back to inventing. Maybe he could whip up something to help them in their occasional scrapes!
The first half-hour went less than ideally, with the devilish young man discovering that now, he could effectively weld using his fingers if he wasn't careful. Still, he figured it might come in handy and, with this resolve, decided to nip out to pick up replacement supplies for those he accidentally ruined.
He negotiated the lobby, careful to pull the hood on his coat forward enough that he wouldn't be noticed. Not that the Vegas crowd tended to scare easily.
The preoccupation nearly ended with him stumbling over a shorter figure in his path. “Oh! I'm so sorry!” Stepping back, he started on his way around, but something about this shorter person stopped him. “Are... are you lost?”
It was weird to him, to see someone so – not young, not that much younger than himself, but – innocent? Certainly not innocent. Yet a kind of purity looked out at the world from those eyes. The clothes struck Eddie as odd too: old-fashioned, stark black and white, even a little collared shirt with a smart little jacket and shorts that might have seemed cheery and free on a somewhat-younger lad.
The smaller man sniffed back tears, throwing his arms around Eddie. “You've got to help me, please!”
Looking around himself, Eddie nervously patted his new acquaintance on his head. On his curiously-styled black hair that resembled horns.
“U-uh,” the devil stammered. “I don't know if I'm exactly the one for the job.” Oh how he dreaded getting noticed!
“Please!” This odd fellow really was a good bit shorter. He looked up into Eddie's eyes, seemingly utterly unperturbed by his diabolical appearance. “You've got to help. You've got to!”
The years of training, of aiming for an admirable super-identity, proved too much for Kid Devil's resolve. “Okay. Okay, I'll help. What's happened? How can I help?”
The young man in black and white brightened up instantly, as if seeing a miracle before him. “Really? You're my hero!” He bounced on his feet, then reached down to take Eddie's hand, dragging him along and out of the hotel lobby. “Teekl is missing! We've got to find her!”
“Teekl?”
“My kitty friend.” He smiled over his shoulder at Eddie.
“Oh. Um, I'm Eddie – Kid Devil.”
“I know!” The lad smiled back. “You can call me Klarion.”
“Klarion.” He hurried along behind the smaller figure, hood blowing back to show his face. “I don't know if I'll be much help, though. It's not like I'm a dog–”
Suddenly a flash surrounded them. Klarion stopped, dropping Eddie's hand, and turned fully around.
“Uh oh.”
*****
“I don't think in my most unfortunate of visions I ever imagined my return to Vegas would start like this.”
Zatara stood by the bar, and the blond man, with messy short hair – not styled to look messy, but instead genuinely so – and a trenchcoat, sat on a stool, leaning on the wood, an almost-empty glass in his hand.
He was from somewhere in the UK, and Zach knew that much about the man; Scotland, he thought he recalled, but the accent sounded more well-rounded than any particular region, more like creeping down to the north of England. It amused him, almost bitterly, to juxtapose the typical American expectation of British propriety and smart dressing, here contradicted in the most flagrantly consummate manner in this man, this John Constantine.
“Oh come on,” the blond answered, taking a cigarette that he had let smoulder in the ashtray too long and raising it to his mouth. “Could be worse. Could be some super-villain with a vendetta.”
“You seem to have confused me with my cousin.” Zatara folded his arms over his chest. “I only wear fishnet above the waist.”
Where the hell was Zatanna? She promised she'd be there when he arrived, but that had been two days ago. The curiosity and worry were primarily what brought Zach to this bar. The mysterious invitation didn't exactly help matters.
Constantine snubbed out the smoking butt in an amber glass ashtray, probably left over from the 60s. The place had a certain retro appeal to it, but for being a magical place, it probably was just that the items had been saved until the style came back into fashion.
“I'm wondering where she is too.” John's tone dropped into a momentary lapse of irreverence. It showed his lingering affection. “In case you were wondering, no...in fact I tried not to make a habit of jaunting across the pond for any old thing.”
“If you have some kind of information, I want to know what it is.”
“Why don't we pool our resources?” Constantine sipped the last of his drink and set the glass down rougher and louder than he'd intended. How many did that make? He couldn't recall. “Two heads, and all that.”
Zach leaned back against the bar, still not taking a seat for himself. “Why don't you tell me what you know and just keep warming your barstool? I'm sure the fine proprietors of this establishment would be delighted to continue accommodating you indefinitely.” He really, really did not want to have a mostly-drunk Briton to worry about. Especially this one.
Two heads. Really! More like one superbly excellent head and a whiskey barrel.
John turned a bit more towards the bar as a new round arrived. “What's it going to take for you to let down those hackles? It's like you're a jealous mistress.” He went quiet as he took the first sip from the fresh drink. His adam's apple bobbed with the swallow, flicking his tongue over his lips and breaking into a grin again after. “I take it she told you I fancy fellas too and you're bustin' me balls over that?”
“I am not doing anything with your balls, Constantine!!” Zach sputtered, before it occurred to him that he had practically broadcast it to every corner of the small club. His voice always had a quality that allowed it to carry; it had to, with the unpredictable nature of stage sound systems. After a few seconds, everyone stopped staring and slowly returned to their own conversations.
“Well now, seems like you've thought of something different than busting.”
Zach clenched his teeth and huffed a breath through his flared nostrils. “I don't have to be jealous to disapprove of you.”
“So now you disapprove of the boys?” John melodramatically pouted, sticking out his lip.
“Can we please stop talking about your genitals?!”
“Please yourself,” came the answer. Accompanied, of course, with a knowing grin from yet another double entendre. “Listen, if you're worried about a vomit or me pissing myself, all it takes is a little trick I learned from an Indian bloke.”
“Why waste time getting drunk if all you're going to do is magic it away? Even I can appreciate that.” Zach leaned a hand on the bar. “If you want to come with me, then fine. But I'm not helping you. I'm not going to save you, I'm not going to protect you, and if you cock it up, prepare never to live it down for the rest of forever.”
“Fair's fair!” John pushed up to his feet at once, not a wobble or a sway or a stumble. He drained the rest of his glass and tossed some money onto the bar, then moved the empty glass onto it.
Turning to face Zach, he gave the younger man a sort of sloppy salute and grinned.
Zach had to admit: pretty eyes. Bright eyes, which he found particularly surprising after as long as Constantine must have sat there drinking. But there was something...else about them, some kind of indelible stain that implied, rather than outright showed, darkness behind the boyish sparkle. Was it glamour? It didn't have the right feel.
He turned suddenly, more abruptly than he really wanted, but he knew he'd stared too long. It's probably what drew Zatanna to John. She always was a sucker for the “pathetic kitten in the rain” guys.
Oh, she could be pretty disapproving herself. Not the most supportive person, but the closest thing Zach had in his life. They had so much in common, which included their approaches; maybe they were too alike. But she certainly had no problem loving 'em and leaving 'em. When asked for suggestions for a title of her memoirs, Zach proposed 100 Mornings After.
“Zach.” John threw his arm around the other man's shoulders, strolling along the walk with him, which at this hour had become slightly less congested. “You never did answer why you seem to hate the very thought of me.”
Zatara kept his pace steady. “Don't touch me, I don't know where you've been.”
Constantine didn't move his arm from where it rested, though he also didn't lean on Zach. But he also didn't seem to have done any sort of trick, Indian mystic or otherwise; he just seemed to shrug off hours of alcohol. The reply made him laugh.
“You really have it in for me! Here we are having just met for the first time and you've already made up your mind I'm a waste.”
Suddenly Zach stopped, which nearly sent John stumbling to the ground. He regrouped himself and turned back, having come away from the other man with the abrupt halt.
“This isn't the first time we've met, Constantine.”
“Isn't it?” He ran his hands through his short blond hair, messing it up even more than before. Somehow, this did slightly improve its appearance, though it still probably could use a wash.
“Look, it's not important. I'm not into rough trade. Though I suppose it does say something that you have as good an appearance as you do. With the way you live your life, you should be about a hundred pounds heavier and have even worse teeth.”
“If I took you seriously, I might be hurt.” All it seemed to do was amuse John, though. “Sure. Right. I use a little hocus-pocus here and there. Upkeep. Manscaping?”
Zach breathed deeply in and sighed. It was perhaps the most disappointed sigh that anyone able to hear had ever heard, the kind of sigh that a put-upon mother of four might employ – the kind of sigh that signified a shame on one's family as troubling as could exist.
“I can't believe you actually said 'manscaping'. I can't believe...look, just...I can't...” Zach finally threw his hands up. “You're a pathetic waste of magic, did you know that?”
“Yeah,” John replied, fishing in his pockets and finally drawing out a pack of cigarettes. “I know.” He held it out in offering to Zach, then a moment later pulled out a slightly bent one and brought it to his own lips. “I've been called it all: waste of magic, waste of breath...one time, even waste of flesh! I'm apparently a waste of everything. Probably wasting your time right now.”
Zatara's scowl matched the fire in his eyes. “You can't be any kind of magician if you're constantly acting like you're too good for magic. You can't perform sorcery if you're keeping it carefully at arm's length with a set of tongs.”
“So pulling doves from a top hat, that's sorcery is it?”
“Just like Zatanna, my show is a mixture of sleight-of-hand and real magic.” Zach paused for a moment only, to take a brief breath. “And just like Zatanna, I'd like to put a few thousand miles between us at the first possible opportunity. But unlike Zatanna, I'm not naive enough to imagine you could teach me anything except how to be a disgusting barfly!”
The great part about Las Vegas was that they could carry on like this and not gather a crowd. Most of the people who made their way around the altercation gave it a single glance and then proceeded to mind their own business. It was Vegas. Probably some television show or something.
“Listen sprout, I dunno what the hell I did to make you hate me so much, but I'm just about done taking this–”
“You'll take it and love it!” Zach dramatically pointed like a whipcrack directly at John.
And in seconds, the two couldn't stop themselves from laughing. Dammit, Zach thought. This is ridiculous.
John was the first to speak, between them. Taking the smoking cigarette from his mouth with his left hand, he extended his right to Zatara.
“'m sorry for forgetting. Could we start over? John Constantine. Disgusting barfly.”
Tentatively, Zach moved his arm. After a pause, he took the man's hand and squeezed it; Constantine gave a pump and then released.
“Zachary Zatara, world's greatest and most popular teenaged magician. Also, insufferable self-opinionated jealous mistress.”
John chuckled brightly again, and then he held up a finger, drawing off the cigarette and opening his mouth. A second later he exhaled, but instead of a ring trick...he breathed out a swirling dragon, which in turn belched smoke and then slowly drifted into that same smoke.
Zach smiled, for the first time in a while, and clapped. On the darkening street, it had been a show for only him.
“All right. Let's get on this. What's your information?” Zach stepped closer to Constantine. “The longer we wait, the more chance she's in serious danger.”
“Aren't you glad I asked you here? ‘Cos yon watering hole is right next to where I picked up a little scent of Zatanna's own magical signature.” John, satisfied with himself, motioned in the direction of a nearby building.
The two nearly fell to the ground with the explosion that rocked the area a moment later.
“I really hope that's not her,” Constantine muttered, taking off in a full run towards the noise and smoke.
Zach sighed, catching him up easily. “That makes two of us.”
The facade of the hotel gaped open to the small front parking lot, people screaming, dashing past the two. An elderly man stood – aged but well-built and terrible – flanked by some sort of green monstrosity. It was nothing from Earth.
Zach twitched a brow. “I wish it had been her.”
“Me too.”
The old man turned to face the both of them. His build such that it could be compared to, say, Superman, it bulged in imposing ways beneath the all-covering black suit he wore, one that looked old, outdated, from a world long-vanished. The tails of his cloak whipped behind him as he gestured in the pair's direction, his emerald pet slathering and hissing at them.
“You challenge the Elder? The Judge? Then you die!” His enunciation crisp, his faintest gesture set the animal moving towards them. “Draaga – make an example of them!”
The thing hurtled forth like it had greased the air. One moment, Zach stood ready to take it on, thoughts flicking through his handy arsenal of battle magic, and the next, he found himself tackled into a hedge.
It was not the creature atop him, however; Constantine lay over him like an unkempt blanket. “That thing's a Draaga.”
“Yes, I got that.” Zatara watched through the foliage as the thing continued to search the area. “What's hiding us from it?”
“Me. But I'm not going to be able to hold it off long.”
He looked up at John's face. It practically dripped with sweat.
“Thing is, Draaga are all poison – every part of them, inside and out, deadly poison. Pets of the Elder Judges of Witch-Town. Nasty place.” The blond half-rambled, his magic having taken a certain toll. “So can't touch them.”
The only sound between them for the next few seconds was Constantine's ragged breathing. Then a grunt as he felt his arms pulled back.
Zach shoved the trenchcoat sleeves down, working fast and with a purpose. “Take it off! Hurry!”
“Thought you didn't like rough trade.” John's grin returned, though it now quivered with fatigue.
“I'll remind you of where my leg currently is,” Zatara answered, “so you can hope I don't have a completely unpredictable muscle spasm.”
Constantine wiggled out of the sleeves and folded his arms under him, resting his chin on them and all of it, with considerable insouciance, on Zach's chest.
The younger man sighed softly. “I'm not sure how you think I'm going to do this with you lying on me like this.”
“We've got a few more seconds.”
“I don't know what you're implying, but in any case I wouldn't brag about that.”
All at once, John rolled off Zach, giving him a lift up. The younger man rolled up to his feet and, in the grandest way possible to emerge from a hedge, he stepped out to face the Draaga. The battered trenchcoat, stained, ripped, weathered, torn, and frayed, caught a breeze and billowed for a brief moment behind the well-dressed magician.
With a crack of the fabric, a flick of the wrist, Zatara presented it like a matador's cape. He had to get that thing away from any fleeing people, and ideally away from Constantine too; it wasn't just cheekiness a moment before, he'd been clearly exhausted. Whatever these Elder Judges were, and the Draaga too for that matter, they were not good news for anyone involved with them.
The hideous thing leapt at Zach, and in true form he spun out of the way and released his grip on the coat. It covered the beast, but as surely as stated earlier, the poisons began to eat away at it.
“Taoc ot etinarg!!”
Instantly the garment hardened and shaped itself around the Draaga, just as Constantine dragged himself out of the underbrush.
“Wh– no!! My coat!” He staggered over to Zach. “What the hell've you done? D'you know how long I've had that?”
“A while longer than you'd have it if we'd been slaughtered by that thing.” Zach eyed the Elder, still lingering amid the demolished facade. “I can fix it. Later. Right now we've got more urgent affairs.”
The momentary lull in action built up a tremendous tension in the air. Any moment, one side or the other would surely spring into action. Onlookers could take bets; the mismatched pair, or the spooky old bodybuilder?
All stakes would lose. Suddenly two figures burst around the corner: Eddie and Klarion. But Eddie, for whatever reason, wore a collar around his neck and seemed to be all but dragging the slighter Witch-Boy along behind him. From behind the Elder, conversely, a familiar form emerged – that of Zatanna! Dressed for a formal adventure, she made especially good speed even in chunk-heeled boots.
To Zach, it all seemed like pandemonium. His cousin's actions struck him as strange enough, but then he noticed the target of her pursuit: a sleek orange cat, which scrambled around the Elder, who moved unsuccessfully to intercept. Now the man noticed Zatanna.
Zatara glanced to Constantine. “She's going to need our help, if these Elder–”
“Wolb mih yawa!!”
The black-clad older man flew at least ten feet before rolling to a stop, groaning as he picked himself up off the pavement.
“...there's something different about her,” Zach quickly noted.
“Teekl!” Klarion shouted joyfully, throwing his arms out and rushing to a rendezvous with the cat, who leapt into his grasp.
This had the additional effect of him releasing the leash, and Eddie scampered over to Zach. There was something different about the devil too, he noted, especially the way he seemed to be moving on almost all fours. Still, he looked happy enough.
For the second time in barely ten minutes, Zach found himself tackled unexpectedly. This time, however, he managed to stop the both of them from pitching onto the pavement.
“Eddie! What are you doing? And who's the kid with the cat?”
Kid Devil's response came, one of loud barking and then licking Zach's face. The magician tried to bat at him at first, then pushed at his shoulders.
“Eddie! We've talked about this! Always be mindful of the paparazzi!”
Constantine snorted, trying not to laugh outright. “This, er, a friend of yours? Into this kind of thing, are we?”
“Oh yes,” Zach answered drily. “I love it.”
“John you're a sad old sod,” Constantine replied, circling around Eddie to help pull him back and off the other man.
At that second, a blinding flash flared around the three of them. Klarion hugged Teekl closer, sticking his lip out in a pout. His expression shifted as Zatanna stalked closer.
“KLARION!”
“Uh oh.” The Witch-Boy frowned a little bit, stroking the cat's head after the smaller animal hissed in a surprisingly menacing manner. “Now now, Teekl. We must keep our composure. These are our heroes, remember. They help people in our situation.”
Teekl mumbled something incomprehensible to herself, likely known only to those who understood the language of cats.
“I have been all over Las Vegas and six horrible extradimensions looking for your cat! I'm so upset I can't even think straight!”
Zach rushed over, ushering Constantine – who seemed to have become upset for some reason – along with him. “Now cousin. You just need to take a breath and see how wonderful the world really is! You never miss the water til the well runs dry! Let your experience give you a new appreciation for the things you've taken for granted – truly, this is a world of love!”
It was, at least, enough to jar Zatanna slightly from her fury. “Zach? ...John? What are you doing here?”
Constantine raised his head to look to her, disregarding Eddie, who had begun to bump his head against the man's hand. “I...I was just worried about you. I'm always worried about you and I always cock it all up!” And then he began to sob into his hands.
“There, there.” Zach patted John's shoulder softly, giving Zatanna a gently chiding look. “You should use a gentler tone, Zatanna. John's come a long way to see you.”
“I don't care! I didn't ask him to!”
The Elder stood shakily, brushing himself off before clearing his throat and speaking, in his boisterous manner. It at least succeeded in derailing the argument for the moment.
“Behold the curse of the Witch-Boy you champion! Your emotions shall destroy you – so be it to those who assist the hated one!” He pulled his cloak's cape around him, tilting his head up. “And when you've been annihilated – then we come for you, Klarion!”
This time, the Witch-Boy did not attempt to calm Teekl when she hissed, clawing at the air in the Elder's direction. She wiggled from his arms and sped over towards the man, but he vanished in the blink of an eye and took the Draaga with him.
“Oh! I'll get your coat, John.” Zach turned back to the stone shape and wiggled his fingers. “Nruter ot cibraf!” Once it resumed its original makeup, he gathered it and brought it back, to drape around the man's shoulders. “There, isn't that better? Poor John. He's so sensitive.”
Eddie now turned his attention to Zatara again, scrambling around him to eventually pull himself up standing again.
“Klarion!” Zatanna turned, hands on hips, to face the Witch-Boy. “You've got some explaining to do.”
“As surely as any oath, I am entirely innocent of wrongdoing!” Klarion responded, Teekl sitting at his feet and beginning to lick her paw idly. “I come from a place called Witch-Town. It's a very unhappy place. And men like that Elder you saw, just now, oppress the populace. We all have magic – but only they are allowed to use it! I ask you, where is the justice in that?”
“He's probably telling the truth,” John offered, between quivers of voice and fits of crying. “It's really like that. Poor Klarion...!” Then he returned to sobbing into his hands again.
“Don't they get the value of understanding?” Zach placed his arm around Eddie, who smiled brightly, eyes wide, completely uncomprehending of anything anyone had to say. “If we just give each other a chance, things will be okay. But we have to understand each other...not fear. Fear is the killer. Fear is the enemy.”
Zatanna slowly took a breath. Calm. Had to calm. The flames of her anger continued to lick at her mind.
“Okay. I'm going to try to do this because clearly Zach is celebrating the Age of Aquarius and John has no restraint and Eddie's...a dog...or something,” she began, holding her hands illustratively before her and gesturing as she spoke. “What exactly is happening to us and how are we supposed to fix it?”
Klarion tapped his fingers nervously together, watching as Zach wandered off in pursuit of a moth. “They tried to lock me up, just for using magic! I wasn't even doing anything bad–”
“Klarion, cut to the chase!” She grunted, through clenched teeth.
“Ah, well, my dear, sweet Teekl helped me to escape, and I thought I could just leave and they would leave me alone. But they pursued me through countless dimensions, to here! The Elder caught up to us earlier and tried to kill us with a curse! But I managed to divert a part of it with a counterspell...”
Zatanna sighed from deep within her chest. “So what's the lingering effect?”
“It would seem that the only remaining effects of the curse don't directly affect me, but instead target those around me. Whatever is spoken just before the hex cycles randomly is enhanced in them, until it consumes them...” Klarion looked demurely away, then seemed to find renewed enthusiasm as he picked the thread of his chronicle back up again. “And it teleported Teekl away! I couldn't find her and I thought I'd never see her again!”
John emitted a muffled wail of sympathetic anguish.
The cat patted at the Witch-Boy's socks, and he knelt down to scoop her up once more.
“Aaand we can prevent this how?”
“Teekl and I can remove the rest of the curse's effects, but only when the Elder is banished to his home dimension. If that happens, I can shut the mystical door, so to speak, and then he won't be able to continue reinforcing his curse! It's very simple.”
Zatanna snappily pointed at him, narrowing her eyes. “You'd better not try anything sneaky. And where can we find this Elder, now that he's disappeared?”
Klarion seemed completely unfazed by the implicit threat. “Well that's easy...!”
*****
A short time later, Klarion stood in the center of a circle of sigils, candles lit at five points around the curve, with Teekl sitting placidly next to him.
The Elder appeared just outside the circle, though this time unaccompanied. “Witch-Boy. You will surrender yourself to me and return to our home for your ultimate punishment.”
“Yes.” Klarion sighed, nodding his head once. “I've been very naughty, and I realized it when I understood how those kind people were suffering because of me.”
“Perhaps – perhaps – mercy may be shown to you.” The old man never seemed to move much, not even to breathe noticeably. “The authority of the Elders must be absolute.”
“I'd like to just say something, if I may. To my...friends, before I go with you. I may call you friends, may I not?” Offering a hopeful smile, Klarion looked to the assembled four. Of them, only Zach gave a patient, supportive nod.
“Proceed,” the Elder answered, motioning briefly with a hand.
The Witch-Boy took a deep breath and gestured, almost as if he intended to conduct an orchestra. “Hop, skip, prance and clap! Now it's time to spring the trap!”
“Well that's a strange thing to say to–”
“Ecnelis!” Zatanna shouted, in the unnecessarily loudness that had recently become her custom.
A hole ripped in the very air behind the Elder, a somber and dour landscape visible just through it. “How–?!” He struggled against its pull, muscles flexed to their limits.
Zach's gentle smile spread. “Sdniw wolb mih otni eht latrop!”
At his behest, a gust came from nowhere and knocked against the old man. The first proved insufficient, but the second surged and lifted him just enough for the portal to do the rest of the work. His protests grew more distant as the doorway to the other world steadily shrank, before it simply flickered into a fading spark.
“All right, Teekl! Now it's our turn!” Klarion extended his arms, spreading his fingers. “By infernal fire, let the tongues of flame be cleansed! And by the power of the infinite void, let this curse come to its end!” His voice seemed deeper, more frightening somehow; it no longer suited the whimsical, youthful mien he presented.
Energy filled the room, bolts crackling and exploding. It surrounded the four, flashed around them like chain lightning illuminating midnight bright as noon, and just as quickly it all departed, sweeping away and becoming only a memory.
Zatanna immediately turned to Klarion, only to find the candles, the sigils, the Witch-Boy, and the cat nowhere to be seen. “He's gone.”
“They're gone,” Constantine corrected, though gently enough. “Too much to ask to expect that's the last we'll see of 'em, though.” As an afterthought, he wiped at his cheeks with his coat sleeve, eyes puffy from the hours of continuous weeping.
Eddie practically melted into the shadows. Right now his memory remained unclear of the past few hours, but from what he could recall, that may have been for the best.
“Oh my god, slap me if I ever get like that again.” Zach rubbed his temples, stalking from the room. “I'm exhausted. Wake me up sometime past Tuesday.”
John shifted to move in the magician's wake. “Ditto me.”
Zatanna's attention remained elsewhere. The disappearance of the Witch-Boy troubled her, in a way, but not quite so much as the realization that she'd been a victim of time dilation. She dealt with the curse for the longest time, but to her only hours passed as she pursued Teekl through the dimensions. She would have to contact her agent, and soon. Thankfully he understood the unique problems of her being part of a super-family.
At last, she snapped back from her reverie to look to the others, only to find one other still lingering. “Eddie? I'm sorry, I guess I was kind of off in my own world there. You okay?”
The devil cleared his throat, self-consciously, and wrung his hands. “I...think so? I...don't really want to know what happened, do I...”
“You couldn't help it. We were all under the curse, because we were trying to do the right thing.” She reached out to ruffle his hair, though carefully due to his naturally higher temperature rising even more from the anxiety. “I'm going to go make sure Zach's okay. You go get some sleep too, all right? I may be a little late for it, but I still want to do the daiquiri thing by the pool.”
“That sounds really good about now. The sleep. I mean, and the daiquiris.” Eddie stumbled over his words, trying to give what he hoped was a reassuring, apologetic smile. “Nice to see you again, Zatanna. See you by the pool, say...maybe day after tomorrow? I'll bet Zach'll be okay with then.”
“It's a date!” She gave a nod and, cheerfully as she could manage, walked with him to the door. “Riaper,” she called back, giving a glance to the ravaged chamber, which instantly fixed itself, good as new.
*****
A strawberry daiquiri sat, still pleasantly slushy, on the table beside each of the sunloungers. While the weather outside did not lend itself well to the kind of scantily-clad relaxing the trio chose, Vegas meant plenty of indoor pools. With bar service.
Eddie splashed in the water, clearly enjoying himself, swimming around and diving. The incident, if he remembered any more of it, failed to weigh too heavily on his mind.
Zatanna reached for her glass, in her elegant black swimsuit and sunglasses. Zach occupied the chair just next to hers, drink in hand, wearing something tiny and bright red – not the gold after all. Like his cousin, he too sported dark glasses, but his were smoky glass in gold frames instead of the pitch-black of hers.
“You were spooning,” she casually accused.
He pursed his lips, then took a sip from the straw. “We were passed out and you broke into the room. Two people can arrange themselves in coincidentally concentric positions, it happens when you sleep near anyone. Or anything. Unless you never had a teddy bear.”
“I'm not trying to give you grief about it.”
“That is exactly what you are trying to do.”
“I just think he should've gone back to his own room to sleep.”
Zach sighed, setting his glass down on the table. “I know you've had your differences. You know I loathed the thought of him even a week ago. I just...” he paused for a moment. “It wouldn't have been right to say hey, thanks for helping us not die and stuff, time to walk a few blocks away to get to your hole-in-the-wall hotel when I have a double bed.”
“That's new, for you.” Zatanna smiled, just a little. “I like it. You usually try to pretend like you don't care about hardly anyone or anything.”
“That's because I don't.” He folded his hands and rested them on his stomach. “Eddie. You. Uncle John.”
“And now, Constantine?”
“Shut. Up.” He huffed. “Just because I don't boot someone out of my room is hardly proof of anything. I don't hate him aimlessly anymore. That's as much as I'm willing to say.”
“I'm not saying...just saying...”
“Anyway. Even if I thought of entertaining the notion, I still don't even know what to call Bunny. Or Eddie. I mean...you don't like labels either, Zatanna.” He rolled his eyes behind the shadowed lenses. “It's not healthy to be tied down, or to tie down someone else. It's a risk in the tights-and-capes stuff, and then we have to go and add the magic element. So you're not just risking life and limb, you also get to endanger your immortal essence. Great! Sign me up!”
She sat in silence for a little while, the only sound the distant splashing of Eddie in the large pool. A few other groups contributed to a low ambient noise. People arrived and departed through the set of doors on either side.
“I kind of want it, though.”
“Who doesn't!” Zach separated his hands, motioning wildly with them. “I want that, I want to use magic all the time, I want to be worshipped in fifty countries and banned in at least ten for just being too attractive! It's just...”
“It's never easy, is it? I mean, not really.” Zatanna sipped from her own daiquiri, pensive, silent except for the slush sliding through the plastic straw. “You start off believing it when they tell you that this kind of people like that kind of people, you find 'the one', then it all ties up neatly and you stick together forever. You do the career thing, buy a house together. Get some dinnerware. Have picnics in the country.”
“Yeah, I'm pretty sure I never got to read a story about finding the second or third 'the one' and how the different 'ones' all mean something different and all bring completely different kinds of fulfillment.” He reached out for his glass, as if inspired. “Or how sometimes you don't have to be that important to each other to have some fun together and then say let's do it again sometime, thanks, bye!” Now it was his turn to pause for a mouthful, swallowing down the chilly liquid. “And I don't think I've ever had a picnic in the country.”
“It's not all it's cracked up to be. Kind of sucks, most of the time.”
“Ants?”
“And wind. And hot sunshine. And wine bottles don't sit evenly. And crumbs get everywhere.”
“But then there's skinny dipping, if you plan it right.”
“Trust me.” Zatanna shifted to rest on her side, facing Zach. “John and sunlight are not a viable combination. He's like a living photographer's reflector, Zach, I kid you not.”
“Speaking of which,” Zach glanced around them. “Wasn't he invited? Is he coming?”
She returned to resting on her back again. “It may have slipped my mind.”
“Oh come on!”
“One day you'll understand, Zach. Sometimes...”
“Don't patronize me.” He snapped, then relaxed in his seat, closing his eyes.
“Sorry.” Zatanna offered quietly, after another short silence. “So...is anyone still doing Japanese, or have trends moved on to something else?”
“I'm doing Japanese. Eddie loves Japanese. I don't care what anyone else is doing, are we getting Japanese for dinner?”
“Let's get Japanese for dinner.”
“You're buying.”
“I'm n–damn.” Zatanna had to laugh, settling back and closing her eyes as well. “Fine. But next time, it’s your treat!”
The End
Please let us know what you think here!