John Constantine's POV
A video played on the flat-screen television mounted above the head of the portly barmaid with a tattoo sleeve covering her entire arm.
It showed a tall teenager clad in bone armor raising a wall of ice that saved a family trapped in a tumbling car. The news station cycled to a grainy clip taken from far off, showing him flicking a finger and shattering an arrow aimed at a sorcerer before punting the attacker away from a populated area with an uppercut.
The background audio was noisy, and the action had been slowed to the point that he appeared to be teleporting between frames, but it had been enhanced, with artificial intelligence filling in some of the gaps.
Now that's the real threat. At least they know about the sorcerers. By the time humans figure out that AI is just as dangerous, it will be far too late.
It makes no difference to me, though. I'd be long dead, and if I wasn't, I had Technomagic.
I took a long drag from my cigarette.
The broadcast froze on the boy's face. White hair, red eyes, and frankly ridiculous good looks. I could already picture the queue forming outside his courtroom.
"You know the boy in this image," a smug voice said as the first picture shrank and another appeared beside it. It was the same boy, though the resemblance between the two shots was faint at best. The hair and eyes were different, the facial features less pronounced, and he was shorter by nearly a full foot.
"He's the Butcher of Gotham, the boy whose vengeance-fueled crusade claimed hundreds of lives and ignited open war among rival gangs—a war that Batman and the Justice League still allow to rage, mind you."
The images faded into the background as a blonde man stepped into the foreground. He was well groomed and classically handsome, wearing a smirk and an accent that sounded permanently self-congratulatory.
G. Godfrey Gordon. I have not encountered a more belligerent arsehole in recent memory. That did not mean his reporting, biased though it was, lacked entertainment value.
"My colleagues in the press will tell you that he's trying to change, that he's cooperating with the Justice League and has saved lives," he said with enviable disdain, "but we have images that show Shazam carrying the gentleman he was fighting to the emergency room."
Images flashed across the screen, showing Ade in partial profile, his body covered in half-healed cuts. His limbs were gone, as was most of his ribcage.
"I wonder how that happened," Godfrey mused. "We asked the Justice League Liaison for a statement from Shazam. So far, none has been forthcoming."
I chuckled and took a sip of my whiskey. Cheeky bastard.
"And when it comes, I am sure they will have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why they are partnering with a mass murderer to fight a terrorist cell that even the United States Government does not know about, and why they allowed him to participate in combat without any form of restraint. And do not get me started on why him at all."
He paused for dramatic effect before looking directly into the camera.
"For legal reasons, I must preface this next part with a warning, but I think that when you see the evidence, you will agree with me.
I believe the Justice League used a severely traumatized meta-teenager to take down a terrorist group filled with people like him and bungled the execution, leading to that fateful night in New York."
The barflies were paying attention now.
"Turn off that rubbish," a drunken man shouted.
"If it's rubbish, then you won't mind if we hear it, Dabney," the barkeep shot back. "Besides, Gordon is easy on the eyes."
"Oh, come on, Edna," the drunk scoffed.
"Let's hear it," another patron called out, drowning out Dabney's protest. The broadcast rolled on.
"Let us examine the evidence," G. Gordon Godfrey continued. "We know communications in and out of New York were cut for precisely ten minutes. We know that Julius and members of the Justice League were coordinating, or at the very least fighting alongside one another."
He displayed still images of Julius defending Zatara once again.
"We know a parking structure burned on the opposite side of town. Wonder Woman assisted in extinguishing the fire, and the Flash apprehended the alleged perpetrators—a former pillar of the community, Alexander Whitmer, who may well be at the center of this conspiracy, and another teenager with extraordinary abilities. Witnesses atop the Empire State Building claimed he could teleport."
He allowed his words to settle before continuing.
"We also know Julius disappeared in Rhelasia nearly four months ago under suspicious circumstances after allegedly running a mission with several Justice League sidekicks. There are rumors that the rest of the League was present, but there has been no confirmation.
"Finally, we have testimonials from residents around ground zero and from bystanders who witnessed the confrontation. They have a few choice observations."
Godfrey spoke with unmistakable eagerness as he laid out his case.
He said nothing that I did not already know. Ade and several unusual individuals had arrived weeks ago to protect Alex, which suggested that Julius had either fallen out with or escaped from the terrorist cell. Godfrey accurately described Ade as a local leader and theorized that when Julius and the League struck, he likely sent Alex away with another meta for protection and ordered his people to engage the League. The temporary media blackout was probably intended to prevent the terrorist leadership from discovering the operation.
He speculated that the relationship between Julius and the Justice League deteriorated at some point, culminating in Julius brutally and publicly killing Ade in revenge.
The graphics vanished, leaving Godfrey alone at his desk. He leaned forward, his voice charged with intensity.
"Regardless of whatever the Liaison says to explain this unfortunate series of events, heads should roll.
"They already have across New York City. Skyscrapers nearly split in half. Hundreds of people were burned or crushed to death. Meta-terrorists warring in the streets against a child with more power than sense."
Godfrey shook his head.
"What troubles me most isn't that the Justice League directly or indirectly exploited a child to do their dirty work, but the absence of oversight. Our sources within the government tell us they were just as blindsided.
"Nobody knew this was happening until it was already underway, and some part of me believes—no, knows—that this could have been avoided if they had simply shared information as they were obligated to do. Instead, the Justice League believed they knew better, that they were beyond the United Nations, beyond the United States government, and beyond any government at all.
"Checks and balances exist for a reason. They keep institutions honest and accountable to the people they are meant to protect, and every democratic nation in the world relies on them.
"I am calling on the United Nations to step up and treat the League as they would any nation that violates their charter and your laws.
"It is time to stop kowtowing to men and women playing god and take a stand. It is the right thing to do."
Godfrey slapped the desk and rose to his feet.
Bravo.
He took a moment for himself before continuing to bloviate.
I took another sip of my whiskey. Say what you will about the wanker, he was a master-class orator. He would have made one hell of an incubus.
Unfortunately, he was also right. The Justice League had royally shat the bed. There was no putting this genie back in the bottle. People were going to agree with him, perhaps in numbers large enough to overshadow the primary concern: the bloody sorcerers.
Case in point, several patrons were already at each other's throats.
"Ungrateful Yank," Dabney spat. "Is his memory that short? How many disasters have Batman and Superman pulled the world out of?"
"And they can continue doing so with proper adult supervision," another man shot back. He wore a pressed shirt and a tailored suit and carried himself like a solicitor. He took a measured drink from his mug. "Godfrey is right. You cannot allow people with powers to operate without laws in place, regardless of how virtuous you believe them to be."
"How virtuous do you think they are?" Dabney scoffed. "Bloody solicitors. You probably want them to file paperwork before throwing a punch. How are they supposed to keep the world safe with both hands tied behind their backs?"
"I do not know," the solicitor replied evenly, "but I do know that I do not want them handling this case. I read reports that League members died. And what about that boy? You saw what he did to a man. He became that under their watch."
"You cannot lay the actions of some unstable kid entirely at their feet—"
The door opened.
Two people entered the bar. Hardly anyone noticed over the shouting.
Their magic was so thick I could smell it. Both were monsters wrapped in human flesh. I recognized one immediately. The way her energy pulled at you, the sheer weight of it; she was like a moving boulder, cruel, obedient, and dangerous.
The other was new and unsettled, present one second and nearly absent the next. It was not quite as strong as the boulder, but it was unstable in a way that made it just as concerning.
So Artisan sent her top brass and her new toy.
She really ought to teach her puppets how to mask their presence properly, but while they were still shit at it, I would take advantage.
Reaching into my jacket, I pulled out an ancient silver crucifix and muttered under my breath. Purplish smoke wafted from my mouth, stunning Edna, Darlene, and the solicitor before gently putting them to sleep. They slumped from their chairs, collapsed over tables, and spilled their drinks as they went.
The bar fell gravely quiet, save for Godfrey, who was still ranting on the television, and the old ceiling fan humming overhead.
Sliding off my chair, I turned to face my attackers.
My breath caught.
It was Gina, and a blonde boy dressed in business casual. Turtleneck shirts, casual jackets, tailored dress pants, and boots solid enough to crack concrete.
They were barely teenagers. The blonde one, who wore an excited gleam on his face, did not look capable of growing a full beard, but that did not make him any less dangerous.
That was the problem with sorcerers. Their mind-bending techniques were only half the threat. Thanks to a steady diet of steroids and hells know what else, they possessed the natural strength of three gorillas even before energy reinforcement, which meant I had to be careful.
Whispering a prayer in Latin, I set the crucifix on the table, and it began to glow.
"She sure likes her sorcerers young," I said. "Has to be a fetish at this point."
That remark inflamed the blonde boy. He stepped forward, but Gina stopped him with a single look.
"John Constantine," Gina said. "It has been a while."
"Not nearly long enough, love," I replied. "You look even more miserable than I do, and I am in my thirties with a soul debt. What is your excuse?"
I tapped my chin and snapped my fingers. "Right. I forgot. You have one of those as well."
"Artisan sent us to retrieve you," she said evenly. "She knows you somehow managed to break the Binding Vow. She wants you to swear another."
I finished my whiskey and set the glass down carefully. "I am afraid I cannot do that."
The blonde boy smiled. "I was hoping you would say that."
"Eager for a fight, are we?" I said dryly. "Very well, then. Do your worst."
"Wait," Gina shouted.
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