Pompous as it sounds, we live in an age of wonders.

Think about it…

The Millenium just past. That comes around only every thousand years or so, depending on what books you read. Haley's Comet too, once every seventy-six. Some folks have seen that twice now. Wasn't shite, but it got the star shines all a flutter for a bit.

Just in the last hundred years or so we've seen two world wars, the invention of the atom bomb and the death of the Anti-Christ. They've cured Polio more or less, and invented penicillin to make our lives better. They invented the automobile; 'n' then turned around and invented the lorry just to bollucks up the roads.

Over in America they learned how to fly, and fifty-odd years later they flew to the bloody moon. That's when the shit hit the fan. Couldn't leave well enough alone, could they?

Yeah, we live in an age of wonders. An age of heroes 'n' gods, aliens 'n' demons. Men flying through the sky wearing their underwear out like a bunch a' bloody poufs. Super men living on the moon 'n' things living in the swamps. And the world keeps right on turning, a blind eye to what it don't want to see.

Fate's queer 'n' Arthur woke up, took a look around 'n' rolled right the fuck over for another forty.

Age of wonders…

Still, it could be worse…

It could be raining…

	London Calling (A Walking Tour of Constantine's Soho)
Hellblazer #6 June, Year One	by Curt Fernlund

It was another glorious day…

The sun was finally pushing through the shabby, ratty curtains strung up over the grease-smeared windows. There was a pale amber glow about the room, the light shining through the nicotine stains and casting every thing in dull ruddy yellow. Specks of dust flitted through the sunbeams, a spectacular dance with no end in sight. It was hot.

Hot and humid; hot like New York in the summer. John Constantine rolled over with a groan and cracked an eyelid to stare at the blinking red numbers on his night table clock. It was barely ten in the morning, about the time that the shadows of the neighboring buildings moved past his window, but it already felt better than ninety degrees in the tight confines of his flat. He watched the dim numbers flickering in the gloam, trying to focus as he felt the oppressive damp air weighing down on him. The sheets on his bed were wet and stale with the smell of sweat. The whole flat smelled of smoke and vomit, sour Chinese take in on the side.

Constantine reached out, groping along the tabletop for his cigarettes, hoping and almost praying that he had saved a fag for his usual morning ritual. He did not think that he could face the world without a nicotine fix, and dreaded shambling down the Strand to face the ever-congenial newsagent that sold him his Silk Cuts. He closed his eyes, leaning back into the pillow as he felt about the table finding dried crumbs and a bit of stickiness left over from last night's curry. His fingers traced his keys and danced about the over-flowing ashtray before finally resting on the half-crumpled pack. With a sigh Constantine scooped it up and peered inside. He had struck gold with three fags waiting.

John Constantine pulled the thin gray sheet from about his body, untangling his legs as he swung them lazily to the hardwood floor. He hissed, wrinkling his nose as he bit down on the butt of his cigarette. He wondered how the floor could be so icy cold underfoot when the rest of his small apartment was so unbearably hot. He yawned and stretched, tentatively tapping his feet to the floor to adjust to the cold as he scanned the bed table for his Zippo lighter or even a box of Lucifers. He ran a hand lazily through his spiky blonde hair, felt the stiff stubble of a shadowy beard on his cheeks before finally spotting his lighter. He smirked.

Constantine created flame, touching the spark of fire to the tip of his Silk Cut. He sighed contentedly after puffing the fag to life, savoring the sweet flavor as the smoke flowed smoothly down his throat into his lungs. He sucked hard on the filter, taking in as much as he could, holding it until spots exploded behind his closed lids and the blood was rushing in his ears. Finally he exhaled, long and slow. Smooth. He watched as the wispy blue smoke flowed out into the flat, billowing through the golden light that was streaming through the grimy windows. It was beautiful. Another glorious day…

The heat slapped me like a hot, wet towel in the face at the barber's when I finally made my way down the stairs 'n' stepped out onto Bedford Street. Less than a block away I could hear the clamor of the Strand, the heat apparently not phasing the daily mob a' shoppers and tourists in the least. My rooms- such as they are- are situated over a pawnshop, just a stone's throw from the Strand. Bedford Street was just a slight bit quieter, off to the north and sheltered by the taller buildings on all sides, tallest of which, the old GPO Tower- now the Comm Tower up in Islington. Too, it was just a short walk to Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus jus' a bit beyond the Strand 'n' roughly to the west from where I stood. A great location, if I was a tourist. I lucked into the flat, just off of the theatre district after I got booted from me last rooms in Soho. It was close to the tube at Charing Cross Station, and even closer to the river as the crow flies. It was a find indeed, despite the fact that it was barely four walls and a closet. It had a cracked and useless cast iron bath tub in the kitchen, and the water was usually tepid, more often than not a rusty brown. The paper was peeling off the walls. The floor creaked with almost every step. No ventilation to speak of. It had character, and I rather fancied it. Besides, I was hardly ever there.

I trudged out into the flow of traffic, joining the bustle of the unwashed and wide-eyed as I made me way onto and down the Strand. The people were shoulder to shoulder, fighting their collective ways up and down the street like so many sheep. Hawkers stood off to the side, stalls bulging with cheap and gaudy gifts or spread out on blankets on the walk, clogging traffic, shouting to anyone that looked their way. The gutters were clotted and clogged with garbage bags and discarded refuse packed between the cars that lined the street. Lorries blocked the street proper, drivers shoving through the throng trying to deliver their goods; cheap shirts and foodstuffs, plastic beads and sunglasses, anything imaginable. Tourists gawked and stumbled along trying to take in all that they could see. I saw three wallets lifted before I'd gone the length of the block; a bit of fine wire and a rather convincing sob. I saw Li'l Nell on her perch selling violets, 'n' the Salvation Army was on the corner of Adams preaching repentance to the lot.

I stopped a bit, lighting me last fag whilst I listened to what the Army had t'say. They were typical, waving the Bible about as they condemned everyone that passed by to eternal damnation if they did not change their sinful, immoral ways. I wondered how they managed the heat, dressed for winter as they were in long black woolen coats and hats. I was sweating me arse off in me own coat, but they didn't seem fazed in the least. They wore filter masks over their mouths and dark glasses to shield their eyes from the harsh glare of the brilliant sun bouncing off of the sidewalk. Unlike the official Salvation Army, these soldiers did not strike up a rowdy brass band or beg for money. They spat scripture and pointed into the crowd with a fervor that seemed over zealous to say the least. They were all over the city lately too, at every corner and tube station that warranted a crowd; outside Harrods and Fenwick's and in Hyde Park, on Speaker's Corner round the clock. They were worse than the bloody Krishna's!

I hung about waiting until the spiel started up again then moved on. The Salvation Army seemed harmless enough, and most passers-by gave them a wide berth if not a curious glance. I'd look into them one day, if warranted, but not today. It was too bloody hot. I walked a bit, sloughing out of me trenchcoat as the heat pounded down. I dunno why I brought the bloody thing. It's hot 'n' heavy 'n' smells somethin' fierce at times but I almost feet naked without it anymore seems. It's like a crutch I suppose. Like that kid in the Dailies with the blanket. I sling it over me shoulder, doing me best Clint Eastwood 'n' keep walking.

I passed the Adelphi and the old Vaudeville theatres, then dashed out into a gap in the steady flow of motorists and crossed the street my destination in sight. I shouldered me way through a crowd of rude boys watchin' the morning match from Chelsea on an appliance window display telly. Arsenal was winning apparently by the sound, 'n' I chuckled to hear a vile run of filth from a nipper barely out of short pants. I dipped into the newsagent on the corner of the steps leading down to the Savoy jus' as the crowd cheered again, 'n' sagged in the sudden relief of internal air-

"Constanteeen!"

I looked up, plucking me sweat stained shirt from me skin in the cool air as I heard a familiar voice callin' me name. I spied the man behind the counter, a Paki immigrant with a perpetual smile and thinning black hair. As near as I could figure, the man had been in London for almost seven years, running his news agency and saving money to bring his family- wife, mother-in-law and several head of kids (baby goats or children I was never quite certain)- into the country. He was a decent enough sort, if not a bit anal. He undercut most of the Strand on the cost of two hundred fags by a pound or two, 'n' that made 'im me best mate.

"Put out that fag, Constantine! You wish I should be shut down?"

"Ease off, Sandy. Too hot to be posing." I smirked, but crushed the butt out on the bottom of me shoe before sashaying up to the counter.

"Sanje, dammit! I tell you my name every day! Why you not remember? I remember your name-"

"Too hot to think, old son. Give us a twenty then, eh? An' a box of Lucifers, there's a lad."

The Paki man pulled a pack of Silk Cuts from his rack behind the counter and slapped it down. "No two hundred today? Cheap bastard-"

"Low on funds, Sandy. Less you want to credit me, I gotta make do."

"No credit, Constantine. Not for my mother!" I smiled and passed a wad of pound notes across the counter to the Paki. I ripped open the pack and pocketed it, tossing the wrapper to the floor.

"Hey, pig! You think you're home? Pick that up!"

I tuned the agent's voice out as I thumbed through me change counting pence and quid. I dropped a pound 'n' a few coins onto the counter top and sauntered towards the store's hot bar-

"Coffee, Sandy. A big one."

I drew a cup from the huge metal canister while Sanje went about his business. Bugger the heat, I needed caffeine. I moved to the front of the store then and watched the passing crowds for a bit, sipping at the black gold drenched with sugar and grimacing with every swallow. Coffee was always burned 'n' bitter at Sandy's, jus' the way I like it!

I was a bit surprised to find the newsagent's empty when I came in. Usually the place was fair to bursting as it was so close to so much. Charing Cross Station was jus' down the street, and there were several theatres within a short walk. The Savoy Hotel was jus' down the stairs overlooking the Victoria Embankment, 'n' there was a number of public houses jus' a waddle away. Busy as the Strand was there was jus' a few people straggling in; a toff buying fags, a cheeky governess with a perambulator up from the Gardens 'n' a few tourists looking more for directions than anything else. Sandy's a slick one though, 'n' he don't give away nothin' for free. After a bit the doors chimed and a group of students came in laughing too loudly, pushing and shoving and jus' being kids. I watched as they scattered throughout the store, knowing right off that they were about to nick a free snack or such. Sanje was trying to watch the corner cameras and the convex mirror set above the beer cooler but one of the four had strolled right up to occupy him-

"Gimme some gum!"

She was a cute bird, a bit wide in the rear but she more than compensated with the ample bosom that was half hanging out of her school blouse. She was maybe sixteen, but she seemed closer to thirty the way she was flaunting herself to Sanje. He was having a right time keeping his eyes on 'er face, but he was all business besides as he slapped a pack on the counter.

"Fifty p!" he announced, standing on his toes to try 'n' see the bird's mates. There were two of 'em back by the coolers, and the fourth was heading my way. He was a small one, maybe eight stone 'n' not even fourteen I'd swear. He walked right up 'n' gave me a look like he ran the world-

"Give us a fag, Guv!"

"Piss off!" I said, but had to smirk. He was a cheeky one. "What are you, gonna be twelve?"

"Bugger you then! I'm fourteen, Gramps! More a man than you'll ever be." At which point he stuck out his tongue 'n' turned on his heel towards the door where he jammed his fingers in his mouth 'n' gave a whistle-

The two by the coolers came charging at the door like the place was on fire. I saw they were both carrying a pack of pints and bags of crisps 'n' pretzels. Sanje started shouting 'n' coming about from behind the counter as the three blokes high-tailed out the door with the bird jus' a few steps behind. She glanced my way 'n' I finally got a good look at 'er face. I almost dropped me coffee.

It was the girl I'd saved at St. Mary's some time back! She'd been caught up in a bit of low level shite that never got the chance t'hit the fan. A group of young ones at the school had got hold a' some spells that gave 'em some glamour 'n' prestige. They were workin' their way up ta sacrifice when I shut 'em down, 'n' this bird was the next on their hit list. April May- a silly name! She'd filled out some since the last time I'd seen 'er. I stepped up 'n' grabbed 'er arm as she was pushing through the door-

"Hold up, luv-" I said 'n' she started pulling and fighting like a hellcat. Sanje shot past us 'n' out the doors about then, cursing and screaming at the blokes as he started to chase 'em up the Strand. Good! Gave me a minute with the bird.

I wondered what she was doing around here. After St. Mary's burned I figured that most of the students would get transferred across the river from Whitechapel, south across the river to better neighborhoods 'n' better schools. Apparently I was wrong-

"Let me go!" she spat 'n' started kicking me in the shins. I grabbed her other arm, hot coffee splattering across the tiles at our feet, 'n' gave 'er a good shake 'n' jus' a bit of the Voice-

Stop it!

There's others use the Voice like it's the one they was born with. Fate springs to mind, 'n' me spooky old friend the Stranger. 'Course they're jus' a bit more high end than me- got their images to think of. I save me Jedi tricks for special occasions; taxi fare, a bit of eat 'n' run maybe, or getting some bird's attention. Like now-

April stops fighting 'n' finally gives me a good long look. There's a spark of fear in 'er eyes at first, but after a bit it fades into recognition. She's breathing hard from 'er struggles, but I try to ignore the way her breasts are heaving with her bristles pokin' against 'er tight white blouse.

"John?" she whispers, then a little louder, "Constantine!" I nod, loosening my grip a bit as she's stopped struggling.

"What's all this then?" I ask, thinking she was ready to talk. My mistake-

"Up yours!" she shrieks 'n' rams 'er foot up between me legs. They must have taught that as basic self defense at St. Mary's I think as me bollocks erupt in a flash fire of pain. I clutch me 'ands between me legs grabbing at me privates as I hit the floor. I don't even register the pain in me legs as I topple over at April's feet assuming the baby-in-womb position that normally follows the groin kick.

I moan 'n' roll over onto me back. I see 'er standing over me 'n' I hope she's not thinking that I need another. I see 'er biting on 'er lip though 'n' I realize that she's maybe regretting what she did. The tears start rolling then- mine not hers- and 'er face becomes a blur. I see her bolt for the door 'n' run right into Sandy-

Even through the pain I can hear the two of them struggling; cursing and shouting. Then I hear a slap! Sanje's old school Paki 'n' I know he's got no qualms about beating down a woman or girl to make her mind. I hear April start to wail a moment later so I try to fight me own pain 'n' step in before things turn uglier. I know Sandy doesn't like shoplifters, but as far as the law goes, April didn't do a thing except maybe nick a pack of gum. I don't always agree with guilt by association.

I manage to sit up as Sanje drags April over to me. She's rubbing her cheek with 'er free hand while Sanje stares down at me with wide eyes 'n' mock concern. He's all about the money-

"Constantine? Are you well my friend?"

"I'll live." I squeak, giving me bollucks a massage as I try to stand up using the wall for support. April's giving me the cow eyes as Sanje nods and drags her away towards the counter and the telephone. He shoves 'er up against the register and warns 'er to stay put whilst he starts dialing the crushers. I stagger in their general direction, trying my best to concentrate-

Stop! I say, leaning against a pocket book spinner before I topple over. Put- Put the phone down!

Sanje gives me a queer look but does as I say with some hesitation. April's staring at me with wide eyes as I start to dig through me pockets. I drop a crumpled pound note on the countertop and loop me arm through hers as I shift position-

For the beer! I say, and Sanje stares at the money a moment, finally nodding. I'm sweating like a pig as I drag April towards the door-

"Not a word…" I whisper as I shove through, hoping we can get a ways away before Sanje realizes that he's been had. I'll make up the difference when I'm in better shape- physically and financially. For now, I just want out.

I'm feeling just a little better as I drag April along the Strand. People stare at us as we pass, but I don't give a shit, wishing that me bollucks would stop throbbing. April finally falls into step as we pass the stairs and dip into the Coal Hole, a little pub I've frequented on occasion, now just around the corner.

There's a few places like the Coal Hole scattered around the world. Special places that look fairly ordinary to the mundane public, but are totally unique on the inside if you have the right to enter. There's Bewitched in San Francisco; probably the most infamous in the circles that I move in. I've been there with Zatanna a time or two. Never really liked it much as the low lives like to frequent there. Rasputin's is in Moscow. At least it was before Communism took the big dive into the damp sponge. The most famous is probably Sweeter Gwen's in Manhattan, though it's closed half the time. The owner, he likes his addictions that one- both physical and mental. I never liked the leather scene- much…

The Coal Hole was like those, a place where my crowd- and I use the term loosely- tended to congregate. It was a bit different than the others though. The Coal Hole had been around since before the Romans back in the early days, when London was still a stronghold on the swamp called Llyn-dyn by the Celts. It was a little hovel that served ale to the soldiers. It survived the burning by the warrior queen Boudicca, the floods of the Walbrook after the Legions left, the invading Angles and Saxons and Jutes, not to mention the Norse pirates and the Danes that eventually settled Southwark. It had kept going through the Plague and the Renaissance, and even the Industrial Revolution when so many factories popped up about the city's fringes. It survived all of the wars; from the Roses to the Worlds 'n' beyond. It was that one stable spot in London where I knew I could go where I'd get no hassle- where everybody knew my name.

Constantine staggered through the heavy oak door and almost collapsed in the sweet, cool air. The thing that made the Coal Hole unique from all the other pubs in London- and all of the other special places in the world- was the Gate! The Coal Hole sported a gateway into the Fair Lands; Avalon, Elvenhome, Dom-Daniel or Faerie! The Land of Summer's Twilight! It has a door that leads to the other realms, and as such has a clientele of rather private and mixed persuasion. There were a few of them about, sitting in the dim inner light, nursing ale and ambrosia and other stranger concoctions at the secluded booths. There was an Elf at the bar and another on the stage plucking at a four-string bass plugged into an old portable Fender amp. There was a woman sitting at a corner table turning cards in the shadows. There was a Troll playing PacMan and a Dwarf tending bar. Constantine gave April a tug and headed in his direction…

"John Constantine! As I live and breathe."

I saddled up to the bar and settled April onto the stool next to me. She was still none too happy at bein' drug through the streets 'n' she had no real problem letting me know about it. I was starting to think that she had some sailors' blood in her lineage when she caught sight of the folk in the bar and shut up tight as a clam. Her eyes grew wide as saucers whilst she was lookin' about, 'n' I was thankful for the bit of piece without the running litany of profanity. Me virgin ears, don't y'know?

Braggi, Bekki's son sauntered our way wiping down the top of the bar as he came closer. He was one of the Olde Folk; one of those that came before. When the world turned and the magic went away, most of his kind went with it, or so I'm told. The Elves 'n' Pisks, the Brownies 'n' Ogres, Titania and Oberon gave 'em all a choice. Braggi's sire stayed on though, him 'n' a handful of others- just a few. He had a love for the Earth, 'n' nothing in Faerie to go back to so he built the Coal Hole 'n' set up shop on one of the Gateways between the lands. When Bekki finally crossed over he left the pub to his son 'n' Braggi's been doing his Da proud ever since. He's an upright bloke, 'n' one of the few people I'd want at me back in a row. He's nothing special to look at as Dwarves go; short 'n' stocky with shoulders wider 'n' he's tall almost. He's a hairy little bugger, 'n' mostly all muscle except the paunch he's developing from sampling the ware.

"Hullo Bob. How's it hangin'?" I called 'im by his mundane name 'cause that's the way it works. You never know when there might be a mundane in earshot. Braggi grinned and stroked his long, dirty beard.

"Hot 'n' heavy, mage. Bit early t'be seein' the likes a' you, Johnny. Hittin' the sauce agin, are we?"

I smirked 'n' shook me 'ead. "Jus' needed to step outta the sun, mate. Feel's like the insides a' the First's knickers out there." He chuckled-

"You'd know more about that than me, Johnny. Got's no devil breathin' down my neck."

It was a bit early, but I ordered up a Gin 'n' Tonic for meself and a Coke for April. She was still looking around with 'er cow eyes when the drinks came up so I steered 'er over to a quiet booth where I hoped we could 'ave a friendly little chat. I tossed me coat onto the booth beside me and took a sip of me drink, wincing as the alcohol stung the back of me throat. I'd forgotten Bob takes out the special stock for his mates. I lit me a fag to kill the taste 'n' stared at April who was starin' at me-

"What-" she stuttered, then took a gulp of her soda. She took a deep breath, "Where are we?" I smiled-

"Jus' a little place I know, Darlin'. Not to worry. Behave 'n' there won't be any trouble." True enough. Places like the Coal Hole 'n' Bewitched- you mind your business 'n' most everything else does the same. April stared at the Troll at the video game for a bit, then dug a pack of fags from 'er purse 'n' lit one up. She was rattled, 'n' that was good.

"Want to tell me about it, Luv?"

"Tell you what?"

"Well, for starters why you're running with those losers at the newsagent's? You're better than that-"

"How would you know, Constantine?" she snapped. "What the fuck do you know about anything?" She took a long hard suck off of her fag 'n' crossed her legs under the table, kicking away. She was anxious- nervous about something.

I figured that after St. Mary's burned that most of the students there would be shipped off to someplace better. Granted, if she's going to school here in Soho, then she got a boost up, but she apparently fell in with the wrong sort again. Running the streets 'n' hanging with a crowd like that bunch that robbed Sandy's was not what I had in mind.

"You're outta the Chapel, girl, 'n' outta the East End. I know that much-" she snorted and took another drag-

"You know bollucks!" She mashed 'er cigarette in the ashtray on the table 'n' before the smoke cleared she was lighting another. "I got bussed to LimeHouse, prick! You ever been to LimeHouse? Not pretty is it?"

I had, and she was right. LimeHouse was all docks 'n' shipping 'n' immigrants. Chinese mostly, working the docks 'n' ships, but the others there are dregs. Unions run most of it, but it's not a pleasant place regardless. I didn't even know there was a school there.

"You dinna do me no favors, John Constantine. I was better off with Bradley. Least with him I had a chance at something better. Where I am now…" she snorted again. It was not a pretty sound.

"I hooked up with Jason and 'is chums right off. They look out for me. Promised to watch me back. More'n you do-"

"I'm not your father." I figured that she had parents- someone who'd watch out for her 'n' set her on the straight 'n' narrow again. My mistake! One in a set- collect 'em all.

"My bloody father's not me father! Jus' the latest tight ass me mum brings home after work. Drunken cow! She's no better'n you! Fuckin' shit, the lot a' ya!"

I sighed, settling back against the hard wood of the booth 'n' chaining another fag. She was right 'course. I expected the world to jus' fall into place after I 'fixed' things at St. Mary's. I pissed about though 'n' turned me back 'n' made a right mess of things it appeared. Still, maybe it wasn't too late. I'd be damned if I let April go my route through life. I wouldn't wish that on me dog- if I had one.

"Listen… I can fix this. I can get you transferred to someplace here abouts. Better school, better class of people. It won't take much-"

"Piss off, Constantine! You've done enough!"

Her voice was cracking, 'n' close to tears. I'd promised 'er better, 'n' I'd let 'er down. Jus' like Ritchie 'n' Gary, Frank 'n' Judith… Kit… The difference was that April was still alive, 'n' she was still here right in front of me. I could turn this about- do the right thing. I could-

"An' I told ya 'No'!"

I heard the sound of a shot gun ratcheting into play 'n' I jus' had to turn about 'n' see what was happening. The Gateway to Elvenhome was sparkling something fierce, spitting rainbows 'n' starshine through the portal to the other lands. I could see a mob of shadowy figures gathering on the far side of the gate, and Braggi was standing there with a twelve gauge sawed-off blocking the way. Bollucks!

"Stay here!" I told April, trying to reassure her that I wasn't abandoning her again. "Don't move. I'll be right back."

April nodded, watching what was happening behind the bar with some fascination. She'd seen some shit at St. Mary's, an' after meeting me she stepped in some right up to 'er knees. This though- this was big time mumbo jumbo. I figured I had a lot of 'splainin' t'do.

I made me way over to the bar, settling in just behind and to the right of Braggi so I could see what was happening and- more importantly- so whatever was happening could see me. I'm not generally one to brag, but I have a bit of a rep in certain circles. Hopefully whatever was trying to cross over 'ad 'eard of me.

The shadows on the far side of the gate took form as I concentrated, focusing on something that wasn't quite there. I recognized 'em right off, 'n' immediately wished that I had ducked into the Griffin rather than the Coal Hole. It was easy enough to tell that they were Elves, but they were of the last generation. The younger Elves are big on Japanimation. They go in for the high hair and the sleek leather look. Theses Elves were decked out in red leather, head to toe. They had the tribal markings of their clan; a three-clawed tattoo slash mark that crossed their left eyes 'n' most of the cheek. Battle scars that they had never earned. They were punks, high on caffeine and ready to party by the look; with most of them packin' a blade of some sort. They were Chi; Blood!

I recognized the leader of the pack right off. He was wearing the sigil of his family- a golden signet ring piercing his right nostril, and though I didn't know the lineage, I did know the sign. He was the First Son of the ruling house of some province in Elvenhome. Next in line for that particular throne. His name was Fallon, and a snottier, more arrogant bitch you never met-

"Stand aside Dwarf!" he said, his voice slurring from whatever designer drug he'd hopped before they decided to come across. His boys chuckled when he started to throw his weight around. Elves 'n' Dwarves didn't get on too well for the most part. Braggi stood 'is ground though, bless 'im.

"You know the rules, M'lawd. Your Dame signed the treaty as I recall. No more than ten in a crossing. I count thirty in your party at a glance." Braggi shifted his weight and let the shot gun rest on his hip, the double barrels pointed in the general direction of the gate. "You best divvy up yuir group, or find another point t'cross. You all ain't coming though here."

"Little shit!" Fallon spat, leaning way too far into the portal. I could see the red veins throbbing in his white eyes. His pale skin was flushed with irritation. "I am heir to Ryandor! I am twenty-seventh in line for the throne of all Faerie! You will let us pass!"

"Well bless me for a fool, M'lawd…" Braggi hung his head suddenly, looking like he was defeated. He stepped away from the portal, actually sweeping his arm to the side and inviting the Elves in-

"Please…" he continued with a smile and a slight bow, "step right through, and forgive me."

Fallon smirked, turning back to look at his cronies, and they all chuckled and started forward. Fallon started to ease through the gate and stopped abruptly as the twin barrels of the sawed-off was jammed up under his nose-

"Of course you realize that if you step through, you'll be steppin' back minus a few a' yuir more personal possessions…"

Fallon's face turned red with rage and I saw his hand slide back even as he backed off, his fingers brushing the hilt of his blade. I figured that it was time I leant a hand-

"Trouble Bob?" I asked, making a big show of striking a match and lighting me fag.

"Nothin' I can't handle, thanks Johnny."

"Stay out of this…Human!" Fallon said with a sneer. If Elves didn't like Dwarves, they hated humans. They ought'a love me then. "This is none of your concern!"

Fallon was livid, and I expected him to draw his knife at any minute and try to slice up the whole pub. I had no idea why this group wanted to cross, and frankly I didn't care. Braggi didn't want them to come over, and that was good enough for me.

"Suppose I make it my business, Kokomo? What are you going to do?"

My Elf sucks! I know just enough to get my face slapped, or my throat cut. My Japanese is jus' a bit better, but I know that the Elves live for the whole honor shite. Most of the younger crowd drink Bushido like saki, and they know Japanese as a second language. I called Fallon a child, and a human calling a long-lived Elf a child is about as bad as it gets. Basically means I think I'm better 'n' he is. Pisses 'im right off-

Fallon lunges forward, about to break a thousand years of treaty between Faerie and the world in a heart beat. I keep a couple of spells on hand all the time, though I hardly ever use them. Takes a lot of preparation, and a whole lot more concentration to keep 'em up 'n' running somewhere in the back of the mind. Usually I waste 'em lighting fags for a show. I feel the words forming on the back of me tongue even as Bob leveled the shotgun at the Elf's chest again. I was hoping he was sporting iron buck.

The knife came out, a thin black blade that sparkled in the rainbow colors of the gate. Fallon raised it high, ready to strike and Bob and I were ready too, just as soon as he stepped over. Fallon screamed-

Somebody caught his arm from behind; one of his gangsters. They all looked alike to me, but this one was just a bit taller, and maybe a little thinner. Still, he locked 'is fist about Fallon's wrist 'n' the Elf Lord froze up, unable to strike through no matter 'ow 'ard he tried. Fallon glanced back, his face twisted in rage 'n' malice as 'is boy leaned in 'n' whispered somethin' to 'is mate 'n' prince. Fallon sneered, looking my way 'n' I had the satisfaction of watching 'is eyes grow wide with fear-

"Constantine…" he whispered, licking 'is lips. He stared at me, 'n' I could see that 'is bravado was evaporating. The knife in 'is 'and was shaking…

We all turned at the sound of someone breaking tree branches behind us-

Dunh had stepped up behind us whilst me 'n' Bob were concentrating on the portal. The Troll had apparently grown bored with PacMan and strolled over to see what was happening about us. He was cracking 'is big, gnarly knuckles and whipping 'is long, forked tongue about 'is eyebrow. He chuckled-

"Aww…" he rumbled, "let the Gaylord go. It's been awhile since I ripped the legs off'n Elf 'n' stuck 'em up 'is arse."

Impossible as it sounds, Fallon paled. Elves aren't known for their deep complexions, and his went the lighter side of pale as the blood rushed from his face. His friends all shuffled back in unison, and a few at the rear actually turned tail and ran.

"C'mon, bitch!" Dunh waggled his finger at Fallon, "Show me what'chu got!"

We all heard the shakt of Fallon's obsidian blade sliding back into the hilt. He tried to hide his fear behind a façade of coolness and a thin smile, but I was happy to see that he was sweating. He slid the knife back into whatever pocket he'd drawn it from and gave a slight bow- almost an insult if we cared about such things.

"I stand corrected, Dwarf Braggi. I am in… error. I shall take my comrades and depart. For now-"

Fallon spun on 'is heel and walked away through the light and back into the shadows of somewhere else. We watched until 'is essence left the portal and it shut down behind 'im. We all sighed-

Braggi slumped back against the bar and let the shot gun sag to 'is side. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, and I could see he was breathing 'ard. "Bugger that!" he said, wiping his face with a bar towel. "I thought we'd had that for sure!"

Dunh snorted and shrugged, lumbering back towards the arcade games. "Bunch'a wimps! Fuckin' Elves…"

I looked at Braggi and we both 'ad to laugh. I wiped me eyes and noticed that the Elf that had been at the bar when I came in 'ad wandered off. The one on stage started strumming the bass line to an old Gabriel song, smiling all the while. Bob sidled up to the taps and pulled a bell cord hanging down from the rafters-

"Sally up, gents! Bar's buyin'!"

There was only a handful of people in the pub, but they all came forward at the sound of a free round. I was turning to head back to me table when Braggi slid an ale down the oak- the old home stock. He gave me a wink as I scooped it up-

"Thanks, Constantine…" he wanted to say, but we didn't keep score anymore. I nodded and sauntered off towards me booth.

Me coat was still on the bench, wadded up in the corner where I'd left it. Me Gin 'n' Tonic was still there too, but the glass was half full 'n' the contents of the ashtray were bobbing about in the backwash. 'Seems in all the excitement, I'd done it again- forgotten what I was about.

When streams are ripe and swelled with rain…

April was gone.

Story © 2004 Curt Fernlund and may not be reproduced without permission.