The Invitation (6 page)

He pushed through the curtain and stepped out the front door into the hallway. He slid down the wall and sat cross-legged on the floor, wondering if the confused way he felt had to do with jet lag or with this strange adventure. What time zone was he in? He looked at his wrist and realized he wasn't wearing a watch. He laughed to himself
. You
are
out of it
.

A moment later the door to the apartment opened. Constantine popped his head out. “Come on, Tim. Let me introduce you properly.”

Cautiously, Tim stepped back into the apartment. Madame Xanadu was sitting at the table again. She seemed a lot calmer. Tim wondered what Constantine had said to get her to stop being so mad.

Constantine put his hand on Tim's shoulder
and led him to the table. “Tim, this lady is called Madame Xanadu…Madame X, this is Tim Hunter.”

The woman smiled. She was so beautiful, Tim couldn't help but stare. Her thick dark hair hung almost to her waist. Her dress was low-cut and tight, and left little to the imagination.

“I am pleased to meet you, child,” she said. She gestured to the chair beside her. “Come sit. Constantine has told me a little about you. I will read your cards.”

Tim looked up at Constantine uncertainly. “I—I don't know…”

John nodded. “Go ahead. These parlor tricks can be fun. Besides, I need to get in touch with a few people. You're safe here. A lot safer than I am,” he added with a wink. He headed for the apartment door, leaving Tim alone with the beautiful Madame X.

“We will do the simplest of readings,” she told Tim. “A four-card spread.” She handed Tim the deck of tarot cards. Tim started—they tingled in his hands, like little electric shocks. “Shuffle them until you feel comfortable. Then lay out four cards on the table.”

Tim did as she instructed. As he shuffled them, the tingling stopped and instead the cards
grew warm. He could swear they began to glow.
Must be a trick of the light
, he told himself. All those flickery candles.

“Hmm. All Major Arcana,” Madame Xanadu said, studying the cards Tim had set down on the table.

“Is that good?” he asked.

“It's neither good nor bad,” she said. “It just indicates an intensity that doesn't surprise me.”

Tim looked at the strange pictures, wondering how they could tell her anything.

Madame X laid a black-painted fingernail on the first card. “This position tells us where you have come from. You have drawn the Hermit. The ancient one, one who observes. A wise man will—no, has already—introduced you to secret knowledge. I see times gone. The past.”

“That sounds like the Stranger!” Tim exclaimed. “We were in the past!” Maybe there was something to this Gypsy card-reading stuff after all.

Madame Xanadu ignored him. Tim sat back in his chair, hoping he hadn't broken some kind of card-reading rules.
They should publish a magic etiquette book
, he thought.
It would make millions.

“The second card tells us where you are right
now.” A small smile crossed her face. “The Wheel of Fortune. What a surprise.”

To Tim, she didn't sound surprised at all. But he didn't say anything this time.

She looked at him. “This is someone unreliable. A gambler. Adventure comes to you—adventure and danger.” She tapped the card with her long fingernail. “That is what this card brings.”

She looked back down at the table again. “The third card tells us where you are going. Ah. The Empress. This is usually a woman, but it could also be a man who is in touch with his female side.” She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes, thinking. “But I sense more than one woman. Perhaps many. Women who will be of great importance to your safety—and your identity.”

Tim nodded as if he understood, which he didn't at all. He was getting pretty good at faking it. He pointed at the last card. “What's this one mean?”

“It tells us where this all will take you. What this journey is about. Justice.” She gazed at the card a long time, as if she wasn't just reading the name on it, but also trying to grasp a deeper meaning. “But I don't believe it represents righting wrongs in this card spread,” she finally declared. “This is a decision that must be made.
Weighing all the information and trying to choose wisely.”

She leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes. “Hmm. These cards might be conditions, or people…” She opened her eyes and looked at Tim, her enormous blue eyes serious. “I'm sorry, I can't be more specific. If we had more time…”

“Thanks,” Tim said. “It was interesting—what you told me.” It
was
interesting. Even if he didn't know what to make of any of it.

Her head flicked up. “But you must go. You ride the Wheel of Fortune. Travel with the gambler.”

“Got that right,” John Constantine said from the doorway. Tim hadn't heard him come in. “We need to be off now.”

The urgency in Constantine's voice made Tim rise from the table quickly.

“One moment,” Madame X said, standing up. “Usually I expect a gift from my querists. But in this case I have something for you.” She raised her hand and an owl fluttered to her.

“Yo-yo!” Tim exclaimed. “Where did he come from?”

“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.