The Invitation (8 page)

Zatanna must have sensed his discomfort, because she stood and changed the subject. “Oh—John. I just remembered, there's a letter for you on the table.”

“Letter?” John seemed surprised.

“Yeah, the envelope was there when I came down this morning. Weird, huh?” She twisted her hair into a loose braid and grinned. “I suppose that should have warned me that the British were invading.”

John crossed to the table, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Great-looking owl,” Zatanna said to Tim. “Did you make him yourself?”

“No, Dr. Occult did,” Tim admitted. If he was so magical, why couldn't he do a simple trick like that? He looked up at Zatanna. “I couldn't believe it when you made flowers grow out of Jonathan Ross's ears on TV,” he said. “Can you teach me to do that?”

“Oh bloody hell,” John sputtered. He whirled around so fast, the tails of his trench coat flapped. “Take care of Tim until I get back, can you, love?”

“What?” Tim asked.

“What?” Zatanna echoed.

John crumpled the letter and shoved it into
his pocket. “Honestly, I can't leave them alone for five minutes.” He seemed really mad.

“John, where are you going?” Zatanna asked.

“India,” John replied grimly. “Calcutta probably. See ya, darlin'. 'Bye, Tim. I'll be back as soon as I can.” Without another word, he bolted out of the house.

Zatanna and Tim hurried to the front door after him. “India? How long will you be gone?” Zatanna called after John.

He gave a wave without turning around, and then vanished into the traffic.

“But what am I supposed to do with…” Zatanna's voice trailed off as she caught Tim's expression. She smiled and shrugged. “What's the use. He'll be back when he gets back, I suppose.”

Tim didn't like the feeling that he was imposing. “Look, I'm really sorry about this. I can go.”

“No,” Zatanna insisted. She put a hand on his shoulder and firmly turned him around, shutting the door behind them. “You're only, what—thirteen years old? And they're trying to kill you. You shouldn't be on your own. Though you're a lot more grown-up than your pal Constantine,” she added, ruffling his hair.

Tim laughed and felt relieved.

“Now, when was the last time you ate?” Zatanna asked.

“I'm not sure,” Tim replied. “Traveling with Constantine, time goes really funny. If you know what I mean.”

“Mmm. And I doubt you've had a shower since you left England. So if you head upstairs, you'll find the bathroom on your left, and I'll have breakfast ready for you when you come down. You can leave the owl with me. Now go.”

Tim climbed the stairs. Pictures of Zatanna performing lined the upstairs hallway.
I'm in the house of a real celebrity
, he thought.
I wish I could tell Molly about this!

The bathroom was full of pink and lavender soaps and bath salts and other girly things. Tim undressed, took off his glasses, and turned on the water. The faucets worked differently than in his home in London, but he soon figured out which was hot, which was cold, and how to adjust them. He let the water and steam pound the miles and confusion from his skin.

He stepped back out into the now steamy bathroom and wrapped himself in a towel. He didn't think he should borrow Zatanna's toothbrush, so he squirted some toothpaste onto his finger and rubbed his teeth with it.

“I've left clean clothes outside the door,” Zatanna called through the bathroom door.

Tim spit into the sink. “Okay.”

He waited until he heard her footsteps going down the stairs, then opened the door a crack and pulled the clothing into the bathroom. He dressed and went down to the kitchen.

“Um, this may be a silly question,” he said, “but where did you get boys' clothes? In my size?”

“Magic,” she said simply, as if that were the normal, expected answer.

“Oh.”

Zatanna didn't elaborate, so Tim didn't ask anything else. He sat at the table. The kitchen was sunny too—and painted bright yellow, with stencils running up by the ceiling. Plants sat in pots here too, but he thought they might be the kind used in cooking, because the whole room smelled spicy. Zatanna stood at the stove, scrambling something in a pan. She expertly flipped it onto a plate and set it in front of him. Whatever it was, it smelled great!

“Okay, I've made you breakfast,” she declared. “It's vegetarian, I'm afraid, but I think you'll like it. Yo-yo's asleep in the attic for the day.”

“How did you know his name's Yo-yo?”

“Magic.”

Tim left it at that and shoveled the food into his mouth. He had no idea how starved he actually was until he'd begun to eat. “This is absolutely incredible,” he said, his mouth full.
“I wish my dad could cook like this. Did you make the food by magic?”

Zatanna laughed. It was a warm, friendly, full-out laugh. Not a little silly tee-hee or giggle. “No, I made it the regular way.” She dropped the pan into the sink and turned on the water. “Say,” she said, turning to face him. “Is there anyone you need to phone?”

“I dunno.” He stared at the tines of his fork as if they would tell him what to do. “Maybe I should ring my dad. John said they'd taken care of all that, but I ought to let him know I'm okay.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Zatanna said.

She went back to washing dishes, and Tim finished his veggie breakfast. He carried the plate to the sink. “Should I phone now?”

“No time like the present,” Zatanna said. “There's a phone in the living room.”

She explained how to dial an international call, and Tim went into the other room. He found the phone, punched in all the numbers, and listened to the comforting and familiar double ring of British Telecom.

“Hi, Dad,” Tim said as soon his father picked up.

“Tim! How's Brighton?”

That's strange
, Tim thought.
Why would he
think I'm in Brighton?
“I'm not in Brighton, Dad.” He took a deep breath, bracing himself for his dad's shocked reaction. “I'm in San Francisco.”

“Yeah, it's raining here as well. How's your Auntie Blodwyn, then? And the kids?”

Tim held the phone away from his ear and stared at it. It was as if his dad hadn't heard him right. Or at all. Was there something wrong with the connection? “I'm in San Francisco, Dad,” he repeated, louder. “I'm staying with Zatanna. You know, the famous magician.” His dad would know who she was—they had watched her on television together.

“Well, that's good. Don't lose too much money on the pier. I know how much you love the amusements there. I'll see you when you get back, then. Cheers, lad.”

“But Dad—”

Tim heard the click on the other end and his dad was gone.

“How's your father?” Zatanna asked. She stood in the doorway of the living room, light from the kitchen streaming in behind her.

Tim continued to stare at the phone. “He thinks I'm in Brighton. I told him I wasn't, and he didn't hear me.” He put the receiver back down with a shaky hand. He didn't want Zatanna to see
him freak out, but the conversation had really unsettled him. “This is really weird.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but it was hard. “I mean, it's okay when I'm with John. When you're with him, the weird stuff seems almost normal, you know?”

He looked at Zatanna to see if she understood what he meant. “I know,” she said.

“But now that he's gone…I spoke to my dad and he didn't hear me, Zatanna.” Tim sank down onto the futon. He didn't think his legs would hold him up anymore, they were shaking so hard. For the first time since this crazy adventure began, the first time since he stepped through that magical doorway, he felt really scared.

Zatanna sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. “It's okay, Tim. It will all be fine,” she assured him. “It's just all new. A lot to get used to. But you're not alone. Constantine will come back for you. He may seem unreliable and all that, but he will come back.”

Tim pushed his glasses back up and nodded. She did understand how he was feeling—he was sure of it. He liked how it felt to have her hand on his arm and hear her speak so soothingly. It was like having his mom back for just a minute.

“Say—do you want to go to a party?” she asked. “You're under my protection and I won't let
any harm come to you.”

Tim looked up at her. “A party?”

“A Halloween party, to be precise!”

He grinned. “Wicked!”

“It should be fun. I got the invitation last night. I hadn't planned to go, but…” She gave his arm a pat. “I have to do my best to entertain my honored guest! Besides, John was planning to introduce you to some of the most prominent practitioners of magic in the country. I might as well take you out and show you a few more.”

“Brilliant.” Going to a party with a famous magician—a celebrity—that would be amazing! One for the scrapbook, that's for sure.

Zatanna stood up. “So why don't you take a nap. You must be exhausted from all this travel.”

“Sounds good.” She was right. Though he'd slept briefly in the car, every muscle in his body moaned for rest—and his brain would definitely welcome the opportunity to blink off.

“The guest room is right next to the bathroom. It's blue.”

“Is every room in your house painted a different color?” Tim asked as he headed up the stairs.

“Yup,” Zatanna answered. “And I change them all the time.” She gave Tim a wink. “One of the benefits of magic. I can redecorate anytime I
want without all the fuss.”

Tim went back upstairs and found the guest room. He kicked off his sneakers, tossed his glasses onto the side table, and crawled into bed in the peaceful blue room. He stretched out and was asleep without even pulling down the window shades. He fell into a deep and blissfully dreamless sleep.

T
IM WOKE WITH A START.

“Where am I?” He sat up and peered around the dark room. His heart pounded. “How did I get here?” His hands fumbled and found a lamp. He switched it on and grabbed his glasses from the bedside table. His breathing gradually returned to normal. All those plants; the stars painted on the ceiling, the good smells coming up from downstairs. He lay back down, his arms behind his head.
Right. I'm in Zatanna's guest room. And soon, I'll be going with her to a supercool party.

There was a sharp knock on the door. “Tim?” Zatanna called. “Are you up?”

“Yeah.” Tim swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his shoes. He was still a little groggy.

“Well, come on down for dinner, and then we'll be off.”

When Tim arrived in the kitchen, Yo-yo sat perched on a chair at the table, just like a member of the family. Zatanna was placing napkins beside the two plates. A casserole steamed in the center of the table.

“Vegetarian?” Tim asked.

“You bet,” Zatanna said. “Veggie lasagna. Smells good, doesn't it?”

Tim nodded and sat down at the place mat that had a big glass of milk sitting on it. The other one had a glass of wine. Tim didn't need magic to know which was intended for him.

Zatanna sat opposite him and held up her glass. “To new friends,” she toasted. Tim clinked her wineglass with his milk glass. He took a swig—and gagged.

“Oh dear,” Zatanna said. “I guess you're not ready for soy milk yet.” She crossed to the fridge and brought over a can of ginger ale. “How's this instead?”

Tim flipped open the soda and took a huge gulp. He swallowed. “Better!” he said.

“I guess the vegetarian thing needs to be introduced more gradually,” Zatanna said with a grin. “Kind of like my mission to get Constantine to quit smoking!”

She served the lasagna and Tim scarfed it down. “Not all vegetarian stuff is awful,” he
admitted. “This is good!”

“Glad you like it.”

Tim had seconds of the lasagna, and did the washing up while Zatanna changed for the party. Yo-yo helped straighten up by using his talons, bringing the place mats to the sideboard and dropping the paper napkins into the garbage. Once they were done, they went into the living room to wait for Zatanna.

“Ta-da!” Zatanna posed on the stairs. “How do I look?”

Tim's eyes nearly bugged out. The gorgeous magician wore a skimpy little outfit—the least amount of clothes Tim had ever seen on a girl up close. She looked very different in it than in the sweatshirt and leggings she had worn all day. Then he realized—the shiny top hat, spangly leotard, and black fishnet tights were exactly what she'd worn on TV.

“Is that your magic outfit?” Tim asked.

“My professional attire, yes.” She came down the stairs, crossed to Tim, and pulled candy from his ear. She handed it to him with a grin. “It's kind of silly, but it's effective. And what's expected.”

Tim laughed. “I like this kind of magic.” He popped the candy into his mouth.

Zatanna shrugged. “A girl has to earn a living. So I'm a stage magician. Besides, it's a
great way to keep my true identity hidden. By hiding in plain sight.”

Tim heard a car honk outside. Zatanna pulled aside the curtain and peered out. “The taxi is here,” she announced. She tapped her top hat and headed for the door. Tim and Yo-yo followed. Tim hesitated.
Should I be wearing a costume?
he wondered. As Yo-yo settled onto his shoulder, he decided that the bird could be his costume.

Zatanna smiled at him. “Even if John can't be here, we can still have fun, can't we?”

“Yeah! Sure we can,” Tim assured her. He didn't want her to think he felt bad that John had left him with her. He really liked Zatanna.

“Good.” She opened the door and stepped out into the balmy night.

“Uh, listen,” Tim said. “If it's a rude question, you can tell me to mind my own business. But you and John Constantine…are you, um…” He didn't quite know how to ask.

Zatanna bailed him out. “Not anymore. Not really.” She sighed. “I don't think he's the type for any kind of permanent relationship. If you know what I mean.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, he hasn't struck me as a particularly permanent person, so far. More like…an adventurer.”

“Precisely. He's too much of a risk-taker—a gambler.”

Her phrase startled Tim. That was exactly what Madame Xanadu's cards had said.

Zatanna paused and turned to face her house. “Esuo H, tcetorp flesruoy!” she declared.

Huh?
Tim stared at her. “What did you say?” he asked.

“I told the house to protect itself,” Zatanna explained. She tapped her top hat again and continued toward the taxi. “In case anyone tries to break in.”

“It sounded like you were talking backward.” Tim glanced back at the pink house. It didn't look any different. Was there really a spell on it?

“It's how I work the art. Verbally. I talk backward. It's more a concentration aid than anything else. My father used to do it, and I suppose I got the idea from him.”

Tim remembered from Zatanna's TV interview that her father had also been a famous illusionist. He assumed magic would be easier if you grew up with it, inherited it through your bloodlines. You'd be more used to it. Tim wished his father could show him the ropes, gradually, instead of one whammy after another from all these strangers. But there was no way his father would believe in magic—let alone practice or teach it.

Zatanna opened the back door of the cab. Yo-yo flew inside.

“Hey!” the driver exclaimed. “Is the bird coming too?”

“Of course,” Zatanna said, sliding into the cab. “It's Halloween.”

The driver shook his head good-naturedly, as if he'd seen and heard it all before. “No problem. Happy Halloween.”

Tim scrambled in beside Zatanna, and Yo-yo sat on his lap.

“We're going to a bar called Bewitched,” Zatanna told the driver. “On Haight and Fillmore. Do you know it?”

The driver gave them a curious look in the rearview mirror. “Yeah. Never had anyone go there before.”

As they drove through the twisting and hilly San Francisco streets, Tim gazed out the windows. Little kids in costumes held their parents' hands; kids his own age were dressed up too. He even saw adults wearing masks and elaborate makeup. Everyone seemed to be having fun.

“We don't have Halloween in England,” he said to Zatanna. “Not like you do here. That's what I always thought of as magic. Ghosts and ghouls and witches and werewolves. It's like Constantine said. If you can imagine it, it's here in
America somewhere.”

They pulled onto a dark street. Zatanna paid the driver as Tim and Yo-yo got out of the cab. Tim scanned the street; it was packed with cars and limos parked every which way. “Must be seriously rocking,” he said. “Look at the crowd!”

Zatanna nodded and grinned. “Glad we didn't have to find a parking spot. I'd really need some magic tricks for that!”

They walked up to the club entrance. All the other buildings looked like abandoned warehouses. Tim suspected that had probably been the club's previous life as well. But now the word B
EWITCHED
glowed in a deep purple neon over the door, and even from outside in the street Tim could feel a pulsing bass line and drumbeat. He wished Molly could see him now. It would have been so cool if he could have brought her here. Actually, he wished all the kids who picked on him in London could see him too.
None of
them
would be able to get into this place
, he thought with pride.

At least, I
think
I can get in
, Tim mused as he gazed up at the doorman's disdainful sneer.

“Sorry, kid, you can't come in here,” the man said. He looked at Tim as if he were something to clean off a shoe. “Get lost. And take that stuffed bird with you.” The man flicked his fingers at Tim
and Yo-yo, brushing them off.

“Yo-yo's not stuffed,” Tim replied indignantly. The owl fluffed his feathers as if he'd been insulted. “He's as real as you are!”

“Very funny. Isn't it after your bedtime?”

Zatanna stepped out of the shadows and into the light streaming out of the open door. “He's with me, Apollonius. So's the owl.”

The man's face completely changed. So did his manner. “Why, Miss Zatanna,” he gushed, “this
is
a welcome surprise. Please, go in. I'm sorry, child. Had I known you were with the enchantress…”

“Yeah, whatever.” Tim smirked at the man. “That's what you get for being such a snob.”

“I'm sure you're right, sir.”

They stepped through the door and into a packed nightclub. Tim stared at the spectacle in front of him.

The dance floor was a few steps down from the entryway. Hundreds of people milled about, some dancing, some talking in groups, some observing, some arguing. Black and orange balloons perfect for the Halloween theme floated near the ceiling. Amber light and pink and gold fog piped in from the corners took all the hard edges off everything. Most of the men were in tuxedos, the women in fancy gowns. Hair was
slicked back, piled high, decorated with jewels, multicolored, or nonexistent. Faces were grotesque, gorgeous, inhuman, animated. They were amazing exotic creatures, far from the inhabitants of Ravenknoll Estates, East London.

What struck Tim most was the energy that emanated from the sunken area—he could practically see sparks shooting between people, currents entwining them, clouds of excited air rising and swirling through the club. It surged up inside him, making him want to join in, swallow it whole, let it take him over completely.

Zatanna seemed to feel the excitement too. She was laughing. “I haven't come here for years. Makes me feel young again.”

Startled, Tim stared at her. “You don't look old.”

She gave him a little bow. “Thank you, young man. For that you deserve a drink.”

As if summoned by Zatanna's words, a waitress appeared at Tim's side. “Can I take your order?

“Hello, Tala,” Zatanna greeted the woman holding the tray. Tim couldn't help staring at her. She looked like a pretty and sophisticated woman in her thirties—except for her eyes. They were red-rimmed, with red pupils.

“Zatanna!” Tala exclaimed. “Nobody told me you were here!”

“This is my friend Timothy, Tal. Tala, Timothy. Tala's a queen of evil. She's an old acquaintance of the Trenchcoat Brigade.”

Evil? Zatanna hangs out with evil magicians? And how would the Trenchcoat Brigade know her? Unless maybe they've been trying to catch her…?

“Hi, Tim,” Tala said, directing those red orbs at him. “Listen, we're getting kind of busy now. But I'll be back to talk later, when I'm on a break. Can I take your order?”

“Ice water for me,” Zatanna said. “Tim?”

“Can I have a beer?” He figured, if she were a queen of evil, she shouldn't mind some underage drinking.

No such luck. “Only if you can show me a genuine ID proving you're over twenty-one.”

Tim ducked his head sheepishly, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Zatanna and Tala laughed. “Ginger ale?” Tala suggested.

“I suppose.”

Tim watched as Tala disappeared into the gyrating crowd. “If she's a queen of evil,” he asked, “why's she working here?”

“She's just resting between engagements, if you see what I mean.”

Tim shook his head. He didn't see what she meant at all.

Zatanna clutched his arm. “Come on,” she said. “There's someone here I want you to meet.”

Zatanna led Tim around a group of very tall, thick men who were speaking with a group of very tiny thin men. She brought him over to the bar, where a slim man in a white tuxedo stood watching the party. He was quite pale, nearly as pale as his suit, and had very dark hair. He seemed pointy: his goatee pointy, his black eyebrows pointy, even his hair seemed to stand up in two little points on top of his head, as if he had horns. Something about him made Tim uneasy. Still, if Zatanna wanted him to meet the guy, he figured it would be okay.

“Tannarak—this young man is called Tim Hunter,” Zatanna said. “Tannarak is another of the bad guys. He also owns this club.”

The man's bloodred lips parted in a sinister smile. Did Zatanna actually like him? He gave Tim the creeps.

“Delightful as usual, Zatanna.” He faced Tim. His eyes were also red-rimmed, like Tala's, Tim noted. “Charmed to make your acquaintance, young man. Now, Zatanna, I must take exception. I do not consider myself a ‘bad guy.'”

Zatanna smiled. “Let's just say that we are usually on opposite sides of any…debate. It's Halloween. We can leave it at that.”

“What does Halloween have to do with anything?” Tim asked.

“It is said that good and evil may come together on Halloween, if they choose, without ill effects,” Tannarak explained. “Zatanna and I simply have different goals,” he added. “But of course she is an honored guest here.”

He tipped his head to Zatanna. She gave a tiny nod back. There seemed to be some agreement of respect between them, even if they might be enemies tomorrow.

“Now, young man. Is there anything you want to know?”

“Do you really do black magic?” Tim asked.

Tannarak sighed. “You see? We are much maligned by those in your circles, Zatanna. Already you are turning this young man's head.” He poured himself a drink from an elegant blue bottle. A thin purple vapor rose up from the glass. He took a drink and then faced Tim. “There's no such thing as black magic. That's just a poor translation. ‘Necromancy' actually means ‘Magic of the Dead,' but has roots in words meaning ‘black.'”

“Like when kids play telephone?” Tim asked. “The final message is totally different from the original.”