Batman's POV
I stared at my front gate camera with some trepidation and shared a look with Alfred, who seemed unflappable despite the massive ramifications.
"It would seem we have a visitor… Master Bruce," he said.
My visitor slid back his trench coat, glanced at his watch, and pushed the button by the gate again to alert me once more to his presence. While he waited, he pulled a cigarette from his massive trench coat, stuck it in his mouth, and lit it with a snap of his finger.
"This shouldn't be possible," I said. "Zatara promised all Justice League members were warded from locator spells."
"Perhaps his successor hasn't been keeping up with Zatara's responsibilities," Alfred ventured. "Well, I suppose I should let him in. We can't very well leave him outside."
I opened my mouth to stop Alfred, but decided against it. If he were Artisan disguised as Constantine, my curse energy scanners would have been shrieking by now, and as for the man himself, I did not think any level of magical defense could keep him out if he truly wanted in.
So, it stood to reason that something was different about him. Perhaps he, too, had managed to break the vow binding him to Artisan.
"Be careful," I warned Alfred nonetheless. Until I had confirmation, everything else was conjecture.
"I always am, Master Bruce." Alfred turned away from the monitor and rode the side elevator out of the Batcave, his posture ramrod straight, and I carefully monitored the interaction as it happened.
Alfred stood a good distance from the gate as I opened the electronic locks.
"What took you so bloody long?" John said, throwing a dodgy look at the sky. "It's about to rain. Weather's dodgier than London's."
"Master Bruce wasn't expecting you," Alfred said slowly.
"Of course he wasn't. That's the whole point of a home visit," John replied. "And for the record, she doesn't have her hooks in me anymore. Dr. Fate's little spell in New York saw to that."
Alfred's eyes went wide. He was just as surprised as I was.
Of course he was. He had led to the spell in a very roundabout way. He wanted his freedom more than Artisan's sorcerers ever did.
"As a matter of fact, the witch is why I'm here. I reckon you'll need somebody in your corner who knows Artisan well, now that your relationship with the boy is properly fucked."
His words brought heat to my chest, and I found myself struggling to restrain it.
"I think it's best we continue this conversation indoors," Alfred said, gesturing toward the mansion, and Constantine nodded.
—
I received him in my study, the indelicate sorcerer slouching into the leather chair that used to be my father's. He let out a groan.
"I think I'm in love."
"You wanted to see me badly enough that you risked my identity, Constantine?" I demanded, my tone biting. The sorcerer gave me a sidelong glance and dragged on his cigarette, adjusting in his seat.
"It's the only place I could be sure nobody else would know we were meeting," he said. "Took one hell of a locator spell to find you, too."
"Why the cloak and dagger?"
"You know why," Constantine said in a low voice.
"She doesn't have spies in our ranks," I said. "Dr. Fate checked."
"Did he now?" Constantine asked. "And I'm sure his thorough search ended at Binding Vows."
"Martian Manhunter carried out a deep scan of each of our minds, and the minds of our staff and sidekicks," I said firmly. "We know about her clones. The League is secure… for now."
Constantine narrowed his eyes, then finally let out a small breath, puffing out smoke. "Had to be sure what I was walking into. And besides, you're the only one I can come to with this plan since Zatarra bit the bullet. Sorry about that, by the way."
"You benefited from it the same," I pointed out.
"I thought you'd find somebody else. I didn't actually expect him to wear the helmet, though I'd be lying if I said I didn't see it coming."
A long moment of silence passed.
"What is this plan of yours?" I demanded.
"A good old-fashioned trap," Constantine grinned, and I blinked.
If he had been anyone else, I might have shut down his plan immediately, pointing out the massive amount of leverage Artisan still had and that we had no means to properly identify and free her slaves—though Dr. Fate was working rapidly to remedy that—and then there was the issue of her wayward sorcerers and the dozens of new metas and sorcerers she was running up and down the United States while trying to consolidate power.
Surprisingly, the death toll among law enforcement had remained in the low tens, but the gangsters, the criminals, the villains—they had been butchered by the hundreds.
And thousands of people had come out in support of Crucible's violent methods. They did not seem to care about her goals, only that the dangerous thugs were out of their neighborhoods.
We had managed to capture a few, only to have them whisked away by teleporters or turn mute when questioned.
And in the midst of all of this, Julius was out there, allying himself with former enemies.
The entire situation was untenable, and Wonder Woman, the new head of the task force, was at a loss as to how to proceed.
I was curious to hear Constantine's perspective.
"We draw her in with an opportunity too good to pass up," he said. "Me, Julius, and Shelim meeting in the same place, ripe for the taking."
I blinked, a bit taken aback. "That seems…"
"Simple?" Constantine supplied.
"The best plans always are," Constantine explained. "The thing you need to understand about that immortal bitch is that she's got an ego on her bigger than mine, bigger than Luthor's. My presence or Julius's alone would be enough to draw her out, but you need something truly irresistible this close to her big finish."
"And you know the details of it?" I asked, leaning forward slightly. "The ritual?"
Constantine took a lazy drag. "Oh, I've got the gist of it, and it's downright brilliant or terrifying, depending on your perspective, really." He looked up at me. "She's using a combination of Jujutsu sorcery, old witchcraft, and a few other ancient artifacts to inflate the size and power of her domain." Constantine went on to explain her plan in detail and provided much-needed clarity on Artisan, her abilities, and how she created sorcerers.
Constantine's words had been apt. It was brilliant and terrifying.
Artisan did not plan to change the world in one stroke, but through hundreds of small Domain Expansions covering miles upon miles of densely populated areas.
As far as he could tell, Artisan's plan was to alter the shape of every human soul swept up in her barrier and change them in two distinct ways.
She would change the passive output of psychic energy humanity gave off into negative energy to enable the birth of Curse Spirits and sorcerers. And she would alter our brains so that we instinctively found the best use for our new energy source, so that the truly exceptional could rise.
Constantine guessed that she would also make general improvements to make mankind far healthier and more durable, mainly to ensure, as he put it, "we don't die for bullshit reasons like lack of emergency care or diabetes. She wants a proper massacre and plans to rule over the ashes when ninety percent of the planet is done killing itself."
Constantine expected that the negative energy would be so dense in certain cities that it would instantly give rise to Special Grades and whatever came after that.
It was going to be slaughter on a scale never before imagined, and it sent a chill up my spine.
It also made me ask hard questions, like why she had held back until now.
"Skill issue," Constantine answered. "Up until recently, she was very shit at making sorcerers, but after she got her hands on the kid, that problem solved itself, and then there's her network. She needed a new pseudo-government in place before she tore down the old world." Constantine crossed his legs, leaning back into his chair. "Finally, she didn't have the juice. Most of the work I did for her was gathering objects of power from all over the world."
Constantine shook his head, a scowl twisting his lips. "The enemies I made because of that bitch…"
"How did she get her hooks in you in the first place?" I asked.
"How do you think?" he scoffed. "She was hot, and I was a cocky twenty-five-year-old who thought he was better than he actually was."
I did not judge him. It was not my place. I had been no better at that age.
Read up to Chapter 146 on Patreon.com/artandcreativewriting