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Luke Cage's office was exactly what Constantine expected a hole-in-the-wall above a Chinese restaurant in Hell's Kitchen, furnished with castoffs and determination. A desk that had seen better decades. Mismatched chairs. Filing cabinets that probably contained more unpaid bills than case files. But it was clean, organized, and unmistakably lived-in.
"Coffee?" Danny Rand Iron Fist without the mask gestured to a pot that looked like it had been brewing since the Carter administration.
"I'll pass." Constantine settled into one of the chairs. "So. Heroes for Hire. Cute name."
"Pays the bills," Cage said, dropping into his desk chair with a groan. "Most of them, anyway. We handle cases the big-time heroes don't street-level stuff, neighborhood problems, people who can't afford the Avengers' attention."
"Which brings us to tonight." Danny pulled out a folder, spreading photographs across the desk. Six teenagers, all smiling in their school photos. "These kids started disappearing three weeks ago. One every few days. Police couldn't find anything no witnesses, no evidence, nothing. Parents came to us."
Constantine studied the photos. Working-class kids, mostly minorities, the kind society barely noticed even when they were alive. Perfect targets for soul traders.
"How'd you trace them to Inferno?" he asked.
"Luck and persistence." Cage tapped one photo a girl with bright eyes and braces. "Maria Gonzalez. She sent a text to her friend right before she vanished. Single word: 'Inferno.' Friend thought she meant the Dante poem. We figured otherwise."
"And you just stormed in? No reconnaissance, no backup?"
Danny shrugged. "We've faced worse. And those kids were running out of time. Soul draining like what we saw they wouldn't have lasted another week."
Constantine had to admire their boldness, even if it was reckless. "Well, you've pissed off one of Mephisto's operations. That's going to have consequences."
"Yeah?" Cage leaned back, arms crossed. "So will letting demon-worshipping assholes kidnap kids. We can handle consequences."
"Can you?" Constantine lit another cigarette, ignoring Danny's wince at the smoke. "Mephisto isn't some street-level demon. He's one of the major powers commands legions, has been playing long games since before human civilization. You've just painted a target on yourselves."
"Then we'll deal with it together," Danny said firmly. "You were investigating Inferno too. That means you're already involved. And from what I saw tonight, you know your way around magic."
"I'm a professional." Constantine exhaled smoke. "But this isn't your fight. You're... what? Heroes? Trying to save the world one neighborhood at a time?"
"Someone has to," Cage said quietly. "The big heroes Avengers, Fantastic Four, X-Men they save the world from aliens and cosmic threats. Important work. But while they're busy with that, real people in real neighborhoods are suffering. Getting exploited by demons, vampires, corrupt corporations, dirty cops. That's where we come in."
Constantine felt something stir in his chest respect, maybe, or recognition. These two were doing the same work he did, just with fewer cigarettes and more optimism.
"Alright," he said. "I'm listening. What do you know about Mephisto's operation here?"
Danny pulled out more files surveillance photos, financial records, witness statements. For a street-level operation, Heroes for Hire did their homework.
"Inferno was the tip of the iceberg," Danny explained. "We've identified at least six other fronts in Manhattan alone. Nightclubs, casinos, high-end escort services all catering to the wealthy and desperate. They offer deals that seem too good to be true."
"Because they are," Constantine finished. "Classic demon playbook. Give people what they think they want, collect their souls in the fine print."
"Exactly." Cage tapped a photo of a sleek office building. "This is the central hub Abaddon Industries. Legitimate on the surface, but our sources say it's where Mephisto's lieutenants coordinate operations. If we want to shut down the soul trafficking, we need to hit them there."
Constantine studied the building. Fifty stories of steel and glass, security tighter than Fort Knox, probably warded seven ways to Sunday. "That's suicide. Walking into their headquarters is exactly what they'd want three more souls for the collection."
"So we don't walk in the front door," Danny said. "We be smart about it. Reconnaissance, planning, hitting them when they're vulnerable."
"And you want my help." Constantine looked between them. "Why? You barely know me. For all you know, I could be working for Mephisto myself."
Cage smiled slightly. "You're not."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I can tell." Cage leaned forward. "I grew up in Harlem. Learned to read people early had to, to survive. You're a lot of things, Constantine. You're cynical, manipulative, probably got a dozen ulterior motives running at any given time. But you're not evil. Tonight proved that. You stayed to save those kids when you could've run."
"Maybe I just needed you as a distraction."
"Maybe." Danny's smile was knowing. "But you still stayed. And that matters."
Constantine wanted to argue, to maintain his carefully cultivated reputation as a self-interested bastard. But the truth was, they were right. He had stayed. And sitting here, in this cramped office above a Chinese restaurant, planning an assault on a demon lord's operations with two heroes who actually gave a damn about ordinary people... it felt right.
"Alright," he said. "I'm in. But we do this smart. No more dramatic entrances, no punching our way through problems."
"Agreed," Danny said. "We could use some magical expertise anyway. Most of what we face is street-level guns, drugs, normal crime. The supernatural stuff is... new territory."
"Then class is in session." Constantine stubbed out his cigarette. "First lesson: demons lie. Everything they say, every deal they offer, every promise they make it's all designed to trap you. Second lesson: they follow rules. Can't help themselves. Laws, contracts, ancient pacts. You learn the rules, you can beat them."
Over the next hour, Constantine gave them a crash course in demonology. How to recognize possession. Basic protection wards. The importance of consecrated ground. Cage and Danny listened intently, occasionally asking questions that showed they were taking this seriously.
"This is more complex than I thought," Cage admitted. "We're used to fighting things we can punch."
"Oh, you can punch demons," Constantine assured him. "Just need to know where to hit them. Iron Fist's chi energy is particularly effective pure life force is anathema to demonic essence. And your unbreakable skin makes you resistant to possession. You're actually better equipped than most."
A knock at the door interrupted them. Cage tensed, hand moving toward the pistol Constantine just now noticed in his desk drawer. "Come in."
A woman entered mid-thirties, African American, wearing scrubs and carrying a medical bag. She stopped short when she saw Constantine.
"Luke, who's this?"
"Friend," Cage said. "Or close enough. Claire, this is John Constantine. Constantine, Dr. Claire Temple."
Constantine stood, offering his hand. "Charmed."
Claire shook it warily, her grip firm. "You smell like cigarettes and trouble."
"I get that a lot today." Constantine sat back down. "Doctor, eh? Let me guess you patch up heroes the hospitals can't handle."
"Something like that." Claire set her bag on the desk, pulling out supplies. "Danny called, said you boys got into it with demons. Anyone injured?"
"Few bruises," Danny admitted. "Nothing major."
"Let me be the judge of that." Claire began examining them both with professional efficiency. As she worked, she glanced at Constantine. "So what's your story? Another superhero?"
"God, no." The thought was almost offensive. "I'm a magician. Occult detective. I deal with the supernatural nasties that go bump in the night."
"And you're working with Luke and Danny now?"
"Temporarily." Constantine lit another cigarette, earning a glare from Claire. "We have a common enemy."
"Mephisto," Cage supplied. "Demon lord running a soul-trafficking operation in Manhattan."
Claire paused in her examination. "Soul trafficking. You're serious."
"Deadly," Danny said. "We rescued six kids tonight from a demon trying to drain their life force. Constantine helped."
Claire looked at Constantine with new assessment. "Then I guess I should thank you. Those kids I know some of them. Treat them at the clinic when their parents can't afford proper healthcare."
"No thanks necessary." Constantine shifted uncomfortably. "Just doing what needed doing."
"Right." Claire's tone suggested she didn't quite believe his casual dismissal, but she let it drop. "Well, you're all lucky. No serious injuries. Luke, you've got some bruising under those indestructible ribs. Danny, your chi flow is irregular you overextended yourself. And Constantine..." She studied him. "You look like you haven't slept in a week."
"Bit longer than that," Constantine admitted. "Occupational hazard."
"Mm-hmm." Claire packed up her supplies. "Luke, Danny, I want you both to rest tonight. No saving the world for at least twelve hours. And Constantine? Take care of yourself. The dead can't help anyone."
After she left, Cage chuckled. "She's something, isn't she?"
"Terrifying," Constantine agreed. "The good ones always are."
Danny stood, stretching. "She's right though. We should rest, regroup. Plan our next move with clear heads."
"Agreed." Cage looked at Constantine. "You got a place to stay?"
"Flat in Brooklyn. Nothing fancy."
"Right." Cage scribbled an address on a piece of paper. "That's a safehouse we maintain. Closer, better security. You're welcome to crash there tonight. Tomorrow, we'll start planning how to take down Abaddon Industries."
Constantine took the paper. "You trust me that much?"
"I trust that we're stronger working together than apart," Cage said. "And I trust that you want to stop Mephisto as much as we do. Good enough for now."
Constantine nodded, pocketing the address. As he stood to leave, Danny stopped him.
"Hey, Constantine? Thanks. For tonight. For helping those kids."
"Don't make a thing of it," Constantine muttered. But he couldn't quite suppress a smile as he left.
Outside, Hell's Kitchen lived up to its name. Police sirens wailed in the distance. A couple fought in Spanish outside a bodega. Somewhere, glass shattered. But there was life here too a man walking his dog, kids playing stickball under a streetlight, an old woman watering plants on her fire escape.
This was what Cage and Danny fought for. Not grand cosmic battles or world-ending threats. Just ordinary people trying to live their lives in a neighborhood that chewed people up and spit them out.
Constantine could respect that.
He started walking toward the safehouse, already planning their next move against Mephisto. For the first time since arriving in this reality, he felt like he might have found genuine allies.
It was a strange feeling.
He wasn't sure he liked it.
But he wasn't running from it either.
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