Chapter 40: The Things We Don't Tell Children
Kairo Victor Fugate Wakati was supposed to be asleep.
This was not a matter open to interpretation. It was a school night, it was late enough that most of Wakati Mansion had settled into the particular quiet it developed after midnight, and Kairo was a ten-year-old boy who genuinely enjoyed sleeping. He liked naps, he liked sleeping in, he liked soft, cool blankets wrapped around him, and he had once informed Beryl, with complete seriousness, that waking up before the sun should count as a form of psychological warfare, even more so for a growing boy like himself. But sadly, Beryl was both far too British and herself to understand that.
Yet there he was.
Kairo rolled from one side of Madame Xanadu's enormous bed to the other, wrapped halfway around one of her long cylinder-shaped pillows while wearing the newest version of his Duck Prince pajamas. Beryl had needed to remake them several times over the years because, despite Kairo's best efforts to remain conveniently small forever, he had committed the deeply inconsiderate act of growing. He was taller now, stronger through his arms and core from years of training, but still short for ten and still wonderfully chubby, which meant the pajamas had gotten bigger without losing any of their ridiculous little golden buttons, soft feathers stitched around the cuffs, or the tiny crown embroidered over his heart.
Kairo had complained when Beryl presented them to him, but the smile on her face and the happiesnes in her eyes were to much, even for him. So he immediately wore them.
Some battles were not worth fighting.
Madame Xanadu's bedroom was one of the few places where he could roll around like this (as any child should) without being told he was destroying something. Her bed seemed incapable of remaining messy for longer than a few seconds. Kairo could kick the blankets away, crush the pillows beneath himself, roll himself into the sheets like a burrito, and somehow, when he moved again, everything slowly returned to where it belonged as though the bed had quietly decided he was beneath disciplinary action, much like Madame Xanadu herself.
He had been testing this for almost twenty minutes.
So far, the bed remained undefeated. He huffed as he adjusted the watch around his neck, looking up to see Madame Xanadu ignoring him.
That bothered Kairo considerably more than losing his war against magical bedding.
She moved around the room with several bags open near the foot of the bed, although calling them just bags was probably incorrect and unfair. One was a dark leather case that looked barely large enough to hold two dresses, yet Kairo had personally watched her place seven dresses, four books, a silver box, several bundles of herbs, two pairs of shoes, a rolled carpet, and something that might have been a human skull inside it.
He had decided not to ask about the skull.
There were some questions a boy learned not to ask when his aunt was an immortal fortune teller.
"Aunty M."
Madame Xanadu continued folding a dark violet dress.
"Aunty M."
The dress disappeared into the bag. Kairo squeezed the pillow harder. "Aunty Mmmmm."
Nimue finally glanced toward him. "Yes, my darling?"
"Where ya going?"
Madame Xanadu smiled. Kairo's eyes narrowed. That smile had answered absolutely nothing. He rolled onto his stomach, chin resting on the pillow as he watched her. "That's what you did last time."
"What did I do last time?"
He rolled around before saying, "You 'just' smiled."
Her voice warmed as she said, "I smile often."
"Not like that."
One elegant eyebrow rose. "I was unaware that my nephew had begun cataloging my smiles."
"I've known you most of my life."
"And apparently I have become predictable."
"No." Kairo thought about that before shaking his head. "You're actually kinda weird."
The gold watch hanging around his neck warmed.
Excellent work, detective.
Kairo ignored Aurielis.
Madame Xanadu did not. Her lips twitched slightly as she returned to packing. She had known Aurielis long enough that she could sometimes tell when the spirit inside the watch was speaking merely from Kairo's expression, and the little tightening around his eyes told her that Aurielis had contributed something unhelpful.
Kairo pushed himself upright. "Seriously, though. Where are you going? I never seen you this unorganized before."
That got her attention. Not immediately, but still, Madame Xanadu placed another book into her impossible bag, closed a silver jewelry case, then stopped. "Unorganized?"
Kairo nodded. She looked mildly offended. "I am not unorganized."
"You've put that same blue dress in the bag twice. You just take it out and refold it after holding it for a few minutes."
Madame Xanadu looked down. There was a blue dress in her hand. She looked toward the bag. Then back toward the dress.
Kairo pointed. "See?" A long silence followed.
Aurielis finally spoke into both their minds.
Oh, that's bad.
Nimue's eyes narrowed.
I'm serious. I've watched you pack while a demon was actively trying to eat your shop and you didn't lose track of a dress.
"That was hardly the same."
You're right. The demon was less worrying.
Kairo sat up straighter. He had originally started bothering her because he was a naturaly curious, but the feeling in his stomach had changed sometime during the last several minutes. Children noticed things adults liked pretending they didn't. Kairo especially noticed things. Years of magic lessons, psychic training, temporal awareness, and simply living around adults who regularly hid dangerous information behind calm voices had made him very good at recognizing when someone was trying not to look worried.
"Aunty M?"
The humor disappeared from his voice.
Nimue looked at him.
Kairo hugged the pillow against his stomach. "Seriously. How bad is it?"
Aurielis went quiet for several seconds before adding, much softer than before, Yeah. Seriously, how bad is it? You're gonna give this kid a heart attack if you don't tell him something.
Madame Xanadu almost dismissed them again.
Almost.
Instead, her eyes drifted toward the enormous mirror covering most of one wall.
She saw herself. And paused.
Her hair was still beautiful, her clothing immaculate, her posture composed enough that almost anyone else would have seen Madame Xanadu exactly as Madame Xanadu intended herself to be seen. Mysterious. Elegant. Calm.
But she knew herself.
There was something small behind her eyes.
Something distracted.
Something worried.
Nimue stared at her reflection for several seconds before slowly straightening one bracelet. She fixed a loose section of hair, smoothed the front of her dress, then breathed out through her nose.
When she turned around again, she looked much more like herself. Kairo remained unconvinced but still nodded. "Better," he said.
Madame Xanadu gave him a look. He shrugged at her. "Sorry but you Still look worried."
"Your observational skills have become irritating."
Kairo smiled a little. "You taught me."
"One of my greater mistakes."
That got a laugh out of him, which had been the point. Still, she did not tell him where she was going. Because if it had only been Zatanna, she would have.
Kairo knew of Zatanna Zatara. More than knew of her, really. Zatanna had appeared through mirrors, crystal surfaces, enchanted windows, and once through a bowl of water during one of Kairo's lessons; Kairo would often roll his eyes at magical people who had collectively decided telephones were too simple. Kairo liked her immediately, partly because she was funny, partly because she was one of the few adults who treated magic like something that could be beautiful and exciting without pretending it was harmless.
He desperately wanted to see one of her shows.
Zatanna knew this.
Years ago, she had appeared in one of Madame Xanadu's smaller communication mirrors during Kairo's lesson, already dressed for something far less entertaining than a stage performance. There had been soot on one shoulder, something glowing unpleasantly behind her, and enough noise coming from the other side of the mirror that even young Kairo understood she was busy.
"Oh, sweetie, I wish I could make time for you right now," Zatanna had told him with an apologetic smile. "But I'm dealing with some very scary magic that's threatening to tear apart a decent chunk of the world. You know how it is. Spells, hocus-pocus, demons. Meat and drink to me."
Young Kairo had stared.
Zatanna had smiled wider. "I promise I'll do a special show for you one day. Front row, no charge, and I'll even let you see backstage."
Kairo had immediately brightened.
Then she had added, "Probably not anytime soon."
The mirror had exploded thirty seconds later.
Not violently. Mostly. But magic stuff just sometimes exploded; it was a fact of life you had to get used to when spending a lot of time around magic.
Kairo still occasionally asked about the show. So Zatanna was not the problem.
No, the problem was the other person that 'needed' her help.
John Constantine was the problem.
Madame Xanadu had known many dangerous people. She had known kings who fed armies into wars for pride, sorcerers who traded souls like currency, demons who treated suffering as recreation, and beings old enough that humanity existed as little more than an amusing new development from their perspective.
John Constantine somehow remained on her list. Not because he was the most powerful. That would have been easier.
John was dangerous because John Constantine had an almost supernatural talent for entering situations he had absolutely no business surviving, making agreements with creatures he had absolutely no business speaking to, promising things he had absolutely no intention of giving them, then walking away while everyone around him tried to understand how the bastard had done it again.
His bad luck was almost legendary.
His good luck was worse.
And the most irritating part was that when everything somehow worked, John gloated.
Madame Xanadu looked at Kairo. No. She had absolutely no desire for those two to meet.
Unfortunately, she was also intelligent enough to know that desire had very little to do with fate.
Kairo attracted strange things. Time itself had wrapped around the boy before he had been old enough to understand what a minute truly meant. Magic noticed him. Spirits noticed him. Psychic beings noticed him. Death had noticed him, apparently, although Elias had never properly explained that particular statement and Nimue had eventually decided there were some doors she would rather let the old doctor open himself.
Sooner or later, John Constantine would notice him too.
Hopefully much, much later. Preferably when Kairo was forty. Maybe fifty. She would accept sixty.
Sadly, she had already learned that Constantine's relationship with the Wakati family had begun without her permission.
Three years earlier, John Constantine had appeared inside Wakati Mansion at an hour when every decent person was asleep.
He had been searching for alcohol. There was only one problem. Dr. Elias Wakati barely drank. That had apparently offended John personally. Madame Xanadu remembered the alarm spell touching the edge of her mind.
Not the house alarm.
Hers.
Years earlier, she had layered several magical warnings into Wakati Mansion. They were subtle things woven around the technological security Elias already maintained, because contrary to what many arrogant sorcerers liked believing, good technology was remarkably effective against supernatural problems when built by someone who knew what questions to ask.
Magic could fool cameras.
Sometimes.
Magic could confuse sensors.
Sometimes.
Magic could bypass locks.
Again, sometimes.
But there was something deeply humbling about watching an ancient spirit discover that an automatic steel security shutter did not care about its tragic history.
Madame Xanadu privately believed nearly forty percent of supernatural nonsense could be prevented through competent engineering and people remembering to lock their doors.
Which made John's presence inside the house deeply irritating.
She found him in Elias's study. Sitting in Elias's chair. Feet on Elias's desk.
Drawers open.
Books moved.
Papers scattered.
A cabinet door hanging open while John Constantine stared into it with disgust. "This man doesn't drink."
Madame Xanadu stood in the doorway. John looked over.
He was wearing his usual coat, which looked as though it had survived several wars and lost arguments with every washing machine it had ever encountered. His blond hair was messy, his tie loose, and a cigarette rested behind one ear.
"No," Nimue said. "He does not."
John looked back into the cabinet. "Not even emergency whiskey?"
"No."
"Medicinal brandy?"
"No."
"Cooking sherry?"
"No."
John slowly turned toward her. "What kind of scientist is he?"
"The kind currently asleep upstairs."
John considered this. "Disturbing."
Madame Xanadu stepped into the office and closed the door behind herself. John's eyes moved toward it. Then toward her. "Ah."
"You entered this house without permission."
"Did knock."
"You did not."
"I literally knocked on myself a few hours ago when I told myself to remember to knock, just in case I forgot."
She shook her head. "That is not a thing."
"Everything's a thing if you're annoying enough about it."
Nimue stared at him. John smiled. It lasted perhaps four seconds. "Get out."
"Can't."
"You misunderstand me."
"No, no. Heard you perfectly. Beautiful voice. Very commanding."
"John."
"Love what you've done with the place."
"This is not my house."
"Explains the lack of booze."
Madame Xanadu closed her eyes.
For one brief, spiritually dangerous moment, she considered murder.
John leaned farther into Elias's chair. "Before you start turning me into a frog or whatever dramatic rubbish you've got planned, I'm here about the boy."
Her eyes opened. The room changed. John felt it. His smile remained, but something behind it sharpened.
"What boy?"
"Oh, don't do that."
"What boy, John?"
"The little one."
Madame Xanadu said nothing.
John sighed. "Kairo."
Every ward in the room seemed to lean toward him. John noticed that too. "You're being rather touchy tonight, I see."
"What do you want with my nephew?"
"Nothing."
"Then leave."
"He owes me a clock."
Madame Xanadu stared at him. John nodded seriously. "A very expensive clock."
Silence.
"A magical clock." More silence. "Well, technically an hourglass."
Madame Xanadu continued staring. John's face tightened. "You gonna say something?"
"I am deciding whether throwing you through the window would wake Elias."
"Probably."
"The wall, then."
"Bit rude."
"What hourglass?"
That was when John finally stopped joking.
Mostly.
He removed the cigarette from behind his ear, rolled it between his fingers, and looked toward the dark window.
"Three years ago tonight, just before four in the bloody morning, Zee and I had a bit of trouble."
Madame Xanadu's expression shifted. "Zatanna?"
"Yeah."
That earned him her full attention as John began explaining.
Somewhere in another city, around 3:55 in the morning, John Constantine had been bleeding from at least two places and loudly explaining why goblins were untrustworthy.
"And that's why," John declared while limping down a wet alley, "you never trust a group of goblins."
Zatanna followed several steps behind him, somehow still looking composed despite the fact that the evening had gone catastrophically wrong. "John, you stole their enchanted staff."
"Borrowed."
"You punched their chief."
"He was being unreasonable."
"You broke his nose."
"He had another nostril."
Zatanna stared at the back of his head. John glanced over his shoulder. "What?"
"They were trying to get their property back."
"Violently."
"You stole it violently."
"Details, Zee."
She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience.
John was carrying the stolen object under one arm, a battered magical staff radiating enough bad energy that several alley cats had already decided to cross the street rather than approach him. His nose was crooked, one side of his coat was torn, and he appeared far happier than anyone in his condition had a right to be.
"And yet," John continued, "here I am. Got the stick."
"You're missing a tooth."
"Had plenty."
"Your nose is broken."
"Builds character."
"That poor nun may never see normally again."
John's expression became slightly less cheerful. "Yeah."
Zatanna waited. John cleared his throat. "That part got away from me."
They reached his apartment several minutes later, and John entered in the traditional Constantine fashion by kicking open a window because using his own front door would have suggested emotional stability.
Zatanna climbed through after him.
The apartment looked exactly like somewhere John Constantine lived. Books were everywhere. Candles had burned down into strange shapes. Cigarette cartons occupied surfaces that should have been used for food. Several objects radiated enough dark magic that most responsible practitioners would have stored them behind protective glass, salt circles, blessed silver, or preferably several miles of ocean.
Yet there was an odd organization beneath everything. John knew where things were. Usually. He dropped the goblin staff onto a table and immediately began searching through an old sea chest.
"What are you doing?"
"Celebrating."
"You need medical attention."
"I need whiskey."
"You need stitches."
"Whiskey first."
He began throwing bottles over his shoulder. . . . . . . . . . . . .
.
Madame Xanadu raised her hand to stop him, "Why are you telling me any of this?!" She said with more than a little heat, her patience thinning very quickly. John guffawed at her, "Ya don't interrupt a man when he is telling a good story, Madame Xu, and please, give me a little time to set things up before I get to my point, thank you very much."
Madame Xanadu only looked at the man, murder returning to her mind as she watched John dust himself off and clap his hands together. "First I don't get to drink anything worth drinking, and now this very attractive ancient old witch is interrupting my stories. Anyway, Like I Was Saying!!!" he said with a pointed look. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
.
Zatanna caught them with increasingly irritated precision. One bottle contained something green and glowing. Another made a noise when she touched it. A third whispered her name.
She stared at John. "Why does your alcohol know me?"
"Friendly bottle."
"John."
"Don't drink that one."
She made it disappear. John booed.
"Oh, grow up."
"Coward. Budapest was more fun."
Zatanna's eyes narrowed. "We are never discussing Budapest again."
"Demon geese weren't that bad."
"They followed me for six months."
"Means they liked you."
"You promised them an eternal supply of cigarettes."
"Nearly worked."
"No, John. It did not."
He grinned. Then the room changed. Neither noticed immediately. Something above John's bed did.
The hourglass had been there for months.
It was enormous, nearly three feet tall, framed in old blackened metal covered in markings John had never completely translated. The sand inside was dark red and moved strangely, sometimes falling upward when nobody watched it directly.
John had acquired it through methods Zatanna strongly suspected violated laws in several dimensions.
At exactly four in the morning, the hourglass trembled. Zatanna turned. "John?"
The red sand stopped. John looked up. The glass bent inward. "What the bloody..."
The sand turned purple. Then the hourglass exploded. Zatanna reacted instantly. Her hand snapped upward as magic burned around her fingers. "POTS SSALG DNA DNAS!"
Everything froze.
Glass stopped inches from John's face. Purple grains hung throughout the apartment. A jagged shard remained suspended near Zatanna's throat.
John stared. Then horror crossed his face. "No."
He shoved past her. "John."
"No, no, no." He dropped to his knees. "Not the bloody hourglass."
Zatanna stared at him. John picked up part of the broken frame. "Do you have any idea what I went through for this thing?"
"I don't want to know."
"Demons, Zee."
"Of course."
"Plural."
"Naturally."
"I had to blackmail one."
"You blackmail everyone."
"Not everyone." Zatanna raised an eyebrow. John thought about it. "Most."
Then he saw the bottles. Several had shattered. His expression became devastated. "Oh, now that's personal."
"Forget the alcohol."
"Easy for you to say."
"John."
Something in her voice finally got through. He looked at her. Zatanna stood very still, feeling the magical residue. "This wasn't random."
John's humor faded. "No."
"That hourglass reacted to something."
"Yeah."
"Something temporal."
John looked down at the purple sand. "Big."
Zatanna nodded. "Very big."
For several moments neither spoke. Then John pulled out a cigarette and attempted to light it. Nothing happened. He tried again.
The flame appeared backward, vanished into the lighter, and nearly burned his thumb.
John stared at it. "Fan-bloody-tastic."
Zatanna almost smiled.
"My luck's running backward."
"Maybe that's an improvement."
"Funny."
"You ever think about retiring?"
"Every day."
"Could open a bakery."
John considered it. Zatanna shook her head. "Actually, no. You'd poison half the city."
"Have some faith."
"I do. That's why I'm certain."
He smiled despite himself. Then both looked again toward the destroyed hourglass.
Neither knew that somewhere else, at almost that exact moment, a very young Kairo Wakati had reached out toward time in a way no child should have been able to.
Neither knew the world had stopped. But something inside that hourglass had known.
John finished his story in Elias's office.
Madame Xanadu had become very still; she would need to speak to Zatanna to make sure the story was true. Knowing John, he was changing facts and start lying just for fun.
Three years ago. Four in the morning. The same night. The same time. She knew exactly what had happened at Wakati Mansion that night.
Kairo had stopped time.
Not slowed it. Not locally distorted it. Stopped it.
And somewhere miles away, a magical object deeply connected to temporal forces had exploded.
John watched her face. "You know something."
"No."
"Bollocks."
"I know many things."
"One of them's about my hourglass."
"Your hourglass was cursed."
"Of course it was cursed."
"Then perhaps it exploded because it was cursed."
John stared. She smiled. He narrowed his eyes. "You're protecting him."
"I am protecting a child from a grown man who broke into his grandfather's house demanding compensation for a magical artifact the child has never seen."
John pointed at her. "That's one interpretation."
"It is the correct interpretation."
"Agree to disagree."
Madame Xanadu reached into her sleeve. John watched carefully. She removed a tarot card. Then held it toward him.
John looked at it. "The Tower." He said giving her a look before His expression flattened. "Oh, don't start."
Madame Xanadu smiled.
John took the card anyway. "Right, look, I know what the damn Tower means. I'm not some child playing around with his first deck. I've been through the fire, I've been through Hell, quite literally, and I've seen enough of the other side to know these cards aren't just pictures on paper."
Madame Xanadu listened patiently.
John continued, because John Constantine always continued.
"It's a warning. Upheaval. Disaster. Things falling apart whether you're ready or not. I've been holding mirrors up to the ugly side of creation longer than most people can stomach looking at it, Nimue, so don't start giving me some beginner's lesson about sudden displacement."
"I said nothing."
"Your face did."
She smiled. John looked back down. The image on the card moved. He froze. Tiny lightning flashed around the Tower. The painted structure began to lean.
John slowly looked up. "Oh."
Madame Xanadu's smile widened. John nodded. "I respect that."
The Tower swallowed him. There was a flash. John Constantine vanished.
Somewhere far away, preferably above a very cold ocean, he appeared on top of a lonely tower with absolutely no alcohol.
Madame Xanadu considered that justice. She spent the next twenty minutes repairing Elias's study. Some damage required magic.
Most required simply picking up the mess John had made because even immortal sorceresses understood that using magic to put books back on shelves was sometimes more effort than walking six feet.
Then she went to bed.
And she had hoped not to deal with John Constantine again for a very long time.
"Aunty M?" Kairo's sleepy voice pulled her back into the present. Madame Xanadu blinked. Her bedroom returned around her.
All the open bags, the mirror, the quiet magic running through everything, and then her nephew.
Kairo had lost his battle with wakefulness.
He was sitting near the middle of her bed now, swaying slightly, still holding the cylinder pillow against his stomach. His eyes were half closed.
"You disappeared," he mumbled.
"I was thinking."
"For a long time."
"Apparently."
"About where you're going?"
Nimue walked toward him. Kairo tried to focus. "So you'll tell me?"
"No."
His face scrunched. "That's mean."
"I have survived worse accusations."
"From who?"
"Many people."
"Any ten-year-olds?"
"Several."
"Did they win?"
"No."
Kairo thought about that. Then yawned so hard his entire argument disappeared.
Madame Xanadu smiled. "There he is."
"I'm awake."
"You are dreaming while sitting upright."
"No."
His eyes closed. Then opened very slowly. "See?"
She smiled and nodded at him. "I am humbled."
Kairo rolled sideways.
Madame Xanadu caught him before his head hit the bed awkwardly and gently lowered him onto the pillows. The bed responded immediately, blankets sliding upward around his body as though they had been waiting for permission.
Kairo frowned at them. "Traitors." The blankets tucked themselves closer. He struggled weakly. "Don't wanna sleep here."
"Why?"
"Girl germs."
Madame Xanadu stared at him. Kairo's eyes were already closed. "Your bed."
She nodded again. "I see."
"Girl bed."
"Terrible."
"Gonna catch..."
His voice disappeared. Nimue waited. Nothing. He was asleep. She laughed quietly. "There are worse fates."
Madame Xanadu clapped softly. The room responded.
The brighter lights dimmed into a deep violet glow. Several candles extinguished themselves while others reduced to tiny blue flames. The mirror darkened until it reflected little more than silhouettes.
Her clothing changed with a small pulse of magic, the elegant dress softening into comfortable sleepwear.
Then she noticed Aurielis. The gold watch remained around Kairo's neck. Madame Xanadu carefully reached down and unclipped her.
Kairo shifted. His hand moved toward the missing warmth automatically. Nimue touched his hair. He settled.
Aurielis whispered into her mind.
Hey. Careful with the merchandise.
Madame Xanadu smiled and hung the watch from one of the bedposts. "You have spent too much time with him."
I could say the same about you.
"Good night, Aurielis."
The spirit was quiet. Nimue knew immediately that she wasn't finished.
I'm worried.
Madame Xanadu looked toward her.
Aurielis continued, quieter now. You don't get rattled easy. You hide it better than almost anybody I've known, but I know you. Something about this trip feels wrong.
Madame Xanadu sat on the edge of the bed. "It may be nothing."
You don't believe that.
"No."
Zatanna?
"Zatanna concerns me."
Aurielis waited. Madame Xanadu sighed. "Constantine concerns me more."
Yeah. That'll do it.
Despite herself, Nimue smiled.
Aurielis's voice softened again. You sure you can handle it?
Madame Xanadu looked toward Kairo. He was already deeply asleep.
At ten years old, his room back at Wakati Mansion had become almost unrecognizable compared with what it had been when he was five. The clocks were still there, of course. Elias would probably keep adding clocks until there was no wall left. Beryl's training weapons had grown with Kairo, the tiny wooden swords replaced by proper practice blades and equipment suited to a stronger child who now understood what he was doing.
Madame Xanadu's magical wall had expanded too. More charms. More maps. His own little experiments sitting beside hers. A shelf held beginner spellbooks he had earned permission to keep rather than simply borrow under supervision.
But the greatest changes had come from his friends.
There was a photograph of Rebecca hanging upside down from the ceiling with her wings spread while Kairo stood beneath her looking deeply offended. Another showed Penelope sitting proudly on Nimbus while Kairo remained several feet away from the Pegasus's mouth because Nimbus had once attempted to eat part of his shirt.
There were gifts from Addison and Alaric.
Little things.
Books.
Game controllers.
A ridiculous expensive chess set somebody had claimed was "just lying around."
Rebecca had left one of her hoodies there months ago and never retrieved it. Penelope had contributed a tiny stuffed Pegasus wearing a crown, which Kairo claimed he hated and mysteriously kept near his bed. Ace had given him a small glass sculpture she had made herself with psychic pressure, slightly uneven but precious enough that Kairo kept it inside a protective case.
His room had stopped being a monument to the adults raising him.
It had become evidence of a life.
Friends had entered it.
Memories had accumulated.
The boy who once wrote dramatic complaints about being trapped inside the mansion now had places he went, people waiting for him, arguments outside the family, private jokes Elias didn't understand, and stories Madame Xanadu only heard after they had happened.
He was growing.
That frightened her more than she liked admitting.
Madame Xanadu slid beneath the blankets beside him. "I can handle John Constantine."
Aurielis hummed skeptically.
"I have done so before."
You teleported him into the ocean.
"Near the ocean."
That distinction sounds important.
"It was."
Aurielis laughed softly. Then silence returned. Madame Xanadu looked at Kairo. He had rolled toward her in his sleep.
Still chubby. Still innocent.
Still small enough that when he curled up beneath the blankets he somehow occupied less space than one of her larger pillows, despite the fact that while awake he had developed a supernatural ability to take up an entire room through personality alone.
She touched his hair. One day he would be older.
That was the cruelty hidden inside loving a child.
You spent years protecting something while knowing the goal was to help them eventually become someone who no longer needed protecting in quite the same way.
Kairo would grow taller.
Probably.
Madame Xanadu smiled at that thought.
Hopefully.
He would become stronger. His magic would deepen. His temporal abilities would become things neither of them completely understood yet. The world would learn his name, and some parts of it would love him while others would fear him simply because people had always feared what reminded them that reality was larger than their understanding.
And innocence was fragile.
She knew that better than most.
Nimue had lived long enough to watch innocent boys become kings, soldiers, monsters, saints, fools, and occasionally good men despite everything the world did to discourage it.
She wanted something simpler for Kairo.
Big.
Innocent.
Chubby.
She could live with that. Preferably happy too. Madame Xanadu leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Sleep well, my darling."
Kairo mumbled something incomprehensible.
Aurielis's voice came softly from the bedpost.
Night, Nimue.
"Good night, old friend."
Wake me before you leave.
"I will."
Promise?
Madame Xanadu looked toward the watch.
"I promise."
Aurielis finally allowed herself to settle. The presence inside the watch became quieter until only a soft golden warmth remained.
Madame Xanadu stayed awake. For another minute. Then five. Perhaps ten.
She thought about Zatanna's message.
She thought about Constantine's.
She thought about Las Vegas and the usual old hotel.
She thought about an hourglass exploding at the exact moment a frightened little boy had once reached into the machinery of existence and commanded everything to stop.
Three years had passed since Constantine had come looking for answers.
He still didn't know. That bothered her.
Because John Constantine did not forget mysteries.
And eventually, he always found his way back to them.
Madame Xanadu closed her eyes.
That was tomorrow's problem.
Tomorrow's Madame Xanadu could finish packing. Tomorrow's Madame Xanadu could worry about Las Vegas. Tomorrow's Madame Xanadu could deal with Zatanna, whatever supernatural disaster was waiting for them, and, regrettably, John Constantine.
Tonight, Nimue was simply an aunt sharing her bed with a stubborn little boy who had stayed awake because he knew she was worried.
She pulled the blankets a little higher around him. The magical bed immediately helped. "Show-off," she whispered.
One pillow puffed itself.
Nimue narrowed her eyes at it. Then she laughed.
Outside the room, Wakati Mansion slept beneath layers of technology, magic, old stone, clocks, and security systems powerful enough to make most thieves reconsider their career choices. Far away, Elias Wakati was still at the Cranston Estates inner guard house, reading words from a frozen piece of his past, completely unaware that his grandson had violated bedtime law and occupied Madame Xanadu's bed.
Kairo breathed softly beside her.
The clocks continued moving.
For now, peacefully.
And eventually, Madame Xanadu allowed sleep to take her too.