Constantine was annoyed. He was itching for a cigarette, but when he reached his hand into his pocket there was a packet of gum instead. Oh yeah, he thought, I quit. He popped the small piece of gum in his mouth and chewed slowly, all the while listening to the slow ticking of his watch.

"You're late, you know," Constantine said without bothering to look behind him. A small chuckle confirmed the presence behind his back.

"You cannot be late if you never set a time, Constantine," the voice reminded. "And I never gave you a precise time." Constantine turned and was awarded to see the image of the angel Caleb before him, the sight most people—or rather church freaks—would kill to see.

Caleb. After Gabriel went insane, not to mention human, Caleb was the angel Constantine turned to when he was in need of assistance, especially so when Midnite was into his whole "I must maintain the Balance" thing. Caleb, though he firmly stayed on his side of the Balance, did not mind sharing information he would happen to hear with Constantine, but only did so when he truly thought something was amiss.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Constantine said crossing his arms against his chest. He leaned against a tombstone. "So?"

"So?" repeated Caleb with furrowed brows.

Constantine gritted his teeth in frustration. "Typically, when someone asks someone else to meet him somewhere, there is a reason."

"Oh yes, of course," Caleb grinned. "Yes. It has come to my attention that we might have a problem on our hands." He paused, smiling at the man across from him.

Constantine rolled his eyes and spat out his gum. "Want to vague that up for me?" Sure, Caleb was alright at times, but usually, he was a pain in the ass.

"Oh but Constantine," Caleb returned, "You know how I love to see you squirm. Alright then, I'll tell you. I've heard there's a rogue angel roaming about, trying to cause the usual plight and mayhem upon your race."

"Again?"

"Yes, again," he confirmed. "I'm afraid that's all I know at the moment."

"Not even a name?" Constantine scolded. "Tsk, tsk, is someone losing his touch?"

Caleb just smiled. "We'll see, won't we, Constantine?" He vanished.

"Asshole," Constantine muttered as he put another piece of gum in his mouth. "'We'll see' my ass." So, another rogue angel, Jesus, what the hell was going on with angels suddenly losing their minds? Was the big guy upstairs losing his touch or something? Constantine didn't know; fucking Caleb didn't give him enough information to even guess at what was going on.

Better go see Midnite, he thought as he walked out of the dark cemetery, either he'll bitch at me or actually tell me something important.

(0)

"How many times do I have to tell you that my pace is neutral?" Midnite asked tensely. Constantine had just barged into his office, again, demanded answers, again, and insulted a demon, again. This guy really, really needed to get the shit beat out of him. Like it would matter anyway, Midnite thought glumly, he'd still come back, pulling the same shit like he always does.

Constantine shrugged. "Don't know, don't really care. Now, if you could just tell me what I want to know, I'll gladly leave." Out of the corner of his eye he saw the demon practically glow red from anger. That somewhat made him feel better.

"I am neutral, John," Midnite growled. "I know nothing."

Constantine raised an eyebrow. "You really think I'll fall for that?"

Midnite glared at him. "Get out," he said to the demon, "I need a minute alone with Mr. Constantine here." The demon growled, but obeyed nonetheless.

"Well?" Constantine prompted.

"One day, I will kill you," vowed Midnite, "but here." He held out a small slip of paper with an address written on it. Constantine looked at him questioningly.

"Go to there," Midnite said. "There will be a women singing. She will be of great help." He held up a hand, stopping an interruption. "That is all I will say, John, ask me no more. Only she will be able to help you."

Constantine sighed. "You better be right." He turned to open the door.

"Remember to listen, John!" was the last thing he heard before he shut the door. The demon he pissed off earlier was leaning against a wall, staring at Constantine, who, in turn, rolled his eyes. Been to hell and back and they still think I'm threatened by them.

He gave him the finger as he walked along, not caring one way or another.

Once outside, he glanced at the address: 5308 Gallantry. Versailles. Constantine rolled his eyes. Versailles, like they really couldn't think of a better name. He hailed a cab and handed the driver the address. He couldn't help but think of Chas, poor Chas who didn't deserve to die. Constantine leaned his head back against the window, silently mourning for the few friends he had that had died. Father Hennessey, Beeman, and Chas. Killed just because they were helping him.

(0)

Versailles turned out to be a small, dinky club on Gallantry Street. Unless looking for it, no one would have seen it there, squished between two different, and larger, buildings, but there it was, in all it's lackluster glory.

Constantine paid the cab fair and put his hands in his trench coat pockets. Even the sign on top of the place was dim, with three letters completely blacked out. He popped a piece of gum in his mouth and trudged inside the establishment, taking a seat at the bar that was close to a stage of some sort. He ordered a drink and prepared himself to be in for disappointment.

Not long after Constantine took the first sip of his drink, a young lady walked carefully up on the stage. She sat down gracefully on a chair placed in the center, with a guitar on her lap, and glanced around nervously. Constantine didn't even notice her before she started singing.

His head whipped to his right and saw her. She was pretty, he noticed, short, with long, black and curly hair. He couldn't see her eyes, but from his view she seemed decent. Her voice, however, was a completely different story.

Constantine had never heard anything so beautiful. Her voice was deep, soulful, yet light and pretty all at once. Her fingers on her left hand, seemingly small, moved nimbly across the guitar's frets while the right hand's fingers alternated between plucking and strumming the metal strings. Her nails were painted a pearly white color, he noticed. Her voice entranced him, making him feel all sorts of emotions that he wasn't supposed to feel. He should have been glad when her song was over, but, instead, he sat there, drink in hand, feeling oddly bereft.

Well, at least I found her.

The girl smiled shyly around the room after her song was finished. When her gaze crossed Constantine's, their eyes locked, and her smile slowly dropped down, leaving an intense, puzzled look on her face. She broke the contact abruptly and tottered off the stage. He watched as she packed her guitar up, happily noticing her body's curves, and then followed her as she left Versailles.

She was just about to hail a cab when it happened. Her high-pitched scream went unnoticed by everyone, except Constantine, who was already sprinting toward her. The demon had grabbed her around the waist and was lifting her off the ground. It didn't see him coming.

"Hey, asshole!" Constantine yelled as he punched the demon, making him let go of the girl. She scrambled behind him.

"Help me," she pleaded, holding Constantine's arm in a death grip.

"I am," he said, shaking out of her hold. He knelt across the demon's body and held a cross that he had pulled out of his pockets against his forehead. The demon hissed in response.

Constantine leaned close to the demon's ear. "This is Constantine. John Constantine, asshole," he whispered before muttering a Latin prayer. The demon screamed in pain, but soon evaporated, leaving Constantine and the girl alone.

As he stood up, he gave the girl another look over. Now that he had a clear view of her face, he saw that she had green eyes, green eyes and a lot of black, curly hair. She was wearing a black top, leaving her arms and shoulder bare, and showing cleavage, not enough to be obscene, but enough for anyone to notice. She was also wearing a grey skirt that fell to her knees with black boots that reached a little below the skirt.

In short, Constantine thought she was beautiful.

He held out a hand. "John Constantine," he said. The girl glanced down at his hand before shaking it.

"Mary Draven," she said. She let go of his hand and bent to pick up her guitar case. "Um, thank you for…whatever that was that just happened," she said awkwardly.

Constantine waved off her apology. "Yeah, yeah. Listen, you're coming with me." He held out his hand again.

Mary raised her eyebrows. "Oh? And what makes you think that?"

"Because I'm telling you that you are," Constantine said dryly.

"Whoa, listen, Mr. Constantine," Mary said holding her hands up. "I appreciate what you did and all, but you got another thing coming if you think I'm going to…do anything with you."

Constantine rolled his eyes. "Believe me; sleeping with you is the last thing on my mind right now." Liar, he thought. Mary just stared at him.

He sighed. "Fine." He pulled out an old gum packet from his pocket and penned down his address for her.

"If you get scared of see anything funny, I want you to come here," he said, giving her the gum packet.

"Funny?" she repeated. "As in, 'funny' like what just happened?"

"Basically," Constantine agreed. He noticed with satisfaction that she looked scared.

"So, it might happen again?" she asked with a grim expression upon her lovely face.

Constantine nodded. "Probably." He turned and started to walk away.

Three, two, one…

"Mr. Constantine!"

He turned. "Yes?"

Mary smiled hesitantly. "Um, maybe I, you know, should come with you, um, for now anyways."

Constantine tried to hide his smile. "Sure."