Becoming Nightshade

By the time her second month at Eton rolled around, Maggie had started to feel settled in. Classes were still demanding, but she was keeping up, thanks to late-night study sessions with Aditi and sarcastic humor breaks with Oliver and Charlotte. But a creeping unease had begun to settle over the campus. It started with whispers in the dining hall. Two students Maggie barely knew—had fallen mysteriously ill. People said they were waking up drenched in sweat, their skin pale and clammy, and they were sensitive to even the faintest sunlight. The strangest detail, however, was the marks on their necks: small, round, and slightly red. The rumors flew faster than Maggie could keep up with.

"Do you think it's some weird kind of flu?" Charlotte asked one afternoon as they sat in the common room.

"Flu doesn't leave marks like that," Aditi pointed out, her tone skeptical. "And I heard one of them fainted in the library. Hardly a hotbed of infectious diseases."

Oliver smirked. "Maybe they've been attacked by vampires. You know, classic boarding school horror trope."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."

But Maggie wasn't so quick to dismiss it. That evening, she found herself sitting on her bed, staring at her phone. She considered texting Jason about it but stopped herself. He'd probably tease her about vampire theories, and besides, this was something she wanted to figure out on her own. The next morning, Maggie spotted the girl in the hallway, her steps faltering as she winced at the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Her collar was pulled up high, and her normally vibrant expression was replaced with one of exhaustion and unease.

"Hey," Maggie said, stepping forward and gently catching the girl's arm. "You, okay? You don't look so good."

The girl flinched slightly at the touch but didn't pull away. "I'm fine," she muttered, though her pale face and trembling hands told a different story.

"You don't seem fine," Maggie said softly, her concern genuine. "Maybe you should see the nurse?"

The girl shook her head quickly. "No, I'll be alright. I just—" She hesitated, her eyes darting around the hallway before settling on Maggie.

"I just need to rest."

Maggie frowned. "Look, I'm not trying to pry, but you're not the first person to feel like this lately. A few others have gotten sick, too. Did you go anywhere unusual recently?"

The girl's face flickered with something—hesitation, maybe fear—before she finally sighed.

"There's this club. Off-campus. Some of the other students go there at night. It's… different. A little intense."

"What's it called?" Maggie asked, her voice low.

"It's just called *The Night,*" the girl whispered, as though saying the name itself was dangerous.

"But I… I don't think I should talk about it."

"Why not?"

The girl glanced over her shoulder, her pale skin almost ghostly in the dim light of the hallway.

"Because they'll know. They always know."

Before Maggie could ask who "they" were, the girl slipped away, disappearing into the crowd of students. Maggie stood frozen, her mind racing. A secret club, strange symptoms, and now this cryptic warning? Whatever was going on, it was bigger than she thought.

Maggie's heart pounded as she crept through the darkened streets on the edge of town, her coat pulled tight against the cold night air. The directions she'd pieced together from whispers and rumors had led her to a crumbling building near the train station. The faint thrum of bass reverberated through the walls, confirming she was in the right place. A bouncer stood at the door, a burly figure who barely glanced at her before motioning her inside. Maggie exhaled, steeling herself as she stepped through the threshold. Inside, *The Night* was a world away from the quiet streets outside. Dim, flickering lights cast the room in hues of deep red and shadowy purple, giving the place a surreal, almost dreamlike quality. The air was thick with a mix of perfume, sweat, and the faint tang of something metallic. Maggie's eyes adjusted to the darkness, taking in the scene before her. The main room was cavernous, with vaulted ceilings and walls lined with intricate gothic carvings that looked centuries old. In the center, a dance floor pulsed with bodies moving to the relentless, hypnotic beat of electronic music. Above the crowd, a chandelier made of twisted iron and shattered glass swayed ominously, catching the light in jagged flashes. Around the edges of the room, shadowy alcoves were filled with groups of students lounging on worn velvet couches, their faces obscured by heavy shadows. Drinks were passed around in sleek black glasses, the contents glowing faintly under the ultraviolet lights. Maggie couldn't tell if the glow was from some kind of chemical or just part of the club's aesthetic, but it unsettled her nonetheless. Her gaze shifted to a narrow staircase leading to a second level, where balconies overlooked the dance floor. Figures in dark, flowing attire leaned over the railings, their expressions veiled by the dim light. They watched the crowd below like predators scanning for prey. Maggie felt a shiver run down her spine. There was an undercurrent to the atmosphere—something more sinister than the usual thrill of rebellion. The energy in the room felt charged, almost predatory, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. As she moved deeper into the club, her eyes caught sight of something odd. Along the walls, faint, glowing symbols were etched into the stone—shapes and lines that seemed to shift and writhe when she looked at them too long. They reminded her of the occult symbols she'd seen in some of Bruce's old case files. *This isn't just a club,* she thought. *There's something else going on here.*

"Good evening," came a smooth, deep voice behind her.

Maggie spun around, her breath catching slightly as she took in the man standing before her. He was tall and impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit that seemed out of place among the revelers' more casual attire. His skin was pale, almost unnaturally so, and his jet-black hair was slicked back neatly. But it was his eyes that caught her attention—piercing, almost hypnotic, with a glint of amusement as though he already knew all her secrets.

"You seem…different from the usual crowd," he said, his tone polite and measured, with a hint of something old-fashioned in the way he spoke. "I couldn't help but notice you."

Maggie forced herself to stay calm, her instincts warning her to tread carefully.

"I could say the same about you," she replied, her tone casual but edged with curiosity. "Not exactly blending in, are you?"

The man chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to resonate in the air between them.

"Perhaps not. But then, neither are you. A new face in a place like this tends to stand out."

He extended a hand, his long fingers perfectly manicured.

"I'm Vincent. May I ask your name, or shall I simply refer to you as the intriguing stranger?"

Maggie hesitated, every fiber of her being telling her not to trust him. But refusing might draw more attention than she wanted.

"Maggie," she said finally, shaking his hand briefly. His grip was cool, almost unnervingly so.

"Charmed," Vincent said, his lips curling into a small, enigmatic smile.

"Tell me, Maggie, what brings someone like you to *The Night*? It's not often we have…fresh company."

Maggie kept her expression neutral, masking the growing tension in her chest.

"Curiosity, I guess."

"Curiosity," Vincent repeated, as though savoring the word.

"A dangerous trait, but one I admire. Perhaps you'll find the answers you seek here—though I wonder if they'll be what you expect."

The way he spoke sent a chill down her spine, but Maggie refused to let it show.

"Guess I'll find out," she said, her tone steady.

Vincent's smile widened, and for a moment, his eyes seemed to glint in the flickering red light.

"Indeed. Well, I hope you enjoy your time here, Maggie. I have a feeling you'll find this place… unforgettable."

With that, he stepped back into the crowd, vanishing as quickly as he'd appeared. Maggie exhaled slowly, her mind racing. Who was he? And how much did he know about why she was really here? One thing was certain—Vincent wasn't just another club-goer. Maggie slipped away from the main room of the club, careful not to draw attention to herself. The shadows in the hallways seemed deeper here, the distant music muffled as she ventured further into the back of the building. The air was cooler, heavier, and a faint, metallic smell lingered—something that made her stomach twist. She ran her hand along the wall, searching for anything out of place. Her fingers brushed against a small, irregular notch. A hidden latch. Maggie hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to ensure no one was watching, then pressed it. With a soft *click*, a section of the wall swung inward, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness. Maggie swallowed hard, her heart pounding. Every instinct told her to turn back, but her curiosity—and her sense of duty—drove her forward. She pulled out her phone, using its light to guide her as she crept down the stairs. At the bottom, she found a heavy wooden door slightly ajar. The metallic scent was stronger here, mingling with a faint, sweet perfume. Pushing the door open, Maggie stepped inside and froze. The room was dimly lit by candles, their flickering light casting eerie shadows across the stone walls long one side of the room were a series of ornate coffins, their lids slightly ajar. Maggie's breath caught as she stepped closer, the realization hitting her like a punch to the gut. These weren't just decorations—they were beds. Each coffin was lined with luxurious velvet, and a few bore signs of recent use: creased fabric, faint impressions in the cushions. One even had a folded silk scarf resting on the edge, as if someone had left it behind in haste. The symbols she'd seen on the club walls were carved into the stone here, their shapes glowing faintly as if alive. She reached out cautiously, brushing her fingers against the edge of one coffin, and immediately drew back. The wood was cold—colder than anything in the room should have been. Her mind raced with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last. *Who sleeps in coffins?* The question echoed in her mind, though the answer seemed obvious, no matter how much she wanted to deny it. She thought of the students who had fallen ill, their pale skin, their aversion to light, and the marks on their necks. It all fit. A faint sound—like a whisper or a soft footstep—snapped her out of her thoughts. Maggie's pulse quickened. She switched off her phone light, ducking into the shadows as the door creaked open further. A figure stepped inside, their silhouette illuminated by the flickering candles. Maggie held her breath, her muscles tensed. Maggie pressed herself into the shadows, her heart hammering in her chest as the door swung open wider. A woman stepped into the room, her movements graceful and deliberate, like a predator surveying its domain. The candlelight danced across her alabaster skin, emphasizing her otherworldly beauty. She wore a sleek black gown that clung to her frame, the fabric shimmering faintly as she moved. Maggie's breath caught as the woman approached one of the coffins, her long fingers brushing over its edge with an almost tender familiarity. The woman's face, though stunning, held a coldness in her sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes that glinted unnervingly in the dim light. It wasn't until the woman turned slightly, her lips parting in a quiet sigh, that Maggie saw them—fangs. Not subtle, hidden ones, but pronounced, gleaming fangs that seemed to catch the flicker of the candlelight. Maggie froze, her mind reeling. There was no mistaking what this woman was...A vampire. The woman paused, tilting her head as though sensing something. Maggie pressed herself harder against the wall, willing herself to remain unseen. The woman's gaze swept the room, her crimson-painted lips curling into a faint smile, as if she could sense Maggie's presence but chose not to address it—yet.

"I know you're here," the woman said, her voice low and melodic, carrying an edge of amusement. She turned toward the shadows, her eyes narrowing as she stepped closer to Maggie's hiding place.

"Curiosity can be dangerous, my dear. Especially here."

In the blink of an eye, the pale woman was standing right beside her, close enough for Maggie to feel the faint chill radiating from her. Maggie's heart leaped into her throat, and her instincts screamed at her to run, but she remained frozen, refusing to show fear. The woman tilted her head, her sharp eyes locking onto Maggie's with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"How bold of you," the woman murmured, her voice soft yet laced with menace. "Sneaking into a place you don't belong."

Maggie clenched her fists, forcing herself to meet the woman's gaze.

"I didn't realize this room was off-limits," she said, her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest.

The woman's lips curved into a faint smile, revealing a glint of her fangs.

"Oh, but it is. And now I'm curious—what exactly are you doing here, little mortal?"

Maggie swallowed hard, her mind racing for an explanation that wouldn't make her sound like prey.

"I heard rumors about this place," she said carefully, keeping her tone neutral. "I wanted to see if they were true."

"Rumors?" The woman laughed softly, the sound rich and unsettling.

"And what did you hope to find? A secret society? Forbidden knowledge? Or…" She leaned closer, her breath icy against Maggie's cheek. "Something far more dangerous?"

Maggie didn't flinch, though her every nerve was on high alert.

"I guess that depends on you."

The woman's smile widened, clearly intrigued by Maggie's defiance.

"Interesting," she purred. "You're not like the others who stumble into this world. Most would be trembling by now. But you…you're different."

Maggie forced a smirk, masking the fear bubbling beneath her calm exterior.

"Maybe I don't scare easily."

The woman chuckled, stepping back slightly, though her gaze never wavered.

"Perhaps not. But bravery can be a double-edged sword. Remember that little mortal."

Without another word, the woman turned and glided toward the door. She paused just before leaving, casting one last glance over her shoulder.

"You should leave while you still can. This place isn't for you."

Then she was gone, disappearing into the shadows as silently as she had appeared. Maggie let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her ears has soon as she was able to pull herself together, she ran out of the door out of the room. Maggie's breath came in short gasps as she sprinted back to her dorm, the cool summer night air biting at her face. Her thoughts were a whirlwind. She burst into her room, slamming the door shut behind her and locking it with trembling hands. She pressed her back against the door, trying to catch her breath. The room was dark and quiet, but the familiar surroundings offered little comfort. Her heart still pounded from the encounter with the pale woman, and the heavy sense of being watched hadn't left her. Shaking her head, she muttered to herself,

"You're safe. You're fine. It's over."

But it wasn't...A faint movement caught her attention, a subtle shift in the shadows near the corner of the room. Before she could react, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. A hand clamped over her mouth, silencing the scream that bubbled in her throat.

"Shh," a familiar voice whispered, smooth and unhurried.

"You're making this far more dramatic than it needs to be."

Her eyes widened in panic as she recognized the voice—Vincent. He pulled her back into the shadows, holding her tightly against his chest. His strength was inhuman, and no amount of struggling could free her.

"I warned you," he murmured, his tone calm but edged with something darker.

She managed a muffled protest, her heart racing as she felt his cool breath against her neck. Vincent chuckled softly, the sound sending a chill down her spine.

"You're fascinating, Maggie. Brave, clever, defiant, powerful… but still so vulnerable."

Before she could process his words, he tilted her head to the side with a surprising gentleness. Then she felt it—the sharp, piercing pain as his fangs sank into her neck. Her body went rigid, a gasp of shock escaping her lips despite his grip. The pain was fleeting, replaced by an intense, almost overwhelming sensation of cold spreading through her veins. Her vision blurred, and her strength ebbed away, leaving her weak and trembling in his arms. Vincent withdrew, his lips stained with crimson as he looked down at her with a mix of satisfaction and curiosity. "You'll thank me for this one day," he said softly, lowering her onto the bed as her consciousness faded, she tested metal testing liquid in her mouth.

The morning light streamed through the window, cutting across Maggie's room. She stirred, a heavy groan escaping her lips as she tried to sit up. Her body felt leaden, her limbs aching as though she had run a marathon. Sweat clung to her skin, making her clothes damp and uncomfortable. She squinted against the sunlight, an unfamiliar discomfort prickling her skin. Turning her head away, she instinctively pulled the curtains shut, plunging the room into dimmer light. Even that small movement left her dizzy, her breath coming in shallow pants.

"What the hell…" she muttered, her voice hoarse.

Dragging herself out of bed, she stumbled to the small mirror above her dresser. The moment she caught her reflection, her heart sank. Her skin was pale—unnaturally so—almost translucent, with dark circles smudged beneath her eyes. She leaned closer, her fingers brushing against her neck, where two faint puncture marks stood out against her stark skin. Memories of the night before flooded back. The club. The woman. *Vincent.* Her hand trembled as she touched the marks, a chill running down her spine.

"No,"

she whispered, shaking her head as though denying it would make it untrue. But the evidence is undeniable. Something had happened to her, something she didn't fully understand but could feel in every fiber of her being. The weakness, the sensitivity to light, the pale complexion—it all lined up with the stories she had once dismissed as myth. Maggie stumbled back from the mirror, her breath quickening as panic began to claw at her chest. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, her trembling fingers struggling to unlock it. She had to talk to someone—*anyone*—who could make sense of what was happening.

First, she called Charlotte. The line rang and rang before going to voicemail.

"Charlotte, it's Maggie," she said, her voice shaking. "Please call me back. It's urgent."

She hung up and immediately dialed Aditi, her fingers fumbling over the screen. The phone rang once before going to voicemail again.

"Aditi, it's me. I I—just call me back when you get this."

Her chest tightened as her calls went unanswered. *Who else?* She stared at her contact list, hesitating for a moment before scrolling to Jason's name. She pressed the call button, holding the phone tightly to her ear as her heart raced. The line picked up after a few rings.

"Mags?" Jason's familiar voice was tinged with confusion. "It's, like, 2 am here. What's going on?"

"Jason," Maggie gasped, relief flooding her voice. "I don't know what to do. Something happened last night."

Jason's tone shifted instantly, his voice now sharp and alert.

"What do you mean? Are you hurt?"

"I…" Maggie hesitated, glancing at the faint marks on her neck.

"I someone or something attacked me. I woke up feeling awful—weak, sweaty—and I look… Jason, I look *different.*"

"What do you mean, different?" Jason pressed, his concern growing. "Maggie, where are you right now?"

"In my dorm," she whispered, her voice barely steady. "I locked the door, but—Jason, I think it's connected to this club I went to. There was this guy—his name's Vincent—and he…"

Jason's voice was firm now. "Okay, slow down. Tell me everything, from the beginning. What's this club? Who's Vincent?"

Maggie bit her lip, trying to keep her emotions in check as she recounted the events of the past night. She told him about *The Night,* the hidden room, the coffins, and the pale woman. Finally, she described how Vincent had been waiting for her in her dorm. There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Jason spoke again.

"Maggie, listen to me. Stay put, keep your door locked, and don't let anyone in. I'll talk to Bruce—he'll know what to do."

"No!" Maggie said quickly, her voice rising in panic.

Jason groaned, clearly frustrated. "Mags, If this guy is dangerous—"

"I know he is," she interrupted, her voice trembling. "But I can't let dad pull me out of the program... Please, Jason..."

Jason exhaled heavily.

"Fine. But promise me you'll be careful. Don't do anything stupid."

"I promise," Maggie said softly, though she wasn't sure how much she could keep that promise.

"Thanks, Jay."

"Always," he said. "Call me if anything else happens. I mean it."

Maggie nodded, even though he couldn't see her. As the call ended, she set the phone down, her hands still trembling.

Jason sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair as Maggie's panicked voice replayed in his head. He wanted to storm over to England himself, but that wasn't possible. And telling Bruce? Out of the question, at least for now. But this wasn't something he could handle alone. Then it hit him—Constantine. Jason groaned, remembering the chaos that had unfolded the last time Constantine had been involved: Maggie's sleepover, the Ouija board, and that demonic entity. Constantine had been unpredictable and a bit of a jerk, but he knew his stuff when it came to the supernatural. If anyone could help, it was him. Grabbing his phone, Jason scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he'd reluctantly saved after their last encounter. He hesitated for a moment, then pressed call. The phone rang a few times before a familiar gruff voice answered.

"Whoever this is, make it quick. I'm busy," Constantine said, the faint sound of a cigarette lighter flicking in the background.

"It's Jason Todd," Jason said, his tone curt.

"You helped us out with that demon a while back."

"Ah, the little birdie," Constantine replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"How's life treating you? Still brooding in the shadows, I take it?"

Jason rolled his eyes.

"Cut the crap, Constantine. I need your help."

There was a pause, followed by an amused chuckle.

"Of course you do. People don't call me for a chat. What's the problem, then? More demons? Ghosts? Or did someone mess with another bloody Ouija board?"

Jason hesitated before replying.

"It's Maggie."

The humor dropped from Constantine's voice.

"What's wrong with the girl?"

"She woke up pale, weak, and sensitive to light. There are marks on her neck."

"That's not good," Constantine said, his voice serious. "If she's been bitten, she's halfway down the rabbit hole already."

Jason's chest tightened.

"What do we do?"

Constantine sighed.

"First, I need more details. I'll head your way, but you'd better be ready to follow instructions. And kid, this isn't gonna be pretty."

Jason clenched his jaw.

"Just get here."

"You don't have to tell me twice, mate," Constantine replied, his voice low.

"I'll be there soon."

As the call ended, Jason leaned back against the wall, his mind racing. He didn't like relying on Constantine, but Maggie's life—and possibly her soul—was at stake. Whatever it took, he'd do it.

Maggie lay on her bed, her head pounding and her body drenched in sweat. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, but even the faint light seeping through them felt like needles against her skin. She tried to sit up but collapsed back onto the pillow, her limbs too heavy to move. A sudden knock at the door startled her. Panic flared in her chest. *No, not now.*

"Maggie? It's us!" Charlotte's familiar voice called from the other side.

"Are you okay? You sounded weird on the phone earlier."

"We brought you tea and snacks," Aditi added.

"You didn't sound good."

Maggie clenched her teeth, closing her eyes tightly. She couldn't let them in—not like this.

"I'm fine!" she called out, her voice weak and strained. "Just… got that flu that's been going around."

There was a pause.

"You don't sound fine," Oliver said, his voice tinged with concern. "Come on, let us in. We can help."

"No!" Maggie said quickly, panic creeping into her tone.

"I mean, I don't want you guys to get sick, too. It's… really bad. I just need to rest."

"Mags," Charlotte said softly, "you can tell us if something's wrong. We're your friends."

Maggie swallowed hard, her hand instinctively moving to the faint marks on her neck. She couldn't risk them seeing her—not with her pale skin, her weakness, and whatever else might be happening to her.

"I'm okay, I swear. Just… could you take notes for me in class? I'll catch up when I'm feeling better."

"Of course," Aditi replied immediately, though her tone carried a hint of doubt.

"But if you get worse, promise you'll call us. Or the nurse."

"I will," Maggie lied.

"Thanks, guys."

There was a murmur of agreement from the other side of the door before she heard their footsteps retreating. She exhaled shakily, tears pricking at her eyes. Maggie lay curled up on her bed, shivering despite the stifling heat of her room. The sound of a faint *whoosh* broke through her haze, and a sudden gust of air made her eyes flutter open. Standing in the middle of her dorm room were Jason and a man she instantly recognized: John Constantine. Jason swayed slightly, clutching the bedpost for support as he groaned.

"Ugh… never… doing that again," he muttered, his face pale.

Constantine smirked, lighting a cigarette as he leaned casually against the desk.

"What's the matter, kid? Can jump across rooftops, but a little teleportation makes you queasy? You've got a weak stomach for a Robin."

Jason shot him a glare, steadying himself.

"Shut up."

Maggie blinked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Jason? What… what are you doing here?"

Jason moved to her side, his concern overriding his discomfort.

"You called me, remember? I wasn't about to leave you to deal with this alone."

Constantine stepped forward, taking a long drag of his cigarette as he eyed Maggie critically.

"Well, well. Looks like you've gotten yourself into quite the mess, love."

His sharp eyes scanned her pale complexion, the sheen of sweat on her forehead, and finally, the faint puncture marks on her neck. He exhaled a plume of smoke, shaking his head.

"Vampires," he said, almost amused. "Bloody leeches. And you've got the look of someone halfway through the transformation. Fun."

Maggie flinched at his words, her voice trembling.

"Transformation? What are you talking about?"

Jason glared at Constantine.

"Do you have to be so blunt?"

Constantine shrugged. "She deserves to know, doesn't she? If we're gonna stop this, she needs to understand what's at stake—pun intended."

He crouched down beside Maggie, his tone softening slightly.

"You've been bitten, love. And from the looks of it, that bite wasn't just for show. You're turning. Slowly, but surely."

Maggie's eyes widened, panic creeping into her voice.

"No. That can't be—there has to be a way to stop it."

Constantine smirked faintly.

"There's always a way. Lucky for you, you've got me." He glanced over at Jason. "And this one, if he manages not to pass out."

Jason rolled his eyes.

"Just tell us what to do."

Constantine straightened, taking another drag of his cigarette as his expression grew serious. "First, we need to figure out who bit her—and why.

Jason's eyes lit up with sudden realization.

"Vincent," he blurted, his tone sharp.

Constantine stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow.

"Vincent? Care to elaborate, mate?"

Jason turned to Maggie.

"You told me about him when we talked. The guy from the club—*The Night*. Tall, pale, way too charming for his own good. Ring any bells?"

Maggie's eyes flickered with recognition and dread.

"Vincent," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "He… he was there. At the club. He said some weird things, like he already knew me. And then later… he was in my room."

Her hand instinctively brushed the marks on her neck. Constantine exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

"Bloody hell. If he's sneaking into rooms and biting people without an invite, we're not dealing with some low-level fledgling."

Jason clenched his fists.

"So, what do we do? Track him down?"

"Slow down, kid," Constantine said, holding up a hand.

"If this Vincent's as old as I think he might be, rushing in is a great way to get yourselves killed—or worse."

Maggie struggled to sit up, her voice firm despite her weakness.

"Then what's the plan? I'm not just going to sit here."

Constantine smirked at her determination.

"Good. You're a fighter. That'll help. But first, we need to find out more about Vincent. His history, his motives, his weaknesses. And for that…"

He paused, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "We're going to have to do a little digging into the underworld."

Jason frowned. "You're saying we're going to need help."

Constantine's grin widened. "Exactly. Lucky for you, I know just the people to ask. And don't worry—they owe me a few favors."

He clapped his hands together. "Let's get to work, shall we?"