Sitting in an obscenely comfortably chair that could be made to lean back so far it was almost vertical, Tanya admired Crowley's collection of executive toys. He had a Newton's cradle, a Magic 8 Ball, a pinscreen, a 'useless box', a fidget spinner and a drinking bird all laid out on his desk as if daring someone to ask if he ever did any real work. To one side, there was a sleek black monster of a desktop computer, parts of which were still wrapped up in plastic packaging and had evidently never been used.
"Wouldn't it help you to maintain your cover if you finished unpacking your computer?" she asked, adjusting her sitting position. She felt unpleasantly like she was being absorbed into her seat's overly padded surface.
"Probably," said Crowley, with a smirk.
Tanya turned her attention to more important matters: "Tell me about the Antichrist. Apparently you were the one to deliver him into the hands of his human parents."
"Actually, I delivered him into the hands of a group of Satanist nuns: the Chattering Order of Saint Beryl. They made the exchange," said Crowley. "They used to run a small hospital in Oxfordshire. That's where the US ambassador's wife was due to give birth."
This was a puzzle Tanya found intriguing enough to want to know the answer to. "Was there any particular reason why the US ambassador's wife was due to give birth in a small hospital run by Satanic nuns in Oxfordshire rather than… say, one of the finest hospitals in London?"
"Good old Catholic institution, or so he thought." Crowley shrugged. "Someone must have persuaded him."
"But not you. In which case, who could it have been?"
"Uh, I have no idea," Crowley was forced to admit. "Hastur or Ligur, maybe? They were the ones who handed over the Antichrist to me."
Tanya resolved to talk to Hastur when she went back to Hell. "But if they did that – put everything in place for you – why didn't they deliver the Antichrist to the hospital? Cut out the middleman, as it were," she wondered aloud.
Again, Crowley gave a helpless shrug. "Can't help you there."
There were too many things that didn't make sense. Tanya had a sickening feeling that she was being toyed with, that someone or something was trying to lure her into a trap. Of course, the culprit could be none other than her usual nemesis, Being X. But what exactly was he plotting?
"What does this child – the Antichrist – look like?" she asked, playing for time.
Wordlessly, Crowley handed over a photograph of the US ambassador and his family. It looked like a publicity shot, artfully arranged so as to show its subjects in the best possible light. Thaddeus J. Dowling, the US ambassador himself, looked manly and authoritative, dressed in a bespoke suit that must have cost more than a thousand dollars. He stood arm-in-arm with his wife, who was beautifully dressed, elegantly coiffured and wearing a carefully cultivated smile. Their son – the future Antichrist – was a pudgy little boy with blond hair and a gap-toothed grin, wearing a suit that was an exact match for his father's.
"If not for his adoptive parents' wealth and high status, he'd look just like any other little boy," she murmured.
"Appearances can be deceiving. I suppose that's the point."
Tanya stared at the photograph for what seemed like a long time after that, as if willing it to come to life in front of her. "How can we stave off the Apocalypse?" she murmured. "What must I do?"
"You could kill Warlock Dowling," Crowley suggested, without enthusiasm.
"But if I were to do that, I would have killed an innocent child. A vile crime. Being X would be delighted. He would tell me that it was proof that I deserved to punished as he has punished me over the past several thousand years – that I deserved every hurt, hardship and indignity he has inflicted upon me ever since I first defied him." Tanya scowled at that. "I have come too far and struggled for too long to accept being the moral loser of our endless dispute. I couldn't bear to listen to his gloating any more than I already have."
"I wasn't saying you should do it, just that it was an option."
"No, it isn't. Even if I were to kill Warlock Dowling, I'm sure it would turn out that he wasn't the Antichrist after all. And then Being X would produce another Antichrist from somewhere and the Apocalypse would carry on regardless."
"Does that mean there's no way for us to prevent the Apocalypse? It seems to me that 'Being X'–" Crowley seemed bemused by Tanya's nickname for the creature who called himself 'God', but didn't question it. "–could ignore whatever we do. If he wants to have the Apocalypse now, he'll make it happen, even if we successfully prevent everything that's supposed to happen in the Book of Revelation. It's not like his worshippers are going to argue with him."
"You're right. I wish you weren't."
Crowley grimaced. "So… what should we do?"
Steepling her fingers, Tanya spoke slowly and contemplatively: "Being X didn't need to keep reincarnating me in so many different times, places and situations while he was trying to force me to submit. At any time, he could have declared himself the winner of his little game and sentenced me to languish in Hell for the rest of eternity, but he didn't do that until long after the point where any reasonable person would have given up or changed tack. He was so intent on forcing me to bow down and acknowledge his greatness that it caused him to act irrationally, like a problem gambler convinced that 'this time' they'll win the jackpot. He wants to be worshipped and adored – and he is too prideful to admit defeat. That is his weakness."
"You think that if things don't go his way, he'll throw a massive tantrum," Crowley surmised. "Yeah, you're probably right. It wouldn't be the first time. But I don't see how that helps us."
"If we can discredit him in the eyes of his most loyal supporters, cause them to doubt him and start asking questions instead of hanging on to his every word, make them confused and discontented, then we can start to erode his powerbase out from underneath him. We will deny him the adulation he enjoys so much, surround him with scepticism and suspicion, and make this world – this cosmos – utterly intolerable to him."
"And then he'll destroy everything and start again somewhere else."
"Potentially," said Tanya. "I suppose we'll have to find out whether or not he is truly omnipotent."
Crowley regarded her in silence, for a moment. Then, he sighed and said, "It's not as if I've got any better ideas. Maybe he'll give up, ignore us and go somewhere else, but I doubt we'll be that lucky. He'll want revenge."
"We should speak to some of the other supernatural beings who don't want the world to end just yet and try to form alliances with them. If 'Being X' is truly omnipotent, it won't matter, but if he isn't, having powerful allies might tip the scales in our favour."
"You've met Dream of the Endless, but he and his siblings don't usually interfere one way or another. They tend to be completely neutral."
"Except when they're sentencing their ex-girlfriends to Hell."
"Well, yeah." Crowley shifted awkwardly in his seat. "And, uh… there are various pantheons – the gods of the Ancient Egyptians, Greeks, Norse and so on – that are supposed to have been formed by human belief and a wave of divine energy that rippled throughout all of reality. Or so I've heard. To be honest, I don't know very much about that." As an afterthought, he added, "And there's a race of alien beings who call themselves 'the New Gods'."
"Spoilt for choice," Tanya muttered. She gave Crowley a considering look and said, "You must know some of the angels stationed here on Earth."
He froze, for a moment. "Uh… yeah, I knew some of them back when I was an angel."
"And you must have met some of them more recently, during the course of your work," Tanya prompted him.
"I've clashed with them a few times. They're determined to thwart my 'evil schemes', so I make things difficult for them in return. And, uh… once or twice I've met up with one of them to discuss other matters. Jurisdictional issues and suchlike."
"Are they all fanatically loyal to Being X? Or are any of them capable of thinking for themselves?"
"Maybe. There's one of them, named Aziraphale, comes across as a bit of a duffer – and I don't think his fellow angels respect him very much – but he's very kind. He got into a lot of trouble for giving Adam and Eve his flaming sword after they were thrown out of the Garden of Eden – because neither of them had any basic survival skills and he wanted to keep them safe and warm. Definitely a sign that he's capable of thinking for himself, wouldn't you say?"
"Definitely. It sounds as if you admire him very much."
Crowley stared at his desk as if he'd never previously noticed how interesting his executive toys were. "Uh, I suppose so. It's nice that there's at least one angel who isn't a hypocrite, who isn't just a self-righteous prig – although he can be self-righteous and priggish at times, I'll admit – and who genuinely has all the virtues that angels are supposed to exemplify."
"He sounds perfect," said Tanya. She wondered if this Aziraphale would have any kindness or sympathy for demons or if they would be the exception to his benevolence. Was he really such a paragon?
"Yes, he is," said Crowley.
"But do you think you can cause him to question his deeply-held beliefs? If you showed him clear evidence that Being X isn't as wise or benevolent as he claims to be, would he accept it?
"He wouldn't want to believe it, but he wouldn't just ignore it."
"That's probably as much as we can hope for at this stage," said Tanya. "I want you to meet with him and establish a cordial relationship. Get him to listen to you."
"Cordial relationship. Right. Yes. I can do that," said Crowley.
"Let him know you don't want the Apocalypse to happen and you have no desire to fight him or the other angels, but don't start criticizing Being X. At least, not yet. Be subtle about it," Tanya advised him. "Actually, I trust you know what you're doing. I'll let you get on with it.
"Thank you."
"And start thinking about how you might approach the other angels."
"I've had an idea about that," said Crowley, sitting up. "Let them come to us. I remember you said something about allowing certain trusted demons to come to Earth to sample its delights for themselves. When the angels find out about that, they'll send someone to investigate. Then, instead of immediately starting a fight, whoever they confront – whichever demon, I mean – should attempt to, uh… 'establish a cordial relationship' with them."
"Good thinking. I knew I could count on you," said Tanya, giving him a beaming smile. Crowley seemed transfixed by it.
"Uh… right. I'll get on with… what you wanted me to do," he said, getting up. "I'll need to arrange a meeting. At the Ritz."
"I can see you have the matter well in hand," said Tanya. "Now, I really must be going. There's so much I need to do. You know how it is."
"See you soon," said Crowley, distractedly, even as she opened a portal and vanished into the ether.
Tanya returned to the castle of dreams, through the shadows of tomorrow and yesteryear, ignoring the whispers of the lost and forgotten and never-was, the voices that tempted her to experience agonizing wonders and horrors, until at last she reached the hall where Dream of the Endless rested upon his tall throne. This time, there was a woman sitting next to him on a smaller throne. She was pale, round-faced and rather diminutive, with honey-blonde hair and comically oversized spectacles.
"Dream King," Tanya said, bowing her head to him. Then, giving his companion a nod, she added, "I'm sorry, I don't think we've been introduced."
"Lady Tanya, you are welcome here," said Dream. Indicating the woman beside him, he continued, "This is Thessaly, the light of my life."
His current girlfriend, Tanya mentally translated. Briefly, she wondered if she should warn her about what had happened to at least one of his previous lovers. It would be unwise of her to do so here and now, especially since she had come to ask Dream for a favour, but perhaps she should speak to her in private later on. She could not in good conscience leave her unaware of what might happen if she chose to break off the love affair she had embarked upon, but perhaps–
"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself," said Thessaly, with a smile that bared far too many teeth.
With a pained expression, Dream said, "Lady Tanya, your presence is an unexpected delight, but why are you here? What would you ask of me?"
Tanya took a deep, unnecessary breath, steadying herself. "Your sister is Death of the Endless, correct? Is she the same person as Death of the Four Horsemen?"
"I would presume so. She has many names."
"I want to arrange a meeting with her," said Tanya.
"I will do that for you."
"Thank you. Should I come back later, or…?"
"Time has no meaning here," said Dream, getting to his feet. "Come with me."
She followed him across the hall to a door that had not been there before. Opening it for her, he ushered her through into what looked like a perfectly ordinary living room. It had a plush carpet, a crackling fireplace, multiple armchairs and a sofa. Hanging on the walls, there were framed photographs of brightly-colored flowers. A large teddy bear was sitting on the sofa. It looked suspiciously cheerful and cuddly. Tanya glared at it.
"I'll leave you to it," said Dream. "Unless my presence is required?"
"No, thank you," said Tanya. "You've been a great help."
He nodded and turned away. A moment later, he was gone.
Surveying the room, which could have belonged to any prosperous middle class family anywhere in the western world, Tanya murmured to herself, "This isn't what I expected."
"What did you expect?" asked an amused woman's voice.
"Something grim, sepulchral and necropolitan. More in keeping with your theme," said Tanya. She turned and saw a beautiful woman with alabaster skin and raven-black hair, dressed in a black tank top and jeans, with a silver ankh on a chain around her neck and a tattooed hooklike symbol beneath her right eye. Whereas Dream usually appeared as a handsome man, even if he insisted on dressing like a scruffy layabout, his sister was exquisite. Next to her, Tanya felt ugly and inadequate.
"Hi there, Tanya," said Death, with a friendly smile. "You're looking well."
"Death of the Endless, I presume. Have we met before?"
"More than once, I've welcomed you into this world. Just as many times, I've guided you on the way to your next life."
"In that case, you must know what Being X has done to me," said Tanya, struggling to contain the anger, frustration and resentment of many lifetimes. "But you stood by and did nothing."
"Oh, Tanya," said Death, tenderly. "All over the world – and in every world – people die in terrible circumstances. They die in pain, misery and fear, knowing their loved ones will never know what happened to them. They are murdered, massacred, slaughtered like cattle and herded into gas chambers – and I am sorry – but I don't interfere. I have a job to do. I am the embodiment of death, an entirely natural process, necessary for life to continue. I exist to make sure it happens as it should. No more and no less. And I cannot do otherwise."
"Cannot or will not?"
"Whenever I have tried to interfere, it has gone badly. I'm sure you've heard of Orpheus, my nephew."
"In Ancient Greek myth, he was a musician who travelled to the Underworld to rescue his beloved Eurydice, who had died after she was bitten by a viper. His music softened the stony heart of Hades, god of the Underworld, and he was allowed to bring Eurydice back to life, provided that he didn't look back at her until he had led her back to the living world. As he walked away, he began to fear that he had been deceived, until finally he couldn't resist the temptation to look back and make sure that Eurydice was with him. She vanished back into the depths of the Underworld, he was driven mad with grief, and later he was torn apart by wild Maenads," said Tanya, matter-of-factly. "True story, is it?"
Death nodded. "To allow him to pass through the Underworld without dying, I promised I would never come for him. I made him immortal. He is still alive and suffering even now."
"Even after he was torn apart?"
"Yes."
"You said he was your nephew," said Tanya, after some consideration. "That would make him the son of…?"
"My brother, Dream."
Tanya wasn't sure if she should pity Dream because of his son's miserable fate or be outraged that he had done nothing to save him. Or had he tried and failed? In an attempt to find out, she asked, "Is there nothing that can be done to help Orpheus?"
"You can't solve everyone's problems for them, Tanya. But thank you for the offer."
"I wasn't offering–" Tanya paused, shook her head and said, "Never mind. I came here to ask you about the Apocalypse. Are you one of the Four Horsemen?"
"That is a role I will be forced to perform, yes."
"And then you will ride out, killing and conquering, and divide up the world between you and your friends," said Tanya, with vicious bitterness.
"They're not my friends. I don't kill and I don't relish suffering and slaughter," said Death. Her face was no longer beautiful. It had taken on a ghoulish cast, half-hidden in shadows behind her dark hair, suggestive of a cowled and grinning skeleton. "When the Apocalypse happens, there will be billions of dead. Someone needs to be there to guide each of them to their proper place. That will be up to me."
"What if I tried to prevent the Apocalypse? Would you be duty-bound to stop me?"
"It's going to happen sooner or later. It doesn't matter to me whether it's in a few years or several billion years from now. Either way, I'll have the same job to do: sweep up, turn out the lights and lock the universe behind me when I leave."
"If I asked you not to ride out, I suppose you would have no choice but to refuse," said Tanya. "But what if I were to ask you a few harmless questions? Such as, for example, when is the Apocalypse supposed to happen?"
"On the twenty-third of August, three years from now. Just after tea," said Death.
"And by 'tea' you mean?"
"In parts of England and Scotland, that's what they call their main evening meal."
"Which means the Apocalypse is going to start off somewhere in England or Scotland," Tanya muttered. "Any particular location?"
"I don't know," Death admitted. "It has been hidden from me."
Tanya was grimly certain that this was another of Being X's stratagems, intended to prevent her from having her forces ready and in place before the Apocalypse began. But what could she do about that? She would have to find a workaround somehow. As long as she kept track of where Warlock Dowling was, it shouldn't make too much difference. In the meantime, she had a few more questions to ask Death, who had been unexpectedly helpful so far.
"What can you tell me about the other Horsemen?" she asked.
"You've met Famine already. War is the embodiment of violence, who can be found wherever armed conflict is at its height. Pestilence retired in 1936 and Pollution took over from him, but he's recently made a comeback, thanks to antivaxxers and the global rise in antibiotic resistance. Right now, they're squabbling over which of them gets to be the fourth Horseman." Death rolled her eyes. "Maybe we'll end up with five Horsemen. Or bikers. Pollution is very keen on motorbikes."
"When the Apocalypse begins, what will happen first?"
"Nuclear war. The world will end in fire and horror. Then, Heaven and Hell will do battle amidst the burnt-out ruins of civilization."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Tanya vowed. A thought occurred to her: "By the way… what do you think of Being X?"
"I don't know. I've never been X."
"He calls himself 'God'," said Tanya, through gritted teeth.
"I don't have any opinions about him. More than my job's worth," said Death, with a roguish wink.
"Hmm," was Tanya's response to that.
After she'd extracted a promise that she could come back and ask any more questions that came to mind, Tanya departed from Death's incongruously normal living room, intending to return to Hell and consider her next move. Instead, she arrived at an unexpected location: a cavernous chamber with throbbing, fleshy walls, lined on all sides with mirrors and television screens. There, she saw the same delicately handsome, androgynous face reflected back and forth into infinity. It was someone she didn't know. She had never been here before.
In the centre of the chamber, standing on a podium as if about to give a speech, there was a tall, slender figure, elegantly dressed and with a cigarette holder dangling from one dainty hand. Tanya recognized the face she could see plastered all over the rest of this place, endlessly repeated.
"You have the advantage of me, whoever you are," said Tanya, putting on a disgruntled frown. She briefly wondered whether she should address this stranger as 'sir' or 'madam', but settled on neither.
"I am Desire of the Endless. You know my brother – and now my sister – so I thought I should be the next to make your acquaintance," said Desire, with a predatory grin.
"If you wanted to arrange a meeting, there were better ways you could have done that. I don't appreciate it when I'm dragged into strange places without my consent. If you wanted to make a good first impression, you've failed."
With poised, catlike movements, Desire stepped down from the podium and moved closer, invading Tanya's personal space. "Aren't you a pretty little thing? I can see why my brother likes you."
"But I don't like him. Not after what he did to Nada. And anyway, he's such a pretentious, self-centred fool!" Tanya screwed up her face in disgust. "I can only hope Thessaly whips him into shape."
"Their honeymoon period will be over soon. In less than a month's time, he will bury himself in his work and have little time for her. She will realise that she never truly loved him and decide to leave. For a few weeks, he will be distraught, drown his realm in torrential rain, and mope about like a brooding teenager," said Desire, disdainfully. "Then, you'll have your chance. I've noticed you flirting with him once or twice."
"He finds it very intimidating," said Tanya, with a satisfied smirk.
"Yes. Kinky, isn't he?"
"I… may have to reconsider how I interact with him."
Desire arched an eyebrow, snickered and said, "Well then, if you don't want my brother, you have plenty of admirers to choose from. A veritable harem. You are a powerful woman and power is a potent aphrodisiac. That's why you have so many men piled up at your feet. Vassago, Etrigan, Scumspawn–"
"Scumspawn's feelings for me are entirely platonic. He doesn't even have genitals," said Tanya. "Mind you, considering some of the others you've mentioned, he might be one of the better options."
"Lucifer is such an attractive man, isn't he? When you met him recently, the first thing you said to him was a pick-up line. I find that rather suspicious."
"I was trying to blend in, so no one would suspect my real reasons for meeting with him."
"And when John Constantine needed healing, you remade him into a young and handsome hunk, more than he ever was before. Fancy a mortal plaything, do you?"
"Th-th-that was an accident!" Tanya spluttered.
"You're fooling no one but yourself, you know," said Desire. "You were once human, which means you are a creature of desire, just like any other. The more you deny yourself, the more 'accidents' will happen." A significant pause. "My sister, Death, is lovely, isn't she?"
"Very," Tanya agreed. Then, remembering herself, she blinked and hurriedly changed the subject: "I've heard that you and Dream detest each other. Is that why you've brought me here? Do you intend to use me as a weapon in your quarrel with him?"
"I don't deny that I detest him, but I think you're much more than a weapon. You're the most interesting thing to happen to my brother in centuries."
"Didn't you think it was interesting when he was captured and imprisoned in a cellar for several decades?"
"No, that was very boring." Desire yawned. "All he did was seethe and wait."
Tanya sighed. "What do you want from me?"
"I want to help you remember who you are. Look!" said Desire, pointing to a nearby television screen. "Do you remember her?"
Tanya peered at the image of a woman with chestnut brown hair, wearing a military uniform, with duck lips, a large bust and an athletic build. She shook her head. "No."
"Once, she was the woman of your dreams. Across multiple lifetimes."
"I can only presume that I had good taste. But no, I don't remember her."
"Such a shame. Yours was a love that lasted centuries."
"Everything ends. Everything decays and falls away to nothing," said Tanya. "Entropy will always triumph."
"You said much the same thing to my brother, back when you were playing that silly game with him."
"It is as true now as it was then." Tanya shifted impatiently and said, "I think this meeting has gone on long enough. May I go?"
"One last thing. Tell me: what do you desire more than anything else? What is it that fills your heart with longing?"
"As the embodiment of desire, all-knowing within your particular sphere of influence, you should know that already."
A gleeful grin spread over Desire's full lips. "Maybe I just want to hear you say it."
"What do I desire more than anything else?" Tanya repeated to herself. "Well, right now… I want you to leave me alone."
There were peals of delighted laughter. "All right, I'll accept that," said Desire, wiping away tears of merriment with their free hand. "I'll see you again soon."
"Not if I see you first," said Tanya, as she opened a portal and stepped through it.
A few days later, Tanya returned to the Dreaming and told its ruler, "You know that the cellars of Fawney Rig have been partially merged with your realm. With your permission, I want to turn the building into a hotel where demons and other ethereal beings can experience the joys and horrors of sleep for the first time. I imagine this would increase your power and influence."
"But not to any appreciable degree," said Dream.
"I will also give you a fair share of the profits."
Dream waved a dismissive hand. "I have no need for money."
"Nevertheless, I will open a bank account, into which I will deposit your earnings, which you may access at any time."
"I suspect you would not be who you are if you did otherwise," said Dream, a note of fondness in his voice. "Thank you."
"Do I have your permission to turn Fawney Rig into a hotel where demons will be able to dream?" asked Tanya. "I realise that this would enable them to wander through your realm, creating additional work for you, which is why I think it's important that I should ask you first. I'd prefer to avoid causing acrimony later on."
"If I said no, what would you do?"
"I would be disappointed, but I would move on to one of my other projects. I have plenty to occupy my time."
Dream paused and pondered for a few moments. "I will allow it," he decided. "Do as you will."
"There's something else," said Tanya, somewhat hesitantly. "Fawney Rig is owned by Alex Burgess, who has been in a coma for a number of years. I expect the house will eventually be sold to cover his outstanding debts, but the process would go much more smoothly if you would allow him to regain consciousness."
"Alex Burgess stood by and did nothing while his father trapped me in a crystal prison. For decades afterwards, he was content to hold me captive there. Even after his father's death, he refused to let me go. Instead, he demanded power and immortality as the price for my freedom. Finally, one of his minions made a mistake that enabled me to escape. I took my revenge and now he suffers the consequences of his actions: he is trapped in dreams, unable to wake from a nightmare that continually repeats itself. A fitting punishment," said Dream.
Tanya cocked her head to one side. "Is it, though?"
"He is an old man. He will not live long enough for me to punish him as he truly deserves."
"If he deserves to be punished, he will be sent to Hell. Then, it will be up to me to punish him," Tanya pointed out.
Dream gave her a questioning glance. "What is your point?"
"Give him a chance to redeem himself. A temporary reprieve. Have mercy."
"'The quality of mercy is not strained.' You told me that once before," Dream murmured. "Tell me: why are you asking this of me? Just to make it easier for you to start your new business?"
"That's part of it," Tanya admitted. "But I honestly think it would benefit you as well. Your grudges are poisons you cannot recover from unless you let go of them. You'll feel better for it."
Dream raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "You're a fine one to talk about letting go of a grudge."
"If Being X had left me alone after one lifetime – or even a few dozen – I would have forgotten him by now. But as he has continued to torment me for as long as I have existed, I think it's perfectly reasonable that I should hate him and want to defend myself from him," said Tanya.
There was an awkward silence. The Dream King and the Devil Queen stared at each other as if they were both waiting for the other to say something more. After what seemed like an eternity, Dream looked down and said, "All right, you've convinced me. I will forgive Alex Burgess and rescind his punishment. Let him do what he wants with his few remaining years. I will be happy if I never have to hear about him again."
"Thank you. I appreciate it," said Tanya, with a victorious smile.
Dream sagged on his throne, visibly exhausted. He didn't say farewell, but it was clear the meeting was over. The heart of the Dreaming resisted any attempts to open portals in or out, so Tanya walked away to find a place where the veil between worlds was thinner.
Along the corridor, she passed by Thessaly, who gave her a sidelong glance.
"Sometimes, I wish he would speak to me as he speaks to you," said the Thessalian witch, so softly that it might have been a stray thought. "Like an equal."
Tanya had no answer to that.
For the past few months, ever since Lady Tanya had restored his youth and health, John Constantine had been pretending to be his own nephew. He looked different enough from his 'uncle' – who had died of lung cancer, he told everyone – that this was generally believed. He had some difficulty stepping back into his old life and carrying on from where he'd left off, but he was working on it. Even if Tanya was keeping her demons on a tight leash, there were still ghosts to exorcize, rogue sorcerers to thwart and mysteries to solve, so there was plenty of work for him to do.
He was sitting outside a café, with a few hours to kill before he could meet with one of his contacts. One hand toyed with an unlit cigarette. He'd been smoking thirty a day since he was thirteen, until suddenly he couldn't. Since Tanya had healed him, he'd had no nicotine cravings, no real need to smoke – and the few times he'd tried, the taste had been so nauseatingly foul that it had caused him to retch – but it was a habit he found difficult to completely let go of. Without it, he didn't know what to do with his hands, except when he was hiding them in his pockets. He often found himself gesticulating wildly and looking like a fool, which was something else that distinguished him from his 'uncle'.
Also, he was such a lightweight, these days. Gone was the man who'd sunk ten pints with Brendan Finn and still managed to hold a conversation with the First of the Fallen afterwards. Now, one pint of beer or half a glass of wine was enough to get him buzzed, three would make him dizzy and nauseous, and if he drank more than that, he probably wouldn't remember what happened until the following morning. It was embarrassing.
Tanya had saved his life – and everything she'd done to him had been 'for his own good' – but he couldn't help resenting her for making these changes without asking him if he was okay with it. Still, she could have done much worse. He probably deserved to be punished for what he'd done to her, but instead she'd given him back his life, youth and vigour, and he should be grateful for that. On the other hand, she'd taken away his usual outlets for stress, so he felt constantly on edge. Maybe he should learn to paint. Or play a musical instrument. Actually, he was fitter now than he'd ever been, so maybe he could find a sport he'd be good at. Something more energetic than pub darts or snooker.
On the other hand, there was at least one of his old stress outlets that still worked. He smiled charmingly as a petite blonde sat down beside him. Hey, I've got a few hours…
Then, he recognized her. The smile froze on his face. "Lady Tanya… uh, what a surprise," he said. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. What can I do for you?"
"You'll be relieved to hear that Buer has been dealt with. He's currently languishing in the Blackest Pit," said Tanya. "All the children in his 'collection' have been set free, including Astra Logue. Most of them chose to return to the wheel of reincarnation; they wanted a chance to have a life before they moved on to the afterlife."
Constantine took a deep, shuddering breath. "It seems so anticlimactic. I was expecting that one day I'd venture into Hell and free them myself, outwitting a few demons along the way… but no, I didn't even have to do anything." A moment later, he remembered to say, "Thank you for that. I mean it. You're an angel." His eyes bulged as he realised his mistake. "Uhh, I mean… you may be a demon, but you're one of the good ones. And I don't mean that in a racist sort of way–"
"It's fine," said Tanya, interrupting him before he could stick his foot any further into his mouth. "As I recall, you still owe me a favour."
"I do," said Constantine, trying not to cringe. "What do you want?"
Tanya took several minutes to explain her plan, by the end of which Constantine was more bewildered than he'd ever been in his life.
"You… want me to be a hotel manager?" he asked, when she'd finished.
"No, you'll be the owner. Just a figurehead. I'll need you to shake a few hands, sign a few documents and collect a pay check every now and then, that's all," Tanya corrected him. "You don't need to be involved in the running of the business at all. In fact, I'd prefer it if you weren't."
"Sounds like a scam. You weren't a Nigerian prince in a previous life, were you?"
"Quite possibly."
Constantine frowned, ruminating on what she'd told him. "Right, you need me to meet with this Alex Burgess and tell him about my ancestor–"
"Johanna Constantine, who was a previous owner of Fawney Rig."
"–witter on about how interested I am in my family history and how my uncle left me a large sum of money, no idea where he got it from, and I want to use it to buy Fawney Rig and turn it into a hotel."
"Yes, you've got it," said Tanya.
"I don't like the name you've chosen. The 'Sweet Dreams Hotel' sounds too much like a brothel."
"Do you have a better one in mind?"
"Why not just leave it as Fawney Rig? Or call it the 'Fawney Rig Hotel'. Either way should be fine."
Tanya gave him an approving nod. "It's a pleasure to work with you, Mr. Constantine," she said, offering him her hand.
After a moment of blind panic, he took it and gingerly shook it. "Pleasure's all mine," he mumbled.