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LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA JANUARY 22 03:38 EST
EVERY CITY IS A GHOST. New buildings rise upon the bones of the old so that each shiny steel bean, each tower of brick carries within it the memories of what has gone before, an architectural haunting. Sometimes you can catch a glimpse of these former incarnations in the awkward angle of a street or filigreed gate, an old oak door peeking out from a new facade, the plaque commemorating the spot that was once a battleground, which became a saloon and is now a park.
Two hours since they found some old motel to stay in for the night. She tried using the washed up phone, her comm, even a telepathic link but nothing was working. In some way, she was glad. She didn't wish for her problems to be revealed to others and she let out a breath, taking a seat the bench nearby.
"This place is not so bad"
"You only say that because the receptionist actually responded to your suggestive comments"
"Don't be jealous love, you'll always be my number one"
"I beg you, throw me off the number scale" She held her head "I need sleep" She stood up but her eyes rolled to the back of her head and Constantine was quick to catch her and worriedly looked at her now pale face as black blood began to drip down her nose.
He placed to fingers against her forehead and muttered a small incantation "sana morbum, sana cor" and watched as some amount of colour returned immediately, he laid her down on one of the beds and sat down on the other, silently keeping watch for the night.
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LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA JANUARY 23 10:07 EST
THIS DAY, SHE WAS UNCONSCIOUS, UNMOVING. HER TEMPRATURE, SKYROCKETING. He placed another cold rag on her forehead and muttered small nothings to himself. He knew of the power the Vasilios bloodline possessed, if Hades Pearson was successful in his plan, he would break the veil and take control of every single demon in existence. An army so strong, no one would think to rise against it. He gently brushed her hair away and stared at her for a moment too long then looked away.
This woman. This woman gave some hope.
He stood up and pushed most of the furniture into the corner of the room, before pushing the bed she was on with as much effort as he could since it was basically paper thin, into the middle. He grabbed salt from the room service tray and sprinkled around the bed, drawing a pattern before spilling a drop of his blood on it "unum corpus, una mens"
A golden glow emitted from his hand as he closed his eyes and when he opened them he stood in a magnificent wooden library, something only kings and emperors could build. On each shelf was a book, new, torn or old. A candlelight chandelier lit up the entire space. A singular carpeted path that led to two mahogany double doors. The first, led him to a room full of golden mirrors, all the shards, each broken piece lying on the ground and the rest hanging in their place by a thread. He gently stepped back and closed the door, opting to open the second one.
