Running from Melinda ~ A Blood Red Fan Fiction

8 Constantine

“I must have gotten it wrong.” The note in my hand was no longer recognisable as I crumpled it in my hand, staring at the atrocity of the building before me.

In the depths of Paris, deep into what I would classify as a ghetto, was a tall grubby building with mould latched on the corner of every single dusty window sill available on one side of the structure. Loud alley cats yowled by the garbage cans, fighting over remnants of food, while Parisians in suspicious looking, run-down cars watched me carefully. Ignoring the stares I received, I walked up to the building and let myself in through the front door.

It stunk of cigarettes and booze the moment I entered and immediately I held my breath, regretfully taking in an inhale of that disgusting air.

What would a friend of Michael be doing in a dump like this? I wondered internally, making my way for the stairs. By the time I reached the third floor, I was slowly getting used to the stench but it still made me recoil in disgust. Finding the right apartment door, I raised a fist and prepared to knock when the door swung open.

I withdrew my fist, stepping back in surprise. “Hello –”

“Gail?” What surprised me more than this dump of an apartment building was the friendliest expression I’d ever seen on the tall woman’s face. She had to be young, mid-twenties and the fact that she scooped me into a hug rendered me speechless. “Michael told me you were coming! Come, come in!”

“If you let me down I could come in,” I said dryly and found my footing again as she apologised cheerfully, closing the door behind me. “So you’re Constantine?”

“Oh yes, who else could I be?” She grinned, wiggling her glowing orange fingers at me. “So what did Michael tell you about me? Did he say something nice? Did he tell you that I was mean? Because I can assure he was lying.” I gave her an impassive look and stood stiffly while she produced a couple flames from her fingers then rubbed her hands together, shivering. “It’s getting quite chilly don’t you think?”

“You’re the witch Michael sent me to?” I stared blankly at her. Michael was supposed to be all high and mighty with connections beyond anybody could imagine: why did he send me to an inexperienced young witch? Was he really trying to help me or expose me?

“I’m not as inexperienced as you think I am,” she commented, extinguishing the little sparks of fire and leapt to her feet from the couch, grinning at me. “I just happen to be as old as Michael himself, if not slightly older.”

“Michael’s 38. You couldn’t possibly be a day over twenty-three.”

“Well the charm is working!” she trilled gleefully, clapping her hands. Two white ceramic cups flew out of the doorway beside me, one stopping in the air before me and the other landing comfortably in her awaiting hands. “I like to stay youthful. So you’re the little charmer I’m supposed to guard?”

“Guard? No. I just need a place to stay until I can figure things out,” I corrected with a shrug and took the cup in my hands. The last I could do was have a drink. I was starved.

“Oh no, that’s not what he said!” She made a tsking noise that sparked my irritation. She was acting like a child for a supposedly old witch under a charm that made her look twenty-five. “You’re hiding from his sister and that makes you a target. He’s sent you to the best person possible for protection, hence why you’re here.”

“Melinda is his sister – why would he help me instead of her?” I blurted out without thinking then cast my cast away as warm liquid poured into the cup from a floating teapot.

“Ahh you don’t know the real relationship between the Crosses do you?” Constantine smiled at me kindly, flicking her white-blonde hair over her shoulder. “Sure Melinda trusts him more than she would trust anybody in the Order but she’s a devious little thing and Michael may be her brother but he knows the good of the world comes before her, especially considering Melinda’s a conniving little bitc –”