1. John

Don't ask me what I was doing there that Sunday morning in November when the wind was wailing like a cat in heat. I wanted some time alone to get my head straight, but you're never alone with the dead, are you?

Highgate Cemetery's been called the Victorian Valhalla, London's most famous necropolis. The east side is open to the public - for a small fee - and to be honest, even taking account of Karl Marx lying there, it's a tad uninspiring. The west side, on the other hand, now that's something, but usually you can only get access to it as part of a guided tour. Three Sunday's a year, though, they throw the whole thing open and you can wander through the wilderness of tombs and catacombs (and brambles) at will. This early in the day, I'm the only soul about. Only living soul, that is.

I catch sight of George Elliot's grave and move swiftly on. She's never been a favourite of mine, not since I was force fed Silas Marner for O Level. It's possible that a compulsory curriculum has clouded my judgement as far as her writing goes, but you're still not going to convince me to pick up another one of her bloody books, all right?

William Alfred Foyle, now there's a man I can respect. Founder of Foyle's bookshop on Charing Cross Road. I've spent many happy hours in there searching for a book - and trust me, you need hours to find anything in that place - only to finally settle for something completely different, but, in the end, more suited to my needs. I'll let you into a little secret; magic isn't just about the rituals and the casting, it's also in large part about the preparation and there's more magic going on in Foyle's than in most shrines and sanctums you might care to name. Why do you think the books keep moving themselves all over the place?

I inhale the fog and the cold burns my lungs, or maybe that's just the Silk Cut hanging from my fingers. The sun is trying to force some light down on me, but, like the majority of Londoners, it's clearly decided that getting up on a Sunday morning is too much effort. A bird cries out - don't ask me what sort, though; I'm not a bleedin' ornithologist.

And then, without warning, a memory comes and hits me square between the eyes. For one of my memories, it's not bad looking. She's clutching a stack of biology textbooks to her chest and, as if the big round glasses weren't enough to hide her eyes, she lets her brown hair fall in front of her face. But, as I offer to help with those heavy books - ever the charmer, me - the puckish smile she offers tells me there's more to this shy girl than meets the eye.

Emily had had a student flat not far from here. If it wasn't for the cemetery's high walls, I might have even been able to see it, though I doubt I could have picked it out from all the similar buildings clustered round it. I spent my fair share of days and nights there. Mainly nights. Emily was a shy girl, but I sensed a fiery spirit waiting beneath and made it my mission to open her up. We enjoyed each other's company, but I only ever saw her as a short-term fling and the time came to move on. Emily, it seems, had seen things differently and harsh words were thrown. Crockery too. Good thing for me Emily was a rotten shot.

I hear Emily died a year later. Drug overdose. I can't help thinking that the shy girl I met outside the university bookstore would never have gone anywhere near drugs. It wasn't until I entered the picture that she'd tried alcohol for crying out loud.

I light another cigarette and begin wending my way out of the cemetery. I don't feel welcome here anymore. As I do so, I pass the grave of the BBC's first TV cook. Wonder how he feels about the legacy he's left behind. You're the guy responsible for Jamie bleedin' Oliver, mate.

*  *  *

Who needs Jamie Oliver when there's a greasy spoon not five minutes walk from Highgate? I try not to think about whatever it is that's sticking to the soles of my shoes as I order a bacon roll and a mug of tea - in a proper china mug, not one of those wretched paper things. At three quid fifty it's extortionate, but for once I have too much on my mind to quibble about the price. I take a seat by the window, wishing I'd thought to buy a paper on my way here. I light up a fresh cigarette, the last in the packet, and the café owner yells something and points to the 'no smoking' sign. I show him the finger and carry on smoking. He has the good sense not to press the point.

Lacking any other distractions, I take to people watching. It's nearly midday and London's just starting to come alive. Once you have a talent for magic, it's fairly easy to spot that talent in others. It's like an aura only magic-users can see. It's become more and more common for me to spy a fellow practitioner just starting by. It's hardly surprising really, given how grey and boring and ordered life can be for your average folks that they'll turn their attention to something alternative and exciting. A lot of it's New Age bollocks, but some of it is very old age indeed and while most of these people will no more develop a talent for magic than I'll give up my cigarettes and booze, there are still a fair few in whom some spark gets awakened. Course, it's nothing more than glowing embers, barely registering in their aura unless you're specifically looking for it.

Then it hits me, an aura so bright it's practically a bonfire and I'm literally forced to cover my eyes. When the after-image starts fading from my retina, I look again. She's what, thirteen, fourteen? Tiny, with lots of long blond hair, she walks, shoulders hunched, into the wind. Every so often, she glances over a shoulder.

I scratch the side of my nose. There's something panicked about the way she walks. She's this close to breaking into a run, but holds back because she doesn't want to draw attention to herself. Doesn't take a genius to figure she's running from something, but, with an aura that bright, it must be a pretty scary son of a bitch to put the wind up her like that. I shrug and look away. She's not my problem. I'm just going to finish my breakfast and then head back to the flat. Or maybe I'll find a pub and settle in to watch this afternoon's footie.

Who do I think I'm kidding?

The bell above the door chimes as I yank it open, stepping out into the bitterly cold street, my breakfast abandoned behind me. Whoever this girl is, she owes me a bacon sarnie.

*  *  *

I follow the girl past Highgate Ponds and on to Hampstead Heath. Is this what it's come to, John, stalking kids? What would Kit think? Hampstead in November is a desolate, mournful place, trees, stripped of leaves, claw at the sky like skeletal hands trying to pull themselves up out of their graves. Or maybe my morning in Highgate has just made me all maudlin.

The girl catches sight of me and quickens her pace, breaking into a run up Parliament Hill. Cursing myself for not being more discreet, I start running after her. Then I stop, brought to a halt by the sound of other feet hammering up the hill towards me. I turn and catch sight of the girl's true pursuers. There are two of them, a man and a woman. They look human enough at first glance, a middle-aged couple out for a Sunday stroll. It's their eyes that give them away. They may look human, but whatever those things are that are looking at me from behind those eye sockets they are just wearing those bodies like suits. I don't need any further prompting to scramble up to the top of the hill.

The girl is waiting for me. There is nowhere left to run and she has obviously decided to make her stand there amid the circle of park benches. I don't have much time. Those demons in human clothing are practically on top of us. Taking a penknife, I start carving crude sigils into each of the benches, adding my own runes alongside 'CHAZ WOZ ERE' and 'MARK 4 AMY'. The sigils inscribe the boundary of a circle and whatever the girl's pursuers are, they're too stupid to notice. They immolate as soon as they set one foot across the line. It's flashy magic and I'm bound to pay the price for it later, but it's better than the alternative.

I pause to catch my breath, only then realising that I have missed a third one, sneaking up behind us. I have neither the time nor the strength to renew the circle. Fortunately, I don't need to worry. A sword appears in the girl's hands and she handles it like she knows how to use it. As the creature approach, she swings the blade in an upward arc, slashing across its stomach and up to its left shoulder. The blade doesn't draw any blood, but the body slumps motionless to the dirt all the same, the creature within banished to whatever hellhole it crawled out from in the first place.

'Well I'm feeling a bit inadequate,' I say, pocketing my knife.

'Don't,' she says. 'I couldn't have taken three of them.'

'Constantine,' I say, extending a hand, 'John Constantine.'

The girl doesn't reply at first, instead scanning the drab heath.

'There are more of them on their way,' she says. 'We have to get out of here.'

I watch the people out of the heath - the joggers, the dog-walkers and the others - but I can't make out whether any of them are demons. Still, I'm not about to doubt the girl.

'Where can we go?' I ask. 'We're too bleedin' exposed here.'

The girl smiles impishly, like she's just thought of a joke I'm not in on.

'Take my hand,' she says, grabbing it before I have a chance to refuse.

There's a flash of light.

*  *  *

What little of the bacon roll I did eat ends up being vomited into the Thames.

'What just happened?' I asked, looking down over the wall at the grey strip of beach decorated with coke cans and newspapers and beer bottles. A seagull was pecking over the remains of some bloke's fish and chips.

'We teleported,' she said like that explained everything. I didn't have the guts to argue; they were piled up on the sand next to that gull.

'What's your name, love?' I ask, coming up for air.

'Illyana,' she says. 'Illyana Rasputin. You thrown up any carrots yet?'

'Ha bloody ha.' I stand up, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my coat. 'Illyana Rasputin? Sounds Russian.'

'I am,' Illyana replies.

'You don't sound it.'

'I've been away from home for a while,' she says. 'A long while.'

I want to ask why, but some instinct tells me that that's all she's going to say on the subject.

'So why were those things after you?' I take my packet of fags out of my pocket then, realising it's empty, crush it and throw it into the river. My throw's short and I nearly hit the seagull. It takes to the air, cawing angrily at me.

'You always make friends this easily?' Illyana asks, nodding at the bird.

'It's a talent.'

'Like what you did on the hill?'

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound...

'I'm a magician,' I explain. 'A real one, not like those idiots on TV, before you ask.'

'Wasn't gonna. I doubt Siegfried and Roy could banish two demons with just a penknife.'

'I'm guessing you're a magic user too,' I said.

'Something like that.'

Be bleedin' mysterious then, see if I care.

'So, you going to tell me what's going on,' I ask, 'seeing as I saved your life an' all?'

'It's a long story,' Illyana replies.

'In that case,' I say, 'I'm going to get some more fags. You coming?'

*  *  *

'Twenty Silk Cut, please, mate.'

The man behind the counter reaches for my cigarettes on the shelf behind him and I turn to Illyana.

'So?' I prompt.

'A friend and I were kidnapped,' she says.

'I thought you said it was a long story.'

'Here you go,' the man at the till says.

'Cheers.' I swap him a tenner for the cigarettes, still horrified by how much I'm handing over in tax. The man bows his head as he counts out my change and I wonder what he makes of me and the girl. Father and daughter, perhaps? More likely he's got me pegged as some kind of pervert. I take the change and we step outside. I light up.

'Aren't you worried about lung cancer?' Illyana asks.

'Not any more,' I say. 'Aren't you worried about confiding in mysterious older men?'

'It's not like I've got much choice.'

'Go on,' I say as we make our way slowly along Embankment. I can spy the Oxo Tower across the river.

'I think she's some kind of demoness,' Illyana says.

'You think?'

'Hey, I'm not exactly an expert. All I know for sure is that she's really powerful. She snatched us off of Muir Island and the next thing we know we're being held prisoner somewhere underground.'

'Muir Island?' I ask. 'That's off the coast of Scotland, right?'

'Uh huh,' Illyana confirms.

'They've got some kind of genetics lab there, haven't they?'

'Yes,' Illyana says. 'Is that really important?'

I blow smoke into the air.

'Probably not,' I say, 'so here's a relevant question: why you?'

'What do you mean?'

'Come on, the demoness - or whatever - must have a reason for snatching the two of you.'

'Well, if she did I didn't stick around to find out what it was,' Illyana protests.

'Let me guess, you teleported out of there.'

Illyana nods.

'Leaving your friend behind,' I continue.

'What was I supposed to do?'

We are approaching Blackfriars Bridge. I point to one of the benches that bordered the pavement.

'Let's sit down for a bit,' I say. I've already decided I'm going to help her. Illyana's just a kid and I doubt her friend's much older. John Constantine may be a bastard, but I'm not about to leave a child to suffer, not if I can do something about it.

'Here's what we're going to do,' I say to Illyana. 'We're going to find this demoness and we're going to rescue your friend.'

'You're going to help me?'

I nod.

'We need to figure out how we're going to find her, though,' I say. 'You haven't given us a lot to go on and you'd be surprised how many demons call London home. That's always assuming she's in London. I guess she could be anywhere. Shit.'

'Will this help?' Illyana has pulled something from her pocket, a few strands of brown hair. 'When I was trying to escape, I struggled with her. Guess I pulled some of her hair out.'

I take the hairs from her.

'This is perfect,' I say. 'I've a friend - well, an acquaintance really - who can work bloody miracles with this.'

'Where is he?' Illyana asks. 'Do you want me to teleport us there?'

'Ah, no thanks,' I say, recalling my last experience of teleportation. 'I think we'll take the tube if it's all the same to you.'

'And here I though you were a magician,' Illyana mocks.

*  *  *

'Piss off, Constantine.'

I shove my foot in the door, trying not to yelp when the door is slammed on it.

'Now, now, Gregory, that's no way to treat an old friend, is it?'

'Where is he?' Gregory asks.

'Who?'

'This old friend?'

'Very funny,' I say. 'See, I'm dying with laughter here. I thought you owed me one, Gregory. After all, I got Kalyb off your back, didn't I?'

'Yeah, and in return I've got Fain and Heroth out to get me,' Gregory shot back. 'You're lucky I haven't killed you for what you did for me, Constantine.'

'Luck has nothing to do with it,' I say. 'You're scared shitless of me, Gregory, which is why you're going to let me and my friend here in, so why don't we just cut out all this bluff and bluster and just get on with it, eh?'

'Have it your way,' Gregory mutters, opening the door.

The place is a mess.

'Watch your step,' I warn Illyana as I step over a discarded pizza box.

'Don't tell me, if you'd known we were coming you'd have tidied up a little.'

'Not if I'd known it was you,' Gregory snaps. He looks lasciviously at Illyana. 'Like 'em young these days, huh, Constantine.'

'Get your mind out of the gutter, Gregory,' I say. I produce the hairs. 'I need you to find someone for me.'

He takes the hairs from me and starts to examine them.

'This isn't just any someone, is it?' he asks. 'If I do this for you we're even and you leave me alone, deal?'

'If you do this for me we're even,' I reply. 'Beyond that, we'll see.'

Give Gregory credit, he knows when he's beaten.

'It'll take me about an hour,' he says. 'Why don't you come back then?'

'We'll wait,' I say. 'It's not that I don't trust you, but, well, I don't trust you, Gregory.'

He grunts.

'Fine, just don't get in the way.'

I go and join Illyana on the balcony. There's a burned out Ford Fiesta down below. Seems to me that all blocks of flats come complete with a burned out Fiesta in the car park.

'You okay?' I ask the girl.

Illyana wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Very lady-like. I wonder if she's been crying.

'I know what it's like to be held prisoner by a demon,' she says.

'We'll get her back,' I say. 'Gregory may not look like much, but he's the best psychometrist in the city. He'll find her and then we'll rescue your friend.'

'Sure,' Illyana replies, 'but what state will she be in when we find her?'

*  *  *

An hour and a half later and I'm sitting in an armchair while Illyana squats on a pink beanbag. Gregory is on the floor in the middle of the room, poring over the hairs.

'She's underground,' Gregory says, 'under the city.'

'Under the city?' Illyana echoes.

'There's over a century and a half of tunnels and structures buried right beneath us,' I explain. 'You just have to know how to access it.'

'That's were she is,' Gregory says, stabbing an A to Z with a pin. I examine the page.

'That's off the Fleet,' I say.

'The Fleet?'

'It's a river,' I tell Illyana. 'Most of it's been built over now. It meets the Thames down here, under Blackfriars Bridge. We join it there, follow the river along here, that should bring us within half a mile of where your demoness is.'

'She's not my demoness,' Illyana says.

'Of course not,' I say, 'but the point is we've found her and that means we've found your friend. Mind you, it does mean getting your feet wet.'

*  *  *

The next few hours are not particularly pleasant as we slog our way up the river. It stinks and we are sharing the tunnels with rats and lord knows what else. Illyana never utters one word of complaint as she forges on ahead of me. Every so often she glances back to make sure I am still following and I catch the haunted look in her eyes. Afraid for her friend no doubt. Her and me both.

I allow the light of my torch to play about the tunnel. It's bloody impressive. When we started, the tunnel was only four feet high, forcing us to bend double as we walked, but here it stretches up maybe twice my height and I really get a chance to appreciate the detailed Victorian brickwork. It reminds me of why, despite my travels, I always end up returning to London. She's such a beautiful girl, once you get beyond the cosmetic veneer of the surface. I guess, like any woman, you just have to spend a bit of time getting to know her.

'Hold on a bit,' I call out to Illyana. In her eagerness to find her friend she's strayed to far ahead. 'We want to go this way.'

The entrance to the connecting tunnel is barred by a grille. Fortunately, it is weathered and rusted with age and I am able to pull it free. It takes most of the bloody skin of my hands, though.

'Looks like there's a walkway here,' I say as I duck through the opening. 'We can get out of the water.'

'Not much point now, is there,' Illyana remarks.

I can't help but agree as we drip and squelch our way towards our quarry.

'There's a light up ahead,' Illyana says after a while. 'Do you think we should shut off our torches?'

'Good idea,' I reply, matching action to word.

We approach the source of the light in silence and, as we do so, the tunnel opens out to reveal a vaulted chamber at the centre of which is a brick-lined reservoir. I cannot locate the source of the light; it's as if the room itself is glowing. I step forward and feel a strange sense of dislocation.

'Illyana, did you feel that...'

I trail off. Illyana is no longer standing beside me.

'Illyana? Where the bloody hell are you, girl?'

'I'm right here, John.'

Illyana is standing on the edge of the reservoir. At least, I assume it's Illyana. She has the same build and hair, but now horns sprout from her forehead and fangs from her mouth. Her legs terminate in cloven hooves and a tail swishes back and forth behind her. And she is once again holding her sword.

'What the fuck are you supposed to be?'

'Didn't I tell you?' Illyana asks. 'I'm a sorceress. A demon sorceress. My magicks aren't too effective in our regular plane of existence, but, as you may have gathered, we're not exactly in your world any more.'

She waves her free hand and my arms are pinned to my sides. I try to run, but my legs are like lead.

'What have you done to me?'

'I've gift-wrapped you,' Illyana says.

'Is my birthday present ready?' another voice asks, a voice that is disturbingly familiar.

A figure steps out of the shadows and in my minds eye I see the girl cradling the textbooks in her arms once again.

'Hello, John,' Emily says. 'I've been waiting a long time for this.'

2. Illyana

It happens too fast. Way too fast.

Kitty and I were supposed to be helping Moira McTaggert with her work, but she felt that we were getting in the way (we weren't, honest) and had banished us from the lab. It had been Kitty's idea to go for a walk along the coast.

I regret going along with her. I'm cold and I'm wet. The wind seems to be deliberately picking up the spray as the waves crash against the rocks and chucking it into my face. But, while I may be miserable, Kitty seems to be enjoying the way immensely, so I keep my mouth shut. Kitty has been shut away working on a new computer system for the Muir Island Research Facility so I guess she must be relishing the opportunity to get outside and stretch her legs a bit. That doesn't stop me hoping that the novelty wears off soon, though.

Then, as if I'd wished for it, something exciting happens. And don't I just wish it hadn't.

The girl appears from nowhere, with none of the flash or smoke you'd expect when Kurt or I teleport. I guess she's about my brother's age, but, to be honest, the only thing I really notice is her glasses. They are huge round things, taking up half her face and all I can think is how lame they are.

Then I feel hands around my arms and legs and I look down and see hands. Just hands. Floating ghostly blue-white hands holding me in place. And I turn to Kitty for help, expecting her to have already phased her way free, but then everything goes black.

*  *  *

When I come to, I'm in an underground chamber with a high, vaulted ceiling. Opposite me there's a brick-lined underground lake. It reminds me of one of the baths from Nova Roma. There's a buzzing in my head, but I guess it's just the after effect of being knocked unconscious.

There's something cold against my back and, glancing around, I figure it must be a pillar. Kitty is chained to one not too far from me.

'Kitty,' I hiss. 'Kitty, are you okay?'

'She can't hear you.'

I look up and see the girl with the comedy glasses sitting on the edge of the lake, trailing her bare feet in the water. I swear she wasn't there a moment ago.

'Who are you?' I demand. 'And why are we tied up like this?'

'To stop you running away, silly.' She giggles and, as she does so, she leans forward and her hair falls across her face.

'And who are you?' I ask again.

'I don't know anymore,' she says. 'It's been so long since anyone called me by my name. I used to be called Emily, but I don't know if that's true any longer.'

Great, I've been kidnapped by a nutjob.

'Fine, Emily, whatever,' I say, not caring that my impatience is showing. 'What about my friend? Is she okay?'

'For the moment, yes, I guess you could say that.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' I strain against my chains, but there's no give. Oh to be my brother...

'I need you to do something for me,' Emily says. 'If you help me then I won't hurt your friend.'

'I have friends,' I say, 'friends with superpowers. They'll be looking for me.'

'Are you threatening me?'

'Aren't you threatening me?' I reply.

Emily giggles again.

'That's very good,' she says. 'I so wish we could be friends.'

Yeah, and then we could all live happily ever after in the Batcave.

'Why me?' I ask.

'You called out to me,' Emily says. 'I heard you singing to me when I was in Limbo.'

'You heard me singing?'

'Oh, not literally, silly,' Emily explains, 'but you radiate, like a light in the darkness. I couldn't miss it.'

Great. I radiate. What next?

I chew on my lower lip, stopping only when I realise what I'm doing. I wish Kitty were awake. She's the smart one. She would have already figured seventeen different ways out of this, but me, I haven't got a clue.

'What do you want me to do?' I ask finally, reluctantly.

Emily claps her hands delightedly.

'See, I knew you'd help me.'

'Don't think I'm doing this through choice,' I snap.

Emily frowns and I'm suddenly afraid that if I upset her then she'll hurt Kitty.

'Look,' I say hurriedly, 'I'll do whatever you want. Just tell me what it is, okay?'

'Okay,' Emily says, her smile returning. 'I want you to find someone for me and bring him here. His name's John. John Constantine.'

'What did he do to you?'

Emily pushes herself up and off of the wall surrounding the lake and floats towards me, her feet never touching the ground.

'He killed me,' she says.

I swallow. I've spent half my life in Limbo being raised by a demon and I've seen my share of crazy stuff, but I hadn't expected that.

'Why can't you go and get this Constantine yourself,' I ask, trying to process this information.

'Because I'm a ghost, silly,' Emily says. 'I can't leave Limbo.'

'But you're here, aren't you?'

'This is a nexus point,' Emily replies. 'It exists in lots of dimensions at once.'

Well, that explained the buzzing in my head, at least.

'Now,' Emily prompts, 'don't you think you should be going?'

*  *  *

It's all Emily's plan, of course. She's already located the Constantine guy and drops me off in the street where he's bound to notice me. To make the bait that much sweeter, she even sends a few demon associates of hers to try and 'recapture' me. I'm not scared of them - I've handled worse - but I am scared of what might happen to Kitty the longer I'm away from Kitty. And I am impressed by the way Constantine takes care of a pair of demons. I can't use my magicks in this plane of existence so his blatant use of sorcery is quite a sight. Still, I guess he usually prefers to be more subtle. Much like mutants, I doubt magic users want too much public attention. From what Kitty was telling me, the last Witchcraft Act in this country was only repealed in the last fifty years and there are still lots of people around with longer memories than that.

Constantine's not what I expected. He's old for a start. I find it difficult to picture him and Emily together. And he smokes like fifty a day. He reminds me a lot of Logan, except even Logan would make an effort to tone down his language around me and the other students. This Constantine doesn't seem to even care. Not about the language anyway. I kind of like that. He does, however, seem genuinely interested in mine and Kitty's predicament and I find it difficult to reconcile that with the idea of a man who killed Emily. I don't see Constantine as a killer. No, that's not quite true. I reckon he is a killer, but in the same way that Logan is, by which I mean that he'll kill, but only with reason.

I thought I could do this, you know. When Emily told me I was to go looking for a murderer, I thought that I could cope with handing him over to Mad Emily for punishment or whatever because he was a criminal anyway. But, as I watch this weird guy in his trenchcoat puking his guts out into the river, I'm not sure if I can give him up, even with Kitty's life at stake.

He buys his cigarettes and we start walking along the river, black cabs and red busses trundling by us. The river's not up to much, at least not in my opinion, and there's a steady, if light, stream of rain falling from the grey clouds overhead. I hate this country. Constantine starts asking me questions about my past and where I come from and, instinctively, my defences come up. It's bad enough being a mutant and knowing how people react to that bit of news, but I'm a demon sorceress and there's stuff about my time in Limbo that I haven't been able to confide in anyone yet.

He's accusing me of leaving Kitty behind, of saving my own skin at the expense of hers. As if I could. And at that moment, I very nearly tell him everything. I so want to confess, but there's a voice in my head saying what if he abandons you? What happens to Kitty then? Who's more important, your best friend or some guy you've just met who may (or may not) be a killer? I don't want to make those choices. I'm supposed to have people around me can do that for me - my parents, my brother, Professor Xavier, even Kitty. Why does it have to be me, here and now?

So, rather than confess, I produce a sample of the hair Emily gave me, just like she told me to.

*  *  *

I hate travelling by underground trains. I hate travelling by car and bus and plane, too. I'm a teleporter, which means I can be anywhere pretty much instantaneously. I don't get why there has to be all this waiting around to get someplace. There's no intrinsic value in the journey, at least not to me. For that reason, I'm pretty tempted to leave Constantine on his own and tell him I'll meet him at his friend's - sorry, at his associate's - place. But, I daren't let him out of my sight just in case he changes his mind so I put up with the smelly, noisy, uncomfortable train and refrain from doing horrible things to the people who think their luggage is more deserving of a seat than I am.

From the underground station, it's a few minutes walk to the block of flats where Gregory lives. The lift's broken - something I'm kind of glad of because it looks like somebody's dog has died inside - so we have to take the stairs. And there are lots and lots of stairs. Good thing all that training at Xavier's keeps me fit. Constantine is coughing and wheezing by the time we reach the top of course, which leaves him open to all sorts of sarcastic jibes from me about his smoking.

What? It's for his own good.

*  *  *

Not long after that, I'm standing on the balcony outside Gregory's apartment. It's not much of a view. A burnt out car. Some kids spraying gang marks on a wall, right over the top of someone else's tag. Underwear of various shapes and sizes hanging from the balconies of the flats opposite. I rest my head in my hands and think of Kitty. Constantine comes out to join me, having finished his discussion with Gregory. I tell him I'm worried about what Emily - or the demoness as I've been calling her - might be doing to Kitty. He looks sympathetic and pretends to understand. Maybe he thinks he does, but he can't. Not really. Not unless he, like me, spent years as a demon's prisoner. I can't help, but think of all the things, the tortures, Belasco put me through and I can't stand the thought of Kitty suffering the same fate. I won't let that happen. But, says a little voice in my head, giving that fate to John Constantine is okay, is it? Of course it isn't, I tell the voice, but what exactly am I supposed to do?

Constantine goes back inside, telling me that he's going to put the kettle on. A few minutes of wrestling with my conscience later, I go and join him in the kitchen. Anything to escape from the cold.

*  *  *

'I'm a sorceress,' I tell Constantine. 'A demon sorceress. My magicks aren't too effective in our regular plane of existence, but, as you may have gathered, we're not exactly in your world any more.'

The effects of Limbo are strong by the underground lake and they are releasing my Dark Chylde persona from inside of me. I don't much like giving in to the monster, but it seems appropriate, given the circumstances. I bind Constantine with my magick and hand him over to Emily to do with as she wishes. More or less.

'You're not going to kill him, are you?' I ask.

'Why?' Emily replies. 'He's not woven a spell on you as well, has he?'

'No,' I reply, though for a brief moment I'm not entirely sure he hasn't.

'Don't worry,' Emily says. 'If I kill him then it'll all be over just like that.' She snaps her fingers. 'I'll get far more pleasure out of him if I keep him alive.'

Twisted it might be, but it was some relief.

'And what about Kitty?' I ask.

'Kitty?'

'My friend. You said you'd let her go if I helped you.'

'Yes,' Emily muses. 'She's no use to me anymore.'

It happens too fast. Way too fast. With a flick of her wrist, Emily sends a knife hurtling across the room. The light glints off it as it flies and then the blade embeds itself deep in Kitty's chest.

'That should take care of her,' Emily says.

I scream.

3. Kity

It's a good thing Emily's a psycho. She wants me to suffer, to feel the pain of the knife sliding deep into my heart. By doing so, she gives me the chance to phase and in the split second before the knife hits me I go intangible. The blade passes right threw me and sticks in the stone pillar I'm chained to, which makes me wonder about either the softness of the stone or the strength of the throw. Of course, from the point of view of Emily and Illyana, it looks as if the knife is stuck in my heart. Illyana's scream cuts through me more painfully than a knife ever could and I want to let her know I'm okay, but I dare not say anything. If Emily knows I'm still alive, she'll just decide to finish the job and, given how powerful she is, phasing may not work a second time. So instead I remain perfectly still, praying for Emily to leave the room. The problem with phasing, you see, is that I can't breathe and I'm standing there holding my breath and it's starting to look like I've got too choices. Either I step away from the pillar and give the game away or I go solid enough to take a breath and have my heart cut open. Some choice.

Just as dark spots are forming in front of my eyes and I'm starting to think I may not have any choice in the matter after all, Emily takes the guy she's holding prisoner and leaves the room.

'Illyana,' I hiss. 'Help me.'

Then I topple forward, solidifying just as soon as I am clear of the knife. Blinking back tears, Illyana rushes to my side, catching me just before I hit the floor. Then everything goes dark.

I can't have been out more than a few seconds and I swim back out of the darkness of unconsciousness to hear Illyana calling my name.

'Hi,' I manage. I'm clearly not up to complex sentence structure just yet.

'You're alive,' Illyana cries, hugging me tightly. 'I thought you were dead.'

'I might still be if you don't let me breathe, kiddo,' I croak.

'Sorry.' Illyana lets me go.

I lean against the wall surrounding the reservoir while Illyana explains what's been going on. Sounds like I've been asleep for most of the film.

'You just handed him over to her?' I say when Illyana has finished. I don't mean to snap at her, but I guess being kidnapped and tied up and nearly killed has left my temper a bit frayed around the edges.

'What was I supposed to do? She would have killed you if I hadn't co-operated.'

'But still...'

'I'm sorry, Kitty, okay?' Illyana says. 'Is that what you want me to say? I'm not as smart as you and I couldn't figure out any other way.'

'It's okay, 'Yana, it's okay,' I say, putting an arm around her. 'It's me that should apologise. You saved my life and all I can do is criticise. You did good, kiddo.'

'We still have to rescue John Constantine,' Illyana says. 'I don't want to leave anyone in the hands of a demon.'

From what Illyana's told me, I know that Emily is a ghost, not a demon, but I'm guessing Illyana has some personal issues here so I don't correct her.

'It would help if we had a plan,' I point out.

Illyana grins and there's a sparkle in her blue eyes.

'Who says I don't have a plan?'

*  *  *

The man falls off of his chair as Illyana and I appear courtesy of one of her stepping discs.

'Gregory, nice to see you again,' Illyana says.

'Piss off,' Gregory says, picking himself up off of the floor.

'Language, Gregory,' I say. 'There are children present.'

'What do you want?' he asks.

'Constantine's a prisoner,' Illyana says. 'We need your help to find him.'

Gregory laughs. His throat is raw and his laughter soon dissolves into a coughing fit. He collapses back into his armchair.

'You've got to be kidding me,' he says. 'I'd be only too happy to leave Constantine where he is. Now sod off. Antiques Roadshow's about to start.'

'You helped Constantine before,' Illyana points out.

'That's because he scares the crap out of me,' Gregory replies. 'You don't.'

'Don't I?' Illyana's soulsword appears in her hand and she rests the tip of her blade against Gregory throat.

Gregory sighs.

'Leave off.' He touches the blade with a finger. 'I'm a psychometrist, remember? That means I read objects. And what this sword is telling me is that your magicks don't work in this dimension. So now, you don't scare me.'

'How about me?' I say. I step forward and plunge my fist into his chest. 'I'm a mutant, not a magician. I can make myself intangible at will. At the moment, my hand is inside your heart. Imagine what would happen if I decided to turn myself solid now.'

'All right, all right,' Gregory says. 'I'll help you. I'll do whatever you want. Just move your hand.'

'That was cool,' Illyana whispers to me as I let Gregory go. 'You were just like Logan.'

'Don't remind me,' I say. 'Will you be okay if I get some air?'

Illyana nods and starts explaining her plan to Gregory. I step out on to the balcony. I need a shower. Threatening people like that isn't something I'm comfortable with. I look up to Logan, he's someone I really respect, but there are aspects to him that I have real trouble with and it scares me to think that I might be turning into him. I mean, if Gregory had called my bluff, I wouldn't really have solidified my hand. Would I?

I go back inside. Gregory is examining the hairs Illyana has given him. He found Emily once so we're assuming he can do it again.

'If she's a ghost, she'll probably be back in Limbo,' Gregory says. 'How are you going to get there?'

Illyana smiles. 'We have ways and means. You just find her, we'll do the rest.'

*  *  *

I've been to Limbo before. Didn't much like it then and I can't say as I've warmed to it now. Illyana seems right at home though, even if I'm not convinced that's a good thing. There's a steady dripping sound that echoes around the cavern, but I can't see any falling water. Instead, I see tunnels carved of rock and bone, magic runes spattered like graffiti over pillars. Without warning, a golden stepping disc appears beneath me and I would have fallen through it had not Illyana grabbed me and hauled me to safety.

'Watch your step, Kitty,' she says. 'Fall through one of those and I might never find you.'

'Comforting thought,' I reply. 'Weren't we supposed to materialise where this ghost was?'

'That was the plan,' Illyana says, 'but Limbo's in a constant state of flux. We'll be somewhere nearby, but that was the best I could do.'

'Don't beat yourself up over it,' I say.

'I wasn't.'

It's warm down here, humid too, but despite that I shiver. I trip over something in the gloom.

'What was that?' I look down and see a metal skeletal hand, three long claws protruding from it.

'Logan's remains,' Illyana says. 'It's better if you don't think about it.'

Easy for you to say, I think to myself. How can Illyana be so calm in this place? Maybe it's because she spent seven years here. She must be more familiar with Limbo than any place on Earth.

Another stepping disc appears, this time in the wall next to Illyana. A dozen grey-green tentacles lash out, dripping an ooze that hisses where it strikes the floor. I throw myself forward and knock Illyana out of their way. I have to stay solid to shift Illyana, which means I can't protect myself from the tentacles.  I'm hurled across the room and my skin burns where the acidic ooze touched me.

'Stay down, Kitty!' Illyana is back on her feet, her soulsword flashing, and her blade makes short work of the monster.

'Thanks for the heads up,' she says.

'What are friends for? What was that thing anyway?'

Illyana shrugs. 'Does it matter?'

She turns and walks off down the tunnel. As she does, I notice that a tail swishes along in her wake. What is this place doing to her? I wrap a hand around my Star of David and pray.

Illyana holds up her hand.

'They're just round this corner,' she whispers.

Cautiously, we creep forward until we can see them. Emily is floating above the ground, her bare feet protruding from beneath her long black skirt. Constantine is chained to a pillar that seems to be made of skulls, some human, some of things I don't want to think about.

'What's this about, Emily?' Constantine asks. As we get closer I can see that he has been beaten and that his left eye is swollen shut.

'You want to know what this is about, John?' Emily asks. 'Was I so unimportant that you've forgotten me already?'

She raises a hand.

'No, Emily, it's not that, it's...'

Emily slashes her hand through the air and rips appear in Constantine's shirt. The wounds are mirrored in his chest and red stains begin to across the white material. He cries out in pain.

'You killed me, John!' Emily yells. 'You killed me!'

'The drugs killed you, Emily,' Constantine replies weakly. 'Nothing to do with me.'

'Nothing to do with you. Do you honestly believe I would have gone anywhere near that stuff before I met you?'

'Honestly, Emily,' Constantine says, 'no I don't. The Emily before I met her would have stayed at home with her books. Alone. She wouldn't have tried anything that might be interesting or dangerous. You had no life, Emily.'

'Liar!' Emily rakes her hand through the air again tracing deep wounds across Constantine's face.

'Leave him alone,' Illyana yells, charging forward and brandishing her soulsword.

'You betrayed me,' Emily says, bringing her hands together. 'Everyone betrays me.'

There is a flash of blue light where her hands meet and two of the skeletons decorating the floor spring to life and begin advancing on Illyana. She can hold them off with her sword, but she can't get past them. She has, however, provided me with enough of a distraction to slip by Emily and phase Constantine from his chains.

'Cheers, love,' he murmurs as he slumps to the floor.

'Illyana,' I yell, 'now would be a good time for us to get out of here.'

She is concentrating hard on fending off both skeletons, but still manages to summon the energy to manifest a stepping disc by Constantine and me. Unfortunately, Emily sees it too and, with a wave of her hand, she banishes it.

'Going so soon?' Emily's eyes glow behind her glasses and Constantine is pulled off the ground by an invisible force to hover in the air opposite the ghost. 'I ought to snap your spine like a twig for what you did to me.'

'Bollocks.' Constantine spits blood onto the floor. 'You did it to yourself, love.'

One of the skeletons gets past Illyana's defences and backhands her, slamming her against a wall. I watch in horror as horns sprout from her brow. She mutters something in a language I don't recognise and the two skeletons char and blacken and then crumble to dust.

'I was trapped in my flat, John,' Emily is saying. 'I was only living for my next fix, if you can call it living at all. Maybe I'd go outside to try and scrape together the money I needed, but most of the time I'd just lay on my mattress and wish I was dead. And then he'd come for me, John, and I'd have to try and find a vein that hadn't already collapsed so that we could shoot up. Do you know how many veins there are in the human body, John? I do now.'

'No one forced you to do it, Emily,' Constantine says.

'All I wanted was a nice quiet life,' Emily says in a child's voice that break's my heart. 'I was going to get a degree and marry a nice man and have two point four children just like my mother wanted.'

Constantine shakes his head. 'That's not what you really wanted, Emily. If it was then you'd never have gone with me in the first place. The danger excited you. You didn't want to walk the safe path your entire life, you wanted to live a little. So sure, I brought you out of your shell, introduced you to a life you weren't familiar with, but drugs were never a part of that. That came after I left you.'

'You put me in harm's way!'

'I thought I was helping you to grow up a bit,' Constantine retorts, 'but growing up means taking responsibility for your own actions, not blaming them on other people.'

'You could have stayed, John,' Emily wails. 'You could have helped me.'

'You shouldn't have needed my help.' Constantine hangs his head. 'I never meant for you to get hurt.'

Illyana is stalking slowly towards Emily, sword at the ready.

'Never meant to hurt me, John,' Emily says. 'Is that why you sent your two lackeys to destroy me for you?'

She spins round to face Illyana and the ground roses up to entomb my best friend up to her neck.

'Emily, don't do this,' I beg of her. 'You're hurting. I understand. Let us help you.'

'How?' Emily asks. 'How are you going to help me?'

'Like this,' Constantine says, plunging his penknife into Emily's back. 'The kids weren't here to destroy you. They were just the distraction.'

Emily screams and falls to her hands and knees on the floor. No longer supported by her magic, Constantine also falls and the rock holding Illyana in place shatters and falls away.

'What...what did you do to me?' Emily croaks. She is losing substance before my eyes.

'My mate Gregory's a psychometrist. He used that hair you gave Illyana to find you,' Constantine explains. 'You thought you were so bleedin' clever, didn't you? While we were waiting, Illyana told me everything. I got Gregory to use your hair to turn this knife into a weapon that could harm you and then she and I came up with a plan to get me close enough to use it. Never play a player, Emily.'

I round on Illyana. 'You were in on this?'

'I was trying to save you from her,' Illyana protests.

'And who was looking out for Emily?' I ask angrily. 'She's as much of a victim here as anyone.'

Emily's right hand glows with light and, weakly, she points a finger in Constantine's direction. The pillar of skulls behind him explodes.

'You always were a rotten shot, love,' he says. 'If you couldn't hit me with a frying pan back when I left you, what chance do you think you have now?'

'That had nothing to do with my being a poor shot, John,' Emily whispers. 'I couldn't hit you because I loved you. I still...'

Emily fades away to nothing and her final words are lost to the wind.

'Emily,' Constantine whispers, crouching over the space where she once was.

'I hope you're proud of yourself,' I snap at him. I can feel tears stinging in my eyes, but I don't care.

'This wasn't my fault,' Constantine protests. 'Stupid girl brought this on herself.'

'Is that so?' I ask. 'And here I thought part of being grown up was taking responsibility for your own actions.' I turn to Illyana. 'Come on, Illyana, let's get out of here.'

'What about him?' Illyana asks, jerking a thumb in Constantine's direction.

'Leave him,' I say. 'If he's as smart as he thinks he is, I'm sure he'll be able to find his own way home.'

I turn away and I don't look back.