John Constantine

"Oi, love. Hold on a minute." The accent was British. Scouse. Lois turned to see a blond man, handsome but not clean-shaven, in a trenchcoat that had seen better decades.

"Let me go!" She said, twisting. The bottle shoved in her vagina burned. She wanted to go home, to get it out.

"In a minute." He said. "We need a little chat first. Like why you're running around with a quim full of demon cum." The smile that split his face was nasty. "Could smell you a block away. Lucky I was in the area. That kind of thing tends to attract the wrong sort."

She stared at him. "Wh-what? Who are you? What are you on about?"

"John Constantine."

Levers clicked in Lois' brain. "The occultist? I thought you lived in London."

"Fame precedes me...yeah, I don't normally come out this way. Was doing a bit of a favor for an old mate." He stopped to think about that for a moment. "Well, that or get into Zatanna's knickers again, but it didn't work out. So here I am, hard up and hard-on, and I smell a piece walk by reeking like the First of the Fallen's personal whore..." That smile again. "What have you been up to this evening, Miss?"

"Lane. Lois Lane, I..." Her mind raced. She'd heard about Constantine, at least once or twice. He was supposed to be an exorcist or something...and that shrine down in the club had looked a little...demonic. "...I need to get home. Escort me there and I'll tell you on the way, okay."

"Lay on, Macduff!" He said. Then he lit a cigarette from a wooden match. "Though you should know, it looks like we're do for some company."

Down the street, she saw a trio of figures in hoodies, their faces lost in shadow. They could have been teenagers...until she caught the hint of light reflecting off fangs.

"Praexis demons." He said. "Scavengers. They can smell devil's spunk on you. Makes them...excited. Best step lively now."

Constantine took her elbow and they hurried on.