Flash back to the past

Newcastle, years ago. If Johanna had been more conscious, she’d have felt a sinking dread in recognition of the club - it was one of her old haunts, back in the old days, before all this. Hard-drinking, chain-smoking punk-rock Jo Constantine, not the more professional role she’d squeezed herself into as the years went by, exclusively to avoiding mingling her magical hobbies with this level of chaos.

She’d dabbled, tried it on, but she’d gotten out fast, even before things went as bad as they did. But she’d kept in contact, and shared more than a few of her occult interests with her friends. She hadn’t known how badly it would go.

But before all that, it was here. The club that filled her nightmares night after night, remembering the one moment it had all gone so very wrong.

“You ready, Jo?”

“You betcha,” she said back.

If she’d been more aware, she would have relaxed at that. The same club, but a different night. She’d been a lot of things in her life, but back in this era she’d been in Muchas Membrane, small-time punk band with her friend Gary.

There was still the magic, of course - it added that extra thrill to it all, but most of the time she was better at keeping things separate. Most of the time.

(That trick had been her idea - chant a bunch of gibberish as a chorus, and sneak in an old bacchanalia incantation to really get the crowd hyped. They could bring down the house with one song, which was a relief because they rarely got more than one or two).

Johanna glanced in the cracked, dusty mirror, adjusted her hair, and flashed a grin at her bandmates before heading out to drunken cheers. The bar was mostly full, and there were a few regulars in the audience that knew their band. Confidently, Johanna strode to the front, yelled something vaguely abusive at the crowd, and the music started up.

She reached the chorus quickly, tongue dancing over the arcane syllables to add a little black-magic spice to the evening. Then she faltered, for a moment her mind going blank, guessing a couple of syllables to avoid ruining the tempo - she was glad to slip back into the English lyrics.

The crowd roared louder, applauding. For a moment Johanna was sure the cheap spell had done its job in hyping them up. Then she felt the breeze.

Mispronouncing a spell never went well. She’d have needed much more time than she had to properly go over every syllable and implication of what she’d said, but it was easy enough for her to immediately draw the connection, and realise the consequences.

Suffice to say, she was pretty sure the spontaneous cheers were less down to their music - even she’d admit they were pretty crap - and more down to the fact that she stage outfit had decided to vanish in a puff of smoke.

Mid-note, Johanna’s voice morphed into a suddenly yelp, and she drew her frenetically gesturing arms inwards, depositing the microphone back into its stand as though the slender rod of metal would offer her any modesty whatsoever.

The bar itself was fairly dingy, dark enough that the sudden shock of bare skin stood out even without the crummy spotlight that suddenly felt all the brighter, pointing her out and illuminating her for all to see. Long legs, pressed tightly together, with a short strip of dark brown hair between her legs, and a string of runic tattoos across the crease atop her thighs. Her bare stomach, her breasts, and her suddenly frantic-looking face.

She clung onto the microphone with both hands as though it was all that kept her aloft, closing both of her arms and hugging them against her chest, face suddenly flaming. The music came to a cacophonous halt.

It was a few seconds before Johanna yelped again, and remembered to yank one hand off the microphone and cover up her core. Countless eyes stared back - suddenly the club seemed packed full.

“You okay, Jo?”

“You kidding?!” Johanna said back, not wanting to turn around in the slightest - okay, her bandmates could see her butt, but just then that was less of a concern than the whole damn club.

“We need to finish the set, you know. Won’t be allowed out if we don’t.”

“But I-” Johanna began.

If she’d been aware enough, she’d have known that dreams had certain rules. Her feet were rooted to the spot, nerves making her unable to take a step, or run, or go to any of the many, many places she’d rather be just then. Shock made her legs feel slightly weak, but there was no moving from that spot, and no path available to her except playing it out.

Not that she was having anything thoughts about dreams just then. It all felt perfectly real.

“Fuck.”

Johanna swallowed, and did her best to start the melody up again. She stood on the stage, one hand on her core, and for a moment one arm crossed across her breasts before she realised that wasn’t enough - reluctantly, she moved her hand to the microphone, leaning towards it and doing her best to twist herself to hide her chest behind the one limb.

Her voice only shook a little as her nude performance went on. After the first song, she bit her lip, and shuffled a little, one leg awkwardly in front of the other.

The slight sway ended up knocking her mic stand over - she stared at it with wide, flustered eyes. It wasn’t as though it had offered much actual cover, but psychologically at least it had made her feel like there was something between her and the audience. Now there wasn’t even that.

She swallowed, and did her best to join in the next song, her movement significantly less upbeat and dramatic than her usual recitations. She was hardly a singer - this was more a bit of fun than anything else - but she did at least tend to put more energy into it.

Though this time she stayed stock-still, not wanting the slightest bounce, even when the ground thrummed slightly under her. She did her best to subtly hint to her bandmates to raise the tempo, but they firmly refused, leaving her to go through at the normal speed.

The applause somehow made it worse. She knew there was a whole crowd watching, seeing every exposed inch of skin and every slight fidget. (She caught a glimpse of a dark-haired woman near the back, who for some reason looked familiar to her, even if she couldn’t place why).

The set dragged on for far longer than it felt like it ought, until it eventually, finally, came to an end. Johanna didn’t stick around for any hope of an encore, dropping the microphone and letting her hand retreat to cover her breast, and darted forwards.

The backstage was, unfortunately, not remotely near the stage. Some moron in club design had positioned the dressing rooms just right for dramatic entrances through the crowd, and for frantic streaks post-performance to require ducking between tables and cheering, staring patrons.

Johanna dove past them all, throwing herself at the door, and for a moment her eyes widened as she realised it was locked, before-

She woke up, heart pounding, and for a long few seconds genuinely thought she was still in that club, stark naked in her punk days and locked out of the dressing room. She swallowed, and rolled out from the bedsheets, glancing at the clock.

Huh. 7am. She normally woke up several times before then.

That had been… beyond embarrassing. Mortifying even. Probably more than anything else in her life.

And it was the best night’s sleep she’d had for years. She blinked a few times, then sat up, duvet pooling around her stomach. She rubbed her eyes.

Emma was still sat by the wall - she looked oddly peaceful, asleep despite her posture. Johanna yawned, and Emma opened her eyes. She bit her lip.

For a moment, they were both quiet, as if not sure what to say. Johanna could feel a blush still lingering, a faint tingle on her skin like the ghost of club air. Almost self-consciously, she adjusted the duvet - though being topless in front of Emma didn’t make her feel too embarrassed. All things considered, when she was in her house, with a perpetually nude woman for company, she didn’t particularly care about modesty. Wouldn't be the first time.

On stage at a club mind you… Johanna swallowed.

“Well, that was a dream,” she said eventually.

“S-sorry,” Emma said. She looked down. “I did say…”

“You did,” Johanna said.

She’d had a lot of nightmares, though none that… vivid, or downright…

True, she woke up with her heart pounding, but it wasn’t the same kind of icy terror that she was used to. If anything, embarrassment that intense could chase away the fear. And she’d stayed in bed, anyway. No sleep-walking or sleep-streaking.

Johanna hesitated.

“So, how attached are you to living out in the wilderness?” Johanna said.

“I don’t know if there’s a better plan,” Emma mumbled. “I need to stay in this world, and I don’t want to spend weeks hiding in the city again. So many people…”

“Not what I mean,” Johanna said. She gulped, fifty-fifty on if she was going to regret this. “What if you stayed here?”

Emma blinked.

“I mean, you’re basically a dreamcatcher,” Johanna said. “Got to be comfier than the middle of nowhere, and you can stay inside, out of sight, as much as you can. Meanwhile, I won’t get any bad dreams except for, well, at least they’re a fresh kind of nightmare.”

There was a moment of quiet. Emma looked around the room - okay, it was a bit of a mess, Johanna had never claimed to be tidy, but it must be cosier than where she had been before. Especially now she wasn’t as focused on hiding from whoever she was sneaking in with.

She seemed tempted, though her wide, perpetually self-conscious eyes found Johanna’s.

“You want me to stay?” she said, voice small.

“If you do,” Johanna said. “What do you say?”