Yes

Lois moved as fast as she could in the broken heel, the British occultist at her side.

"What will they do," she huffed. "If they catch us?"

"Praexis demons are creatures of appetite," he said. "That feast on the souls of the recently dead. But they can be distracted by appealing to...other appetites. Pleasures of the flesh."

"They'd **** me?"

"You, me, any other idiot that comes along. But they're easily distracted. Hell, they'd follow an ice cream truck if it crossed their paths first."

Lois calculated how far they had to go. Five blocks.

"What did you mean 'the devil's spunk'?" Lois asked.

"Demon jizz, love. Nephilim baby batter. Hellseed." He took a deep drag on his cigarette. "You reek of it. I'd say you've swallowed at least a pint of it tonight. Been to a little infernal blowbang, have you? Not that I'm judging," he said quickly. "I've seen some of those incubi and there are far worse things one can do on a Saturday night, but..."

"No! I haven't...I didn't do anything like that. I just went to this club, and..." Constantine listened as Lois spilled out the story of the night. All of it. The missing women at the club, the shrine downstairs, the bottle...the bottle that was still grinding in her pussy with every step. At one point Constantine took out his cigarettes and tossed the full pack behind him, matches too, without looking back. But he didn't interrupt her, not once.

"...and that's when I met you." Lois finished.

Constantine nodded his head. They were almost out of Suicide Slum, she saw, but her ankles were really starting to hurt. From his trench coat, Constantine took out a plastic hip flask, and looked at it longingly. Then he tossed it behind him. Lois heard something...several somethings...pick it up.

The British occultist reached over and swooped Lois up off her feet.

"Big push now, love. Hold on."

He ran. Not very fast, carrying her in his arms like that, but faster than they had been, with Lois hobbling along in her broken heel. Instinctively, she put her arm around his neck, remembering all the times Superman had carried her like this. She looked back. Three...things in hoodies and baggy jeans were fighting over the hip flask, trying to get it open. They weren't human, not really, but from a distance they could almost pass... she saw the stubs of cigarettes were int heir mouths, and knew now what Constantine had been doing, buying time for them to get away.

Constantine's sprint took them two blocks before he set her down, gasping and panting. "'Struth," he said as they walked the final block to her apartment, their pursuers now far behind, and the streets better lit and traveled by other pedestrians. "Need to quit the cancer sticks. Where are we, love?"

"My apartment building," she nodded to the doorman, who barely said anything as Lois slipped in on her bare feet, holding her shoes. He knew Lois Lane often came and went at odd hours, with strange people, dressed up or down as appropriate. All part of the job as the Daily Planet's star reporter.

"Now then," he said as they were alone in the elevator. "I think we need a shufti at what's in your knickers."