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The Council of Shadows met in a warehouse in Red Hook, Brooklyn a location that changed weekly as part of their security protocols. Constantine arrived at two o'clock sharp, guided by Colleen Wing, who'd graciously agreed to sponsor his appearance.
"Ground rules," Colleen said as they approached the nondescript building. "The council has seventeen members representing different supernatural factions. You address them formally unless they invite informality. No smoking inside several members have sensitivities. And for God's sake, don't mention Newcastle."
"Everyone knows about Newcastle?"
"Everyone with access to interdimensional intelligence networks." Colleen pulled open a door that shouldn't have been there. "Which is most of this council. They've vetted you thoroughly, Constantine. They know your history. Don't give them reasons to distrust you more than they already do."
The warehouse interior was far larger than physics allowed, another pocket dimension tucked inside mundane space. The main chamber was arranged like a parliament, with the seventeen council members seated in a semicircle facing a speaker's podium. Gallery seating accommodated observers Constantine counted maybe thirty people watching.
The council members themselves were a diverse lot. Some appeared human. Others didn't bother hiding their true nature a vampire with milk-white skin and predatory eyes, what looked like an elf or perhaps a demon in elegant robes, something that might have been a ghost or astral projection. The chairman was a distinguished Black man in his sixties wearing immaculate three-piece suit.
"Mr. Constantine." The chairman's voice carried authority earned over decades. "I am Jeremiah Cross, chairman of this council. Welcome."
Constantine approached the podium. "Honored to be invited."
"We'll see if that remains true." Cross gestured to the assembled members. "This council governs supernatural affairs in the New York metropolitan area. We maintain peace between factions, arbitrate disputes, and ensure that supernatural business doesn't endanger the mundane population. Your recent... activities... have drawn our attention."
"The demon club," Constantine said. "Inferno."
"Among other incidents." Another council member spoke the vampire, her voice like silk over razors. "You've been in this reality for less than a year, yet you've already disrupted established power structures, formed alliances with vigilantes, and now opened a detective agency without consulting this council."
"I wasn't aware consultation was required."
"It isn't," Cross said smoothly. "You've violated no laws. But courtesy suggests that a new supernatural practitioner would introduce themselves to local governance before establishing operations."
Constantine saw the game now. This wasn't about actual violations. It was about power the council asserting authority, making sure this newcomer understood the hierarchy. He could bristle and make enemies, or he could play along and buy himself goodwill.
For once, he chose diplomacy.
"You're right," Constantine said. "I should have reached out sooner. My apologies. I'm still adjusting to how organized things are here. In my reality, we didn't have anything like this council. Practitioners mostly operated independently."
"Which led to chaos, if our intelligence is accurate," the elf-demon said. "Failed rituals, demonic incursions, practitioners sacrificing each other for power. Your Newcastle incident being a prime example."
Constantine's jaw tightened, but he kept his voice level. "Which is why I appreciate what you've built here. Structure. Rules. A way for supernatural beings to coexist without constant warfare."
Cross studied him. "You mean that."
"I do." Constantine meant it too. "Look, I'm not here to cause trouble or challenge anyone's authority. I just want to help people who fall through the cracks. Last night's client Sarah Chen was a mutant whose powers got corrupted by demonic influence. She went to mutant specialists who correctly diagnosed the problem but couldn't fix it. She came to me because I have specific expertise in demonic contamination."
"Successfully treated?" asked another council member, this one appearing as a middle-aged woman with kind eyes.
"Completely. Extracted the demonic parasite without damaging her X-gene. She's now a fully functional mutant with clean powers."
Murmurs rippled through the council. Cross leaned forward. "That's remarkable. Demonic contamination of mutant powers is notoriously difficult to treat. Most practitioners won't even attempt it."
"Which is exactly why I opened the agency," Constantine pressed. "There are supernatural problems that don't fit neat categories. Too magical for mutant specialists, too scientific for traditional practitioners. I can bridge that gap."
The vampire council member smiled, showing fangs. "Eloquent. But you're also dangerous, Mr. Constantine. Your file indicates a history of manipulation, deals with demons, and outcomes where allies die while you survive. Why should we trust you won't bring that chaos here?"
Constantine met her gaze. "Because I've seen what chaos costs. I've paid prices you can't imagine. And I'm trying genuinely trying to do better. This reality gave me a second chance. I'd rather not waste it."
The honesty surprised even him. But it had the desired effect. Several council members nodded. Cross's expression softened slightly.
"Very well," Cross said. "The council will allow your agency to operate, with conditions. First, you report any major supernatural incidents to us within twenty-four hours. Second, you don't conduct operations in zones controlled by factions without their permission. Third, you attend monthly council briefings to ensure coordination. Agreed?"
Constantine considered. The restrictions weren't unreasonable, and having official sanction would make his life much easier. "Agreed."
"Then welcome to the community, Mr. Constantine." Cross stood, extending his hand. Constantine shook it, sealing the arrangement. "We look forward to working with you."
As the formal meeting concluded, several council members approached Constantine individually. The kind-eyed woman introduced herself as Eleanor Vance, representative for human practitioners. The elf-demon was Lord Ashvar, speaking for interdimensional residents. Each offered contact information and veiled promises of future cooperation.
The vampire hung back until the others left, then approached with that same predatory smile.
"Santana Báez," she said. "I represent vampire interests in Brooklyn and Queens."
"Charming name for a bloodsucker."
Her laugh was genuine. "I like you, Constantine. You don't pretend to be something you're not. That's rare in our world."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should." Santana handed him a card black, naturally. "I heard what you did for the Chen girl. Impressive work. I may have use for your services. Several of my people have been experiencing... unusual symptoms. Powers fluctuating, unexplained weaknesses. I'd pay well for your expertise."
"I'll consider it." Constantine pocketed the card. "Though I should warn you, I'm not cheap."
"Neither am I, darling." Santana's smile widened. "We'll be in touch."
After the council session, Colleen walked Constantine back toward Manhattan. The late afternoon sun painted the city in warm amber tones.
"That went better than expected," Colleen said. "Cross liked you. And if Santana Báez is offering work, you've definitely made an impression."
"Is that good?"
"Depends. Santana is powerful, connected, and absolutely ruthless. But she's also honorable in her way. If she promises payment, you'll get it. If she promises retribution..." Colleen let the sentence hang.
"I'll be a good boy," Constantine said dryly.
His mobile buzzed. An unknown number, text message:Â Mr. Constantine, my name is Julian Reyes. I was given your information by Sarah Chen. I have a problem that I think only you can help with. Please call at your earliest convenience.
Constantine showed Colleen the message. "That was fast."
"Word spreads quickly in the mutant community. Especially when someone can actually help." Colleen checked her own phone. "I need to get back to the dojo. Students waiting. But Constantine? Good work today. You're building something important."
After she left, Constantine called the number.
"Hello?" The voice was young, male, heavily accented Dominican, Constantine guessed.
"This is Constantine. You texted about a problem?"
"Thank God." Relief flooded the words. "Sarah said you could help with supernatural stuff affecting mutants. My brother Marcus his powers are killing him. The doctors say his X-gene is unstable, that he's burning himself out. But I think it's something else. Something dark."
Constantine's instincts prickled. "What makes you think that?"
"He has nightmares. Screams about a demon whispering to him, promising power. And sometimes... sometimes I see shadows around him that don't match the light. Please, Mr. Constantine. He's only sixteen. I can't lose him."
"Give me your address. I'll come tonight."
Julian rattled off an address in Washington Heights. Constantine hung up and immediately dialed Strange.
"Constantine. How was the council meeting?"
"Political but productive. Listen, I've got another case young mutant, possibly demonic influence like Sarah Chen. But this one sounds worse. Active possession, maybe, or something predatory."
"Do you need assistance?"
Constantine considered. "Not yet. But put me on your radar. If I send a distress signal, come running."
"Understood. John? Be careful. If demons are targeting mutants specifically, that suggests a pattern. Someone might be orchestrating this."
The thought had occurred to Constantine too. Two cases in two days, both mutants corrupted by demonic influence? That wasn't coincidence.
"I'll keep my eyes open," Constantine promised.
He spent the next few hours preparing. If this was a possession rather than parasitic attachment, he'd need stronger tools. Holy water, definitely. A rosary blessed by a genuine priest he'd have to con one from somewhere. Salt rounds for his gun, just in case things went physical. And a direct line to Strange, because he wasn't stupid enough to walk into a potential trap without backup.
At eight o'clock, Constantine arrived in Washington Heights. The address led to a modest apartment building, older but well-maintained. Julian answered the door before Constantine could knock early twenties, exhausted, desperate.
"Thank you for coming." Julian ushered him inside. "Marcus is in his room. He's been... different today. Angrier. He threw a chair at me this morning."
"Has he hurt anyone?"
"Not yet. But his powers he manipulates metal. When he loses control, everything metal in the building starts flying around."
Constantine followed Julian down a narrow hallway. Even from outside the bedroom, he could feel the wrongness. The air was thick, oppressive, carrying the stench of sulfur and decay.
"Stay here," Constantine said, pulling out a protection charm. He pressed it into Julian's hand. "If you hear me shouting, run. Don't come back. Call this number." He handed over a card with Strange's contact information.
"But Marcus "
"Will be fine if I succeed, and doomed if I fail and you get hurt trying to help." Constantine's tone was firm. "Trust me. This is what I do."
He entered the bedroom.
Marcus Reyes sat on his bed, head in his hands. Teenage kid, skinny, wearing a Knicks jersey. But his eyes when he looked up were wrong too bright, with a reddish cast that had nothing to do with natural color.
"You're the exorcist," Marcus said, though his voice had an underlying rasp that didn't match his age. "Julian called you."
"I prefer 'supernatural solutions specialist,'" Constantine said lightly, assessing the situation. The demon was inside Marcus, no question. But how deeply? Full possession or partial? Could the kid still be saved?
Marcus stood, and every piece of metal in the room bed frame, lamp, desk chair began to vibrate. "You should leave."
"Not really my style." Constantine pulled out his holy water. "How long has it been inside you, Marcus?"
"Three weeks." The boy's voice cracked, the demon's control slipping. "Please... help me..."
Then the demon reasserted control, and Marcus's eyes blazed pure red. "The boy is mine. He offered himself willingly. We have a contract."
Constantine's heart sank. If there was a contract, extraction became infinitely more complicated. "Let me see it."
"No."
"Let me see the bloody contract, or I start the exorcism anyway. Your choice easy way or excruciating way."
The demon considered, then Marcus's mouth twisted into an unnatural smile. "Very well."
The contract appeared in the air text written in blood on parchment that reeked of sulfur. Constantine read it quickly, his stomach churning.
Marcus had signed away his soul in exchange for stabilizing his powers. The contract bore a signature Constantine recognized with dread:Â Mephisto.
This wasn't random. This was Mephisto targeting mutants specifically, exploiting their desperation to build his collection.
And Constantine was standing in the middle of it.
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