Archive of Our Own

The call from John Constantine had come in whilst Rip had been wrestling with navigating some particularly tricky anomalies in the time stream and therefore he hadn’t managed to elicit much in the way of detail from the exorcist on why he was getting in touch. However, whilst John had been sketchy on exactly what was going on, the request for help had been clear and genuine. Rip would have to answer quite a few questions if his bosses ever found out that he had given John the means to contact him and occasionally helped out the exorcist, but at this point there was a growing list of things that came into that category. Luckily, he was good at covering his tracks and Gideon was a willing partner in crime when it came to hiding her Captain’s extracurricular activities. John was a friend and that was all there was to it as far as Rip was concerned, because he had precious few of those.

Thus, Rip found himself in Soho, London, in a dimly lit basement dive bar. It had a friendly retro-kitsch vibe, and was decorated with warm cream textured wallpaper, and vintage reds and oranges on the woodwork and tables. After scanning the room, he located the exorcist he was looking for at one of the tables by the far wall, wearing a crumpled white shirt that had definitely been slept in and a weary frown. He was playing with his closed lighter in one hand and humming along to the classic 60s hits playing on the juke box. He sat up a little straighter when he saw Rip approaching, but that didn’t disguise the tiredness in the way he slumped back against the leather of the upholstery.

“You called,” Rip said, as he sat down.

A pint of ale sat on the table ready for him, no doubt purchased when John bought his own pint, which he was already three quarters of the way down. He had been here a little while then, which was interesting because Rip wasn’t late. John had also apparently been taking notice of his personal taste in beer too, because it was exactly the kind of ale that he preferred.

“You came,” said John, a slight tone of surprise in his voice. “I’m pretty sure that’s going to stop working one of these days.”

“Only if you do something to abuse it,” replied Rip, taking a sip of his beer and raising it in thanks to his friend. “Why am I here?”

“The usual,” said John. “I’ve got wind of something supernatural that’s up to no good and I need your help.”

“That’s worryingly vague. What kind of supernatural and what kind of help?”

“The Cult of the Stone Soul. They’re a bunch of incompetent amateurs but I think they’re being used by something bigger. A demon. I think they’re trying to summon Kimaris.”

“Kimaris? Not a name that I’m familiar with, although I would imagine summoning any demon is ill advised,” said Rip.

“You got that right. Kimaris is the 66^th demon of the Key of Solomon, a fallen angel, and one of the Lords of Darkness,” said John. “He’s as bad as they come. The scriptures tell of him wanting to turn the sun black, put out the stars and dim the minds of men. I’ve been hunting for more references on him but there isn’t much, so your guess is as good as mine about what any of that crap really means, but it definitely isn’t a good thing.”

“Yes, I think we can agree on that,” replied Rip. “But you are quite capable of stopping a demon summoning without me, although I am more than happy to help of course.”

John nodded in agreement, as modest as always. He was justified in his confidence though, and had dealt with more demons that Rip cared to remember. John’s expression became a little more serious as he finally got to what he really needed from his friend.

“So, it looks like I need an active volcano to destroy this thing they’re trying to use, and one of those is kind of hard to come by, and even more difficult to actually chuck something into.”

“Ah, I see, and you just happened to know a man with a timeship that might be able to help you,” said Rip, with a slight knowing smile. He leaned in with his elbows on the table. “You do realise that you will owe me a large favour in return for this?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” replied John, now giving him a mischievous grin. “It’s bound to all cancel out at some point.”

“Okay, where do we start?” asked Rip.

“David Bowie,” said John, humming along to “Changes” as it aptly started playing on the juke box.

“The musician?” asked Rip, wondering if John had just magicked the juke box to do that or if it really was coincidence. “How does he fit into this?”

“He’s a little more than a musician. He’s one of the greatest rock stars of his generation. I heard him play at Glasto once,” said John.

“Glasto?” asked Rip, with bafflement.

“Glastonbury.”

“The town?”

“It’s a music festival as well as a place. How do you not know these things?” asked John, looking and sounding positively horrified that Rip had no knowledge of these basic events.

“I didn’t exactly have a traditional upbringing. I was too busy learning how to protect time.”

John frowned at him.

“We are definitely going to have to do something about that once this is all over,” said John. “You can go anywhere is space and time, you could go and see the Woodstock festival, watch the Sex Pistols live, or the Beatles at the Cavern Club. You’ve never done any of that?”

“That would be an abuse of my power,” said Rip.

“How are we friends?” asked John, clearly teasing.

“A question I ask myself on a regular basis whenever I get a call from you,” said Rip, dryly. “Can we get back to business?”

“You’re a lost cause,” said John, with amusement. “Sure, back to business. Where was I?”

“David Bowie.”

“Right, so Bowie sadly passed away not so long back. He was into all sorts in his younger days, some of which skirted my neck of the woods a bit more closely than I think he realised. Musicians have always had a few links to the darker side of the world, some a bit more than others and often not the ones you’d think. Anyway, Sotheby’s is having a sale of pieces from his art collection and there’s one particular painting which caught some attention because no one even knew he had it. Apparently, it was bought in a private sale sometime during the 80s. It just so happens that this is a picture that our cultist friends are very interested in and they were champing at the bit to get their grubby mitts on it,” said John, pulling out a crumpled pamphlet from his pocket and chucking it onto the table for Rip to inspect.

Rip smoothed out the creased and dogeared pamphlet.

“Which one?”

“The Magritte,” said John.

“The Ignorant Fairy,” read Rip.

There was a small picture of the artwork and it showed a blonde woman from the shoulders up, but naked as far as Rip could tell. She was to the left of the picture and next to her on the right was a candle and then a sphere. The candle was extremely unusual because instead of shedding light, it had a dark centre and was spreading darkness as if it was light.

“Bowie was influenced by the surrealists, amongst other things, and he had a huge collection of art,” said John. “I wasn’t surprised that he had something by a surrealist, but most art dealers thought that picture had been lost years ago. I know because I asked a few and spent a bit of time trying to track it down last year, and then it suddenly turns up at this auction.”

“It’s a striking image, but why do your cultists want it?”

“Because that candle is a real magical artifact, made by Magritte himself and fashioned to summon Kimaris. The rumour is that there’s a map to where it’s hidden in that painting.”

“Wait, Magritte was a magician?” asked Rip. “I didn’t realise.”

“Yes, mate, and a pretty inventive one. His images were just a reflection of his practice. He created his own magical devices that were to channel and enhance his magic. Some of his items were specific projects in their own right, some were power enhancers, and others were made to contact certain entities. Most of the really dangerous pieces were tracked down and destroyed after his death by my friend Jasper, but not all of it. Every so often I come across one of his beautifully designed infernal devices and it’s never fun dealing with it.”

“I see, so where is the painting,” said Rip. “Do we need to attend this auction?”

“It never made it to the sale, because I nicked it before it could get there…” said John, playing with the edge of his pint glass.

Rip gave John a look and sighed.

“Of course you did,” said Rip.

“Wouldn’t want it falling into the wrong hands. Seemed safer,” said John. “I doubt they even know it’s gone, I got a good forger to make me a nice copy.”

“Why didn’t you just call me in earlier and I could have bought it at the auction?” said Rip.

“You’re not a sodding golden retriever. You don’t always come when called,” said John.

“If you’d explained then I would have been here,” replied Rip, tetchily.

“Great, well, I’ll remember that for next time,” said John, raising his glass to his lips. “Drink up.”

Rip dutifully took another drink from his pint, and leaned back in his chair.

“Where is the picture now?” asked Rip. “Somewhere safe I hope.”

“In my flat,” said John.

Rip gave him a very unimpressed look.

“What? No one’s going to look for it there and I added a few traps just in case I’m wrong there.”

“Come on then, let’s go and get this picture. It will be much safer on the Waverider,” said Rip, getting to his feet.

“Hey, you’re not going to finish that?” asked John, indicating the beer.

“We don’t have time to sit around and drink,” said Rip.

John quickly finished up the dregs of his beer and then grabbed his coat, getting to his feet.

“Fine, let’s go get us a painting,” said John.

With a flick of his trench coat, John was halfway out of the door and Rip was left catching up as he shoved the auction pamphlet in his pocket, not wishing to leave any evidence of their planning. His friend could be infuriating at times, but it only took him a few rapid strides to match step again.

“I thought you were living at the Millhouse these days,” said Rip, by way of conversation.

“Mostly, but I still have the flat here. It belongs to a friend, so it’s mates’ rates,” said John.

In Rip’s experience, the people that John called friends weren’t always very friendly towards him. They were usually people who owed him something and often that was their life, but occasionally John had some good blackmail material on them.

The exterior door to the building had peeling paint and fliers for local music events and furniture sales plastered over it. Rip didn’t think the people that lived here cared much about its appearance, but that made sense if they were all like John and didn’t actually spend much time here. John rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a key that turned in the lock stiffly after a bit of jiggling. They trudged up a set of wooden steps that hadn’t seen the services of a cleaner for many months and to the door of John’s flat. It was actually in better condition, a glossy black and looked like it had recently been repainted. The brass was well polished too and a brass plaque on the door said “Simpson”.

“Give me a few minutes to disarm the traps,” said John.

There was a bang from inside just as John put his key in the door and then a yelp.

“Bloody cultists!” swore John. “How the hell did they work out where I live?”

John wrestled the door open as Rip drew his gun and flattened himself against the edge of the doorway.

“On three,” said John, poised to open the door.

The two men met eyes, and John mouthed a countdown up to three and then threw the door open. John summoned a flame in one hand and went in first, ready for trouble. Rip followed, gun searching for a target.

Hanging in the air was a man in his 20s, struggling to right himself without much success.

“Gravity trap,” said John, by way of explanation, “one of my favourites.”

The man snarled, baring teeth that didn’t look entirely human.

“Combined with a demon trap,” John added, “which it looks like was just as well.”

“Indeed. Identify yourself,” said Rip, gun firmly pointed at the floating man.

“I know better than to give John Constantine and his sidekick my name,” said the demon.

Rip ignored the attempt at an insult, at least reassured that this demon had no idea who he was, and instead turned his attention to checking the rest of the flat while John kept an eye on their prisoner. As far as he could tell the rest of the rooms in the flat were clear of enemies, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t more coming.

“He’s alone,” said Rip, “but I think a strategic exit would be a good idea. Let’s get the painting and go.”

“Yeah, I think you may be right there. Watch him while I get it,” said John.

Rip gave John a quick nod of affirmation and then turned his full focus back to ensuring the demon was contained. He’d had far too many bad experiences of demons somehow working their way out of traps to be anything less than overcautious. He heard sounds of a floorboard being pulled up behind him and then replaced with rapid efficiency.

“Got it,” said John.

“What should we do with him?” asked Rip. “He’s possessing a human.”

“I could do a quick and dirty exorcism but it might kill the host,” said John. “Unless he gives me his name, I can’t do the easy version. We could leave him here and come back once we’re sure we’ve dealt with his friends.”

“We’ve no idea how long that will take,” said Rip. “Probably better to try the exorcism, at least he won’t be possessed by a demon any longer.”

John’s expression went through several emotions but settled on determination.

“Okay, let’s just hope this goes well then,” said John, handing Rip a rolled-up canvas.

The exorcist rolled his shoulders and squared his stance, then began to chant the Latin exorcism. The body of the man in the trap went rigid and then writhed as if he was having a seizure of some kind. John kept up his chanting, holding out a hand palm out towards his target as the words became more determined and faster. Finally, the man went limp and then vomited out a black liquid which collected in a pool on the floor before slipping away between a crack in the floorboards beneath him. John looked like he’d just completed a marathon and was breathing hard.

“He was a bugger,” he panted.

“Is our friend human again?” asked Rip, and John nodded, unable to speak again. “Could we perhaps let him down then?”

John stumbled forwards and with his boot he scrubbed out a chalk symbol on the floor that looked distinctly like a fist with a single raised finger but was gone before Rip could examine it more closely. The man dropped to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut. Rip went to him and felt for a pulse, and was gratified to find it strong and fast.

“He’s alive,” he said. “I’ll get Gideon to call the emergency services but we need to go.”

John leaned against the wall, still breathing hard and sweating slightly, but he nodded, pulling himself up straight again.

“Where are you parked?”

Rip gave a small smirk. “Hyde Park.”

“Yeah, I should have guessed. It’s the closest place you could set down even in that invisible camouflage of yours and not cause a stir,” said John. “We’ve got a bit of a walk then, unless you want to take the tube.”

“I think I’d prefer to be out in the open if we’re attacked again.”

“Yeah, me too,” confirmed John, eyeing up the previously possessed man.

Rip activated his communicator.

“Gideon, give us a five minute head start and then place an anonymous call to the emergency services. An ambulance is needed at my location. A young man requires medical aid following demonic possession, although he is breathing and not in any immediate danger,” said Rip.

“Yes, Captain. Should I also ensure that your presence is not recorded on any annoying surveillance cameras that may have caught your likeness as you entered the premises?”

“Please, Gideon. I am on my way back to you.”

“I shall await your return, Captain,” replied Gideon.

Rip ensured that the unlucky victim of possession was placed in the recovery position and then the two men made a swift exit.

John only vaguely remembered the Waverider from his single time on board. He’d been injured at the time, so it wasn’t that surprising that things were a bit fuzzy. Even so, it probably wouldn’t ever stop being weird that he had a mate with a literal space ship. John might deal with some seriously screwed up supernatural crap, but science was something else.

They hadn’t stayed parked in one of London’s largest green spaces, because there was always the risk that someone might stumble upon the cloaked timeship. Rip had also drawn the line at sitting only a stone’s throw away from the Queen’s main ceremonial residence and playing with magical artifacts. That might not have gone well, and although John would quite happily have wiped out the entire royal family given a chance, he had to admit that it might not be the best thing for the timeline.

“So, Lizzie gets to hang on to the throne for a bit longer?” John had asked, curiosity getting the better of him. “How long do we have to put up with the old bag? Not that her idiot son will be any better.”

“You know better than to ask me questions like that,” Rip replied.

“I don’t suppose you can reveal whether she’s actually a space lizard then?” John had continued.

Rip had given him a thoroughly confused look.

“I do occasionally worry about whether magic is damaging your brain. What on earth are you talking about?”

“Never mind,” said John.

The Waverider was now in orbit around the Earth while John tried to work out exactly where the map was to the thing they were looking for. Gideon had located a suitable volcano for them to throw it into once it was found, but at the moment John was drawing a blank.

“Any luck?” asked Rip, walking back from the pilot’s chair to the parlour table where John had spread out the canvas.

“I’m not even sure exactly what I’m looking for,” said John.

He’d placed a squid shaped paperweight on one corner, a book on another, a heavy brass compass on a third and a decanter of scotch on the final corner to stop it from rolling up. He leaned on the round table and tried to think like a Belgian artist-magician from the turn of the century. This was very much not his brand of magic. It was too stylised and constrained, carefully measured into bright green impossible apples and unusual patterns of perfect clouds. Magritte loved mysteries, and he loved the way they hid the obvious, made things unknowable, undiscoverable and engimatic.

John had done a fair bit of research into the painter when he’d helped Jasper with one particularly nasty Magritte bottle, but more recently when he’d come across the Cult of the Stone Soul and what they probably had planned. The Cult were big fans of Magritte and his cunning devices of terrible power and demon summoning.

Magritte had once said: “My painting is visible images that conceal nothing... they evoke mystery. Mystery means nothing. It is unknowable.”

And John had known exactly what he’d meant when he’d read the quote because he’d spent most of his life trying to solve mysteries. Mysteries were by definition a secret, but as soon as John had unravelled the core then they weren’t mysteries anymore. The mystery meant nothing, it was a thing itself, and as soon as the unknown was known the mystery ceased to be. They were ephemeral things in most cases but Magritte liked his mysteries to be insoluble and like a fly trapped in amber, they were frozen in time never to be solved. The apple could never be moved to reveal the face because it was a painting and the face did not exist to be revealed. John was wondering if perhaps Magritte had made this mystery insoluble too.

He ran a finger around the edge of the painting, trying to let his magical sense help him to find some kind of way into this hidden thing.

“Visible images that conceal nothing…” John murmured.

“There must be a concealing enchantment of some kind,” said Rip, helpful as always.

“Yeah, I’d got that far,” said John, turning over the picture to examine the back of the canvas.

Some magic buzzed and zinged and wanted to get out. There were artefacts that John could feel were present from several feet away, but not whatever this was. Which assumed that there was anything here at all. Maybe he’d screwed up and Magritte had tricked them all. Perhaps there was no darklight candle to be found.

He let out a long breath, turned the picture back to its front and closed his eyes, centring himself.

“Occultatum revelare,” he breathed, focusing all of his intention on the words that should show anything hidden within the painting.

He opened his eyes and could see the magic glowing in his fingertips but the painting remained resolutely without change.

“Bollocks!” he shouted, kicking out at the table and turning around, his hands going to thread through his hair in a gesture of despair. “What Bowie ever saw in this crap I don’t know.”

“We could just throw the painting in the volcano,” said Rip.

“Spoken like a true philistine,” said John.

“Oh please, you know me better than that. I’m just suggesting it as the safest option,” said Rip.

“Yeah, but just because I can’t find the damn thing doesn’t mean that someone else won’t, even without the picture,” said John. “Maybe the painting isn’t the key to it after all. Magritte gave away a lot of his work and this isn’t the only painting with that black candle in it.”

“Why this one then? What makes it special?” asked Rip. “You said it was rumoured to be the key to finding the darklight candle so where did that rumour come from?”

“Bowie,” said John. “It came from Bowie.”

“I’m not sure that’s an entirely reliable source,” said Rip.

“Which just goes to show what you know,” said John. “I said Bowie was into stuff that edged into my world, well one of those things was Aleister Crowley’s work. Bowie knew about the occult and perhaps he knew how to find the darklight candle. Station to Station contains outright references to Kabbalah and Crowley’s poetry. He even bloody said it himself that it was the nearest album to a magick treatise that he’d written…”

“So Bowie bought this painting because he knew what it was?” asked Rip.

“Maybe. Or maybe he didn’t know exactly, just that it was something dark and deadly,” said John. “He was crazy enough that might have interested him, and he definitely came close to dabbling in the occult several times but luckily never had enough determination to get beyond messing about.”

John thought for a moment, pulling out his cigarettes and taking out a single one to tap on the pack.

“What are you thinking?” asked Rip, leaning against the doorframe of the parlour. “Because I know the look that you get when you have a ludicrous idea that you’re hesitant to share.”

John slowed his pacing and turned back to the table, tucking the cigarette behind his ear. He pointed at the painting.

“What the hell is that if it isn’t a sodding black star?” said John.

Rip stopped leaning and approached the table, his interest piqued. The dark candle’s centre did look rather like a dark star.

“I suppose it could be seen as a black star, but how does that help us?” asked Rip.

“Bowie knew he was dying when he wrote his final album. It’s called Black Star,” said John. “Gideon, can you bring up the lyrics of the title track on the screen? Maybe Bowie wasn’t as oblivious to what he was up to as I thought.”

“Of course, Mr Constantine,” said Gideon, and displayed the lyrics to the title song of Bowie’s final album on the screen.

Both Rip and John stepped closer to the screen and read for a moment.

“I am beginning to think you might be on to something,” said Rip.

“In the villa of Ormen, in the villa of Ormen, stands a solitary candle, in the centre of it all…” John read out, mumbling the words in between before speaking the next lines that seemed significant. “Something happened on the day he died, Spirit rose a metre then stepped aside, Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried I'm a blackstar, I'm a Blackstar.”

“That sounds remarkably like demonic possession,” said Rip.

“Yeah, it kind of does, and there’s another song on the same album about how he couldn’t give everything away. I can’t help but wonder if maybe he was talking about the black star, this black star painting…”

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” said Rip.

“You and me both,” agreed John.

“I hope we didn’t bring a cursed object on board my ship,” said Rip.

“It can’t be,” said John. “My wards back at the flat would have gone off. Which doesn’t mean that it isn’t dangerous, but it’s not cursed like your Green Eye of the Yellow God that you brought me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I suppose that’s something. So, Bowie knew what he had and he was unable to get rid of the painting,” said Rip. “Perhaps because of some demonic force.”

John nodded, thinking as he spoke. “And I think he gave us a spell too.”

“How?”

“The Villa of Ormen. There’s lots of back and forth on what that means because most people think it’s just nonsense. There are no gods called Ormen, so what does it mean?”

“Ormen is a word for snake in Norwegian,” supplied Gideon.

“Thanks love, I think that’s what he was going for,” said John. “The house of snakes.” His heart sank. “Bloody Crowley again. Snakes are one of the symbols of his brand of magick. I’m going to have to use sodding Thelema.”

“Is that a bad thing?” asked Rip.

“I really hate Thelema. Crowley was a hack. All of his stuff is messy and he liked to go on and on. He was so fucking up himself and incredibly dangerous.”

Rip just gave John a look, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t start,” he said. “Yes, I know that could describe me too, but I’m far more straight forwards in my approach than he ever was.”

“I said nothing,” replied Rip, with the beginning of a smile.

“You didn’t have to. Have you got a copy of the Book of The Law?”

“Gideon will have the text. Gideon?”

“Yes, Captain. I have copies of all the texts by Aleister Crowley in my database,” said Gideon.

The image of the correct book appeared on the screen of the parlour.

“I doubt you’ve got all of them, some of them never made it out of his inner circle,” said John, “but this’ll do. Find me one of his references to snakes, and I think Hadit?”

Gideon scrolled through the text and brought up a passage, which John read with interest.

“That’s the spell we need. I’m going to need somewhere to draw out the magic circles and some candles.” John grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled down the spell.

Rip nodded, folding his arms over his chest, “I think we should adjourn to the cargo bay.”

“Good idea,” said John.

Rip collected some candles from somewhere in the ship, John didn’t press him on the storage facilities within the Waverider and how he happened to just have exactly what they needed to hand. Whilst he did that, John memorised the words of the spell that he’d need and then the two men cleared the various boxes in the cargo bay to the edges of the room so that John had space to work. Rip handed John the chalk and he sketched out the circle and runes that were required for Thelemic rituals.

Rip placed the candles around the edge of the circle, taking John’s lighter to spark the flames and then put the painting in the centre of the circle and stepped back.

“Okay, let’s get this pig and pug show in the road,” said John, “don’t get too close while I’m casting.”

“Understood,” said Rip.

John centred himself once more, working the kinks out of his neck and closing his eyes. He shook his arms out, saw the words in his mind, imagined the revealing of secrets, and finally he spoke the words he needed.

“By wise Ta-Nech I weave my spell.
Show thy star-splendour, O Nuit!
Bid me within thine House to dwell,
O winged snake of light, Hadit!
Abide with me, Ra-Hoor-Khuit
Reveal thy secrets and unlock thy doors!”

A wind appeared to sweep into the room, even though all the doors were closed and they were on board a ship in space. John stood firm and he heard Rip shifting behind him to distribute his weight more evenly. The floor shook and John felt resistance to his spell. He renewed his commitment to the spell and fought back. At least he now had something to push against, something which hadn’t revealed itself until now.

He intoned the words again and forced his way through whatever was stopping him. The shaking stopped and John opened his eyes in time to see the candles blow out. He felt like he’d just run for the bus, as he often did after a tricky spell. Magic took energy and strength for things like this. Magical exhaustion was a risk that he always took, but he wasn’t anywhere near that this time. Something was still in the air though and John felt himself naturally push back on it and hold it in place.

A trickle of liquid ran down his face, a tear, but John wasn’t crying. He reached up to wipe it away and his fingers came back red. His tears were blood. Great. Magic was the worst sometimes.

“John?” asked Rip, a fearful note to his voice that John didn’t like. “What did you do?”

Rip took a step towards him and the circle, and John stopped him with one hand held out.

“Don’t move, especially not into the circle,” said John. “There’s a ward that’ll have you thrown into that wall if you’re not careful.”

“Right now, I’m more concerned about the fact that you’re bleeding from your eyes and the hole in the floor of my cargo bay!” Rip pointed at the place where the painting sat.

John hadn’t really been concerned with the actual painting until then, but now he could see that it was as if the painting had become concave and formed a rectangular hole in the floor. As for the bleeding, well, it wasn’t the first time.

“Shit. Let me deal with the ward first and then we’ll work out what’s going on there.”

With a few movements of his hands he was working on unpicking the ward and opening a way through for them. He manipulated glowing strands of magic like the tumblers of a lock turning, lining up to allow the key to turn. It was a very satisfying feeling when he finally had it, but as he went to make the final twist that would permanently remove the ward, something snagged and it ground to halt.

“Bastard Magritte and his fucking cunning illusions,” said John. “Rip, I’m going to have to hold this ward open, and I can’t close down the spell while I’m doing that to return it to its previous state.”

“So, you’re saying that either we can approach the painting or we can deal with the hole?”

“Yeah, except I can’t enter the circle while I’m doing this,” said John.

“I get to go and investigate then,” said Rip.

“Yeah, it makes sense. A lot of Thelema practice was done in pairs. I should have thought of that,” said John.

“It looks stable and it doesn’t appear to be widening or changing,” said Rip. “Am I okay to enter the circle now?”

“Yes, I’ve got the protections dealt with. Just go slowly.”

“I will use the utmost caution,” said Rip, and then he stepped up to the edge of the circle and with a deep breath, stepped into the circle and cautiously edged towards the picture on the floor.

“It looks almost like the image has just become three dimensional, like a sculpture, but downwards,” said Rip. He knelt down on the floor to get a better look. “I can see the candle and it looks real.”

“I guess the picture wasn’t a map after all. I think it might be the thing we were looking for,” said John. “Can you lift the candle out of the picture?”

“I can certainly try,” said Rip, and reached his hand into the hole and then suddenly jumped back.

“What’s wrong?”

“The woman, her eyes moved and followed my hand,” said Rip.

A female voice then spoke from the painting.

“Étranger, fais attention à ce que tu fais. Le mot “Dieu” n'a pour moi aucun sens, mais je le restitue au mystère, non au néant. Nous avons trop souvent l'habitude de ramener l'étrange au familier par un jeu de réflexion. Peut-être vaut-il mieux perdre toute pensée et devenir un vase vide. Peut-être vaut-il mieux rester dans l'ignorance.”

“French,” said Rip. “I’ll worry about what she just said when I have the candle out of here.”

Rip dipped his hand into the picture again and pulled out the candle, holding it by the candlestick. Darkness was cast across his features as if the flame was inverted to subtract light from anything around it. He slowly got to his feet, carefully holding the candle in front of him. Rip seemed mesmerised by the object, looking into the centre of the darkness.

“Rip, I can’t hold this open all day,” said John.

“Sorry,” murmured Rip, sounding somewhat distracted. “It’s got a strange allure which I should probably do my best to ignore.”

“Yes, mate, you do that,” replied John, now mildly concerned. This wasn’t Rip’s first rodeo though, so John trusted him to get out of the circle without further issues.

The female voice in the picture spoke again.

“L'âme est partie.”

Which apparently was the signal for something to switch on because suddenly John wasn’t just wrestling with one ward, but several and there was no way he could defuse them all in the few seconds he had.

“Rip, run!” was all he could shout.

And then an explosions of air erupted from the picture and threw both Rip and John backwards. Rip was closer and took the worst of the force of the moving air. John was knocked off his feet, but rapidly pushed himself up and began chanting the incantations to undo what he’d done. He knew the basic spells off by heart, but the Thelemic versions needed a bit of summoning from the depths of his memory.

“Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law! Resume they journey and be done with this. This magick is ended and I cast Babalon upon thee!”

John got the last word out and the wind calmed immediately. The picture seemed to have returned to its original form, although was now rather obviously missing one of the main elements of the composition of the work. The darklight candle was still grasped in Rip’s hand, the tendrils of darkness lapping over his features. He seemed dazed, barely moving and sluggish, with his eyes closed.

“Bollocks! Fucking bollocks!” John swore and he dashed over to Rip’s side, ending up on his knees as he felt for a pulse. It was a little erratic but strong enough that he wasn’t worried. He rubbed his knuckles hard on Rip’s sternum and elicited a groan, which was perhaps the best sound he’d heard in his life and he let out a sigh of relief. “Rip, wakey wakey.”

It was as Rip pulled his eyes open that John realised that the candle was whispering. It wasn’t possible to make out exactly what it was saying but it was a distinct murmuring, and it sounded almost sad. Rip had been entirely correct that it had an allure. John found himself desperately trying to catch the words and he almost fell into the same trap as Rip of staring into the beautiful darkness that was so inviting, and probably would have if he hadn’t been forewarned. Instead, he removed the candle from Rip’s lax fingers and carried it over to the opposite corner of the cargo bay resolutely turning away from it once he had it safely away from his friend.

Rip was looking around himself as John turned back, so he reckoned that the time traveller was mostly fine and he had a moment to ensure the candle was dealt with. He searched through the various containers that they’d moved to the sides of the room and found an empty crate which he upended over the candle. That probably would have put out a normal candle, but he doubted a magical artefact of such power would be affected by a lack of oxygen. It wasn’t as if it obeyed the laws of physics. He wasn’t even sure if covering it would have any effect on it but at least the flame wouldn’t be visible to stare into. It was surprising how often out of sight, out of mind worked in his business.

Rip seemed to finally regain his senses and immediately scrambled backwards to a sitting position, wincing with every movement.

“Right, sickbay for you,” said John, going back to his friend.

“What happened?” asked Rip, gently feeling the back of his head and then sucking in air when he found a sore spot.

“I’m not sure. We triggered a trap I think,” said John, “but we got the candle, so all we have to do now is dispose of it.”

John helped Rip to his feet. He was a little unsteady but he allowed John to give him some unobtrusive support without comment.

“What did the French mean?” asked Rip. “Gideon, can you translate?”

“I can. The woman said: Stranger, watch what you're doing. The word “God” has no meaning for me, but I restore it to mystery, not to nothingness. We are too often in the habit of bringing the strange to the familiar through a game of reflection. Perhaps it is better to lose all thought and become an empty vessel. Maybe it is better to remain ignorant.”

“Well, that’s cryptic,” said John.

There seemed to be a sudden surge of power and Rip and John both grabbed hold of the nearest safety railing by the stairway. They felt the ship jump into the timestream, shuddering, and after a short, but tumultuous few seconds of hanging on for dear life, it jumped back out to normal space. The shaking continued for several minutes before returning to stillness. The lights in the cargo bay went out with a finality that John really didn’t like.

John took his lighter from his pocket and flicked it into life.

“Gideon? What’s going on?” asked Rip.

“Captain… there is a problem with the power system. I am…”

Gideon fell silent.

“Gideon?” asked Rip, again. “Gideon, answer me.”

“What’s wrong with your computer?”

“She’s not a computer and I don’t know. She said there was a power problem. I need to get to the bridge and see what’s going on,” said Rip, shaking off John’s help as he stumbled up the steps from the cargo bay.

They stepped through the hatch and into the rest of the ship. The darkness struck John immediately.

“Power must be out across the whole ship,” said Rip, “the emergency lighting hasn’t even come on.”

“I take it that’s bad,” said John.

“The automatic systems should take over, even if Gideon isn’t functioning. This suggests some kind of catastrophic failure. You’ll find torches in the cupboard by the door to the cargo bay,” said Rip, a hand going to his forehead again.

John did as he was directed and retrieved two flashlights from what seemed to be a well-stocked cupboard of useful emergency equipment such as ropes, ration packs and blankets. Rip was always well prepared. John clicked the on switch on the torch but nothing happened.

“Hmm, batteries must be flat,” said John, and then tried the other one, which also refused to work.

“I only just checked those supplies,” said Rip. “I’m sure everything was in working order only last week. There should be some glowsticks in there too, not as good but at least they don’t have batteries that can go flat.”

He wondered if it was his imagination but the flame on his lighter seemed to be getting less bright, perhaps he was low on lighter fluid but he hoped it would hold out a bit longer so that he could find the glowsticks. John rummaged in the cupboard again and produced the glowsticks which he bent to break the inner container to allow the two chemicals to mix and create the glow. He threw a couple of the sticks on the floor by the doorway so that they would mark the entrance. Finally, they had some light other than just the increasingly feeble flame of his lighter, which was just as well because half a second later, when he turned to hand Rip one of the glowsticks, he found himself grabbing his friend as he slid down the wall to the floor.

Rip was out cold. John looked ceilingward.

“Well, fuck you too. I’m bloody well doing your work and you can’t see fit to give me a break?” He looked back at Rip. “Okay, let’s get you to sickbay. Maybe there’s something there that works without your magical AI to run it. I bloody hate the future.”

Rip awoke to darkness, alleviated by pools of yellow light shed by glow lanterns that he recognised as coming from his emergency supplies. He was lying on one of the Waverider’s medical couches, although the medical cuff wasn’t around his wrist, so he wasn’t receiving any treatment. It took him several minutes to remember what had happened and then it all came back to him in a rush.

He groaned, and suddenly a blond-haired exorcist was beside him.

“Hey, you’re back,” said John. “Had me worried for a moment there.”

“Yes, I’m not sure what happened there,” said Rip. “I was just a bit dizzy.”

“Probably the head injury,” said John. “I found a piece of gauze to put on that cut but I couldn’t do much except check you haven’t broken anything. Nothing is working in here either. You weren’t out for more than a few minutes.”

“At least that’s something,” Rip said putting a hand up to feel the gauze and tape that John had used to secure it. He had a slight headache, but he’d had far worse and he sat up without any difficulty.

“Careful, you might want to take things easy for a minute,” said John.

“We don’t have time. Pass me the painkillers. They’re in the drawer to your right,” said Rip.

John did as asked and handed Rip a jar of white pills. He shook out two into his hand and dry swallowed them. Rip noticed that the warlock had cleaned the bloody tears from his face whilst he’d been unconscious. There were a few blood droplets on his shirt, which appeared almost black in the yellow light. He’d have to get Gideon to check John over as soon as they got her up and running again. It couldn’t possibly be a good thing to have tears of blood running down one’s face whilst casting a spell.

“Any more ideas on what happened?” asked Rip.

“All I know is that we triggered a trap of some kind. I think Gideon translating the warning may have been the final switch that sent us dark, but that’s just my best guess. Normally a machine couldn’t cast a spell or fall foul of one, but words said out loud have power and as you pointed out, Gideon’s not just a computer. She’s an AI. She might even have a consciousness and maybe a soul,” said John.

Rip was speechless for a moment as he carefully got to his feet.

“I hadn’t ever really considered the nature of Gideon’s consciousness,” said Rip. “This raises some interesting philosophical and ethical issues, but we’ll have to table them for the moment. First things first, I need to restore power. We will begin to cool down rapidly now that there isn’t any life support and, eventually, we’ll run out of air to breathe.”

“I figured as much,” said John. “We’ve got a new problem too. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“Sorry?”

“Your ship jumped us somewhere before it shut down. I caught a glimpse out the window in the cargo bay before I moved you here. Earth’s nowhere to be seen and before you ask, I checked out the bridge window too just to make sure I wasn’t looking in the wrong direction. There’s no sun either, just a really weird red swirly thing.”

“Swirly thing? I’m going to need more to go on than that,” said Rip.

“I don’t know, it’s big and going round like a whirlpool. This is your area not mine,” said John.

Rip let out a sigh, and headed for the door, which had been left open because, of course, there was no power to close it automatically. John must have prised it open to even get in the room. He grabbed the lantern that was sat by the door and strode down the dark corridor, casting long shadows against the wall. John followed him, bringing his own lantern to chase away the dark.

Rip walked onto the bridge, and was immediately disappointed not to hear Gideon greet him. Her absence felt wrong as she was usually a constant presence, updating him on the ship’s systems and current mission. He went to the pilot’s chair and looked out of the cockpit window. John was right, there appeared to be a spatial anomaly of some kind and it was indeed red and swirling. Rip didn’t recognise it as falling into any of the main categories of anomaly that he was familiar with. It wasn’t a black hole, it was the wrong shape, more star shaped than spherical and too red. It didn’t appear to be a nebula as the movement was too rapid and it wasn’t big enough. Just to add to the issues that they currently faced, it seemed to be getting nearer which probably meant that it had a gravitational field that they were caught in.

That jogged Rip’s memory.

“What did you do with the candle?” asked Rip.

“It’s under a crate in the cargo bay,” said John. “I need to look into containment spells.”

Rip stopped and turned on John.

“You need to look into containment spells? Why didn’t you do that before, when you realised that this was what you would be dealing with?”

“I didn’t have time,” said John.

“You didn’t have time?” asked Rip. “You didn’t have time! Did you actually do any research into this thing at all?”

“I did as much research as I could, but I had to move quickly or we’d be dealing with a cult summoning a bloody demon that could have brought darkness to the Earth! It’s not like I had a choice. What would you have done in my place?”

“My research!” said Rip, with barely concealed anger. “Whatever this thing is that you brought on board my ship, it has hurt Gideon and that is something that I will not allow.”

“Look,” said John, “to be fair, I had no idea that this was going to happen.”

“Of course not, because you are literally void of sensible ideas.”

“A bit harsh, mate,” replied John, somehow looking genuinely hurt.

There are days, thought Rip, there are days when I wonder why I ever decided that working with John Constantine was a good idea.

“Harsh? John, we are stranded in a ship that has lost all power, drifting towards an unknown spatial anomaly, and it was all caused by whatever stupid artefact was in that painting,” replied Rip and then searched his memory for the name of it, and found he couldn’t remember what had been in the painting. “The thing… in the painting.”

“The darklight candle,” said John. “And it could have been the spell to get it out rather than the thing itself. I haven’t worked that out yet. Are you sure that you didn’t hit your head harder than we thought?”

“I’m fine. I haven’t even got a headache,” said Rip.

“Yeah, that would be because you took painkillers,” said John.

“Yes, I’m sure I did. Well, come on, let’s go to the engine room. I may need help with getting this ship restarted.”

He didn’t actually remember taking the painkillers but then he’d had a lot on his mind since he’d awoken in the medbay. Rip strode back out into the corridors and to the doors of the engine room which, like every other door in the ship, were shut. The problem here was that they were three times as thick as the other doors because they were there to protect against a catastrophic failure of the engine.

“I should be able to crank them open with the manual release,” said Rip, and went to the small hatch beside the doors and pulled it open the reveal a large wheel. He put both hands on a spoke and pushed on it with all his strength. Nothing happened, which was becoming a theme today and not a good one.

“Give me a hand,” he said to John, and attempted to get a better grip while John followed his lead positioning himself to pull while Rip pushed.

They gave it a few moments of trying to brute force the wheel but it was getting them nowhere.

“I think it’s stuck,” said John, grimacing as they put their all into the task.

“Yes. I’m afraid it hasn’t been used in a long time,” said Rip, giving up with a groan. “I will have to improve my maintenance routine.”

“Okay, let me try something else,” said John, standing in front of the doors, clearly readying himself to try a spell.

“What exactly are you going to do?” asked Rip.

“Give us a portal through the door,” said John.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? We don’t know how new spells might interact with the last one,” said Rip.

“It’s all I can think of unless you want to be stuck in this corridor while your ship gets closer to that red swirly thing out there,” said John.

“Fine, I give in, do it,” said Rip, after only a moment of hesitation. They really didn’t have time to be messing about and this would at least be faster than trying to prise the door open.

John’s eyes glowed gold for a moment as he chanted in an ancient language that Rip couldn’t identify from the short spell. Then he was producing geometrical forms in the air, and suddenly there was portal in front of them that led into the engine room.

“You first,” said John.

Rip nodded and walked through to the dark engine room, holding up the lantern to see if he could get an idea of whether there was any damage. He first went to the time drive, and found it non-functional and without any power. It was as if the entire assembly had discharged and without the energetic core, the engines couldn’t turn that power into propulsion or electricity to light the corridors, give Gideon life, or power the control circuits. That was going to be a big problem and one not easily rectified.

The one good thing was that there didn’t seem to be any visible damage to any of the engine systems, but even the backup battery was drained. That explained why there had been no emergency lighting or life support coming on automatically as it should have done. Rip wouldn’t have thought that was even possible. The Waverider’s batteries were designed to power an entire ship for hours.

John entered the room and closed the portal behind himself as Rip continued to check over more systems.

“Well, this isn’t looking good,” said John, holding up his own lantern to show the dead engines and inert circuits that would usually have been humming with life.

The glow from the light reflected on the metal surfaces and outlined them starkly in shadows with sharp black edges, and Rip wasn’t sure where he could even begin. Nothing was even receiving power and he couldn’t mend things that weren’t broken.

“The time drive core is without power,” said Rip. “It’s completely dead.”

“I take it that’s a problem?” asked John, who had never even seen this part of the ship before today.

“Without the time drive core, there is nothing to power the Waverider,” said Rip. “I can’t fix this. There’s nothing to fix. The problem is power. I’d need an entirely new core.”

“You can’t jump start that one?”

“If the engines were functional then I might have some hope of using the residual power to re-ignite the core,” said Rip, “but as you can see, they aren’t even turning. It’s strange… even with the core down, they should have had some residual momentum left in them that would keep them going for a while. Instead, they’re cooling off, as if they’ve been run down.”

“What about magical energy?” asked John. “Would that work?”

“I don’t know, it’s never been tried to my knowledge. The correct emergency procedure if the core is non-functional is to start the engine from the battery and then use that to reignite the core,” said Rip, “but the battery’s been drained too. Everything with any kind of energy has been sucked dry.”

“So, magical energy is all we’ve got,” said John.

“I guess so, but if we’re reigniting the core then we’ll have to follow the correct start up procedure and doing this from cold can be very tricky,” said Rip. “And assuming I can get it restarted, it’ll take some time before the engines have enough power to actually get us out of here.”

“We’d best get going then,” said John.

“Indeed,” said Rip. “Gideon, how long until we reach the anomaly?”

There was silence and Rip frowned. Was Gideon broken too now?

“Rip, Gideon’s down. We’ve got no power,” said John, gently.

Rip had very rarely heard John use that tone with anyone and it was never to deliver good news. He had hoped he’d never hear it used on him, but he had to acknowledge that forgetting that Gideon was unavailable was somewhat concerning given that it had only happened at most an hour ago. John absolutely didn’t need to know that he was concerned though. Once Gideon was back up and running then he would get her to give him a thorough check up and everything would be fine.

“Of course, ignore me. Perhaps you’re right and that knock was harder than I thought,” said Rip, turning back to the controls and getting them set up for a cold restart. “If you could position yourself by the time drive core then perhaps we can give this a try.”

John nodded. “What am I going for here?”

“As pure an energy as you can manage,” said Rip, “but all it needs is a high energy spark and then it should be able to spin up, assuming it’s still intact and has no fractures. I can’t really analyse that without power, so for now we’ll assume it is functional.”

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot,” said John, putting down his lamp and then cracking his knuckles in a needless show of readying himself.

“Ready when you are,” said Rip, poised at the controls to make the most of whatever John was able to do.

John’s eyes glowed with gold light once again and Rip heard him muttering phrases, guttural and Germanic under his breath. His stretched his hand out towards the time drive core and it appeared to glow a bright gold. The glow turned into a golden sphere that floated up to the time drive and then centred itself in the device, imbuing it with a bright, warm light. For a few seconds the time drive seemed to begin to spin and Rip rapidly began the activation sequence, and then the glow died and the drive slowed and stopped.

“What happened?” asked John. “Wasn’t that enough?”

“Let’s try it again but with more power,” said Rip.

John repeated the process again, producing a larger ball of light and once again it moved into the drive and it spun up. Rip did his best to get the drive to catch and continue to spin up but just as before, the magic faded and so did the movement within the core. He had just enough time to see the power readings activate and then die again.

“It’s not working,” said Rip. “I briefly got a reading which suggests something is draining it as quickly as we’re putting energy in, but I can’t see what that would be, given that literally nothing on this ship is working.”

“I have an idea,” said John, with an edge of guilt to his voice. “It’s the bloody candle.”

Rip stopped what he was doing for a moment.

“Candle? What candle?” he asked.

He knew he’d said something wrong the moment it was out of his mouth and suddenly John was in his face, looking him over and then staring into his eyes.

“Your pupils are fine,” said John. “Are you feeling dizzy or tired or just… not yourself?”

“I’m fine,” said Rip, crossly. “I’ve got a ship to fix. Can you provide more energy than your second try?”

“I can but what good would it do us?”

“Perhaps if we can just get over the threshold of the energy drain then we can get enough to jump start the drive. Once it’s going then it may be able to…” he thought for a moment. The words he wanted were just beyond his reach. “May be able to… bloody hell, I know this ship like the back of my hand. I know what I mean. I just need to spark the drive and then it will transfer power to the engines.”

“Rip, I already tried and it didn’t work. More power won’t help because that would just get drained off too as soon as the drive is up. This is stuff you should know. I don’t know why I’m the one telling you,” said John. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Erm, before entering the engine room, the red swirling thing in the distance,” said Rip.

“And before that?”

“Bringing the painting on board, looking through texts by Crowley for the revealing spell. I definitely remember setting up the spell in the cargo bay and then medbay. Why do you ask? Am I missing something? Am I missing… time?”

“Memories,” said John. “I think you’re missing memories or maybe knowledge... I think this is to do with Kimaris. Do you remember I said that the scriptures tell of him wanting to turn the sun black, put out the stars and dim the minds of men? This sounds like it would come under dimming men’s minds. Having less knowledge is a metaphorically dimming, I’d say.”

“Who is Kimaris?” asked Rip.

“You don’t know? A demon,” said John. “The darklight candle is an object used in his summoning. I told you back in the pub. That’s not good, Rip.”

“I definitely remember a discussion in the pub about a demon summoning but the exact details are fuzzy, like they’re just out of reach in my mind,” said Rip, worriedly. “It’s strange that I remember us talking, I remember the beer and parking the Waverider before that.”

His plans to pretend to be fine had gone down in flames very quickly it seemed. John was far too perceptive to keep much from him, especially when Rip’s memory was clearly too faulty to let him lie convincingly.

“Maybe it isn’t. It makes sense that knowledge of Kimaris is the first thing it would wipe and then it’s snatching specialist knowledge from you that would be useful to get us out of this mess. I need to find a way of containing that candle,” said John.

“But you’re not forgetting things,” said Rip. “At least I don’t think you are?”

“As far as I can tell, I’m not, but I didn’t take the candle from its hiding place or hold it for as long as you did,” said John.

Or stare into the comforting darkness that whispered gently in his ear, Rip added to himself. It had seemed so easy at the time, to just listen to the words. He had literally had to remind himself that magical artefacts were dangerous, shouted it in his mind, before he could break away.

“How much am I going to lose?”

“I don’t know, but if feels like you’re losing specific information rather than just general memories. The sooner I stop whatever this is the better,” said John, seriously. “I don’t have my books or anything else so I’m just going to have to hope it responds to something I’ve learnt.”

Rip held up a finger to stop John dashing off to do whatever he was going to do.

“If I’m going to keep forgetting information then I need you to know some things. The manuals for the Waverider are kept here,” said Rip, going to an alcove beside the engines and taking out one of the large books. “There are instructions in there for restarting the engines if you need them. If you can get the power back on then Gideon should reboot automatically and she can pilot you home.”

“Rip, there’s no way I’m going to be able to understand that,” said John, looking at the large manual that was in Rip’s hands.

“You can if you put your mind to it,” said Rip. “If you can untangle a Sumerian demon summoning spell then I’m fairly sure that you can understand instructions to turn an engine back on.”

“Didn’t you say that it was a bit tricky just now?” asked John, plaintively.

“I did, which is why I’m going to write you some instructions in case I forget before we need it,” said Rip, taking out a pen and grabbing the clipboard which he usually used for checklists.

“Yeah, I’m better off making sure we don’t need those,” said John. “Are you going to be okay if I leave you here while I deal with the candle? I don’t want you getting close to it again in case that speeds things up.”

“We don’t have much choice do we? The door doesn’t open and I need to write down as much as I can before I forget more,” said Rip. “And I don’t think either of us want to risk proximity hastening the loss of my knowledge.”

“I don’t like leaving you on your own like this. There’s more going on here than I expected and that bad feeling I had isn’t gone,” said John, shoving his hands deeply into his pockets, and then he clearly thought of something as he began rummaging in those same pockets. “Hang on, I’ve got something here that I can leave with you, just in case.”

“John, whatever it is, there’s no guarantee I’ll remember how to use it,” said Rip.

“I know, which is why I’m going to keep it simple,” replied John, and finally pulled out a blue ballpoint pen from his pocket. “Give me your hand.”

“What are you doing?”

“It’s sort of part ward and part fuck off demons,” said John, grabbing Rip’s right hand and then starting to draw on the back of it. “All you have to do is point it at whatever’s causing you bother and put enough intention behind it to activate it. It’ll keep any demon at bay, maybe banish a lesser one if you’re forceful enough, and I’m going to link it to me so that if you do feel the need to use it, I’ll know.”

John used the same symbol on the back of his own hand although perhaps slightly altered. Rip wasn’t completely sure as it might just be poor penmanship.

“Okay, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” said John, and with that he opened a portal into the corridor again, taking one of the lanterns with him.

“Stay safe,” said Rip. “No heroics.”

John smirked.

“Me? You’ve sadly misjudged me I’m afraid,” said John, and stepped backward through the portal into the corridor, closing it behind him.

“I don’t think so,” said Rip, to the empty room and his words bounced back to him.

The darkness felt more enclosing and oppressive now that he was alone in the echoing chamber of the engine room. He opened the manual which detailed the cold restart procedures. Normally he wouldn’t have needed the book at all, the knowledge was so ingrained in his head, but at the moment he couldn’t trust himself.

He began to write, detailing exactly where to find each control and trying to remember what the pitfalls of the procedure were. He couldn’t help but feel that this was hopeless. John was not used to dealing with machinery and had no experience of engineering as far as Rip could remember. He had only been on board the Waverider once before and it hadn’t been a long visit. Many of the controls weren’t marked or even had identifying features because Time Masters were expected to know their ships. Rip had tried to be positive with his friend, but if it came down to it then he wasn’t at all confident that John could do what needed to be done.

Rip went over to his tool box and rummaged around, pulling out the electrical tape that came in different colours. He smiled at himself in the dark. Colour coding certainly wouldn’t go amiss, and then he could stick labels to the various systems too. He would just need to be extremely clear in his instructions and he had very little time to get it all done.

John sprinted back to the cargo bay and found the upturned crate exactly where he’d left it. Somehow that was a surprise because this thing seemed to be powerful and surely a crate shouldn’t still be on top of it, but John would take whatever breaks he could get.

The painting also still sat in the middle of the circle, looking much flatter and more normal than it had been. John went to it and carefully examined it. The blonde woman in the picture looked back at him, her eyes clear and bright but without emotion or movement. It seemed that it was just a picture once more. He picked it up and moved it to the edge of the cargo bay, propping it up against the wall, and examined the circle that he’d drawn. It was a bit scuffed in places after the spell casting, but it wasn’t too badly damaged. Some of the runes would need replacing, but he could redraw it as a magic circle of protection. Nothing evil should be able to penetrate the protective barrier of a strong magic circle. They had originally been invented by Elizabeth I’s court sorcerer, John Dee, and he had used the fundamental magical principals that all spells drew upon, including making use of the strength of one of the purest mathematical shapes possible. The only thing better would be a sphere, but it wasn’t like those could be drawn on a floor.

John set about redrawing the runes and remaking the circle as a Thelemic ring of protection against the demon Kimaris. He had luckily memorised the demon’s sigil some time ago when he’d first realised which demon the Cult of the Stone Soul was attempting to summon. That was something he was quite glad of now. The ring of protection was less fresh in his mind. Thelema definitely wasn’t his chosen brand of magic, but it was obviously what this magical device responded to otherwise they’d never have even got it out of the painting.

John briefly considered whether he could just put the candle back where they had found it, but that had been a job the first time and he refused to put Rip in danger again. He really didn’t want to expose him to the darklight candle a second time. He wondered if the candle had recognised just what a repository of knowledge Rip was, with all of his many years of time travel and training. Taking Rip’s knowledge was probably very attractive to the candle, and John was definitely thinking of it as if it was an entity, not just a device. He was slightly dreading removing it from the crate again and giving it more chance to whisper to him. However, he was John Constantine and had faced down more demonic items than he’d had bacon butties, so he could probably manage to ignore the whispers long enough to deal with it.

He checked all the runes and other symbols were aligned properly one last time, eyeing them up with his outstretched arm, almost like a painter trying to get his perspective correct. He needed to get this right and save Rip’s mind from losing anymore of its precious expertise.

John took a deep breath and approached the crate. He lifted it up and the candle was exactly as it was when he left it, still doing whatever the opposite of glowing was with an inky antithesis of light. John immediately felt it reach out with its ravenous wisps and try to whisper in his head. Once again he was ready for it, but it was so hard to look away, and for a moment he forgot what he was doing.

Where was the candle placed in the ritual shape?

What did that rune on the left of the circle mean?

They were small facts, nothing life threatening. John realised that was how it worked. It would worm in and take the small things, then the small things became bigger things and before he’d notice what was happening all of his had learnt spells would be gone.

“No,” he said. “I’m not playing your game. Into the circle you go and you can stop your bloody whispering in my ear because that isn’t working on my anymore.”

He put the candle down in the centre and then quickly stepped back outside the circle. His head was immediately quieter and he breathed a sigh of relief. He readied himself to start the spell to activate the circle and then stopped.

He opened his mouth and stopped, frowning. He tried to start the spell again and once again stalled.

“Bloody hell, you sodding took the first word of the spell didn’t you?” he said accusingly, looking at the candle. “You little arsehole.”

How was he going to do this if he couldn’t even start with the right word?

The Waverider was cooling slowly as the cold darkness of space sucked the heat from the hull of the ship, but Rip knew that they had a little time. He was struggling to calculate exactly how much because a lot of his knowledge of maths seems to have disappeared. That knowledge wasn’t his main concern though.

Rip scribbled as quickly as he could, trying desperately to get everything out of his head and onto the page. He was vaguely reminded of his physics teacher at the academy who had once explained the information paradox of blackholes to him. There was a thorny question, first raised by Stephen Hawking in the 1970s, about whether blackholes obliterated information in their interior or if they actually emitted some, creating what was later termed “Hawking Radiation”. Rip didn’t remember exactly what the outcome was to the issue although it seemed to somehow prove that over a very long time period a blackhole might eventually spew out enough information that it vanished entirely. He wondered if the anomaly that they had seen from the Waverider’s cockpit window was actually a blackhole and if it would therefore evaporate if given long enough and fed enough information.

He pulled himself back to the task at hand, he couldn’t get distracted. He must get down everything that he knew about the time drive re-start process before he lost anything and left John unable to return home.

“It’s too late,” said a voice. “You’re already losing things. Important things.”

Rip turned to see a black shadow in the shape of a humanoid figure with red glowing eyes and edges. The entity was semi-transparent and barely visible in the already dark engine room, but the red flickering around his edges made the shape perceptible.

“I don’t remember John mentioning hallucinations,” said Rip, “but then apparently I’m forgetting a few things.”

A fiery smile split the shadow face.

“Indeed, and such things are fuel to my bonfire of information,” said the figure. “The ignorance of men has long been my goal. I have no issue about continuing my return to power with you.”

Rip briefly stopped what he was doing, suddenly realising who it was who he was speaking to.

“Ah, you must be the demon that John’s cultists were attempting to summon. A little knowledge is definitely a dangerous thing, but it is possible to achieve so much good with scholarship,” replied Rip. “Is that why you’re so against humans understanding and learning?”

“You have no right to the knowledge of the world. You stole it from the tree like the stupid monkey that you are,” said the demon. “A cunning little pet with too much indulgence heaped upon you. You need to be brought in line.”

“But you’re not completely here yet, are you? Otherwise, I don’t expect we’d be having this conversation.”

“It will not be long before I have what I need to become whole. Once I am manifested, I shall enjoy feeding upon the titbits of learning that your brain will still be full of. I will suck you dry of everything you have ever committed to memory before this day is out,” said the grinning demon.

“I very much doubt that,” replied Rip.

“I do not deal in doubts,” said the demon, flames licking up its sides and arms, casting new shadows into the corners of the room and a red, ominous light. “My will is a certainty. Doubts are for humans.”

“I suppose I see your point. It is very human to doubt, and we do it a lot. We are prone to second guessing ourselves and even doubting our own convictions. Doubt is also quite useful though, it stops us from making mistakes when we need to check our reasoning. But I digress, demons are quite powerful entities so I can see why you expect to win. I am sure that I would in your place too. The reason I doubt your words is because I don’t think you’ve ever met John Constantine before this,” said Rip, confidently. “I have absolutely no reservations that he is more than your match.”

The demon grinned again and then burst into laughter. It was rotten, mocking laughter that held no mirth and was extremely unpleasant to listen to. Rip was relieved when the demon stopped and spoke.

“But this was all to bring him here, with his friend, the time traveller,” said the figure. “And it worked perfectly. You are both here and I am in control. I am the 66^th demon of the key of Solomon, I am not so easily defeated by the likes of you, and I specialise in manipulating information. I am the master of the triangle and the hexagon, and your little curses and wards will not stop me. He had no defence against me, and in dooming himself he has brought you with him.”

Rip frowned now. That couldn’t be true. Hardly anyone was even aware that he occasionally helped the exorcist and John was too good to tell anyone who would use it against him. He was always one step ahead of whatever he was chasing.

Until he wasn’t.

Until the world came crashing down around him because he’d underestimated something or not understood what he was up against. Rip suddenly felt a coldness begin in his stomach, which he knew had nothing to do with the real temperature of the room he was in.

“You’re lying,” said Rip, not willing to believe a demon or give it the satisfaction of thinking itself believed.

John had once taught him the basic Latin exorcism because it was something he might need one day. He’d also given him the text of wards to learn by heart and symbols of protection to carve, but Rip wasn’t sure he could remember any of that. The Waverider had certain symbols carved into its hull thanks to John’s last visit, but they obviously hadn’t worked against this demon. Perhaps it was just too powerful.

“I told you that I don’t deal in doubt. I don’t deal in lies either. I make the truth serve me,” said the demon. “The terrible truth that humans don’t want to hear or even acknowledge. I deal in the currency of terrible knowledge. I am the knowledge of the evils done by man unto man, the wars, the deaths, the pain and fear, and when this world is ended it will all return to me. The earth is wicked and you all will be damned to hell, but you knowledge will be mine.”

“That’s you outside, isn’t it?” Rip asked. “The red swirling thing. That’s your true form.”

“You are perceptive, I will give you that, it must be hard when you mind is so crammed full of information,” said the demon, and he raised a clawed hand of darkness towards Rip. “You are over burdened with knowledge. I sense that even you wish that you could unlearn some things. Give them to me willingly and I will reward you. You would not miss such things,” the demon purred. “That village you found in Vietnam… The bombing in Ireland… The woman in Whitechapel…”

Rip shook his head and took a step back. He didn’t want to think about any of those incidents, or to acknowledge that he had learned valuable lessons from each one, but he had. Every hard thing that had happened to him in his life had taught him something, and he was nothing if not a student of history.

“No, my knowledge is my own, no matter how I gained it and whether I wish I hadn’t,” said Rip. “I wouldn’t be who I am without it. We don’t forget the knowledge of the terrible things done by man, we try to do better and prevent it from happening again. Those who seek to rewrite history or to remove our past are usually the ones who want to repeat it. It sounds as if that’s what you want too, to plunge humanity back into a dark age from which we will never return, and I will never let you do that without fighting you to my very last strength.”

He would have given anything for a portal spell about now, but John was elsewhere and there was no way to reach him.

“All I need is enough to reach through these walls and get to my candle. You heard me whispering in the dark and now you must answer me,” said the demon. “Give me your knowledge and let me feed.”

“No!” shouted Rip. “No! You cannot have my hard earned experience. I will not willingly give you a single fact from my head. You will have to take them.”

“Then take them I will,” said the figure, and it almost seemed to grow fiery fangs.

Rip moved back again until his back was against the door. He held up his hand and saw a strange circle on the back of it. He remembered John drawing it earlier for protection, but it had slipped his mind until he’d seen it and now Rip needed to remember how to use it. That was something that he knew he would struggle with.

There were hundreds of spells of protection, and hundred of wards that would stop demons and dispel evil spirits, and Rip couldn’t remember a single one. But he would not give in.

“Stop! You cannot have them!” he shouted. “Just… go away!”

He pushed the hand towards the demon in a gesture that reinforced the word stop and he put all of his might into thinking about repelling the demon. To his utmost surprise, it worked and suddenly the demon was collapsing in on itself and turning into whisps of smoke that rose and swarmed in the air. The particles swept to the ground and then seemed to disappear under the door, seeping out of the room. Rip took a deep breath.

“The power of intention,” he muttered. “Thank you, John.”

He knew he still had work to do though and he couldn’t trust his own head for much longer. He grabbed his notes and began writing again, numbering every instruction.

John had decided to work backwards through the spell in order to turn the first word into the last and had finally made it back to the beginning. Whilst the technique hadn’t exactly worked, it had helped him to work out what the word might be. So, he was about to start the spell that would hopefully disarm the candle for good, when he felt the circle on the back of his hand tingle and then it lit up like a Christmas tree for about five seconds before it went dark once more.

“Oh shit,” said John. “Rip.”

He turned away from what he was doing, grabbed the lantern he’d put on the floor beside him, and ran full pelt down up the stairs back towards the engine room. He came to a halt abruptly only a few steps outside the cargo bay as a trail of smoke seemed to slither along the deck plating, turning it dark and shadowy as it went. It came within a few feet of John and it congealed into a humanoid shape.

John immediately held out his hand to attempt to ward off whatever this was. His first guess was something to do with the candle behind him, but that was too neat. This may be made of shadows but it had energy and a shape.

“John Constantine,” said the figure, its dark edges turning fiery and red as the it’s face was split by the slash of flaming lips. “Finally, I get to meet my benefactor.”

“Benefactor? I think you’ve got the wrong bloke,” said John.

“But we are here, in my space, and I am the closest that I have ever been to being free,” said the figure.

“Kimaris,” said John, putting a name to the entity, “you’re him. The one we’ve been trying to stop the Cult of the Stone Soul from summoning.”

“You are a little late,” said Kimaris, “give me more power and I will be fully manifest.”

“Not if I can bloody well help it, and if you’ve touched a hair on my friend’s head then I’ll make sure the end of your existence is painful and lingering.”

Kimaris laughed.

“You think I haven’t played this game before. Humans think they are so smart,” said the demon, and before John’s eyes the shadows fell away and suddenly there was a tall, blond man, wearing a white, pressed shirt, with perfectly tailored black trousers and a black waistcoat.

“The Thin White Duke,” said John, recognising the dark alter ego of David Bowie.

“The same,” replied the man in the white suit.

“Bowie blamed the cocaine and tangling with the occult, but I guess he had an inkling he wasn’t in charge during that period otherwise he wouldn’t have put it in the song. People said he wasn’t the same man when he was the Thin White Duke. He really wasn’t was he?”

The demon’s smile grew.

“He was not, but it’s not like he didn’t benefit from the results,” said Kimaris.

“I think he’d have preferred not to be possessed, and I doubt he really felt like fascism had all the answers,” said John, having to take a moment to just understand that one of his favourite rock legends had been possessed by a demon and written some amazing songs whilst that was happening. Although perhaps that made some of the lyrics of Station to Station a little clearer in their meaning.

“I’d have continued to reside in his body, feeding and growing, if it weren’t for an unfortunate turn of events,” said Kimaris.

“He quit the cocaine and got clean,” said John, thinking about what he knew about Bowie during that period. “It was the drugs. They made him vulnerable to you and your tricks.”

“They opened his mind to the possibilities and I simply stepped in,” said Kimaris. “But I am not here to discuss the past. I have woven the knowledge of years to reach this point and now I expect you to do your part, as your friend and his timeship have done.”

“What did you do with Rip?” asked John, suddenly concerned.

The circle on the back of his hand was still there and that meant the circle it was connected to still existed and the person it was drawn on had a pulse. Rip was still alive, but he had no idea what state his friend might be in.

“Your friend is alive and trying to piece together the remains of his learning, merely missing a few of his choicest bits of skill,” said Kimaris, “they were very tasty. I had never hoped to encounter such a fantastic feast, but I will very much enjoy taking every single piece of knowledge he possesses and then yours too.”

“No,” said John, “that’s not happening. I’ve had more than enough of your utter bollocks.”

John pointed at Kimaris with the hand with the circle on the back, because that would only help channel his magic.

“Kimaris, I name thee and command thee to leave this place. I do this in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. You have no place here. I Iohannus Constantinus, cast you out. Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanis potestas, omnis infernalis adversarii, in nomine et virtute Domine.”

John knew the exorcism off by heart and he knew how much effort you had to put into it to make it work. Usually it required holy water and a priest, but John didn’t happen to have either of those things. It still made the demon in front of him recoil and convulse, but John needed something else to give him more power because even as the demon seemed to find the exorcism painful, it wasn’t stopping it from moving towards John.

“Who do you think you are to test me so?” asked the demon, suddenly reverting to its more shadowy form.

“I am John bloody Constantine and I think you can’t hurt me much or you’d have already done it. You’re not really properly in this dimension yet, are you? I guess Rip worked that out too,” said John, and turned and ran back down the steps to the cargo bay, taking them two at a time and then leaping the final three.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, magician,” said the demon.

“It’s the only game I know how to play,” replied John.

He looked around desperately for the painting which the candle had come from. It had been strong enough to contain the darklight candle, it definitely had power and Magritte was a skilled practitioner of magic, even if he had been a tricky one. He spotted it propped up against the wall where he’d left it and he threw it on the floor just outside the circle, not paying much attention to the fact it was probably worth several millions pounds.

He was reminded that this demon seemed attuned to Kabbalah and the Ordo Templi Orientis. He ripped off the shoe from his left foot and put it on the painting. He got a little vibration from the picture, so it still had significant magical properties and, if he was right, he could use that. He managed to get into position just as the demon coalesced back into the shape of a man.

“Return, return, return! Time sickeneth, and the space gapeth, and the voice of him that is, was and shall be crowned rattles in the throat of the mighty Ormen. Thou canst not pass by me, except thou have the mystery of the word of the abyss. I will fight with thee and overcome thee, except thou expound unto me the word of the abyss. Return! Return! Return!”

The shadowy demon seemed to collapse back into itself and then try to reform, but as John chanted the words again, it failed and failed and failed. Then it burst outwards with an unearthly scream, and evaporated into the air. The black smoke pushed towards the walls, then out through the skin of the ship, shoving John backwards so that he fell hard onto his back. The darkness had been forceful in its escape and John could feel how bruised his spine was.

He needed to check on Rip and soon, but first there was the candle to be dealt with. He got up onto all fours and crawled back to the candle, dragging it into the circle again. He managed to push himself to his feet and hobbled back to outside the circle.

“You, mate,” he said, glaring at the candle, “are going down. I’ve had enough.”

John put his shoe back on with annoyance and then formed the first word of the spell in his mouth and spat it at the candle that had tried to take it from him. He followed it with the rest of the spell, each word full of malicious intent to bind the evil where it was, and then it was done, the influence of the candle was contained and somehow it actually seemed to be putting out less darkness.

Suddenly the floor pitched under him and he just managed to put out a hand to stop himself from once again ending up on the floor.

“What was that?” he asked the empty room.

He went to the window in the door and could see the red swirly thing outside, and it seemed to be getting bigger.

“Arse! We’re going to be eaten by a sodding darkness demon,” said John.

He turned and ran back to the engine room, portaling through the door as quickly as he’d ever managed it. He found Rip frantically scribbling still.

“Rip, we’re moving. The candle’s dealt with. I need to get the engines started,” said John.

The man in front of him stopped scribbling and instead grabbed hold of John’s arm. The grip felt somewhat frantic and Rip’s eyes were full of despair.

“I tried,” said Rip. “I keep trying, but I’m losing it.”

“It’s okay,” said John, “just give me what you have.”

“What am I without my knowledge, John? I’ve spent my entire life learning my profession and a hundred and one other things,” said Rip. “I am the sum of the knowledge in my brain.”

“You’re Rip Hunter, aren’t you? The smartest man I’ve ever met, and I really need you to get us up and running again,” said John.

“I can’t,” said Rip, and he handed John the piece of paper that he’d been writing on.

John looked at it. At the top of the paper was Rip’s neat handwriting and perfectly numbered instructions. Further down it became incoherent. There were fragments of ideas there, but it wasn’t complete and a lot of it made no sense.

“Okay,” said John, “I can work with this.”

He began reading and went to the first of the switches that needed to flipped. He then got a bit stuck on the next step.

“Turn on the temporal delineator…” read John and looked for the switch, finding it with a piece of red electrical tape next to it. It got worse from there though. “Bloody hell, ‘reverse the polarity of the neutron flow’, what does that even mean? Pure bollocks! Your ship is too bloody complicated, Rip.”

Rip hovered at his elbow.

“That one I think, erm, turn it slowly and it should work,” said Rip. “And then perhaps use the injectors?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s number seven, you’re ahead of yourself,” said John, finding another label and then opening up the time drive casing.

“Batteries,” said Rip, quickly, “you need to make sure the interlock is open or they won’t charge when the engine turns over!”

“Got it,” said John.

He went through the last few steps and was left with the final gauges to set and then a button to push. He took a final deep breath.

“I really hope this is right,” he said.

“I hope so too,” said Rip. “I wish I could remember, this should all be second nature.”

The time traveller was clearly frustrated and John put a hand on his shoulder briefly.

Then he pressed the button.

It took a moment, there was the sound whirring and clicking. Then the time drive spun to life, glowing and sparkling with energy. John laughed out loud and clapped his hands together with joy. He grabbed Rip and pulled him into a rather unwilling embrace.

“Mate, we did it!” said John.

“We did!” replied Rip.

John took out his pack of cigarettes and Rip snatched the pack from his hand.

“Oi!” said John.

“No smoking on the Waverider,” said Rip.

“Indeed, Captain,” said Gideon’s voice. “I would not want to have to use the fire extinguishers.”

“Gideon!” said Rip, with undisguised joy. “Open the doors to the engine room please, and jump us back to Earth.”

“Of course, Captain. Please come to the bridge and strap in,” she said. “The spatial anomaly has quite a gravitational pull.”

“Understood Gideon,” replied Rip. “We’re on our way.”

“And find us a volcano whilst you’re at it, we need to get rid of that candle,” said John.

“I have the perfect one,” said Gideon, sounding rather happy about it.

They left the engine room and headed up to the bridge. Rip walked towards the pilot’s seat and almost sat in it, but he then turned back to one of the passenger chairs and strapped in beside John, a slight slump to his shoulders. John could only imagine how disheartening it must be not to remember how to pilot his own ship. The engines strained for a moment.

“Gideon?” asked Rip.

“The anomaly is a strong gravitational force that appears to be increasing,” said Gideon.

“Gideon, cut in the emergency power and transfer power from life support,” said Rip.

“Yes, Captain,” said Gideon.

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea,” said John. “Are you sure that brain of yours hasn’t lost more marbles than you thought.”

“We can deal with a short period without life support, I promise. I’m not totally ignorant yet,” said Rip. “Gideon?”

There was the feel of additional power kicking in and then they broke away. They got far enough away to jump and then they were gone. Both men breathed a sigh of relief.

Rip had hoped that he would get some time alone before they dumped the candle into the volcano, but he should have known John wouldn’t allow that. The magician had gone to ensure that the candle in the cargo bay was properly contained and wouldn’t start draining the energy from everything on the ship again. As it was, he’d need to replace all of the batteries in his emergency torches and other supplies. He’d probably need to take the Waverider back to the Vanishing Point for a complete overhaul and explaining the reason for that was going to require some serious thought.

Rip got out the whiskey, put on David Bowie’s final album, which seemed an appropriate tone, and brooded in his parlour. He took out the Waverider’s manual and consoled himself by relearning some of the things that he’d lost. That was how John found him when he returned from dealing with the darklight candle, sat in his favourite chair with a glass in his hand and the book open on his lap.

“Thought I might find you with a drink in your hand,” said John.

“It seemed the appropriate response,” said Rip. “I assume everything is as it should be in my cargo bay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. The sooner we’re shot of that thing the better though,” said John, pouring himself a drink.

“If you remember, I did suggest that we should just drop it in a volcano immediately,” said Rip.

“But we had no idea if the candle was somewhere else and we were just throwing away out map to it,” said John, he sat down in the chair next to Rip’s. “I’m sorry that it got its hooks into you though.”

“I knew what I was getting myself into when I came to help,” said Rip.

“All you knew was that I needed help,” said John. “I appreciate that you didn’t have to come.”

There was a pause as both men drank their drinks.

“John, am I going to get my knowledge back once the candle is destroyed or is it gone for good?” asked Rip, staring into his glass.

“I don’t know,” said John, honestly. “We’ll just have to find out. You’re more than just what you know, Rip.”

“Am I?” asked Rip. “I’ve spent the majority of my life trying to learn as much as I can. I use that knowledge every day of my life and my brain is all I have. I am not particularly strong, I have no super powers or ability to use magic. But I am smart.”

“You’re still smart, you arsehole,” said John. “You’re sat there with the bloody manual reading it when you could just be drinking, or you know, reading something fun.”

“And when did you last read anything for fun?” Rip shot back.

John waved an annoyed hand in Rip’s direction, a shower of golden sparks appearing and then fading.

“Magic is fun,” said John.

“So’s time,” replied Rip.

“For you,” said John. “You get to be a bloody Time Master. The rest of us just have to live there.”

Rip hadn’t ever really thought of it like that, but he supposed that John had a point. It wasn’t wise to forget that his job had an impact on people’s lives.

“What do we do about Kimaris?” he asked instead.

“Nothing,” said John. “He wanted the Waverider because he needed someone close in order to come across. I think he had a plan to possess one of us once he was strong enough, but luckily we isolated the candle before he could get enough strength to do that. We’re going to cut off the conduit by dumping the candle, so that should do the job, along with my impromptu exorcism.”

“As long as you’re sure it will,” said Rip.

“You can’t ever be sure in my line of work, but I think it’ll be good enough. You can’t really keep demons at bay forever but we’ve done the best we could with this one and I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“I did nothing,” said Rip.

“Gideon, are we are at that volcano yet?” asked John.

“We are just arriving now, Mr Constantine,” said Gideon.

“You didn’t do nothing,” said John, “apart from being the taxi service, you wrote instructions that were good enough that I could restart your stupid engines.”

“Did you lose anything?” asked Rip, suddenly realising that he should have asked before now.

“A few bits. I don’t think it was much and it wasn’t as bad as what he took from you,” said John.

“Captain, if you wish to dispose of the artefact, now would be a good time to do it. I recommend that we don’t linger in the vicinity of an active volcano such as Mount Etna,” said Gideon.

“Agreed, Gideon,” said Rip, and he put down his glass. “Let’s go and see what happens.”

John nodded and downed the drink in his own glass before getting up and stretching.

The two of them went down to the cargo bay together, and without ceremony, John pitched the darklight candle out of the open cargo bay door and into the depths of the volcano. The winds from the open door buffeted them for a moment as they watched it fall and then disappear into the lava. Rip pulled the lever to close the door.

“Gideon, move us to a safe distance, please,” said Rip.

“Feeling anything?” asked John.

Rip was definitely feeling something, there was a twinge in his head and then a sharp pain. He found himself collapsing against the wall. He heard John calling his name but for a moment he wasn’t able to respond. Then it all came back in a rush, and fell back into its old positions like it had never been away.

Rip had to take several slow breaths, but he stood up and whilst the headache was there, it wasn’t overly painful.

“Huh. It’s back,” he said.

“I think mine is too,” said John, rubbing at his temple. “That bastard thing has a lot to answer for and I think we need some payback. How do you feel about breaking up the Cult of the Stone Soul? Who knows what those idiots will get themselves into next?”

Rip grinned.

“I am intrigued by your ideas, let’s go back to the parlour and we can work out the best way to ensure they never cause anyone any issues ever again,” said Rip.

And that was why Rip and John spent the next week hunting a guy named Bill who seemed to be the leader of the Cult of the Stone Soul, and ended up setting a house on fire, being accused of murder, getting kicked out of at least two bars and John adopting a cat. But that is a story for another time.