18

The crowds of tourists, entranced by the magic of the Orient, scuttled away at the sight of him. So did the obtrusive salesmen and the locals rambling around for their weekly shopping. The Grand Istanbul Bazaar was an enormous labyrinth of towering corridors and twisting arched ceilings, littered on both sides with stands and shops with various merchandise. From salt to leopard blood and hair from a deity, with the right connections and knowledge, everything was attainable.

Constantine wasn’t trying to avoid attention, quite the opposite. With his Prada suit and Tom Brown sunglasses, heads turned his way – in part because he didn’t belong there, but also because he was naturally good at making people feel uncomfortable. Besides, he was counting on the one he sought to notice him and crawl out of hiding.

Whoever that was, they had better hurry up because the narrow streets were a living hell for his senses. The air was thick with the scents of hundreds of herbs and spices, mixed with sweat and a thousand other human and non-human smells. And so many colours, bright and attractive, that nearly blinded him.

Nonetheless, some immortals chose to spend their days in such places. The Grand Bazaar was an infamous witch’s haunt, where easy spells brought easy money from tourists. Humans who weren’t into witchcraft could fall for other sorts of charms. Pickpocketing an unfortunate soul or two, while witches enchanted them with tales and bare skin, wasn’t uncommon, either.

As he roamed past stalls with silver and gold trinkets, a strange feeling crept over him—someone was watching him. It wasn’t the curious stares or the glances charged with sexual tension. This was different from what he had come for today. It felt like something else entirely, as if someone were hunting him. And somehow, he knew that whoever it was wouldn’t reveal themselves just yet.

Oh, Constantine enjoyed these games, but not when he was the target. A quick scan of the space would give him all the information about his stalker. He just needed a place to hide his skeleton for thirty seconds.

“You lost, handsome?” someone asked in a thick British accent.

He turned towards the speaker. She had a black shawl tied around her hair, with long dark curls escaping from underneath and cascading down her figure. Her yellow dress, with a waist belt, accentuated her alluring curves, as seductive as her sweet smile.

Constantine’s gaze dropped to the cleavage of her dress, which revealed more than it concealed. Nestled above it was a silver medallion shaped like a two-headed snake. “I’m searching for something,” he said, changing to Bulgarian.

“Often what you seek is also seeking you.” Fire burned in her dark eyes. “So long as you’re doing it right.”

He stepped closer. “Have you heard of any portals seeking me out recently?”

“Oh, yes! We have that in pure gold!” She raised her voice for everyone to hear, then turned to him with a stern expression. “Come with me!”

She grabbed him by the hand and dragged him down the corridor. They snuck into a small shop with a glass display case. Constantine scanned the inside of the shop, quickly noticing another witch in a corner trying to sell a pair of enormous silver earrings to a young woman. They’d been enhanced with magic, the witch explained, as she dangled them in the woman’s intrigued face. Magic for love. The moment the love of her life would see her with these earrings, he would immediately recognise her. Only in euros, of course. Just fifty. Yes, a little expensive, but completely worth it, since she’d find the man who would bring her much more than that.

“But I’m married!” The woman exclaimed, glancing towards Constantine.

Just as he disappeared into a small dark room with his witch, he heard the other one offer the woman earrings enchanted with magic for better sex. Then they were alone in what turned out to be a storage room, where shelves overflowed with boxes of jewels.

Leaning against one of the shelves, the witch inspected him closely. “Who are you?”

“My name is Dimitris. I’m just your regular vampire. Construction contractor, mainly doing business with the mortal world.” He gazed at her across the room.

“It shows. Otherwise, you’d know that some things mustn’t be spoken of so openly. Except, you don’t seem like a regular vampire to me.” She glanced at his expensive watch.

Witches didn’t have a strong sense of smell like other immortal species, so she couldn’t detect his necromancer scent, but the smell of money? Now that was something different.

“Don’t be fooled by the suit, darling. The kind of work I do requires me to live by certain standards.”

Her eyes continued to measure him, and he was ready to bet that she didn’t buy his story one bit. Her black-polished nails played with the snake around her neck. “I like you, so I’ll give you some advice. What you’re asking for is extremely dangerous. The information you seek will cost you greatly.”

“I will pay as much as I have to.”

She wrapped a black strand of hair around her finger, her calculating eyes never leaving Constantine’s. “Well… if you don’t hear it from me, someone else will tell you.”

Meaning someone else would get paid.

Her eyes darted to the door. “We can’t talk here. Tonight, be there at eight.” She passed him a note where she’d scribbled down an address.

***

Later that evening, Constantine relaxed on the witch’s tattered blue sofa, undisturbed by his nudity. At the other end of the room, still lying in bed, the witch lit up a cigarette, took a thirsty drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“Why does a successful man like you need to open a portal?” Her voice was a purr, her eyes following the vapour towards the smoke-stained ceiling.

Her name was Irene. She was smart, blunt and sagacious. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it. He didn’t mind it, either.

“Tell me why an intelligent witch like you is rotting away in this hellhole, selling her ass for pennies?”

She shifted in the bed, bringing his attention to her long legs and the thin sheet covering her waist, stretching down between her thighs. “I’m not selling my ass for pennies. I don’t sell it at all. I trade in magic. That’s what I sell.”

Constantine observed the ratty turquoise drapes, torn wallpaper and old furniture, and decided he’d pay her double what she asked for her services, however much that would be. And he was certain she would ask, no matter what she said about not being for sale.

As if reading his thoughts, she said, “Hey, pretty boy, you’re the one who’s sleeping around with a witch to get information.”

Constantine definitely liked her. “I have debts in my past I need to settle. The only way I can do that is with the help of a portal.”

Whoever had sent the box to the Hospital, they must have come through here. Maybe not through Irene exactly, possibly another witch, but in all of Europe, there wasn’t a single other place to receive detailed information about magic deals.

If he asked Irene directly, she would never give him an answer. While a witch might sell her heart for the right price, her loyalty to her clients remained unwavering. That was the first rule of the witch trade.

Constantine had his methods of forcing anyone to break even their most sacred vows, but he saved them as a last resort. He much preferred to stick to his basic rule – rather than risking blood stains on his expensive suits, he always chose to find another way to achieve his goals. More often than not, this way led to a bonus being thrown in for good measure.

“Once you open a portal, there’s no turning back,” Irene said.

“I know the risks.”

She put out her cigarette in the ashtray on the floor beside the bed. “The price is much steeper than it seems.”

“I’m ready to pay it.”

Irene threw the sheet aside and let her feet touch the ground, sitting on the edge of the bed. She didn’t try to hide what was between her thighs, or the perky nipples of her naked breasts. Constantine approved of the view. He loved all women, but most of all he loved those comfortable in their skin and confident in their desires. And such women, regardless of their species, were a rare find.

“You can go to the past and fix your problem, but when you come back to the present, you might not find anything. You may not even be the same when you come back. What the Higher Powers take is always different. But one thing is certain – what they take… it will definitely hurt.”

“Thanks for the warning, sweetheart, but you can’t change my mind.”

“All right, then. Alberobello, Italy. In the old part of the city, there’s a bar called The Witch. Ask for Mada.” She got up and approached him, taking off her medallion. “Tell her Irene sent you and show her this.”

“You’re giving me your necklace?”

A witch’s jewellery always carried some symbolic meaning that was usually much more valued than its worth in gold. They didn’t part with them this easily.

“Renenutet’s necklace. Replica.” Irene made herself comfortable in his lap. “Do you think I’d prance around with the original when there are so many thieves at the Bazaar?”

“And how will this Mada know the necklace is from you?”

“Trust me, she’ll know.”

Her palm caressed the skin of his chest, and her fingers crawled down his torso. Exhaustion burned in his muscles and his work with the witch was done, but her skilful movements stirred his arousal. He wrapped his hands around her waist, positioned her on top of his erection, and took the rest of his bonus.

***

Despite her affection towards him, Irene hadn’t hesitated to ask for a symbolic – as she’d called it – payment of one thousand euros for the information. He’d given her double. The next time he was in Istanbul, he planned to visit her again.

After midnight, he strode down the dirty streets. Irene’s apartment was so deep in the middle of nowhere, that even the navigation of his car had struggled to locate it, so he’d parked a few blocks down. Just as he reached the back street where his SUV was waiting, he felt that strange sensation again. Someone was watching him.

Constantine scanned the area. Down the street, a drunkard was leaning against a building for support. A group of youngsters were sitting in a circle on the pavement and passing around a bottle. They were so oblivious to the cold wind and the late hour, that they didn’t even notice the necromancer as he walked past.

He observed the lights of the nearest building. These blocks housed hundreds of people, perhaps creatures as well.

His senses tensed as they struggled to detect a possible threat, but the air promised no danger. There was somebody, however, whose attention was focused solely on him.

This game is ending. Right now.

Getting into his SUV, he locked the doors and disposed of his jacket and watch on the seat next to him. A deep breath later, the skin disappeared from his fingers. His bony fingers grasped the rear-view mirror and twisted it towards his face. For a moment, he recognised the two black holes where his eyes used to be, and in the next second, he was soaring. His skeleton was there, behind the wheel, wings tightly pushed against his spine. Constantine’s soul ascended just a little, enough to scan the perimeter.

Before he was able to detect anything, a strong hit met his weightless form, and he was back in the car. That fucking baseball bat again.

Taking off once more, he rose a couple of feet above the ground, but something pushed him back. He tried three more times, each as unsuccessful as the first two.

This is not over. His bones squeezed the wheel, gradually turning into fingers.

He dialled Mikhail. “I have a lead. She’s in Southern Italy.”

“You’re sure?” the manticore asked.

“I will be. I’m heading out now.” Constantine started the engine.

“Send me the coordinates. I’ll meet you there.”

“Brother, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for you to come.”

A growl sounded over the line. “I insist. I’ll see you in three days.”