Zatara #3

Editor's Note: This story takes place some time after the story currently taking progress in Justice Society of America.



His head swimming, stomach flipping, Zachary Zatara found himself somewhere he had never seen before. It was a sure thing he hadn't gone to sleep here; for one, the tacky grid on the walls made it look like an unfinished video game from about three generations previous.

No more all-out benders, no matter how fantastic the party was and how much more attractive the partygoers became with every sip. Ugh. Rolling his eyes, he opened his mouth, extending his hands before him. He'd soon sort this.

“.”

He frowned. Another try!

This time, he didn't even get the satisfaction of a punctuating squeak.

Breathing slowly in through his nose, he slowly exhaled and cleared his throat. True, he didn't strictly need to speak backwards in order to cast spells. It was just a focus. But it certainly helped, especially when the locale was unknown and...

There was that thing. That thing at the back of his mind that kept popping up. Maybe this wasn't such a bad place, after all. Surely it wasn't so bad. He didn't really want to leave.

Zach found himself smiling like an idiot for about 30 seconds before it occurred to him that it was what an idiot would do. Exactly what an idiot would do.

Then he scowled.



Eddie sat on the spartan but comfortable cot in his own cell, looking around himself idly every so often. If Zach were here, he thought, he'd be complaining about the décor. It should have been more upsetting that the magician was nowhere to be seen, but for some reason he didn't feel particularly distressed. Surely, if it were that important, Zatara would be right there.

Then Eddie frowned a little. There was something wrong in that line of thinking. He couldn't exactly put his (slightly clawlike) finger on it, but he knew something wasn't quite right. It didn't make sense for him to think that way. His tail whipped from side to side behind him.

Above all, it wasn't really his way of thinking. He suspected an intruder had been rummaging around in his head, and he didn't at all like that.

The door opened to admit a smartly-suited man, though the clothes did not fit his mien; he possessed the bearing of a thug, and not a particularly classy one. When he spoke, all mystery was gone: this man was a low-rent goon.

“Here ya go! With the chef's compliments. Or something.” The man didn't really seem to invest too much into being a superb waiter, or even a decent one.

But he did at least comport himself with inordinate politeness. He tried, as he made a little flourish before uncorking the wine and pouring half a glass. “Don't worry, 's all organic and we ain't put any poison in.”

The candor of the admission jarred Eddie slightly, and his temperature rose. “Uh...okay. Thank you.”

“Better eat up! You're gonna be our headliner tonight!” The thug laughed far too heartily for his comment, which couldn't be that amusing even for anyone who knew what he happened to be talking about. “Guess that's a change from being second banana to that Zatara guy, right?”

Before Eddie could answer, he was alone again, the door shut as he remained sitting on the cot. He slowly sighed, leaning back on his hands. Why hadn't he made for the door, which sat open the whole time? What did that jerk mean about him being a headliner?

But he mentioned Zach. Where could his friend be now?

That needed to be a priority, Eddie decided. He needed to find Zatara and get out of this place...wherever and whatever it was. The way that man laughed made it clear that the prospect of being a headliner of any kind here was not something to be envied.

Eddie looked to dinner, and his eyes smouldered.



“I don't want to hear it.”

“'s not what you think, love! I swear, I didn't–”

“I don't care, Constantine!”

“Now listen, you've got to listen to me, there's something–”

“I. Don't. Care.”

“Zach.”

Zatanna threw her hands up, not at all concerned about making a scene. Because she was, in fact, making a scene; John Constantine stood before her, dressed as usual in fairly-poor fashion, complete with beaten and pathetic trenchcoat. The locale, however, couldn't have been better-chosen, as it meant they were largely ignored.

Their confrontation currently unfolded in the middle of a Las Vegas casino, themed suitably in ancient Egyptian style.

“What about Zach?” Zatanna huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “Look, you can do whatever you want with Zach. It's not my life, not my business.”

One corner of John's mouth twitched into a half-grin. “Oh, is that so?”

Even if she hadn't been dressed in her “working clothes” – tux-leotard, fishnets and boots, striking and attention-grabbing for the stage – it would have been impossible for Zatanna to blend in anywhere but Vegas. Her aura always reached out, beyond her natural beauty and striking fashion choices. But something about a city made to glitter and shine, all gloss and facades, suited such a radiant light. It meant she could hide, if she wanted to.

From anyone but John Constantine.

He always knew how to push her buttons. All of them. Usually at the same time.

“John, you have exactly fifteen seconds to say your piece and vanish into the crowd. I told you I don't want to see you right now.”

“Something...odd's happened to Zach. Eddie too. They're gone without a trace.”

That was enough to make Zatanna drop her arms to her sides. Something genuinely odd for John Constantine merited note. “What?”

“Parties are dime-a-dozen in this town.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Pop up like summer showers and then they're gone again as quick. Last I heard, they were bound for one of 'em.”

“That's not out of the ordinary for Zach.”

“That's not what I'm saying.” John drew a little closer, carefully, lowering his voice but still keeping it loud enough to be heard between the two of them, over the din of jangling music from slot machines and the occasional clatter of coins. “Old John's done a bit of asking about. The only traces I could find...well, after a little...persuasion,” his grin spread, “got a bit more information.”

But then his face went deadly serious. “Listen, I know the last thing you want is to have to spend more time with me than's strictly necessary right now, but I need you.”

Zatanna drew in a breath, then looked away, cursing inwardly. Even after all that had happened, hearing those words from the man still touched her inside, in her tenderest, most vulnerable hiding place.

It was always so easy, so rewarding, to make a decision and think you were doing the mature thing. The adult thing. What no one ever told them was that the decision is never as clear-cut as it seemed. There was no “happily ever after” or “happily apart ever after” when running in the circles of the magus. Everything had webs. Everything connected.

She turned to meet his gaze. “All right.” Her voice barely carried above the ambient noise. “Where do we start?”



“Roulette.” The voice came from a man dressed essentially as a majordomo, who swept into the control room almost as if he owned it. He clearly held some authority, as well as a comfort and familiarity with the layout, but a certain deference existed. “Just about time for the main event.”

“What's the status on the headliners?” The woman seated in the chair was of striking appearance: violet hair tied into a bun with loose little curls wispy around her strong-featured face, eyes covered with smoky-dark glasses, fit body all but poured into a slit-hip qipao.

The two did not suit each other in style, but each's ease with the other signified a long-running professional relationship, at the very least.

“They've rested, been fed. We're starting the penultimate-wave subliminals to prepare them for the arena. Subtle sound wave muscle stimulation massage in their cells.”

“Excellent.” Roulette steepled her hands as her eyes drifted from one monitor to the next: the stands were filling with villains of all kinds, costumed and plain-clothed, titled and aliased. Tonight would be a lucrative night, with two fairly well-known figures. “What about the second act?”

“Food is about to be delivered, then subsequent processes, et cetera, same as headliners.”

The woman pushed up to her feet and turned to face him. “Excellent. Zachary Zatara may not be as well-known as his uncle – even his cousin – but it's a famous name at least. He should give a good show against this...King Chimera, wasn't it?”

“Supposedly related to the King, the mysterious crusader from the 1940s.”

“Notable yet again. I've read his dossier. Illusion powers, it'll be handy to see how that works against magic.” A pause, and she shifted to move past the man, towards the door out. “His magic is being suppressed successfully, I trust.”

“To a superlative level,” the man answered, moving to follow at a polite distance.

“Good.” She turned a corner, continuing down another richly-decorated corridor, along a lush crimson carpet. “I was hesitant to even think about getting a magus here. When someone can do literally anything, it doesn't always make for a good fight. And it's not always the safest option for us.”

“I assure you, there's nothing to worry about with this one. He's scarcely even moved. With how much he drank last night, it's a miracle he can move.” The man made a face, briefly. “However, he should be in fighting form by the time he's needed. The food should flush the last of it from his system.”

Roulette smirked. “If he lasts, maybe I'll start a drinking-contest attraction.” She adjusted her glasses and stepped, alone, into the next room, as the man waited at the door. “Too bad he's on the other side of the arena. That might have been fun.”



Eddie really, really didn't like it. He couldn't even concentrate enough to break free of the single escort to the large doors. The arena unfolded before him, vast and dirt-floored, with a large black box hanging down from the domed ceiling like a chandelier: a quartet of screens plastered with his face and someone in a catlike cowl...Tomcat? Eddie was sure he could place the name, if only he could think deeper than he currently felt able...

Then, as he drew closer to the center of the arena, he could feel something...like a ringing in his ears, but it cut into his very thoughts. Everything suddenly went fuzzy. He couldn't get his mind around it.

“Ladies and gentlemen – the event you've been waiting for!” A voice rang out over the speakers, to wild cheering.

Eddie summoned up all the strength of will that he could muster and looked around at the spectators. It sent a chill up his back. Even in his state, he could recognize so many of them. And as foul and as villainous as they were, it seemed the situation he and Zach had found themselves in was even worse.

The voice echoing around the place babbled about something or other; Eddie couldn't summon up the attention span to follow it. Everything had become so difficult to focus on. He needed to find his way to the door. He needed to escape.

“Speak the words!”

Eddie suddenly thrust his fist into the air, like Tomcat across from him, and as one they shouted.

“We who are about to die – salute you!”



“Guess you won't want wine, after all you had to drink yesterday!” The thug blithely chattered at Zach, as he sat very still on his cot, observing the revelation of his dinner. “So I brought'cha some water with your food. Good to clean out the system! And a multivitamin.”

Zach smiled, so bright, so broad, face veritably lighting up as he rose and casually made his way over. “Thank you! You know, I've stayed at fine hotels that couldn't even muster this level of service. Really, it looks wonderful. I really appreciate it.”

“No problemo, kid! Just give 'em a good show out there. Hope you survive.”

“Me too. Say, what was that?” Zatara pointed out the open doorway. “It looked like a...some guy in tights. Super-types, am I right?” With a chuckle, he shook his head and shrugged.

The other man, however, seemed slightly more perturbed. He reached into his jacket and drew out a gun, hurrying into the doorway. “I don't see any–”

That particular thought never completed, interrupted by the forceful meeting of his head with a metal tray cover.

“Then see some stars. Idiot.” Zach stepped over the man, kneeling down to take his gun and inspect it.

He didn't particularly care for guns, but in a place like this, it could very well come in handy. Wherever they were, judging by what the man said, they were in mortal danger...and they may not be the only ones.

Kicking the man to roll him inside the cell, he reached over to activate the door. That should buy me some time, he thought.

As he rushed down the hallway, he could hear a terrible noise from somewhere close. It sounded like they were under a stadium during a sports event or a concert, or something like that. Maybe they had been spirited away to a secret holding area underneath such a place – it would handily cover up both noise and activity.

After glancing around, he shot across the adjoining hallway and into a niche with controls and monitors. Dancing figures at his peripheral sight made him turn fully to look, and there he beheld something to explain the noise, the location, and perhaps why his bluff had worked so well too.

“Eddie!” The magician's eyes widened as he saw none other than the devilish youth standing in the expansive...colosseum?

And then, suddenly, his friend had his fist out, just like the other young man in the cat cowl.

“We who are about to die – salute you!”

Zach's jaw dropped. And then he set his jaw and turned, hurtling around another corner and almost into another man. Instantly he readied his fists. The guards, few in number though they were, he could assume all carried sidearms like the one who attended his cell.

But instead of another one of the thug's calibre, he found himself faced by a young man as impeccably dressed as he, with remarkably similar features. Perhaps a little darker complexion, slightly longer hair...but the way he carried himself was identical, and he was at least as well-dressed.

“Who's your tailor?” Zatara managed, looking him up and down.

The other man looked almost offended at first, but his visage quickly melted into a particularly self-assured grin. “So you at least live up to your reputation.”

Zach snorted, not quite contemptuous. More dismissive. “I have a lot of those. It depends on what magazines you read and which websites you frequent.”

“I'm with the Justice Society,” the other fellow replied, with a tone that could almost be called boastful. “King Chimera.”

“Titular only, I take it.”

Now it was Chimera's turn to snort, but amusement clearly gleamed in his eyes. “You could say that.”

“So, what brings you here?” Then Zach shook his head, as if clearing it of something nagging inside. “No. No, no more pleasantries. It's this damned place, they're flooding subliminal messages to stop us from trying to break ourselves or anyone else out.”

King Chimera gestured with one hand, the other on his hip. “That's why I said you live up to your reputation. Most can't just shrug off this kind of high-level subliminal assault. Fortunately, they greatly underestimated my ability.”

“Which would be what, exactly? And please don't tell me a snake comes out of your ass or I'm leaving.”

“Illusions!” Chimera grandly waved his hands.

Zach had to admit, this man had a certain presence that would have fit right in on any of his stage acts. “So we have some overlapping interests. Listen, are you here to get people out of here?”

“That's right.” The smartly-dressed King tilted his chin up. “Actually, I came along to help the Society take down Roulette and the House once and for all. Due to my superior abilities, they only thought they were conditioning the real me. I've been free all this time, I've just...persuaded everyone that they don't in fact notice me.”

“Except I could see you.”

King Chimera's brow lowered, just a bit. “You're trained to. They aren't.”

“Yes, well, if I can, then other people stand a chance. However minuscule that possibility may be. Can I trust you to liberate our less fortunate compatriots here and notify the Justice Society?”

“As it happens, I've already notified them.”

“Good, good.” Zach gestured to the space behind him. “And with your peerless illusory abilities, you should be able to break their conditioning en masse and get them out of here, right?”

“A mere trifling, of course.” Chimera steadily began to regroup, puffing out his chest a bit.

“All right, good.” The magician grinned a particularly nasty grin. “There's just one more bit of information I need from you.”



Tomcat fought like a savage, but Eddie fought like a devil. Both of them would surely be bruised, maybe even have a few cracked ribs after their fight. Neither boasted a bloodlust, but something – something beneath the waves rippling across the mind's surface – stoked a desire for violence within them.

Eddie's vision swam. It seemed almost as if he were a passenger rather than the conductor in the train of his body. His claws slashed without his conscious bidding, his mouth belched fire, and Tomcat dodged and parried and at last caught fire.

The crowd went wild, but instead of giving them the satisfaction of a flash-fire end, the cat-cowled champion simply ripped his costume off as his form shifted to a lithe, black, furred form somewhere between feline and humanoid. Muscles shimmered as they flexed, eyes glowed, and he hissed and rowled before tackling Eddie to the dust.

The battle grew even more interesting.



Smoke hung heavy in the air as the two figures shambled in from the street outside. From the way the patrons bristled, it was clear they recognized at least half of the pair, but they kept quiet and to themselves. Apparently they just couldn't figure out the other half, the John Constantine half.

He certainly didn't look like a superhero type, but then the magical ones rarely did exactly. But he was smoking. And then they both were drinking.

No one approached. Some of those assembled slipped quietly out.

Eventually, a woman clad in a gold minidress, with hair done up in an elaborate fashion that could only be called “homage to the 60s”, approached the bar. She looked a bit like a figure skater, Zatanna reflected.

“So we're all wondering exactly what's going on? You know this is the Rogues' bar, right? Or is that why you came here?” A few thousand miles too far east for the Valley, she nonetheless captured a certain quality with her tone.

“Actually darling, that's exactly why we came.” John lifted his already half-drained glass to her, picking up his cigarette and taking a puff. “Because who can engage the vices like villainy, am I right?” The cherry glowed and faded, smoke curling ribbonlike into the air next to him. “So what do they call you, besides 'gorgeous'?”

Zatanna rolled her eyes so hard she was surprised they didn't make some sort of suitable sound effect.

The woman leaned closer, and not coincidentally, this gave an ideal vision of décolletage. That must have been a strategic side effect of the already eye-catching outfit. “Golden Glider,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“You certainly are.” John grinned like a schoolboy, teeth showing and a glow in his eyes, in his cheeks, and right up to the tips of his ears.

Zatanna turned back to the bartender as he made his rounds. The man wore a patient, long-suffering expression; it was clearly steady work, but it must unquestionably have also been a significant source of daily stress.

“So, how about that local sports team?” She slid her glass towards him. “Hockey, right? Is it hockey?”

“It's hockey,” Glider chimed in, arms draped about John's shoulders.



Roulette stood, breathing slowly, before a larger-than-life painting of a man dressed in red tights and cowl, with a green tunic over it decorated with a gold and red logo reading “Fair Play” across it. She reached out and touched the words engraved in the plaque before her, which had the same words on it.

Her dreams, her visions, would not be quieted. Somehow, she knew what she was doing would lead to that promised day. Somehow...

“Roulette!” The voice came from outside the door. Fists pounding on it thumped echoing through the room, in all its darkened space. “Please – please! Open the door! I think he's going to – AAHHH!!!”

She pulled her glasses down just a bit, then pushed them up again and strode to the door. Her body, it could be said, was completely ready for whatever could come to engage her. The door slid open, and she stopped where she stood, eye to eye with Zachary Zatara.

“Mr. Kraken is a particularly valued member of this organization.” She tilted her head slightly to the side, gauging the magician's posture.

He offered a thin, slight smile. “Good help is so hard to find these days.” After a moment of silence between them, he offered, “He'll live. Very high-strung personnel you keep.”

“It has to do with our severance policy,” she answered, gesturing casually.

“I don't have time to mince words,” Zach replied. “Call off the fight right now, and maybe I'll be persuaded not to turn you into a suitably adorable rodent and deposit you in the nearest zoo.”

Roulette took a moment and then laughed a deep, long, sonorous laugh. “I've read your file, Zatara. You can't turn me into a rodent. At least, not for more than five minutes. Try again.” But then something dawned on her, and she leaned forward slightly. “You're speaking.”

“Extraordinary!” He retorted. “Have you thought about proclaiming yourself a detective and maybe doing an image change? Batsomething. Bat-Roulette. That works, right?” He rubbed his chin in thought. “On second thought, no. That sounds like something you'd use to talk to random Gotham strippers.”

She folded her arms before her, shifting her weight to one hip and not missing a beat. “I understood they fixed it so you couldn't. So how exactly is it you're speaking to me and, I might add, how is it you managed to slip past your...conditioning? Quality control, you understand.”

“If you're asking me to reveal how I beat your penny-ante subliminals, think again. It's supposed to be two-bit villains like you that blather incessantly about your plans before conveniently leaving the heroes to some needlessly elaborate death trap, isn't it? But that's where you made your crucial mistake. You thought I was one of those white-hat, capes-and-tights heroes, when the truth is I couldn't care less about your inane little power games.”

Initially her visage held no expression, completely impassive. And then she laughed again, even more robustly, shaking her head. “So are you calling me out? I don't normally make this kind of offer...but if you want to take me on, I can call off the current match. Just like that.”

“Accepted,” he snapped.

“Winner take all.” Roulette turned and continued to the control console, pressing a button on it and then turning to face Zach from where she stood. “And I do mean all. You'd better not show me any mercy, because I'm not going to show you any.”

“Please,” Zach answered, waving his hands before him. “I have too many possible romantic interests as it is. I don't think I could squeeze another one into my agenda.”

The woman kept smiling. “Don't think of me as a romantic interest. I have no investment in romance.”

A gleam lit in her eyes at about the same time it did Zach's. “Oh. Well then. Maybe there's a little spot just for you.”



The arena roared as the combatants wound down, coming to their senses. A tone swept over of resentment, of defiance – how dare their bloodlust not be sated! Even though there was plenty of it mixed with the dirt that made up the floor of the arena.

Eddie's head started to clear from the fog that swept his thoughts around. He could hear the voice over the speakers again, this time a bit weaker than before.

“Now taking bets – please place your bets with the clerks now passing throughout the stands. Place your bets now, ladies and gentlemen.”

The screens refreshed, flashing into face shots of Zatara and Roulette and displaying their respective stats.

The odds for Zach were less than good.

But the magician strode out onto the dirt anyway, and from the opposite direction came Roulette, looking very much like a lady lion sizing up her pack's dinner.

A sort of static still swirled around Zach's head, suppressed but extant nonetheless. The loudspeaker began to drone, and he shut out the actual words it spoke. At last, the phrase came, and Zach forgot himself; he thrust his fist into the air.

“We who are about to die – salute you!”

Wild-eyed, Zatara turned to face Roulette.

“You ****ing **** I'm going to **** your **** and stuff it up your **** with a ****ing **** right in your ****!!”

“Aggressors,” Roulette licked her lips. “I'm going to enjoy this.”

For an instant, it seemed as if Zach might actually have been trapped under the thrall of those subliminal directives, but then he just chuckled and shook his head, pointing straight up above him.

“Actually,” he answered, “I think you've got your genres wrong. This is superhero, not horror, and in any case you made a terrible choice. I'm not a costume-clad do-gooder. I'm not one of the 'good guys'. But as you say, this is...to the death!”

Punctuating his words – so exactly, so precisely – the dome above him exploded into a brilliant show of fireworks. They glowed so colorfully, so festively, it was impossible to imagine they could be ignored for miles around. Huge chunks of stone plunged down and transformed into a spectrum of flashing embers in dazzling patterns. Now the naked sky gazed down upon the two fighters.

A number of the spectators scrambled for the exits. This was most assuredly not on the schedule, and they could not be caught here, now, in this situation.

Roulette had already collected their money, their bets, and what's more knew their particulars. She cared little for their desertion in the 11th hour. Reaching up, she pulled the chopsticks from her hair that had kept it in the perfect little messy bun. Casually she whipped the sticks around, and as they caught the light, it was easy to notice that they were made of wrought metal, sharp and as deadly as a dagger or a nail.

That certain gleaming in Zach's eyes was one Eddie had seen before, and it was one he hoped he would never see again. Something about it always seemed to indicate a terrible event, a regrettable incident, and this time was no different.

The next half-hour unfolded tumultuously. A few events stood out in Eddie's unclear memory:

At one moment he recalled being very concerned for Zatara, even willing to enter the conflict to save the life of the magician he thought in mortal danger. Blood had already spilled, and it was all Zach's.

The next instant he remembered was some time later, trying to pull Zatara off the woman in the qipao while the arena crumbled in flames around them.

“Zach, you're going to kill her!” He shouted.

“GOOD!!” Came the response.

Another gap, and then he recalled a cooler-headed Zatara as John Constantine and Zatanna appeared, followed by a fraction of the legions who united under the title of the Justice Society.

“Constantine!” Eddie called out.

“You came too late!” Zach chimed in. “Again.”

The last thing Eddie could remember was Zatanna's sour face, before Tomcat shifting back to human form and trying to find his costume. At about that time, Zach found an exceptional interest in the Justice Society's affairs. Eddie recalled the magician with an arm around an otherwise naked Tommy, who really would have liked a cigarette more than anything – and who was willing to put up with more than usual in order to get a cigarette – which he was well aware Zach could provide.

Eventually, the magician and the devil returned to their hotel room.

“So.” Eddie sat with his hands folded in his lap, next to Zach at the table by the window, seated in the same way.

“So,” the magician echoed.

“If I can ask...how did you get past those weird mental blocks?”

“Training with Uncle John,” Zach answered quickly. “You learned to think backwards. It was never just a question of learning how to flip this word or that word. So they introduced mental blocks, but they didn't do it backwards. That's about half of how I think.”

“I think I understand,” Eddie answered. “But um. About the whole...”

“Voice thing?”

“Right.”

Wordlessly Zach reached into his pocket and produced a smart phone. With barely a few clicks, he had it speaking a greeting to Eddie.

“You...” Kid Devil pointed to it, fading out as realization dawned.

“Stupidly enough, they didn't think about text-to-speech. Once I fixed my throat, it wasn't exactly hard to go from there.” He set the device down again. “But the thing is, I could've written it in mashed potatoes if I had to. That was their chiefest mistake. They should never have tried to get someone like me. Especially as anything but the main headliner.” He snorted, frowning darkly for just an instant. “Any decent magician would be too much for them to handle.”

Eddie smiled a little bit and folded his hands, resting them on his stomach. “I'm just glad you were. Glad we managed to get out of there and demolish that nasty operation.”

Zach reached out to pour up some ice water from a pitcher into a glass. He offered the first one to Eddie, who accepted, and then poured another for himself.

“So all in all, I think we set a record. Something like thirtysomething villains, super and otherwise, suitably shut down and locked up. Not bad for someone who isn't the superheroing type.”

“You say that,” Eddie countered, “but I think you are anyway.”

“Bah.” Zatara tipped the glass to his lips. “So what are you going to do about that Justice Society invitation?”

“Me?!”

“Like I said, I'm not the superheroing type. I'd end up getting fed up with them if I had to do more than an unexpected team-up here and there. But you, that's your bread and butter. You're always reading about these amazing people who wear spandex like bodypaint.” His glass clicked against the wood of the table as he rested it there. “Why not go for the gold ring? It's got to be better than fulfilling the role of 'lovely assistant'. Not that Bunny's unhappy. The more, the merrier, as long as she doesn't get a pay cut.” Zach grinned again, running his fingers back through his hair.

Eddie fidgeted, turning his own glass slowly clockwise. The formerly chilled water half-filling it now began to steam.

The magician mumbled to himself, and suddenly the water froze solid. His broad, thin smile met Eddie as the devil looked up to him, almost as if questioning.

“It's not like it expires,” Zach continued, softly. “You can just keep it until you're ready. No one here is going to judge you.”

Slowly, warmly, Eddie began to smile in response. He gave a soft little bob of his head. “Thanks, Zach.”

“Except me, of course.”

And the two of them both laughed, at a joke that perhaps only they could understand.




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