Zatara #4

“What am I doing out here, I ask myself. A good thousand miles – actually more than that – away from a warm fireplace and a nice drink. I ask myself, and I am forced to examine my life choices up to this point.”

Zachary Zatara sat in an airboat, wearing surprisingly practical attire, most all in blacks or dark reds, boots over his knee, and a long black coat. Beside him and piloting the craft was John Constantine who, by contrast, wore what he usually wore.

He'd wanted a cigarette for the past ten minutes, but the constant spray of the water promised to extinguish any such thing. So he sat with lips pursed, trying to concentrate on their destination and where the floodlight shone through the darkness of the swamp.

“Wouldn't have asked if I weren't in need, mate.” He squinted to try and peer through the darkness; he could feel something, sense it even if he couldn't see it exactly. “You getting anything?”

Zach tilted his head slightly back. His eyes veered off from the circle of light swaying before the boat, off to the right and past the wall of solid shadow. No longer looking with just the superficial sense of vision, he slowly nodded.

“It's that way. And it's coming.”

A sharp curse left Constantine's lips as he turned the boat less sharply. Didn't want to pitch them all into the swamp water, even if he didn't happen to be the best or most experienced pilot.

Zach slowly breathed in and sighed out. “So far be it from me to question you, but are you intending to ram it? Because I can pretty much tell you that's going to end up with us being flung farther than the Pontchartrain bridge.”

The other man's expression shifted slightly, the boat only easing slightly off its speed. “I've a plan.”

“You have a plan my ass, Constantine!”

John grimaced. “You sound just like Zatanna sometimes, you know that?”

He pulled the boat around and stopped it. The fan slowly stopped rotating. At this time of year, the usual dense insect-song had quieted: the swamp currently slept through the chill.

Then came a sound like a drum, growing louder with each beat.

It was then that Eddie appeared, dressed as scantily as usual. Zach reached out and tugged him closer by his hips, since they were safely covered in temperature-resistant shorts.

“Over here,” Zatara murmured. “Like a delightful living space heater.”

“Missed you too,” Eddie answered, grinning sheepishly. “He's getting closer. What's the plan of attack?”

“Constantine says he has a plan, which probably means we're going to fly by the seat of our pants and, hopefully, miraculously come out victorious.”

“I do have a plan!” John fished in his coat, inside and out. Times like this made him feel that perhaps it had too many pockets. But then he'd recall the times where the random things in them had come in handy. Good old trenchcoat. “It's just not all come together quite yet.”

“That's not a plan,” Zach called over to him, “it's called an idea, and a half-baked one at that. Am I supposed to stand against this force of nature with some card tricks and maybe a trick ring or two? Or are we all going to have our trick rings busted when you can't pull it together?”

Eddie held his hands up between the two. “Boys, boys! We don't have much time! He's...wait.” The devil-hero frowned, looking around, tail slowly drifting from one side to the other, back and forth behind him. “I don't hear him anymore.”

Zach shot to his feet. “What? No, it's here! It's here!! I can feel it–”

The next few seconds seemed to pass in agonizing slow-motion for Eddie. The boat pitched and sent everyone on it flying. John fumbled with a myriad of objects that caught the faint light as they twinkled through the air, beyond his grasp, and disappeared. Zach kept his focus admirably and started to speak as he reached back for Eddie.

And Solomon Grundy breached from the black water, chalk-white skin catching the spotlight as it tumbled with the boat. In all his days, Eddie was sure he would never forget that sight, those dead eyes, that terrible voice.

“SOLOMON GRUNDY KILL YOU DEAD!!”

In that instant, the shriek of cursing started from John's mouth, ending prematurely as he splashed into the water. Zach's spellcasting continued in rapid clip. But then it all went black.



It hurt.

Everything hurt.

As he forced his eyelids up, Eddie half-wished he'd had the sense to stay unconscious. Blurry images slowly came into focus. He could feel his muscles protesting, sore and exhausted. No broken bones at least...or none that he could feel yet.

The ceiling hung over him. It could be any ceiling.

Through sheer willpower, he managed to push up to his elbows. Good. That was a start.

Eddie knew he shouldn't stay in one position for too long or he'd be tempted to just lower himself back to the floor. He rolled, a bit awkwardly, to his feet, slowly unfolding himself to stand upright.

This place, somehow, had to be an attic: so many trunks, boxes, even a full-length mirror. But it was at least partially finished, made to be an easy attic to walk around. In a pinch, someone could actually live there.

As Eddie started to move, he could swear he felt different. He looked down at himself and immediately squeaked, cheeks darkening – his typical costume may not have consisted of much, but between passing out and waking up, he'd lost even that last shred of modesty.

Fortunately, this place promised some clothes. Maybe they'd even fit him. He walked to one of the wardrobes and pulled it open; the doors stuck, and dust rolled out in clouds vanishing to the floor around him.

The clothes hanging inside held some kind of familiarity that took Eddie only a few seconds to place. Zach's suits! He slowly moved them along the rod, before something behind them met his eyes. Pushing the hangers out of the way to either side revealed a poster promoting one of the Great Zatara's performances.

The face was Zach's, beyond question, but maybe a little older. At some point in that time, he'd grown a goatee that wasn't quite becoming but still managed the realm of acceptability with his handsome visage. Somehow though, it seemed he'd look much better without it. That's how Eddie remembered. Zach always looked good clean-shaven. He had the features for it.

The devil snapped out of his musings, body still protesting with aches and pains as he leaned down to open one of the drawers. Just as he'd remembered: boxer shorts! They seemed a little old and unused, and they bore on them the distinct scent of cedar, but they fit only a little tight. Like his usual. Except they didn't have a hole for his tail. He'd have to wear them a little lower than his waist, but the size meant that he at least wouldn't lose them just by walking around.

Wait.

Eddie looked around himself and back to the poster. He scrambled to a nearby chest and struggled with the latches for only an instant before getting them open. Inside lay papers, brochures, scrapbooks, memorabilia...

He opened one of the books, to flip through it. Page after page of photos, newspaper and magazine cuttings, brochure appearances...all of Zach and himself. He could remember them. All of them. And then a little more than halfway through the book, they just stopped. Blank, empty pages for the rest.

A rumbling of footsteps approached up carpeted stairs outside the door. Eddie quickly snapped the book shut and tossed it back in the chest. Could he risk teleporting out? Maybe not, he thought. He didn't want to wake up somewhere else naked. But he also wasn't sure he could take on whoever approached.

The door flew open before he could move, to reveal...

“Zatanna?” Eddie's eyes widened.

The magician, dressed quite uncommonly in a t-shirt and lounge pants, stood in a pose ready to fling magic at the unknown intruder. Realization slowly dawned, and her jaw dropped along with her hands.

“Eddie? Eddie?! What...how...?”

He didn't have time to respond before she threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.

“Oh my god, Eddie! What...don't tell me. Don't tell me, please don't tell me this is some cruel, stupid trick. Please let it be you.” She leaned back, hands still on his shoulders, tears pouring down her cheeks. “I thought...I was afraid you were...”

“I'm...missing a pretty substantial part of the story here, I think.” He cleared his throat and looked back to her, taking in her features. They were older too, now that he noticed it, though she hadn't aged much at all. “Where's Zach? And John? What's going on?”

Her eyes darkened, her expression taking on a sudden burst of fatigue. In an instant, she seemed palpably older and much more tired. It took her a short time to even answer. “You...really don't know, do you...” She took a slow, deep breath. “Come downstairs. I can get you some clothes that fit. I'll whip us up some tea, and maybe you'd like something to eat?”

“Sure.” He smiled brightly back, moving with her towards the door. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Shadowcrest. My family home.” Zatanna held the door, then moved behind Eddie down the stairs, pulling the door shut behind her. “I've been here, since...” Abruptly stopping herself, she then picked back up almost immediately. “For a long time now.”

He reached the landing and turned, waiting for his hostess. “How long?”

She shook her head, pulling her arms around herself. “Why don't you use the bathroom through there? Take a shower, and I'll put some clothes out for you on the bed. Then you can just join me downstairs. I...need some time.”

“I understand.” He tried to give a supportive smile, but the doubts in his mind ate away at his resolve, as the worry began to snowball.

The water did feel good on Eddie's body, hot enough to soothe his tired muscles, even if it didn't really fix the problem instantly. His exceptional healing and stamina were working on that pretty steadily, though. It wouldn't be long before he could operate at full strength again. And maybe then he'd know what he was up against.

He tugged on the clothes left for him, quite respectable pants – with a hole for his tail! – and a soft pullover. Down two more flights of stairs, he followed his nose into the kitchen, where a delicious-smelling, cheerful meal awaited.

Zatanna sat at the table with it all, everything still piping hot, and managed a smile at Eddie's appearance. He could tell from her cheeks and her eyes that she'd been crying.

“You look better! I've always said a good shower can work as much magic as a backwards spell.” She smiled, making her own little joke and taking a sip from her drink.

Orange juice? No, Eddie decided as he sat down just across from her at the small table. Not just orange juice: a screwdriver.

“Yeah!” He pushed bravely on, making the decision to try and bring up the mood as much as he could. “Thanks for the pants and everything, they fit perfectly!”

She reached down to take a piece of broccoli from her plate. “I'm glad. I thought they would.”

Eddie tucked in to his food, and he found himself eating faster and more enthusiastically than he expected. He didn't know how long it had been since he ate last. Surely only a couple of hours, but his metabolism always operated at a high level.

Noticing the silence passing between them, he took a gulp of the tea she had brewed him and swallowed it down. “So...if you'd just...catch me up?”

He hated to do it, gentle as he tried to make it. Every indication in Zatanna screamed that she would rather have avoided the subject in any way possible. But he had to know; he had to understand how he could go from a Louisiana swamp to Shadowcrest, incidentally losing his clothes along the way.

“The truth is, I don't know much of what happened.” Her voice bore a greater rasp to it than before, as if time had weathered it down. “All I know is that I wasn't around for some...stupid thing that John got it in his mind to do. You three went off, something terrible happened, and there was a...” Tears visibly welled up in her eyes, but she forced herself on. “There was some kind of accident.”

“Accident?” Eddie set his fork down, sitting back in his seat. “It's...a little foggy, but I remember...Solomon Grundy, and a boat, and John was trying to pull together a plan, and Zach was...I don't know what Zach was doing. He was okay, I just couldn't follow his spells like usual.” He tapped a finger on the table. “Where is Zach, anyway?”

Zatanna swallowed hard, shaking her head in silence for a moment. She finished the rest of her drink in one long chug, then set the empty glass down firmly on the table.

“You've missed a lot, Eddie.” She let her hands fall to her lap, slumping back in her chair and looking into his eyes for once. “You vanished. You were completely gone. Something else was in that swamp. It wasn't just you three and Solomon Grundy...but maybe that would've been enough. John should've known better. Maybe that's what he was trying to do.”

Eddie finished the last of his food and then held his drink, taking little sips from it. “What do you mean?”

“Solomon Grundy isn't just a garden variety smash-and-crash villain. He's a reanimated corpse, a zombie basically. But he's also not all human, not anymore. He has a link to the swamp. And swamps are full of secrets and magic.” She sighed, looking down at her own barely-touched plate. “Green magic.”

“Go on.” Eddie deliberately slowed his breathing. He didn't want his stomach knotting, not so soon after eating.

Zatanna returned her gaze to his. “It's something that magicians – real ones – all know. We know about the Green. We don't like to dabble in there. Except John.”

Normally, Eddie reflected, she would have snorted or made some mildly derisive comment, at least some gentle show of deniable affection. But nothing came, and the pause only heightened his uneasiness.

“The Green...well, it's not something I can just explain very well in a summary.” She gestured vaguely. “It's basically like...a web. A web of life. It's...” Raising her hands, she tried to make those motions a bit more illustrative. Whether because of her emotional distress or the alcohol, it didn't entirely work. “Think of every living form of plant life. The essence of that makes up the Green. It's a...network, but also a kind of place.”

“It's like the internet, but for plants. Sort of?” Eddie gave a hopeful smile.

Zatanna smiled in return. “That's probably about as close as we're going to get. But it's not something that those who aren't...plants, or related to them usually try too much to be a part of. It changes perspectives. Sometimes drastically.” Her expression shifted quickly back to a more serious one. “You don't touch the Green and come back exactly the same. It's like that old saying about looking in the abyss and it looking back.”

She reached to take another floret of broccoli from the plate and brought it to her lips. When she'd swallowed it, she continued. “Solomon Grundy is as much a part of the Green as he is a part of the human world. Maybe more, in fact. The part of him that was human barely exists anymore, but he's a shambling mass of plant life amid a dead human form that's been suspended in the middle of its decay.”

Eddie took a gulp of his drink, forcing it down his dry throat. “Uh...I kind of have a bad feeling I know where this is going.”

“You're probably right.” Zatanna reached up to busy herself with her hair for a moment, fastening it back again where it had slipped out of the grasp of the clips he missed before, significantly longer than Eddie remembered it. “The Green has avatars. And just like humans, sometimes the Green makes mistakes. Nobody's really sure how Grundy came back to life or why he seems not to be able to die. He just is.”

“Swamp magic?”

She smirked at the possibility. “I wouldn't count it out. The thing is, swamps are like 'between places', places that are neither one thing or the other, and at the same time both. Fae types like them. The ancients said they were the places of strongest magic, sources of tremendous mystical power. And that swamp in particular...”

Suddenly, a heavy thump came through the floor, from upstairs. She sighed softly and pushed to her feet. “Actually, maybe that's a good sign. If anyone can tell you, it's John.”

“He's here?” Eddie hurried to set his glass down and scrambled to his feet. “Constantine's here?”

“Don't get your hopes up.” Zatanna smiled sadly and touched Eddie's shoulder. “But maybe he'll be able to manage, with a little help. Maybe seeing you would help.”

“What...happened? What's wrong with him?” Eddie moved along to keep pace with her.

She led up the stairs to the floor above, down the hallway and to one of the doors. “Ever since...the incident, I've kept him here. Taken care of him. I know he couldn't bear to go back into another hospital. If I left him to his own, he'd probably be dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Her hand rested on the knob. She turned to look over her shoulder at Eddie. “I need a few minutes. I'm sure you don't want to see him getting changed anyway.”

“Changed?”

She shook her head. “He's...not really able to take care of himself.”

It sank in, and Eddie's stomach sank too. “Oh.”

“I'll just be a few minutes. I'll call to you when you can come in. Okay?”

He could only nod mutely, and then he waited in silence for the next few minutes. He wondered what could have happened. Was he the only one to have escaped from the swamp intact? If Constantine were this bad off, where was Zach, and why wouldn't Zatanna tell him?

“Eddie? You can come in.”

He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and gently pushed the door in. The light inside was low, but that never affected his enhanced vision. Zatanna walked past, squeezed his shoulder as she slipped out the door and pulled it to the frame, behind her.

He focused on the form of John Constantine, lying on his back, atop the covers of a hastily-made bed. It unsettled him, not just to see John lying there, staring past him, staring to somewhere, somewhen else entirely, but even just seeing him in a casual long-sleeved shirt and lounge pants.

The trenchcoat was nowhere in sight.

“John?”

Constantine didn't respond at once. But as Eddie drew closer to the bed, the man's head slowly turned to look up his form.

In an instant, his eyes regained focus here, now, and he reached out a weak hand to take Eddie's. He squeezed it, as if needing confirmation that he really could see it, that he was really there.

“Eddie? Is it...is it really you?!”

“It's really me.” The devil carefully seated himself on the edge of the mattress, letting John keep his hand as long as he wanted. “I'm sorry. I don't really know what happened. One minute I was in that boat with you both, the next minute I was upstairs, au naturel.”

“I never wanted it to happen again.”

Eddie frowned a little bit, placing his other hand over John's in a way he hoped the man found comforting. “Wanted what to happen again? Or I probably should ask, what exactly did happen?”

“I had to go and put my foot in it.” John spoke barely louder than a whisper. “Someone...arranged for Grundy to be there, I knew that much.” He held onto Eddie's hand, squeezing as if holding on for dear life. “I thought I could stop it.” Tears rolled down the man's cheeks. “I thought...”

Eddie kept one hand with John's, lifting the other and reaching out to place it on the man's shoulder. “I'm back, John. I don't really know how long it's been or what happened, but...I'm here. Maybe we can fix it. We can get Zach, and–”

“No!” Constantine pulled his hand away and curled up facing the wall. “Don't be stupid!”

Eddie frowned, and with the subsequent silence rose to his feet. “Look, I know bad things happened. But I'm not being stupid, I just don't know and nobody will tell me anything!”

As he caught himself raising his voice, Eddie felt terrible. He pushed his frustration back and calmed himself. But the situation had begun to wear on his patience. Everyone danced around the topic! It was maddening!

Silence set into the space between them. Not a pregnant silence with any sort of potential, just emptiness. The distant sound of air conditioning, or the magical equivalent, met Eddie's ears.

“Never mind. I'm sorry, John.” His tail wilted a bit as he looked on the man, the broken image of what he'd been only minutes before, for Eddie at least. “You're in no shape to...to do anything. Just take it easy. Please.”

Eddie's tone softened through it, and he turned then to leave. As he drew the door from the frame, the other man's voice called from the bed, though it barely had enough strength to carry across the quiet of the distance.

“Z-Zach...Zach did this. It wasn't Grundy...or anything else. It was Zachary Zatara. It was him.”

Eddie turned, leaning heavily back against the wall in shock. His eyes widened. That couldn't be right. “What?! Are you crazy?”

“Yes.” Constantine sat up, running his hands through his hair, long and shaggy by now. At least Zatanna kept him clean and groomed. “Certifiable. But when I couldn't get you back, he blamed me. Damn nearly killed me. I have...moments of clarity. And huge great swaths of staring into space and pissing myself.”

Eddie winced sympathetically, but his frown returned. “But why? Why would Zach ever do that? That's not even like him.”

“No, it's not. That's the problem.” John scrubbed his hands over his face and shook his head. “Look. Maybe I can help. Maybe so can Zatanna. If we can get you back to the swamp that day...maybe none of this will happen. We can change things so this never happens.”

“Oh man, but changing the future is always a big hassle!” Eddie threw his hands up before him. “There's always like, alternate timelines and weird twists to keep things the same.”

“You watch too many movies.” Constantine shakily got to his feet, but with every step he took, he seemed to gather his strength. By the time he reached Eddie at the door, he almost resembled his old self. Almost.

Though Eddie noticed the man's hair had gone white. He couldn't help but wonder if that was a side effect of what Zach had supposedly done to him.

Then he noticed that John's eyes practically glowed, even in the low light. Faint but noticeable, they glowed green. Hadn't they been blue before? In fact, he emitted a sort of greenish glow about him.

“We can get you back to that time. Prevent this time from happening. Believe you me, it's better off never existing.”

An inner conflict raged in Eddie, between his curiosity, the powerful desire to find out exactly what that meant, and the general assurance that he didn't want to know and shouldn't know at all. “All right. What do you need me to do?”

Constantine just laughed, so casually, as if nothing much had changed. “Help me get dressed, mate. I'm still half-crap.”



“I'm sorry, Eddie. I should've known better, I guess.” Zatanna sat at the table, the dirty dishes stacked in the sink and a half-drained cup of coffee sitting in front of her. “Most of the time, he tells these stories...they're incoherent and have something weird that comes out of nowhere, and then there's no real resolution, things just happen.” She smirked and picked up her drink. “No point. Half of them are bullshit anyway, he told me one the other day about getting married and having kids. In the past tense! Even if I didn't know better, I'd find the heaven and hell crap easier to swallow.”

The devil smiled a little bit and motioned behind himself. “It's okay. I think it's going to be okay.”

John stepped into the doorway, hair tied back, dressed better than he had been, neat trousers and a button-up shirt. Instead of his usual loose, haphazard necktie, he sported a clip-on bowtie. It failed to suit him, almost comically.

He shrugged his trenchcoat on and flashed a toothy grin to Zatanna. “Darling, I've got one last hurrah in me, and you're gonna want to be a part of it.”

She nearly dropped her coffee. “John!”

Constantine threw his arm around Eddie's shoulders, and the devil slid an arm around him, to steady him. “That's me,” John answered. “We're getting my lad here back in time so none of this happens. Won't that be a pip?”



The boat was a nicer one than the airboat Eddie remembered from last time. At least the likelihood was less that they would be pitched over by a random attack.

“So is Solomon Grundy still out here?”

“He's sure to be skulking around,” John replied.

Zatanna's attire was completely different than Eddie had ever seen: first of all, it looked more like a proper superheroic costume, with its white cape and blue-black-white combination. Billowing sleeves and a scarlet headdress like a serpent, with jaw-guards and spheres with “Z” on them suspended from them, gave quite a distinctive appearance. Of course, the leotard look with thigh boots always turned heads with anyone who had the legs to pull it off.

She noticed Eddie's attention as they all stepped out of the boat and onto dry land. “It was while you were away.” That seemed to be all the explanation needed.

So many things had changed. In an instant, years passed for Eddie. But most of all, Zach concerned him. Everyone refused to discuss him, except obliquely. What happened in the time between that night and now? He could only have so much patience with it all.

The trio made their way into the swamp land, John in the lead. Every step he took appeared confident, completely aware and ready for whatever should show itself. Such a difference from only a short time before. But then, today presented no end of drastic changes to Eddie.

The season matched the one he remembered. The insect-song that usually marked the swamps kept quiet, leaving only the sounds of footfalls and the occasional rustling of what foliage held on in the chill of winter.

The detritus decayed underfoot, scavengers gliding over it to break it down, others gnawing it from underneath. This was the swamp life cycle, the way things proceeded from one point to the next and came back around to the start; this was the epitome of the cycle of life, far from glamourized by bright and cheerful euphemisms and gloss.

It took only a little time before the artificial electric lights of human habitation met their eyes. A worn-down mansion stood, perhaps once a plantation house now modernized, threatened by the steady creep of the swamp's waters at its threshold. Eventually, the swamp would take it and suck it down into the quicksand depths it spread throughout its dark hollows. In time, the monument of an arrogant attempt to control the wild would simply be whittled down to nothing, to forgotten stones at the bottom of dirty water.

The three drew closer to it.

“Be ready,” Constantine called back.

Then a shot rang out. Unmistakably a pistol, not even silenced or muted, and John collapsed to the ground.

Sleeves snapping with the movement, billowed around her glowing hands, Zatanna spread her fingers. “Laeh!!”

Eddie heated up, intent not to allow metal to even reach him. If that was the game they played, they were going to lose. His keen eyes, gifted with nightvision, scoured the surrounding area.

There! The gunman who had so recently fired now attempted to flee. The devil leapt and glided through the air, effortlessly closing the distance between them. Once he found the would-be assassin, he flung him against a wall. The man crumpled to a heap.

“Zatanna! Is John okay?” Eddie called out.

“He will recover,” another voice replied.

It sounded so familiar, but it echoed in unnatural ways, imposing ways, almost frightening ways. The tones resonated and echoed amongst themselves. Appropriately enough, those tones rang bell-clear in the immediate space of the figures gathered here. Though now their number included another.

Between Eddie and Zatanna, nearest to the folded, fetal Constantine, hovered a man's shape clad in blue and gold, but most especially the gleaming golden helm he wore: this was Doctor Fate, and yet...the timbre, the tone of his voice, and his physical shape could not be denied.

“Zach!” Eddie called out, his eyes wide, reaching out to the man. He knew the form, knew that body and, even distorted, Zatara's voice – unmistakable!

The bell-shaped helm slowly turned to look him over. Its impassive white eyes made no indication of feeling behind them.

But before anything further could be said, the floodlights clicked on and saturated the whole space with brightness. The mass clicking of guns trained on the assembled heroic figures made a sort of bizarre chorus.

Once satisfied at this outcome, a withered and sinister figure slowly, carefully strode out from the sea of militia. His skin looked seared and rescued, though not expertly. Evil burned in his eyes, far from the easy and common type so often seen. In those eyes rested the deepest and most horrible of things, the darkest of things, the things which one resists mentioning for fear that anyone may take to them, or fear that those same things will take notice. In those eyes could be found the true horror of humanity and its depths.

“You are now in the realm of Anton Arcane.” He stated, voice wretched and croaking like that of a toad. “Prepare yourselves for oblivion!”

John climbed to his feet by way of Zatanna. “Well,” he muttered, “now it's about hit the fan.”





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