Page 53 of Hospital for Immortal Creatures

“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.

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