Crossover with Hellblazer. Of all the gin-joints in all the world, John Constantine just had to walk into MacAnally's.
Note: This story is unbetaed and I'm new to writing for these fandoms, so please let me know if anything rings false or doesn't work. It's just a brief vignette that I wrote because I felt these two characters needed to meet. I wish it had more of a plot, but then it's short enough not to need one. If anyone wants to take this idea and run with it, be my guest. Other than that, enjoy.
You want a cliché opening? Let's have a cliché opening: Of all the gin-joints in all the world, he had to walk into mine.
Me, in this case, being Harry Dresden, Wizard, PI, and currently a Warden of the High Council.
The gin-joint in question wasn't a gin-joint at all, but rather an old fashioned pub, MacAnally's, home to all local drinkers of a supernatural bent and accorded neutral ground for all sorts of magical goings-on. It also had the best microbrew ale in Chicago.
Which might have something to do with why he was here. John Constantine.
His reputation definitely preceded him. As far as magical talent went, he was nothing extraordinary, but he made a little go all the way to hell. Literally, in his case. He’d been on the council’s hit list for a long time, for his casual use of the black arts and mind control for petty benefits. He’d managed to avoid capture for years by constantly moving around and by constantly outwitting the Wardens sent after him. They’d given up when rumors reached the Council that his sixty-a-day habit had overwhelmed even a wizardly constitution and he was dying of lung cancer.
That would be when he somehow talked three different Hell-Lords into giving him demon blood; thereby curing his lung cancer and simultaneously removing himself from the jurisdiction of the Council. Say what you like, but that takes a smart bastard. As long as he didn’t threaten me directly, I couldn’t touch him.
He wouldn’t touch me in Mac’s, either, it being neutral ground, but him being in Chicago couldn’t be good news. Trouble followed the man around like the smoke of his cigarettes. I really didn’t need any more trouble. I had enough of that following me around, too.
He was leaning against the bar, chatting with Mac, although both had looked up when I entered. When I joined him to order a beer, Constantine shot me a long look and then nodded in greeting. “You must be Dresden.” He had a heavy accent, out of some part of Britain, probably. I couldn’t place it more closely.
“Good to know we both have reputations, Constantine,” I answered. “Are we going to have problems?”
Constantine shrugged. “Not planning to. Just here for some quiet.” He said it, and then grimaced. “Plans tend not to matter, though.”
“Quiet. Quiet would be nice.” Definitely not much chance of it, though, with a war going on between the Council and the vampires. Even if it had quieted down a little lately.
“Truce, then?” Constantine picked up the beer Mac had placed before him and lifted it.
I picked up the other glass and clinked it against his. “Truce.”