December 30, 2016:

Returning to John Constantine's Brooklyn bunker, a realization causes Zatanna to make another discovery: Everyone has been invading her privacy.

Constantine's Brooklyn Bunker - Brooklyn - New York City

John's magical bunker in Brooklyn.


NPCs: Chas Chandler

Mentions: Spider-Man, John Constantine, Batman

Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Well, that escalated quickly.

The entire escapade with Peter Benjamin Parker, which took up her mid-morning all the way to the mid-afternoon, had her returning to John Constantine's Brooklyn bunker with a furrowed brow and a contemplative expression. It was helpful, in a lot of ways, and somewhat baffling in others, but thanks to his innate arachnid connection, at least now she knew that whoever Muller's agent was, he was in New York, using a 'haunted house' as a base of operations. Unfortunately, he couldn't remember an address, but he remembered what it looked like, and the two of them were going to have to try and scour the city and maybe even beyond it in an attempt to figure out just where the hell it was.

Though it certainly helped to have a local who was insistent on helping her out on this particular endeavor. From what she remembered, Spider-Man was slinging around the city all the time and his physical attributes were dialed up to eleven after getting bitten by…

A spider. 'A messed up spider.' Were she not so tired, she'd be laughing.

Zatanna sank heavily into the abandoned couch, tilting her head back as she slid her hands in her jacket pockets. Cold metal kissed her fingers, and with a frown, she pulled her right hand out to stare at the small fingertip-sized tracer, its little red indicator lights winking before her eyes.

Oh uh yeah also I mmmmmmmmight've planted a tracer on you at the store but it's not really necessary anymore I guess so don't even worry about it right?? Right!, said the friendly neighborhood masked crimefighter from New York.

Peter Parker's voice inside of her head tumbled into another's, and how could she forget it? She had been dwelling on that same conversation for the last three days, stewing in the ashes of her guilt and regret, internally flagellating herself with the debris left behind by the nuclear mushroom cloud that ended whatever she had with John Constantine:

A grown man in a bloody bat costume explained with /great/ specificity how he planned to break my spine if I didn't tell him everything I knew about you, and then told me /all about/ the wards you were casting on yourself and the magic being done to you, and incidentally he knows there's a bloody vault involved…


Realization flared within her tired eyes.


When Chas Chandler returned from running errands, she was tearing through her belongings, fingers sorting through her books, her tomes, her notebooks. The sudden onset of frenetic, furious activity had the man set down what he was carrying, dark brows lifting upwards.

"Zee? What's— "

The raven-haired magician grabbed her satchel at last, and wordlessly, she upended it on the floor to let everything tumble out. She expected to find it there, somewhere. A tiny device, just like what Peter Parker confessed planting on her until Fate decided to have other ideas and render the entire action wholly unnecessary.

She didn't just find one but three, trickling from the hidden nooks and crannies of the bag she always took with her, scattering over the floor like forgotten buttons. Each small, nondescript. Each different.

The look on her face was absolutely indescribable.


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