Chapter Text
Spending her Saturday on FaceTime with John Constantine in an abandoned motel was not how Sera Wayland preferred her weekends. Not that her weekends were the epitome of leisure, mind you. In reality, they were filled with university assignments, meditation, and mile runs. They were…regimented. Structured, as the draconic part of her required.
That was not this weekend.
Nabu, ever-unnerving, hovered nearby. Her “mentor” was not talkative at the best of times. Which, based on the grimace on John’s face through her screen…this was certainly not the best of times, either.
Sera panned her phone across the room. A large pentagram was drawn into the floor with chalk. Sigils she didn't recognize accompanied it in large, sweeping scrawls.
“Is this what it looked like?” she asked John. She didn’t need to specify what “it” was given that this same occult ritual was what had brought her into his life all those years past.
“Looks like it. Mind you, this was twelve years ago, love, so my memory isn't perfect. But it looks like something is missing.” John’s slightly staticky voice came through her phone speaker. If she weren't also British, his Scouse accent probably would’ve been much harder for her to comprehend through the slightly tinny reverb.
“As in the cultists performing the ritual are missing, or parts of the ritual itself are missing?” she asked, leaning her weight onto one leg.
“The latter,” John elaborated. “They had talismans and iconography set at the points of the pentagram around you that day. I’d have to look at the files the Surrey Police Department gave me to see exactly what they were. But I can’t imagine that ritual would be effective without those objects of power.”
“Were they unique objects, or typical stored magic items?” Nabu asked. His voice blended with Khalid’s, sending a shiver down Sera’s spine.
John considered. “A bit of both, I reckon.”
Sera sighed. “So, why do this at all, then? Why attempt a ritual they know they don't have the magic objects for?”
“Desperation? They've been trying to find you for years, but never have. Trust me, I've felt their magic poking and prodding at the cloaking spell I put on you over the years. Maybe this is their attempt to bind another dragon to a promising, mystically-blessed teenager.” John’s voice was doubtful of the words even as he spoke them, it seemed.
“A ritual of this magnitude could not have been completed without those items of power. If the Order attempted it without them, at least several of the participants would have to have given up all of their magical energy. If not their lives in addition. There are no bodies here, nor does the magical signature match the magnitude of a completed binding,” Nabu explained.
“So, they just…what, started the ritual and then stopped? But why? Especially in the middle of the afternoon.” Sera’s lips pulled into a frown. None of it made any sense. She supposed they could have been interrupted, but by whom? Likely not the League, they would have alerted John or Nabu.
“It’s almost like…” John trailed off, then his eyes widened. He leaned in closer to the screen. “Sera, zoom in on that top sigil there next to the empty cardboard box.”
Sera obliged, stepping closer to the pentagram. “That one?”
“That's the one. That sigil looks like something I've seen before. Not from the ritual you were put through, but something else. Nabu, you familiar with dragon language at all?”
“Loosely. It is not a common tongue to begin with. There is little recorded history of it in the written word.”
“And I only know a little from what Kormid taught me,” Sera said. “But I can't read or write in draconic. There was never really a point in teaching me.”
“Until now, of course,” John noted with a huff. The phone speaker crackled from his sigh.
Sera stepped closer to the outside of the circle, crouching down to point her phone camera directly at the sigil. “Better?”
“Marginally,” John muttered. “It looks oddly familiar, though. Reminiscent of some infernal writing I've seen at the Oblivion Bar. It looks a bit like the glyph for truth.”
“I wonder…” Sera wasn’t sure if this hunch was correct, but it couldn't hurt to try. She laid her palm directly over the marking. The wooden floor was sticky and crusted beneath her manicured nails.
Then, with a sharp inhale, she shifted. Her vision sharpened as her hearing magnified. Scents amplified, and her canines lengthened as her claws sprouted from her nails. “Majak vor lex.”
The scent of dragon magic filled the air: potent woodsmoke and wildflowers. The magic bent to her will, twisting and turning the circular sigil until it formed a word she could recognize.
Reveal.
Sera translated, and John’s frown deepened. The blue light from his phone made the concern lines on his face even darker. “That's not right,” he murmured. “There's no reason to have a sigil that commands revelation in a binding ritual.”
“Let me look at the rest,” she said, pushing to her feet. She moved toward the center of the circle, shifting her phone in her clawed hands.
“Sera, wait! Don't—”
John’s warning came too late. Right as her foot touched the center of the pentagram, it lit up. An ominous scarlet glow overtook the room.
Immediately, a slicing chill passed through Sera’s skin. John gasped, the camera feed careening to the side before bouncing and focusing on the ceiling.
Nabu’s hand closed around the collar of Sera’s dress. He yanked her free from the circle, her legs scraping uselessly against the dirty floor as her phone tumbled from her grasp.
“Wh-what happened?” she gasped, snatching up her phone as she looked from Nabu to her screen. “What was that?”
“A trap,” John bit out. He ran a hand through his hair. “I felt it when you stepped in. They broke the cloaking spell on you. Which means the Order can find you with one locator spell now.”
Sera blanched, the blood in her veins turning to ice. “No…no no no…” Her breathing quickened, each one sawing in and out of her. They couldn't find her. If they did, if they found a way to control her…
“Get somewhere safe. I'm going to portal in and bring you to the House of Mysteries,” John told her firmly.
“No,” Nabu said sternly. “Putting Seraphine in the House of Mysteries means the Order will have both the dragon and an arsenal of magical artifacts at their disposal should they get in. We can not do that.”
“So, what are we supposed to do?!” John demanded. “Leave her out as bloody bait? Ring a dinner bell over her head? Over my fucking dead body. Need I remind you that she can turn into a thirty-foot-tall, fire-breathing dragon? She can level a city on her own, Nabu!”
“You need not remind me of anything, John Constantine. But there is a more effective solution here. We are in Gotham City, home of the Batman. His identity has remained a secret from the world for two decades now. He can hide her from the Order, with his connections and your magic, she can become invisible once more.”
Sera staggered to her feet. Her senses were still on high alert, her shifted form making each amplified touch and sound easier to spiral over. She needed to calm down, needed to breathe and focus and—
A sharp, distant whistling sounded. Miles away, startling birds as it moved, impossibly fast and—
The motel room window shattered. Pain exploded through Sera's shin. A scream tore from her lungs as she doubled over, her knees and forearms slamming against the floor.
“Sera!” John's voice roared from her phone as it slid across the wood grain. “What happened?! Are you alright?!”
Nabu bent down beside her, inspecting her trembling leg. “She's been shot.”
“Shot?! Fucking hell. I'll call for backup and portal in. Hang on.”
Sera sobbed through the pain, looking up through the broken window. Red hooded cloaks raced from the empty parking lot and towards the building. John would have to hurry.
The Order of the Scale wasn't just coming for Seraphine. They were already there.