Chapter Text
A stark realisation washed over Spencer as he doubled over, his chest falling to his knees and his knees to the ground. He had been under prepared. He needed- he let out a shuddering gasp as he tried and failed to steady his breathing- he needed to move. There was a startling difference between what you’re able to learn on the page and practical application, it was a lesson that should’ve been stuck in Spencer’s head since his first days in the field and yet-. Spencer couldn’t stand, his legs were too weak, so instead he pulled himself forward with his arms. He had been cocky, he had been good with math and languages and complex spell-work, so why wouldn’t he be at least half decent at banishment.
Spencer propped himself up behind a tower of old crates and a palette that was barely big enough to conceal him. He’d taken too long, if he’d been better- if he knew what he was doing he’d have been done minutes ago. His hair was still wet, dripping ice cold water onto his forehead. A wave of nausea hit, accompanied by a thought, what if he were any slower. He could hear the faint crackle of walkie talkies, followed by heavy footsteps on creaking wood.
It’s ego in the end that had convinced him, that and a good handful of spite. His nails dug into the soft skin of his cheek as his palm clamped over his mouth to dampen the sounds of his shuddering breaths. He’d never expected to actually do it, perhaps that’s why he’d been so confident. It was like the cassette player in his bag with the exorcism rites in twenty different languages or the ritual knife concealed in the lining of his suitcase- he didn’t have them there because he thought he use them, but because they made him feel safer.
If he were better- if he were more practiced . There was a sharp squeak as the hinges of the door pushed open, a gust of air extinguished the few remaining candles that gave Spencer light . If he weren’t just a two-bit warlock with hands made for illusions and a scar across his palm from scrying- then maybe he might’ve had time to make it out before his team had gotten inside. Spencer’s eyes were squeezed shut by the time the footsteps stopped.
There was a soft exhale, before a quiet “Damn.”
He knew what it looked like, he knew exactly what it looked like.
In the middle of the room was a neatly made ring of ash, just big enough for Spencer to stand and outstretch his arms. Wards that had originally been written in blood were nothing but scorch marks left on the wall. Chalk was scattered across the floor, the smudges that remained of his spell that had downright exploded the moment he’d finished the ritual and in the centre, a poorly cleaned birds skull charred and slightly smoking.
Spencer had… banished a demon, but to anyone who wasn’t him, it looked like he was trying to summon one.
“Inside’s clear, but I’ve found a possible exit point- he might’ve fled.” He heard a faint click as Morgan waited for a response and his flashlight made another pass of the room. Spencer held his breath. There was a pause, a click and the sound of Morgan’s footsteps receding.
He counted in his head, five, ten, twenty, forty- then he stood. His legs still shook but it wasn’t enough for him to stumble. He’d originally planned to cast something small, something simple to obscure himself but with the state he was in there wasn’t even a chance of it. He wondered absently, as his vision swam, if this is how most magicians felt after doing something this stupid. He swung his legs over the sill, one at a time. He knew his father didn’t, in fact he made a name out of it. He braced himself, gripping the wood a little too tight, and slid out the window.
The landing made his head pound, but he didn’t have the time to care. He just needed to start running. The woods that surrounded the area strayed close to the property, so he didn’t need to go far. He knew vaguely the area he’d discarded his walkie, he just needed to get past that.
He knew he was nothing like his father, and that night had done enough to confirm it. Still, something about that fact made him feel a little sick. Spencer could barely hear the snapping of branches under his feet against the pounding blood in his ears. Maybe he hoped that for once the man had managed to do something for him. That Spencer would at least be able to be as good as him.
“Reid?” Spencer sucked in a breath through his teeth, dammit, he’d been radio silent too long. God he should’ve factored it into his calculations. He should’ve know they would’ve been trying to keep an eye on him. It was fine, he just- he just needed to make it a little farther out before they spotted him.
His pace had begun to drag, his feet started to catch roots and his breathing became laboured. Or- or he could stop here. Spencer reached his hand out, searching for anything to support himself with. Stopping- Spencer swallowed hard as his heart pounded against his ribcage- stopping here might be good.
“He-” He choked on his own voice, his throat was still too raw. “Here! I’m over here!” It was fine- It would be fine. They’d just think he was winded.
His body was kept upright solely by the trunk of a pine tree. His head- his head wouldn’t stop pounding.
He had an excuse. He’d already come up with an excuse- so he would be fine.
He heaved in a breath, his hand pressed to his head.
The sound of a beast being dragged back to hell was comparable... enough to a gunshot.
Spencer’s chest felt tight.
It would work.
He didn’t have anything else.
Spencer was snapped violently out of his own thoughts to the snap of a branch and the light of a flashlight blinding him. Prentiss stood between the trees, looking far better than he did but no less stressed. She stood there for a moment, catching her breath and he assumed- making sure Spencer wasn’t dead.
“Reid are you alright? We lost contact with you a while ago.” The light lowered slightly, but enough to make him blink hard to readjust. He could hear her come closer, he assumed she was only a step or two away from him but from the state of his vision and the darkness he could barely tell.
“I’m… I’m fine.” Spencer did his best to give her a nod, it ended up something closer to looking like he was going to collapse. “I saw movement fleeing from the house and pursued, I managed-” He forced his eyes shut as he pressed a hand against his temple, he could barely focus. “I managed to fire a shot off but I lost him.”
“Spencer- are you hurt? Did you get close enough to be attacked by the UnSub? Did you manage to get anything identifying-” She paused herself as she gauged his reaction, she opened and closed her mouth trying and failing to find the words. “Spencer, you’re bleeding.” She said after a moment, making a gesture to her nose.
Spencer’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in momentary shock.
“I may have-” Spencer swallowed a cough and winced hard before he brought his hand up to his nose. He padded gently above his upper lip and found she was right, he was bleeding. “I may have overexerted myself.” His brows pinched together as he pressed a finger back again.
Blood was rushing down his face.
That was more than slightly concerning.
“Ok.” Prentiss heaved in a breath as she looked at him, unable to wipe the alarm off her face. “Ok, I’m going to call this in, we’re going to tell Hotch what happened and we’re sitting your ass in the back of an ambulance.”
“I’m fine! It’s just overexertion, I don’t need-” He attempted to reason, only to be cut off.
“On top of the sleep deprivation, you are bleeding, you are seeing the paramedic.” Spencer found his mouth clamped shut. She sighed and wiped a hand over her face as she turned before taking a half step forward and away from Spencer.
“Prentiss, found Reid, Reid managed to fire at the UnSub- unclear if Reid managed to wound him or not. Reid doesn’t look too great so we’ll get him treated when we regroup.”
There was a long pause when she turned back, Spencer couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye.
“Could-” He tried his best to cover the waver in his voice. He forced a weak smile in a rough attempt to alleviate the situation. “Can I use your shoulder?”
“Just don’t get blood on me.”
He sat in the mostly empty conference room, staring blankly at photographs of suspects pinned to the whiteboard. The bleeding stopped when they were half way to the station, but Spencer wasn’t lucky enough to lose the shakes. His hands had been stuck in his pockets since he’d noticed just how bad they’d gotten.
“Reid?” Hotch opened the door slowly, scanning his eyes over the room. Spencer was the only person left inside. He took in a shaky breath and stood from his rolling chair, quietly setting down the pen he’d been fidgeting with.
He knew exactly what was coming.
“Yes?” It came out weaker than he’d wanted it to. With a sigh Hotch stepped fully in and shut the door behind him.
“What were you thinking. You ran off without informing your team and completely cut contact- do you have any idea what could’ve happened.” The scene felt intimately familiar. Hotch waited frustration clear on his face and Spencer faltered.
“I panicked- I acted on impulse.” Spencer stiffened slightly, swallowing hard as he forced himself regurgitate what he’d rehearsed. “I saw movement fleeing the house, and I knew we hadn’t breached the building so there was only one possible conclusion. I was too caught up in the situation to realise… to realise I’d lost my communication.”
Hotch took a deep breath in to steady himself, wiping a hand over his face. “What you did was reckless, you could’ve been hurt- if not killed. We did not have enough information on our UnSub for you to act like this in the field.” His tone was calmer but he wasn’t any less agitated.
Spencer… Spencer didn’t know quite how to respond. Hotch was objectively correct. He wanted to spout off his reasoning, to give him a proper explanation- because no he knew what he was doing and if he were going to be reprimanded for his stupidity, it should be for knowing and doing it anyways.
But Spencer had also almost failed. He was standing there shaking like a leaf because he didn’t know how much it was going to take out of him.
What would’ve happened if Spencer had been slower?
What would’ve happened if Spencer were any weaker?
Spencer felt something hot dribble down from his nose.
He turned his head away from Hotch, trying hard not to think about it. “Uh Hotch,” Spencer felt his face flush with shame as he sniffed, his nose was quickly assaulted with the smell of copper. “Could I… could I have a tissue?” Hotch let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before he fished a tissue out of a box.
“You’ve been given the all clear by the paramedics?” He raised a brow, looking Spencer over.
Spencer let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed his arm. “Yes, it was just a simple case of overexertion paired with my previous state of exhaustion. I’ll be fine in a few days.”
“Then start packing, you’re going to be on the plane in the morning.” Hotch said it so plainly, despite the sharp sting of panic that drove through Spencer’s heart.
“What?! I’m being pulled off the case- just because I didn’t sleep, you know the hours all of us pull- just because I’m a little worse for wear doesn’t mean-” Spencer hadn’t even noticed as his hand had drifted up to his hair.
“No- Reid.” Hotch cut him off, his tone sharp with frustration. “We’re all being called back to Quantico, Strauss decided that after the search went nowhere, that there’s not enough going on in the investigation for us to stay. The rest of the team is going to stay for a few more hours to clean up any leads we still have and then we’ll be joining you for the trip back.”
“I could-”
“You’re not.” His voice was sharp but a moment after Hotch’s expression softened. “Spencer, you need to rest. While I appreciate all the work you’ve been doing to keep the case moving, I would prefer you didn’t do it while digging your own grave.”
“I understand.” Hotch closed the door behind him and Spencer stood there, alone in the conference room, waiting for his nose to stop bleeding.
He swallowed down the wave of disappointment and guilt. He solved the case, he knows what did it and he was able to banish it. It wasn’t his fault that they were going back to Quantico, in fact he should be relieved. He knows that they’ve done all that they can do. He felt like he ruined their case.
Because he did.
He stopped it- he stopped the murders from occurring again- at the very least the same way, but they didn’t close the case. It was still open, it still would be open by the time they leave and it would stay open until the day he died and long after that. What Spencer had done was stop further harm from occurring, but that didn’t mean that there would be justice. He doesn’t have a logical explanation- any meaning to provide, these families, this community they would have to mourn and live in fear of this non-existent boogeyman and never know what really happened.
Would it do them any good to tell them though?
Spencer shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and pushed his way out of the room.
Morgan sat perched next to the coffee cart, empty mug in hand. “How you doing hotshot? Hotch tear you a new one?” Morgan gave him a wry smile that Spencer elected to ignore, instead focusing on trying to sit down without his knees giving way.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.” Morgan raised a brow at him, giving him a look. “You missed some.” Spencer, slightly panicked, wiped at his face only to find his fingers came back clean. He shot Morgan a glare as he attempted to stifle a laugh with his mug.
“You don’t need to give me the ‘you were reckless’ speech, I’ve already gotten it three times in the past hour.” Spencer rolled his shoulders trying to work out some of his lingering unease. Morgan paused, brows furrowed.
“Three? When did J.J. manage to get you?” Morgan tipped his mug towards Spencer as he winced.
“Rossi and Emily decided to tag team me as they drove back to the station. I have been… avoiding J.J.” Spencer said slowly as Morgan nodded along, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Smart,” Morgan clicked his tongue as he set down his mug. “Look we’re saying this because we care about you, kid.”
“I’m twenty seven.” Spencer gave him a look.
“You’re still a hell of a lot younger than the rest of us.” Morgan chuckled, attempting to make a go for Spencer’s hair as he ducked. He let the moment hang before he grabbed a paper cup and offered it to him. “So where are you going now?”
Spencer picked lightly at the rim, leaving shreds of paper to collect at the bottom of the cup. “Back to the hotel… I’ve been banned from working, I’m just going to pack my bag and find the quickest way to the plane from there.” He placed it down next to Derek as the man looked Spencer over.
Derek chewed the inside of his cheek, lent back and took a quick glance around the station. “Why don’t I join you?”
“Are you using me to get off early?” Spencer had already begun walking, Derek quickly tailing behind.
“There’s not much else for me to do anyways, most of what it is is paperwork, it’s stuff I can get done in the morning.” Derek shrugged, wrapping an arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “And I think it’s a far more pressing matter to make sure you don’t attempt anything else stupid.” Derek paused, pulling Spencer to a stop with him. His expression was sombre. “We’re all not happy about what’s happening with the case, but there’s nothing we can do about it. We’ve just… run out of time, it happens.”
Spencer’s brows pinched together, his grip tightened around the strap of his messenger bag. “Yeah. It’s just what happens.”
Most of his team arrived to the plane at eleven forty five am with an uncomfortable silence. Spencer lay unmoving on the couch, a book he couldn’t bring himself in his hands to hide the fact he’d slept there. He pretended not to analyse their expressions as he turned the page, J.J. was notably the most resigned, a manilla folder held together by a rubber band held tight to her chest. He didn’t miss how her eyes lingered on him as she entered the plane first- checking him as her thumb ran over the band.
She’d seen this coming, might’ve even sensed it for days prior before even communicating with Strauss. The smile she forced herself to give him was tight as she attempted to ignore the weight in her arms. He could make a guess about what was inside; contact information of victim’s family’s, photographs of evidence and witness statements, descriptions of the deceased and... his team’s profile.
He cast his gaze down and placed his book closed on his chest. He felt his mouth dry as he caught a glimpse of Emily’s pinched brows and Morgan’s reluctance to engage in conversation.
Rossi had been… absent from the procession, it wasn’t exactly something that concerned him until Hotch stood and pulled out his phone. Spencer’s stomach dropped. Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped out leaving them alone, blanketed in discontent.
Spencer could hear the muffled argument through the door.
It took two more phone calls for Hotch to make any leeway and another twenty minutes Rossi to board. When he finally did he wore sunglasses and a scowl. The go bag he’d had in hand, clearly sloppily shoved together, was slammed into the compartment with a bang loud enough to make Spencer flinch.
He decided it would be best if he just pretended to be asleep for the rest of the flight.
Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours. He was suffocating. He didn’t want to look, he didn’t want to observe- he didn’t profile, but he couldn’t shut his brain off. He could hear the tick tick ticking of a watch pulsing alongside the rushing blood in his ears. He recited lines of Chaucer in his mind and lines turned to bible verses and verses turned to spells and spells assaulted him with the smell burnt feathers and the claws of a demon as it reached out for him- the pits of hell that opened beneath it. His breathing quickened and Spencer tried to refocus.
The hum of the plane, the shifting of papers-
“Strauss shouldn't have taken us off the case.” Rossi had said it under his breath, but it cut through the silence like a knife.
Spencer heard as J.J. took a steadying breath in, the folder being closed and rebound. “There are other cases for us to handle, they just pile up on my desk even when we’re finishing cases at our normal rate- letting a case where we’re making no headway monopolise our time doesn’t help anyone.” She said, tired.
“If we were just given a little more time we would’ve made progress.” Rossi couldn’t hold back an indignant scoff.
“We can’t be certain of that.” She sighed.
“There are other teams!” Rossi was louder than Spencer liked, the sharp bite of frustration on Rossi’s tongue.
“Rossi!” Hotch snapped and the plane fell quiet. Spencer cracked an eye open, Rossi stood frozen his hands on the table staring down Hotch. Slowly he sat back down, his glare never diminishing.
The flight felt like a silent war.
Spencer was the first one off when they landed, he couldn’t stand to stay there any longer than he had to be. This couldn’t happen again. He fumbled with the strap of his bag as he attempted to get it onto his shoulder, taking double steps as he went down the stairs. He hated seeing his team like this, the lingering agitation clung to his skin like a film.
The debriefing had been short and clipped, the facts laid out for them. They’d continue communication with the local authorities, if another person died they’d be on the next plane back. There wouldn’t, they won’t, they all knew that. The conference room was frozen in silence. Animosity lapped at their feet like a dog. It’d be better in a day, in a week, when rationality won out and their feelings had settled.
Would it have even been like this if he just knew what he was doing?! He had an eidetic memory and a collection of literature exploring the occult, that it should be easy for him, and yet he’d stumbled. He can’t know everything but he was still pretending as if he did.
If he just knew what to look for, what ritual to preform, what it was- he just didn’t.
It was a responsibility. Spencer was a specialist who couldn’t even handle what he was specialising in. Spencer was acting as a liability- what was the point of him being on the team if he couldn’t do his job. What was the point in magic if he couldn’t even use it for something other than illusions. That’d go over great next time a portal to hell opened up beneath his feet. Nice to meet you hell beast, want to watch me change a two of clubs into a king of spades.
Hell.
Oh god. He- he had an idea.
Spencer froze his, hand hovered over the elevator call button. Shakily he pulled himself back, one step, two, and pressed himself against the adjacent wall. His hand wiped over his mouth as his eyes started to glaze.
It was a long shot, something that’d only possible work once and by god was Spencer going to hate it but it was either that or die. He wouldn’t be able to survive another banishment it’d- it’d tear him apart. He just had to convince himself it was about survival- about saving people to wash the bitter taste of resentment from his mouth.
Spencer kept his pace steady and he his head down as he turned, pivoting away from the elevator and towards the office that sat on the end of the floor. He hesitated for a moment before he steeled himself, releasing a shaky knock. He waited with no response, so slowly he creaked open the door managing to startle the woman on the other side.
“Baby G! I wasn’t expecting you!” Penelope let out a startled laugh, placing down the fluffy pink pen she’d been brandishing like a weapon on her desk. “How are you feeling, Morgan told me you didn’t look too crash hot after everything.”
Spencer shifted uncomfortably, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m… fine all things considered. I’m actually here because I was wondering if you could do me a favour.” Penelope perked up, looking him over with renewed intrigue.
“Oh? A rare request from our boy wonder, why I’ll just have to accept.” Quickly she slid back into her chair. “Come, enter my abode.”
Spencer stepped in slowly, glancing over his shoulder before he closed the door behind him. He swallowed down his lingering nerves as his fingers traced the buckle of his messenger bag. “I was wondering if you could get me some information on someone.”
“Colour me intrigued, who is it, ex girlfriend, jilted lover- lover to be?”
“An old friend of my mom’s, actually.” He started slowly, feeling out what he was going to say in his mouth. “She’s been… trying to get into contact with him for while and I-” Spencer took a deep breath in, trying to calm his bubbling frustrations. This was important, he just needed to get this over with. “I just want to know who he is myself, meet him first.”
“Well, you always were a momma’s boy.” She chuckled to herself as she spun her chair around to face her station, quickly beckoning him to join her. “What’s this guy’s name?”
Spencer froze “John Constantine.” Spencer had to force the words out of his mouth.
“Con-stan-tine, that how you spell it?” She shot a look over her shoulder, letting Reid steal a glance at her screen. His lack of response was enough to prompt her to enter it and begin snooping. “Hoo, our boy has a rap sheet, which, luckily enough is great for us. It means he’s in our database and has a face we can track.” Penelope let out a startled laugh, which she quickly tried to cover with a cough. Her eyes darted back to Spencer, silently attempting to gauge his reaction before she continued, breaking through the awkward silence. “Well he’s at least been in the states in the past forty eight hours- I managed to get a hit on him from a traffic cam near Jersey-” Penelope trailed off as she clicked onto most recent recorded incident.
God dammit.
Spencer resisted his want to scream.
It was an arrest warrant. A very long arrest warrant.
Grave desecration, breaking and entering, property damage, several counts of vandalism, petty theft and to top it all off assault and battery.
Constantine had done his job and left a whole mess in his wake.
The room was silent aside from the soft hum of Penelope’s computers.
“How exactly does your mom know this guy again?” Penelope said after a moment, turning away from her station and closing the warrant.
“Old friend, she met him in her twenties.” He restrained the urge to grit his teeth and instead dug his hands deeper into his pockets. “Would you... be able to get me his number?” He offered up a weak smile and a sympathetic wince.
Penelope chewed her lip, looking over the screen again before she blew out a breath. “I might, it’d take me a few days to find it though?”
He hated to acknowledge the crashing sense of relief that overwhelmed him. “Take all the time you need, this helps a lot Penelope.”
“Oh, you know just how to flatter a girl.” She waved him off but her expression softened as he reached the door. “I’ll tell you when I’ve got something, rest easy alright?”
“I mean it, thank you.” The smile he gave that time was genuine.
There was a click as Spencer’s key finally slid into the lock after four near misses. The weight he’d been carrying slowly began to slip from his shoulders and Spencer let out a heavy, teary sigh. He pushed his way into his apartment, pulling his bag off and hanging it on a hook by the door. He paused for a moment, to just take it in. The wards etched into the walls and deck of old cards by the windowsill, his books piled on top of each other by his couch.
He was safe.
Nothing had changed.
He wiped his hands over his face before he rested them at the back of his neck. He had things to do.
There wasn’t a moment of hesitation as he went for his map, an old thing he’d gotten a decade ago, and sprawled it across his kitchen table. There were still pinpricks of dried blood spattered across it from when he was still trying to get a handle on scrying. He paused for a moment, his eyes darting over it. He should have enough energy to be able to get the information he needed, he wasn’t searching for exact coordinates- if he’d wanted that he would’ve gone for the map in his room and pulled out a blood bag.
He blindly reached beneath the table, feeling for the handle of a blade. Slowly and steadily he pried it from its hiding place, peeling the tape off with it. His finger tapped against the grip as he reached out his non-dominant hand and held it just above the map, his palm facing the sky. He inhaled and held, his blade carved lightly between the distal palmar and proximal palmar creases.
Slowly he turned his hand downwards, the wound clean, staying nothing more than two pieces of skin- until he felt it pull. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as droplets of blood pooled and formed against his palm until finally it released, hitting the map with a hiss a steam.
Spencer blinked rapidly, his freely bleeding hand was held to his chest as he attempted to stop hyperventilating. Focus. He needed to focus. He peeled his hand from his chest and shuddered as he felt blood soak through to his skin. He stumbled to the kitchen sink and shoved his hand under the running water. He fumbled as he reached for the first aid kit he kept on the counter, frantically trying his best to unzip the bag through the panic and pain.
He pulled out the gauze pad and pressed it onto the cut before quickly moving to his bandages. With a shaky hand he began to wrap. The movement was familiar, steadying. His tremors began to lessen as he fell into a rhythm. Maybe he should’ve waited a day before doing this- but it didn’t quite matter, what’s done is done.
Spencer massaged his temples slowly, for a moment just standing there before he shut off the water. Magic. He was doing magic. His team were in the middle of a standoff between each other, tensions were so high they were nearly suffocating.
And Spencer was here, in his tiny apartment doing magic.
He’d thought about telling his team once or twice- telling Morgan, telling Garcia. Then they’d found out about his mother. He- he was ashamed, he was scared, he had been pretending that she was fine just so he didn’t have to admit his mother’s condition. If he talked about her at all. It wasn’t a curse, it wasn’t demons… it was just genetics.
Trying to tell them about how he thought he could do magic, how he could make himself disappear in a flash of light, or completely change the cards in his hands- they would think they’re delusions. If he told them about demons, about spirits and all the things he’s had to deal with just to keep them safe… he would end up in an institution.
They wouldn’t even be wrong to put him there.
Spencer tilted his head back, staring blankly at the ceiling.
He drifted back to his kitchen table, his arms wrapped around himself. He squeezed his eyes shut before he could catch a glimpse of his map, he just had to hope this was worth something.
He could still feel the heat radiating off it as searched for the new angry red spot where his blood had settled. “Indiana. You’re in Indiana.”
“Good.” Spencer let out a shaky laugh. “You’re still here.” His laughter dissolved into angry, hurt sobs. “You’re still here.” He collapsed into his dining chair, his hands running through his hair.
He needed to focus.
He stood abruptly, forcing his chair back with enough speed that it nearly toppled. He wiped at his eyes as he reached beneath his couch fishing out an old notebook and pen, pages yellowed and slightly torn from his work in it when he was a teen. He flipped past the first few pages, all old if not inaccurate information- things he’d jotted down based off of rumour alone. Then he stopped, his thumb rubbing over the ink and the indents of the paper.
John Constantine, written in the script of a rushing sixteen year-old. His first ever profile.
Spencer clicked his pen.
He ran his fingers along the edges of the book’s pages, turning until he could find a blank.
John Constantine. Spencer wrote.
Current location, central Indiana.
Lasted recorded appearance in New Jersey via a traffic camera-