"A strange request—at least, strange for another spellcaster." Madame Xanadu summoned an ornate gold-and-silver teapot with magic, letting it float as it poured her a cup of black tea. "Of the people who actively go looking for Constantine, ninety-nine out of a hundred die."
"Since you know my name, you should be able to guess why I came here." The black-robed witch sat across from Madame Xanadu, but her attention shifted to the sofa trembling nearby. Seeming to sense something, she said, "There are things only Constantine can do."
Madame Xanadu's sofa looked quite nice, but she had actually bought it from Walmart over a decade ago. It was naturally not made of any rare metals or magical fabrics, merely ordinary wood and cotton, plus a few iron bolts.
Though Nimue's magic was formidable, she could not possibly keep Constantine trapped by such mundane things for long.
As the two women tested each other with riddle-like conversation, Constantine, trapped inside the sofa, sprang out with a whoosh like the Joker head in a Scare Box.
The sofa fell apart, leaving nothing but a pile of junk on the floor.
He looked like he had taken a serious beating, appearing with a bruised and swollen face. Even so, he leaned against the bookcase beside him in what he considered a dashing pose, lowered his head slightly, and lit a cigarette.
"All right, the customer mortality rate does sound a little bad. Not exactly a great slogan for attracting business. But why not look on the bright side? Doesn't one person always survive?"
Yes, that final survivor was usually the driver.
The strange woman smiled and gently shook her head, as though she did not care about that at all. "I believe I'll be the one who survives."
"Heh heh, then we