Note: This is a 'secret origin' for a character from my DC Universe 2045 series of stories, explaining where she came from and why she took a certain name. You don't need to have read any of the other stories, but it might help. Joanna Constantine: Hellblazer 'It should have been raining,' Gemma Constantine thought to herself, the slim brown haired woman observing the goings on with a cynical eye. She wore her best suit, the dark blue cloth starched and uncomfortable under the sunlight. 'There ought to be a storm, thunder and lightning, when you're burying a magician like my uncle John,' she continued. John Constantine, magician, rogue and hero was dead, and much of the magical world had gathered here to make sure that he was really dead and buried. A score of old enemies and fewer friends had come from far and wide, coming together here in this graveyard not far from the city of London. They were an odd looking mob, people from seemingly ordinary lives mixed with some of the oddest beings on this Earth. The latest in a long line of Earth elementals the Swamp Thing stood to one side, his bulky form made up entirely of roots, moss and earth. The expression on his partly human face was mostly regretful, while the white haired woman who stood at his side glared at the coffin resting in it's hole. Abigail Arcane-Holland clearly seemed happier that Constantine was dead, yet even she had cast a single rose onto the grave. Zatanna, the popular stage magician, stood nearby, her face a study of complicated emotions. The black haired woman wore gloomy colors, her eyes smudged and almost bruised looking, and there was a strange aura all about her. More than one of the people here had a dark aura about them, but Zatanna's was nearly sinister. Still, when she had spoken to Gemma there had been sorrow and more than a bit of regret in her eyes and Gemma wondered if those stories about her and John were true. There were almost no costumed heroes out in the busy crowd, only Dr. Fate was attending from that crowd. The golden helmed man had disappeared almost as soon as Constantine was put into the earth, as if something more important had draw his attention away. 'Flash bastard,' Gemma thought to herself irritably. A few had offered their condolences, not sure what to say and she had let them finish politely. There was movement in the crowd and a figure broke off to walk over to her side. His dark brown hair fell into his glasses shielded eyes, a new trenchcoat being worn over a simple black suit. He almost reminded Gemma of a younger John, but it was carried off so sincerely that she found it hard to take offense, somehow. "Miss Constantine, I'm called Tim Hunter," he introduced himself then continued, "I'm truly sorry for your loss." "Mr. Hunter," Gemma nodded, "I'm..." Gemma paused, a conversation with her uncle suddenly echoing in her mind. "Names have power," John had said seriously, "especially the names you're born with. Unless you trust someone a hell of a lot, don't be handing out yours." Of course her mother had lectured John after that, telling her to ignore it, but maybe he had a point. "Joanna," Gemma said seriously, "Joanna Constantine." Quite obviously Tim had caught the short pause, but he didn't seem to be too bothered by her concealing of her name, in fact he almost seemed to approve. "If there's anything I can do to help, let me know," Hunter said to her seriously. "D'you know if the police are looking into the shooting?" the newly dubbed Joanna asked him curiously. A bitter expression crossed her face as she murmured, "I wasn't too impressed with the officer who came out to talk to me." "They'll look into it," Tim promised as he turned to watch the dirt being shoveled in over the grave, "but it happened in a bad part of town with a lot of gang activity. They've slotted the killing in with other random gang incidents, I think, and it'll take something big to change that." "Hmm," Joanna answered, "my uncle wasn't killed randomly, that I can tell you." Tim studied her just a bit nervously, "You aren't going to do anything rash, are you?" Joanna flashed a slight smile, "Depends on how you define rash." Turning away from the grave she said in farewell, "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Hunter." She detoured a moment to talk again to one of the guests, then headed out of the graveyard towards the street. Chaz came as soon as Joanna called him, the older taxi driver sitting behind the wheel with his balding head shining in the sunlight. He had been an old mate of her uncle's and had volunteered to be her driver for her visit to London. "How was it?" he asked gently as she climbed in. "Okay," Joanna answered, "went on a long while." A grim little smile, "The poor priest seemed to have a hard time coming up for virtues for uncle John." "Most of John's virtues weren't exactly something you could talk about in polite company," Chaz agreed with a chuckle. "So where to?" he asked. "My uncle's apartment," Joanna said firmly, "there are some things I need to do there." "You sure?" Chaz asked as they pulled out onto the road, keeping one eye on his passenger and the other on the road. "Oh yes," Joanna answered but didn't go into it any further. She wasn't sure if he'd believe what she was going there to do, anyway. They reached the east end apartment block a little while later, Chaz pulling up to the curb smoothly. "D'you want me to wait, then?" he asked as Joanna got out, looking up at her with a certain degree of honest concern. "I'll be fine," Joanna answered him, "but thanks." The apartment building had an old elevator, but of course it was out of order. She went up the two flights of stairs even as she listened to the conversations, the sounds that were easily heard through thin walls out into the hallway. Arguments, the telly, music, all of it blended as she walked up to the door, pulled out a key and went inside. The apartment was surprisingly neat for a bachelor pad, really. The worst of the smelly clothes were in a basket over to the side, there weren't any porn magazines around and only one half eaten pizza sat forlornly in it's box. Obviously, someone had been in to tidy up after he died. Carefully navigating through the remaining junk she headed to the couch, sitting down with a sigh. Gemma lit up another smoke, calmly using a old saucer as an ashtray. "Okay Uncle," she murmured aloud, "you there?" Normal families passed down thinks like fine plates, heirlooms, that kind of thing. The Constantine family, on the other hand, handed down certain... unusual talents. Second sight, an affinity for magic, they all cropped up in the family with distressing regularity and usually helped bring nothing but misery to those involved. At least that was what her mother thought. Gemma squinted a bit, seeing the hazy shapes that moved around the room. Ever since she had been a child she had been able to see spirits, the echoes that the living left behind when they passed on. It sadly wasn't too reliable, but usually she could get the job done. It wasn't her uncle John that Gemma saw first, instead it was those that haunted his conscience and memory. A young lady, blood dripping from her wrists, a older priest, a soldier... one by one they appeared, lingering in the old apartment. Gemma's eyes flashed, literally glowing green as she growled, "Bugger off and let me see my uncle!" "That isn't going to happen," the woman's voice came from the doorway. Gemma looked up to see a younger woman standing there, her leather jacket hanging loose on her thin body. She was youngish, maybe late twenties, with short black hair and blue eyes. Tattered jeans and a T-shirt hugged her snugly, the heavy jacket adorned with various radical pins and the occasional pink triangle. "You're one of the neighbors," Gemma remembered from peeking at the police report, "Kathy, and you live a few doors down with your partner." "And you are?" Kathy asked coldly. "Joanna Constantine," Gemma answered, almost automatically. "I'm sorry if I surprised you by being in here," she continued, "I'm sort of looking into my uncle's death." "You can do that occult stuff, like he could," Kathy didn't make it a question. "Somewhat," Gemma said honestly. Kathy drew a gun from her jacket pocket, her expression regretful as she pointed it at Gemma and said, "I'm sorry to hear that." Gemma drew another puff from her smoke then put it out. "Do I really want to know why?" she asked softly, meeting Kathy's eyes. Kathy's hand tightened a bit on the gun as she muttered, "It won't matter anyway." She met Gemma's eyes defiantly, "He slept with my lover, damn it! We were having a rough patch, arguing a lot but then that bastard waltzed in and screwed her!" Gemma looked at Kathy blankly for a moment then surprised her by laughing softly. "You know, I think my uncle would have liked going out that way, shot by a jealous lover," she chuckled. "Shut up, you little," Kathy raised the gun, finger tightening on the trigger. "Ezeerf!" a woman called and Kathy was silenced, standing rock still like a statue. Zatanna made her way inside, the almost goth looking magician frowning thoughtfully at Gemma. "How did you know to have me follow you?" Gemma shrugged, "Uncle John's death couldn't have been magical, I doubt that they'd have found enough of him to bury. There's no way he'd get tangled up in gangs so... it had to be something personal." She fished out a battered notebook from under the cushions of the couch, "And he sent me his journal in his will, it mentioned something about his neighbors." Zatanna nodded, "Nicely done." "Now we just need to figure out what to do with her," Gemma nodded to Kathy. "She would be very... breakable, right now," Zatanna suggested with a grim expression. "No," Gemma shook her head, "I think turning her and the gun over to the cops would be better, it's probably the murder weapon." "As you wish," Zatanna quietly agreed. She studied Gemma a moment, "Thank you for doing this... but try to stay out of the game, young Miss Constantine. The cost is often higher than you'd ever expect to have to pay." Before Gemma could say anything Zatanna murmured something under her breath and she and Kathy were gone. 'Wonder if I should have told her that I've been studying the spells in Uncle John's journal?' Gemma thought tiredly. Some months later a small office on the east side of London opened up, one almost looking like something from the pages of an older private eye novel. Set at the end of a hall of doors a sign was etched in frosted glass, the letters spelling out a simple message. "Constantine Occult Investigations," Joanna Constantine said to herself with a smile, wearing one of the many battered coats she had inherited from her uncle, "is open for business." End Notes: The original Joanna is an ancestor of Gemma and John, who also was into the occult. I've featured the modern Joanna in a few of my DC comics fanfics, but reading the others isn't necessary. I've been meaning to get into how Gemma got into the occult business in the first place and this seemed like the best way. In the graphic novel 'Son of Man' John Constantine really did sleep with a lesbian, and I always wondered if that might blow up in his face one day...
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