What Lurks Beneath

Later that evening, Maggie found herself in one of the less-used wings of Wayne Manor—a section her dad rarely ventured into. The air smelled faintly of musty books and burnt sage, a telltale sign that John Constantine had set up shop here for her training. The makeshift workspace had an old-world feel to it: shelves lined with aged tomes, chalk sigils scrawled onto the stone floor, and candles flickering unnaturally in the absence of a breeze.

Constantine sat lazily on a wooden chair, cigarette dangling between his fingers as he flipped through one of his books. When Maggie entered, he didn't look up, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Well, if it isn't Shadow Lass," Constantine drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm. "You look like you've had a day, love. Sit down before you fall down."

Maggie rolled her eyes but dropped into the chair across from him, the tension from earlier still weighing heavily on her. Constantine finally glanced at her, squinting as if reading her mood.

"Go on, then," he said, gesturing with his cigarette. "What happened this time? Demonic possession? Spectral tantrum?"

Maggie let out a long breath, her fingers threading through her hair. "I almost lost control today. At school." She glanced up, meeting his sharp gaze. "The shadows started to move… because I was angry. Really angry. Jason had to stop me."

"Jason Todd, huh?" Constantine leaned back, his expression unreadable. "The boy's got a knack for sticking his neck out, doesn't he? Lucky for you, he's got good instincts."

"It's not just luck," Maggie muttered, staring at the floor. "He's the only reason I didn't snap. The shadows… it felt like they wanted to come out. Like they were waiting for me to say the word."

Constantine's gaze hardened, and he stubbed his cigarette out on an old saucer. "Of course they were. That's the thing about power like yours—it doesn't care about right or wrong. It doesn't care about your morals. It cares about opportunity." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied her carefully. "And it's drawn to your emotions, kid. Especially anger."

"Then how do I control it?" Maggie asked, frustration slipping into her voice. "How do I keep it from controlling me?"

Constantine tilted his head, his expression contemplative. "Control's the wrong word. Shadows aren't like fire or water; they're alive. They listen—but only if you've got the guts to stand up to them."

Maggie frowned, the weight of his words sinking in. "So what? I just have to keep my emotions locked up forever?"

"Nah, love. That's a fast track to disaster," Constantine said, his tone softening slightly. "The trick is learning how to channel those emotions without letting them consume you. You're not a dam, Maggie; you're a conduit. When you feel that rage bubbling up, don't fight it—direct it. Make the shadows listen to you, not the other way around."

Maggie bit her lip, her mind replaying the moment with Alexis at school. The way the shadows rippled—as if they were waiting for her signal.

"Jason stopped me," she murmured. "He said I'm not going to hurt anyone, but what if he's wrong? What if I can't pull back next time?"

Constantine barked a short laugh, startling her. "Kid, I don't deal in 'what ifs'—I deal in what is. Right now, you've got something dangerous inside you, but you've also got people keeping you grounded. That's more than most with your kind of power have." He stood, grabbing a long wooden staff from a nearby wall.

"Get up," he said abruptly.

Maggie blinked at him. "What?"

"You heard me. On your feet. We're going to practice." Constantine gestured to the chalk sigils on the floor. "If you're this close to losing control in a school hallway, then you're not ready to face anything bigger. Time to toughen you up."

Maggie hesitated before rising, squaring her shoulders. Constantine grinned, a wicked glint in his eye.

"That's the spirit," he said, tossing her a piece of chalk. "Now draw me a sigil for focus—let's see if you remember the basics. And don't even think about holding back. You're going to learn to work with the shadows, not against them."

Maggie took the chalk and knelt to the floor, a sense of determination settling over her. She wasn't going to let Alexis—or her own doubts—define her. Whatever the shadows were, she would learn to command them. Because if Jason was right about one thing, it was this:

She wasn't alone.

Constantine watched her begin to draw, his expression uncharacteristically serious. Under his breath, he muttered, "You've got this, kid. You just don't know it yet."

"Now then," Constantine said, tone deceptively light, "how do you feel about trying teleportation? I know you've done it before with Jason."

Maggie tensed, her breath catching slightly. "Where do you want me to go?"

Constantine pointed to the far end of the room, where an old, weathered armchair sat tucked against the shadows. "Start small. Over there. Easy peasy, yeah?"

Maggie nodded, exhaling shakily as she centered herself. But before she could begin, Lillyanna's voice slipped into her mind once more, smooth as silk.

Remember when you were in the coma, and you teleported to save Jason from the Joker? Lillyanna whispered, her voice dripping with dark encouragement. Do it again… as before.

Maggie swallowed hard, closing her eyes as she focused. She remembered the feeling from before—the desperate pull of shadows that had answered her need to save Jason. The darkness had become a bridge, a tunnel she traveled through in an instant. Her pulse quickened as she imagined the shadows wrapping around her again, like hands guiding her forward.

With a sudden rush of air, the room seemed to fold in on itself. Darkness swallowed her for a heartbeat—and then she was standing at the far end of the room, right beside the old armchair. The candles flickered wildly as the shadows rippled and then fell still, leaving Maggie swaying slightly from the effort.

Constantine let out a low whistle, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered. "Looks like you've got a knack for this after all."

Maggie's eyes opened wide, her breathing uneven. She turned back to Constantine, stunned. "I did it."

"Aye, you did," Constantine said with a smirk, though his sharp gaze studied her carefully. "Now let's see if you can keep doing it without collapsing, eh?"

Maggie wiped her hands on her jeans, steadying herself. "What's next?"

Constantine grinned darkly, rubbing his hands together. "You've got teleportation down. Now, let's try something bigger—controlling multiple points of shadow at once. Pull them to you, shape them into something useful."

Maggie frowned but nodded, stretching out her fingers. The shadows lurking at the room's edges seemed to twitch in response, writhing faintly as if they were alive and waiting. "Okay… I'll try."

"Don't try, kid. Do," Constantine said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. "And keep your head in the game. You lose focus, and it's all over."

She swallowed hard and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes to center herself. Reaching out again, she pictured the shadows as threads she could gather and weave together. At first, it worked—the darkness rippled toward her fingertips like a pet obeying its master. The air grew thick and heavy, the candles flickering until their light shrank to trembling pinpricks.

And then everything went wrong.

The shadows didn't come quietly. They surged—a black, monstrous tide rising faster than she could contain. Maggie's eyes snapped open as the power slammed into her chest, stealing her breath. The calm threads she had reached for twisted into something furious and alive. They bucked against her control, ripping free like a predator off its leash.

"Maggie!" Constantine barked, his voice edged with panic.

But Maggie couldn't hear him—not through the roar of shadows consuming her senses. The darkness lashed out violently, tendrils shooting through the room like whips. The candles exploded, shards of wax and glass scattering across the floor. Books were yanked violently off the shelves, pages torn and shredded mid-air. The sigils Constantine had painstakingly carved onto the floor ignited in a blinding flash, burning themselves out with a sound like a scream.

The walls trembled as the shadows clawed their way higher, spreading like cracks through the very air. A sick thrill pulsed through Maggie, her pulse hammering to match the chaos. She staggered backward, her hands pressed against her temples, teeth gritted.

"Stop it! Stop it!" she gasped, the plea meant for herself as much as for the shadows.

And then, softly, Lillyanna's voice slithered into her thoughts like silk over steel.

Yes, my sweet Nightshade. Stop fighting it. Let it flow. Let it consume…

Maggie's chest seized, panic and something darker battling for dominance. The shadows surged again, lashing toward Constantine himself, who barely sidestepped the crackling tendrils. His coat whipped violently in their wake.

"No!" Maggie screamed, her voice raw and cracking. She dropped to her knees as the shadows swirled around her like a hurricane, writhing and snarling to be set free.

Constantine moved fast, a charm already in his hand, glowing faintly. "Maggie! Listen to me!" he shouted over the chaos. "Focus! You pull it back, now, or there won't be a bloody room left standing!"

But Maggie wasn't sure she could. The shadows had tasted freedom—and now, they wanted more.

Maggie clutched her head, her fingers digging into her scalp as the shadows spiraled further out of control. The storm of darkness writhed, crashing against the walls and ceiling, tendrils snapping like whips that splintered wood and cracked plaster. It felt like the air itself had been swallowed whole, leaving only the suffocating pressure of the shadows pressing in on her chest.

Stop holding back, Lillyanna's voice urged, silky and insidious. Why fight it? This is who you are, Nightshade…

"No!" Maggie choked out, forcing herself to look up, her breath ragged and uneven. She slammed her hands against the floor, her voice trembling as she screamed, "I'm not… letting… you win!"

Her pulse was a drumbeat of panic, but she focused on the shadows—her shadows. In her mind's eye, she imagined grabbing hold of them, tethering the wild, living darkness with invisible threads. Sweat dripped down her forehead as she gritted her teeth, pulling with every ounce of will she had.

"Come on!" she hissed through her teeth.

The shadows slowed for a fraction of a second, twitching like a beast turning to look at its master—but then they bucked violently again, and a jagged tendril struck the floor just inches from Constantine, leaving a smoking crater in its wake.

Constantine swore under his breath, his hand already moving inside his coat. He pulled out a small, glowing sigil etched on a thin piece of obsidian, its faint light growing brighter as he whispered an incantation. The energy around him crackled.

"Maggie!" he barked, his voice hard and urgent. "You've got ten seconds to get this under control, or I will blast the lot of it back to hell! And you along with it if I have to!"

Maggie's head snapped up, panic flashing in her eyes. "Wait! No!"

"Then fight, dammit!" Constantine shouted, the glow from the sigil intensifying. "Get your head on straight, or I'll do it for you!"

The words hit her like a slap. Maggie forced herself to block out everything—the crashing sounds, the burning sigils, the whisper of Lillyanna's voice in her ears. She closed her eyes tightly, her body trembling as she whispered, "They're mine… not yours."

The shadows lashed violently, coiling tighter around her arms and legs as if to pull her under. Maggie's breath came faster as she pushed back harder, her voice growing louder.

"Listen to me! I don't care what you want! I'm the one in control—not you!"

The room seemed to groan under the strain as the shadows quivered, still fighting her. Constantine watched, his jaw set as he held the sigil steady, ready to unleash its energy. The light around it pulsed brighter, the spell teetering on the edge of release.

Maggie drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "ENOUGH!" she roared, her voice echoing like thunder.

The shadows froze mid-writhing, suspended in the air like black smoke. For a long second, neither Maggie nor Constantine moved, the only sound the ragged, uneven rhythm of her breathing. Then, like a rubber band snapping back, the tendrils of darkness recoiled toward her, shrinking back into her fingertips and leaving the room in eerie silence.

The candles flared back to life, their flames unsteady, and the air felt like it released a long-held breath. Maggie collapsed forward, her palms slapping the floor as she gasped for air. Her entire body shook, sweat dripping from her brow.

Constantine, still holding the glowing sigil, let out a sharp breath of his own. He approached carefully, crouching beside her. "Bloody hell, kid," he muttered, shoving the charm back into his coat. "You nearly tore this place apart."

Maggie didn't look up, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I stopped it."

Constantine studied her for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Yeah. This time." He reached down to grip her shoulder firmly, forcing her to look at him. "But next time you lose control like that, there won't be a 'stop.' And trust me, kid, you don't want to see what happens then."

Maggie nodded weakly, still catching her breath. Deep down, though, she couldn't shake the feeling that the shadows—her shadows—hadn't gone away. They were there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting.

And next time, they might not listen.

Constantine exhaled sharply, straightening up and brushing the dust off his coat. He glanced around at the wreckage—the shattered candles, scorched sigils, and scattered books—before leveling a tired but pointed look at Maggie.

"That's enough for tonight," he said, his voice edged with exasperation. "Why don't you call it quits and go do some—oh, I don't know—Bat Jr. training, or schoolwork, or whatever the hell kids your age gets up to these days."

Maggie, still slumped on the floor, shot him a glare through her exhaustion. "Seriously? I nearly took your head off, and that's what you're worried about?"

Constantine raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, don't flatter yourself, doll. It's gonna take more than a little shadow tantrum to do me in." He gestured at the smoldering marks on the floor. "But you're a walking demolition zone right now, and if you keep pushing it, they'll be scraping you—and me—off the walls with a bloody spatula."

Maggie groaned, rubbing her temples as she tried to catch her breath. "Fine. I'll take a break. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Constantine deadpanned. He lit a cigarette with a snap of his fingers, the flame flaring unnaturally bright before it vanished. He took a long drag, watching her carefully. "Look, kid, you've got power—that much is clear. But power without control? That's just a weapon pointed at the wrong bloody direction. You need to figure out what you're doing before you pull another stunt like that."

Maggie didn't answer. Instead, she pushed herself shakily to her feet, swaying slightly before catching her balance. "I'll work on it," she muttered.

Constantine blew out a stream of smoke, his gaze softening—just a little. "Yeah, well… good." He pointed at her with two fingers, cigarette still dangling. "And don't let me catch you sneaking back in here tonight for some half-baked solo practice, either. Go find your Robin buddy, tie yourself to some homework, or whatever it is you Bat-brats do to stay out of trouble."

Maggie's lips twitched as if she wanted to argue, but the fatigue weighed her down too much. "I said fine."

Constantine grunted in approval, watching as she shuffled toward the door. "And Maggie," he added, more quietly this time, "next time it starts to slip—don't try to hold it alone. I'm here for a reason, yeah?"

She paused, glancing over her shoulder. For all his sarcasm and gruffness, there was something steady in his gaze—a rare sincerity that didn't come often from John Constantine.

"Yeah," she replied softly, before walking out.

Constantine waited until the door clicked shut behind her, the shadows in the room still seeming to tremble faintly in her absence. He sighed, running a hand through his hair before looking up at the damage she'd left behind.

"She's gonna be the bloody death of me," he muttered to himself, flicking his cigarette into the smoldering remains of a candle.