Constantine - The Novelization - Whoa is (Not)

"It's dragon's breath.""I thought you couldn't get it anymore."Beeman shrugged modestly. "I know a guy who knows a guy."Beeman reverently laid out what looked like an old, frayed rag. Constantine started to put thedragon's breath tube down next to it."No, whoa, John - boom! This is a piece of the robe Moses wore to the mountain. Very, veryflammable."Fire-from-the-burning-bush flammable? Constantine picked up the rag. Had Moses reallyworn this? Not all relics were what they were cracked up to be. But he did sense something....He looked at Beeman inquiringly. Meaning: This for real?Beeman nodded. "Yes. And yes. So, what's the action?"Constantine held the rag up to the light. What was he expecting to see? "I just pulled a soldierdemon out of a little girl. Looked like it was trying to come through."Beeman stared at him. Constantine couldn't mean come through - physically?"I know how it sounds.... "Beeman snorted. "We're finger puppets to them. Not doorways. They can work us but theycan't come through onto our plane. You know that.""Check the scrolls anyway. See if there are any precedents, will you?"Beeman nodded. Constantine suspected he was being humored."Sure, John. Anything else?" Beeman asked.Constantine coughed. "You wouldn't happen to have anything... for, uh... "Beeman nodded sagely and reached into the bag.Pulled out a bottle. Vicks Formula 44."On the house.""Thanks, B. Hard day at the office." Constantine toasted the air before taking a long pull onthe cough syrup.--A building stood in the midst of Los Angeles, a spired hulk that seemed out of place in thesunny L.A. afternoon - it looked like something from thirteenth century France more thantwenty-first-century Sherman Oaks.The sign on the building had once said CATHOLIC THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY. But theCardinal had gotten wind of it and made them change it to CATHOLIC THEOLOGICALSOCIETY. The difference between mysticism and religion.Angela looked at the large gothic structure, once a seminary, attached to the church, andthought about going to one of the more conventional churches for confession instead of theTheological Society.But Father Garret had been a friend of her family's for years. She trusted him."Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she murmured, a few minutes later, in the confessionalbooth. It was quiet and cool and private here and smelled faintly of wood polish. "It has been...if I told you how long since my last confession, you'd probably throw me out. And..." Her mouthwas dry. She wished she had something to drink. She didn't want to tell him...On the other side of the confession booth screen, Father Garret just waited. His silence wasquestion enough."And I killed a man today. Another one."''I'm so sorry you had to do that, Angela.""I didn't even see his face. I just pulled the trigger and he went away. Just like all the others."Father Garret considered, and cleared his throat.At last he said, "He was the shooter you were looking for?""Yes. He needed to be stopped. But most cops go twenty years without firing their gun.