Constantine - The Novelization - Whoa is (Not)

Constantine glanced at her, smiling, thinking she was getting punchy with fatigue."As you know," Beeman continued, his voice as disembodied as any errant ghost's, "the mythsays Mammon was conceived before his father's fall from grace - but he was born after."--In the storage area at the end of the maintenance corridor, Beeman seemed to hear somethinganomalous in a brief pause while the ball was rolling back to the alley's manager. A dooropening?He turned to look back down the alley: a long narrow strip of darkness with little pools oflight coming from each lane, pacing it off. Nothing moved there, except the mechanical works ofthe pinsetter in lane seven, going up and down like the gnashing of a giant robotic jaw."Beeman…?" came Constantine's voice on the phone."Sorry," Beeman said, turning back to the scroll. "Sorry. Right here." He forced himself tofocus. But that uneasy feeling wouldn't go away. He glanced over his shoulder again. Sawnothing .Well, he had various warding signs set up back there, to block whatever wanted to get in.Probably it was some irate elemental with a bone to pick - from the old days. Just hangingaround. Let it hover. It couldn't get to him - he hoped.He pulled the lamp closer to the scrolls. "Um... unlike Satan himself, Junior has never been inthe presence of the Creator, so he has no fear of him. No respect, either. And that contempt goesdouble for us - God's most prized creations."Beeman thought: If we're "God's precious ones," as it says here, then God needs some higherstandards."Mammon - Satan's son - would be the last demon we'd ever want coming into..."Was that another anomalous sound? Echoing laughter - echoing from far, far beyond this littlemortal edifice?"...into our plane."Something was definitely trying to get to him. Maybe something powerful enough to stampover his warding sigils, the way a man in heavy boots might kick through a small campfire. Hefelt like he was over a slow flame himself. Sweat was breaking out on his neck, his face. It wasstrangely hot in here, where it was normally quite cool....But it was important to get this information to Constantine... important to far more than thetwo of them. And Beeman - though he dabbled in the black arts - had long ago chosen sides. Heserved the Light."But demons can't cross over," Constantine was insisting on the phone. "Right? Remember?Beeman?""Wait...." The ancient text swam before his eyes. It was so hard to make it out in the heatwaves... hard to concentrate when things were crawling on his desk. Scuttling across it. Bugs ofsome kind. Flies. He swiped haphazardly at them, squinting at the yellowing scrolls. Somethingalit on the back of his neck, crawling there. He shook it off but it only came back, to be joined bya companion, and another."Wait - John. Wait. I'm reading. There seems to be a... loophole. Very old. Very old. Thetranslation is difficult. Conceived in Heaven, born in Hell - normal barriers might not apply...."He glanced up. Something was forming over there in the shadows, in the comer. Forming ofthousands of tiny moving parts. But he had to finish telling Constantine about the scroll. Thiswas the most important thing he would ever do. The agglomerate in the corner took on a vagueoutline - he wanted to scream but instead he managed to say, croakingly, "It says…" He lookedagain at the scroll. "First, Mammon would have to possess an oracle."--Angela pulled the SUV up at a stoplight. "That's a psychic," Constantine told her. "A very,