The dying sun tinged the streets of New York a sickly orange, as if the city itself were covered in a hangover haze. Amidst the exhaust fumes and the distant murmur of traffic, a tall, thin figure strode purposefully toward an apartment building that had seen better days.

Jane Constantine shuffled her feet on the pavement, the heels of her boots marking the rhythm of her irritation. Her long black leather coat moved lightly in the breeze, briefly revealing her long-sleeved white shirt, already yellowed by time and the smoke of countless cigarettes. Tight, worn black pants completed her uniform of contempt for the world.

"Fucking human stupidity," she muttered, taking a crumpled cigarette from her nearly empty pack. The silver Zippo lighter glowed for a moment before the flame ignited, illuminating her dark, annoyed eyes.

She'd been hired—well, paid—to deal with another predictable disaster: some idiot's daughter had messed with a Ouija board and now had an unwanted passenger. Jane inhaled deeply, tasting the poison of the tobacco before exhaling with a resigned sigh.

"Hopefully, this won't end with another trip to Hell," she grunted, adjusting her collar as she shouldered open the building's door. The air inside smelled of dampness and despair, a scent she knew all too well.

"Damn," she cursed under her breath, stamping her half-smoked cigarette on the floor. "If that brat is possessed by anything that speaks Latin, I'm going to charge her double."

And with that, Jane Constantine, exorcist, demon hunter, and professional bad mood watcher, stepped into the shadows of the building, ready for another night of dirty work.