"Thou shalt steal. Thou shalt kill. Thou shalt bear false witness."
Bruno Mannheim stared out tnrougn tne picture windows of his penthouse
headquarters as he contemplated the city he intended to rule with an iron fist. His beefy hands were clasped behind his back. A permanent scowl was etched onto his bellicose feattires. The mob boss was unafraid to turn his back on an entire roomful of ruthless criminals.
"You think small," he scolded his guests. "For me, Crime is the moral standard, the universal principle, the natural successor to free market consumer capitalism. I'm looking to establish a new world order of Crime, with its own capital city." He gazed approvingly at the diseased urban jungle spread out before him. "Every Caesar needs a Rome. I'm taking Gotham. If you're as smart as you think you are, you'll step out of my way and tell the other local bosses to do the same." His gruff voice brooked no dissent. A crude accent betrayed his roots in the slums of Metropolis. "I'm making this easy. You affiliate with Intergang or you die." He turned and gestured at a massive tome resting closed upon a lectern before him. "You swear upon the Crime Bible or you die."
He waited to see which of his guests would defy him. There's ahvays a few, he thought. The ones whose egos are bigger than their brains.
"The what?" A masked super-villain, who wore an orange hood over a bright yellow costume, approached the lectern. Mirage had managed to turn a minor talent at hypnosis into a modest criminal career. "What the hell are you talking about, Mannheim?"
That's Boss Mannheim to you, the ganglord thought. He rapped his knuckles against the thick granite binding of the Book. "Cain used that stone to commit the first murder when he battered his brother Abel to death."
"A stone book, very artsy." Mirage failed to appreciate the unholy sanctity of the ancient tome. He peered at the petrified front cover. "Is that blood?"
"Take a closer look," Mannheim urged him. "You'll never see anything like it again."
Mirage bent to inspect the volume ... and Mannheim slammed the man's hooded face into the unyielding granite. Flesh and bone crunched. Blood and tissue sprayed from the torn cowl.
"Those are your brains trickling onto the carpet, smart guy." Mannheim dug his fingers into Mirage's scalp and yanked his face up from the bloodstained book and pedestal. Then he used both hands to ram the hypnotist's face back down onto the stone volume. Mirage's skull shattered into a bloody pulp. "Guess they weren't worth a crap in the end."
He let go of the gloppy mess and Mirage's lifeless body slid onto the floor. Dietrich Laszlo, Mannheim's personal aide, stepped forward. The thin, officious-looking individual clutched a clipboard against his chest. He beckoned to a waiting janitor, who plugged in a carpet cleaner. "Allow me to take care of that trash for you, boss."
"Bring him down to the kitchens, Laszlo." Mannheim licked his lips. "Building an empire is hungry work."
Startled gasps came from the remainder of his guests. Mannheim smirked as he wiped the blood from his hands with what was left of Mirage's orange hood. It amused him that such hardened felons should be so taken aback by the merest hint of cannibalism. They had much to learn, and he was just the person to show them the light.
He turned to address his guests, who were seated around a long boardroom table. He knew their nicknames and rap sheets intimately: Magpie, the Ventriloquist, the Squid, John "the Butcher" Morgan, Carl "Junior" Grissom, Ginjer Bread, and other Gotham mobsters. Most of them were still alive, but he had already made an example of some of their more obstreperous colleagues. Wendell Lewis, the so-called Sewer King, was slumped over the table, a letter opener stabbed deep into his back. Kite Man's body had fallen back against his seat, a bright red smear expanding across the front of his ridiculous costume. "Silk" Jefferson's broken neck was twisted at an impossible angle. Magpie, aka Maggie Pye, pushed her chair away from Kite Man's corpse. She lifted her feet to avoid the pool of blood spreading across the floor. Her ashen face suggested that no further demonstrations would be necessary, at least as far as she was concerned. Ditto for the other survivors.
Each of his guests, both alive and dead, had controlled one of Gotham's many warring gangs and syndicates. Conspicuously missing from the summit meeting were the Joker, Two-Face, Scarecrow, the Mad Hatter, and the rest of Arkham Asylum's most famous inmates and escapees. All were too unpredictable to play a part in Mannheim's grand design. He was looking for lieutenants and foot soldiers here. Lunatics need not apply.
"Let me spell it out for you." He took his place at the head of the table. "You Gotham bosses work for me, or we make you extinct. Wipe your names from the annals of crime as though you never existed." He kicked over Jefferson's chair. The pimp's body tumbled onto the carpet. "Dinner will be served shortly."
The smell of spilled blood made his mouth water.
"Enjoy the meat."
It was Halloween, a time for playing at being scared, but tonight the screams were real. Panicked trick-or-treaters and their parents ran shrieking through the tree-lined streets of the city's historic Beacon Hill neighborhood. Pintsized ghosts, ninjas, princesses, and super heroes fled in terror past rows of elegant Federal-style townhouses. Discarded bags of candy spilled onto the brick sidewalks.
A second later, Captain Marvel Jr. crashed into one of those sidewalks, barely missing an eight-year-old boy in a glow-in-the-dark skeleton costume. Shattered bricks exploded into the air, along with a spray of lost Tootsie Rolls and chocolate bars. Ow, Freddy Freeman thought. Even with the endurance of Atlas, the crash landing left the young hero momentarily stunned. That actually hurt. .
"The souls of your innocents will belong to me!" A sixty-foot-tall demon towered over the neighborhood. A taloned hand, that had just batted the World's Mightiest Boy out of the air, reached out for the fleeing children. Curved horns sprouted from the giant demon's brow. His shaggy hide was scarlet. Hellfire burned in his yellow eyes. A bristling blue beard adorned his chin. Cloven hooves pounded the pavement. His sulfurous breath polluted the cold night air. "And thus will begin a century of fire! A hell reborn on Earth, so hot it will melt the flesh off your bones." His booming voice held a thick Russian accent. "So swears Sabbac, King of Devils!"
In fact, Sabbac was a Russian mobster named Ishmael Gregor who had used black magic to transform himself into Captain Marvel's evil opposite. Just as the magic word "Shazam!" imbued Billy Batson with the powers and attributes of six mythological gods and heroes, the word "Sabbac" granted Gregor the hellish abilities of six arch-demons: Satan, Aym, Belial, Beezlebub, Asmodeus, and Createis. The Marvel Family had squared off against him before. This was hardly the first time Sabbac had gone on a rampage.
Lucky us, Captain Marvel Jr. thought. Wincing from his close encounter with the sidewalk, he sat up slowly and shook the pulverized brick from his tousled black hair. Beacon Hill shuddered beneath the demon's colossal tread. How many times do we have to beat this guy anyway?
Mary Marvel touched down on the sidewalk beside him. The night breeze rustled her cape and pristine white skirt. "I told you to wait for me, Junior."
Probably would've been a good idea, he admitted. He looked around for her brother. "Where's Cap—" He caught himself before saying the name that would have transformed him back into a crippled teenager. "Er, Billy? He said he'd be here."
"It's Halloween, Freddy." She helped him to his feet. "Do you know how many extradimensional planes are crossing over into ours tonight?" The question was strictly rhetorical. "Billy's got his hands full dealing with an invasion from the Phantom Zone."
That's a pretty good excuse for not showing up, Freddy conceded. He glanced over at the towering demon and clenched his fists. Looks like we're on our own.
To his relief, he saw that Sabbac had not snagged any kids yet. Beacon Hill's narrow streets seemed to be slowing him down somewhat. His sides scraped against the front of the buildings, causing chunks of dislodged masonry to cascade down onto the sidewalks. Trees and gas lamps toppled before him. His hooves left smoking tracks down the middle of Cambridge Street.
Shrill screams alerted Captain Marvel Jr. to the plight of four small children who appeared to have lost track of their parents in the confusion. Dressed as Captain Marvel, Wonder Woman, the Flash, and Black Lightning, the huddled kids stared upward in fright as a monstrous red hand descended toward them.
"Children, you are mine!" Sabbac roared.
Before either Freddy or Mary could react, a svelte figure clad in fluttering white linen whooshed beneath Sabbac's hairy palm and whisked the kids out of harm's way. The demon's pointed claws closed on empty air. A baffled expression came over his satanic countenance. "What?"
Isis gently deposited the children onto the sidewalk by Mary and Freddy. The wide-eyed kids looked startled, but unharmed. Captain Marvel Jr. blinked in surprise. What was Isis doing in Boston of all places?
And was she alone?
"After all that candy," the Egyptian heroine advised the children, "take care of your teeth and eat some apples." A warm Middle Eastern wind, redolent of exotic spices, lifted her back into the air. "They're Nature's toothbrushes."
Freddy and Mary exchanged puzzled looks. Their gazes followed Isis up into the sky, where two more figures came flying down from the moonlit heavens.
"As they say in America, Sabbac ..." an exuberant voice called out from above. Freddy watched in amazement as an Arab teenager, wearing a streamlined version of Black Adam's somber uniform, punched the gargantuan demon in the nose. "Trick or treat!"
Who? Freddy wondered.
"A solid hit, Osiris," Black Adam praised the youth. Soaring toward Sabbac like a missile, he rammed both fists into the demon's stomach. Bile spewed from Sabbac's lips. The monster reeled backward.
High above the street, Black Adam, Isis, and Osiris converged upon Sabbac. Even with the infernal might of six arch-fiends at his disposal, the horned devil was clearly on the ropes. He tottered unsteadily upon his hooves. A noxious black ichor dripped from his snout. Osiris' punch had drawn first blood.
"Holy Moley!" Freddy exclaimed.
Mary was just as astonished. "It's a ... Black Marvel Family!"
Freddy recalled attending the royal wedding in Kahndaq. Could this "Osiris" be Isis' missing brother? That must be Amon. Freddy didn't need the wisdom of Solomon to figure that out. Who else could it be?
"Watch where you send him falling, you two," Isis reminded Black Adam and Osiris. "People live here."
"Not for long, witch!" Sabbac snarled. He charged at the flying trio.
Isis waved an arm and a venerable old chestnut tree defended her. Bare branches awoke from hibernation, grabbing onto the outmatched demon. Gnarled coils snared Sabbac's straining arms and legs. "Nature called to me from thousands of miles away," Isis informed their foe. "You wish to torch its beautiful land." Her lovely face held a look of serene determination. "We will not allow it."
Apparently not, Captain Marvel Jr. thought. He felt funny just standing on the sidewalk, watching the battle from the sidelines. "Should we help them?" he asked Mary.
"I don't think they need it," she replied.
The Black Marvel Family certainly seemed to have the crisis well in hand. The rescued trick-or-treaters crowded past the two original Marvels to watch Isis and family teach Sabbac a well-deserved lesson on the perils of interfering with Halloween. The kids' eyes were as wide as jack-o'-lantems. Their tiny jaws hung open. "Wow wow wow!" the miniature Flash exclaimed.
Side by side, Black Adam and Osiris zoomed at Sabbac. "Can we do it now? Can we do the Lightning Strike?" the teenager pleaded. "We've been practicing for days!" .
Adam smiled indulgently. "Very well."
Wood and bark shredded loudly as Sabbac tore himself free from the branches binding him. He gnashed his jagged fangs. Yellow eyes glowed with malignant fury. He bellowed in rage.
"I will eat your souls!" •,
"You'll be lucky if you're eating anything after this," Osiris boasted. He slammed his fists into the right side of Sabbac's head at the exact moment that Black Adam barreled into the left. The simultaneous strike ignited a blinding flash of mystic lightning. Thunder rumbled across Boston as the unleashed thunderbolt put Sabbac down for the count. Broken fangs sprayed from the demon's mouth. The fire in his eyes sputtered and went out.
"Careful," Isis said. A powerful gust of wind swept a few stray bystanders out of the way as Sabbac's enormous body toppled down onto Beacon Street. A low moan issued from the demon's lips. Smoke rose from his charred horns.
Cheers and applause arose from the rescued children and their reunited parents. Freddy hesitated for a moment, then he and Mary joined in the clapping. It felt weird to be applauding Black Adam, after all their battles in the past, but there was no denying that Adam and his family had definitely saved the day. Freddy made a mental note to practice that "Lightning Strike" move with Billy and Mary someday. That was a pretty nifty trick!
And the Black Marvel Family weren't done helping out yet. Landing a few yards away, Black Adam and Osiris thoughtfully lifted Sabbac's immense carcass from the pavement and hefted it into the sky. The limp colossus resembled a Thanksgiving Day balloon as it rose above the rooftops. Isis smiled proudly as she wafted ahead of her menfolk. Osiris beamed down at the cheering crowd.
"Happy Halloween, Judeo-Christians!"
The heroes and their captive disappeared into the distance. Freddy wondered if they were planning to transport Sabbac all the way back to Kahndaq or if they were just going to drop him off at the Rock of Eternity for Captain Marvel to deal with. Either way, it looked like Boston was safe for trick-or-treating again—and without him or Mary even lifting a finger.
Wonder if Billy needs any help ivith that Phantom Zone thing?
On the sidewalk in front of them, the kids Isis had saved started arguing over who got to be their latest heroes.
"I wanna be Black Adam!" the chubby boy in the Captain Marvel costume proclaimed. He pointed proudly at the golden thunderbolt on his chest. A little black dye would easily convert the costume into a Black Adam disguise instead.
"I get to be Isis!" said the little girl dressed as Wonder Woman. Her childish voice mimicked Isis' exotic Egyptian accent.
"No, I do!" another girl insisted, despite the fact that she was wearing Supergirl's bright blue dress and red cape.
The little Flash wannabe stayed out of the fight. Instead he dug through his bag of treats until he found a fresh green granny apple. "Nature's toothbrush!"
None of the children paid any attention to Mary or Captain Marvel Jr. Mary contemplated the starstruck munchkins with a bemused expression on her face. "Is it just me," she asked, "or are you suddenly feeling like yesterday's news?"
Freddy shook his head, not entirely sure what to make of this new Marvel Family, especially now that they had a Black Adam Jr. of their own.
"Nope, it's not just you."
When Renee was ten years old, she found a pile of old Congo Bill World Travel magazines dumped in the trash behind the tenement where her family lived. Nearly fifty years' worth of them, abandoned like so much garbage. She had carried them up the nine flights of stairs to their apartment. Almost six hundred issues, and she carried them all. Afterward, she couldn't even remember how many trips up and down the stairs it had taken. It was like running a marathon and it had been worth every step.
She had loved those magazines, losing whole days staring at pictures of places she knew she would never go: India, Vlatavia, Egypt, Bhutan. She'd always known she was never going to see the Great Pyramid or the domed kingdom of Atlantis. As of six months ago, the farthest she'd ever been from Gotham was Keystone City, and that was for a prisoner exchange. She'd figured that if she saw the bright lights of Metropolis before she croaked, she could die happy.
All things considered, she thought, I'm counting myself very lucky right now.
Cradled in Isis' slender arms, Renee soared toward the snowcapped peaks of the Himalayas. The majestic mountains loomed ahead, while remote plains and valleys stretched out far below her. The icy wind blowing against her face did little to dampen her spirits. A fur-lined parka helped protect her from the cold. A packed duffel bag dangled from her shoulders.
She glanced to the left, where Vic clung to Black Adam's back, his arms wrapped tightly around the flying immortal's neck. The entire Black Marvel Family was escorting her and Vic on the next leg of their globe-trotting odyssey. Unburdened by a passenger, Osiris flew ahead of both Isis and Black Adam. He did loops in the frigid air, visibly delighting in the sheer joy of flight. At the moment, Renee knew exactly what he was feeling.
Beats flying coach, she thought.
Vic soon indicated that they had flown far enough and the party descended onto the western slope of a towering mountain. Renee's boots sunk into the snow as Isis gently put her down at the base of a steep incline. Nothing but snow and ice surrounded them; Renee guessed that they had to be at least fifteen thousand feet above sea level. The thin air made it hard to take a deep breath, but Renee didn't care. She wouldn't have missed this for all the gay bars in Gotham. She was standing on the roof of the world.
"You're certain this is where you wish us to leave you?" Black Adam sounded less impressed by the awesome scenery. He looked dubiously at the frozen wasteland. "There's nothing for miles. No villages. No settlements."
Vic chuckled to himself. "Yeah, that sounds about right." This whole excursion was his idea, and he was being typically cryptic as to why they were relocating to the Himalayas. Not that Renee was complaining; she was willing to take a breather from tracking Intergang if it meant a side trip to the highest mountains on Earth. How cool is this?
"Then we have come to the parting of our ways," Adam said solemnly.
Vic nodded. "Thanks for everything."
"It is we who should thank you, Victor Sz-asz." Adam shook Vic's hand. "Isis and I owe both you and Renee a great deal. My family counts you as friends."
Osiris expressed his gratitude as well. "A month ago I thought my sister was dead and I would never walk again." His boyish face was filled with happiness. "Now, thanks to you, I have a family—and I can fly!"
Isis kissed Vic on the cheek. She seemed immune to the frigid temperatures, despite her wispy costume. Her slender limbs weren't even showing goose bumps. "May there always be more questions for you to ask, Charlie." She turned and clasped Renee's hand. Her touch was impossibly warm. Flowers blossomed beneath her feet. "And may you find the answers you're so desperately seeking, Renee."
The goddess's compassionate gaze made Renee uncomfortable. She awkwardly let go of Isis' hand. "The only answer I want concerns Intergang and how to stop them from taking over Gotham."
"Then perhaps you are asking the wrong question," Isis replied enigmatically. She cupped her hands before her and a luminous purple glow emanated from her upraised palms. Renee's eyes widened as a bright red rose materialized from the ether. The flower's vibrant color contrasted dramatically with the wintry white landscape around them. Isis handed the miraculous rose to Renee. Her kohl-lined eyes looked deeply into Renee's, as though peering into the hidden recesses of the other woman's soul. "Who are you, Renee Montoya?"
With that, the Black Marvel Family took to the air, leaving Vic and Renee alone on the mountainside. Renee sniffed the fragrant rose. It smelled like springtime. "Hell if I know," she muttered.
Speaking of answers, she decided that it was past time that Vic filled her in on what exactly they were doing here. It was hard to imagine that Intergang had any sort of presence in this glacial wilderness, but maybe Vic was seeing something she wasn't. She opened her mouth to interrogate him....
"Charlie!"
An enthusiastic voice abruptly informed her that they were no longer alone. Looking up from the rose, Renee spotted two men standing on the snowy slope above them. One of them came running toward them, waving his arms to get their attention. An older man wearing a parka, he risked taking a nasty spill as he raced down the slippery incline.
"Tot!" A smile broke out across Vic's face. He waved back at the man. "You made it to the middle of nowhere."
"With the help of several chartered jets and a state-of-the-art GPS system, yes." Breathing hard, the old man came to a halt in front of Vic and Renee, who put his age somewhere in the sixties or seventies. Spectacles and a white goatee gave him the look of an elderly scientist or professor. The flaps of a bushy gray hat covered his ears. "From what we just saw, I think you had the better mode of travel."
"Air Black Marvel," Vic confirmed. "It can't be beat."
Renee glanced curiously at the second man, who seemed to be keeping his distance. Squinting, she made out a bearded, red-haired Caucasian male in surprisingly lightweight clothing. While the rest of them were all bundled up against the cold, the aloof figure wore only a black wool sweater and trousers. He waited silently upon the mountain, his arms crossed atop his chest. He looked younger and more athletic than the panting old man, who was obviously still acclimating to the high altitude. He sniffled as he spoke.
Tot eyed Renee. "Is this your friend?" he asked Vic.
"Absolutely." Vic made the necessary introductions. "Aristotle Rodor, meet Renee Montoya." He gestured at the older man. "Renee, meet Tot."
"Pleasure!" Tot vigorously shook Renee's hand. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Mutual." Even though they had only just met, she got a good vibe from the old man. He struck her as genuinely cheerful and friendly. "I've heard very little about you."
Tot laughed warmly. "That sounds like Charlie." He playfully nudged Vic in the ribs. "You almost know what he's thinking at the best of times."
Vic looked up at the standoffish second man. "Richard! You coming down here or not?"
"Going down is easy," he replied. "Right up to when you hit the bottom.
Ask any drop of water." He remained in no hurry to join them. "The hard part is climbing up again." He turned his inscrutable brown eyes on Renee. "Isn't that right, Renee?"
She bristled at his attitude. "Charlie, who the hell is this guy?"
"That's Richard Dragon, Renee. He's a teacher, the real deal." Vic started up the hill toward Dragon. "He's the guy who taught me." He looked back over his shoulder at Renee. "And he's just told you that class is now in session."
A robot maid, complete with a frilly lace cap, served dessert.
Black Adam and his family sat around a long antique table in the dining room of Dr. Sivana's gloomy mansion outside the city. The remains of a large turkey dinner were spread out atop the white damask tablecloth. A lighted candelabra added to the illumination provided by a hanging crystal chandelier. A roaring blaze crackled in the fireplace. More robots cleared away used plates and cutlery. A mechanical butler sparked and sputtered as though about to short-circuit at any moment. A beautiful blonde woman, in a red satin evening dress, sat across from the Black Marvel Family.
"Thank you so much for coming," Lady Sivana said. "It's been weeks since my husband went missing, and I am so terribly worried about him." Long golden tresses framed her lovely face. "When Superman or Wonder Woman disappears, it's a national tragedy, but when someone like my dear sweet Thad-deus vanishes, everyone says good riddance!"
Black Adam had never understood how Sivana, that hideous gnome of a man, had won the enchanting Venus as his bride, but the ways of the heart could be truly mysterious at times. "I believe I made it clear that your exhusband was no friend of mine." Although they had both opposed Captain Marvel for years, Adam had always considered the mad scientist an entirely reprehensible specimen of humanity.
"I know, and I don't blame you," Venus said. "Our marriage ended because of his obsession with Captain Marvel, but despite his madness, my love for him is still there." Moist sapphire eyes entreated them. "Black Adam. Isis. Osiris. I donated twenty million dollars to Kahndaq's Children's Hospital so that you would accept my invitation ... and consider finding my husband."
Black Adam appreciated the woman's generosity. Her donation would do much to benefit the countless orphans and refugees Isis had taken under her wing. "We will take your request under serious consideration, Lady Sivana."
"Please, call me Venus." She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. "If you find him ... if you happen upon him ... please don't hurt him."
Touched by her obvious grief, he nodded solemnly. "I give you my word."
"This is stupid," Osiris muttered in Arabic. He picked listlessly at his peach cobbler. "What are we doing here anyway?"
Isis patiently addressed her brother. "This is important, Osiris. Our hostess has made a generous gift to our people."
"She only did it so we'd go find that crazy scientist. We should be trying to throw Dr. Sivana in jail, not having dinner with his wife!" He pushed away from the table and jumped impatiently to his feet. "I'm leaving."
"Osiris!" Isis protested, shocked by her sibling's poor manners. "Amon! Stop! Where are you going?"
"Don't you get it?" Osiris stormed toward the exit. "All we ever do is fly around the world, running from one event or adventure after another. I've done everything you've asked of me, Adrianna. Now I need something more."
Isis hurried after him. She laid a gentle hand upon his arm. "You share the powers of Black Adam," she pointed out. "You have a wonderful home. You have a family again." Confusion showed upon her exotic features. "What more do you need?"
Osiris paused and looked back at her. "I need friends."
Caught off guard by this sudden outpouring of emotion, she stood by silently as Osiris fled from their presence. An awkward silence descended over the dining room. Embarrassed by the scene, Black Adam hoped that Venus Sivana did not understand Arabic. He and Isis exchanged a worried look. Neither of them had the remotest idea how to handle this situation.
"Oh, he's just like a little Black Adam Junior!" Venus exclaimed, seeming more amused than offended by the boy's abrupt departure. "Isn't that precious?"
Adam opened his mouth to apologize for Osiris' behavior, but an ominous rumbling noise suddenly intruded upon the meal. Puzzled, Venus peered across the table at her guests. "Is that my stomach growling or yours?"
Before either he or Isis could answer, an enormous crocodile charged into the dining room. Rising onto its hind legs like a man, the huge reptile jumped onto the table, scattering the plates, candles, and silverware. Thick green scales armored the creature's hide. Dorsal fins ran along its back. Snapping jaws revealed rows of pointed teeth. Crimson eyes, with slitted pupils, glared ravenously. A torn shirt and trousers clung to the monster's body. Its swinging tail lashed out, decapitating a robot butler. The automaton's head bounced across the floor, trailing sparks from its shattered neck assembly. Jagged claws tore through the damask tablecloth, scratching the polished wood underneath. The monster grabbed onto the remains of the turkey with both hands and hungrily wolfed it down, bones and all.
"Oh no!" Venus shouted, knocking her chair over as she jumped back from the table. "It's ruining my peach cobbler!"
Black Adam began to suspect that Lady Sivana was just as insane, in her own way, as her megalomaniacal husband. He launched himself into the air. "Isis?" he called out. "What is that creature?"
"I'm not sure." She joined him several feet above the floor. "I cannot make contact with him. Whatever that animal is, it must be a perversion of nature."
Startled by the flying humans, the crocodile sprang from the table and crashed through the wall. Running erect on two legs, the monster smashed through one wall after another on its way out of the mansion. By the time Adam and Isis confirmed that Lady Sivana was indeed unharmed, the trail of gaping holes led through adjoining rooms to the shadowy grounds outside. Greasy footprints stained'the carpeting and hardwood floors. Adam stared down the length of the escape route the monster had torn through the interior of the mansion. He turned to Isis in puzzlement.
"Where did it go?"
Autumn leaves littered the ground of the estate's sprawling gardens, which looked like it hadn't been tended to in years. Weeds clotted the overgrown shrubs and flower beds. Dry brown grass infested the cracks in the cobblestone walkway. Fallen tree branches threatened to trip the unwary stroller. A broken birdbath lay on its side. Dr. Sivana was obviously not much of a gardener.
Probably spent all his time in his lab, Osiris guessed, building bigger and better super-weapons. The costumed teenager sat dejectedly on a marble bench beneath a weathered statue of the mad scientist himself. He felt bad for ruining the dinner, no doubt embarrassing his sister and Adam, but why couldn't they understand how lonely he felt sometimes? Isis and Adam had each other, but he was just their tagalong little brother. 1 need a life of my oivn, with friends my own age I can hang out with.
He was feeling thoroughly sorry for himself, until a snuffling noise, coming from behind a thick bank of hedges, disturbed his moody ruminations. Intrigued, he got up to investigate. He darted around the hedge—where he was surprised to find an unhappy-looking crocodile sitting on a toppled tree trunk. Bizarrely, the croc was wearing clothes and sitting upright like a person. The snuffling sounded suspiciously like sobbing.
"Oh," Osiris blurted. "Hello."
The creature looked up in alarm. He threw his scaly hands up in front of his face. "P-p-please don't hurt me!"
Osiris blinked in surprise. "You can talk?"
"Of course I c-c-can," the beast said fearfully. His gravelly voice fit his bestial appearance.
"But... you're a crocodile," Osiris pointed out.
"I was ... until six months ago, when D-d-doctor Sivana pulled me out of the Nile and brought me here!" Lowering his hands, he pointed at the marble statue of the mad scientist.
Sivana, of course. Osiris had never actually met the infamous doctor, but he had heard all about him from Black Adam. "What did he do to you?"
"I didn't understand what he said back then, but I remember him laughing at me." The crocodile seemed to realize that Osiris meant him no harm. "The next tiling I knew I was down in that 1-1-lab of his, and he fed me all sorts of things. Glowing things. And I grew these." He showed Osiris his hands, complete with opposable thumbs. Then one day he left.. . and he never came back." The croc shuddered at the memory. "I've b-b-been downstairs, trapped in a cage, ever since. I haven't eaten in months." A rumbling came from deep within the animal's belly. "I finally broke out of my cage and I was going to 1-1-leave, but the smell... your dinner smelled so good. And I was so awfully hungry." Oily tears leaked from his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare your family."
The boy's heart went out to the poor creature, an innocent victim of Siv-ana's crazed experiments. He didn't worry about Black Adam and Isis; they could take care of themselves, and probably Mrs. Sivana too. "Well, they aren't all my family."
"Your friends then," the crocodile said. He signed plaintively. "I wish I had friends to eat dinner with."
An idea occurred to Osiris as he remembered Mr. Tawky Tawny, the talking tiger who palled around with Captain Marvel Jr. He stroked his chin as he contemplated the homeless reptile before him. "What's your name?"
"I don't have one," the monster admitted.
Osiris grinned. "Do you want one?"
SOMEWHERE IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY.
IT'S ABOUT TIME, read the sign over the doorway of an unassuming shop facing a quiet side street, just off the main avenue. Inside the darkened interior of the store, dozens of clocks, of every size and generation, confirmed that it was nearly five-thirty in the morning. Grandfather clocks, cuckoo clocks, alarm clocks, pocket watches, hourglasses, and sundials filled the walls and shelves of the quaint little store. Clockwork mechanisms clicked with metronomic precision, counting off the passing minutes and seconds. Digital displays glowed in the shadows.
5:25:18 a.m.
In the back of the shop, as far as possible from the front door and windows, an unearthly golden glow radiated from behind a counter. The luminous aura emanated from a huddled figure crouched upon the floor like a frightened child. Matthew Ryder's skin and uniform had a bright golden sheen. A nimbus of coruscating quantum energy crowned his head. Gleaming wristbands matched the metallic luster of his flesh. Burnished eyelids were squeezed tightly shut. His arms were wrapped around his knees as he curled himself into a trembling ball of dread and apprehension. The steady ticking of the clocks did little to soothe his frazzled nerves.
5:25:19 a.m.
Once free to traverse the myriad timelines at will, the being known as Waverider was now afraid to even lift his head to peer beyond the counter. Where his precognitive gifts had previously allowed him to glimpse beyond tomorrow, now the future stalked him like an unseen predator. Along with his colleagues, the Linear Men, Waverider had devoted himself to preserving a single continuous timeline that had suddenly become all too unpredictable— and deadly. Some unknown enemy, beyond his powers to discern, was striking down the guardians of time, until Waverider feared that he was the only one left. Who is doing this?, he wondered desperately. And to what end?
The ticking clocks held no answers for him. A novelty cat clock, its mechanical whiskers twitching, grinned inanely on the wall above him.
5:25.20 a.m.
A second passed—or did it? Abruptly, the relentless ticking ceased, so that Waverider heard only the rapid beating of his heart. He looked up in alarm at a nearby digital clock.
5:25.20 a.m.
The blinking numerals refused to advance. So did all the other clocks in sight.
"Oh, no," he whispered.
Time had stopped.
Instinctively, he tried to dive back into the timestream, to seek refuge in the future or the past, but his trans-temporal abilities abandoned him. He sprang frantically to his feet, only to find himself anchored to a single moment in time. Dozens of frozen clocks blocked his escape.
He was trapped.
A sonic boom shook the store. A flash of sapphire energy heralded the opening of a space-time rift only a few feet in front of him. Waverider backed away warily. His brain raced through a litany of likely suspects as he tried to anticipate what fearsome entity was about to emerge from the shimmering time warp.
Monarch?
Darkseid?
The Time Trapper?
Parallax?
"Skeets ...?"
He blinked in surprise as Booster Gold's robot sidekick materialized before him.
“here you are!” Skeets declared, “waverider, the seer of hypertime.” His electronic voice held a sarcastic tone, “keeper of divergent timelines.” .
"By Wells!" Waverider exclaimed, invoking the patron saint of time-travelers. "You're the one Rip Hunter tried to warn us about." He couldn't have been more surprised if Krypto the Super-Dog had suddenly revealed himself as a diabolical mastermind. "The tremors. The paradoxes? You're the one splintering the historical mainline!" ..
“no,” Skeets informed him. “the catalyst was the crisis, but in its wake . . . something n ew.” Bands of quantum energy blasted from the robot, pinning Waverider's wrists to the wall behind him. “i can smell it
LIKE HONEY. HISTORY’S FERTILE GROUND. THIS YEAR, LIKE WONDERFUL, WET CEMENT. JUST WAITING TO BE MOLDED INTO SHAPE ..."
Waverider strained against the crackling energy bands. The robot's new armaments had caught him off guard. To his knowledge, Skeets had never possessed such weaponry before.
“when is rip hunter?” Skeets demanded, “tell me now dr you
WILL END UP LIKE THE TIME COMMANDER AND CLOCK QUEEN."
Both chrononauts had recently been erased from history, but Waverider refused to be intimidated. Now that the final confrontation was upon him, he resolved not to cower in fear any longer. "Rip Hunter has survived the onslaughts of Per Degaton and the Lord of Time." He sneered at his cybernetic captor. "A security robot from the future has no chance."
“RIP HUNTER MAY BE THE PIONEER AND INVENTOR OF TIME-
travel,” Skeets responded, “but his primitive devices and weapons
ARE STICKS AND STONES COMPARED TO MY TWENTY-FIFTH-CENTURY TECHNOLOGY.”
"And yet you still can't find him." Waverider enjoyed a smile at the robot's expense. "Want to know why?" He glared defiantly at Skeets. "Rip Hunter spent his entire life preparing for the kind of adversaries a time-traveler would face. You can threaten to go back in time and kill him in his crib all you want... but you can't! Rip's true name is a secret. Where and when he was bom and raised is a mystery. And they're secrets even I don't know."
Skeets zoomed in closer, until he was only inches away from Waverider's face. Matthew Ryder squirmed against his bonds in frustration; the robot was close enough to tear apart if he could just get his hands free! But the energy shackles refused to release him.
“YOU TALK ABOUT HISTORY. TELL ME, LINEAR MAN. DO YOU KNOW
mine?” An array of wriggling metal probes sprouted from hidden orifices in Skeets' gleaming carapace. Electrodes and laser scalpels sparked at the ends of the wiry probes as they extended toward Waverider's captive form, “do you
KNOW WHERE THE GOLDEN METAL THAT MAKES MY BODY IMPERVIOUS TO THE RAVAGES OF TIME COMES FROM? DO YOU KNOW FROM WHOSE CORPSE IT WAS BURNED OFF, AFTER BEING DISCOVERED IN A BURIED RUIN FIVE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW?”
Waverider gulped involuntarily. If what the robot was implying was true, then he was about to suffer the fate feared most by those who traverse the timeways: murder by paradox.
A burst of searing energy tore him apart. Molten gold splattered across the face of Felix the Cat. Waverider died screaming.
Time of death: 5:25.20 a.m.
Time stood still in Nanda Parbat. The remote mountain village was cut off from the world of clocks and calendars by sky-high peaks and vast glacial drifts. A Buddhist temple overlooked a small enclave of thatch-roofed huts known as ghars. Wooly yaks were tethered outside the huts. Prayer flags fluttered in the alpine breeze, which carried the chiming of wind bells down from the looming pagoda-style temple. Vic claimed that Nanda Parbat was the real-life inspiration for the fictional Shangri-La. So far, Renee wasn't finding it much of a paradise.
She threw a punch at Richard Dragon, who effortlessly evaded the blow, then flipped her head over heels onto the frosted floor of a spacious ice cavern. The curved walls of the grotto shone like polished glass, so that Renee saw her own reflection every way she looked. Dozens of mirror images, some more distorted than others, captured her embarrassment as she landed hard upon the packed snow and ice. "Oomph!" she grunted, then swore profanely.
Her self-appointed teacher was unfazed by her colorful invective. Richard stood barefoot upon the snow, clad only in a dark T-shirt and a pair of loose karate pants. A brownish red beard obscured his stoic expression. "You must learn to let go," he advised her.
"How the hell do I do that?" She rose painfully to her feet. Despite the winter chill, perspiration soaked through her soiled tank-top and sweat pants. Her knuckles were wrapped like a boxer's. Her feet were bare. Breathing hard, she caught another glimpse of her reflection in an angled curtain of ice. No surprise, she looked just as tired and pissed off as she felt. Kahndaq had been a breeze compared to this.
"Acceptance," Richard answered. "Cherish it. The cold, the pain, the frustration, the heartache." His muscular arms were crossed atop his chest. His voice was calm, but stern. "Only when you want it to stay, will you learn to release it."
She took out her hostility on the ice sheet, smashing it with her fist. Her reflection shattered into dozens of glittering translucent shards. Blood seeped through the bandages over her knuckles. "If I cherish it, I won't want it to leave."
Flawless logic, she thought, but Richard dismissed it with a shrug. "Someone else once said the same thing." She assumed he was talking about Vic. "I'll tell you what I told him. Nobody said this is easy."
Tell me about it, she thought. Not for the first time, she wondered what she was doing here, going through all this kung fu crap, while Intergang was up to no good back home. It came as a shock to realize that she hadn't set foot in
Gotham for at least three months. Whose idea was this anyway? she asked herself. Oh yeah. Vic's.
Having evidently decided that he'd humiliated her enough for one afternoon, Richard wrapped up their training session. Renee took a moment to cool down, then put on a turtleneck sweater, her parka, boots, and gloves. She lit a cigarette and took a long drag before exiting the cavern to head back toward the ghar she now shared with Vic and the others. A pair of all-seeing eyes was painted on the whitewashed walls of the hut. She scowled at the unblinking eyes.
What are you looking at?
Flickering candles lit the murky interior of the hut. Incense competed with the smoke from her cigarette. The stone floor was sticky from spilled yak butter. As usual, she found Tot hunched over a rickety wooden table, poring over the Book of Crime. Reference books were stacked on the floor beside him. His brow furrowed as he scribbled notes onto a thick pad of paper. According to the old professor, the book was a bible of sorts, the foundation of a whole religion based on some twisted theology of crime. The massive tome, which Vic had stolen from that underground temple in Bialya, was apparently filled with prophecies, stories, and fables that preached the virtues of rape, murder, extortion, and blackmail.
Light reading, obviously.
Looking out for Vic, she found him laid out atop a wooden bench, surrounded by scented candles and incense burners. A tray of used acupuncture needles rested at the foot of the bench. He sat up to greet her, only to be stricken by a sudden coughing fit that caused him to double over. Renee flinched at the hacking noises coming from his chest, which sounded like he was coughing his lungs out.
He'd been doing that a lot lately. It had started right after they had gotten here. Vic said that it was the altitude, that he was having trouble acclimating. Yeah, right, she thought skeptically. I'm the pack-a-day smoker, but he's having trouble acclimating.
Over the last week, Richard had made him tea, treating him with acupuncture and pressure points, while Tot had fed him the better part of a pharmacy in pills.. Sometimes she caught the men whispering conspiratorially, shutting up whenever she came within earshot. Renee didn't have to be an ex-detective to figure out what was up.
Vic was sick ., . and he wasn't getting any better.
Hoiv long has he been fighting this? she wondered. Maybe he had been sick for awhile and she had just been too wrapped up in herself to notice. She finished up her cigarette, then ground it beneath her heel. Sounds like me.
The coughing fit finally subsided. Looking up from the floor, Vic spotted her worried expression. "Sounds worse than it is," he wheezed.
"I'm wondering how that's possible." Fishing her last pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, she eyed him suspiciously. "When did you quit?"
He cracked a pained smile. "Not soon enough."
An overwhelming wave of grief rushed over her. Not another partner, she anguished. Not again! The foil pack slipped from her fingers. She felt numb all over.
"How long have you known?" she asked him.
His face was noticeably more gaunt than just a week ago. "About seven months."
Since before the Question first invaded her bedroom, in other words. "How long do you have?"
"Not long." He watched her closely, like she was the one he should be worried about. "Tot says it's metastasized."
"Why me?" Renee buried her face in her hands. Of all people to waste his last months on Earth on ... "Eight billion people in the world. Why me?"
He gave her a cryptic smile. "That's the Question, isn't it?"
Perhaps to give Renee a chance to process what he had just told her, Vic got off the bench and walked over to where Tot was working. Isis' magical red rose, still fresh and fragrant even after a week, rested in a vase upon the table. Vic peered over Tot's shoulder at the obscene bible. "How's it going?" he asked.
The old man cleared his throat and read aloud from the open volume. " 'The Eighteenth beyond the calling of all saints, sending his Apostle to the land where dwells the lambs of the wise and the foolish .."
"That a literal place?" Vic asked.
Tot nodded. "There was a village in Nottinghamshire, circa 1080 or so, known for its villagers both wise and foolish." His pedantic tone betrayed his academic roots. "The village was called Gatham in Old English. It's where we get the word Gotham."
Renee's ear perked up at the mention of her hometown. She wandered over to join the two men. Is this why Intergang's so interested in Gotham?
"There's more," Tot said, squinting at the text through his spectacles. "Take a look. 'Absent its Knight-Protector, the Apostle stakes his bloody claim, devouring the heart of the twice-named daughter of Cain.' " Removing his glasses, he chewed thoughtfully upon the earpiece. "Everything points to this being a significant passage. The illustration, the scansion of 'claim' and 'Cain.' "
"As in 'and Abel'?" Vic inquired.
"Indeed," Tot confirmed. "Cain is venerated throughout the text as the bringer of all crime, including the 'most sacred' one, that of murder."
Sick, Renee thought. She leaned forward to get a better look at the pages in question. The bizarre hieroglyphics bore no resemblance to any language she was familiar with, so her eyes gravitated toward the grisly drawing that took up much of the left page. An intricate woodcut, which resembled something out of Dante's Inferno, depicted a large, brutish demon ripping the heart from the bloody breast of a swooning female angel.
"Lovely," she muttered.
Something about the illustration, besides the obvious, disturbed her. A chill ran down her spine as she examined the murdered angel, whose scalloped wings struck her as oddly batlike. The bloody smear on the angel's chest had a familiar look to it, like something Renee had seen back in ...
"Gotham." She stood up straight, her eyes wide with horror. "Oh no ... no ..."
Vic noticed her reaction. "Easy, Renee. What's—?"
"I've got to get a phone," she blurted. "I have to call home!"
Vic shook his head, still not understanding what was at stake. "There is no phone, Renee. This is Nanda Parbat. Messages come via dreams and telepathy."
Was he joking? Renee didn't have time to find out. "A satellite phone, then. Anything!" Locating her duffel bag, she started throwing her laundry into it. The Intergang ray gun weighed down the bottom of the bag. "We have to warn her!"
"Who?" Vic stared at her in utter confusion. Tot looked equally baffled. "You're not making sense."
"Look at the damn book!" she said impatiently. "Look at the illustration." The ghastly image, of the leering demon ripping out the angel's heart, was burned into her brain. "It's not 'Cain,' Charlie. It's 'Kane,' the daughter of Kane."
Katherine Kane.
Batwoman.
For the first time in months, ever since the police gave up trying to summon the Dark Knight, the Bat-Signal shone in the night sky above the city The glowing symbol didn't look quite the same as the one Gothamites had once grown accustomed to, though. The spotlight had a slightly more yellowish tint, while the bat-winged silhouette at the center of the luminous orb looked crude around the edges, like an amateur's copy of the original symbol. Renee thought it was obvious that it wasn't the real thing. Hey, I did my best, she thought.
"This is not going to work, Charlie." She squatted on top of her partner's beaten-up old Vanagon while pointing their handmade Bat-Signal up at the sky. The makeshift emblem was glued to the lens of a modified halogen flashlight.
"It'll work, Renee." The Question leaned against the side of the van, reading the Gotham Gazette. The front page headline read, "G.C.P.D. UNPREPARED FOR SUDDEN WAVE OF GANG VIOLENCE." His lack of a face did not seem to impede his reading. "That lamp emits over eleven million candela of light/' He casually flipped the page. "You're just nervous because you haven't seen her in months."
It was a week before Thanksgiving, and Gotham was much colder than it had been when she and Vic had left the city three and a half months ago. The van was parked on the fringe of Robinson Park, not far from where they had met with Kate way back in July. The park's lush green foliage was all gone now, replaced by skeletal trees whose bare branches extended out over the curb. A winter coat and gloves only partly shielded Renee from the cold November wind. She shivered atop the van, momentarily pining for the dry heat of the Middle East. Her breath misted before her lips.
"I'm nervous because we're throwing a Bat-Signal around in Gotham City." She would have killed for a cigarette, but had gone cold turkey since finding out about Vic. The nicotine craving wasn't helping her mood any. "A guaranteed way to bring half the G.C.P.D. and all the costumed freaks running."
He flipped through his newspaper. "You got another way to reach her?"
A racking cough shook his body. Renee flinched at the ugly sound, which bluntly reminded her that he was dying. The heavy sweater he was wearing under his trench coat helped to disguise how much weight he had lost, but the frequent coughs gave him away. He shouldn't even be here, she thought guiltily. He should be with his friends in Nanda Parbat, not zvith me, trying to save someone he doesn't know from something we're not sure will happen.
"None of the other ways worked, and you know it." She muttered under her breath. "Bet the damn butler never even told her I called."
"Moan, moan, moan," Vic mocked her.
Renee scowled at the sky. "Oh, bite me."
"He can't," a husky voice intruded. "He doesn't have a mouth."
. Without warning, Batwoman dropped from an overhanging tree branch onto the roof of the van. Startled, Renee almost dropped the flashlight. Batwoman glared angrily at the improvised signal. "Now turn that thing off."
Renee switched off the lamp. "We've been trying to reach you." .
"Congratulations," Batwoman said brusquely. Renee recognized the pissed-off tone of Kate's voice as the masked woman jumped down onto the pavement beside the Question. She turned to leave. "Good-bye."
Vic sighed theatrically. "Nobody has any curiosity these days. You notice that?" He coughed hoarsely into his glove, somewhat spoiling the moment. "She doesn't even want to know why we've gone to this trouble."
"It's too bad, really." Renee nimbly joined him on the ground. "We might have important information. Maybe about Intergang."
"Or how she's prophesied to have her heart ripped out a week from now," Vic added.
That got her attention. Her cape swirled behind her as Batwoman turned around and stalked back to them. "Intergang I already know about," she said. "Let's hear that second part."
"Picture's worth a thousand words." Vic reached beneath his coat and drew out a Xerox of the gruesome illustration they had discovered in Nanda Parbat. As always, Renee's skin crawled at the sight of the bloodthirsty demon tearing a bat-winged angel's heart from her breast. The more she looked at the grisly woodcut, the more the female victim seemed to resemble Kate in costume. She could practically hear the murdered angel's scream. ,
"It's taken from something called the Book of Crimeshe explained as Vic handed the photocopy to Batwoman. "And I'm pretty damn sure that's supposed to be you dying in that picture...
"So much for your prophesy!" Batwoman declared as she rammed her heel down the throat of a frog-faced beast-man. Her gloved hand simultaneously grabbed onto the collar of a fleeing hoodlum. The batrachian mutant choked on her boot, its slimy tail lashing about wildly. The captured hood yelped in alarm.
Looks like I made it-to the church on time, Batwoman thought.
The deconsecrated cathedral was tucked away in a squalid slum not far from Crime Alley. Declining attendance, as well as a well-publicized choirboy scandal, had forced its closing several years previously. According to her sources, Intergang's blasphemous Church of Crime had moved in to fill the void left behind by the Gothic cathedral's previous congregation. Stone ribs supported the vaulted ceiling. Moonlight filtered through cracked stained glass windows. A pitcher of fresh blood rested upon the altar.
"Awwk!" the frog-man croaked as Batwoman sprang off him, while simultaneously flipping the human gangster over her shoulder. The thug hit the stone floor with a satisfying thimk. Several of his fellow cultists had already felt the female vigilante's fury. Their robed bodies were strewn across the pews and balconies of the desecrated church. Batwoman smiled tightly. Thanks to her, tonight's midnight service was turning into a rout. She was wiping the floor with the various monsters and mobsters. Her flying fists demonstrated exactly what she thought of this so-called religion and its prophecies.
"I've always felt that people should take responsibility for their actions," she lectured her defeated foes. Pausing in the center of the nave, she looked about for a fresh opponent. "Not excuse them by denying that there was any choice in the matter."
"Then you are a fool," a gruff voice said behind her. "Because the Word will not be denied."
She spun around to see Bruno Mannheim emerge from a shadowy nook. He squeezed the trigger of a futuristic handgun and a blast of searing energy dropped her to the floor. Only the triple-weave Kevlar in her uniform saved her from a nasty third-degree burn. Gasping, she sprawled facedown upon the cold stone tiles while Mannheim came up behind her. He savagely yanked on her flowing red hair, lifting her face from the floor. Batwoman grunted in pain.
I just need a minute to recover, she thought. But Mannheim didn't let up.
"Prophesy is upon you," the notorious mob boss preached. He seized her throat with both hands and, with unexpected strength, lifted her off the ground. Her boots dangled in the air as he throttled her. "With your death, Intergang's feast will truly begin." His cruel eyes gleamed with the murderous fanaticism of a true believer. "I shall devour you, just as the Red Rock and the Rage shall devour all of Gotham." His left hand dropped onto her chest, right above her heart. Powerful fingers dug into her costume. "So it has been written, and so it shall come to pass."
"Too bad we're working from a different text," Batwoman whispered hoarsely.
He gave her a puzzled look. " 'We?' "
"She means us," Renee said. She and the Question rose up from behind a nearby pew. Renee's own ray gun was aimed right at Mannheim's skull. "Now put the Batwoman down and we won't have to vaporize your ugly ass."
"The Questions?" he murmured in surprise. A look of utter consternation, and even confusion, came over his brutish face. He stared at Batwoman's backup like he couldn't believe his eyes. "No ... no, you can't be here, not yet. ..." He almost sounded as though he was having a crisis of faith. "The Questions have not yet been Answered!"
Questions? Batwoman thought. As in plural?
Before she could even begin to figure out what Mannheim was raving about, he suddenly hurled her at the Question and Renee. "Look out!" the faceless detective shouted at his partner. Renee tried to get a clear shot at Mannheim, but was blocked by Batwoman's flying body, which came tumbling through the air toward them. Renee cursed as she ducked out of the way.
Taking control of her fall, Batwoman grabbed onto the back of an empty pew and flipped herself back onto her feet. Now that Mannheim was no longer strangling her, her strength was returning, so she hit the floor running and charged back toward the front of the cathedral. A scorch mark defaced the bat-emblem on her chest.
"Stop him!" Renee hollered at her. Clutching her ray gun, she scrambled back up from the floor. "Don't let him get..."
Too late. Batwoman's eyes searched the sanctuary and nave, but Mannheim was nowhere to be seen. He must have vanished down a side corridor while they were all distracted. She glanced around at the criminal casualties littering the church. At least he left some of his monsters and goons behind.
"Away. ..Renee's voice trailed off. Scowling, she lowered her gun. "I hate it when they do that."
"Tell me about it," Batwoman agreed.
Kate's penthouse apartment occupied the top two floors of a sleek high rise in one of Gotham's pricier neighborhoods. No doubt it was more private than the Kane family estate, which Renee definitely appreciated. She wasn't sure she could cope with too much company right now, let alone Kate's snooty parents. That would be a little more than I could handle, she thought. Not at a time like this.
She and Kate watched anxiously from a doorway as Kate's cute young doctor friend practiced her bedside manner on Vic, who was resting uncomfortably in a spare bedroom. An oxygen rig was poised beside the bed, while a nasal cannula helped him breathe. A pitcher of water and a battery of pill bottles rested atop the bed stand. The doctor dutifully checked Vic's pulse. A stethoscope dangled around her neck.
"So, does she make house calls for all her patients," Renee asked archly, "or is this a special arrangement between you and Mallory there?"
Renee hated every minute of this. Hated that the cancer was eating Vic alive. Hated that/even with her best friend dying, she could still be jealous. Hated that all she had left was questions ... and not one good answer.
"I'm not sleeping with her," Kate said, "if that's what you're asking."
"No?" Turning away from the doorway, Renee wandered across the living room, which was stylishly furnished with black leather furniture, a platinum/ silver cocktail table, and mahogany bookshelves, "That wasn't the impression you gave me back in July."
Kate looked annoyed. "I'm not the only one who was looking to score points that day."
True enough, Renee admitted. "Doesn't matter." A framed photo on a mantle showed a shockingly young Kate posing in a West Point cadet's uniform. Renee picked up the photo. "How old are you in this?"
Kate sighed. "I was nineteen." She took the photo from Renee and put it back down on the mantle. Her tone implied that it W'as ancient history.
Renee wondered if Kate's West Point years had anything to do with her new career as Batwoman. So far Kate had not offered any explanation for why she had adopted the life of a masked vigilante, and Renee had not been pushy enough to pry. She had more important things on her mind these days. If Kate wants to play dress up at night and beat up bad guys, that's none of my business.
Is it?
"Kate?" Mallory joined them in the living room. Her annoyingly attractive face was grim. "I gave him some morphine to help with the pain. You're going to see the onset of delirium soon, with declining moments of lucidity." She placed her stethoscope back into a black leather bag. "You should consider admitting him to a hospital."
"Why?" Renee challenged her. "So he can go and never come out?"
Kate tried to calm her. "Renee ..." -
"He might be more comfortable there, that's all," Mallory explained calmly. No doubt she was accustomed to patients and their loved ones reacting emotionally to terminal diagnoses. Renee remembered dealing with the families of murder victims back when she was still a cop. It was never easy.
This isn't fair, she thought. We came back to Gotham. We saved Kate's life. But now it's costing Charlie his....
Kate escorted Mallory to the door. "They're both staying here for now."
"Then I'll see what I can do about setting up hospice care," the doctor volunteered. She gave Kate's hand a comforting squeeze. Renee pretended not to notice.
She listened silently as Kate thanked Mallory and closed the door behind her. Renee stared forlornly out the window at the lights of the city. It was only six o'clock, but the sun was already going down. The smoggy haze of twilight blurred before her eyes as she fought back tears. Kate's graceful footsteps came up behind her.
"I'll take him to the hospital tomorrow," Renee said, feeling crushed and defeated.
"I already told you," Kate insisted. "You and Charlie can stay as long as you like."
Renee turned away from the window. "I'm not going to impose any more than I already have...
"You were evicted from your apartment," Kate pointed out impatiently. "You hadn't paid your rent in six months." She got right in Renee's face, so that their bodies were only inches apart. Her face flushed. "Where are you two going to go if you leave? You going to live out of Charlie's van?" She threw up her hands in frustration. "Stop being so damn stubborn. Just accept what I'm offering, all right?" She took a deep breath and let her temper cool. Her face and voice softened as her lustrous brown eyes implored the other woman. "Please, Renee."
Renee's throat tightened. How could she turn down a plea like that, especially when it obviously meant so much to Kate? Her ex-lover was standing so close to her now that Renee could inhale her perfume. The intoxicating scent stirred her memory and her senses. Renee felt the blood racing through her veins. I've missed you so much, she thought. It was so tempting to reach out for her again, to look for comfort in her strong arms.
"Okay," she whispered.
Kate smiled, visibly pleased that Renee had seen sense. An endless moment hung between them as Renee waited expectantly for ... what? For a second chance? She gazed longingly into Kate's dark eyes. She held her breath. Her lips parted....
"I have to go out," Kate said abruptly. To Renee's surprise (and disappointment), the other woman turned away and headed toward her private dressing room. "I won't be back until late."
Oh right, Renee realized. Time for Batwoman to hit the streets. She imagined the ominous black cape and cowl descending over Kate's familiar face and figure. Glancing out the window, she half expected to see the Bat-Signal shining in the night sky.
"Don't wait up," Kate advised her.
Renee swallowed hard, trying to conceal her bruised feelings. For a few moments there, she'd really thought something was going to happen between them. Guess that was just ivishful thinking on my part.
She heard Vic stir in the spare bedroom and went to investigate. He managed to lift his head from the pillow as she entered. He wheezed as he spoke. "She going out to search for Mannheim again?"
"Didn't ask," Renee answered.
"You should always ... ask the next question," he said ha) Hngly.
"Says the guy who never answers one." She grinned at him. It felt good to banter like this ... just like before. If it wasn't for his wasted appearance, she could almost pretend he wasn't dying. "You mind if I sit here for a while?"
"I'm afraid I'm not... very chatty ... right now."
"That's all right, Charlie." She assumed a lotus position upon the floor at il iv iTwvt v/f il iv. l/v-U. Ol lv. vlujvvl livi \-y\~a U i iiivUl cation. "Neither am I."
Be careful out there, Kate.
"This is me asking you nicely," Batwoman said, smashing the hoodlum's face into the windshield of a parked car. The window cracked loudly, a tracery of thin fractures spreading out from the point of impact like cobwebs. She grabbed onto the gangster's collar and tossed his unconscious body to the pavement. "Should I ask the rest of you meanl"
Dirty slush was piled along the sides of the dingy alley. Icicles hung from the eaves' of darkened warehouses. An unmarked van was parked in front of an open loading dock; the crooks had been picking up an illegal arms shipment when Batwoman had ambushed them. She had taken out half the gang before the startled thugs even knew was happening. One mob lieutenant was already on the ground, clutching a broken arm. The hoodlum with the smashed face was sprawled in the icy slush. Only two more men remained on their feet.
So far, so good, Batwoman thought. She reminded herself to leave at least one crook conscious enough to answer her questions. Fun's fun, but I want to get something out of this workout.
Clothing shredded as the surviving hoodlums began to metamorphose into beast-men. Fur sprouted from their rippling flesh. Bones cracked noisily. Human canines and fingernails elongated into razor-sharp fangs and claws. One of the men took on the aspect of a Siberian tiger; the other assumed the form of a humanoid panther. They hissed and bared their fangs.
Batwoman took the bizarre transformations in stride. By now, she had fought enough of Intergang's mutated monsters to become accustomed to their freakish appearances. According to Renee, some sort of arcane chemical potion was responsible for the gangsters' metamorphic MO. She braced herself for the cat-men's attack while hoping that their devolved vocal cords hadn't completely lost the capacity for speech. She was after bigger prey tonight.
"Where's Mannheim?" she demanded.
To her frustration, the beast-men merely growled in response. Their feline eyes looked past her, alerting her to some lurking danger. There must be another one behind me!
She heard the wolf before she saw it. A growl came from the loading dock as, spinning around, she glimpsed a great black wolf lunging at her. Reacting instantly, she rolled across the hood of the car, barely dodging the wolf's attack. Its hot breath steamed in the cold night air. Sharpened claws sliced the fringe of her cape.
Bad dog!
The wolf landed on all fours, then sprang up onto its hind legs. Standing erect, the huge animal morphed into a slightly more humanoid form: half man, half wolf. Batwoman recognized Kyle Abbot from Renee's description. She drew a Batarang from its sheath within one of the scalloped fins of her right glove.
"Mannheim isn't your problem," the wolf-man snarled. "That you continue to live defies the Word of Cain." Flanked by the tiger- and panther-man, he leaped at her, his claws extended before him. "And that cannot be allowed!"
The Batarang flew from her fingers as she dived out of the way. The spinning missile caught the panther across the forehead, slicing open a cut that poured hot blood into his eyes, then ricocheted off the panther's skull to strike the tiger in the throat. The striped beast-man yelped and grabbed clumsily at his neck. The blinded panther flailed about wildly, trying to clear his vision. So much for those two, she thought, at least for the moment.
Abbot charged past her, and she delivered a vicious kick to his side. He went careening off into the slush, barking like a rabid dog. He angrily wiped the wet snow from his fur as he jumped to his feet. Foam dripped from his curled lips. ■
"My mistress has sent me to set right what you made wrong."
Batwoman took Abbot's arrival as a sign that she was finally getting somewhere in her campaign against Intergang. She was moving up the syndicate's food chain. "That I'm alive is proof that your insane prophesy was wrong in the first place!" ,
She figured she could take Abbot, one-on-one. Unfortunately, just at that moment, six more gang members came storming out of the warehouse. Tearing open their clothes, they were already in throes of their own transformations into bears, reptiles, apes, serpents, and God only knew what else. The desolate alleyway echoed with their chirps, growls, and roars. A lupine smile appeared upon Abbot's muzzle.
"Perhaps," he remarked. The army of beast-men swarmed forward. "Take her heart for the Apostle!"
That would be Mannheim, Batwoman guessed, suddenly finding herself severely outnumbered. She planted a heel into the shoulder of a bull-headed minotaur, then vaulted over the heads of the other monsters. Batarangs flew rapid-fire from her fingers. Landing on the ground behind the inhuman mob, she cast an irritated look up at the roof of the warehouse.
"You going to lend a hand here," she called out, "or are you just planning on getting an eyeful?"
So, she knew I was here all along, Nightwing thought. He looked down on the fracas from atop the warehouse. Impressive.
' Years ago, Dick Grayson had fought beside Batman as Robin, the Boy Wonder. Although he had long ago outgrown the role of a sidekick, he continued to fight crime as the costumed vigilante known as Nightwing. The bat-shaped mask affixed to his face and the somber tones of his dark blue and black uniform paid tribute to his legendary mentor, and he had both loved and lost Barbara Gordon, the original Batgirl. But he had no idea who this new Batwoman was.
Eager to find out, he leaped from the rooftop like the trapeze artist he had once been. A grappling dart, fired by a C02-powered launcher in his gauntlet, embedded itself in the wall of a neighboring warehouse. Using the jumpline attached to the dart, he swung down into the fray. His heels crashed into the scaly skull of a human alligator even as Batwoman elbowed a slathering wart-hog in the throat.
"You have to admit, it's quite an eyeful," he answered her. The downed alligator cushioned his landing as he dropped down onto the pavement. Batwoman cast an annoyed look in his direction, seemingly unamused by his quip. He shrugged apologetically. "What can I say? I've got a thing for redheads."
Barbara had red hair... .
"Trust me, I'm not your type," Batwoman informed him. She jumped above a gorilla-man's swinging arm, then snapped the toe of her boot into the ape's protruding jaw. Simian tusks shattered and the gorilla tumbled backward, head over heels.
Hissing, a cobra-man reared up behind Batwoman, poised to strike. Its swollen hood flared dramatically. A forked tongue flicked between its curved fangs. Nightwing's own boot caught the man-snake right in the chin, causing its venomous jaws to snap shut. Back-to-back, the two vigilantes faced off against the shape-shifting hoods. He somehow sensed that he could trust her to watch his back. She fights like a real pro, he observed, like she's been doing this for years.
His unexpected arrival was more than Intergang's pet monsters seemed inclined to deal with at the moment. Abandoning their stunned and injured comrades, the remaining creatures hastily made for the shadows. Webbed and taloned feet splashed through the slush and icy puddles. Leading the retreat was a large black Wolf, which bounded out of the alley on all fours.
"The wolf!" Batwoman shouted. "Don't let him escape!"
Finishing off the punch-drunk gorilla, she started to pursue the werewolf, but the fleeing lycanthrope had already vanished from view. The sound of its racing footsteps were rapidly swallowed up by the noise of the nocturnal city. Batwoman dashed past Nightwing anyway, unwilling to accept that the wolf was probably long gone.
"Whoa there!" Nightwing cautioned. He didn't want haste to make her careless; what if more monsters were lying in wait just outside the alley? He flipped the cobra over his shoulders onto the blacktop, then grabbed Batwoman by the arm. "You'll get another crack at him," he promised her. "Believe me, there's always a Round Two."
They had plenty to deal with right here and now, making sure that the subdued beast-men were down for the count and wrapping them up nice and tight for the G.C.P.D. Besides, if truth be told, he was more interested in getting to know Gotham's latest self-appointed defender than rounding up a few more Intergang tough guys. Batman was still overseas, recovering from the Crisis, but Nightwing knew that Bruce would want a full report on this new Batwoman once he got back to Gotham. This was the Dark Knight's turf after all.
Wonder what her story is. Nightwing thought. Gotham's crime-filled streets seemed to breed masked vigilantes on a regular basis. Besides Batman, there had already been four Robins, two Batgirls, and a Huntress. And who knew what side of the fence Catwoman was working these days. It's getting so you can't tell the players without a scorecard... .
"Ahem." Batwoman stared pointedly at the hand on her arm.
He smiled and let go. "Nightwing," he introduced himself. New York City was his usual stomping ground these days, but, with Bruce out of town, he had wanted to check on the situation in Gotham himself. "Pleased to meet you."
"Batwoman," she volunteered. Despite being new at this game, she didn't seem at all intimidated by him. Dick admired her confidence.
He looked over her mouth-watering physique, which was scarcely concealed by her skintight costume. "Yeah," he said in appreciation. "Definitely not a Batgirl."
Prone upon the ground, the human cobra tried to slither away. He rustled across a pile of soggy cardboard toward a steaming manhole. Nightwing stepped down on his tail and the serpent hissed angrily. "Guess we should call the cops," he commented to Batwoman. "These freaks are all Intergang, right?"
Since when do mob goons transform into monsters? he mused. That was an ugly new wrinkle where Gotham was concerned. Clay face and Man-Bat weren't enough for one city?
"Yes," she confirmed. "They're led by a man named Mannheim." Night-wing nodded, recognizing the name. "I've been trying to find him for the last couple of weeks, but he's gone into hiding." She took out her frustration on the pinned snake-man, kicking the reptile in the head until it stopped wriggling. "I think I scared him."
Nightwing liked her style. "Imagine that."
Mannheim used to run Intergang from Metropolis, he recalled. He wondered what had brought the notorious gangster to Gotham. "If he's the Big Bad, we're going to have to find him." He took it for granted that Batwoman wasn't going to stop hunting Mannheim anytime soon. "I'll start searching in Burnley tomorrow, begin working my way south."
Batman, who tended to be territorial where Gotham was concerned, probably would have told Batwoman to go home and let him handle Intergang, but that wasn't how Dick Grayson worked. His stint in the Teen Titans had taught him the importance of teamwork—and of finding new talent. The way he saw it, the bad guys outnumbered them enough as is. We can use all the good people we can get.
Batwoman nodded. "And I'll take Tri-Corner and begin working my way south?"
"Unless you have an objection."
"No." She shook her head and withdrew a grapnel gun from her utility belt. The design was slightly different from the ones used by Batman and his proteges. She fired a grappling hook at an overhanging eave and let a built-in winch carry her up to the rooftops. Nightwing watched her depart, then realized that she had stuck him with cleanup duty. He sighed and extracted a supply of plastic wrist restraints from his gauntlet. He chuckled to himself and set about bagging the mutant menagerie scattered across the icy floor of the alley.
"Nice meeting you too."