Godwar Part 3: Chapter 2: Traces
Half a hemisphere away, in a secret cavern known only to a few, a tall woman with long, highlighted brown hair stood before a curiously carved altar. What appeared to be a reddish-yellow flame sprang up from the very middle of that concave surface. A flame with no apparent source, that somehow projected the image of a face, wizened beyond anything in mortal experience, and strangely androgynous. After a moment, the red eyes opened, swiveled around, and fixed upon her.
The woman bowed deeply before the altar. And the words formed in her mind: You have failed. She didn't reply; there was no point in doing so; the master already knew. What she didn't know was, what was coming next.
You have failed, Mirissa, in spite of all the power I gave you. You failed.
"Yes, My lord." Again, she didn't really know what else to say or do. Take her punishment, she guessed.
Your personal vendetta against the girl, the spawn of the house of Markov, means nothing to me. What matters is, you undertook a course of action and, even though you accounted for all foreseeable variables, still failed. It calls into question your competency.
Mirissa blew out a sigh. "In all honesty, my lord, I did not foresee all variables. The spawn of your great enemy, Trigon—*"
I have told you not to mention his name. I will not tell you again.
Mirissa paled, but gathered herself. "Of-of course, my lord. I…misspoke. The spawn of your great enemy proved to be a factor I had not accounted for. But now I know."
And so now you believe yourself to be a match for the son of the demon overlord? The sarcasm positively dripped off the words as they came into her mind.
"Nothing in life—and few things in death—is absolutely certain, my lord. But now that I know of him, I can plan more effectively, so as neutralize his ability and nature."
And you will do that precisely how?
"I am already formulating plans to turn them against each other. The slut could not have chosen a better champion or lover, and I cannot believe that to be accidental. But I have sensed…friction between the two of them, especially involving the other spawn of—of your great enemy. It should be child's play to drive a wedge, so to speak, between them, leaving her essentially defenseless against me."
She is hardly defenseless.
"True, my lord, true. But with proper preparations, her power over the Earth can be effectively nullified. Also," and here Mirissa smiled a very unpleasant smile, "also just as she took Brion from me, perhaps I can manage to take this 'Beast Boy' away from her. Tit, as the saying goes, for tat."
You would seduce the son of the demon?
"Oh, no. Nothing so vulgar as that." Again an unpleasant smile. "But if he were to meet with an…untimely demise, it would certainly serve her right. I believe you would enjoy that. Or, consider: I might conceivably arrange for Beast Boy and this Raven to…find out more about each other, so to speak. A lot more. In a much more intimate way than they previously have. That would demoralize the slut immensely, and definitely provide you with the pain you seek. It could even snowball, in a sense—a chain reaction that would drastically affect the lives of all those around her."
Your arguments are persuasive. Pain. The reddish-yellow eyes in the wrinkled flame-face closed momentarily, as though savoring a delicacy. It is to be relished. But I will tolerate no further failure on your part. And your personal vendetta against the girl will have to wait. I've another task for you, which, upon the successful completion of, and here, the face nodded slightly, as if to emphasize the word "successful," you may resume your pursuit of your righteous revenge.
…
Terra rode a boulder down to the mailbox at the edge of the driveway leading into their property. Their house was on a large plot of land, and, while she normally walked, feeling the need for the exercise, this time she took the easy way, due to a certain amount of physical fatigue. Not only had they probably broken some sort of record for lovemaking the night before, the house itself, while largely automatic, still needed some tending by a live person. Machines couldn't do everything. Plus, the physical activity kept her mind off of…certain things.
She was nearly to the mailbox—such recent arrivals were they, that they got practically no mail, aside from those bills that, for whatever reason, the companies refused to deliver online. So she wasn't really expecting anything to actually be in the box; she was really just looking for a way to get out of the house for a while. Gar was playing a game with Cyborg, back in Jump City, via remote link, over the internet.
Overall, Terra found herself truly enjoying the country lifestyle. Cities were more exciting, true, but both she and Garfield had seen more than their share of excitement in their short lives. The peace and quiet was a welcome change.
So her thoughts were a bit distracted by the pastoral beauty around her. Her first indication that something was wrong came from spying what appeared to be a small heap of green clothing on the ground by the mailbox. At first, she sniffed; someone had had the nerve to throw away some of their garbage right at the edge of their property. Then the "garbage" moved. What th'?
She hovered closer, wary of a trap, already bringing up a few boulders and rocks, several of them wickedly sharp, keeping them handy, just in case…then she gasped as she realized that she recognized those green coveralls. She'd seen them before, on several occasions. "Gizmo? What are you doing here?"
A barely conscious Gizmo could only groan in reply.
…..
Flying over the mountains, Angelique and Deena were conversing in Link. {{And I just gotta show you Miss Terra and Mr. Garfield's new house, it is so cute, and there's a pond in back…}} Angelique's comments were cut off by a transmission from the very place they'd been headed towards. "Rae?" Beast Boy's voice came in over the secure link, directed at the Titans' residence back in Jump City. Well, thought Angelique with a smile, it was secure to anyone else. "Raven? You there? Gotta bit of a problem here. Are you, by any chance, missing one half-pint technogenius?"
….
Landing, Angelique and Deena signaled for entrance even while Garfield was still talking to Raven back in Jump City on the Titans' internal monitor system, with Angelique morphing from jet form back into human form effortlessly. "And he's still not completely out of it. Looks like he's been in one whale of a fight." That was true. The ten-year old technological whiz had shown up, practically at their doorstep, looking as though he'd gone a few rounds with Lobo. Some of his clothes, and almost all of his gadgets, of which he always seemed to have a never-ending supply, actually looked burned. He still seemed to be in shock from whatever had happened to him.
"You're sure he's not faking? Remember, Gar, Gizmo's dangerous. He's a kid, and he's a completely amoral one at that. So be careful."
"We are, Rae. Oh, hey, girls. When did you get here?" While Garfield knew Angelique, of course, he'd never actually met Deena, and had to be introduced. "Well, hey, Deena. So you're…Raven's friends' daughter? 'S'good to meet you." Deena nodded, being unable to speak due to lacking, as all unmodified Osirans did, any sort of vocal apparatus. Terra was watching Gizmo, both to see to his recovery, and for more tactical reasons.
Angelique "listened" for a moment, Linking with Deena. "She says it's good to meet you, too, Mr. Garfield. What's going on? And who's this?"
"Oooooohh," Gizmo groaned, attempting to sit up. Suddenly, he realized where he was. "Hey!" He fumbled for something in his utility belt….
….and found his hand held firmly in place by a little girl with snow-white skin and hair. "Leggo of me! I haven't done anything!" Yet, he added, to himself. "Leggo!"
"Ramp it down, Giz," Garfield told him. "You showed up here, looking like somebody'd hit you with a couple dozen wrecking balls. What happened to you, anyway?"
"Nothing." Gizmo sullenly refused to meet their eyes. "Nunna yer business. I was just…" He tried to stand up, but Deena firmly shoved him back down. Gizmo's eyes widened. Whoever she was, this little girl was strong. He looked around at the group, with Raven watching from the screen. "If I told ya the truth, ya'd think I was crazy."
"Well, we already think you're a little crazy. May as well go for the whole taco."
Still Gizmo refused to meet their gaze. Then he sighed. Truth was, he kinda wanted to tell somebody, just to vent a little. "Well…if you must know—and I guess yer not gonna quit pestering me 'till ya do-…there I was, mindin' my own business, takin' a late night tour of the Jump City Museum—hey, don't look at me like that! It's less crowded then! Besides, I didn't do nuthin'!
"Anyway, I was just chillin,' takin it all in, when I was…attacked."
"Attacked? By who?"
Gizmo still refused to meet their looks, his stubborn pride warring with his shock and fright. Finally, he had to say something. "I was attacked by a dragon, alright? Ya happy now?"
"A dragon? Are you sure?" Terra looked at her husband. He'd once turned into a dragon, in an extreme circumstance. But he'd been here all along…
"Big, scaly, wings, breathes fire, yeah, I'm sure. Only there's no such thing. Only…that's what it was." He calmed down a bit, now that it was out, and suddenly seemed exhausted, an exhaustion that was probably more emotional than physical. "So, yeah, go ahead and call the loony bin. Make my reservation."
Garfield and Raven exchanged glances through the monitor screen. "Was it, by any chance," began Raven, "black with a purple underside?"
Gizmo stared, honest surprise on his face. "How the frack did you know that?"
…..
"It's not here," Raven sighed. Upon closing the connection with Gar and Terra, she and Haywire had immediately gone to her room. Raven had a horrible suspicion as to the identity of the dragon Gizmo had mentioned.
A search of her room had not reassured her. The cursed book, that had been Malchior's prison for who knew how long, was missing from its accustomed spot. And Raven knew very well she had not been the one to move it.
The book was gone. There was no doubt. She and Hank had turned her room upside down, just to be sure. No book. So, Raven could only conclude, someone had managed to steal the book, somehow bypassing her magical wards, and, presumably, succeeded in liberating Malchior.
She couldn't think of anyone she knew of who possessed that kind of talent. It had taken a lot out of her to do it the first time, even with Malchior's coaching and knowledge. Someone would have to be a serious magic user to've let that big a cat out of the bag, so to speak, especially since she'd personally reinforced the spells binding the evil dragon to the pages of the book. But who?
Any intruder into the tower would have been detected by the alarm system. So who could've gotten in to steal the book?
The simplest answer was that someone in the group had taken the book, as Raven's wards were designed to have no effect on any of her immediate teammates. But she really couldn't see any of her friends as having taken that particular book, especially knowing what—and who—it contained.
Bottom line: the book was gone. And, evidently, Malchior was loose. Unless there was another dragon with his same coloration running around, and, from what Raven knew of dragons, that wasn't likely.
She dug out her T-Cell, dialing Garfield's number. "Gar. Gizmo's still there, right? Ask him what he was after, in the museum."
"Got it, Rae." She heard some muttered comments in the background, including Gizmo's muffled protestations of innocence, and his demanding a lawyer. But finally, Garfield came back on. "Says he wasn't looking for anything in particular, just…shopping, so to speak. But he was attacked in the section housing the African display, the part dedicated to the Belgian Congo. Says he just turned a corner, and there it was. At first he thought it was an animatronic display. Then kaboom."
"Hm. I can hardly imagine Malchior stealing something from the museum quietly. One thing dragons, as a species, usually aren't, is quiet. I'll check with the museum officials, see if anything is missing, and, if so, what. Might give us some clues. In the meantime, keep an eye on Gizmo. I don't have to tell you to watch out for any of his technological tricks. Keep him there until we've gotten more answers than we now have. If it weren't for him showing up like this, we wouldn't even know Malchior might be on the loose."
"You're sure it's Malchior, Rae? I mean, it couldn't possibly be some other dragon?"
"Unlikely. Gizmo described his coloration altogether too accurately; dragons are usually either red or a sort of reptilian mottled color. Malchior was unusual." She paused, drawing a breath. "I'd really rather it was some other dragon, but the facts are against it."
"I know, Rae. I know what he put you through. Just remember, we're both only a phone call away. And we can be there instantly, if you need us." The Logans' new house was connected, as were the two HQ's in Jump City, and Titans' Tower East, by standing-wave subquantum teleport gates in the basement. They literally had only to step through to be there.
She smiled. "Yes, I know, Gar. And…and I appreciate it, more than I can readily express. But, for now, let's not borrow trouble. If Malchior—or, for that matter, any dragon—was in the museum that late at night, it's logical to assume a theft of something. In fact, that's the only reason he'd be there. But I'll be in touch."
"Sounds good. Later."
"Later, 'little brother.'" And she closed the connection.
"What's your gut feeling, Rae? What could Malchior possibly want in a museum?"Hank asked.
Raven sighed. "With dragons, it's not always cut and dried. Their valuation of some items is not according to human standards; what we'd consider a piece of junk, they'd treasure. Nonhuman minds and intellects. But it stands to reason, that, if Malchior was trying to steal something, and from a museum to boot, it has to be something of some importance. It wouldn't be in a museum otherwise." She bit her lip. "I just can't figure out how he could have gotten out. Of the book, I mean." Thinking. "If he'd somehow managed to get out of the book on his own, I imagine the first thing he'd do is seek revenge on me for imprisoning him back in it. Yet he didn't. That implies someone with a different agenda is calling the shots. Someone's controlling him. There aren't many magic users who could do that. I mean, somebody on the order of, say, Dr. Fate could, but I think we can safely rule him out. And somebody had to steal the book in the first place, presumably through magical means of some sort, in one way or another.
A quick call to the curator of the museum, however, revealed no signs of anything out of the ordinary: no indication of a battle, nothing missing. That, in itself, was troubling.
If Gizmo was telling the truth, someone, some magic user, had sent in a dragon to (presumably) steal something. But there was no sign of a struggle, and that hardly computed. It seemed to indicate someone wished stealth, and one thing dragons seldom were, was stealthy.
Of course, a more convoluted possibility was that Malchior (if it was Malchior) had been sent in as a distraction…but then, why bother with a coverup? Her questions only led to more questions.
…..
The Logans' house, Colorado: Garfield had just gotten off the phone himself, to see if anyone had sighted or reported anything out of the ordinary, when he was distracted by the sound of loud voices coming from the living room. He went to investigate.
A determined looking Deena was standing firmly in the doorway, obviously blocking a very irritated Gizmo from leaving. "You can't hold me! I know my rights! I haven't done anything! And, and you try an' keep me here, an' I'll charge you with kidnapping!"
"You're right about that," replied Terra, soothingly. "We can't keep you here. But…" she paused, a crafty look coming over her face. "It is about suppertime. Aren't you hungry?"
They could see the look of uncertainty come over his face
Gizmo paused, clearly thinking. He was hungry. But…"Nah. I gotta go. Got places to go, things to d-*"
Terra was holding up a carton of ice cream. "Rocky Road ice cream for dessert?"
"Uhm." Rocky Road? That…put a different spin on things. Then a sigh of resignation. He turned for just a moment to look at Deena, still guarding the door, arms crossed. The stupid little girl obviously wasn't gonna let him go without a fight, and all of his techno-gimmicks had been burned up in the battle with the dragon. "Okay. Ya talked me into it. But I get three scoops!"
….
"No, nothing was taken. Nothing of any importance, I mean." He chuckled. "I mean, the garbage was taken out, but somehow I don't think you mean that." The museum's director looked at Raven, Haywire, and Nemesis as though they were somewhat crazy. A dragon? Here in his museum? He'd seen enough in and around Jump City to know better than to just disbelieve automatically, but still. He could have—vaguely—understood if they'd perhaps been under the delusion that one of the dinosaur exhibits had come to life, especially in light of the impact the "Night at the Museum" movies had made, but dragons were works of sheer fantasy. There wasn't even a skeleton or plaster of Paris mockup to animate. "The size you describe could hardly go unnoticed, unless," and here he smiled slightly, "someone persuaded the dragon to walk on tippy toe. I'd have a hard time believing that."
"So do I," replied Raven, even as Nemesis frowned at the director's condescending tone, "But I noticed that you said 'nothing of importance' was taken. Was there, perhaps, something of unimportance missing?"
"Hm. Well, I mean, you know…our bagged garbage had been seemingly, er, ransacked a bit. But, to be frank, there's nothing all that unusual about that. Our janitor sometimes goes through it, hoping to find some valuable artifact that everyone else has missed. I've had to, well. Speak to him about that, on several occasions."
"Where is he now?"
The man leaned back in his chair, an expansive gesture, perfectly at ease. "I don't really know." He reached for his desktop communicator. "Sandra? Has Bob come in yet?" He covered the intercom's pickup and said, "Bob's the janitor. He's a little, er, slow, if you get my drift. A bit of an oddball. Great guy, though. Just-*"
At that moment Sandra came back on. "No, sir, he hasn't. And that's peculiar. He's normally very prompt. I was just about to call him."
"Get him on the phone. He was probably at some sort of party last night or something. Probably still hung over." In the next few moments, they heard the telephone dial tone ringing…
…ringing…
…ringing…
"Hi. You've reached the Shoenfeldt residence. I can't take your call right now. Please leave a-*" Sandra came back on the intercom. "Sorry, sir. He's not answering"
"What's his address?" asked Raven.
…
Just outside the apartment building, the three met with the landlord. "Nope. Ain't seen no sign of him all day. Why? He done somethin'?" he asked, almost eagerly, Raven thought. Almost as if he hoped his tenant had done something to attract the attention of the superhero community. That was a little unusual; most of the time, most landlords very rightly wanted nothing to do with beings who routinely demolished whole city blocks in defense of justice.
"No, we just need to ask him a few questions, that's all." The manager's face fell noticeably. "If you'll be so kind as to direct us to his apartment, we'd be most appreciative." Tact, Raven, tact.
"Uh, sure." The man led them up a staircase that had seen better days, and pointed at a door down the hall. "There. Room 213. You need to get in or somethin'?" Again that almost-eager look. "I gotta passkey."
"That won't be necessary." The trio moved down the hallway towards the indicated door. There was a non-functional doorbell by the door. So Raven knocked once, twice, three times. No answer. "Hank? Can you sense anything?" Haywire was their resident telepath.
Hank concentrated for a moment, eyes partially closed. "No…can't sense anybody in there."
"That's because he's not in there," spoke up Jasson, speaking for the first time since they'd brought him in on the case. "I could hear him if he was. No sign of him, mere," he said, using the respectful term for females from his home Earth.
"You're sure? Okay. I'm going in there, see what I can find…" And Raven passed through a dark circle that opened in the door itself, into the apartment.
The apartment itself was tidy, but had a distinct "lived in" look. A few magazines were on the low coffee table in front of the couch. And old-fashioned cathode-ray television sat on the side of the wall, facing the worn couch. It was clear the occupant of this room had spent many an hour watching TV from this vantage point.
But there was no sign of said occupant. His clothes were folded and put away, the dirty ones in a laundry basket, even as most people do, awaiting wash day. Raven found herself wishing for Robin's help in this matter; he had oodles of experience in a forensic sweep. As it was….she concentrated, allowing a portion of her soul-self to settle over the objects in the room, touching on them briefly, trying to glean some idea as to what the person was like who lived here, and what might have happened to him.
There was a whole lot of nothing to be found. Evidently, Bob had been quite content here, watching TV, reading his magazines (and Raven smiled a crooked smile when her mind touched on a few Playboys hidden away in the bedroom; well, a bachelor, living alone…), and living his uncomplicated life. There was no sign of any struggle or any indication of any violence, magical or otherwise.
She phased through the door, passing out into the hallway. "I think we need to take a closer look at the museum." They should have earlier, and she mentally kicked herself for not doing so when they were there. Robin would have, but with Robin it was second nature. She was still learning. "And see if you can't get Omega or Athena—or both—to join us there. They may pick up something we'd miss."
…
The African Exhibit was divided into two parts: colonial Africa, under the dominion of the various European powers, and the modern-day geopolitical configuration. The Belgian Congo display took up almost one whole wing, all by itself. "Okay, people. Look around. Omega? Take a look with your senses at the display itself, while you, Athena, go with Devil Cat and inspect those ransacked garbage bags. See what you can come up with." Meanwhile, with Hank and Jasson, she explored the exhibit itself. "If Gizmo's report is to be believed, this is the spot where he was attacked. Jasson? Can you sense anything unusual about this part of the museum? Hank?"
"Negatory, Rae," replied Haywire, after a few moments of concentration. "No minds I can detect, and I can't find anything all that unusual about the atomic and subatomic arrangement, either."
"Jass—I mean, Nemesis? Anything?"
"No, mere. I have pretty much the same senses as the Osirans do, but I'm not seeing anything out of the ordinary."
"Yet it was right here." Raven looked around her. The building housing the display didn't seem large enough to accommodate a dragon, particularly one the size of Malchior. He'd have had to take pains to have left such a small "footprint," in both senses of the word. So what was he doing here, anyway?
Raven's T-cell chimed. "Raven? Athena here. Devil Cat and I have gone through the trash. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, however…."
"Yes?"
"I am noting traces of iridium on some of the artifacts. I understand this is not commonplace on Earth."
Hm. "That's true, it's not. Let's get the director down here."
Shortly, the Titans gathered in the back room, where the garbage was stored, awaiting disposal. The director had a puzzled look on his face. Raven took a certain amount of private satisfaction upon seeing that. This was better than his casual dismissal of the Titans' questions earlier. "Iridium? I can't imagine what that could've come from. I know we didn't get any space rocks…and the concentration of iridium found anywhere else…." He got on his cell. "Sandra? Who was working on the Congo exhibit? Or, for that matter, who was in charge of incoming mineral samples or artifacts? He was? Tell him to get down here immediately. As in now." He closed his cell. "One of our researchers is going to join us. But I can't imagine how-*"
"You wanted to see me, chief?" A bespectacled young man in a white lab coat entered the room.
"Yes. Did you, or anybody in the department, get in any samples of meteorites? Or anything of a mineral nature?"
The man scratched his head. "No…don't believe so. Oh, wait. We did get some samples of igneous rock from the east coast. But we tested them, and there was nothing unusual about them. I believe they got sent back." He shrugged. "Or thrown away. I mean, they were just rocks."
"So no meteorite samples?"
"No sir. That sure would've caught my attention."
"Okay," said Raven, approaching the man, "So what do we know about iridium? What would its presence mean here, in a museum?"
"Well," began the white coat, "iridium is one of the densest elements on Earth. Only osmium is denser." Raven noted, with some amusement, that the young scientist seemed to be fixated on her chest. She hoped the neither Hank nor Jasson took note of that. The last thing she needed right now was for one or both of them to take offense on her behalf.
So she went over to the young scientist, hitching her cloak around her. "What can you tell us about iridium?"
It worked. The young man's attention was drawn to the facts, and glanced away, clearly uncomfortable with looking her in the face. Raven was accustomed to people not making eye contact, but that was usually due to a certain amount of guilt, and the fear that came when meeting someone who could sense things about you. It was a common misconception that Raven was telepathic, so most suspects were uncomfortable with meeting her. This young man was discomfited for an altogether different reason. He must not get out much, thought Raven. She toyed with the notion of letting her cloak fall back, just to give him something to watch, but decided that would be unnecessarily cruel and probably a bit manipulative. Anyway, she didn't have anything all that terrific, surely. Now, if it had been Starfire…"Uhm, uhm, er, y-yes, ma'am, we-we know it has a high melting point, and, and seems resistant to most reagents. Though certain salts attack it. Uhm," and here he made a conscious effort to focus on her face, feeling embarrassed about his furtive glances. Raven smiled what she hoped was an encouraging smile. Had she been alone with him, she would have gone out of her way to reassure him that she had not taken offense. Indeed, part of her was a little flattered. But business before pleasure… "It does exist in terrestrial rock, but even there, it's theorized to be of meteoric origin, just so far in the past as to be included in normal rock strata." He straightened up. "Anyway, it's most commonly found in meteorites."
"And you're sure you received no meteors or meteoric rock samples?"
"Yes, ma'am. Those certainly would have been included in one of our displays." And she could tell he was telling the truth.
"Well, thank you," she said, reaching out to touch him lightly on the arm. "You've been most helpful." He blushed crimson. I seem to've made a bit of a conquest here, this day, thought Raven. It was…strangely gratifying. Now I know how Starfire feels, when heads turn to watch her walk down the street.
Leaving the museum, she conferred with the others. "So. Anyone notice anything out of the ordinary? Nothing? Just the ransacked garbage bags?"
"You seemed to find the mention of iridium significant," Haywire mentioned. "So what's up with that?"
"Well, in magical terms, it being literally otherworldly in origin, iridium has the property of reflecting, blocking, or even magnifying magical energies." She paused, thinking. "The closest analogy is glass or crystal, here on Earth. It can focus, block, or magnify light, depending upon how it's used, and its configuration. But what I found even more significant was that young man, back there."
"I saw," smirked Kitten.
"Not that. I meant, while he was talking, I was of course alert for any signs of untruth in him. There were none. But when I touched his wrist, on the way out, I got a much clearer image of what he'd actually seen."
"I don't understand," said Hank.
"He believed what he told us. But what he actually saw, was not what he believed."
"He believed something he didn't actually see? How's that possible?"
"More accurately, he did not believe something he did see. It's a technique quite often used. True invisibility is very difficult; you have to bend light waves around you. And you have to do it perfectly, or someone will notice something's wrong with what they're seeing, like a lens or something off-center. But it's a lot simpler, and more, well, more 'efficient,' I suppose you'd say, to simply make someone not notice you."
"I think I see. Er, no pun intended. Somebody cast a spell on the guy so that he didn't notice someone slipping past him?"
"Exactly. And that same someone—not Malchior, Malchior would've torn the place apart—took extreme pains so that all who actually saw him simply would have no real recollection of the fact. It's just easier."
"Like…blending in with the background?"
"One way of putting it, yes. And now I know why Malchior was included in this: dragons are huge sources of magical energies. Malchior's presence would effectively obscure our thief's magical 'trail,' so to speak. Which means, it would be useless to try for any sort of tracking spell. His presence would disrupt that." She frowned in concentration. "But whoever it was may have overlooked one thing. Where's Cyborg?"
….
"Hmmm," mused Cyborg, "So what you need is something that can track track trace amounts of iridium? Actually, that might not be that hard to do. Iridium's not that commonplace…putting together a spectroscopic tracker….hmmm." Raven could tell his mind was working on the device already.
To be continued…
