SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1Can't Get You Outta My Head

"I swear to God, you are a workaholic."

Stephen Cranston, sitting in The Shadow's sanctum at his grandfather's wraparound mahogany desk and glancing through various agent reports sent overnight by Burbank, looked over his shoulder at the sound of that exasperated declaration from his partner, Peter Parker.  "You're just now figuring this out?" he replied dryly.

Peter shook his head as he descended the stairs.  "I go to all the trouble to grab a celebratory lunch for us after last night's very sweet bust, and you decide you have to come to work."

"Idle hands, devil's playground, or so my mother always said."  Stephen turned to see Peter's arms loaded with various bags.  "Need a hand?"

"As if."  Peter set one bag on the desk.  "Anyway, lunch from Sun Yet Kitchen.  Cho recommended the duck."

"Awesome."  Stephen got up to fetch two plates and a pair of sodas.  "But that's an awful lot of bags for Peking Duck."

Peter pulled up a chair next to the desk, then took out Chinese takeout boxes and chopsticks from the food bag.  Then he set the other bag on the desk.  "Had to stop by the office, too.  Most of the rest of this is for you."

"You are a far braver man than I, Gunga Din," Stephen laughed, serving himself a portion of the duck.

"Well, it's not like I had a choice if I wanted to get the rest of my pictures developed," Peter groused, filling his own plate.  "You really need to put in a darkroom down here."

Stephen grinned. This was an old discussion. "It's not easy to just tack on an extra room to the Sanctum, Pete. Besides, who would go buy lunch then?"

"Not going to answer that one."  Peter sorted out several items from the second bag.  "Today's paper, of course, with our exclusive scoop on the front page.  Marsh says this one could net us another Pulitzer if we do the right kind of follow-up work."

"Presuming nothing else breaks on the scene in the meantime," commented Stephen, giving the paper a quick once-over while he dined.

"Yeah, that's the trouble with the vigilante lifestyle.  Hard to fit it into your DayTimer."  He fished through the bag some more.  "Various memos, inter-office mail, and other supposedly important stuff that they keep sliding under our door."

Stephen gave most of the items a cursory glance, then fed them into a nearby shredder.

"You know, I could have done that back at the office if I'd have known that was going to be your reaction," Peter remarked.

"Nah.  You never know when one of those things might actually have something important to say.  What else?"

Peter pulled out a piece of paper with several handwritten notes on it.  "And of course, our voicemail box was full.  You know, I am not your secretary.  Burbank is."

Stephen gave him a mock-serious glare.  "Don't let him hear you saying that.  Who called?"

"I deleted all the stuff that didn't pertain to us--office parties, computer outages, that sort of thing--so here's what's left…your uncle called, congratulating us on our great scoop.  Message was timestamped before the paper came out.  I do not even want to know how Victor knows these things in advance."

"The Shadow knows," Stephen's mental voice commented drolly.

"Yeah, yeah.  Anyway, next message was from our esteemed editor, left before he actually cornered me to beg for a follow-up. He said the usual 'great job, boys' and asked--for only about the billionth time--whether or not you actually believe in The Shadow."

Stephen turned to his desk and began writing an email. "And I will of course answer him--for only about the billionth time--"

The men said it together as Stephen typed it. "The Shadow is a myth, but he's a useful myth. He sells papers.  Ours."

Stephen laughed as clicked "Send". "That'll keep him happy for another 24 hours."

"Oh, and the boss also said for about the billionth time that while it's great that we get these great stories, we have to remember that..."

"…we have an office, that's where we work," finished Stephen.

"I swear, you're a mind-reader.  Next up is one from Moe, who says that his broken windshield is repaired and he's ready to roll next time we need him."

"Excellent," said Stephen, taking a large bite of his fried rice.

"Oh, and there was one more message," said Peter, handing over the sheet of notes.  "From some woman named Diane Burke."

Stephen almost choked on his food and recoiled from the paper like it was on fire.  "Diane Burke? Call her back and tell her I'm dead!" he said at a speed way faster than normal for him.

Peter looked surprised.  Stephen actually seemed to shiver at the mention of that name. If he didn't know his partner better, he could have sworn Stephen was scared.  Which made him intrigued, because Peter wasn't sure Stephen was even capable of fear. "So," he said, "who is this Diane Burke?"

The moment of panic faded and Stephen's normal poker face was back. "Just an old…acquaintance."

Peter raised an eyebrow.  "Ah, the iceman's story comes further into focus."

Stephen glared at him.

Peter wasn't impressed.  "Come on.  Out with it.  What's the deal with this chick?"

Stephen was silent for a long moment, trying very hard to ignore the smug look on his friend's face. "All right, all right.  She's an ex-girlfriend."

Peter's grin tripled in size. "I knew it!  She did it, didn't she?  She found a way into that fortress of solitude you keep reinforcing around yourself.  She found your weakness.  So much so that the mere mention of her name nearly gave you a coronary.  So what happened?  Come on, come on!"

"All right!" shouted Stephen, then he took a breath and got himself under control. "I'd been The Shadow for about a year when I met her.  She was a corporate accountant working with a private charity on securing a grant from the Cranston Foundation Trust.  We hit it off almost instantly.  It lasted almost six months, and it got pretty serious."

"How serious?" Peter pressed.

"To the point where I considered bringing her in on all this." Stephen gestured around the Sanctum, then fell silent for a full two minutes.

Peter finally prompted him. "But..."

"But...we had incompatible careers. I was a vigilante crime-fighter, and she worked for Kingpin."

Now it was Peter's turn to choke on his meal.  "Did she get close to you because..."

"I've only asked myself that question a few thousand times. She was in charge of his money laundering operations in Manhattan. I had to break it off. So The Shadow took care of my problem by closing down the operation and making sure the police found her.  She apparently cut a deal with the DA to sell out some lower-level flunky in Kingpin's operation, and somebody--Kingpin, most likely, through some U.S. Attorney he had in his pocket--had her transferred to Federal custody.  They shipped her out west--Washington state, last I heard.  Her arrest gave me the perfect way out of the rom…"  He stopped and swallowed the word, then restarted.  "…the relationship; nobody would think it strange that a society guy dumps his girlfriend if she's going to the big house. I haven't seen her since she left. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed likely that she was in fact just trying to manipulate me. She was always making suggestions about Cranston businesses and accounts. Anyway, she left absolutely certain that I left her because she had a criminal record, and I tried to put her out of my head."

"And now she's back in town," Peter observed.

Stephen jerked again. "In town?"

Peter pointed to the number on the note. "That's a Manhattan area code.  Cell phone exchange, too, so she could be anywhere, but she's likely looking to stay for a while if she's taken the time to get a regular cell number."

Stephen let out a sound like a strangled sob.

"What do we do?" asked Peter finally. "She could be working for Kingpin still."

"I know that!" snapped Stephen. "We busted up another of Kingpin's money laundering fronts last night. Kingpin is going to need somebody to take over the operations. And she is experienced."

Peter groaned.  "We'd better find out fast. Nothing would get her back in good graces with the Kingpin faster than handing him Cranston Enterprises as a money machine on a silver platter."

The mix of embarrassment and outrage conveyed in Stephen's glare made him grin again. The way that Stephen's eyes suddenly turned dark and angry made him gulp.

"What…exactly…are you implying?" growled Stephen.

Peter took a deep breath.  "Well, don't take this personally, but I have to ask, for both our sakes--are you still in love with her?"

"No," Stephen said simply and firmly. "I stopped caring about her that way when she took the DA's deal."

"Just because she made a deal to sell out a low-level flunky and save her own hide?"

"No, because she used Kingpin to get that deal.  She was working for him to the very end."

"Ouch," commented Peter. "Do you think she'll try to get to you, or is this just a social 'Hi-I'm-in-town-want-to-meet-for-lunch?' call?"

"Depends on where she stands with Kingpin. If she is trying to get Kingpin a new money machine, and has her designs on Cranston Enterprises, then this could be her plan of attack."

"I'm not feeling the love here for some reason," Peter wisecracked.

Stephen snorted derisively.  "The crazy witch always was conniving and manipulative that way. If she wanted to, she could be perfectly sincere and caring one second, then rip your heart out and feed it to her Hellhounds for a chew toy the next."

Peter let out a low whistle and grinned again. "No, no bitterness there. She really did get under your skin, didn't she?"

Stephen gritted his teeth at the memory. "Well, let's say she was a touch…vindictive. Whenever she came over to the manor, she suggested that I move Uncle Victor to a home, and when I said no, she might have 'accidentally' spilled burgundy wine on an Oriental rug.  And maybe when she tried to take over the kitchen and dictate the dinner menu, the staff complained and she told them that Victor was moving out and I had fired them.  And maybe she may have said something to the housekeeping staff about hotels getting by with less staff than we had, clearly implying that she wanted them gone.  All the while seeming completely innocent around me. Can you believe she was so subtle that I only found all this out after she left?"

"You two seem made for each other."

Stephen glared at him.  "I'm going to ignore that.  For now."  He continued to muse, mostly to himself.  "On the other hand, she could be completely innocent. She may have gone straight, and just be in New York for a completely different reason. We have to find out."

"Well, we could put an agent on her."

"No," said Stephen flatly. "I'll handle this one personally."

Peter was silent for a long moment. "You sure you're over her?"

Stephen stared at the costume locker, where The Shadow's costume was kept. "Pete, when I found out that my girlfriend was a money launderer for Kingpin, it nearly crushed me.  When The Shadow busted her operation, he spared her life out of a certain sense of loyalty that to this day I do not completely understand.  And now she's back.  This situation has just hit a nerve, all right?"

"All right. But promise me, if something is going on, when it actually hits the fan, you'll let me know so I can actually be there to back you up."

Stephen smiled. "I promise, Peter. We've been through this before, we're in this together."

"You say that now," chided Peter.  "I want you to actually remember it when the time comes.  So where do we start?"

"Well, the first thing I need to do is to figure out why she is contacting me, and whether she's still working for Kingpin."

"You could always call her," Peter teased.

Stephen shivered again. "I want you to do a trace on her phone.  See if you can figure out when she got it, how she got it, what address she gave to get it, etc.  I need that by tomorrow morning.  Make up some story if you have to. If she's at any of Kingpin's companies, we'll start tracking her."  He headed for the costume locker.  "Meanwhile, The Shadow has work to do."

Peter gave him a wry grin.  "Has it occurred to you that you might want to embrace the idea of a first person-singular?  I mean, you are aware that The Shadow is you, right?"

Stephen holstered his guns.  "I'm leaving."

"I hear there's a new 12-step program to separate vigilantes and their split personalities."

Stephen slung The Shadow's cloak around his shoulders.  "Good-bye, Peter."

"You're going to go answer that message?"

"No, I'll do that tomorrow.  Right now, I need some air."

"I could leave if you want your privacy."

Stephen set the black fedora on his head and pulled the scarf up over the lower half of his face, completing the transformation.  "No.  The last thing I need is to be down here contemplating this all day.  Think The Shadow is going to find some drug dealers and vent his frustration."

And with that, The Shadow swirled into nothingness and headed out into the city, leaving Peter to wonder if maybe he should have followed his instincts and just hit the "delete" button for this particular voicemail.

***

With the reins of The Shadow's network firmly under his control, Stephen Cranston had faced things in the last year that would terrify most men. And yet, tonight, in a warmly lit room, with a glass of champagne in his hand, Stephen decided that he would rather be eaten by alligators than stay here.

"You're thinking out loud again," his uncle whispered in his ear. "And I agree about the alligators."

Stephen laughed. "How long do we have to be here?" he asked, keeping his expression happy.

Victor matched the happy face. "Either until the party ends, or one of us snaps and goes on a shooting spree. If it's you, promise me that you'll go for the maitre' d first."

Stephen nodded calmly. "Still, you are the public face of the Cranston Foundation Trust--I'm just 'the youthful heir'. And I've gotten my story for the Classic already, so I'm free to leave."

Victor looked at him, and Stephen could see the horror in his eyes, even with the polite party face. "You can't leave me here!"

"You'll always have the maitre'd. Now, I have some mingling to do, and I might do an early patrol."

"Lucky you, all you have to contend with are gun-toting thugs. Me, I have to deal with..."

"Mr. Cranston!" shouted a man from across the room.

"…people looking for a handout," finished Victor with a sigh.

As the newcomer moved in, effectively trapping Victor, Stephen ducked away, put his empty glass on a passing waiter's tray, and headed for the door. Taking a breath, he opened his mind to send his driver a quick signal. As he did, he heard the volume of thoughts in the room raise slightly. Stephen had been sending telepathic signals for over a year now, and was getting better at doing them cleanly by the day.

"Help me, somebody! If this ninny doesn't shut up soon, I may have to take my own life."

Chuckling at the overheard thought, Stephen suddenly realized that it hadn't come from his uncle. The words rippled in his mind, and an intrigued Stephen looked around for the source.

He found it near the door.  An attractive blonde about Stephen's age who had clearly been trying to get to the door when cornered by the maitre'd.

Grinning sympathetically, Stephen decided to check the situation out. Moving slowly, he started listening in.

"Miss Burke," the maitre'd was saying pompously, "you simply do not understand the subtle nuances of table setting. Art, form, cutlery, crockery, design."  He waved his hands around as if conducting an imaginary orchestra. "These things blend to form the table setting. Take, for instance, the differences between the champagne flute and the wine glass..."

Stephen could hear the woman scream silently in his mind and grinned wider, finally deciding to help her out. Smoothly sliding into the conversation, he caught the maitre'd's hand and shook it strongly. "I just wanted to congratulate you on the splendid job you did with this evening's festivities," he said smoothly and rapidly. "Listen, there's a very important business call for Ms. Burke--I'm her assistant, you see--so I have to borrow her for a minute."

 

While the surprised man began to process the words, Stephen turned to the woman and winked. She smiled, understanding at once.

"I'll wait." the maitre'd said finally.

Stephen turned back to him. "Actually, while I have you, there's a small group at table nine who wanted to know if they should use the '82 Cabernet or the '80 Zinfandel with the fish course."

"They're not using the Merlot?" the maitre'd asked in horror. "My apologies, Miss Burke. I must go."

"I understand," the woman said just a bit too fast. "Not a problem."

As the maitre 'd rushed off, the woman seemed to slump in exhaustion. "Thank you," she said. "Another minute and I would be dead. Or he would."

Stephen chuckled. "My pleasure. I've been on the other end of his speeches before."

The woman plucked a glass off a passing waiter's tray and raised it in toast. "Well, here's to the fool who gave a truckload of money to the Manhattan Literacy Guild just to torture us all…Victor Cranston."

Stephen fought a grin. "Indeed. I hate these sort of things."

"Me too. Colossal waste of time." The woman took a sip and extended her right hand. "Diane Burke."

Stephen shook it. "Stephen Cranston."

Diane choked on her drink and the two of them burst out laughing.

"Well, I should have seen that one coming," she finally replied, somewhat embarrassed.

Stephen smiled. "Listen, I was planning to get out of here and go grab a bite somewhere. Someplace where a snooty French waiter won't criticize the way I hold a fork, that is."

Diane chuckled. "Sounds good.  Might do the same."

"I know a great spot in Chinatown," he said, offering his arm. "Care to join me?"

Diane gave him a once-over. "Well…I happen to really like Chinese food. And I have to figure out how to apologize for insulting your family after you saved my life so skilfully. One would think you'd done it before."

Stephen gave her a mysterious smile.

***

Stephen finally made it back to his condo around 2 A.M. The Shadow had hunted down every dealer he could find in a 12-hour period, which was not an inconsiderable number in Manhattan. But his heart wasn't in it. He was spinning the situation with Diane Burke around and around in his head till he was almost dizzy from the process. How the Hell did that woman manage to drive him so nuts?  It had been almost five years; certainly she couldn't actually be still trying to torment him?  At least, not deliberately?

Did Peter have a point? Was he too close to this whole thing? He didn't love her anymore. He was certain of that. But still, he felt betrayed. She had never known she was betraying him by working for Kingpin, of course, but still...

Coming off the elevator to his penthouse condo, he mused on just how on-target Peter's analysis had been.   She had indeed found his weakness. She knew him too well. Peter thought he could push his partner's buttons, but this woman ground every nerve in just the right way, and all that was left in Stephen's memories of her was the fact that she was a vindictive, subtle ice queen who kept switching back and forth from a kind and gentle woman to a sinister avenger whenever she didn't get her own way.

Come to think of it, they were pretty similar.

And now she was in town. How the Hell was he going to deal with her?  God, he needed a drink.  He stuck his key in the deadbolt lock.

The key turned easily, as if the deadbolt was not engaged.

Stephen froze.  He never forgot to lock his deadbolt.  Never.  There were too many incriminating things in that condo to leave it unsecured in any fashion.  He stealthily unlocked the knob lock, then swirled into darkness and opened the door…

…and found that he was going to need an answer to what to do about Diane Burke sooner than he thought.

Because Diane Burke was asleep on his couch.

Silently moving forward, he swirled into visibility behind the sofa, then checked to make sure she was really asleep by waving his hand in front of her eyes.

No response.

He added a subtle suggestion to her subconscious that she should stay asleep, then pondered the bizarre turn this day had taken.  He seriously considered going back to the Sanctum for the night, but he was too tired to walk and didn't want to wake Moe because he was afraid of his own home all of a sudden. How had she gotten in? He had changed the locks right after she left, and he knew he had locked the door. He went back to the door and examined the exterior more carefully.

There were new scratches on the deadbolt's faceplate, indicating someone had used a lock pick.  Figures, he told himself.  Leave it to Diane to pick up useful-but-illegal skills in prison.  Quietly closing the door, he swirled back into invisibility and moved toward the dining room table, where Diane had left her pocketbook, cell phone, crude lock pick…

…and a handwritten note with his name at the top of it.  He picked it up and read it:

***

"Stephen,

"I decided to take the direct route since you refused to answer my calls.  I hope this is still your apartment.  (If it is, you need a new decorator, because the one you paid to do this place ripped you off.)  Can you believe the doorman still remembered me?  (Just in case you're wondering how I got into the building.)  Anyway, I stayed awake as long as I could.  (Still a night owl, huh?)  Are you still mad enough at me to throw a poor defenseless woman out on the streets of New York this late?  I hope not, because I'm awfully tired.  And hungry, but your pantry's practically bare.  Don't you ever eat?  At least your bar is as well-stocked as ever.  Wake me when you get in."

***

Stephen set his jaw.  Of all the nerve…he was going to call the police.  No, he was going to give her the full Shadow treatment, complete with swirling darkness and deafening laughter, then he was going to call the police…

…no, he wasn't.  And he knew it.  Because dammit, he actually was too much of a gentleman to throw a lady out on the street.  Even if she was a demon in human form, or at least a pretty good impersonation of one.  Demon, that is.

But besides all that, he was genuinely interested in finding out what she was doing in town. Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, he reminded himself that he really was too tired to deal with this now and grabbed a pen and a notepad.

***

"Diane,

"I'll assume you broke in because you couldn't find a hotel that takes ex-cons.  If you want me to stop being mad, this is not the way to renew our acquaintance.  I'll also assume that you'll be gone when I wake up tomorrow morning.  Make sure you at least lock the doorknob when you leave."

***

Deciding that it was too late in the night for more than that, Stephen went into his bedroom, then, without even turning on his lights, he closed the door, barricaded it, locked and barred the sliding patio doors, and poured himself a good stiff drink.  Dammit, how did she manage to do this to him?  He didn't still have feelings for her; he knew that with every fiber in his being.  So why had he not just thrown her out on her ear?  Why?

***

"Why?"  Diane laughed at Stephen's choice of occupation.  "I don't get it. You've got one of the biggest fortunes in New York waiting for you, but you work at a newspaper. You could be doing anything you want to--or nothing at all--so…"

"…why this?" Stephen finished. "Well, I've only read a thousand stories and seen a thousand movies about an idiot millionaire who can't see what's in front of his face and acts like a spoiled brat, and I decided I didn't want to be that person."

Diane nodded. "O.K., that makes sense, but why journalism?"

Stephen waved a waiter over and ordered some drinks, dropping a heavy tip onto the tray. "I've always been the kind of person that likes to be in the know. Knowledge is a fundamental tool of business, politics, and survival in general. I'm the kind of person that makes it his business to know most of what can be known. Anyway, enough about me.  How about you?"

"Me?  I'm an accountant.  I work in the reconciliation department of a very large and very boring conglomerate.  On the side, I volunteer accounting services for the occasional charity or two.  That's why I was at the reception tonight. I was on the team that worked on securing your father's donation."

"Uncle," Stephen said sharply.

Diane jumped at the tone. "Sorry?"

Stephen took a breath to calm himself down.  Amazing how sensitive he still was to the confusion of the two Cranston brothers.  "Victor is my uncle, not my father."

Diane suddenly remembered something she had heard once about Victor Cranston's brother having died a number of years ago. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, genuinely contrite.

Stephen smiled reassuringly.  It was a harmless and quite common mistake; she certainly hadn't meant any offense by it.  He turned on the Cranston charm once more.  "Quite all right.  Happens a lot."

Diane quickly changed the subject. "So…Cranston Enterprises need another accountant?"

Stephen laughed. "You don't miss a trick, do you?"

"Never," she laughed. Then she noticed something. "Wow. Nice ring."

Stephen looked down at the large silver ring on his finger, given over from his uncle barely a year ago. "It's a girasol."

"A fire opal," nodded Diane, taking his hand to get a better look. "I've seen one before, but I can't place where. Though I suppose only millionaires can afford a university that hands these out as class rings."

"Actually, this is a family heirloom. They don't hand out fire opals at Columbia."

Diane's face lit up. "You're a Columbia grad? Me too! Class of '95."

"I missed you by two years." Stephen was amazed. "I take it you were an accounting major there?"

"Sort of," Diane said. "I studied law for two years and then switched full-time to accounting."

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "You were going to be a lawyer?"

Diane giggled. "It did appeal to me, I'll admit."

"What made you pick accounting?"

Diane gave a suspicious look around, then leaned close. "Well, between you and me, I always loved playing around with other people's money.

Stephen laughed. "Maybe I should think twice before giving you a job at Cranston Enterprises, then."

They laughed together, and after a moment, Stephen noticed that she was still holding his hand.

Diane also noticed and released it. "Anyway, it's a lovely ring. Even seems to be glowing in the light."

Stephen looked down at the ring sharply. It was flashing.  He suppressed a mental swear.  "Yeah," he finally said out loud. "It's a very reflective jewel." He made a show of checking his watch. "Dammit…"

"Something wrong?"

"No, I just remembered that I have a story due for the late edition about tonight's benefit…"

"…and you have to get going," finished Diane, disappointed.

"I'm so sorry about this."

"No, that's O.K. I know all too well about deadlines; April 15th is practically a holiday for us.  Well, thank you for dinner."

"And thank you for the company. I hope we'll run into each other again."

"Me, too."

Reluctantly walking away from the table, the ridiculously simple idea suddenly struck him to ask for her phone number. He headed back to the table. "Diane, could I…"

She handed him a slip of paper before he was finished. "Sure."

Stephen smiled.  Hypnotic persuasion was a good thing sometimes.  "Good night."

***

There were so many times he wished he'd just forgotten to ask for her number.  It would sure make this situation easier to deal with, because it probably wouldn't even be happening.

Ugh.  Too much to deal with right now, he decided as he finished his drink and collapsed onto the bed.

***

Victor Cranston was, to put it mildly, surprised to see Peter Parker storm into his Cranston Enterprises office early the next morning.  "Mr. Cranston, sir," Victor's exasperated secretary said as she hurried in behind him, "I tried to stop him, but he insisted…"

"Victor, we need to talk," Peter interrupted.

Victor met his gaze for about two seconds, and Peter felt the telepathic probes weave their way through his thoughts like a gust of wind, then fade away just as fast.  "Thank you, Miss Jeffries," Victor answered to his dutiful secretary.  "That will be all."

The secretary shot Peter another dirty look, then left the room.

"You look alarmed," Victor said calmly, then gestured over to the guest chair.  "Have a seat."

Peter did so.  "So how much did you read out of my head?"

"Enough to know you're confused about something and ticked off at me about something. Let's start with the confusion.  What's going on?"

"Stephen's worst nightmare has arrived in town."

Victor chuckled slightly.  "That's funny.  I usually get some sort of signal when Khan is in New York. Migraines, dogs forming into packs, the moon turning blood red, that sort of thing."

"It's not Khan.  It's a woman named Diane Burke."

Victor turned a shade paler and, after a moment, reached for his intercom. "Miss Jeffries, cancel my appointments for the rest of the day."

"Yes, sir," Miss Jeffries' annoyed voice returned.

Victor managed to gather his composure, but just barely.  "Start talking, Peter, before I get impatient and pull it out of your brain."

"She called the Classic yesterday looking for him.  Left a cell phone number.  I traced it to the shop where she had the number activated."  Peter handed Victor a slip of paper.  "Recognize the account number she had it charged to?"

Victor's eyes widened.  "That's one of ours.  A Cranston Foundation Trust account, to be precise.  We have a million of them, it seems like.  And judging from the sequence number, this is an old one…"  He reached over and tapped some keys on his computer, pulling up a database to examine it.  "Dammit, it's the Manhattan Literacy Guild's old account.  That's the account that witch worked with us to set up all those years ago."

"Yep, that goes along with what the clerk told me.  And that's Stephen's address she gave for her place of residence.  You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?"

Victor seethed.  "I can assure you that if I knew where that sister of Medusa was, I'd be giving her the full Shadow treatment personally."

Peter shook his head. "Wow, no love lost there, either.  Seems she got to everybody."

"She had us all completely sucked in to her 'charm' act at first. But I soon found out that if you shook her hand too fast, you got one of those ice-cream headaches."

Peter laughed.  "Now that's cold."

"So was she."  He snorted derisively.  "Vindictive witch.  Anyway, for a month after The Shadow took out her operation, Stephen took out his rage on the criminals of New York. It got to the point where I think organized crime had nearly decided that Manhattan was too hot to handle and started making arrangements to move their operations elsewhere. Then he got over it, found out what she was up to with the servants and the manor and the whole corporation, calmed down and had a good stiff drink and counted himself lucky to be rid of her, and crime returned to normal."

"And now she's back."

"And now she's back."  Victor groaned.  "And now I need a drink."

Peter suppressed a laugh.  "Stephen wants to know if she's still working for the Kingpin, so I'm supposed to call her and find out where she is. Can I do the trace from your phone?"

Victor gestured for him to go ahead, and Peter hooked up the electronic jack to the receiver, while Victor grumbled something about retirement homes and expensive Persian rugs.

***

When Stephen woke up the next morning, the first thing he felt was confused. Why was the shower running? And why was his door...

Suddenly, memory hit him.

Dammit, she was using his shower? Stephen growled, got up and unblocked the door, and headed for the kitchen.  He could hear her singing badly in the shower. Boy, he thought everyone sounded good when singing in the shower.  Of course, with all that practice she'd gotten singing that false refrain of selling out a Kingpin underling…

Enough, he told himself.  He headed over to his coffee pot…

…and found that she'd at least had the decency to start a pot already this morning.  He considered having it tested for hemlock first, then decided that while she was indeed a witch, it was unlikely she'd actually decided to poison him.  Right away, at least.

Then he saw she'd written him another note:

***

"Stephen,

"O.K., so you are still mad. Good thing for me you're also still a gentleman. Have a cup of joe as a peace offering. I came all this way to make amends, after all. (By the way, you're out of milk.  At least you had milk, and even fresh cereal.  You must actually eat breakfast occasionally.  Color me shocked.)"

***

So she was in town to "make amends"?  With whom?  Him?  Way too much water under the bridge for that.  Kingpin? Maybe, but why had she come here?  Maybe she'd been rebuffed by Kingpin?  Or maybe she was setting him up for something?  Maybe…

…maybe I do need a cup of coffee, he decided.   He fetched a mug out of the cupboard and poured coffee, wondering for a moment if he needed to find IV tubing for direct administration of caffeine to get himself more alert.

He heard a cell phone ring and absently gestured with his right hand toward the table.

The cell phone on the table jumped into it obediently.

Stephen flipped it open.  "Stephen Cranston."

"Um…did I dial the wrong number?" It was Peter's voice on the line, sounding very confused.

Stephen looked at the phone in his hand. It wasn't his; it was Diane's. Stephen slapped his forehead.

"I was doing that trace you suggested," Peter continued, barely managing to restrain the laughter in his voice. "Should I continue with it?"

"That won't be necessary," Stephen told him with admirable dignity. "She's here.  At my place."

Loud silence. "I see. Can I speak to her?"

"Um, no, not at the moment," Stephen said, starting to lose his dignity.

"Why not?" asked Peter, now thoroughly enjoying this.

Stephen finally opted for honesty.  "She's in the shower."

Another long pause. "I see. Well, this is fascinating.  I'd better be going now. See you later."

"O.K., I can explain this," Stephen started.

"No, that's O.K.," said Peter, trying very hard not to laugh. "I just hope my friends Stephen and The Shadow are over her completely--otherwise, I might take something like her using your shower the wrong way."

"I said I'd explain! And in the meantime, you may want to embrace the concept of a second person singular."

"Good-bye, Stephen."

"I hear there's a twelve step program…"

"Hope she left you some hot water," said Peter, getting his last shot in before hanging up.

Stephen put her phone down, took a breath, and considered breaking something with his psyche before getting his temper under control. Dammit, Peter was never going to forget this, and he was never going to let him hear the end of it.  He had almost decided that this day could not possibly get any worse…

…until he heard the shower stop.

Dammit.  Well, he knew he'd have to deal with her sooner or later. Naturally, it was going to be sooner.  Naturally.

***

"She was using his shower?" blurted Victor, a mixture of shock and rage in his eyes.

Peter nodded nervously. "I'm going over there."

Victor caught his arm. "Before you do, there's something you should know about Diane."

***

"Good morning," chirped Diane as she walked into the room, wearing one of Stephen's monogrammed bathrobes.

"Morning, Diane," Stephen replied neutrally.  She did look good in his robe.  She always had.

Diane walked straight past him as if she owned the place and poured herself a cup of coffee. "Shower's free, by the way. I have to say I was relieved when I read your note. I was afraid that you had moved and this was some stranger's place."

"Astonishing how often that happens when you break into other people's homes."

She laughed. "How else was I supposed to get in? My key didn't work, for some reason. Thank God for your ever-helpful doorman."

"And your trusty lock pick."

"Which I only use out of necessity when it's late and I have nowhere else to go.  The tumblers in your deadbolt are kind of loose, by the way.  You might want to look at having it replaced."  She sipped her coffee.  "Of course, once I got in here, I almost thought it was someone else's place when I saw the way it was decorated."

Stephen was almost floored at her absolute audacity. "What's wrong with the way it's decorated?"

"Nothing, nothing."  She shrugged. "It's just so plain.  How long have you been in this place--six, seven years?  And you still don't have any decent artwork on the walls.  I just thought you would have moved into the manor after Victor left."

"What makes you think Victor's gone anywhere?"

"Oh, nothing, really, he just seemed to be getting on last time I was in town. I would have thought he had left for some God-awful retirement community in Florida by now."

Stephen seethed.  "He sends his love, too."

The absolute chill in Stephen's voice made Diane decide she had gone too far. "You know what? This isn't going too well. Let's start again."

"Let's not.  Get the Hell out of my house.  Now."

She gave him a softened smile.  "Come on.  Let me finish my coffee first, at least.  For old times sake."

Stephen fought the urge to rip the mug out of her hands.  He reminded himself that he had to know why she'd come back.  "What are you doing back here, anyway?  Last I heard, you were somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, slated for a three-to-five year tour of duty at one of our country's finest Federal penitentiaries."

She tried not to wince at the direct barb.  "I did my time.  Dreadful place.  Rained all the time."

"Sounds perfect for you."

She frowned.  Dammit, he'd gotten good at pushing people's buttons in the intervening years.  "I paid my debt to society.  I even got time off for good behavior."

"Fancy that.  Who'd you rat out for that little perk?"

She glared at him.  "You know, you had much better manners when I last knew you."

"I was younger and far more naive.  What's your excuse?"

"Oh, come on.  Can't I just come to town to catch up with an old friend?"

This time, Stephen did rip the mug out of her hands.  "We're not friends."

She snatched it back.  "Believe me, I know that.  You didn't even have the decency to break up with me to my face.  Not even the 'let's just be friends' speech."  She sighed.  "I can't say as I blame you.  I'd have done the same, I suppose."

Stephen was intrigued by the almost softened tone of that response.  "So why are you here now?"

Diane was silent for a moment, and then gave him a pleading look. "I need money. $100,000 dollars."

Stephen was stunned for a second, then laughed his best non-Shadow mocking laugh.  "Oh, that's a good one.  Let's see…we haven't seen each other for five years, we parted on less than favorable terms, and you broke into my house and took over my bathroom, yet you expect me to just give you a hundred grand.  Try again."

"Stephen," she pleaded, "I'm serious.  I would not be here if I had anywhere else to turn."

"Should have thought of that before you took the last of my milk," Stephen said firmly.  "Let me put this in simple, easy-to-comprehend words:  No."

She looked on the verge of bursting into either tears or swearing.  "Dammit, Stephen, you know I hate groveling with the fire of a thousand suns, but I don't have a choice!  I need help!"

Stephen rolled his eyes.  "How did you get yourself into this mess anyway?"

She struggled to regain her dignity.  "Well…after I got out, I headed for Seattle.  But things went sour fast. Nobody would hire me."

"Nobody wanted an accountant with a money laundering conviction?" Stephen taunted, painfully aware that he was going to have to play his part in this discussion carefully if he wanted to know if she'd renewed acquaintances with Kingpin. But was Diane playing a part, too?

"Exactly," she said. "I had to…I had to borrow money."

Stephen could tell where this was going. "Oh, boy. And in what back alley, black market, locked door, we'll-break-your-bones-if-you-don't-pay-up business did you find this benefactor?"

"I had no choice!" Diane said, once more on the verge of tears. "I borrowed fifty grand to pay my debts and get me on my feet again. I figured I'd pay him back when things stabilized. They haven't."

Stephen held up a halting hand. "Hold it! Fifty grand?"

"Plus a hundred percent interest. Please, Stephen--you've got to help me! He's been following me around wherever I go--even after I left town, I spotted him everywhere. I really think he's going to hurt me! Please, you're the only one I can turn to." She broke down sobbing.

Stephen took a deep breath and rolled his eyes.  A woman's tears.  Why did they sting a thousand times harder than bullets?  "I'll think about it."

Suddenly Diane was smiling again, and her eyes were dry. "Thank you."  She took one last swig from her mug. "I'm going to go dry my hair."

As she left the room, Stephen thought for sure that he had whiplash from the speed of that mood swing.

The doorbell rang. Stephen peered out the peephole.

At the door was Peter.

Stephen groaned.  Might as well get this over with.  He opened the door.

Peter took one look at Stephen and started laughing.

Stephen looked annoyed.  "Get in here."

Peter continued laughing as he walked in and sat down. By the time Stephen had closed the door he had almost composed himself.  Almost.

"Finished?" asked Stephen, handing his partner a cup of coffee.

"Mostly."  Peter managed to stifle one last set of giggles, then looked oddly at the coffee.  "No milk?"

"You can thank her for that," Stephen said, gesturing toward the bathroom.

Peter collapsed onto the couch and descended into giggling chaos again.

Stephen rolled his eyes. "I said I could explain."

Peter composed himself again and shook his head. "No, you don't have to explain to me. You might have to explain to Victor. But not to me."

Stephen groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Tell me you didn't."

"Didn't what? Let him know she was in your shower? I didn't have to. He heard the conversation. I made the call from his office."

Stephen sighed again and rubbed his temples. "What did he say when he found out?"

"Nothing. He just turned pale and started twitching."

"How nice--he remembers me," said Diane from the bathroom doorway, still in Stephen's bathrobe.

Peter gave her the once-over, then gave Stephen a questioning look.

Stephen gave him a glare that clearly indicated he would beat the Hell out of Peter if he laughed again.  "He'll never forget you, Diane," Stephen said without looking over at her.

"Oh, good, then his memory is still strong. That's nice." She was in the room now, giving Peter the once-over as well.

Peter stood and shook Diane's hand. "You must be Diane."

Diane had her most charming smile as she returned the handshake. "Yes.  So Stephen told you about me?"

"Of course.  When he heard you were in town, it was a truly emotional moment."

Stephen collapsed onto the couch and rubbed his temples again as he nodded at that statement.

Diane smiled warmly. "Isn't that nice. And you are?"

"Peter Parker. I'm Stephen's partner."

Diane's eyebrow lifted. "Partner? And all this time I thought Stephen was the exception to the rule of 'No man is an island.'"

Peter nodded. "If anyone could be an island, it would be Stephen."

"Stephen could probably buy the island," Diane said in a stage whisper, then burst into laughter at her own joke.

Peter stifled a giggle.

Stephen, forgotten on the couch, rubbed his temples once again.

"Well, I had better get dressed," Diane said. "Stephen, do you mind if I use your room to change?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," said Stephen icily.  "Use the bathroom."

"Ah, well.  It's big enough, I suppose."  Diane smiled and headed out of the room. "A pleasure meeting you, Peter."

"I suddenly have this blinding pain right behind my left eye," Stephen muttered as she left the room.

Peter gave Stephen a look. "She doesn't seem so bad."

"You want her?" Stephen asked seriously.

Peter just laughed again.  "Why don't you tell me the rest of the story instead?"

Stephen said nothing.

"When did you find out she was psychic?" Peter pressed.

"Not so loud," Stephen cautioned.

"O.K., I'll whisper.  When?"

"Uncle told you that, too, did he?"

"Quit stalling.  When?"

Stephen groaned.  "About two weeks before she left. About the time I also found out she was working for Kingpin."

"Great.  She hasn't awakened yet, I take it?"

"No, thank God.  The woman would be even more insufferable awakened."

"Is she close?"

Stephen hesitated, then nodded.  "Two, three months at most."

"Can she handle an awakening alone?"

"Not unless the universe hates me."

"Terrific."  Peter looked toward the bathroom. "Still, she doesn't really seem that bad.  I really don't see what your problem with her is."

Stephen exploded off the couch and hissed at his partner. "That's how she sets the trap! That's the mistake we all made, thinking that she was a nice, charming lady. She's not.  Don't let her suck you in as well. If she gets under your skin, I guarantee you will always regret it. My father once said that when I grew up, I should beware the charms of a social-climbing she-devil, and I am positive he was talking about her and didn't realize it. Good Lord, man, I can't believe that smile doesn't set off your spider-sense."

Peter burst into uncontrollable laughter again.  "Wow, she got under your skin."

Stephen slowly sank back onto the couch.  "Like a fungus."

"Did you find out what she's in town for?" Peter asked with a wry grin.

"She gave me a story. But maybe that's just a cover. Let's see what she'll tell you. Her story may change."

"She won't change her story suddenly with you here."

Stephen gave an evil grin. "No, she won't. Good thing you like her."

Peter looked confused.

Just then, Diane came back in, wearing what she was wearing the night before.  "Did I miss anything?"

Stephen stood up. "Diane, Peter was just saying how he would like to take you to lunch."

Diane gave another charming smile and gave Peter another once-over. "Really?"

Peter gave Stephen a trapped look, then put on his best brave face. "Of course. The Cobalt Club makes a great filet mignon."

"I love filet mignon," gushed Diane, taking his arm.

It was everything Stephen could do not to burst out laughing. She had given him the same response about Peking Duck when they had first met.  "Have fun, you two. I have a meeting with Uncle Victor."

"Give him my best," Diane said in the best ice queen tone Stephen had ever heard her use.  "Maybe we'll stop in after lunch."

"Sounds like fun," quipped Peter.

"It does indeed."  She looked around.  "Where did I leave my purse?"

"On my dining room table," Stephen noted.

"Good.  Be right back."  She crossed to the dining room.

Peter sidled up to Stephen. "You'd better go calm your uncle down before he starts climbing the walls. That's my job."

"I'll take care of it," Stephen assured.

Diane returned to the living room, now carrying her purse and depositing her cell phone into it.  "So, Peter, how long have you and Stephen been partners?"

"Why don't we talk about this over lunch?" Peter encouraged, heading her out the door.

Stephen closed the door behind the pair.  Ugh.  Not a good way to start the day.  He headed into the kitchen, popped two slices of bread into the toaster for a quick breakfast, then opened the refrigerator…

…and found that she had used the last of his butter, too.

This time he did break something, tossing Diane's empty coffee mug into the air and letting a burst of telekinetic energy satisfyingly shatter it into a dozen pieces.

***

"So, tell me about her," Victor said to his nephew as they sat relaxing by a fire in Cranston Manor's spacious parlor.  "This woman who's got you so head-over-heels that you haven't had dinner with me in two weeks."

"Her name is Diane Burke," Stephen replied.

"That much I know.  Tell me more."

"She's a corporate accountant by trade.  Columbia grad, two years before me."

"So I take it she likes dealing with large sums of money."

Stephen looked at his uncle for a moment.  "That almost sounded like disapproval."

"Well, you did just come into a trust fund worth several hundred million dollars," Victor noted.  "I don't suppose it occurred to you that she might be more interested in your green cash than your blue eyes?"

"You've become quite the cynic in your old age," Stephen observed dryly.

"I was young once.  I remember what it was like."  Victor sipped his cognac.  "I don't know, Stephen, but something about her doesn't sit well with me."

Stephen scoffed.  "You've barely even met her.  You've dealt with her, what, two or three times at most?  And then only in a business capacity?  Of course she'd seem interested in large sums of money.  She was dealing with a massive charitable donation, after all."

Victor sighed.  "Don't take this the wrong way.  I quizzed your father long and hard when he told me he was falling for your mother.  The life we live is a dangerous one, and the secret we keep is more precious than gold.  You're a good judge of character.  But you're also a 21-year-old single male living alone in Manhattan.  She's quite pretty; I can see how she could turn your head."

"But you don't want her turning my head."

"I don't want her getting into your head.  Getting too close to someone before you really know them could be a huge mistake that I don't want to see you make."

Stephen looked frustrated.  "How am I supposed to get to know her if I don't get close to her?  It's a catch-22, a no-win situation.  You always tell me you trust my judgment.  Now shouldn't be an exception.  I know what I'm doing."

"I hope so."

There was silence for a long moment.

"So bring her to dinner tomorrow," Victor finally said aloud.

Stephen looked over at him.  "What?"

"You're right; I don't know her.  I've barely even met her.  So I'd like to remedy that.  I'll have the staff put together a small dinner for the three of us."

"What if she says 'no'?" Stephen asked.

"She won't."

"How do you know?"

Victor laughed The Shadow's laugh.

"Forget I asked."  Stephen sipped his cognac.  "She'll probably be busy.  She just got a promotion at work the other day."

"She'll make time."

"You sound awfully certain."

"I've never met a woman yet who could resist the Cranston charm.  And I'm sure you'll happily employ it on her just to prove my cynicism wrong."

Stephen shook his finger at his uncle.  "Catch-22."

"Correct."

"You are manipulative."

Victor chuckled.  "I know."

Stephen nodded.  "All right, then.  I'll bring her over."

Victor smiled.  "Looking forward to it."

The two men toasted each other.

***

"I don't know what's wrong, sir," said Cranston Manor majordomo Andrew as he led Stephen to Victor's study. "He came home less than two hours ago, rage on his face, and he started smashing things. Is he sick?"

"Diane Burke is in town," Stephen informed him.

Andrew gasped.  "Um…sir, is it possible that our jobs could be in jeopardy again?"

Stephen snorted. "Andrew, rest assured that nobody is going anywhere. They weren't the first time, either."

Andrew was very much relieved. "Thank you, sir."

Stephen gave a smile and a nod of dismissal, then took a deep breath and entered the study.

Sure enough, there were ceramic and crystal shards all over the floor.  Stephen gave the room a quick once-over and counted at least three large antique vases and a couple of snifters off the sidebar missing.  "New decorator?" he asked dryly, coming around to the other side of the couch.

Victor looked up from his scotch-and-soda. "Tell me that Peter is playing a cruel joke."

"Peter isn't. God is."

"Marvelous.  Now tell me why she was in your shower."

"She broke into my condo and spent the night on my couch."

"Ah, a new skill to add to her growing resume."  Victor took another swig of his drink. "You know, when Peter told me that your worst nightmare was in town, I told him that I hadn't noticed any signs--migraines, birds taking flight, the like.  But the truth is that I have been sensing something was amiss since yesterday. Now that I think about it, it felt like an earthquake about to strike, or a dark force, or a vortex of evil. I didn't realize what it was until Peter said the words:  Diane Burke. Did you tell Peter the whole story behind her?"

"Everything that you didn't this morning."

Victor sighed.  "I had to do it.  I had to make sure Peter knew all about her, if only to prevent him being sucked in by that infuriating smile."

"Yeah, I know. I think her charm act has worked on Peter, too. He said that she and I seemed made for each other."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "He would insult a man to his face?"

"She sends her love too, by the way."

Victor winced.  "What's she doing back here, anyway? Kingpin needs another stooge, and can't find anybody new?"

Stephen picked a broken piece of pottery up off the sofa and took a seat next to his uncle. "According to Diane, it seems that a loan shark she borrowed cash from is here to collect, and she doesn't have the money. She's afraid for her life, and wants me to foot the bill."

"So, it's up to us whether or not she could live or die." Victor gave a very small grin.

"Uncle," scolded Stephen half-heartedly.

"I'm an old man.  Indulge me a little fun.  How much does she want?"

"A hundred grand."

Victor burst out laughing and Stephen couldn't help but join in. Soon The Shadow's laugh was echoing off the walls in stereo, its mirthless tone seeming appropriate.

Finally, Victor settled down. "Seriously though, is there any truth behind her story?"

"I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out. Peter is having lunch with her as we speak."

"Did you send along poison antidote with him?"

Stephen shook his head. "They said they might stop in afterward."

"WHAT?" bellowed Victor's Shadow voice.

Stephen drew back.  "Want to try that again without the telepathic histrionics?"

Victor looked stern.  "I'm not letting that she-devil within twenty feet of here without a bottle of holy water and a clove of garlic."

Stephen was almost amused. "I'm not going to have to sedate you, am I? Come on, Uncle, it won't be that bad."

"Stephen, let me make this clear. If Diane and I go into a room together, only one of us will come out alive."

"Uncle…"

"Don't 'Uncle' me.  Meditate on this:  Peter and Diane are chatting right now. What do they have in common?"

Stephen thought briefly and then looked horrified. "Me."

"So what do you think they'll be talking about?"

Stephen gasped in terror. "Excuse me, Uncle.  I have to go. I hear the Cobalt Club makes an excellent filet mignon."

Victor hoisted his drink as Stephen bolted out of the room.  "Give her my best."

***

Peter just couldn't figure it out.  The filet mignon was excellent, the wine was fantastic, and Diane had only said 32 things that were derogatory or condescending about Victor and Stephen in the last two hours, so what was making his spider-sense tingle?

"Well, I'm in town because of my creditors," Diane said between bites of her steak. "They've been hounding me.  And it's been next to impossible to find a decent job, so I decided to get away from it all and come back to New York. I thought maybe I could talk Stephen into giving me a loan. You know, for old time's sake. I don't see why he shouldn't. That whole family blows money on the silliest things. Those tapestries in the manor, for example."

Peter was trying to seem interested, but just couldn't stop searching the room, sweeping his gaze around. What was going on?

Diane took a swig from her wine glass.  "Of course, I think that the tapestries are just tacky, but Stephen and Victor both have this silly thing about Tibet."

Peter couldn't help but laugh at this. If she only knew.

"If I only knew what?" Diane said curiously.

Oops, thought Peter. There's that mind reading again. Stephen's right to be nervous.

"You think so too?" Diane said, once again answering his unspoken thought. "You know, a few weeks before we broke up, Stephen said that I was reading his mind. He seemed really freaked out by it, but I never understood why."

"Well, Stephen likes to be mysterious," Peter said, still distracted, still trying to find the source of his danger reaction.

Diane laughed. "Tell me about it. I have never met anyone who can think up so many creative ways of dodging a simple question. Not to mention his hopeless unpunctuality, and of course his silly excuses for walking out on dinner. Honestly, I really think that the whole gentleman thing is a bad cover for an untrustworthy, idle-rich, Ivy-League playboy."

33 derogatory things. Peter kept subtly looking around, trying to find the cause of the strange tingle in the back of his head.

"Anybody I know?" asked a voice.

Peter spun, and Diane almost spilled her drink at the sound of that voice.

Stephen was now standing right at their table, with a martini in hand.

Diane looked confused for a moment--how did he always manage to sneak up on her?--then put on her best smile. "Stephen, how wonderful--come and join us."

Stephen sat down at the table with them.  A glance at the empty dishes on the table told him that Diane's tastes for whatever the most expensive thing on the menu was hadn't changed.  "I take it the filet mignon was acceptable?"

"Of course it was," Diane informed him.  "Peter and I were just discussing your uncle's taste in tapestries."

Stephen feigned interest, then looked over at Peter, who was trying discreetly to get his attention.

Peter made a subtle motion to rub his neck, their code sign for a spider-sense reaction.

"Told you so," Stephen's unspoken voice echoed in Peter's head.

Peter rolled his eyes, then rubbed his neck a little harder to indicate he was serious.

Diane, seeing Stephen had stopped paying attention to her, looked around the room to see what could possibly be more interesting than her, until her gaze settled on the bar.  She gasped.

That got Stephen's attention.  "Are you all right?"

"No," she hissed as she leaned over to Stephen. "That's him! The man in the badly-tailored Brooks Brothers suit, over at the bar.  That's my loan shark!  Oh, my God…"

Stephen looked toward the bar…and felt his jaw drop. He couldn't control the way his eyes widened, but he quickly managed to get hold of the rest of his expression. "Are you sure?"

"Positive.  He's followed me everywhere…oh, God, he's here…"

Stephen rubbed his eyes and looked again, just to be sure, but there was no mistake.   And his expression was changing once more.

Peter noticed Stephen's sudden change and leaned over. "What is it?" he whispered.

Stephen slowly turned to his partner, dark rage on his face. "Khan."

Peter followed his gaze, then looked absolutely stunned. Diane's mysterious loan shark...

...was Kuba Kahn!

Direct descendant of Genghis Khan. Grandson of Shiwan Khan, who had clashed with Stephen's own grandfather, the first man to bear The Shadow's cloak. The Khans and the Cranstons had fought a war of blood with each other for nearly seventy years. Kuba Khan himself had almost murdered Victor Cranston two years ago.

Stephen set his martini glass down onto the table's surface so hard that the stem snapped.

A waiter hurried over to clean it up.

Stephen absently tipped him and ordered another martini. But even the waiter could tell that he was in a foul mood. His voice was cold steel. His eyes were dark, and his movements were tightly controlled.

Diane shuddered.  The whole room suddenly seemed colder, and she noticed that the patrons had gone from speaking to whispering.

At the bar, Khan suddenly sensed that he was under scrutiny and casually glanced around. When his eyes locked with Stephen's he almost dropped his glass. Then he got his surprise under control and hid it masterfully behind a calm smile.

Peter leaned over to Stephen. "Get a grip. You're making the walls twitch."

Stephen took a deep breath to get his emotions under control and finally seemed a little calmer. "Get her out," he whispered.

Peter got up from his chair.

"What's going on?" Diane asked, concerned about the absolute venom she'd seen in Stephen's expression.

Stephen fixed his gaze on Diane. "Go with Peter," The Shadow's voice commanded.

Diane's eyes glazed, then she stood, headed to the coat check, and waved at Stephen from the door.

***

By the time Diane made it outside, Peter was already at the curb and a cab was pulling up.  He opened the cab's rear door and let her in.

She settled into the seat and started to reach into her purse to freshen her lipstick when she suddenly realized the driver was looking right at her in his rear view mirror.  And not with that suspicious gaze that Manhattan cabbies seemed to have as a natural expression.  No, this was a stare of recognition.  And come to think of it, she recognized him, too.  But how?  Her eyes scanned the cab to find a clue.

The dash-mounted permit had his picture and the name "Moe Shrevnitz" on it.

Wow, that was a familiar name.  But why?  She tried to think.

***

"A cab.  You came to pick me up for our first real date in a cab."

Stephen looked amused at Diane's tone.  "I prefer cabs.  Why should I pay for the upkeep and expense of owning a car in Manhattan?"

"But…a cab?  Why not a limousine?"

"I'm not a limousine kind of guy."  He opened the cab's door for her.  "Look on the bright side.  I'm not asking you to take the subway."

She laughed.  "True enough."

The driver looked in his rear view mirror at them.  "Where to, mister?"

"The Cobalt Club," Stephen instructed.

***

The Cobalt Club.  Where this same cab was picking her up today.  Where this same cab had dropped her off on numerous occasions before, she was slowly starting to realize.  No matter where she and Stephen had ever gone, they always went in cabs.  In this cab.  With this driver.

She noticed Peter didn't get in with her, but instead had gone around to the driver's side window to speak with the cabbie.  She feigned searching through her purse for her compact and lipstick while trying to make out what they were saying.

Her lipstick slipped out of her hand.  Dammit.  She bent over to pick it up.

As she did, her hand brushed against the bottom of the seat, and she felt something strange.  She looked closer.

Set under the bottom edge of the seat, just above the floor level, was a small recessed latch.

She listened to the conversation between Peter and the driver for a second longer, then determined that they were paying no attention to her.   She returned her attention to the latch, slipping her fingers underneath it.  She gently tugged at it.

It gave the slightest "pop", then she felt something pushing outward.  She looked down.

It was a spring-loaded drawer.  And there was something in it.  She discreetly slipped her fingers into the drawer to search its contents.

Heavy fabric met her fingertips.  A slightly musky aroma wafted upward from the drawer, as if whatever was in it was well-worn.  The scent of gunpowder also met her nose.  She looked down at the fabric, now even more curious.

It was black.  Stark black.  A deep, engulfing, midnight black.  And there was something underneath it.  She gently pushed the fabric aside with her fingertips…

…and spotted a black slouch hat and a glint of silver.

Her eyes widened as she realized what this was.

***

It was very late.  And it had been a very long day.  As midnight approached, Diane sat at her desk in Fisk Towers and rubbed her temples, trying to ease her ever-increasing tension headaches.  Sometimes they were so bad that she felt as if her eyes were about to pop out of her head.  It had been a rough week, and there were times that she debated running a power drill through her temple rather than spend one more day dealing with Wilson Fisk and his never-ending octopus-like money trails…

GUNFIRE!

It was unmistakable. Sharp gunfire was echoing through the halls outside her office. There were screams of terror, cries of pain…

…and a horrifying laugh.

That laugh tore through the walls and chilled her to her bones, touching something very basic and primal until a pure survival instinct was screaming at her: Get away! Get away!

She hid under her desk and shook with fear.

After what seemed like forever, all the noises stopped.

She wasn't sure she should even dare move.  What was going on?

And then, as if to answer her, the door to her office was blown off its hinges.

Diane pulled herself even tighter under her desk, trying to make herself as small as possible.

A gloved hand reached under the desk and yanked her out of her hiding place roughly.

Diane looked up at her attacker and right into a face out of a nightmare, full of hard lines and edges, black eyes practically glowing with dark anger.  That nightmarish face perfectly matched the rest of the attacker, a man cloaked in darkness, all in black, with only a slash of blood red at his throat and over his chin to break up the overwhelming inky blackness.

The cloaked creature raised its right hand.

In it was a huge silver gun.

Diane didn't even try to resist. She was dead. It was that simple.

She waited for the shot…

…cringed when it came…

…then realized it hadn't hit her.  She opened her eyes.

Her computer was sparking and smouldering.  And her attacker was shooting it again and again and again, as if taking out his rage on the inanimate object.

Then he looked into her eyes once more.  And she thought she saw pain and sorrow.

Then she saw anger once more…and darkness began to close in around her.

Those eyes were the last things she saw before the world went black.

***

"Lose something?" Peter asked.

Diane quickly slid the drawer shut and sat up. "My lipstick," she explained, holding up the offending item as evidence.

Peter gave her an uncertain look for a moment, then nodded and returned to talking to the cabbie.

Diane suddenly felt scared, but not because of her stalker whom they'd come out here to escape. No, now she was afraid because of a hat and cloak, hidden in the seat of an ordinary New York City cab.  A cab that the wearer of those items clearly used frequently--frequently enough to think of it as a safe place to stash his disguise.  A cab that was also used frequently by someone else--frequently enough to use it for everything, even taking his girlfriend out on a date…or using it to send her off to safety…

Diane gave a silent gasp, and nearly fainted when the train of thought followed itself through to its completion. Oh, my God…Stephen is The Shadow!

***

Stephen had been subtly following Khan around the club, not letting anything slip. Khan had left his seat at the bar and was now slowly circling the club as well, stopping every now and then to speak to a waiter, making sure he kept a wary eye on Stephen.

The strange pas de deux continued for a moment longer, then Khan wandered around the edge of the room to the elaborate staircase which led to the second floor, the location of the Cobalt Club's many private booths and party rooms.

Stephen countered each move, staying on the opposite side of the room at all times, watching for any sign of Khan's usual honor guard of Mongol warriors. Khan never went anywhere around them, but they would definitely not fit in here, and he'd seen just enough shock in Khan's expression to realize that Khan had not come here expecting to face his archenemy.  As far as Stephen could tell, Khan was alone.  For now.

Khan gave a pointed look at the second floor, then turned his gaze back to Stephen.

Stephen understood.  Khan wanted to talk.  He nodded an acknowledgement and sent a silent location for their rendezvous, then made eye contact with a waiter.

Moments later, the waiter delivered another freshly-shaken martini.

Stephen tipped him, then nodded toward Khan.

The waiter crossed the room and delivered a drink to Khan--a shot of American bourbon.

Khan understood immediately.  It was the drink Lamont Cranston and Shiwan Khan had shared before trading blows in the first battle in this now-three-generations-old war.

The two men toasted each other across the room, then each headed up the stairs.

***

Diane lay awake on the hard prison bunk, the woman below her snoring loudly. Every time she closed her eyes she was back in her office, staring down the barrel of that silver gun. Why couldn't she get him…it…off her mind?

Who was he? Kingpin had told her about a man attacking the company holdings…but this was not a disgruntled employee; whoever this was, he had done this before, and knew exactly what he was doing. He was obviously a pro, the kind who wouldn't leave behind witnesses if he could help it…so why was she even still alive?

Rolling off her bunk, she dropped to the floor.

The sound woke up her cellmate instantly. "What's going on?" the woman muttered sleepily.

Diane looked at her cellmate. "Have you ever heard of some guy…he dresses all in black…and he attacks people?"

Curious now, her cellmate rose. "What kind of people?"

Diane hung her head. There was no delicate way to say it. "Criminals."

Her cellmate's look was intense now. "Was he laughing?"

Diane's jaw dropped.

The woman turned pale.  "The Shadow." She said it in a horrified hush, barely willing to speak the dreaded name. "He's a vigilante. A one-man judge-jury-executioner.  Every serious crook knows him. He's been around for seventy years." Her look turned shrewd. "Why do you ask?"

Diane shivered. "I saw him. The night before I got arrested. He was going to kill me. I'm not sure how I escaped, but the next morning cops were breaking down my apartment door."

Her cellmate actually laughed. "No chance."

Diane looked oddly at her. "Why?"

"If he found you, and the cops got you and you're still breathing, it's because he let you go. And The Shadow lets nobody go. He lets them live sometimes, but he never leaves them for the cops.  He sends the cops after them, but they never make the tag. If you say you got away from him, then it's because he let you go. And The Shadow lets nobody go."

Diane looked nervous.  "Nobody?"

"Nobody."

Diane was now shaking with fear.  Why had he let her go?  Why was she even here?

***

The cab came to a stop.  "We're here," Moe said aloud to his passenger.

Diane jumped as if startled.  "Here?"

"Yeah.  This is where your friend told me to take you.  And he paid your fare, too, so all you've gotta do is get out."

She looked up…and looked alarmed.

"Here" was Cranston Manor.

Diane swallowed nervously.  If Stephen really was The Shadow…and he sent her here…then that meant he wasn't yet finished with her.  And he knew how much she despised Victor, so to send her here to have to deal with Victor one-on-one seemed particularly cruel.

Still, Diane had survived Kingpin.  She had survived Federal prison.  She could survive a few hours in a stuffy museum.  "Thank you," she said coldly, then climbed out of the cab and stepped up to the front gate.

The iron barred doors swung open, as if someone was waiting for her.

Diane took a deep breath, then headed toward the inevitable encounter.

***

Stephen cautiously made his way up the staircase and over to the Cranstons' private booth, a three-sided room with a large window overlooking the floor below.  It was the largest private box on the second floor, a mainstay of the Cranstons for three generations now, used whenever they needed privacy for a dinner, business meeting…

…or a confrontation with an enemy.  Which was what was about to happen as Stephen gave a nod to Khan, who had already made himself at home.  Stephen set down his martini on the table and sat across from Khan, with his back to the wall and a clear view of the door. "Nice suit."

"Thank you." Khan said. "It covers some of the worse burn scars from our last encounter."

Stephen gave a tight smile of victory. "I guess it was too much to hope for that you died in the explosion."

Khan looked defiant. "Nice to see you too. Incidentally, the filet mignon is excellent."

"They make it good here. Same with martinis, for that matter." Stephen popped the olive from his martini into his mouth. "In town long?"

"That's entirely up to your lady friend--the blonde who just left. I go where she goes."

Stephen laughed. "She isn't your type."

Khan wasn't the least bit phased. "Not yours, either, apparently. You think she's a vindictive witch, and she's not at all popular with the family. You don't like having relationships you can't control?"

Stephen gave a curious frown. "She told you all this?"

"Unnecessary. I can see it in your mind. You're like reading a book."

Stephen growled. "You know, we Cranstons are getting supremely tired of hearing that."

Conversation stalled, and Stephen and Khan regarded each other--two professional, experienced, motivated combatants drawing up the battle lines.

Silence stretched until Stephen spoke. "So, how long have you been in the predatory lending business?"

Khan laughed. "I use it as a front for getting favors. There are a million places to get money in this world when you can read minds. But I found something far more valuable when she came in my door. An unawakened projector! Fairly strong one too, and now one that owes me money."

The Shadow's mocking laugh answered him. "Take my word for it, Khan, she isn't worth it. You're playing with fire when you hang around her. Take it from someone who knows. Stay away from her."

"Spoken like a true ex-boyfriend. What will you do if I decide not to?"

Stephen gave his most sinister smile. "I might let you have her."

Khan raised an eyebrow. "She really did get to you, didn't she? Anyway, it matters not. You're bluffing."

"I never bluff."

"You are this time. Because you know what she could do when she awakens, so you won't let me anywhere close to capturing that kind of power."

Stephen said nothing.

Khan gave a mirthful grin. "I couldn't believe it when you walked in. Of all people, she runs to the legendary Ying Ko for help. Is that a coincidence, or does she know?"

Stephen sat just a little straighter. "Does it matter?"

Khan's smile was infuriating. "Ah, so she doesn't. Would you like to tell her, or should I?"

Stephen rubbed his temples for the thirtieth time that day. "And it was starting out as such a quiet weekend." He looked at Khan again. "My grandfather should have killed yours when he had the shot. I suppose it's up to me to end the Khan family line now."

Khan laughed. "Your family's arrogance lives on, I see."

"Confidence, not arrogance. Let me give you another piece of advice: Run and hide. She has asked me for help, and ordinarily, I would refuse. Ordinarily, I would send flowers to her loan shark. Maybe even send him a magnum of Dom Perignon for his dedication to his profession.  But now that I find out that YOU are her mysterious benefactor; I suddenly have more incentive to do the right thing. Stay in my town, and you have to deal with me. So once again, I urge you: RUN AND HIDE."  With that, he stood up to go.

"Ying Ko."

Stephen froze at the name.  He hated it, and Khan knew it.

Khan smirked at him.  "Do not think that this is a polite conversation. I am giving you an ultimatum. Leave me to my business. You do not truly care for this woman; you are using her to get to me, nothing more. Continue those tactics, and there will be dire consequences. For I know your secret. And I know her secret. And secrets are dangerous things. You must be careful with whom you share them...lest they be exposed."

Stephen turned back to face Khan. "You've been practicing that speech, haven't you? It was very well delivered. By the way, just in case you're wondering: The moment you said it was like reading a book was the moment I decided to tear you apart."

"We shall see," declared Khan, then suddenly whipped out a gun.

On pure reflex, Stephen grabbed the barrel with his left hand, hammered Khan's wrist with his right, and turned the gun with his left simultaneously. Within the blink of an eye, Khan's gun was in Stephen's hand, pointed back at him.

Just long enough for Khan to vanish completely.

Stephen cursed himself for letting his mind get so easily distracted and watched the walls for telltale shadows. "Invisibility is MY trademark, Khan. Why don't we step outside and settle this the old fashioned way?"

"All in due time," Khan's voice answered. "I respect no man's territory, Ying Ko.  We will meet again."

Stephen grumbled and sipped at his martini, lost in thought, until something gripped his shoulder. Stephen grabbed the hand on his shoulder and pulled it back behind the man's back, forcing him against the wall.

Suddenly the other man pushed back with superhuman strength and reflexes and shoved Stephen across the booth.  "Stephen, it's me!" Peter proclaimed.

Stephen shook off the impact and relaxed slightly. "Sorry about that. Where's Diane?"

"I had Moe take her to the manor."

Stephen gaped. "You sent her to see Victor alone? Are you insane?"  He angrily strode for the door.

Peter followed. "So I take it the discussion with Khan went well?"

Stephen snorted. "I now have to protect her from Khan and my Uncle."

"Now you want to protect her? What the Hell is going on?"

By this time they were outside, and Moe's cab had pulled up. "I'll explain on the way."

***

The majordomo poured Victor Cranston a cup of coffee as Victor perused the morning paper, its headline blaring a story about a major money laundering arrest. "I must admit I never trusted Miss Burke," Andrew commented

Victor chuckled bitterly. "You and me both. You know she actually called this place a museum? She even suggested that I should be in one."

Andrew poured a small dollop of cream into Victor's coffee cup and gave it a stir. "I found her in the armory once. She was close to finding the weapon storage. I was…less than polite in removing her, and she said that I was as good as fired."

"Did you tell Stephen this?" Victor asked in surprise.

"Sir," Andrew said archly. When Andrew said 'sir' in that tone of voice, it had the effect of a Shadow's cackle--you just did not argue with it. "It is not the place of the house servants to comment on the master's family personal problems. If my services were deemed unnecessary here, then I would leave. If not, then it did not matter what an interloper said. I believe that one of my most important job requirements, one that I believe I have demonstrated successfully throughout my employment here, is that of discretion. All house employees are required to be discreet."  He glanced at his right hand, adorned with a fire opal. "The additional responsibilities signified by the ring require even more from me."

Victor nodded, impressed with his majordomo's resolve, and took the coffee cup off the butler's tray. "True. But Stephen cared about her, and he found out she works for his worst enemy, and he just sent her to jail after coming close to killing her. We may not have liked her, but it's not going to be easy for him."

The formal expression on Andrew's face broke down, and for a moment he looked like the man who had seen Stephen grow up. "How is he taking it?"

Victor switched on the television.

"Recapping our earlier story," the news broadcaster intoned, " there has been a severe outbreak of crime gang-on-crime gang fighting throughout New York, spreading to the entire city. Police have made no official statement about the cause, but there appears to be sporadic battles all over the place, leaving numerous wounded and dead in their wake. Theories cover everything from gang turf wars to mob territory battles, but police have been unable to catch the instigators, saying only that several of the wounded left behind are in fact known criminals and suspects in other crimes. And in other news…"

Victor switched it off and turned back to Andrew. "Hard to say, but I think he's taking it well."

***

Andrew heard the sound of the iron gates opening outside and ran anxiously to the door, opening it as soon as he saw who was approaching on the other side. "Master Stephen, thank heavens," he said, moving to take their coats quickly. "You had better get to the drawing room. I think your uncle is planning to do something rather rash."

Stephen sprinted down the hallway and burst into the parlor.

Victor had a gun in his hand and had it trained right on Diane, who was seated in an armchair near the fire.

"Uncle!" Stephen blurted.

Victor turned his gaze toward Stephen.  He had the distinct look of a man desperate to escape a trap.

Diane gathered her composure and stood from the chair, smiling infuriatingly at Stephen.  "Stephen, how nice of you to drop by.  Victor was just showing me his fabulous antique weapons collection. We've been having the most delightful time."

Stephen gave his uncle a disapproving glare, channeling a telepathic calming conversation toward the angry elder man.

Victor set his jaw and lowered his aim. "It's been a laugh riot."

"Uncle, can I have a word with you?" asked Stephen, pointedly taking the gun out of his uncle's hand.

"Oh, I've got several for you," said Victor.

"I'll bet you do."  Stephen steered Victor out of the room.

"It's amazing," Diane whispered to Peter. "I thought Stephen was just being polite, but Victor's mind really has stayed sharp after all these years."

Victor turned around slowly and gave the back of Diane's head a venomous glare.

He felt Stephen give him a poke in the psyche.  "Oh, no, you don't.  None of that.  Besides, we have to talk.  Now."

The two men left the parlor.

***

Victor poured himself a shot of bourbon as he and Stephen went into the study and closed the door.  "I don't know what I was thinking," he said with a sigh. "Fifty guns and Diane Burke in the same room?  Now there's a showdown waiting to happen."

Stephen almost laughed. "I nearly had a heart attack when I saw you with a gun and Diane slouched in a chair." He thought for a moment. "Of course, it would have solved the problem of what to do next."

Victor sighed. "What exactly happened at the Cobalt Club that would lead you to have Peter send the wicked witch of the west to see me?"

"She ran into her loan shark at the club. It's Khan. Khan, of all people, is following Diane around, and they both came to New York City, of all places. And she came to me, of all people, leading Khan to me." Stephen threw up his arms.  "I'm cursed, right? This is God's way of knocking me down several pegs, right?  If somebody would just tell me what I did to deserve this, I'd apologize so fast it would break the land speed record and pray the rosary until my fingers bled.  Ugh."

Victor shook his head. "Diane Burke and Kuba Khan in the same day. This is usually the part when I wake up screaming."

"Wait--it gets better."

"Mind telling me how?"

"Khan is following her around because he knows that she is unawakened."

Victor rubbed his eyes and groaned. "Marvelous.  Looking for a student, I take it?"

"Highly likely."

"Of course he is. So if we don't pay up, it won't be her kneecaps he'll be looking to break."

Stephen noticed Victor rubbing his side, where he still bore the scar from Khan's attack the year before. "It won't happen again," Stephen said softly. "I won't let it happen again."

Victor smiled at his nephew. "Of course you won't. You'll defeat him first."

Stephen grimaced. "And guess what my main lead is?"

The sound of Diane's laughter drifted into the room.

"She likes Peter," Victor noted.

"He's young and naïve," Stephen returned.

"Sounds like a perfect match, then."

Stephen sighed. "This is going to be fun."

"You'll handle it. You always do. Because who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?"

Stephen nodded. "I do."

"That's right."

Suddenly the whole day seemed to hit Stephen at once. "And so I will go! I go to fight the good fight. I go to draw the line in the sand and say 'Enough'! I go to fight my worst enemy to protect Diane Burke, of all people. I go to risk my life to make the world safe for crazy witches like that woman!  I go to fight the worst enemy I will ever have, to protect that woman out there from a madman because that's what I do. I go to protect a witch who cut out my heart with her cursed daggers and fed it to her hellhounds from a madman who nearly killed my uncle, because I am supposed to be the good guy. I go to fight a monster to protect the lesser of two evils, when I am not even sure which is which.  I go to fight a man I would like to see burn to protect a woman I would like to see burn, because that's what heroes do! I go to fight the fine fight against evil, so that I can win the prize: Making the decision about what to do with Diane, who would actively betray me to my worst enemies at the drop of a hat. And why? Because I am 'The Good Guy', because it's my duty and that's what heroes do!"

"Want a drink?" Victor offered.

Stephen came down from his rant. "Make it a double."

Victor poured a pair of drinks.

Stephen accepted his, took a swig, and sighed. "This means that I am going to have to stick to Diane like glue and wait for Khan to make his move. Khan is going to be waiting for us now. And even if I win, I still have to decide what to do about Diane. Khan knows that my only options are to either let her go or walk into his trap. Am I really so predictable?"

"Yes," Victor said somberly. "You're the good guy, and you have to do the right thing, no matter what."

"No matter how much I hate the idea?"

"Yes."

"No matter what the cost could be?"

"Yes."

"You remember that, because she'll have to stay here."

Victor nearly choked on his scotch. "What?" he said hoarsely.

"I need a place that I can rely on. Hotels can't be trusted, too many people. For obvious reasons, she can't stay at my condo, and the same goes for Peter. So where does she stay? The Sanctum?"

"I have lots of suggestions…"

"Graveyards and morgues are out of the question."

"Killjoy." He threw back the remains of his drink. "All right.  But she stays in the room farthest from mine."

"Deal. So, do you want to tell her, or shall I?"

"You do it. It was your idea."

Stephen downed the last of his drink in one gulp. "The next few days are going to be fun."

***

As the two Shadows arrived in the parlor, they found Diane wiping a finger across various surfaces around the room and frowning disapprovingly at whatever specks of dust she may have found.

"Are you sure graveyards and morgues are out of the question?" Victor silently asked his nephew.

"Diane," Stephen said in his best charming voice, "Victor and I have been talking, and we think it would be a good idea if you stayed here."

Diane gave Victor a confused look. "Here?"

Peter was stunned. "Here?"

Victor nodded with only the slightest hesitation.

Stephen gave a tight smile.  "There's plenty of room, and it will be much safer here. State-of-the-art security, fifty rooms to hide in, iron fences and locked gates. A lot safer than a hotel. And with a loan shark after you, I think it would be only prudent, don't you?"

Diane put on the fakest pleasant smile, then came over and gave Victor a hug. "Oh you dear man, so concerned for my safety."

Victor stiffened and threw Stephen a menacing glare. "Your health has been on my mind a lot today."

Stephen steeled himself to deliver the next words. "And to make sure you are safe at all times, I'll go with you when you leave for anywhere."

Diane practically squealed and threw her arms around Stephen. "I knew you wouldn't let me get hurt." She gave Peter the coldest fake-ditz smile imaginable. "Peter, my wonderful ex-boyfriend is going to be my bodyguard. Isn't that amazing?"

"Incredible," Peter said in a blunt deadpan.

Stephen bit his lip and extricated himself from Diane's hold, then headed for the hallway. "Andrew? Can I have a word?" he called as he left.

Diane gave a thin smile that made her look vaguely like a conquering queen entering her new kingdom.  "Should I let Andrew know that he has an extra room to make up?"

A loud crash and the sound of shattering glass came from the hallway.

"No need," declared Peter.

***

Diane frantically stuffed her few remaining possessions into a duffle bag.  She had to get out of here.  Seattle was becoming too dangerous to stay in for much longer--if she hadn't already been convinced of that, the big Mongolian goon that followed her around from place to place over the past few days had cemented her urge to leave.  If only she hadn't gotten so desperate to take out that loan…

A knock at her door startled her.  She stood stark still, hoping her visitor would think no one was home and leave.

"I know you're in there, Miss Burke," the rough-edged Oriental-accented voice on the other side of the door said, seeming to answer her thoughts.  "You might as well open the door, because I am not leaving."

Diane reluctantly opened her door.

In the doorway stood a warrior-like Mongolian, dressed in an expensive business suit, with a dark, heavy beard that barely covered burns on his face and neck.  "We meet again."

She gathered her courage.  "Leave me alone.  I'll pay you back in a few days.  I haven't gotten my first paycheck yet."

"Interesting.  How does one get a paycheck when one does not have a job?"  He forced his way into the run-down apartment.  "My compliments to your decorator," he sneered.  Then he noticed the suitcase on the bed.  "Going somewhere?"

"My mother is ill.  I have to go to her."

"That would be an interesting illness, seeing as she's been dead for a number of years."

She looked askance at him.  "How do you know that?"

He chuckled menacingly.  "There is very little I do not know.  Or cannot find out."  He stepped closer to her.  "We have a deal, Miss Burke.  I gave you money to get back on your feet, you promised to pay me back.  I have fulfilled my part of the bargain.  I am expecting you to fulfill yours."

"I don't have it right now."

"Then we will have to find other ways for you to pay me back, won't we?"

She tried to look defiant.  "I don't exchange favors that way."

"Do not flatter yourself.  I can get those favors anywhere.  No, I want something else from you.  And I will have it."

She backed away and accidentally fell onto her bed.  "Get away from me."

He leaned in to her, his eyes becoming dark as the darkest night.  "Make me."

She fought through the fear causing chaos in her head as she fumbled in her bag for a moment, then pulled out a bottle of perfume and sprayed it right into his eyes.

The Mongolian shrieked at the burning pain and stumbled backwards.

Diane grabbed her bag and ran from the room as fast as she could.

By the time the Mongolian man had gotten the perfume washed out of his eyes, she was long gone.  "You can't run from me forever, Miss Burke," he called to no one in particular.  "I will find you.  And then you will pay me back…because I will take control of your destiny."

***

"We should strike now!"

Khan looked amused at the declaration of his finest warrior, Shan Ruche, as the soldier declared his opinion to the room. "Now, Shan?"

Ruche did not hesitate to respond. "We are twelve, they are only three. They would not expect an attack so soon. We can spilt up and surround them. We can take them by surprise and kill them all!"

The rest of the guards murmured their agreement. Ruche was the only one among them who had fought The Shadow and had lived to tell the tale. His eagerness was contagious.

Khan, however, was not impressed.  He remembered his last encounter with The Shadow and Spiderman.  He even remembered his last painful encounter with Diane Burke before finding her under Ying Ko's protection in Manhattan.  "Shan Ruche, an army unto himself," he laughed jovially, then suddenly threw Ruche to the floor with just a glance. "Are you mad? I know this man we are facing. And I WILL! NOT! UNDERESTIMATE! HIM! I will not underestimate him, or the old man, or the mutant, or even the woman."

His guards shrank back in fear. Ruche painfully picked himself up off the floor.

Khan was suddenly calm again. "We will strike, but we will weaken him before striking the killing blow."

***

"Nothing.  We have nothing."  Stephen Cranston threw up his hands.  "Not one lead as to where Khan might be hiding."

"Nor where he got all this money he supposedly loaned Diane," Victor noted.

"Nor much of anything else," Peter agreed.

A knock at the door to Victor's study got their attention.  The three men looked up.

Andrew was standing at the door with a tray of coffee and cookies.  "Some refreshments?" he asked.

"You read my mind," Stephen sighed.

"Thought that was your job," Peter quipped.

"No, mine," Victor retorted, taking a cup from Andrew's tray.  "I take it Miss Burke got settled in for the night?"

"I made certain she found her way to her room successfully, with no detours," Andrew replied coldly.

Victor smirked.  "Thank you for your diligence."

Andrew nodded and departed the room.

"So what do we know?" Victor asked.

"We know Khan somehow survived an explosion that should have killed him," Peter replied.  "We know he made it out west.  We know he's gotten into the predatory lending business.  And we know he's fixated on Diane and is following her around because he wants her psyche."

"Where is he getting the money?" Stephen asked aloud in frustration.  "All that activity is expensive.  The money is the key.  Find his money and we'll find where it's going, which will lead us to him.  Where is he getting it?"

"He's gotta have a back door, a black market source, somebody who has access to a lot of cash and experience in routing it around without a trace," Peter observed.

Victor picked it up immediately. "So that means that there's a lot of hard currency going someplace."

Stephen started thinking again. "So we can check out bank records for some of Seattle's cash short elite. Look for who suddenly started spending again when on the brink of bankruptcy, find who suddenly got put into the hospital when they got that sudden influx of cash. Peter's right, we need someone who's got a good working knowledge of illicit accounting on that scale."

"Well," Peter noted, "we do have somebody with that kind of experience sleeping upstairs."

"No!" Victor declared.  "We are not bringing her in on this! How would we explain even asking her about this?"

"We don't have to," Stephen explained. "We're just trying to help her, remember?  We need to know all about her predatory lender to help her get away from him, and what better way to find this out than to ask?"

"How do we know she isn't just making up this story?" Victor snapped.  "The witch isn't above deceit, you know."

"Khan confirmed the tale," Stephen reminded him.

"Yeah, but the next time Kuba Khan tells the truth will be his first," Peter pointed out.

"So we need some independent confirmation that they really did some kind of deal."  Stephen thought for a moment.  "I've got a contact in the financial fraud division in the Seattle PD.  Let me get Burbank on it."  He got up to leave.

"In the meantime," Peter reminded them, "Khan isn't stupid.  If he knows about you and Diane…"

Stephen gave him a look.

"…your past with Diane," Peter clarified, drawing back from the glare, "he may figure out where you've stashed her."

Victor nodded somberly.  "We'll have to keep an eye on her. I'll take the first watch."

Stephen looked over at his uncle.  "You sure you're up to this?"

Victor's eyes were cold.  "Khan got the drop on me once.  I'm neither stupid nor feeble enough to let him do it again."

Stephen regarded his uncle for a moment more, then nodded.  "See you in a few hours, then.  Pete--let's go."

As the two younger men left, Victor went over to a bookcase and pulled a book partially out of its slot.

On the shelf below, a faux row of books fronting a hidden door popped open, revealing a pocket-like drawer.

Victor retrieved the .45 pistol hidden behind the panel and checked it for bullets, then put it in his inside suit pocket for safe keeping.  Khan was not going to get the drop on him again.  This time, he'd be prepared for anything.

***

"I'm not sure I like this plan," Peter said aloud on the cab ride to the Sanctum.

Stephen looked over at his partner. "What specifically about it don't you like?"

"Want a laundry list?"

"Not particularly, but I suspect you'll give me one anyway."

Peter took a deep breath. "Look, we're talking about using the network to give a person that we don't trust information she could use after all this is over, against other people we don't know in another city , on the off chance that she may lead us to the villain, using a lead we aren't sure will go anywhere in the first place. Now, I ask you in all seriousness:  Are you sure about this?"

"Nope."

"Aha."

The cab came to a stop and the two men exited and began their walk toward the Sanctum.

As they reached the blind alley leading to the Sanctum, Peter cut off Stephen's path. "Then why are we doing this?"

"Because I want to be sure," Stephen said quietly.

"About what?"

"About Diane."  Stephen brushed Peter aside and pulled the lever, and the wall retracted.

"So," Peter said as he followed Stephen into the dark stairwell, "you have gone from dreading her to trading banter with her to wanting to protect her to moving her into the family home to all but making her a full team member in less than two days. Stephen..."

"I know what you're thinking, but trust me, I know what I'm doing."

Peter suddenly grabbed Stephen's shoulder as his spider-sense sent a full-scale alarm running across his nerves.  "Stop.  Don't go any farther.  Something's down here…"

Stephen gave the room a sweep with projective sight.  Then he gasped.

"What?" Peter asked.

"You really don't want to know," Stephen said, then pulled out a small penlight from his pocket and flicked it on in the general direction of what his mental eyes had spotted.

Sitting on the Sanctum's console was a large black box, and on it, a timer. On the timer, a number, counting down.

Thirty seconds before the numbers hit zero.

"Move!" snapped Stephen.

The men turned and hurried back up the stairs.

Stephen hit an emergency switch on the wall at the entrance, dropping a second set of iron blast doors to section off the individual parts of the Sanctum, then hit the main exit switch to close off the Sanctum itself.

Peter grabbed Stephen's arm and leapt straight up the opposite wall, positioning his partner across his back in a flash and scaling the wall as fast as he could go.

There was a muted explosion, then all the surrounding buildings shook.  Then smoke poured out of a hidden vent stack, indicating the destruction that was surely in the basement below.

Peter braced himself hard against the trembling building's wall, then glanced over his shoulder at Stephen.   "Think ya used enough dynamite there, Butch?"

Stephen did not answer. He just stared at the column of smoke rising, an openly shell-shocked look on his face at what that smoke represented.

The Sanctum, the subterranean base of The Shadow for over seventy years, had just been destroyed.

***

Victor Cranston was on his third cup of coffee in the last hour when he heard the tapping outside the window of the parlor.  He pulled out his pistol and readied a round, then swirled into invisibility and crossed stealthily to the window, gently pulling back a corner of the drapery to peer out.

Nothing immediately visible, but there was more tapping attempting to get his attention.  Victor decided to risk opening the drapes the rest of the way, allowing moonlight to cast an eerie shadow across the floor.

Spiderman dropped down on a line right in front of the window and waved at the unseen figure standing there.

Victor swirled into visibility and opened one of the French doors.  "Get in here."

Spiderman hopped inside.  "You know, you guys really need to work on that casting-a-shadow thing.  Gives you away every time."

Victor closed the door and drew the curtains.  "It's not Halloween, so there'd better be a good reason you're lurking outside my window in costume."

Spiderman pulled off his mask and dropped the backpack with Peter Parker's clothes in it onto a nearby chair.  "Well, there is, but you probably won't like it."

"I thought as much.  How many drinks will I need to take this news?"

Peter braced himself for delivering the bad news by coming up with the best wisecrack he could muster.  "How well-stocked is your bar?"

***

"Ms. Burke," Wilson Fisk--The Kingpin--said pityingly, "I really am disappointed. It's appalling that someone I came to trust was using my company, my finances to conduct illicit business…"

He went on for much longer, but Diane stopped listening. If she weren't handcuffed to the chair, she would have attacked him. It was infuriating. How dare he take the high road? How dare he be moral?  It was his money, yes, but it had always been under his direction…

"Truly, Ms. Burke," Fisk continued, giving her a tsk-tsk headshake. "This is most embarrassing to my business."

"Your two-bit racket, you mean," she spat defiantly.

"Now, now, Ms. Burke, is that any way to speak to your beloved uncle?  Just in case you were wondering how I finessed my way in here.  That and a little extra pay to one of my helpers greased the wheels nicely."

Diane felt her blood boil.  "You're nothing but a low-life hood."

"Ah, but you're the one in cuffs," Kingpin answered smoothly.

Diane found that she was getting more and more comfortable with the idea of him being a crime lord like Stephen's expose articles in the Classic had declared for weeks now.  "Stephen was right about you," she snapped without thinking. "I'm taking you down with me."

Kingpin's expression changed ever so slightly. "If you could…and that is not an admission of guilt… how would you do it?"

"I found the hidden file."  She smirked. "I know where the bodies are buried."

Kingpin smirked back.  "Nobody believes the guilty.  Particularly when they're foolish enough to be illicitly manipulating money in their offices when The Shadow conducts a raid.  Besides, I seem to remember the accounting department has a senior accountant who was supposed to be mentoring you and handling all my finances…Moseberg, I think his name is…he wasn't perhaps directing your activities?"

"Oh, no you don't.  You're not pinning the blame on this on Jerry.  Nobody's taking the blame for this mess except you.  Every one of those transactions has your fingerprints on it."

"I wasn't aware I'd actually touched any bits on a disk somewhere.  You'll have to do better if you expect anyone to believe your accusations."

 

"I bet Stephen would be interested."

The calm smile on Kingpin's face froze. "You know," he said finally, "you still have great skill in accounting. I would be willing to give you a second chance…with the proper supervision of your future activities, of course, to make sure you didn't misappropriate any more funds. Of course, I'd have to fire Mr. Moseberg, since he was in charge of you and undoubtedly masterminded this whole effort…and make sure the authorities were properly alerted…"

"Go to Hell."

"Pity."  He smiled infuriatingly once more. "The offer remains open. For now.  As for Cranston, well…I'll bet you're the last person he wants to see right now. He's a rich man, old family name, wealthy heir to a billion-dollar thinktank, right? I imagine the upper crust of Manhattan society wouldn't think too highly of him being involved with a common thief, even if she does wear expensive jewelry and designer pumps.  They probably don't think too much of him writing inflammatory articles for that birdcage liner of a newspaper, either.  It's beyond me why he does it, but he's untouchable.  Legally, that is."  Kingpin waited a moment to let that sink in.  "But if you were to start spreading such evil rumors about me…then I would have to counter them. How I would correct your friend's suppositions is up to me."

Diane froze in her seat. Was he serious?

"Think about it, Ms. Burke.  Think about it long and hard.  Then when you're done thinking, think about it again.  And then we'll talk."

And with that, he left the room…leaving Diane alone with her thoughts and fears.

***

Alone.  Like she was now.

Diane paced the room she'd been given at Cranston Manor nervously, trying to make sense of the day's revelations.  Stephen is The Shadow.  Well, that explains a lot.  The chronic lateness, the silly excuses to duck out of things, the nights he was unreachable even though he carries a cell phone and pager.  She dropped onto the bed in frustration and fluffed a pillow absently.  That also explains why he didn't kill me that night at Fisk Towers.  He couldn't, because he cared for me.  She thought about that for a moment.  Still does care for me.  Otherwise, he wouldn't have agreed to help me.  But what exactly is he going to do for me?  Laugh at my loan shark and scare him away?  And afterward, what then?  Send me away again, with nothing in my pockets and nowhere to go?  Like I really want to go through that again.  I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.  She frowned.  Or would I?  All those nights I wanted to get back at The Shadow for what he did to me…  It took her a moment to form the words in her head.  What Stephen did to me.  Because Stephen is The Shadow.  And he lied to me about it.  He's still lying, in fact.  He's never stopped lying.  And he had the nerve to break it off with me for "betraying" him.  I could show him what "betrayal" really means.

The thought itself caused Diane to feel alarmed.  Would I really do that?  Would I really do that to him?  It took her a moment to realize she already knew the answer.  Of course I would.  Because he never hesitated to do it to me.  He sold me out to the police.  He put me in a position to take the fall for Kingpin's money laundering schemes.  I thought I knew things that would get me out of trouble then.  Now, I know something even more valuable.  She smiled as the possibilities occurred to her.  This secret…this is more valuable than any asset I own.  It's more valuable than anything I could ever possess.  I know who The Shadow really is.  And people would kill for that information.  She suddenly was struck by the irony of coming to Stephen for help. Of all the people, she mused, I end up begging for help from the man who put me in this position in the first place.  But not for long…

She crossed the room and found her purse, then searched through it for her cell phone.

Its antenna was broken, and the phrase "No Service" was displayed across its face.  Cheap piece of crap.  She tossed it aside and fished through her purse again.

Finally she found what she was looking for…an old, worn address book.

She looked around the room and spotted a phone extension on the table.  She picked up the receiver.  Great, no dial tone.  Wonder if I need to press some code…  Then she saw a worn label on the phone that read "House extension 214 -- Press '8' For Outside Line".  She pressed the "8" key.

A dial tone answered her digit press.

Thumbing through the pages of her address book, she finally found the entry she wanted…Wilson Fisk's private extension.

Dialing the phone, Diane chuckled again. Kingpin, my friend, she thought as she hit the numbers, you are going to owe me big time for this.

***

"Destroyed," Victor said stupidly.

"Pretty much," confirmed Peter.  "The blast walls protected the building and contained some of the damage, but not enough to save the guts of the place."

The color had drained out of Victor's face.  "Khan…blew up…the Sanctum."

"Yep. Stephen is still there sifting through the rubble.  I had to peel back the entrance door and some of the inner metal walls to get him in there--the control mechanism, as you might have guessed, is pretty much toast."

"The Sanctum. My Sanctum, my father's Sanctum, my nephew's Sanctum…"

"That would be the one."

Victor slowly and calmly sank into a chair.  Then he pounded his fist into the air, as if delivering a roundhouse blow at an invisible giant.

Objects on shelves went flying, as if a whirlwind had swept them up, then crashed to the floor.

Peter hopped to the ceiling to get away from the concussive wave of telekinetic energy.  "I'm sorry," he offered quietly.

Victor slowly calmed down.  "Was anyone hurt?"

Peter shook his head.  "The blast doors did their job."

"Well, that's something, at least."  He rubbed his eyes and groaned.

Just then, a light on the phone now resting on the floor lit, and a faint tone sounded.

Victor looked at the phone…and his jaw dropped. "Oh, no!" he whispered.

"What?" asked Peter.

Victor picked up the phone from the floor, pushed a button on its base, and looked at the phone number displayed on its small screen.  "Recognize it?" he asked dryly.

Peter dropped to the floor and came up behind Victor to see what he was talking about.  Shock took over his expression.  "No.  She isn't…"

"She is."  Victor pushed another button on the phone, then spoke into the receiver in a perfect imitation of Kingpin's voice. "Fisk."  He listened to the conversation for a moment.  "Ah yes, Ms. Burke.  It's been a while.  I take it the Pacific Northwest is no longer to your taste?"

Peter looked stunned.  The very thing he and Stephen had first hypothesized--that Diane would attempt to make contact with Kingpin--was coming true.

"Upstairs, far end of the hall, northwest corner of the house," Victor implanted in Peter's brain.  "Get up there now!"

Peter nodded and sprang for the staircase.

***

"Let's cut to the chase, Wilson," Diane said confidently. "I have information you want and that you'll pay willingly for."

"Really? Why would I do that?"

"Because I know who The Shadow is."

A pause.  "You do?  How do you know this?"

"Trust me.  I have firsthand knowledge."

"What do you want in exchange for this…knowledge?"

"Safety.  And my job back."

That got a sarcastic laugh.  "You're not asking much, are you?"

"I guarantee you this will be worth all of that and more," Diane bragged.  "So, do we have a deal?"

"I'm at least willing to enter into negotiations.  Where are you now?"

"Cranston Manor."

She could almost hear an eyebrow being raised.  "Rekindling an old flame?"

"More like taking advantage of a fool's soft-heartedness."  Suddenly she heard footsteps outside the door. "I have to go."  She hung up the phone quickly, then picked up the nearest book and reclined on the bed, pretending to read as someone tapped on the door.  "Come in," she called.

Peter walked in and gave the situation a quick appraisal.  "Feeling spiritual tonight, are we?"

It took Diane a moment to realize what Peter was talking about--the book she'd picked up was an old Bible.  "Well, Stephen's been my personal Good Samaritan today," she answered.

Peter resisted a wiseacre retort.  "Right."

She looked at him oddly.  "Did you come up here for a reason, or are you just in the habit of knocking on random doors?"

Peter took a second to think of a story.  "Thought I heard noises up here.  Wanted to make sure you were all right."

Diane turned on the charm. "How nice of you.  No, I'm fine.  Just stubbed my toe on the bedpost.  Probably said some rather loud un-lady-like things."

"Yeah, that must have been it.  Well, good night, Diane."  He left the room.

Diane tossed the Bible aside and relaxed back on the bed. It really was too easy to fool them all. Then, she caught herself on that thought. It may be easy to fool them, but one of them is The Shadow, and he is most certainly not a fool, Diane reminded herself. I can't let anything slip about that. He must not know that I know.

The memory of The Shadow's sinister laugh rang through her mind, and she shuddered again. Lord knows what he would do to me if he found out.

***

"What was that all about?" Peter asked.

Victor took a deep breath.  "Diane apparently knows who The Shadow is.  And was willing to tell Fisk in exchange for a job and her safety."

"What?"  Peter looked aghast.  "She's bluffing."

"I don't think so.  She sounded pretty sure.  And the fact that she hung up when she thought that one of us might be ready to walk in on her is a pretty good tip-off that she likely has the right answer.  We know she's a latent telepath--she may have picked up a stray thought from one of us."

"How did you intercept her call?" Peter asked.

Victor pointed to the phone.  "There are three rooms in this manor that have rerouted phone lines.  I put people I don't trust in those rooms, so that every call they make has to go through this unit for approval.  If I don't like who they're calling, I pull out my best vocal impersonation of the person they're trying to reach and gather information.  And I make sure I keep a record of what they're doing just in case I need it."  He popped a tape out of the unit's base.  "Diane thinks she's going to get to sell out Stephen to Kingpin."

Peter gave him an odd look.  "I thought she had a cell phone."

"She does, but she should have found that it no longer works."

Another odd look.  "How do you know that?"

Victor's eyes twinkled. "The Shadow knows."

Peter sat down and sighed, conceding the point. "So what do we do now?"

"Well, the first thing I'm going to do is cut off her phone access."  Victor lifted the receiver and punched a series of buttons.  "There.  She won't be able to call out again.  Any number she dials will return a busy signal."

"Yeah, but that just stops her from telling anybody else.  It doesn't change the fact that she thinks she already told someone.  This is going to hit Stephen like a ton of bricks."  Peter shook his head.  "He said that he was dragging out the investigation to 'be sure' about Diane. I think we just made sure, don't you?"

Victor nodded and handed Peter the tape. "Let him hear it straight."

Peter handed it back. "Maybe you should do it. Let him get his next blow from the family."

***

Stephen winced as he stretched. The previous night's crime hunt had gone badly. Not that he wasn't used to bumps and bruises and scrapes and just about any form of injury imaginable, but that didn't make them any less painful.  This morning's problem was the newest of many knife scars that marred his back. But he had to hide it well. Diane was there.  Between her work schedule and his vigilante activities, both of them had cancelled so many dinner dates that they made a point to have breakfast together at least twice a week.  Today she'd brought croissants and jam from one of the best bakeries in Manhattan, and he couldn't very well turn her away after standing her up two straight days this week.

"Sore back?" she asked, seeing him wince.

He chuckled. "And I was trying to hide it."

She gave him a wily smile. "You never can hide anything from me, Stephen.  I know you too well."

He gave a mysterious smile. "That you do," he told her.  Then he leaned in to kiss her.

The kiss was long and lingering, but eventually they broke and looked into each other's eyes.

"I love you, too," Diane whispered.

Stephen felt his heart stop for a second.  Not at the sentiment of what she'd said, but the wording.  As if she were responding to words he hadn't said…but had been thinking.  She'd been doing that a lot lately.  But then, he did think very loudly, and a kiss on the lips was a pretty obvious statement of feeling.  "Want some coffee?"

"Men," Diane harrumphed.  "Can't stand it when a woman knows what they're thinking."

Stephen laughed slightly nervously.  "I'm a private kind of guy."  He headed into the kitchen to make coffee.

In the refrigerator were several small bags of coffee they'd accumulated over the past few weeks.  Just about every flavor imaginable was in there. He started to check the box of croissants to figure out what flavor would go best with them…

"Viennese cinnamon," Diane called from the next room.

Stephen looked over his shoulder suspiciously. Obviously, he was thinking pretty loudly today. Focusing his powers, he increased the barriers around his thoughts to keep feminine intuition away for a moment at least and returned to searching the refrigerator.

"Could you get some aspirin while you're there? My head's buzzing something fierce."

Stephen froze. Feminine intuition was one thing, but a buzzing head…only a true adept would be bothered by that kind of mental static.  He stepped out of the kitchen and sent a telepathic wave toward her.

Diane winced sharply and rubbed her temple.

Stephen's jaw dropped.

She turned to face him, and he immediately calmed his expression. "Here's the aspirin."

"Thank you," she said gratefully. Then she looked at him.  "You O.K.?"

"Yeah.  Just thinking."

"You do that a lot," she laughed, then winced as her pager beeped. "Dammit," she said, looking at it. "I…"

"…have to go to work?" Stephen finished. "I thought I was the one allowed to use that excuse."

Diane looked at him guiltily. "Yeah…look, my new job is…well, it's important to me."

Stephen nodded and smiled. "Don't worry. I'm not jealous. Just curious. I don't even know what this job is, though…"

"Accounting."

"Well, I know that," he laughed.  "But I don't even know what big conglomerate you account for.  You've never even mentioned the name of this place that keeps calling you away."

"But you so love mysteries." She gave him a smile and stood up. "I have to go."

Stephen nodded and opened the door for her. "I love you."

 

She gave him a dazzling smile, a quick kiss, and vanished out the door.

The moment she was gone, Stephen dove across the room and grabbed the phone, dialing madly.  "Uncle?  The sun is shining."

Victor's voice immediately became attentive. "But the ice is slippery. What's up?"

Stephen took a deep breath. "It's Diane. She's psychic."

"She's what?"

A knock on the door made him jump. "Be right back," he told the receiver, then opened the door.

Diane was standing in the hallway.

Stephen quickly got his surprise under control. "Hi."

She gave him that smile again. "I forgot my cell phone."

Stephen turned and found it on the table. "You're going to lose this thing one day."

She nodded. "I know." She gave him another quick kiss. "Bye."

"Bye," Stephen said, starting to close the door behind her.

Suddenly she turned around. "By the way, remember when I told you I'd seen one of those rings before?  I finally remembered who it was when I checked my Palm Pilot.  It's a guy at my job--Harry Vincent.  You guys must belong to the same club, right?"  Then she gave a laugh.  "Gotta run.  See ya."

Stephen didn't even see her leave. He didn't even hear the door close. He was too busy listening to the sound of his heart sinking.

Harry Vincent was the first agent he had ever recruited. Harry Vincent was working a long-term undercover job for The Shadow.  Harry Vincent was his man on the inside at Fisk Industries--Kingpin's cover firm.

And Harry Vincent was a guy at Diane's job.

Disbelieving, shell-shocked, crushed, Stephen crumpled to the floor.

"Stephen!" shouted his uncle's voice from the phone receiver.

Mechanically, Stephen raised the phone to his ear. "Uncle, meet me at the Sanctum right now."

***

"I'm here, Stephen."

Stephen looked up from the pile of rubble he was searching at the sound of that mental voice.

Victor was standing on what was left of the stairway into the Sanctum, looking down at the disaster before him.  "My God."

Stephen shook his head.  "God didn't do this.  Khan did."  He tossed a piece of the ceiling plaster aside.  "Did you hurt Peter when he told you?"

"No. But maybe you should give me the bad news next time."

"I was a little busy."  Stephen started digging again.

The sight of his nephew pushing aside piles of destruction made Victor feel helpless.  "What can I do?"

Stephen handed him a box containing pistols, costumes, web canisters, and other assorted weapons.  "Hold this."  Then he resumed trying to make some headway in the debris.

Victor inspected the contents of the box, more concerned about what wasn't in it than what was.  "Have you found the records yet?"

"No."

"We have to find them. Those volumes are irreplaceable. The entire history of The Shadow's missions is in those books.  If anybody else finds them…"

"They won't."  He shook his head.  "You thought it was a needless extravagance when I made that hidden bookcase shockproof, waterproof, and airtight, didn't you?"

Victor came over and helped him dig. "Yes, I did."

The two men tunneled through the rubble in silence for the next few minutes.

"Here it is!" called Stephen, sounding like he just struck gold.

Victor looked in the hole Stephen had dug and saw the top part of a solid, sealed, metal bookcase. "Looks intact," commented Victor. "We'll have to get some agents over here to get it out before it's discovered."

"Don't worry about that," Stephen reassured. "I've already been in touch with Burbank.  'Robinson Demolition Works' are going to be the cleanup team.  Anything still intact is going to be taken out and stored untouched until we get a chance to go through it."

Victor nodded.  "They've been good to us over the years."

"I'd say we were good to them, too, considering that you saved practically everyone on their crew from certain death on that construction site ten years ago."

"Loyal agents.  A commodity that can be hard to find."

"I'm aware of that all too well."

Further conversation was interrupted by the buzzing of Stephen's radio.  He activated it.  "What's up, Moe?"

"You guys might want to pull a disappearing act," Moe Shrevnitz's voice answered.  "Robinson's making the block now, trying to find a place to park."

"Be right up," Stephen returned.  Then he stood, dusted himself off, and gave a sigh.

Victor struggled to get to his feet.

Stephen reached down and gave him a hand.

Victor nodded his thanks.

Stephen picked up the box of weapons, and the two men climbed out of their destroyed Sanctum and walked in silence back up the alley.

***

As the Cranstons reached the street, Victor made eye contact with his driver, who was parked up the block and glancing in his mirror for instructions.

The driver nodded and pulled away.

"What did you do that for?" Stephen asked.

"Tell you on the ride home," Victor answered, nodding toward Moe as the cab was coming around the block once more.

Stephen looked suspicious but nonetheless gestured for Victor to get in the cab.  He then followed suit.

"Where to now?" Moe asked.

"Cranston Manor," Stephen replied.

"Make it leisurely," Victor added.

Moe nodded and pulled away from the curb.  "How does it look down there?" he asked.

"Like a war zone," Stephen said grimly.  "Funny what you think about at a moment like this.  I still remember the first time I went down there. I was only 14, and I immediately felt more comfortable down there than I did anywhere else. It was the atmosphere, I think. This was The Shadow's place. It was ours, it was in the bank, we were untouchable when we were there."

"During the school holidays I had to practically carry you out," Victor responded. "I was the same way with my dad. I slept in the Sanctum almost every night during the summers."

Moe shook his head.  "When my dad and Victor first showed me this whole thing, I thought it was the wildest thing I'd ever heard about.  A one-man army run from a bunker under a skyscraper.  And I was leading the cavalry.  Never thought I'd see the day when it would be gone."

"Just the bunker is gone," Stephen corrected.  "But not for long.  I'm going to rebuild it.  I'll be damned if I'll let Khan destroy everything my family has worked so hard for."  He sighed.  "In the meantime, we'd better get back before Diane suspects something."

"Too late," Victor said.

Stephen looked at him.  "What?"

Victor held up a small cassette player. "This call was made from Diane's room about an hour ago. I intercepted it and did my best impersonation of her would-be business partner to make her think she'd gotten through." He started the tape.

"Let's cut to the chase, Wilson," Diane said confidently through the tape player's tinny speakers. "I have information you want and that you'll pay willingly for."

"Really?" Victor's impersonation of Kingpin's voice answered.  "Why would I do that?"

"Because I know who The Shadow is."

A pause.  "You do?  How do you know this?"

"Trust me.  I have firsthand knowledge."

"What do you want in exchange for this…knowledge?"

"Safety.  And my job back."

That got a sarcastic laugh.  "You're not asking much, are you?"

"I guarantee you this will be worth all of that and more," Diane bragged.  "So, do we have a deal?"

"I'm at least willing to enter into negotiations.  Where are you now?"

"Cranston Manor."

Another pause from the tape.  "Rekindling an old flame?"

"More like taking advantage of a fool's soft-heartedness."  Suddenly she gasped. "I have to go."

Victor stopped the tape.

Stephen sat in shock for a moment.  Then he felt fresh anger stoking the fires of past betrayals.

***

Stephen looked out the window of the cab at the gates to Riker's Island Penitentiary. She was in there. She had left a frantic, tearful message for him on his answering machine. He should see her. He should at least talk to her. Why shouldn't he?  Just because he'd nearly blown her head off in a midnight raid was nothing to stand in the way of true love, was it? He could get her out. He could pay the bail and get her a good lawyer, use agents to run her case through the system and lose the whole thing in the cracks, then spirit her away and get her a job somewhere else, right?

Moe looked at his watch.  "If you are going to talk to her, now would be the time," he said gently.  "She's due in court later today--she might be a little busy this afternoon."

"I know."  He looked at the imposing building in front of him.

Riker's Island Penitentiary.  New York City's lockup facility. She was in there.  And he'd put her there.

And it was time they talked about it.

He got out of the cab and started walking toward the door.  He had to talk to her. He had to know how involved she was in Kingpin's organization. He could find out where her loyalties were. If it was about money, he could get her a job at Cranston Enterprises…

Stephen quickly cut off that line of thinking. She was in jail for money laundering, and he knew for a fact she was guilty, and he was actually considering giving her a job in the family business?  Had he gone mad?

Then he felt his thoughts being dragged back down that trail of thought again. He could still do it. If she was loyal to Kingpin, then she was where she belonged, but if she'd been forced to do this, not given a choice…

Then he stopped himself again.  It didn't matter whether or not she'd had a choice, she'd actively lied to him about where she worked and what she did, and evaded his every question on the subject, and it was only because he was stupid in love that he hadn't pushed the issue further. She'd read all those things he wrote about Fisk. She knew exactly what he thought, and she hid it from him. Every time he looked at her, she was hiding this from him, knowing full well it would drive them apart. If that wasn't the very definition of deception…

No, he reminded himself, he knew the true definition of deception very well.  And he was no better than she was. She worked for Kingpin, and he was The Shadow. Every time she looked at him, she lied.  And every time he looked at her, he did the same. She knew that a vigilante had hit her company holdings--him. He'd fought and killed the people she worked with, and two days ago shoved a gun in her face before blasting the Hell out of her hard drive, then hypnotized her, dumped her back in her apartment, and called the police on her. He kept a bigger secret from her, and if he went in there, what would he say to her? Lies. Lies, lies, and more lies, because even now he had no clue what would happen if he told her the truth.

And then he knew he had to go in. He had to know. Was she in the wrong place at the wrong time? Was she a hardened criminal mastermind?

Stephen looked up at the building. The prison was right in front of him. She was in there. He would go in, he would talk to her, and find out once and for all where her loyalties lay.

He marched toward the prison, approached the door…

…and was practically bowled over by a crush of reporters who'd appeared out of nowhere.

It took a second for him to realize why.  Deputy U.S. Attorney Carson Knight was coming out of the prison's administrative entrance, surrounded by aides and representatives of the Manhattan D.A.'s office, and he was gesturing for quiet.  "I have a brief statement," he announced.

Stephen promptly switched into reporter mode and pulled out his tape recorder, blending into the crowd around him.

"At this moment, U.S. Marshals are executing a Federal arrest warrant for Fisk Enterprises Accounting Director Gerald Moseberg," Knight said.  "Based on evidence obtained from the raid on Fisk Enterprises and a number of inside sources, we feel confident in charging Mr. Moseberg with fifty-five counts of Federal wire fraud.  Our office will have more to say after this afternoon's hearing before Judge Castleton.  We want to thank the Manhattan District Attorney's office for assisting us in gathering this information and allowing us to construct this arrest warrant.  Without their cooperation, none of this would have been possible.  Thank you."  He started to push past the crowd.

Stephen's fast-working mind tried to rapidly process this information.  Moseberg?  Moseberg was involved with this whole mess, yes, but he was a minor player, a lackey, hardly even worth The Shadow's interest.  He'd clearly been set up to take the fall by someone…

And then it hit him.

He thrust his tape recorder into Knight's face.  "What kind of deal did you cut with Diane Burke?" he demanded.  "And who really brokered it?"

"I'm not at liberty to divulge any names or the details of the indictment at this moment," Knight responded.  "There will be more details at this afternoon's press conference.  Now, if you'll excuse me…"  His phalanx of aides pushed through the crowd to spirit him away.

The sound of the vehicle gates opening got Stephen's attention.  He looked over toward them.

And saw a U.S. Marshals van leaving the grounds.

And caught a glimpse of Diane Burke through the windshield.

And for a split second, their eyes made contact.

And then the van drove away.

And then he noticed a limousine pull away after the van…a limousine that he'd seen way too many times at Fisk Towers.

And now he knew where her loyalties lay.

***

"You know what?" Stephen said bitterly.  "She's right. I am a fool.  I can't believe I actually fell for her sob story.  What a complete idiot I am."

"Now, wait a minute," Victor cautioned.  "At least part of her sob story is true.  Khan is stalking her."

The Shadow's hollow laugh rang out. "Fine.  The barbarian can have her, for all I care.  They deserve each other."  He cast a cold gaze into the rear view mirror.  "Cranston Manor, Shrevnitz.  And no more leisurely pace."

"Think long and hard on this, Stephen," Victor cautioned as the cab sped up.  "You're letting your emotions get the better of you.  Think of the bigger picture."

"The bigger picture is that Diane Burke is a lying, vindictive, manipulative witch who'd sell her own mother's ashes if she could get the right price for them," Stephen countered.  "And I want no more part of her."

The two men sat quietly for a moment.  Victor could feel the raging anger in Stephen's thoughts mixing with pain and frustration.  "What are you going to do?" he asked finally.

Stephen hesitated, then looked out the window sadly.  "I don't know."

***

The phone rang.

Peter looked at the parlor extension again, expecting he'd see Kingpin's number being dialed from Diane's room yet again.  The ring was only a short warning, though; thanks to Victor's pre-programmed response, she'd soon get a busy signal, get frustrated, and hang up.

That is, if the call was coming from Diane's room.  Which this one wasn't.  It was coming in from the outside.  From a waterfront district exchange, it looked like.  He answered the phone. "Cranston Manor."

"So tell me, Spiderman, did you like my remodeling job?"

Peter felt his heart skip a beat at being called his alter ego's name.  It took a moment for him to realize it was Khan's voice on the other end. "Think you've got the wrong number, pal," he lied.

Khan laughed heartily. "Please. If your partner couldn't keep his identity a secret, what chance do you think you had? Do not feel bad. Your mind is so pathetically weak that it is hardly a challenge to read your deepest thoughts."

Peter growled. "Now I see why he hates you so much. Where I come from, them's fightin' words. I dare you to come over here and say that to my face."

"All in due time. I have a message for Ying Ko. Now that he has seen what I am willing to do to accomplish my aims, tell him to stay out of my business, or there will be further consequences still."

"I'm not his secretary."

"Deliver my message, and make sure he understands it, or you may have to look for another partner soon."  With that, he hung up.

Peter looked at the phone for a moment, then felt his spider-sense tingle.  He looked around, trying to figure out where the danger was.

The tingling grew stronger, and his heightened senses alerted him to the sound of rustling vegetation outside.

He put the phone down and headed out to investigate.

***

"I'm glad you've seen reason, Ms. Burke," Kingpin told Diane.

Diane looked up at him defiantly from across the interrogation room. "You are not my first choice. In fact, you're my only choice. But I have conditions before I agree to sell out your out-of-favor lackey."

"You're not in a position to dictate conditions," Kingpin chuckled.

"Yes, I am.  Otherwise, this whole thing gets blown and I'll have a message to Stephen faster than your goons can whack me in prison. Now, then--condition number one. I want this to be the end of our relationship, business or otherwise.  I'm not going to be subject to your whims forever."

Kingpin was clearly amused. "Do you really think that anyone else will give you a job?"

"Let me worry about that.  Two, you get me transferred to another jurisdiction, as far away from here as possible, and I do the absolute minimum time on the lowest possible charge."

Kingpin gave her that maddening smile again. "Already done.  The U.S. Attorney's office has agreed to a lesser wire fraud charge and a 3-5 year sentence, and a transfer to the Federal penitentiary in Washington State. I have your statement ready for signing right now."  He pulled out a folded piece of paper and slid it over to her.

Diane unfolded it, staring at the neatly typed print.  This was it, her key to survival.  Moseberg was an idiot and a fool who actually believed he was working legitimate accounts when he signed all those accounts payable notices.  He deserved to take the fall for being such a complete idiot.

At least, she kept telling herself that as she took the pen Kingpin offered and signed her name.

Kingpin smiled, then stood and left the room.

Diane stared into space, trying hard not to think about any of it.

But she couldn't get it out of her head. Had that really been The Shadow who'd attacked her office? If he was, why was she alive?  Nobody faced The Shadow and lived.  Nobody.

Suddenly she remembered something. Stephen wrote about The Shadow too. Stephen knew all about the man she worked for, and the man who destroyed her too, and told the whole city about the whole nasty affair…but he had yet to even acknowledge what had happened to her.

Moments later, Federal marshals were in the room.  They quickly applied leg irons and shackles.  "Time to go, Ms. Burke," one of them said.  "We've got a plane to catch."

Despite herself, Diane couldn't help the huge grin that spread across her face as they led her away.  She ignored the stupid cops and the spiteful guards and even the crooked U.S. Attorney who was reading her statement and nodding smugly. She recognized him; he was in Kingpin's secret payroll files and a lot of Diane's transactions had been to route money to his "blind trust" investment firm.  How ironic.

But he'd taken the deal and was now on the phone giving orders about executing a Federal warrant as she was being led away.  This was it.  She was on her way out of here…away from Kingpin…away from The Shadow…

…away from Stephen.  But that wasn't a bad thing.  In a few years, they'd get back together and settle all this.  As long as he didn't know how she'd gotten off, things would be fine.

The marshals put her in a transfer van.  A rickety old thing, but a small inconvenience for a larger freedom that was coming.  She still smiled.

The van pulled away from the loading area and headed toward the gates.  She smiled even broader at finally seeing her first glimpse of the outside world in two days.  She noticed the crowd of reporters gathered around that idiot U.S. Attorney she'd seen reading her paperwork…

…and then suddenly saw Stephen turn away from them, then stare at her in horror from a distance through the windshield.

Diane's face crumpled as she saw the expression on his face.

And then the van drove away.

And the world got a whole lot darker.

***

Diane kept peering out her window at the darkness, hoping someone, anyone, would come to her rescue.  Despite the plushness of the room, she was getting the very real impression that this was just a pretty prison, and prison wasn't a place to which she aspired to return.  She hadn't been able to get through to Kingpin again to see what kind of escape plan he was concocting, and she hoped that whatever he was doing, he wouldn't be much longer in doing it.  She walked back over to the phone to try dialing again…

…and then heard rustling and a "creak" from the trellis outside her window.

About time.  She headed over to the window and opened it.

A Mongol warrior hanging on the trellis grabbed her arm and yanked her out the window.

Diane screamed.

***

Peter had just stepped out the front door when he heard the scream.  He sprang up the wall, scrambled over the roof, and raced to the other side of the house…

…just in time to see a half-dozen men in armor dragging Diane along the ground.

Peter leapt off the rooftop and propelled himself straight for the Mongols, bringing down one of them in a hard tackle.

Their commander barked out an order.

Two of them armed crossbows and fired arrows at Peter.

Peter sprang away from the arrows, then once more dove for the band, catching the same lagging warrior he'd knocked down previously.

Despite the hard hit, the warrior rolled and was up again in an instant.

Peter threw a flurry of punches at the Mongol.  One of them connected with the warrior's stomach, and Peter could feel the man's armor give. Padded armor, Peter thought, shaking out his hurt knuckles. Designed to cushion and deflect hard hits.  These guys are good.

The Mongol drew his sword, a long and wickedly curved blade, and swung at Peter.

Peter dodged to the side and turned his dodge into a punch.

The Mongol managed to turn with the blow and stay on his feet.  He shouted out a battle cry, then drew another sword and unleashed a lighting-fast display of martial arts swordsmanship.  It was taking all of Peter's agility and spider prowess to keep ahead of the attacks.

Finally, the Mongol scored a lucky shot, gashing Peter's leg.  The blow would have been far worse if Peter hadn't been flipping away at the time.

Time to end this, Peter thought.  He leapt straight up and landed on the man's shoulders, then backflipped him over instantly. Before the Mongol could recover, Peter threw him against the wall, driving his elbow into the man's solar plexus, knocking him unconscious at last.

Taking a deep breath, Peter leapt to a perch on one of the wrought-iron fence's support posts just in time to see the van turn a corner and speed away.  Dammit. He started to head back inside, then remembered the sleeping Mongol. I can't just leave him here, but what do I do with him?  My webshooters are inside…

Then he noticed some of the ivy vines on the trellis had come loose.

Peter smiled craftily.

***

Stephen dropped the slip of paper to the Sanctum's polished marble floor, his eyes flat and dead.

Victor picked it up. There it was, written in cold and unfeeling black ink on a sheet of The Shadow's cream stationery:  'Diane Burke. Official Position: Sr. Accountant, Accounts Reconciliation.  Actual Position: Head of Money Laundering.'  "I take it Vincent sent this over?" Victor asked.

"Along with a few other choice pieces of information."  Stephen gestured to the pile of papers on his desk. "The woman's funnelled illicit money through more launderies than I ever dreamed existed."  He looked up at his uncle.  "You were right about her, of course.  You tried to warn me.  Don't get close to someone before you know enough about them.  And I was too stupid to listen."

Victor looked at Stephen with the paternal comforting expression of a father figure. "If it makes you feel better, I don't always enjoy being right."

Stephen didn't seem to want to look at anything. He just sat there, staring at the Sanctum's blank console, as if somehow the answer to his dilemma would appear before his eyes.

Victor chose his next words carefully. "Do you think she knows that she's working for a crime lord?"

Stephen's face was set with hard anger, remembering her expert dodging and weaving whenever the subject of her employer came up.  "Yes."

"Is she dating you because she suspects you're The Shadow?"

That thought hadn't occurred to him, but even as he thought those words, he realized it should have.  "I don't know."

 

"Is she dating you because she wants to get a foot in the door at Cranston Enterprises?"

"I don't know."

"Is this maybe just a horrific twist of fate?"

"I don't know."

"What are you going to do?"

Stephen finally looked up at his uncle. "I don't know.  God help me, I don't know."

"That's not a good enough answer."

Stephen frowned.  "What do you mean?"

Victor steeled himself to deliver a hard blow to his nephew.  "You are The Shadow.  That means you are sworn to carry out Lamont Cranston's mission of driving evil from the shadows into the light, where it cannot survive.  Dealing with evil like this is your job."

"I know," Stephen growled.

Victor would not back down.  "You know what kinds of things Kingpin's illicit money finances.  Drug dealers.  Arms brokers.  Crooked cops, crooked D.A.s, crooked judges."

"I know."  Stephen's voice was showing more irritation.

Victor kept grinding away.  "You have no choice, Stephen.  You now know where to strike and whom to strike."

"I know!" Stephen roared angrily.

"Then what are you going to do, Stephen?" Victor roared back.  "You have to do something!  What are you going to do?"

***

"Are you even listening?"

Peter's tone snapped Stephen out of his remembrance.  He looked over at Peter, finally processing his words--Diane had been kidnapped by Khan's Mongol warriors, dragged away kicking and screaming.  And now, Peter was demanding they do something about this.

Peter was irritated at Stephen's blank stare.  "We have to do something!"

"Do we?"  Stephen brushed Peter aside and headed into the parlor.

"What?"  Peter couldn't believe it.  "You're kidding, right?"  He looked over at Victor.  "He's kidding, right?"

"No, I think he's quite serious."  Victor crossed the room to Stephen.  "Cigar?" he offered, opening his humidor.

"Perfect," Stephen replied.  He plucked a cigar out of the humidor and gave it a clip, lit it, and offered a light to Victor.

Peter could not believe this.  "Hello?  Is anybody listening to me?  Stephen, Khan's Mongol warriors stormed your family home earlier and snatched your girlfriend…"

"Ex-girlfriend," Stephen corrected, venom in his tone.

Peter drew back.  "Aha.  So you listened to the tape and decided she wasn't worth saving after all?"

"Give that man a cigar," Stephen replied sarcastically.  "Always heard you were a quick study."

Andrew entered the room with a coffee tray and noticed the hostile mood right away.  "Is something wrong, sirs?"

"Diane left," Stephen said gleefully, accepting the coffee Andrew poured for him.  "She's likely not coming back, either."

Andrew smiled, the relief showing even in his pouring motion as he poured Victor a coffee as well.

"Peter thinks we should go after her," Stephen continued.

Andrew's expression dropped.  He stopped in the middle of pouring Peter's coffee, gave the younger man a cold glare, and left the room.

"O.K.," Peter allowed, "so she isn't exactly popular around here. I can understand that, but over the years, I've saved a bunch of people that I hate."

"Was it worth it?" Stephen asked, already knowing the answer.

Peter choked on his own tongue for a brief moment, then decided to tell the truth. "O.K., so most of them still made my life Hell afterward, but it was still the right thing to do." He turned to Victor for support. "Didn't you teach him right from wrong?"

Victor sipped his coffee. "Well, yes, but with Diane Burke it's sort of a grey area."

"Grey?" Peter couldn't believe this. "Will you two listen to yourselves? Stephen! This is a woman you used to love, kidnapped by an enemy you hate!"

"Good.  He can have her, as far as I'm concerned."  Stephen blew out a puff of smoke, then took a seat in a nearby armchair and sipped his coffee.  "Trust me, Khan will be at our door inside of a week demanding that we take her back."

"You think he'll last that long?" Victor replied sarcastically, settling into the matching armchair.

The two Cranstons burst out in The Shadow's mocking laughter.

"Fine!" snapped Peter. "I'll go rescue her myself."  He started to leave the room.

"Have fun storming the castle," called Stephen.

Peter whirled. "You are serious. You're actually going to let him have her?"

Stephen sipped his coffee calmly.  "Peter, I just spent the better part of the last two hours digging through a pile of rubble that used to be my Sanctum, destroyed because of one man's stupid obsession with her.  Khan wants her that badly, let him deal with her conniving, manipulative ways.  She'll wring everything she can get out of him and betray him at the drop of a hat, too.  I am not going to risk my life for that woman ever again, period, end of discussion."

Peter turned again. "Maybe Khan was right. Maybe I do need a new partner."

Stephen suddenly sat ramrod straight. "Khan was here?"

"He phoned. Left a message. Basically said to stay out of his way. But what do you care?  I never appreciated how much alike you two are."  He turned to leave the room.

The door to the parlor suddenly slid shut in front of Peter.

"Just like Khan," Peter said over his shoulder.  "Parlor tricks instead of responsible actions."  He reached for the door.

Stephen was up in a flash and grabbed Peter's shoulder.

Peter's lightning-quick reflexes threw his grip off, and the two men were now face-to-face.  "Think you're really so different from Khan?  Prove it."

Both men angrily stared into each other's eyes for a moment.

Finally, Stephen backed away.  "I am not going to risk my life for that woman ever again, period, end of discussion."  He returned to his armchair and picked up his cup of coffee again.

Peter shook his head and once more reached for the parlor door.

"Unless…," Stephen began.

Peter turned back once more, suppressing a smile. "Yes?"

"Unless someone gave me a good reason to do so."  He looked from one man to the other.  "Suggestions?"

"Well, it would give her less chance to spread your secret," Victor offered.

"And the sooner you strike, the better the chance that Diane will come willingly," added Peter.

"And because if Khan is training her, then sooner or later, I'll have to face them both," Stephen sighed. "And because it is the right thing to do. And because writing off someone's life is what Khan would do, and because taking the easy way out is what Diane would do. And I like to think of myself as better than both of them." He shook his head.  "I hate being The Good Guy."

"Well, how about this, then?" Peter interjected. "One of Khan's warriors nearly cut my leg off with his oversized pocket knife."

Stephen raised an eyebrow.  "Did he?"

Peter showed Stephen the gash on his leg, already starting to heal thanks to spider-enhanced metabolism.

Stephen frowned.  "Well, now.  That changes everything.  I may not want to get Diane back, but I most certainly am going to avenge an attack on my partner."  He stubbed out his cigar and set aside his coffee, then stood up.  "Shall we go?"

"That's the spirit."  Peter once more started to open the parlor door.

"I hate to interrupt this male bonding moment," Victor called, "but just where do you intend to start your quest?  Last I heard, we had no lead on where Khan was."

Peter laughed. "We do now. Check your trellis."

Stephen raised an eyebrow and headed for the front door.

***

Diane was exhausted. She had been kicking and screaming for what felt like hours, and the men who had kidnapped her would have scars from the many scratches she'd given them and be nursing bruises for weeks, but in the end, it had all been to no avail; they had dragged her out of the manor, thrown her into a van, and driven her to this building she did not recognize.  Once there, they had carried her into a large auditorium in the center of the building and dumped her in the center of the room, glad to be done with her.

On her feet in moments, Diane was ready to attack her kidnappers again when an invisible force threw her into a chair she had not noticed, and shoved the chair forward.

Confused by this strange assault, she was about to stand up again when, like a parting curtain, a large table with a lavish meal simply appeared out of nowhere before her.  "What the…"

A voice chuckled from the darkness around her.  "You Americans and your casual swearing."

Diane was stunned. The voice came from nowhere, just like the table, just like the food and drink on it. "Who are you?" she asked, gripping the knife on the table in one hand, ready to strike.

"Feisty.  Good.  That asset will serve you well."  Then, like a magician's trick, a man appeared from nowhere at the other end of the table. "My name is Kuba Khan, last descendant of Genghis Khan."

Her loan shark.  Somehow she should have known he was behind her abduction.  She pushed aside her fear of the supernatural tricks and tightened her grip on the knife.  "Let me go now, or you'll regret it."

"You actually think you are in a position to dictate terms.  How amusing."  Khan looked into her eyes.  "I have brought you here because I have something you want."

Diane shook off the strange sensation that was almost forcing her to look into his eyes and made his words sound like they were coming from inside her own ears.  "Yeah, like I want anything to do with you any more.  I've got news for you, pal--this is kidnapping, and you'll pay for it. I have friends in very high places."

"I can sense your fear and rage," he continued as if she had not spoken. "I know that you yearn to reach out and strike me, but I know powers you cannot imagine." Suddenly he vanished again, and only the sound of his footsteps circling her betrayed his presence. "I know what you seek, I know what you want. You yearn for money and power. You want the world at your feet and all the rulers of earth to bow to your whim. You know that you can reach that goal, because you know somehow, in a way you cannot fathom or explain, that you are special."

Despite her determination not to listen to him, Diane found herself nodding along with this statement.

Khan appeared just to the left of her chair, making her jump. "I know this about you because I am the same way," he told her. "We have something that others in this world can only hope to gain. Power."

Diane tried to tell herself that this was a dangerous man, that Khan had kidnapped her and made her fear for her life. But all those feelings seemed to melt away.

Khan circled the chair. "All of humanity tries to grasp that fleeting feeling of power whenever they encounter it. They try to hold onto that strength of will, that domination of others. They seek it in money and politics. They try to make power a tangible thing that they can hold in their hand. A gun, a blade."

As he spoke, she found she could give no resistance as he pulled the knife from her now slackened grip.

"They are not made for violence," he continued, looking at the knife.  "They are made so that the wielders can feel a rush of power."  He released the blade, and it floated in the air before her very eyes.  "But they are all fools. We have a power that reduces their measly abilities to nothing."

And with that, he cut his gaze over to the table's surface.

The knife dove into the top of the table as if being stabbed by an invisible giant.

Diane was now thoroughly entranced by his words. Despite herself, she found herself agreeing with Khan. She knew that he was telling her something that could change her forever, and she wanted to know what it was.

The Mongol leaned closer, his voice low and intense. "You and I can command this power.  We deserve it.  It is ours for the taking. You want that power; you would do almost anything to achieve it. I am offering you this chance to take it. You are getting closer now, you can feel that power building, and you know it is immense. I can show you how to use it, how to control it."

Diane felt herself being pulled toward this new idea. His voice was certain, powerful, honest.

"You can use this power to reach your dreams. You can have what you want most if you join with me. The world will be yours to command, to control and dominate however you want. All of humanity will bow at your feet, and beg for the chance to obey you. We can rule the world, and decide the rise and fall of empires as we see fit. Nations will collapse and governments topple at our whim. The world will beg for us to smile on them, our word will be law, and our decisions equal to that of a deity. I can feel your eagerness for it. You can have anything you desire, and be a goddess among the people of earth."

Diane was staring now, wide eyed and blown away. She had no doubt that this man meant every word. His voice, his words were sure, strong, and seductive.

"What do you say?" Khan finally asked, now sitting back at his seat, his eyes inquisitive.

Diane shook herself out of her daze, thought for a long moment, picked up the wine glass before her, and gave Khan a smile. "Tell me more."

***

Peter walked into the dusty room in the attic of Cranston Manor, unconscious Mongol warrior draped over his shoulder, and looked around.  "Wow, this place needs a maid."

"Most of the hired help doesn't even know this place exists," Victor responded from across the room.  "We haven't used it in years.  My father used this as his Sanctum before the subterranean one got built."  He gestured over an old wooden chair.  "Bring him over here."

Peter deposited the Mongol warrior in the chair and tied him down with the rope Victor handed to him.  "Just what every old manor house needs.  A private torture chamber."

"Never let it be said Cranstons aren't prepared for everything," Stephen replied as he came in carrying a small satchel, a wooden cutting board, and some gaffer's tape.

Victor closed the door behind his nephew and made sure all the shutters were sealed. "Do you really think we'll be able to get anything out of him? Khan puts very strong subconscious orders in his soldiers' heads. By all rights, he would kill himself first."

"That's why both of us are here.  I figure two projectors ought to be strong enough to cut through whatever's in his brain."

"So why am I here?" Peter asked.

"To help me keep him physically restrained."  Stephen wedged the cutting board under the Mongol's right hand and tossed Peter the tape.  "Spread his fingers apart as wide as they'll go and tape them to the board."

Peter gave Stephen a curious look but began doing as he was told.  "So, what's the board for?"

Stephen pulled a black leather blade sheath out of the satchel and drew a long-bladed hunting knife from it.  "Target practice."

***

"I can do this too?" Diane said in amazement.

Khan reappeared from nothingness, the last in a series of demonstrations of his power. "You have this power within you," he practically purred. "The energy in your mind is building. The moments when you can hear another person's thoughts are moments when your psychic powers surge in a growth spurt.  Those moments are coming more frequently for you now.  Soon, your power will overflow. When that happens, your strength will be made manifest, and your training will begin, and you will be able to do this yourself. I, and I alone, can show you the way."

Diane was still reeling from this turn of events when she suddenly realized something. "The Shadow can do this, too. He has this power.  That's how he knows everything.  That's how he can appear from nowhere and disappear without a trace.  This is The Shadow's power."

Khan's smile faltered just the tiniest bit. "It is true--Ying Ko has this power, but he has chosen a different path and a different use for it. He has decided to protect and fight for the inferiors. Those weaklings who do not even know he exists are protected from the strong. Pathetic. The very laws of nature themselves dictate that the strong must rise above the weak, and we are the strong."

"But he will try to stop us," Diane said with fear in her voice. It was not a question.

"Yes," confirmed Khan. "And he will fail. He has tried to destroy me before.  He has failed. He tried to stop me from reaching you.  He has failed. He tried to keep you from finding out about the powers that are your birthright.  He has failed. If he comes after us, he will fail again."

Diane thought about that. If Khan is right, then I would be smart to cement an agreement with him. Stephen can look after himself anyway, if he really is The Shadow.  "I know who The Shadow is," she suddenly exclaimed aloud.

"Really?" Khan asked sarcastically.

"Yes, and I'd bet you'd be surprised to find out."

"Try me."

"Stephen Cranston."

Khan looked surprised. "He told you this?"

Diane was also surprised. "You know? I figured it out for myself."

Khan smiled again. "Ah, intelligent as well. Most splendid. Yes, of course I know--those of us who are trained in the adept ways always know. The man you call Stephen Cranston is merely the latest in the lineage of the warrior Ying Ko, just as I am the latest in the lineage of the great Genghis Khan. He has tried to keep this power from you all this time, hasn't he? What a foolish waste."

Diane thought that over. It's true, she decided. Stephen never once mentioned this to me. Another lie in his ever-growing list of lies. Well, now I've seen what both Khan and Stephen are capable of, and at least Khan is open in his treachery.  If Khan is willing to help me achieve my goals, then I'll help him achieve his goals. For as long as they match mine, anyway.

She picked up the piece of chicken before her and took a bite. "So…when do we start?"

***

Shan Ruche woke up with a start, determined to keep his eyes shut.

Good thing he did, because a second glass of water, just as bracingly cold as the first, was thrown in his face.

He opened his eyes to find himself tied down, with his hand taped against the wooden counter top and his fingers splayed wide. The room was pitch black dark and deathly silent, but he knew he was not alone.  He knew too much about fighting The Shadow to not realize this was one of his traps.  But where was everyone…

Spiderman dropped from a line on the ceiling right in front of his face.  "Good morning, sunshine!"  He gave Ruche's mustache a tweak and sprang up to the ceiling again.

And then a dark shape swirled into visibility in front of him, like a black specter.  "Hello, Shan Ruche.  Long time, no see."  He laughed menacingly.

Another equally menacing laugh joined in, and Victor Cranston swirled into visibility in the corner, sharpening a knife on a whetstone.

Shan Ruche shook with fear.  Khan had been right not to underestimate the old man, the dark master, and the mutant.  Ruche could feel the power surrounding him, probing at him, trying to make him forget all Khan had ordered him to do.

"We thought you might like to play a game," The Shadow told him. "This is The Shadow version of Russian roulette. Here's how it works.  I am going to ask questions, and you are going to give answers."  He gestured to the room. "If my esteemed panel of judges likes the answer, then I let one of your five fingers go loose. When your entire hand is untied, I will let you leave peacefully, as long as you don't attempt to do anything foolish. If we don't like the answer, then we flip the coin."

"If it's heads, we do a knife trick," explained Spiderman. "If it's tails, we play Russian Roulette." With that, he flipped the coin into the air and over the Mongol's head.

The older man tossed the knife he held in his hands into the air and snared the coin.

The Shadow caught the spinning knife, then whipped a revolver out of its holster and twirled the gun's trigger guard around his finger, flipping open its bullet compartment in one impossibly smooth move. He slid one bullet into the chamber and snapped it close, giving it a casual but purposeful spin. "Where is Diane Burke being taken?"

Ruche felt his confidence melt away.   Better to give them an answer they likely already had than to risk death over a relatively meaningless detail.  "To Khan."

The Shadow shot a look at his companions.

They nodded.

The Shadow reached forward with the knife and cut Ruche's little finger loose. "Good.  Now, where is Khan?"

Ruche found himself actually considering whether or not to talk. The older man's glare was like a physical drill between his eyes. But as bad as this situation was, Khan was likely to do far worse to him if he betrayed his master.  "I will not tell you," he said finally.

"Judge number one?" The Shadow asked.

Spiderman made a harsh buzzer sound. "I'm sorry, your answer must be in the form of a question."

"Judge number two?"

The older man flipped the coin. "Heads."

The Shadow raised the knife high, covered his eyes, and brought the blade down fast.

Ruche jumped, but his hand stayed where it was and the knife missed his skin by inches, biting into the wood between his first and second finger. Ruche felt himself start to shake.

"Does Khan plan to move Diane Burke in the near future?" The Shadow asked.

"Not until she has awakened," whimpered Ruche.

The Shadow gave a look to his compatriots.

Both men nodded, and The Shadow cut another finger loose.  "Where is Khan?" he asked again, this time a bit less patiently.

"I-I cannot say." Roche was afraid, watching the coin in terror as his fate was decided by random chance.

"Heads again," reported Victor.

The Shadow worked the knife loose from the board, raised it high, covered his eyes, and brought it down.

Ruche yelped as the blade bit into the wood, this time so close that he could actually feel the cool metal against his hand.  But once more it had spared his fingers.

"What does Khan want with Diane? Is she a student, partner, or soldier?"

"H-he wants a trained projector as a main weapon. None of his warriors can mind-cloud."

The Shadow raised an eyebrow and gave his partners a look.

Both men nodded once more, and The Shadow cut another finger loose. "Where is Khan?" he demanded.

Ruche remained mute.

The coin flashed into the air.  "Tails."

The Shadow picked up the revolver, pointed it right between Ruche's eyes, cocked the hammer back, and pulled the trigger.

A sharp click…but no bullet.  Ruche felt the sweat trickling down his neck and couldn't stop himself from twitching.

"WHERE IS KHAN?" The Shadow demanded.

Ruche was sobbing now. "I…I can't."

Another coin flip.  "Heads."

The Shadow raised the blade high, covered his eyes, and slammed it down.

Ruche screamed and pulled his loose fingers to the left, just barely getting them out of the way.

"WHERE?" bellowed The Shadow.

Ruche whimpered pathetically.

Flip.  "Tails."

The Shadow picked up the revolver and cocked it. "There is a one in five chance that this is the bullet." He pulled the trigger.

#click#

Ruche could feel sweat running down his neck.

"WHERE?"

Ruche heard an odd noise, then realized it was his teeth chattering in terror.

Flip.  "Tails," the old man said calmly.

The Shadow picked up the gun and cocked it. "One in four."  He pulled the trigger.

#click#

Ruche felt faint, but still remained silent.

"I'm running out of patience," The Shadow noted.  "And you're running out of luck.  Now…WHERE IS KHAN?"

Ruche gulped but still would not speak.

Flip.  "Heads."

The Shadow picked up the knife and gave it a few passes over the whetstone, then covered his eyes and raised the blade high.

"ALL RIGHT!" screamed Roche. "I'LL TELL YOU!"

***

"You took one Hell of a risk back there," commented Spiderman as the pair rode in Shrevnitz's cab across town.

The Shadow looked completely calm. "How so?"

"You could have killed him the first time with that gun--after all, that's what Russian roulette is all about."

"Oh, I doubt there'd be much chance of that, seeing as the one bullet was a blank."

Spiderman was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing. "And I bet you were peeking through your fingers."

The Shadow laughed. "No, but I've practiced that trick too many times to miss."

Moe's cab started to slow. "There it is, boss," Moe called from the front seat.

The Shadow looked the uninteresting building over. "You ready?" he asked Spiderman.

His partner nodded vigorously. "Let's give 'em Hell."

***

Diane held her head tightly and squeezed her eyes shut. It felt like a balloon was blowing up inside her head, and her skull felt as if it would split open at any moment. Khan had assured her that this was normal, but if this was normal, she wasn't sure she wanted to know what he considered abnormal.  "What are you doing?" she asked in a pained voice.

Khan was sitting close by, staring hard at her.  She could feel his gaze boring right between her eyes.  "The telepathic energy you possess is building up slowly in your head.  The short times when you can read another person's thoughts are when the energies surge. I am building up your energies faster. It is painful, I know, but when done, your mind will awaken much faster."

Diane had a realization. "You're doing this because you're worried."

The pain wavered and stopped as Khan broke off what he was doing. "Why do you say that?"

Diane rubbed her temples. "You think that Stephen is coming after me. So you're trying to make me awaken faster so that you can get us out of here."

Khan smiled tightly.  Diane was going to be a little harder to control than he'd first thought. "You are very perceptive, my dear. But you are wrong about one thing. Ying Ko is not coming for you. If he was concerned about your well-being, he would have guarded you better, or at the very least let you know the truth about what you can do. He has done neither. I am not worried, just being prudent. In all likelihood, he isn't coming."

No sooner had his sentence ended then the lights cut out, plunging the room into darkness.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then a sound filled the darkness…a low, sinister, mocking laugh.

Diane knew that sound, remembered that laugh. It was happening again! She screamed.

Then it occurred to her what that sound really meant…Stephen had come for her. Khan was wrong.  He'd lied.  Which made her wonder what else Khan was lying about to her…

She shot an angry look at Khan.

The Mongol had gone absolutely rigid, and his hand shook just the tiniest bit. Khan took a breath, then suddenly calmed, drew a long knife, and gave a shrill whistle.

Responding to that signal, a half-dozen armed warriors came into the room, tossing flares out as they entered, so that the room was bathed in an eerie red light, shadows flickering and dancing wildly against the walls.

As the Mongols surrounded the room, Khan took another breath. "Ying Ko…as you see, you cannot hope to hide from me.  Besides, there is no need to hide.  Come out, and we can settle this without violence."

Shadows crept into the room from every corner and slowly reached toward the center of the room, stopping at a point between Khan and Diane. The shadows crept ever closer, seeming to turn three dimensional, raising themselves to six feet high.

Suddenly, they condensed, solidified, and became a terrifying visage of a man in a cloak and slouch hat, pure darkness personified. The redness of the flares stained his visible face blood red. The specter looked around slowly and carefully, then laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed still more, the room now ringing with the sound.

Khan's men gave a collective shudder.

Diane looked carefully at The Shadow. His rakish face was made totally of hard lines and hawkish angles. This can't be Stephen, she thought, it's something else entirely.

The Shadow looked at her, his dark eyes practically glowing with power.  Then, for a split second, he dropped his hypnotic mask and let her see the truth.

She shuddered. This is my ex-boyfriend? she thought. How could I not have seen this? How could I not have known?

Then the hypnotic suggestion took hold once more, and now all she could see was the dark and harsh lines of The Shadow as he strode over to Khan, fully in control, a force of nature. "I'm taking her with me, and you are leaving town," he commanded, with no room for argument.

Khan actually laughed at him. "Oh, please," he replied simply.

Diane actually could read people well--even though she had so pathetically misread Stephen all this time--and she could tell that everyone in the room was afraid of the dark vigilante. She could see it in the way their hands stayed on their weapons, the way they stayed close to the light of the flares. The balance of power in this building had abruptly tilted. And she knew what to do when power shifted--follow the shift.

She marched right over to The Shadow's side.

Khan looked stunned at the sudden change of loyalties, and looked hard at The Shadow as if to say Maybe you were right about her.

The Shadow's unspoken reply clearly was Told you so.

"You did come," Diane said sweetly. "I knew you would."

The Shadow firmly pushed her away and held up a small tape player.  He pressed the "play" switch.

"Let's cut to the chase, Wilson," Diane said confidently through the tape player's tinny speakers. "I have information you want and that you'll pay willingly for."

"Really?" Victor Cranston's impersonation of Kingpin's voice answered.  "Why would I do that?"

"Because I know who The Shadow is."

A pause.  "You do?  How do you know this?"

"Trust me.  I have firsthand knowledge."

"What do you want in exchange for this…knowledge?"

"Safety.  And my job back."

The Shadow snapped off the tape player and chuckled menacingly.  "You know, Diane, that's always been your problem.  You always think you can make a deal with the power broker du jour to save your skin, no matter what the situation.  You've never learned that shifting allegiances comes with a price."

Khan burst out laughing.

Diane slumped perceptively and stepped away.  Now she was standing between the two men.

Khan gathered himself. "Still can't make up your mind, my dear?"  He shook his head as he turned to The Shadow.  "You're good, Ying Ko, I'll give you that."

The Shadow's eyes exuded confidence.  "I'm the best. Which is why you are leaving the country immediately."

"I think not."  Khan turned to his guards. "Kill him!"

The Mongol guards leapt forward with swords in hand.

The Shadow gestured his right hand toward Diane.

Something unseen shoved her across the room, landing her sprawled near the wall.

The Shadow drew his automatics and used the barrels to block the first two blows, ducked under the third, and fired at the rest of the onrushing men.

Two Mongols were stopped in their tracks, bullets pounding into their armor. The rest of the men dove desperately to the floor and began to belly crawl out of the line of fire.

But The Shadow was not interested in them any longer.  They were merely distractions from his main target.  He leapt over two soldiers on the floor and launched himself into Khan.

Khan used The Shadow's momentum as a weapon and threw him into the banquet table.

The Shadow gathered himself after the fall, then whipped his gun around and pointed it at Khan, only to have the Mongol warlord knock it away and send it skittering across the room.

The soldiers, back on their feet, joined their master in the combined attack. The Shadow was falling back, only blocking half the concentrated blows, being forced back against the wall.

Khan gave a victorious yell.

And then the window behind him exploded and a blur of red and blue speared into the room, sending angry Mongols diving in every direction.

Spiderman kicked Khan hard with both feet, still holding his web line tight.

Now it was Khan's turn to fly across the room.

Brushing off glass shards, The Shadow got to his feet and charged Khan again, only to be intercepted by another Mongol warrior. The Shadow kicked the man hard on the shin and followed with a hard right hook.

Spiderman made a leap for Khan as well when a long sword came into view, spearing toward his face. Twisting away from the blade, he planted a hand on the floor and from a handstand kicked the blade aside with one foot and hammered the side of the Mongol's head with the other.

Khan gave the battle a quick appraisal and decided that the numbers were no longer in his favor.  He grabbed one of the few Mongols still standing and dragged him toward the door.

***

On the other side of the room, forgotten in the melee, Diane slumped to the floor, her head pounding as hard as her heart was.

Then she saw something on the floor near her…a silver .45 automatic. The Shadow's gun.

Diane picked up the gun and looked at it for a long moment.  The war around her was growing more intense by the moment, and shooting her way out might be her only means of escape.  But who to shoot?  Whose side was she actually on?  The Shadow's?  Khan's?  Her own?

Her head was spinning and the room went fuzzy. She shook her head clear, then looked around again.

She looked at Khan, trying to escape. He's bailing out, she thought to herself. He's running. I probably would too, but he promised me power, and he's willing to show me how to use it.

She looked at The Shadow, battling the Mongol warriors and beginning to gain the upper hand. He's winning, but that doesn't mean I necessarily want to be on his side. He's the one who put me in this predicament in the first place.  He lied to me all this time, never told me about this, never told me about what I can do.

She looked back at Khan. He stalked and kidnapped me.  Even now, I'm just a pawn to him, discarded until I'm needed.

She looked back at The Shadow. He did come after me, even though I tried to betray him.  He even pushed me aside to get me out of the line of fire before all Hell broke loose in here.

She watched as Spiderman gave one Mongol an uppercut that lifted him two feet off the floor.

She watched Khan heading for the door, his Mongol guard in tow.

She watched The Shadow break free from the last two of the warriors still standing in the room and go after him.

She watched the gap between the two men close.  If she was going to stop one of them, she had to do it now…

A sudden spike of pain made her wince. What had Khan done to her?  She tried to clear her head and stay focused.

Khan was almost at the door.  The Shadow was right behind him, reaching out for him.

Khan turned to see The Shadow and drew his weapon.

The Shadow drew his weapon.

And Diane Burke fired hers.

***

Both Spiderman and Khan's soldier dove for their respective team members at the sound of the gunshot, knocking their generals to the floor as the single shot whizzed overhead and struck the wall behind them.

Khan and The Shadow traded a confused look, then followed the sound of the gunshot.

Diane Burke had been knocked backward by the weapon's recoil and was now sprawled out on the floor once more, looking very shaky.

Spiderman fired a web, snared the gun from her hand, and pulled it from her grip, then fired another web and netted her to the floor.

With one enemy subdued, The Shadow took his gun back from Spiderman and turned to find the other.

But the Temujin heir and his guard were gone.

"KHAN!" shouted The Shadow, leaping to his feet and practically flying out the door, Spiderman millimeters behind him.

"I'll just wait here," called Diane from her net on the floor.

Neither man seemed to have heard her.  Which was just as well.  Her head was pounding painfully, but the cool floor made her headache easier, and Diane slipped into sleep quickly as the room spun around her.

***

The Shadow ran into the hallway, but there was no sign of Khan, or his flunky. He gave the room a projective sight sweep.

In the distance, a stairwell door was swinging closed.

Laughing triumphantly, The Shadow ran for the door and stormed into the stairwell.

He could hear Khan a few floors below him, and practically jumped the railing between landings.

"Hey, that's my gig," Spiderman said, catching up to him and grabbing him around the waist, then springing the rest of the way down the stairs.

They burst from the building into the parking garage, but Khan was nowhere to be seen.  The Shadow gave the night another projective sweep, this time trying to find echoes of Khan's psyche.

He finally detected it--and spotted the fading tail lights of a Jeep speeding toward the garage's entrance.  "Track him from the air," The Shadow ordered.  "I'm not losing him this time."

"You got it," Spiderman replied, leaping out into the night air and shooting a web line.

The Shadow took off running ran for all he was worth, trying to catch up, when the roar of a motor behind him got his attention.

He spun just in time to avoid being run over by three motorcycles that were heading for flanking positions around the Jeep.

The Shadow dodged quickly, then raced after the final bike.  He fired several shots at a height warning sign overhead.

The sign's supports broke from the shots and it crashed atop the final rider, knocking him and his bike to the ground.

The Shadow caught up to the rider, then commandeered his bike and gunned the throttle, racing after Khan.

***

The mocking laughter got Khan's attention first.  Then the bat-like image in his rear view mirror confirmed his worst suspicions--The Shadow was still after him.  "Faster, you fool!" he screamed at his driver.

The driver stomped his foot on the accelerator.

***

The Shadow easily caught up to one of the remaining bikers and gave him a hard blow to the back of the head, sending him flying.  Two down, two to go…

Then something slammed into his bike from the side.

Dammit.  He'd been so focused on catching up to Khan that he hadn't noticed how vulnerable he was; the other Mongol was now right along side him, swerving toward him again.

The Mongol hammered at The Shadow's body, barely missing knocking him over.

The Shadow grabbed the man's outstretched arm and pulled, trying to throw him.

The Mongol broke free and stayed on his bike, veering away to regroup.  Then he pulled out his crossbow and armed it.

The Shadow tried to maneuver away, but it was no use; the arrow struck his front tire and blew it out.  He struggled to hang on…

…then a hard blow hit him in the back and pulled him straight up off the bike, and suddenly The Shadow was in the air.

"Looks like you need a better ride!" Spiderman wisecracked.

The Shadow laughed heartily.

***

The final biker looked back over his shoulder and saw The Shadow's bike tip over and fall. He grinned in victory and looked forward again…

…just as a two footed kick smashed him off his bike from the left.

The Shadow dropped from the air and quickly gained control of the now rider-less bike.  "Now for you, Khan!" The Shadow bellowed at the racing jeep.

Less than a block later, he'd caught up to the Jeep.  He reached for his gun, prepared to blow Khan's brains out when he got the chance…

…when the Jeep suddenly swerved and veered into his path, trying to knock him down.

He sped up again and pulled the bike to the left, then once more aimed his gun. "Time to end this!" he shouted at Spiderman overhead.

Spiderman nodded and swung ahead of the jeep, then doubled back, firing webbing over the windshield.

Blinded now, the unseen driver desperately tried to steer, finally resorting to smashing the windshield out in order to see.

The Shadow laughed insanely and fired at the tires.

A lucky shot nailed the front tire, and the jeep spun, completely out of control, into a fuel truck.

The Jeep and the truck both exploded into a fireball, pieces flying everywhere.

The Shadow slid his bike to a stop, then dismounted and ran toward the burning wreck.

Spiderman caught him before he made it to the flames. "Hold it! You'll never survive it!"

"I have to be sure!" raged The Shadow.

"No, you don't!" Spiderman snapped back, refusing to let go.  "Not that sure!"

The Shadow finally stopped resisting and watched as the walls of the jeep burned away to framework.

Sirens sounding alerted the pair of heroes to escape to safety as the authorities began to arrive on the scene.

***

A steady stream of chemical retardant finally put out the last of the burning fuel, and rescuers managed to extract the badly charred remains of a human body.

Off to the side, in a nearby alley, Spiderman watched the scene unfold from his hiding place.  "What do you think?" he whispered.

"No way to be sure," The Shadow's disembodied voice responded.  "Not without help."

"What kind of help?"

"Forensic help."  With that, Spiderman saw a dark swirl walking toward the street.

He intercepted his friend.  "Way too many lights out there right now.  Just tell me where you want to go."

The Shadow sighed.  "To find Diane."

***

The Shadow searched through the debris of Khan's aborted banquet while Spiderman searched the rest of Khan's hideout for clues.

"Hey," called a weak voice.

The Shadow turned to see Diane waking up. "What happened?" she asked.

The Shadow did not answer, continuing to pick up plates of food from the floor. He held out a piece of chicken with a bite missing to Diane. "Was Khan eating this, or were you?" he demanded.

Diane tried to focus through her pain and dizziness. "No. That was mine."

The Shadow growled, tossed it aside, and started digging through the garbage again.

Diane tried to moisten her dry mouth. "Hey, can you let me out?" she asked.

"Not yet." He found an apple with a bite missing. "How about this?"

"Yeah," whispered Diane. "That was his."

The Shadow gave a whispered laugh and pulled a plastic bag from his coat pocket. "Good."

Diane was almost crying now. "Hey--please? Let me up? My head's killing me."

The Shadow slipped the bagged apple into his pocket.  "Considering you tried to kill me, that's almost fair."

"I didn't try to kill you."

"Right.  So I just imagined my gun going off and a shot going right over my head?"

"Give me a break and get me out of this."  She struggled against the sticky netting, then slumped back to the floor.

The Shadow sighed, then headed over to Diane and started to pull the webbing loose. Then he felt something odd, a somewhat rhythmic pushing against his psyche.  But there was no one in here who could do that…unless…

He cast a light telepathic wave at Diane.

She let out an audible moan.

His eyes widened.  The power in her mind was building rapidly, at a much faster rate than ever.  He looked into her eyes.

"Ow…," Diane cried.

"Sh-h," he urged, trying to see what was going on in her head.

It was then that he saw the damage to her mental walls.  They looked eroded, distorted, as if someone had been deliberately tampering with them.  "Did Khan do this?" he asked.

"He did something," she whimpered.  "He said he was going to awaken me…"

The Shadow withdrew his telepathic probes immediately.  Khan had been playing with her energies? Was he insane? You didn't try to alter a telepath's energies. You just didn't.  Trying to amplify telepathic energies, especially projective ones, could fry a person's brain, cause a stroke, or worse…

A sudden spike of agony shot through Diane's brain. She grabbed at her head again. "Oh, my God, Stephen, what has he done to me?" she wailed.

Before he could answer, she slumped forward, collapsing into his arms.

The Shadow looked shocked.  "Spidey!" his mind shouted.

***

At the city morgue, a technician was sitting at a desk, drinking coffee, staring blearily at the batch of test results on his screen.  Another boring night.  Good thing he didn't believe in spooks or spirits; otherwise, working around dead people could give you the creeps.

The janitor came in to empty his garbage.  "Late night, huh?" the man grunted.

"Yeah," the tech agreed.  "Wait, I've got another empty box here for you."  He turned to find it.

As he did, the janitor dropped a small pill into his coffee cup.

"Here you go," the tech said, handing the janitor the rest of the trash.

"Thanks."  The janitor deposited it into his cart and pulled out a duster to clean several surfaces.

The tech took a sip of his coffee, then rubbed his eyes.

A second later, he plopped face down on his desk.

Stephen Cranston dropped his hypnotic disguise and slipped over to the technician's computer, searching the records of recent arrivals.

Three John Does.  But only one was a burn victim.  He clicked the link to bring up the summary page, then clicked the dental impressions page and printed it out to take with him.  Then he reset the computer back to the tech's previous screen and slipped away, dissolving into the darkness, trailing only a sinister chuckle behind him.

***

"ARRGH!" roared Stephen, slamming his fist onto his desk.

Peter looked across their makeshift Sanctum in Cranston Manor's attic in surprise. "What is it?"

"It wasn't Khan!" Stephen held up the bitten apple. "Khan took a bite from this. I made a mold from the bite and compared it to the dental records of the only John Doe Burn Guy in the morgue. They aren't even close. It's not Khan!"  He hurled the apple across the room.

Peter sighed.  "So much for getting rid of him.  You do know supervillains are hard to kill, right?"

Stephen threw the comparison results aside in angry frustration and found he was staring at Diane's sleeping body, on the couch across the room.

"Penny for your thoughts," Peter encouraged.

Stephen rubbed his eyes. "You know, for all the complaining that I did about Diane being a cold, untrustworthy woman, I really thought that she was just willing to do whatever it took to get ahead. Just like me, just like a lot of people I know. At the end of the day, I really thought that if she ever knew the whole story, about me--about this--that she would side with me over whatever criminal mastermind she was teamed with. I honestly thought that when it came down to it, she would have sided with us." He felt the old waves of betrayal resurfacing. "This crazy witch never misses an opportunity to show how completely, utterly naïve I still am!"

"How do you know she wasn't siding with you?"

"Because she tried to shoot me with my own gun!"

"How do you know she was shooting at you?"

Stephen looked over at Peter, not even daring to consider what that question meant.

A creak on the stairs got their attention. "Anyone up there?" Victor's mental voice called.

"Of course," Stephen called back, his mental voice showing the same annoyance his physical one had.

Victor reached the top of the stairs and saw Diane on the sofa. "AHHH!" he screamed.

Peter fought a laugh.  "Man, two masters of darkness scared by an unconscious woman.  You two better turn in your memberships to the manly men society."

Stephen gave Peter a glare, then turned to calm Victor. "It's O.K. She's out cold."

Victor was still steaming. "How dare you bring her back here?  After all she's put us through?"

"Where were you anyway?" asked Stephen.

"I heard about a huge explosion and a car chase downtown. I thought I would go and see if I could do anything."

"Yeah, that would have been us," Peter replied.

"Khan won't be back for a while," Stephen clarified. "I think we shut him down this time for a good, long time. But I've just confirmed that he escaped."

"Damn." Victor ran his hands through his hair. "What about her?"

Stephen sighed.  "She's got a problem.  Khan's been messing with her psyche.  When I got there, her mind was about to burst."

"What?" Victor hissed. "You don't mess with telepathic energy. You just don't.  Even Khan should know that."

"I know. At this point, she's maybe three days from awakening at most."

Victor groaned.  "What do you intend to do?"

"Don't worry.  She'll be leaving soon. I'll make sure of that."

Victor looked mollified. "All right, I'll leave it in your hands. Let's hope that this is the last time any of us see Khan for a while."

"Let's hope," Peter whispered reverently.

Victor left the attic.

Peter turned to Stephen.  "So, what do you intend to do about her?"

"I've got a friend who can help her."  He sighed and turned back to his computer.  "Meantime…"  He tapped some keys.  "Want to see the plans for the Sanctum rebuild?"

Peter raised an eyebrow, then came over to Stephen's laptop. "You added a darkroom!"

Stephen nodded. "I thought somebody should get something out of this chaotic mess."

Peter looked over the plans more carefully.  Once more, he was reminded of the reason he and Stephen had formed a friendship and a partnership--the man was incredibly loyal to those he trusted. And after this experience, he was beginning to understand how rarely that trust was given.  "Thank you."

Stephen gave a smile to his best friend.  "You're welcome."

***

Diane slowly felt herself wake up from her seemingly endless sleep, glad that at least the pain in her head was finally lessening.  She could hear the sound of trains, P.A. announcements, and commuters around her.

Then she felt hands firmly gripping each of her shoulders.  "Good morning," Stephen's voice echoed inside her head.

Memories of the previous day flooded back and she abruptly opened her eyes.

She looked left. It was Stephen.

She looked right. It was…Khan?

"I was wondering when that sedative would wear off," Stephen continued.

She started to scream, but Khan clamped a hand over her mouth hard, his thumb holding her chin and clenching her jaw so that she couldn't bite.  "Now, now, is that any way to treat old friends?" Khan asked in a mocking tone.

She struggled to break free, but the men held her down firmly.  "Now, you just can't run away, after all the trouble we went through to bring you here," Stephen scolded.

The mumbled voice on the P.A. announced the impending departure of a train heading for the Catskills.  "Time to go," Stephen told her.

Khan yanked her up out of the chair.

Once more, she tried to struggle free, but Khan had a steel-hard grip on one arm, and Stephen was holding her other arm tightly.  He picked up a small suitcase.  "Look, there's your train." 

Diane looked around frantically as the men dragged her down the platform toward the commuter train that was disgorging its passengers. This was insane.  Where were they taking her now?

"You are going up to the Catskills for a few weeks," declared Stephen, as if in answer to her question.

"When you get there," Khan continued, "you are going to stay there. I won't be following."

"You can go where you like after you get there," Stephen stated.  "But you will go up there.  You don't get a choice in this."

"And you will not ever come back here again," Khan added.

"And you will not speak to anyone about what happened while you were here," finished Stephen.

They were almost to the train. Diane noticed that her feet had not touched the ground once since they had started their march.

"Because if you do talk, we will know," hissed Stephen, his voice sounding more ominous.

"And we will be there," Khan whispered equally ominously.

"Around every corner. In every empty room," Stephen's Shadow voice echoed in her ears.  "As inevitable as your guilty conscience."

"And you really don't want that," Khan said as he shoved the small travel bag into her arms.

Stephen presented the conductor with her ticket, showing his ring discreetly.

The conductor accepted the ticket with his own fire-opal-adorned hand.

"Have a pleasant ride," Stephen said as he and Khan practically deposited her inside the train.

The doors slid shut, and Diane gripped the doors and stared out them, like an animal inside a locked car.

Stephen and Khan were standing side by side on the platform. They waved in unison, looking somewhat sinister.

Despite herself, she waved back.

Stephen and Khan started to walk away.

As the train began to pull out of the station, Stephen felt something strange.  He turned back to the train…and locked eyes with Diane.

She was crying.  "I love you," he read from her moving lips.

He felt her psyche touching his for a moment more.  Then, the sensation faded as the train moved away.

"Time to go," his counterpart reminded him.

Stephen gave one last look at the departing train, then headed back to his own world.

***

"Do you think she actually meant that?" Stephen asked his counterpart as they walked through the underground walkway toward the street.

"I don't know," answered Khan, reaching into his collar and giving something a tug.  A moment later, the mask was off Peter Parker's face.  He wiped the paste away with a damp cloth from a pouch in his pocket.  "Maybe she just wanted to get in the last word."

"Wouldn't surprise me." Stephen shook his head. "In any case, it doesn't matter. She's not our problem anymore."

Peter tossed the remains of the mask into a dumpster that was being emptied into a trash compacting truck.  "Do you think she fell for it?

"By the time she figures it out, she'll be long gone and have other things on her mind. Like an awakening, for one."

The men strolled toward the morning pedestrian traffic.  "So what happens now?" asked Peter.

"When she gets to Frost Valley--which is where her ticket will take her--she will be met at the train station by a Tibetan monk who needs her help getting a cabbie to take him to a mountaintop 'inn'. She will go with him, because he'll be so charming and shy that she won't be able to resist helping him, and find a Tibetan temple that is not on any of the maps. When she gets there, she will go through her psychic awakening, and be nursed back to health and trained by the residents."

Peter gave him a surprised look. "You've arranged all this?"

"Kind of. When the Chinese army invaded Tibet and destroyed all the temples, the Tulku who trained my grandfather escaped to India and called him for help. He arranged transport for him and about a hundred other monks. The Temple of the Cobras now stands in the Catskill Mountains.  And The Marpa Tulku now owes the Cranston family the same life debt my grandfather owed him."

Peter stared at his partner in amazement. "And she won't even realize it's a setup when she gets there until it's too late for her to escape it."

"Exactly."

"But why? A week ago, you would have let her mind fry."

"A lot's happened since then."

"True."

Moe's cab pulled up to the curb.  "Where to?" the cabbie asked.

Stephen started to say 'the Sanctum', then caught himself.  "Home.  My home."

Moe nodded and pulled out into traffic once more.

Stephen turned to Peter. "By the way, who was she shooting at?"

Peter looked thoughtful. "I'd tell you, but I think you already know the answer."

Stephen looked out the window. "I'd like to believe that."

"I know you would."

The ride continued in silence for quite a while.

Finally, Peter couldn't stand it any more.  "So," he said, "you and Vic get old wounds torn open, Khan gets away from us again, Diane's psyche almost explodes, Khan loses his student, a bunch of Mongols get trashed, and the Sanctum explodes. In the annals of the most pointless, useless, screwed-up, no-win scenario missions, that has to take the cake."  He laughed slightly.  "For once, your personal life is more messed up than mine."

Stephen laughed, because he knew it would do no good to cry. "Here's hoping this is just a temporary reversal of fortune."

Peter snorted.  "Says you."

"Yeah, says me.  Want to make something of it?"

Now Peter was on the verge of laughter again.  "Maybe some other time.  Right now, let's get some breakfast."

Stephen felt himself smiling despite--or maybe because of--the absurdity of the whole situation.  "I'm all for that."

The two heroes rode onward through the city as the day began anew.

THE END