DC Infinity Presents

Batgirl #44

The Storm of Harrow House

Gotham

"I swear to God," Edith Cross struggled to control her sobs, tears streaming down her face, "the security system was turned on when I put Jonah in his crib. I went to bed with the baby monitor on, and when I woke up to check on him, he was gone!"

"It has to be a ransom, right?" said her husband, Patrick Cross, "I mean, we're not super rich, but we have money!"

Detective Atkins scribbled a few observations on his notepad. The uniform officers were still searching the estate, with the parent's permission, but the Detective didn't have high hopes of the child being found.

Something in his gut twisted. These seemed like good people, Atkins was certain of that, but every detective worth his pension had developed a sense for when someone was withholding. And right now, those instincts were screaming at him.

"Ransom is a possibility," Detective Atkins replied. He met eyes with the two uniform officers who had lingered in the living room for the interview, and signaled for them to step outside, "I have to ask, do you have any enemies? Any other possible theories about who might have taken your son?"

The two exchanged a look of shame, their eyes meeting for a split second before they each looked away. It lasted no longer than a blink, but Detective Atkins saw that this couple, who seemed very much in love, shared a secret that left them now unable to stand the sight of one another.

"Mr. and Mrs. Cross, if you know anything, suspect anything, no matter how small, now is the time tell me," Detective Atkins, "the first forty eight hours in a disappearance are the most important. Anything you can think of, no matter how minor…"

"…Harrow House," Edith said, "that's the only thing it could be!"

"Harrow House?" said Detective Atkins.

"Edith, be serious," Patrick pleaded, half hearted.

"I am!" Edith snapped.

"I'm sorry, Harrow House?" Detective Atkins said, "I don't understand."

Husband and wife looked both ashamed and embarrassed, like children caught sneaking in after curfew.

"Harrow House, it's an old, supposedly haunted house on the edge of Gotham," Patrick explained, "legend has it if you give promise the house your child, they'll give you wealth and fortune. 'All the fortune and favor in the world, for your future in it'."

Tears slid down Edith's face. Detective Atkins gave Patrick a moment, sensing he had more to say.

"We just graduated law school," Patrick said, "some of my Fraternity friends, they dared us to spend the night there."

"…that's where Jonah was conceived," Edith finished, "Oh God, I knew it. You made partner within a year! I had tenure six months after going back to work! There's no other explanation!"

"It's just a legend!" Patrick said, though the tremble in his voice sounded far from convinced.

"I'll send some officers by," Detective Atkins made certain that he sounded professional. It was a strange world they lived in, with human bats, men of mud and more, but a haunted house struck him as too pedestrian, to childish to be of the greater mystery of the world, "I assure you, we'll follow every lead, no matter what."

Detective Atkins continued his interview, never noticing a tiny, metallic devise in the window behind him. But had he spotted it the shape and design would have left no question as to whom it belonged to.

oooOOoo

Batgirl made a quick stop at a supply cache, before she sent word to Oracle that she was heading to the Harrow House.

"Be careful," Oracle said, "Batman looked into the myths around Harrow House himself, several years back. He wasn't able to find anything one way or the other. The notes on the file say that he didn't call in any magic users to confirm. Knowing Bruce, he probably didn't want to look silly asking them to look into what was probably just a spooky campfire story."

Batgirl processed the information evenly. It was true that the world held such monsters as Eclipso, Etrigan and worse, but there were twice as many silly stories, myths and outright falsehoods.

"Never heard of Harrow House," said Batgirl.

"Unfortunately, Gotham has a subtle, bloody history," Oracle replied, "I doubt you'd be able to learn all of it if you lived a hundred years. I'm going to look into contacting the Shadowpact. Proceed with caution, and keep me updated. Oracle out."

oooOOoo

Harrow House sat on the very edge of Gotham's city lines, as far into an isolated patch of woods as one could and still be a part of the greater city.

Batgirl turned down a dirt road in long disrepair. Several miles in, she killed the engine, and rolled to a stop in front of the eponymous house.

On the edges of the estate, Batgirl observed a burn pit and countless discarded beer cans, empty potato chip bags and all other kinds of debris. It was clear that some kids thought the legends were worth a party thrill, if nothing else.

But Batgirl observed how the trash and debris were contained to one corner of the estate, on the very fringe. In all this time, somehow, no one had wandered onto the lawn, and left a beer can where it fell. The wind hadn't carried a single piece of trash into the yard, or onto the porch.

Loud, carefree teenagers had been holding bonfires and kegers here for years, if not decades. Yet somehow, none of them had stained the grounds themselves.

Odd.

If one didn't know any better, one might think that someone was caring for the grounds of the Harrow House.

The house itself was of Victorian design, with peeling grass green paint, windows obscured by years of age, shudders hanging off of them by a thread. A thick coat of dust rested on the porch, dried leaves scattered across it. An empty rot had settled into the home, that felt as if it radiated outwards.

Batgirl removed a pair of thermal binoculars from her belt, and swept them over the estate.

The first pass revealed nothing. But Batgirl wasn't about to leave anything to chance. She walked the parameter of the property, the advanced goggles running through all spectrums of light to discern what if anything, resided inside.

Batgirl had almost swept the entire estate, one step from exactly where she had started, when the goggles detected a heat signature.

It was like a road flare, bright and quick, before disappearing again. Were Batgirl less well trained, she might have thought she imagined it.

As fortune would have it, the goggles themselves had a two hour playback. It was child's play to scroll back, to confirm what if anything might have been observed. But the play back revealed nothing, no detection of a heat signature or anything otherwise abnormal. And if there wasn't several seconds missing from the timestamp. Batgirl might have been convinced.

Immediately, Batgirl's course of action became clear. Even if the issue was equipment malfunction, the situation was too dire, and the night too cold, to take any chances.

Batgirl tapped her earpiece, "Oracle?"

No reply. Not even static.

The hairs stood up on the back of Batgirl's neck, and for a moment, she could feel eyes falling upon her from the empty windows.

"Okay."

oooOOooo

The oak door smashed open, and Batgirl stepped inside.

Though she was skilled enough to walk on broken glass without creating a sound, the floor boards creaked loudly beneath her feet, announcing each step.

Less than six feet into the house, the door slammed closed behind her, the rusty metal deadbolt creaking as it slid into place.

Batgirl gave it only the barest regard. She had no desire to leave yet.

Instead, she made her way into the living room. The room was covered in a thick film of dust, with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. The room itself was sparsely populated, with just a couch covered in a white drape, and an old wicker chair that looked as if it were only stiff wind from falling apart.

Batgirl observed a heavy pile of thick fresh ashes in the fireplace, and moved to investigate. She picked up the poker from beside the hearth, and sifted through the ashes.

She swept the poker through every inch of the pile, and found nothing. Batgirl had just begun to step away, when the pile began to sift and writhe.

She watched, baffled, as what had had been, should have been, nothing but a pile of ashes, uncoiled into a dozen black snakes. Batgirl tensed, ready to spring into action, but for naught.

The snakes hissed as loudly as any she had ever heard, but they all fled in separate directions, melting seamlessly into shadows or corners.

Once she was certain there was no danger, Batgirl examined the fire place again. She saw bones and teeth, small enough to send a special wave of anger and disgust through her very core.

Batgirl made her way to the main entrance, a rail-less spiral staircase with a banister that overlooked the front door. She placed her foot against the first step, testing it.

At first it felt as firm as the earth itself.

But she applied another ounce of pressure, and it felt like aged, rotten wood. Any further weight would have torn through it like tissue.

Batgirl took a moment to contemplate her next course of action. She rearranged several weapons that she had concealed behind her cape, and then withdrew two special batarangs.

These were customized to fit perfectly into her hands, made up of a composite of four-forty surgical steel and titanium, with a razor's edge.

Batgirl counted the steps in her head. Twenty steps between her, and where the heat signature had been detected. Twenty potential pitfalls into perhaps not even God knew what.

She considered her plan for only a minute, before springing into action.

She leapt over five steps in a single bound, already on the move before the stairs gave out beneath her.

From step five, she leapt to step twelve, landing on the far side and the edge of the staircase, over the open floor.

She leapt from step number twelve, and pushed off against the wall before the stairs broke beneath her again.

She landed on step sixteen, and suddenly saw seven more steps ahead of her, just one too many for her to jump, now before her.

Batgirl didn't hesitate, though, leaping to her left, and swinging the batarang hard into the wall, sinking into it as if it were clay.

The staircase beneath her crumbled entirely into itself like a house of cards, but to Batgirl, it hardly mattered. She swung herself up onto the top of the staircase, and then, out of curiosity, glanced down.

She observed that underneath the staircase was a maze of rusted and warped copper pipes, all jutting upwards like bamboo in a jungle trap.

Batgirl made her way down the hall, to the northeast section of the house, where the heat signature had been detected. Each step of the way, her battle tested instincts flared.

Batgirl could feel a presence all around her, just out of the corner of her vision, just on the fringe of awareness. She could taste copper in the back of her mouth, and knew something was lurking close by, the same way one knew where their hand was, even in pitch black darkness.

Yet she never slowed, and never hesitated.

The soft cries of a child carried down the hall, towards the master bedroom. The door was cracked open and even though it was in the dead of night, a small glimmer of light peaked through.

Batgirl took off in a dead run towards the room, but the door slammed shut with impossible force.

Batgirl tore the door open, and was met with a seamless white wall.

ooOOooo

Young Jonah Cross was like any infant his age, or should have been.

But when the room shook, and the wall several feet away developed cracks, he didn't cry.

Jonah didn't react to the cracking wood, or the gloved fist that tore through the wall.

In fact, Jonah's reaction to Batgirl smashing her way inside was an utter non reaction. He simply laid there, as silent as a church mouse, his breath shallow.

With a quick shrug, Batgirl cast the dirt and drywall from her uniform. She moved towards the child quickly, picking him up gently and placing him in a specially made sling. The child's stillness concerned her, but Batgirl tried not to let the urgency make her careless. The entire house was a deathtrap, and moving with haste threatened them both.

Batgirl hadn't taken a step before she sensed something, something foul and heavy. Her instincts told her it was in the corner of the room, so very close behind her. Her instincts, that had been forged in a hundred battles, pinpointed the presence, the thing, as clear as day, as if it had just suddenly appeared.

And her animal instincts screamed at her not to look, to run away as fast and never look back.

Batgirl reached for a weapon, and then looked without hesitation or fear.

A form of congealed mist lunged towards Batgirl like a bullet, an inhuman screaming roaring as it charged.

The speed and impact was enough that Batgirl found herself skidding across the floor, her boos sliding across the wooden floor as if it were ice.

When her vision cleared, Batgirl found herself staring down an elderly woman, formed of a thick black smoke and a Nun's habit around her head. Her teeth were stained yellow, jagged and misplaced.

She hissed at Batgirl like a wild animal, hands reaching out for her, yet somehow leaving the young woman untouched.

Batgirl looked back with contempt, and nodded down.

The thing of smoke and hate tried its best not to glance downward, to acknowledge what had happened.

Batgirl had placed the fireplace poker in its path before turning. Years of resting in this unholy home had made it no less magic than anything else, and it impaled the creature with a mortal wound.

Batgirl allowed her enemy a second to contemplate its fate, before tearing the poker out, and slashing it through the mist-thing's neck.

It disappeared in a shriek of agony and rage.

Batgirl felt no guilt, watching it vanish. She knew enough of magic to know that the creature wasn't alive to begin with, let alone dead. Unfortunately, it would recover in time, like a clock resetting.

Still clutching the child, Batgirl went back the way she came. But rather than risk the stairs again, she opted to simply leap over the railing, and used her cape-glider to control her fall.

Batgirl landed as light as a feather, but when once her foot hit the ground, she felt Jonah's weight vanish.

"Excellent work."

The house filled with a mocking, slow clap. Batgirl looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.

"You're the first hero to brave these halls."

The voice came from everywhere at once, and it was then Batgirl reflected on just how much she hated magic.

"So I think I'll let you live."

This time, the voice came from the front.

The man's skin was chalk white, the flesh peeing away from his eyes and mouth. He wore an immaculate suit and vest combo that Alfred would have considered outdated and white gloves speckled with red.

And he was cradling Jonah.

"My name is Jacob Harrow," he said, "and you are trespassing. This…"

Jacob shook Jonah gently, who wailed and shrieked as a child should.

"This is mine."

"He leaves with me."

Jacob Harrow laughed.

"This is my home, my place of power. Who are you to give me orders?"

"Someone who knows right from wrong," Batgirl produced the poker from behind her back.

"Clever girl, using a part of my home as a weapon."

Jacob Harrow made a dismissive gesture, and the poker tore free from Batgirl's hand, and vanished into the shadows of the house.

"But it is still of me, still mine, as all things in this house are," Jacob Harrow's smile was missing several teeth, "here and now, you are nothing to me."

"One chance," Batgirl said, "forsake that child forever. Or else."

"Or else what?"

Batgirl was silent for a moment.

"My dear girl," Jacob Harrow bounced the squalling baby in the crook of his arm a little more, savoring the cries, "vague threats don't work when the person you're talking to knows they're just empty air."

Batgirl removed a knife from her belt, and pressed it against her wrist.

"Or else I kill myself. After that, I come for you."

Batgirl saw, to her mild surprise, that body language after death became just a little more expressive. Fear rippled through the entirety of Jacob Harrow.

"You can't be serious," Harrow said quickly.

"You feared my mentor," Batgirl said, "Smart. But you… should be terrified of me."

She pressed down on the blade, slicing through the uniform and drawing a drop of blood.

"Not as patient as him," Batgirl said, "cut my wrists length wise. Bleed out in less than one minute."

Batgirl met Harrow's eyes.

"And then? Then, I come for you. For all time, I never stop, making you pay."

Harrow swallowed. Even in death, his throat felt dry.

"You're bluffing."

"Then make your decision," Batgirl said "you have until three."

"Three."

Harrow considered the very real possibility of Batgirl's soul being trapped her, for all eternity. Her will, her focus, her strength, was greater than his had ever been in life or death.

How long could he hold her in check?

"Two."

Harrow thought about what she had already accomplished, alive and alone. He shuddered to think of what she might do in his world, as equals.

"One."

oooOOooo

Detective Atkins couldn't believe what he saw, as he pulled up to the residence.

The mythic Harrow House was engulfed in bright orange flames, some reaching some thirty feet in the air.

And Batgirl standing with her back to the house, cradling little Jonah. The baby was screaming its lungs out, no doubt terrified of the entire world now. But Batgirl seemed perfectly find with the screaming child in her arms, almost satisfied even.

"Detective," Batgirl, unbidden, handed the child off to the Gotham Detective. Atkins took him carefully, and almost immediately the child's screams lessened.

"Batgirl," Detective Atkins nodded towards Harrow House, "you, I assume?"

"Had some thermite," Batgirl said casually.

"Should have brought a car seat instead, huh?"

Batgirl nodded sheepishly, "Yeah."

"So."

Detective Atkins looked towards Harrow House. He observed that while the house was clearly on fire, it didn't actually seem to be burning. The wooden porch, the aged handrails, nothing was warped or cracked underneath the flames. The fire was as hot as any Atkins had felt before, but he saw nothing actually being consumed.

"What happened here?"

Batgirl thought back to the first expression, and warning, that Batman had taught her after language had been imprinted upon her mind. It seemed especially fitting here.

"Looked into the abyss."

"And?"

Batgirl got on her motorcycle, and revved the engine.

"It blinked."

Next issue: Tim Drake is back in Gotham, and Batgirl and Robin fly again!

Okay, full confession? This wasn't the stand alone I was gonna post after last issue. I under estimated how much I would dislike the BoP with Cass in name only, and threw this together. 5 days was all it took!

So depending on how the plotting goes, you may see another stand alone sooner than later!