Tempest: Chapter Forty-Nine: Art Thefts in the Night


Masquerade didn't make it a habit to do high-profile thefts, but she couldn't deny that the payout was rather nice, though, it had never really been about the money. Masquerade had been doing this for far too long and had amassed quite a wealth.

She took a running leap, moving from one building to the next, landing heavily on her heels and Masquerade pursed her red-painted lips, wondering not for the first time why she'd decided to wear heels with her Masquerade persona.

Masquerade stepped across the roof towards the hatch, humming to herself as she pulled lockpicks from where she'd tangled them in her hair and got to work.

The place in question that she was breaking into was an art exhibit that was rather well known for its stunning art pieces, but also less well-known for stealing them from up and coming artists struggling to make a name for themselves.

Grace Merrit was among those that had been robbed and Oracle had received a furious request for retribution from the artist. There were five of them who had had art pieces stolen and they had all banded together to ask for help from Oracle when their claims had been denied in court and they didn't have the money to challenge the verdict.

Gotham Art Gallery had rather advanced monitoring to ensure that no thief would be able to take the art pieces without an alarm going off, but Masquerade was better.

"You're late," she said, her words garbled through the voice modulator that Cheshire had gifted her with for her birthday, not even looking back as the woman straightened up.

"A girl's got to scout around," Catwoman purred, crouching beside her as Masquerade finally managed to get the lock undone, hooking the door of the hatch open. "Heard you were out of the country for a few weeks, Masq."

Masquerade scowled as she pulled out a small tablet, activating the spoofing frequency that she'd developed earlier that day in order to confuse the security within the exhibit.

"My mother's been carrying tales, I see," Masquerade retorted dryly, but she wasn't really annoyed. It was common knowledge that Catwoman, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn had all been a team at one point, and Pamela and Harley were still in contact with Selina Kyle.

"I think she's just happy to have you around." Catwoman's eyes gleamed behind her mask and Masquerade's lips twitched faintly before she hopped inside with Catwoman following behind her silently.

The exhibit was dark, but it was after midnight, and luckily Masquerade knew exactly what she was looking for.

"You know, these paintings would probably be worth a lot on BlackNet," Catwoman mentioned while Masquerade took out a camera in order to have proof that the paintings had been in the building even when the courts had proved that to be false (but it was so easy to pay others off that Masquerade never put much stock in others testimonies that weren't backed up with evidence).

"Good thing I'm here to steal one, then," Masquerade shot back with a smirk as she took one in particular off the wall. It was visually stunning with a melding of various colors swirling across the canvas like oil on water.

Five paintings were being reacquired, but another one was being stolen, and it was worth a great deal to the person she was stealing it for.

Catwoman's lips curled into a smirk as Masquerade crossed the room to pull another canvas off the wall, this one a black and white painting of tree branches forming together into an intricate pattern.

The third was a landscape painting of some trees overlooking a lake, the colors a mix of greens that made it look almost life-like.

The fourth was a woman, golden hair falling over her shoulder as she looked back to the painter, her back exposed. That one, Masquerade knew, was Grace Merrit's because her girlfriend was the muse and the model for it, and it had a rough quality to it, there was nothing precise about the brushstrokes.

And the fifth was a sun setting over the sea, a reflection of so many different colors.

Then there was the last piece, the one that was worth a fortune, a rose lotus painted so delicately that it looked as though you could reach out and touch it.

"This is going to be a bit cumbersome," Masquerade decided.

"Good thing you've got me," Catwoman grinned and Masquerade gave her a blank stare behind her mask as she left the trademark golden mask and the message Better luck next time on the wall where the lotus painting had once hung.

"You were my second choice," she said, "Cheshire was out of the country."

Catwoman pouted. "Aw, Masq, you're breaking my heart."

Masquerade rolled her eyes for good measure before they split the six paintings between them, coming out the way they'd come in, returning the security systems to normal and scrubbing their theft from the recordings, stealing away into the night.


All five artists were camped out in the small apartment that Grace Merrit shared with her girlfriend Eva Jacoby. James Folley had been pacing for the past half hour, Kristina Foulk had been twisting her hands together for about the same time, Gustavo Martinez was lamenting about Grace and Eva's lack of alcohol, and Mia Eldina was maintaining complete silence, an impressive feat Grace thought.

"How long does it take to rob a building?" James exploded suddenly.

"Would you like to try it?"

Several heads twisted towards the speaker as Masquerade stepped into the light (how had she entered the apartment so silently, Grace couldn't quite fathom), leaning against the doorway that led into the cramped kitchen, golden mask set in place over her face, lips twisted downwards into a scowl.

"Any other complaints?" Masquerade's modulated voice inquired, "or would you actually like to get the paintings back?"

Several glares were shot towards James; it wasn't a good idea to annoy the person that'd been volunteered to retrieve their stolen property.

"Good," Masquerade said before maneuvering the paintings into view and the other artists lurched forward with delighted relief. "Proof that they were stolen from you will be in your hands by the end of the week."

She was still rather stunned when she was hugged several times.

"If Oracle needs anything," Grace said seriously, "just say the word." And the others echoed her in that sentiment.

"I'll be sure to pass it along," Masquerade said, tipping an imaginary hat before leaping out of the open window and into the night.


"You could've come in, you know, I'm sure they would've wanted to meet you," Masquerade mentioned as they walked down the empty street in the dead of night.

"One thief's more than enough," Catwoman was certain. "Why don't you call Pam 'Mom'?"

The question was so sudden that Masquerade reeled back in surprise.

"I can tell it bothers her," Catwoman mentioned, "she tries not to mention it, but I'm not blind."

Masquerade sighed. "Its…complicated…the woman that raised me back in Central City, she's the one I call 'Mom'…I feel like I'm betraying her if I call anyone else 'Mom' when I still think of her as mine."

Catwoman gave her a lopsided smile. "Oh, Masq, don't you know a girl can have more than one mother. At the rate you're going at, you're going to end up with three."

And then she vanished in the shadows, leaving Masquerade to her thoughts.

She was still angry with Barry and she definitely wasn't ready to back to calling him 'Dad', he'd lost that right when he'd lied to her for years about who her mother was, but Iris hadn't. Iris was still her mother who stayed up with her when she'd had a nightmare, who dragged her into dancing around the kitchen when her favorite song came on, who tucked several Chrysanthemum stems together into a crown to make her smile when she'd been having a bad day.

But would calling Pamela 'Mom' really be all that bad? Maybe she was dragging her heels so much because she didn't quite know how to respond.

Masquerade would've considered her own feelings further, but then her eyes narrowed and she spoke into the darkness: "You know it's not polite to eavesdrop, Robin."

Robin dropped off of the building he'd been surveilling from, swinging along a light post to land before her. Even in her heels, she didn't have much height on him, but it was still more than she'd had a couple of months ago, so she'd take what she could get; he grew much slower than her, at any rate.

"Could've called," Robin cheeked, "I thought we had something special."

That actually pulled a laugh from her lips.

"Oh, Robin," she said, "I'm more or runner than a fighter." At least, in her persona as Masquerade. Masquerade spent more time running across rooftops in high heels. Storm Chaser was the fighter.

"Robbed anyone blind yet?" Robin quipped.

"Only the people that deserved it," Masquerade threw back. "And the big payout."

"It's not about the money," Robin snorted, taking a step towards her, not enough to be in her space, but enough to make her consider taking a step back, but Masquerade stood her ground. "You don't care about money."

Masquerade's eyes narrowed behind her mask.

"Helping people is more of your thing."

Masquerade smirked. "It's sweet that you think so highly of me, little bird, but I'm just a thief, I'm in it for the money. If you're looking for a good Samaritan, I'd suggest Oracle, if you can find her." The lies fell from her lips effortlessly.

She pulled out something round and threw it at the ground and Robin leapt back as the smoke erupted, but when it had faded away, she was long gone and Robin could only grumble bitterly.


Amara had dressed back in her normal clothes by the time she'd returned to the house, pausing outside the door, biting the inside of her cheek, twisting the key between her fingers, thinking about what Catwoman had said.

Then she slid the key into the slot and twisted the door open, creeping inside silently before pausing in order to stare at the scene in living room before she could make her way up to her room.

Pamela and Harley were fast asleep, Harley curled up on the armchair and Pamela spread out on couch, both breathing easily.

Amara slipped off her combat boots and hung her bag on one of the hooks by the door with amused exasperation. They must have noticed when she'd left a few hours before, and she was almost certain that Selina Kyle had called them up to assure them she was fine.

It was different when she'd been at the Allens, always sneaking around when she was doing her Masquerade things. She'd lost count of how many times Barry had nearly caught her returning to her room in the dead of night. He'd never approved of her being involved with BlackNet, but Harley and Pamela didn't appear to have anything against it, but they hadn't spoken much about it.

Amara sat down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, removing the red-gem earring from one lobe, returning her hair to its typical grey.

Her mother breathed in and out easily, her face calm and smooth.

Amara swallowed thickly, but then she reached out a hand, jolting the woman slightly. "Mom…Mom?"

Pamela opened her eyes fuzzily to see her daughter sitting before her, her brow furrowed. For a moment she was confused –from being awakened, no doubt– but then she gave her a half-asleep smile. "You called me 'Mom'."

Amara turned pink, tucking a stray grey curl behind her ear. "Well, you are my mom," she muttered uncomfortably.

Pamela smiled, the sleep fading from her eyes slightly. "How'd the job go?"

Amara rubbed the back of her head. "We got all the stolen paintings back and stole one of our own. It should fetch a good price on the BlackNet; Selina and I are splitting the payout."

An approving hum left Pamela's lips.

"I'm sorry," Amara said suddenly, keeping her voice quiet so as not to awaken Harley as she slumbered on behind them, "I'm sorry I didn't call you it before."

"Oh, baby," Pamela sighed sadly, sitting up on the sofa so she could look at her daughter properly. "I get it, I'm not the first mother you've had, it's all right."

"But you're my biological mother," Amara pressed, "and I'm glad you are, really, it's just—"

"A lot to wrap your mind around," Pamela finished in an understanding voice. "I know, but I'm not going anywhere, baby, you take all the time you need to."

And then Amara threw her arms around Pamela's neck, and the woman grunted in surprise, but eagerly wrapped her own around Amara's back and holding on just as tightly, despite the awkwardness of the position.

"Thank you," Amara's words were muffled into Pamela's shoulder, "and I think I need some help with my chlorokinesis."

"Whatever you want," Pamela laughed and Harley smiled where she was pretending to sleep.


Wally steeled his nerves, a cardboard box unfolded under his arm and the blonde beside him arched an eyebrow. He didn't know how Artemis had figured out he was talking to Amy, but when she'd heard what he was doing, she offered her own services. He'd been surprised, but Artemis was Amy's partner, after all, when she wasn't running off with Roy.

"You're going to have to talk to your uncle at some point," she mentioned lightly, grey eyes flicking towards him in concern. The young speedster had been remarkably quiet, by his standards, at least, since his cousin had gone.

"Not likely," he muttered, pulling out his phone to redial the number she'd used to contact him a few days ago.

"Hey," Wally said, "we're walking up now. Gimme a sec."

Both his aunt and uncle were still at work, and Wally had made sure to check, because that would've been a bit awkward to explain. Things were rather strained between them, the last he'd heard. Iris was furious about Barry's involvement in the events that had led to Amy's running out.

He pulled out his key-ring, fiddling through the keys until he found the one for the West-Allen house, and then he twisted it into the keyhole, allowing the door to spring open.

It had an almost homey feel to it, that was the first thing Artemis had noticed back when she'd first visited Amy's house, but things had changed recently. Casting an eye over the couch in the living room told Artemis that someone had been sleeping there every night instead of in a proper bed.

She didn't know who she should be sympathizing with in this situation.

Amy, probably.

"School books?" Wally asked into the phone as he trudged up the stairs to Amy's room, pushing the door open with his shoulder. "Maybe you should stop taking classes all the time, Amy, at this point you'll be graduating a semester behind me."

He switched to speaker in time for Artemis to hear: "And ahead of Robin by a semester, and that's what really matters."

Artemis almost laughed. This was the first time she'd heard from Amy since she'd run away, but hearing her over the phone, it was a relief to hear her sound like herself.

"He's probably pretty miffed," Amy admitted, "we ran into each other last night, and, you know, Masquerade's got a reputation to uphold."

Wally had heard. Dick was really annoyed about it when they'd met up at the Cave earlier.

"At least you didn't shoot him like you did Roy," he said and Artemis arched an eyebrow.

"Roy was covering my escape, I needed to improvise," Amy defended.

"Artemis is here, by the way," Wally added.

"Hey, Amy," Artemis said and she could practically hear Amy's grin.

"Goddess! Shoot any bad guys lately?"

"You know it," Artemis smirked as she helped Wally set up the boxes before piling the books that looked school-related, and incredibly heavy in some cases, into the boxes. "How're things on BlackNet?"

"The usual," Amy said as Artemis tucked her phone between the edge of the box and one of the books. "An art gallery ripped off some struggling artists and stole their art pieces, so Catwoman and I went and robbed them back."

Wally didn't like to think of the damage that Amy would be capable of with Catwoman.

"One of the artists was a really dick, though," Amy sulked, "everyone else was nice, so that made up for it…and we made a lot off the painting we actually stole from the gallery."

"You're a terrible thief," Wally groaned.

Amy was affronted. "I'm a great thief and an honest one, I'll have you know."

"Amy," Artemis snorted, "there's nothing honest about thievery."

"Says you," Amy sniffed. "Spoken like someone who's never stolen a thing in her life."

Artemis coughed loudly. She knew of plenty of things she'd stolen.

"Nothing of high value," Amy amended.

"What d'you want us to do with these books?" Wally asked her over the phone, and for a brief moment there was silence.

"Want to drop them off in person?" she asked and Artemis was sure that Wally had briefly frozen at the idea of seeing his cousin for the first time in weeks. "Hang on –Harley, do you care if some friends bring over my school books?"

There was a muffled sound in the background.

"Harley wants to know if you guys are cute," Amy mentioned in amusement before speaking a moment later towards the woman in question. "Well, Artemis definitely is, I don't know about Wally…"

"Hey!" Wally complained loudly.

Artemis sighed. "Wally's cute, just give us the address, we'll be there."

Wally started in surprise, the tips of his ears red.

"What?" she demanded defensively once Amy had hung up on them.

"Nothing," Wally said weakly, rubbing at the back of his head awkwardly.

"You tell anyone I said that and I'm using you as target practice," Artemis warned before grabbing up the box and making her way down the stairs while Wally mouthed wordlessly in incomprehension.


"And this corner, what're all those names for?"

"That's my list of runners, codenames only, obviously."

Harley and Amara were resting on the couch while Amara showed Harley her layout of BlackNet. It was much easier with more than one screen, but Amara was going to have to make due with what she had.

"Obviously," Harley smirked.

"I separate based on what clients request," Amara explained, pointing out the different portions on the screen. "Unfortunately, people in abusive situations is the longest list."

It was a sad state that so many found themselves in the same situation to what Harley had had with the Joker.

"I was actually thinking about a project for that," Amara admitted and Harley arched an eyebrow. "It might be a bit stupid."

"Ideas aren't stupid, only people are," Harley said sagely.

"Nice, Harl," Pamela called from the kitchen in exasperation. "Don't tell her that!"

Harley waved a careless hand, evidently not heeding her girlfriend's words before returning her attention to Amara. "So, what's your idea?"

"Well, a good few of the complaints of abuse are actually from Gotham," Amara admitted. "And abused persons are afraid of their abusers finding them if they run away, right?"

Harley remembered how many times the Joker had hunted her down after she'd decided enough was enough. "I'd say so, yeah."

"Well, I was thinking about this kind of safe haven of sorts for abused persons that's fronted as something else, as a place for them to hide out for awhile before getting on their feet somewhere else," Amara spun the words carefully before wincing, "does it sound terrible?"

"Not at all," Harley assured her with a grin, "it's actually pretty smart, hiding a shelter within a business. What kind of business were you thinking of?"

"There's a couple of struggling artists around here that could use a studio," Amara shrugged, "I'm sure if I asked Grace Merrit, she'd be into it; her girlfriend had a lot of trouble with an ex-boyfriend."

"Don't worry, it sounds like a great idea," Harley grinned, "I could've definitely used something like this when I was trying to get away from the Joker."

And Amara positively beamed.

Pamela smiled from where she was in the kitchen, making wassail to prove a point. Harley had never had any good wassail, even though it was a bit early for it since it was only October and it was more of a Christmas drink, and she claimed it tasted terrible, but Amara had never had any in general.

She stirred the cinnamon sticks around in the liquid in the large pot, looking out the window when a taxi pulled into the driveway. Pamela's brow furrowed in befuddlement, but then she saw red hair not unlike Roy's and a blonde ponytail.

"Ah," she muttered, turning down the fire on the stove before making her way to the door and passing by Harley and Amara who were going over what was needed for Amara's little project in order to reach the door.

Pamela pulled it open before the pair could knock and then she found two pairs of eyes staring at her. The blonde-haired girl still had a fist raised to knock, and Pamela wasn't sure she'd seen Wally West quite so terrified.

She was Poison Ivy, so that wasn't all that surprising.

"Hello," she said shortly, looking them both over. They both held boxes, Wally's appeared to be the heavier of the two, while the girl's appeared to be some clothes. She was certain that the girl was the young new sidekick to Green Arrow known as Artemis.

"Hi," Wally squeaked.

Artemis rolled her eyes beside him. "We're here to see Amy."

"Of course," Pamela said, stepping aside to gesture for them to enter. "Please, come in."

"Amy, some friends here for you," she called and there was a scramble from the living room and the pair took a brief few seconds to set down their boxes in time to see Amara stand and make her way forward eagerly.

Wally stared and Artemis arched an eyebrow, neither even recalling a time when they'd seen Amara voluntarily wear a dress, the grey lace tiered dress suiting her more with her grey hair than her red.

But her green eyes were impossibly bright when she saw Wally, and then she flew forward, wrapping her arms around his neck with a delighted call of "Wally!"

Amara had the momentum on her side, so Wally just barely managed to keep from falling back onto his ass, but it was a very near thing. And Wally swung her around in a circle, making her laugh.

Amara couldn't see the relieved expression on Wally's face, but Artemis and Pamela could, and neither could resist a smile.

"You ever run away again and I'm going to kill you," Wally promised and Amara grinned.