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Batman 1939: Three's Company
Chapter 4: The Lisbon Building
Zatanna Zatara rarely thought about her ancestry.
This morning she knew she was born in America. Her father Giovanni had Italian roots. Her mother was long deceased and rarely discussed. Her father once said they met in Turkey, but Zatanna believed her mother was Italian as well: culture pairing was a given in their day, and her father dropped hints over the years to support the theory. There was no one else to ask since her mother had no family.
Now it was evening and Zatanna didn't know where she was born. Her mother probably had a family, a large, scattered, and mobile one. Her father was an extraordinary liar, an occasional outlaw, and a traveler on secret agendas. And these revelations made her uncertain whether her mother had been Italian, Turkish, Siamese, or Maritan.
Zatanna Zatara rarely thought about her ancestry, and now she understood that this was exactly how her father raised her to think.
He had quietly taught that history shackled you to a place. He had always been dismissive of townies and bumpkins, families living four generations to a house who never saw the next county. No, he was a modern man, a globetrotter. Ancestry was nothing but a prop. If the money was right or he owed the showrunners a favor, he'd play Abdul, the Sufi mystic or Aapo, the mad Mayan. He was Chief Brave Horse when he played Hamburg and Istavan of Transylvania when he played Chicago. Scores of performers played a stock ethnic; some made a career of it, but few had the versatility of the Mighty Zatara. Occasionally he was even Luigi Manchini, Italian mesmerist. When Zatanna asked her father why he needed a stage name to play an Italian, he answered that mesmerism was a third-rate art for hack magicians, and he had a reputation to keep.
Giovanni was blessed with a complexion well-suited to mimicking most of humanity. That, along with makeup, stage lighting, and unsophisticated audiences delivered the illusion. His daughter's features were similarly open to interpretation, and if managers enjoyed when Giovanni tried some far-flung accent, they just loved it when Zatanna did one. At first she was eager to please. If her father did it, then that's what magicians did. He was right as usual: audiences adored her. Everyone was having fun.
Then, when she was seventeen, Zatanna played a show in Gotham as Esther, the beguiling Jew. In hindsight, this was even worse than it seemed as the theater was near a large Jewish neighborhood. She would come to suspect years later that her promoter had used her to take a swipe out of petty hate. At the show, a patron went out to smoke during intermission and met a party of Orthodox Jews at a park across the street. He mentioned that there was "some Jew girl dressed like them" performing that night. After Zatanna finished her set, the Jewish party found her in the lobby and invited her to dinner. She accepted, whereupon she ordered a meal that broke most rules of kosher, removed her headscarf, rolled up her sleeves, and attempted to flirt with men who weren't her husband. She would never forget the betrayal in their eyes when they realized "Esther" was a mockery from some little shiksa. Zatanna's shame was one of the reasons she left Gotham a few years later.
That night her father hugged her and listened gently when she shared her guilt. But then he told her with unsentimental honesty that starting a solo career was a difficult thing. Every show she refused made her road that much steeper. Giovanni never once forced her onto a stage, but he never made excuses for her, not when it came to magic. He was right as usual: managers who wanted a shtick weren't concerned with her misgivings. It wasn't some lowbrow minstrel show, they said. It's how the vaudeville greats got their start, they said. And soon Zatanna didn't say a word. She wanted more than anything to see her name in lights, but as a newcomer and a woman, she had to fight for every audience, so she put on the wig.
The gigs were never exactly common, and audiences adored her, but every walkout stuck in her mind like no standing ovation ever could. She thought that was the worst of it. Then, at twenty-two. She played Farah, the Haitian priestess at a show in Mississippi. She was so convincing that she was arrested. Deputies explained that it was unlawful for a Negro or mulatto to ride in a first-class train car, use the main entrance of a performance hall, or drink from a white water fountain, all crimes Zatanna had commited that evening. Despite her protests, the sheriff was certain she had at least one-eighth Negro blood, making her non-white in the eyes of Mississippi law. Her father took an express train from Boston to bail her out. When that failed, they staged a jailbreak. They made it to Louisiana before the sheriff realized she was gone. The local paper reported that the gang responsible must have employed the world's greatest magician, a headline Giovanni kept framed in his bedroom.
The grand irony of these mishaps was that she had always believed she was playing a role, that Esther and Farah and the rest were costumes. Now her own heritage was such a mystery that any of those identities might be true. Zatanna wouldn't call herself a priestess or, indeed, beguiling, but she could well be Haitian or Jewish or both. Her whole life was a costume.
Zatanna had all this weighing on her mind as she sat in the back of a Bludhaven police car and watched the yellow streetlights go by. Officers Kravitz and Arbuckle, the men in the front seats, were increasingly unnerved as the miles passed. They expected a chatterbox, but the girl was silent. Zatanna was lost in thought, and thinking people were clever, and clever people were scary.
Officer Arbuckle, the driver, decided it was best to interrupt her thoughts. "So!" He paused, wishing he had thought of a sentence ahead of time. "Roads."
Zatanna peered at the back of his head. "Pardon?"
Officer Kravitz gave him a side-eye of contempt.
Officer Arbuckle tried again. "If traffic keeps up, we'll be out of Bludhaven in ten minutes. You'll see the bridge on the left side."
Zatanna said, "Thanks. I actually used to live in Gotham."
"Not any longer?"
"No, I've moved around. I have a place in California now, but I probably only sleep there ten nights a year."
"Do a lot of travel?"
"And then some."
Kravitz asked, "Have you seen your father's apartment before?"
"No. He moved across town when I left home. East End, right?"
"That's right. Did you hear what happened to it?"
"No. What do you mean?"
"Bit of rough luck. There was a fire in the building."
"What?"
"I don't mean to alarm you."
"What fire?" she asked, alarmed.
"Just don't want you to be surprised when we turn up. Last night, your father's apartment building had a bad fire."
Arbuckle added, "All things considered, he's lucky he wasn't home."
Kravitz blanched at this comment and quickly said, " Anyway, total coincidence. His room skipped the worst of it."
"Oh." Zatanna said.
"See, that's why we were so late in calling you. Busy with the firefighters and all."
"Right."
"Lots of fallen beams to move and whatnot."
"Sure."
"Detectives couldn't get to the room with all the, uh, evidence."
"What evidence do they want me to review, anyway?" Zatanna asked. "We don't see each other too often. I truly hope I can help."
Arbuckle turned and looked back reassuringly. "Oh, I'm sure you'll be fine help, miss. Don't you worry."
Kravitz grabbed the steering wheel to avoid a mailbox. "I'm afraid we don't have an answer for you. We're just lowly beat officers. The detectives make us fetch folks, but they don't tell us anything."
"Well, I'll certainly do what I can."
"We know you will."
Meanwhile.
Some streets in Gotham City were dark at night. These were the predictable grim neighborhoods where rows of buildings were condemned or abandoned or hadn't paid their electric bill or hadn't paid off the roving bulb hustlers who could strip an office of copper and light fixtures in minutes flat. What was rare in Gotham was a dark building on a bright street. The intense demand for housing and commercial space ensured that even if a building in a nice location shouldn't have been lit, it usually was. An apartment that was closed for renovations or frozen in a ownership dispute was quickly occupied by old residents and other squatters who then set up illegal grocers and subdivided rooms for more families. If anything, the squatters produced more light with the utilities shut off as they pirated electricity from neighbors and installed cheap extra lights from the bulb hustlers.
The Lisbon Building was the rare dark building on a bright street, a gray giant as ominous as a Stonehenge monolith. Even Gotham's squatters and looters were hesitant to try a ruin less than a day after a fire: building collapse caused as many deaths in Gotham as measles. But just to be sure, when the firefighters packed up that afternoon, two police officers stayed behind to patrol the site. Their idea of patrol was to circle the property every half hour then spend the rest of their time hiding from the wind in the charred entrance hall.
Catwoman had watched this pattern twice when Batman arrived. They were on the roof of an apartment tower across the street. Through the window below the roof edge, she heard a radio ad for cigarettes and the bubbling pot of a late supper. She didn't know if Batman somehow waited for the loud ad to approach, or if he just got lucky, but she didn't notice him until she heard that deep voice above her.
"Catwoman."
She suppressed a flinch. She was lying on folded arms to spy over the edge. Instead of standing, she rolled over and clasped her hands behind her head like a sunbather. "Hi there."
He looked down at her impassively, then walked three steps around her and crouched at the roof edge. She rose to her knees and saw he had a leather satchel over his shoulder.
She pointed at it. "What's that."
He answered without looking. "Arson investigation kit."
"Great." She cracked her knuckles. "That's what I like to see. I can't wait to get to the bottom of this."
"I'm glad you're enthusiastic."
She raised an eyebrow. That didn't sound like a Batman comment. "Really?"
He nodded. "If we don't delay, I suspect we can settle your theory in under two hours. I have other responsibilities tonight."
"So you can leave." She looked back at the Lisbon, suddenly concerned. She turned back to him. "You're not saying you aren't-"
"I never shortchange a case." Batman still didn't look at her, but he spoke with a dignity that was almost annoyed. "I'll solve it if it can be solved. If I need to stop, you'll know."
"Never mind, then. Anyway, I've been watching those cops down there. The two of them hide in that entrance most of the time, and they aren't fond of looking too hard when they walk around. No other security."
"Good. Then we-"
"-Cross the walkway," they said simultaneously.
Most large buildings in Gotham could be entered at several levels. The Lisbon had walkways connecting it to adjacent buildings at the fourth and ninth floors. These bridges were wood over old iron frames. Both fell apart in the fire, but while the fourth floor walkway collapsed entirely, the ninth floor walkway was only skeletonized. Its wooden deck had burned away and most of the frame had fallen, but one cantilevered truss still spanned the gap like an iron hill the width of a train rail. They weren't surprised the authorities neglected to guard this entrance.
The two infiltrators crossed rooftops and descended to the balcony that anchored one end of the ninth floor walkway. It was a weak, waning moon tonight. When a fat cloud drifted past, they began to cross.
The wind misbehaves in dense cities, racing down skyscraper canyons and sheering into alleys. This is especially true a hundred feet in the air. Not for the first time, Catwoman wondered how Batman's cape didn't carry him off like a sail. Considering the slopes of the truss, it was forty paces from one end of the gap to the other. She went first.
Once they found their footing, Batman shared more of his plan. "I have a report from the fire department's investigators. Their report was inconclusive, but it should save us time."
"Lovely." Catwoman snickered. "Your cop buddy pass that along?"
Batman stopped. Catwoman sensed the temperature plummet before she noticed he had fallen behind. She looked over her shoulder, then turned fully when she saw his frosty glare.
Batman spoke in a tone like a stamping bull. "You didn't know better. You were in distress. I won't hold it against you."
"Excuse me?"
"But I need to make something clear."
Catwoman grabbed the truss as a gust blew through. "Can it wait?"
"Never contact James Gordon or his family again. Understand?"
Catwoman had forgotten how deep that growl could be, but she recovered with a smile. "But what if I need to report a crime?"
"Catwoman-"
"That's all I did this morning, if you think about it."
"Stay away from Gordon."
"Or else what?"
"I'm coming after you."
"Promises, promises."
"Don't push me."
"Don't tempt me."
Batman stared at her a moment longer, then turned and walked away.
It took two steps for Catwoman to realize he wasn't turning back. Eyes wide, she leapt over his head, landing on the truss beyond with balletic poise. She caught his arm. "Hey! I was kidding. I'll leave your buddy alone."
"Kidding?" Batman tugged his arm free. "Were you kidding about your friend visiting the hospital last night?"
Catwoman looked like he had slapped her. "No! How could you say that?"
"Then why are you like this?"
"Like what?"
"You constantly-" Another gust cut through. They instantly clasped forearms and dipped, leaning into the wind until it relented. Batman lowered his voice. "Never mind. That was crass of me to say. I apologize."
"It was," Catwoman said, more confused than indignant. "What's your problem?"
Batman tensed his jaw. "The cloud's nearly passed." He turned and continued toward the Lisbon. Catwoman mouthed some silent insults as she followed.
A hundred feet below, two Gotham City police officers watched the pair of dancing silhouettes cross the spiderweb beam connecting the buildings.
"Are you sure that's Batman?"
"You can tell by the cape."
"I thought it was an extra arm."
"It's a cape."
"Like, you sneak up behind him, right, but it grabs your head off."
"It isn't an arm."
"How do you know?"
"Getty told me."
"How's he know?"
"Batman saved Getty from drowning one time."
"No way."
"It's true. I helped dredge up the boat. Getty was alone, and Lord knows he can't swim. Batman saved him. Brought him to shore."
"Cripes. No fooling?"
"Nope. He told the whole squad, in front of God and everyone. Said he had a cape."
"Who's the skinny one up there then?"
"No idea."
"What do you suppose they want?"
"Beats me."
"Okay. Do we go arrest them?"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, seriously."
"That's what your thinking meat is telling you to do right now?"
"That's what I'm asking. Do we arrest them?"
"No. We do not."
"We just stand here while they creep around inside?"
"I sure do. Do you want to arrest him alone?"
"No."
"There you have it."
Batman and Catwoman reached the stone platform on the far end of the truss and dismounted. The Lisbon's walkway doors had burned to cinders last night, so they strode straight into the exposed corridor. Eddies of windswept dust brushed their ankles until they turned a corner. Catwoman avoided burned buildings for all the obvious reasons: they were unsafe, dirty, depressing, and there was nothing to steal. Patches of floor here were buckled or missing, and the pair moved thoughtfully to secure their footing. In some spots their flashlight beams were so diminished by the haze that the light hardly crossed a living room. Sometimes they found a piece of furniture only half-burnt, buried in its own ash, but most possessions more fragile than a lead tub were incinerated.
Catwoman remembered that nine people had died here. For every barren white-ashed room they passed, she wondered whether a body had been removed. All the more reason to find those murderous wastes of oxygen and tear their lungs out.
Batman led her through rooms and down staircases as he inspected bits of debris. Occasionally, he scraped a chip out of the wall and dropped it in a vial of liquid from his satchel, then watched it changed color.
After minutes of scientific silence, she asked, "Find anything?"
He looked at her. "How much fire chemistry have you studied?"
"I dabble."
He stared at her another moment then returned to his search. "Almost all fires start somewhere."
"That's helpful, thanks."
Batman said nothing.
Catwoman prodded, "Are you implying some don't?"
"A few start in several places."
"Which means arson, right? Two fires wouldn't start at once by accident."
"Accidental fires can start separately. For example, certain electrical shorts or broken steam fittings can ignite at multiple points almost instantly."
"Fine. Are you saying this fire started in several places?"
"I'm saying, almost all fires start somewhere."
Catwoman took a deep breath as she glared at the back of his head.
Batman lectured, "The fire department is certain the blaze began on the third floor based on eyewitness accounts and the general spread pattern of the damage. So far, I haven't found any reason to disagree."
"Aren't we wandering around the seventh floor right now?"
"It's crucial that we make an independent confirmation. We can't let their findings bias us. And our best hope is that they missed something."
"Why?"
"They reported that the fire seemed to come from a certain apartment, but it didn't seem to start there."
"Come again?"
"Ideally, an investigation finds the exact cause of an ignition: spent matches, fuel residue, faulty wiring."
"Okay."
"But even if that source is missing, the area immediately around the ignition should exhibit special burn patterns. This could be from longer exposure to low heat, gas pressure changes, certain flash point events."
"Has anyone ever told you that you love lists? Because you love lists."
"As a fire grows, the burn and smoke patterns change. Investigators can often track this growth and follow it backwards to the origin."
"And they didn't find the origin."
"That's right. There's abundant evidence that a mature fire left this apartment but no evidence of a small fire igniting inside. It's as if a strong flame, maybe six feet tall, appeared instantaneously."
"And the fire department doesn't have any clue how? What did the tenants say?"
"The tenants are out of town. As far as anyone knows, the apartment was empty. And the investigators essentially admitted defeat. They said their techniques are insufficient and this fire is a mystery."
"They can do that?"
"Arson is very difficult to investigate."
"Yeah, you've mentioned. Do you have any ideas?"
Batman seemed reluctant to answer. "I'd like to see the room first, but no. I know a few industrial methods to start a fire somewhat like the report describes, but even then I'd expect more collateral damage. There's simply nothing in a typical home, or used by a typical arsonist, that could make a large steady flame out of nothing."
Outside, two Gotham City police officers were almost finished trudging a lap around the property. The first had a mustache. The second was balding.
"-So, he was eating from this bag of pistachios-"
"How big a bag of pistachios?"
"As big as your mom's bunions, shut up."
"You shut up."
"So he's eating from this bag, see, and the phone rings. Then …"
"Then what?"
But the first officer, the mustachioed one, had suddenly forgotten his story. He saw an unusual police car parking on the street.
He nudged his balding partner, and pointed. "Who's this? We expecting somebody?"
"No."
"Strange, in'it?"
"Wait, wait, wait. I know those colors. That's a Bludhaven cruiser."
"No it ain't."
"It is. That's Bludhaven P.D. Did you know about this?"
"It isn't a Bludhaven cruiser."
"See the logo?"
"Oh, I see it now. But it looks funny. Check out the logo."
"Yeah."
"They got-"
"The anchor's upside down."
"The anchor upside down. I was just about to say that. You always interrupt me."
"And the text is seriffed."
"Dang, it is. Good spot."
"And that kerning is way off."
"Way off."
"Woo."
"Embarrassing."
"You think it's a hoax? Are these really cops?"
"Nothing like that. Bludhaven's a bunch of clowns. Probably gave the paintshop a bad template."
"Who fouls up their own kerning?"
"It's a sign of fundamental laziness."
"A gob of spit in the face of typography is what it is."
"Bludhaven."
"Pff. Bludhaven."
"Oh! And here they come."
"This ought to be good."
"Pot of coffee says they need directions."
"Deal."
The Gotham officers watched as two Bludhaven policemen exited the vehicle. The driver, who was so fat they were professionally embarrassed, saw them and waved. They waved back sarcastically. The other Bludhaven cop, who could do a sit-up, helped a young woman out of the backseat. She wore a tuxedo jacket and held her tophat tight against the wind. The visiting cops led her toward the entrance.
The balding Gotham officer called out, "Can we help you?"
The fat guest saluted. "Evening, gentlemen. Good night for police work, huh?"
The Gotham officers looked at each other. The balding officer repeated, "Uh-huh. Can we help you?"
The skinny Bludhaven cop said, "Hello, I'm Officer Kravitz, Bludhaven Police. This is my partner, Officer Arbuckle."
Officer Arbuckle slapped his partner on the back. "Yup."
Officer Kravitz kept a straight face through obvious pain.
The young woman asked, "Are these the detectives?" but Kravitz shushed her.
"We just need to get inside," he said to the Gotham cops.
The mustachioed cop said, "I don't think so."
Kravitz waved this away. "Uh, we're cops though. We'll just be in and out."
The balding cop said, "Uh, no you won't.
Arbuckle pointed at the building. "No, but we have a case in there though."
The balding cop smacked his forehead like he remembered something important. "Right, so obviously your lead detective filed a request for jurisdictional privileges with our captain who told our sergeant who briefed us today to expect you."
The mustachioed cop shook his head at his partner. "Wait, that didn't happen."
"Didn't it?"
"It didn't."
The balding cop shrugged. "Never mind then."
The young woman, now shivering and agitated, elbowed past her Bludhaven escorts. "Hey! Sorry, excuse me, I don't know what's going on here. Are you the ones who searched Giovanni Zatara's apartment?"
The Gotham officers looked at each other. The balding one crossed his arms. "Lady, I have no idea who that is."
But his mustachioed partner stepped closer and peered at her. "Hold on. I know that name."
Arbuckle tried to step ahead of her again, but both Gotham cops straight-armed him back. The mustachioed one tapped his chin and pointed at the woman's face. "You. I do know you. You're that, uh, Zatina."
"Zatanna."
"Right. Zatanna Zatanna, magic lady." The mustachioed cop snapped his fingers. "You did a show in Tulsa last month."
"That's right." She smiled despite herself. "Did you see it?"
"Did I ever." He leaned in conspiratorially. "How'd you make that old lady float? Mirrors?"
"LIsten, sir, I'd love to chat. Any other time. But I need some help." She looked between the four cops. "Obviously, some paperwork got lost somewhere. Would someone please tell me where the detectives who-"
She was interrupted by a great hum like a hundred violins harmonizing. Before any of them could act, green lights shone forth from the eyes of the Gotham City cops. They clutched their faces, mouths contorted, but the green passed ever brighter between their fingers. The hum rose. The lights danced like lanterns in their skulls. There was a blinding flash.
There was silence in front of the Lisbon Building. The Gotham cops had vanished: not a hint of them remained. Zatanna screamed.
Batman and Catwoman had just arrived on the fifth floor when they heard an echo of a distant scream. In a blink, they were crouched against the wall, flashlights off. Catwoman had her whip in hand, Batman a batarang.
Even inches away, the pair could hardly see each other in the dark. Still, faint gestures spoke a quiet language of the night.
Batman's nostrils flared.
Female. Ground level. Front doors.
Catwoman's eyes narrowed in satisfaction.
I knew I heard voices.
Batman turned his chin, then he frowned.
Coincidence?
Catwoman sniffed.
Please. This neighborhood isn't that bad.
She nodded at the floor.
What are we waiting for?
Batman laid down his satchel. They crept toward the front of the building and found a window.
Officer Arbuckle held Zatanna by the arms while Officer Kravitz covered her mouth.
Kravitz flinched and switched hands. "Ow! She bit me! Cut that out."
Zatanna glared at him and muttered a string of grunts while she tried to swing her fists.
As they struggled, a voice bellowed from the entrance hall. "Are you hydrocephalic addlepates done yet?"
The three stopped. A fuming man limped out of the shadows. He had a long, lean face and sunken cheeks. He wore a silk indigo suit with lavish gold accessories and a blue keffiyeh headdress like an Arab traveller. His gold tie-pin and the agal cord holding his keffiyeh were decorated with crescent moons. He breathed heavily, like he had sprinted too many stairs.
Zatanna could feel her captors tremble as he approached. She muscled out of their grasp and marched toward the newcomer. "I don't-"
The stranger flicked a hand at her. The band on her tophat slipped off like a leaf caught in the wind. The bright fabric looped through the air then covered Zatanna's mouth, gagging her. The ends neatly knotted behind her head. The stranger rubbed his eyes as the Bludhaven officers caught her again. Kravitz handcuffed her, though he needed a few tries.
Meanwhile, Arbuckle stuttered, "Lord Faust. Thank you for the help. We were-"
"Useless," said Faust. "You were useless. Not surprising, but paradoxically still disappointing. Shame on me for believing you could handle a few lubberwort constables on your own. Now bring the slattern if you remember how your hands work and let's be on with it."
Faust led them into the building. Arbuckle pulled Zatanna by the elbow while Kravitz lit the way with a flashlight.
Kravitz said, "Lord Faust, forgive my, uh, impertinent curiosity."
"What, churl?"
"Where did you send those policemen?"
"The ocean."
"In the ocean?"
"In, under, between, whichever. One of the oceans. Why?"
"No reason, Lord. I only seek to learn from your genius."
"Likelier you than the corpulent one."
Batman and Catwoman waited until they heard the four figures enter the stairwell of the entrance hall. They had tied a rope at the fifth floor window and now quietly descended, ignoring the pedestrians watching from the sidewalk. When they reached the ground, they slipped inside the entrance hall and pursued the climbing footsteps.
Catwoman brushed Batman's arm.
Recognize any of them?
Batman shook his head.
No.
She pulled at her sleeve.
Did you see that cloth fly around her mouth? How'd they do that? They didn't touch her.
He shook his head.
I don't know.
Then Batman lowered his shoulders.
That wasn't a Bludhaven police car.
Catwoman frowned.
I noticed. The anchor's wrong. And the text is seriffed.
He nodded, then tensed his neck.
Go slow. If we spook them, they might hurt themselves with the building like this.
She nodded back.
Only one exit. They have to go through us.
Zatanna, Officers Kravitz and Arbuckle, and Faust ascended several flights of stairs. Climbing a burned husk of a building in the dark was miserable for everyone, except perhaps Faust who seemed equally grumpy in all situations, but it was a nightmare for Zatanna.
She certainly hadn't come to terms with two Gotham City police officers vanishing in a green flash in front of her. Traumatic, impossible-seeming experiences often cause victims to feel alienated from their surroundings. This form of shock, this unreality added a dreamlike quality to her other problems, but it didn't make them any more pleasant.
For instance, she had never been gagged before. Deafened? Yes. Handcuffed? Yes. Blindfolded? Hundreds of times. But never gagged. She didn't understand where the gag had come from, but that barely registered. Even accounting for her fear and horror at more serious threats, being gagged was humiliating.
This wasn't to discount her fear and horror. She had been arrested before, but she had never been kidnapped. Zatanna was terrified. Her skin was clammy and her heart was beating a tattoo in her chest. She was worried she would faint. She couldn't imagine a more intimidating place to bring her than a burned-up old building in the dark. Officer Arbuckle had to half-carry her whenever she slipped a step. In fairness, the steps were missing, it was dark, and her shoes weren't made to tread piles of ash.
When they reached the landing of the fourth floor, Faust suddenly stopped and Officer Arbuckle bumped into him and slipped. He pulled Zatanna's arm as he stumbled, and she hit the railing. Stuck in handcuffs, Zatanna was helpless as the wood snapped like matchsticks under her and she began to fall. Suddenly, Officer Kravitz caught her around the waist and hauled her back onto the stairs. They all rested a moment from the excitement, all except Faust who hadn't exerted himself and snapped at them to keep moving.
Zatanna eventually stood again. The others thought she was shaking from her brush with death. That was true, but also felt like she had seen a ghost. When Kravitz grabbed her, the beam of his flashlight swept the stairwell. For just an instant, Zatanna had glimpsed a haunting face in the shadows far below, its white eyes gleaming at her.
For a logical mind, it was unclear how the addition of a stranger could make her situation worse, but Zatanna's heartbeat reached to a new stage of panic. She desperately tried to warn her kidnappers, but without a voice to speak or hands to point, she couldn't get their attention. The dark crumbling building seemed such a secondary concern as she slowly walked the fourth floor hallway while waiting for an ambush.
The men brought her to an apartment that seemed as ruined as all the rest. The pushed through the fragments of the door and through what may have been a living room into the remains of a bedroom. Moonlight gave a blue outline of the room, but it wasn't until the flashlight beam reached the alcove of a former closet that Zatanna saw why they had come.
There was a door in the back of the alcove. It was entirely intact, not chipped or burned or caked in soot. The teak wood was a rich brown carved with an ivy design, and the brass knob was polished to a shine.
Faust pointed at the officers. "Deal with her. I will see it secure." He closed his eyes and began to hum. Zatanna didn't know what to make of this command, but Arbuckle and Kravitz quickly pulled her to the door and lifted her cuffed hands to the knob.
"Open it," said Kravitz.
Zatanna looked between them and hesitated. Kravitz unholstered his revolver and pressed it against her cheek. "Open it!"
Zatanna, painfully aware of the cold metal on her face, turned the knob. It opened like any other door, but Kravitz and Arbuckle half-hugged in relief and Faust cackled. He shoved her away and looked inside. Beyond the open door was the start of a stone path. They felt a gentle breeze. At first the air seemed even more dusty, but they realized it was actually mist. The path disappeared in mist and shadows only a yard out, impervious to light.
As the men studied the doorway, Zatanna glanced behind her. A room away, she saw a slender figure at the edge of the moonlight. As she watched, the figure leaned into the light. It was a woman in a half-mask. The woman lifted a finger to her lips and gave Zatanna a wink.
Zatanna nodded. She took a deep breath through her nose, sputtering on the dust. Then, with a flourish, the handcuffs fell from her wrists. Zatanna ripped the hatband from her mouth and shouted, "Help!" as she ran from the bedroom. Arbuckle reached and caught her arm. She turned and tossed a flash bomb at him. Incredibly, the fat man ducked, and the bomb struck the frame of the open door.
"Arg!" cried Faust as the blinding light flashed in front of his face. He stumbled through the doorway and disappeared. Kravitz, covering his burning eyes, fired around the room. Two deafening gunshots echoed before the gun was snapped out of his hand by the crack of a whip. Arbuckle threw Zatanna toward the alcove. A moment later, two metal blades landed in his arm and he howled. Zatanna nearly topped Kravitz when she landed. He seized her around the neck with his good hand and stumbled through the doorway. Arbuckle, the least blinded of the kidnappers, sensed a fearsome shape rush into the room toward him. He raced for the doorway as well, diving through as strong hands ripped the hem of his coat.
Batman stopped himself from a full sprint by clutching the doorframe. Catwoman was a step behind and rammed into his back. She stumbled sideways.
"Come on!" she yelled, trying to push past him.
"No." Batman turned and blocked her. "Look."
"What?" Catwoman saw a chance to slip around, but she grit her teeth and stepped back from the door.
"This," he pointed at the mist through the doorway, "isn't possible."
When she stopped to look, Catwoman instantly grasped what he meant, and her urge to rush through slightly diminished. Behind this alcove had to be the walls and floors of another apartment. There was no space to fit a misty void. Catwoman stepped around him, and he didn't try to stop her. She stood near the doorframe and kicked the wall next to it, easily making a hole. She put her flashlight through the hole and peeked around. It looked like another burned apartment. She stuck her arm through and tried to feel the back of the doorway. Where her eyes saw misty void, her hand felt solid plaster.
"Okay." She stepped back. "That's not right."
Batman was adjusting a small tool that looked like a gray pool ball. He pressed a switch on his belt and the ball started beeping rapidly. Batman tossed it through the doorway. It disappeared in the mist and the beeping stopped. He grunted.
Catwoman asked, "What was that?"
He answered, "A radio. It receives a signal from a small transponder on my belt and uses that to calculate its distance from me. The frequency of the beep tells the distance."
"How far until it stops beeping?"
"Normally, around thirty yards."
"And you tossed it, say, eight feet?"
"Yes."
"Hm."
"Catwoman." He looked her in the eye and spoke with his soft, serious voice. She had forgotten about that voice. "I've found inexplicable things before."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"Every encounter hurt me. Every one. In ways I didn't know a person could be hurt. I don't know what this door is, but I'm confident it's dangerous."
"They were abducting that poor girl."
"I know."
"You know what happens to abducted girls. They get hurt too. All sorts of ways."
"I know."
"Those Bludhaven cops and that other crackpot knew this door was here. They were about to step inside, even before things went wild. I doubt they'd do that if they didn't think it was safe."
"That's one theory."
"I'm going."
Batman stared at her. She stared at him. He nodded. "Me too."
They faced the doorway together, feeling the breeze. She glanced at him for just a moment and said, "Thanks."
They stepped through.
The mist surrounded them. Three steps inside and they couldn't see the doorway. Another two steps and the mist receded. They heard a rapid beeping. Batman reached down and found his thrown radio. He switched it off.
He looked up and found they were outside. The stone path ended at marble stairs leading to the porch of an enormous Victorian mansion. The main body of the building was six stories tall, all dark slate, then it rose further by four towers of lofty and varying heights. Dozens of steep gabled windows stood out from the many asymmetrical slopes of the roof. The rooms inside were obscured by curtains, but all were lit. It was impossible to know how far the building extended, or what extra wings or other structures were tucked out of sight.
Catwoman whistled. "Now that's a house."
Batman head-shrugged. "Eh."
Catwoman looked slowly around. The mansion was built at the top of a gently-sloping hill. Besides their stone path, the rest of the hill was a manicured lawn. She saw a garden and hedgerows and a few tall trees. Circling the base of the hill was an iron fence. Beyond the fence was mist.
She looked back and saw Batman was staring at the sky.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Full moon," he said.
"So?"
"It was a waning gibbous tonight."
"What's that mean?"
"I have three ideas."
"Do tell."
"Either the moon radically changed its own speed and direction, which has never happened and refutes physics."
"Or?"
"That isn't our moon because we're no longer on Earth."
"Or?"
"We've time traveled."
"I like the first option."
"A shift in the lunar orbit would cause planetwide tidal waves."
"Then I like the third option."
"If it's any comfort, I ruled out two ideas that were more troubling."
"Which were?"
"The moon moved because a giant gravitational body crossed the solar system."
"Or?"
"The Earth radically changed its own speed and direction, which has never happened and refutes physics."
"Why'd you rule them out?"
"We're alive."
"Thank you, that is comforting."
He nodded.
"Welp." She pointed toward the marble stairs. "Shall we?"
As they climbed toward the mansion, Catwoman made a thoughtful expression. "That girl used a flash bomb, didn't she?"
"Yes." Batman didn't mention that the flash surprised him as much as the kidnappers.
Catwoman purred. "I knew she looked familiar. I think I saw her last night."
Batman glanced down. "You know her?"
"No. I saw her in passing."
"Where?"
"I was at a casino in Bludhaven. Doubt you've been there."
"Why were you at a casino?"
"To have fun, make money. Same as everybody. But she was performing last night. I didn't go to the show, but I did run into her. Had the outfit and everything. I must have seen her face on ten posters, but what was her name? I just can't remember!"
Meanwhile.
The front hall of the mansion was a cavernous place. A dark red carpet stretched the length of the hall, covering a checkerboard marble floor. The walls were lined with portraits, suits of armor, and man-sized candelabras that rose to full flame when the front door boomed shut. More doors and staircases promised unseen paths in all directions.
Zatanna, Officer Arbuckle, Officer Kravitz, and Faust stood still at the front of the hall. They didn't bother to cuff her here, if cuffs even worked. There was a gloom to this place that made running off alone unthinkable. Not to mention Officer Arbuckle still had his revolver, and Faust was far more threatening than any gun. He stood in a seeming trance, muttering quietly and gesturing in random directions. Once Arbuckle and Kravitz had barred the heavy door behind them, they were content to watch Faust and wait.
Soon, Faust fell silent. His gestures became more sudden, until he finally pointed both palms down the length of the hall with straining effort. The candles guttered, then settled at a new dim. With much of the room now in shadow, they all saw the figure appear at the top of the grand staircase, the brightest point remaining in the hall. The figure was an older man in a fine old suit with a white bowtie. His neatly-combed hair was streaked with silver, and his small mustache was impeccable.
The man descended the stairs. The candlelight made him fade and shimmer as he neared. Faust began to sweat, pushing his palms towards the man with all his strength. The man was unconcerned. Mere paces away, he stopped and surveyed the group. Faust lowered his arms, still wary.
The man looked over them once more, then his gaze stopped on Zatanna. With a solemn countenance, he said, "In time, you will know the tragic extent of my failings."
Zatanna's eyes were wet. Her voice nearly caught in her throat.
"Daddy?"
