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Batman 1939: Three's Company
Chapter 9: Lulu's Back in Town
The mystic cage containing the journals of Giovanni Zatara was bound by three metal bands, each built with twelve sturdy latches. It was an intimidating piece of security, though its fearsome appearance was diminished when the thirty-six latches had only thirty-five locks.
The group stared in silence as Catwoman swung the thirty-sixth lock around her finger. After a moment, Zatanna slapped her forehead. She pulled her white gloves tight, muttered about family habits and topping Houdini, and marched up to Catwoman. Each woman smiled and tried speaking at once, saying that the other could relax and let an expert finish the job. Each woman paused, quite taken aback. Struggling to keep their smiles, each tried to speak again, but their mutual interruption killed the effort.
There was another tense silence. Each woman glanced at the cage, then at the other, then at the cage again. Zatanna flicked her wrist, and a pair of metal picks appeared in her hand. Catwoman thought the trick looked familiar but had no time to ask. She tossed the open lock over her shoulder. They turned as one and attacked the cage.
Neither Catwoman nor Zatanna claimed to be the best lock breaker in the world - that would be arrogant - but Zatanna often suspected that she was the best in the country, and Catwoman's imagined reign stopped at the hemisphere. This confidence was rational: Zatanna had surpassed even her father's legendary lockwork by her first solo tour, and Catwoman had once been hired by The Batman.
They started at opposite ends of the cage, backs bent, elbows tucked, feverishly finessing the thick iron locks. Metal squeaked as their tools pecked and twisted. Every few seconds, another lock popped open, and the lady responsible would slap it off its latch and jump to the next.
Catwoman and Zatanna felt quite off-balance from the evening's many unwelcome surprises, and they were sick of it. They were itching to do something they understood, something proactive. Lockpicking was proactive Neither had met a serious rival in years, so they found the audacity of a challenge very motivating. After Zatanna picked her second lock, beating Catwoman's second by a hair, Zatanna cheered out her score, then continued to announce her count after every lock fell. Catwoman was too dignified to call out numbers like a child, then she pulled ahead with her fifth lock and couldn't resist a smug, "Five."
He produced his own picks and started on an untouched lock. Zatanna frowned, and Catwoman shot him a dirty look. Batman ignored them. This was no time for a competition: their lives were at stake. Also, locks weren't his strong suit and he needed to focus.
The platform holding the mystic cage was as large as a pool table. The women started on opposite sides, but it didn't take long for them to bump shoulders. Without missing a beat, Catwoman, working the lower lock, crouched in front, while Zatanna, working the upper lock, hunched her spine to give her competitor space. They finished their locks at the same instant, stepped past each other, and resumed.
Catwoman was the first to bump into Batman. She had finished every lock within reach save for two hidden by his wide frame. Zatanna was making short work of the last few locks on the other side of him. Catwoman vibrated with impatience for two vast seconds, then she shoved Batman out of the way and swiftly finished both. But it was too late. When the last latch opened, Zatanna was the victor with sixteen locks, Catwoman had only fifteen, and Batman had spoiled the affair with four. Catwoman was livid.
Zatanna skipped and whooped and pumped her fist. For all her charisma onstage, Zatanna had spent more of her life in steamships than friendships. Like many loners, she was pleasant in an awkward, inoffensive way and had trouble relating to people. When this made her feel self-conscious, she rationalized that at least she was sincere. But sincerity had limits. For instance, Zatanna was entirely unused to the thrill of winning a close contest after an exhausting night, and she was not a gracious winner.
As Zatanna danced around, Cawoman folded her arms and glared at Batman who was opening the cage.
Catwoman finally snapped at Zatanna, "Are you done yet?"
Zatanna continued her victory shuffle. "Don't have kittens now."
Catwoman gaped. Before she could answer, she heard a snort from behind. She twisted around to see Batman keeping a straight face.
Shadowcrest loudly cleared its non-existent throat. "This is no time for frivolity, Mistress, no matter how decisive and well-earned your conquest."
Catwoman steamed.
Batman lifted the sixteen leather-bound journals out of the cage. Zatanna rushed over and picked a volume from the top. She flipped the journal to a middle page.
"Oh, wow!" said Zatanna.
"What?" asked Batman.
"I forgot how bad his handwriting was."
"Bring them along." said Shadowcrest. "We must depart at once."
"Oh." said Zatanna, tossing the journal back atop the stack in Batman's arms. He shifted to keep the stack balanced.
"What part did you want us to read?" asked Catwoman. "We might as well do it here."
"I do not know." Shadowcrest growled briskly. "These books are but one arrow. We must first fill your quiver, then we will loose them in their proper course."
"That sounds like a fancy way to say you don't know what you're doing."
"Hardly. Time is short, so I must explain while we proceed."
"Yeah, you keep saying that. Don't see you making good on that promise, Shady."
In an instant, Shadowcrest grew ten feet tall. Its face turned red as it bellowed down at her, "Silence!"
Catwoman stumbled back. Batman dropped the journals and slipped beside her.
Shadowcrest's skin shook with fury. "You shall respect my prerogatives, vapid girl." Bookcases around them began to rock as squadrons of books took to the air, diving and circling like clouds of gnats. The ceiling's gentle glow turned the ugly scarlet of a bruise.
Zatanna marched between Shadowcrest's towering form and her human rescuers and shouted, "Hey! Don't hurt them!"
Shadowcrest hardly glanced at her. "I must ensure the deference of your lessers, Mistress. This one's impertinence must not threaten you, whether you see the danger or not."
Batman slowly raised his hands. "We submit. You have all the power here."
"More than enough to chastise you, squire. And your girl?"
Batman subtly elbowed Catwoman. She elbowed him back. He elbowed her harder. She grudgingly raised her hands. Shadowcrest scrutinized her for a frightful second then nodded. All at once, the scarlet ceiling turned its gentle yellow and hundreds of books hit the floor.
Batman looked sternly across at Catwoman. It's growing unhinged. Stop aggravating it.
Catwoman scoffed and looked away.
Shadowcrest returned to normal size. "I've readied our path to the seneschal's sanctum. Be swift."
Batman collected the journals off the floor, trying to hold all sixteen under one arm. "Shadowcrest, would you help carry these? I'd like my hands free."
"I'm afraid not," said Shadowcrest. "Much as Giovanni prevented me from opening the cage, he forbade me from touching the contents when they are released.
"His life is on the line."
"His command made no allowances for such a predicament."
Batman shifted again to keep the journals from slipping. "... Catwoman?"
"Sorry, my satchel's full," said Catwoman, inspecting her claws.
"Oh!" said Zatanna. She turned over her hat and pulled out of black drawstring bag which unfolded to the length of her arm. "Keep 'em in here."
"Why do you have that?" asked Catwoman.
Zatanna began stuffing the journals into the drawstring bag. "It's for a trick I'm inventing. I hide an owl in the bag, then pin the bag inside the hat. The bag is the same color as the hat lining, so no one sees it when they peek inside. Then I enter an empty glass chamber, give a big speech about how nothing can possibly get in, then a curtain falls. Before the curtain hits the ground, I'm holding an owl."
"How's that working out for you?"
"Not great. It turns out owls hate being stuffed into hats. And they're not fond of bags."
Zatanna cinched the drawstring and tied it around the leg joint of Abdiel's walking prison.
"An acceptable compromise." said Shadowcrest. "Come."
On the other side of the house.
Felix, Lord of Faust climbed the last rickey staircase to the top of Shadowcrest's highest tower.
His corrupting spell continued to spread its tendrils through Shadowcrest's keystone. He could feel the mystic energies in the walls bubble and bend as the corruption grew. The spell would finish without his supervision: like a kindling fire when the fuelwood ignites, its momentum was assured.
He raised his palm to the door at the top of the stairs and sensed for traps. His little captive ensured the house spirit stayed tamed, but there was no such thing as a reckless old mage, and the Lord of Faust was very old.
Sensing no danger, Faust opened the door and entered the observatory. A brisk wind howled through the windows. Faust shivered in his indigo suit and caught the flapping ends of his headwrap. He grumbled and flicked a hand, shutting the windows.
The observatory was a hexagonal sawdust-smelling room with a large window on each wall. Lanterns hung from the bare rafters, but most light came from a full moon so large it filled two windows. There was an impressive telescope pointed at the moon and a table of surveying instruments nearby. The center of the room was monopolized by a huge orrery, a clockwork model of the solar system the size of a merry-go-round, though this model had several planets unknown to mainstream astronomers.
Faust circled the room, eyeing the windows and tools. Observatories in the great magical estates were used to spy on distant realms. In layman's terms, Shadowcrest was detached from the rest of the universe in a little bubble. But here the bubble's membrane was thin enough to let in light and sound from other bubbles. A skilled mage might steer against those distant bubbles to peer inside. But Faust had not come to gaze outward. The observatory's tools and permeable nature also made it the best place in the house to spy on the rest of the house. Shadowcrest's masonry blurred even Faust's senses, but here those blinders would be lifted.
Faust's goal was singular: finding the two strangers who had ambushed his retinue at the entrance portal. Faust had assumed they were Giovanni Zatara's guards - freelance mundanes or weak mages: it explained the magician's longevity. But then Zachary Cehennem claimed the same assailants had attacked him and his brother in the main hall. This second attack gave Faust pause. If true, it came after Faust struck parlay with the spirit of Shadowcrest. If the strangers were agents of the house, they would be bound by those teams.
Now, free-willed humans could break parlay. This was one of the most dangerous acts in all of magic, but it happened. Faust had broken so many oaths that he lost count. Magical constructs, like a mansion, usually couldn't, but if the human servant of a construct broke parlay, the magic of the agreement would punish both servant and construct. Faust would sense such retribution, yet tonight he sensed nothing. The attackers were not Giovanni's men. This was chilling news for Felix, Lord of Faust.
More chilling still, after Zachary had given his report, Faust decided the boy had exhausted his value and made to end him. But Shadowcrest came and captured the boy. The whelp would die from his wounds, but the move meant that Shadowcrest could act against his wishes without breaking parlay. How? The strangers surely killed the fat brother, which was no loss, and they may have stolen that silly heiress. But even with her support, Faust couldn't imagine how the strangers could free the house from its promise, and he was an expert in loopholes. It was baffling.
Ultimately, this was still a modest concern. Parlay was a valuable shield, but the house would not attack him so long as Giovanni was his prisoner. Let it snipe at his followers; they meant nothing. But that still left the assailants. The other characters in tonight's petty drama, these Zataras and Cehennems were grains of sand in the arena of true magical power. If these strangers were not agents of the house, then Faust judged it likely that they were not part of the family's little play at all. They had come for him.
Faust had many, many enemies, and more than a few were a grave danger when he had perfect health. He had come to the observatory to identify his foes. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, after all, and time was on Faust's side. Soon Shadowcrest would be his, and with the almighty house at his command, he could pick apart his rivals like petals from a flower.
Faust spent several minutes inspecting the room's surveying instruments (if they were his, they would be booby-trapped). Then, ever so gently, he thinned the mystic membrane around the tower, tuning the instruments to pierce the veil. Technically, he would still be looking out of Shadowcrest's bubble, only to look back into the bubble at another part of the house. As difficult as this was to understand conceptually, the difficulty of performing it was fivefold.
But one by one, the windows misted over, leaving the observatory dim. Faust turned dials as one window began to resolve into the faded, fuzzy image of a plumed helmet. He turned another dial and the image retreated, showing a suit of armor, then a wall of the entrance hall. The hall was empty.
Faust searched the vast mansion room by room, thinning the membrane further when he needed to peer through yet another wall. He eventually found the library and discovered hundreds of books scuttling across the floor.
"Curious," he whispered.
Faust was so focused on the window ahead that he failed to notice a pulse of light from the window behind him. It wasn't until he heard a faint echo of upbeat jazz piano that turned his attention. Faust spun, orange sparks dancing over his hands, but he was still alone in the observatory.
The opposite window, however, now looked into the private room of a swanky nightclub. Shadowy figures in tuxedos mingled in smokey corners, but the middle of the windowpane faced the dark silhouette of a couch. Then a string was pulled, and a cone of warm light shined down from a purple Deco lampshade.
The hand holding that string was attached to a woman in a green satin evening gown. Her other hand held a cocktail glass. She had dark red curls, bold red lipstick, and a look of wicked self-satisfaction that Catwoman couldn't match on her best day.
"Felix, darling," said the woman with a languid laugh, "Always playing hard to get."
In the library.
Once again, Shadowcrest demanded silence as the group traveled the untamed stacks. They crossed with no interruptions. Zatanna had the impression that the books remaining on the shelves trembled as Shadowcrest passed.
She also sensed a new chilliness between Batman and Catwoman. As a natural entertainer, grumpy faces made her uncomfortable, plus friction between her allies jeopardized her odds of seeing tomorrow. She dearly wished someone else could fix their issues. Their outfits suggested this was impossible, but putting their short-term problems on hold might be in her wheelhouse. The operative word was 'might'. Of all the social graces which Zatanna had little practice, mediation was probably the most lacking, but she didn't have a choice.
The feuding pair were walking at opposite ends of their line, which Zatanna took as a blessing as she needn't face both at once. Catwoman seemed more approachable than Batman (a cactus seemed more approachable than Batman) so Zatanna sidled up to her.
"Hey there."
Catwoman was sulking but mustered a short half-smile. "Hi."
"Want to see a trick?"
"Hm?"
Before Catwoman could question her, Zatanna fanned a deck of cards under her nose. "Pick a card."
"I'm not in the mood for-"
"Come on, humor me. People pay to see this."
Catwoman rolled her eyes and picked the three of clubs. "And?"
Zatanna pulled the deck away. "Hold the card tightly between your palms. Don't let it escape."
"Fine."
"Now open your palms."
Catwoman lifted her palm. The card was gone. Her eyes opened wide. She inspected all parts of her arms and patted the creases in her outfit. Finally, she looked at Zatanna with annoyance and a hint of wonder.
"How?"
Zatanna said nothing but turned over the deck again. Every card was a three of clubs.
"Okay." Catwoman gave her two slow claps. "That wasn't bad. I'll figure it out in a minute, but that wasn't bad."
"You know, I think we have a lot in common."
"Oh?" said Catwoman with more condescension than she intended.
"I have to admit, you beat me with the lock picks." Zatanna didn't actually believe this, but it was a white lie. "It was close though. I guess thieves and magicians have similar lines of work."
Hearing her superiority acknowledged, Catwoman offered Zatanna a real grin. "I guess they do. I suppose I never met a magician to find out."
"And I never met a criminal. Well, I knew a boy in school who wanted to join a gang, Edwin Manschwitz. But he was from such a nice family, I doubt anything came of it."
"Wait," said Catwoman. "Manschwitz? You mean Eddie the Gangster? I've heard of him. He runs with the Bricksville Boys. Big bookmakers."
"Shucks, his mom must be so disappointed. But he's not a big-timer, is he? Maybe it's just a hobby."
"Do you have any idea how enthusiastic a gangster you have to be for your gangster nickname to be Eddie the Gangster?"
"I guess not."
"What do you want, Zatanna?" Catwoman asked kindly. "You're not here to show me card tricks."
"Well," Zatanna folded her hands, "I'm worried."
"You'll be fine, dear."
"Worried about you two."
"What, me and King Frowny?" Catwoman chuckled insincerely. "Don't worry about that."
"Well, it's none of my business, but you were getting on famously, but now all of a sudden the pair of you seem as cross as two sticks."
"I'm fine, Zatanna. And don't mind him. His personality is a work in progress."
"What are you doing together anyway? Aren't you a criminal?"
"I don't shout it from the rooftops."
"And doesn't he hunt criminals?"
"He likes to think so."
"What then? Are you married?"
"What?" Catwoman missed a turn and almost knocked over a bookcase. She grimaced and stretched her shoulder. "What makes you say that?"
"Because you came together in costumes but you act like you have nothing in common."
"And that spells 'marriage' to you?"
"I'm in show business."
"No. We're not married."
"Dating?"
"Ha. No."
"Business partners?"
"No."
"Friends?"
"No."
"Relatives?"
"I hope not."
"I'm confused. Does someone owe someone money?"
"Let's go with acquaintances."
"You said the two of you were here to bring me to safety. Do I know you from somewhere? Did my dad send you?"
"No. Actually, this was all an accident. A friend of mine lived in the Lisbon."
"No! I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry. She'll be fine. I think. But I wanted to find out who was responsible. Batman has a knack for checking that sort of thing, so I brought him along to search the place. We saw you being kidnapped and decided to do something about it. Spur of the moment decision."
"Huh. Well, thanks for chasing after me, I guess."
Catwoman glanced at the sinister books looming over them. "My pleasure."
"But still, the two of you seemed like a real team in the dining room. What got between you?"
"You don't want to know."
"Catwoman." Zatanna slung an arm around Catwoman's shoulders in what she hoped was a friendly gesture. "My world's been spun more times tonight than a washing machine. Nothing you say is getting under my skin."
Catwoman gently pushed her arm away. "I told you I wanted to find who started the fire." She gestured at Abdiel. "Found 'em."
"Oh." said Zatanna. "Yeah, I'm furious at him too."
"Are you?" asked Catwoman uncharitably, "Cause you don't seem too angry."
Zatanna shrugged. "I've screamed all my screams tonight. I'm plum tuckered out. And I've never had a family before. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel. This is all new to me."
"Well, family isn't all it's cracked up to be." said Catwoman.
"I understand. They dragged me into an abandoned building and pointed a gun at me. No one's done that before. Do families point guns at each other?"
"It's on the menu." Catwoman looked at Zatanna sadly. "But to answer your question, Batman and I have different attitudes about what to do with your brothers. Mine's a touch less gentle. He doesn't like that very much."
"Isn't he the crime hunter?"
"You would think."
Zatanna stared at Batman's back. "So who is he really?"
"Batman? No idea. Probably had his name surgically removed. Why?"
"I don't know. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something familiar about him."
"I doubt that."
"Are you sure you aren't an item?"
"Can't imagine how I'd make that mistake."
"Really? He's nice."
"No he isn't."
"He's ... polite."
"Granted."
"And looks like the Farnese Hercules."
Catwoman brightened. "I've been to the Farnese. You like art?"
"I liked that art."
"When were you in Naples?"
"Three years ago. I went to Europe for a tour that fell apart."
"What happened?"
"Someone stole famous props from a theatrical museum in Rome, and my tour manager spent a month in jail as a suspect."
"Huh," said Catwoman, looking away. "What a tragic, unforeseeable happenstance."
"Thanks."
In the observatory.
Faust pointed a bony finger at the woman in the window and shouted, "Metamorph! Ishtar!"
"How dramatic, Felix. I can do that too, see?" The woman sipped her cocktail then began a mocking falsetto, "Oh, Sunderer of Babylon! Oh, Lord of Faust! Heavens! Dearie me!"
"Why do you pester me?" he demanded.
"Why? I think we both forgot a title. Maybe that's why."
Faust sneered, "Herald of Trigon."
She replied, "Outcast of the Heralds of Trigon."
"Outcast? I left of my own accord, Strumpet of Trigon."
The faint jazz piano stopped. The woman's eyes turned less amused. "That wasn't very nice, Felix. Nor very accurate."
"Boil! Carbuncle of a trollop!"
"It doesn't become a man of your advanced age to talk so childishly, you know. Let's try again with some civility."
"Vexations," Faust grumbled. He took a deep breath. "Begone, Circe."
"That wasn't so hard. And don't be silly. Do you know how much effort I've put into tracking you, darling? You must be in quite the pickle if you've cast an undisguised ethereal scope from a stranger's observatory. The disguise charm takes, what, an hour? Three for you, perhaps?"
"I've nothing to say to you, Circe. Go back to your thralls and puppets before I break this window."
"I see. So you won't mind if I send your address to the other heralds. I know they would drop everything to see you. They're dying to say hello."
"Circe, don't-"
"Oo, Is that a private estate?" Circe asked, leaning closer to the window to look around. "Impressive. Those are not easy to come by. Though given those wounds on your face, I suppose it isn't yours quite yet."
"Don't squander my time. What do you want?"
"Oh, just some friendly taunting. I do miss the old days. You really should come back. I'm sure I could convince the other heralds if you begged us. Maybe kissed some boots."
"Codswallop. Intolerable."
"Don't pout, Felix. You'd get to see my menagerie again. I've made some lovely additions since last time."
"I've nothing more to say."
Circe suddenly looked past him, her eyes growing wide. She idly plucked an olive out of her glass and popped it in her mouth. "Have you entertained the possibility that you're wrong? And also an idiot?"
"Pah! Come with the herald dogs. I'll greet you with a fortress."
"Not if he does something about it." She pointed past Faust.
"He?" Faust turned. His search window showed a corner of the library from twenty feet in the air. Faust saw a line of figures pass through an intersection. Faust rushed to adjust the image, circling the group for a better angle. He saw a strange lady speaking with the Zatara girl, Abdiel Cehennem in a walking prison, then Shadowcrest and a man with a cape.
"He who? Whom do you ken, Circe?" Faust barked. "The poncy blaggard with the cape?"
Circe started laughing. A waiter poured her another cocktail. She downed it at once and laughed some more. "Do be careful with that one, Felix. He's just full of surprises."
They watched the group exit through a door, but his view couldn't follow. The image misted over with every attempt. Faust slapped the table of tools and cursed. "Who is this lumpenproletariat rogue, Circe?"
"Aw, but it's more fun if you find out on your own. Fun for me, I mean."
"You deceive. He's nothing."
"Believe that if it makes you feel better, darling."
"I want no more of your hugger-mugger brabbling, Circe!"
"In all seriousness, Felix, watch out for that one. Oh, and if you do get the better of him, I'd like a bite. If you can bundle him and send him my way, I'd owe you big. Alive, preferably, but don't get distracted on the details."
"Tell me!"
It's been a real hoot. Toodles."
"Don't you dare!"
But window to the nightclub had already returned to mist.
The library exit.
Shadowcrest led the four humans to a stately door at the far end of the library. They had walked for many minutes after leaving its untamed stacks, but Shadowcrest still refused to speak. Its former cool demeanor now seemed a steady state of agitation. Zatanna and Catwoman chatted in the rear. Batman believed that the women bonding over anything couldn't possibly end well, but he didn't interrupt and didn't work too hard to eavesdrop. He stayed near Abdiel who had fallen into another sullen silence.
The stately door opened to a short hallway fit for royalty: every surface marble, thick carpets, and filgreed portraits on the walls. It seemed ten paces from one end to the other, but Batman found a strange resistance to each step, like he was walking against an enormous wind or a swift stream. And no matter how far he thought he stretched his leg, his foot only shuffled a few inches forward.
Zatanna, wearing heels, fell over. Catwoman struggled to help her up, almost falling in the process. "What's happening, Shady?" called Catwoman with restrained alarm.
"Hurry," said Shadowcrest. "I've compressed the house along this passage. Reach the end and we'll have traveled seven rooms. The sanctum awaits."
"Sure, that makes sense." said Catwoman as she tip-toed.
Batman managed to grab one of the legs of Abdiel's prison, which was little slowed by the new conditions. He reached back and grabbed Catwoman's arm who did the same to Zatanna. They let the walking contraption half-shuffle, half-drag them as a chain to the end of the room.
Through the next door, the group found their feet worked as usual. Zatanna fell again while discovering this. They also found themselves in a magnificent study. There was a great desk in the center, and cabinets and tables strewn around with many sorts of books and records and other random things. Along one wall, reaching the thirty foot ceiling, was a dense and richly-painted family tree. On the other wall was a roaring fireplace. And in the corner was a radio.
The moment the door shut, Shadowcrest faced them and announced, "Apologies, Mistress. I've kept silent for your protection. But here in your father's sanctum we may speak."
"Wonderful," said Zatanna. "Do it."
"I had reason to worry that our enemy, Felix, Lord of Faust, possessed the means to spy on our progress, but here I may speak unhindered. This one," Shadowcrest gestured to Abdiel, "and his brother believed Faust's plot was to destroy me, kill Giovanni Zatara, and leave you in peace."
"He does," said Abdiel firmly.
"He lied. He wishes to control this ancient house and make it his own. He is corrupting the keystone, not destroying it."
"That's impossible," said Abdiel, "You can't change ownership of an estate without the owner."
"Your grasp of these magics is puddle-thin, child. He can and he is."
"Prove it."
"If he only wished to destroy the stone, he would be finished by now. I suspected his deceit early. I cannot see into the keystone's chamber, but after Faust entered, I began losing touch with distant corners of the mansion, room by room. Presently, I don't control even half the house. I am crippled. In less than an hour, his takeover will be complete."
"That's not proof."
Anger crossed Shadowcrest's face, but then it arched an eyebrow and continued calmly. "Do not presume your protests matter, but there is another witness."
A wall opened, and through it floated a giant potted plant which landed at their feet. It looked like a venus fly trap with a closed pair of mottled white leaves the size of mattresses lined with tiny hairs. Shadowcrest nodded and the leaves parted.
Between half-open leaves, Zachary Cehennem floated motionless in a pool of amber sap. His eyes were closed, and there was a vicious wound in his side.
Abidel took some hitching breaths and began to cry. Before he could speak, a metal cup stretched over his mouth. The others were speechless.
"Mistress," said Shadowcrest, "Once Faust commands this place, he will certainly kill your father, then you and your comrades in short order. You could escape now back to your world, but it is inevitable he will track you there as well, lest you dream of retribution. With his talents and my resources, you might buy yourself a week. No more."
Zatanna's eyes were wet again, but her voice was steady. "So I'm dead?"
"Not yet. I brought you this far because I have a plan. I cannot reverse this corruption, but I have the final option, put simply, of suicide."
"You mean-"
"I am a machine. I do not value existence save for serving you. Without me, this great manor is nothing but brick and mortar, and Faust is denied a thousand weapons."
Catwoman asked, "So without the keys to all your toys, he'll leave?"
Shadowcrest shook its head. "The estate and its treasures still possess inestimable value. Faust has come to claim Shadowcrest; he won't leave but by force. But he's weakened. And now he must confront you on your home turf: I will prepare you with every advantage before I expire. I don't believe this is a fight you will necessarily lose."
Zatanna stared at him blankly. "That last part didn't sound as reassuring as the rest."
"Forgive me, Mistress, I was not made to be reassuring."
"Do you think we have a good shot? What are our odds?"
"I can confidently say your odds are better than mine."
