Chapter 27

Some people say, "Walk around the right corner in Gotham City, and you'll find just about anything." This was true. Tabitha had learned that within her first week in this miserable pile of bricks. All you had to do was whisper in the right ears, and slip dollars into the right hands. She knew how to do both. Which was why, as the sky darkened, she had found prey suitable for both her and Barbara. People who, unlike the rest, actually believed what Barbara's text had implied. And were interested.

Though, admittedly, they weren't exactly the next super-criminals. It was just the Vortex Gang, one of the few packs that the Penguin hadn't even bothered to contact. They were no more than a dozen, and limited themselves to robbery and guns-for-hire. Their symbol, a spiral, was either found sewn on their clothing or inked into their flesh. Ugh.

But hey, better than nothing.

Barbara and Tabitha kept exchanging looks as they sat on one end of the filthy table. On the other end, of course, was the Head Spiral, if you will. A big, thuggish fellow with more muscles than he had teeth. When he smiled, Tabitha could only count two, and they were both black with rot. Damn, eating must have been an ordeal. He probably had a name. But Tabitha wasn't interested enough to remember it.

The lair wasn't that impressive, either. It was just an abandoned clinic, it seemed, by the amount of faded posters and white-tiled walls. Oh, and wheelchairs. As the Sirens sat with the head honcho, his goons were racing around in them the same way kids would in go-karts. The scene was so campy, Tabitha suspected, even for Joel Schumacher. Bare bulbs hanging from the cracked ceiling provided light. The amount of filth and dust on everything spoke of decades of neglect. The only proof that the place was inhabited at all was the copious amount of flags hanging around, all of them sporting the gang's spiral.

Barbara cleared her throat. "Lovely place you got here."

"Thanks!" The boss grinned, completely missing the sarcasm in her tone. His nearly toothless smile was both goofy and disturbing. Like a bearded, wrinkling infant. "It's not the Plaza, I'll grant you, but it's home. Now, what's this I heard about a freakazoid workin' for the Penguin?"

Tabitha scoffed. "Freakazoid. Haven't heard that one in a while."

Barbara got right to business. "She's just a maid, really. Nothing special...except for this, obviously. Apparently, she's not from the batch we've got running around the city. No, she's an older generation. And she can shapeshift."

The boss raised a bushy eyebrow. Beneath those thick caterpillars, his eyes flickered with a humble intelligence. "Oh?" He leaned forward. Locked his sausage-sized fingers together. "Well, that's mighty interestin'. Ya got any proof?"

This wiped the smile from Barbara's red-painted lips. She actually looked stunned. Tabitha felt a twitch of concern. "Proof?" Barbara repeated carefully.

"Yeah." The boss nodded. "How do I know you ain't pullin' my leg? Now, if ya had some video footage, or, better yet, her, then I'd be willin' to consider your proposition. But without anythin' like that?" He sucked in air between his two clenched teeth. "Yeah, no dice, dollface. Sorry." He rose. His brutes took it as a cue to stop playing and rose with him. For the first time, Tabitha noticed that they were all armed. Well, that wasn't an issue. She was, too. Hell, she'd even hidden a shuriken in her bra, just to be prepared. But the boss lifted a hand the size of an oven mitt, and they visibly relaxed. "Sorry, ladies." He said. "But with no proof, I can't give ya nothin'." He chuckled. "'Sides, I'm not sure I'd want a circus reject like that near my men. Sounds like a time bomb, ya know?"

Barbara rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I've seen newborn rabbits act more viciously than her."

"Still." The boss shrugged. "Why wake the sleepin' dog?"

The day was dying. Oswald was watching.

He sat in one of his favorite armchairs, a glass of pinot noir in his hand and a pile of scribbled papers at his feet. His fountain pen, which Ruby had bought him as a gift a couple of months ago, lay respectfully in its case. Icy-blue eyes examined the world between the red velvet drapes. The horizon was crimson tonight, as though the heavens were bleeding out, with passing clouds that pulsed like beating hearts. The land was growing blacker by the minute, barely pierced by the waking lights. It was a sunset worthy of the apocalypse.

Oswald sighed. Leaned back in the armchair. Let the blinding red lumiscence bathe him. He remained like that for a while. The only noise came from the fireplace. An ideal weapon against the approaching chill.

Why? He kept asking himself. Why had he told Butch about Ruby?

The first reason that came was the simplest, and most shallow: because he was mad at her, and, at the time, had believed that she'd deserved it. She'd kept such a vital piece of information about herself hidden. So, it would no longer be hidden so easily. Butch would know, especially because it would serve Oswald's plan.

That was the second reason.

What Ruby had done to Oswald...with him...for even just a few minutes...had been mind-blowing. It had been unlike anything he'd ever experienced, be it awake or dreaming. It had felt as though everything about himself, both physical and mental, had turned to paint. Mixed with the paint that had once been Ruby Sinclair, and together, they had created something...someone...entirely new. It hadn't even felt like he had been sharing his body with her, or his mind. He hadn't felt like one of two people. Oswald had felt like a single, new being. And his old name may as well have belonged to a limb.

Imagine if Ruby could do that again. This time, not with him, but with Butch. With Ruby's quick wit and the man's immense strength, they could bring down foes better than any knife or bullet.

And the third? Well...he'd needed advice. Advice on what to do. How to fix things. And why the problem had been born in the first place. Butch hadn't been able to offer anything of substance, though, which had convinced Oswald of his errorous thinking. He'd proceeded to threaten Butch with a lashing if a single word of the matter ever left the car. It was a threat he'd gladly act upon. That deliciously effective whip hadn't been used in a while, and he was beginning to miss the power that came with it.

And this afternoon...and this morning...what had he heard? Seen? Was it just his mind playing tricks on him? The ugly result of too much stress in too small a window of time? Oswald had no idea, but the life infused within those illusions had been terrifying.

He finished his glass in three greedy gulps. Then, he quickly refilled it. As an afterthought, he recalled a small wine-tasting evening between him and Ruby about a fortnight ago. They had just finished killing a traitor and he'd been in a better mood than usual. That was why, after Ruby had finished wrapping up the corpse in Grace's clothing and setting it aflame, Oswald had raided the basement's stash. The two of them had spent the next three hours tasting different vintages, rating them, and sharing secrets with each downed glass. Ruby had even prepared snacks of bread, cheese, and fruit to help their bodies cope with the alcohol. By the third stroke of midnight, the two of them had fallen asleep on the Persian carpet, side by side, each clutching their favorite wine. Oswald's was Chateau Lafite. Ruby's was Moscato d'Asti.

Tears filled Oswald's eyes. He swiped them away with an angry paw. He couldn't allow himself to get carried away. After all, there was still the matter of Fish Mooney to settle. Why she hadn't killed him that night, when the oppurtunity had been gift-wrapped for her. Had it been due to Ruby's intervention? Had their...union moved Fish beyond her murderous nature? No, it didn't seem right. In his time as Fish's umbrella boy (the memory still made him want to curl into a ball and weep), he'd seen her beat men and women alike until they lost consciousness. Then what was it? Had she been so repulsed by this unnatural fusion that she'd been unable to react?

Well, whatever the reason, Fish was out there. And he would find her. Dead, alive, or chopped into pieces.

Just beneath his feet there came a deafening crash. Oswald leapt up. A lightning bolt of agony shot up his leg. "Aagh!" Oswald cried out. His hand flew to his side, where a dagger lay hidden. Then, as the sound faded, he felt like slapping himself. It had just been the front door. Being slammed open very, very hard. Still, he tightened his hold on the blade.

"OSWALD CHESTERFIELD COBBLEPOT!"

Oswald stopped. He knew that voice. His hand fell from the dagger. But he couldn't deny that he was more than a little scared of Ruby's alien wrath.

A bubbling noise emerged from the floorboards. Oswald slowly looked down, horrified, to see a multicolored goop pushing its way up like magma. It was multicolored: black, peach, dark blue, and crystal. Oswald stumbled backwards, crashing back into the armchair. The sludge slowly began to rise, like the contents of a lava lamp, with each particle building on top of another. A shape began to take hold. A feminine one. Details broke out. A blurry image coming into focus. And that image was of Ruby's red, tearstained face. Glaring daggers at him.

Oswald felt a stab in his chest when he saw her face, but his own was as impassive as a frozen lake. "Miss Sinclair," he started, "why on earth-"

"HOW COULD YOU!" Ruby screamed at him. Her hands were clenching and unclenching at her sides. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND!"

"Stop yelling, for God's sake!" Oswald screamed back. Then he stopped. Squinted at her. "What are you wailing about?"

"Oh, gee, nothing important!" Ruby answered viciously. "Except, you know, my secret is officially front-page news!"

"What?!" Oswald felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

"You told someone!" Ruby cried. Tears were running freely down her face. "And that person told someone else! I bet it was Butch. 'Cause today at the cemetary, Tabitha and Barbara made it more than clear that they know."

Oswald felt himself growing angrier by the second. He thought back on himself informing Butch of Ruby's...condition. How foolish he'd been, to think that Butch would hold his silence. All threats are meaningless in the face of love. He groaned. Rested his head in his palm. "I swear, I never meant for things to go this way."

Ruby stopped. She was still crying. Her tears hit the floorboards with a steady, drum-like rhythm. Her glassy eyes were locked on his, and saw the truth. They hardened. "I believe you." She spun on her heel and stomped towards the doorway. Oswald hastily got up, wincing at the pain. "Where are you going?"

"Away from you!"

"I forbid it!" Oswald yelled, slamming his cane against the floor. "Not until we've finished our discussion!"

"Oh, that's right!" Ruby turned back to him. "I'm just a servant! A mutant servant, but one all the same. So I've got to ask your permission if I can leave, enter, or even breathe!"

"Ruby-"

"Well," Ruby sneered, "then, if you'll excuse me, Master..." She spat the word out with a poisonous hatred. Then, she slammed the door shut. Oswald cursed and stumbled across the room, cane clacking with every step. He glanced down at it as he treaded. Swearing that next time he got into an arguement, he'd grab it before the weapon. Lest stumble around like a newborn giraffe.

He reached the door just in time to hear the symphony of sorrow. Oswald stopped. He listened. Oozing from the other side of that mahogony surface was the most heartbroken sound that he'd ever heard. It was swollen with anguish and betrayal, entirely hopeless and beyond consolation. Oswald listened, unable to turn away, as his own heart broke beneath his fine clothes. He dropped to his knees. The impact sent his bad knee into hysterics, as though he'd stapped it to an angry wasps' nest. But Oswald didn't care. Just kept listening, as tears slid down his own cheeks.

The meeting was to place a fortnight later. Oswald contacted the Sirens each night, trying to anticipate the union, to no avail. They were always 'busy'. He would have strung both of them up by their hair, but Butch adored Tabitha. Killing her, or simply maiming her, would have put Butch's loyalty at risk. Oswald couldn't have that; not until he found someone better.

Ruby spent those two weeks having as little to do with Oswald as possible. She prepared his meals, washed and ironed his clothes, and kept the house in mint condition. But the minute her chores were completed, or she heard his mismatched footsteps approaching, Ruby reduced herself into a pudding and hid under the furniture. She knew that he wanted to talk. Wanted to apologize. As if her increased salary and extra free hours weren't indicatory enough. But Ruby wasn't having any of that. He had taken her trust and pinned it to his coat as if it were a cheap brooch. It would take more than cash and free time to repair what he'd carelessly broken.

Besides, she didn't have time to socialize these days.

Ruby wiped the sweat from her forehead. After the disasterous escape of the creatures, Arkham had endured a brief window of inactivity. People, both officials and locals, had avoided the area as though it were cursed. Which wasn't too far off the mark. Ruby had seized the chance and stolen every modern file that she could get her hands on. Then, she'd poured over each one as though it were a Harry Potter book. She'd studied each subject's name. Condition. Revival. And she'd used the facts to track them down and offer them a one-way ticket to freedom.

Most of them had accepted. But there were others who wouldn't leave this damned city.

Ruby rested her forehead upon the papers. Wishing she could change the words as easily as she could her own appearance. She stayed like that for a moment. Contemplating. Dreading.

Fish Mooney. She was the reason other creatures wouldn't leave. She had convinced them to join her on whatever crazy crusade she was embarking on. And they had accepted! That was the absurd part!

Or maybe it wasn't. Ruby drummed her fingers against the cherrywood. Thought back on her days as an inmate. Mostly, she couldn't envision images, exactly; just sensations. Terror. Self-loathing. And humiliation. Daily. If someone had offered her a reason to live, any at all, Ruby would have accepted. No point denying that. When people are scared and hurt, when they're thrown in the dark, they'll follow anyone who offers a solution. It was human nature.

After all, she'd followed Master. She would have followed him to the grave, if he had asked her to.

Ruby closed her eyes. But that didn't stop the tears from falling. She hugged herself, trying not to weep. And failing. Ruby dropped her head. "Master." She whispered. "I miss you so much..." Tears pattered gently upon the documents, making the ink bleed.

The phone shrieked. Ruby jumped two feet out of her stool. She spun around, looking about with teary eyes, and groaned. "Of course, the fucking phone." She muttered. Ruby rose from her seat and reached out. Her arm stretched out five feet across the room, the hand detaching the phone from its cradle. "Hold on!" She snapped. Reached her destination. "Hold on, hello?" She held the phone to her ear.

"Ruby?" That honeyed voice could not be forgotten. No matter how much one may wish it.

Ruby sighed. "Yes, Miss Kean?"

"Oh, thanks for answering!" Barbara sounded like they were best friends reconnecting after years of silence. "I just totally need your help!"

Ruby blinked. "My help? Are you sure you don't want Penguin?"

"Positive." Barbara's grin was audible as it was poisonous. "You see, I'm having a business problem, and only someone with your...skills can pack the wallop I need."

Ruby sensed that Barbara had gone through a dictionary's worth of terms before settling on 'skills'. "No, sorry." She said. "I work for Penguin, not for you." She was about to hang up when Barbara yelled, "Wait!"

Ruby did. She would never know why. She would spend the next week or so contemplating why she had waited. But the answer would never come. If only she had known...

Ruby held up the phone. "I'm listening. But not for long."

"Oh, good!" Barbara sounded relieved. "Because, really, it's about these Russian dudes."

Ruby frowned. "What Russian dudes?"

"The ones who own this part of town." Barbara explained. "They've been poking around here lately, and Tabitha just can't keep 'em away anymore. Could you maybe kill a few, just to discourage the others from showing up anymore?"

Ruby blinked. Frowned. "What's the catch?"

"No catch!" Barbara sounded stunned. "I was just hoping, since Oswald's my ally, he'd be willing to lend me his tool every now and then."

Honey, if you want a tool, just look in the mirror. But of course Ruby couldn't say that. Instead, she swallowed down this spoonful of wormwood and spoke in a civil tone. "Fine. But in exchange, I expect...a ten percent increase in the fees you pay Penguin in exchange for his protection. Sound fair?"

"Very fair." Barbara assured her. "You're soft in your negotiations, sweetie. Well, you know the address. See you in half an hour!" Click!