Chapter 26: Joker's Message
[Eva's POV:]
Something was wrong. And I mean, seriously wrong. The sky was messed up, for crying out loud. The weather was acting weird, for another. And I expected humans would notice that. But there was also some strange scent just barely present in the air, so faint I half-thought I was imagining it.
It was a burning smell of smoke, metal, and rotten eggs. Normally I preferred traveling in wolf form, but the stench would have hit me worse then, and the last thing I wanted was to wind up gagging on my way to Lance's place. That would probably be a first for most Gothamites, watching a wolf trotting down the street suddenly gag. I refused to give them that opportunity.
Not for the first time that evening, I wondered why I was heading there. If I spent too much time around luxury, chances were I might wind up spoiled. But truthfully, I wasn't worried about that. I'm a lycan, born and bred, and the call of the wild is in my blood. That's not something you can just ignore forever. No, I was in no danger of getting fat, lazy and spoiled. The real reason I was heading out to find Lance was that I just wanted company.
See, I love my man Croc, but sometimes we butt heads. Comes from having two stubborn, dominant personalities in the same space; when we argue, neither one of us is willing to back down and admit we're wrong. And a few nights ago, we'd argued. He had stomped off in a rage and later, I found out, got his ass caught and hauled back to Arkham. At once, part of me had wanted to charge into the place, to rescue him. Part of me wanted him to stew for a while in there, so he could really think about whether or not he was sorry.
Guess which part of me won out.
I couldn't say that I really liked traveling out in the open, on the streets. Just walking around in muddy, shredded, blood-stained clothes would get me stares, and more likely than not, eventually I would wind up getting interrogated by cops about my wardrobe. As it stood, I was walking around in a borrowed trenchcoat that definitely looked worse for the wear, and I was still getting stared at by some people. The hair on the back of my neck prickled and I let out a low growl. Some jumpy little man coming from the opposite end of the sidewalk squeaked like a rat and ran from me.
That's right, hail to the queen.
The wind picked up, and the rank smell grew stronger. The atmosphere crackled with energy, like something was being charged for a huge electrical out-put. I had no clue what though, and I wasn't sure that I wanted to know. I just wanted to get to Lance's place, and fast. There was another scent on the wind, and it lent me speed.
The Bat and his damn brood were out and about.
I picked up the pace, hoping that whatever was going on with the weather and all that, it would keep Batman's attention. I doubted whether Lance or the tightwad blonde guy that acted as his butler would be happy if I arrived fresh out of a fight and tracking in blood on the floor. As it turned out though, I was going to learn just showing up would put Gerard Montaine in a bad mood.
By the time I arrived at the new address Lance had mentioned to me, I was even more on edge than before. The sky hadn't really changed, unless you wanted to count the fact there was even more whacked-out lightning than before. It felt all kinds of wrong. It should have just started raining already. All it was doing was threatening, and I don't handle threats well.
The house didn't really help matters, because it felt threatening. Reluctantly, I raised a fist and pounded on the door. I got no response. I waited for about a minute, then started pounding on the door again. It didn't last too long before my ears caught an irritated shout of, "Alright, alright! Relax, I'm on my way!" I didn't feel like really complying with that however, so I kept hammering my fist on the door. In a few seconds it swung open, and I just managed to catch myself before I smashed my fist into Gerard.
"Miss Eva." He sounded a bit testy.
"I've got a last name, you know." I shot at him.
"Indeed?" He responded, only arching an eyebrow. "How fascinating. Mister Pendragon isn't expecting you."
"Look, I don't care if you've got some weird policy to uphold about needing appointments to see a rich guy or anything," I snarled, shoving past him into the hall, "You don't tell me what to do, got it? I need to see my friend, and I'm going to."
"Evidently." He clicked his tongue and shut the door behind me. "I suppose you can claim some form of werewolf immunity about entitlement to meet with other werewolves that I should just accept?"
"Yeah," I replied, shedding the trench coat, "It's called, I'm a lycan; I do what I want."
"I shall bear that in mind." He said dryly, striding past me and wearily brushing his bangs out of his face. "Come with me. I do believe Lancelot and Robert are in the kitchen."
"Robert?" I echoed before my brain caught up with my ears. "Wait, you mean Rook? What the heck? Doesn't that vampire have a place of his own or anything?"
"He does, shockingly enough," Gerard answered as he led me through a couple of winding halls with several doors on either side of us, "But I am of the opinion that work is scarce for him of late, and so he hangs around because he knows Lance won't allow anything to happen to him."
Talk about lazy. The vampire had definitely wound up slightly spoiled and pampered. Still…I guess I couldn't totally blame him for keeping his friends close, if they're all he has. I let my thoughts trail off as we entered a large, swanky sort of kitchen. Inside, Rook was adjusting a small T.V. while Lance was furiously wiping down both sink and countertops with a washcloth, a spray bottle hanging in the crook of his arm.
"Come in Eva, Gerard." He spoke without looking up at us. I took it as a good sign; meant he was getting better about trusting his nose. "Do forgive the mess if you will, Eva. My sister and her friends left the house in a horrendous state."
I glanced around, feeling confused. There was a faint smell of eagles lingering under the scents of what had to be super-expensive, non-toxic cleaning solutions. Aside from that though, this place actually felt almost too clean.
"Um, sure." I said. "Whatever you say. Listen, I hope you don't mind me just showing up like this."
"Not at all," he answered in a relaxed tone, "Contrary to whatever impression Gerard may have given you, I do enjoy the quiet monotony of this old house being broken at times. You and yours, as well as Robert and his, are free to drop by whenever you wish or have need of me."
"Really? Wow. Uh, thanks." I said, feeling both justified in having just shown up, and yet, slightly awkward; I still wasn't used to the idea of Lance's openness and generosity. Even in a pack, it's every lycan for herself or himself. I still felt Lance had a lot of learning to do—and I mean a lot—but then again, maybe it was a good thing he wasn't a normal werewolf.
"Thou art of course, always welcome," He answered, giving me a smile before walking over to Rook and giving the television a thump to get its picture to adjust. It seemed to be a thing of his, talking like a Shakespeare book or something when he got irritated.
"You're too nice, Lance." I told him.
"I totally agree with that, by the way." Rook agreed, turning to nod at me and toss Lance a significant look. "You're way too nice for a werewolf, let alone some business tycoon. Where are your balls, dude?"
Lance turned and gave him a flat stare. It was about then that I decided I had to jump in, because I wasn't sure I wanted to know where that would go.
"Check out the tube," I said loudly, tilting my head back in a half-nod, "Anything else on whatever the heck's going on outside?"
It worked for a second; they both looked to the T.V., Rook rolling his eyes. Lance just shook his head and sighed.
"Whatever it is, it's not natural," he said sullenly, "That much the news stations and the Gotham police have deduced."
"Supernatural," Rook emphasized, "And I bet anything you own in your wine cellar that your sister and her friends are out in the thick of this crap, doing something about it. Why the Hell aren't we out there too, man?"
"Uh-uh." I stepped back into the conversation again before I could get shut out. "I don't know if you have some special death wish or whatever Fangs, but you couldn't drag me out into that. Whatever's happening, it's going to come to a head soon. I can just feel it."
"If that is so, then why are you here, Eva?" Lance asked, tilting his head at me and looking curious, rather than judgmental. "What compelled you to come here?"
Crap.
"I…well, I…" I was stuttering for the first time in what seemed like years.
"Trouble in paradise or something?" Rook piped up, and my face got hot fast.
"I never said that!" I snapped, my voice coming out sounding shrill.
"Called it." He said, sounding smug as he turned back toward the T.V.
"I'll whup your ass," I growled, "You got that, vampire? I'm gonna whup your stringy little undead wise-guy ass."
"Please, not in my kitchen," Lance said quickly, walking over to me and lowering his voice, "I am sorry, Eva. I did not mean to pry into your personal life."
"Well, it's not like you were the douche wad who said anything." I muttered.
"I heard that." Rook said loudly. "Just 'cause I drink blood instead of turning into a fuzz ball once a month doesn't mean I hear worse than you guys."
"Robert, please do us a favor, and shut up for a second." Lance groaned. He looked at me again, and I was surprised by how much human sympathy I could read in his face. I had to take half a second and remind myself yet again that he wasn't a normal, natural lycanthian. "Eva…I'm sorry. If you need time by yourself and that's why you've come here, then the house and the grounds are open to you so you can have some space."
"Thanks, but I need to be distracted from brooding right now more than anything else." I said, exhaling roughly, and he nodded to show he understood the feeling.
"Umm…guys?" Rook spoke again, his voice squeaking, "You want a distraction from angsting? I've got one for you."
Before either of us could ask what he was talking about, loud, maniacal laughter issued out of the television. My hair rose on end; what little relaxation had started to come over me since I got in the manor vanished. We moved closer to see something about the broadcast had changed, showing instead a stylized image from a playing card, a white-faced jester.
"Three guesses." Rook muttered, and the image shrank, moving to a lower corner of the screen, the letters JTV appearing beneath the jester's collar. In its place, the picture had gotten vaguely dim, focusing on a high-backed, swanky-looking chair. Slowly, the chair spun around to face the camera, a familiar white face framed by green locks smiling maliciously at the camera. For a moment, everything was still, and apprehension filled the kitchen. A second later, Joker burst into a somewhat animated, delighted monologue.
"Good evening, Gotham City! Sorry to interrupted your regularly scheduled programming, but with all of the mayhem happening right now and Vicky Blonde Why-Does-She-Have-A-Last-Name reporting on it, I figured you would all be riveted to the boob tube like a bunch of lemmings. Your dear friend Joker here, coming to you live from an undisclosed location with a bunch of cameras here to focus on my handsome mug. But not to worry, folks; I'm only invading the lethargy of your 'living' rooms because I have a message to deliver. Are you listening, Lance Pendragon?"
I shook my head a little. Had I just heard that right? Had the clown just asked for Lance? I looked at him and knew I wasn't just imagining things. Lance's posture had stiffened instantly and there was tension emanating from him as his eyes stayed locked on the screen.
"Don't be surprised now!" Joker said with a bit of a dark laugh. "You moneybags buffoons always buy your way into celebrity status, like that Bruce Wayne guy. I hate that goody-two-shoes. But you, Lance! You're a business shark, so I'm going to put this to you in terms you might understand."
The camera swiveled too fast for me to catch a lot of details about where Joker was, and then it came to a stop. The image focused on what looked like a small pool, the kind a family might put in their backyard, and from the green glow coming off the top of it, it definitely wasn't full of chlorine water. An apparatus was being affixed above the pool by two of Joker's goons, something that looked like a dunking chair you might see at a carnival game. Nearby, there was a folding chair on a stage, and tied to it was—
"Miss Harker?!" Lance croaked.
"Jeanette?" I said in disbelief.
"If I understand my gossip correctly," Joker said off-screen in a would-be-casual voice, "Then our four-eyed little librarian here is your main squeeze, Pendragon. See, I've got a bit of a personal beef with her, but once I heard about your budding romance, I said to myself, 'Joker old boy, you can afford to be reasonable!'"
The camera panned back to him, cutting off our view of Jeanette straining against the ropes, and onto his sneering face.
"So here's what I suggest: bring one million dollars to me by midnight, and I'll let the bookworm here live. Sound fair?"
Lance clenched his jaw and looked ready to crush the remote in his hand, which was shaking violently. I couldn't blame him; heck, I wanted to help him. Jeanette was my friend too, probably the only normal friend I had.
"Good!" Joker clapped his hands, as though he had heard a 'yes' or something. "I'll have Punch and Judy text you the address."
He suddenly paused, looking at something off-screen, and then frowned.
"Okay, fine then. Make a guy jump through hoops, why doncha?" He muttered. "Xackie will text you the address. Oh, and Lancey-poo? One more thing: no cops. If I even catch a whiff of boys-in-blue fabric softener, the deal is off. And the same goes for the Batman. This is just between you and me. A business transaction."
I let out a growl. I personally wouldn't have done either thing, as there's no love lost between the GCPD and I, and I'd sooner ask Firefly along on a personal vendetta than the Batman. But kidnappings would be easier to overcome and handle with cops backing you when trying to negotiate for hostages, and Batman was probably the only person who could really handle the Joker. But Joker hand squashed any hope Lance may have had just now to get Jeanette back safely.
"One million," Joker repeated in a sing-song voice, "Pocket chump change for a guy like you, eh Pendragon? Don't keep us waiting."
The screen filled with static as Joker's face vanished, and a second later, it went completely black. Rook and I both turned to look at Lance, who was still staring at the blank screen. If a human had looked at him, they wouldn't catch an expression from him, considering how damn unobservant humans tend to be. But where his face mostly stayed neutral, there were other things, other little signs that his calm façade was going to crumble. A tightening of the muscles in his hands, posture going completely rigid, the tips of his ears elongating, the dark void starting to fill his eyes. It was probably taking all of the self-restraint he had to keep from transforming in the middle of the kitchen and start rampaging in fury. I knew that feeling well.
"Lance…?" Rook said tentatively. Lance didn't move, though. He didn't even blink; he just kept staring at the blank television screen. I tried waving a hand in front of his face, just to see if it would do anything, and he barely responded.
"Lance! Dude!" Rook said sharply, jumping out of the chair to rush over, grab Lance by the shoulders, and give him a rough shaking. "Come on man, come on! Snap out of it! Say something!"
"He has Jeanette." Came the weirdly hollow response. "That madman, that monster has Jeanette. She's in danger."
"We saw," I jumped in quickly, "And we're here with you. We're going to help you in any way we can, man. I promise. We're going to get Jeanette out of this."
Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he answered through gritted teeth.
"That demented harlequin shan't get away with this. I won't let him."