Chapter 15 – What is Past is Present

"You may wish to disregard it because of its legendary nature. I wouldn't. In the case of the Al Azif, it's best to take every precaution.

"All right," I said. "What's the legend?"

"Among certain bookmen, The Necronomicon is sometimes known as The Adder. Because first it poisons, then it devours."

- Fred Chappell, The Adder (short story, 2000)

Kansas, United States

"Were you able to ascertain the nature of Mrs. Oates' problem?"

Clark didn't initially hear the Martian's question. He was still processing in his mind what he had seen on the surveillance videotape. Admittedly, the footage was poor, but the Batman's unique silhouette was unmistakable. Still, could it really have been him? Or could it have just been some burglar dressed like him? It had to be. He couldn't imagine why Bruce would break into Smallville's Public Library, and how would he even know what was there?

"Clark?"

"What?" He looked up, realized both J'onn and Plas were staring at him. "Oh, uh, yes, I mean, yes I did. No...it's nothing serious." Clark realized he didn't want to tell them what he saw, not just yet. He thought he should talk about it with Diana first.

"Really?" Plas sounded doubtful.

"Really. Um, I'd rather not go into the details just yet, but I've got it. I'd, um, prefer if you all didn't mention our trip today, to anyone."

"As you wish," J'onn replied, before Plastic Man could say anything. "Then we'll return to the Hall of Justice."

For the next several hours, until his shift was over, Clark tried to distract himself with League work; fortunately, it was a quiet day, and Batman wasn't there, thank Rao. He would have noticed for certain his uneasiness. He did a few online Q&A, reassuring people that Superman would "be back soon," until finally he could go home. He was sure the others had noticed his unusual behavior, but no one said anything.

Diana was home, and for once he was in time for dinner. She'd made a pot roast, with steamed vegetables, fresh-baked bread and mashed sweet potatoes. He'd noticed she made a dessert too, a rich bread pudding (one of Ma's recipes again). Their small cottage smelled of goodness and normality.

She smiled at him warmly, and didn't ask any questions about his day, until after Jon had been fed, washed and put to bed. They sat outside on the tiny patio, with a pair of jelly jars filled with ice-cold lemonade. It was a warm, cloudless night, and the stars were profuse and glittering. Clark almost thought he could see the Watchtower as it orbited the Earth.

Clark knew what was coming next. "I hope nothing is wrong back home?" Diana asked.

"No, nothing…Mrs. Oates is fine."

"Your brow was troubled from the moment you stepped through the front door," she said. "Something about what she told you, then?"

Clark took a deep breath, then told Diana everything that had happened, his meeting with Mrs. Oates, her revelation, and what had been stolen from the Smallville Public Library. Diana listened silently, although her expression grew progressively uneasy.

"Have you confronted Bruce about this?"

Clark shook his head. "Not yet. He wasn't with the League today. But, would he actually do something like this?"

"The books that this woman said he took, what were they?"

Clark took the sheet of paper Mrs. Oates had given him from his pocket and handed it to Diana. She scanned it quickly, frowning.

"I have never heard of any of these, but they sound ill-omened."

"They're books of black magic, or something like that. Mrs. Oates had them for safekeeping ever since Doc Potter died. She had all kinds of security in that basement: night-vision cameras, silent alarms. Bruce would have disabled anything like that in a heartbeat, so I can't believe it could have been him."

"Who else could it have been? Who would dress up like him to steal such things?"

"You don't think it was him?"

"I pray to the gods it isn't."

In the faint outside light Diana looked worried, but he thought he saw something else, something that suggested doubt.

"But?"

"Perhaps," Diana said slowly. "Perhaps Bruce has a reason for taking them."

"What do you mean?"

She looked down at her jar. "You…haven't been at the League much. You haven't seen Bruce lately."

"I don't get you."

"He's been focused on the A.R.G.U.S. matter-"

"Well, I'm not surprised! They did try to kill all of us!"

"No, that's not what I mean. I mean…he's been different."

Clark laughed, a little. "Yes, you've told me! Dating, of all things…"

His laugh died away, as he saw the look in Diana's eyes. "What is it?"

She looked away. "It's nothing."

Clark stared at her, realized what he had just said. "You don't think…"

Diana shook her head, but he pressed her. "C'mon, I know Zatanna is a little different but just because she's dating him, like you said…I know you don't like her-"

"What?" Diana shook her head. "No, it's not like that. I don't dislike Zatanna. I mean," She seemed to search for the words.

"But?"

She shrugged helplessly. "She has…certain powers. Among my people, such women…it's just a prejudice, I know its wrong, but it doesn't mean anything. It's just that…all this seemed to start when she got involved with the League."

Clark couldn't believe what Diana was suggesting. "I can't believe Zatanna put him up to it, if that's what you're thinking!"

"No," Diana insisted. "I just…oh, never mind. I don't think Bruce could do anything like that."

She still looked disturbed. Clark reached over and gently squeezed her hand. "I'm sure he didn't. There's an explanation for this. I'll just have to find it. I'm good at finding out things like that, you know!"

Diana knew her man was trying to comfort her, but it didn't quell the uncertainty she felt. Clark simply didn't know - he hadn't seen how differently Bruce had been acting in the past few weeks. In fact, she wasn't sure if anyone else had noticed either. Ever since the failed Fenderbrake house raid. Everyone seemed to have forgotten it, especially since A.R.G.U.S. had remained quiet, but Diana didn't trust that particular sound of silence. Also, she had watched Bruce carefully since then. She thought he had seemed distracted, pensive even. Not even the news of the Joker's escape from Arkham Asylum seemed to change that, beyond his initial fury. Whenever she had seen him, he was engrossed in some private investigative work that he hadn't included his League colleagues in.

Nobody else in the League appeared to be bothered by it, if they noticed. Or they chalked it up to the rumors of his dating Zatanna (of course there wasn't anything like a proclamation but it wasn't exactly like a top-secret file). Only J'onn J'onzz may have shared her feelings, she suspected, but he had said nothing either.

Diana was worried for her friend, and hoped he wasn't getting in over his head with whatever research he was doing, his investigation into the evil that had dogged them ever since the Red House. Since they had left Smallville, they had managed to put that behind them. Even after Themyscira, and how Bruce had behaved then, she had moved on. Now, this thing with Mrs. Oates – it had dragged it all back into the light again. It raised questions that she felt she didn't want to think about, much less the answers. Especially now, with Clark still depowered, and Jon, and a baby on the way.

Clark was looking at her and she managed a smile for him.

"It will be all right, I am certain."

He nodded, reassuringly, returning her smile. He thought he knew what Diana was thinking, and he didn't want her to worry any more than she was, especially in her condition. She may think she was invulnerable, but Clark knew better.

Of course, he thought, I can always ask Bruce what he's up to.

But would Bruce answer him, truthfully?

Batcave

At roughly the same time Clark and Diana were sharing drinks under a calm night sky, Bruce Wayne was sitting still and silent in front of his array of thin holographic screens, his hands steepled under his chin. His cowl was pushed back from his head.

A panoply of images from all over Gotham City flickered before him, from the ghetto streets of Crime Alley to the pristine boulevards of the moneyed classes, all provided from many diverse surveillance devices he had either installed personally, or had hacked into. His search for the Joker was still coming up with zero, no hits.

Another time, he might have slammed a black-gloved fist onto his desk in frustration, but the Joker was, for once, not at the forefront of his obsessive mind. There was another screen, directly in front of him, and on it were displayed the Aklo letters: twisted and looped black characters against a white backdrop. A program he had devised to translate the letters into some kind of readable format was in progress.

He had lightly perused the Necronomicon he had acquired from Lee Baldwin, but no more than that. One page had included the Aklo alphabet, which he had compared to the one in his copy of the Ponape Scripture. They matched almost completely, with only a few minor deviations. He had a complete, verified alphabet – with it he could use the book, if he wished, and other books.

However, Mr. Baldwin had been correct regarding his personal estimation of the tome. "I am afraid you will be disappointed in this edition, sir. As a grimoire, it follows that tradition of books in being mostly a collection of random essays, personal reflections of the translator – in this case, John Dee – mostly admonitions never to read the thing in the first place!"

Baldwin had actually laughed, a deep and rich, sound. Bruce was obliquely fascinated by it. "Even the most gullible person would find this book rather disappointing."

"What about the original? Could I still locate it?"

Baldwin shook his head. "As I said, there are rumors that the original was found in Afghanistan several years ago, but I have heard nothing more. It could just be "fake news," as they say. Even if it were real, you would have to have a knowledge of classical, literary Arabic to read it."

"If it exists, I will find it," Bruce had said, although why he did so then, to this man, he didn't know.

Baldwin had given him a look. "Perhaps a, ah, person like you will. I am aware of a small number of collectors, the type who have the means to collect these types of things. I don't have any personal dealings with them myself, they are what you'd call the 'unsavory' types, although I guess you could deal with them."

Baldwin had written out a list of names and places for him, with a plea to not reveal his participation in the matter. He had taken it, checked it out, and then he…

"Amazing technology, even though I am usually not fond of such things. Often I have been accused of being a Luddite, myself, unfairly."

Bruce jerked in his chair, but only slightly, as if he received a minor electrical jolt. Yet the placed expression on his face did not change.

He turned his head, slowly, and saw Randolph Carter, leaning casually on the far edge of his console. For some very odd reason, he felt no surprise at seeing his distant cousin standing there, in his Batcave. He was dressed comfortably in a dark brown old-fashioned tweed suit. He looked much the same as the last time Bruce had seen him, standing on the shore of Themyscira, although he had shaved off his goatee, he'd noticed. He was looking with mild amusement all around the Batcave.

"What are you doing here?" Bruce rasped hoarsely, unable to hide irritation from his voice.

"I admit to a certain curiosity as to what you do with your life," Carter replied amicably, as if he'd come for a casual visit. "Titus and I often debated as to the quality of it, considering your various obsessions with crimefighting, and now-"

Bruce looked away. Perhaps if he didn't maintain visual contact, this would all be revealed for an illusion of some sort. "I hope your curiosity is satisfied. What else do you want?"

"I don't mean to pry into your life, Bruce," Randolph coughed delicately. "However-"

"Then don't."

"However," Carter continued undeterred. "I would be most negligent if I didn't at least urge, um, caution with your present investigations."

His cousin pointed at the book before him. "An inferior copy I know, but I know where and from who you received it. There are things hidden within its pages, making it very unique indeed. I could, ah, assist you if you'd like."

Bruce didn't demand how Carter knew that. He was aware how he could know all sorts of things, but it didn't matter.

"Don't waste your breath. I don't need help."

"I thought that might be your response, even Titus predicted as much," Carter sighed. "If you will not accept my help at the present moment, receive a warning at least."

"What?"

"Other than my friend, Etienne (whom I believe I told you of) I never associated by choice with the homo magi," Carter went on, in a studious tone. "They are typically a capricious lot, at best. Yes, they are very powerful, or were, I should say. The sole reason they are not in positions of political and economic power today is that they are too fond of infighting, also a great deal of inbreeding among their clans has sapped whatever vitality they still possessed by the twentieth century."

Bruce looked at him again. He was still there, solid and real, just as if Alfred had come down into the Batcave to offer refreshments.

"What are you telling me?" He demanded.

"Your relationship with Miss Zatanna Zatara," Carter said gently, although Bruce heard the warning behind it. "I would caution against it."

"Stay out of my personal life," Bruce grated. "Zatanna is nothing to do with you!"

"Oh, please believe I have no intention of interfering in your, ah, romantic life," Carter idly examined a ring on his index finger. It was a plain gold band. Bruce had never noticed this detail before. "I myself resisted all suggestions as to the impropriety of my own marriage, such as it was. We all must be allowed room for mistakes."

Carter looked at him, and Bruce suddenly felt as if his mind was being penetrated. "Sonia was no homo magii, of course, just a flapper. We met at a dinner for amateur journalists, by the way. Anyway, I am aware of how you and Miss Zatara met. No doubt she is a valuable asset to your Justice League. By the way, I also came to warn you – there are persons who are preparing to strike those closest to you, very soon. You already know one of them, in fact."

"Why are you talking about Zatanna?"

Carter looked at his ring again, turning it on his finger. "Who made the first, ah, amorous advances?"

Bruce gritted his teeth, clenched his fists. He suddenly desired to punch Carter on his cleanshaven jaw, but he felt unable to move.

"Ah," Carter replied, even more quietly. "I see. Of course."

"You know nothing about her!" Bruce snapped, but his mind went back to that night after her performance at the Dante Club. What he had done then, could it have been possible he had been influenced somehow...?

Carter nodded as if he had read Bruce's mind - perhaps he had.

"At the end of the day, Bruce, a witch is still a witch. Be careful that you do not fall victim to her seductions. To a homo magii like her, sex is just another weapon in their arsenal."

"She is not my enemy," Bruce replied but he was not sure who he answering.

"Perhaps not," Carter said. "But the homo magii have their own agenda, and especially a sorceress of the Zatara Clan...Etienne once told me their history. Sadly, I do not recall it at the moment. However, be assured it is no coincidence your paths have crossed. I am afraid it may be too-"

"Go away," Bruce hissed. "You're not real, you can't be here!"

"As you wish. But you do have enemies, don't you dear cousin? Even now they are plotting against you, and they will strike soon, I fear. I will help you the best I can."

"Get out!"

Bruce, remember!

Bruce jolted awake, his eyes snapping wide open, his hands gripping the armrests of his large executive leather chair. He was bathed in the glow of his screens, and his head swiveled around, but there was no one else in the Batcave with him. He leaned forward, his finger stabbing at the screen to bring up the interior surveillance readings. He was alone, had been alone in the cave since he had entered over four hours ago.

He slumped back in his chair, rubbing his face. Just a dream, if a vivid one. But Randolph Carter's voice rang in his ears still, everything he said, he could hear as if on a repeat.

I won't listen to him, Bruce thought. All a dream.

But he knew what Carter was. Just because a dream...didn't mean it could not be real. So why had he come, and why now? Why was he against Zatanna? It was absurd. She wasn't some malevolent femme fatale seductress with an agenda. He pushed it out of his head. He would force it out.

But Carter's other warning resonated in his head still. Someone he knew preparing to strike at him, those 'closest' to him? Who? Fenderbrake? The Joker?

Bruce stood up. He would go out tonight, but not for long. He still had the books to peruse. He would make use of them, somehow. If enemies were at the gate, he would be ready for them.

I'll fight them with their own weapons, he thought, and if what Carter said, if he was truly sincere about helping him...if their enemies were plotting even now...

He thought he might hear from Carter again.

to be continued...

A/N: A short chapter to push the story along, for those of you wondering which of those enemies is going to strike first, then keep on reading! We'll find out a little more about that in the next chapter! Is Carter right in warning Bruce about Zatanna? What are his motives? BTW, loved the WW trailer, can't wait to see it! Thanks for reading and keep up with the reviewing, it's like oxygen!