Chapter 18 – Shades of the Past

Many Years Ago…somewhere in the American South…

Midday broke hot and humid over the El Dorado Campgrounds ("Bikers and Campers Welcome!"), a scant 15 miles from the warm waters of the Gulf. It was a Monday, so most of the weekenders had departed, leaving the place half-empty. The other half that remained consisted nearly entirely of the members of Atomic Al's Circus & Carnival Show ("The Last of Its Kind!"), ensconced in their winter quarters following the touring season. Modern-day gypsies of a sort, they spent eight months out of the year touring throughout the United States before retiring to warmer climes.

They were an eclectic collection of men and women, some with families, most loners, all possessing a strange sort of attraction for the old circus life, the old life of tents and stages, which was all but a shade of the past, long eclipsed by movies, television and the Internet. Old-school trapeze artists, clowns, magicians, strongmen (and women) and even "freaks" (a most non-PC appellation) who played to smaller crowds and seedier venues with every passing year, feeling the whisper of the end closing in. Most were unwilling to let the life go, as hard as it was, a few peeling away every season, but somehow staying together…knowing that the world "out there" of 9-5 jobs or 12-hour shifts in a factory or welfare could never replace the nonconventional life they had.

A shiny gray late-model BMW pulled into the auto-parking lot, its make and model conspicuous among the battered old vehicles. It barely made a sound. From it stepped a man of indeterminate age, his dress just as incongruous as his car, an immaculate suit in the darker tones and totally not suited for the weather. Yet he looked cool as a cucumber. His collar-length brown hair was slicked neatly back from his forehead, and his beard trimmed short and neat along his jawline. He carried a walking stick, the pommel carved with the head of a basilisk.

The bearded man scrutinized the campground, seeing RVs in varying degrees of upkeep. Unchained dogs ran between them, as well as children, both with minimal supervision. Men and women lounged outside, stringing up clotheslines between vehicles, or just sat and talked, smoking, or imbibing beverages in paper bags.

He didn't waste any more time: he walked directly to one of the motor homes (one of the larger ones). The residents eyed the man suspiciously – he was clearly not a local, or anywhere within driving distance of local, and certainly not a member of their group. He ignored them.

There was a little black-haired girl outside of the RV, playing with a collection of toys and singing to herself. As his shadow fell over her, she stopped and looked up, surprised. For the first time, the man spoke.

"Is your father home?" His voice held the faintest hint of an accent.

After the slightest pause the girl nodded and stood up. She didn't recognize the man, but she was old enough to understand that he was one of the people. Also, one who might be quick to impatience. She climbed the steps and opened the door; he followed her inside.

The interior of the mobile was more spacious and comfortable than the visitor expected; it was not unlike the living room of any ordinary suburban middle-class American home, rather bland and unthreatening. That fact alone made his mouth curl slightly.

A man was seated on the sofa, engrossed in a newspaper. He was dressed casually casually in dark slacks and a white t-shirt one commonly called by the natives of this country a 'wife-beater.' Perhaps it was some sort of style of blending in. Still, if only his adoring 'fans' could see the elegant and dapper, suave magician now, the bearded man thought. A derisive snort escaped his lips.

The man looked up as he and the girl entered, and his eyes widened.

"Baron Winters!" He exclaimed. "So you came! I am very glad to see you. I am honored that you traveled all this way to see me."

"You called, I came," Baron Winters rumbled in his deep voice.

The little girl was waiting hesitantly in the entrance, shyly staring up at the bearded man and her father. "You may return to your play, my poppet," Zatara said gently. She turned and hurried back outside. The man glanced back at her briefly.

"I haven't seen the girl since she was a toddler. She's grown so much."

"Zatanna, yes, she is a good child," Zatara said distractedly. "She has much of her mother in her-"

"I am sorry to see you in this way, Giovanni," Baron Winters interrupted brusquely.

"In what 'way' do you mean?"

"I mean, in these…reduced circumstances. This…place, with these people. Carnies." Winters could not quite keep the disdain from his voice.

Zatara only laughed. "Yes, it is a far way from performing for the crowned heads of Europe, eh? But these people are no less deserving of the entertainments we can provide them. Why not?"

"If you want to call what you do 'entertaining,'" Winters grumbled. "But that' not what I mean. I wonder if you are taking into consideration the kind of company you are surrounding your daughter with? The influence they will have on her?"

Zatara's smile faded. "Yes. Of course I am considering that. That is why I asked you here. It is about Zatanna, not about Europe."

Winters frowned. He didn't really think he had come all this way to this steaming hellhole to talk about children.

"I came back because I thought you were going to return to the Cold Flame. You are returning to Europe, yes? You should bring Zatanna with you, then. She will be around a better company of people than drunks and criminals. It has been long enough, too long. You are needed back."

He shook his head forcefully. "No. I will not to return to Europe, nor to the life I led there. All that is over for me. But there is something else I must discuss with you."

Winters ignored him. "I don't understand you! You abandoned the organization you yourself created…"

"That is unfair," Zatara protested. "You know very well why I had to leave."

For a moment Zatara's face held a haunted look. Winters remembered – all too vividly – the circumstances that had led his friend to flee Spain with his daughter, then only a baby.

"Sindella was a beautiful woman, and brave," Winters said. "She would not want you to give up."

"I haven't given up," Zatara said sharply. "But I must consider the welfare of my daughter first. Her future."

"Your daughter will have no future, and you know that too, if you do nothing!" Winters said harshly. "You cannot escape your legacy, and neither can she. You are the only man who can unite the homo magii. You, the only one of us with the power, who vanquished the Thousand Young…"

"Do not mention that name in this home!" Zatara cried. "I told you I am done with that work. My daughter is my life's work now. Yet now…"

Winters stared at him, at the change that came over Zatara – he suddenly looked old and defeated, and broken. He had never seen him like this before, except perhaps when his wife had died. But that had been years ago. Winters knew Zatara to be one of the most formidable mages he had ever known, and he had lived a long time.

"What are you talking about? I have never seen you like this before. What has happened?"

Zatara gestured for him to take a seat, which he did reluctantly, not quite trusting in the comfort level of the motor home. Zatara could only start talking after taking a moment to gather himself.

"I will tell you the reason I asked you to come. Please listen: several months ago I performed in Gotham City for an orphanage."

Winters frowned. "Performing for the children?"

"Yes. Afterwards, I had one of my…visions."

Winters leaned back in his chair impatiently. "Giovanni, you know your visions are entirely unreliable. Do you not recall the time when you bet-"

"Would that you were 100% correct, old friend. Yes, most of them are false but not all. I have only had a few minor revelations, concerning trivial matters. Yet, I have never had a vision so strong or so disturbing as this one."

"Explain!"

Zatara did so, and as he did Baron Winters' expression grew graver, and his grip about his cane tightened, but he held his tongue until Zatara was finished. When he was done, the Italian magician had slumped down in his recliner, looking grey and drawn.

"You are…certain of the validity of this terrible vision?" Winters asked.

"I…cannot say for sure. Only that it has struck me as nothing has ever had before, so strong and vivid and terrible. The future it revealed…my poor daughter…!"

Zatara abruptly stood up and strode past a startled Winters, he stared out the window; Zatanna was playing with some of the kids in the park, children of the 'carnies' they traveled with. Their childish shrieks reached their ears. Such an ordinary, peaceful scene; they had been few and far between enough in his life. He clenched his fists.

"What will you do now, Giovanni?"

"Truly…I do not know. I remember Xanadu once saying that to try to change our fates is an exercise in futility, that our efforts only help the outcome."

Zatara kept his attention on his daughter, who was oblivious of his intense attention. "I have done all I can. I have done enough. Now, all I can do is try to keep Zatanna safe. Eventually, when this circus closes, we will move to San Francisco and establish our house there. All I can hope for is to live in peace and quiet, as best I can."

"Do you think you can hide her there?" Winters remonstrated. "You should know better than that!"

He stood up. "Let's say for the moment that what you saw is real. If your daughter is vulnerable, if she is weak, then she will not survive what is to come. The forces we battled will not stay dormant for long, as long as there are madmen to be manipulated, and they are not strangers to this shore either. As for the Old Ones…well, we know it will only take the merest slip from us for them to break through. They will ever look for allies."

"They can do that well enough without our help, I have learned that."

Winters followed Zatara's gaze, stared at Zatanna. "What will you do about the boy?"

"Do? I will do nothing. He is yet a child."

"If your vision is true, perhaps the best thing would be if this so-called child dies, before such a fate befalls him."

Zatara stared at Winters with shock. "To do such a thing! I will never countenance that!"

"Then why did you call me?" Winters demanded bluntly. "You refuse to return to the Cold Flame, your squander your talents here in this country, and now you run from this new horror. What exactly do you expect of me?"

"The Cold Flame still has its uses," Zatara said quietly. "And I do not intend for my daughter to suffer. I need you to do something for me, in the event when I am no more."

Winters' eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"

"Listen to me carefully, Baron," Zatara turned and retrieved a plain and decorated cmall box which rested next to the TV stand. Winters watched as he opened it and his eyes widened as the glow from within suffused the interior of the RV…

Zatanna laughed as she caught her friend Jolene in the tag game. Jolene was the same age as her, the daughter of the tattooed lady who performed in the same circus as her father. She had almost forgotten her father's visitor, until her friend pointed at her father's RV.

"What's that?"

"What?"

"That light."

Zatanna turned around and saw the glowing blue light that came through the thin curtains on the windows of their motor home. She knew instantly that the source was magickal, but she didn't know why it was burning with such a queer intensity, only that it had must have something to do with why the stranger had come to see her father. She was a curious girl, but knew instinctively that some things she couldn't always share with her friends.

"Oh, oh it's nothing. Just something to do with daddy."

"Oh," Jolene, like many of the other children of the carnies, and most of the carnies themselves, already suspected that the Zataras were a littler…different from the rest of them. "Is…everything ok?"

"Yeah, sure," Zatanna replied, although she wasn't entirely sure. But one thing she was sure of, her father would not let her come to any harm. With a sure mind that only a child can have, she went back to her play with her friend, as the light dissipated as quickly as it had appeared.

Inside the motor home, Baron Winters picked up his cane and made to leave. Zatara watched him quietly, his agitation gone.

"Are you sure you will not reconsider?" Winters said. Zatara shook his head.

"It is too late for me, old friend. Protect my daughter, when I no longer can. Promise me."

"You know I will, Giovanni. I hope you know that, by then, it may be too late. For her, perhaps for all of us too."

He turned and exited the mobile home without another word or backward glance. The last time the two of them would meet.

Gotham City – Present day

The annual Gotham City Mercy General Hospital Charity Ball was one of Gotham's most prestigious and elegant affairs, one of the highlights of Gotham's social season, when hundreds of its poshest residents gathered. It was held in the Diamond District, under the strictest security of course (situated in Gotham after all). Perhaps it was not totally lost on the attendees that its exclusivity kept out the very people it was purporting to help. Still, it was one of those quirks of Gotham that made the city what it was.

This event was not like the parties Zatanna was used to going to. For one thing, the dress code was quite formal, given that the attendees were limited to people who had donated a minimum of one million dollars to the charitable fund - for a minimum of five years. However, she could dress up for the occasion. She wore an elegant black dress by Hobeika, and white jewels flashed on her arms and around her throat.

For another, the music for the event was provided by the prestigious Gotham Symphony, and limited their repertoire strictly to the classics, pleasant but not too lively, as to send the mostly older guests into a tizzy. Zatanna would have preferred something livelier, but she had guessed – accurately as it turned out – that she was here as a supporting character and not the headliner.

She was only here because Bruce had brought her. Of course, he was attired in the fashionable billionaire-wear as he was accustomed too, he seemed to favor Hugo Boss, which fit him as casually and naturally as if he was wearing shorts and a t-shirt – not that she had ever seen him in something quite that downscale. All dark colors of course: it occurred to Zatanna that he rarely – if ever - wore anything in the lighter shades. To match his moods, no doubt.

However, tonight he was all smiles and pleasantries, full-on Bruce Wayne the Philanthropist Billionaire.

She hadn't really wanted to go to this but he had insisted, for some reason. He had almost made it sound like an order, a missive directly from the Watchtower.

"I go every year," he had said. "I'm expected."

"I'm not."

"Besides, I like to keep an eye on things," Bruce continued as if she hadn't said anything. "This is a very important public event in the city."

"Has anything ever happened?"

"Actually, no," Bruce admitted. "Nevertheless. I'd like you to come with me. No it's not for backup or anything like that," he added, seeing the look on her face. "I'd just like you to go with me."

"You've never asked me to one of your public events before," Zatanna said. "Why this one?"

"Why not?" Bruce frowned slightly. "It's about time we were seen together. Besides, I know we haven't spent very much time together anyway. I'd thought I'd change that."

He'd taken hold of her hand and smiled as he'd said that, so Zatanna hadn;t really put up a resistance; she did want to spend some time with him; it was true that lately he'd seemed distant and preoccupied with League business – and his regular business.

She watched him closely, thinking of her conversation with Fuselli. Tonight, Bruce seemed quite at his ease, convivial and witty with the other guests, well-behaved, only doing a little playboy-boor bit. He seemed to relish having her on his arm, showing off his trophy girlfriend of to his business partners and acquaintances (no friends – she didn't think he actually had any friends among this crowd). Nothing to indicate there was any 'problem.'

She found herself only mildly annoyed by his showoff – she found that she was amused by some of the other women here. No one was blatantly rude to her face, they were too well-heeled for that, but she knew better - she had had experience, you might say. She could tell that by the way they looked askance at her that they were a little put-off by her presence here tonight: partnered with Bruce Wayne, the scion of the esteemed Wayne Family, the CEO and owner of Wayne Enterprises, a multi-billion dollar operation. She saw more than a few ladies giving her the stink-eye. Good thing everyone metal detectors had been added at the entranceways! Bruce did not notice them or was pretending not to.

However, Zatanna knew him a tad better than his fellow billionaires. She saw the body language that signified his alertness, the way he watched and prepared as if ready to explode into action at any second. She could tell that he wanted to, too. Probably he was just as bored by this shindig as she was, although he never gave any outward display of it. He was waiting for something, she was certain of it, and she knew he was watching her too.

Zatanna did not know exactly what he was waiting for – a terrorist attack? An armed robbery? Something involving violence, very likely. Whatever he was waiting for, it most certainly wasn't the endless presentations by the Ball committee members, some of them droning on and on until gently escorted off stage by the music.

Zatanna knew that Bruce meant for her to be watching as carefully as he, although for what he never said clearly, despite his early statement that she wasn't 'backup'. She had the nasty feeling that she was being used as bait. In fact, she was positive. She found herself not so much bothered by that as by the fact that Bruce hadn't confided what he was up to.

"Zatanna!"

"Dr. Leslie!" Zatanna was happy to see her, remembering her from when the ladies club was at the Manor. The retired physician was the only person she knew in the place, other than Bruce. "I'm so happy to see you!" She meant it very much.

"You look lovely tonight…both of you," Dr. Leslie Thompkins added but Bruce was talking to someone else and hadn't noticed her.

"Thank you," Zatanna said. "I hope I don't look too out of place."

"Now who would say anything like that?" Leslie said. "You shouldn't pay attention to some of these people," she glanced at a group of statuesque blonde girls near the bar. "They've been trying to catch Bruce for years, and now..."

Leslie looked at her. "I don't mean to presume, my dear."

"You aren't," Zatanna said. "Bruce and I are, um, we've been seeing each other. For several months now."

"Are you? Well that's wonderful!"

Zatanna grinned. She could tell the wily old doctor was an incorrigible gossip. Gossip was always helpful in the entertaining business.

Dr. Leslie continued to talk animatedly. "…I've always thought the best of Bruce, and I'm so happy he's found a young lady like you. The others…"

The elderly lady caught herself. "Well, I just mean that I think you are a good influence on him. I can just tell, my dear."

"Thank you," Zatanna was surprised. "I didn't think you'd think that highly of me."

"Why not?" It was Leslie's turn to be surprised. "Hey, I'm an old lady – I've seen a few things in my time. Bruce hasn't always made…good choices, I should say. He's headstrong…stubborn. But he's a good boy. I should know – I delivered him after all. He's had a difficult life – although it doesn't look like it," Leslie looked at Bruce, who was laughing with a group of men. "You know about his parents?"

Zatanna nodded.

"He's always had a difficult time coping. He went through a…difficult period in his times. If it wasn't for Alfred I don't know what might have happened. He never talks about it, although I recommended half a dozen therapists. I suppose that's why he acts the fool sometimes, but it's not in him to be cruel," Leslie went on. "I really don't know why I'm telling you this, you must think me such a chatterbox!"

"Not at all." Zatanna was listening to every word.

"Lots of people try to take advantage of him, especially women. That's why he avoids them, I think."

Zatanna felt moved. "I would never to anything to hurt Bruce," she said truthfully.

"I'm glad, dear, I didn't think you would, it's just that-"

"Dr. Leslie," Bruce said, finally joining them. The expression on his face made it clear he thought she was sharing too much TMI. "Good evening. I'm glad you could attend again this year."

"I wouldn't it miss it for the world," she replied jovially. "I'm so glad you brought Miss Zatara with you!" After a bit of small talk she looked between Zatanna and Bruce. "Please enjoy the rest of the evening!"

"What did she say?" Bruce demanded as she left.

"She thinks you and are a match made in Heaven," Zatanna replied sweetly.

"Did she," Bruce grumbled. "I suppose she thinks it's high time I settled down."

"And what do you think?" Zatanna looked up at him.

Bruce sighed, looking around the crowd. Well-dressed, manicured, pampered, every manner of food and drink readily available, while outside, hardly even two blocks away, poverty and crime reigned.

"I think it's time we left."

Alfred was waiting patiently for them, dressed impeccably in a chauffeur's uniform, as Bruce and Zatanna exited the venue, camera-flashes lighting their way down the steps.

"Master Bruce, Miss Zatanna: I trust everything is well?"

"Quite well, Alfred. We'll be going home now."

"Very good, sir." He held the door of the car open for the two of them.

Zatanna sighed as she settled into the backseat, Bruce sliding in next to her.

"Where to, Master Bruce?"

"Just back to the Manor," he replied. "Unless you want to stop anywhere?"

Zatanna shook her head. She was about to speak when Bruce's phone rang.

He took it out of his pocket and glanced at it for barely a second, then put it away again.

"What is it?" Zatanna asked.

"Just a text from Clark," Bruce muttered. "Nothing important."

"If it's from Superman, I can hardly think it isn't."

Bruce said nothing. Clearly there was something he didn't want to talk about. A silence fell in the car, the only noise that of the purring engine. She could see him settling back into himself, switching over into full brood mode. That was the last thing she wanted right now.

"When I was a little girl, traveling with the circus," she began. "Dad would drive our motor home. It was just an ordinary RV with a few…modifications. It would be our home for eight months out of the year. We got to visit so many places around the country! We stayed in so many states. One of my favorites was Florida, we weren't far from the beach, and Disney World."

"Sounds uncomfortable."

"Not at all. I loved traveling."

"Perhaps we will, together," Bruce suggested. "One of these days."

Zatanna looked at him. "You were expecting the Joker to attack tonight, weren't you?"

It was a moment before Bruce replied. "Yes. I thought he might try something tonight. I guess I was wrong."

"You sound disappointed."

"He should have made a move by now," Bruce muttered, deaf to Zatanna's mocking tone. "What is he waiting for?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps you should find out."

"I intend to."

"So you did intend me to be backup."

"I…no. No, I really wanted you to enjoy myself. But it looks like you didn't."

Zatanna shrugged. "Well, it wasn't entirely bad. We did spend some time together, didn't we? And we saw Dr. Leslie again. Plus it's good publicity: 'Celebrity magician with billionaire magnate.' It might trend for a few minutes online. I could see how furious your side exes were."

"They weren't my-" Bruce looked at her. "Why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset. I enjoyed myself. And I want to be a help to you. I don't want you to make any mistakes, not when I'm here."

Bruce looked away. "That won't happen. I won't make any mistakes."

Zatanna stared at him, but he had fallen back into silent brooding mode again. He stayed that way for the rest of the ride home, staring out his side window at the passing landscape. She sighed and kept busy with her own phone, scrolling to see if anyone was talking about them.

Alfred of course said nothing either, quietly driving them out into the countryside back to the Manor, the streets and suburbs dwindling to forest, and finally they pulled up at the huge Manor.

"Shall I prepare anything for either of you, Master Bruce, Miss Zatana?" Alfred said as he opened the door for them.

"No, don't stay up, Alfred," Bruce replied. "Call it a night."

Zatanna looked at Bruce, in her eyes an unspoken question.

"I'll join you later, Zee," Bruce said. "I'm not going on patrol, I…just want to check on some things."

Zatanna seemed to roll her eyes as she turned and walked into the Manor, towards her set of rooms. Bruce wondered if she was getting tired of him; he found that that distressed him more than he thought it would, but he should have expected that. She must consider him a lightweight, in her world, despite what he had. He had to do something for her...

Bruce noted that Alfred was still standing next to him. "Is there…something?"

"There was a delivery for you at the Manor," Alfred said in a quieter voice than usual. "I ran it through the usual protocols."

He tensed. "What is it?"

"I didn't open it. It was addressed directly to you, not to Wayne Enterprises, or any business address, but to here. The return address was from Boston. When I researched the exact location, it turned out to be non-existent, at least now."

Bruce stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"To be exact, the location is currently the site of a check-cashing operation, which it has been since 1994. Prior to that it was an empty lot for twenty years, and prior to that a garage since the 1940s. Prior to that, it was the location of the Boston Art Club."

A chill ran down Bruce's spine. For a moment, he thought about calling Zatanna back, but then changed his mind. "Where is it?"

"In the Batcave. I thought it best to leave it there for your perusal. There doesn't seem to be any danger with it itself, no explosive material or booby trap."

"I will go take care of it. Go on, go to bed." Bruce reassured him. "I'll be all right."

Alfred looked somewhat doubtful of that, but he departed, and Bruce headed inside, for the entrance to the cave.

Bruce found the package where Alfred had left it. It was rectangular in shape, about four feet by three feet, covered in thick brown canvas paper and tied with string, like an old-fashioned package, covered with the usual postage stamps. The addressed were written in thick block letters, nothing very usual. It lay resting against one of his workbenches, like a regular parcel.

Bruce stared at it for a moment, before approaching it. He thought he knew what it was. He took a folding knife from his pocket, and carefully cut the strings, and the paper. Then he sat back and examined it.

It was a painting, confirming his initial thought. He stared at the likeness of himself, almost forgetting to breath. It was quite lifelike, and well-executed, extremely well-executed. He was seated, as if posing for the artist, in a darkened room. It took him a moment to realize it was his own library, here. He saw the things that he recognized. The painter would have had to be in the library to see those things and paint them so accurately.

Bruce had never posed for a painting in his life. He was certain he never had an expression on his face like that. It was nothing that would startle an ordinary viewer, but…

His eyes darted to the right lower corner of the painting, saw the artist's initials there.

R.U.P.

With slightly shaking hands, Bruce picked up the painting, examined it more closely. The frame was ornate, dark sandalwood, or so he thought, he was not certain. He was certain he had never touched wood like this, the oily feel to it. He needed to understand why, there had to be something more here.

He turned it around, looked behind it, touching the thick cloth that bound the back. There was a slit, and instinctively he reached in, pulling and tearing at it, until it revealed the backing. There was something there.

Yes! A small envelope. Like the painting, it was addressed directly to him, in a spidery thin calligraphy he felt he had seen before.

Rarely did Bruce do anything without thinking beforehand, now he did: he opened it.

He read the first line: To my dear cousin...

Hours later…

In the Manor, Zatanna lay on her bed, wide awake, staring in the dark up at the ceiling. She was alone.

She knew Bruce had not gone out on patrol; no, he had become distracted by something else, something strong enough to take his mind away from her.

Before, she had not really thought Bruce would be in any real danger, even though he had the books, even though he had a smattering of the Aklo. He didn't really know how to read them. Not unless he had help.

Zatanna clenched the bedsheets in her fists, willing the tears to stop. She had to do something else. She had to save Bruce, before he destroyed himself, and those around him who loved him.

Including her.

To be continued...

[A/N: Sorry for another long delay! I hope now to at least turn out 1 chapter per month. Please read and review as always, and thanks very much for reading. BTW I really enjoyed the Batman Detective issues 959-962, which Bruce and Zatanna together again! Hope she shows up more in this Rebirth series]