Chapter 10

Ten years ago . . .

Cassandra gazed down from the portal in her room and watched Gotham City slowly float below her. The window was bolted and the glass was unbreakable. She had already tried. Even with her feet. She had been in this room for nearly a week now. They had said her training would start five days ago, but all they had done was feed her, hydrate her, and allow her to rest.

She stayed fuzzy headed almost consistently and was wondering if they had drugged her. Her bed beckoned—the fluffy pillows, the warm blankets. She wished Oswald was in them. Well, not here with her in this brass prison—but in some other bed. Any bed, holding her, nibbling on her, claiming her.

These people had taken all of her things—her phone, her locket with Oswald's letter, even her wedding band and engagement ring. All she had was this cotton outfit, one pair of canvas shoes, and a drawer full of cotton underwear.

The hum of the motor lulled her into a sleepy daze and she sat back down on the bed, closing her eyes. I will have to stop eating the food and drinking whatever it is they are giving me. Her stomach growled, but she was determined not to eat the lunch that had just been delivered.

She heard a click and the door opened. It was too soon for them to return for the cart and she was surprised when it was not staff, but the stately woman Cassandra had not seen since her welcoming party aboard the S.S. Ineedtogetthehelloutofhere.

"Do you know why you are with us, Cassandra?"

"You have been very hospitable," she sneered. "But you have yet to tell me your name. You know mine. My husband's. My child's." She thought she heard the woman chuckle and knew she was grinning behind that white mask.

"You may call me Ms. Powers, dear."

"Powers? You mean as in the Powers Hotel?"

"That would be the one. You have not touched your lobster. Is it not to your liking?"

"Just not hungry right now."

"You know it is important to eat. Must keep up your strength."

"I'm touched by your concern."

Cassandra knew her history already. Part of the journal had not been in code. She knew she had to play along to keep the existence of her mother's journal secret. The lobster smelled so good, dammit, and her stomach growled again. She shifted in the sheets in an attempt to muffle the noise.

"Here, dear, let me help you." Ms. Powers picked up the napkin and snapped it from its folded shape, this time a pig's face, and tucked it under Cassandra's chin. Cassandra was instantly put on guard. The woman was invading her personal space. She eyed the special lobster fork, silver with two prongs, and was about to grab it when the woman placed her hand on Cassandra's.

"You do not want to lose those pretty eyes of yours do you? Skewered on the tip of a fork like someone's dessert?" She picked up the fork and held it in front of Cassandra's face. "Leaving behind two gaping holes with little blood tears streaming out of them? Living in the dark? So unfortunate for one who likes to live in the light."

Cassandra was tense, but made no move. Ms. Powers did not shut up. She should have. "Makes me wonder why you chose to cavort with such a child of darkness. Your doomed Mr. Cobblepot." Cassandra head-butted her and cracked the mask. When she ran towards the door, the woman placed a viselike grip on Cassandra's upper arm.

She was stronger than she looked, and Cassandra turned to kick her, but the woman had stuck a needle in her arm and pressed down on the plunger.

"You've been drugging me," said Cassandra as she started to fall to the floor. "Why?"

"We cannot have you kicking things and breaking them, dearie," Ms. Powers responded, rather sternly. Cassandra did not like the way she said 'dearie'.

"No, I mean . . . why?"

"We demand payment of all our debts, sooner or later, one way or another." Ms. Powers' image wavered and then melted into wax. Cassandra grinned. The bird woman was a swirling into a pretty mix of vibrant colors—like a rainbow that had just thrown up and was excited about it. Then all the colors went away.

When Cassandra awoke, she was shivering—the floor beneath her was chilly and bare. "Where am I?" She could have sworn she heard laughter. She did not hear the hypnotic hum of the dirigible's motor, so she guessed she had disembarked at some point. But to where?

With effort, she lifted her head and saw a wall in front of her—white marble, shiny—with a single, doorless entrance. She glanced back over her shoulder and the movement sent a spasm of pain through her head. She grabbed it, lying back down on the cold surface, staying still until the headache passed. It did not take long.

Wobbly, she stood and noticed that someone had changed her out of the wraparound skirt and into a pair of calf-length pants. This cannot be a good omen.

"I will just see myself out!" she yelled into the void. Her voice echoed around her. She turned and tried the knob, but of course it was locked. She knew it would be and kicked at it in frustration, only managing to put a few dents in the iron door, which also happened to be at least three stories high, as was the ceiling and the wall of the room. She turned and stared down the gaping entrance into the next room as if it where high-noon and she was preparing to destroy it in a duel. If her only way out was through there, she knew she was going to have to take it.

Once she walked across the threshold, she realized this was not an exit. I am trapped in a maze. She looked to the left and then to the right. There was also a path in front of her. I don't know which way to go.

She heard a noise behind her and her neck went hot. She recognized the sound as a sword being unsheathed, having heard it so many times while building weapons for Oswald. She slowly glanced back towards the iron door and saw a figure dressed just like the ones who had kidnapped her—exactly like the one she had burned all those years ago—brown cape, goggles—a deranged bird.

"Run," it hissed. Cassandra wasted no time in obeying its command, sprinting to the left.

I will get back to you, Oswald. I will. You'll see. We will have Boo. Your mom. (Eck.) Gabe. Fara. She nodded. We will. This was her mantra and she repeated as she ran and fell and got lost in the maze.

She had no idea how long she had been in there, stopping every now and then to catch her breath, and checking to see how sturdy the walls were as she pummeled them with her feet. She seemed to have shaken the creature off her scent and was grateful for that, but was now extremely thirsty. She almost yelled out to whomever might be watching, if they had intended for her to shrink up to a raisin of herself, but then thought better of it. The creature may find her if she did. Creature, she chuckled, trying to remind herself that they were only human. Highly-skilled killing machines with a ball of ex-humanity bouncing around in their little assassin chests were their hearts used to be.

Slowly it dawned on her . . . they were making her into one of them, and she knew who their target was. Let the assassin find me. "I won't do it!" she screamed. "You will have to kill me!" She spun out, pushing herself off the wall, and took a stance in the middle of the hallway, holding her arm wide and throwing back her head. "Here I am. Come and get me! I will not slaughter my Oswald!" She waited, but no assassin appeared.

But she did hear a whisper. She looked down to where she had busted part of the marble wall. Looking around, she applied her back to the wall and slid down to listen. She heard it again, but this time, she could make out the words.

"Missssss . . ." Cassandra was not sure how to respond. It could be a trick. She glanced back down the hall just in case the assassin came around the corner. "Misssss, pleassse . . . can you hear me?" What did she have to lose?

"Yes," said Cassandra. "I understand now. Perhaps this is how it should be."

"You hear me?"

Cassandra looked back down the hall. "You are near! I sense it! Let's end this!"

"Miss, nooo! They will send someone . . . whether it be you or another. You amuse them, but ssssomeone else will go—will kill him. You must survive. You must save him."

"But why would you . . ."

"Because I am your greatest fan. Keep going to your right. Don't sssstop turning right. It will lead you to water, but—." She was not able to warn her about the hallucinogen in the fountain.

The assassin came around the corner, several feet away from Cassandra. "Ready to die?" he called to her.

"Oh, shit," whispered Cassandra, scrambling to her feet and following the directions the voice had given her. She ran as fast as she could and heard the man laughed and yell, "What happened to wanting to die?"

How long had she been running this time? When she saw the miraculous owl fountain spewing water into an elevated pond at its base, she stopped caring. The water was lukewarm, but she gulped down as much as she could, nearly emerging her whole face in the liquid. Normally, she hated water. Today, it was her favorite beverage.

She leaned back against the base of the fountain and closed her eyes, ignoring the spinning sensation that was creeping up on her. She opened her eyes and saw herself staring back at her. The shock sent her over the edge of the fountain's retaining wall and into the water.

Her image laughed. "Where are you going? Swimming? Now? Do you really think that's appropriate?" The doppelganger leaned in toward Cassandra, smiling. Cassandra could smell smoke on her. "He's coming, you know. Coming to carve you up into little pieces, if you let him. Make you into Cassandra Tartar for the ravenous spectators." The mirror image straightened up and her smile disappeared. "Don't let him or you will be every bit as worthless as you already think you are." She stared at Cassandra petrified in the fountain and sneered. "Maybe you are worthless. Maybe you should just give up and drown yourself. Here, let me help."

Cassandra screamed and started fighting her twin, who had thrown herself onto Cassandra. She found that her kicks were useless, her legs feeling like swamp mud, pliable and heavy. She choked on the water, swallowing it and inhaling some into her lungs. Her clothes seemed to tighten and wrap around her as she twisted in the water and soon she found she was fighting against the liquid only, her other self having vanished.

Cassandra broke through the surface and gasped for air, coughing and wheezing as she desperately struggled to take in oxygen, the sound reverberating off the walls. She clawed her way over the edge of the fountain's pool and landed awkwardly on the floor, panting until she could breathe normally again.

She was really, really cold. Please don't let him find me. I need to rest.

Above her, watching every move she made, was The Court. She could not hear the murmuring that was taking place from their thrones of sanctuary—Caesars declaring life or death upon a whim.

"That was too sssssoon. She healed too sssssoon. The illusion should have lassssted for at least a couple of hourssss. This was only a few minutesssss."

"The electrum?"

"No, something else. Ssssomething else with the electrum."

"We will have to break her mind completely and keep it under our control."

"How?"

"Convince her she has a disease and needsss shots to keep it at bay."

"Yes, good. She'ss sobering up. As if she had not ingested the water at all."

"But the drug workss. It playsss upon her fears and her guilt. Keep it coursing through her veins and she belongsss to ussss."

"She will not drink more."

"She will. I have called off the assassin for a time. He waits patiently for my order. After a few hourssss, she will need to hydrate again. She will have no choice but to get it from the fountain."

"This is such a lovely venue, although I do miss the coliseumsss."

"One day, my dear. One day. We shall return to ruling the roost, as the peons like to say."

There was laughter and the clicking of opera glasses as they adjusted them to better enjoy the rest of the show.

Cassandra had been walking in circles for hours. She had someway made her way back to the fountain without running into her executioner. The water looked inviting. She plopped down on the fountain's edge and started crying. I am useless. Useless and pathetic. Useless and pathetic and thirsty and I know I am going to drink this water and it will probably kill me and I will not be able to save Oswald or Boo or any of them, I should just die. Little whispering voice, you have led me to my death . . . and to my beloved's.

She had to take a sip. Just a tiny one. Enough to get by.

"You should drink more." Her assassin sat beside her, very nonchalant, his elbows resting on his knees. She jumped up. "Now where do you think you are going, young lady?" The man took off his mask and Cassandra's legs buckled.

"Dad?"

"In the flesh. This water is fine. Take another sip. It's a different fountain. Not the one from before."

"How did you know—the one from before? I don't understand . . ." she whimpered, reaching out to stroke his face. He pulled her into a fierce hug, and she relaxed in his arms.

"They have kept me captive here. Not just me, but your mother also. They took us the day of the fire. I know you are parched. Here watch me, I'll drink with you." He cupped his hands and drank it all down. Cassandra did the same. "See. Nothing. I am so pleased to see you again, my child."

"I cannot believe it's you."

"We have waited so long to be reunited with you."

"Mom is actually nearby? Here?"

"Christina!" Her father called out, and from around the giant owl, emerged a woman in a mask. Cassandra recoiled. "It's okay," her father reassured her. We have to wear these ridiculous getups. Helps them forget we are not actually one of them." The woman removed the mask and rushed to embrace her daughter as she stood.

Cassandra broke down. "I cannot believe this is happening."

Christina touched Cassandra's chin and peered into her eyes. "It is, but I am worried about you—you look feverish. You are flushed. Here, sit down and drink some more water."

"I'm fine."

"Do it. Please your mother. Settle her nerves."

Cassandra relented. "Do you know the way out of here?" she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Yes," said her father. "But first, your mother and I have a question to ask you."

Cassandra sat up straight and placed her hands together. How awesome was this? "Okay."

"Why did you set us on fire?"

Cassandra's body twitched. Did I hear that right?

"W-What?" she laughed nervously. She had heard wrong.

This time he put his nose against hers and yelled, "Why did you set us on fire?" Cassandra leaped up. "Do you know how hard it is to get the smell out?"

"Now, darling. You are scaring her," interjected her mother. She turned to Cassandra. "But seriously, dear, answer the question."

Cassandra was stunned and could not respond. This was one of her nightmares. Wake up! Wake up! This is only a nightmare—from start to finish. I am on the couch at home and Oswald will nudge me awake at any moment now. Any moment.

Her mother was getting impatient. "Perhaps you did not hear me . . . HOW IS ONE SUPPOSED TO GET THE STENCH OF BURNT SKIN OUT OF ONE'S FLESH?"

Timidly she responded, "I-I-I don't know . . ."

Her father looked at her mother. "I-I-I don't know," he mimicked. "Well, you are not a very clever one at all, are you? Stealing my plans and trying to recreate them for yourself. Wearing my devices without any idea how to use them. See what your arrogance cost us?" He pulled open his shirt to reveal a smoking and blackened chest. "It burnssssss . . ." he told her.

"You made us suffer!" her mother hissed. "It hurtssss! It hurts us all! All of us!" Dead circus patrons and staff filled the room, screaming and crying and clutching themselves. An arm fell off here, a leg burned to ashes there. Children sobbed, their tears etching a sooty design upon their faces. A lion roared past her, aflame. Smoke filled her nostrils and the water in the fountain boiled. She could hear the crackling of the wood bleachers as the flames engulfed them. The heat of the fire surrounded her.

Christina pointed at Cassandra. "IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"

Her father nodded and shouted, "IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" As if on cue, the entire group started shouting at her, telling her it was all her fault.

Cassandra clutched her head and fell to her knees. She knew they were right, it was all her fault. She had been arrogant. Harold had tried to stop her, but she sprayed the ignited liquid anyway. He had gone to jail for her. She was selfish. Horrid. Unfeeling. Some sort of psychopath.

She screamed and someone tapped her on her shoulder. "Wake up!"

Oswald. She looked up, breathing a sigh of relief. Yes, it was him. The fire and the smoke and the nightmare was gone. He had come for her. She attacked him, throwing her arms around his neck. She did not understand why he did not immediately embrace her, but melted into him when he slowly encircled her with his arms, as if he were confused but also delighted.

"You came for me," she whispered. He did not answer immediately, allowing his hands to run up and down her back, sneaking ever closer to her derriere.

"Did you think I would not? But, this is truly unexpected." He buried his face between her neck and her shoulders, taking her skin into his mouth.

She cried out and laughed, "We should probably get out of here." She grabbed his hand and tried to lead him away from the fountain. He stood stoically as if seriously contemplating his next move. She stopped and looked back at him, giving his arm a gentle pull. "Come on! I have to save you. Let's go!"

Oswald laughed. "You? Have to save me? From what? Your charms?"

She frowned, confused. "What are you talking about? Come on! We have to get out of here, Oswald!"

His eyebrows shot up and he nodded his head before glancing at the fountain. "Ah, now I see." Cassandra thought he looked a little disappointed. She approached him and held his face in one hand. He covered it with his and stared back at her. She saw his pupils dilate before he swooped in for a kiss.

A red flag went up in her head. Something about his eyes had not looked right. She contemplated this as he lowered her to the floor behind the giant marble statue of the owl.

She opened her eyes. His kiss was off, not normal. Not like his usual kisses. It lacked something. And now his weight seemed wrong . . . he was too light. Oswald looked light, but was actually heavy in weight. Wonderfully heavy. This wasn't wonderfully heavy. And why are we making out in such a dangerous place? Then she felt something that definitely was not Oswald's pressing against her thigh. This felt like a pencil. Oswald was not a pencil by any means.

"What a minute . . ." she murmured. With a grunt, her partner raised his head from her mouth to look at her. He was not ugly, but he also was not Oswald. She gasped and he chuckled. "I must say," he said. "This is the best. Assignment. Ever."

"Get off me!"

"I don't think so," he said, diving into her neck again. They wrestled. She kicked, but again, the law of physics worked against her—she could not get enough traction to injure him, being pinned on her back to the floor. She kept slamming her feet into the base of the owl sculpture, chipping away at its foundation until it started to teeter. One more swift kick would unbalance it and send it toppling.

If only she could untangle herself from her attacker. Or, maybe not, she thought, interlocking her ankles behind him and squeezing. I may not be able to use physics to kick him, but I can use it to squeeze him to death. At first he seemed to take this as encouragement, until he realized he could not breathe and it was painful. He stopped moving in order to collect his wits and recover from the ache around his ribs. It allowed her to twist out from underneath him, but he caught one of her ankles. She kicked at him, but missed his face. Cassandra kicked again and broke the bones in his fingers. She heard him swear as she scrambled to owl's base and gave it one last swift kick.

Her assassin staggered to his feet, clutching his bloodied hand. She knew it would not take long for him to recover and hoped the statue hit him before he decided to hit her. It rocked back once and Cassandra feared it would collapse in the opposite direction.

It didn't. She huddled at the base, pressing herself against the white marble as the giant owl plummeted to the floor, crushing her assailant and spilling water over the edges of the fountain, while exposing busted pipes. The impact shook the room and the dust from the shattered statue popped up around her. Water was shooting up from the damaged areas of the plumbing like a family of pissed-off geysers.

That's when the assholes decided to turn out the lights.

Who did they think they were messing with? Had they forgotten she was a fire starter?

As her panic started to build, she felt around for two small pieces of marble and tore a bit of her cotton pants and pulled out a few strands of her hair. She removed her shoes and placed the hair and material in one of them. She hoped she had chosen two good pieces of rock to strike together, using the hard, smooth piece of one stone to strike against the softer piece where the shine had been chipped away, and wished for a spark. She got one.

Her canvas shoe caught fire long enough for her to hold it up and see the exit from the center of the maze. The fire got too close to her fingers and she threw it to the side where it landed in a puddle of water, igniting it.

Well, damn. Whatever they were giving me to drink is flammable. She took her other shoe and held it to the flame. It caught fire and right as she released it into the fountain, someone yelled, "Don't do that!" The whole center of the room was caught in an inferno that started scorching the marble and she could hear panicked feet thudding their way out of what Cassandra guessed was a very high balcony.

Someone tugged at her hand. "Come on! This way!" She followed the small masked figure out the door to a portion of the hallway that looked like a plain, ordinary marble wall. The child pressed her hand gently against it and a section opened to reveal a hidden corridor. The child dragged her in and ordered her not to waste any time.

As they ran, Cassandra asked, "Are you the voice I heard?"

"Yes!" she answered. Cassandra stopped.

"You got me drugged. Why should I trust you?" The child pulled at her to keep moving.

"You ran away before I could tell you it was tainted and that the effects would pass and to not be afraid."

A figure stepped out of the shadows and blocked their route. "How brave of you moppet. Go to your room. I will deal with you later."

"But . . ."

"No buts. Go now. I shall not ask again." The child hung her head and scuffled away, looking back once at Cassandra.

"Don't hurt her. She's a child."

The figure slapped her across the face. "First, never tell me how to treat my own. Second, that you think I would hurt one of my own, especially a child, disgusts me. Third, you have made a mess that will take some time to clean up."

Cassandra rubbed her jaw. "And fourth. I figure there is a fourth because you did not say lastly."

He stepped towards her. "Lastly, I am beginning to think you are more trouble than you are worth. I should have just had Haly arrange an accident for you." She was grabbed from behind as he held up a syringe. She slumped and protested, "Not again!"

The man regarded the crumpled female form referred to as Cassandra and sighed. Ms. Powers joined him at his side.

"So that went well," he said.

"Actually, it did, Sebastian" she told him. "You wanted a top-notch assassin. I would say she came through with flying colors."

He snorted and twisted his head, popping the kinks out of his neck. "What do we do now?" he asked, drumming his fingers against his hips.

"Now she begins her physical training."

"But her mind keeps healing."

"Not to worry. A chemist has created a cocktail for her that will keep her under our control. But there is a drawback."

"That element that gives the extra umph to the electrum? And what is this mystery with her leg strength?"

"We do not have an answer for any of that yet."

He grunted. "Tell me the drawback."

"A common side effect of one of the drugs in the cocktail is temporary blindness—that is—for as long as she uses the drug. If used for too long, the cataracts become permanent. But, there is always surgery to correct that should we ever deem it necessary. However, with her healing faster than the others . . ."

He interrupted her. "A blind assassin?"

"I know, ludicrous. We could just call it off, not have our entertainment and just send in someone to take him out or . . ."

"No, I think a blind assassin is just what we need. The others learn to fight in the light. She will be able to fight in the dark, not seeing a thing, her other senses heightened."

Ms. Powers nodded. Her eyes sparkled. "I like that," she said. "Shrewd."

Sebastian turned to her. "And besides. Who would suspect that a blind woman was actually a trained killer?"

They laughed and followed behind as the other two owls dragged Cassandra away.