Chapter: 15
Darren could barely suppress the grin on his face as a brass-knuckled fist slammed into his jaw. His teeth clacked together harshly glancing off one another, skin splitting and blood dripping at the harshness of the blow. The unpleasant coppery tang of blood enveloped his mouth an instant after the resounding crack echoed harshly in his skull. Darren let out a cough, rather unnecessary but still warranted he didn't want to swallow the blood, spitting a glob of it onto the cemented ground. He glanced up at Falcone through hooded eyes, grinning at the man with blood-stained teeth, the urge to laugh somewhat intoxicating. Falcone frowned and gestured for his man to strike another blow, a heated hatred in his gaze.
While perhaps not a great situation to be in, there was a method to Darren's—and the Bats'—madness. While the files and hardware collected from the mob bosses' organizational front provided some insights into the newer operations of Falcone and his men, solid details, and therefore, hard evidence was lacking. Falcone's criminal organization was thriving despite the attempted interference of Red Hood and tailing by the Bats. They were all getting desperate, especially the GCPD, as the increased black-market sales of drugs and weapons to the public of Gotham incited worse consequences than in most cities. The lack of significant detail of the central merchandise Falcone was pedaling also implied a potential turf war between mob bosses in Gotham or even surrounding cities as they grappled over resources as well as customers. Batman suspected a third party was acting as a middleman between the suppliers and the Falcones, but who that third party was remained ambiguous. It was a growing mess, a potential bloodbath regardless of which way the axe fell, implying the need for more…creative…strategies of investigation.
Hence the need for a distraction while Batman and Robin searched and hopefully obtained useful intel from Falcone's estate, storage units, and potential dealing or drop site locations to unravel the web of misdirection laid out by the mob boss. He had operated in Gotham for a long time and picked up on methods to evade the Bats at nearly every turn. But nothing was sequestered away too deeply for Batman to find…at least that is what Darren hoped. The thought process leading up to the situation where Darren was tied to a chair being beaten up by thugs among shipping crates on the backend of Gotham Harbor involved the explosion caused by the pipe bomb when Darren first went to steal information from the Falcones. It was clear who had infiltrated the organization's building fronting their more sensitive operations. Reports by witnesses of the explosion placed Renegade nearby the building's general location in the aftermath and if Matches Malone dropped a few suggestive details, one wouldn't be the wiser. They both contributed to the same outcome: a need for revenge as well as a need for information on what the Bat knew.
There was initial pushback, mainly by Dick, having Darren take on the role of the captive. Though Darren was quick to point out he wouldn't feel the blows or injuries and that any distraction available was significant in putting Falcone away…or at least would limit his ability to operate if his lawyers wheedled him out of any actual prison time. Darren was also not as well versed in detective work as the others were, as his skillset was primarily weaponry and fighting in essence the skill of an assassin, he would only get in the way of any investigation. Perhaps Dick worried about how exposure to more torture by others—regardless of his ability to feel said abuse—would affect him but Darren was adamant about helping especially as it was one of his first nights back on patrol, Darren wanted to be useful. He wasn't necessarily overjoyed with the potential arrangement but there was a difference…there was a purpose greater than using Darren. In this situation it was Darren's manipulation rather than Falcone's, Darren was dictating the terms of his involvement. That, of anything, made all the difference.
In the end, Dick eventually agreed albeit reluctantly, either way, a plan was set in motion. Matches Malone let certain info drop in front of Falcone's thugs, confirming Renegade's role in stealing the documents and destroying the business the mob boss used as a front. Red Hood increased pressure on the everyday operations of the Falcone crime family, adding enough strain on profit that Falcone would be stewing in anger and much-needed vengeance. Batman's attention is also a telltale sign that business would take a turn which then added to Red Hood's strain as a crime lord by proxy himself, it all meant fewer sales and fewer profits. Falcone would also need information on how much Batman knew of his ongoing operations and who better to force that information out of than the one responsible for the theft of that documentation.
The pieces fell into place perfectly, surprisingly perfectly. Those actively involved: Batman and Robin, would be sorting through potential evidence and intel, Nightwing and Red Robin as well as GCPD officers on standby—following Darren's movement in addition to listening in via a hidden wire in case Falcone reveals any significant information that warranted arrest. And those maintaining normalcy: Batgirl, Spoiler, and Red Hood, with assisted help from Batwoman, Bluebird, and Signal—currently visiting from university—were managing the regular patrol routes on their own. Falcone took the clearly shifted attention as an opportunity to snatch his desired target: Renegade.
Darren fidgeted with his restraints, wiggling his fingers as he stared dead-eyed at Falcone, resisting the urge to glance over to where he knew Nightwing and Red Robin were settled just out of sight amongst scaffolding and tarp, overseeing the operation below. Darren didn't bother to look for the GCPD, they were merely recording anything picked up on by the mic. They expected the Bats to deal with extracting Renegade should things take a turn, that was the agreed-upon strategy at least. Perhaps that was the plan but Darren could break free whenever he wanted…he could kill every man present if he truly wanted to. And while Darren's instincts screamed at him to retaliate, Darren restrained that desire, merely taking another blow this time to the gut by Falcone's thugs,
"You're a difficult one to crack," Falcone mused, "Though I suspect most Bats are," Darren couldn't help the feeling of surprise and pride he felt at being called a Bat, it perked his ears and eased the need to kill everyone around him…it was nice to be recognized by all he had worked toward,
"You'd actually get somewhere if feather fingers here wasn't pulling his punches," Darren monotoned. No sooner had the words left Darren's mouth had his head snapped to the side by another powerful blow. Blood filled Darren's mouth once more. Darren slowly pulled his head back to scowl at Falcone, spitting out another glob of blood at his feet. Falcone glared at the insult, his expression hardening
"Tell me what I want to know, I'm tired and I don't want to deal with you longer than I have to,"
"I could do this all night," Darren barked, "You'll get nothing from me,"
"We'll see," Falcone murmured, gesturing for another blow to be struck, this time with a steel pipe. The hit reverberated, shuddering up Darren's spine but without pain…a strange sensation but nothing he couldn't handle. The body reacted, but the pain never registered,
"That is such a cliché….so boring," Darren gripped, slumping a bit in the metal chair. The thugs shared a look, skepticism as well as a little uncertainty in their expressions,
"You're rather chipper for someone nothing more than a bloody lump," Darren grinned,
"This is probably the best torture I've ever received," Darren retorted, showing blood-stained teeth. Falcone raised an eyebrow, drawing closer, the grim smirk on his face only slightly intimidating,
"Oh, I see. You think you're getting something out of this. You think things will wash away, and disappear. You think because of who you are you'll walk away free of me? Of my anger?" Darren blinked, confused his eyes darting over the spot Nightwing and Red Robin still crouched upon. Falcone pounced, gripping Darren's chin, and pulling his covered grey-blue gaze to meet his steely brown eyes. Darren gritted his teeth, the urge to head-butt the asshole overwhelming, "You're ol' man won't protect you," Darren stilled at that, jerking back in the chair with surprise, his restrains chafing uncomfortably on his wrists, eyes wide though the mask concealed the look though Falcone still caught the shock. The mob boss chuckled, a sinister rasping laugh,
"Slade Wilson, Deathstroke, the Mercenary…you honestly thought his ties to the criminal underworld would keep you safe. A Wilson brat like yourself isn't untouchable…especially when their father is in prison,"
"I believe you've been given some false information," Darren monotoned through gritted teeth, though panic seared through him, ringing in his ears harshly. How could he know…how could anyone know; no one knew…no one knew outside the Bats…outside of Wintergreen and Darren's siblings…outside Slade himself.
Falcone let out a laugh, menacing and berating, a gleam in his eye that wasn't quite enjoyment. It was the gaze of someone calculating the price of a prize…Darren had seen that look and it unlocked a familiar sense of dread; that was the twin look of Ra's al Ghul in Alaska, eager for an easy immortal life…of the Owlman watching as Darren was picked apart in the Nest. This suddenly wasn't very fun anymore…the parallels were too unseemly, too close to that knot of darkness Darren still couldn't quite face,
"I think it's true…and the whole of Gotham's criminal underworld is buzzing with this news," Darren strained harder against his restraints, but did not break them he knew Batman and Robin still needed more time and as much as Darren felt in that moment, he couldn't break free not yet. Though deep dread still shrouded Darren in its harrowing embrace at the magnitude of what Falcone revealed. It was one thing for only Falcone to know the truth…it was another for Gotham's entire criminal underworld to know as well. As the mic from the wire sticking out at the neck of Darren's suit rubbed lightly against his throat, the realization that now the GCPD knew of Renegade's true parentage then settled harshly in the pit of Darren's stomach. Doubling the impact of this revelation.
Darren's father once said his connections to the criminal underworld would protect him…but he failed to consider—or rather mention at the time—Slade's enemies. How they—friend or foe—would use that information, how they might profit from it…what better way to get to an infamous mercenary than through their children? It was how Joey's vocal cords got shredded, it was how Darren's brother lost his voice,
"Then you know what I'm capable of," Darren jeered icily. Darren's thoughts were running all over the place, alternating between attempts to maintain the plan while also cycling through every moment, every possibility of how this information was leaked,
"I'm not worried," Falcone's grin was that of a shark, and his sharp gaze fixed on his cronies giving them a sharp nod, "I've had enough of him…sink him,"
"Wha—," Darren's questioning yelp was cut off as he was hoisted out of the chair and thrown to the ground before he could process what Falcone had said, a knee to the back pinned him in place even as Darren desperately broke through his bonds. Falcone's face loomed in the distance as Darren struggled—the shock from the identity reveal overtaking everything in his mind even as he tried to maintain the distraction even as he fought against what was happening—something cool and hard slipped around his wrists replacing the ropes,
"I also heard you don't do well in the cold," Falcone mused, satisfaction in his smirk, "So…enjoy your little swim," it clicked then, what Falcone meant. Darren stilled, a new kind of panic entwining with the old as he gazed back behind, to the loop of chain binding his wrists and the cement cinder blocks Falcone's man was kicking off the harbor decking,
"No!" Darren cried, even as he heard the splash, even as the chain pulled taut and forced him over the edge, and Falcone's harsh and grinning face was the last thing Darren saw before murky midnight black, freezing cold water enveloped him.
The inky black of Gotham harbor stole Darren's sight while the freezing cold devoured Darren's breath as it slammed into him like a freight train, struggling not to gasp from the intensity of its chill. That cold overtook everything…harsh and unyielding, panic overwhelmed all the shock and confusion from Falcone's revelation. Darren struggled with himself, with the terror of being submerged, not from the risk of freezing but from the memory of William standing over him forcing his head under repeatedly…screaming in his ear. Darren sank through the murky water, still chained…still thrown from the plunge…expecting hands to push him down, down under. Unrelenting, not letting Darren up even as his lungs screamed for air, even as he struggled and fought his grandfather, even as darkness overtook his sight, as the world dimmed…the memories flourished unwanted, unneeded, uncontrolled stealing the fight from Darren.
Talons could hold their breath for a long time underwater, they trained for it and the Nest used generally the same technique for both training and torture. The former involved weighted chains, the latter force, and fear; though looking back, from this new perspective free from the Court and with exposure to a different environment—a different life—in a sense it was all the same difference. It was how Darren learned to swim; it was how he learned to extract information for the Owls…it was why he never truly enjoyed bodies of water. Perhaps that fear, instilled from a young age, was a warning…cautioning the danger water and cold posed for Talons.
There, drifting lazily in Gotham's Harbor's current, was an eerie silence. There were no bright white lights, no Talons peering through a glass tank staring at a trainee struggling to get free and get air. There was nothing. It was unclear how long Darren had been under, but he could feel the toll it was causing him…he could feel the pressure building up in his chest, the need for air slowly mounting as well as the settling of the cold. It encased his bones, he could feel the stiffness racing throughout his bloodstream as the Electrum became solid, and a new panic surged. Darren might not drown, but he would freeze and without the respite of a sleeping agent or sedative…would be forced to endure a cycling hell of his worst and darkest memories. Darren would not survive that; he could barely manage that while fully cognizant.
Darren flexed his arms, exerting his preternatural strength into the movement, breaking the chains that anchored him to the concrete blocks. A single kick of Darren's legs had him surging toward light, sound, air, and life. Hands reaching for Darren as he broke the surface had him reeling away, frantic that it was somehow William trying to drown answers out of him only to see Nightwing's worried face instead as he blinked away grimy water. Darren let out a choked breath of relief and reached up for the edge, pulling himself up and stiffening only marginally when Dick reached down to assist, taking hold of the scruff of Darren's suit as if he were a puppy,
"He knows…they…they…all know," Darren sputtered, splayed out on the ground…trembling from the icy chill of the air. The soaking wet quickening the freezing nature of the Electrum, worsening the impact of his plunge, "They…they…k-know…the-y, know,"
"Let's worry about that later," Dick murmured his lips in a tight line as he carefully but with effort, pulled Darren into a sitting position beginning to rub at Darren's arms and chest as if he was hypothermic, Darren watched on bemused, "We need to keep you warm,"
"No…no. They know, they all know…how-how h-ow do they know?" Darren hissed, pulling his arms from Dick's grasp as he tried to stand. Only to stumble, his knee slamming harshly into the concrete. Dick inhaled sharply and Tim stopped his task of canvasing the area to look over, concern in his expression. A small part of Darren's mind understood…flitting unwillingly to the image of a shattered frozen Talon on pavement…pieces still drifting like ice on a kitchen floor; the other wholly focused on the fact that someway somehow the criminal underworld knew of Renegade's criminal parentage which gave way to the secondary thought of: someone. Someone gave that information,
"I need to go to Belle Reve," Darren mused, determined once more as he shifted to his feet ignoring the creaking of his joints and the numbness spreading through his body, "I-I…I need to go—,"
"—No," Dick monotoned through gritted teeth, grabbing hold of Darren's arm and spinning him around grabbing hold of his shoulders lightly, "We need to get you home before you freeze, we need to get you warm." Dick shifted then and Darren flinched, jerking back only to realize Dick was moving to place his heated cloak around his shoulders. The sudden warmth stunned Darren momentarily, derailing his thoughts,
"B-but…they know. Oh my god they all know," Despair and fear rang unwillingly in Darren's voice,
"I know…I know Renegade. But we'll fix this…someway somehow…we will,"
"I need—," Darren started, pulling the cloak tighter around his shoulders as the wind picked up ruffling his hair and chilling him to the bone,
"To go home," Tim interrupted as he meandered over,
"There's nothing more you can do right now. You can't question Slade if you freeze on the way to the prison," Dick amended. Darren paused, realizing how cold and stiff and…immobile he truly felt. He could feel it inching down his spine, creeping through his extremities. Slowly, and silently, Darren nodded his half-hearted agreement,
"I-I can't really feel my legs," Darren admitted, he could move them, but they felt separate from the rest of his body…not quite there but at least they were mobile…they wouldn't be for long though and the rest of him would follow,
"I'm done here," Tim stated nodding at Nightwing, "You circle back to meet up with B. I'll take Renegade home." With slight reluctance Dick nodded his agreement before throwing a line, leaving Tim to face Darren with a stern expression that screamed 'no detours this time around' as he took Darren's arm to guide him home.
Darren could rest at home for a moment…appease both Dick and Tim…but he'd still get answers regardless.
Darren was sure he should have stayed at the manor as Dick and Tim told him to, and he was pretty sure sneaking out in the dead of night after nearly freezing to—well, not exactly—death was admittedly more of a flaw in character than enacting a clear-cut plan. For one, he didn't have an exact plan other than going to Belle Reve and demanding his father give him the answers he needed. For another, Darren wasn't sure what would happen if he was caught at Belle Reve. Before, he could hide under the guise of gaining intel for Batman…but now, now people knew…well at least everyone in the criminal underworld and within the GCPD knew of Renegade's true parentage. They wouldn't trust him…he couldn't speak with Slade privately—or at least as privately as you can get in a prison block—and even worse, they might suspect Renegade was working to help Slade escape despite every other instance of Renegade's visits proving otherwise. It was unclear how the guards would react if they spotted Renegade, but that also depended upon how fast news traveled…how the information was delivered, and, of course, what orders were given. A lot of that banked on Batman and Commissioner Gordon's ability to placate the police force…and by extension the guard population at all the penitentiaries. Perhaps some of it banked on the personal opinion of Renegade…Darren didn't think the two guards he knocked out the first time he visited liked him all that much and would certainly love the opportunity for payback.
Ultimately, Darren was relying on the slowness of the grapevine. The grind of protocol and information gathering, on the snail-pace of confirmation…as well as the unavoidable distraction that came with new and shocking information. Batman and Nightwing would still be speaking with the Commissioner, the GCPD would want answers and have questions about protocol…about the future course of interactions with Renegade, on what would be done with the news that Renegade had ties to the criminal underworld…that Renegade was a threat to the safety of Gotham. The news hadn't reached Belle Reve, or at least that is what Darren told himself, which meant he could still see Slade…even though he'd promised numerous people, including himself, he'd stop doing that; this visit was warranted, which Darren also told himself.
Consequently, Darren was freezing. He pulled his heated cloak tighter around himself as he slipped by the prison block cells. Normally he ghosted by uncaringly, not worrying about security footage or potentially crossing paths with the guards making routine sweeps. But this time Darren took precautions, he uploaded a looping code, courtesy of Tim, to the code of Belle Reve's cameras via his gauntlet creating a steady loop for approximately forty minutes. This meeting wouldn't take too long. Darren didn't want to risk being missed back home and he certainly didn't want to test the theory about who knew what concerning Renegade's parentage. And too easily Darren slipped through the cracks in security and wandered soundlessly through the maze-like cell blocks of Belle Reve wary of every snore, every cough, and scuffing shoe of patrolling guards their flashlights nearly blinding. Though they missed Darren every time, unaware of the Talon in their midst. Perhaps they were too focused on the threat of an escapee to consider the threat of an infiltrator or perhaps it was just pure negligence—either way, it served Darren's purpose.
Though as he got closer to his destination, the paranoia grew thicker…denser…more invasive. The uncertainty of it all. The fact that despite the Bats vouching for Renegade they would always bend to their need for an alliance with the police force to operate as they wanted within Gotham. The fact that they couldn't intervene no matter what Gordon's decision was concerning Renegade's ties to the criminal underworld. Granted, a small voice wondered what could they do? Darren—Renegade—hadn't done anything wrong…aside from some light unintentional murder well before any truth got out. They couldn't arrest or do anything to Renegade based on his father's status as a criminal. Prejudice might be a given but not outright indictment. It wasn't a comforting thought, but it was more manageable than the latter.
Darren turned another corner, mindful of guards and took a quick glance at the timer on his gauntlet as he stepped into view of Slade's cell. Darren's father was awake…almost expectant, a realization that made Darren's blood sing with barely suppressed rage. Darren could merely stare, his paranoia of being discovered paling in the light of confronting his father,
"Well, look who deigned to visit me," Slade mused, leaning against the wall of his cell arms crossed. Looking aloof,
"They know." It was all Darren could get out; all he could utter. The sharpness of his tone didn't seem to startle Slade, his father didn't even bat an eye, "They know," he repeated,
"You're going to have to be a bit more specific," Slade musted, unmoving, and unmoved,
"They know, the criminal underworld and the GCPD, about Renegade's connection to you. They know you're my father," Slade merely raised an eyebrow and Darren could only curl his hands into fists at his sides to contain his rage and anger and anguish,
"What did you expect would happen?" Slade questioned, "Did you really think that secret would—,"
"—Did you tell them? Did you tell someone…did you do something to ruin any anonymity I had?"
"How?" Slade demanded, throwing his arms wide, gesturing to his secure four walls, "How could I have said anything?!"
"You could have mentioned it to the guard…to a prisoner…you could have used someone on the outside. There are infinite possibilities,"
"And why now? Huh, why after months, after nearly a year of silence would I do that?"
"You tell me," Darren muttered, "Perhaps it's some deluded idea that if you escaped, because you and I both know that's easier than you let on, the backlash would turn the Bats on me and I, out of desperation, would turn to you,"
"How conceited you are. Thinking everything I do is about you,"
"Then why are you still here!" Darren hissed, frustrated by the sting of words and the lack of answers, "Why stay in this rotting cell? Ra's is gone…my brothers are free. You are not at risk of being a pawn against us so why stay here at all?"
"Hmm, perhaps…I'm exactly where I want to be?" Slade's grin was eerie and sharp in the darkness, "Or maybe there's something bigger afoot?"
Darren let out a frustrated huff of air, tired of the mind games. Tired of the trickery and manipulation caused by Slade…his father was toying with him and was enjoying it. Perhaps being petty for not having a meaningful conversation or something along those lines,
"Fine," Darren muttered finally, "Clearly, you're set on just talking in riddles. At least tell me what you know about Charles Crowne," Slade's brow furrowed at that,
"I have no idea who that is. I might be your father, but I don't know every detail of your mother's side of the family. Why not ask about my father…my lineage…my history,"
"And why would I want to know that? You're here, my mother isn't. I see where your story leads…and I'm not interested in learning anything about that, I don't want that as my future," Darren said with a biting tone…only mildly regretful as he uttered it. Darren was tired, exhausted, cold, and not in the mood for games. He never wanted his parentage known…and if Renegade's truth was out, who isn't to say Darren Crowne's parentage was revealed as well. Further endangering himself and the rest of his family. The walls were shrinking…turning into something like Slade's horrible prison cell and Darren didn't know who to blame. Himself, his father, Charles Crowne, or someone…something?...else entirely.
Darren couldn't take any more of this and spun on his heel, steel in his gaze even as Slade's measured tone and final word rattled unforgivingly in his head,
"It won't be your future son, it's already your present."
Livia couldn't help but feel the electric energy in Allison's room as she and eleven other girls milled around cackling and chatting, a normal sleepover. The lights of the room were dimmed, the darkness splintered by flickering lights of candles and fairy lights that bedazzled Allison's well-decorated room, adding to the atmosphere. But the air felt charged, an energy only Livia could sense…an intensity to the charge of the world around them…something wild…ethereal. Perhaps it was the knowledge of why she, why they, were there. And maybe it was because Livia was a witch, an actual witch, attending a séance at a friend's house. A fun, random event…but one that may serve a better purpose for Livia if she played her cards right. Knowing Allison, and most non-magical individuals, the method for the séance would be mundane…incorrect, and potentially dangerous if legitimate but poorly performed…ineffective to what Livia had planned, a hopeful attempt to understand everything happening after the merging ritual with Klarion.
The plan was to feed off the energy of the room, of the intention these young women held. They wanted to commune with the dead, no matter how fun-loving and harmless the intention was…it was useful, it was powerful. Livia could use that, without harming anyone, and with a well-timed sleeping spell protect her identity as an honest-to-God real witch from being discovered. The question then became what exactly Livia wanted to use this séance for. On one hand, Livia desired to speak with her father, he'd simply vanished since the pavilion with Léa and that worried her deeply. Livia didn't know if Markus had somehow been forced to pass on or if he was somehow barred from managing the Astral Plane, or worse that he was weakened to the point where he simply ceased to be or became trapped in Lea's hellscape of an existence. Livia didn't know if any of that was possible…but she wanted to at least try and find out what happened. On the other hand, Livia knew the name of the most recently murdered jewelry store employee…if she wanted, she could try and speak with them and parse together what really happened that night. And figure out whether their murder had anything to do with her, or if it was just a scary coincidence.
Communing with the dead was not necessarily difficult or dangerous; the dead often wanted to be seen and conversed with though not with much ease. The magical dead had a much easier time, they had a connection to the Astral Plane, and they also knew how it functioned. Not all magical dead beings stuck around, many moved on…but not Livia's father. Only now it seemed he was not on the Astral Plane.
Non-magical dead beings on the other hand were around as well, but mostly invisible. Whether they missed their loved ones or sought to complete some unfinished business, the dead were all around—magical and non-magical alike. The choice to stay or move on was not dictated by some otherworldly being—at least not entirely—it was a more personal, moving aspect of death. Or at least that was what Livia understood…there was no certainty, but the dead did exist and remain on the Mortal Plane even if separated from humanity, while some did not exist within the Mortal Plane…they moved on to…somewhere.
Occasionally a non-magical dead being was strong enough to force visibility but not for long and often with somewhat drastic consequences. Barring the few instances of intensive visibility of the non-magical dead, it was like there was an opaque glass wall between the dead and the living or a veil of some sort. Something separated those planes of existence…at least that was how Livia thought of it all. There was much she didn't quite get or could perceive…death was infinite and finite all at once and no one had all the answers. Livia could barely hope to understand the truth without experiencing death for herself, her dalliance after the merging ritual didn't quite count as she was pulled into Léa's trap of a prison world.
Summoning the dead was completely different from communing with the dead. Communing with the dead was casual, it required the innate gift of seeing through the veil or a magical item like a hagstone—though hearing the dead was not attainable with that tool. From what Livia read, anyone with that innate gift was mad or driven to insanity…how or why Livia didn't know. In the instance of a summoning the dead being was called forth specifically; commanded by a magic-user.
Usually, a summoning was orchestrated through tools, the energies funneled through magical items such as spirit boards or even people, who were usually Anchors themselves. Livia knew the theory of summoning the dead but had never put it to practice mainly because all witches and magic users were warned never to summon anything on their own. Since one was using a secondary medium—a tool, whether human or inanimate—to summon such spirits, mainly used for dead beings not navigating the Astral Plane, one could never be sure what would come through. Summonings were often paired with apparitions, mysterious noises…the shuffling of furniture, and the clattering of items as well as flickering lights or drops in temperature. They were intense, and deadly…for bringing—forcing—the dead, or whatever was summoned, through the veil separating human reality and wherever the dead resided, welcoming such beings in—even unintentionally—gave those spirits power.
Even if fleeting that strength was dangerous for a lone witch or magic user and could lead to a disastrous death…or possession…or any numerous dangerous things. But looking around at the friends Livia has found, the girls swathed in the eerie energy of the night she knew she was not alone…this séance could work if guided correctly,
"Oh! It's midnight!" Allison sing-songed, rolling gracefully off the queen-sized bed she'd been lounging on a mischievous grin on her face. Several of the girls looked up from where they sat scattered around the room, texting, doing each other's nails, hair ,or makeup, or simply chatting…laughing…being. Livia turned from where she stood staring out the window, waiting her turn for a manicure, gazing pensively at the full moon rising above the Gotham skyline. She wasn't ignoring the other young women around her, merely letting them amass the energy she felt—the power she felt…and needed. One didn't need to be magical to invoke or embody mystical energy…power…magic. There are non-magical things, moments, and spaces, where power can be found…like with twelve women under a mourning full moon*. It was as if fate was willing Livia to do this summoning.
Allision looked as if she was going to start dancing with glee, oblivious as most non-magical beings were to the potential danger such an endeavor could bring. Even so, Livia couldn't help but smile, the excitement in the room was intoxicating…impossible to ignore,
"Everyone gather round—!" Allision crowed as she knelt at the foot of her bed rummaging around for something, "—because it's time to speak to the dead!" she exclaimed, rising, and brandishing an ancient-looking Ouija Board. The others started chattering with excitement while Livia frowned. Spirit boards were unreliable, especially when handled by non-magical beings. They worked, but only if used correctly. Granted, Allison's Spirit Board looked startlingly authentic, if Livia wanted this to go her way she'd need to angle for her methods over Allison's…which is easier said than done. Allison was stubborn and a bit of a control freak especially around things she perceived as hers. Livia would need to play this carefully…or alternatively, aggressively. It was very hit-or-miss with Livia's friend.
Everyone eagerly meandered over to where Allison sat cross-legged on the carpet covering a portion of the hardwood flooring of her room, pleased and excited, practically thrumming with anticipation and energy. It was genuinely interesting to Livia how exhilarated non-magical beings were by the concept of magical things, even as they equally feared it. Livia wouldn't deny the joy actual magic brought to her, though for the majority of her life, she'd been cut off from it and her magic had once been slowly killing her…still, doing the impossible was wondrous and Livia could understand non-magical being's infatuation with magic,
"So…we're just using a Ouija Board?" Livia questioned, trying to sound aloof as she slowly wandered over to the circle of sleepover goers forming. Allision frowned, raising an eyebrow almost huffing with annoyance,
"Yes of course. It's the easiest…and cheapest way,"
"Well…sure…but only if done the right way,"
"…There's a right way?" Rebecca asked, her voice small in the sudden quietness of the room. Allison threw the girl a glare before focusing back on Livia,
"Do you really think I didn't research this myself?" Allision snipped,
"I didn't say that I just think if we really want to contact the dead…if we really want this séance to mean something, we ought to do it the correct way," Livia stated gently, moving to stand in an open spot within the circle,
"And what makes you the expert on the 'correct' way?" Allison demanded scathingly. The energy in the room wavered for a moment before righting itself…Allison wouldn't let anything mess with doing the Séance which may work in Livia's favor,
"I did my own reading and research—"
"—And what could you find that was different than what my research found?" Livia suppressed a sigh,
"If you really want to know then fine. Here it goes: there are twelve of us here…and twelve is an important number. It's a symbol of cosmic order, the number of space and time and that's what each of us wants to do here. We want to bend space and time to our will so we can speak with the dead. We're here, all twelve of us under a mourning full moon, the last full moon until after the winter solstice…the universe is practically telling us to do this tonight," Livia looked to each girl, looked them in the eyes, and felt the energy in the room spike, frenzy overwhelmingly almost…it was nearly intoxicating. And perhaps Livia fused a bit of her persuasive charm into this preamble…only a hint of the ability, Livia needed this to work,
"Twelve is also the number of people needed to form a coven of witches…there is so much symbology here, so much calling us here…to now. We need to do this right," Allison stared at Livia, seemingly taken aback…all the girls stared at her, and Livia wondered if she'd gone too far, there's only so much oddness non-magical beings can take, but then Allison cracked a smile, a wicked crooked smile one that Livia couldn't help but mirror,
"Oh, so we're a coven now?" Allison asked,
"I don't see why not," Livia answered shrugging, a trill of something running down her spine,
"Okay sister Livia, how do we do a 'proper' séance?" Allison huffed, as she handed the spirit board over to Livia, which she gladly took and placed on the ground in front of where she sat,
"Before we do anything, you need to listen very carefully. I'm going to list off rules and you cannot break these rules or there will be drastic consequences," Livia stared every girl down—unsure of how much they were buying into this; but she continued on regardless, "Rule number one, you cannot for any reason at all break the circle. You can't stand up, you can't run away, and you can't break hands—you must hold hands throughout the entire ritual. Two, only one person can touch the Ouija board at a time, and that will be me—,"
"—but that's no fun! We're all supposed to hold the planchette!" Allison cried, still seemingly a little miffed that Livia was hijacking her séance moment,
"If you want an actual spirit to communicate with us, only the spirit can touch the planchette, the living touches the board itself and channels—um—energy into the board," Livia had almost said 'magic' before catching herself, "the reason Ouija boards don't work is because so many people are holding onto it, the heat and vibrations from so many hands are what actually move it not the actual spirits," Livia stated smartly. Allison let out a harsh sigh but didn't try and stop Livia as she continued laying out the rules,
"Three, only I will do the talking. Too many voices confuse the spirits. And four…never, ever, use a spirit board alone the minimum number of people that can use a Spirit Board is three. Got it?" Everyone nodded somberly, too enthralled by the seriousness of Livia's tone to question or argue with her, "Great, now we're going to need some candles placed at the cardinal points and then everyone's going to hold hands. The people next to me will grab hold of my shoulders and I will hold the bottom edges of the board,"
"And just like that, a ghost will speak with us?" Cassie, somewhere in the circle asked skeptically,
"Well…there are a few other steps that need to be done first. But for now, let's get those candles…oh, and chalk!"
With a bit of shuffling and grumbling of girls who were annoyed to stand up after just sitting down, candles were pulled from tables and placed at the cardinal points with a diameter wide enough to encircle the ring of girls, Chalk was found in what had once been Allison's playroom as a child, and Livia swiftly drew a circle on the floor muttering under her breath as she did so. She spoke quietly enough that no one heard her or at least if they did no one spoke up, even Allision who watched Livia carefully trace the protection circle around the sitting girls a pensive look on her face, while Livia moved the candles as she reached them replacing them—spelling each candle for extra protection in the process—as she moved on until she reached the spot where the Ouija Board rested. She didn't close the circle just yet, Livia instead turned to face the circle of eager young women wanting some fun and mischief,
"If anyone wants out now's the time to do it, once the circle's closed you can't leave…not until the Séance is over," silence reigned as Livia met each girl's eyes, none of them wanted to leave…and the energy Livia had felt since the beginning of the night hadn't wavered. They really wanted this…and that was invigorating…that was, powerful. Perhaps Livia was ostracized in the magical community, but here she was accepted even if under a half-truth. There were modern witches…and non-magical beings can become magic users with hard work. Maybe a Coven could be born here, perhaps in some way it had already been just by Livia taking command of this summoning.
With a deep breath, Livia turned to face the cardinal points in turn, starting the process of the basic casting for a protective circle. It wouldn't be as strong as the circle cast by Zatanna and Constantine for her Merging Ritual, but Livia doubted Allison would be okay with wax being dripped all over her floor, or salt or the ash of the first Baudelaire mixed with the blood—or essence if nonhuman—of an Anchor nor did Livia think Allison's mom would be okay with that. The basic circle should hold against anything that came through…if anything at all came through,
"Earth and water—," Livia started, pointing at the respective candles, a ritual knife would be preferred as well but Livia didn't want to scare her friends too much or immerse them too deeply in magic that they leap in headfirst on their own and get hurt, "—Fire and air, See your daughters standing there—,"
"Uh…but we're sitting?" Sabrina muttered. Livia glared her into silence before starting again,
"Earth and water, Fire and air, See your daughters standing there. By dark of moon and light of sun, As I will, let it be done. By challenge, trial, and sacred vow, close the circle and protect what's there." With that Livia drew the circle closed. The finality of it was almost a physical sensation. The candles' flames flickered and a few of the girls let out an uneasy, yet intrigued chuckle. The end phrasing can vary, but the core of the protection circle was the same. The calling on the elements, the calling on the powers of the primordial forces or a least the forces relevant to the task at hand, and closing with the intent of the protection circle. Livia turned to face the inside of the circle and sat down,
"Let's begin," Livia silently placed her middle and pointer fingers on the bottom edges of the Spirit Board, everyone else joined hands and the two people closest to Livia grabbed onto her shoulders. There was a nervous energy now, mingling with the electrifying energy…they danced around the room at odds with one another but not outrightly overpowering one way or the other. Livia couldn't focus on that right now, "Spirits are you there, Spirits are you there, Spirits are you there," they all chanted as one, as Livia instructed,
"We call upon the spirit…," and here Livia paused, a moment of uncertainty. This was the moment of choice, of who she wanted to speak with and though she knew what the right option might be her heart longed for the other. Livia swallowed once, harshly, before continuing, "We call upon the spirit of Markus Baudelaire." Allison's head snapped up, surprise in her eyes but also a grim understanding…perhaps some pity. She didn't understand that this was real, that Livia had seen her father before…though Livia equally appreciated the empathy no matter how misplaced.
A beat of silence went by, then another…a moment more…and then a breeze picked up the curtains, appearing from nowhere, no draft…no logic to the sudden movement. A drop in temperature occurred, a potential sign of a spirit…of the dead, magical or non-magical. The silence felt eerie…slightly off…though Livia paid it no mind. Instead, her attention was on the planchette, urging…almost willing it…to move. One more beat of silence, and Livia could feel it drag on, boring the girls around her when the planchette jerked an inch to the left. A stifled gasp sounded from somewhere in the circle, another girl jerked where she sat but didn't break rank. Eyes widened as the planchette started to drag itself across the board,
"Y-yes," Livia breathed, her voice catching in her throat. Surprise outweighing the immense relief,
"I-is that really your dad?" Mary asked, there was a waver…whether out of fear or intrigue was unclear,
"It can't be…this is just BS. You're moving it with magnets or something right Livia?" Allison nearly barked. Again, it was unclear as to whether her friend was frightened or excited, perhaps both. Livia didn't respond, instead, she kept her focus on the flow of magic within and around the circle. But the uncertainty amongst her friends had Livia pausing…was this her father? Was this a trick? Or was her dad truly sitting opposite her inside the circle, moving the planchette?
Livia swallowed, eyeing the wooden piece as it slowly skittered across the board, moving back to the center awaiting more orders. Taunting Livia with all the questions she had…and perhaps with all the questions she wouldn't get to ask the person that died in the jewelry store. It wasn't that Livia couldn't summon a spirit twice—or more than once—in one night; it was more Livia wanted this to seem at least a bit performative. She wanted, needed, her answers about Markus's whereabouts but bringing a legitimate spirit into the mix more than once would be a dead giveaway of Livia's true strangeness. It would be noticeable and while Livia wouldn't mind others knowing about her power or maybe taking the path of magic themselves, she knew the risks that came with practicing magic. Livia didn't want to egg them on, at least not entirely, and certainly not all at once. Glancing around the circle, all eyes were on her, before looking back down at the Ouija Board, Livia took a deep breath,
"Markus, tell me, what were my mother's favorite flowers?" A test. A way to know for certain. And yes, most rulebooks for these boards said not to ask specific questions…but this wasn't a game. This was real and Livia would not get played. The silence continued once more, shrouding the room as the girls fidgeted where they sat, eyeing the board with rapt gazes and wondrous expressions, excitement still bedazzled the room even as Livia felt a pit of dread solidifying in her gut. Something didn't feel right…something just on the edge of her consciousness; but before Livia could think on it, the planchette moved again. Darting across the board, reaching for letters,
"R-o-s-e-s," Livia parsed out, a frown crossing her features as a chill darted up her spine. Before anyone could say anything or ask Livia if it was true, she reached up a hand twisting it into a fist muttering a single word, "Somnum." Girls slumped over, some lying on top of one another, out cold, sleeping within the protective circle. Daises, daises were her mother's favorite flowers. Markus had told her that himself. Livia reached for the planchette, brandishing it before her like a weapon,
"You're not Markus Baudelaire," Livia bit out, not showing an ounce of fear…she couldn't, even though she had no idea who—or what—she'd brought into her friend's home, "Reveal yourself." Livia brought the planchette to her eye, using the crafted hole in the wood as a hagstone…
…only to balk in fear, the planchette clattering to the wooden floor though the specter, the sight of Léa Baudelaire's smirking face and hovering figure, remaining fully in view before her.
A/N: Hope you liked this chapter! I really had fun writing the first and third sections, the second section with Darren and Slade proved a little more difficult. I feel that was because that was hard to kind of explain why the criminal underworld and the GCPD knowing about Darren's parentage was so bad, as well as why Slade was still holed up in Belle Reve when Wintergreen could swoop in and get him out at a moments notice. But I still think it turned out alright.
I hope the description of why Darren was being a punching bag for Falcone made sense. And to elaborate more on Jason's role as a crime lord despite still rolling with the Bats, it's more of an honorary title rather than an actual role within a criminal operation, hence the "crime lord by proxy" statement. Jason still has influence in certain territories within Gotham and sticks around to maintain them while also venturing out with the Outlaws to handle Outlaw-y things. It's the only reason why he even stays around in Gotham, in my mind he has no love for the city that never gave a damn about him and murdered him, but he does care about the people who in other circumstances would never have had a chance. To me, he utilizes his people to keep children off the streets and prevents drugs from being sold to children. Most of their product is secrets/intel though they also delve into some black market ventures but nothing relating to drugs. Jason checks in on the people running his operations from time to time makes certain moves to keep other mob groups out of his territories or if they are operating within his territory (ie selling to kids among other heinous things) and enacts maintenance of his own crew if they step out of line or deviate from his methods of operation.
In Livia's section, the description of communing with the dead versus summoning the dead I felt was very vital. A séance in my opinion is not a casual thing, it is an active attempt to contact someone among the dead, it's commanding them to make their presence known. I drew upon several different stories/knowledge I had relating to witchcraft (mentions of covens and the tools like the Ouija Board and Hagstone), symbology (ie the number 12 stuff), summoning the dead/séances (mediums and anchors as well as the indications of a successful séance)...as well as included my own lore for this moment of summoning Markus, or I guess actually Léa Baudelaire. I hope my description of everything made sense and was entertaining!
*technically (for 2022) it was a beaver moon when I wrote this chapter since there was another full moon before the winter solstice but the mourning moon fit so perfectly with this chapter that I just had to tweak things. Also, a few of these girls' names in that section were honorable mentions of witches from fictional books and history alike. Rebecca - from A Discovery of Witches; Cassie - from the Secret Circle book series; Mary as in Mary Sibley from the tv show Salem also from history (though was not a witch from the Salem witch trials apparently) and finally Sabrina from Sabrina the Teen Age Witch/the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina.
All in all, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!