Cats are infinitely adaptable, and Selina
accepted quickly enough that she was in an “Owl cave.”
She didn’t like the feathered occupants as much as the bats she knew at
home, and she decided they better understand straight off what cats did to birds
where she came from. So she
walked up to the one perched on the stalagmite and stared unblinking into its
hostile yellow eyes. She held this
cold stare for some time, and then, very slowly and deliberately, blinked.
The owl squawked in alarm at the warning of a
feline predator preparing to pounce. That
it was coming from a human woman was immaterial; every instinct told it this was
the mannerism of a cat stalking prey. The
owl squawked again, flapped its wings in a flurry of agitation, and retreated to
a far point in the cave.
Catwoman snarled as she turned her head slowly
right and left, a low feral warning to any other feathered pests to stay away,
Kitty bites.
She then went about investigating this strange
new cave. There was only one
workstation, and Bruce’s password Thomas—Martha—Justice
didn’t let her in. The drawer
behind the keyboard where Bruce kept computer disks held a small round mirror, a
thin blade like a miniature batarang, and a delicate silver straw.
Selina merely raised an eyebrow and closed the drawer, then she proceeded
with her explorations. There was a
wetbar where the chem lab would be in the Batcave, a wetbar stocked with
conspicuously expensive brands… and right next to the vodka and vermouth sat a
little pot of pickled ginger. It
was the garnish Selina preferred in her martini, and she’d never once seen
anyone use it before she introduced them to the idea.
Unconsciously, she licked her lips at this subtle, silent hint that, owls
or no, her counterpart might have a place in this cave.
The supposition was confirmed almost
immediately when a deep, cruel voice graveled “Here, kitty, kitty.”
Catwoman turned—and tried to freeze her
features rather than register surprise. A
caped, masked figure was approaching from the Batmobile hangar, but it was no
“Batman,” surely: The gray
feathered cape and the emblems on his chestplate and belt presumably alluded to
an owl. The mask was more of a
helmet. And the aura of sexy
intensity that Batman exuded was replaced by something strangely unappetizing—a feeling Selina couldn’t help but associate with the goggles that covered
his eyeslits.
“Owlman,” she guessed aloud.
“Such formality, you conniving
alleycat. I guess you heard there
was something for you in tonight’s plunder.
One day I’ll find out who your spy is. Gordon?
Grayson maybe? Then your
only cut of the booty will be cut out of his gizzard.”
Selina said nothing but quietly logged the
terminology and the general tone—which seemed like Hugo Strange meets Long
John Silver.
“Good. Cat’s
learning to hold her tongue,” he said, reaching into the belt and pulling out
a perfectly ghastly necklace which looked as if it matched the diamond cuffs she
wore. “Tonight’s catnip,” he
said in an oily voice, holding the necklace up by the tip and dangling it in
front of her face like a hypnotist’s watch.
“If you please me. What
do you think of it, my prize pussy?”
“It’s a dog collar,” she noted flatly.
He smiled wide, revealing entirely too many
teeth, and Selina fought the rising nausea.
Not only was this Owlcreep not Batman, he wasn’t even Bruce.
“Woof,” he said, turning his back on her
and walking towards the workstation. “We’ll
start with a drink and a foot rub. Then
we’ll see.”
Catwoman raised an eyebrow and considered the
possibilities of a cocktail shaker as a blunt instrument.
He sat, and Selina watched in appalled
fascination as he took a small packet from his utility belt, took the mirror and
miniature blade from the drawer, and (assuming that white powder was the same in
this crazy reality as in hers) methodically cut two perfectly parallel lines of
cocaine… Selina told herself it
was an advantage: an opponent’s reflexes blunted by a chemical high. She
told herself that outweighed the shock to her own system watching Batman (or something very like
him) casually snorting coke.
Of course, it wasn’t that much crazier
than his dangling that necklace in front of her saying “We’ll start with a
foot rub” like she was the owlcave slavegirl.
Again, she considered the bludgeoning options with a cocktail shaker.
“Take off your helmet,” she suggested
coolly. “Neck rub instead
tonight.”
“You’ll rub what I tell you, Pussycat,”
he growled, as if he was surprised but excited by something.
“Make me that drink, and get your talented whiskers over here.
I expect you to be creative tonight.
Collar has ten times the diamonds in those bracelets you conned me out
of.”
Lacking claws, Catwoman picked up the vodka
bottle in one hand, the vermouth in the other, and casually smashed them against
the side of the bar.
Owlman started at the sound of breaking glass,
but sitting as he was at the workstation, he only got as far as swiveling the
chair in her direction before Catwoman had lunged at him, holding the one jagged
bottle fiercely against his throat and the other between his legs.
“Take off the helmet,” she repeated, adding
an ironic, “Please.”
“Well now,” he hissed.
“We finally did find a bad girl in there.”
He made some sort of deep-throated rumble that almost sounded like a
purr. Catwoman realized, to
her horror, that he was turned on. “So
you’ve given up the feeble tricks with sleeping pills and drugged claws, eh,
Kitty? You ready to take me on for
real?”
A viciously fast—and viciously hard—backhand sent her hurling across the cave.
She easily dodged two attempts to kick her while she was down, and
managed to topple his balance on the second just long enough to regain her feet.
“Kitty’s learned a new trick,” he oozed
hatefully. “Bout time.”
“You talk too much,” she answered.
He charged—an angrier and more violent
attack than Batman had ever attempted—which made it much easier to counter.
A simple aikido lead redirected his momentum and sent him sprawling past
her. She stepped back and waited
for the next assault. It came—angrier than the first and easier still to deflect.
Again, she took a step back and waited.
Attack and deflect. Attack
and deflect. Remaining wholly
defensive, she would wait then react for as long as it took.
He was obviously much stronger than she—Attack and deflect—and
redirecting the force of his attacks, all that strength from all those muscles—Attack and deflect—and no doubt spurred on by the copious amounts of
cocaine pumping through his system—Attack and deflect—helped by gravity on occasion—Attack and deflect—Owlman found himself stumbling past her, or onto the floor, time and again.
When she noticed his breathing quickening, she
smiled sweetly and meowed, knowing that would enrage him all the more.
“HELLCAT BITCH!” he snarled before the next
charge.
“A bitch is a dog,” she noted once she’d
led him yet again to the floor.
He rolled over onto his back, now breathing
very hard.
“A girl normally loves a man who can go all
night,” she purred, “but this is getting really tiresome.”
He charged six more times, clearly tiring… until, at last, when he rolled
onto his back, he just laid there, panting up at her.
“You won’t get the necklace this way, you
stupid puss. You’ll have to come
and get it… from my belt…” He
paused and licked his lips. “…with
your teeth.”
“Tempting, but no,” Catwoman hissed.
“Take off that mask. I
want to know who you are, and I want to know what you did to Bruce Wayne.”
Owlman’s lip twitched—which was the most
horrifying development so far as far as Selina was concerned—but it was an
expression of twisted rage, not subdued amusement.
Involuntarily, she took a step back.
“Where did you hear that name?” Owlman
asked, the voice as warped with hatred as AzBat’s had been.
“You first,” Catwoman challenged him.
“The mask—off.”
He charged with a wild, furious cry, and
Catwoman coolly stepped out of his way, not bothering with a more complicated
defense. Instead, having allowed
him to remain standing this time, she stepped directly in front of him.
He was shorter than Batman, just enough that they stood eye to eye—at
least, they would have if not for those damnable goggles he wore.
“This is no longer a game, Selina,” he said
in a deep, deadly voice dripping with menace.
“You’re here because you please me.
Of all the women I’ve bested, I brought you to this cave to serve me.
I let you earn the gems you covet because it amuses me to do so.
I’ve grown accustomed to that…” he looked up and down her body,
leering grotesquely, “…luscious body and what you can do with it, and it
would truly pain me to never have it again.
But if you ever use that talented tongue of yours to speak that name
again, I will snap your neck like a toothpick.”
Catwoman didn’t flinch.
“So you kill, too,” she noted calmly.
“But you’re not stupid, that part seems the same.
Has it really not occurred to you yet, you repulsive brute, that I
am not your Catwoman.”
He considered this for a moment. Selina could see the gears turning, just like at home with
her own Bruce considering a new idea. But
the obvious years of cocaine and (who knows what else) abuse had slowed and
dulled the process. As if in reaction to her thoughts, his right nostril flared
and twitched a few times until he sniffed harshly. Finally, the leering grin
returned.
“That would explain the new edge,” he said
lustily. “Selina’s tame. You’re not tamed… yet.”
Catwoman smiled agreeably.
“I tell you what, Stud, I won’t use the
name you don’t want to hear, you don’t say mine.”
He laughed heartily—which was even freakier
than the lip-twitch.
“So… Catwoman… You’ve got game,
honey. And you’re actually… ‘bad?’ That does suggest some
interesting possibilities… What
would you do to get a diamond collar, I wonder.”
She met his eye squarely.
“I’d attach a jammer to the Phoenix relay on Cartier’s roof, pop
the vent hood over the power conduits, left, down, left, left, down, right and
squiggle—drop out in the corridor between the private showroom and the main
vault—0010-048-73—diamond
necklace. NOW, will you please, in
the name of all things feline and furry, take off that fucking mask.”
“Sweet mother, you swear too!” he
cheered. “Me-owl, pussycat, we
are gonna get on great.”
Karma tapped Selina on the shoulder as the
memory of a hundred rooftop come-ons flashed through her mind: all Batman wanted
was to grunt-get on with the crimefighting, and she had teased and tweaked and
baited him with her endlessly playful propositions.
Sensing that grunt-scowl-“enough” was unlikely to discourage this
caped cokehead any more than it would her, Selina decided another approach was
called for.
“Could we possibly dispense with the
foreplay,” she suggested, playing a hunch.
“In my world, real men like to skip to the good part.”
It worked. A density shift occurred.
It wasn’t like Bruce’s transition to Bat-mode; more like a stand-up
comic finishing a set and stepping off the stage.
He smiled obligingly—again displaying too many teeth—and gamely
removed the mask…
Selina gasped.
As she suspected, the face before her wasn’t Bruce, but it was
startlingly familiar. It was the
image of Thomas Wayne’s portrait over the fireplace in the study.
“Bruce was my brother,” he said seriously.
“He and my mother were shot in an alley, while my father, the coward,
did nothing.”
Selina took a step back, unable to conceal her
shock. “He’s dead?” she
whispered.
Owlman nodded, a crazy hate coming into his
eye.
“Never saw his eleventh birthday,” he said
bluntly.
Selina blinked away a tear.
“So,” he said shrewdly.
“You’ll mourn for my brother. We
have that in common… Selina.”
“If Bruce is dead, there’s nothing for me
to do here,” she murmured, taking a step away.
“Wait! No!” he growled, grabbing her wrists
forcefully just as Bruce had done when he gave her the sapphire. “So in your world, it’s me that’s buried on the hill
with her, is it? Did Bruce avenge
us? Did he become Owlman?
Did he find the gunman? Did
he kill our father? Did he? DID
HE?!”
“If you want answers, let go of my wrists,”
Catwoman said calmly but firmly.
In a heartbeat, the crushing pressure on her
wrists eased and a gloved hand materialized at her cheek, just as Batman’s
once had in a vault long ago.
The moment held, frozen and silent, until that
damnable owl returned to its stalagmite with a conspicuously loud flapping.
“It’s okay, Thomas,” Catwoman said
kindly. “He couldn’t hit me
either.”
“Tommy.
Nobody calls me Thomas. Ever.”
“Tommy, then.
Goodbye, Tommy. There’s
nothing we can do for each other.”
She thrust her knee brutally into his stomach
–once, –twice, –three times, then pushed him away and ran towards the main
cavern and the oil-burners that represented her link back to reality.
Her world, the real world, the real Batcave and the real Bruce. She
raced into the circle of cats—
“Comeon-comeon-comeon,” she breathed as
Owlman cursed and charged after her.
The whirlpool of color appeared again on the
far wall of the cave. It looked
transparent at first, but grew larger and more solid much faster than before, the
swirling intensity as it consumed the cave was far more powerful, and Selina
felt her equilibrium sucked into it…
It didn’t feel like she’d passed out. There was a momentary swoon only
and then,
suddenly,
everything was fine.
She breathed.
…well, maybe not fine, she seemed to
have a throbbing lump under her mask and as she squinted into the mirror—a
mirror which wasn’t in the Batcave that she knew—she saw that it was the
old mask from her old skirted costume, and—yep, she was wearing the old
costume she’d only tried that one summer—and it had a cape?!
And the bump on her head really hurt.
There was a calendar on the table and, and…
Okay, her head hurt but, as far as she could
tell, her eyes were working fine and the calendar on the table said in
was October 1950…
Yikes.
And her head hurt. Boy, did her head hurt… She
thought she heard Batman’s voice saying something about amnesia—which was certainly a dumb enough cliché for it to be 1950, but that thought—along with that of turning towards the Batman voice and seeing if he had an
owl helmet and a coke habit—got lost in another bright swirl of light…
…
Okay, that time she did pass out. That definitely felt like passing out. That wasn’t a dimension-hopping vortex light; that was
losing-consciousness light.
She breathed again.
She was lying down.
She was still in the cave.
The air smelled like cavern and she felt cavechill, definitely… She was
laying down and… cavechill on her skin and—
“Oh my god, I’m naked,” she blurted, her
eyes popping open in realization.
She peeked under the sheet that covered her.
This was worse than the owlcave slavegirl getup!
This was—this was—no mask, no costume, skirted, caped, or
otherwise—this was flat out NUDE!
Selina gathered the sheet around her and looked
up—at a giant penny and a Joker playing card.
“Trophy room,” she murmured unbelievingly.
“I’m naked in the trophy room.”
She looked around again. The
cave was a bit smaller than the one she knew, and she realized with a start that it
was the satellite cave under the Wayne tower—but it was a Batcave and that
was his monster penny and his gigantic playing card and—yep, right over
there was the dinosaur. “He
brought me to the Batcave and has me naked in the trophy room,” she murmured.
“Cosmic spark doesn’t get you in this universe, Jackass, I will.”
“I was beginning to think you intended to
sleep forever,” she heard in a familiar bat-gravel.
But before she could look or respond, another
sudden whirlwind of color opened underneath her and began sucking her into its
depths…
“Here, you’d better put this on,” she
heard as a wad of purple landed on her legs.
“You’re lucky I kept one of your old costumes in my trophy room.”
Then the whirling sensation intensified and—
This time, again, it didn’t feel like she’d
passed out.
Just that momentary swoon, and then,
suddenly,
everything was fine.
She breathed.
She breathed.
She breathed.
She was wearing the pink sapphire again
—and Bruce’s sweater over her favorite
long-sleeve t-shirt.
Home.
Whew.
She breathed again.
She was home.
Meow.
She checked the stalactite.
Bats clung to it. And she
smiled at them. Meow.
“Remember boys, you’re nothing but flying
mice,” she told them with a contented purr, “but you’re better than birds.
Meow.”
Meow.
Home. Meow.
She found Bruce in the library, alive and well
and poring over what looked like a reference book of runes and a thick binder
labeled Wayne Foundation #81542: GENEVA PROJECT; STRING THEORY.
“Honey, I’m home,” she murmured lightly.
He looked up, and Selina saw that same
estranged look from the study before she’d left.
Hell. In her euphoria to be
away from the Owlcreep, she’d almost forgotten that unspeakable barrier that
still hung between them. Bruce,
we need to talk about Zatanna… Hell.
“Doing some light reading?” she quipped,
taking refuge in the rooftop playfulness she’d always thrown at his ponderous
stonewalling.
“Yes,” he noted, all distant bat. “I wanted to brush up before Dr. Luthor arrives.
He really is an astonishingly gifted theorist—”
“Who?” Selina asked, unconsciously taking a
half-step back.
“Luthor.
If it weren’t for his willingness to pursue the magic angle, I don’t
see that we’d ever be able to—”
“LUTHOR?!”
Bruce’s eyeballs only flickered upward while
he remained poised over the book.
“You know him?”
“LEX Luthor?”
“Lewis.
Selina what’s gotten into you?”
“shit,”
she muttered, looking down at the sapphire on her finger… and noting for the
first time there was only a single baguette on each side instead of three…
This wasn’t home. This
wasn’t her sapphire. This
wasn’t her Bruce. She took
the folder from his desk and leafed through it, her mind racing.
A few pages in, she came to a curriculum vitae for Lewis Luthor…
Princeton, University of Metropolis, Cornell, Fullbright Scholar, Fermi
Prize, DESY, CERN… Underneath, there was a photograph.
Her feeble joke from that early morning physics lecture echoed in her
mind.
So no separate universe where Lex Luthor has
hair?
But there it was:
the spitting image of Lex Luthor with a receding but respectable mop of
curly red hair.
She set the folder back on the desk and
returned her attention to Bruce.
“When you gave me this ring,” she said
cautiously, touching the sapphire like an alarm panel she was only half-sure was
deactivated. She looked up
quizzically, but he was just waiting for her to go on.
“…You grabbed me. You were holding on pretty tight.” This wasn’t her Bruce.
Maybe here she could say it to him.
“Like you used to.” It
wasn’t her Bruce. It wasn’t her
Batman. She could say it here.
She had to say it. “Like you were afraid I’d slip away.”
“What’re you getting at?” he graveled.
Batvoice.
This was no grinning Call-me-Tommy Owlman. This
was Bruce Wayne. This was Batman.
And she had to say it to him.
“You think Zatanna did something to change
me.”
He froze for a moment, staring directly at her. A cold silence passed between them for a few agonizing seconds, and then, he
finally spoke.
“No.”
“What she tried with Dr. Light,” Selina
said calmly.
“No.”
“What she did to that Flash villain in
Keystone.”
“I said no.”
“Doesn’t matter what you say, Bruce.
You think that’s what happened. You
think everything that’s happened with us is based on a lie?”
“…”
It was agonizing, those naked searching eyes in
the silence, the real human being from the vault, then the cold steel of
Psychobat slamming down in front of them. And then, in a blink, the steel dissolved,
and that haunted vulnerability was back. Selina
felt like she was driving a spike into everything she’d ever loved.
But what choice was there? The
words were spoken. There was no going back. She could only continue forward.
“The worst kind of lie, too,” she said
crisply. “A magic lie.”
“If it’s true,” Bruce said, his voice
barely breaking a whisper on the words, then building in Bat-determination,
“if it’s not your choice to be with me, then I had no right to touch you.”
She shook her head and emitted a not-amused
chuckle.
“You really are a jackass,” she breathed
affectionately. “Let me ask you
something,” she asked gently. “When
did it start with us, the very first spark that was…” she stopped and
searched for a way to phrase it “…that was ‘man and woman,’ not
‘criminal and crimefighter?’ In your mind, when was it?”
He looked away and didn’t answer.
“Top of the train station, first night?”
she prompted.
“The easy way or the hard way,” he said
ironically, half-expecting her to repeat her retort: Why Batman, how hard do
you want it to get?
Instead, she responded “Nope. Even
before that, for me. First glimpse
of that big patch of dark, darker than all the regular night around it… six
foot two, two hundred pounds, aura of penetrating intensity… body like mortal
sin.”
“That’s just attraction,” Bruce said
mildly.
“I would have said lust,” she purred
quickly, naughty grin in place.
“Of course you would,” he noted. “But animal attraction doesn’t mean anything.”
“Maybe not on its own, but it’s a start.
Bruce, we were never… what logic says we should have been.
Not from that first moment. So,
next question, when did it go beyond ‘attraction’—when did it start
becoming personal?”
He turned back, eyes meeting hers, the
Bat-intensity returned.
“Cartier,” he graveled.
“Cartier,” she confirmed.
“You brought something out in me that went beyond being Catwoman.
‘Being Catwoman’ with you opened up this whole part of me that
I didn’t even know was there. And
the kiss, well, that intensified it in ways I can’t even… even now, I
can’t…” She threw up her
hands. “There just aren’t words
for what you do to me. And I
wasn’t about to wait around for you to make a gift of it, either. I don’t do
that. I take…” She
walked up to where he stood and caressed his cheek. “…I took… But
I didn’t want it to be this greedy, one-sided grasping. What I got from you… I wanted to give you something
back.” She stretched up, her lips
dangerously close to his. “Just
this once,” she whispered.
“Don’t,” he winced as if in pain.
“It’s always been there, Bruce. Long before Zatanna came along.”
Rather than return the kiss she was begging
for, he touched her lips with his fingertip.
“You didn’t stop stealing that night,” he
said coldly.
“That’s what you’re planning with Dr. Lei… with Dr. Luthor, isn’t it? You
want to see the moment when I stopped stealing.
You want to conduct a seeing ritual with Dr. Luthor to touch that moment
and see if Zatanna’s magic was involved.”
The whirlpool of color slowed and faded as the
cave solidified, and Selina reached out to steady herself on the wall of the
transporter tube. Instead, her hand
touched the bat insignia.
“Take it easy, Kitten,” Batman’s voice
graveled. “You’re home. Give your body time to recover from the transport.”
She looked at him, searched his yes, and checked
her ring finger in a panic—pink sapphire. She scrutinized it with a
jewel thief’s expert eye: four carat, radiant cut center stone, classic Cartier
setting… four prongs, small round diamond about three-quarter carat on each side, followed
by three short baguettes—so far, so good.
“Get Dr. whatshisname on the phone,” she
said urgently.
“Dr. Leiverman?”
Muscles relaxed and uncoiled from her neck down
through her shoulders.
“Yes, Dr. Leiverman,” she sighed in relief.
“But never mind, it’s not as urgent as I thought.
Is Jason around?”
“Jason’s gone to complete some research.
Etrigan and Hella are somewhere in the house, upstairs most likely,
carrying on like those couples who sneak into the guestrooms during Foundation
fundraisers.”
“On our own for the moment then?” Catwoman
murmured. “Just as well… We are
so screwed.”
“We knew that,” Batman noted.
“We didn’t know ‘Luthor screwed,’”
she said seriously. “I just got
back from one of the problem worlds. Was
identical to this in almost every way. Except
Dr. Leiverman was a Luthor.”
“As in Lex Luthor?” Dr. Leiverman asked,
astonished, over the speakerphone. “President
Lex Luthor?”
“No, his name was Lewis,” Selina answered
flatly. “But I saw a picture, and
it was Lex Luthor.” Her eyes
flashed up at Batman’s before adding, “with hair.”
“How… wonderfully bizarre,” Dr. Leiverman
remarked.
“Dr. Leiverman,” Batman cut in, in the
businessman-Bruce voice, “I must stress that your politics are of no concern
to me. Nothing said here can affect
your continued employment with the Wayne Foundation.
I must ask you, as a scientist and for the sake of the hypothetical…
well, there are many people here who consider Lex Luthor to be… um, well, evil.
If he is involved, as you are involved, in some alternate dimension’s
version of the ritual we began with Jason Blood—”
“Seeing as the anomalies in your house began
with that ritual, that they seem to be centered on the house, yes, I would say
that ritual is the key and the involvement of a Luthor counterpart to myself
is… troubling.”
“Dr. Leiverman,” Selina put in, “The
alternate Bruce Wayne indicated that you, your counterpart, that is, Dr. Luthor, was to conduct the ritual with him, not Jason Blood.”
Batman hit the mute button sharply.
“You didn’t mention this before,” he hissed.
“Well, I’ve mentioned it now. There was no Jason involved.
No dire warnings or moonstones or witch orbs. You had invited Luthor to the house on your own, not in
response to Jason, and I wasn’t to be involved.
You wanted me to go shopping. Bruce,
it was you and Luthor alone that were going to perform the ritual in that
world.”
He stared into the distance, and then very
softly, grunted.
“Maybe that’s why Jason could sense it,”
he mused finally. “Multiple
Bruce/Luthors in multiple dimensions, acting at the same moment. But this world is different.
Here it was you and Jason—and Etrigan. You saw ‘it’ in the water, Etrigan sensed
something, Jason had those premonitions…
We can see it because we’re—”
He stopped and took a sharp breath that would have sounded like a laugh
in another man. Then he continued
excitedly. “What Dr. Leiverman
said about the other dimensions not being perceptible to us, it’s all point
of view. We were
different, just by a few degrees, maybe, but enough that we could see, or sense,
that the crisis is occurring.”
KREEEEEEE
“I have to go back,” Selina said looking
towards the clock passageway that echoed again with Canary Cry.
“One problem world down, but who knows how many still to go.”
“Not yet,” Batman declared.
“We rushed into this dimension-hopping. Selina, that’s why I brought
you back. It’s all too random, leaving it up to the magic forces to whisk you
into whatever reality it wants. It’s
foolish and dangerous, and we’re not doing it again.
Jason is looking for a way to tether you to the spark so you’ll only
jump into worlds that are… pertinent.”
“You brought me back?” Selina asked
suspiciously.
He nodded.
“Once I got the tether idea, I had Jason
modify the portal so it would bring you back on your next jump.
He wasn’t sure it worked, but it obviously did.”
Their eyes met, and Selina remembered his
comment that he’d experienced dimensional travel.
He had some inkling, perhaps, of the crazy worlds she was seeing.
“You going to get all cocky and arrogant if I
admit that I like this idea, that I’m all in favor of the minimize-the-random
plan?” she asked quietly.
His lip twitched and it seemed like he wanted
to say something, but relapsed into a stoic bat-brood. Then he grunted, and Selina smiled.
“I have to call Clark,” he graveled
suddenly. “If Luthor was involved
in other worlds, we should find out what he’s been doing in this one.”
To be continued…
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