Selina felt that, even if
they were still missing a piece of the puzzle, she needed a break from the
insanity of dimension hopping. She
was determined to take that break, right up until she walked into the kitchen
and saw Jean Paul Valley in Bruce’s Batman costume—not even that disgusting AzBat armor he made but Bruce’s costume!
Except for the cowl, he wasn’t wearing the cowl, which somehow made it
worse. It was the look she
liked best on Bruce, when he was working in the cave or finishing up the logs
after patrol. On Valley, the sight
made her blood boil.
He dared take Bruce’s
place, he dared call himself Batman, the memory of those encounters with that thing
in Batman’s costume made her sick even now.
And now here he was, home from one of his earliest patrols in that mantle
that wasn’t his (since he hadn’t gotten around to polluting the costume with
his revolting new designs), and not only was he taking Bruce’s place, he was
living in Bruce’s house. Selina
knew it had happened, knew he’d been living in the manor at that time, but
actually seeing it, seeing him standing in the kitchen—in Alfred’s
kitchen—standing in front of the stove making himself cocoa in a mug with a
gold W etched on the side… It was more than she could stand.

Neither Batman nor Superman
knew what to make of it. They’d
found Luthor easily enough: Just as
Batman predicted, a house strategically coated with lead-based paint was hard to
miss. And what lead could shield
from Superman’s X-ray vision was no obstacle for Batman’s terrestrial
surveillance equipment.
What the preliminary scans
uncovered had both men puzzled: The
security system was… substandard.
The detection grid was the sort a typical millionaire might have for a
vacation house, and the modifications were a generation behind what Gotham
rogues used as perimeter defenses. For
a figure of Luthor’s stature, the whole setup was absurdly inadequate.
At first, Superman was
cautiously optimistic: Luthor considered himself safe in East London.
If he thought he was perfectly concealed and undetectable, he’d see no
need for advanced, first-tier defenses. Batman
never trusted an enemy’s oversight. The more it looked like a stupid mistake, the more he
suspected a trap. But he admitted
(once Superman pointed it out for the fifth time), that Luthor had been
over-confident before. So they
continued into the compound. Batman
made short work of the perimeter system. He
deactivated the K-metal beams that posed the only threat to Superman, after
which the Man of Steel made the kind of wall-bursting entrance for which he was
feared and famous.
It was then that the minor
mystery of the security mushroomed into the major mystery of Luthor himself. Or what had been Luthor… What had once been Lex
Luthor, proud, ambitious and dangerous Lex Luthor, the formidable intellect, the
brilliant scientist, the ruthless industrialist, the Machiavellian politician…
was huddled around a small grouping of objects like a wild, injured animal
protecting its kill—or perhaps a junkie his stash.
The sight was so incongruous;
Superman was shocked into an equally uncharacteristic posture, arms dropping
from his hands-on-hips battle stance as he leaned forward, squinting in
disbelief.
“Luthor?” he asked,
unable to reconcile this humbled, pathetic, hollow-eyed specimen with the
nemesis who’d plagued him for decades.
He received no response
beyond a wild-eyed stare. Superman
took a step backward—just as Batman entered the gaping hole in the wall.

Selina awoke to a noise… an
insanely annoying noise… a layered, echoey, whiny tone…tones…
What in god’s name was
that?
If that was the mystic sound
of the universe, turning it off didn’t seem like that bad an idea…
The noise made her teeth hurt. It
made her ears hurt. And most of all,
it made her head hurt.
She opened an eye and
–damn, it was bright–
Selina considered the
possibility that her head hurt on its own without the noise.
She closed her eye again and tried to concentrate… Dimension hopping.
She was dimension hopping… the vortex of color… and then waking up
here with that gratingly moaning whine of a noise and one whopping headache.
She felt her head, but this
didn’t feel like the “I got hit with a brick” headache she experienced on
an earlier jump. There was no
throbbing lump. Her head just
hurt… and her mouth was dry. Selina groaned piteously as she realized she had
a hangover.
She forced an eye open again
and focused on—acoustic tiling. She
opened her other eye uncertainly and looked around.
She was in… the back room of the Iceberg Lounge?
A cold shudder vibrated up her arms and she hugged herself—at which
point she noticed she was in costume.
With her movement, the
insanely annoying noise pitch shifted and Selina noticed what was making it.
A few feet away, a large viney bush (or perhaps it was a small indoor
tree?) was holding a glass of water in its, eh, fronds and running a leaf
around the dampened rim to produce that nerve-wracking tone. Once Selina identified the source of the sound, she saw that
the bush-tree held four more glasses, while two other plants in the room held
glasses of their own and were all—well, they were all doing the same thing,
running moist leaves around the glasses to produce that same rim-tone… whether
they were doing it to “make music” or drive her insane was anybody’s
guess.
Despite her painfully dry
throat, she managed to hiss at them. The
tall one waddled towards her, offered her its fullest glass, dipped a leaf into
another and held its wet, leafy tendril against her forehead like a washcloth.
“No,” she ordered,
shoving it away as energetically as her hungover state would permit.
The plant did something of a doubletake, like Whiskers shooed from
jumping into her lap. She gathered
that the bush-tree was trying to be helpful, so she added a milder “No, thank
you.”
It nodded, and Selina got up,
steadied herself against the wall, and stepped cautiously out into the corridor—then she steadied herself again when she looked across the hall at the sign
on Oswald’s… or what in her world had always been Oswald’s office door:
Toxicodendron
Rydbergii Lounge
P.Isley, Proprietor

“If he’s using magic,
this could be an illusion,” Batman said, so softly that only Superman’s
hearing could have made out the words.
Superman looked again at the
incompressible image before him, scanning the bedraggled, wild-eyed, bizarrely
fretful Luthor on every spectrum his sight could perceive.
Then he listened…
“It has a heartbeat,” he
noted. Then he sniffed. “And it perspires.” He turned his head to the side, listening intently.
“There were four staff hired from the hotel, but there are five
heartbeats in the rooms beyond. You stay with him, I’ll search them out.”
Batman grunted and, while
Superman left, he watched Luthor’s eyes as they followed him out the door.
There didn’t seem to be any actual recognition of his enemy, there
didn’t seem to be anything beyond an animal instinct tracking movement and
color. Batman stepped
cautiously forward, and Luthor squatted lower and more fiercely around his
treasures.
Batman stopped and squatted
himself in order to seem less threatening, and also to meet Luthor’s eyes on
the level. What he saw there made
Joker look sane.
“Alexander, do you know
where you are?” he asked sharply.
“P- P-” he whispered, as
if his mouth couldn’t quite remember how to make words.
“Power,” Batman said with
disgust.
“Unlimt… limited…
unlimted…” Luthor assured him, offering up one of the items he guarded.
Batman could see it was a book of brownish-gray, wrinkled paper bound in
a neat but primitive fashion with thin silken twine.
The cover was marked with ambiguous Asian lettering that Batman
couldn’t quite identify as Chinese, Japanese, or Korean. He reached out to take the book, but Luthor pulled it back
greedily.
“must… find…
again…” he said manically. “must
see it once more… Power… Such power…”

Selina wandered into the bar
of the whatever-berg Lounge and was relieved to find the empty quiet that meant
it was still morning or early afternoon and they were not yet open for business. She saw Harley Quinn in Sly’s usual position behind the
bar, counting glasses from the look of it.
“Hiya, Catty,” she chirped
happily when she saw Selina. “Vine
Virtuosos soothe away that hangover for ya?”
“Um, the plants were very
attentive,” Selina answered guardedly.
“That’s good.
They were so good to me when I was, y’know, in mourning. I wound up back there so many nights. Sniff. Poor Mistah J.”
“Joker, um, was always so,
um,” Selina stumbled, feeling that hangover + saying nice things about Joker +
not knowing what had actually happened to him was really too much of a
conversational challenge for anyone, so she just gave a vaguely kind smile.
“Yeah,” Harley nodded,
taking it as heartfelt sympathy. “There’ll
never be another one like my Mistah J. Such
a shame those DEMON guys cutting him up that way.
We never did find his chin, ya know.
The left index finger and the ear finally showed up behind the dumpster
out back, did I tell you that?”
“I’m sure I would have
remembered if you had,” Selina said diplomatically.
“Well anyway, bad weeds
make good compost, like Red always says. You
want a Green Gaia for your hangover?”
“Sure,” Selina shrugged,
uncertain if she wanted to drink anything served and sanctioned by Poison
Ivy’s bar, but feeling at this point any clue was a good one.
She watched, fascinated, as Harley chattered with cheery indifference
about Joker’s murder. It seemed
like it had happened the night of the Roxy-Ivy catfight, when TV crews from FAB!
came to film Hugo’s makeover and Oswald helped Joker attack his own bar in the
mistaken belief that Sly and Greg Brady were taking over his operation.
From the sounds of it, Ivy had never been dragged into the alley by Roxy
Rocket. She was still inside when
Joker and Penguin entered, and not about to be taken hostage by a half-drunk
Oswald kwak-a-kwa Cobblepot, she’d let fly with the pheromones.
“I’ll take over from
here, Harley,” a cool voice announced as faint whiffs of mandarin wafted from
the hall leading to Oswald-Ivy’s office.
“Catty and I are overdue for a chat,” she added.
“Sure, Red,” Harley
squeaked gleefully. She left,
saying something about inventory in the basement.
Selina couldn’t help but notice that, as she passed Poison Ivy,
Harley’s finger danced playfully down her friend’s arm and the leaves on
Ivy’s costume fluttered excitedly. Ivy
turned her head completely to watch Harley go, blew a kiss to the back of her
head, and then waited a full second after Harley had disappeared down the hall
before she turned back to Selina and took her place behind the bar.
“Don’t let her go on
about it,” Ivy instructed, picking up an orange and patting it affectionately
before expertly zesting its peel into the mixture Harley had prepared.
“She doesn’t realize, poor dear, the role she played in…” she smiled wickedly, holding a sharp knife over the orange. “…what happened,” she concluded, chopping the orange savagely in two with
a single, vicious stroke. She
squeezed the orange into a little pot of rosewater, and heated it while she went
on.
“She simply can’t handle
it, that’s why they kept her so medicated at Arkham… And we certainly
don’t want her going back there, now do we, Catty.”
“I had no idea,” Selina
answered truthfully.
Ivy poured the steaming
rosewater over the herbs, making a deliciously fragrant tisane, and then pushed
the cup towards Selina with an expression of kindly sympathy that was definitely
the product of an alternate reality.
“I know you have troubles
of your own, Sweetie,” she said gently. “Stop
worrying about it. Bruce will
come around. He asked you to move
in in the first place, he gave you that gorgeous—oh, reminds me.”
She reached into her leaves and pulled out the pink sapphire, then slid
it across the bar to Selina. “Whatever
idea Zatanna’s put into his head—Yes, you mentioned Zatanna last night
around martini number four when you asked me to hold onto the ring—and
whatever’s going on there with Zatanna, he will come around and ask you to
come back. Now drink your
tisane.”
“Look, Pam,” Selina
hedged, “Whatever I may or may not have said about Bruce, or especially about
Zatanna, I really don’t think—”
“Catty, it’s not nice to
argue with Mother Nature. If I
wasn’t so sure Bruce would come around on his own, I’d green him for
you. I’m that sure you two belong
together and as for Zatanna, whatever that magical misfit did, does, or will do,
is completely irrelevant.”
“You know we’re talking
about a pretty powerful magician?” Selina asked, getting sucked into the
bizarre novelty of the situation: an
enlightening conversation with Pamela Isley, rational being.
“Selina, listen to me,” Gaia’s spokesmodel declared firmly, “The most powerful universal force is
not the same as the most powerful force locally.
Gravity is such a big deal out in the cosmos, but here and now…”
she reached out and took Selina’s hand, which felt strangely warm, as
did the spicy scents that leapt from the steaming tisane into Selina’s
nostrils. “…Biology wins
every time.”
Selina withdrew her hand in a
fog, and Ivy casually redirected her attention to the bar, picking up a cloth
and polishing just as Sly always did in sympathetic-bartender-mode.
“You can train a vine but
not a cactus, Catty, it’s that simple. I
can green your splendidly rich and scrumptiously handsome Bruce Wayne, I’ve
done it. I can green you too… but only short-term and never
together, because damnit, Selina, you two work on each other more powerfully
than anything else ever will. That’s
why I say: powerful magician or no, Zatanna is immaterial. There’s something between you and Wayne that outranks
anything else that comes into the vicinity.”
“Say that again,” Selina
said sharply, her mind turning over the words.
“You can train a vine but
not a cactus?”
“Not that, the end,”
Selina murmured thoughtfully. It
seemed like Ivy had said something awfully important right there, a feeling
Selina was reasonably sure had nothing to do with the tisane or the pheromones
flying through the air.
“…of course, I wasn’t
exactly overjoyed at the discovery at first, I’d certainly prefer to have the
billion dollar boytoy myself, not to mention the beautiful gardens out at that
manor. How do you say it, ‘Meow on a stick?’ But then I thought hey, it’s Nature’s decree, and if Nature
is the final authority that even I can’t trump, then I win!
Although unfortunately, the winning in that particular case means you
get Wayne, but in terms of the big picture, I win.
Nature is what it is, and nothing may touch it.”
“Pamela,” Selina smiled
with sudden inspiration, “On behalf of the universe, I just want to say:
Right Answer. I’m
not sure how I generally tip you, probably not well because, well frankly, you
annoy me. But when Bruce and I get
back together, and assuming there’s still a world to plant them in, the Wayne
Foundation will plant some trees.”
“How… nice,” Ivy said,
pleased but confused by what sounded like a compliment inside an insult wrapped
in a promise to plant trees.
“Pammy, out of curiosity—and I don’t believe I’m about to word it this way—but let’s say
some would-be sorceress wasn’t as wise as you, and—”
“And tried to meddle with
you and Bruce?” Ivy interrupted shrewdly.
“Maybe not ‘meddle,’ but
more like the phrase you used earlier: inserted her powers into the
‘vicinity’ of whatever-it-is between me and Bruce?”
“The
‘whatever-it-is?’” Ivy said skeptically, “There’s a phrase we
haven’t heard for a few years, not since you got over that sorry fixation you
had on Batman. This thing with
Wayne must really have you thrown for a loop, Selina.”
“See, this is why you annoy
me,” Selina chided lightly. “Best
guess, Ivy, speaking for Mother Nature, what do you think might happen?”
“My best guess?” she
smiled. “Catty, you ever hear of a nineteenth century
horticulturalist named Luther Burbank?”
Selina gave her an impatient
glare.
“I must’ve been out sick
that day,” she said flatly.
“Possibly the only man
in history to talk sense about plants. He
said that ‘Nature’s laws affirm instead of prohibit. If you violate her laws,
you are your own prosecuting attorney, judge, jury, and hangman.’”

Luthor held out another
object, and this time Batman merely leaned forward to look at it rather than
reaching out to take it. It was a
small, long tray that, like the book, seemed ambiguously Asian.
It contained several jade cylinders, as if a pair of costly chopsticks
had been broken into unequal pieces.
“What did you do with these
things?” Batman demanded.
“S-s-supreme…
limitless… INFINITE power!!!” Luthor exclaimed, stepping backward in his
agitation and kicking over a bowl of smoldering powder.
A hot coal fell out, igniting Luthor’s pantleg and then the carpet as
it rolled across the floor. Batman
acted quickly, springing forward and executing a quick neck-chop.
Luthor crumpled over his coveted magic paraphernalia, and Batman angrily
stamped out the fire. Then he
methodically unfolded a plastic bag from his utility belt.
He carefully bagged the book, then the tray and the jade cylinders.
The hot incense he sprayed with a neutralizing coolant before shaking it
into a clear plastic vial. Then he
sprayed the urn and bagged it as well.
“You took long enough,”
he growled without turning towards the door.
“I ran someone to the
hospital,” Superman explained. “That
fifth heartbeat was Albert Desmond, Dr. Alchemy.
He’s catatonic. Has been
for a few days, judging by the dehydration.”
“And the staff did
nothing?”
“They’re terrified.
They’re not permitted to enter this part of the house unless they’re
called. They admitted Desmond four
days ago, served dinner that night, maid cleaned the guest room next day, served
breakfast—and that’s it. That’s
the last they saw or heard of either Desmond or Luthor.”
“Since the start of the
crisis,” Batman said soberly.
“We’ll show these items to Jason Blood to confirm it, but he’s going to tell us
they’d be used for something called a ‘seeing.’
The same kind of ritual Jason and Selina were conducting in Wayne Manor,
at exactly the same time. If they
had that door open when the spark ignited, it must have fed back somehow, fried
something in Desmond’s psyche, whatever part of him controlled the magic.”
Superman looked skeptical.
“And Luthor?”
“Saw real power.
The most power-mad individual who ever lived saw real power beyond
anything he ever imagined. Maybe he
actually touched it for a fraction of a second.
Whatever happened to him, he couldn’t handle it.
He’s been here for days madly trying to get back in.”
“So what do we do with
him?”
“He’s not wanted by US
agencies or Interpol, and unfortunately nothing he’s done here is illegal…
But right now he’s psychotic: sleep
deprivation plus psychic shock and something of an addict-withdrawal response.
Star Labs has facilities throughout the world, the medical facility in
Greece is closest. Take him there,
let him sleep, ‘detox,’ and when this is over—assuming that he, Star Labs,
Greece, and Planet Earth still exist—we’ll see if he’s lucid enough to
try and free himself. If he is,
he’ll have to reveal some of those bank accounts he’s got hidden since
LexCorp went under, that should lead to a warrant or two.”

Selina
knocked heatedly at the door to Wayne Manor and held her breath as the door
swung open. One look at Alfred’s
face confirmed all Ivy had hinted about the situation with her and Bruce.
“Very
pleasant to see you again, miss,” the butler said politely.
“I hope Miss Nutmeg enjoyed the cakes I sent over.”
“I’m
sure she did, Alfred. I need to
talk to Bruce. I need to talk to him right now.”
“Miss
Selina, no one is more eager than I for this circumstance with respect to
yourself and Master Bruce to be finally resolved, that we might achieve a quick
and complete return to the arrangement which brought you both such contentment.
But for the time being, miss, I really see no alternative but for you to
give him the time and space he requested, so he may fully and dispassionately
investigate this matter without… Miss Selina, please, you see how it is.”
“Alfred,
we both know I can break in or I can track him down on patrol.
I’ll do either if I have to; it is that important.
Don’t make me go to those lengths, I really don’t want this to
become a ‘Catwoman’ thing.”
“The
master’s orders were very explicit, miss.”
“What’s
he going to do, fire you?” she asked with a naughty grin.
“Well…”
Alfred hedged, creeping the door open an inch wider, but blocking the entrance
just as firmly as before.
“His
orders were very explicit when he said he didn’t want that sandwich you’re
going to bring him in about ten minutes,” she added, checking her watch.
“That
is quite true, miss,” Alfred admitted, allowing the door to open another inch.
“We
both love him, Alfred. We both want
him to be happy,” she went on, the door opening another silent inch with each
phrase. “And we both know I’m
the way that happens,” she said coolly.
“Indeed,
miss,” Alfred relented, stepping back and to the side to let her pass.
“He is downstairs.”
“I
knew that,” Selina said quickly, heading for the clock. “He’s in the cave, he’s at his stalactite, and he’s
brooding like there’s no tomorrow—which there might not be, and that’s
the part we’re going to fix.”
“I
need to talk to Dr. Luthor,” Selina said without introduction.
Batman
spun out of the chair at his workstation, grabbing a batarang from his belt and
readying a throw before he even processed the voice. He paused when he saw her, sighed, and replaced the
batarang wearily into his belt. Then
he took off the mask, set it on the desk and turned it to face away from them,
as if its very presence prevented his speaking on personal matters.
“Selina,
I told you, I need time. We both
do. This… possibility.
It complicates… everything that’s happened between us.
It—”
“TIME!”
she interrupted, making a ‘Timeout’ gesture. “Did I say I came to
talk to you, or did I not say quite distinctly that I needed to talk to Dr. Luthor?”
He
stared, searchingly, for a long, long moment.
“You
expect me to believe this isn’t about us?”
“A-eh-actually,” she
stammered, “I’m not sure at this point.
But if you mean ‘us’ in the sense of Cartier’s rooftop and what
goes on between the sheets? Then
no, that’s not why I came here tonight. Although
since you brought it up, I will tell you that you’re wrong about Zatanna’s
magic having anything to do with our getting together, and that if you don’t
believe me and try to peek into my past, using magic, with Dr. Luthor, it turns
out you light a spark that annihilates all of existence.
But believe it or not, that’s not why I’m here.
I’m here, Bruce, because you’ve got the world’s leading string
theorist on speeddial, and I’ve got a really important question to ask.”
He hesitated, looking past
her and, from the look of it, rethinking an earlier conversation.
She guessed he didn’t take the part about lighting a spark and
annihilating the universe literally (and who would! Selina reminded herself that she didn’t quite accept
that any of this was really happening, and she was the one who’d actually seen
an alternate reality Hawkman bashing Batman with the grandfather clock every 43
minutes.)
As
for this Bruce, that distant, haunted look had returned, and Selina guessed it
was a painful conversation he was remembering, probably when he’d told her to
leave the manor. She was about to
try a different approach when she saw the cold detachment of the crimefighter
snap into place, stamping out any emotional considerations.
“How
did you know about Luthor and the seeing?” he asked finally, the deep
Bat-gravel sounding completely strained and artificial.
She
sighed, patience waning.
“At
this point, Bruce, I don’t think there’s any way to answer that in a way
you’re going to believe. Short
answer: I know because you gave me a pink sapphire that night at the MoMA.”
“That’s
not good enough.”
Patience
snapped.
“Okay,
how about this,” she offered, “You want your blessed space, give me what I
want and I’ll go. Place the call
and I’m out of here; you can go back to being miserable.”
“You’re
giving up? On us… on me?”
Selina felt a weird prickle
she hadn’t experienced in years, not since half-forgotten denials on long
distant rooftops. He’d worked
himself back into the old rock-and-hardplace, “can’t, mustn’t, want to
anyway,” where they’d spent so much of their adversarial relationship.
It suggested a way to proceed: He
would deny himself. Just like he
always had. If he wanted her, it
would be an unacceptable weakness he had to conquer.
He would deny himself, and to do that he’d give her whatever she
wanted to make her go away. All she
had to do was push those old buttons, make it necessary for him to get her and
the temptation out of his field of vision…
All she had to do was push those old buttons and make him want her… but
it wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable as it used to be.
Internally, Selina set her
own feelings aside and let Catwoman’s deliberately seductive drawl take over:
“Oh we don’t like that,
do we,” she purred. “Maybe I
should have tried that years ago, on all those rooftops, give you what you
pretend you want instead of what we both know you’re aching for.”
Selina felt an eerie chill as
she saw Bruce Wayne’s bare features undergo the same transformation she’d
witnessed a hundred times framed by Batman’s mask:
jaw set, muscles tensed, slight sneer.
The eyes that burned into hers were ablaze with anger, longing, and
bewilderment. It made her shudder that she could still get that reaction so
easily.
“You said this wasn’t
about us,” he growled.
“I also said I’d go as
soon as you patch me through to Dr. Luthor,” she reminded him, ruthlessly
coating her voice with unspeakable promises, then dropping the alluring manner
in an instant and resuming a crisp businesslike expression.
He looked murderously angry. Then a strange calm settled in and he silently stepped aside
and gestured to the keyboard at his workstation.
“Lewis or Laura?” he
asked with controlled bat-focus.
“Ex-cuse me?”
“You said you wanted to
talk to Dr. Luthor; which one, Lewis or Laura?”
“Lewis OR Laura?”
Selina gaped.
“Yes!” he said icily,
“Lewis or Laura. You’re so
absurdly insistent you need to talk to a Dr. Luthor and you don’t know
which?”
“The string theorist
you’re working with, from the Foundation,” Selina said defensively.
“Yes.”
“There are two of
them?”
“The Doctors Laura and
Lewis Luthor are both string theorists,” Bruce replied like he was telling an
idiot how to program a VCR. “They
work together, they’re brother and sister, they happen to be twins.”
“Twins.”
Selina took a deep breath and looked to the heavens, represented for the
moment by a furry brown bat stretching its wings outward and scratching the back
of its head on Bruce’s favorite stalactite.
“Laura and Lewis Luthor, they’re twins,” she told it, then she
turned back to Bruce and announced, “The Universe is having a great deal of
fun at my expense right now, and when all this is over, somebody better make it
up to me.”

Selina
sat, calm and poised, in the south drawing room and handed Lewis Luthor his cup
of tea as gracefully as she had his sister.
Neither Bruce nor Alfred were quite so at ease watching her act so
naturally as hostess when she had moved out of the manor nearly two weeks
before.
Selina,
for her own part, had been terribly anxious about meeting a “Lex Luthor with
hair” and “Lex Luthor as a woman” face to face. Now that they were here, now that she’d shaken their hands
and talked to them like regular people, she was completely at ease.
“As
I understand your research,” Selina began, “Everything that exists, all
forms of matter and energy, the protons and electrons inside an atom, the very
particles that transmit energy, are all made up of these vibrating filaments
called Strings?”
“Yes,
that’s correct,” Lewis said with the pleased-but-tolerant air of an expert
happy that a neophyte is interested but amused that they’re stuck on page one.
“If
I may ask what I’m sure is a very stupid question,” Selina went on,
“filaments of what?”
Lewis
looked put out and glanced warily at her sister, who beamed.
“That
is the million dollar question,” Laura said enthusiastically.
“Laura,
don’t,” he begged. “Please do
not do this in front of the man who has actually given us a million dollars.”
He turned back to Selina. “They’re
energy. Vibrating filaments of energy.”
“That
is the standard formula lecturers like my brother always use,” Laura said
smugly. “And then, five minutes
later, they go on to say that energy and the particles that transmit energy are
all made up of Strings, and they hope none of the students will catch
them out.”
“So
which is it?” Selina asked.
“Energy
is made of Strings,” Lewis said acidly. “It’s
the way a particular grouping of Strings vibrate that determine if the whole is
‘energy,’ say gravity or a graviton, rather than matter… We don’t
actually know, that is, the theory doesn’t attempt to describe what the
Strings themselves might be comprised of. Everything
mankind has ever conceived of is made of these Strings, so we don’t have any
terminology, or any concepts, for what they themselves might be.”
“That’s
not entirely true,” Laura said sweetly, smiling impishly at her brother.
“No.
Laura, do not do this, not in front of Mr. Wayne, please.
He is a patron. His
foundation has underwritten our research. This
is Science, and those wild ideas of yours are not-”
“I
wouldn’t be adverse to hearing the wild idea,” Bruce interjected.
Lewis
held up his hands, as if distancing himself from the proceedings.
“The
Strings are God,” Laura pronounced.
“Oh,
COME ON!” Lewis exploded, unable to maintain the distance he’d declared only
a moment before.
“I
only say it that way to annoy him,” his sister explained while Lewis declared
firmly, “The Strings are not God.”
“Agreed,” Laura
conceded. “But it shows how we do have words and ideas in the world
outside of science, and we should be open to using them when, as scientists, we
come upon something we’ve never conceived of.
So, no, Lewis, my beloved tightass brother, I’m not going to get us
banished from the Institute by saying the Strings are God.
But they’re something very close.
You said we don’t have terminology for what the Strings are, but we do.
Science may not, but human beings most definitely do.”
“Laura,
this isn’t science!”
“We
were all people before we became scientists, Lewis.”
“I like the way you two
fight,” Selina observed.
Laura
turned to her and winked, then became serious.
“Strings are everywhere, they’re everything, they’re
everyone. They are a
fundamental part of every aspect of creation, the parts that we’ve figured
out, the parts we’ve only begun to discover, and the parts we haven’t even
found yet. I believe that Strings are the primal godforce, the great
unifying power of creation. I
believe…” she paused, “that the Strings are Love.”
No one, even Lewis, spoke
for a long moment. Then he
eyed his sister and cleared his throat.
“My
brother is right, it’s not science,” she went on. “It’s… meta-science in the most literal sense of the
word meta, meaning ‘after.’ Meta-science is what we talk about among
ourselves in the faculty lounge after class, and in the think tanks after the
formal meetings, only at the very top where we’re open to the…”
She paused and shot a look at her brother “…the impossibly wild and
preposterous idea, like maybe the earth orbits around the sun and not the other
way around. I’ll be honest, Mr. Wayne, ‘What the strings are’ isn’t science; it’s a kind of
science-cum-philosophy. There’s
no real physics here, no mathematical formula we could use to predict an outcome
of, say, tampering with a String’s essence in a particular way, based on this
premise, and then conducting an experiment to see if the result fit our
calculations.”
“Leaving
the math out of it,” Selina asked gingerly, “what’s your best guess?
Your theories acknowledge that magic exists. Your theories say that magic
is a way of changing how Strings vibrate. What
if it went further and tried to mess with what the Strings actually are?”
Lewis
looked at Laura, who looked at Lewis, then back at Selina.
“Your
girlfriend has a strangely thorough knowledge of our research, Mr. Wayne,”
Lewis noted, turning to Bruce who wasn’t paying a bit of attention but staring
at Selina with a hard, distant expression.
Selina
looked to Laura, “Your brother’s stalling for time, isn’t he?
You haven’t got an answer?”
“I
wouldn’t know how to guess,” she admitted.
“What
if I said there’s a legend among magic users,” Selina went on, looking now
at Bruce, “that they crossed a line once.
They evolved an unacceptable form of magic, and the Universe stepped in
and burned it right out of existence.” She
paused, willing Bruce to say something, but he only went on staring with
bat-intensity, “What if I said that some people believe it’s happening
again… a magician inserted her powers into the vicinity of a genuine
and naturally occurring love, would…
would an ‘immune response’ be in the realm of possibility?”
“Could
I speak to you in private,” Bruce demanded.
Selina
got up and walked quietly into the hallway as Laura and Lewis huddled together,
arguing in hushed tones.
“What
do you think you’re doing?” Bruce hissed angrily.
Selina
felt a strange chill. This wasn’t
her Bruce and technically wasn’t her problem.
But he had gone farther down that road than any other Bruce Wayne she had
encountered, he’d gone so far that he’d sent her away.
The first of these pink sapphire Bruces said “If it’s not your choice
to be with me, then I’d no right to touch you.” And that’s exactly what he
was preparing himself for: learning he had no right to touch her, realizing
he’d have to change her back and losing all that they’d built
together… This wasn’t her
Bruce, and technically he wasn’t her problem—but there was simply no way
she was going to leave him in this needless, self-imposed hell.
Maybe it had no purpose as far as snuffing out the spark or saving the
universe, but she wasn’t going to leave any Bruce so like her own in that kind
of pain if she could help it.
“Listen
to me,” she said, softly emphatic, “We’re good. Zatanna’s magic did not make us happen, and Zatanna’s
magic did not change me. But she tried.
Bruce, some Zatanna, somewhere, tried.
And that’s why we are looking at a cosmic crisis across multiple, maybe
infinite, realities if you go ahead with the seeing ritual that you’re
planning. I was never like Dr. Light, Bruce. I was never like the
Top. I never hung out with Luthor or Grodd; I never killed anybody, constructed
deathtraps to kill anybody or… sacrificed black puppies to Satan, whatever the
hell those guys do on Saturday night. I
certainly never had the slightest interest in taking over the world; I don’t
even like hiring groundskeepers for the Catitat.
The Joker-Ra’s-Luthor thing isn’t me, and you know it.
It was NEVER me, and maybe 9/10th of the reason is what should
be obvious to anybody who’s known me for ten blessed minutes: I’m not
evil… But there is that one other tiny, insignificant, trifling
consideration… that I fell for one of the good guys.
From day one, there’s been something there, Bruce.
And if the tiniest part of the reason I was never really one of them
is because I love you, and if Zatanna tried to magically alter the
Strings in the vicinity of my criminal activities and got in the way of that…
the Universe decides enough is enough. Game
over. This cost-free magic
from talking-backwards girl is a malignancy that has got to go.
“You start getting ideas
and rounding up Luthors in multiple dimensions for Seeing Rituals until you
actually turned off a String—and that lights a spark that bursts into
flame and burns up the magic Zatara built… Which would certainly be fine with
me except, minor problem, it’s going to take everything else with it.”
“That’s
a preposterous theory.”
“Your
big throwdown with Azrael, did he fire shuriken into the Turner in the dining
room?”
“…Yes…”
“Did
he booby trap the clock entrance with poison darts?”
“Yes.”
“…Did
Clark mention the protocols when he talked to you about the mindwipe?”
“Yes,
he did. Selina—”
“If
we had a kid, would Clark and Lois be godparents?”
“…”
“Multiple
dimensions, Bruce. Multiple
Luthors, seeing rituals, shutting off a string, cosmic spark, smoldering, and
when it bursts into flame, we’re all gone.”
“If
what you’re saying is true, and Selina, I have to say I have my doubts, but if
it’s true…”
“You’re the best
strategic thinker we’ve got, Bruce, in any dimension.
You’ve got plans, you’ve got back up plans, you’ve got so many
plans, I’m surprised they don’t… And you’re the scientist,
and you’re the crimefighter. You’re
the one who’s railed against magic from day one because it’ll bend natural
laws—”
“Break
natural law,” he corrected.
“Always
the crimefighter,” she smiled affectionately.
“So you tell me, Dark Knight, if this is all happening because Zatanna
pulled a Berliani, fucked with the strings in a way they won’t be fucked with,
broke natural law you don’t get to break and set off this immune response, all
these seeing rituals to burn away the infection, then what do we do to stop
it?”
The
trio had reassembled in the Batcave, and Jason Blood looked disapprovingly over
the magic paraphernalia Batman and Superman had taken from Lex Luthor.
“Dr. Alchemy was a chemist,
I believe, before embarking on magickal practice?” he asked sourly.
Superman nodded.
“He began as Mr. Element, used his knowledge of chemistry to facilitate
his crimes and escapes. Until he
got caught and discovered his cellmate’s ‘good luck charm’ was the famous
Philosopher’s Stone—”
Jason grimaced.
“It was not the Philosopher’s Stone,” he said archly.
“There are many rocks and gems with magical properties, the
Philosopher’s Stone is merely the one that became known in the mainstream
world outside the true mystic community. As an outsider, this Albert Desmond made the same assumption
all non-mystics make, that he commanded the one, celebrated magical relic…
It’s not important, really, simply an amusing conceit, and explains a
good deal about this hodgepodge.” He
gestured dismissively to the collection.
“More amateurs dabbling
with forces they have no experience with,” Batman growled savagely.
“As opposed to what you
did?” Superman said archly.
“Regardless of what may
have occurred in other dimensions,” Batman replied coldly, “I commissioned a
scientist to conduct scientific research, and when it came to the
supernatural, we went to Jason Blood, who nobody can call amateur or
inexperienced.”
Superman looked
apologetically at Jason, who coughed as if he was merely waiting for the pair of
them to return their attention to the artifacts.
“The book is
water-damaged,” he said as if he had never been interrupted. “And the
writing is worn and obscured in several passages, but it appears to be the
genealogy of a family making sake in Kyushu for 53 generations.
It contains no magic or magical knowledge whatsoever.”
“None at all?” Superman
asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Polishing grains of rice
to use only the purest starch elements in the exquisite Daiginjo sakes may have
been a closely guarded family secret, Superman, but there’s nothing remotely
mystical about it.”
“And the rest?” Batman
asked flatly.
“They evidently used fire
rather than water for their seeing, burning a volatile temple incense in this
urn. A bit old-fashioned, but a
functional method for seeing through time, space, or illusion.
These jade rods, however…” He
trailed off and made a helpless gesture. “These
are yagi batons, they function as a kind of antenna to draw magical energies
from many sources into a specific point. And,
judging by the ash on the tip of this long one, this Dr. Alchemy and Luthor were
using it as a poker to prod the fire.”
Batman glared, Superman
glared, and Jason sensed he was about to become the target of another duet of
disapproval—when the vortex suddenly surged upward like a geyser, bathing the Batcave in a rich purple glow, which then spun bluer as the radius shrunk around
the transporter. It slowed and collapsed into a smaller green funnel of light,
then yellow, and finally a thin pillar of white, which faded to reveal Catwoman
standing again in the central chamber.
She stepped out looking
happier and more contented than she had since before the whole crisis began.
Her eyes scanned the cave briefly until they located Batman, and then she
walked up to him, without acknowledging Jason or Superman, and kissed his cheek
tenderly.
“You’re wonderful,” she
declared with a bright smile—and then turned to Superman, (who she’d
evidently noticed after all) and reaffirmed “He’s wonderful.”
Then she turned to Jason while her arm snaked around Batman’s waist for
an emphatic sideways hug as she repeated, “Isn’t he wonderful!”
“I think we can assume this
one went better than the last,” Batman grumbled, maneuvering brusquely out of
her embrace.
“World’s greatest
detective,” Selina teased, pulling off her cowl.
“You did it, you came up with the answer.
We can all go on living and I don’t have to hop through any more
dimensions with Luthors and cocaine and Poison Ivys that make sense.”
“I did?” Batman asked
skeptically.
“Maybe not you-you, but
close enough,” she said enthusiastically.
“I told him the whole thing in this last world, all of it, the
theories, anomalies in the house, dead ends, alternate realities I’ve seen
first hand and the ones Batman in that other world told me about…” she
paused, panting, as if she’d just run a race.
“…And you had the answer!”
“Well?” he asked
impatiently.
“You said that Albert
Einstein said ‘We can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we
used when we created them.’ Right?”
“Yes,” he nodded warily.
“We didn’t exactly create this.”
“Actually, I think ‘we’
did,” Selina laughed happily. Then
she turned to Superman and Jason. “Could
you guys give us a minute,” she asked, pointing sweetly towards the trophy
room. The two men looked at each other and shuffled awkwardly
into that distant corner of the cave. When
they’d gone, Selina turned back to Batman.
“I love you, Bruce.
That’s a law of the universe that nobody gets to mess with, and if you
bring magic irritants into the vicinity, it makes the universe itchy and
the universe will scratch.” She
flared her claws and broke into the naughty grin. “Which I can’t say I disapprove of, scratching the mojo
right out of that t-n-u-c was my first thought and I still think it’s a good
one.”
He stared for a moment.
“Are you drunk?” he asked testily.
Selina’s playfully naughty
manner faded, and she continued seriously.
“We can’t solve this crisis
using the same thinking that created it. It’s
an immune response, I’m certain of that now.
I’ve been running around through time and space trying to stop
white blood cells from fighting off an infection.
What we need to do is help, not work against it, wipe out the infection
so the white blood cells don’t have to.”
“The infection being
magic?”
“The infection being
Zatanna’s particular brand of cost-free magic, yes.”
She smiled broadly. “Magic
so disconnected from the powers being used that she could honk off the strings
without even knowing it. Which is
definitely not my problem or yours! You…
We… may have started this, in a sense, because you don’t get to mess
with what we have, and that’s what she got in the way of.
And according to Einstein, that’s exactly why it’s not our job to fix
it.”
“That’s not what the
quote means,” he said grimly.
“I know… but c’mon,
Bruce, you’re not a magic-user, you’re as far away from that world as you
can get—even in an alternate reality where you’d beaten Zatanna’s magic
out of her and used it yourself, you still hated it and you still didn’t trust
it. Don’t you see, this isn’t
our problem anymore. It’s up
to… Jason or Hella or… I don’t know, Etrigan, whoever is powerful enough
to swipe another magician’s hoodoo.”
He looked at her sadly.
“Is this what your
hero-Batman in the alternate reality told you?
That it’s not your responsibility to go hopping through dimensions?”
Her face fell as realization
dawned.
“You think he just said it
to get rid of me?”
“I think the idea of
stopping ‘the infection’ of Zatanna’s magic has merit.
But once Superman—who is listening, by the way—relates this
conversation to Jason, I suspect he’s going to tell you that no wizard, shaman
or sorcerer is going to be able to strip Zatanna of her powers with a spell.
If it were that simple, magic-users would have wiped themselves out
generations ago… You’re the
thief, Selina. If we have to steal
Zatanna’s powers in order to end this crisis, then you’re not finished with
the dimensional travel yet.”

To be continued…
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