Countdown. Part 10

Given that her new powers derived from the bygone G.o.ds of the Nile, Mary was naturally intrigued. She reached for the doork.n.o.b. "You've only shown me a fraction of-"

"Mary, wait!" Zatanna called out in alarm.

The mummy's shriveled eyelids snapped open. Springing to life with surprising speed, he swung the scimitar between the door and Mary, driving her back. The blade missed her by inches, so close that she could feel the breeze generated by its pa.s.sage. A voice as dry as the desert sands shouted at her in a dead language. His breath reeked of tanna leaves.

"Yow!" Mary exclaimed.

"Thanks, Ha.s.san. It's all right," Zatanna said, calling the mummy off. He settled back into his sarcophagus. She took Mary by the elbow and gently escorted her away from the door in question. "You're not ready for some rooms yet, Mary."

"O-okay." Mary looked back over her shoulder at the Egyptian door and its undead guardian. Her racing heart, which had gone into overdrive when the sword-wielding mummy surprised her, slowly settled back down. Although embarra.s.sed by the incident, she couldn't help wondering what exactly Zatanna was hiding behind those hieroglyphics-and why she wasn't willing to share that secret. What else is she keeping from you? a suspicious voice asked inside Mary. Why does she keep insisting you're not ready?

"As I was saying," Zatanna continued, "the library . . ."

A pair of double doors opened by themselves, admitting the two women into an astonishingly large private library. Packed bookcases, several feet taller than either Mary or Zatanna, lined the walls. Antique desks and plush chairs offered comfortable locales for reading and research. A spiral staircase led up to a mezzanine. Candles ignited in the chandeliers overhead; it took Mary a moment to realize that the chandeliers were actually floating in the air, unsupported by any chains or hooks. A fireplace roared to life in one corner, casting a rosy glow on a nearby suit of armor. A stuffed dragon's head was mounted over the fireplace. An oval mirror, in a gilded filigreed frame, hung above a gla.s.s display case, and picture windows looked out over the moonlit estate below. Mary felt as though she had accidentally stumbled into Hogwarts.

"Wow," she whispered.

The abundant shelves were crammed with books, scrolls, clay tablets, and other doc.u.ments. Mary was slightly overwhelmed by the sheer size of the collection. Wandering over to the nearest bookcase, she scanned the spines of various leather-bound grimoires, demonologies, memoirs, bestiaries, and other esoteric volumes. Her finger reverently traced the t.i.tles on their spines: The Book of Fate, The Arion Chronicles, Chaos & Order, The Morpheus Prophecies , The Journals of Lady Johanna Constantine. . . .

"Some of these books look like they're centuries old," she said in an appropriately hushed tone. "I don't even recognize a few of these languages."

"That's because they're not human languages," Zatanna explained. "And most of those books go back a lot farther than hundreds of years. My family has been collecting them for a looong time."

Mary remembered hearing somewhere that Zee was supposedly descended from Leonardo da Vinci, as well as from a secretive race of sorcerers known as the h.o.m.o magi. A framed photo of Zatanna's late mother, Sindella Zatara, occupied a place of honor upon the fireplace mantel. The beautiful blonde sorceress had perished while defending her daughter from her fellow wizards. An orphan herself, Mary sympathized with Zee's loss.

"You could say this is my Batcave," Zatanna said, showing her guest around the library. "I study here, brainstorm here, practice here."

A gla.s.s display case attracted Mary's attention. Inside the case was an impressive collection of mystical artifacts. Charms, crystals, amulets, orbs, rings, scarabs, masks, icons, dolls, fetishes, wands, and other talismans rested beneath a clear pane of gla.s.s, atop a sheet of black velvet. "Look at all of these," Mary burbled, gazing at the collection like a kid in a candy store. She hadn't seen a display like this since the Spectre had trashed the Rock of Eternity during his epic battle with Shazam. The wizard's own collection, acc.u.mulated over the course of millennia, had been hopelessly scattered by the ghost's insane rampage. Maybe some of those missing artifacts had ended up here?

"There's enough magical energy in that case alone," Zatanna said proudly, "to do pretty much anything you can imagine."

Mary could believe it. She felt the talismans' sorcerous potential calling out to her, even through the thick gla.s.s sheet. Just her proximity to such power gave her goose b.u.mps. "It must be wonderful to have so much power at your command." She bet Zee had never been chased through the streets by a pack of ignorant skinheads. "Just wonderful . . ."

"It's also a big responsibility," Zatanna insisted. Walking over to a sagging bookshelf, she gathered an armload of dusty tomes and dropped them onto a waiting desk. "Here, these should get you started." She beckoned to Mary. "We'll start with the basics, then work our way up to more challenging material."

Mary hesitated, unable to tear herself away from the case of mystically charged trinkets and tchotchkes. It was hard to get enthused about poring through piles of moldy old books when all these delectable toys were right at her fingertips, just waiting to be played with. It was a crime to let them just sit there, gathering dust. "Can't we test-drive some of these?"

"In time," Zatanna promised. "But only after you've mastered the fundamentals." She blew a layer of dust off a slender volume. "Handing you such talismans now would be like giving a loaded gun to a child."

Child? The magician's patronizing tone pushed all the wrong b.u.t.tons. "I am not a child!" Mary snarled. Her temper combusted. How dare Zatanna treat her like some inexperienced kid? Had she forgotten who exactly had saved all those people on the Lemaris? "If you think these stupid books are so great, you read them!"

Lightning leapt from her fingertips, zapping the stacked volumes, which abruptly took flight. Flapping their covers noisily, the airborne books swarmed Zatanna like pigeons descending on bread crumbs. She anxiously batted them away with her hands.

"s...o...b..pots ginylf!"

The disenchanted tomes rained down onto the floor, but Mary had already found something better to do. Her fist smashed through the gla.s.s protecting Zatanna's trophies. Blue flames flashed momentarily as her innate magical strength overcame whatever protective wards Zatanna had placed over the display case. Her eager fingers closed around a particularly tempting prize: a crystal-studded Atlantean scepter that positively reeked of magic.

"Ooooh . . ." Mary gasped as an ecstatic rush of energy thrilled her senses. Her skin tingled all over. Her hairs stood up on end. "No wonder you wanted to keep this for yourself." Unable to contain the wand's intense preternatural force, she started throwing off sparks of raw magical energy. Phantom winds whipped her hair into a frenzy. "So much power . . ."

"Mary, no!" Zatanna shouted in alarm. "You can't cut loose like that in here. It's like tossing a match into a tinderbox!"

A stray spark animated the suit of armor, which started clanking across the floor. The mounted dragon's head roared and breathed fire, the bright orange flames singeing the spines of the nearest books.

The power of the scepter, joined to Mary's own G.o.dsgiven might, intoxicated her. She raised the wand high above her head, glorying in the rapturous sensation. "I came to you for help, Zatanna," she accused the other woman. "I thought you were on my side. Why would you keep these things from me?"

She's jealous of you, an inner voice answered her. Jealous of what you can become!

Of course. That was the only explanation that made sense.

"That's enough!" Zatanna said crossly. She held out her hand. "Retpecs emoc ot em!"

An unseen force s.n.a.t.c.hed the wand from Mary's hand. "Hey!" she protested as the precious talisman, and all its irresistible magic, returned to Zatanna. Mary felt as though she had been dashed with a bucket of cold water. Talk about a buzzkill!

She glared furiously at Zatanna. Lightning flashed in her eyes. "You shouldn't have done that."

But Zatanna didn't seem to care what Mary thought. "You know," she said, a severe expression on her face, "I thought that you might be some sort of sorcerous savant, but it turns out you're just a brat." She brandished the glowing scepter. "And you're about to get spanked!"

You wish, Mary thought spitefully. She l.u.s.ted for the power she had just known. An insatiable hunger gnawed at her very core. She launched herself at Zatanna, determined to wrest the scepter from the other woman's treacherous clutches. For all she knew, Zee had stolen the wand from the wizard in the first place. "You give that back! It belongs to me now!"

"Cigam reirrab tcetorp em!"

When she had to, Zatanna could talk faster than a New Yorker on a caffeine high. A hastily erected bubble of pale blue energy shielded her from Mary's initial attack, but the enraged super heroine had only just begun to fight for what she considered rightfully hers. Her gloved fists pounded relentlessly against the infuriating force field. Magical shock waves knocked Zatanna to the floor inside her bubble. "Mary, stop!" she pleaded. "What's come over you?"

Maybe I've finally caught on to the truth, Mary thought venomously, that you're no different from Billy or Madame Xanadu. You all want to keep me weak and helpless and docile. Lightning flashed whenever her knuckles collided with Zatanna's protective shields. Well, to h.e.l.l with that!

Her fists smashed into the floor as the bubble instantly blinked out of existence, taking Zatanna with it. For a moment, Mary thought that her opponent had retreated from the fight entirely, then she heard Zatanna reappear several feet behind her. The resourceful sorceress counterattacked by summoning a Middle Easternlooking bra.s.s lamp from a bookshelf.

"Eineg eruces reh, tub od on mrah!"

Like something out of the Arabian Nights, a djinn steamed out of the lamp. Swirling purple vapors materialized into a muscular figure with dark indigo skin, pointed ears, and scorching red eyes. His jet-black hair was pulled back in a topknot, and a black goatee added to his Mephistophelian appearance, as did his arched black eyebrows. A golden hoop pierced his left ear, and gleaming copper wristbands girded his powerful arms. Tattooed arabesques covered his bare chest, which dissolved into smoke below the waist. He laughed heartily, relishing his freedom from the lamp.

Stealing tricks from Aladdin, are we? Mary thought. I'm not impressed.

The genie seized Mary from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. His tight embrace would have crushed any ordinary girl. He chuckled lecherously in her ear, his spicy breath smelling of sandalwood and cinnamon.

"Luferac!" Zatanna reminded the djinn. "T'nod truh reh!"

Mary snickered at the other woman's restraint. "Treating me with kid gloves? Big mistake, Zee." She slammed the back of her head into the genie's face. Cursing in ancient Arabic, he loosened his grip long enough for Mary to grab on to his wrists with both hands and yank them apart. Whirling around, she tore into the djinn without mercy. Mystic energy crackled around her as she ripped the genie into fragmented wisps of smoke; it felt like tearing apart a wad of flimsy cotton candy. The genie's agonized scream echoed throughout the library. "I'm playing for keeps!"

"Ali!" Zatanna gasped. The empty lamp dropped onto the floor.

Mary turned on Zatanna. "You really had me fooled, Zee! I thought we were friends. Why even bring me here, huh? To steal the power Black Adam gave me?" Her voice rose in anger. "To put me into one of your trophy cases?"

She tackled Zatanna head-on, slamming Zee into the bookcase behind her. The st.u.r.dy shelves wobbled precariously, and an avalanche of weighty tomes crashed down on Zatanna, knocking her to the floor. Half-buried beneath her own library, the dazed magician struggled to climb out from beneath the disorderly heap of books. "Mary . . . please," she whispered groggily. "You have to stop this. . . ."

"Don't worry, Zee," Mary answered. Her boots levitated above the carpet as she gazed down at the battered sorceress. "It'll be over before you know it!" Then nothing would come between her and all the power Zatanna had selfishly h.o.a.rded away. It's all so obvious now, Mary realized. She never actually intended to teach me anything. She wanted to keep all this magic to herself. Mary's eyes literally glowed with malice. She couldn't stand that I was becoming more powerful than her. . . .

Mary decided to give Zatanna a taste of what she envied. Tapping into her anger, she flung a magical thunderbolt at her so-called mentor. The jolt wouldn't kill Zee, but it might make her wish that it had. In any event, she would be in no shape to stop Mary from sampling the rest of the library's many occult treasures.

But, to Mary's surprise, Zatanna wasn't quite down for the count yet. Throwing up her hands to shield herself, she spat out a hasty incantation.

"Yram, kool ta eht rorrim!"

As though possessed of a mind of its own, the gilt-framed mirror dived to its mistress's defense, sliding between Mary and her foe. The unleashed lightning bolt struck the silvered gla.s.s-and bounced back at Mary herself. Thunder boomed inside the trashed library as lightning crashed against the startled heroine, changing her back into ordinary Mary Batson!

Wha-?

The unexpected transformation disoriented Mary. Her murderous rage vanished with her powers. The impact of the reflected thunderbolt catapulted her backward toward the picture window.

Zatanna took immediate advantage of the situation. "Swodniw nepo!"

Gla.s.s panes swung open obediently, and Mary went hurtling through the cold air outside the mansion. Zatanna must have given the lightning a little extra oomph, since Mary went sailing over the spiked fence surrounding the estate, finally crashing to earth in the gra.s.sy clearing beyond. She hit the ground hard.

Groaning, she climbed to her feet. No longer invulnerable, she felt sore all over. Her plain old jacket and jeans failed to keep out the chill of the evening. Mary shook her head in confusion, trying to figure out just how things had gone so wrong so fast. She stared in dismay at her fists. What was I doing?

Anxious to apologize, she ran up to the wrought iron gate of Shadowcrest. No surprise, it refused to open for her. "Zatanna, please!" she called out, hoping the other woman could hear her. "Let me explain!"

"Mary Batson." To her surprise, the iron bars of the gate twisted themselves into a rough approximation of a mouth. A rusty voice issued from the gate. "For violation of basic etiquette and decorum, and for acting in a generally nasty, evil manner, you are hereby banished from Shadowcrest henceforth." A heavy layer of fog billowed up from the ground, concealing the mansion entirely. "Do not bother to attempt to find this place, as it shall remain hidden from you forevermore."

The spreading fog swallowed up the gates as well as Zatanna's lavish estate, which vanished into the mists like Brigadoon. Mary ran forward into the clammy dampness of the fog. "Wait!" she cried out desperately. "I didn't know what I was doing. This power . . . it's too much for me!"

She reached out for the gate, but her groping fingers encountered nothing but empty mist, which quickly wafted away, taking Shadowcrest with it. Mary found herself alone in the shadowy woods, seemingly miles away from the nearest habitation. An owl hooted in the skeletal tree branches overheard.

"Please, Zatanna! I need your help! Just give me a second chance . . . please!"

The owl hooted in response.

23 AND COUNTING.

METROPOLIS.

"Wait a sec," Holly protested. "I thought this was supposed to be some sort of self-esteem workshop."

"Yes," a dark-haired staff worker a.s.sured her as she fastened a polished bronze breastplate over Holly's chest. A second attendant slid a steel bracelet onto the confused fugitive's forearm. "We're simply applying your ceremonial garb."

Holly glanced down at herself. A skirt of studded leather straps hung below the molded bronze cuira.s.s. Metal greaves protected her lower legs. Steel-toed leather boots encased her feet. "Seriously, you do know this is battle armor, right?"

"Nonsense," the brunette said. She held out a bronze headpiece bearing the sculpted visage of a snarling panther. "Now, let's get you into your Purification Helmet."

Holly eyed the feline totem molded upon the helmet. A nod to her short-lived stint as a subst.i.tute Catwoman, or just a coincidence? She was already uneasy about the fact that Harley Quinn knew all about Holly's dubious past; heck, she had nearly fled the shelter after Harley had dropped that bombsh.e.l.l on her in the spa, but the Joker's supposedly reformed former squeeze had insisted that Holly's secret was safe among her Athenian "sisters." Every woman at the shelter, Harley had argued, was running from something, but this place was all about second chances. In the end, Holly had decided to hang around a little longer, mostly because she had nowhere else to go.

Now she was starting to have second thoughts. What sort of self-help exercise requires body armor?

The dressers clamped the heavy helmet over Holly's head and checked the fastenings on her "ceremonial garb" one more time. They led her out of the private dressing room into a colonnaded hallway, where she found several similarly armored women gathered outside a pair of towering wooden doors. Judging from their body language and what Holly could see of their faces, the other women looked just as baffled as she was. Herded together, they looked like refugees from a Xena convention.

"What in the world . . . ?"

Holly joined the other women. The metal armor jangled every time one of them moved. Holly recognized one of the armored girls as Tricia, another newcomer to the shelter. She gripped a nasty-looking forked weapon.

"Um," Holly said, "I couldn't help but notice that you're holding a trident?"

Tricia appeared puzzled by that as well. She stared nervously at the weapon. "Y-yeah."

"Okay, just seeing if you knew that." Holly guessed that the trident hadn't been Trish's idea. The African-American teenage runaway acted as though she had never held anything like it before. Holly noticed that some of the other girls were armed with maces, flails, whips, nets, and swords.

Did Hawkman have a yard sale or something?

A trumpet sounded somewhere beyond the ponderous oaken doors, which swung open to admit the armored women. Holly hesitated upon the threshold, getting a bad feeling about this. She had never explored this part of the shelter, so she had no idea what lay ahead. Athena's subordinates prodded the apprehensive girls forward. "Where have I seen this before?" Holly murmured aloud. "Was it in a movie? I'm pretty sure it was in a movie. . . ."

Sure enough, the doorway led to an impressive recreation of an ancient Roman coliseum, complete with a sawdust floor and high stone walls. A domed sunroof offered a tantalizing view of a clear blue sky. The heavy doors slammed shut behind Holly and the others, and she heard a ma.s.sive bolt being slid into place on the other side of the doors. Visions of Russell Crowe fighting for his life flashed through her mind.

"Oh yeah. I hated that movie."

A self-esteem workshop, my a.s.s!

"My glorious sisters!" a booming voice addressed them. "Welcome to your future!"

Holly looked up to see Athena herself presiding over the occasion from a balcony overlooking the floor of the arena. An honor guard of spear-wielding Amazons flanked Athena. A velvet banner bearing the image of a Gorgon's bleeding head hung below the balcony. Writhing serpents were embroidered along the fringes of the bunting. During her stay at the shelter, Holly had learned that these symbols had long been a.s.sociated with the mythological Athena, who was the G.o.ddess of warfare as well as wisdom. According to the legends, it was Athena who had taught Perseus how to slay Medusa. Holly still hadn't decided if the woman above was the actual G.o.ddess or just a charismatic namesake like Maxie Zeus, a deranged Gotham ganglord who claimed to be the genuine King of the G.o.ds. Selina had always said Maxie was a real loser.

Wonder what she'd think of this Athena?

Certainly, the esteemed founder of the women's shelter looked more like a G.o.ddess than ever. A goatskin breastplate, known as the Aegis, was draped over her spotless silk robes. All eyes turned toward her regal figure. Her exotically accented voice rang out over the arena.

"Each of you has endured hardships. You have been overlooked, forgotten, trampled upon. Today, you will free yourselves from your pasts, eradicate your insecurities, and purify your souls. Unleash your fury, my sisters, and become warriors!"

Holly couldn't believe her ears. "Are you kidding me?" Athena didn't seriously expect them to engage in some sort of gladiatorial bloodbath, did she? "These are runaway girls, not Spartans!"

Her protests fell on deaf ears. Belying her words, Tricia suddenly turned on Holly. A ferocious war cry escaped the girl's lips as she lunged at Holly with the trident. Hours of training in hand-to-hand combat came to Holly's rescue as she deftly evaded the lethal thrust. Momentum carried Tricia past her and Holly stuck out her leg to trip the other woman, who took a header into the sawdust. Holly moved quickly to disarm the girl, only to discover that Tricia hadn't been the only woman to respond to Athena's stirring oratory. Grunts, groans, and clanging metal echoed throughout the arena as Holly found herself smack in the middle of an all-out free-for-all involving over a dozen would-be gladiators. Studded maces dented helmets. Armored bodies slammed against each other. Heated voices hissed, swore, and howled in fury as the aggrieved women took out years of suppressed anger and frustration on their fellow refugees. Blood and broken teeth spilled onto the sawdust.

Just my luck, Holly thought, I'm the only one without a weapon. She mentally crucified her neglectful dressers. Thanks a lot, gals.

She didn't want to hurt anyone, but with the melee raging all around her, she had no choice but to fight back in self-defense. Battling figures hemmed her in on all sides. A wild-eyed gladiator swung a mace at her head, but Holly rolled beneath the blow, then jumped back up onto her feet just in time to see another woman jabbing a sword in her direction. Two more fighters grappling in front of her blocked Holly's escape, so she grabbed on to their shoulders and used them for leverage as she swung around to kick the overeager swordswoman in the gut. The blade flew from the woman's hands as she tumbled backward onto the sawdust, nearly getting trampled by the brawling women nearby. She scrambled desperately after her sword, only to get kicked in the ribs by another girl.

Holly's eyes lit up as she spied a leather bullwhip, Catwoman's weapon of choice, in the hands of a young Hispanic woman a few feet away. The girl flicked the whip ineptly, obviously having no idea how to use it. It was embarra.s.sing to watch. What a waste, Holly thought.

"I'll take that, thanks!" She elbowed the girl in the chin and yanked the whip from her fingers. It felt rea.s.suringly familiar. Holly couldn't work the whip the way Selina could, but she had picked up the basics over the years. She cracked the whip in warning, carving out a little breathing room in the midst of the violence. The sharp report of the whip cut through the tumult. Fearful "warriors" backed away from Holly.

That's better, she thought. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she saw that at least a third of the gladiators had already had the fight beaten out of them. Their moaning bodies were strewn about the floor of the arena. Thankfully, the majority of the brawlers possessed more enthusiasm than skill; they wielded the archaic weapons clumsily, exhausting themselves as well as their opponents. Holly guessed that most of them had never been in a real fight before, let alone pitted themselves against the worst that Gotham's underworld had to offer. Selina could take out this whole bunch without even breaking a sweat. . . .

With maybe one notable exception.

Holly spied another warrior cutting a swath through the inept gladiators. A bronze faceplate, fashioned in the semblance of the cla.s.sical Greek mask of Comedy, concealed the woman's features, but there was no mistaking her fighting abilities. Twirling a blunt cudgel like a baton, she bludgeoned the daylights out of her adversaries while nimbly evading every blow or thrust directed at her. She practically danced through the frenzied melee, leaving a trail of battered gladiators behind. None of the other women could even lay a hand on her.

Uh-oh, Holly thought. Better keep an eye out for Funny Face there.

A pair of charging warriors distracted her from the mystery woman. Whooping like they were hyped up on Joker Juice, they clearly intended to tag team Holly with extreme prejudice. Safety in numbers proved no protection, however, as Holly snapped her stolen whip. The lash wrapped itself around the lead attacker's waist, yanking her off her feet and directly into the path of her comrade. The partners went down in a clatter of clanging armor. Angry obscenities a.s.sailed the ears of the G.o.ds.

Holly jerked the whip loose and glanced around to see who was next. Only a few feet away, two dueling gladiators had managed to get the chains of their maces hopelessly tangled together. Cursing loudly, they struggled to free their weapons while simultaneously kicking at each other's shins. Holly didn't know whether to laugh or shake her head in dismay.