Batman 1939: Three's Company
Chapter 6: Homecoming Queen
Gotham City. Fourteen years ago.
Giovanni Zatara had never lived long at one address. He liked the traveling lifestyle, but it had its disadvantages. Being a single parent was more difficult on the road. Yet over the years he grew accustomed to raising a daughter without a community. What he never grew accustomed to was his lack of a workshop.
Professional magic was part acting and part invention. A magician could practice his stagecraft until he upstaged Chaplin, but he would never be a star with old tricks. Professional magicians needed to design and rehearse new material. While some styles of magic fit in a suitcase, the big crowds demanded big stunts, which meant big props, which required a dedicated workshop. Giovnani had struggled for years to rent or borrow the space when he could. His performances had suffered for it. Worse, he couldn’t teach Zatanna how to make her own magic without a place to call her own.
So there was little regret when Giovanni officially suspended the Zataras’ traveling lifestyle by signing the lease for the old Fox Playhouse on Anderson Boulevard in Gotham City. The theater’s office and loft were converted into a living space, and its stage offered all the room a magician could need.
In the early afternoon of their third day in their new home, Bruce Wayne arrived for his lessons. Giovanni was hammering scaffolding together on the stage when he heard a motorcycle purr to a stop in the alley. There was a knock on the side door. His daughter Zatanna, twelve years old, was sweeping nearby. Giovanni hustled over, but she reached the door first and opened it.
Zatanna said, “Hi, I’m-” then froze.
A grim young man filled the doorway. He was lean and wide-shouldered; Giovanni had pegged him as a boxer before, and here a split lip completed that impression. The young man couldn’t be a day past sixteen, but he had bags under his eyes and a tense, rigid demeanor. His short hair was messy from the leather helmet tucked under his arm, and his face seemed like it was installed without the option to smile.
Zatanna stepped back in alarm. The young man looked down at her blankly.
“Good afternoon,” he said.
“Ah!” Zatanna slammed the door. “Daddy, there’s a robber at the door!”
Giovanni called out as he ran over, “Hush, it’s okay.” He stood in front of her and re-opened the door. “Welcome, John. Please come in. Zatanna,” he looked at her intently, “you remember I mentioned I was teaching a new student today? Well, this is John. John, this is my daughter, Zatanna.”
Bruce glanced down at her with his stony expression and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He looked back at her father. “I’m grateful for your invitation, Mr. Zatara. It’s an honor to be here.”
Zatanna pulled at the back of her father’s vest and hissed, “Tell him we don’t have anything to steal.”
Giovanni smiled uncomfortably. “The honor’s mine, John. Please come with me. Let’s see what we can do for you.”
He led Bruce to the stage with Zatanna trailing several paces behind. For Giovanni, their mutual aloofness was disappointing. Amid all the other hidden motivations behind this teaching arrangement, Giovanni had nurtured a secret hope that John might be Zatanna’s playmate for the summer. The girl would be entering school in the fall, and Giovanni was worried she might have trouble making friends. It was telling how few chances he had given Zatanna to play with other children that a strange older boy whose only known habits were violence and motorcycles was the best companion he could wish for his daughter.
But alas, Zatanna was suspicious of their guest, and John’s feelings about Zatanna depended on whether John had feelings.
He brought Bruce onto the stage and offered him a stool. “Sorry for the humble furnishings. We’ve just moved in.”
“It’s fine,” said Bruce as he sat.
“Can I get you some tea or something to eat?” asked Giovanni, finding a stool of his own.
“No, thank you.”
“Very well. John, I’ll admit this is all new to me. I’ve never had a student before.”
There was a loud “Humph!” from the edge of the stage. Zatanna glared at them with folded arms.
Giovanni smiled. “With one lovely exception of course. I’ve been training Zatanna here in the family business.”
“That’s right,” boasted Zatanna.
Bruce ignored Zatanna and answered, “Sir, I’ll adapt to whatever fashion of teaching you try. I promise I’m an attentive learner.“
“I’ve no doubt. Well, it may be useful to know what brings you here. Let me guess,” Giovanni pointed with a twinkle in his eye, “You saw one my Gotham shows last month and decided you had to peak behind the curtain?”
“No.”
“Oh,” Giovanni said, mildly put out, “My most recent visit before that was two years ago. I don’t imagine-”
“No.”
“Then where have you seen me? One of my East Coast tours, I’m sure.”
“Sir, I’ve never seen you perform.”
Giovanni struggled in confusion. “You’ve never seen my show?”
“I don’t mean to offend, Mr. Zatara. I’m too busy to visit the theater. But I’m certain you’re very good.”
“I see. That’s kind of you to say.”
“That wasn’t intended as flattery. I meant that in the consensus of your peers, you are one of the most accomplished magicians in the country, at least in certain disciplines that I’m interested in mastering.”
“So someone else inspired you to be a magician.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have no interest in being a magician.”
At this remark, Giovanni seemed modestly offended and Zatanna seemed very offended. Giovanni sputtered a moment and scratched his head. Finally, he asked, “Then what exactly do you want to learn, John?”
“My first interest is escape artistry: breaking out of locks and bindings, opening sealed containers.”
“Yes, I’m familiar.”
“Some critics have called you the world expert since Mr. Houdini passed away.”
Zatanna huffed. “Daddy was two hops better than Houdini.”
Giovanni tutted good-naturedly. “No, Zatanna, that’s not true. And we shan’t speak ill of the deceased. But between you and me, John, I was better than ol’ Harry at sleight-of-hand.”
Giovanni winked and a pair of aces appeared in his hand. Bruce’s eyebrows rose. The cards disappeared and a yellow daffodil appeared in their place. He tossed the flower to Zatanna who dropped it in a stovepipe hat on a table. She shook the hat, turned it over, pulled out a full bouquet of daffodils, and took a bow.
Giovanni gave her a short round of applause. “Brava! Benissima!”
Bruce clapped stiffly twice. “On that note, I’d like to learn sleights-of-hand from you as well.”
“Lock-breaking, sleight-of-hand tricks, but not a magician. You aren’t aiming to rob banks, are you, John?”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “No, sir.”
Giovanni chuckled. “Good. I’d hate to be a party to that. Anything else?”
“I’m not sure whether your profession has a single term for what I have in mind, but I’d like to learn the general art of misdirection. I imagine this would include optical and noise illusions, disguises, decoys. Not to suggest any particular tool, of course; I defer to your judgement.”
“Is that all?”
“For now.”
“John, you’re proposing quite a demanding curriculum to learn in a few months.”
“Respectfully, sir, that’s a matter of opinion.”
---
Two months later.
Bruce Wayne was in peril. Bound in a straitjacket and leg irons, he was suspended headfirst over a pool of water. Every few seconds, the motorized pulley supporting him lowered more chain. Bruce stared ahead with anxious concentration as he swung and wiggled in his straitjacket.
“Ugh! Summer school is boring and dumb! I hate it, hate it, hate it!”
Bruce glanced at the interruption. Upside-down, he saw Zatanna Zatara marching across the stage carrying a stack of books. She dropped the books on a table and collapsed dramatically next to them.
In case he wasn’t paying attention, she slapped a book to the floor and cried, “Since when does math have letters in it?”
Bruce rolled his eyes. “Hello, Zatanna.”
She sat up brightly, as if just noticing him. “John! My good buddy pal, John.”
“Homework trouble?”
She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t understand. I’ve always been a great student. It’s like they’re trying to trick me.”
“Well, you’re used to being taught through correspondence courses. Standards in the Gotham school system are more advanced.”
“Advanced at being dumb.”
“Actually, Gotham awards the most doctoral degrees in the country,” said Bruce, “It's irritating that half of the graduates move to Metropolis, but the schools are fine.”
Zatanna leaned against the pool and batted her eyes at him. “I don’t suppose you-”
The chain lowered. “No, Zatanna, I’m not doing your algebra again. You need to learn it.”
“Humph.” She looked closely at his restraints. Bruce was three feet above the water and struggling harder now.
“Handcuffs under the jacket?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said as the chain lowered.
“No key?”
“No.”
“No hairpin?”
“Your father took it.”
“Thumbcuffs?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds like your only hope is a Boston hand pass.”
“I know,” he said bluntly as the chain lowered again.
“Swell. Then I guess you have it under control.” She took a deck of cards from the pocket of her pinafore and started shuffling. “All under control. Yep, no foolin’, John’s got it all-”
“Zatanna, please be quiet,” Bruce said with forced calm as he tried to press his shoulder into his ear.
“Whoops! Sorry.” She lowered her voice, shuffling faster. “If it was anybody else, I’d be worried. When I had to learn the Boston hand pass, Daddy told me that everybody forgets the finger slide. You know? Right after you cycle your wrists? He made me practice twenty times a day until I got that finger slide. Took me a month.”
Bruce stopped. “Finger slide?” He furiously cycled his wrists.
Zatanna feigned surprise. “Gosh, don’t tell me you don’t remember the finger slide. He showed you yesterday. Oh well. In that case, don’t forget the pool’s escape hatch.”
Bruce closed his eyes. He could smell the chlorine in the water now. He let out a long breath. “Get your algebra.” The chain lowered again. “Quickly.”
Zatanna let out a cheer and raced to get her books. “Okay, ready?”
The chain lowered again. Bruce said, “Yes.”
“Four plus X equals sixteen.”
“X equals twelve.”
“That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Nine minus X equals minus three.”
“X equals twelve.”
“Are they all twelve?”
“Probably not.”
“I still don’t understand how a number can be minus. You can’t count something that isn’t there. How can something be less than not there?”
Bruce’s hair touched the water. “I’ll explain negatives again later.”
“You better promise.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Two times X equals twenty-two. Wait, elev-”
“X equals eleven.”
“Hey, I had that one. You didn’t let me finish.”
“Sorry.”
“I forgive you. How about X divided by two equals eight?”
Now Bruce’s eyes were underwater. “Zatanna, the finger slide?”
“Hm?” Zatanna looked up from her book and jumped. “Right! Okay, watch this.”
She stood near the pool’s glass wall and started miming a hand motion. Bruce took a deep breath as his nose submerged and tucked close to the wall to see her. She mimed the motion again and again. Bruce shifted in his straitjacket, squinting through the water. He tried to replicate her gestures, but his movement splashed the water, blurring his sight.
But they didn’t give up. When Bruce’s chest passed under the surface, she crouched to keep her hands at his eye level. Finally, there was a new billow in the arms of his straitjacket. Bruce writhed, sending trails of bubbles to the surface. He stretched, and the heavy jacket slipped off, sinking slowly away. He tucked up, forcing his face over the water for a deep breath. When he submerged again, it took three seconds for him to discard the handcuffs and thumbcuffs. He tucked up again, catching his own legs, and started slipping out of the leg irons. His head was almost submerged by the lowering of the chain yet again, when he got his final foot free.
Bruce let go and flopped over. He swam one stroke to reach the edge of the pool and climbed out.
Zatanna watched him, shuffling her cards. “Eh. Not the worst.”
Bruce sat panting on the stage floor. “Thanks.”
“Escapes are for dumb boys anyway.”
He took off his soggy shoes. “Uh-huh.”
“I like illusions.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Hey, are you okay?”
Bruce gulped and nodded. “I’m fine, Zatanna.”
“Great. So, X divided by two equals eight?”
---
The present.
Zatanna Zatara shouted questions and accusations and curses at the apparition of her father until her throat was hoarse. The thing watched her tirade like a waiter taking criticism for a meal, then, when she could shout no longer, it said, “Mistress, I am and shall ever be your servant.”
Then chairs flew across the room - a miracle spent on petty hospitality. It spoke more words which Zatanna couldn’t hear through the roaring in her brain. She could only lean on a chairback and heave painful breaths.
Behind her stood Batman and Catwoman. Batman stared intently at Zatanna. His expression was blank as usual, but he wouldn’t look away. Catwoman nudged him and whispered, “Looks like we have time for questions.”
Batman didn’t respond.
She nudged him again.
Hey, Batman.
He stared resolutely forward.
Catwoman looked forward, looked Zatanna up and down, looked back at Batman, then posessively grabbed his butt.
Batman’s twitched slightly. He turned and glared at Catwoman. She met his glare with an arched eyebrow. After a few seconds, she let go of his butt.
The form of Giovanni walked past Zatanna and addressed them. “Strangers, You’ve shown your valiant intentions to protect the Mistress. Yet you promise to spirit her away. I must ensure her wellbeing when she leaves this house, so I ask you to speak your piece. Why do you need the heir?”
Catwoman shrugged. “I think everyone needs air.”
Zatanna let out a little chuckle. She turned around, red-eyed. “They don’t need to tell you a single thing. You’re the one who needs to do some talking.”
The form of Giovanni asked, “You vouchsafe their intentions? These are friends of the house?”
“What house? I have no idea what this place is. I’m guessing you two don’t either?” Zatanna looked at Batman and Catwoman who both shook their heads. “See? They have nothing to prove. She started a riot that got me out of paying a big penalty fee, and he eats evil people. They’re fine. You’re the problem.”
The form of Giovanni considered this news. Batman glared at Catwoman.
Zatanna continued, “And then they tried to save me from kidnapping before I even got here. That was what you were doing at the burned building, right?” Zatanna looked at Batman and Catwoman who both nodded. “See? And they have actual bodies.”
Giovanni’s face flickered with a moment of doubt. He said, “The visitors will account for themselves in time, but I see it is incumbent upon me to begin.” He paced past the fireplace, glowing translucent as he crossed the center of the blaze. Batman and Catwoman stepped forward to stand beside Zatanna.
She crossed her arms. “Well?”
“This estate is called Shadowcrest. It is yours.”
“Mine.”
“Yes. By birthright.”
“So you mean to tell me that my father, who spent his whole life in hotels and mid-range apartments, owns a huge mansion in the middle of,” she hesitated, “I’m sorry, where are we exactly?”
“There is no answer to that question which you would find satisfying.”
“If the man is offering you a mansion,“ Catwoman purred in her ear, “I would just take it.”
“Shadowcrest is your birthright,” the form continued, “But not from your father. He is merely its caretaker.”
“What does that mean?”
“You possess it through your mother’s blood.”
“Ha. Okay.” Zatanna rubbed her temples and walked in a circle. “Hold your horses.”
“As I said, your-”
“No no, I heard you.” Zantana dropped herself in one of the chairs. “This ought to be good. Now let’s hear about how my poor immigrant mother owned a haunted house the size of Buckingham Palace.”
“As you surely have surmised, I am not a natural being. I was created to imitate a small aspect of your father’s intellect, namly the knowledge and intentions he believed necessary to perform his duties for this house. You are correct that your father spent little time here. I exist to serve the estate in his absence. I am Shadowcrest’s genius loci.”
“I don’t know Latin.”
“Nor do I. There are great tracts of Giovanni Zatara’s mental territory which are known only dimly to me or not at all, and upon which I can but offer conjecture.”
“So my father made you?”
“Yes and no.”
“I need a better answer than that.”
“Hmmm.” The form of Giovanni flickered in the firelight. “Forgive my struggle, your father understood this lesson must one day be taught, but he did not create me to teach it.”
“Did he create you to make excuses? That sounds like an excuse.”
“Very well. Know this first: magic exists.”
“Sure,” said Zatanna, idly fanning a deck of cards, flipping them, then fanning them again to show all jokers.
“Not parlour entertainment, Mistress. I mean the supernatural. Separate rules governing the universe unknowable to most.”
Batman said, “
He’s right.”
Zatanna glanced up in shock. Batman was so still, she had half-forgotten he was standing behind her. She settled higher in her chair and frowned. “Fine. I guess tonight has been a dandy demonstration. Suppose magic exists. Is my father a wizard?”
“The preferred term is mage. Your father is not a mage. Your mother was.”
“So she made you.”
“Yes and no.”
“You’re killing me.”
“I’m saving your life.”
“What’s your name?”
“Whatever you wish. As I command this house, as much it exists as a single entity, your father addresses me as Shadowcrest.”
“My father talks to a reflection of himself in order to talk to a building?”
“When he must.”
“Okay, Shadowcrest. You said my mother owned this place?”
“Before tonight, Sindella Cehennem was Shadowcrest’s last lady-in-residence.”
“Cehennem?”
“Your mother’s maiden name.”
“Cehennem,” Zatanna said quietly. “I didn’t know that.”
“Your father took many steps to isolate you from your mother’s legacy.”
“I did know that.” sighed Zatanna. “So my mother used magic to build you? I mean you the building, not you the, uh, tour guide.”
“No. She too inherited this estate.”
“How long has this place been around?”
“It is difficult to express in Earth years. Six to nine centuries would be a fair measure.”
“Who is that purple man in the turban?”
“Felix, Lord of Faust.”
“Him. Why’s he have my father? What’s he want with me?”
Catwoman interrupted. “I forgot about the turban guy. Where is he anyway? Wasn’t he with you when you walked through that mist door?”
“Oh, crumbs,” said Zatanna, “I haven’t told you two about the big fight. It was ridiculous. We went in the front door, then-”
“
yawa ylf sloot dna taolf sregnarts!”
There was a loud sucking noise, and Batman and Catwoman suddenly rose above the floor, surrounded by shimmering orange motes. They floated a foot in the air, kicking and thrashing but finding nothing within reach. They craned their necks to see Officer Arbuckle unrestrained and very angry. After yelling some nonsense, he made a series of intense hand gestures like he was trying to guide an aircraft through takeoff.
Catwoman’s whip slid off its loop. Her small satchel opened and its contents hopped out. These possessions shot across the room as if flung from a speeding merry-go-round.
Meanwhile, batarangs slipped out of Batman’s outfit from seams and hidden spaces. These also shot across the room, plunging into walls and furniture. The many pouches of his utility belt flipped open, and a hefty cloud of tools floated out. These fired around the room, but many suddenly stopped when they reached the end of metal cords welded into the belt. Orbited by small tools like the rings of Saturn, he pulled on a cord until he reeled back a thick flashlight. He pointed this at Arbuckle and flipped the switch.
A hot beam of light shined in Arbuckle’s face. He squealed and turned away. The orange motes around Batman and Catwoman faded and the pair sank to the floor. Arbuckle tried to resume his gestures through squinting eyes until Zatanna hit him with a chair.
Zatanna yelled at Shadowcrest, “Why didn’t you stop him?”
Shadowcrest answered, “I vowed to not obstruct him with any force under my control.”
“You could’ve at least warned us.”
“That would stop him.”
While Zatanna fumed at this logic, Batman dragged Arbuckle into a chair. Catwoman retrieved the scattered tools and handed Batman his share.
“Hey,” she said, “why were your gadgets on strings?”
“
To stop pickpockets.”
Catwoman thought about this for a moment, then narrowed her eyes. She let out some frustration by kicking Arbuckle in his expansive gut as he tried to stand.
Zatanna was still arguing with the house. “You let Batman and Catwoman sneak in. They obstructed him.”
“They are not under my control. For all I knew then, they were allies of your captors.”
“You said we weren’t in any danger here.”
“Are any of you harmed?”
“If I threw something at a wall, would you feel pain?”
“No, Mistress, but for you I would pretend.”
Batman and Catwoman finished repacking their equipment. Batman inspected Officer Arbuckle’s discarded restraints. Arbuckle was just regaining the ability to breath when Catwoman grabbed his chin and forced it upward.
“Short and sweet, bud. What do you want?’
“Justice,” he wheezed, “for all you murderers.”
Catwoman was not an easy woman to surprise. She shared a look with Batman who showed no reaction. She released Arbuckle.
“Okay, less short. Explain that.”
Zatanna joined the interrogation. Arbuckle looked regretfully at her. “Sorry, Zatanna. None of this was your fault. No hard feelings.”
Catwoman snapped in his face. “Storytime. Go.”
Officer Arbuckle looked at Zatanna again. “Her dad, Giovanni, is a monster. We came to stop him before our whole family’s dead.”
Zatanna, Catwoman, and Batman looked at each other. Catwoman noticed the tendons in Batman’s neck were tighter than ever. Zatanna turned back to the fireplace. With a tone of rising concern, she asked, “Shadowcrest, what is he talking about?”
Shadowcrest answered, “I imagine he’s referring to all of the relatives your dad hunted.”
With a quiet fury, Zatanna folded her hands to her forehead as if in prayer. “Shadowcrest, Officer Arbuckle, I want both of you to work together until I understand what you’re talking about, or so help me, I won’t rest until I bring this building down with all of us in it.” She looked at Batman and Catwoman and added, “Except you two. You seem nice. I hope when this is all over we can get to know each other.”
Catwoman gave her a bemused smile. Batman didn’t react.
Arbuckle said, “To start with, can we dispense with this ‘Arbuckle’ talk? My name’s Abdiel.”
“Um, okay. Officer Abdiel.”
“No, just Abdiel. I’m not a cop. I’m not even from here.”
“Fine. Abdiel.”
“No, The stress is on the ‘ie’ with a little on the ‘l’. It’s Hebrew. Say it like ‘deal’. ‘Ab-deal’. You can call me Dee if you have to.”
“Abdiel,” said Zatanna, slowly.
“Close enough. Listen, Zatanna, there’s no easy way to say this, but we’re family.”
Catwoman muttered, “That was easy.”
“I’m your cousin,” said Abdiel, “Your mom and my dad were siblings.”
Zatanna asked, “So you’re a Cehennem?”
“Yeah,” said Abdiel in shock. “Abdiel Cehennem. How’d you know? My folks said your dad never told you anything about us.”
“They’re right. I just learned the name Cehennem two minutes ago.”
“It’s pretty,” said Catwoman.
“
It’s Turkish,” said Batman, “
For inferno. Or Hell.”
“That was unnecessary,” said Catwoman.
Shadowcrest spoke in a lofty voice, “This estate was the sanctuary of the Cehennems for five generations, an exceptionally long-lived dynasty.”
“Yep,” said Abdiel, “Then your mom off and married some Zatara fella, took his name, and ruined it. Of course, then your dad murdered all the Cehennems, so I guess that’s moot.”
“What murders are you talking about?” asked Zatanna.
“Over twenty years ago, your dad killed one of our uncles, a man by the name of Ekrem. We don’t know why. I was just a baby then. To be fair, everyone said that Uncle Ekrem was a blowhard with a mean streak.”
“Ekrem Cehennem was a profound fool,” said Shadowcrest.
“Maybe he picked a fight with your dad. Maybe what your dad did was justified. The point is that after your dad killed him, the rest of the family came round to settle matters. But your dad wouldn’t meet with them.”
“Hold on,” said Zatanna. “Shouldn’t someone have called the police?”
Abdiel gave her a pitying smile. “Zatanna, we’re mages. That’s not how it works.”
“My dad wasn’t a mage. The house said so.”
“He wasn’t. And it’s not often you see a regular guy get the better of a mage; we were all very surprised. Still, mages don’t snitch, and your dad knew the rules.”
Catwoman said, “Get to the murders. This Ekrem bozo hardly sounds like one.”
Abdiel said, “Maybe not, but Giovanni wouldn’t explain himself. Things got heated. Then he attacked us again. Tried to kill my mother, as a matter of fact.”
“Tried? So she lived?”
“She did,” said Abdiel in a hard voice. “Ever since then she’s been in a sanitarium in California. She thinks the sun is spying on her.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault. But for your dad, that was it. He started a one-man war. Another uncle of ours, Uncle Iso, Giovanni trapped him in a dumpster.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Then dropped the dumpster in a geyser.”
“Oh.”
Catwoman interrupted. “And how would he possibly do that?”
Abdiel shrugged. “Some spell or enchantment. I wasn’t there.”
Zatanna shook a finger at him. “You just said he wasn’t a mage.”
“Don’t need to be a mage to use magic. You just need to be a mage to make magic.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Well, look at Shadowcrest. Your dad didn’t build the building. But he can tell it what to do.”
Shadowcrest, still by the fireplace, said, “Giovanni tells me little of his affairs beyond these walls, but his visits here are often spent collecting potent artifacts and studying infamous texts.”
“That’s exactly what we assumed,” said Abdiel. “That’s how he kept getting the better of us. After Iso, he shot our cousin Eddie.”
“With a spell?” Zatanna asked hopefully.
“With a bullet.”
“A magic bullet?”
“Forty-five caliber.”
“Oh.”
“It was a slow feud. We had our own lives to live, you know? And we had our own disputes. But every so often, someone would get a hint where your dad was hiding, so a team of us would get together and take a run at him. He’d duck us, lay low. Then the next year someone would show up dead, so we’d wait for another clue and try again.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean ‘hiding’? My dad’s famous. He does stage shows all the time. How could he possibly hide from you?”
“It’s mage stuff. Hard to explain. You can’t just walk into a theater with a pistol.”
“You just said he shot a cousin.”
“Not in a theater.”
“And you’re sure it was him? My dad randomly attacked your family for two decades and never explained why?”
“Our family,” said Abdiel firmly, “and yes. Most of us assumed he’s a lunatic. Your mom passed away before it all started. Maybe losing her made something snap”
Batman asked, “
Why are you here tonight?”
“We’re desperate. Zachary and I are some of the last of the Cehennems.”
“Zachary?” asked Zatanna.
“My brother. You know him as Kravitz. Also not a cop.”
“What’d you do?”
“We made a deal with the devil.”
“That arch-scoundrel, Felix, Lord of Faust,” said Shadowcrest. “Even I know the knave. There is a small list of visitors who are never welcome in this home, and he is near the top.”
Abdiel explained, “Magic is dangerous. People who tango with it and survive are very dangerous, and usually a little cuckoo. Most mages keep to themselves to avoid being targeted. But there are a few exceptions: Faust, that scary man with the turban, he’s one of the big exceptions. He has a wild reputation.”
“From doing what?”
“He robs powerful people, loots cursed tombs, experiments with some real dark business.”
“Sounds like a terrible person.”
“Yeah, but the people he’s robbing also tend to be terrible, so it’s sort of a wash. The point is, Faust never hides and never runs from a fight, and he’s still alive. It’s hard to explain how impressive that is.”
“I think I got the message back in the hall.”
“Zachary and I decided that we had nothing to lose. Somehow, your dad had outsmarted our whole family. We didn’t have a chance against him. So, we went to Faust for help. We half-expected he’d kill us for fun. But he listened. Then he set a price. It cost us everything, but he agreed.”
“He kidnapped my dad.”
“That’s right, and now he’s here to make sure your dad will never hurt anyone again. And nothing’s going to stop him.”
The room was quiet for a while. Zatanna sat down by the fire again, her lips trembling from a broken heart.
Batman watched her from a distance.
Catwoman leaned on Abdiel’s chair and quietly asked, “Out of curiosity, what do you pay an evil sorcerer in?”
“It depends. Our upfront fee was Swiss francs.”
“Really?”
Abdiel shrugged. “They’re stable.”