Countdown (7 page)
“Here,” Mary Marvel said, descending to the ground. Broken crystals crunched beneath her boots. “Let me help.” Reaching down, she effortlessly hefted the chandelier and hurled it away. It crashed loudly into a wall several yards away. A battered figure, clad in the simple linen garments of ancient Egypt, rose to his knees. Dust caked his flesh and clothes. No longer imbued with the power of an entire pantheon, the mortal Teth-Adam peered up at Mary through the fading haze. A bemused expression came over his narrow face. “By the gods, Mary,” he said archly, “look how you’ve grown.”
She gazed down at herself in surprise. Instead of the brightly colored cape and costume she had previously worn as Mary Marvel, a satiny black sheath now clung to her body, far more tightly than her old uniform ever had. A short black skirt exposed her bare legs. Jet-black gloves and boots matched her new outfit. Only the golden thunderbolt on her chest added a touch of color to her ensemble, which was clearly a feminine version of Black Adam’s old uniform.
But not just her costume had changed. The slim young teenager now possessed the ample figure of a full-grown woman. Lustrous brown hair cascaded past her shoulders. Generous curves filled out the skintight silk dress.
It was a lot to take in. Momentarily speechless, Mary compared her striking black attire to Teth-Adam’s humble garments. His own physique was noticeably slighter than before. His face was drawn and weary-looking. Smudgy purple bags shadowed his mournful eyes. The full enormity of what had just transpired gradually sank in. “You ... you’ve given me..
“All of it,” he confirmed. Rising to his feet, he brushed the dust and ash from his arms and legs. Small cuts and bruises attested to the loss of his former invulnerability. “Not just my own power, but that of my late wife as well. You now possess the magic of Isis, along with the wizard’s accursed gift.”
Mary was baffled by his sacrifice. “Why?”
“I have lived long enough with the burden,” he said acidly. “Over three millennia, to be exact.” He looked accusingly at Mary. “Besides, this is what you wanted, is it not?”
I guess so,
Mary thought. It was hard to see a downside to Adam transferring all his powers to her. She certainly deserved them more.
Turning his back on her, Teth-Adam staggered toward the exit. Mary experienced a moment of anxiety as he moved to leave her behind in the ruined consulate. Smoke rose from the cremated remains of his victims, which had been reduced to ashes by the sizzling lightning bolt. She could still feel the wild magic surging inside her, changing her. Competing voices jostled for attention at the back of her mind. “Teth-Adam?” she called out hesitantly, uncertain what exactly this new power meant. “I... What can I do?” ^
Framed in the doorway, he glanced back over his shoulder. A rueful expression came over his haggard countenance. “If you see your brother,” he said, with what might have been a touch of remorse, “tell him... I’m sorry.”
Huh ?
Mary thought.
What does he mean by
that?
- 33 AND CODNTING.
- 28 AND COUNTING.
- 25 AND COUNTING.
- 23 AND GODNTING.
- 21 AND COUNTING.
- 18 AND COUNTING.
- 16 AND CODNTBNG.
- 12 AND C0DNTIN6.
- 9 AND COUNTING.
33 AND CODNTING.
METROPOLIS.
Holly
Robinson trudged through the Greyhound Bus Station, doing her best to keep a low profile. To her relief, none of the other travelers making their way across the crowded terminal appeared to be paying any attention to the inconspicuous young woman wearing an open army-surplus jacket over jeans and a Hello Kitty T-shirt. A hunting cap was clamped tightly onto her head, the visor and earflaps helping to conceal her gamine features. Mirrored sunglasses hid her tired blue eyes. Her short red hair was now dyed a mousy shade of brown. A battered canvas travel bag, containing all that remained of her worldly possessions, was slung over her shoulder. Scuffed black boots carried her through the station, which felt oppressively warm. Overdressed for the temperature, she sweated beneath her thick jacket. Her butt ached from the two-hour bus ride from Gotham City. A pair of cheap wool gloves kept her fingerprints to herself.
Welcome to the Big Apricot,
she thought.
A newsstand displayed a variety of daily papers. Holly paused to glance over the headlines. “EVEN GODS DIE!” proclaimed the front page of the
Daily Planet,
above a black-and-white photo of Superman bearing the lifeless body of some costumed alien named Lightray, but it was today’s edition of the
Gotham Gazette
that made her heart miss a beat. “COP KILLER STILL AT LARGE!” her hometown newspaper lamented, above an unflattering mug shot of one Holly Robinson.
Oh, crap!
She resisted the urge to flip the topmost paper over and instead crept furtively away from the newsstand, keeping her head low. Her finger pressed the shades farther up her nose, just to make sure they stayed in place. Spotting a bored-looking cop standing guard over the station, she took the long way around to avoid him. Her heart was pounding a mile a minute. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck. There were way too many copies of the
Gazette
floating around the station. At any moment she expected someone to look up from their paper and shout, “There she is! The cop killer!”
In fact, the truth was far more complicated. Not so long ago, Holly had prowled the East End of Gotham as Cat-woman, filling in for Selina Kyle, the original Catwoman, while Selina was on her own version of maternity leave. Holly was not nearly the femme fatale that Selina was, but she’d thought she filled Catwoman’s black leather boots reasonably well, until a run-in with two sadistic Russian super-villains exposed her secret identity—and cost an unlucky cop his head. Holly had not been responsible for the detective’s grisly decapitation, but try telling an outraged G.C.P.D. that. With the entire police force out for her blood, she’d been lucky to get out of Gotham at all....
Exiting the bus station, she wandered out onto the sidewalk. A cold autumn breeze drove her to pull her jacket closed. Busy pedestrians bustled past her, intent on their own errands. Car horns punctuated a steady rush of late-aftemoon traffic. She rested her bag on the pavement, giving her shoulders a break, while she tried to figure out which way to go. This was her first time in Metropolis, and the strange city stretched out all around her, vast and intimidating. The names and numbers on the unfamiliar street signs meant nothing to her. Bom and raised in Gotham, Holly felt lost and alone.
Her spirits sank. In a moment of weakness, she extracted a cell phone from her pocket. An on-screen menu listed her most frequent contacts: Selina, Bruce, Dick, Karon.
Karon. ..
Her throat tightened and a solitary tear ran down her cheek. Karon’s smiling face, spiky pink hair, and hip designer glasses surfaced from her memory. Holly’s index finger hovered over the name of her girlfriend. She’d give anything to hear Karon’s voice right now.
“No!” she whispered hoarsely as her better judgment overruled her longing. Holly’s nocturnal clashes with Gotham’s criminal underworld had already put Karon in the intensive care ward once.
Never again,
Holly vowed. She loved Karon too much to bring down any more heat on her. Holly may have left a certain glossy black catsuit behind in Gotham, but she knew that she was still bad luck for anyone who got too close to her. The best thing she could do for Karon, and all her other friends and loved ones, was disappear entirely.
She tossed the phone into a nearby waste bin. A scuzzy-looking homeless guy immediately pounced on the discarded piece of tech.
Help yourself,
Holly thought.
It’s all yours.
Hefting her heavy bag back onto her shoulder, she took off down the street toward nowhere in particular. The bus station turned out to be located in a somewhat seedy part of town, around the comer from a topless bar and a plasma collection center. Flophouses, soup kitchens, and liquor stores catered to a less than affluent clientele. Broken glass, crushed beer cans, and cigarette butts littered the sidewalk. The area looked slightly cleaner than the East End back home, but only by a hair. She appeared to have traded one slum for another, except that now she was just as homeless as the winos and beggars slumped on the stoops around her.
You can do this,
she reminded herself.
You’ve lived like this before.
She’d been a teenage runaway at thirteen, fleeing an abusive home environment, and had never looked back.
It only feels like your life is over. Think of this as a whole new start.
Yeah, right.
“Excuse me, you look like you need a place to stay.” She rolled her eyes.
I should’ve seen this coming.
Pimps were always haunting bus stations looking for fresh meat, as Holly knew from personal experience. She’d worked the streets herself, as “Holly Gonightly,” before Selina helped her escape that life.
“Sorry,” she said brusquely, not even turning around to look at the speaker. “I don’t do that anymore.”
Part of her kind of hoped that the stranger wouldn’t take no for answer. Her fists bunched in anticipation. Kicking a little bad-guy ass might be just what she needed right now.
Don't mess with me, bitch. I’ve been trained by Catwoman herself.
A feminine chuckle greeted her refusal. “You mistake my intentions. I’m no predator, just a concerned sister.” Holly turned around and was surprised to behold a statuesque woman clad in a flowing silk robe. Auburn hair was bound up at the back of her head in a matronly fashion. Cool gray eyes peered from the woman’s elegant features. Her narrow lips and strong chin reminded Holly of a priceless Greek idol Selina had once stolen from the Gotham Museum. A golden circlet crowned the woman’s high forehead, while more gold glittered upon her throat, wrists, and ears. In her sandaled feet, she stood at least a head taller than Holly. The brisk fall weather seemed to have no effect on her.
“I have to admit,” Holly conceded, “you don’t look like the usual chicken hawk.”
“Call me Athena.” The woman’s deep voice held a trace of an exotic accent. “I run the women’s shelter across the street.” She pointed at a nondescript redbrick building on the other side of the avenue. A surprisingly classy-looking collection of tapestries and ceramics was displayed in the first-floor window. Medusa’s head, complete with serpentine tresses, was embossed upon a hanging bronze shield occupying a place of a honor within the exhibit. A freshly painted sign, mounted over the front entrance, identified the building as the Athenian Women’s Shelter.
Holly recalled that Athena was the Greek goddess of wisdom. She was supposed to be tight with Wonder Woman these days. The graceful stranger certainly looked the part, but surely she didn’t expect Holly to believe that she was actually
that
Athena?
Did she?
“I have a feeling that you’ll find a place for yourself there.” She raised her arm and, to Holly’s amazement, a snow-white owl descended from the sky to alight upon Athena’s wrist. “If not, you don’t have to stay.”
Although flummoxed by the unexpected appearance of the owl, Holly remained wary. She eyed her would-be benefactor suspiciously. “Really?”
“You have my word.”
Holly considered the offer. The sun was sinking toward the horizon and it was already starting to get darker and colder outside. Her stomach grumbled irritably; lunch had been a bag of potato chips from a vending machine back in Gotham.
What can it hurt?
she thought.
Maybe I can get a warm meal out of this, then bail later if things get weird.
Nodding, she followed Athena across the street. The sidewalk in front of the shelter was noticeably cleaner than the rest of the block. Stone gryphons guarded the front steps. Athena opened the door and stepped aside to let the younger woman enter. Holly kept her guard up, but wasn’t too worried. Even if this was some sort of trap, she was confident that she could take care of...
Her jaw dropped.
For a moment, Holly thought she’d died and gone to lesbian heaven. The doorway opened onto a spacious lobby holding dozens of lithe young women in short linen tunics.
Of every race and ethnicity, they milled about the palatial chamber, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, seemingly without a care in the world. More women lounged on scattered chairs and sofas, snacking on olives and wine. Holly tried not to ogle the other gals too obviously, but couldn’t help noticing that they were all attractive and in excellent shape, without an ounce of flab or cellulite among them. Speechless, she wondered if she had accidentally wandered into an audition for
America’s Next Top Amazon....
The lobby’s decor matched the overpowering beauty of its inhabitants. Belying its humdrum outer fagade, the building’s interior was a masterpiece of classical Greek architecture. Pristine white columns supported the domed ceiling, which boasted shining gold filigree. Marble statues of willowy nymphs, muses, and goddesses occupied ’ arched niches and alcoves. Olive trees sprouted from decorative ceramic urns. Perfume scented the air, which was invitingly warm and toasty, and a lyre played softly in the background. Holly lifted her shades to make sure she was seeing correctly. She shook her head in disbelief. Overall, this place looked more like a five-star hotel or spa than any homeless shelter she had ever set foot in before.
Who’s funding this joint? Bruce Wayne?
Athena entered behind her. The owl hooted happily and soared out over the nubile throng. Curious eyes turned toward Holly.
“Welcome home, Holly,” Athena said warmly.
So dumbfounded was the streetwise fugitive that it never even occurred to her to wonder how the other woman knew her name.
METROPOLIS.
Suicide
Slum was only slightly less threatening in broad daylight. Pawn shops, liquor stores, taverns, adult video stores, tattoo parlors, and check-cashing venues made up the bulk of the local businesses. “SHOW OFF!” had been spray-painted onto the hood of a snazzy green sports car that someone had foolishly parked by the curb. Gangs of street toughs lounged on the stoops and sidewalks, laughing raucously amongst themselves while making rude comments to unlucky passersby. Most pedestrians hurried past them, eyes carefully lowered in hopes of avoiding a confrontation.