Well I hate to see things go to waste so until I figure out something better to do here I thought I would bore you all with some of my Not WoW Fiction.
This particular story was written about Catwoman (who is my all time favorite DC character) after reading a Catwoman anthology that was…. disappointing to say the least. It is rather long so if you decide to read it, it isn’t going to be a quick read. As I recall it was about 8k words.
CALL OF THE DARK
Catwoman stood atop the abandoned brick building, one foot resting on the retaining wall while the other ground into the grit spewed across its surface. Long slender fingers tipped with ferocious steel claws caressed the whip which hung negligently at her side. A thick cloud of smog hung over the city tonight. The scent of exhaust fumes mingled with the odor of rotting garbage and a myriad of other smells best left unknown burned her sensitive nose. Green eyes, intense, piercing, calculating, swept over the darkened streets of Gotham. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Somewhere a child cried as parents fought just inches from its crib. Another typical night in the East End.
Somewhere thugs plotted murder, despots plotted rape, gangs plotted war. Catwoman sighed, the whisper of breath barely audible to her own ears. So many plots, she thought. And what do I plot tonight?
She thought about Reichfield’s Jewelers over on Fifty-first street. The items in their main display fenced properly would pay her rent and put food on the table for her and her beloved cats for the month. Perhaps she could lift enough to keep some small trinket to decorate herself with. Perhaps some shimmering earrings or a sparkling pendant. Nothing large and garish, but something simple.
A slight smile touched her full red lips as she imagined some lovely tear-drop ruby hanging from her slender throat to dangle enticingly between her breasts. She also imagined her black hair piled artfully atop her head by an over priced salon. She could see her slim body swathed provocatively in the black velvet strapless gown that caught her eye at Harrington’s yesterday. Its floor length skirt swirling about her as she walked. Center of attention. All eyes riveted, envious, wanting. Not merely wanting her, but wanting to be her.
She pressed one gloved hand briefly over her eyes, shattering the vision, lovely as it was. She knew it would never come to pass. Selina Kyle was not worthy of such attention, such adoration and love.
Selina Kyle was a tramp. A prostitute and worse. Worthless, spineless, weak. Nothing.
Nothing like Catwoman. Catwoman was beautiful; sensual and graceful in a way Selina could never be. Skilled as well, and strong. Nothing like Selina, Catwoman deserved the pendant, the gown and the adoration. Yet, without the cowl, the mask and costume that instantly transformed her into someone else, someone powerful and graceful, she was merely Selina Kyle.
She gazed down the grimy side of the condemned brownstone, the wall below her and the garbage strewn street dimly lit by a tired lamp older than she. She thought about Reichfield’s again and the fact that her rent cam due in two weeks, yet she found she didn’t really have it in her to go take what she desired. The fire that lit her blood, the excitement and energy she felt during a spectacular heist, that would sustain her throughout and beyond, simply wasn’t there. The fire, this evening at least, had been snuffed. She knew not why, but tonight she couldn’t tap the energy needed to pull it off.
So she stared out over Gotham, lost in thought, instead.
She knew the moment he touched the rooftop that he was there, yet she made no movement. His steps, silent to average ears, betrayed his progress to her sensitive ones. A shadow among shadows, he drew ever closer, his step cautious, measured, calm. She heard the nearly inaudible crunch of gravel beneath his feet as he stopped mere steps behind her.
“Good evening, Batman,” she said in a casual tone over her shoulder. Her voice was like her movements; sultry, sensual, dangerous.
He moved up beside her, his black cape billowing behind him in the tainted Gotham breeze. His arms remained hidden within its folds, his features hidden in the shadows of his dark mask.
“This isn’t your usual prowling ground, Catwoman,” he said. His deep voice, strong, powerful, beautiful, sent chills through her. “Shouldn’t you be closer to Fifty-first?”
She smiled to herself. She knew it was a guess on his part, however lucky, and a simple one at that, considering most of the richest jewelry stores in Gotham lined Fifty-first avenue. And she, after all, was the best thief in the city.
“Perhaps I’m prowling for a different prize tonight,” she said, her soft voice almost a purr. “Perhaps I’m prowling for a winged mouse to play with.”
She turned her head to look at him from the corner of her eye hoping to see some form of humor touching that implacable face. She hardly expected it, but forever she would hope.
It remained as stony as ever.
Just once, she thought, hardly admitting it to herself. Just once I want to pierce your armor and touch the man beneath.
Normally she would continue the game, taunting him, baiting him, flirting at the ever indomitable bat, but tonight she found she lacked the heart for even that small pleasure.
She turned back to the dark city. Somewhere a dog howled and a garbage can slammed to the street, yet two figures atop a roof in the East End of Gotham stood silent, each waiting for the other to speak, both secretly afraid it would shatter the moment.
“It does not have to be this way,” Batman said suddenly. He did not look at Catwoman but instead cast his gaze across the rooftops.
She could feel the occasional faint touch of his cloak as it brushed her sleek leather cat suit. She found her home in the shadows, as Batman did, her suit, a gray so dark it was nearly black, making her one with the night. Creatures of the night, they both were and would always be.
“And what would you have me do, Batman?” She heard the mockery in her voice, but could not quell it. “Launch myself into a one woman crusade to fight the evils of the city?” She took her foot off the wall and stood straight with her hands resting lightly on her hips. “Crusading won’t pay the bills, I’m afraid, lover.”
She saw his head turn slightly at the use of her endearment for him, but he said nothing. “I can’t save the entire city.” She cocked her head at him. “No one person can.”
“One saves as many as they can.” His tone was soft. A strong, caring voice. Gentle, yet firm. A voice that could wrap around someone and make them believe the monsters couldn’t get them.
She laughed, the sound echoing bitterly across the roof. “Wake up, Batman,” she said. “They can’t be saved. They’re doomed.”
“I won’t quit trying.” He took a step nearer and reached out a hand to her. “Selina-” it was nearly a whisper.
“Don’t!” She snapped, jerking away with a flash of her claws. “I’m Catwoman! And no matter how you try, no matter how hard you fight, there will always be at least one person in this city you can’t save!”
With a grace and speed reminiscent of the cats she so loved, she leapt from the rooftop, simultaneously snapping her whip about a protruding flagpole, and swung to another building across the littered street. She disappeared into the shadows, leaving Batman far behind.
*******************
The moon, obscured by the murky clouds drifting across the Gotham skies, briefly managed to break free from the gloom to weakly cast its yellow glow over the city. The pollution in the air stained even the pure white light of the full moon it’s sickly color. The light breeze which had blown earlier ceased as if it, too, was overcome by the miasma of gloom to this area of the city.
The night sounds, which had seemed so quiet and distant a short time ago, assaulted Batman’s ears with more force than ever.
He should have stopped her. He told himself many times after merely watching her lithe body disappear into the night that he should have stopped her. She was a criminal. A master thief and wanted on numerous accounts of burglary and grand larceny.
And he was the Batman. Dark Knight of Justice. Defender of the City. The Caped Crusader. Hero. Good guy. Yet, he let Catwoman swing away.
If he hurried he might still catch her. Might, but he didn’t move. The Fires of Vengeance and Justice which boiled in his veins and sustained him through his one man war against the evil of the city did not burn tonight. The power of Batman, the strength and resilience of the Dark Knight were strangely absent from his soul.
Since the murder of his parents in front of his very eyes, he’d sworn to fight forever against the foulness that contaminated the streets of Gotham and destroyed countless lives. But not as Bruce Wayne, his birth self, would he fight. Bruce was not suited for the tasks that must be done. He didn’t have the stomach for it. So Batman was born.
A warrior in the night, bringing to Gotham his own brand of justice, he brought criminals down however he must. He was the cure to the putrid disease which slowly rotted out the soul of the city.
Now, however, he was compromised. Always she eluded him. Or did he let her escape as he had tonight?
Her words echoed back to him from the depths of his memory. No matter how you try, no matter how hard you fight, there will always be one person in this city you can’t save.
Deep within the catacombs of his soul, in darkened corners never seen by others, and rarely by himself, the Dark Knight knew that no matter how he tried or how hard he fought, that one he could not save mattered more than he could admit.
**********************
The streets of Gotham had been drenched long ago. The air only moderately cleaner than before the storm started. However, rivers of rain still poured down the face and coat of the statue of Herbert Hendleman, some hero from Gotham’s past. The water pooled in puddles in the streets and on the sidewalks with rainbows of oil and filth swirling across the top. Sodden newspapers and empty junk food wrappers swept down the rivers in the gutters to clog the drains throughout the city. Thunder crashed in the distance, reminding the citizens that the storm was not over, the powerful heart of it had merely moved to another area of the sprawling metropolis.
A lone figure crouched in the shadows of a building, sheltered from the worst of the storm. Try as it might, the fierce wind could not blast it from it’s hiding spot beneath a tremendous overhanging gargoyle, nor could it force the icy rain within. The figure watched the shadowy form of Herbert through sparkling green eyes, the hour nearing midnight. The darkness was blacker this night in the wake of the storm. It was always welcome.
A second figure, one on the street, soon appeared, lingering near the statue. Green eyes followed his movements for several moments, assessing him.
A confident man, wearing a dark hat and matching overcoat to keep out the chill. The umbrella he carried more often than not shielded his face from close inspection, but he moved like a younger man. Strong and confident. This man knew what he wanted and who could get it for him. He strode deliberatly about the statue, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. No quick looks over his shoulder betrayed any sense of nervousness, but she knew he was very aware of everything about him. A slight bulge beneath the coat told her that he packed something other than an umbrella.
With the silence of a predator and the fluid motion born of natural grace and deadliness, she slipped from the shadow of the gargoyle and climbed down the large stone building to the street. Keeping to the shadows about her she crept to the statue and waited for him to circle again, bringing him directly into her line of sight. Leaning apparently carelessly against Herbert’s hip she spoke. She was impressed when he did not jump at her sudden appearance.
“Not exactly a good night for a stroll,” she said, holding out her gloved hand to catch the falling drops of rain into the palm. Streetlight glinted off the shining steel blades imbedded into the tips of the fingers.
He gazed up at her, gray eyes meeting green. Cold eyes, she thought. Eyes of a killer.
“I have a job for you, if you’re interested.” He said, his voice as cold as his eyes, as cold as the rain.
She smiled languidly. “I’m always interested in money.”
He reached into his coat and she tensed, though her pose remained that of one relaxed. She watched as he drew out an envelope and reached in to pull out a photograph. She also saw within the tell-tale signs of money. Lots of it. He held the photo out to her and she took it between clawed fingers. In the picture was a magnificent jeweled necklace. Rubies and sapphires danced among layers of intricate woven gold chains with diamonds and opals. Several loops of the delicate chain danced across the collarbone of the woman wearing it and they eventually resolved into one large loop hanging down between her breasts with an enormous florette shaped diamond decorating the center.
She looked over the fine craftsmanship again and again, wondering why this beautiful piece looked so familiar to her. She knew there were thousands of dollars in opals alone on the ornate necklace, not to mention the other stones and the gold. She handed the photo back to him.
“It looks familiar,” she said, noncommittally. She needed more information.
“Good memory,” he said, “since it hasn’t been seen in over thirty years.” He tucked the photo back into the envelope and drew out an ancient newspaper clipping. He handed that to her and she looked it over. In the darkness and rain it was difficult to read the yellowed newsprint but she could clearly see the photo of the necklace next to the article. “It’s called ‘Helen’s Collar’. It was one of the items found by Heinrich Schlieman during the excavation of the ancient city of Troy. It puzzled researchers for years since it’s cut and style was not that of the ancient Greeks. As a matter of fact, the origin, clearly not Troy, was never discovered.”
She handed back the newspaper clipping, unable to read the rapidly dampening print in the darkness. He tucked it as well into the envelope. “The necklace was stolen thirty years ago. Made the papers for a time, and was quickly forgotten. Not seen again until recently. Decorating the neck of one Ebelyn Ahani, a wealthy debutante born in Cairo but raised and schooled here in Gotham. They try to pass it off as a replica but a reliable source guarantees it’s authenticity.”
“And you want me to steal it,” she said bluntly.
He nodded.
“Why me?” She asked, suspicious. “There are plenty of thieves out there capable of swiping diamonds from a debutante and they would probably be a great deal less expensive.”
He smiled now. “For a debutante, she keeps a pretty tight hold on this particular piece,” he said. “I admit, you are not my first choice. I have sent others after the Collar but none have succeeded. They were unable to get past the security systems into the Ahani mansion.”
“What kind of systems?” She asked, intrigued now and feeling the beginnings of the fire in her veins.
“Will you take the job?” He answered with a question.
“How much is the necklace worth?” She asked.
He smiled. “To a private collector, ten million.”
The amount stunned her into momentary silence. Surely there wasn’t even that much in gems in two necklaces like this one. “How much are you offering me?”
“Fifty thousand,” he answered flatly.
She scoffed. “From a piece worth ten million? I could steal it for myself.”
His smile broadened. “Yes,” he said. “You could. And you might get fifty thousand fencing it through your contacts, but you’d never find the correct buyer for the ten million.”
She smiled back at him, liking the challenge of this deal. She knew she didn’t have the contacts for selling such an item, but fifty thousand was hardly worth the bother, if the security systems were so complicated none had even come close yet. “Make it one hundred,” she purred, stepping down closer to face him, “with twenty up front, and you have a deal.”
His smile was cold as it shone upon her. “Deal,” he said, holding out the envelope. “The house is surrounded by a seismic gridwork system,” he said as she daintily took the envelope and tucked it into her cat suit. “It can detect a moth two hundred yards from the house as it lands on a blade of grass! The windows and doors are protected with heat field sensors. Anything with a concentrated temperature greater than that of sixty degrees passing through any of them alerts the system to send out the guards. They carry laser stunners and are known for their speed and accuracy, having trained at the Ahmun Mercenary Facility in the middle east. The mansion is compartmentalized; something sets off any aspect of the security system and that section plus the one on each side of it is immediately sealed and gassed.” He tucked his hand in his pocket and looked her in the eye. “That was how I lost the last one.” He said. “The street says that you’re the best and if anyone can get in there, you can.”
She laughed, the sound quiet and throaty. “Darling,” she said. “If I can’t get in, then nobody can.” Moving through the rain she left the man and the statue behind. The fire burned in her, warmed her. The excitement was back and the game was begun.
****************
The works of the Norwegian composer, Edvard Grieg, seemed less grand, and almost disdainful of the small boom box which pumped his music into the bedroom of Selina Kyle. In the Hall of the Mountain King sounded from speakers that were not worthy of it’s grandeur. It should be booming from speakers thirty feet high, Selina thought as the tune danced through her ragged, but livable flat.
She sat on her bed cross legged with the floor plans of the Ahani mansion laid out before her and several newspapers, technical prints of the security system, and a topographical map of the surrounding grounds scattered across the foot of the bed and slowly migrating to the floor. Several cats lounging about the room and bed helped this process by playing with the papers or just kicking them from what they perceived as their property. One young male, just under six months old, walked across the floor plan Selina was studying, stopping right between the print and her face. She sighed as he pranced in place and mewed at her.
“Tomas,” she said sitting up and stroking a hand along his spine. This produced a deep rumbling purr from him and set his tail to quivering. “Can’t you see I’m working?”
He turned amber-green eyes on her, blinked slowly, and flopped onto his side right in the middle of the plans. She smiled and gave him gentle scratches on his stomach.
She stretched then, realizing that her back had cramped from long hours of poring over plans and papers and reached for the bag of potato chips sitting beside the bed. She crammed a few in her mouth as she studied what she could of the plans over the top of the kitten’s head and washed them down with a swallow of a 1968 Merlot she’d liberated some time earlier. She thought she had been exaggerating when she told her client that if she couldn’t get into the Ahani mansion, no one could. She now wasn’t sure even she could get into the mansion.
“The only thing missing,” she told the young black and white tom, “is a minefield!” She rose from the bed and wandered about her small apartment, stretching the kinks from her legs and back. She knew she needed more time, but also knew she wasn’t going to get it. Tomorrow night Ebelyn and her father, Edrick, would be attending the Charity Ball at the Wayne manor for the Gotham City Police Department’s Widows and Orphans fund. There would never be a better time to get in and steal the Collar.
A terrible thought occurred to her then. There would also never be a better opportunity for Ebelyn to display the necklace for her wealthy peers.
“Damn,” she cursed as she began digging through the old newspapers stacked in a cardboard box beside the door. “I should have thought of that earlier. She won’t leave something that spectacular hidden away when she’s going to hob knob with the elite of Gotham.” She found the one she was looking for buried just a few layers from the surface and pulled it from the mess. Flipping through it she found the article detailing the event taking place at Wayne Manor.
She began to smile as she realized that would be an even better time to relieve the debutante of the burden of so much precious jewelry. She threw the newspaper across the room with a laugh and danced through the apartment back to her bedroom. Time for Catwoman to go shopping for a suitable dress, she thought with another laugh.
*************
Catwoman watched the lights along the road to Wayne manor pass as her limousine slowly made it’s way to the entrance of the mansion. The clouds which plagued Gotham constantly, seemed to disperse for this one evening, letting the piercing brilliance of the stars and waning moon shine down upon the estate of the millionaire playboy. Lights shone from the mansion illuminating the wealthy and elite as they made their way inside.
Catwoman, clad in a black velvet dress from Harrington’s, pulled the matching velvet stole about her shoulders. She was pleased the extra weight and bulk of her Catwoman suit sewn inside was unnoticeable among the tremendous folds of fabric. She planned to leave just before the Ahanis, slip into their limo, and that would be that. Much easier than trying to make her way past seismic gridwork and heat sensors. She laughed. Until then, she would be free to wander among the wealthy and play their game for a time, sipping champagne and nibbling on expensive hors d’oveurs. How wonderful! And Catwoman dearly loved good champagne.
**************
The guests had been arriving for some time, enough to nearly fill the Wayne manor grand ballroom to bursting. Tuxedos in abundance and expensive dresses in every style, color and length imaginable. Thousands of dollars in flashy, overpriced jewelry decorated throats, ears, wrists, ankles and cuffs. Though the orchestra played, the game of money involved impressing your competition early in the round, so none danced yet. Later, after the dresses compared, the jewelry priced, then would they dance.
Lights sparkled throughout the magnificent mansion reflecting off the deep, brown hardwood that made up most of the architecture inside. Gleaming wooden window frames, floors and railings polished to the extreme, reflected the amber light of the false candles used. Caterers made their way to and from the large tables passing out hors d’oveurs and glasses of champagne. Everyone smiled; whether it was genuine or not, who could say, but it was there.
Overall, as Bruce Wayne greeted those arriving and watched the proceedings inside, it seemed to be a success. It would be a boon for the Widows and Orphans fund.
He took a sip of champagne to cover the slight frown he felt creeping over his face. He knew this was another of his responsibilities, yet he didn’t want to be here. He felt he was needed on the street, fighting the crimes of the city, to protect those who could not defend themselves. Though the widows and orphans needed the money from tonight’s ball, the posturing and preening of the self-important made him ill. People were dying in the world, in the very streets of their city, and all these people cared about were designer dresses and expensive gems.
He managed a smile as Edrick Ahani made his way up to him with his daughter, Ebelyn, quietly on his arm. The older man, hair still black as night and dark skin only slightly wrinkled about the eyes, took Bruce’s offered hand firmly.
“Wonderful party,” he said with only the faintest of accents. “I do commend your efforts for the less fortunate of our city.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ahani,” he replied with a nod of his head. He recalled that Ahani was one of the few others who also sponsored events to help the needy about Gotham. “That’s a fine compliment coming from one who does such great things himself.”
“Well,” Edrick said modestly. He turned to his daughter then and motioned her forward. “This is my daughter, Ebelyn.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Wayne,” she said silkily. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
He briefly took her fingers in his by way of greeting. “Please, Miss Ahani. Call me Bruce.”
She smiled, the expression turning her deeply tanned face sultry and exotic. “And you may call me Ebelyn.”
He smiled and stopped short when the shimmer of jewels at her throat caught his attention. He knew that necklace from the history of the treasures of Troy. “Pardon me,” he said, “but your necklace-”
“Beautiful, isn’t it.” Edrick interrupted. “A replica of the one known as Helen’s Collar found among the treasures of Troy. I had it made for her birthday.”
“Exquisite,” Bruce agreed looking again to Ebelyn.
With a smile and a few brief amenities Edrick and Ebelyn disappeared into the swirling mass of the party.
A caterer passed with a tray of champagne and Bruce quickly plucked a fresh one for himself. Most of the guests had arrived by now so it was time for the head of Wayne Industries to begin his own mingling. Much as he detested the game of the rich, he knew he had to play.
Before he could depart the entry foyer, a new group of guests arrived. Several, obviously together, began bustling out of their coats, nearly overwhelming the servant waiting to take them. A lone woman stood back from the ruckus watching them with a casual air. Her black hair seemed almost a piece of her equally black dress, piled atop her head with elegant curls dangling beside her ears. A single ruby pendant danced about her neck on a silver chain and matching earrings hung from her lobes. The soft folds of her dress showed the athletic build of her magnificent body and the slit in the skirt, rising dangerously high on her right hip, showed strong, shapely legs. She moved with a grace and confidence he rarely saw among the wealthy. A confidence born of hard work and toughness rather than the size of a bank account.
The crowd ahead of her finally moved toward the ballroom and Bruce smiled and greeted them all absently as they passed, his attention still focused on the woman in the foyer.
Her courtesy to the servant was rare among the rich as well; she smiled, met his eyes and thanked him when he relieved her of her wrap. A smile that was genuinely warm, only hinting at a deeper fire within. The servant nodded to her with a smile of his own and left.
She began to move farther into the mansion, her heels clicking on the marble of the foyer, when her eyes met his. The color of them, so green, struck him first. Like emeralds they shone. In those eyes he spied something almost…familiar. He smiled as he approached her, signaling for a glass of champagne. He plucked the long graceful flute from the tray and offered it to her with a nod.
*****************
Catwoman gazed around the foyer, covertly watching where the servant took her wrap. She might need to snatch it in a hurry later. She took note of the priceless antiques and art used to decorate the hall. Obviously you have too much wealth, Mr. Wayne, she thought with an inward smile. Perhaps I’ll relieve you of some of it someday.
When she looked up she met the stunning blue eyes of the master of the manor himself, noting that the photos in the papers and magazines didn’t do justice to his stunning good looks and build. A tall man, broad of chest and shoulder, with arms that hinted at strength that the usual millionaire playboy didn’t possess. Something behind his eyes, however, seemed terribly familiar. A darkness that flickered about the edges but remained carefully in check.
“Welcome,” he said, flashing what was often airily called ‘the’ Bruce Wayne smile.
“Thank you,” she took the champagne and smiled in return. She knew it was merely that she was a well dressed guest and he the host of the party, but she felt a warmth in his attention she thought she could never feel. She basked in the sensation. After all, Catwoman had plenty of time to enjoy herself until the job needed completing.
“I thought I knew every beautiful woman that would be arriving at the ball,” he said smoothly. Among the genuine admiration she saw in his eyes she also saw a touch of suspicion lurking in the darker edges.
She held out her hand to him, the black satin gloves she wore outlining her long, slim fingers. “Well you obviously didn’t. Terrible mistake, but one I’m sure we can remedy. Celine Worthington.”
He took the offered hand and brushed his lips across the gloved fingers. Catwoman had to stifle a giggle at the antiquated custom. “A pleasure,” he said. “I’m Bruce Wayne.”
She drew in a deep breath as if suitably impressed. “Of Wayne Industries. How lovely!”
He offered her his arm and motioned toward the ballroom. “It seems the rest of the party has already begun,” he said. “Shall we join them?”
“Certainly,” she said and laid her hand daintily on his forearm.
They strolled into the ballroom together and dozens of pairs of eyes fixed on them. On him because of who he was, on her because she was with him, and she was beautiful. Remnants of her vision skittered through her memory as people smiled in admiration. Yes, Catwoman deserves this attention.
**************
Five minutes in the doorway, Bruce found himself separated from the lovely Miss Worthington by the Mayor and his wife. Though he carried on a complete conversation with them both, he found his thoughts ever turning back to her. Something other than her beauty haunted him. A disturbing sense of familiarity that he couldn’t shake as well as what he saw in her eyes. Sparkling green eyes, but in their depths the beautiful waves rippled with rings of fire. In them he saw something enticing…and dangerous. As well, he saw an intensity and a steel of will he’d only seen one other place; in the mirror. In her eyes lurked darkness, much like the darkness in his soul. The darkness which had given birth to Batman.
After finally managing to disengage himself from the Mayor he made his rounds of the room, greeting those present, chatting with the powerful in Gotham. Though his eyes searched casually for Celine, he never caught sight of more than a fleeting image, then he was pulled into another conversation before he could pursue. He could tell as he smiled a false smile and shook more hands, engaging in pointless conversation, that this was going to be a very tiring evening.
**************
Catwoman strolled across the ballroom, stopping occasionally to trade idle chat with those around her as they tried to ferret out ever greater amounts of information about her. Who was she, where did she come from, who was her family. Everyone wanted to know, to claim that they knew something about the mysterious woman that their racquetball companions didn’t, yet none bothered to question each other. The game would be spoiled if they revealed that they knew absolutely nothing about the woman in black. Instead, all pretended they knew the woman who made such an impression on all in her wake, in the hopes of having some tidbit of information the other didn’t have.
She enjoyed watching the game as much as she enjoyed playing it. She’d stop at one group and indulge in chatter, letting a bit more of her fictitious background slip, and watch as the information spread throughout the gossips. She left them with a morsel, yet knew they starved for more.
She wanted to laugh. To throw back her head and howl throughout the ballroom. But no. That would spoil the game, and she wanted to play a bit longer.
To one side, she spied the Ahanis. As she guessed, Ebelyn wore the necklace tonight, the flashing gems and intricate design one of the most stunning pieces present. She made her way over to them, champagne in hand, and smiled her winning smile. Oh, yes she could smile for them. For that beautiful piece would earn her a great deal of cash after tonight.
************
The orchestra played, the strings and woodwinds filling the ballroom with music fit to charm the most deadly of beasts. Catwoman enjoyed the music as it drifted around her. The conversation, however, left something to be desired. Somehow she’d found herself in the company of Mayor Billings and his wife Eleanor. He seemed only interested in discussing his plans for the upcoming election and Eleanor harped on how much her husband paid for her dress. Catwoman stifled a yawn, locking her jaw around it, hoping against hope that someone, anyone, would save her from this nightmare. There was only so far she could play this vacuous game.
When the Mayor waved at someone, Catwoman sincerely hoped this would be the distraction she needed to escape. She was delighted when Bruce Wayne strode up and smiled at her. His blue eyes danced and his smile enchanted those around him, yet something else continued to attract her. Something about him was familiar, incredibly so, and it bothered her that she couldn’t figure out what it was.
“Wonderful party, Bruce,” Mayor Billings said, clapping him on the shoulder. “This will bring in a tremendous amount of money for the charity fund.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” he replied. “The Widows and Orphans Fund is one I heartily support.”
Just then the orchestra began a waltz and Eleanor looked at her husband expectantly. He smiled in return. “Well, Bruce, it seems they are playing our waltz. If you’ll excuse us.” He held his hand out to his wife and in a moment they were gone.
Catwoman continued to watch Bruce trying to place why he seemed so familiar to her. His voice seemed familiar to her and his eyes, yet she didn’t know his smile. That seemed strange to her and she continued to puzzle over it. He turned then and met her eyes with those blue ones that sent shivers through her. He smiled and held out his hand. “Would you care to dance?”
She returned the smile and placed her nearly empty flute on a nearby table. Perhaps this would be her opportunity to learn more. “I thought you’d never ask, Bruce.”
She followed him and he gracefully swept her onto the floor. For a man so muscular and large, his coordination and grace amazed her. Every move he made was smooth. She found herself lost in the circle of his arms as the waltz played around them. For several moments she forgot everything. Every horrible thing she’d ever endured in her life; every crime she’d ever committed. Forgot the necklace and the eighty thousand dollars yet to be collected; forgot the dingy apartment in the stinking gutters of Gotham that waited for her when this night was over. She forgot everything in the warmth of his smile. The blue of his eyes looking down at her, entranced by her. Not Catwoman, for they didn’t see Catwoman without the mask, but by Selina Kyle.
No, she thought suddenly, not by Selina Kyle. He thinks he’s dancing with some heiress named Celine Worthington. Isn’t Bruce Wayne, the playboy, known for his Woman of the Week? He doesn’t see Selina.
A lump formed in her throat as the truth she knew about herself came flooding back. Only in the mask was she worth anything. Bruce didn’t see Selina Kyle as she wanted to be. He saw what he wanted to see: A rich woman in a slinky gown.
Or perhaps he does see Selina Kyle. Selina Kyle the tramp. The prostitute. He’s just like all the other men who ever used me. Suddenly the vision of the evening crashed in around her. She felt eyes upon her, hungrily, lustily, seeing only the hooker. Making her weak again, stripping away the power she had. She felt foolish for ever thinking she might enjoy the life they did, even for so brief a time as one evening.
She looked up into the eyes of Bruce Wayne. His smile had faded and he looked concerned. For a moment she believed it was a genuine emotion, but that was foolishness again. He had concern for Celine Worthington. A woman who didn’t exist.
“Excuse me,” she muttered and pulled herself away from the warmth, the strength, of him. She hurried toward the door, the need to escape suddenly overwhelming. She could almost feel his gaze as it followed her out and she wished he would stop looking.
With a few hurried words she reclaimed her wrap and rushed out of the mansion. She could ditch the limo and driver and return to finish the job with none the wiser. Her eyes burned as she made her way across the tremendous stone porch to the steps leading to the yard.
“Celine, wait, please!” She heard him walking quickly across the stone, his steps echoing like cannons in her ears.
Her limo pulled up at that moment and she ran to it down the steps, in the process stumbling and twisting one of her shoes off. She left it lying where it fell and all but dove into the waiting limo. “Go. Quickly!” She told the driver as her door closed behind her. One nod and he was off. She chanced one last look back at Bruce as the limo sped from the grounds. He stood on the stairs holding the lost shoe watching her leave.
Like something out of a stupid fairy tale, she thought bitterly, except I’m no sweet Cinderella and you’re certainly not my Prince Charming. Moisture threatened to escape her eyes and tumble down her cheeks as she turned away and looked down at her toes, one clad in stylish grace, the other in a tattered stocking. And there is nothing that can be done to save me.
**********
Catwoman pulled the driver’s cap tight on her head and waited with the car belonging to the Ahanis. She’d calmed a great deal, letting the fire and excitement of the job take over, and eased herself further by donning the impenetrable suit of the cat underneath the driver’s uniform. She’d sent her own limo happily on it’s way and returned to the estate through the woods behind the mansion. After gassing the driver of the Ahani limo, she’d slipped him into the trunk of their own vehicle where he would be found unharmed later.
The party was beginning to dwindle now and her patience was rewarded as Edrick and Ebelyn wandered out to the porch, saying a few final farewells. She hurried into the driver’s seat and pulled the car up to the stairs to pick up her soon to be victims. She smiled to herself as the valet opened the door for them and they climbed in, none the wiser.
They chatted quietly about the ball as the limo smoothly left the estate and started down the darkened road back to the city. Reaching into her pocket she removed a small filter mask and an aerosol can. She turned the car off onto a side road and after several yards drew it to a stop.
“Driver!” Edrick demanded in an angry tone. “What are you doing? What is going on?”
Catwoman smiled visibly when she locked the doors and both passengers jumped. “I’m relieving you of the burden of your valuables,” she said before spraying them both full in the face with the aerosol. She slapped the small filter over her own face as they slumped into their seat, unconscious. Quick fingers undid the necklace and pulled it from around Ebelyn’s neck. She tucked it into a pouch, quickly followed by Ebelyn’s rings and the cash from Edrick’s wallet. She didn’t want it to be too obvious what the robber was after.
With a pat on the cheek for each of them, she left the car and quickly dropped the driver’s uniform. Pulling the cowl of Catwoman over her face, she disappeared into the trees. They’d soon be found, but not before she was well away.
************
The night called to him like a lost lover. It seeped into his blood, became one with his soul. In the darkness was where he belonged, more than anywhere else in his life. The city called to him as well. Cried out for justice, for a defender. Someone to halt the evils of those who dwelt here and heal the wounds they caused. He was their defender. The Dark Knight that became one with the darkness to fight the madness which crept over the streets of Gotham.
The streets were darker than usual this night, the moon covered by the thick clouds which dominated the Gotham skies. Dogs barked somewhere in the distance; elsewhere a child cried and parents fought. It was the same scenes that played themselves out every night in the city. A garbage can rattled and fell to the street. A pack of rats scuttled out of it and into the deeper shadows pursued by the small form of a cat. He watched the scene from atop a roof directly above it. A short distance away he heard footsteps crunching through the grit of another roof.
From the shadows emerged the dark form of a woman in a tight leather suit and the ears of a cat silhouetted atop her head. She merely stood there, staring across the city as she had been that night two weeks ago when he found her.
She was a criminal, he told himself. It was his duty to bring her in. He rose from his perch, and launched a line from a small canister on his belt. It latched onto the water tower of a building next to the one on which Catwoman stood and he used the thin cable to swing to its flat roof.
He approached her silently, his steps inaudible in the darkness, but when she shifted her stance slightly he knew she’d heard him. He stopped a few feet behind her and waited.
“Good evening, Batman,” she said, looking over her shoulder. He was momentarily caught in the sparkle of her green eyes.
“Good evening,” he replied as he stepped up beside her.
“Lovely night,” she said with a touch of sarcasm, “for Gotham.”
“Where’s the necklace, Catwoman?” He asked. He knew she’d taken the jewelry and hoped to retrieve it for Ebelyn Ahani.
“I don’t have it,” she said, placing one foot on the retaining wall. Her voice, soft, sultry, dangerous, drifted through him. In her voice he heard the darkness. The same darkness he’d seen in her eyes. The same darkness he shared his soul with.
“Who’d you sell it to?” He persisted.
She laughed. “I didn’t sell it.”
He turned to her then and stared down at her. “Where is it then?”
She tapped one of her claws on the breastplate of his bat armor, steel clinking on steel, and gazed up at him. “Why, every time something beautiful and valuable is stolen, do you assume I stole it?”
He looked down at her, trying to read her behind the black cat mask, but finding her as unreadable as the small four-footed creatures she took her name after. “Because usually you did.”
She chuckled, brushing one finger along his jawbone. The touch sent a jolt through him like fire. “Well, I don’t have it this time, lover. Ask around the street.”
He stepped away from her and her touch, unable to think. He was the Batman. He had a job to do. “I should arrest you,” he said finally.
She smiled at him. “You’re welcome to try.”
He stared into her green eyes, lost in them for several moments. The darkness was more dominant tonight, but yes, it was her. And it was the same darkness that he saw in the mirror. Darkness calling out to darkness, tinted with pain and threatening to overwhelm the mind and soul of the bearer. “You should wear velvet more often,” he said.
She threw her head back and laughed before climbing onto the retaining wall. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped her whip out to catch on a nearby lamp post. “And you should wear a tuxedo more often,” she said with a smile. She swung to the ground then, and her laughter echoed into the shadows.
Behind the laughter Batman heard the pain which he heard in his own voice. Somewhere, a cat wailed into the night, it’s cry the saddest sound he’d ever heard.
THE END
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