In which I completely fail to write Damian.

When Zatanna woke up, after only a measly three hours sleep, she found that she was alone. Mikey was gone. The side of the bed that had previously been occupied by Mikey had some residual warmth to it though so it couldn't have been all that long since she had left.

Zatanna burrowed further under the covers, closing her eyes and trying to fall back asleep.

Mikey had always been an early riser and was probably already at the theatre harassing the staff with unreasonable demands and constructing the stage for Zatanna's show. Zatanna wasn't worried about her; the theatre was the best place for Mikey, well out of the way of Zatanna and well out of the way of danger. Besides, Mikey could take care of herself.

Though this was Gotham and even the most dangerously capable of people fell to its evils.

Zatanna banished such dark thoughts from her mind. Mikey was fine; she was up and already working, safe and sound, and probably already on her third cup of coffee. Of course if Mikey was up and if that dull greyish light that was creeping through the blinds was Gotham's poor excuse for daylight, then it meant that it was morning and that Zatanna should probably be getting up too.

With a groan she rolled onto her back and peeled the covers back from the bed, wincing at the dull light. She reached over for her phone on the bedside table, nearly knocking the hideous lamp over as she blindly clawed for the phone. The screen was on a whole other level of brightness and she silently cursed the maker. It was Eight Thirty-Six and past time for her to be up and about.

She kicked back the covers from her legs and clambered to her feet, swaying slightly and the stretching out her sleep induced kinks. Her mind was a little sluggish from the lack of sleep, but the memory of what she had worked out last night burned bright. She made a quick mental list of what she needed to do: shower, get dressed (it wouldn't do to turn up at Wayne Manor naked, now would it?), food, coffee, and whatever artefacts she'd need to crack the mystery of the altar.

Definitely coffee though. There was no way in hell she was dealing with Bruce Wayne without caffeine in her system.

/\/\/\

Gotham in the morning was disturbingly like Gotham at night: dark, cold, and utterly terrifying. The partially melted snow from the previous day had re-frozen over night and now the streets were treacherous with solid, packed ice.

Outside the hotel Zatanna cinched her coat tighter and tucked her chin behind her scarf. She looked down at her boots and sighed. Heels were probably not the best idea.

"Talf sleeh," she muttered. Immediately she felt herself lower to the ground as the heels on her boots shrank, losing their extra inches, until she felt her feet rest flat on the ground. She considered a moment and then uttered another spell, "Spirg."

She tested her now much more ice-suitable footwear and was satisfied when she didn't fall on her ass.

She set off on her search for coffee.

Thankfully despite it still being dark, and it being cold and miserable, and also being Gotham, there was a coffee stand open, and it wasn't all the far from the hotel.

This was a minor miracle worth celebrating, as was the fact that the vendor didn't recognise her. It was way too early to deal with fans or sceptics who thought that she was a phony.

Coffee in hand she made her way idly down the street. She texted Mikey to let her know that she'd be busy Batman-ing it up for the rest of the day; this was probably going to be another show where they performed with no rehearsals. Mikey would probably be having kittens when she worked this out. It would only get worse if Zatanna was too busy to actually do the performance. If that happened then she'd have to magically disguise Mikey as herself and let her do the performance. Mikey was more than capable but suffered terrible stage fright, but the thought of her shaking and stuttering under the stage lights was made the prospect fun.

She was so engrossed in her phone and her thoughts and slurping her coffee that she didn't notice the figure loom in front of her until she barged right into them. She skidded on the ice, gripping her phone and coffee tightly. Annoyingly the lid on her coffee popped off and the contents went flying, splattering across the ground.

"Whoa!" she steadied herself, her arms held out as though it would help with her balance.

She glanced sadly at her now mostly empty cup of coffee. Hopefully she hadn't thrown it over whoever she had bumped into and hopefully that someone was not also a frail little old lady with a glass hip.

She turned to the groaning heap on the ground and was pleasantly surprised to see a familiar face.

"Oh," she said, her mind searching for his name. Green eyes, dirty blond hair, pretty like a girl, and far too young for her. She held her hand out to him. "Robert."

"Carson," he corrected. He took her hand and let her help him to his feet. His face was a little red, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from embarrassment, she didn't know but she liked the look of it on him.

She cringed. "I was close."

"Not really."

She was glad that her scarf hid half her face since she was blushing now too. He really was exceptionally pretty. It was a shame that she had far more important things to do otherwise she might have bought him a coffee and spent an hour or so admiring his cuteness.

He grinned at her. "So, I was right."

She frowned in confusion and tried not to stare at his lips as he spoke. His mouth was a little too wide now that she took proper notice and his lips a little too pink. Yes, he was definitely very girly. But girly men had never put her off before.

"You are Zatanna Zatara."

She had a sudden sinking feeling. "Ah, yeah. Guilty."

Please don't be a fan, please don't be a fan...

"I'm a big fan" – Dammit! – "and I was wondering if – "

Zatanna cut him off with a loud aggravated sigh. "I'm sorry, Carl, really I am."

"Carson."

"But I don't have the time." She tipped the last dregs of her coffee on the icy ground, staining it the colour of shit, and magicked a pen into her hand. She scribbled her signature onto the side of the cup and forced it into his hands. Without another word she shouldered her bag and set off at an impressive speed given that she was walking on ice.

"But... But..." he stammered behind her, and then he yelled, "I wanted to buy you coffee. Bitch!"

She ruthlessly suppressed the urge to turn him into something unpleasant, and instead teleported herself several blocks away. She hailed a cab, climbed in and told the bored-looking driver to take her to Wayne Manor. He gave her a pitying look but didn't question her. She pulled out her phone and furiously texted Bruce – on one of the many Bat-numbers that were encrypted to hell and back – that she was on her way.

Hopefully Bruce was in a better mood than when she'd last seen him. She had already had her fill of jerks for the day.

/\/\/\

Alfred met her at the door; somehow his butler senses knew exactly when she would arrive. He took her coat, gloves and scarf and whisked them off to who knew where, and then he led her to the gym where Bruce was busy doing his morning workout.

She stood at the edge of the gym not wanting to intrude but definitely enjoying the view of Bruce in loose fitting pants and a sweaty tank top that clung to his body in a very interesting way. He was going through warm down stretches with Damian.

Alfred appeared next to her carrying a tray which had two glasses of what looked to be orange juice and a steaming mug.

"Coffee?"

"Oh, Alfred, I love you!" she took the mug gratefully and inhaled the rich aroma of coffee. How did he know? "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it, Miss Zatanna."

She sipped the drink, shuddering with pleasure as the hot liquid near burnt the back of her throat. The warmth infused her and she immediately felt better for it. She took another sip.

"Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all, they are nearly finished."

Sure enough Bruce straightened up, as did Damian. Bruce had a few quiet words with his son, while Damian looked sullen.

Alfred sighed. "The young master suffered a minor injury last night. He has been told that he is off active duty for the foreseeable future."

"Hasn't gone down well, huh?"

"Like the Hindenburg, Miss." Alfred sounded tired and worried.

"It is only a minor sprain," Damian insisted his voice rising.

"I said no, Damian." Bruce sounded calm, but his tone was forceful and left no room for argument.

They stared at each other a moment and then Damian whirled around and stalked off, clearly trying to hide his limp.

Zatanna winced in sympathy. It might only be a sprain but those things still hurt. He was probably more troubled that he got injured in the first place than by the injury itself though.

Alfred sighed. He handed her one of the glasses. "Will you please give this to master Bruce?"

"Of course." She took the glass, and watched as Alfred followed after Damian.

Bruce watched them leave too, and then, taking a deep breath, he turned to Zatanna and walked towards her. She met him halfway and handed him the glass.

"Alfred says to drink up." She smiled. He took the glass and downed the contents in three huge gulps. "I hear that gulping gives you wind," she said eyeing him with amusement.

"Sipping takes too long."

"Well, when the Batman starts farting on patrol you'll be sorry."

"The suit has a muffler."

"You're kidding, right?"

He didn't even so much as crack a smile as he walked past, leaving his empty glass on the side.

"You're here early," he said. "I assume there's a reason for that."

"You opened the altar?"

He nodded.

"Find anything interesting inside?"

"I did. It's down in the Batcave." He ran his fingers through his sweat slicked hair. "I need to shower. I'll meet you down there."

"I'm not going to get electrocuted or attacked by bats if I go down there alone, am I?"

He did smile this time. "I promise that the bats have been told to leave you be."

/\/\/\

The Batcave was its usual odd mix of high tech gadgetry; metal floors, huge computer screens, a horde of different looking Batmobiles and other vehicles; and the cold stone walls of the cave it was situated in, the stalactites hanging from the caverns roof, and stalagmites jutting up between the metal platforms, with the rushing water of Gotham's river flowing beneath.

And as per usual it was cold. All this sci-fi tech and he couldn't install a heating system. She wished she still had her coat. The altar they had retrieved from the abandoned building where Abigail Williams had been murdered was near the main console. She hurried towards it, the side had been broken off, and crumbled stone lay besides the hole Bruce had made in it. She frowned. She had expected a much neater hole from someone with Bruce's usual care for attention. This was sloppy; it looked as though he had just bashed it in with a blunt object. It didn't really matter though, the altar wasn't what was important, what was inside it was.

Sitting atop the altar was what Bruce had retrieved from inside it. It was a small gold figurine. She kneeled down and peered at it, not really wanting to touch it in case there was residual magic that might harm her. She'd fallen into too many of these guys' traps to get herself caught again. The figurine was of a woman, perhaps a young woman it was hard to tell, kneeling down with her face covered by her hands. Looking at it made her heart ache. A young girl had been brutally murdered and this was the sick token left behind by those responsible.

She stepped back and rubbed her hands together. "Tah." Her hat appeared twirling in the air and she caught it. It was time to get to work. From her hat – which she could retrieve near anything in existence – she pulled out several sticks of chalk. She moved from the main console area and walked across the metal walkways to a part of the cave where the ground was stone. It was always better to work magic on natural ground, rather than on something man-made. At least that's what she had been taught and what she still believed today. She could hear Constantine in her head telling her not to be "so bloody stupid" as he scrawled runes onto the fridge door with a Sharpie.

She knelt down and started etching out a protective circle with the chalk. She worked quickly, the runes second nature to her since she had drawn them so many times. Too many people thought that her magic was easy, that all she had to do was speak backwards and she could make anything happen. They didn't realise that the energy to create magic came from herself, that she had to speak the words perfectly otherwise the spell would, at best, not work, and at worst cause something disastrous to happen. They didn't appreciate the amount of training and work she had put into her craft.

She stepped back from the circle and checked her work and then double checked it. When magic was involved you couldn't be too careful. She had learned that the hard way.

"Going well?"

Zatanna looked up at the sound of Bruce's voice. Whatever she was going to say stuck on her tongue as she stared at him. He was standing up on a platform looking down on her wearing only a towel.

"Seriously?" She said staring at him, her eyes raking up his body. "Seriously!?"

The towel was tied loose and low on his hips, his abs glistened wetly, and his pectorals bulged huge covered with dark hair that trailed down between them. Her eyes travelled all over him, over his thick forearms and up to his biceps, to his trapeziums that stood up from his shoulders, and oh how she wanted to grip onto them! She took him all in all his glory the perfections and the imperfections too, the scars that littered him, a cross-work of wounds gathered over the years. Her eyes lingered on one particularly nasty looking knife wound that cut across his left pectoral, slicing down from the left and ending just at his nipple.

"You did that on purpose," she accused.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"How would you feel if I started wandering around in just a towel?"

He smirked. "If you did?"

She couldn't tell if his tone implied that he would enjoy the sight or if he found the very idea laughable. She flushed either way and muttered, "Shut up."

He was still smirking. "I was just checking on your progress. I take it the idol that was encased in the altar is what you were expecting?"

Happy to talk shop she looked up at him, determinedly keeping her eyes locked on his steely blues. "Yes. I think it's enchanted and is the trap they used against me. I should be able to deconstruct the enchantment and hopefully then come up with a spell that will lead us to whoever did this."

He grunted. "You're going to reverse engineer magic."

"Something like that. The circle is for my protection."

His eyes scanned over it. "Why different colours for the runes? I've never seen it done like that before. Will it enhance the spell?"

"Sure. Let's pretend that the different colour chalk adds more power to the spell and isn't just because I like drawing my runes with pretty colours rather than boring white."

He stared at her.

She bit her lip in a failed attempt to not grin at him. "So..." She tucked her hair behind her ear and returned to the task of completing the chalk Circle. "What happened with Cobblepot? Or is it need to know basis?" She half-teased.

"Not at all." He leaned his thick forearms against the railing and watched her work. "It was supposed to be a weapons deal. I received a tip from a reliable source that Cobblepot had struck a deal with Volk of Whisper Gang."

"To supply them?"

"What else? It seemed strange though. Whisper Gang usually uses its own supplier, from Europe. And if Volk needed something from an American supplier then he had plenty of other contacts he could use rather than tying himself to Penguin. After some investigating I discovered that Volk was in the market for a particular weapon."

"A powerful weapon," Zatanna guessed. The chalk scraped against the stone.

"Yes, a unique, powerful weapon. Something that Whisper gang intends to use against La Eme."

There were so many gangs in Gotham that Zatanna didn't know how Bruce managed to keep track of them all. New gangs sprouted up like weeds, and, like weeds, were uprooted just as quickly. She was only familiar with the main crime families. Everything else was in such a state of flux that it seemed impossible to even attempt to keep track of them.

She nodded and hummed though, it wasn't often Bruce shared the going-on of Gotham with her, or anyone outside of the immediate Bat family for that matter, so she certainly wasn't going to interrupt him.

"La Eme have been weakened. Whisper know this and want to make a play for La Eme's rail lines."

Zatanna paused at that. Rail lines? Gotham just got stranger every day.

"So, what was this miraculous weapon?" she asked.

Bruce was a silent for a moment. Zatanna looked up from her work to watch him. He was still leaning against the metal railing, his gaze directed towards the back of the cave. She didn't know how he wasn't freezing. She was fully dressed and she could feel the chill, he was near naked and wet too and he just stood there as though he was sunning himself on a summer's day. No doubt this was some sort of mind trick he'd been taught by a shrivelled old monk on one of his many travels.

"I don't know," he admitted, exhaling loudly and clearly aggravated. "A few members of Whisper Gang were at the meeting point but no one else showed. They weren't able to tell me anything."

"You trying to tell me that the big, bad Batman couldn't get his perp to talk?"

"All street members of Whisper Gang are fitted with an iron muzzle that's welded shut. They literally can't talk. And no, I can't simply remove the muzzle. They're extremely loyal. They've been known to chew their own tongues off before."

Zatanna's hand went to her mouth and she shuddered. Gotham never failed to horrify her that's was for sure. She had once had her tongue removed magically. It was not a pleasant experience.

"So did you speak to Cobblepot?"

"No."

She waited for him to continue but he remained silent and she didn't want to push him for more information. It was a minor miracle he had shared as much of his current case with her as he had.

She pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth, feeling the ridges and groves. She was still a little freaked out by the thought of someone biting off their own tongue. Given that speaking was the way she focussed her magic she had a special dread reserved for injuries to the mouth and throat.

With a theatrical flourish that was second nature to her she etched the last rune onto the stone and stood, flicking her multi-coloured pieces of chalk into the air one by one and then catching them expertly in her hat.

"Done," she announced. "Time to do some magic."

Bruce grunted, clearly not looking forward to her display of arcane talent. "Let me get dressed first."

He disappeared from her sight. Zatanna sighed. It would have been easier if he had changed while she was working.

She carefully stepped out of the Circle, the slightest scuff in the chalk would render it useless, and then hurried up the metal ramp and back towards the main console. There was a cool breeze blowing in from one of the many tunnels that led back to the surface. How Bruce didn't freeze to death she would never know.

The gold figurine was still sat on the broken altar. She considered it a moment, such a sad looking thing, and then moved her hands around it, careful not to touch.

"Etaluspacne." Blue light surrounded the idol forming a perfect translucent globe. It floated in the air bobbing idly. "Htiw em," She said beckoning it. It followed behind her as she made her way back to the Circle.

Bruce was waiting for her, stood where had been before but now dressed all in black. His hair was still damp and was slicked back. His eyes flicked sharply to the floating figurine in its magical bubble and the back to Zatanna. He grunted disapprovingly.

"A few more minutes and all traced of magic will be gone from your precious cave." She smiled at him as she went down the metal ramp. She ignored the disappointed feeling in her gut at his dislike of magic and his continues need to throw his distrust in her face. A grunt from anyone else might have been a quiet display of displeasure, from Bruce he might as well have screamed in her face.

She double checked the Circle to make sure everything was in order and then stepped into it, the figurine following her. She waved it so it hovered before her.

"This spell."

"The first one will just be exploratory. To see if it's actually enchanted." It might be that this was a huge waste of time and the figurine was nothing more than a cheap ornament. "Magic is unique to the user, if there is something there then I should be able to trace a path back from it to the original caster. Hopefully."

"Is it dangerous?"

That was an unusually stupid question from Bruce.

"Anything can be dangerous," she replied flippantly. She could feel his eyes on her back, glaring at her, but she didn't pay him any mind. He could glare all he wanted. She was right, and he knew that she was.

She placed her hands on either side of the figurine and concentrated in it.

"Alright then," she whispered closing her eyes. She felt the magic stir within her, somewhere down in her gut, a tight knot that was warm and spreading throughout her body. Slowly, carefully, she didn't need much power for what she was doing here. But that didn't mean that she was going to take any risks. She had already been attacked by these Witchhunters before, nearly trapped by them; there was no way she was going to give them the satisfaction of getting her twice.

There was also the Batcave to consider. Bruce probably wouldn't appreciate a magical explosion in his precious cave.

"Kaeps ot em," she murmured focussing on the idol. She probed it gently, feeling its aura. She frowned. Its ethereal aura felt strange; course, rough, not the usual meticulous magic she was used to, and certainly not what she was expecting.

"Tahw era uoy?" she pressed deeper, could see the glow of magic surrounding and imbuing the figurine in her mind's eye, wrapped over and over, intricately tied together. It was one hell of a complex spell. It was also, against all possibility, one sloppy piece of magic. It was a miracle it hadn't blown up in the caster's face.

She licked her lips, her eyebrows drawing together in concentration, and pressed even deeper into this tightly woven knot of magic. She grimaced as her mouth was flooded with a bitter, acrid taste.

This was not good.

Her eyes snapped open. "Reves!"

Immediately her connection to the figurine was cut. She staggered back, stepping over the chalk runes.

"What is it?" Bruce growled.

"I, uh..." Zatanna removed her hat and ran her fingers through her hair several times, staring at the figurine. She exhaled. "It's definitely been enchanted. Actually it's quite the Gordian knot of magic."

"So we're at a dead end?"

"No, no, it's just that I'm going to need to perform a much more powerful spell on it. I don't want to perform that here." She turned and looked up at him. "Whoever did this was either a crazy genius or had no clue to what they were actually doing. Either way I need more power and I need to be very careful."

He nodded once curtly. "Alright. Where are you going to perform this spell?"

"Shadowcrest Manor," she replied immediately. "I'd also like a second opinion on a few theories I have concerning this that I can get there."

"Whose opinion would that be?"

"You have your secrets, Bruce, I have mine." She beckoned for the floating figurine and it bobbed along in the air towards her. She moved up the metal ramp to stand beside Bruce. "Once I've found something out I'll report back to you."

"Absolutely not. I'm coming with you."

Zatanna raised an eyebrow at that, a smile teasing at her lips. "But that would mean that I would have to teleport you. Magically teleport. That'll be twice in one week." She grinned at the flat stare he was directing at her. "Three times if I decide not to leave you at Shadowcrest Manor."

"I'm aware," he said dryly. "Give me a minute to suit up and then we can leave."

"We keep this up you'll soon be loving magic,£" she called after him as he made his way further into the artificial gloom of the cave. Even over the steady hum of the electrics and the rush of water form Gotham river she heard his derisive snort.

Rolling her eyes she turned and leaned over the metal railing, looking down on her carefully drawn Circle. With a casual wave of her hand she scattered it, dissipating the runes and all the magic that went with it.

"Bruce," she called towards where he had disappeared to go change. "You can't bring any electronic gadgets to Shadowcrest Manor. They won't work there, and the ethereal energies will probably break them." Or significantly alter them so that they carried out a different purpose entirely. This meant that the majority of his Batsuits were useless there. It would be a shame to damage all of his fancy-pants expensive equipment.

Zatanna smiled. She almost wished she hadn't mentioned it. His face when his gadgets all broke would have been something to behold. And he'd deserve it for his continued derisive comments and snorts about magic.

"Something amusing?"

She looked up at the familiar growl. Bruce had suited up in an older model of the Batsuit. It was dark grey, near black, the Kevlar thick and restrictive. The cowl was different too, the pointed ears longer and oddly comical for it.

"Cute," she said, still smiling. She eyed the utility belt about his waist. Even without his high-tech gadgets he was still formidable, and she had no doubt that his belt was stuffed with all sorts of nasty surprises for the unsuspecting criminal. Batman didn't need high-tech to be dangerous, the man alone was plenty dangerous enough.

"I haven't worn this thing in years," he said.

"Tight in the crotch?"

He bunched his shoulders and she heard the suit creak. "Among other places."

She laughed at that. "We ready to go?"

He nodded and stepped closer to her. The figurine bobbed between them.

"Tropelet us ot Tsercwodahs."

/\/\/\

They materialised just outside of the tall black iron gates. Beyond them lay the path and overgrown front gardens of Shadowcrest Manor, her ancestral home. It could be moved anywhere on the planet, the physical realm and beyond that into planes of existence where humans should not dwell. Once it had resided in Gotham, her father's idea when he had wanted some stability for his young daughter, now it existed on a different plane, one constructed by dreams.

The sky above them was black, permanently starless night, the clouds swirled dark grey and red like ink in water. The moon was too large by far and loomed across the horizon, each crater and ripple in its surface easy to see. Despite the dark skies and the cloud cover there was easily enough light to see.

Zatanna walked closer to the gates and watched as the solid iron bent, the rails moving, sliding along each other grating loudly. The ivy that covered the wall retreated back, removing a way for an intruder to use it to climb over the wall. The gold idol floated next to her still encased in its protective bubble. Behind her Batman loomed, easily the scariest thing here despite all the unnatural happenings.

The spikes that lined the top of the gate bent with a groan of metal to point at her. It was a defensive spell. The gates would attack anyone foolhardy enough to attempt to break into her home.

"Ev'I emoc ot gaers eht doog drow," She said clearly. The effect was immediate. The gate moulded back into its original shape, the metal groaning loudly, and it swung open on rusted creaking hinges. Zatanna winced. "I should probably oil those. Let's go."

Batman followed in silence as she walked up the path. Weeds retreated between the gaps in the flagstones as she went, probably sprouting back up once she had passed but she didn't look back to see.

"Nepo," she said to the doors as she hurried up the steps. They swung open, also creaking though she felt hat was more dramatic effect than for need of oil. She entered her home with Batman on her tail and the small gold figurine still bobbing in the air behind them.

"Welcome home, Mistress." The voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere, a booming echo that Zatanna felt like a heavy base beating through her. Long used to the quirks of the house Zatanna smiled at the greeting. It was honestly nice that he house was being so polite. Last time she had been here she had stood in the doorway while a coat rack had lectured her on never visiting.

She was disappointed that Batman hadn't jumped. Would it be too much effort for him to at least pretend to be a little freaked out? But then if he did then he wouldn't be who he was and she'd be disappointed for a whole different reason.

The door swung closed behind them. The only light in the long corridor came from a candelabrum to her left. She picked it up and set off down the corridor. "This way. Stay close; I don't want you getting lost. It might take me days to find you again."

There was no electricity in Shadowcrest Manor, but as they walked the gas lamps fixed on the wall ignited as they approached and the extinguished as soon as they had passed.

Along the walls there were framed posters of her father's shows; there were oversized paintings and even tiny little ones that seemed far too small for the artist to have used. The figures in the pictures followed them as they walked, eyes sliding as they passed by, lingering on them, sometimes it was a full body turn, the people captured in the paintings twisting around, sometimes unnaturally contorted, so that they could stare at them. Any statues or ornaments that they passed were the same: heads turning, bodies twisting, mouths agape in silent shouts. Ghostly whispers flittered across the air, barely heard and just that bit too quiet to understand what was being said.

"I remember coming here as a child," Batman said. "But I don't remember it being like this."

"What, not so creepy?" She grinned. "When the manor is in the physical plane it is just like a regular house, the magic is chained. Here the magic is unrestrained, allowed to flow freely. The house and everything in it is alive."

"Seems a little dangerous to me. Careless."

"Hardly. The house is bound to me by old magic, by blood and faith. It would never do anything to harm me."

Batman grunted. "In my experience magic has no rules." He looked to an ornament of a girl dancing in the snow, the small china figurine turning a beautiful pirouette under a street lamp. Real snow was falling over her.

"Of course magic has rules. They might not be like the rigid rules of..." she snorted. "Science. But it does have rules. And laws. It's just that those rules are tailor made to the individual. And that they tend to change."

"Chaos," he bit off, not sounding the least bit impressed.

"For some. I've always thought mine and my father's magic was about control."

"This is control?"

"This is more like organised chaos." She smiled. "Oh, now here's something fun." She stopped walking and held out a hand to stop Batman as well as the figurine, which bobbed in the air lazily.

Zatanna turned to face a huge mirror that hung on the wall. The frame was made from old, cheap wood that was well worn by the years.

"What do you see in the mirror?"

Batman started at his reflection. When Zatanna looked at his reflection all that she could see was just that, his reflection, just as any mirror should. But when she looked at herself she saw something very different staring back at her.

"The mirror shows a version of you, a part of yourself that makes up the whole of you," she explained. "When I look in I see myself as a being of pure magic."

She looked at her reflection. Her eyes glowing bright and pure, veins of energy crackled beneath her skin, and her hair was pure white dancing about her as energy thrummed off of her body in waves.

"And if you look in the sister mirror." She took hold of Batman's arm and turned him to face an identical mirror on the opposite wall. "You'll see a different part of yourself."

The image that looked back at her had no powers, no real magic. She was still a magician by trade, but her magic were tricks, sleight of hand and cleverly constructed illusions. She looked calm and confident, a teasing twinkle in her eyes and a challenging smirk to her lips. She looked in control and happy.

Zatanna turned her head towards Batman. He was staring at the mirror, his mouth pressed into a hard line.

"See anything interesting?" He didn't answer. "I've always wondered what most of the Justice League would see in these mirrors."

Would Superman see an all powerful alien in one, a creature of unparalleled power and strength? And would he see merely a man in the other. What would the Flash see? Or Green Lantern? Curiosity itched at her to know these things, but it burned to know what Bruce saw.

"No," he finally said in a hard voice. "I don't see anything interesting. We're wasting time."

"Alright, this way." She hurried down the corridor, Batman behind her. She was disappointed that he hadn't told her what he saw, but also a little ashamed that she had shown him the mirrors in the first place. There was such a darkness in him that perhaps what he had seen was something terrible.

She quickened her pace, definitely feeling bad for what she had done.

"Here." She turned and headed left down another corridor that widened out to reveal a huge grand staircase. She went up them, above a huge chandelier littered with a thousand candles lit and flared the room into brightness. The huge doors to the inner sanctum were tall enough to emit giants. They were guarded on either side by colossal stone griffins. "Nepo!" she bellowed up at them. They moved, slow and laboriously, clawed hands reached for the over-sized metal handle to the doors and twisted it. The doors opened.

Zatanna went in, and immediately held her hand up to shield her eyes as every light in the inner sanctum flared brightly into existence, "A little slower next time guys."

The inner sanctum was huge, far larger than the mind could perceive. It was infinite, but that wasn't information she was going to share with Batman. Some secrets stayed within the family. They stood at the top of the stair case looking down into her father's grand collection of magical artefacts. The walls were lined with impossibly tall bookcases that reached higher than the ceiling allowed, the floor covered by a plush royal red carpet. From the ceiling (that wasn't truly there, but that was a matter of the mind) hung reconstructed dragon skeletons, stuffed birds that had been extinct for thousands of years or just plain had no right ever existing, machines made by crazed genius inventors long dead, and actual tiny stars that were one of the primary sources of lights for the room.

Below them there was a whole host of different objects. The real sarcophagus of Tutankhamun, that damned magic cabinet she had lost an audience volunteer in; by the fire place there was a table surrounded by three mismatched arm chairs. A golden globe of the Earth sat on the table as well as a couple of books she had left out from last time she was here. By the fireplace was a suit of armour, and perched nearby was a stuffed Dodo.

"This should be pretty obvious but I'm going to say it anyway: Don't touch anything." She went down the stairs and towards the table. The small globe there was made form brass and spun lazily, mimicking the Earth's actual rotation. She waved the figurine down onto the table. "Have a seat." Zatanna indicated one of the chairs, a tall backed red chair, with mahogany arms and legs. It looked horribly uncomfortable.

"I'll stand," Batman replied. Of course he would.

"Suit yourself." Zatanna shrugged. She went to the stuffed Dodo and flicked his beak. "You're being awfully quiet."

"I was trying to be polite," was the indignant reply. "I didn't want to startle your guest."

"Not like you. Usually you delight in tormenting the normals." That came from the suit of armour by the fireplace. His voice was a muffled echo, as though it came from within the centre of the armour.

If Batman was surprised by the talking Dodo or suit of armour her did a damned good job of not showing it. He barely reacted, calmly looking from one to the other and then grunting softly.

"He's hardly normal," the Dodo said. "He reeks of Barbatos."

That did get a reaction. Batman's head snapped towards the Dodo, and his body lurched, his arm twitching as though he was about to reach out but thought better of it.

Interesting.

"Gentleman," Zatanna cut in. The last thing she needed was Batman getting into an argument with a stuffed Dodo. It would be worse than when Detective Chimp visited. "No more needling Batman. He's very sensitive." She grinned teasingly at him. "What do you make of this?" She gestured at the figurine.

"Drop the protective spell. I can't hear it through your magic."

"You're magic is always so very noisy, Mistress." the suit of armour agreed.

Zatanna flicked her hand at the figurine and the protective bubble that surrounded it disappeared. Her magic wasn't that noisy.

Silence for a moment. The fire crackled in its grate. The globe creaked as it spun. Somewhere deeper within the sanctum she heard a book close noisily.

"It smells human," the suit of armour announced.

Zatanna turned to the suit of armour, surprised. "You can smell?"

"Of course I can smell. Why wouldn't I be able to smell?"

"You don't have a nose."

"I don't have eyes, ears or a mouth either and yet I can see, hear and speak."

"Good point."

"It sounds sad." Dodo this time. "Scared and confused. Also angry."

Zatanna frowned. "Memories perhaps? It was part of a trap that specifically set for me. I tried to access the residual memories of a room and when I did the memory, well, it attacked me." She quickly explained to them about Abigail's murder and the circumstances that she and batman had come across the figurine.

"Rejected you more like," Dodo huffed. "You have the subtlety of a bull in a china shop that trades exclusively Matador ornaments. You probably stomped about willy-nilly and the memory rejected your presence."

"No. The memory reacted specifically to me. I know what being rejected by a memory feels like, and this wasn't it."

Another contemplative silence.

Zatanna flicked her gaze from the Dodo to the suit of armour. On the table the globe spun lazily on its axis. The fire continued to crackle quietly, the flames casting flickering shadows. She looked to Batman. He stood still and silent, his arms hidden within his cape. His head was tilted forward ever so slightly, the blank lifeless lenses of his cowl stared right at her.

She shivered. He was easily the scariest thing in the room. And that sent a thrill shooting up her spine. Her eyes flickered down to his lips, to the still healing scar that marred them. He had such soft looking lips, a sensual shape to his mouth that was completely at odds to the hard line of his jaw and the darkness that surrounded him. It should have been an off putting mix, but it only added to his allure and made him more attractive.

Her eyes went back to his. Well, back to the lenses of his cowl. He had probably noticed that she'd just been staring at his lips, but without being able to see his eyes she'd never be able to tell.

She leaned forward, placing her hands flat on the table, no doubt giving Batman a perfect view of her cleavage. It was only partially an intentional move, and she half-hoped that he'd look.

"Any ideas?"

"Transmogrification?" Dodo suggested.

"Absurd!" the suit of armour said. "Just because you were transmogrified doesn't mean that every problem we come across involves transmogrification. Besides, she's already told us that they have the body of the girl so it can't be that. I'd say that it's just a concentration of memories. A well, if you like."

"Maybe." Zatanna tapped her fingers against the table. A small thunderstorm started brewing over east-Europe on the globe. "Would I be able to unravel the spell?

"You've never done it before?" Batman asked.

"I have, but every spell is different."

"I daresay a woman of your talents could manage it," Dodo said. "I still say its transmogrification though."

Batman tilted his head towards Dodo. "Why?"

"Because a Memory Well makes no sense. It wouldn't be able to attack someone accessing it. Reject them, absolutely, but it wouldn't defend itself. It takes a consciousness to do that."

"Could they have bound Abigail to the figurine?"

"Yes. But it would take powerful magic to do so and there would be a high price."

"Who would pay this price?" It was a little unsettling just how used to talking to a stuffed Dodo Batman was becoming.

"Why, the caster of course."

"What kind of price are we talking about?"

Zatanna answered, "A sacrifice. The more powerful the spell the more it demands from you. It could be something small, like pain or exhaustion, but it could also demand an emotional sacrifice, something you hold close to your heart. There's a lot of history of husbands sacrificing their wives for power." And vice versa but she didn't really need to voice that.

"Children are also excellent fuel for magic," the suit of armour chipped in cheerfully. "Firstborns especially so."

Zatanna cringed. She never liked being reminded of the darker side to magic, especially in front of someone who didn't at all trust it.

"Magic," Batman snarled, his lips twisting in disgust.

Zatanna turned and looked at the rows of book cases that lined the walls. "Do we have any books on soul binding?"

"Certainly," Dodo replied. "Try Louviers."

Zatanna held up her hand and willed the book to her. It flew from way up high, further than she could see and zipped down towards her, and she snatched it from the air. It was thick and old, the cover was leather, soft and word under her gloved fingers. The gods only knew what poor creature had sacrificed its hide to make this book. She certainly didn't want to know.

She placed it carefully down on the table and flipped open the cover. It wasn't written in any language that was spoken today. But Zatanna didn't need to be able to read it to understand it.

She placed her hands flat over the book, palms facing down, and concentrated. The pages started turning, slowly at first and then faster, flipping over and over until they were a blur of off-white paper and she absorbed the information held within the Grimoire.

She reached the end of the book and let out a breath. "Well, that was interesting."

"You can read though your hands?" Batman said sceptically.

"Honestly, you accept princess's made of clay but you struggle with this?"

He stared at her and she squirmed under his scrutiny.

"I can only do it with books from this room, and only in Shadowcrest manor. Even then, I have difficulty remembering the information once I leave. It's like trying to remember a dream."

"I see." He was still staring at her.

She blinked.

Still staring. "Did you find out anything useful?"

"Maybe." She magicked up a piece of chalk, blue this time, and started drawing out a Circle on the table top. "I think we're onto something with the soul binding thing." "The chalk squeaked and scraped against the wood of the table.

"Mistress, that table is centuries old," Dodo said, distressed. "It once belonged to Numue Inwudu herself."

Zatanna snorted. It was a half-truth. Certainly Madam Xanadu had owned the table at one time, and Zatanna had won it from her after a tipsy card game. But it certainly wasn't centuries old. Xanadu had bought it from a cheap ass flea market a couple of years ago.

She finished the Circle and moved the figurine into the centre of it. She stood and clapped her hands together. "Right, let's do some magic."

The fire practically went out, the flames receding behind the embers, and the lights above dimmed, even the stars winked from existence. The room started to shake. The bookshelves rattled, the table trembled, above them the carefully reconstructed skeletons of dragons, birds and other wonders clinked musically as they were jostled by the power. Zatanna's hair whipped around her as a ghostly wind struck up, it rustled Batman's cape and then sent it flapping about his shoulders. The chalk Circle flared brightly, turning slowly in an anti-clockwise direction the runes squiggling and squirming like live worms.

Zatanna could feel the familiar pressure behind her eyes that she always did when she performed a spell for the first time, especially powerful spells. She knew that her eyes were glowing with the power she was channelling.

She reached a gloved hand forward, feeling the resistance as it neared the figurine. Whatever enchantment had been used on it was pushing back against her, trying to fight her off.

She grinned savagely. She was Zatanna Zatara, daughter of the great Giovanni Zatara, descended from one of the most powerful magical bloodlines in existence, and whatever puny magician had cast this enchantment paled into insignificance against her might.

She curled her fingers, making a fist. Gently she rapped her knuckles against the top of the figurine.

"Kconk, knonk. Uoy ni ereht, Liaggiba?"

Nothing.

How disappointing.

The power deserted Zatanna and she sagged forward, holding the edge of the table for support. The wind disappeared; the room stopped shaking, the lights brightened once more, and the fire returned to its normal splendour. The only sign that magic had been cast was the faint glow of the chalk Circle and Zatanna's own fatigue.

She stared at the figurine, not sure if she wanted something to happen or not. She felt shaky. The small of her back was slicked with sweat, and she could feel the hot prickle of it along her hairline.

All that for nothing.

"Dammit," she whispered. She had been so sure.

"What was supposed to happen?" Batman asked.

"I thought that Abigail's consciousness had been bound to the figurine – possessed possession. I thought that I'd be able to contact her."

Batman was staring at her again, still as a statue. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." No. She was completely exhausted. And it was for nothing. She sighed, "Well, since I was wrong, I'm just going to unravel the spell. Hopefully I'll be able to get a trace on whoever did this."

She pushed herself up and took several deep calming breaths. Thankfully Dodo and the suit of armour remained silent. After exerting so much energy she couldn't be bothered to listen to them prattle.

The only sound in the room was crackle of the fire and the near silent creak of the globe spinning.

She reached for the figurine, ready to dismantle the spell, when Batman grabbed her wrist.

"What's wrong?"

"Listen," he told her.

She did, cocking her head to the side. She heard the fire, the globe, her own breathing; not Batman's though, he was the stillest most quiet thing in the room.

"I don't hear anything," she whispered. Funny how silence encouraged quietness form people speaking.

He gripped her wrist tighter, almost painfully. The corners of his mouth turned down slightly. He must have been frowning, probably in concentration. Zatanna still couldn't hear anything.

"Batman..." She trailed off.

There!

Faint, but definitely something that was unusual to the room. A quick breath, a sob. Batman let go of Zatanna's wrist. Both their eyes were fixed on the figurine. Now that she had heard it Zatanna couldn't not hear it: quick, sharp, panicked breaths.

Slowly Zatanna sat down in one of the armchairs. She leant her elbows on the table, her hands rubbing together slowly while she considered what to do.

There was only one thing she could do though.

Deep breath.

"Abigail?"

The breaths cut short, and then started again even quicker.

"Abigail, can you hear me?" Zatanna kept her voice soft but forceful. She didn't want to startle the girl but knew that people who were on the verge of panic responded better to an authoritative voice.

Batman moved to Zatanna's side. He brushed against her, probably accidently, but it was welcome and reassuring.

"Wh- who's there?" The voice was shrill, cracked and broken from screaming, and teetering on the precipice of panic.

Zatanna felt her heart sink. She hadn't realised it until now, but she had been hoping that she was wrong, that this ornament was just that, a cheap figurine that had the stink of bad memories all over it. The fact that Abigail was bound to it presented a host of trouble; problems that she didn't even know where to begin to solve.

But these were considerations for later. Right now there was a scared young girl who needed her reassurance. That was something that she could deal with.

"My name is Zatanna Zatara."

"Th-the magician?"

"Yes."

"I saw you on TV."

Zatanna smiled sadly. "I promise you that whatever you saw on TV was only a fraction of my true power."

"You're on the Justice League, right?"

"I am. I'm here to help you Abigail."

Abigail made a noise that was half-sob and half a cry of relief. And then she started speaking very quickly, "Thank god! I've been stuck in here for ages. I kept screaming but no one could hear me or something. I don't know how I got here. There was a guy, I think, I think he took me. Oh god, was I, like, stolen?"

"Slow down. Where are you?"

"I don't know. Shouldn't you know?"

"Do you recognise anything around you? Describe to me what you see."

"Nothing."

Zatanna's gaze flickered to Batman. "What do you mean nothing?"

"Like, I can't see anything. Its pitch black in here. I can't even see my hand if I wave it in my face."

"Can you move?"

"Obviously. I tried walking to the other end of the room but it's, like, too far away."

"Just stay where you are," Zatanna told her. She turned to Batman and lowered her voice. "Her consciousness is trapped in there. Whoever did this separated her soul from her body and placed it within there."

"What exactly is 'there'?" Batman asked.

Zatanna scrunched up her nose as she tried to think of a way to describe it to Batman. "It's a magical plane, a constructed one specifically for holding a soul."

"A pocket dimension.

"Sure, if you want to get all sciencey about it. She isn't actually moving. She doesn't have a body to move. She just thinks that she is moving. It's kind of like phantom pains." Amputees could often still feel the limb they had recently lost, and this was much the same. As far as Abigail was concerned she still had a body, and that meant she could move.

Batman exhaled. "Is there anything you can do for her?"

"No. Not yet anyways. I can't move her back to her body, its dead." And mutilated beyond recognition. "I could maybe move her to another object, create another plane for her to exist on, but that would simply be moving her from one prison to another." Maybe she could at least move her to a prison that had a nice view.

"So she's stuck." He sounded so cold. His voice was a gravelly whisper. To those who didn't know him he sounded as though he didn't care. Zatanna did know him, and she knew that he would take this harder than most other people she knew. He was one of the most caring people she had ever met. He just had an ass-backwards way of showing it.

"I won't stop looking for a solution but," she sighed, "yeah, she's stuck."

Batman stared at her in silence. She could practically see the cogs turning in the brilliant mind of his, trying to come up with a solution, some way for them to help Abigail. But this wasn't his area of expertise. When it came to magic he knew the basics, but was, even by his own admission, out of his depths. It was why he had come to her in the first place.

"There's more," she continued. "I can't reverse engineer the spell. If I did I would destroy the... pocket dimension... and Abigail's consciousness along with it."

"It would kill her." A statement not a question. His voice was tight. He really want taking this well.

Zatanna sucked in a breath. "Strictly speaking she's already dead."

If it was at all possible the hard line of his mouth became even harder. If he pressed his lips together much more they would disappear entirely.

"It might be the kinder thing to do," she said hesitantly.

"No."

She cringed. His voice was like ice, and it chilled her right down to her bone marrow. He had always had a difficult time with death. He fought it every day, with every single breath in his body. It was in one sense admirable, that he would fight inevitability like that. But another part of her pitied his inability to let go. How many times had she seen her own father die? How many times had she herself had a hand in his death? Death was a part of life just as much as birth was. Sometimes the best way to fight death was not to deny it but to accept it.

"You still there?" Abigail asked.

"Yeah, I'm still here," Zatanna replied. She turned back towards the figurine. "I was just conferring with a colleague."

"Is the rest of the Justice League there?"

Zatanna looked up at Batman. He shook his head slowly, not wanting Abigail to know he was there. "No. Batman's here though." She grinned at him.

Abigail squealed. "Shut up! That is so awesome!"

"It sure is." Zatanna's bored tone did nothing to dampen Abigail's excited squeals. Never underestimate the teenage girl's ability to overcome crappy situations.

"We're wasting time," Batman growled.

"Oh, that's kind of scary," she whimpered.

"He certainly is that," Zatanna muttered.

Batman glared at her. She stared right back at him, determined to show him that his patented Bat-glare didn't affect her. It did, but he didn't need to know that.

He turned his gaze back to the figurine. "Miss Williams, do you remember anything about your kidnappers or where you were taken?" His voice was soft losing the hard growl but still retained a certain amount of quiet menace to it that made Zatanna shiver. "Anything at all could prove useful."

"I..." her voice trailed off.

"Anything, no matter how frivolous or inconsequential it might seem."

"I was walking home from school. With my friend, Mercy, I think... I don't..."

"You went to a store, right?" Zatanna said. Batman was glaring at her again, no doubt she was breaking some sort of interrogation protocol, but she couldn't stand how confused and lost Abigail sounded.

"Yeah! And then Mercy went home, she had, like stuff to do, or so she said, but she's kind of a bitch and – "

"And this isn't important." Batman growled. "What did you do after Mercy went home?"

"I must have gone home too, right? That's what I usually do." She paused, her breathing again was quickening, and in a quiet voice she said, "I don't remember going home. Why don't I remember going home?"

"You left the store, walked down a street and then disappeared," Zatanna supplied, recalling the security camera footage she had watched. "You were kidnapped in broad daylight. "We don't know who took you – " Slight lie "– or Why." Also possibly a lie.

The rate of Abigail's breathing increased, quick raps that signalled the onset of panic.

"I need you to stay calm. Abigail."

"I don't remember. I don't know what happened. I can't remember!"

"Think," Batman said in that soft growl of his.

"I can't remember!2 Abigail shrieked.

"Then think harder."

Zatanna winced. Chances were that Batman's pushing would gain more answers from Abigail than gentle coaxing, but it was still harsh.

"There was a man... A light? I couldn't move."

"Did the man take hold of you?"

"No?"

"Could you describe him?"

"Tall? I dunno. He was a man, y'know?"

Zatanna held u her hand to silence batman. She was actually quite impressed by his patience thus far. Abigail wasn't exactly proving to be a good source of information.

"What about the light, could you describe that?"

"I don't understand."

"What colour was it? What direction did it come from? How bright was it? Was there a pattern to it?"

Abigail was quiet for a moment and then her breath hitched. "It was red," she said quietly, her voice steady, stronger and surer than it had been before. This was something she actually clearly remembered. "It came from underneath my feet. It was solid, I know that sounds crazy, but it was. I couldn't move. All I could see was red."

Zatanna leaned back in her seat. She exhaled and smiled softly, sadly. It finally felt like they were getting somewhere.

"It was a trap," she told batman, though he'd probably figured out that much already. "I want to see that street she was taken from."

He nodded, and then asked Abigail, "Do you remember anything else?"

"I don't think so. After the light I was here in the dark." She squeaked suddenly, and then in a rushed, panicked voice, "Did I go blind?"

"No, you didn't go blind," Zatanna answered. She took small comfort that Abigail didn't remember being tortured and murdered. No one needed to remember the kind of pain that had been done to her.

But if she didn't remember that then did she even know that..?

"Oh no," Zatanna whispered. Did Abigail even know that she had been murdered? Zatanna looked to Batman, and even with half his face covered she knew that his expression mirrored her own. He was just as horrified, shocked and appalled; he felt the same aching sadness of what had happened to this girl, and the same sick dread that they were going to have to tell her what had happened. And beneath that they both felt that burning anger at those who had done this.

"Zatanna turned back to the figurine. She licked her lips, trying to think of what to say.

"Abigail." Her voice was thick with emotion and it was a struggle to keep it steady. "Before I explain to you what happened, I need you to know that I am going to do everything, everything, in my power to help you. I promise you, I will find a way to help you."

"Wha... What's going on?"

So Zatanna told Abigail Williams that she had been murdered.

/\/\/\

Zatanna teleported them back to the Batcave. Batman strode away from her and out of sight, probably to change out of the old Batsuit. Zatanna stayed where she was, staring down at the floor. Her hands were clenched tight. If she wasn't wearing gloves her nails would be biting into the palms of her hands, as it was she could feel the tight stretched of the fabric over her knuckles, the silk creaking.

She was shaking. Her whole body was trembling with barely suppressed rage. She shouldn't have had to explain to a fourteen year old girl that she had been murdered; that she now existed in a state between life and death, and that Zatanna couldn't, for now, help her.

Abigail's fear, her panic, and her broken cries were still ringing in Zatanna's ears. She had a feeling that she'd still be able to hear Abigail's sobs every time she closed her eyes.

"Zatanna." A hand gently touched her shoulder, and Zatanna jerked violently from it. She spun round, eyes blazing – literally blazing – with power.

Bruce gazed at her calmly and that made her feel angrier. How dare he look so composed when she felt like she was coming apart at the seams? Didn't he feel as angry she did? As sick to his stomach? How could he possibly look so calm?

"Zatanna," he said again. His voice was soft, gentle even. Not the whispered growl of Batman, but the quiet reassurance of her friend who she had known and loved since she was a child.

She exhaled a long shaky breath, shuddering. She forced her fingers to relax, and then for the rest of her body to relax as well, the power draining out of her. She felt exhausted. Her stomach was still clenched in icy knots, and her limbs still shook, but she didn't feel like she might explode at any minute.

"I know," Bruce said.

Zatanna choked back a sob. She rubbed the heel of her hand across her face, wiping away the useless tears she was shedding. Bruce just stood there and watched her cry. Anyone else might have held her, maybe rubbed her back consolingly and mumbled pointless words of comfort, but not Bruce. He knew that such a gesture would be just as useless as her tears were. Not that she thought comfort was unneeded, just that it had a time and a place, and this wasn't it.

"I'm okay," she said, wiping away the last of her tears and taking several deep, shuddering breaths. She let put one final sharp exhalation. "I'm okay. I'm good. Let's get back to work."

"Alright." Bruce nodded. He walked past her and towards the main console. He had changed out of his Batsuit and was now dressed all in black: smart trousers and a long sleeved top that was tight enough to show off the definition of his perfectly sculpted body.

If her mind wasn't so focussed on the case she would have found it quite distracting.

Her eyes lingered over the shift of his shoulders as he hunched over the console. Okay, so maybe she could fixate on the case and still enjoy leering at him.

She followed him to the console. "What's next?"

"Next you can go to Finger Street and see if you can pick up any trace of our kidnappers."

"You trust me to go on my own?"

"Of course I do," he replied. "But I still want you to take someone with you. Just in case they've left a tarp for you. We don't want a repeat performance of what happened in the basement."

She nodded. They certainly did not want that. "It's a bit early in the day for Batman to be out and about."

He considered a moment, "Dick can go with you."

She shook her head. "I'll just take Mikey. I'm sure dick has better things to do than babysit me. Besides," she shrugged, "Mikey is enchanted so any magic traps that might have been left won't have any effect on her."

He frowned. "Why would Mikey being enchanted prevent magic from affecting her?"

"Because the original enchantment protects her; you can't use magic against an already enchanted object or person. It'll just reflect the spell back at the caster."

"Then how did you use magic on the idol?"

"Because all I did was open up a means for Abigail to communicate with us. I worked with the enchantment," she explained. "If I had tried to fireball the ting it would have just blown back at me. Or just blown up."

"I see," he said slowly. His expression told her he was having one of those "magic makes no sense" thoughts.

"I told you magic had rules." Now she was just winding him up. He didn't look pleased.

"How would you have been able to reverse engineer the spell? Surely the... enchantment would have protected itself?" He said "enchantment" like it was a filthy word. And not the fun kind of filthy.

"It's the difference between hitting something with a hammer and slowly unravelling a thread." She was being intentionally vague. He had his secrets, and she had hers. He didn't need to know the ins and outs of magics, just some the simple basics. "The flashiest spells aren't usually the most powerful ones. Subtlety is the back bone of good magic. The best spells are the quiet ones that no one knows you've cast."

His steely blue eyes bored into hers. "Like taking a memory."

"Yes. Like taking a memory."

They stared at each other. Would they never get past this? Would it always be something that soured their friendship? It didn't seem to matter that mind-wiping him was her greatest regret, or how sorry she was for it, he would never truly be able to forgive her for it.

She swallowed. "What will you be doing while I'm checking out the street?"

He turned to the console. "I'll look into who booked you for the show. If it was these Witch hunters like you suspect then I'll track them down. I want to know how they infiltrated the Wayne Foundation. I also have some leads to follow up with the Cobblepot buy that went sour last night."

She nodded. "Okay. I'll get Mikey to e-mail you the booking information."

"Hand me your cell." He held out his hand expectantly. With a click of her fingers her cell phone materialised in the air. She handed it to him and watched as his fingers danced across the screen. He handed it back. "I've put an e-mail address on there. Have Mikey send the information to it. It's secure."

"Will do, chief." She pocketed the phone and walked from him, preparing to teleport herself to the theatre.

"Zee?"

"Hmm?" She looked back over her shoulder at him. He was still facing the oversized screens of the main console.

"Are you sure you can trust Mikey?"

"Bruce, Mikey is my agent, my manager, my stage manager, my techie, prop girl and handy girl, and also one of my very best friends, I would trust her with my life."

"That's good. Still, be careful."

She snorted. "I'm always careful, Batman." She gripped the rim of her hat and teleported out.

/\/\/\

This so very much was not worth waiting over a year for. I apologise.

Once more I've played about with Zatanna's powers and taken some liberties with Shadowcrest Manor. No one at Dc seems to be in any kind of hurry to define or detail Zatanna's mythos so I feel pretty okay about doing this.

As always thank you for reading.