Disclaimer: All characters that earn money belong to someone else.

Author's note: To everyone affected by COVID-19—from the sick to the at-risk, from the essential workers to those whose employment has been impacted—this is not the new normal. This will pass, and we will get through this together. Stay strong and stay healthy.

Illusion

"Ekam a esor raeppa.1"

With an overzealous wave of her hand above the top hat, Zatanna brought forth the flower, quietly cursing herself for not omitting the thorns as she pricked her finger. "Ta da!"

Her teammates clapped dutifully, though with little enthusiasm. Crossing her arms over her chest, the magician huffed, "Guys, can you pretend to be interested?"

"C'mon, Zee, we see you perform much more elaborate and awe-inspiring magic on, like, a weekly basis," her boyfriend objected. "Besides, you're performing for a group of little kids. They're going to like whatever you do."

"Not true! Kids are the worst critics."

"She's not wrong," Raquel agreed. "They're little savages. Absolutely no filter."

Robin shot her an exasperated look while Zatanna continued, "And this is my first gig, and the mom was so nice and offered me such great compensation, if I mess this up, I might never be hired again."

"Then you can get a customer service job and suffer like the rest of us," Wally offered.

"Proletariat struggles," Artemis added, giving the ginger a high five.

Zatanna glared at the group of teens. "You're all the worst."

Megan piped quickly, "Oh, Zatanna, don't get upset. I think you did great, and those kids will love it. You're going to be an absolute hit."

"Thanks. At least someone is supportive."

"Hey!" Robin squawked. "I was supportive!"

"Ooooh, someone's in trouble," Wally teased, poking his best friend in his cheek. The acrobat responded swiftly, whacking him in the side of the head with a pillow and accidentally catching Connor on the upswing. With a scowl, the clone retaliated, and suddenly, there was an all-out pillow war.

With a roll of her eyes, Zatanna offered, "Thanks guys, you're such a help," and retreated to her room.

Logically, she knew Robin was right—the spells she had to cast during battles or even training were significantly more complicated and required a greater level of concentration, and the stakes were much higher. Plus, she technically didn't need the money: her, Megan, and Connor all received a League allowance to cover basic expenses. Still, magic was a part of her heritage, and she took pride in every incantation she cast. On a deeper level, one she was trying to shove far below her conscious thoughts, she was missing her dad more than ever as the one-year anniversary of his Doctor Fate takeover approached. It was the only reason she'd even considered moonlighting kids' parties in the first place, another distraction from the void in her life.

She felt a lump forming in her throat, so she hastily shook her head and rummaged to collect everything she needed. Getting upset would not be asterous, and it certainly wouldn't bring her father back.

Props all collected in her bag, she changed into a more traditional magician's outfit than she wore in the field and slipped on a silver ring enchanted with a low-level glamor charm, just enough to change her hair color and style. As much as the Team was meant to be covert, they'd been on the news a handful of times, and she didn't dare risk completely blowing her cover. With a quick glance in the mirror, she made her way out the door, nearly slipping on something on the way out. Under her foot was a sheet of paper, which she leaned down to read:

Hey Zee, sorry about earlier. We really did think you were great, and you're gonna do amazing at the party. Go kick ass and get that bread! We'll be waiting for all the details when you get back.

Her teammates' signatures were scrawled along the bottom.

Feeling a bit more confident, Zatanna carefully folded the note and tucked it into her pocket before making her way to the Zeta-tube.

The party was only about half a block from her house (old house), and it was decked out with princess birthday balloons on the mailbox and ribbons strewn across the front bushes. Standing outside the front door, the heroine could hear shrieks of children and music blasting.

It took almost half a minute of knocking before Janet—she had insisted on her first name being used—opened the door, the smile on her face widening. "Oh, perfect! Welcome, Zatanna." She led her into the house, and the sounds of raucous kids grew even louder. "Rebecca is just so excited that we got a magician—she's been on a magic kick since her uncle got her a kit at Christmas, and—oh, Michael!" She caught the upper arm of a salt-and-pepper haired man carrying two bottles of soda. "This is Zatanna."

"Oh, hey!" For a moment, he seemed ready to extend his hand, only to realize the predicament.

"Nice to meet you," Zatanna said, offering a quick wave.

"So all the kids are down in the basement right now," Janet continued. "There's food and drinks, and I know we discussed having two shows, a quick one after everyone's showed up and a longer one after cake. That still good?"

"Yeah, that's great!"

"Perfect! We can head down now, and you can grab something to eat. I think we're waiting on just a few more kids, and then we should be good to go."

The three of them trooped down to the basement, which was decked top-to-bottom with pink: pink streamers, pink balloons filled with glitter, a hot pink cardboard cutout 6, neon pink tablecloths lined with pink cups and plates. Zatanna thought of her six-year-old self, who would have been in absolute heaven.

A young girl, a sparkling tiara on her head, was leading the pack of children around the room, laughing wildly. "Rebecca!" Michael called, and she skittered to a stop. "Look who's here."

With a squeal, Rebecca ran into Zatanna full-force and crushed her with a hug.

"Rebecca!" Her mother's face went red. "Remember what we talked about with personal space?"

"No, no, it's okay!" Zatanna insisted because how could she be mad at that beaming face? Kneeling, she took Rebecca's hands in her own. "You must be very excited about your birthday."

She nodded. "You're gonna do real magic, right?"

"Only the very best real magic."

"After the rest of your friends arrive," Michael quickly added.

"Awww." She was joined by a chorus from the party guests, who had stalled in their stampede.

"Well, I can give you just a little taste now."

This elicited an even more fervent squeal, and the rest of the children looked on with barely contained excitement. Wiggling the fingers on her left hand dramatically, Zatanna tightly clenched her other hand into a fist and murmured, "Ekam xis knip snekot raeppa!"2

Six pink tokens materialized, and she quickly showed her palm to Rebecca. "Happy birthday."

She gasped before grabbing her prize, and her friends immediately clamored around her. Janet leaned over and whispered, "You are going to be a hit."

As they waited for the final guests, the kids played a game with constantly changing rules and teams that Zatanna could not follow, and she spent her time at the snack table. There were several other parents there helping keep an eye on the mob, and they politely asked her all the usual questions, which inevitably led to asking how she got involved with magic. Part of her had expected this, but the lump from before resettled, and she took a few gulps of soda before she was able to answer that her father had inspired her. It was the only piece of truth, not only for the sake of her secret identity but to keep herself from crying, and she was more than relieved when the last guest arrived.

The young girl stood in stark contrast to the rest. Her clothes were well-worn, the knees of her jeans faded to white, her shirt tight around her upper arms. Flyaway hairs sprung from her head, a few barrettes haphazardly placed in an attempt to keep it under control. She stood timidly in the middle of the stairs, overwhelmed, her eyes practically bulging as one hand clung to the railing and the other clutched a homemade card.

As soon as Rebecca saw her arrival, she broke from the game and rushed to greet her. "Emma! You're here! C'mon, c'mon, we gots a magician! We were waiting for you!"

All but dragging her friend, Rebecca stopped in front of her mother. "The show can start now, right? Everyone's here!"

Janet laughed softly. "Yes, we can start. Everyone sit down, please." Leading Zatanna toward the center of the basement, she continued, "And give a very big round of applause to Zatanna the Magnificent!"

Offering a few quick, courteous bows, Zatanna got to work. It was nothing elaborate—she was saving the more dramatic tricks for the post-cake show—but it was everything expected of a magician, parlor tricks that bent reality and confused the eyes. She made sure to use her bag of props even though it was unnecessary; just another part of the illusion because no matter how good she wanted them to think she was, they couldn't think she was too good.

Once her set was complete, the kids went wild, whooping and hollering, and Rebecca was on her feet, loudest of all. "More!" she cried. "Please?"

"Ah, ah," Michael quickly interjected, cutting off the gaggle of children before they could begin. "Cake first, and then another act. Remember?"

"Okay!" She started yanking her friends to their feet. "C'mon, guys, hurry up! Cake!"

There was an immediate swarming to the table, and Janet carefully transcended the stairs, carrying—of course—a bright pink cake decorated with Disney princesses. The lights were dimmed, a wide range of voices struggled to carry the tune of "Happy Birthday," and Rebecca was frantically blowing out the candles.

The cake was cut and plated, disappearing off the table just as quickly as it was set. It was absolute madness, but adorable madness nonetheless, and Zatanna couldn't keep the grin off her face. At least, not until she saw Emma. Unlike the others, who were licking the icing off their slices or giggling through mouthfuls, she was frantically stuffing the dessert into her mouth, barely even finishing one bite before shoveling in the next, and she was finished before the last guest had gotten their piece.

"My goodness, you must have been hungry!" Janet had stepped out from behind the table and knelt beside the young girl. Her brown eyes widened, and she shrunk away, but Janet didn't seem to notice. "Well, you didn't have a chance to get any snacks…Here." She handed Emma another plate, ruffled her hair, and resumed hostess duties. The girl stared at her for a few seconds expectantly, almost warily, before she hesitantly and much more slowly began eating.

Zatanna felt her mouth go dry, the confetti cake suddenly tasting like sawdust. A twinge reverberated deep in her gut, a strange, foreboding feeling that surfaced occasionally during missions. "Second-hand Bat intuition," Robin had teased the first time it had happened. "Ya know, a gut-feeling on steroids."

And she had merely scoffed and muttered that it was actually second-hand Bat paranoia, but even she had to admit that it had never proven her wrong. Now, she prayed that it was. Old clothes and a sweet tooth weren't an indication of anything sinister. If her family wasn't well-off, then she probably didn't get dessert all that often. That was the most likely scenario.

Even so, she could not shake the feeling, Emma's body language when Janet spoke replaying in her mind.

Don't go inventing trouble, she scolded. And don't be jumping to conclusions.

There wasn't much time to dwell on it, not with Michael tapping her on the shoulder and asking, "Ready?"

Flashing her showman smile, she said, "Of course!"

Despite the extra sugar coursing through their veins, the kids immediately plopped down on the floor when she took to the center of the room. All her thoughts were directed solely on the task at hand. She was a bit more daring for this show, more elaborate deceptions and a dabbling of pyrotechnics, card tricks that shouldn't be possible, and, of course, levitating the birthday girl nearly four feet off the ground, eliciting gasps of awe and a fit of wild giggling from Rebecca. It was maybe just one step too far for the average magician, but Zatanna couldn't help flexing her true skills. Besides, it sealed the deal and earned her a standing ovation. With bows and waves, she made her way over to the snack table and was immediately inundated with requests from several parents to perform at their own children's parties.

As she hastily handed out her contact information, the party resumed, and Rebecca's parents set up for musical chairs. It had been years since Zatanna had played, and she could not help but be fascinated with the determination that the kids had. With nearly two dozen playing, it was an intense, fast-paced battle, and Zatanna was completely absorbed, practically holding her breath as the amount of kids dwindled. When the last five were making their rounds, Emma's eyes flickered toward the basement stairs, and she stopped so quickly that the others crashed into one another.

Zatanna followed the young girl's gaze and saw a well-dressed man. He was smiling, but it looked misplaced, almost forced. "Emma! Don't be silly—keep your head in the game!"

Still looking like a deer in the headlights, she obeyed, and they continued their romp around the chairs. The man reached the bottom of the steps, and Janet quickly greeted him. Unable to help herself, Zatanna eavesdropped. "Oh, Robert, I completely lost track of time and didn't realize you'd be ready to pick her up."

With a polite laugh, he countered, "Don't you worry, I figured after knocking for a bit that it'd just be easier to come in. How was she?"

"Oh, just great! Such a sweet girl, and she was so well-behaved."

"Glad to hear it." He tilted his head and lowered his voice, and Zatanna leaned forward and hoped she didn't appear as obvious as she felt. "This is just the first time she's been out since we took her in, and it's just hard to gauge how she'd react and behave." He sighed, which sounded the slightest bit exaggerated to Zatanna. "Always a challenge. I mean, what with the trauma she's gone through, you just never know the triggers or the setbacks until they appear."

"Oh, no, I completely understand! But she really was good."

"Good, good." That smile again.

Fighting the keep a scowl off her face, Zatanna tried to decipher not only the conversation but the strange interactions between Emma and her…well, whatever Robert was. There wasn't much time to consider, though, because the game was over, and Emma obediently, if meekly, wondered over toward them.

"Ready to go, kiddo?" Robert asked, voice cheery.

Too cheery, Zatanna thought cynically, then chided, Stop being such a nosey busy body! This guy's done nothing wrong.

"Mhm."

"Wait, wait, not so fast. Please, take some cake home."

"Oh, no, really, that's not necessary," Robert objected, but Janet had already made her way to the snack table and was cutting a generous slab.

"Don't be silly. We have much too much left over, and I can only hope I can give most of it away." As if to emphasize her point, she leaned down and grabbed a box of tin foil to wrap the plate. "Besides, Emma positively loved it—a girl after my own heart, the way she scarfed it down."

"Well, I suppose if you insist." There was an edge to his voice, and he fixed Emma with a look that Zatanna couldn't place, but goosebumps pricked along her arms. That second-hand Bat Intuition surged stronger, even though the pieces of this strange puzzle were too scattered to form a proper picture.

"Rebecca, come say goodbye to your friend!" Janet called.

"Awww, you have to go already?" Rebecca pouted as she scampered over.

Emma just nodded.

"What do you say, Emma?" Robert prompted.

"Thank you for having me." It was said robotically, a carefully rehearsed response.

Robert placed his hand on the girl's back, between her shoulder blades, and redirected her body toward the hostess. "Thank you for having me," she repeated, voice a slightly higher pitch, and for a split second, her eyes flickered to Robert, as though she was trying to read him as much as Zatanna was.

"Of course, sweetie."

Rebecca yanked her into a hug and squeezed. "Thank you for coming! And for my card! I'll see you at school."

She went skipping back toward her other guests, and Janet nodded to the stairs. "I'll walk you two out. Oh, and don't let me forget the goodie bag!"

As they made their ascent, Zatanna found herself following them to the front door, where Janet handed Emma a bright-pink cellophane baggie filled with assorted candy and plastic kiddie prizes. "Thank you," was the soft, rapid-fire reply.

"But wait, there's more!" It was out of her mouth before the teenager could even think, and all three faced her. Heat tingled harshly on her cheeks, but she quickly jumped into action. Leaning down to the little girl's height, making sure to keep both hands behind her back, she asked brightly, "Are you ready for one last trick?" Under her breath, just audible enough, she intoned, "Ekam a rewolf dnabdaeh htiw a neddih gnidrocer ecived raeppa."3

The flower headband appeared in her hands, which she brought forward and, gently, adjusted it into Emma's hair. Her eyes lit up, and she beamed. "Thank you!"

"Of course." In a stage-whisper, she continued, "And don't forget—it's got just a bit of magic in it."

Robert, clearing his throat uncomfortably, said, "Well, we really must be going now. Good-bye, and thanks again."

He guided Emma outside, and as Zatanna rose to her full height, she couldn't help but notice that the car he drove was a nice, shiny new model, much more expansive than a handful of children's clothes.

"My, my, you really are a magician!" Janet exclaimed. "Do you always have such tricks up your sleeves?"

"A craftsman is always prepared," she countered with a wink, and they returned to the party.

In an hour and a half, Zatanna was heading back to the Cave with nearly an eighth of the sheet cake ("We really do not want any leftovers."), her own goodie bag ("Oh, ooh, wait, don't forget this!"), and her earnings, an extra $50 written on the check ("You absolutely deserve this. You were fantastic."). Her teammates were clustered in the living room, and all eyes immediately turned to her.

"How was it?" Robin was the first on his feet, carefully taking the plate and baggie from her hands and placing it on the kitchen counter.

"All the deets," Raquel insisted, patting the free spot on the couch next to her.

"Aw, guys, you didn't really need to wait around for me," she insisted, though she quickly began her narrative. When she got to the part about Emma, she faltered, knowing that it was unnecessary and probably her own hyperbolic reaction to an innocuous situation, so she powered on instead. Once complete, she reached into her pocket and flashed the check. "Boom."

There was chorus of "Ooohs," and wolf-whistles, all except from Wally, who had already started on the cake. "Girl, look at you!" Raquel exclaimed.

"Remind me to start looking for a better job," Artemis added. "Actually, do you need an assistant?"

"Sorry, I work alone." Rising, she jokingly fanned herself with the piece of paper. "Now if you excuse me, I need to figure out how to spend this."

She retreated to her room and closed the door, setting the ring on her dresser, then flopped on her bed. Her excitement fading, her mind returned to Emma and the weirdness of the entire situation. An overreaction. That had to be it. All her attempts to forget about the year anniversary of her father had warped into a strange obsession with a girl and her… guardian that didn't mimic the relationship she'd had with her dad. There was something psychological behind it, she was sure.

There was a knock, and she sat up and called, "Come in."

Her boyfriend entered. "Hey."

"Hey, what's up?" Throwing herself dramatically onto her back, she kicked one foot up and asked aristocratically, "Do you wish to be in the presence of wealth?"

He laughed—a little too hard, honestly—and said, "Nah, Zee, just wanted to talk to you." Face growing serious, he joined her and continued, "There was something off about you when you talked about the party. I don't know, like you wanted to say something and then stopped. Was everything okay? For real? I mean, I know you did great, but…"

Part of her thought about brushing it off, but against her better judgement, she told him the truth, only omitting the listening device in the headband because she'd rather have him not consider her crazy. That's what she was being, after all, and he'd be sure to tell her that with his signature snark and cackle.

Instead, he sat thoughtfully. "You really had a strong feeling about this?"

"Well, yeah." She wanted to add more, downplay it, but could not bring herself to do so.

"Then I would trust yourself. You don't overreact, Zee—you are intuitive, and you care with your whole heart, but you are not an overreactor." Kissing her on the forehead, he stood. "If you want to talk about it more, I'm just a Bat signal away. All good with the picnic tomorrow?"

"Good with me." On an impulse, she tugged him in for a longer kiss. "Thanks."

"'Course. See ya."

"Bye."

Alone once again, she stared at her laptop, silently beckoning her. Before she could reconsider, she went to her desk, opened it up, and accessed the League Database, comprised of information for every citizen in America. Although she only had a first name, she'd gotten something along with the make and model of Robert's car: his license plate.

A few moments of loading brought up Robert Eden's profile. Mid-thirties, married to Anita Eden, lived in a newly renovated home, worked an IT job racking in six-figures after taxes, had two parking tickets and was involved with one fender bender (not at fault), had two foster children, Emma DeShawn and Martin Parker…ah. There it was. Martin had been with the Eden's for over a year and a half, but Emma had only been taken in three months ago. The comments Robert had made to Janet, the not-quite-familiar interactions between him and Emma, it made sense now. There was nothing sinister going on—they were just figuring out the new dynamic, that was all. He and his wife must have gone through hours and hours of training, extensive background checks. It's not like they would go through all that trouble just to hurt kids.

Right?

"Of course," she muttered with annoyance. "Stop dwelling."

If only. If only she could shake the image of Emma's tattered clothes and unkept hair, the desperation at which she ate, the body language she had not only with Janet but with Robert.

The mouse hovered on the X in the top right corner, then drifted toward Emma's name and clicked.

Emma DeShawn…six years old…father killed in automobile accident at age four…mother arrested on child neglect and child abandonment charges when she was five…placed with the Edens seven months after being in state care.

Inhaling deeply and letting it out shakily, Zatanna closed her computer. That could explain the food habits, maybe even the interaction with adults, but not her appearance. The Edens were clearly well-off, and they had had plenty of time to improve the poor girl's wardrobe and hygiene. Being cheapskates wasn't a crime, though, and she couldn't just release the wrath of the Justice League because of it.

She rolled onto her side and tucked her knees to her chest, eyes settling on her collage of pictures. The Team had helped her assemble it after the Cave became her permanent residence. A handful were of her family—her mom, her dad, and her—a time that was a strange blur in Zatanna's mind, snippets of day trips around the city and petting zoos and snuggling together in front of the fireplace during winter. Some were of her new family, the Team, in and out of hero garb. Most, though, were of her and her dad, a mini timeline from age four to fifteen. Tears suddenly blurred her version, and she frantically tried to blink them away. Her mom was gone forever, her dad might as well be, but she had the League and the Team. It had been a whirlwind of emotions to adjust, and she had a solid support system and the knowledge that she would never be left to fend for herself. Every kid deserved that, and she could not shake the fear, deep-rooted and heavy in her chest, that Emma did not. Something, something, was off about the situation, and she could not ignore it.

Maybe she was crazy. Maybe she was looking for an outlet. If she was wrong, she'd talk to Dinah. But if she wasn't…

She found her favorite photo, the one of her dad and her at Central Park in winter, nearly eight years ago. They were on the skating rink, faces pink from the cold. Her father had conjured up two massive hot chocolates, topped with a mountain of whipped cream and chocolate drizzle, and she had a splash on her nose. She was grinning widely at the camera, but her father was looking at her, a soft, gentle smile on his face.

Her heart ached, and before she could think of a million reasons why she was overreacting, she whispered, "Gnirb em eht gnidrocer ecived morf eht dnabdaeh."4

The recorder appeared, no bigger than a flash drive, in her palm. Reaching into her drawer, she grabbed her headphones and plugged them into the top port. After a final moment of hesitation, she pushed Play.

Nothing at first, other than what she concluded was the car radio giving an update on the news. Then Robert's voice, much harsher than it had been at the party: "I thought I told you that I expected perfect behavior from you."

"But I was good," Emma objected pitifully.

"Scarfing down dessert? You aren't a starving dog, and I don't want to hear about you acting like one!"

"I'm s-sorry. It was just so good and—"

"I don't care!" What sounded like a hard slap against the steering wheel. After a few beats of silence, he continued, more softly, "When we took you in, I thought we made it abundantly clear that you were to obey us. That's a fair exchange for putting a roof over your head and food in your stomach, isn't it?"

"Yes. I, I'm sorry."

"Mhm. I'm sure you are. But that doesn't change anything. I think we're going to have to reconsider any future party invitations you get until we perfect those manners of yours. This isn't what we signed up for when we agreed to foster you. We gave you a family when nobody else wanted you, and I think the least you could do is not embarrass us in public. Am I being clear?"

Zatanna felt sick to her stomach. That bastard. Who spoke to a child like that? No wonder Emma had practically frozen upon seeing him.

"Yes." Sad and defeated. "I understand."

"Good. I don't want to have another discussion like this."

Nothing but the radio again.

As angry as she was, Zatanna knew that she could not materialize at the Eden home and whisk Emma away. Being a manipulative jerk, by all accounts, was not illegal. She needed more.

She skipped around with the audio, hoping for anything relevant, something more concrete. It took a while, but she landed on, "…insolence!" followed by the sound of fist on flesh. Heart throbbing, she frantically backtracked, struggling to find where the scene began.

"—a plate," Robert was saying. "She overindulged at the party; she won't be needing dinner."

A click of the tongue. "Fine with me." A female voice. Anita.

"Wait, that isn't fair!" Younger male voice. That had to be their other foster child, Martin. "It's a party, you're supposed to pig out!"

"It's okay," Emma whispered.

"No it isn't! She's practically skin and bones as she is, you can't not feed her any more than you already do."

"I will not be spoken to like that in my own home!" Robert, severely, the sound of a chair being scrapped across linoleum. "You are so ungrateful! No one else wanted to deal with you and this is how you repay us?"

"Looks like Emma won't be the only one not getting dinner," Anita chimed in, and there was almost a smugness in how she said it.

"If you don't want to feed me, fine, but don't do that to Emma! You could at least pretend to give a shit about her!"

"How dare you!" Heavy footsteps. "I will not listen to your insolence!" The punch. A grunt of pain, what sounded like a chair toppling over, then a string of hits. A scream, followed by a wail from Emma: "Stop it, please!"

"Shut up!" Anita. Suddenly, frantically, "No, not the face! Robert!"

Silence other than scattered, heavy breathing and whimpering hiccups. "Get up and get out of my face. Both of you."

Footsteps. "Hey, hey, don't be upset," Martin whispered. "I'm okay."

"He h-hit you."

"Not the first, not the last, you know that, Em. But I'm just fine. Please, please stop crying. You know I hate it when you cry. Shh, please, they'll get more mad if you don't."

"I, I just, I don't…"

"Hey, hey, listen, it'll be okay, promise. I just…I gotta figure a few things out, okay, and then we're gonna get out of here. Look, tonight, after they're in bed, I'll sneak you something to eat, okay? Just relax, please?"

"I don't like it when you're hit."

"I know, I know. But it's not even gonna leave a bruise, promise."

"This time." It was soft, barely picked up.

Martin sighed. "You gotta trust me, please? I'm the one who needs to look after you, remember? That's the deal."

Unable to listen to anymore, Zatanna snapped the Pause button and leaned back in her seat. She had to get Emma and Martin out of that house, but she needed a plan. The audio would technically be permissible in court if she got permission from Martin or Emma, but she didn't know how their being minors would impact that. Plus, the amount of time it would take to go to court, if it even got to court in the first place, if either Emma or Martin wanted to testify…there were too many variables for her to be comfortable.

She burrowed her head in her hands. Think. There has to be another way. Just think.

After a few minutes of overwhelming, suffocating silence, an idea, half-formed and borderline dangerous, flittered through her mind and took shape. A technique her father had only taught her when she was older, his voice thick with foreboding that it teetered on dark magic and carried staggering consequences if misused or miscast. Simultaneous body and mind control.

"This is to be done in desperation only," he had told her, his eyes burning into hers. "And you must maintain perfect concentration even after the initial incantation. The human body is not a toy, and if it is shattered, repair will be nearly impossible. Tendons, muscles, brain cells…all of them are yours to control in unison, and you must be careful when you do so."

She had never dared attempt it during battle. As far as she knew, her father had only used it once, and he had far more years of experience than she. Now, though, she was willing to take the risk.

Opening her laptop again, she returned to the League Database and went back to Robert's page, skipping down to the home address.

Steeling her nerves, Zatanna quickly dressed in her heroine attire, tucked the ring safely into her pocket, and cast a transportation spell for Emma's room.

It was a decent-size room but sparsely decorated. The walls were barren, not a single poster or picture. Not that there was much time for Zatanna to take it in—Emma, sitting on the bed with her knees to her chest, let out a small shriek and scrambled as far against the headboard as she could.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," she protested quickly, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. "Don't be afraid. I'm here to help."

"Help?"

"Yeah. I know…I know the Edens aren't great parents. And you deserve a lot better. You and Martin. I'm with the Justice League." A bit of a stretch, but close enough. "And I'm going to get you out of here."

"But…but how?"

With a small smile, she slipped the ring into place, eliciting a gasp. "Told you there was a little magic." Bowing low, she added, "Zatanna the Magnificent, at your service."

She didn't move, simply stared while biting on her lip. "But…but what's going to happen to us?"

"Well, you're going to go to a better home." Only once it left her mouth did she realize that she had no guarantee of that. The Edens were supposed to be a better home, and they had managed to fool the system into believing that they'd be good parents. Just because she was getting them out of this house didn't mean anything, not really. Her plan suddenly seemed much more half-baked than it had before.

It was too late now, though, with Emma jumping to the floor and rushing to give her a hug. "Really? Really, really?"

"Yes, really," she said with more confidence than she felt.

"Then let's get Martin!" Emma firmly grabbed Zatanna's hand and led her down the hall, bursting through the door at the end.

Martin, who seemed to be in his mid-teens, was sitting cross-legged on his bed and inspecting his ribs, a bouquet of bruises already blooming. At the sight of his foster sister and stranger, his mouth snapped open, and he frantically scrambled to his feet while jerking his shirt into place. The magician couldn't ignore how he winced.

"What—"

"She's from the Justice League!" Emma squealed, practically skipping over to him. "She, she's gonna get us out of here and into a good home!"

Martin narrowed his eyes. Doubt and confusion marred his features. "Justice League, huh?"

"More like their covert counterpart," she offered.

"Look, uh, you really shouldn't be here. You, you don't need to be here. We're, we're okay."

"No we aren't," Emma protested, looking at him in disbelief. "She can find us a real home. With nice parents! She's a hero!"

Zatanna didn't feel like a hero, not with the distrust evident on Martin's face. "They don't treat you right. Not by making you feel like burdens and withholding food and hitting you." Her gaze lingered on his ribs, and he ducked his head. "There are people out there who want to take care of you, who will treat you like you deserve to be treated. And I'm not just going to let you two stay here."

"But we can't…we can't just leave. And I've been through court, and I can't go through that again."

"Oh, don't worry about that. The Edens are going to willingly give you back up to the state." She smirked. "I mean, what kind of magician would I be if I couldn't hypnotize?"

Hypnotize was putting it lightly, and honestly, her nerves were fraying over the strategy. Still, she had come too far to back out now.

"So, you two just pack up all your things, and I'll be back in a few minutes."

Before Martin had a chance to interject, she was gone, making her way to the master bedroom. With a few deep breath, mentally preparing herself, she stepped inside. Anita and Robert were both there, thankfully, and Zatanna immediately spat, "Yebo ym sdnammoc!"5

They froze, bodies becoming rigid, eyes glazing over, and Zatanna felt her heart flutter in her chest. Do not break concentration. Do not break concentration. "You will call the social workers for Emma and Martin in five minutes," she intoned. "You will say that you no longer wish to be foster parents and ask for them to be removed tonight. You will not foster any more children. And you will not remember why you feel this way. In five minutes, my hold on you will be released."

Seconds passed. When they remained as they were, she sighed in relief and went to Emma's room. The young girl was excitedly packing her meager belongings in a faded purple duffel bag. "We're leaving?"

"Not right this second. The magic takes a few minutes to work. But your social workers are going to get involved, and you and Martin will be taken back into state care. And I'll make sure you get into a good home. Promise." Conjuring two walkie-talkies, she handed one to Emma. "And if you need me, you reach out to me, okay?"

"Okay!"

She went to check on Martin. In stark contrast to his foster sister, he was moving much more slowly, stuffing his things into a worn-down black trash bag. Upon seeing her in the doorway, he deadpanned, "They won't keep us together."

"What?"

"I've seen biological siblings get split up by the state, they're not going to keep us together." He focused his attention on her. "Look, I don't know how you found out about what was going on, and I appreciate what you're trying to do, but…I've been in the system for nine years now, and this is my fifth long-term placement, and it's been the best by a long-shot."

"The best? But—"

"Yeah, they have savior complexes and egos, and Robert likes to act like a big man sometimes and knock me around, but trust me, that is nothing compared to being locked in a prayer closet to free me of my demons, or watching biological kids get mountains of toys on Christmas and their birthdays while I got nothing, or having cigarettes put out on my arms and back because the ash tray was too far." With a mirthless laugh, he continued, "But none compared to dear old Mom, who had me turning tricks for her friends because how else was she going to get easy money?" Voice cracking, he turned his eyes back to the garage bag. He didn't speak for some time. "Sorry. I…You didn't need to hear all that. And, and I appreciate what you're trying to do. For real. You, you actually care, I can tell, and…and that's a lot more than anyone else has done. But I can't get my hopes up, y'know? Because it doesn't work out."

Zatanna stared, struggling for a reply but too shocked to find one. It was said as simple fact, no anger in his voice, which made her feel even worse. He'd been through Hell and back, and there was nothing she could do to change that.

"I…I'm going to do everything that I can to keep you and Emma safe," she promised. "I mean that, Martin. And I am going to do whatever I can to make sure you two are kept together." Softly, she asked, "Is that all you have to carry your things?"

"Yup. All I've ever had. Pretty nifty, huh, being able to carry all my Earthly possessions in a single garbage bag?" An empty, broken smile fitted itself on his face.

Throat tight, Zatanna fought to speak another spell. On the bed materialized a large, black duffle bag, Martin etched in white stitching on the front. After a moment, the smile on his face looked a little more real.

"I'm going to do everything I can for you. I swear."

For him, and Emma, and all the kids like them. The hurt, the abused, the betrayed, those tossed in the system and left at the mercy of adults who should have been protecting and loving them. Even after she'd lost her parents, she had a new family to make sure she had a place to sleep and food to eat and people to care. And she might not be able to guarantee that every child would get that, but she'd do everything she could to make it so. She was a magician, after all—she knew how to break through illusions.

Being removed from an abusive situation doesn't mean a child's abuse is over. Official statistics state 28% of children are abused when in foster care, though this number is likely underestimated. Children in the system are often bounced from one home to another, and some never find a forever home that gives them the love, protection, and stability they deserve. Once they age out, they are at a higher risk of developing a substance abuse problem or being involved in crime. Few graduate college, and 25% won't graduate high school or get a GED. This is if they survive the system at all—five children will die every day from abuse in America alone.

The non-profit ChildHelp relies on donations to run prevention, intervention, and treatment programs. The Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption seeks to increase the number of adoptions from foster care. Donate if you can, and if you can't, write to your legislators demanding better laws against child abuse and an improvement in foster care. If you think someone is being abused, do not be afraid to intervene. It's not easy to get involved, and it may not always feel like the best path, but no child deserves to live in an abusive home. Especially in these especially trying times with COVID-19, victims are trapped with their abusers with no escape to school or activities, and tensions can escalate to more frequent, violent abuse.

To all the victims, you are in my thoughts and prayers always. If you need help, reach out.

Someone will believe you. I do. Never give up hope, and never believe that you deserve anything other than love.

No more concrete angels

1. "Make a rose appear."

2. "Make six pink tokens appear."

3. "Make a flower headband with a hidden recording device appear."

4. "Bring me the recording device from the headband."

5. "Obey my commands!"