by Greg Cox
Fleeing seemed her best bet, but how to do that while the Court of Owls was surely watching every escape route? Her only hope was to wait them out, hunkering down long enough for them to let their attention slip. In the meantime, she had resorted to dumpster-diving to keep body and soul together, foraging for food and supplies whenever she worked up the nerve to cautiously venture out into the city after dark. This had been her life for days now…
That her best option and only hope was squatting in a deserted wreck of a forgotten tourist attraction for as long as she could manage was about as bleak a prospect as she could imagine. When she looked back at what her life had been like, only recently, it was hard not to despair. She gazed at the trio of Lydias on the ceiling.
“Is this how you felt at the end, when you lost everything?” she whispered. In a strange way, she felt closer to the woman than ever before. “Did you wonder how the hell your future had been stolen from you? Did it catch you by surprise… or did you see it coming?”
Joanna knew exactly when it all went wrong for her. That night was burned into her brain forever…
Several days earlier
The night started like any other. She was heading home from the campus library after a long and productive evening working on her thesis. A small notice in a long-extinct Gotham tabloid had given her a new lead on a lesser-known Percy Wright work that, based on its description, might well be another post-mortem evocation of Lydia. She couldn’t wait to track it down in person.
For now, though, she was ready to call it a night. She trudged down the main drag of the University District past assorted pizza places, coffee shops, hip record stores stocked with vintage vinyl, and other student hang-outs. Even though it was past ten on a weeknight, the avenue was still buzzing with activity. Joanna made her way down the crowded sidewalk, an overstuffed backpack weighing her down, while keeping a wary eye on the weather, which was threatening to take a nasty turn.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, accompanied by brilliant flashes of lightning, which appeared to be drawing nearer at a worrisome pace. Black clouds rolled in from the east, heralding a storm. A few stray droplets sprinkled her ahead of the downpour.
And me without an umbrella, she thought. Crap.
She paused at the entrance to a murky alley dividing a used-bookstore from a vaping parlor. The shortcut would cut a block or two off her usual route, possibly giving her time to get indoors before any heavy rain arrived. This being Gotham, she preferred to stick to better-lit, more populated streets after dark, but she wasn’t keen on getting drenched either, especially since she wasn’t sure just how waterproof her backpack was. The thought of her laptop and notebooks getting soaked made the shortcut seriously tempting.
Maybe just this once…
This was the University District after all, as opposed to the Narrows or some equally seedy part of town. She peered into the alley, which looked empty enough aside from a few rusty metal dumpsters. Just a quick dash through and she’d be halfway home.
“What the heck,” she muttered. “Let’s do this.”
Thunder boomed at her heels, spurring her on. Raindrops pelted her face with greater frequency. Fishing a keyring from her purse, she clutched the mini-canister of pepper spray clipped to the ring and hurried into the alley. She walked briskly, the sooner to reach the other end, while staying carefully aware of her surroundings. Rats scurried as she passed the first dumpster.
Ick.
Despite her street-smart vigilance, part of her was already anticipating settling in back at her apartment. Leftover chicken souvlaki was calling her name, along with a hot shower and maybe some TV to help her unwind. Claire would surely be home at this hour. Joanna wondered if her roommate would be up to a little binge-watching before bed.
The rain started coming down heavier as the storm caught up with her. A flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by a deafening thunderclap, lit up the alley, exposing a hooded figure lurking on a fire escape. The glare was gone in a blink, but not before the menacing apparition was impressed upon her mind. Clad in black leather body armor, he sported a small arsenal of wicked-looking knives and claws and swords while peering down at her through tinted yellow goggles. A bird-like metal beak jogged Joanna’s memory to terrifying effect. Well-versed in Gotham lore and history, she recognized a Talon when she saw one.
But that’s just an old story.
His presence revealed by the storm, the Talon made no further attempt to conceal himself. She saw him as a dim silhouette, except during fleeting flashes of lightning. He drew a knife from a belt that was slung across his chest. It caught the faint light coming from the street as he turned it back and forth to keep her attention.
“Joanna Lee,” he said. “The Court of Owls has need of you.”
His words made her crazy suspicions all too real. Trembling, she raised the tiny vial of pepper spray, which seemed woefully inadequate when faced with a legendary boogeyman armed to the teeth. A cruel chuckle suggested that the Talon was similarly unimpressed.
“Seriously?” he mocked her. “Do you have any clue who you’re dealing with?”
Joanna gulped. She knew more than she wanted to.
“T-Talon…”
“On the money,” he said, still sounding amused. “They said you were a bright one. Prove it by not giving me any trouble. I’m not out to hurt you. At least, not yet.”
That didn’t ease her mind a bit. She supposed she ought to be relieved that the Talon wasn’t planning to divest her of her head, but she was still trembling like a leaf, and felt sick to her stomach. Her eyes darted from one end of the alley to another. The well-lit avenues at each end looked impossibly far away. There was no way she could make it before the Talon pounced on her or nailed her in the back with a knife, but what else could she do?
Joanna knew deep down that if she let the Talon take her, she would never be seen again.
Just like Lydia.
Her arm shook as she brandished the pepper spray. The rain soaked her, chilling her to the bone. The strobe-effect of the lightning made everything even more surreal. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her.
“Toss away that toy,” the Talon snarled, “before I take it from you.” An edge in his voice made it clear that she didn’t want that. Losing hope, she let the key ring and canister fall from her fingers. They splashed into a muddy puddle.
This ambush had to have something to do with her thesis. One of Percy’s letters to Lydia had contained an allusion to a mythical court, but Lydia had been reluctant to read too much into it. As far as she’d known, the Court of Owls was just a durable part of Gotham folklore.
How did the old rhyme go again?
Speak not a whispered word of them,
Or they’ll send the Talon for your head.
She stared up at the figure on his perch.
“Please, I won’t tell anybody. Tell them that I won’t talk, not a word or a whisper.”
“Too late for that, college girl. You’ve rattled too many old skeletons already. You need to—”
Loud bangs, like firecrackers, came from the main drag she had left behind. At first Joanna thought it was just more thunder, but then she recognized the sharp report of gunshots. The Talon glanced quickly over his shoulder.
“What the hell?”
Screams and shouts accompanied the gunfire from the street. Panicked people, mostly college-age, poured into the alley, fleeing whatever violence had erupted behind them. Seeing her chance, Joanna let the frantic exodus carry her away from her pursuer. Another flash of lightning illuminated the alley. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that the fire escape was empty.
The Talon was nowhere to be seen.
“What’s happening?” she called to the strangers shoving past her, pushing her toward the far end of the alley. She couldn’t slow down without being trampled. “What is it?”
Competing answers assailed her.
“A drive-by shooting, I think!”
“Some sort of gang thing for sure! This city is a war zone!”
The very thought of a gang war triggered bad memories, flashing her back to the night she became an orphan, but it seemed as if she owed her escape to Gotham’s sky-high crime rate. The irony wasn’t lost on her as the mob spilled out of the alley into the street. Police sirens wailed in the night, converging on the crime scene an avenue over. A loud whoosh came from above, competing with the thunder, as a bat-winged aircraft swooped down from the clouds, skimming the rooftops as it passed overhead. Gasps and cheers greeted the Batwing while Joanna felt an irrational urge to call out for help—even knowing there was no way he could hear her from the street.
Her heart sank as the aircraft sped out of sight.
Batman wasn’t going to save her this time.
The agitated crowd dispersed in all directions, fleeing the shootings and the storm. Joanna stuck with the largest group, afraid to be alone, but still felt horribly exposed and vulnerable. She had no idea where the Talon had gone, but doubted he was far away. Hiding her face beneath her hoodie, she searched every shadowy nook and cranny as she hustled to keep up with the other freaked-out pedestrians. The rain came down in sheets, making it harder to watch her surroundings. For all she knew, he was spying on her right now, tracking her every move.
Just like he followed me into the alley.
A subway entrance beckoned to her, offering shelter beneath the city streets. Along with many others, she descended into the station and, after paying the fare, scrambled aboard the first train that pulled up to the platform. She sighed in relief as the doors slid shut and the train started moving toward… where exactly?
The reality of her situation sunk in.
The Court of Owls was real and the Talon was after her… because of something in Percy Wright’s history? Her backpack, holding her laptop and notebooks, suddenly felt a hundred times heavier. She couldn’t go home, could barely trust anyone, and had nowhere to turn. All thanks to a secret society that was supposed to be an urban legend.
Percy, Lydia… what have you gotten me into?
The present
Joanna Lee huddled under a ragged blanket in the crumbling rotunda. She had been on the run ever since she’d first glimpsed the Talon in that alley. Dennis had tried to hide her at his grandfather’s old cabin, even emptying out his bank account so that they would have money to live on while they struggled to stay off the grid.
The Talon had found them anyway.
Then Professor Morse had been burned alive.
Her thesis had a body count.
What about Claire? By now, her roommate would have reported her missing, but Joanna was afraid to reach out to her for fear of putting her in danger. Better for Claire to agonize over her disappearance than be drawn into this horror.
At least she hasn’t been in the headlines.
Yet.
A yawn reminded her that she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for longer than she could remember. Exhaustion won out over anxiety as she clicked off the flashlight and tried to get in a few more hours of shut-eye, while praying she wouldn’t again relive the attack on the cabin. That would be just too cruel.
Joanna nestled into the heap of torn sheets, towels and newspapers that formed her bed. A lumpy backpack, packed with dirty laundry, cushioned her head as best it could. She pulled her legs up to keep warm, only to find that sleep remained maddeningly out of reach. Even though she was so tired she felt more dead than alive, her brain couldn’t stop. She kept trying to figure out what she might have done differently and what her options were going forward. Or maybe she was afraid of sliding back into the nightmare.
She wasn’t sure what scared her more: bad dreams or a bleaker reality. Bad enough that the Owls have me jumping at shadows. Does my own subconscious have to conspire against me, too?
Something rustled in the dark outside, jolting her eyes open. She reached frantically for the knife she kept hidden under the makeshift pillow. It was the Talon’s knife, the same one that had lodged in the side of the boat during her narrow escape at the lake. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, combating the exhaustion.
With a sweaty palm she gripped the hilt of the knife. It was embossed with what she recognized as the Athenian Owl, an ancient symbol of wealth and power… as well as, according to the Romans, an omen of death. The foreboding emblem pressed against her flesh as she peered through an open archway toward the ruins beyond.
Don’t panic, she told herself uselessly. It was just a random noise in the night. Anything could have caused it: a stray cat or dog, a hungry gull foraging in the trash, a gust of wind blowing over some precariously stacked debris. She strained to penetrate the darkness outside the rotunda, where heaps of rubble and refuse had long ago replaced the majestic colonnade. A stagnant, scum-covered pool barely resembled the sparkling artificial lagoon of decades past.
A faint splash set her nerves further on edge.
Perhaps it was just another homeless person, searching for refuge? Such people came and went, though not often. The desolate fairgrounds had proven largely free of junkies or predators, but she had remained on guard the entire time she had been squatting here. Had her luck finally run out?
It can’t be him, she thought. He wouldn’t make a sound.
Joanna was tempted to call out, just to end the suspense, but knew that silence was her best defense. Gripping the knife in her right hand and the flashlight in her left, she didn’t move a muscle, afraid to make a sound—not unlike Lydia back in the day, when she’d held the same pose for long sessions at a time. It dawned on her just how physically arduous Lydia’s modeling career had been, now that her own safety might depend on staying as still as possible.
She held her breath, praying that whoever or whatever was out there would move on without ever knowing she was here. The darkness both shielded and frustrated her, making it impossible to know what lay beyond the nearest archway.
“I beg your pardon, miss, but you’re looking in the wrong direction.”
She let out a strangled shriek.
The voice came from directly overhead.
Gasping for air, she clicked on the flashlight and aimed it at the roof, where the Talon crouched on the ledge that circled the base of the dome. His gloved hands clutched a tangle of ropes as he peered down at her. The hilt of a sword could be glimpsed behind his right shoulder. Knives, identical to the one in Joanna’s hand, were sheathed all over his black leather gear.
“Oh, God…”
No longer caring what was outside, she tried to scramble to her feet, but the Talon was way ahead of her. He flung the ropes, which turned out to be a sturdy net worthy of a big-game hunter. It fell over Joanna, tangling her and dragging her down. Panicking, she flailed about wildly, slashing at the thick knotted cables, but only succeeded in snaring herself even more. Heavy weights held down the corners of the net, making it harder to throw off. In time, she might have extricated herself, but the Talon didn’t give her the chance.
Nimbly descending the wall of the rotunda, he crossed the floor to where she thrashed. The flashlight beam captured his approach. He drew his gleaming sword from behind his back, holding it ready.
“Stay down, miss, if you know what’s good for you.”
His voice sounded different than before, not as smug. Confused, Joanna stopped flailing and squinted at her captor. Peering through the ropes, it took her a few moments to realize that this wasn’t the same man who had pursued her earlier.
His garb varied from the other one, possessing a distinctly more retro look. An open black trench coat, reminiscent of those worn by army officers during the First World War, hung on him like a cape. Brass buttons, matching his polished brass goggles, gleamed upon his double-breasted black tunic. Cloth wrappings bound each of his legs from ankle to knee, providing support and protection. The overall effect harkened back to the early twentieth century, o
r so Joanna judged. Not quite steampunk, but close enough.
Like the other Talon, he was armed to the teeth.
“Who… who are you?” she asked.
“My name doesn’t matter anymore. It hasn’t since before you were born, before your mother’s mother was born, most likely. I serve the Court of Owls. That’s all you need to know.” He chuckled wryly. “And haven’t you led us on quite the merry chase… until now.”
Until now, her mind echoed. A horrible sense of inevitability fell over her like another net. She should have known she couldn’t hide forever. “How did you find me?”
“Call it a hunch,” he said. “I recalled this place of old. Hearing of your well-documented interest in such matters, I suspected its history would call to you.” He examined her through his goggles, which seemed to allow him to see in the dark. “Yes, I can see the resemblance well enough. Take away the garishly dyed hair and unsightly adornments, along with the color of your eyes, and you’re the spitting image of her, more or less.”
Curiosity cut through the terror.
“Lydia?”
“None other.” He paused to take in the rotunda. “Ah, you should have seen this place back when it was new. Glorious, it was, a tribute to the century’s ingenuity and aspirations.” He sighed wistfully. “But time takes its toll, I suppose, although some of us have cheated it longer than most.”
She didn’t understand. He was talking as though he actually remembered the Exposition, and Lydia as well—but that was impossible. Even if he’d attended that World’s Fair as a child, he’d be over a hundred years old now.
“No,” she whispered. “You can’t have been alive then.”
“Think again, miss.” His sword remained steady in his grasp. His posture showed no sign of age or infirmity. “Mind you, I’ve been asleep for some time, like Rip Van Winkle, you might say. Do they still tell that old story in this day and age, I wonder, or has it faded from memory like so much else?”
