Countdown (4 page)

“I—I’m fine,” Jimmy stammered. His blurry vision cleared as he gazed down at the motionless figure lying before him. Every last trace of Lightray’s sunny personality appeared to have fled the bloodied carcass at the bottom of the crater, perhaps via the gaping hole in his chest. A faint glow, like the final embers of a dying fire, burned where the god’s heart should have been, before fading away entirely. A glazed blue eye stared blankly into ... what? Infinity? “But Lightray ... Solis ... I think he’s dead.” Jimmy shook his head in disbelief; the very idea sounded inconceivable. “But how is that even possible?”

“I don’t know,” Superman confessed. He looked equally troubled by what had just transpired, which only worried Jimmy more. He was used to Superman always being on top of things. The hero’s brow furrowed in concern. “What does it mean for the universe ... when a
god
dies?”

NEW YBBK CITY.

Holms
& Pokus Occult Curioso, read the sign above the entrance to the small shop, which was tucked away in a secluded comer of Greenwich Village, between a coffeehouse and a gay bookstore. Cabalistic symbols adorned the first-floor windows, next to a mounted palmistry' chart. Fortunes Told, promised a smaller sign above the chart. Enter Freely—Unafraid.

Easier said than done,
Mary thought. Without her powers, she felt uncomfortably vulnerable. Vaporous incense fogged the air inside the shop, where she sat on one side of a round mahogany table. The lights were turned down low, so that the glowing crystal sphere resting atop the table provided most of the illumination. Murky shadows hid the comers of the intimate parlor at the back of the store. Shelves lined with occult artifacts and paraphema-lia could be only dimly glimpsed. An Oriental rug with intricate designs lay upon the floor. Weird, ethereal music played softly in the background.

Mary prayed that she had come to the right place.

“The faint residue of magic coats your aura,” declared the exotic-looking woman sitting across from Mary. A band of indigo silk covered the woman’s eyes; rumor had it that she had been blinded by the Spectre during the vengeful ghost’s rampage two years ago. A slinky, low-cut purple dress displayed her womanly figure. Straight black hair hung past her shoulders. Silver glittered on her wrists, neck, and ears. Her smoky voice held an indefinable accent. “Until recently, you knew the power of the spoken word.”

That’s one way to put it,
Mary thought. “I lost my power, Madame Xanadu, not my memory.” She fidgeted impa-’ tiently. “If you can’t help me ..

The other woman held up her hand to silence Mary’s protests. Storefront psychics and fortune-tellers were a dime a dozen these days, but Madame Xanadu was the real thing. Although her origins were shrouded in mystery, everyone in the magical community heeded her counsel. The wizard Shazam, who had originally granted Mary and Billy their powers, had regarded the reputedly ageless oracle as a peer. It was said that when Madame Xanadu foretold the future, even the Phantom Stranger listened....

“The boy you are searching for, your brother,” she stated, “he is nowhere to be found, at least not by me.” She lifted her blindfolded gaze from the crystal ball. “Let us focus on
you
for the moment.”

“Me?” Mary said. She had sought out Madame Xana-du’s Christy Street address in hopes of tracking down her missing sibling. “What about me?”

“Your future is cloudy, Mary, full of turbulent shadows, obscuring many paths.” Luminous mists swirled inside the crystal ball. “You will be tested; that much I can discern.”

“What sort of tests?” Mary asked anxiously. “Do I get my powers back?”

Madame Xanadu paused before answering. Despite her silken blindfold, she seemed to peer deeply into Mary’s very soul. “Difficult to say. There is power in your destiny; that much is clear. The extent and nature of it is not. There are equal parts light and dark.”

“That’s not very helpful,” Mary complained. She had come here for answers, not cryptic utterances. Not for the first time, Maiy wished that the wizard was still alive to advise her; unfortunately, Shazam had been slain by the Spectre about the same time that Madame Xanadu had been blinded, during the infamous Day of Vengeance.

“You must be careful what you wish for,” the mysterious fortune-teller cautioned her. “And heed me well: Above all else, you must stay away from Gotham City.”

“Gotham?” Mary echoed in surprise.
Batman’s hometown?
“What does Gotham have to do with anything?” “It isn’t safe for magic,” Madame Xanadu said with maddening vagueness. She somehow sensed Mary’s growing dissatisfaction. “Child, there’s a reason we’re not supposed to gaze into the future. To do so is cheating, and the laws of magic make it difficult to predict with a high degree of probability—especially where matters of mystic power are concerned.”

“Great,” Mary replied irritably. She rose from her chair, now convinced that this entire session had been a colossal waste of time. “I feel even more lost than I did before.”

Madame Xanadu remained seated behind her crystal ball. She appeared to take no offense from Mary’s griping. Perhaps she was accustomed to such reactions. “If you’re lost in the wilderness, look for a guide.”

That’s what I thought I was doing,
Mary thought,
but apparently I came to the wrong place after all.
She threw a couple of dollars onto the table before heading for the door. “Okay, then,” she said sarcastically. “Thanks for clearing everything up.”

A bell jingled above the doorway as she let herself out.
Talk about a dead end!
She seethed in frustration. As far as Mary could tell, she had only picked up one piece of concrete information from the entire reading.

Gotham City, huh?

35 AND CODNTING.

SAN FRANCISCO.

The
setting sun cast a ruddy twilight glow over the lonely graveyard. Weathered stone monuments preserved the memory of those buried beneath the neatly trimmed lawn. A chilly breeze whistled through the skeletal branches of scattered willow trees. Crinkly brown leaves littered the grass. A spiked iron fence surrounded the cemetery, protecting the grounds from intruders. The gates would soon close for the night.

Donna Troy wasn’t worried about getting locked in by mistake; if necessary, she could always fly over the fence. She was a strong and confident woman; the stars themselves glittered in her lustrous black hair and shimmering black leotard. The silvery flecks matched her wristbands, boots, and belt. A satiny black choker adorned her slender throat. Her clear blue eyes contemplated the name inscribed on the tombstone before her:

DONNA TROY.

Although she was immune to the cool fall weather, a chill ran down her spine nonetheless. Donna had seen and lived through much over the course of her convoluted existence, but it was hard not to be unsettled by the sight of one’s own grave.

Years ago, while fighting alongside her fellow Teen Titans, she had fallen in battle against a berserk Superman robot. Her friends and teammates had duly mourned her, but death, for her, had not proved permanent. Revived by cosmic forces to play a key role in the defense of the universe, she now found herself walking the Earth once more ... even as the engraved marble marker continued to commemorate her heroic sacrifice.
I suppose,
she mused,
I should arrange to have the gravestone removed.

But that was not why she had come here today.

Tearing her gaze away from the disturbing tombstone, she glanced around the cemetery. She appeared to have the melancholy setting to herself, but suspected otherwise. “All right,” she called out impatiently. “I’m here, just like you asked. Show yourself.”

A dark-haired youth, only a few years younger than herself, stepped out from behind a tree. A black leather jacket, leather pants, and boots failed to conceal his athletic physique. A crimson domino mask was affixed to his face, but she recognized him nonetheless. She stiffened and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Jason Todd.”

He smirked at the suspicious edge to her voice. “Hey, babe. Come here often?”

“Not really,” she said wryly. “What do you want, Jason? And why here?”

He answered the second question first. “Seemed appropriate.” He strolled over to her grave and knelt to inspect the tombstone. “After all, we’re both supposed to be dead.”

He’s got a point,
Donna conceded,
albeit a morbid one.
Jason had been working as the second Robin, replacing Dick Grayson, when he’d been murdered by the Joker several years ago. Like hers, his death had been neither ambiguous nor disputed; nevertheless, he had recently returned to carry on his career as a vigilante in Gotham City.

Donna was a little fuzzy on the details of his rebirth, but she believed it had something to do with that “Infinite Crisis” over a year ago, when an alternate version of Lex Luthor had attempted to alter the very fabric of reality. Although Earth’s heroes had ultimately foiled the villain’s scheme, putting the universe more or less back to normal, not everything had ended up
exactly
the way it was before.

But what’s a resurrection or two between friends?

“What do you want, Jason?” she repeated.

He shrugged. “Hey, can’t one ex-sidekick get together with another for old times’ sake? ‘Once a Titan, always a Titan.’ Isn’t that what they say?” He rose from the grave and brushed the fallen leaves from his knees. “Besides, maybe I just wanted to talk to someone else who knew what it felt like to be living on borrowed timer , Despite his cocky demeanor, Donna sensed that he was deeply troubled and unhappy, and who could blame him? It wasn’t easy finding out that you were supposed to be dead, that your friends and loved ones had all gone on with their lives without you. Even Batman, who had already trained a new Robin long ago. No wonder she detected a distinct note of bitterness in his voice.

“Go on,” she encouraged him. Her tone softened a bit.

He took off his mask, revealing a familiar, if slightly older, face. Sullen blue eyes peered into hers. “Look at us, Donna. We don’t belong here anymore. I wouldn’t even be breathing if not for that psycho Luthor clone or whatever he was, and as for you ... Hell, I’ve never been able to keep track of all the different identities and origins you’ve had. Even before you died and came back, your past has always been a tangle.”

Thanks for rubbing it in,
Donna thought. He wasn’t lying, though. Donna had spent most of her life wrestling with conflicting memories and shifting personas. She had been a heroine, a harbinger, a wife, a mother, and a goddess. Although she originally joined the Titans as Wonder Girl, she had also been known as Darkstar and Troia. More recently, she had even assumed the role of Wonder

Woman while her former mentor, Diana, took a yearlong sabbatical. Now she was simply Donna Troy again.
Whatever that means.

“I suppose we do have some things in common,” she admitted cautiously, still uncertain as to what exactly Jason expected from her. She hoped this wasn’t just some elaborate pickup scheme; although the former Boy Wonder had grown to be an attractive young man. she had never thought of Jason that way. “You could’ve chosen a less ... upsetting ... meeting place, but if you really just want to talk, here I am.”

“Now is no time for mere conversation,” a deep bass voice intruded. A pillar of coruscating orange energy materialized before them, resembling the transporter effect on
Star Trek,
and an imposing alien figure emerged from the sparkling radiation. “The universe—and I—have ur' gent need of you!”

Over seven feet tall, the humanoid figure wore a bulky suit of futuristic armor. A flowing red cape was affixed to a pair of massive gold shoulder-plates. Electronic circuitry blinked upon his matching golden wristbands, while the elaborate silver and purple armor left only his head exposed. Florid pink skin and glowing red eyes testified to his extraterrestrial origins. A bristling black beard framed his lantern jaw, and rows of parallel comrows traversed his cranium. His craggy face bore a dour, saturnine expression.

“Donna, watch out!” Jason immediately dropped into a defensive posture. He drew a Glock automatic pistol from beneath his jacket.

“Wait!” Donna grabbed on to his gun arm before Jason did something rash. She recognized the bizarre newcomer. “It’s a Monitor! Let’s hear what he has to say.”

The Monitors, she knew, were a race of highly powerful beings who watched over the fifty-two separate realities that composed the Multiverse. They seldom took direct action themselves, preferring to manipulate events indirectly in order to fulfill their self-appointed mission of preserving order throughout the cosmos. Although their intentions were good, the appearance of a Monitor rarely boded well. They usually appeared to lesser beings only when some manner of universal cataclysm threatened.
Please,
she prayed.
Not another Crisis.

“You are wise, Donna Troy,” the Monitor said solemnly. “We have no time to waste on pointless displays of aggression. The fate of your reality, and perhaps all others, depends on us taking swift action to avert a disaster beyond all imagining.”

Donna’s heart sank.
1 knew it. Here we go again.
The last Crisis had cost the lives of several valiant heroes, including some of her fellow Teen Titans. Who knew how many might perish this time around?

“Oh yeah?” Jason challenged the Monitor. He lowered his gun but did not put it away. “I’ve heard that before.” “Do not make light of the dreadful apocalypse before us.” The Monitor ignored Jason’s gun; Donna suspected that mere bullets posed little threat to him. “All that you know may perish—unless you help me find the one called Ray Palmer.”

“Ray Palmer?” Donna echoed in surprise. “The Atom?” A longtime member of the Justice League of America, the Atom had once used his size-changing abilities to defend humanity by microscopic means. In recent years, however, his life had been marred by tragedy; his mentally disturbed ex-wife, Jean Loring, had murdered some of the Atom’s closest friends and later become host to an evil entity known as Eclipso. Crushed by guilt and heartbreak over what Jean had done, Ray Palmer had literally shrunk out of sight. As far as Donna knew, no one had seen him in years.