The Long Spear Epic, Part B

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A Note on Continuity:

This tale includes characters from four (or more!) different comic-book universes. As such any discussion of continuity is problematic. The author has tried to use the "classic" versions of characters that may have gone through radical (if usually temporary) changes in the recent past.

Specifically:

This is Eric Luke's Ghost, before she was ret-conned into banality by Dark Horse.

This is pre-Byrne Wonder Woman, perhaps after Messner-Loebs was through with her.

This is Busiek's Scarlet Witch, but before she started to wear the fan-dubbed "gypsy-whore" costume.

This is Fairchild before she was Skywalker-ed, finding her father and learning that her close comrade was actually a sibling.

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(VIII) MEETING OF THE MAIDS

"It may not have been wise to mention the Spear in front of Doom."

Fairchild nodded in agreement, staring out the window of the transport provided for their trip to Symkaria. "I had to convince her that this was serious. Now she knows the Nazis are involved; she's sure to help us. Unless Fury is way off base." Diana nodded. They were alone, though certainly monitored, as Doom's robotic craft rocketed over the clouds towards its neighboring nation. "I apologize again for losing my temper back there. I'm not normally like that."

Wonder Woman gave an understanding smile. "Having lost my own temper a few times, I completely understand. It is sometimes difficult for people such as we, who so clearly see the difference between right and wrong, to show patience with those who dwell in a world of shadows."

"I never lose my temper when my teammates talk back to me."

"I do not expect that actually happens very often."

A moment of silence. "Maybe you're right."

Clouds bled past the cockpit screen, and beneath them appeared a tranquil, almost medieval, panorama. Rugged mountains covered in thick forests. Between them, a few tiny parcels of farmland and the occasional village. Looming near, a whitewashed castle with conical roofs, crenellated parapets, and a steep approach up a treacherous slope.

"Castle Sable, I presume."

Caitlin peered out the window. "Its beautiful. Like a movie set."

"It appears we are not the first to arrive," Diana suggested with a nod. "Look."

Another small aircraft, not unlike their own, was already coming in for a landing on the small pad nestled within the Castle's inner ward. Elite members of Sable's Wild Pack, in their distinctive red and blue uniforms, had the ship surrounded before it even touched down.

"Is that what I think it is?" Fairchild asked, with a glance to her companion.

Diana nodded wisely. "I believe so. An Avengers quinjet."

Their own craft sloped in on autopilot, took the other half of the landing pad and settled. As the doors opened and a small gangplank automatically extended, Diana put her hand on her friend's shoulder. "Let me do the talking," she said. Caitlin, the memory of their discovery on the beach and her recent blow-up in Castle Doom still heavy on her mind, just nodded.

Ducking her head beneath the frame of the hatch, Wonder Woman straightened and strode, confident, strong, with a hint of a swagger, down the gangway. All eyes turned to her, and the setting sun glinted reddish off her golden breastplate, limned the midnight cloud of her hair. With just a hint of the Amazon Princess in her voice she demanded, "What is going on here?"

Two dozen of Sable's gun-toting mercenaries kept their rifles pointed at the two women who stood outside the quinjet. The red-garbed sorceress she knew by reputation, but the other, in the flowing white ethereal cloak, was a stranger. One of the guards, with an almost grotesquely broad torso, short reddish-brown hair in a military cut, and a blockish face, answered her.

"This isn't any business a'yours, Wonder Woman. You two have been expected, and you're welcome to head on inside. But these two are gate-crashers," he insisted, turning back to the Scarlet Witch, "and they need to move along."

"Sandman," Wanda said firmly, "we are both Avengers. Does that count for nothing?"

"No offense, witchy," the huge man said, "but Silver's been better to me than the Avengers ever have, and it was only cause we've fought together that I kept my men from shootin' the quinjet outta the sky. But there's no way I'm lettin' you off this landing pad, unless you're goin' up."

The woman in white let out a snarl. "Try and stop us."

By now, the guards had parted for Wonder Woman, and she faced Sandman matter-of-factly. "These two are my guests. I asked them to meet us here so that we may confer with your employer upon her return."

Glances were exchanged, confusions rose and were dampened.

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Hunh. Well, OK. But if Sable's finds out yer makin' that up, she's gonna take it outta your hide."

Diana smiled knowingly. "And not yours. This was my intention."

Sandman shrugged. "Good enough for me. All right men," he shouted, "show's over. Back to your posts." Rifles were lowered and the men quickly hustled away from their encirclement. "As for you," Sandman said, "Sable'll be back soon. If ya need anything before then, shout for me. You need anyone to help you with luggage and stuff?"

Wonder Woman shook her head. "That will not be necessary."

"Fair enough. Welcome to Castle Sable. See ya in the mornin'." With a final nod to a cool and distant Scarlet Witch, Sable's second-in-command departed. A long moment paused as he retreated, then the Scarlet Witch broke into a smile.

"Wonder Woman, at last," she said, extending a hand in friendship. "It's an honor. Thanks for the save."

Diana's grip was firm. "The honor is mine. Yes, the League and the Avengers have come close on numerous occasions, but never quite close enough."

"Allow me to introduce Ghost, Arcadia's guardian angel."

"Well met, and this is Fairchild, leader of the Gen13 organization."

Caitlin tried a winning smile. "It's a pleasure."

Elisa was unconvinced. "Yeah."

"If this party gets any larger," Wanda said with a second handshake, "we'll be mistaken for Femforce."

Caitlin covered her face with her other hand. "Oh, don't even mention those clowns. What an embarrassment. Didn't they break up?"

"Or the Lady Liberators," Diana ventured with a grin.

Wanda pointed a finger at her and gave a mock-stern expression. "Now don't you start…"

Ghost had a puzzled expression. "The Lady Liberators?"

Wanda shook her head. "Oh no, I'm not going there again. That's the curse of being a heroine for what seems like decades. You find yourself with baggage you'll never get rid of. I assume that we are both here for the same reason?"

"The Spear of Destiny?"

The gypsy nodded. "Our sources indicated that the Spear was being transported by submarine to a secret base underneath Alcatraz Island, but no sooner did we make that connection when the Spear was stolen. But then, you'd know all about that part."

Wonder Woman nodded as well. "That's right. SHIELD suggested we contact Sable to track the culprits, who may have Nazi connections."

"We can shed some light on that, too," Wanda admitted. "But our host seems to have other, more pressing engagements."

"You have no idea how pressing," Caitlin grumbled.

Wanda rose an eyebrow at that, then, "Well, since we appear to have no choice but to wait for Ms. Sable, I suggest we make ourselves more comfortable and exchange information."

"An excellent idea."

---

"There are two conflicting traditions concerning the spear of Longinus," Wanda began, once they were settled in a comfortable sitting room, with a small fire, shelves of books, and several well-stuffed chairs, "also known as the Holy Lance. I'll warn you, it gets a bit complicated, but also fascinating." A soft-spoken servant entered with tea, and for a moment the Witch's narration was accompanied by the sound of silver, the scent of freshly poured tea, and a few "Madams" and "thank yous."

"The two traditions have different emphasis," she went on after a time, "and endings, but they agree at the beginning: a Roman centurion present at the crucifixion stabbed Jesus in the side with his pilum--a medium-length, broad-bladed throwing spear. But from there, we go separate ways, depending on whether Christ was alive or dead when he was stabbed."

Diana and Fairchild listened attentively. Only Ghost remained disinterested, having read much of this for herself. She drifted to a window across the room, and surrounded only by her increasing solitude she was quickly lost in her own thoughts. "I don't understand," Caitlin said. "I thought this was the spear that killed Christ."

"Not necessarily. According to the Vatican, Christ was already dead when Longinus stabbed him. When the spear drew forth only wine and water it demonstrated Christ was dead, and prevented the other soldiers from breaking his legs. This fulfilled a prophecy that none of the Messiah's bones would be broken. In this tradition, Longinus converted to Christianity and was made a saint; his spear was displayed in Jerusalem for a time, until the Persian king Chosroes conquered Jerusalem in 615 AD. The tip was then broken off, and given to the church of St. Sophia in Constantinople, where it was set into an icon and displayed. There it remained until 1244, until it was presented to King Louis of France and enshrined in Paris. During the French Revolution this point, presumably still in the icon, was moved to the Biblioteque Nationale, but there it disappeared, and no one knows where it might be now."

Wonder Woman set down her tea, crossed one leg over the other. "What about the rest of the spear?"

"Easier to trace. It, too, got to Constantinople, where it was kept on display until that city fell to the Turks. In 1492 the Sultan Bajazet sent this larger piece of the spear to Pope Innocent VIII, who was holding the Sultan's brother a prisoner in Rome. And that's where, as of this morning, that spear still is."

Caitlin shook her head in confusion. "So that's not the one we're tracking."

Wanda gave her a smile. "Unfortunately, no. Our spear comes from the second tradition, in which Christ was not dead on the cross, and Longinus killed him. For this act he was cursed with eternal life. The history of this Lance deviates when it is taken to Constantinople much earlier, early enough to be kept by Emperor Constantine the Great. From there, the spear's history reads like a who's who of world conquerors, as it was passed from Alaric to Theodoric…"

"Wait a minute," Fairchild said, a hand raised. "Who?"

"Alaric led the sack of Rome. Theodoric fought off Attila the Hun. Then on to Emperor Justinian, Charles the Hammer, Carolingian kings, Saxon emperors, and so on. According to legend, Charlemagne kept the spear with him through 47 victories but, when he dropped it one day in the middle of a battle, he was killed. The same thing happens to Frederick of Germany, Barbarossa, when he goes on crusade. He's walking with the spear, drops it, trips into a river and breaks his neck."

"I guess he didn't mail that chain letter within 30 days."

"Precisely. I'm not sure how much of this legend we can believe. Whatever the case, this spear, which the Vatican insists is not the Holy Lance, was taken back to Vienna. It was kept there until Napoleon tried to seize it at the Battle of Austerlitz, but the relic had been smuggled away, and only returned to the Hoffsburg Museum after Napoleon's defeat. In 1938 Hitler invaded Austria and seized the Lance. Teams of British agents and American civilians managed to get it back and a chase developed. The Nazis won. One of their brightest archeologists, Dr. Werner Ravenscroft, personally gave the spear into Hitler's keeping later that year. It was kept for a time at Nuremberg, but eventually moved to Castle Wewelsburg, a sub-camp of Buchenwald. There it stayed, guarded by the SS, until 1945, when the Castle was finally taken in fierce fighting."

"This," Diana mused, "we learned from Fury."

"And he should know," Wanda nodded, "he's one of the few reliable witnesses we have. By the way, Diana, some of those reports suggest that your mother may have been present at the Castle as well."

"Really!"

"Mm. The last few months in Europe were complete chaos. The Americans and Russians were in a race to get as much territory as they could, even after the bunker fell. Record keeping broke down, troops and supplies were lost, not even the high command knew exactly where everyone was. So we're not exactly sure how the Castle was taken. Whatever the case, the spear was recovered and handed over to American experts to study and catalogue."

"Top men," Caitlin suggested.

"Top. Men." Wanda agreed. "Within a year SHIELD was formed and a large part of the US's 'clandestine projects' were handed over to them. Fury, having had experience with the Lance, would be the logical choice for caretaker. South American Nazi movements, including Hydra and others, have tried to regain the weapon at various times, but they have never been successful. Until now."

"We will not fail," Wonder Woman said with resolution.

"I hope you're right," Wanda agreed.

"I still don't understand," Caitlin admitted. "So far this thing just sounds like a very old museum piece. It could even be fake. I can appreciate the need to keep it from being stolen, but why so much time and trouble? People have been fighting over this thing for two thousand years."

"That's right, Miss Fairchild. Occult experts, including such luminaries as Blavatsky and Constantine, have described the spear as 'the most potent symbol of male power in the western world.' Of course," she admitted, "Constantine says it with that delicious English accent." She sipped from her tea again. "The Lance is pure masculine energy," she assured both women. "Forgive the expression, but it's a mystic phallic symbol, a pagan weapon that struck down the son of God. In the hands of someone who knew how to tap it, it might become an inexhaustible reservoir of magical might, and amplify the power of even a novice so that he could rival that of Strange, Fate, or even the Spectre."

"What about someone who didn't have magical skills," Diana asked in concern.

"The spear would still be dangerous," Wanda insisted, "amplifying that person's personal charisma into a kind of subtle domination, a willingness to serve and even die for the spear's bearer." She paused over her words. "There… might be other physical enhancements."

"You mean great strength."

"Among other things, yes. But the power to sway the minds of others is the most dangerous."

---

The minutes grew into hours, and still the women talked, leaving behind the immediate concern of their current mission and instead getting to know one another. Soon laughter echoed softly through the comfortable sitting room.

"So then Cap says…" Wanda adopted the stentorian tones of the Avengers Chairman, "Pietro, if you can't keep your genes up, maybe you ought to get out of the pool!" Fairchild shook her head, smiling, while Diana sat back, still laughing, obviously trying to visualize the Living Legend of World War Two making a bad pun. Wanda sipped from a delicate teacup. "Oh, it was to die for," she murmured. Only Ghost seemed to maintain her distance.

Elisa wasn't laughing. Standing at the window, she gazed out into the foreign night and its gibbous moon. Never had she felt so out of place, so far from herself. She fingered the key around her neck and wondered how her city fared without her. I never should have come, she thought to herself. There's no shortage of costumed heroes out there; they live for things like this.

"Roxy has real feelings for Grunge, and he feels the same in his way, when he thinks about it, which he never does. But I'm worried about Bobby and Sarah. He's head over heels for her and she won't give him the time of day. So far it hasn't gotten anyone hurt, but I have to make sure it doesn't come to that!"

"I…I have to admit," Diana answered with a whisper of regret, "that I have not found the League to be a good arena for matters of the heart. Not just for me, but for others as well. Superman, Flash, even Green Lantern, all of them found romance outside. Only Dinah and Oliver managed it."

"I have to disagree," said the Scarlet Witch. "The Vision and I were enormously happy for years, until his accident. The Pyms have had troubles, too, but I think they're getting things worked out. Forgive me for saying this Caitlin, but I think your friends are just a little young, and perhaps not as mature as yourself. Get some time under those legs of yours, and things will come into perspective. Work, romance, it can all fit together. Why, the Richards even have a family!"

"Oh, I can't imagine trying to have a baby."

"You're not even twenty; you shouldn't have to! But until your friends get that perspective, they need you to continue to be the example, the responsible one. You're the rock, Caitlin, the rock on which this church is built."

The tall young woman smiled. "I'm no saint."

The lift of an eyebrow, a knowing glance at Diana, then back. "Neither are we."

Listen to those three, Ghost mused. Talking shop. Team players, all of them. Not just that, but leaders of teams. What am I doing here?

A servant glided in from the edge of the room. "More tea, madam?"

Wanda smiled. "Oh yes, please." Elisa tried to resist, but she could not help looking at her. A face so warm, so welcoming. Hands graceful and sure. Wanda sat there, entertaining the others, the center of attention, and Elisa marveled at the absence of all the anger and bottled frustration that she kept within herself, that fueled her. So that is what it's like, to know what you do and do it well. One long, slender leg was poised perfectly, but without artifice, over the other. How does she do that? How does she keep it all together? The redhead looked up, sensing eyes upon her, and she met Elisa's gaze. There was depth in that gaze, that knowing gaze from which she might learn so much. This was why she had come. She couldn't help but return the gypsy's smile.

There was a gentle beep, and both Diana and Wanda reached for their belts. "It's mine," Wonder Woman said, holding her JLA communicator up. The push of a button, and the screen displayed the computerized emerald face of a woman. "Oracle," Diana said. "How do you fare?"

"Not so well." The voice spoke quickly, and with authority, but the slight computerized distortion sound that accompanied it gave Oracle something of a suspicious air. "I've never been able to break into Sable's databanks. We're on two completely different systems. And there's been no trace of the Royal Flush Gang on the worldwatch. It's like they just disappeared."

"So it appears that we are here until morning."

"Fraid so. Do you want some backup? Black Canary is in Istanbul; not exactly next door but close enough. And Huntress is available."

Wonder Woman shook her head. "Not this time. I have already found allies, one of whom is a skilled investigator. Besides, Dinah has been reluctant to work with the League these days."

A moment's pause. "Suit yourself. If I get through that datawall or anything turns up, I'll send it along. Oracle out."

The light of the screen faded and Wonder Woman shook her head a little in resignation. "It appears that my connections will be of little use."

"We've come far on our own," the Scarlet Witch assured her. "We have plenty to tell Sable when she arrives in the morning. But there is something else that concerns me."

"What is that?"

"The Black Widow is also in Istanbul right now. I hope our friends do not find themselves on opposing sides of the same case."

"I do not envy anyone who must face the Canary in battle," Diana warned.

"Oh, Natasha can take care of herself," Wanda answered with a knowing tone, then a sip of the tea. "Perhaps we'll find out what happened when this case is over."

Fairchild rose her hand to her mouth, barely covering a wide yawn. She apologized with a sheepish grin. "Sorry…"

Wanda laughed gently, waved a hand in dismissal. "No, no it's quite all right. Perhaps it is time to retire." She stood, crimson cloak unfurling from the chair. She extended her hand to Caitlin again, and they shook warmly. "Miss Fairchild, it has been a real pleasure. I look forward to working with you on this case."

"The pleasure is mine, ma'am."

Another laugh. "Oh, please! Don't call me ma'am!"

Diana smiled. "First lady of the Avengers," she suggested.

Wanda shook her head. "Oh no, that's Janet. You can call her ma'am if you like, but not me. I'll see you in the morning." Her eyes went to Elisa's, and her hand stretched out. "Turning in?"

Ghost felt a warm breeze blow through her. "I told you, I don't sleep much."

Wanda slipped closer. Her voice fell to a whisper. "So, you can curl up in bed with me and show me your pistols," she suggested.

A grin slowly forced its way through Elisa's stone-hard face, and she bumped foreheads with the red-clad enchantress. "How do you do that to me so easy?" she asked.

"I love you. Come on."

Arm in arm, they disappeared down the darkened hallways of Castle Sable.

Caitlin's eyes were wide. "Wow. You don't think they're…they're…"

Diana smiled. "It would appear so." She stood, reached one hand down to Caitlin in the chair. "You've had a long day. Rest with me." Her hand was soft, gentle.

---

Silver Sable lived in opulence, and reserved no less for her guests. Wanda opened the door to reveal an expansive room, complete with loveseat, table and fireplace at one end, redwood fourposter at the other. The lamplit space was inviting, and she gave Elisa a suggestive glance. "Come into my parlor," she suggested.

The door shut behind them, and Elisa started poking around the bookshelves as Wanda slipped to the bathroom door. She paused at the opening, and as Elisa looked her way Wanda gave her best smoldering over-the-shoulder stare. "Just let me slip out of my work clothes," she suggested, before rounding out of sight and shutting the door behind her.

Elisa felt goosepimples on her skin. "Every Marvel zombie's dream," she muttered, "and she's with me in a castle in the middle of Europe. Who says it's no fun being dead." She moved over to the lamps and turned them off, ghosted off her cloak and let it fall gently over the back of a chair, did the same with her gunbelts. Then she knelt before the hearth and began to build a fire.

A short time later, the door opened, and the Scarlet Witch slid out into the flickering light. She wore a wine-red merrywidow with matching lace garter belt, stockings of the same color with a black hex pattern down the hem, and heels. Around her arms, and trailing a bit behind her, was a silk robe also burgundy red. She stopped in the doorframe and gave her best X-babe pose.

"Wow." Elisa leaned over the back of the loveseat, where she had settled in with a Poe collection from the shelf. "We're chasing the thing that killed Christ and you've still got your lingerie."

A gesture of resignation. "Well," Wanda admitted, "it's done pretty well for me so far. You like it? It's mine."

"Well, I didn't think it was borrowed."

"No, silly, I mean it's my label." Her voice became that of a sultry TV commercial. "Enchantress," she purred, "a legend in lace, by Victoria's Secret."

"You're kidding me."

"No, really. It was Janet's idea first, of course, back when I was slipping in and out of the Avengers and needed the money. She did the initial designs and I just lent them my name, but now they're huge and I even get product approval." She spun slowly, let Elisa take in the tightness of her waist, the long accent of her legs, a bosom that could be accurately called 'overflowing'. "So, do you like?"

She had to nod, moistening lips suddenly dry. "Yeah. Yeah, I like."

A stockinged knee dented the smooth surface of the loveseat cushion. Wanda's voice was a whisper. "I thought you might." She leaned down, kissed Elisa's tender lips, then slipped in next to her. Elisa curled up, rested her head on Wanda's chest.

When the dark-haired woman finally spoke, her voice was hesitant. "How many lovers have you had," she asked.

"Where did that come from?" Wanda asked, gently stroking the woman's thick, black, waves of hair. "Not very many, really. Vision, Simon. You. A couple of others."

"Was Vision your first?"

"Still the reporter. No," the redhead answered after a moment. "That was Captain America."

Elisa rose her head, eyes wide. "You're making that up."

"No, really. I was barely 18."

Her head came resting back down, and a white-gloved hand slowly began to caress Wanda's shoulder, the rising and falling crest of her breasts above the rim of the deliciously tight corset. "Tell me about it."

Wanda shifted, settled into the curve of the well-stuffed loveseat. "I had joined the Avengers a short time before. I would see him, looking at me out of the corner of his eye, and I knew he wanted me but felt that it wouldn't be right. But one night, when Hawkeye took Pietro out for a beer in some misguided attempt to make a buddy out of him, I took my chance."

"What did you do?"

"He worked out for hours in the gym, and I was so nervous, but eventually he came to bed, and when I heard his door shut I slipped out of my room, and crept up to his." Wanda's hand slipped down to run gently along the length of her stockinged thigh, and she brushed her fingers along the snug lace. Elisa's lush body pressed gently into her, and she closed her eyes to remember what happened that night so long ago.

"His door wasn't locked, of course, so I turned the handle oh-so-quietly and cracked it enough to slip my body in the space. The wedge of light landed on his body, and I could see his chest so broad on that bed. He has blond hair; if he's in his mask you can only tell by his eyebrows, but he has blond hair like Robert Redford."

"Was he awake?"

"Mm hmm. He'd only just gone inside. He propped himself up and said, 'Wanda? What is it?' There was a tension in his voice; I was a young woman dressed only in a nightgown and there was only one reason why I could be there. So I just slipped in, and closed the door behind me."

Elisa's breath was a whisper in Wanda's ear. "You didn't need to say anything."

"No. No I didn't. I pulled back the sheets and slipped in beside him. He was so warm, and when he touched me I could barely keep myself from shaking. His hand felt my side, and slipped along the soft silky fabric of my nightgown. He said, 'Wanda, I don't think this is a good idea.'"

Elisa nuzzled her neck, gave a delicate kiss. "Oh, but he wanted you, didn't he."

"I could feel his cock pressing into my thigh."

"Mmm. Was he big?"

"He's the super-soldier. So I reached under the covers and slid my fingertips across it."

The ghost squirmed, sending wonderful sensations along Wanda's body. "Mmmm."

"Yes. He moaned, just like that, and his arms came around me and pulled me close, crushed me against him." Another kiss on Wanda's delicate throat, as Elisa caressed her own thigh, moved the gloved hand up and around the swell of her ass to her narrow waist. "And I kissed him," the Witch went on, "pressed my lips against his, and felt our tongues against each other. I still had one hand wrapped around his cock, and I rubbed it, gently, until I felt him squirm."

There was a shuddering gasp from Elisa, who was cupping her own breast with one slowly kneading hand. As she rubbed she slowly rolled the tit out of her white leather top, until the nipple thrust out and she rubbed this, too, with a hesitant palm. "Oh, Wanda."

"So I brought his lips down to my breast." She touched her own, oh so lightly, just the brush of fingertips, and her eyes shut more firmly. "He kissed them, shy at first, but then harder. I felt his tongue on my nipple, and his lips around me, and he massaged my other tit with a broad, muscular hand. Oh, it felt so good."

Elisa leaned heavily against Wanda, stretched her hand down the woman's length, past the ribbed stomach of the merrywidow and the wine-red garter belt to her sheer panties, and slipped in beneath the hem. Wanda groaned, kneaded her own breast harder, pulled a little on the rigid nipple. Elisa was rocking her torso against Wanda's soft body. As she brushed the tips of her breasts against Wanda's corset, her nipples swelled and stiffened. She kissed Wanda's rosy flesh below the neck. "What did you do then," she hushed.

"Oh, he felt so good right there. Sucking on me with the heat of his mouth, licking the curve of my breast, that I just wrapped my arms around him and pulled him down on top of me."

"Ooo, yeah."

"He was so heavy between my legs, and I put those around him, too, tight, and when he rose up to kiss my mouth I could feel his hard cock pressing into my stomach. I was so wet. I held his back and I dug my fingers into him. I sucked on his tongue as he rocked up and down on top of me. Oh, I wanted him inside me so badly I could scream." Wanda was still kneading her full breast with one hand, but the other settled on top of Elisa's, which had been gently running through the auburn triangle between the Witch's legs. With this hint, Elisa's fingers moved down, and pressed with a bit more force, to circle through the wet folds of Wanda's hot pussy. "Oh, yeah," Wanda purred. "Yeah. I wanted him so bad, so I slipped my hand between our bodies and took his rod, very gently, and guided it into me as I spread my legs wider."

Elisa's moan was a throaty rumble. "Mmmm."

She continued to finger Wanda's cunt. "And I felt it push inside, slow, and I was so tight, so tight because I hadn't had a man before. He was long and so thick. But it fit deep inside, all the way inside, and he was filling me up, oh god. He put his arms around me, slid them underneath between my hot skin and the cool sheets. I felt his hands in my hair as he started to rock slowly back and forth, heavy on top of me, rolling in and out so nice and easy. Yes," Wanda panted, spreading her legs and hiking one dark red high-heel shoe on the edge of the table, "just like that. He'd slide out six inches, seven, then stop just when he had to, at the edge of his head, and then drive back in, harder than he had before, faster. I could hear him panting on top of me, and I kissed him, held on to his back and his neck as I kissed him. He wouldn't stop fucking me and it was so good, so good, and I could feel this shaking starting all over my body, all over all at once, and I said 'Oh, Steve… oh Steve I want to come. Make me come' and he was really fucking me hard now."

Elisa's fingers moved in quick, tiny circles as she stirred Wanda's clit, and the gypsy was grinding her crotch into the other woman's hand. "My legs were spread, I was wide open for him, my feet pointing at the fucking ceiling and I wanted him all the way down inside." Her breath came in ragged heaves as she struggled to speak. "I pulled on his back as he pounded into me, good and hard, again and again." She clenched her eyes tightly, tossed her head and sent waves of auburn hair across the cushions. "And then suddenly oh, oh yes, oh I'm hot everywhere and it's like waves up my body, through my chest and all across my face, down my arms and to the tips of my fingers, and it seems like forever because he keeps going, keeps thrusting." Elisa began to softly sigh with her as she came, panting tiny "ahh" and "ahh" again as Wanda's body started to spasm. "In, and in, and in" she groaned, "oh Steve, yes, yes, oh do me, yes, yes, that's it, oh god. Mm! Mm! Mm…" The violent shuddering of her body wound down into a slow, languid twisting. "Oh…and he slowed down," Wanda said, as Elisa's fingers gradually came to a stop, slipping through Wanda's wet pussy. "Yes just like that, slowed down, and he stopped, and I was so hot and my face was hot, and he rolled off of me, slipped out, and I said to him, 'Oh no, you don't get off that easy.'"

Elisa let out a low moan before rolling onto her back and switching hands on Wanda. Now her left was gently stroking the Witch's cunt, but her right slid up and down along her own naked thigh. Somewhere along the line her pants had ghosted off, so that she lie there in only her boots, gloves, and the tight little bustier that had failed to contain her swollen breasts. "Mmmm. You weren't done yet?"

"Oh, no," Wanda said after a moment, when she got her breath back. "This was Captain America. I had to show him that I could do more than just lie there and take it. So I rolled over on top of him. The nightgown came off easy, and I ran my hands under my breasts, lifted them, stroked my hands over them." She brushed her fingers over the top of Elisa's tits, over the so-soft flesh. "He couldn't stop staring. His hands rose up to my waist, slipped down and got tight on my hips. I ran my fingers over my nipples to keep them stiff. Now I could feel his hands on my ass. He said, 'You have a beautiful butt.' I kept rubbing my tits and said, 'That's my ass. I have a great ass.' He kept kneading it and I could feel it in the muscles and he said, 'Yes, you have a great ass.' And I smiled to him and said, 'I know.' I ran my hand over his chest, and he was so perfect, like a statue from a museum but soft and hard at the same time, warm, and I ran my fingers down his skin and kissed him, kissed his lips. Kissed his neck and his hands were all over me, rubbing, and I kissed his chest, slid my curves down his body, slid my tits over his flesh, and as I slid farther down I knew that he knew where I was going and it was good, oh it was so good, because I wanted it so bad."

Both women were twisting their bodies on the sofa now, lying beside each other with one hand between their legs spread wide apart, and the other caressing their own sensitive flesh. One of Elisa's white-booted legs was draped over Wanda's wine-red stocking, muscles clenched, toes pointed, and every shaking breath she took into her arching body let her lush breasts strain at the white leather. "By now," Wanda went on, "my hands were on his sides, and my fingers ran down every rib till I got to his waist. It was right underneath me so I kissed it. I could smell myself on him, but I didn't mind. I wanted to taste it, so I licked it with my tongue and ran my soft lips all over it, from the root to the tip."

Elisa's tongue slipped out. "Oh, Wanda." Her eyes were clenched shut and she bit her lower lip.

Wanda's other hand slid down Elisa's taut thigh, slid along the satin skin until it slid under Elisa's own fingers to massage her cunt. The dark-haired woman shuddered and shook, kept her hand on top of Wanda's and ground with her. "I knew he wanted it, so I touched it with my fingertips. It wasn't as hard as it had been before, not as big, but I knew that I could make it quick. I wrapped my hand around it, kissed the head, let my lips slide around it oh so slowly, until the top of it was all in my mouth. It tasted good, soft and hot and salty. I heard his voice so I looked up at him, and he was looking down at me, one hand in my hair, rolling my head around on his cock and it was so good but he wanted me to go down, go farther. I could tell that he was getting hard again, so I sucked on it. Sucked on it hard. Took it all the way into my mouth, down to the back of my throat. My tongue licked the underside of it, and I sucked on it, sucked on it as I slipped it back out, inch by inch, until he was all wet so it would be nice and smooth going in. It was big now, his thick rod, and I took it in again, with one hand still around it right up against my lips, stroking him off. I could taste him a little. I took it out to lick the tip, licked all around it with my wet tongue, kissed the shaft of it and kept on stroking up and down up and down while I kissed it."

The woman's voice was barely a whisper now as both women fingered themselves desperately, Wanda keeping one hand on each pussy and Elisa sparing one to run through her own hair, run down her skin, past her heaving breast to the tight leather of her bustier. Her hand pressed on her clenched stomach muscles, pulled at the leather ties that criss-crossed her torso. "Then I slid my body back up, and slipped his cock between my tits. Between my big, round, tits, and he brought his hands up to rub them, push them together as I rocked back and forth. He made my tits all wet, wet from his big cock, and I could feel the base of it throbbing hot in my hand as I pushed it between my tits. I didn't want himto waste it, so I lowered my head and took his cock back in my mouth, sank it all the way down to the back of my throat. I could feel him throbbing against my lips and my tongue. I groaned into his cock and with one hand stroking as I went I sucked on him forward and back, forward and back…

"Oh yes."

"…dropping my mouth down on him again and again and again, fast…"

"Wanda…"

"…and he was grinding up into me, fucking my face, and I just kept sucking on him, sucking and pumping…"

"Oh…Oh…"

"…until he exploded into me, shot his load into my mouth…"

"Oh yes! Ah! Yes! Ooo."

"…and I had to swallow, swallow, but I kept my mouth around him as he came and some dripped out…"

"Oh, oh. Mmm."

"…and I swallowed again and finally he relaxed, fell back, and I slipped off of him." Wanda rolled over onto her steaming lover, her tongue lapping up Elisa's neck as the other woman cooled, shuddering. "It was still warm so I licked it up, licked him off, and I was dizzy and I couldn't breathe, so I finally fell back on top of him, curled up on him. He put his arms around me and we kissed and he was warm."

"Oh, god Wanda, where did you learn to do that."

A throaty chuckle. "I know what you like." She propped herself up above the pale ghost and whispered, "Come on, let's get into bed."

They did, with the Witch curling up on the dark-haired woman, but as the fire faded and the light dimmed low Elisa slipped through her companion, through the sheet and blanket, to pass like a wraith beyond the walls of the castle chamber.

Time to do some sightseeing, Elisa mused. As only a Ghost can.

=====

(IX) WATCHERS

Elisa was unseen by mortal eyes, and planned on staying that way, so she did not even bother to put her pants, scarf and enormous cloak back on. For a moment, as she passed her body through ancient stone walls and floated invisible on astral winds that permeated the castle, she wondered at her half-nakedness, but then she remembered that in her adventures back in Arcadia she almost always ended up naked at one point or another, so she dismissed the thought and moved on.

Curious, she made directly for the rooms reserved for Wonder Woman and the tall redhead, Fairchild. Their chamber was at the base of the north tower, and Elisa approached a rounded wall with a massive oak door inset, carved with the old symbols of the Sable family. The wood slipped past her, and she was floating in a dark expanse.

The room was bigger than her and Wanda's--privileged guests, Elisa assumed--and the spacious round expanse was lit only by a wide river of moonlight that came in through the open balcony doors. That broad pale illumination landed square on an enormous canopied bed, where the two statuesque women lay wrapped atop and beneath each other, filling the emptiness with muffled moans. The girl was on top, her short carrot-red hair bent between Wonder Woman's spread and gently lifting legs. Diana kneaded her muscled ass, arms wrapped round Caitlin's thighs, lips buried in the young woman's pussy. Gentle sounds of warm delight came from each. They seemed to be taking their time.

Well that answers that question, Elisa decided. It's like Fantasy Island in this place.

Suddenly Fairchild lifted her head up with an "Ummm." She cupped one hand around her firm, plentiful breast. "Ng." Then Diana's hand found her head and nudged her gently back down between the Amazon's thighs.

Despite herself, and her earlier play, Elisa felt herself getting excited. She ran one hand delicately through her trim black triangle, and wound her other hand into the loose leather ties of her corset. No, she decided. Time enough for this later. If I want to play peeping tom on Princess Di, I can do it off of company time. With a final, longful stare at the two women, and ears full of their whimpering sighs, she drifted down through the floor and began a tour of Castle Sable.

A few servants moved with lethargy through the shadowed halls, and guards stood on the parapets like sentries of old. The Sable banners flew from pennants on the tall towers, and the night was warm. About half an hour had passed before she found the security room. It was crowded with members of the Wild Pack, sitting and standing around as they gazed, hypnotized, at one of the monitors.

Caitlin stood, naked and on tiptoe, against the stone wall of the chamber, while Diana crouched beneath her, between her stiff legs. The redhead whimpered against the wall, arms spread, hands flat, as the Amazon devoured her. Her broad back was outlined in a sheen of sweat, and the muscles of her shoulders were tense and rigid. Wonder Woman still wore her tall red boots, and the bracelets around her wrists flickered with a hint of bright moonlight, but otherwise she was gloriously naked, her perfect body coiled beneath her lover, strong hands sliding along Caitlin's long, quivering thighs and up to the crack of her ass.

"How long have they been going at it?" one of the guards asked.

"All night, baby."

Men! Elisa sneered in hatred and disgust as she took in the lascivious faces all around her.

"You should have seen this one," the man in the security chair suggested, tapping a pen against another screen, which now showed only a sleeping Scarlet Witch. "She and her friend with the huge tits sat on the couch and fingered each other off a while ago."

Oh, she was so furious. Elisa had a little exhibitionist in her, she knew that. Wearing the clothes she did, she couldn't deny it. And she suspected that Wanda was much the same. But this! Briefly she debated going back to her room and getting her pistols, just shooting everyone in the room. Then she spied their rifles, carelessly slung over shoulders or propped up against the wall. That'd do it, she thought. Turn the Wild Pack into eunuchs. The thought made her smile.

"The boss know about this?"

"Are you kidding? He'd shut us down and tell Silver. Then she'd take the tapes and tell us they were destroyed, play them all night for herself. No way; this show is all ours."

But no. If she was on her own, in Arcadia, she'd never think twice about it. But she was part of a team now. Still invisible, she picked up the helmet of a nearby guard. Its owner did not notice as it vanished into the ether. She passed through them all, through their sweaty, hot and aroused bodies, until she got near the security computers which managed the data from the digital cameras. Her hand, and the helmet it held, went into the computer effortlessly, and then she just let go.

There was a loud popping noise, the smell of smoke, and all the screens went black. Shouts of alarm and disappointment erupted in a chorus, until the man in the chair pointed at the main computer. Pieces of red and blue bulletproof ceramic and steel stuck out of the casing. The two objects had merged molecules. "What the hell?" the man said.

Then a speaker crackled. "Walker, where the hell is everyone?" Sandman's voice. "Sable's back and there's no one on the pad!"

Suddenly men were tripping over themselves in a race to evacuate, while the security chief thumbed the communicator. "Uh, roger sir. Um, they're on their way. Right away." His finger slipped back off the talk switch and the man stared again at the dome of the helmet rising out of the top of the computer. "Shit," he decided. "Shit, shit, shit."

Good enough, Elisa agreed, and drifted back up to the landing pad. Soldiers ran out, took up positions, as a ship externally identical to the one Wonder Woman and her friend had arrived in dropped vertically down to ground. But this was no automated transport. The hatch opened, and Victor Von Doom stepped out, lifted his hand up for the sole remaining occupant.

She's poured into that dress, Elisa marveled, as Silver Sable descended the step and looked up into Doom's forbidding mask. "Thank you," she said with a smile, "for driving me home."

"It was my duty," he said with a deep voice, "as a gentleman." There was something in his tone that suggested they were sharing a private joke. "Shall I walk you to your door?"

Elisa decided Sable had the most perfect teeth she had ever seen, as the woman smiled again and laughed gently to herself. Her graceful arm around Doom's steel one, they walked slowly away from the craft. "Are you sure you will not require assistance in this matter," Doom asked in a low tone. "I am not unfamiliar with matters mystical, and I, too, have no love for the Nazis."

As they reached the doors to the Castle interior Silver turned, placed her arms affectionately on Doom's wide chest. "I know," she said with seriousness. "And I know your many resources. When I need you, I will contact you." She looked up into his eyes for a moment before she said, too low for anyone but him to hear, "It is too bad I shall not receive a kiss goodnight."

"You have roused a spirit I did not think remained," he said in answer, "but Doom is still Doom." Then he lowered his face nearer to her own and whispered, "We are not alone."

Sable nuzzled the steel of his neck. "Who is it," she breathed, lifting a leg to press against his own. Across the yard, a couple of the guards noticed the intimacy, and Sandman gave a hard look in the direction of his employer.

"It is impossible to say," Doom replied, as he encircled her waist in one arm. "She is invisible, but I can see an outline of her ectoplasmic form." Tenderly, he threaded a curl of her hair through metal fingers. "I believe she is watching us."

Silver took a deep breath, and felt her busom press against the chest of her lover. "Are you sure it's female?"

What are they talking about? Elisa wondered as she watched from a short distance away. I had no idea the woman we came to see was so chummy with the likes of Doom. She thought about going closer; after all, there was no reason to be afraid. Neither Sable nor Doom could see or hear her. But the presence of Dr. Doom was enough to give her pause, and she did not stir.

"Of a certainty. Could your Castle be haunted?"

Her breath sighed against Doom's mask. "There are old stories."

"There is nothing to be done now," he said, before standing straight once more and putting a hand's breadth between them. "I ask you to be vigilant," he warned, in a stern tone. "And do not forget the high regard in which Doom holds you."

"Victor, people will talk."

"Let them talk."

She opened the door and, with a parting glance of promise, Silver Sable passed within her Castle's doors. Doom turned and strode, arms behind his back, across the stony yard and back up the steps of the gangway, where he paused and surveyed the bailey for a final time. Elisa felt for a moment that his gaze lingered on her, but then it passed on, and the Lord of Latveria vanished within his ship. Mere moments later it lifted from the pad, pointed away, then rocketed off with a roar.

Something tells me I haven't seen the last of him, Elisa decided, and at that moment the sun finally appeared, poking beams of rosy light over the nearby mountain peaks. The others will be up soon, she decided. Best to get back, get dressed, get to work.

---

Sable's command center looked like a cross between the bridge of a submarine and NORAD. One wall of the multi-level structure was dominated by a giant video display; computer workstations were positioned everywhere behind wire-grill fences, catwalks and ladders. The screens, along with subtle floor panels, provided the only illumination, and a bustle of uniformed staff worked quietly, trying to stay out of their employer's way. She stood facing the video wall, one foot perched on the lower rung of a nearby guard-rail, hands on one knee. Her uniform was a body-hugging, bullet resistant sheath. A headband kept her full white hair restrained, while numerous weapons--including a pistol and her trademark chai--were strapped and clipped about her person.

"Before we go any farther," Sable said, "I want to know who's paying my bill."

There was a moment of stunned silence from the assembled heroines before Ghost's sarcastic voice admitted "You're too much, you know that."

"And you, Miss Cameron, are an uninvited guest."

Diana's eyes were narrow and her face stern. "Silver Sable, I respect your audacity, but this is a matter of global significance. Whoever wields the Spear of Longinus may possess the power to dominate the minds of others. One weak-willed Russian missile commander would ensure that, if you do not help us, you will be a casualty."

"I'm well aware of the Spear's capabilities, Princess, and of the danger. But I am a professional and I have overhead. If you are not prepared to meet my fee, you may find someone else to help you, but I suspect that if Oracle had the answers you seek you would not be here, now."

"The Stark Foundation," the Scarlet Witch said firmly, "is prepared to meet your fee. Assuming," she added, with a raised eyebrow, "that your performance meets all expectations."

Sable nodded. "Of course." The silver mercenary gestured, and a secretary came out of nowhere, handing a clipboard to the Scarlet Witch. While Wanda signed on the dotted line, Sable got down to business. "Your reports are all very complete and informative," she said. "That's nice to see. Mrs. Maximoff, my teams have been working to identify the 'sprchkr' mentioned in your e-mail transcripts, and we have discovered that he--or she--is using a particular satellite uplink protocol for net access. This sort of technology is not common, and can be traced. It will take some time."

"What do you suggest we do until then," the Witch asked, handing clipboard and pen back. "And it's no longer 'Mrs.'"

A curt nod. "Miss, then. If the four of you are willing, we can follow up on the Royal Flush Gang. I have some suspicions on who some of them might be. If we can confirm their identities, it might provide more information about their employer."

Wanda nodded silently. "What about Doom?" Ghost asked, more than a hint of suspicion in her tone.

"I do not expect Doom to get involved," Sable answered.

"He could be behind this whole thing," Fairchild speculated. "The attack on Wanda, stealing the Spear. He is reputed to have mystical skills."

"That may be, but his culpability is highly unlikely," Sable asserted. "'Doom needs no one.' Remember his mantra. Our target has gone to great lengths to conceal his--or her--identity. This is not at all in character for Doom."

"King?" Wonder Woman offered.

"He has never displayed such ambition before. He is a mercenary and, I may say, not a very challenging rival."

"Perhaps Vandal Savage, or Modok..."

"Miss Fairchild, we could throw megalomaniacs around all day, but what would it accomplish. I suggest we do some more legwork and pursue the Gang. You and Miss Cameron seem immune to just about anything an enemy might throw at you; I'd like to ask you to meet with a business associate of mine in New York City."

"What does the fact that I'm invulnerable have to do with it."

"He's the Kingpin."

"Oh."

"Wonder Woman, you are the strongest among us and we have three targets. Are you willing to essay a mission alone?"

"Of course."

"Miss Maximoff, as my official client, I'd like to keep you close to me. We're going to Africa. By the time we all get back, I hope to have some results."

---

Within minutes the women were on the landing pad. Alongside the quinjet was a second aircraft displaying the symbol of Silver Sable Incorporated. It was a crisp and clear morning, the sun bright but seemingly far away. Mountains, many topped with snow, made an erratic horizon.

"I trust," Silver said to Wonder Woman, "that you do not require transportation."

"I do not."

"Miss Fairchild, can you pilot one of my corsairs?"

Caitlin poked her head out of the cockpit with a nod. "No sweat. What's the ceiling on this thing?"

"That's classified." She turned to the Scarlet Witch. "Do you mind driving?"

"Not at all."

"Whenever you're ready then," and the mercenary leader, body bristling with weapons and other gear, disappeared into the quinjet.

The Scarlet Witch gave a rueful smile. "That's one woman who is used to being in charge."

"Doom deserves her," was Ghost's muttered reply.

Wanda stepped closer to her companion, met her eyes. "Elisa, take care of yourself. The people you're going to be dealing with, they don't play by Arcadia's rules."

"Arcadia would run these guys out on a rail," Ghost replied, "I can handle the fat man."

"I...wouldn't call him that if I were you."

"I'm not you."

A moment's pause, and then Wanda laughed--lightly, almost merrily. "I can't argue with that! I should know better by now than to try and tell you what to do." She rose a finger, pointed like a mother. "But I expect a full report!"

Elisa's face was still tight. "Nothing scares you off, does it."

The gypsy's eyes were troubled. "Is that what you want? If it is, you're going to have to do something other than be cold and distant. I've got a lot of experience with that."

After an uncomfortable moment, the Ghost shook her head, looked down. "I'm sorry. I just feel so--out of my league when I'm with you. Like I've got one hand tied behind my back or something. You know everything about me, about us, and I can't remember the name of my high school."

A hand reached out, and Elisa let it touch her. Wanda's caress was firmly reassuring. "It's going to take some time. But we can make it. Make new memories, together."

A nod. "Now isn't the time for this conversation. I've got a crime lord to meet."

"That's my girl." Wanda wanted to embrace her, wanted to give her a gentle kiss of reassurance, but she felt so many eyes upon her. Sandman and his guards were shadows outlined by the rising sun; the two women stood in clear view of the cockpits of both the quinjet and Sable's corsair. But she tried to offer a hopeful look as Elisa turned, floated through the morning, into the corsair's metal belly. As she did, Wonder Woman came out of it through the door. She stepped down the ramp, gave the Scarlet Witch a glance.

"Is everything all right?" the Amazon asked.

I must look like hell, Wanda realized. She essayed a smile. "Right enough, considering we have bigger problems. You know where you're going?"

"Silver Sable was very specific."

Wanda nodded. "We should keep in touch, through our communicators. I don't know if I completely trust Miss Sable."

"Nor do I. It shall be as you say. Good luck."

"And Godspeed." The Witch finished with a handshake, and then turned to climb into the quinjet. She paused at the threshold, let out a long sigh. Relationships.

"Is there a problem?" Sable's voice was matter of fact, no trace of compassion.

Wanda rose her head, squared her shoulders as she settled into the pilot's chair. "All your coordinates are in the navigation computers, so this ought to be a pretty boring trip. Our ETA in Kenya is about two hours, more if you want to avoid civilian air traffic routes."

Sable nodded, fidgeting a little in her seat, and Wanda's hands slowly brought the quinjet to life. There was a thrumming in the hull, then the birthings of a roar. Outside, the corsair was already lifting off at an impressive rate of speed, clouds of smoke and steam blasting from its turbines.

"Fairchild's ready to put your corsair through its paces," the Witch speculated, as Sable cast a suspicious gaze out the cockpit.

"She'd better be more careful. Those controls are quite responsive."

There was a red and gold blur as Wonder Woman soared through the open air between the ships. She circled the corsair once, gave a friendly salute to the crew, and then veered off. The corsair's thrust built to staggering proportions, and the craft suddenly entered a steep climb, completed a rocket-fast loop, and banked away to the west. It began to shrink rapidly from sight, lit by the burning gold disks of its engines.

Wanda laughed at Sable's stern expression. "You won't get anything that flashy from me," she warned happily. "I like to think I've got a smooth hand at the controls, but don't ask for anything exotic."

Sable stood. "Fine," she barked, as she stomped back to the rear of the quinjet.

Still smiling to herself, the Scarlet Witch pointed the quinjet south and began plotting a course between hostile Balkan nations. After they got through the gauntlet of dangerous air space she would cue the autopilot. In the meantime, perhaps it would help her relax. There were metallic clacking noises from the back; Silver Sable cleaning her guns.

====

(X) SHADOWS

Elisa and Caitlin passed the trip in silence. Fairchild made one attempt to initiate a conversation.

"So," she asked. "You're from Arcadia. What's it like?"

Ghost slowly turned, stared at her with the most poisonous glance, and said, "It's Hell."

She didn't bother replying; Caitlin was no masochist. She found the onboard digital audio system and played Janet Jackson for the next hour and a half. With earplugs, of course. No need to get her passenger angry.

The corsair had incredible power and her cruising speed was a cool hypersonic. Soon America's eastern coast came into view: a slightly lighter blackness beneath the truly black night. A trail of light, bunching up then stringing out, betrayed the great metropolis towards which they flew. "We're almost there," she announced.

"Fine."

Caitlin craned her head around, her grimace plain. "You're a real barrel of laughs. You ever think about lightening up?"

Elisa stood rigid as a statue, her body pointed out the observation window but her eyes boring into Caitlin's young glance. "If I got any lighter, I'd fade away," she said darkly.

A wry smirk. "Wow. A joke, right? And my teammates say that I'm uptight."

"I'm dead, little girl. It's hard to get to excited about life."

Fairchild turned back to the business at hand, checked the stealth monitors and started to bring the ship into a holding pattern above Manhattan. "You've got the love of a beautiful person. I'd say that counts for something."

She was honestly trying to be helpful, but as soon as she said it the chill in the air, and the lack of even a dry witticism in response, told her she'd made a bad call. Gritting her teeth, she finished the course correction and hit the autopilot. She pulled the headset off and stood. Ghost was turned away, her hood and cloak making a translucent white sheath that concealed her completely. Even here, in the enclosed cabin, a slight ethereal wind played with the folds of the cloth and threatened to lift the hem from the floor. "Look," Caitlin tried a final time, "we might as well try to work together. I didn't mean to hit a nerve." She could see Elisa lift her head, see her shoulders broaden with a deep breath. "I...I feel real terrible," Caitlin realized. Hesitantly, she took a step forward, extended her hand. "Start over?"

The tension slowly bled out of Elisa's shoulders, and she glanced back at the tall redhead. "You're so...noble," she hissed with resignation.

Caitlin smiled. "Thanks." Her hand jerked forward again. "Partners?"

But Elisa's only reply was her shadowed glance, and she took Fairchild's hand with a sudden jab. "Take a deep breath," she advised, and the two of them floated through the bottom of the corsair, into the blustery Manhattan atmosphere.

The freezing air blew threw them, and as Fairchild plummeted towards earth she cried out in delight, her eyes wide and a smile blooming.

---

A handsome limo pulled up in front of the exclusive Cobalt Club, and as the valet parker opened the door a slim feminine leg, clad in stocking and a blistering pump, stepped out onto the curb. The rest of a woman followed as expected, and she paused to take one arm of the man who was next out of the car. A second woman came too, a bookend to the first. Gossip columnists and feature writers, lined up along the entrance to the Club like the Praetorian guard, shouted out questions as photographers snapped shot after shot. The man was young, energetic, in a sharp all-black tux and a baseball cap. His walk was one of casual confidence, of a man on top of the world. It was a short distance to the front door and the maitre'd who stood there with a grim look on his face.

"Three for dinner," said the cocky youth, with a smile at his two stunning companions.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mister McFarlane."

"What? Don't you know who I am?"

"Of course I do, sir. And the Cobalt Club has a very exclusive membership list."

"You're shittin' me! You guys invited me to eat here!"

"That was years ago, sir. When you were artist on Spider-Man. Since then I'm afraid the quality of your company has sunk rather low. The invitation has been rescinded. If you had thought to call ahead of time, we could have avoided this."

McFarlane shook his head in disbelief. The girls on his arms furrowed their brows in empty-headed confusion. "OK, ok," he said to himself, seemingly calm. But he soon erupted. "I'm the man that invented fuckin' Spawn you musty moron! Spawn! Don't you get it!" His finger stabbed towards the closed door of the club. "I happen to know for a fact that Kurt Busiek eats in that place."

"Mister Busiek lunches here, sir, and that is all. Mister Perez dines here. As does Mr. Claremont, Mr. Byrne and Mr. Romita."

"But those guys are all hacks!"

"They are raconteurs, sir. Relating the tales of real life heroes. Whereas you, sir, are a creator of...of..."--the word slowly slid from the man's lips, as if poison--"fictions. There is no place for you here. Good evening."

That said, the dapper man returned to his reservation book. McFarlane stood there in a shaking fury for several long moments, then spun and stomped back to his car. He shot the valet a glance of daggers. "Open the goddamn door you fuck."

Far above, an invisible and untouchable Ghost looked to Fairchild. "What do you say we skip the front door."

"I'd rather tackle Ultron," Caitlin agreed.

Elisa took her hand again and they floated, unseen and unbidden, across the empty air and down through the Club's blue-lit walls.

---

Chandeliers of crystal hung from the ceiling; white-jacketed waiters hustled elegantly around tables, toting silver-covered trays over one shoulder. At one end was a broad, semi-circular dance floor where a slim woman with skin like porcelain, her golden hair up, sang an old Duke Ellington tune. Her slinky sequined dress sparkled with cobalt light.

Caitlin let out a low whistle. "Pretty swank."

"I'll bet it's rotten on the inside," Ghost muttered. "You see Fisk?"

Fairchild had been scanning the shadowed alcoves of the terraced main dining room, but shook her head. "I don't think he could fit in one of those booths. But this place is huge. He could be anywhere."

"And we don't exactly blend in," Elisa admitted. "This may take a while." Slowly they slipped through the heights of the Club, always invisible, sometimes creeping quite close to couples cuddled on the edges of the place. But their search was fruitless.

"He's not here," Caitlin said at last. "But Sable was sure he would be."

Elisa frowned in contempt. "All she knows is that he's a member. He could be living it up in Corto Maltese for all we know." She floated around the corner of the ladies room, and for a moment they were out of any observation. Ghost released Fairchild's hand, and both women became substantial again. "Stay here," she ordered, and strode out into the Club with purpose.

Fairchild observed from the corner. Elisa was barely able to blend in; with her white cloak pulled close she looked every inch a wealthy eccentric armed for the bracing New York night, albeit one several decades out of fashion. But the Club was a relic from the '30s anyway; so long as no one saw the pair of Colt .45s on Elisa's hips she might actually get away with whatever it was she was trying.

Elisa moved quickly to a waiter, stepped in front of him. "Pardon me. I'm looking for a member here. Wilson Fisk?"

The young man's face paled; he shook his head quickly. "Oh no, Mr. Fisk's membership was revoked. After all that organized crime business was finally proven. I haven't seen him in a while."

"Damn," Elisa muttered to herself. "So much for that plan."

"Are you a member here, ma'am?"

"Uh, no. No, I'm not."

"A guest of a member?"

"Ah..."

"My guest." The voice came from behind her, and Elisa turned to see a tall man, slender, with dark hair, piercing blue eyes and a hawk-like nose. He was dressed in a timeless tuxedo, and he smiled faintly. "Miss Cameron is with me."

The waiter's eyes widened and he nodded. "Mr. Clarendon!"

"I'll handle this, Walter," the new man said, and the waiter slipped quickly away. He extended his hand, and after a moment's hesitation Elisa took it, shook firmly. "Wilson Fisk is no longer welcome at this establishment," he said. "You will find him uptown at the Hellfire Club, where social indiscretions are not a hindrance to membership, but rather a recommendation."

"Mister...Clarendon," Elisa said tentatively. His lean fingers and strong grip continued to embrace her own gloved hand. "I don't believe we've met. How do you know me?"

"I've waited a long time for this evening," the man replied, still with the hint of a smile. His eyes sparkled. Ghost found herself unwilling to turn away. "Are you quite all right?" he asked, his face suddenly knitted in concern. "You look like you need some sleep."

"No, I..."

Clarendon's hand rose towards her eyes. "Sleep," he whispered, long and languorous, and Elisa collapsed into his arms.

"Hey!" The man's head snapped to the side as Fairchild burst from the alcove, running full tilt. She had watched with concern as the mysterious man covered for Ghost, but now it definitely appeared he was up to no good. Patrons at their tables and staff in their white jackets froze and stared as Caitlin rapidly closed the distance on Clarendon, who had pressed his hand to Elisa's head and was now gently lowering her to the floor.

Then the lights went out. The entire Cobalt Club was suddenly thrown into utter darkness. There were a few gasps and whispers of alarm, but by far the most noticeable sound was that of a mixed clattering, bumping and swearing only a few feet from where Clarendon had stood. A few moments passed in eerie almost-silence. Then, just as suddenly, the lights came back on.

Fairchild lay in a contorted pile with Elisa and a waiter, surrounded by silver serving dishes and a perfect filet mignon, now growing cold on the carpeted floor. "Shit!" Fairchild exclaimed.

"Wow!" said the young man. "Are you all right?"

Elisa sat up, shook her head. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

All around them, people were staring at the two women, one of whom was over seven feet tall and wearing what looked like a one-piece bathing suit with boots, while the other was showing cleavage all the way down to her navel and packing pistols. "Are you all right?" Fairchild asked, picking herself up off the floor. "Who was that guy?"

"He told us what we want to know. Come on." Taking Caitlin's hand, the two women slid from mortal sight and began floating towards the roof. Below them, the chaos was slowly sorted out, and before they had even passed through the Club's walls they could once again hear a dulcet voice singing Duke Ellington.

---

It took almost an hour to find the Victorian manor north of the city that housed the infamous Hellfire Club. They had floated mostly in silence, though Caitlin had asked Elisa a bit more about the mysterious man at the Club.

"He's an old friend," Ghost told her. "We were lucky to find him."

"You looked like you fainted or something."

"It's not important," Elisa assured her.

"And where did he go? It was like he just disappeared."

"The lights went out, Fairchild. You just didn't see where he went. I'm telling you, he's a friend."

"All right, all right. I was just worried."

"Worry about the Hellfire Club."

The estate was large, sprawling, with many gardens and secluded alcoves. A dozen cars--a roulette wheel of limousines, sleek luxurious wedges and antique roadsters--were inside the gates. A handful of drivers loitered outside the doors, but otherwise the place was quiet. The manor itself was several stories; shadows hinted from the windows.

"This place will take even longer to search than the Club," Fairchild warned.

"And I don't want to know too much about what's going on in there. But we won't need to be as subtle. Look." Elisa pointed, as one of the rear balcony doors opened and a half dozen people filtered out for a breath of fresh air. Most wore elaborate Victorian dress: the men in satin waistcoats with bright gold buttons and handsome tails, breeches and stockings with polished black shoes. Their hair was tied back in short, tight ponytails. The women were decidedly more erotic, their hair up in luxurious piles, torsos laced into tight corsets, garter belts and hose barely visible beneath long velvet cloaks that helped keep away the chill. But among them was one woman dressed in distinctive costume.

She was tall, over six feet, and both her skin and hair were the blue-white color of nonfat milk. Her breasts were ridiculously huge, and not well contained by the dark blue bikini top she wore, clasped in the front with a tiny skull. Her arms were sheathed in long evening gloves of the same color, and her legs were similarly garbed in a sort of boot-stocking combination that hooked with garters to her thong panties. A long cloak of the same leathery-blue material completed her scanty ensemble. She held a drink in one hand, her other around the arm of one of the men. She laughed, flattering, at some joke he made.

Caitlin was incredulous. "What is that?"

"That is a Lady Death."

"Is she for real?"

"With those measurements, what do you think. She's a character from a comic book. I've heard of places like this. The Justice Club, New York City. They hire girls to pose as superheroines."

"Women take money to dress up like that?"

"To dress, and then to undress. There's bound to be more. Come on, let's get inside."

"If I see some bimbo who looks like me, I'm gonna kill'er."

---

They passed through into opulence. Paintings from the Dutch and French masters hung on the walls; elaborate carpeting covered the floor. A cherub, bow drawn, adorned the top of a staircase that swept down into a parlour below. A chandelier hung from the ceiling and the murmured voices of the Club's occupants bubbled from the halls and chambers all around them. But for the moment, they were alone. Caitlin found the floor just in time, as Ghost released her from ethereal existence and weight settled back into her body.

"That is the strangest sensation."

"You get used to it."

Suddenly around the corner came another quartet of people, two men and two women. One of the ladies was in a black merrywidow and garter, but the other wore what could only be described as Frederick's of Hollywood designed by H. R. Giger. A bony, almost organic shell encased her arms and shoulders, with claw-like fingers reaching up to give a semblance of coverage to her ample chest. A tiny g-string of the same shell-like material gave a final nod to modesty. Her impossibly-long, straight, brown hair actually did more to cover her than her 'uniform.'

Ghost and Fairchild froze as the group slowly strolled past them in the hall, descended the stair, without giving them a second glance. Once they reached the parlor, one of the men opened a door and smiled.

"This chamber should serve our purposes," he said with a hint and a nod. The others laughed and filed in. The man began to follow, then paused when he felt the eyes of the two women still upon him from the balcony. "Would you care to join us, ladies?" he suggested. "We'll take any excuse for a cross-over! And there's always money in it!"

Fairchild could see Elisa's fingers itching towards her trigger finger. She stepped to the edge of the balcony, pulling the zipper to her uniform enough so that, when she leaned down on the banister, she gave a pleasing view. "Not tonight, good sir," she purred, "we are expected by Wilson Fisk. But seemt o have taken a wrong turn."

The man smiled. "Ah, that explains why there are two of you! Third floor, the Henry VIII suite. But you might want to bring a friend, I hear his appetite has increased."

"Thank you, good sir. And good luck."

"Yes, I'll need it. They say no man may tame the Witchblade!" With a broad grin, he withdrew and shut the door.

Fairchild turned back to her partner, casually zipped up her top. "Well, that was easy enough."

"This place makes me sick."

"I know. But remember these guys have tangled with the X-Men. That's the kind of complication we don't need right now. We just find Fisk, and get out."

They moved cautiously through the house, trying not to look as out of place as they felt. A door opened and a woman with long black hair, whose costume was little more than a red string that went from shoulders to crotch, slinked out licking her fingers. A high white collar framed her face, and she wore tall black boots. She gave the other two a disarming glance. "Hello, girls," she offered in a throaty voice, then turned her finger to lick from its edge the last thick, round, droplet of crimson blood. "You're welcome to him," she said, leaving the door wide open behind her, "but I doubt you'll find him much of a conversationalist." Chuckling to herself, she turned and walked to the wide windows at the end of the hall. The two heroines watched silently as she opened the glass, letting a chilly slow moving breeze flood in. There was a twinkling, and the woman was gone, and only a quick-sighted observer would have spotted the fluttering bat that took her place, exiting into the night.

Fairchild and Ghost met each other's glance.

"That was no model," the redhead insisted.

Inside the room a handsome black man lay sprawled, naked, across the bed. His eyes were open, but he was unmoving. "Maybe you're right," Elisa agreed. "We'd better hurry."

Caitlin closed the windows and they continued to the third floor. It did not take them long to find the room they wanted, with a brass plate noting it as the Henry VIII suite. "Let me slip inside," said Elisa.

But Caitlin shook her head. "Let's just get this over with. I'm not going to wait out here while you go in alone." With a single swift motion, she seized the handle and threw open the door.

There was a long pause as they two women took in the revealed scene.

"Oh, no" Caitlin whispered.

Elisa nodded her head grimly. "Not disbanded after all."

It was Femforce.

The dark wood paneling of the suite drank in what little light there was, and combined with the rich, velveted couch and chairs, the walnut tables and bookcases, the veneer was one of antique elegance. But kneeling at one end of the couch was She-Cat, wearing her mask, gloves, and boots, along with a strap-on dildo. She faced the couch's center, where Fisk lay sprawled in a monstrous epidermal mound. The white-haired Synn lay atop his round belly in spanking position, and the Kingpin of Crime obliged her with a series of open-handed smacks on her bared and flushed ass cheeks even as She-Cat made thrust after frenzied thrust between the woman's spread thighs. Synn let out staccato moans as she clung furiously to the Kingpin's massive flesh, her eyes half-shut and a contorted, contented look upon her face.

On Fisk's other side, performing a similar routine, was Nightveil and Tara, the latter clad in nothing save camo-colored body paint and a strap-on of her own. She sat on the velvet cushions, legs spread, while the sorceress rode her furiously, back to the woman and facing the Kingpin's wide expanse. She kneaded her soft breasts even as Fisk suckled them, her gloved hands rubbing all over her own flesh and that of her high-paying customer. She still wore her thigh-high boots and garters that stretched to a wide belt, but her one-piece tunic had been replaced with a pair of midnight blue crotchless panties and a supporting shelf bra of the same color, both trimmed in decorative lace. Tara gripped Nightveil's hips with rigid tension, pulling her up and down with rhythm and grunting, through gritted teeth, "Oh yea, baby. Ride my big pole... Fuck it..." and similar encouragement.

Finally, on the floor before the couch, on her knees between the Kingpin's chubby legs, crouched the team's leader, Ms. Victory. The veteran of almost 60 years of superheroics sucked on Fisk's not particularly large dick with obvious enthusiasm, one of his hands pushing her head down again and again as she looked longingly up at him with big blue eyes. Her golden hair undulated in waves, the bottom edge of it tickling her muscular ass, as she slurped and cajoled Fisk's cock ever closer to eruption. Her star-shaped mask was still intact, as were her opposing gloves of red and blue, but her ordinary costume had been replaced by a mesh of red, white and blue lycra which stretched around her superhuman measurements and left her tits at firm attention, her blonde pussy well exposed. Her lips were painted scarlet and silver earrings in the shape of stars twirled and sparkled, leapt like comets, with each furious action. The last member of the team, Stardust, lie on her back on the floor, her face impossible to see due to the fact that it was positioned directly beneath Ms. Victory's crotch. Only a medusa-like spread of white hair fanning out from beneath the older heroine's clenched ass identified the laboring girl.

Fairchild and Ghost were struck at once with the pungent odor that filled the room, cast off by Fisk's bloated, sweaty body, and they staggered back in shock while uttering cries of distaste. The Kingpin's body fairly glowed with sweat, oils, and his physical exertions, and by the look of the women surrounding him they, too, had been taxed nearly to their limit. But when the door opened and the light of the hall beamed in, it disrupted the delicate choreography the sextet had going, and there were a few fumbles. She-Cat's head turned to glance at the intruders and she lost her balance, falling backwards with a yelp off the couch and onto the thickly-carpeted floor. Fisk stirred, sending Synn rolling forward along his slickened belly without restraint, until she landed with a yelp between Tara's legs while Nightveil happened to be on an upswing. The sorceress promptly sat back down on Synn's head, a situation that simultaneously prevented the mystic mistress from completing her orgasmic rhythm and pinned the white-haired girl across Fisk's rather prosperous and fatty middle.

Tara swore, Nightveil threw her hands up in alarm, Synn flailed pathetically, and only Ms. Victory, ever the patriotic soldier that refused to quit, kept to her mission. With lips that could no doubt peel the casing from a .50 caliber round, Joan Wayne brought the Kingpin to a quivering, rumbling climax that seemed to ripple across the man's vast expanse in waves. White ooze threatened to burst from Victory's vacuum seal, marking her lips with a translucent pearly sheen, but not a drop escaped. Throaty moans of satisfaction and pride in a job well done purred from Joan's lips, and after several swallows and a few final trips down the stubby member she let it pop out, and ran a finger along her lips to wipe them clean.

The Kingpin peered at the two women with small, beady eyes. His face was expressionless. "You are," he said after a moment, "exactly who you appear to be."

Twin .45s were drawn and leveled in an instant. "That's right, Kingpin. Sorry to bust up your party." Suddenly Ghost's glance snapped to the side, where she spotted another figure that had escaped her attention. The woman sat in a dark wooden chair, leaning up against the wall, wearing tight black pants, a snug and sturdy leather jacket, and a mask topped with a dashing cavalier hat complete with feather. A pair of pistols were holstered at her hips. Her booted feet were propped up on an end table, and she calmly stared down the two intruders.

"Hey," Caitlin demanded, "how come you aren't servicing Fisk like the others?"

There was a moment's pause while Colt the Weapons Mistress adjusted her feet, crossing one leg over the other. "Because," she pointed out at last, "I was the cool one."

Fairchild nodded. "Good point."

Ghost leveled her pistol between the Kingpin's eyes. "All right, fat man. Answer our questions."

Fisk's face was a passive mask. "Deluded girl. Do you think I have never been shot before?"

Fairchild's voice was more reasonable, but no less firm. "We're looking for an old employee of yours. An assassin. His name is Bullseye."

The eyes of Wilson Fisk narrowed to slits. "I have not been in contact with the man for some time. He is alive; that is all I know."

Elisa didn't take her eyes off him. "Please tell me he's lying."

Caitlin shook her head. "I don't think so. Any idea who he might be working for these days?"

Fisk made the tiniest shake of his head. "My information network is no longer what it once was. He was available, for the right price, when last I inquired. Alas, his price was more than I could afford."

"Maybe if you weren't pissing it all away on these has-beens," Ghost suggested.

"Hey, back off," Ms. Victory warned with a pointed finger. "This is the only gig we could get."

Ghost let out a sigh, and holstered her pistol in frustration. "Are we through here?"

Fairchild's face was still firmly set. "I think so."

"Fine." Elisa took her hand, and they floated upwards, losing their bodies as they did, until they passed through the elaborately carved ceiling and were once again in the wide open starlit darkness.

"If my book is ever cancelled, or given to some crappy writer," Ghost hissed under her breath, "just do me a favor and kill me."

There was a pause. "Um, you're already dead," Fairchild reluctantly reminded her.

"Damn. You're right."

=====

(XI) LIKE LIGHTNING

Wonder Woman soared over the windswept steppes of Russia, the lonely rice fields of the Orient, the Japanese islands and eventually across even the broad Pacific. At this pace, Hawaii was barely a blip, and before she had come to a decision on what to do about the recent events in her love life, she reached the west coast of North America.

Everything is so... complicated, she grudgingly admitted. She still had no idea how a battle with the Royal Flush Gang had turned into sex on the beach with a woman she didn’t even know, but there it was, and she had to figure out how she would proceed.

I wish I had time in my life for love. But then her face became a grimace. "No," she said. "That is not fair. Not to her; not to us." Diana could not simply abandon Caitlin just because their romance was poorly timed. Love must be fought for. If she had learned anything since her arrival in Man’s World, it had been that. And Caitlin was certainly passionate; Diana felt her face flush with the memory of last night’s pleasures in Castle Sable. The young, strong, charismatic redhead had awoken something in the Amazon that she had not felt--had not allowed herself to feel--in years.

Still, Diana could not entirely push Arthur from her mind. And, of course, there was Clark. There was always Clark. Was that fair to Caitlin, either?

Wonder Woman shook her head. Enough woolgathering. She checked her JLA card, matched her current location against the coordinates Silver Sable had given her. This should be the place. Beneath her, partially hidden from the air by trees and the mountain slope, was a wooden cabin. According to SHIELD reports, the renegades known to the world as the Thunderbolts were holed up here, but after their recent debacle with the Lightning Rods, Fury’s organization had not yet come up with a plan for rounding up the band. So far, the Thunderbolts had not been a danger to the nearby town.

The cabin was sure to be protected by cameras and other security systems. Diana flew on, then dropped quickly below the tree cover, and settled to the earth. A forest silence surrounded her. She barely detected the thin chirping of birds; after a moment her keen vision detected a scurrying motion, and she smiled to see a chipmunk clamber up a nearby tree. Sunbeams pierced the green canopy like spears, dappling grass and the redwood trunks. What a strange place to find villainy!

Her hunting instincts took over, and the Amazon Princess moved cautiously and silently through the woods. It took only a moment for her sensitive ears to detect the sound of water, and a man’s voice. He was singing! Red boots made no sound as she crept to a nearby rise and peered down on her prey. A giant man three times normal size--handsome and muscular, clad in trunks--did a casual backstroke in the wide river. He rolled, dove, vanished for a long moment, then reappeared in shallower parts. As he stood, he began to tower over the water, until it reached only to his knees. With two hands, he slicked his hair back, and opened his mouth to sing.

"Danka shane, darlin’ danka shane..."

Diana’s eyes widened in mystified confusion. Man’s World still had so many customs she did not understand. But this could work to her advantage. If she could keep this member of the Thunderbolts away from the others, ask him her questions, she might be able to avoid a confrontation.

There was a rustling in the bushes nearby. Her muscles froze, and her eyes narrowed to predatory slits. It appeared she was not the only person watching the giant and his bath. Someone else--she could barely make out signs of a human figure--was observing from the safety of trees by the shore. Picking her steps with care, Diana crept in a broad half-circle, until she found herself observing the observer.

It was a girl with long dark hair in a ponytail and a trim, athletic build. Crouching behind cover, one of her hands gripped a tree trunk with white knuckles; the other hand could not be seen. From Diana’s limited viewpoint, it looked stuffed inside the pocket of the teen’s short denim cut-offs. She seemed to be observing the mostly-naked bathing man intently, and Diana could not help but think that this would work out even better. The girl would be much easier to isolate and question than the other. But she wanted to avoid violence, if she could. After all, this "wanted criminal" was only a girl.

By now, Wonder Woman was only feet from her target. Tentatively, inch by inch, she reached her hand out, until she touched the sneaking teen on the shoulder.

"Huh? What!"

POW!

There was a boom like thunder, the bright flash of a lightning bolt, and Diana went hurling backwards into a nearby tree. CRACK!

"Uff!"

The girl’s eyes were wide in shock and alarm, and further attracted attention with the sparks of bright lightning that shot from them. One hand, balled up into a furious fist, was still sizzling with power. "Wonder Woman?!"

A shadow blotted out the sun. The giant’s face was concerned. "Jolt? What’s going on? Are you all right?"

The girl furiously closed the button fly on her jeans. "Erik! She... she snuck up on me! I..."

Diana got her feet back underneath her just in time to see Erik’s hand, and only Erik’s hand, swooping her up in a steel grip. "Agh!" she managed.

"I don't know what we did to get you mad enough to attack a kid, Wonder Woman," said the man in booming tones, for he was now over six stories high, "but why don’t you try Atlas on for size!"

"This..." Diana hissed, feeling her body crushed by the man’s enormous strength, "is intolerable." She flew away as fast as she might, and strained against Atlas’ grip. In combination, these forces proved enough, and she burst free from his outstretched arm to fly free again above the pair of Thunderbolts. "Atlas, indeed! If that is all you have to boast about I advise you to be silent. I have battled Captain Marvel to a standstill, and he counts the stamina of Atlas as but one of his many gifts!"

Atlas and the diminutive girl exchanged a confused glance. "Captain Marvel?" Jolt said. "But he’s dead." Then, "Atlas, look out!"

But it was too late. Diana’s warrior instincts had taken over. The Amazons believed in peace, but once the battle was begun they were trained to finish it. Wonder Woman sped past Erik’s guard with nimble agility, and drove her own Olympian strength into his handsome brow.

"Uhhh!"

With lightning-like speed, Jolt leapt into the gap, careening her thin body off of Erik’s staggering form, and getting close enough to hurl a kick at the Amazon. "Get away from him!"

Diana dodged in the air. "Restrain yourself, child. I mean no harm, and will not take up arms against a girl, no matter how powerful she may be."

"That’s ok, Princess," said a voice from overhead. "You’ve got enough to worry about!" And the Amazon looked up just in time to see MACH-1--Songbird only a moment behind--fire a pair of missiles directly at her.

"Great Hera!" She climbed desperately, and the rockets overshot but began to turn, coming back for another try. In a well-trained motion Diana slipped the golden lasso from her belt, spun it out overhead. As she hovered, the rockets came closer, but then she cast the shining rope out, snatching one of the explosive weapons. From there it was a relatively simple matter--for anyone possessed of both Amazonian skill and superhuman strength--to smash one missile into the other. A stunning, concussive blast rocked the trees, but Diana had no time to congratulate herself.

"Give it a rest, Abe," insisted the angry woman now flying past him. "Let Mimi pull your weight, as usual!" Songbird wore a two-tone costume of dark and light blue, but her shoulders and neck were adorned with a golden harness which amplified her solid sound powers to an unprecedented degree. As she activated them, a translucent rose-colored battering ram appeared out of nothing, and slammed a distracted Diana down and to the earth once more. "Yeah!" she exulted. "Take that!"

"All right, Songbird," said Atlas, stepping back over Wonder Woman, "I’ve got her now." But as he again reached for his victim, Diana seized the giant by the wrist. Twisting with enormous power, she was rewarded with a sickening crack, and the other Thunderbolts froze with looks of stunned surprise on their faces. Atlas fell to one knee, cradling his limb even as Diana rocketed up once more from the earth. "Shit!" he managed, breathless. "I think... I think she broke my hand!"

The Amazon was a gold and crimson blur, smashing through a massive tree like a missile. She looped quickly, grabbing the now-severed base of the tree in both hands, and the others barely had time to scatter before she brought the trunk down across Atlas’s skull with a mind-blowing, senses-shattering KA-RUNCH! Jolt barely escaped, shooting out from under the collapsing goliath with an energetic leap and the smell of ozone. "Uh, guys..." she suggested, looking up at the Amazon who hovered above Atlas’s now unmoving form, "she looks really pissed." Indeed, Diana seemed wholly in the grip of a terrifying battle frenzy, her eyes smoldering with enraged violence. Her chest heaved with panting, powerful breaths, and the cut above her eye had re-opened, sending a triple trickle of bright blood down the side of her face.

The Thunderbolts reacted in unison. MACH-1’s machine guns opened up on the flying Princess, and Songbird cried out in desperation, sending a spiked ram of solid sound through the air. The first few bullets ricocheted off Wonder Woman’s bracelets, keeping her in one place long enough for the ram to hit home. Before Diana could react, the red energy had become a solid block of matter, enclosing her completely, with only her head sticking out. Wonder Woman struggled, even shouted in rage, but it was fruitless. She was held fast.

Songbird soared up, a triumphant grin on her face. "Yes!" she hissed. "Mimi saves the day again! How does it feel to get taken down by a former Grappler, you bitch!"

"You better back away," MACH-1 warned, flying circles around the pair.

But Songbird just gave the man a disgusted look over one shoulder. "Abe, you pussy. We’ve got her! We won!" she said, and turned back, apparently ready to spit into Diana’s face. Wonder Woman’s reply was a sudden head-butt, smashing her golden tiara into Songbird’s forehead with nearly fatal force. In an instant the blue-clad former villainess was plummeting through the air, and the crimson construct she had created vanished into thin air.

"Melissa!" MACH-1 cried out, and soared down to catch his unconscious teammate. But even as he seized her around the waist and began to pull out of his dive the Amazon Princess landed both feet on the back of his thruster unit. CLANG! Abe was smashed down into the ground with an "Unh!" barely managing at the last moment to roll Songbird around so that he took the brunt of the impact.

Wonder Woman landed nearby in a crouch. MACH-1 was still conscious, even getting to his feet, though his jets were sputtering and his armor obviously damaged. Suddenly she sensed an incoming attack from behind her, and Diana pivoted neatly, struck out with her powerful fist at the new enemy. Jolt’s body continued in its lightning-fast forward movement even as her head snapped back with a sickening jerk. The teen collapsed, motionless, to the grass.

"Great Hera!" Diana was shocked, stunned, all traces of her rage gone as quickly as they had come. The child, she thought, the child...

MACH-1 had his hands raised, though he remained in a ready crouch. "We give!" he said. "Enough already. Is she..."

A bass rumble came from the still-enlarged Atlas. "If you’ve killed Hallie, by God I’ll tear you to pieces if it’s the last thing I do."

Diana took a tentative step towards Jolt’s sprawled, contorted form. "You’d have every right," she whispered, and reached out to feel for the girl’s pulse.

"Back away!" MACH-1 shouted, coming closer himself. "Just back away." The Amazon did as she was told, and Abe kneeled before the young girl. Diana’s blow had been a tremendous one, and combined with the velocity of Jolt’s forward leap had been enough to inflict a kind of whiplash that could have snapped Hallie’s spine like a twig. Gingerly, Abe felt under her neck, tuned his sensors to pick up her breathing. If she was breathing. "Yes," he sighed at last. "She’s alive." He and Atlas exchanged weary glances filled with relief. "She’s alive. And I think her neck is OK. Zola must have made her tougher than we thought." Now the protective MACH-1 turned his fierce glance on the still disheartened Amazon. "And you, you got lucky, Princess. What did we do to you anyway? Here to clean up SHIELD’s mess? Or just slumming!"

"I... I came to ask you some questions."

"Questions? Well I guess in the Justice League they let their fists do the talking."

"I am sorry. I never meant to fight you. Any of you. Things just got... out of hand."

"I’ll say. Atlas, how’s your hand? Can you get the girls back to the cabin?"

"Yeah. It’s OK, but I think it’s going to hurt like hell as soon as I try to shrink back down."

"I’ll take care of ya. Go on, I’ll handle this."

Wonder Woman stood silently as Atlas and his delicate cargo left the wooded clearing, leaving Diana facing MACH-1 alone.

"Now what did you come to ask?"

"I am truly sorry. I did not mean to hurt the girl."

"You said that already. Why are you here?"

Diana realized that she would have no absolution from the Thunderbolts. Grimly she returned to the task at hand. "I come seeking one of your number, Moonstone."

"Not here. She split a few weeks ago."

"Did she say where she was going, or why?"

"She went to look for a new hideout for us, least that’s what she said and I have to believe her. Didn’t say where."

"I see. You have no clue to her whereabouts? No way to contact her"

"She said it was safer this way, safer for all of us. She in some kind of trouble?"

"That remains to be seen. Thank you for your frankness." With that, Diana turned away, looked up to the pure blue sky.

"You’re not going to take us in?" MACH-1 asked with skepticism.

"Taking you in is SHIELD’s concern, not mine," Diana insisted. "Good luck, to you and your friends."

"Aren’t you going to tell me what’s going on?"

Wonder Woman paused thoughtfully for a moment. "No."

Abe relaxed; Diana wondered if the man really wanted to know where his teammate was. "All right, Wonder Woman, have it your way. But if Moonstone doesn’t come back, you can bet the Thunderbolts will be chasing you down, asking you the questions. And maybe we’ll do it the Justice League way."

"And I only hope that I am in a position to answer them," Diana assured him, before she flew towards the sun.

=====

(XII) LAW OF THE JUNGLE

"Nnnhhhhh..." Wanda stretched her arms, her back, twisting a little in the pilot seat of the quinjet. Raising a hand, she covered a yawn. A glance over her shoulder, to the rear of the craft. The mechanical noises of Silver Sable’s weapon checks had ceased about ten minutes ago. Now the tense, quiet mercenary was peering sternly at the glowing palmtop computer she held in one hand.

The redhead stood, ducking in the low cockpit, stepped away from the controls. Sable’s glance turned to her at once. Wanda gave a friendly smile.

"Problems?"

"Business," Sable replied.

"Can I help?"

"Not unless you would care to triple my fee."

Raised eyebrows. "Ah." There was a moment’s pause, as Wanda settled into a padded seat across from the other woman. They exchanged an uncomfortable pair of not-smiles, then Sable leaned back and rested the computer on one muscular thigh.

"Miss Maximoff, may I ask you a personal question?"

Wanda was actually unsure how to respond. Her gut reaction whenever anyone called her "Miss Maximoff", which actually wasn’t very often, was to suggest her first name. But Silver was so... professional. And now it was too late for a casual and dismissing laugh. So she nodded and put her hands together to give them something to do and said, "Certainly."

"What is the reason for your divorce?"

A cough. "Oh my. You were serious."

"That is, I assume it is a divorce, since I believe the Vision is not destroyed."

"No, no, he’s damaged but not destroyed. Ah, I’m not certain I want to answer that, actually."

"I see."

Silence.

"Well, all right. You did ask first. My former husband believes that since he has died on at least one occasion, and is no longer the person he once was, our marriage has been ended. Whether or not I agree with him is somewhat beside the point."

"I see. Do you think that he is seeing another woman?"

Later, Wanda would feel sorry for laughing quite as loud as she did, since it undoubtedly came as something of an insult to Sable and was perhaps a contributing factor to what happened later. But she did laugh, in surprise, at the sheer impossibility of the idea. "Oh... oh... oh, my goodness," she finally managed.

Sable’s gaze was narrow and cold. "I did not think it quite so an amusing question."

"Pardon me, Sable. It’s just, well, it’s not like that."

"You are quite certain."

"Absolutely."

"Men betray easily."

"I’m sure they do. So do women. My problems with the Vision are a bit more than simple betrayal."

"Betrayal is never simple."

The smile faded from Wanda’s face. She realized that Sable’s tone was pure ice. There were landmines here, and she did not want a ruthless mercenary with a small army amongst her enemies. "Of course not. I apologize."

She was saved by the beeping of an incoming transmission. "I’ll get it," she whispered gratefully, stepping carefully back into the cockpit. She settled back into the pilot seat and thumbed the audio/visual button. It took a moment for the signal to stabilize.

"Doctor Doom!?"

The Lord of Latveria appeared to be in his castle, with stone walls broken only by the high-tech apparatus of communication. He recoiled from the transmission, and when he spoke his smooth tenor was actually a trifle uneven. "This is... most unexpected. When Silver Sable’s underlings gave me this frequency they did not tell me it belonged to an Avengers quinjet."

Sable was on her feet, navigating the low confines of the quinjet and making her way forward, but Wanda was in no mood to let her do the talking. "This is Avengers business, Doom, and I hope for your sake that you haven’t gotten involved in it."

Another pause, almost indecisive. "When you learn more, perhaps you will be thankful that I am involved. Of all people, you have the least to fear from me."

A bitter laugh. "You’ll forgive me if I’m skeptical."

Sable’s voice was firm, direct. "Doom does not lie. He is our ally in this. Miss Maximoff, if you will excuse us?"

"Very well." But I don’t have to like it, she thought to herself, ceding the cockpit.

Silver took the seat. "Victor. This is unexpected."

"Forgive me if I intrude."

Her tone did not thaw by much. "Not at all. I would much rather speak to you than to some pampered and patronizing Avengers kitten."

"That kitten has defeated both gods and monsters, Silver."

"Yes, yes, I’m sure. Has this suddenly become the Maximoff Admiration Society? I told you if I needed your help I would call."

"Do not be impertinent."

"And would you now instruct me in manners?"

"Rather, in controlling your temper. It does not suit you."

"Whether it does or not is my affair. As is this mission," she added, hastily.

A pause. "Very well," Doom replied. His voice was cool, and measured. "But remember this: as you sow, so shall you reap." He reached forward, towards the screen, and the transmission ended.

She sat there, silent and fuming, for a long minute. He is insufferable, she insisted at first. That may have been unwise, she decided moments later. On my own now, but that is how I have always preferred it. And after this mission is resolved, I can smooth things over with Victor. A lover’s quarrel, that is all. Our first. She permitted herself a smile. Then putting the matter behind her, she stood and returned to the cabin. There is that damned gypsy woman! Calm down, she is the client. Defeated gods and monsters, indeed. And does she have to be so damned beautiful, too? A little soft, but men like that. Busty, as well, and not afraid to show it. Does have good posture.

Wanda met her appraising glance. "Can I help you, Sable?"

"I will give you a warning, Miss Maximoff, as one woman to another. Stay away from Doom." In response, a smile. Silver fumed. So haughty! Probably has her father’s smile.

"I don't go looking for trouble, but I won’t shirk from it either."

"That’s not what I’m talking about."

Confusion. At last. Silver felt triumphant. "I don’t understand."

"Victor and I are involved, so don’t get any ideas."

Blank stare. A deer caught in the headlights. Silver permitted herself a tight smile of her own.

"You and... Doom are... involved."

"That’s right."

Wanda, eyes wide in amazement, half a grin on her face, said, "Believe me, Miss Sable, I won’t get in your way! You must be insane! Victor von Doom is a megalomaniac and a tyrant. Don’t get any ideas? Silver, you can have him!"

"Doom is a great man."

Incredulous, Wanda’s voice rose. "A great man?"

"Never mind. I do not need to rationalize myself to you. You could not possibly understand him."

"I don't want to understand him! Oh, this is too much. I thought my love life was crazy. Doctor Doom!" She had a hand now on her breast, as she half-laughed and shook her head, bemused look still in place. "Doctor Doom," she repeated. "How... no, never mind. I don't want to know."

"Good, because I would not tell you."

Twenty minutes passed in silence, before they got to Kenya.

---

"There," Sable pointed, out the cockpit window. "Set down there." The small clearing she pointed to was perhaps thirty yards in diameter, and also contained a small but sturdy-looking hut build on wooden stilts. Wanda grit her teeth and carefully brought the quinjet down in the space that remained. No easy trick, but she took her time, and eventually settled. From the back, she heard Sable putting on her gear, locking and loading.

"Are you expecting trouble?"

The mercenary didn’t bother to answer. This was going well, Wanda thought, a wry grin creeping onto her face. She decided to be as chipper and happy as possible, just to annoy her companion. With the press of a finger, the gangway opened, and a hot wind blew in from the outside. It caught her scarlet cloak and threw its edge across the small confines of the jet. She gave Sable a cheery smile and gestured gallantly. "After you!"

The woman grumbled, squared her shoulders like she was going onstage, and stepped dramatically down the plank. Wanda suppressed a chuckle, and followed.

There was no one there. The two women split up, with Wanda meandering around the outside of the perimeter and staring into the thick trees that surrounded them, while Silver went right for the hut. Cupping her hands to her mouth she shouted, "Wilson!" No answer. With impressive agility and strength, she half-leapt, half-climbed up a wooden pole to the high floor of the hut. Hands and feet barely touched the support; she just seemed to bounce up there. Wanda had to admit, the lady was good.

But a half-minute later she emerged, silver body outlined in the darkness of the cabin’s door, peering off into the distance. Wanda shaded her eyes with one red-gloved hand. "Well?"

A drop, like mercury, and Silver was on the ground again. "Gone," she said. "And he took his gear with him."

"I hate to point this out," the gypsy said with a note of despair, "but there are some boot prints over here, in the mud."

A nod of satisfaction. "Good. We’ll follow them."

A sigh escaped the redhead. Shoulders rose and fell. She nodded. "That," she mused to herself, "is what I thought you’d say."

A few minutes later and the two women were making their way through the thick jungle, with square canvas packs on their backs emblazoned with the Avengers 'A'. Despite packing her cloak up in the backpack, Wanda was still having a hard time keeping up with the agile mercenary. Sure-footed and keen-sighted, Sable moved easily over terrain that tangled Wanda’s step and left her grimacing. Finally, out of desperation, she lured Sable closer with questions.

"You still haven’t told me who this man is."

A look back over one shoulder. Silver’s headband was more than just for show; she was a quick sweat and her thick mop of platinum hair was already damp. "Slade Wilson was once a mercenary. A highly capable one. Maybe the best in the world."

Wanda raised an eyebrow. She must admire him, she thought, to so praise a rival. "Go on."

"Back then he was called Deathstroke, the Terminator. But a few years ago, he gave it all up. Came here to be a game warden. The description Fairchild gave made me think of him at once." A shake of the head, narrowing of the eyes. She was talking half to herself now, while Wanda panted for breath and rubbed an ankle. "Either Slade is back in business, or someone else is cashing in on his reputation. Either way, I want to know." Her eyes seemed to refocus, and she looked at the redhead silently, seeming to notice her at last. Wanda straightened, self-conscious, and the look in Silver’s eyes seemed to soften. "Are you ready to go on?" she asked. When Wanda nodded, they resumed, and Sable seemed to move slower, keeping closer to her client and showing her the path.

Their flight had been a long one, and little was left of the day. It was not much longer before they had to stop, and Sable went about making a quick camp. Wanda found a spot on the bending trunk of a tree, and nursed her aching ankle, just trying to stay out of the way. Somewhere, somehow, the two women had come to a kind of truce. While the mercenary propped up a dome-like tent, Wanda wandered off for some privacy.

The sun had not yet set, but the thick jungle blocked what little light was left, and the shadowed green around her had a haunting, primeval quality that left Wanda skittish and looking quickly from right to left. Her companion could still be faintly heard, working softly, a short distance away. Wanda sank a toe into the soft earth of the jungle floor, and marveled at the amazing fertility of the place.

Then she paused. What was that? Crouching in the growing darkness, she could just barely make out a print of some kind. Not a man, whatever it was, and they had followed Wilson’s tracks all the way from the hut. This was something else. It looked like a cat of some kind.

"Silver..." The sound of work at the camp stopped immediately, there were several seconds of absolute silence, and then the silver-clad mercenary was at Wanda’s shoulder, standing over her as the gypsy peered at the ground. "I think there’s something else out here."

Sable shone a small flashlight at the ground. "Panther," she said instantly. Then, "wait." The beam of the light skipped around, forward and back, illuminating more prints like the one Wanda had found, but also others that looked quite different. "These don’t make any sense," Sable grumbled.

"What is it? It isn’t a panther?"

The point of a finger. "Those are definitely panther tracks. But these," the light skipped forward a yard, "are the front prints of a bull mountain gorilla. Which shouldn’t even be down here, let alone hanging out with a panther. And these tracks were made at the same time, not long ago. They must have been practically on top of each other." After a moment she punctuated her comment with a firm but minute shake of the head. Silver curls swayed a little with the motion. "Come on. We should get back to camp."

"Is it safe?"

"Safer than being out here in the dark. If they’re wild, they shouldn’t come near us."

"I thought you said no wild animal would act like this."

"I did." A second later, the light flicked off, and Wanda could just barely see Silver’s lean, strong hand extended down to her. She took it, was hefted up easily, and Sable led her back to the dome tent, emblazoned with an Avengers A.

---

Inside the tent, there was just enough room for two sleeping bags, their backpacks, and a small heating unit on a tripod. Not that they would need it in the humid jungle, but it had come in handy for cooking up a couple of prepared dinners in little tin containers.

Wanda picked at her food with a wry grin on her face. "I miss Jarvis."

Sable grunted agreement around another forkful of pseudo-lasagna. She didn’t appear to have any complaints about the food. She touched the inside of the tent, which polarized at her pressure, and went translucent, creating a window about two feet in diameter. The night was perfectly still. "Very handy feature," she allowed at last. "Stark is a useful patron." Another touch would return the transparent window to opacity, but Sable left the spot clear, so that she could maintain a guarded watch on events outside.

"I wonder if Diana or the others have found anything," Wanda mused, investigating a substance that was supposedly applesauce.

"We’ll find out soon enough," Sable said, tossing her already cleaned tin into a plastic sack. "I don't want to risk a transmission."

Wanda just nodded, grimaced, and held out almost the entirety of her little dinner out to her companion. "You want this? I don't think I’m hungry."

A raised eyebrow, white and quite lovely. "Really? You should eat. You’ll need your strength."

"I’m certain. If you want it, it’s yours."

A shrug from Sable, and she took it, apparently unwilling to argue with the other woman. She dug into the food with relish, eating mechanically, her brow furrowed in distracted thought and her gaze focused somewhere in the empty air in the middle of the tent.

A stretch, and Wanda slid down inside her sleeping bag, nestling. Sable watched out of the corner of her eye as the redhead removed her headdress, laid it carefully atop her backpack, and fluffed her folded cloak, now a makeshift pillow. In a moment her face was surrounded by thick mounds of red curls, and Sable allowed herself a small smile. She did look so pretty; it was easy to see why men swooned over her.

"Goodnight, Sable."

"Goodnight, Ms. Maximoff."

Silver didn’t go to sleep. Instead, she slid a backlit datapad out of her sack and puzzled over its display, making occasional rapid bursts of typing. The crease of her brow seldom lifted. "Damn," she muttered once, late in the night.

---

She awoke with a start, pale eyes flicking open and a swallow lodged in her throat. Outside the small translucent window, everything was dark, but faint noises of something heavy and large moving in the undergrowth had reached her ears, and the mercenary was far too well trained to let such a thing go unnoticed. Even in sleep.

A slender hand reached for her pistol, and she hefted it carefully. Stretching out with it, she touched the barrel to the inside of the tent, turning it transparent in a broad circle. Only darkness was there. Faint beams of moonlight and the lush jungle growth, looking gray-green in the haunted illumination. Sable’s eyes narrowed to slits. There was something out there. She could sense it. And it wasn’t acting like any kind of animal.

A nudge of her toe against Wanda’s nearby arm earned a gentle murmur from the redhead, lips curving in a bit of a smile, and not much else. Silver spared a moment to roll her eyes in disdain. Amateurs. Probably had a head full of that leather-clad piece of fluff she had brought to the castle.

Suddenly Sable’s eyes went wide, and she stiffened. Another noise, right behind her, on the other side of the tent’s fragile wall. There was only a moment between that faint crunching sound, and an ear-splitting roar as something clawed through the women’s tent, massive black arms groping and tearing the intervening barrier to shreds.

In that moment Silver rolled forward, atop Wanda’s sprawled out body. Upside down, she fired round after round from her pistol into the lunging shape, even as the gypsy jerked into sudden surprised motion, thrashing her arms and crying out, "Sable! What?"

Bullets pierced the creature’s chest, shoulder, neck and head, but it did not slow. Its arms and broad barrel chest were those of a mountain gorilla, no doubt the source of the tracks they had seen. But its head was that of the hyena, complete with a ridge of fur down its back and a pair of huge jaws which, Sable knew, could crack any bone in her body as easy as she might snap a chopstick in half. Its eyes burned with a greenish, sickly, unnatural light, and its roar was a curious mix of a half dozen maddened beasts. Nothing mortal ever bellowed as this thing did.

A swipe of its massive knuckled fist, and Sable went flying, into the side of the tent, uprooting it from its moorings in the soft ground and sending the whole structure tumbling sideways. Wanda let out a surprised yelp and was now completely invisible, wrapped in the voluminous fabric and flailing helplessly. "For God’s sake, Maximoff!" Silver shouted, as she tried to get her feet underneath her. "Pull yourself together before this creature kills us both!"

Its lower half was that of the black panther, a small fit compared to the gorilla’s enormous chest, but equipped with a natural agility that served the monster well. With a springing leap, it propelled itself over the pillowy ruins of the tent, and directly atop Sable herself. Tearing the high-tech cloth open so it could better locate its prey, it roared again, and hot, stinking, breath enveloped the woman. Struggling to suppress the urge to vomit, Silver abandoned the useless pistol, and hurled a punch into the thing’s face with all her strength. Despite her off-balance position there was a satisfying crunch of bone and bursting of blood, but that was all. Jaws wide, hands coming down hard on Sable’s own arms, it bore down on her. Her struggles were useless. With wide eyes, she realized this was the end, after all. To die here, in some unknown jungle, far from her homeland and the man she loved. Working for some scarlet-clad tart on a mission of altruistic mercy. How appalling.

Wincing, face turned away, she saw the creature only out of the corner of her vision. It lunged, stopped short, and gaped at her, hyena jaws wide. Spittle flew from its mouth, but it did not strike. In fact, Sable’s arms were suddenly released, and it reached for its own throat, its back. Prying one eye open, Sable looked up, and saw that she was saved.

The moonlight barely illuminated the midnight black figure that clung to the monstrosity’s furred back. The forearm he had clenched round the thick neck of the beast was, in fact, almost completely invisible. His legs, too, were wrapped round the thinner panther portion of the lower body. Massive shoulders strained, as her rescuer fought to keep his hold, while a burly gorilla arm reached back with clumsy gestures, trying to pluck the man away. He hissed for air through gritted teeth, and suddenly the unnatural beast staggered backwards on its rear legs, tottering for balance, and Sable was free to roll out of the way to where Wanda was at last dragging herself out of the collapsed and broken tent.

"What is it?" The gypsy’s voice was startled and her eyes wide with awe.

"I have no idea," Sable assured her, without taking her steely gaze off the beast and the man who wrestled with it. "But it appears to be completely immune to conventional harm. If you have your wits about you..."

That earned a quick, fierce, glance from Maximoff, who did not much appreciate the mercenary’s tone. But yes, she had been of little use so far in the struggle. Still half-lying on the ground, she brought her hands together and before her and began to weave a destabilizing hex-bolt. Green and purple tendrils of light answered her efforts, slipping together into a complicated knot of power.

But the dark figure had no patience for Wanda’s spell. With surprisingly dexterous fingers, the creature had snagged the tight fabric of his black uniform, over the shoulders, and was tearing it, pulling him, reaching madly to get the man off. In answer, his lock round the furry neck became only tighter, tighter, more deadly still. His neck muscles strained and the muscles of both arms bunched and coiled. He began to pull. Heave. Tear. Both Silver Sable and the Scarlet Witch went wide-eyed in shock, as a hideous, sickening, ripping round began. With inexorable pressure, the mysterious man in black separated the hyena head from the body of the bull gorilla, along some heretofore invisible seam, now clearly marked by a flow of red blood. It shrieked even as it was decapitated, jaw working futilely, hungrily, arms still grasping. Blood geysered up from the thick neck like a macabre fountain.

Finally, the hex-bolt struck, hitting the beast square in the chest even as the man fell backwards, grisly head in his hands like a trophy. The spell burst, sending writhing crimson energy across animal muscles. Disrupting whatever enchantment had kept the unnatural creature alive in the first place, the hex broke the thing into its component parts. Panther legs and gorilla body fell right and left, each limb twitching as if electrified. Blood soaked the fertile earth, and Sable permitted a slight smile of contentment.

"Satisfactory."

Suddenly, the night was quiet once more. Ape fingers and panther claws made slight sounds as they scrabbled uselessly for purchase in the brush, but that was all. The dark figure of a man, uniform torn, raised himself from the crouch into which he had fallen, leaving the gory head he had yanked from his enemy in the tall fronds.

Wanda broke into a welcome smile of relief. "T’Challa," she said, panting a little as she stood, brushing the worst of the dirt from her uniform. "I don't think I need to say what a relief it is to see you."

The Black Panther stepped forward smoothly, almost gliding on the uneven ground. He gave a slight bow of the head, the white eyeslits of his mask reflecting the moonlight. "Wanda." His voice was a full, round, baritone. So layered with the aura of command and kingship that it was almost palpable. "It is unwise of you to be travelling in these lands. There are terrors here unlike you are familiar with."

A smile of agreement. "Yes," she said, "we appear to have found them! This is my guide, Silver Sable..."

But the Panther’s eyes were already on the gleaming figure of the mercenary, who gave a slight bow of her own head, and a silver smile. "King T’Challa. This is an unexpected honor. I appreciate your timely aid."

Gravely, the Panther extended a hand, which Sable took with a remote smile. "You were fortunate this night, Miss Sable. I have been tracking the Tupolat for many days."

A frown crossed Silver’s face, as she returned the Panther King’s firm embrace. She felt a tremor of muscle in his arm. Apparently he was not as unharmed as he would let the two women believe. Muscle strain, most likely, she decided. After all, he did just tear off a monster’s head with his bare hands. But Wanda asked the questions regardless, covering Sable’s silence. "A Tupolat?"

"One of the most terrible of the magician’s weapons," T’Challa answered, his gaze not leaving Sable’s own. A sensation that the mercenary found... curious. And even a little alarming. "An assassin fashioned from the corpses of animals, or of wood, or stone, or even mud. It feels no pain, nor hesitation, and lives only to obey the orders it is given. To kill, upon command. I know the man who made this thing, and now that I have pulled his fangs, I must track him down to his lair."

Wanda opened her mouth, as if to ask T’Challa what he might do then, but apparently decided she did not really want to know. "Well, good luck. And thank you again. I had no idea we would see you here, but I for one am very glad we did."

A silver-gloved finger raised up. "One moment, my lord. We are here seeking a man, a former mercenary turned warden here. His name is Slade Wilson, known also as Deathstroke, the Terminator."

The Panther was already turning back towards the concealing jungle, but he paused and gave a half-nod. "I know him," he said. "I know all who dwell here. He is gone. He had abandoned his mercenary ways for some time, and served the jungle faithfully and well. But weeks ago a craft came to his post, not far from here, and he left with it. He has not returned. If he had, he might have lent me aid in my hunt."

With a short nod of acceptance, Sable said, "I see. Very well. Then our mission appears to be in vain. I pray yours fares better. And perhaps, when all is done, our two nations might find closer relations to be... mutually beneficial."

This brought a raised eyebrow from Wanda, who was suddenly looking at Sable. But the mercenary managed to keep her cool. Why did I say that? she thought. Politics, she reminded herself. Wakanda has much to offer... and Symkaria could use the help.

T’Challa’s eyes seemed to probe Sable’s own for a long moment, and he finally answered, "Perhaps. Until now, I have never had a cause for relations with your country. But perhaps." Then he turned, and with a sleek, low, movement, he disappeared into the underbrush. There was a rustle of leaves, a shake of a tall branch, and then nothing. The Black Panther was gone.

To Be Continued…