Archive of Our Own

“The place they go towards is a place even less imaginable to most of us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all.” -Ursula K. Le Guin

 “Let’s just get one thing clear,” Selina said. “I’m. Not. Some. Hero.” Her finger sharply punctuated the pulse of each word. “I don’t sing in your choir, and I don’t bat for your team.” She turned away, though she made sure to look over her shoulder, as if her eye contact alone would get her message across. “I do my own thing, and at this time, my thing just happens to intersect with your thing. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Jean-Paul muttered, easing back into his chair and as far away from her accusatory finger as he could. He resisted the urge to rub his chest where Selina had poked him, though he allowed himself a small wince as she refilled their wine glasses.

“So,” Selina said, still idly concerned with the pouring of the Merlot. She watched the dark red liquid swirl, slowly evening out. “Do we need to go over it again?”

Jean-Paul leaned forward again. “No, this seems quite comprehensive.” 

The two were meeting in Selina’s apartment, a high-set penthouse overlooking Robinson Park. They were seated in two absurdly comfortable chairs amidst her well appointed living room, and any outsider could be forgiven for thinking that they were planning a roadtrip. But nothing was ever so simple. Here were two people who made their living by doing the death-defying, though they would be the first to admit their differing motives. Selina, the cunning thief always trying to get ahead, and Jean-Paul, the vengeful agent of God trying to find his place on Earth. And that was what had brought them together tonight.

Between them were several folders spread out over the glass-topped coffee table, outlining everything that Selina had researched and put together. There were photographs, maps, newspaper clippings, and what looked like several internal business memorandums, the origins of which Jean-Paul couldn’t begin to presume. In fact, he was pretty sure that he was happier living in a state of ignorance. Instead, he focused on the things that he did know for certain.

“You’re looking for your sister,” Jean-Paul recapped, his finger resting on the corner of a photo of two girls, “who you believe is here in this town.” His eyes slid over across the papers to one of the maps that were scattered among the papers. "O'Mallow." The topographical lines dove deep into the valley, outlining and laying bare where the little town lay. “You’ve been separated from one another for some time now, right?”

“Yes,” Selina said, returning the wine glasses to the coasters between them. “Yes, you've got all of that right so far. But I don’t expect you to care about the details of my family saga; that’s not why you’re here.” And that was Selina, Jean-Paul supposed. Or, perhaps, this was Catwoman. Or, on a third hand, there was not so much difference between the two. Selina was focused, direct. She said what she needed to say, always steering towards getting what she wanted. No time was wasted, as if were a commodity that could run out. Perhaps it was too extreme to call her a woman possessed, Jean-Paul supposed, but there was an intensity to the conversation that he could almost feel. Something thrumming under the surface.

“You’re here,” Selina was saying, “because in my research, I kept bumping into strange dead ends that didn’t make sense. Places where the trail ran out, where records should be but simply weren’t. So I dug a little deeper, and all those dead ends actually connected.”

“And the Order of St. Dumas was at the crossroads.” Jean-Paul lifted his glass with a sigh, taking a slow sip. The Order of St. Dumas. A splinter faction from the times of the Crusades, which in turn underwent and endured their own divisions and instances of infighting. Jean-Paul stood at the end of a long line of figures tied to the church, his knowledge of the Order programming into him since birth. Only those who still led the Order now knew more than he—it was hard to stay up to date after being declared an enemy of the Order. Regardless, as hard as it was to know the details of Order’s machinations, it was easy to know that they were many, and that the Order of St. Dumas was often in the shadowed center of many moving pieces, though few ever recognized it.

Selina nodded. “Bingo. I didn’t really know how to proceed at first, so I mentioned it to Spooky.” Selina put her fingers up to the side of her head, obviously pleased with having gotten Batman to do some of her groundwork for her. “It perked his pointy ears right up.”

“And Batman placed me in contact with you,” Jean-Paul finished. “He and Oracle jointly recommended that I come with you to provide on-the-ground support if the Order does pose any issue, and here we are now, yes.”

Selina shrugged, a small movement that was honest and placating and only a little bit annoyed. “I thought you’d prepare a dossier, or just have a pamphlet handy, or something. I don’t have the time to research your Order’s whole deal on my own. Maggie was hard enough to track down the first time, and I definitely don’t want to give her time to slip away again. I cashed in a big favor with your Oracle person to get this, and I don’t want to squander it.”

Jean-Paul nodded. “Good strategy. A favor from Oracle is worth its weight in gold.”

“More so,” Selina said, her eyes sparkling. “I know gold, and I know information. They certainly don’t spend the same, but one can be worth so much more than the other. So if letting you tag along is part of the deal, then it’s part of the deal.” She shook her head, took another sip of her wine, and gestured back towards the documents. “But regardless. Like I said, I don’t expect you to care. I didn’t expect you to come. But you’re one of those good Samaritan fellas, and this is your gig, so I suppose that I’m asking you to come along with me. Almost like an adviser. But,” she said, rising back up, “if I didn’t make my point clear enough, I’m not making any pit stops for do-gooding. Think of this like a heist: we’re going, getting Maggie, and getting out.”

Jean-Paul frowned, rubbing at his chin. “You’ve yet to make it clear to me what Magdalene is doing in O’Mallow. Or why retrieving her is so urgently necessary?”

Selina eyed him. “You know the Order of St. Dumas. Forgive me for not exactly being sure that I want to buy what they’re selling. Maggie’s been in a vulnerable state of mind for a while, and she doesn’t need to get mixed up in whatever your Order has going on in that town.”

Jean-Paul’s frown deepened. “I’ve done my own research, since Batman put us in contact and Oracle briefed me. I can’t find a single piece of evidence that the Order of St. Dumas has had any sort of presence in this town. Which is not to say that I don’t believe you, but it certainly makes me wonder.”

Selina leaned down, picking up her wine glass and finishing the rest of it in one triumphant sip. She grinned down at Jean-Paul, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was what a mouse felt like. “I believe that is the very definition of faith, my dear. So it’s decided?”

“What?”

“That you’ll be joining me.” She rolled her eyes at his confused expression. “It’s a mystery. You capes all love a mystery. Your Order being at the intersection of everything I can’t answer, while at the same time you're equally in the dark? Come on, now.”

“It’s…”

“Great.” She made her way back to the kitchen, setting her wine glass down in the sink before heading to her room. She lingered in the doorway, unable to not notice the way his eyes tracked her as she moved. Selina laughed a little bit, the noise caught somewhere between the high, fake laugh she performed in front of others and the low, throaty laugh she reserved for herself. “You can see yourself out when you’re done with your wine. Don’t waste it, now. It came from a really expensive cellar.” She disappeared through the door, only a wisp of dark hair trailing behind her. “Pack light, but functional! Wheels hit the ground at ten tomorrow morning!”

“Great.” Jean-Paul leaned forward, regarding his reflection in the wine. “Sounds great.” He downed the glass in one great gulp, and he chose not to worry about everything not said. There would be time enough for that later.

Selina stayed in her room until she heard the soft click of the door. She gave Jean-Paul a few minutes to head down the stairs before she rose and made her way to the front door, locking it behind him. She turned back to the living room, shaking her head slightly as she looked over everything.

She hadn’t told Jean-Paul about Maggie. Not everything, at least. Selina knew that the man had done a lot of work towards becoming a hero, a real hero, but she knew how hard it was for a leopard to change those particular spots. She didn’t want to risk Maggie’s safety by saying too much now, lest Selina lead Jean-Paul to believe that Maggie deserved his particular brand of fiery vengeance. Or worse, that he would learn about her own role in Maggie’s breakdown, and decide to deliver that same retribution upon her.

It was an unfortunate and unforeseen complication, his being here. Selina liked to think that she was best as a solo act, a one-woman show. Especially in situations that called for quick thinking and a relaxed grip on morality. Jean-Paul Valley could be called many things, but few would use the word ‘relaxed.’ But it was… fine. It was fine. It was just the cost of doing business with Oracle. The information jock had never sprung a surprise like this on Selina before, but she could deal. She was going to help Maggie.

Selina turned away from all the pieces spread out on the coffee table. It was too late to let doubts take over, but she could still feel them trying to take root. She shook her head, then her hands. She would treat this like a puzzle, like a challenge. She had done this a million times: there was her, and there was what she wanted, and there was everything in between. Jean-Paul was just another variable to be managed.

She would find a way to break it to him on the drive tomorrow, she thought. Something casual. And if he did find everything out, and if he did decide that what she had done to Maggie was unforgivable… Well. Selina only hoped she could convince him to wait until they had gotten her out of the Order’s clutches.

“I’m coming, Maggie,” Selina whispered, holding up the photo of them. She was. This time, nothing was going to stop her. One way or another, whatever it took. She was going to save her sister.

—

The morning came so painfully slowly. Selina frowned as the sun began to slip in through her blinds. Still, she supposed, some sleep was better than none. She blinked, forcing the fatigue from her eyes as she stood, going about the last few tasks she didn’t get in order overnight. Selina did her daily routines, ignoring the steadily sinking sensation in her chest. She fed the cats, and then herself, determined to ignore the fact that her stomach was in knots. She set her coffee pot to brew while she was in the bathroom, then took a shower, scrubbing at her skin until it felt new. She brushed her teeth, dried her hair, got dressed, and did her makeup. She sauntered back up to her coffee maker, poured a mug, and took her first sip of coffee as she locked eyes with the clock. 8:52. Great. Only sixty eight minutes to go.

Forty five minutes, three cups of coffee, and a second bagel later, there was a knock at her door. Through the peephole, she could see Jean-Paul in the hallway. He was glancing down the hall, then at the phone in his hand. He shifted foot to foot, then glanced down the hall again. Selina shook her head, turning the bolt. Poor Jean-Paul. Selina doubted there had ever been a day in his life that the man had been comfortable just existing, just for a moment.

“You’re early.”

“You said we’re leaving at ten,” Jean-Paul said, cocking his head. “That means I should get here before then, so we can leave on time.”

Selina shook her head again, though this time there was more fondness in the movement, before she stepped aside for him to come in. “There should still be some coffee in the pot.”

“Thank you,” he said, “but I don’t drink coffee.”

“Oh. Your loss.”

“Where should I put this?” He shrugged, the duffel bag on his shoulder bouncing off his hip.

“Just down wherever,” Selina said. “You brought all your gear?” She emphasized the word, giving the bag a meaningful glance.

His eyebrow cocked. “Are you expecting trouble?”

“No, but you seem like the kind of guy who tries to keep your things close at hand.”

“Fair. Are you bringing your whip?”

Selina laughed. “Don’t leave home without it.” She placed the coffee cup in the sink next to the wine glass from last night. “Well, if you’re here, I suppose we can go ahead and get on the road. It’s about a six hour drive from here, so we’ll get there somewhere between four and five. I have hotel rooms booked for us for the weekend. Anything else that I’m forgetting before we go?”

Jean-Paul shook his head. “No, you seem to have thought all this through.”

“I try. Be right back.” Selina headed into her room to grab her suitcase before coming back, pausing as she re-entered her living room. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It needed to be done,” Jean-Paul said. He was at her sink with his sleeves rolled up, cleaning her mug and wine glass. Suds drifted up from where he was washing, one bubble clinging to the rim of his glasses.

“Do-gooder,” Selina teased, waiting for him to finish.

“When the Lord allows,” Jean-Paul said, his voice much too solemn for the light tone Selina had met him with.

“Anyways,” Selina said, pivoting back. Whatever that was, she didn’t want more of it. “If you’re ready?”

“I am,” he said, as perfectly content as could be. They made their way down to the parking garage, Selina slinging herself into the driver’s seat. She grinned as the car revved to life, the engine a steady purr.

“Why,” Jean-Paul asked as he gravely buckled himself in, “do I get the feeling that you are not a slow driver?”

“Must be a divine revelation,” Selina said, switching gears and tearing out of the garage. They didn’t speak much until they were out of the city, watching as Burnside and the suburbs faded into the rear view mirror.

“I remember when all that was new,” Selina said, gesturing behind them.

“Hm?”

“Burnside. The Hill, up to the north. I remember when all that was new and up and coming. Shows how old I am, what with the Hill having been around long enough now to be run down.”

“It’s not so bad,” Jean-Paul said. He wasn’t talking about any particular neighborhood, Selina could tell. “I honestly haven’t noticed.”

“But you’re not in the city much, are you?” Selina adjusted her sunglasses. “You tend to travel more?”

“I do. My work takes me all around the world.”

“What rotten luck, to keep returning to Gotham then.”

“No, not exactly.” Jean-Paul’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Gotham is many things, but it is dear to me.” He stretched, his neck craning back to look towards the city. It glittered in the morning light, framed by Selina’s rearview mirror. From this distance, its elegant spires and rolling blocks made it look idyllic, peaceful. There were no cracks of gunshots, no broken windows. Selina wished she could live there, that city in the mirror.

“I first came here as a student,” Jean-Paul was saying. “I was studying computer science because, I don’t know, I suppose I just thought it was the thing to do. I didn’t really have a good idea about what I wanted to do with my life, or who I really wanted to be.” He paused. “Most people are like that, at one point or another, I think. And most of them find themselves along the way. I never finished school, but I still found myself." He was quiet for a moment as Selina merged. "This city has certainly taught me all the lessons I sought. And more.”

Selina nodded. “It does that.”

“You grew up here?”

“Yes.” She shrugged. “No.”

“You see, that doesn’t really answer my question.”

“Sure it does. See how well we’re getting to know each other?”

Jean-Paul shook his head with a wry smile. “It is nice, I suppose. We haven’t really had any opportunities to just talk, the times we’ve been together before.”

“You mean stopping a plague isn’t your idea of peak socialization?”

“Hardly,” he laughed. “And it’s just another thing the Order must be held accountable for.”

“So your order,” Selina began, eyeing him. “Are you all that tight with them? How long have you been involved?”

“My whole life. I was born to succeed my father as Azrael, though I didn’t know it until it was time. After my father died, I was found by the agents of the Order and, uh, activated, I suppose you could say.”

“They trained you?”

Jean-Paul grimaced. “Sort of. My father, over my life, had done a lot of training already. I didn’t know it—he did it subliminally, subtly, over years. Getting all the code in place, I suppose you could say. Then, when it was time, the Order just brought the system online.”

“And that’s Azrael?”

He nodded. “I was brought online by the Swiss sect of the Order. I worked with them—for them—for a time. It was during that time that I met the Batman.”

“Really?”

“I was hunting the demon that had killed the previous Azrael.”

Selina bit her tongue, resisting the urge to ask if he had been hunting a metaphorical or literal demon. Still, there was something in the way that he said ‘the previous Azrael,’ a flatness that belied the fact that he was talking about his own father. She didn’t want to get into it—Jean-Paul had a way of speaking, in conversation, that toed the line between levity and gravity too loosely. She didn’t want to risk tripping him.

“Did you end up catching the guy? Getting the demon?”

Jean-Paul rolled his shoulders. “Yes, and no. I don’t know that demons can ever really be defeated. Just sent back for a while. It’s part of God’s design, I think, that these things happen in cycles.”

“Oh.” Now it was her turn to not really get answers. There was silence as she switched lanes, merging onto the interstate. The engine whined as she pushed it faster, blowing past the other cars.

“You’re going to get a ticket,” Jean-Paul remarked.

“They’d have to catch me first,” Selina quipped back.

“Please don’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “Spoilsport.”

“So when did you first meet him?”

“Who?” she asked, though she knew fully well.

“Batman.”

“Hmm. I first met Batman back when he was first starting out. He was still dismantling the Roman Empire, Carmine Falcone’s old mafia, and I got into the mix. Never could resist trouble.”

“I can see that.”

“Anyways. He and I would bump into each other from time to time from there. I would steal something, he would chase me, he would get it back, I would get away. Sometimes I’d steal a kiss, sometimes I’d leave a scratch or two. It was fun. We did that for a while, our little games, but things only really started picking up, well, after you were done wearing the cape.”

He flushed, though he didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t really know what it was at the time, because he’s never been good at sharing his thoughts. And heaven forbid he has a feeling. But I think that whole experience scared him, a little. It reminded him that he was human, and that people need people. So afterwards, he started reaching out a little more. He was a cold bastard about it, but it was his way. I pitched in a bit during the No Man’s Land, getting some information for him while you lot held things down on the inside.”

“I remember.”

“But things really came together when Hush attacked Bruce, the first time.”

Jean-Paul turned. “Who?”

Selina frowned. “What?”

“Bruce?”

“…yes?”

Jean-Paul sat back in his seat. “I didn’t know that you knew.”

“What?” Selina spluttered. “Of course I know. I’m literally telling you the part of the story when he told me.”

“Still.”

“Really? Did you think I’ve been around for so long just following some mystery man?”

“You did up until then,” he pointed out.

“No, I didn’t,” Selina said flatly. “But if that’s what you want to think then by all means, continue to delude yourself.”

“So, Hush?”

“Sure. He told me, we fought Hush. Hush came back, took my heart out, I went away. Bruce… died. Then came back. I worked with Nightwing, when he was Bats, and now I’m doing my own thing again.”

“Grayson as Batman,” Jean-Paul mused. “I confess, I prefer Wayne being in the role.”

Selina smiled. “Me too. It’s much more fun.”

“Have you spoken to him lately?”

“Since I asked him about you?” Selina considered. “No, I don’t think so. He recently was pulled away on some Justice League thing. One of the reserve Leaguers, Zauriel—have you met him? Another angel—sent out a message about something to do with Heaven, which I frankly just don’t want to think about.”

Jean-Paul said nothing for a moment, apparently lost in thought. “I wish I could have spoken with him before leaving, if that were the case,” he said after a long consideration. “But I haven’t had much chance to speak with anyone in Gotham, lately.” He trailed off again, watching the scenery flash by as they drove. 

“Last time we spoke,” Jean-Paul started, “Grayson indicated to me that you were living with Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn for some time.”

“Yeah. They’re still staying together now, but I needed a little more autonomy.”

“But they’re criminals,” Jean-Paul said, pointedly.

“Yeah? And I steal things for fun and profit.”

Jean-Paul crossed his arms. “I’m quite curious to meet your sister. I wonder if she will be as confusing.”

“Well, she’s a nun, and that’s just where the differences start. About my sister, though—“

“I don’t want to interrupt you,” Jean-Paul interrupted, “but I’m actually getting hungry. Could we pull over to that diner up ahead?”

“Oh, sure,” Selina said. The relief in her chest felt treacherously like guilt. She glanced at the clock, realizing that she had become quite hungry too. They were making good time; two hours had somehow already slipped away to the conversation and hum of the road. They didn’t say anything else as Selina pulled into the parking lot, turning off the car and stepping out. Jean-Paul followed, looking around curiously. They pushed through the doors, coming to a stop at the hostess stand. A young woman chewed on a pen behind the stand, eyes darting up to meet the two travelers.

“Hi! Welcome to Bette’s! How many today?”

“Just two,” Selina said. “So, are you Bette?” Selina asked as the hostess picked up menus.

“Me? Oh, no. Bette’s gone; I just run the place. Is a booth okay? If not, just let me know.” She gestured towards the rest of the dining room, which was entirely devoid of customers. “We don’t lack options.”

“This is perfect,” Selina said, sliding in. Jean-Paul slid in across from her, opening his menu. “Is it usually this quiet?”

“Yeah, lunches tend to be pretty dead. We do a decent dinner business though. Anyways, can I get you started with anything to drink?”

“A Diet Coke for me, please.”

“Water,” Jean-Paul said.

“Diet Coke and a water.” The hostess nodded. “Coming right out.”

“She seems nice,” Selina remarked as the hostess left.

“You think so? She seemed a little antsy to me.”

“No,” Selina said, opening her own menu, “I’m not picking up antsy. You worry too much.”

“Hm.” Reading seemed to curb any argumentative nature. “The sandwiches look good.”

“The omelets too.”

The hostess returned another minute later, setting the two drinks down. “Here you are. Are you ready to order, or do you need another minute?” She clicked her pen a couple of times for emphasis.

“I suppose we can be ready,” Selina said. “I’ll have the Florentine.”

“The roast beef sandwich,” Jean-Paul ordered.

“And for your side?”

“Oh.” Jean-Paul blinked, then rifled through the menu. “I didn’t realize it came with a side.”

“Yeah. Fries, onion rings, chips, potato salad, or a side salad.”

“Chips are fine, thanks.”

“Alright. I’ve got a Florentine omelet and a roast beef sandwich with chips. Anything else?”

“That’s all, thanks.”

“It’ll be out in a bit.”

“Great, thank you.”

She left again, leaving Selina and Jean-Paul to stare at each other.

“Look,” Selina began after the silence began to grow awkward, “I know this is probably weird. And if we’re honest, I didn’t really think about what six hours of travel time together would actually be like. We don’t have to force conversation.”

“I like traveling with you,” Jean-Paul said. Selina was surprised—he hadn’t really given any indication that he was enjoying any part of the trip, or, really, anything at all.

“I’m glad.”

“You were saying earlier, about your sister?”

“Oh.” Under the table, Selina felt her fingers tighten against her leg. “Yeah, she’s a nun. Or was a nun. She left the seminary for a secular life, but from what I can tell she seems to be getting back into it.”

“And you disagree?” Jean-Paul had evidently heard the distaste that curled the end of Selina’s words.

“Maggie’s been in a bad place for a while,” Selina began. In her mind, she thought of the cold darkness of stone rooms, the wet grass of a graveyard in the moonlight. I’m not too keen on the idea of her just jumping in with the church to avoid dealing with what she’s going through.”

“Maybe the church is how she’s dealing,” Jean-Paul said, taking a sip of water.

“As if,” Selina laughed. “Religion wasn’t exactly a strong foundation for us growing up, and she didn’t stick with it the first time.”

“Because people can never change?”

Selina leaned forward, her voice harder. Something in her chest thrummed, as if Jean-Paul’s casual question had personally pulled a muscle. “Because it’s really hard to change.”

Jean-Paul nodded. “And you fear that she is prodigal, with regards to you.”

“What? No. I’ve already forgiven her for everything. If anything, it’s her who will need to forgive me.”

“That’s not what—“ Jean-Paul paused mid-sentence as the door swung open, clattering against the doorstop. Through it, the distant sound of sirens could be heard, echoing down the long stretches of highway. A harried looking man entered the diner, wild eyes darting around. “Stella?” His voice was too loud for the small confines of the restaurant. He was caged in, and only just seemed to be realizing it. “Stella!”

The hostess emerged from the kitchen, face going white as she locked eyes with the man. “Brian? What are you doing here?”

“No time,” Brian said, pressing a grocery bag into Stella’s hands. In his haste, he didn’t wait to make sure Stella was actually holding the bag before he let go— it slipped, and a canister of baby formula spilled out. He ducked down, shoving it back into the bag and turning. “I’ll catch back up.” He turned, mouth pinching into an invisible line as the sound of sirens drew closer, the cage shrinking around him. He glanced around again before taking a seat at the other side of the restaurant. Stella hurried back into the kitchen, taking the bag with her.

“Huh,” Selina said, lacking anything else to say.

“Indeed,” Jean-Paul said. He studied Brian for a minute before turning to look out the window, watching as the lights of the police cars got closer. “If you’ll excuse me,“ he said as he stood from the booth, “I need to use the restroom.”

“Sure. Though,” Selina pointed over his shoulder, “that looks like our food.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” Jean-Paul said, following the sign towards the bathroom.

Selina shrugged, shifting her glass out of the way as Stella set down the plate with her omelet. “Thanks,” said, giving Stella a grin.

“No problem,” she said, though her voice was noticeably shaken. “I hope that didn’t disturb you two.”

“No, no,” Selina soothed. “Not at all. But tell me.” Her hand darted out, coming to rest on Stella’s arm before the young woman could move away. “Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

Stella’s throat moved for a moment, her eyes moving between Selina’s unflinching gaze and the two sheriff cars that had parked outside. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Brian’s my boyfriend.”

“Is he good to you? For you?”

Stella nodded silently.

“Alright then.” Selina let her go, slowly. Her every movement was slow, deliberate. It wasn’t to scare Stella, but to make sure she knew that Selina was a woman who was in control of herself. That she was deliberate, and her actions had meaning. Stella seemed like she understood, and that understanding made Selina trust her. “I’ll let you get back to it. Thank you for bringing the food.”

“Of course. Just let me know if you need anything else, or the bill.”

“Sure.”

Selina took her first bite as two sheriffs walked in, each taking off their broad-brimmed hats as they stepped inside. Stella walked up to greet them, menus clutched hopefully in her hands. The two sheriffs spoke to her in a voice lower than Selina could pick up, and Stella nodded, gesturing for them to step out of the entryway. She was positioning herself carefully, keeping the Sheriffs’ backs to the side of the diner where Brian was still sitting. The young man glanced over his shoulder, watching the two sheriffs talk to Stella. His eyes met Selina’s for a brief moment, and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

Brian stood, soundlessly easing his chair back before heading for the door. Selina took a sip of her Diet Coke, the ice in her glass rattling before she took a long, noisy sip. One of the sheriffs gave her a dirty look, which she returned with a winning smile.

Brian had almost made it out the door when it all went to hell. His silent exit was interrupted by a truly undignified yelp as he was thrown bodily back through the diner, his trajectory interrupted by the hostess stand. Selina swore, quickly getting to her feet.

Azrael stood in the doorway, one golden gauntlet pointed towards Brian with an attitude of final judgment. The other hand was above his shoulder, resting on the hilt of the blade at his back.

“ Thief ,” Azrael said, his voice impossibly rougher behind the mask and hood he wore. The strands of his cloak drifted in different directions, as if pulled by some nonexistent wind. Selina would have been as terrified as Brian looked, if she hadn’t known the man underneath the armor.

“ The Lord commanded that man shalt not steal, yet you defy His word and then seek to escape justice for your trespass. ” The gauntlet moved, drawing the sword in a fluid motion. Selina flinched as it burst into flames, casting twisting shadows across the diner. In front of her, the two sheriffs had drawn their guns, keeping them trained on Azrael. Stella had fully hidden behind a table, and Brian looked moments away from wetting himself as Azrael loomed over him.

“ Have you anything to say for yourself? ”

“Please,” Brian stammered. “I just, I—“

“ He is yours, officers, ” Azrael intoned, nodding towards the sheriffs. He plunged his sword down, throwing out a flash of light that forced everyone to avert their eyes. Selina knew before looking back that he would be gone. She sat back down, forcing herself to take another bite of her omelet, and tried not to hear Stella cry as the sheriffs moved to arrest Brian for his smash and grab at a nearby grocery store.

She didn’t look up as Jean-Paul slid back into the booth across from her, pulling his plate closer to him. He took a few bites, not saying anything until the sheriffs had cleared out with Brian in tow. Stella retreated back into the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Selina hissed.

“What?”

“The fuck do you mean, ‘what?’ That display. Azrael!”

“He was a thief,” Jean-Paul said plainly, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“So am I,” Selina shot back. “Where’s my holy fire treatment?”

“I remember a confrontation or two between us, initially, where you were on the receiving end of my righteous anger. But you have redeemed yourself.”

Selina said nothing, her knuckles still white with anger.

“Despite your protests,” Jean-Paul continued, seemingly oblivious, “you have cast your lot with those who seek to do good on this Earth. Indeed, you yourself have done great good, repeatedly.” He shrugged and took another bite from his sandwich. “That man has never saved the Justice League.”

Selina wondered how Jean-Paul knew that story. “That man was stealing baby formula,” she said instead.

“And I didn’t turn it over to the police, even though we both know it’s in the kitchen.”

“So the child doesn’t starve, but Jean Valjean still goes to jail?”

“It is just,” Jean-Paul said, taking the last bite of his sandwich. He drank his glass of water, then glanced down at Selina’s plate. “Is there something wrong with your omelet?”

Selina sat her fork down next to her mostly uneaten lunch. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

“You’ll need to eat, if you’re going to keep driving.”

Selina narrowed her eyes and took a few more begrudging bites. Like hell she’d let this man drive her car. After they were both finished, Selina sent Jean-Paul to the car and went to find Stella.

“We’re headed out,” Selina said, pressing a few bills into the young woman’s hands. “Keep the change as your tip. I’m sorry things happened like they did.” Earnest was the best she could provide at the moment, and she hoped it was enough. It wouldn’t be, she knew. A few hundred dollars was nice, but nothing would expunge the memory of a loved one being taken away in handcuffs, or staring at what you fully believed could be your death. Selina knew—thought she knew—that Azrael would never have harmed Stella, but the hostess had no way of knowing that. Maybe Stella would use some of the tip for therapy. Maybe, maybe, maybe. There were so many ways so much of life could go. But before Stella could say anything Selina had turned and was gone, heading back towards the car, towards Jean-Paul, and towards Maggie.

—

The rest of the drive passed in a less than easy silence. It was punctuated mostly by Jean-Paul requesting to pull over and help motorists on the side of the highway. Selina had tutted about the first one: a single mom who needed help changing a tire. She had fully lost her temper when Jean-Paul had asked the second time, snapping at him that if he wanted to help so badly, he could throw himself out of the moving car to do so. He had only looked at her, and she had relented, begrudgingly allowing him to jumpstart an elderly man’s van.

Before too long, Selina saw another car on the horizon, pulled over onto the shoulder. “No,” she said as soon as it was in view. A girl was outside the car, waving at the drivers on the highway. “No more stops. We were making such good time before.”

“They need help,” Jean-Paul said. “Why two but not three?”

“Why not anyone and everyone?” Selina asked, rolling her eyes.

“If that is what it takes,” he answered seriously. Jean-Paul, Selina assumed, had never heard of a rhetorical question. Still, she found herself slowing down.

“Thank you,” the driver said. She was just some kid, barely older than Holly, Selina thought. “I can’t believe how many people just breeze by. Well, I can, because I guess I would do the same thing. But when you’re the one who needs someone to stop…” She made a helpless gesture.

“It changes your perspective,” Jean-Paul said. “Is there anyone we can call for you?”

—

It was six thirty when they arrived in O’Mallow. The town, and the drive leading up to it, was adorably picturesque. The town sat in a lush valley, a small river running right beside the slight swell of earth that the town proper sat on. The inn Selina had booked was just outside town, leaving them to get their first impressions from a distance.  The church seemed to be at the center of the town, its tall spires pushed higher by virtue of sitting on the hill’s apex. Buildings got progressively smaller as they moved away from the town center, to the degree that the inn—this far out from town— was an unusual sight with its two stories.

Selina had let Jean-Paul get their bags while she went to check in. A woman sat behind the desk, wearily watching Selina approach through thick glasses. Her nametag read “Charity,” a characteristic that Selina found ironic given what she was paying per night here.

“Can I help you?”

“We’re checking in; I’ve got two rooms here. They should be under Dubrovna.”

Charity nodded, fingers clicking at an ancient-looking PC. “Hmm… yes, that seems to be the case. You’re currently booked for two nights, is that correct? You don’t want to extend your stay?”

“Just the two for now,” Selina confirmed, digging in her purse for her fake ID. She presented it, cringing—as she did every time—at the poor quality of the photo. Just because it was fake didn’t mean she had no pride.

Charity didn’t even glance at the card before passing it back to Selina. “Well, if you change your mind and decide to stay longer, we can get you accommodated here while you settle. We always have the room. Just something to think about! Now, you two are upstairs, rooms 203 and 204. My son will show you to them.” She turned her head towards the stairs, her voice bellowing out. “Peter!”

A teenager shuffled downstairs, pushing his hair out of his face as he took in the two guests. He gave Jean-Paul, who had made his way in with the luggage, a curt nod, chin dipping towards the floor. His eyes lingered on Selina for a moment before his chin jerked upwards.

“These two are upstairs, three and four,” Charity said. She pulled two keys from the wall behind her, passing them to Selina. “Could you take them up?”

“Sure,” Peter said, “follow me. The place isn’t too big.” He led them up the stairs, and Selina had to admit, the kid had a point. Two stories was anomalous in this part of town, but it still wasn’t a large building by any means.

“So,” Peter continued, “where are you visiting from?” The way he asked bespoke a tired routine, that this question was just part of his job, making idle smalltalk for the inn’s patrons.

“Gotham City,” Jean-Paul supplied.

“Oh,” Peter said, looking dangerously close to being curious. He managed to rein it in, restoring his cultivated air of teenage disinterest. “That’s like, where Batman and Robin are, right?”

“Yes,” Jean-Paul said. Selina wasn’t sure if Jean-Paul wasn’t catching her glances, or just ignoring them. One of the cardinal rules of this business, and especially when traveling on fake IDs, was to leave as little of an impression as possible on the people you met. Jean-Paul apparently had missed that memo, as he chatted away with Peter.

“Have you ever, like, seen them? I’ve heard they’re not real. But I’ve also heard Batman’s in the Justice League, so like, whatever.”

Selina couldn’t help the scoff that slipped out. “Wasn’t Batman caught on camera a couple of years back? Feels like that would make him pretty real.”

“Sure,” Peter said, whatever infatuation he had with Selina at the check-in desk visibly evaporating. “But you can fake anything with a camera,” he said, giving her a knowing look. He nodded, either at his own wisdom or Selina’s lack of knowledge. Maybe it was both. Selina had a slight urge to kick him back down the stairs.

“Whatever,” Selina said, turning the key to her room. “Thanks.”

Jean-Paul followed her, turning back to Peter at the last moment. “I have,” he said.

An eyebrow raised. “Have what?”

“Seen Batman and Robin.” Jean-Paul closed the door behind him, locking it with a click. “He seems nice.”

“He seems like a pain,” Selina said, toeing off her shoes.

“Aren’t most teenagers?”

Selina considered. “I feel like we don’t have a lot of experience with ‘most’ teenagers,” she admitted.

“Timothy was moody,” Jean-Paul said after a moment. “When he was a teenager.”

“He’s still a teenager,” Selina pointed out. “And besides, from what I hear, you two didn’t get off to a great start. Didn’t you kick him off the team?” Perhaps she wasn’t quite over his display at the diner, if she found it so easy to needle Jean-Paul about his tenure as Batman.

Jean-Paul flushed, something pained passing behind his eyes. “That was later,” he said, sounding nearly petulant. “We got along well at first. But you have a point.”

“You’re not wrong though,” Selina said. That look on Jean-Paul’s face had been more than she had expected from her little barb. Keeping the conversation going seemed as good a strategy as any. “You should have seen him the first time I came into the Batcave. He was an absolute pain about it.”

Jean-Paul dryly chuckled. “I can imagine.”

“He’s a sweet kid, though. Means well.”

“Timothy is… Red Robin, now? Is that correct?”

Selina wavered her hand back and forth. “Sure. And now there’s that new Robin, you’ve heard?”

Jean-Paul nodded. “The one who worked with Grayson, when he was under the cowl.

Selina nodded. “A grumpy Robin, with a cheerful Batman. Now that was scary.”

Jean-Paul tutted slightly. “It’s unbecoming…” he began to say, though he trailed off halfway through, as if he was rethinking his words as they were coming out.

“Oh?” Selina’s voice came out sharper than she intended. While her anger towards Jean-Paul had simmered down, she had a sneaking suspicion that espousing his views on what does and does not constitute good vigilante practice was likely to send her straight back to full boil.

“Batman,” Jean-Paul started again, his words coming more slowly. More measured and considered. “Cannot, should not, by nature, be too bright. He has to have a certain… gravity. Or…” he crossed his arms, shifting his weight. His teeth worried his bottom lip as he thought. When he spoke again, it was even slower, even more deliberate.

“If Superman has— is— at his core, the sun,” he tried again, “expansive, warm, inspiring. If he is to us the way that the sun inspires plants to grow and humans to get up every morning—then Batman is a black hole. Absolute. Inevitable and final to those that cross his threshold, that come too close. Dark. Terrible, as much as you can ascribe terror to a phenomenon that only acts out its nature.” His head tilted back, and he adjusted his glasses. “Grayson wore the cowl well, both times. But at his core he is not Batman. Cannot be Batman. He is too cheerful. He inspires too much, in the wrong ways. There is too much levity for such gravity.”

“You sound close to saying that Batman, fundamentally, can’t be happy.”

“I never was.” He uncrossed his arms, his gaze firmly on the floor. “I thought I was, but I was just being pulled deeper and deeper into the dark. Any happiness I thought I felt was just the elation of being released from myself, all the worries and fears that I gave up to being some force of nature that didn’t have to worry about those things.”

He glanced up at Selina. She had gone still, merely watching him as he spoke. Why was he sharing this? Why with her?

“I’ll let you get ready,” he said instead, and left for his room, leaving Selina alone with her questions.

Selina changed clothes quickly, withdrawing her whip from her bag. She had chosen a thin one, which she looped around her waist. It looked nothing more than a chic belt, which suited her fine.

She exited her room, locking it behind her, and turned to Jean-Paul’s room. The latch hadn’t fully caught, and she could hear snippets of a conversation he was having through the thin crack of the door.

“—Order,” he was saying, “but it may not be foul play. We’re about to head into town, but I’ll give you an update tonight.”

Selina chose that moment to knock, letting herself in as she did. “Hello? You ready?”

Jean-Paul was seated on the bed, closing a laptop and sliding it to the side. “Yes.” His gaze slid to her waist, and the whip. “Are you expecting trouble?”

Selina shrugged. “No, but I like to be prepared. Just in case the nice approach fails.”

“The nice approach,” Jean-Paul repeated. He didn’t sound as if he believed her, which Selina supposed was fair. People-who-were-Batman did not often see results by asking ‘please.’

“I figured we would start at that church in the middle of town. Seems like the sort of place Maggie would gravitate towards.”

“That works with—yes.”

Selina leaned on the doorframe, eyes on the laptop. “Do I want to ask who you were on your little call with?”

Jean-Paul blanched, running a hand through his hair. “Uh.”

Selina’s mouth set into a firm line. “Jean-Paul Valley.”

If possible, he grew even paler. “Please don’t say my full name like that,” he pleaded. “Not here.”

“Tell. Me.”

“Oracle,” Jean-Paul said, leaning back. “It was Oracle.”

Selina’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely up front with you about this trip,” Jean-Paul said, and Selina felt her stomach clench. She was the one who did the double crossing in this business, not the goody-two-shoes she brought along as hired help.

Selina entered the room fully, firmly closing the door behind her. “Start talking.”

“Two weeks ago, Oracle had one of her Birds of Prey tracking a missing persons case. Several, actually. It was part of how you got the lead on your sister. Huntress had found that all points led to here, and had come here herself, when she suddenly went off the grid. It’s been ten days now of no contact.”

Selina leaned back. “Why didn’t you tell me this?” Though, she admitted, the reason was fairly obvious.

“You made it very clear what you were here for,” Jean-Paul said. “I will help you find your sister, and will help you with the Order. But I am also here for Huntress, and will not be leaving without some word about her, one way or another.”

“Shit.” Selina threw up her hands to keep them from ripping at her hair. “Damn it all.”

“It doesn’t have to concern you.”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Selina said. “This is just one more complication that we don’t need. I’m good at what I do. I know that I’m good. But I don’t think that even I can smash and grab two whole people. This? This is messy. And I don’t do messy. It’s why I said no pitstops, no running off to play hero. And you lied to my face about it.”

Jean-Paul bowed his head. “And when the time comes, I will be held accountable for it. There is a time for everything,” he said confidently, “but this is not the time for concern. Let’s go look around town before the sun sets, and then let’s regroup.”

Selina didn’t yet believe him, but Jean-Paul had taken on a sort of quiet assurance that she knew she wanted to believe. “Hm.”

—

The town was small, and quiet, which was both a good and bad thing. It was nice, because everything seemed to unfold itself to their eyes easily as they made their way to the church. Main street was lined with little cafes and general stores, a jeweler, a hardware store. Large glass windows opened up the interiors, laying O’Mallow out like a postcard. The downside was that every pair of eyes tracked them through every window—O’Mallow was a town where everyone saw everyone else, and the townsfolk clearly saw Selina and Jean-Paul as outsiders.

They arrived at the church soon enough, the faded sign at the edge of the gate swaying in the wind. “Our Blessed Angel’s Church of Renaissance,” Selina read. “Charming.”

They entered, glancing around. The church didn’t seem too impressive to Selina. It was in an Old World style, though that had been apparent from the outside. Large blocks of grey stone making up the facade, with rounded edges gracefully framing stained glass scenes.

“Let’s see here,” Selina said, taking in the art. “We’ve got our fig trees, our lamps and our bushels, our sowers.”

“The parables of Christ from the Gospel of Mark,” Jean-Paul said. “They line the two walls.”

“Mark wasn’t too keen on parables,” Selina commented, glancing around. “I don’t see the Good Samaritan.”

“No. Mark had the fewest parables, yet still made the most poignant commentary on Christ’s usage of the form.”

“Wait,” Selina said, walking towards the front of the church. While the parable scenes lining the walls were certainly splendid, they were mere window dressing to the magnificence of the stained glass behind the altar.

“The resurrection and establishment of the church,” Jean-Paul said, coming up behind her. “Saint Peter, there—”

“Yeah,” Selina cut him off, drawing his attention to the side vignettes. “I went to Catholic school, I know that part. But look at that. Is that… you?”

The resurrection scene was flanked by two stained glass vignettes, each featuring what Selina suspected most people took to be an angel. When Selina looked, though, she could only see Azrael. In the stained glass, he was dressed as an angel—white robes instead of his red and gold—and the tendrils of his cape were stylized more as wings. But it was the sword held aloft that cinched it for her: each vignette had the angel holding two swords, one above the head and one trailing behind. On one panel, the sword was aloft in red fire, on the other flanking panel, the artist had stylized it in blue.

“It is an Azrael,” Jean-Paul gravely agreed.

“What?” a third voice interrupted. Selina and Jean-Paul spun around to a portly old man who had come up behind them. He wore a blue oxford shirt, with suspenders keeping his khaki slacks up. He leaned heavily on a cane, peering out at them through thick glasses. “Sorry, my hearing isn't what it used to be.”

“We were just admiring the stained glass,” Selina said, offering a broad smile.

“It’s lovely,” the man agreed. He glanced between the two of them. “It’s been here almost as long as the town itself. Church records have the artist’s name somewhere, but who knows which filing cabinet they’re in.” He wheezed out a laugh at his own joke, which he cut off as soon as he had started it. “Well, I’m Pastor Robert. I’m what passes for the head of this here church.” Another short-lived wheezing laugh before he turned to leave. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” 

“Wait,” Selina called out. The pastor visibly flinched as he stopped. “If you’re the leader of this church, I could use your help,” she said.

“I didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” Pastor Robert said, still not turning around. “If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d ask you to come back in the morning?”

“Pastor…” Jean-Paul began, taking a step forward. He had only made it one step before Pastor Robert had turned, swinging his cane as hard as he could. Jean-Paul caught it in one hand, wrenching it free from the old man’s grasp. Robert tried to flee, only for Selina’s whip to flash out, entangling his legs and bringing him down to the ground.

Jean-Paul looked at the cane head, and the medallion embedded in it, and sighed. He stepped forward, helping Pastor Robert to his feet.

“But you’re supposed to be dead,” Pastor Robert pleaded, “Surely, you must be a devil, returned from Hell. Please, please don’t kill me. Not here.”

“I am not here to kill you, pastor,” Jean-Paul said, passing the cane back.

“But you are Azrael,” the old man all but whispered. “Why else would you be here? When we heard that the Order was without an Azrael, we assumed that you were dead and wouldn’t… we…” 

Selina watched Robert wring his hands as the two talked, recalling how she had felt watching Jean-Paul in the diner—that she would be so afraid of him, if she didn’t know him. She imagined now what the fear of the name Azrael was like, to those who didn’t know him as just an ill fated Batman and agent of his cause. She had to remind herself that he was a killer, that it was his reputation.

Jean-Paul was shushing him, speaking to him in low tones. The pastor kept glancing at Selina, and Jean-Paul kept shaking his head. Even from where she stood, Selina could see the sweat beading on the pastor’s brow, tracing lines down his face as he kept stealing glances at Selina before returning his gaze to the man before him.

Whatever Jean-Paul said to him seemed to put the pastor, though not at ease, in a state of willingness to talk. Robert nodded at her, as if giving permission for her to join their little boys’ talk. Selina took a breath, resisting the fantasy of sinking a claw into his cheek.

“We’re here about a woman,” Selina began, and Pastor Robert’s eyes grew ever so slightly wider. “She’s about my height, with dark hair. Perhaps you’ve seen her?”

“There are many women in town who would match that description,” Robert said. His face had grown paler, if possible.

“You’re terrible at this.” Selina stood, a hand darting forward to grab Robert’s shirt. “Magdalene Kyle. Is she here?”

“Sister Kyle?” Robert blinked. “Yes. Why?”

Selina pointedly ignored the look that Jean-Paul gave her. “Do you think we might be able to see her? Despite what you may think, we mean her no harm.”

Jean-Paul cleared his throat. “Did you think we were perhaps speaking of some other woman?”

“I don’t know,” Robert said, shrugging. The bead of sweat had fallen, tracing down the side of his face. “I am still reeling from the presence of an Azrael.”

“You see me as nothing more than a killer.” Jean-Paul’s voice was flat.

“You are Azrael,” Robert said. His voice was soft, near-reverent, though it quaked with quiet fear. “And I would have good reason to fear you.”

“Help us, and fear not,” Jean-Paul said.

“Yes, yes. There is a service in the town square tomorrow. I will arrange for Sister Kyle to be there,” Robert said.

“No.” Selina shook her head. She wasn’t going to wait that long—she needed to see Maggie now. She needed to know that she was okay, to know that she was going to help Maggie if she wasn’t. “Not tomorrow. Tonight. Now.” She hated how she bit the words out—she sounded too much like him. Like she was a general barking orders, like she had lost the fun of it all somewhere.

But this wasn’t fun, she supposed. This wasn’t some vacation. This was a job, and she needed to be serious. Last time she saw Maggie she had begged Selina to kill her in the name of God. It was not lost on her that there had been an Azrael there that night too. Not Jean-Paul, a different one. He had been dressed in white, with two… swords… Selina looked between Jean-Paul and Pastor Robert, then up at the stained glass between them, making the connection. The fear, why Robert was so convinced that Jean-Paul was going to kill him. Rival factions of the Order. Each crazy, in their own way.

“Although,” Jean-Paul said, “perhaps there is virtue in patience. It is late, and it would alarm Magdalene to be summoned. We will meet her tomorrow, after the service.”

“Wonderful,” Pastor Robert said, beginning to usher them towards the front of the church. “Splendid. I look forward to your joining our service tomorrow. It’s been so long since we’ve had another branch of the faith here, I hope that you shall appreciate it.”

“I’m sure it will be revealing,” Jean-Paul said, stepping back across the threshold.

“Ten tomorrow morning, in the square!” Robert bid, and the church doors slammed closed.

“What on earth are you thinking?” Selina hissed as soon as the doors finished reverberating. “Who’s to say he’s not going to just bolt tonight?”

“He won’t,” Jean-Paul said. “I am beginning to understand him, and his place. Pastor Robert is a man of his faith, and he will not abandon his congregation. Nor his prisoner.”

“Huntress is not my priority,” Selina said. The two began their walk back towards the inn. “I thought I made that clear.”

“Crystal.” Jean-Paul’s mouth twisted. “And I have accepted our differing objectives. But I need more time to plan my next course of action. I will consult with Oracle—”

“I forgot you needed her permission to breathe,” Selina said, striding ahead.

“Do you know,” Jean-Paul said, his voice raising, “how much I would like to break down that man’s door?” Selina stopped, turning to face him. “To run him through on my sword? To tear that—” he jabbed a finger towards the church, “monument of idolatry down? It would be easy! It would be too easy. You have seen it, Selina. You know that Azrael does not protect. He does not comfort. He does not act with subtleties. But I can!” 

Jean-Paul’s chest was heaving, his glasses slipping down his nose. “You look down at me for my actions in the diner, yet you demand that same brutality when it suits you. And it demeans us both.”

“Yes.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

Selina said nothing, looking Jean-Paul over. He seemed tired, a sort of fatigue that wore its way into his bones, dragging him down from the inside out. She wondered if she looked the same way—she certainly felt it. Selina was exhausted. She wanted to be done with this. So she said nothing else, she simply turned back and walked the rest of the way back to the inn. She would not apologize, because she was not wrong. But neither was Jean-Paul, and that left a curious feeling in her stomach that she couldn’t quite shake, even as she drifted off for the night.

—

The next morning came with soft light, spilling down into the valley from on high. Selina ate a quiet breakfast, waiting for Jean-Paul to join her. He never did. It seemed that last night’s discussion—Selina refused to consider it an argument—was hanging heavily in both of their minds. After an hour of waiting, Selina stood up from the table for two, disgusted. She dressed in much of the same of yesterday, fastening her whip around her waist again. Then she marched back towards the town.

It was not hard to discern where the sermon was being held—it seemed the entire town of O’Mallow was in attendance. Selina hung out at the edge of the crowd, where she attracted the fewest amount of sideways looks. This town was too small for an outsider to go unnoticed.

“Greetings and greetings,” Pastor Robert’s voice boomed from the center of the crowd. “Good day and good tidings.”

“Greetings and greetings!” the crowd echoed back.

“My flock, today we are blessed with a most special gift. A pilgrim has arrived to find a new life as a member of our community. I’m sure some of you have noticed her already.”

Selina felt more eyes track to her, the outsider in the town’s midst. Her hand fell to her waist, just in case.

“I am excited to present to you all, the soon to be newest member of our community, Sister Magdalene Kyle!”

The breath of relief Selina let out was immediately stalled by seeing Maggie. She was stepping up on a stage, followed closely by Pastor Robert.

“She will journey into the church, into the dark, and stare into the eyes of those who cannot bear the light!” His voice was rising, becoming more frantic, more powerful. The crowd was responding, leaning in to his every word, an undercurrent of eager tension rippling among the townsfolk. “And then she will fortify her soul, and bear witness to the holy fire of the Lord! We are not Sodom! We are not Gomorrah! We are upright people, pure of heart! We are the chosen, as we choose ourselves a life of pious servitude!”

The crowd was moving now, jostling each other as they tried to get closer to the stage. Selina let herself be pulled in, slowly working her way through the crowd.

“Behold! Another servant!” And then, as if moved by an invisible hand, the crowd parted to create a clear corridor from the stage to the door of the church. Maggie stepped down from the stage, her gaze fixed straight ahead. She took each step slowly, deliberately, Pastor Robert close behind.

Selina kept moving, trying to weave her way towards the church as quickly as was unnoticeable. Finally at the edge of the crowd, Selina broke away, stealing towards the back of the church and the open window she had noticed last night. By some stroke of luck, the window was still open. She slipped inside, her feet silently hitting the heavy stone.

The door to the church was creeping open, and Selina realized that she didn’t know what she was going to say once she was face to face with Maggie. Hello? That she was sorry? Some mix of all of the above? But before she could decide, the door was closed, and there was her sister.

“Catwoman,” Maggie said. If she was surprised to see her sister, she gave no indication. Maggie's expression was something close to resigned. “You’ve come to save your soul.”

“Catwoman?” Robert said. Selina ignored him.

“I’ve come to take you home,” Selina said. “To get you help.”

“I have help,” Maggie said. Her hand rose to the crucifix at her neck. The silver cross contrasted against the black of her robes. “And we will provide you with that same salvation.”

“We?” Selina frowned at Robert.

“Not him,” Maggie said, and for one moment she was the quintessential sister, shaking her head at her sibling’s foolishness. Then she looked at Selina deeper, her eyes widening, something ecstatic and dangerous in them. “The angel. Both of them.” She took a step forward.

Selina took an equal step back. “Maggie. Don’t make this hard.” Her hand fell to the whip.

“I came here for you,” Maggie said, taking another step. “I was looking for ways to save you, to exorcise the demon from you. All the people here, Catwoman. They were all lost once too. And they looked into the fire, and it burned away their sins. And now they are blessed. Blessedly happy. And we can be happy too.”

“Maggie.” Selina was pleading now. “Stop. Just come with me.”

“No.” Her voice was firm. “ You will come with me . If you want to be together, fine. We will face the fire together, and we will burn away our demons together.” Her wrist flicked, a knife appearing out of her sleeve. She brandished it towards Selina. “One way or another. Whatever it takes.”

Maggie lunged, the knife flashing in the dappled stained glass light. Selina dodged, grabbing her arm. She twisted, using Maggie’s momentum to throw her. Maggie spun on the landing, her robes billowing out around her as she lunged again.

Selina had freed her whip at this point, lashing it out towards the knife in Maggie’s hands. Maggie’s eyes narrowed, and it was as if Selina was watching in slow motion as she dropped the knife before the whip made contact, taking it up in the other hand and dodging the strike.

“How—” Selina hissed out, but she was immediately on the defensive again. Maggie’s eyes burned with the same manic light from before, something almost too intense to be human. Selina watched as those eyes tracked over her shoulder, widening just at the same time she heard the sound of a gun’s hammer being drawn back.

“No!”

The knife flashed over Selina’s shoulder, spinning through the air before it sunk into the shoulder of Pastor Robert. He howled in pain, the gun dropping from his hand. Before he could assess the extent of the wound he was crumpling, a sickening pop echoing as Azrael descended down on him, knocking him to the ground. Pastor Robert groaned on the ground, but before he could do anything else Azrael was on him, pushing the knife deeper into his shoulder. Robert’s screaming didn’t stop until he was fully pinned to the floor by the blade—he was silent not from lack of pain, but because his throat could no longer sustain the testament to his agony.

Azrael stood, turning to Selina. “ Are you okay? ”

“I’m fine,” Selina said. “Maggie?”

“An angel,” Maggie breathed, looking at Azrael. Her gaze dropped to Robert, and she took a step back. “A…” she took another step back, her face twisting. “What do you mean? He is like you.” Her voice grew higher as she talked to herself, winding up as if her every thought was a question without answer. “How is he both? How is he all three?” She pointed a wavering finger at Azrael. “What manner of creature are you?”

“ I am only that which I am ,” Azrael said.

“Blasphemer,” Maggie hissed. A second knife appeared in her hands. “You will not stop me. I have been touched by true divinity.”

“ Maybe. ” Azrael extended his arms, twin blades extending from his gauntlets. “ But you will harm no one else tonight. ” The blades at his wrists ignited.

“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” Maggie recited, her attention once again on Robert. It slid to Selina, her mouth parting slightly as she took her sister in. “You would follow me to the ends of the earth, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Selina said, stretching out her arm. “A thousand times, yes.”

“Then you would walk into Hell for me.”

“If that was what it took.”

“Then follow me now,” Maggie said, darting towards a side door. She threw it open, descending down a staircase.

Selina moved to follow her, only to be paused by Azrael’s hand on her shoulder. “ Selina, ” he warned, “ reckless pursuit leads to sudden consequences. ”

“Get off,” Selina growled, shrugging off his hand.

“ I’m coming with you, if only to bear witness. ”

Selina stopped at the threshold. “Why?” Something about Azrael’s tone put her off. “Is there something down there?”

“ The end of this journey, ” Azrael said. “ Perhaps the beginning of another. ”

“Well don’t be too descriptive,” Selina said, heading down into the undercroft.

The stone steps were worn smooth beneath her feet as she descended, stray bits of grass and dirt and straw lining the path. Up ahead, a door was cracked open, light spilling out from the gap. There was nowhere else for Maggie to have gone. Selina pushed through the door, stopping in her tracks as she took in the unbelievable.

A man was chained to the far wall, naked save for a helmet on his head; the mask that hid his face was all too similar to the one Jean-Paul wore behind her. But the most startling thing about the man was not the chains, nor the nakedness—it was the fact that he was burning. Ravenous, ceaseless fire ate at the man’s body, scorching skin that healed just as fast as it burned. The man would groan, tossing his helmeted head, though he made no attempt to speak, nor did he even acknowledge the new people in his room. The light from the fire was bright, too bright, and Selina had to avert her eyes from the intensity.

Maggie stood before the man, looking back towards Selina. “Here, Catwoman. Look into the light of this miracle. Let yourself go.”

“Catwoman?” another voice called out. Selina turned away from her sister and the man, back towards the door. There, chained to the opposite wall, was Huntress. Selina had completely missed her in her rush towards Maggie.

“Huntress,” Selina said, heading to her side.

“ Oracle sends their regards ,” Azrael said, coming to Huntress’ other side. He broke her chains, letting her fall forward. She coughed, then rubbed at her eyes before standing.

“What are you doing here? Where is Pastor Robert?” Huntress massaged her wrists, looking towards Maggie. The nun had not moved, silently watching them from under the shadow of her habit.

“ Robert is no longer a concern ,” Azrael said.

“Choirboy’s here for you and the Order, but I’m here for my sister,” Selina said, pointing at Maggie. “She led us down here. What… what is down here?”

“It’s where they keep him,” Huntress said. “I don’t know what he is, but it’s… it’s miraculous. I was down here for days, ever since they found me out. I haven’t eaten, haven’t drank. It was just me and the fire. There's something wrong with it. It's alive, and it wants you to look at it.”

Maggie’s voice was sharp. “Yet you resisted? How?”

Huntress’ mouth moved vacantly, as if searching for a word that she didn’t know. “There was a woman," she said. "And we kept the faith."

Maggie snorted. “Your faith may be strong, but it is foolishly used. The fire absolves you of your sins, restores you to a state of innocence. You cling fast to your darkness?”

“I don’t take well to having my memories burned away,” Huntress countered.

Selina looked between her sister and the man, careful to not let her gaze linger for too long. Maggie, on the other hand, seemed to have no trouble. Several times, since they had entered the chamber, Maggie had looked directly upon him, deep into his fires. 

“Maggie, how can you stand it?”

“I couldn’t. But my angel protects me,” she said, smiling. “He guards me from all manners of harm. But he will leave me to be with you again, Selina. When we look into the fire together.”

“Maggie, that’s crazy.”

“No?” She seemed genuinely confused, taken aback at Selina’s accusation. “I have never lied to you.” Her face twisted. “If only you could say the same, Catwoman.” She took a step back towards the fire, her finger pointed out towards Azrael. “Has she ever told you,” Maggie began, and Selina felt her stomach drop. “Has she told you what she did? How she stole from Black Mask, and how he tortured me in return? How he broke me, haunted me, until I knew there was no help on this earth left?”

Selina felt the world lurch beneath her. This was it, the moment she had feared the most since she realized Jean-Paul would be coming with her. The moment of accountability, if ever there was a time for such.

“ No. ”

“She is wicked, angel. But I don’t want her to die.” Maggie’s eyes were wide, pleading, as her body pitched forward. She was putting everything into this appeal. “Selina doesn’t deserve to die for the demon that holds her. But we must expunge the evil.”

Azrael was silent, unreadable in the depths of his hood and cloak. Huntress, beside him, kept shifting her eyes between Selina and Maggie, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do.

“ Selina ,” Azrael said slowly. “ What do you see, when you look in the fire? ”

“No,” Huntress said.

“Yes,” Maggie whispered at the same time.

“I won’t look,” Selina protested. “I won’t lose myself.”

“ I did not say you would. Huntress maintained herself. But look. What do you see in the fire? ” He took a step forward, towards the two women. Selina took a step back, closer to the fire. “ What do you see, Selina? ” He had grown in volume, though he was coming no closer. “ Look at me! ” Selina froze, realizing. Her mouth parted, a shaky breath releasing.

“Oh.” And then it clicked. Azrael was not talking about the fire. It was never about the fire. Selina turned, heading towards the man chained to the wall. She reached out, waiting for the heat and the pain. It did not come. She placed her hands on either side of the man’s helmet, and still, the metal did not burn her. She lifted.

Selina was alone in the room, with only the man before her. Though that was not right, not precisely. He was young, certainly no older than twenty. He looked at her with startling clear eyes, his brows drawn together.

“His name is Joshua O’Mallow,” a voice behind Selina said. She turned, fighting the full body urge to shiver. Two figures stood behind her, a woman in flowing robes, and a pale man in a green cloak. Each gave off an unnatural, eerie light. This light did not serve to illuminate the room, rather, it seemed to be turned inward, only illuminating themselves. The effect of this, to Selina, did little to evoke warmth. Instead, it only provided contrast, to highlight that they were not like Selina, that they did not belong in her world.

“His family founded this town,” the woman continued, picking up from where the male figure left off.

“They were adherents to the Order of St. Dumas, or a branch of the faith.”

“They were devoted, entirely so. And on his eighteenth birthday, they gave Joshua up to the Order. He became Azrael.”

“He became mad, and soon the time came to put him down, as so many Azraels before. They burned him.”

“But he would not burn. He forgave them for their acts, and as they watched their only son burn, his family forgot him. They forgot themselves. More and more people came to the town, looking to forget. The town continued.”

“That’s horrible,” Selina said, breaking their dialogue. “He was a child.”

“He was eager to serve,” the female figure said.

“He was still a child,” Selina protested.

“Yes.” The male figure’s light pulsed like a vein. “He was. He still is. And he has been tortured for decades. For hundreds of years. Every person who lives in this town has looked into his fire to forget their lives before. They have accepted his pain to relieve their own.”

“And he has forgiven them for their use of his pain,” the other said. “Each and every one, he has forgiven. But you do not accept it.”

“No,” Selina said. “I can’t.”

“Then we have reached the impasse.” The female figure spread her arms out. “The Spectre would destroy this place, wipe it from the earth, would it not be for my staying his hand.”

“The Radiant provides mercy,” the Spectre intoned, “even to those who may not deserve it.”

“Everyone deserves mercy,” the Radiant said, not looking at the other.

“But so too does everyone deserve retribution for their crimes.”

“So, Selina Kyle. You are the first person to see Joshua O’Mallow as a person and to reject his suffering. You hold his treatment as unconscionable, and agree that there must be consequence?”

“Yes.”

“The Spectre will destroy everyone in this town,” the Radiant said. “It is his nature. Every person who looked at him without seeing him. Can you agree to this?”

Selina turned away from the two, looking back at Joshua. At his bright eyes. Here, in this slice of time, he was not burning. He was just a boy, chained to the wall.

“What do you think?” She kneeled down in front of him, running a hand through his hair. “What should we do?”

“What would your friends say?” Joshua’s voice was quiet, as if it hadn’t been used in many, many years.

“Jean-Paul, he’s Azrael. So you would likely know that better than I would.”

Joshua bowed his head. “He would leave me be. Azraels are only retired by death. My remaining alive is an act of God—he would not interfere with the plan.”

Selina didn’t know if he was right. “Huntress… she’s more religious than I am, less than you or Jean-Paul. But she protects kids.”

“I am an adult.”

“You’re eighteen.” She cupped his face. “You were too young.”

“Everyone is. You always are.”

“She would destroy the town,” Selina said.

“You know it to be so? Or you believe?”

“I…” Selina stood, turning back to the two figures. “You two. Are you angels?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“We are agents of the Lord.”

“Instruments of God.”

Selina nodded. “Can we put this to a vote?”

“A vote?”

“The town will preserve itself.”

“Not a vote among the town,” Selina said. “They’re morally bankrupt.” There was silence in the room, in the space that went on forever. “But the heroes here. Those who do good, fight for good. Look into their hearts. Pose this question to them, weigh it against them and their belief. And go from there.”

The Spectre and the Radiant looked at one another. “This is agreeable. Farewell, Selina Kyle.”

“Selina?” She turned, looking back at Joshua. “Thank you.” He smiled, and the world burned.

—

Selina woke up in the valley, sprawled out on the grass. She sat up slowly, wiping her eyes. Flowers and grasses snapped as she rose—they had grown up and into her hair, as if she had been laying in the valley for ages, weaving their way through her as a part of the ecosystem. Selina looked around, relieved to see the forms of Jean-Paul and Huntress. They were both asleep. The thing she couldn’t remember, though, was how they got there. 

Selina fully got to her feet, looking around for Maggie, but the other woman was nowhere to be found. This did not scare her. In fact, it felt no different than it had any other number of days when she was separated from her sister, but knew that she was alright. The days when Maggie wasn’t okay, Selina could feel it in her chest, a knot on her heart. Right now, there was none of that.

“Selina?” Jean-Paul’s voice was groggy. “Why are we in a field?”

“Come on, choirboy,” she said, shaking her head. “Get Huntress. It’s a long road back to Gotham.” She rolled her eyes. “Longer, if you’re going to make us stop every two miles to help someone.”

“I promise to try to rein it in,” Jean-Paul grinned. “But when people need help, I like to give it. It’s not their fault we’ve got places to be.”

“Lord,” Selina said, looking across the valley. “They know not what they do.”