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There are always new souls entering the Spirit World—the Earth Prison, the Yellow Springs, whatever you want to call the Chinese afterlife. There are always people dying. It used to be easier for souls to reincarnate, too, before the Jade Court came into power. At least, that’s what Xanthe’s been told. They weren’t alive/dead/neither/both during King Yama’s rule.
Xanthe didn’t expect to see Batgirl in the Spirit World. No one ever expects anyone they know to die. From the tiled roof of a nearby building they watch her stream in with the latest procession of souls, through the massive entrance gate and under the attentive eyes of its guardians, Ox–Head and Horse–Face. Though her costume is torn in some places, and her cape and cowl are missing, the bat symbol on her chest is unmistakable.
Batgirl’s calm expression and relaxed posture are rare among the recently deceased. She scans her surroundings as she follows the crowd, taking everything in stride. Batgirl is barefoot, too, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Little details like that sometimes matter less when you’re dead.
Xanthe jumps from rooftop to rooftop, tracking her progress. It never occurred to them that Batgirl could be Chinese. The new Batgirl, to everyone who remembers the redhead. Does that explain why Xanthe’s her around Chinatown more than any of Gotham City’s other vigilantes? The man himself, the boy wonders, or even the purple ones? Though, to be fair, Xanthe hasn’t seen any of them lately.
Are they her family? Are they her only family? Most important of all, will they remember her properly now that she’s dead? Xanthe pays extra attention to these things as a spirit envoy.
Sooner or later the new souls go their separate ways, and Xanthe watches as Batgirl walks down one of the quieter streets. They don’t mean to hide from her, not really, but they’re fine with just observing her from afar. When Batgirl looks up to stare straight at them, however, they know that they have to jump down and introduce themselves.
“Sorry about that,” they say once they land. “Batgirl, right? I’m a big fan of yours.”
Batgirl’s wary expression brightens. “Are you… from Bludhaven? Gotham?”
Bludhaven, huh? It’s horrible what happened to that city, to its people. “Gotham, born and raised.” Died there too, Xanthe could say, but they don’t want to upset Batgirl. They reach into their jacket pocket and pull out a tangerine. “I’m Xanthe, and you must be hungry. I was starving when I first came here. Want it?”
Cassandra accepts the tangerine. “Thank you, Xanthe, but… I’m not supposed to eat food from the underworld. I think.”
Xanthe feels a twinge of sadness. Nobody wants to die, but Batgirl probably has more reasons than most to escape death. She arrived here in costume, after all. “Don’t worry,” they say, hoping that their smile reassures her. “That’s only if you’re a Greek goddess.”
Someone is watching them, Xanthe realizes. Someone angry and… hungry. A hungry ghost, in the heart of the city? Whoever’s watching them let their magical signature slip out for just a moment, but that’s enough for Xanthe to reach for a pre–folded paper sword. Beside them, Batgirl drops her tangerine and doubles over.
“Batgirl?” Xanthe asks, moving closer to her. “Is something wrong?”
Xanthe has to step back as a fiery golden light envelops Batgirl, and they can only watch as it floats her up past the Jade Tower, the tallest building in the Spirit World, and disappears into the ether above. A quick glance around tells them that they’re alone again. Whoever was watching them left, and any other souls nearby were scared off.
Xanthe leaves the premises, too, heading for Po Po’s place. They suspect that Batgirl’s been resurrected by a Lazarus Pit, and hope that the elderly sorceress can tell them more. They also need to beg her once again to teach them how to make their sword fly. Maybe they can rope Bowen into asking her as well this time.
Years later, at a cemetery on the outskirts of Gotham City’s Chinatown, Xanthe feels a presence in the tree behind them and smiles.