Gotham had an aura about it that even a yman could feel, a tangible sense of despair and danger that seemed to seep into the city's very foundation. To someone with trained senses like hers, the currents of Gotham's magic felt like a raging river. The city already carried a heavy amount of ambient magic, and the recent surge of crime and misery only made it more votile.

  There was a reason she kept Shadowcrest outside the city limits.

  The Batcave, by comparison, felt like a still but impossibly deep ke. Order ruled within these walls. Even Gotham's malevolent undercurrent had been forced into something more disciplined.

  She found it faintly amusing that Bruce, being Bruce, had managed to bend the magic of his home into something that mirrored him so perfectly.

  As she stepped deeper into the cave, passing rows of costumes and familiar knick-knacks that somehow made the giant cavern feel not so empty.

  "Z!" Barbara greeted her.

  "Hey, Babs. Sorry, I'm te." She leaned down to hug her friend. "How's everything?"

  "Terrible." Barbara offered a wan smile. "You?"

  "Absolute nightmare."

  They both dissolved into quiet giggles. Sometimes in the hero business, you just had to ugh.

  Zatanna followed Barbara further into the cave.

  "Well, I'm pretty sure you've heard what's been going on in Gotham," Barbara said. "But is there anything on your end I should be worried about?"

  "Don't get me started." Zatanna sighed, colpsing into one of the chairs. "Some idiot in Blüdhaven decided to try summoning a faerie. So I had to deal with a very angry member of the Fair Folk. But no, that wasn't enough. Apparently, there's some weird religion down there messing with ley lines, trying to summon their god. I spent way too long cleaning up their mess."

  "A god?" Barbara frowned.

  "At least, that's what they thought." Zatanna waved a hand, catching the flicker of worry in Barbara's eyes. "It's not unusual for spirits or elementals to get worshipped. Their summoning method was strange, but I shut it down and cleaned up the residue. Weirdly enough, Question was a big help."

  Barbara raised an eyebrow.

  "I know, right?" Zatanna ughed softly. "Apparently, it was part of some rger case he's been building. We rounded them all up in one swoop with the evidence he'd gathered. You'd think he'd be satisfied, but he just started muttering about a schism. Or a conspiracy. Something about the Religion of Crime."

  "Good old Question…" Barbara shook her head.

  "Enough about me. How's Bruce?"

  "Well enough."

  Zatanna flinched and spun her chair around.

  Bruce stood directly behind them.

  She stared at the crutches. Damn. How are you that quiet with crutches?

  "Bruce, you shouldn't even be on your feet," Barbara snapped, gring up at him.

  "My injuries don't necessarily limit—"

  Zatanna smiled faintly as the two of them slipped into a familiar argument. Bruce would always be Bruce.

  "Alright, that's enough," she cut in gently. "Come here. Sit down and let me take a look."

  She rose, pulling her wand free and pointing it toward him. She wasn't a doctor, but gauging the weight of what a spell would demand in exchange for the change was standard practice for any competent mage.

  She frowned as she gauged his injuries, feeling how much power it would take to set him right properly.

  "Jesus, Bruce… I'm not sure I should even heal this."

  "Is it beyond your magic?"

  "No. But it's close." She exhaled slowly. "I really think you should just wait it out."

  "I have several cerations and minor fractures. It will take over a month before I'm back to working condition. I don't see why we shouldn't simply accelerate the healing, as you've done before."

  "There are reasons I don't abuse magical healing, Bruce." She grimaced. "I've told you this. I don't have a strong affinity for it. Little imperfections can build up. Costs you won't see coming until they're already there."

  "Gotham needs help now." Bruce met her gaze evenly, his expression set with that familiar, immovable determination.

  She shot Barbara a look. Her friend only offered the weary expression of someone who had already fought this battle and lost.

  Bruce will be Bruce.

  "Alright," she sighed. "But only if you promise me you'll take a full day to let the changes settle. I meant it when I said this is pushing it."

  Bruce's jaw tightened, clearly ready to argue, until Barbara cleared her throat and leveled him with a gre. His lips thinned.

  "Fine. A night of sleep at least."

  Good enough.

  She raised her wand. "Laeh ruoy senob dna esolc ruoy sdnuow."

  She felt the world bend beneath the spell as bone and flesh forced themselves back into alignment. Bruce's face remained controlled, but she knew exactly what it felt like. Magical healing didn't numb the pain. The pain was part of the price.

  It was one of many reasons she didn't offer it freely.

  Bruce was one of the few who understood that and accepted it anyway. That iron will of his was something she respected and worried about in equal measure.

  After a few long seconds, he exhaled. Slowly, he rose. Bandages slipped loose and fell away. Fresh scars, still raw and pink, marked where damage had been undone.

  He rolled his shoulders, tested his bance, threw a few careful punches, then nodded once. "Perfect. Thank you, Zatanna."

  "Remember. You promised."

  "Perhaps just slightly less—"

  "Breaking your word so easily again, Father?"

  Zatanna turned at the voice. Robin and Nightwing were making their way down into the cave.

  "Damian, I just—"

  She stifled a ugh as Damian unched into his lecture.

  "Dick, good to see you." She stepped forward and pulled him into a quick hug.

  "Right back at you, Z."

  "Gotham treating you kindly?"

  "Like always. Rough, with a side of pain. Reminds me why I left." He gnced toward Bruce and Damian, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Still, it's good you're dropping by. We need all the hands we can get. I'm dead tired."

  Zatanna smiled faintly.

  She lifted her wand, about to offer him a simple refresh spell to take the edge off, when something brushed against her senses.

  Gotham was never quiet, magically speaking. It hummed constantly, thick with emotion and old power.

  But this felt different.

  She turned slowly, following the thread. "Enihs thgil no eht ecruos fo cigam."

  A soft glow bloomed from his utility belt.

  Nightwing blinked. "Uh. Z?"

  He unclipped a small pouch and opened it. Inside were a dozen tiny gss bottles, each filled with different colored liquids that shimmered faintly under the cave lights.

  She stepped closer, and her breath caught. "There's magic in all of these. Where did you get them?"

  "We took them from a couple of henchmen, handing them out," Dick said, still frowning at the glow. "Pretty sure they're tied to that new crew—"

  "The Goon Union," Bruce supplied, his expression darkening.

  "You mean the Goonion," Damian added dryly.

  Bruce ignored him. "Are there any harmful effects?"

  Zatanna angled her wand toward the bottles. "Laever ruoy stceffe."

  She tilted her head, parsing through the spell. "They're mostly basic remedies, minor healing, pain reduction, and some stamina enhancement. Still…" Her gaze sharpened. "They're valuable."

  "They were giving them out by the dozen," Nightwing said.

  "What?" Her head snapped up.

  The magical output alone would be staggering. Even simple enchantments took time, materials, and control. To mass-produce this many…

  Barbara leaned forward slightly. "I'm guessing that's not normal."

  Zatanna shook her head slowly. "I'm not an alchemist. I'd have to ask my dad for more details. But… creating magical items isn't cheap, even weak ones like these. To produce this volume…" She trailed off. "They'd have to be a master."

  "Fantastic," Damian muttered. "A criminal who's apparently a master chemist and mage. Father, sometimes I truly question what is wrong with this city."

  Bruce said nothing. He gathered the bottles and moved toward the computer, already slipping into analysis mode.

  She didn't bme him for being worried.

  She shivered at the idea of what a criminal alchemist could do.

  —

  "Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena—"

  I moved my arms to the beat, falling into the rhythm without shame. Around me, the rundown neighborhood was alive in a way Gotham rarely allowed itself to be. Music bsted from cheap speakers banced on milk crates, string lights sagged between cracked brick buildings, and ughter drowned out the distant wail of sirens that usually defined the night.

  Kids darted past with bright pstic cups filled with mocktail potions I'd brewed myself, each one designed to ease aches, clear out toxins, and give their bodies a small reset after too many days breathing bad air and eating worse food.

  They were also ridiculously sweet.

  "Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegría y cosa buena—"

  Farther down the street, my people and the local residents shared the adult version. Same base effect, a gentle wash of relief through sore muscles and a subtle mending of everyday wear and tear, with just enough alcohol to make it festive without turning the block into a riot.

  "Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena—"

  My hands moved to my head with the choreography, and as I turned, I caught sight of the thin mist drifting through the street. The fog machines pumped out the refined cleansing vapor I'd produced. It cut through the smog that permanently clung to this part of Gotham, binding to particutes and neutralizing the worst of it.

  The air even carried a faint minty scent.

  "Heyyyy Macarena!"

  I spun with the music and found myself face-to-face with Red Hood.

  He stared at me for half a second, then snorted.

  I grinned and raised my pineapple cocktail. He lifted his own. We clinked gsses like we weren't technically rival crime bosses standing in the middle of a block party.

  We both drank deep.

  The pineapple blend slid down smooth, a cool rush spreading through my chest as the alchemic cocktail worked its way through tired muscles and lingering stress.

  It was also absolutely fucking delicious.

  "CONGA LINE!" my rival crime boss bellowed.

  Red Hood pivoted and started herding his people into formation, one hand already on the shoulder of the guy in front of him.

  "GOONION!" I shouted, pointing dramatically. "WE WILL NOT BE OUTDONE. FORM UP!"

  My crew scrambled instantly, shoving into pce behind me as the music bred. The two lines snaked through the street, growing longer by the second.

  Best. Power. Ever.

  ***Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices.

  I have advanced chapters if you wanna read ahead.