The Sphinxes weren't done with him yet. Led by the snarling hood who had laid Jimmy flat, they converged on the fallen reporter with clenched fists and bellicose expressions. Jimmy scooted backward, only to b.u.mp into the overturned trash can. Outnumbered three to one, he suddenly wished that he had left well enough alone.

"O-okay guys," he stammered, trying in vain to talk his way out of a severe beatdown. "Sorry for the misunderstanding. Have a good time at the game. Popcorn's on me." He smiled weakly up at the sneering hoodlums. "Uh . . . go Yankees?"

"Go nothing, fool." The gang leader grabbed Jimmy's throat with murder in his eyes. His fingers tightened on the reporter's windpipe. "n.o.body messes with me and keeps suckin' oxygen!"

Oh my G.o.d, Jimmy realized in horror. This guy's playing for keeps!

A tingling sensation rushed over his body. Before he knew it, needle-sharp spines poked up from his skin like the quills of a porcupine. The spines shot from his face and palms, spearing his attacker, who recoiled in pain and surprise. "Yaaaahh!" the hood shrieked as the barbs punctured his skin. Looking like he had just run face-first into a cactus, he scrambled backward into the arms of his fellow Sphinxes, who appeared equally frightened by Jimmy's bizarre transformation. Their startled eyes bulged from their sockets.

"Let's bounce!" a spooked hooligan exclaimed. a.s.sisting their limping comrade, the gang members beat a hasty retreat. They booked down the sidewalk as fast their drooping trousers permitted. "Dude's a freak!"

Jimmy barely noticed their departure. He was too busy staring in shock at the quills projecting from his hands. For a second, he feared that he had permanently turned into some sort of human porcupine, then breathed a sigh of relief as the pointy spines retracted back into his flesh. Within seconds, they had vanished entirely. Only a scattering of fallen quills upon the pavement proved that he hadn't imagined the whole thing.

I don't understand, Jimmy thought. Why'd they come out when that guy tried to choke me, but not when he slugged me? And why shooting spines, anyway?

His experiment had been a success of sorts, but had left him even more confused than before. Gathering his things, Jimmy clambered to his feet and made tracks toward the nearest subway station. His jaw ached. A dizzying mix of fear and excitement had his brain awhirl.

What's happening to me?

32 AND COUNTING.

GOTHAM CITY.

No longer bound by gravity, Mary Marvel soared through the heart of a raging thunderstorm. She thrilled in the fury of the tempest and her newfound powers. The night sky serenaded her. The thunder roared like a symphony of drums, as though the very atmosphere were drawn tight over the planet and hammered on with the fists of G.o.ds. Turbulent winds caressed her, and driving sheets of rain baptized her rebirth. She could hear the dark clouds sc.r.a.pe against each other and the raw elemental forces cycling through the air around her . . . for her. Forty thousand thunderstorms happened every day, and right now she could feel ten thousand storms scattered between Gotham and Beijing. She was one with the lightning.

This is amazing, Mary exulted. It's even better than before. She twirled high above the city, exhilarated by the sheer bliss of being able to fly once more. All her prayers had been answered-and then some. How on Earth could Teth-Adam walk away from a feeling like this?

She wasn't just powered by magic anymore. She was magic. Her entire body was attuned to the mystical energies flowing unseen through the city below. She felt a subtle distortion in the ley lines and realized that something was seriously amiss. Perhaps that was why Madame Xanadu had tried to warn Mary away from Gotham before? As it turned out, however, she needn't have been concerned; with the combined powers of Black Adam and Isis at her disposal, Mary felt more than ready to deal with whatever occult menace awaited her.

Time to show the world that Mary Marvel is back-and better than ever.

She swooped down from the clouds toward an apartment building in Midtown. Her heightened senses drew her straight to the source of the disturbance. Five pregnant women, clad in matching white robes, knelt atop the roof of the building, chanting in unison. They faced each other from the five points of a pentagram. The pouring rain plastered their ceremonial robes to their swollen bodies. Thunderclaps punctuated the verses of their chant. Swirling fumes rose from a lit cauldron at the center of the pentagram. Freshly spilled blood traced the outlines of a five-pointed star. A nearby clock tower tolled midnight.

Okay, Mary decided at a glance. This can't be a good idea. . . .

"Stop!" she called out from overhead. "You don't know what you're doing!"

But they knew enough to raise a little h.e.l.l, apparently. Before Mary could call a halt to the blasphemous ritual, fire and brimstone erupted from the cauldron, instantly incinerating all five congregants. The sudden flare-up blindsided Mary, who threw up an arm to protect her face from the bright orange flames. By the time she lowered her arm an instant later, the h.e.l.lfire had died away and an honest-to-goodness demon stood atop the roof, surrounded by the smoking remains of the careless coven. The falling rain quickly extinguished the glowing embers.

Mary wasted little time mourning the reckless women; they had brought their incendiary demise on themselves. Instead she concentrated on the grotesque apparition they had foolishly summoned from the abyss. Curved horns crested the demon's skull. Fiery red eyes glowed like h.e.l.lfire, and cloven hooves stomped against the tar-papered rooftop. Arcane markings tattooed his b.e.s.t.i.a.l features. All pretty standard, in other words. What was really disturbing was what the demon was wearing. To Mary's disgust, the creature appeared to be clad in a suit made up entirely of . . . dead babies?

Overlapping layers of emaciated infants squirmed all over the demon's leathery hide. Their shriveled, wrinkly faces were more hideous than cute. Cyanotic blue skin was stretched tightly over their bony bodies. Scores of tiny, toothless mouths wailed incessantly, the shrill caterwauling quickly grating on Mary's nerves. They smelled like a hundred dirty diapers.

That's just gross, Mary thought, making a face. She descended directly into the demon's field of vision, hovering only a few yards above the rooftop. "So," she challenged the vile creature, "what's your deal?"

"Ha lo karno sako!" the demon snarled, baring its fangs. His guttural voice sc.r.a.ped at her eardrums. "Devini morti! Formang'l al cii!"

Mary didn't bother trying to figure out the monster's infernal dialect. "Oh yeah, that's what I would have said."

"I am Pharyngula, the harvester of stillborn souls." He scowled, as though annoyed at having to repeat himself. "Forgive me; I have not spoken English in over six hundred years, and your peculiar idioms are unfamiliar to me. Long have I been trapped outside this sphere of existence."

"No doubt for the betterment of humanity," Mary guessed. She glanced at the steaming piles of ashes that were all that remained of the unfortunate coven. "Too bad those dimwits let you back in."

"Yes," Pharyngula agreed. "For you."

He flung out his arm and a flood of writhing fetuses shot across the distance between them. Dozens of grabby little hands seized her with unexpected strength. Tugging painfully on her hair, clothes, and flesh, they dragged her down toward Pharyngula until the demon's leering face was only inches away from her own. She felt his hot, sulfurous breath upon her face. The dead babies swarmed over her body, enveloping her in their greedy clutches. Her skin crawled beneath their clammy touch, and a forked tongue licked her cheek. "Hey!" she protested indignantly. "What do you think you're doing, you pediatric pest!"

"How do you say in English?" He racked his brain for the right words, grinning evilly as he came up with an appropriate translation. "I'm going to devour your flesh and suck the digested waste from your intestines!"

Yuck!

"No way!" Mary declared. She wasn't a just a frail, helpless girl anymore. If this revolting monstrosity thought she couldn't defend herself against a pack of stinking rug rats, he had a lot to learn. Calling upon the strength of Amon, she tore herself free from the avalanche of stillborn infants. She shook off their mewling corpses like a dog shedding its fleas, but her stomach still turned at the thought of the satanic sucklings crawling all over her. You're paying for that, she thought, glaring furiously at Pharyngula. Big-time.

A roundhouse punch connected with the demon's jaw. He went flying off the roof and plunged seven stories to the street below, where he smashed through the roof of a parked Mercedes. The loud metallic crash caused windows to light up all over the sleeping apartment building. A blaring car alarm woke up the entire neighborhood. Worried faces peered out into the night. The sirens and flashing lights of emergency vehicles converged on the scene, no doubt attracted by the pyrotechnic eruption of a few moments ago. The unleashed h.e.l.lfire must have been visible from blocks away.

Mary hoped that Pharyngula had survived the fall. She wasn't done with him yet.

"Mortal harlot!" The demon rose from the crushed interior of the Mercedes. Howling in pain and anger, he shook a taloned fist at his attacker. The tip of one horn had been chipped off. A noxious green ichor bled from his nose. "I will consume your filthy human womb!"

Watch your mouth, Mary thought. Fists first, she dived toward her foe. His crimson orbs bulged in alarm as he saw her streaking down from on high. At the last minute, he ducked beneath her airborne a.s.sault, throwing himself facedown onto the mangled luxury car. Mary whooshed above his head, her gloved knuckles grazing the back of his skull. Smooth move, she conceded, but don't think you're getting away from me that easily.

Without even slowing down, she grabbed on to the cha.s.sis of an empty SUV and carried it up into the sky with her. Whirling in midair, she raised the huge, gas-guzzling vehicle above her head and took aim at the demon below. Visibly alarmed, Pharyngula frantically shifted gears. "Child, wait!" he pleaded. "I merely desire to inhabit this world again. I will eat only what I need to survive!"

"No deal!" Mary informed him. Her mission was clear: drive Pharyngula back to whatever purgatorial realm he hailed from. Or kill him, she thought with a shrug. I'm not picky. One way or another, he was going back to h.e.l.l.

She hurled the SUV at Pharyngula with the force of a catapult. Six tons of solid unibody construction smashed down on the demon, squashing him between the crumpled automobiles. Mary watched with satisfaction as an enormous fireball consumed both cars. The smell of burning gasoline carried the promise of barbecued h.e.l.lsp.a.w.n. She punched the air triumphantly.

Holy Moley! That felt great!

"d.a.m.n YOU!" Torn metal shrieked in torment as Pharyngula clawed free of the flaming wreckage. His nauseating coat of babies was charred and smoking. Flames licked at the blackened flesh of the soulless brats. He tottered unsteadily upon his cloven hooves, a broken arm hanging limply at his side. His right eye was completely swollen shut. He spit out a mouthful of broken teeth and slime. "You have no right to deny me my rightful repast. Predator and prey alike, all creatures eat . . . and I am starving!"

Mary had no sympathy for the voracious demon. Launching herself at Pharyngula, she seized the monster's throat with one hand. All but demolished by her previous attacks, the outmatched demon was in no shape to fight back. "Sorry, devil day care," she quipped. "You may have a lot of mouths to feed, but you're not stuffing them with human flesh!"

Her fingers dug into his scaly neck. Time to stop playing around, she decided, and finish this monster off for good. She drew back her fist, ready to knock the demon's ugly kisser right off his shoulders. Mystical energy sparked and crackled around her clenched knuckles. Say good-bye to your head, baby-s.n.a.t.c.her.

But before she could deliver the fatal blow, a blazing lightning bolt stabbed down from the heavens, striking both Mary and her defeated foe. A blinding flash of light briefly turned the night into day, and when the dazzling glare faded, no trace remained of either the girl or the demon. Only a smoking pile of rubble marked the site of their final confrontation. Bewildered cops and firefighters cautiously approached the shattered pavement. To their amazement, they found only a heap of blasted steel and concrete.

Mary Marvel-and her inhuman adversary-were gone.

METROPOLIS.

"Help!" a female voice cried out in the night. "Somebody!"

A second later, a scruffy-looking lowlife darted out of an alley, clutching a designer handbag in one hand and an open switchblade in the other. The eight-inch blade caught a gleam from the streetlight at the corner. The fleeing mugger smirked as he made his getaway.

Not so fast, Jimmy thought. He stepped out from beneath the shelter of a recessed doorway and directly into the path of the knife-wielding thief. Arms akimbo, he struck a heroic pose, the better to show off his homemade super-hero costume. A blue cowl concealed the upper half of his face. A blue A was emblazoned on the bright red tunic he wore over a navy blue sweater and trousers. A wide yellow sash circled his waist. Red gloves and boots, snazzily trimmed with yellow, completed the outfit. The color scheme echoed Superman's costume, perhaps a little too closely, but Jimmy didn't think of it as stealing. More like an homage. He admired his reflection in the window of a closed boutique.

"Oughta watch where you're going, dirtball," he warned the mugger, deliberately lowering his voice an octave. "'Cause you never know when"-he paused dramatically-" Mr. Action will be on the scene!"

"Mister who?" The mugger halted in his tracks, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected advent of the masked vigilante, but he quickly went on the offensive. "Out of my way, jerkface," he snarled as he slashed at Jimmy-that was, Mr. Action-with his knife.

I was hoping you'd try something like that, Jimmy thought. Sure enough, his torso stretched away from the striking blade. An elastic arm wrapped around the thief's knife hand, trapping it. Th.o.r.n.y spines protruded from Jimmy's knuckles only seconds before he slugged the flabbergasted mugger in the chin. Super-speed gave the punch enough oomph to knock the crook out cold with just one blow. He dropped onto the sidewalk like a sack of potatoes, his useless knife clattering against the cement.

"Hmm," Jimmy murmured to himself. "Maybe I should've drawn it out a bit longer." Ever since he'd decided to emulate Superman and use his mysterious new powers to combat evil, he had been looking forward to Mr. Action's big debut. He'd spent hours designing his costume, while trying to come up with the perfect super-heroic alias. Now that he'd finally taken on his first villain, it had been over way too soon. "Definitely gotta work on the banter too."

An attractive blonde, about Jimmy's age, emerged from the alley. A s.e.xy off-the-shoulder gold lame minidress and glittery dis...o...b..lt suggested that she had been taking a shortcut home from a nightclub when the mugger had ambushed her. Although mussed up, she appeared more or less unharmed.

"Here you go, miss." Jimmy retrieved the stolen handbag and handed it back to the young woman. "Are you all right?"

"I think so." She stared at the vanquished mugger. Judging from her wide-eyed reaction, Jimmy guessed that she had seen him take down the crook with his powers. "OhmiG.o.d, that was amazing!"

"Er, thanks," Jimmy replied, not quite sure what to say next. Superman always made this look so easy. "I'm, um, glad to have-"

Without warning, she threw her arms around his neck and planted a grateful kiss against his lips. The spontaneous embrace caught him completely off guard. Her warm softness pressed against him. The heady odor of her perfume flooded his nostrils. For a few seconds, he forgot about everything except the moist lips smooching his own. He was almost too dumbfounded to kiss her back.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of bliss, the girl sheepishly pulled away from him. A fetching blush turned her cheeks pink. Jimmy guessed that he was just as red behind his mask. "I don't know what came over me," she offered by way of (non)explanation. "You're just so . . . adorable." Clutching her rescued handbag, she gave Jimmy a parting smile as she continued her trek home, sticking to the well-lit avenue this time. "Thank you!"

"Oh, uh, sure...." Jimmy caught himself using his ordinary civilian voice, but the departing woman didn't seem to notice. She was a full block away before Jimmy realized that he had never gotten her name. This minor lapse did little to curb his euphoria, however. Wow, he thought, the taste of the nameless beauty still lingering on his lips, this super-hero business is going even better than I dreamed!

Frantic footsteps intruded on his rapture. Spinning around, he spotted the defeated mugger escaping back into the alley. Drat! Jimmy thought. He must have come to while I was distracted. He threw out his arms, but, now that he was no longer in danger, his limbs stubbornly refused to stretch after the thief. Jimmy pursued the crook, only to discover that his super-speed had evaporated as well. Within moments, the fleet-footed criminal had disappeared into a shadowy maze of back alleys. Huffing and puffing, Jimmy reluctantly abandoned the chase.

The mugger's escape took some of the l.u.s.ter off Mr. Action's debut. Still, Jimmy reminded himself, I did get the girl her purse back. Not bad for a first try.

He'd do better next time.

METROPOLIS.

Okay, Holly thought, I could get used to this.

She soaked luxuriously in a steaming hot tub, enjoying the Athenian Women's Shelter's well-equipped spa. She had the tub to herself, but she was not the only one taking advantage of the sumptuous facilities. Young women, clad only in towels or terry cloth robes, indulged in free ma.s.sages and herbal treatments, coming and going at will. Holly's own robe was draped over a nearby bench. Windows of polarized gla.s.s let in the sunlight while keeping out prying eyes. Potted plants, marble columns, incense, background music, and ewers of fresh ice water added to the relaxing atmosphere.

It all seemed too good to be true, but Holly had yet to find the catch. Despite her lingering suspicions, she'd been at the shelter for days now, and no one had tried to sell her into white slavery or convert her to some creepy cult. Nor had she spotted any hidden spy-cams streaming video to pervs on the Internet. Granted, statues and shrines to the G.o.ddess Athena could be found on every floor of the shelter, but there wasn't any obvious brainwashing going on. Holly found herself in no hurry to leave such opulent accommodations. Sure beats camping out in a soggy cardboard box. . . .

"There you are!" A chirpy voice interrupted Holly's musings. She looked up to see a svelte blonde, about her own age and size, strolling toward the tub. She wore the same belted white tunic, which Holly had learned was called a chiton, that served as standard attire around the shelter. Braided yellow pigtails gave her a slightly comic appearance, as did the goofy smile plastered across her face. Not exactly Holly's type, but cute enough in her own way. A platter bearing a teapot and porcelain cup was expertly balanced atop the blonde's head. "I brought you some gyokuro j.a.panese tea." She knelt down and placed the platter at the edge of the tub. "Hope you're enjoying yourself, Holly."

"Oh, totally." Holly was mildly embarra.s.sed that she didn't know the other woman's name. The blonde looked oddly familiar, but there were so many new faces here. By Holly's estimate, at least three dozen women currently resided in the shelter, all young, physically fit, and apparently unattached. The conspicuous absence of any single mothers or older women had struck Holly as curious, but it had been explained to her that, by Athena's degree, women with children and senior citizens were beyond the purview of this particular inst.i.tution. Holly wasn't sure she entirely approved of that; still, as a newcomer and a guest, she didn't feel comfortable telling Athena how to run her own shelter. At least not yet.

"Great!" The blonde poured Holly a cup of tea. Her squeaky voice made her sound like she had OD'd on helium. "This place is a G.o.dsend. It saved my life and that of just about every other woman here." Making herself comfortable, she stretched out beside the tub, the better to converse with Holly. Her rosy-cheeked face shone with the fervor of a true believer. "I tell you, honey, before I got here I was a real mess . . . and trust me, that's the understatement of the year."

Holly sampled the tea. It tasted sweet and not at all bitter. "Thanks. This is delicious."

"Athena turned my life around," the blonde continued. "She taught me to love and respect myself for me, you know?" She let out a theatrical sigh. "I was the kind of girl that always needed a man, even if he was the worst possible example of the species. My last boyfriend was a real maniac."

Holly wasn't quite sure how to respond to this unsolicited confessional. "Uh, I'm not really here because of . . ."

"Honey, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," the blonde rea.s.sured her. "This is a pressure-free zone." She sat up and slapped her forehead. "Oh gosh, where's my manners? I didn't introduce myself." Smiling, she held out her hand. "I'm Harleen Quinzel."

Holly did a spit take. The teacup slipped from her fingers, spilling its contents into the tub. Taken aback by the name, Holly didn't even notice the dark tea infiltrating the swirling water around her.

Harleen Quinzel . . . ?

Harley Quinn!

The Joker's girlfriend!

Holly had never run into the notorious Harley Quinn before, but Selina had, and she'd had nothing good to say about the Joker's devoted moll, who was supposed to be just as bonkers as the Clown Prince of Crime himself. Wow, Harley wasn't joking when she said that her ex was a "maniac." She just left out the "homicidal" part. Holly scrutinized the blonde's features, mentally adding a domino mask, jester's cap, and white clown makeup. She compared the mental portrait to the outlandish face on Harley Quinn's Wanted posters. It could be the same woman, she acknowledged, but what's she doing here in Metropolis when she should be in Arkham Asylum where she belongs?

Holly's consternation must have shown on her face because Harley's sunny expression darkened momentarily. "Don't look at me like that," she pouted, withdrawing her hand. "I told you, I've changed. I'm a new woman." She smirked at Holly. "Besides, I'm not the one who spent her entire adult life sucking up to Catwoman."

Holly gulped.

She knows who I am?

31 AND COUNTING.

THE ROCK OF ETERNITY.

One minute Mary had been in Gotham City, about to knock that demon's block off. The next, she found herself . . . somewhere else.

Rough stone walls enclosed a murky tunnel that appeared to have been carved out of the solid rock surrounding her. The granite floor beneath her boots had been worn smooth by the pa.s.sage of centuries. Torches sputtered in polished bra.s.s sconces. A cool breeze carried a whiff of incense. Compared to the raging thunder and blaring sirens she had just left behind, the hushed stillness of the tunnel came as a shock.

"Where . . . ?"

Disoriented by her abrupt shift in location, it took Mary a second to realize where she was. Holy Moley, she thought, it's the Rock of Eternity!

The mystical sanctuary, which existed outside time and s.p.a.ce, had once been the home of the wizard Shazam, before the Spectre slew the venerable mage. Mary had often visited these tunnels before, but, without her powers, she had been unable to reach the Rock after waking up from her coma. It wasn't exactly the sort of place you could catch a bus or taxi to.

Yet here she was, without even trying. Mary looked around eagerly, hoping to find Freddy or her brother, but she appeared to have the dimly lit pa.s.sageway all to herself. Even Pharyngula was nowhere to be seen.

"h.e.l.lo?" Her voice echoed in the empty catacomb. "Is anyone here?"

A deep baritone answered her from the far end of the tunnel. "Just you and me, Mary."

"Billy! Cap!" Her heart leapt at the sound of that familiar baritone. She rushed down the corridor past a row of grotesque stone idols representing the Seven Deadly Enemies of Man: Pride, Avarice, l.u.s.t, Wrath, Gluttony, Envy, and Sloth. The leering gargoyles were not just statues, but the actual Sins, trapped in stone by the wizard's magic, but Mary was too excited to give the looming idols even a pa.s.sing glance; after all, she had seen them many times before. Knowing exactly where she was now, she dashed through a framed archway into the cavernous throne room beyond. Jagged stalact.i.tes hung from the ceiling. A fuming brazier filled the grotto with the smell of incense. Magic mirrors, mounted upon the limestone walls, faced an imposing marble throne. Mary scarcely noticed any of these details, her attention riveted by the solitary figure standing beside the glowing brazier.

Her brother was waiting for her.

At least she thought it was her brother.

"Billy? Is that really you?"

She barely recognized him at first. Instead of his cheerful red and yellow uniform, Captain Marvel now wore a spotless white version of his traditional costume. Only the golden thunderbolt and tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs remained the same. His revised garb was as chastely white as her own new look was black as night. And, like her, not only his apparel had changed. His short black hair had also turned snow-white and was now several inches longer. There was something different about his manner too. Even though her twin brother turned into an adult whenever he said the magic word, he had always kept his youthful exuberance and sunny disposition. But now the weight of the world seemed to rest heavily upon his broad shoulders. His wide face was etched with worry lines that Mary was certain she had never seen before. In a way, his austere, authoritative mien reminded her of the ageless wizard who had once presided over the throne room. The legacy of Shazam was stamped upon his features.

"It's me, Mary," he a.s.sured her. "After a fashion."

What did he mean by that? She longed to rush over and hug her brother, yet something held her back. He seemed so different, so reserved.

"Oh, Billy, what's happened to you?"