Lauren's cell phone rang. It was David at the Tribune. “Thanks for the heads up, Lauren, it paid off,” he told her without preamble.
“What's up?”
“Superman just flew a chunk of lunar rock up to the ISS and parked it there.”
“He what?”
“NASA is going nuts. Half of them don't know what to make of it, and half of them are acting like it's Christmas morning. They're talking about experimental mining of the rock for building materials, and hollowing the thing out to make another space station out of it. We got out in front on the reporting again, because we knew to keep our ear to the ground at NASA—thanks to you.”
“Tell Ryan I'll have more for you soon. Gotta go.” Lauren flipped her phone shut, noticing a sudden change in the demeanor of the people around her. She glanced around; Doug and Sarah seemed oblivious, so it had to be a psychic thing. “What's up, guys?”
Cassandra held up a hand to forestall questions, closing her eyes as if listening to something very faint. Murray stared off into space. Alan looked back and forth at them, as if for guidance, and seemed ill at ease. Mary just nodded and started rocking widely back and forth in her seat. “Demon's talking. Demon's talking,” she started muttering. Then she flinched abruptly as if startled, and curled herself up, still rocking back and forth. “Don't wanna. Don't wanna. Lemme alone. Lemme alone.”
Lauren eyed her worriedly. Cassandra was wrinkling her brow as if concentrating furiously. Murray appeared to be sweating with some exertion.
“Dad—?”
“Shhh!” He pleaded quickly. Abruptly, he called out, “Yes! Can you hear me? Yes! Yes, I hear you! Can you hear me?” He sounded as if he were shouting into a bad phone connection.
Abruptly, there was a small flash of light and something fell onto the carpet. Sarah was closest; she stooped and picked up a second little Bat dart, and handed it to her father.
“Can you hear me now?” A woman's voice came from the dart, low and sultry.
Now who's this? Lauren wondered. Catwoman?
⛉ s ⛉
Murray felt the voice in his mind fade, but it was clearly the same voice now coming out of the little microphone in his hand. He relaxed his mental muscles somewhat and took a breath, hoping that no one could see how badly he was sweating. “I'm sorry I was unable to answer you in kind. My name is Goldberg. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“I am called Zatanna.”
Murray glanced around, seeing blank looks on everyone's faces except Alan's; he looked stunned. “Forgive me, Zatanna. I presume you are an occultist?” Alan nodded vigorously as the woman spoke again.
“I am. Are you the magician who summoned Superman?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have your leave to return home?”
“Of course. It was not my intention to keep him prisoner. I only needed his help to rescue my daughter.”
“Then, is there a problem?”
“Well…I'm afraid I don't know how to return him.”
“I see.” There was a pause. “What spell did you use?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“By what method did you summon Superman?”
Murray had expected the question, but still didn't know a good way to answer. “By desperation. I created a light, and used it to carve a symbol in the air. It turned into his symbol, and I used my personal strength.” There was another pause, as if the microphone had been turned off for a moment.
After a few beats, the voice returned. “Did you use any talismans or rituals?”
“No.”
“Very well; would you mind if I attempted to enlarge the opening?”
“Not at all. Ah…Superman isn't here at the moment, but he's expected back shortly. If your efforts will tax your strength, perhaps you might wait until he returns—”
“No need,” Superman called from the office.
⛉ s ⛉
Clark stayed in costume, and walked into the living room. Someone new had joined the group, he noted; the man was staring at him. He called out, “I'm here, Zatanna. Thank you. It's good of you to help out.”
“Well, don't tell anyone; it'd ruin my reputation,” Zatanna's voice came back. “Let me see what I can do.” There was a pause; Clark could hear her making preparations. “Gninepo, Egralne!”
There was a crash and a sound of splintering wood, and a very quiet, unladylike word. Clark suppressed a smile.
“Superman, stand by.”
Clark passed the time considering his to-do list for this universe. Now that he might be going home, he had to see whether there any loose ends he should tie up before leaving. He approached Lauren. “I have some human interest stories for you, and favors to ask.”
She took a breath, then picked up her notebook. “Shoot.”
Clark told her about Andrew in New York, and about the abused children in Boston. He gave her a rough idea of how many violent crimes he had encountered in which cities. He told her where follow-up was needed. Lauren shook her head.
“It's horrible that those parents are probably going to get away with it now,” she said grimly. Clark looked at her. “I think your testimony won't be admissible in court—you won't be there to be cross-examined.”
“Then I guess the cases will have to stand on the other evidence,” Clark answered, staring steadily at her. Lauren stared blankly at him for a moment, then her shoulders slumped.
“Oh, man…”
“It shouldn't be that—”
“All right, all right, I'll do what I can. I'll see whether Ryan can get me an extension on my stay.” Clark looked at her. “Okay, I'll insist on one! Man, I hate these stories. They're so depressing—even more than most.”
“So, give them happy endings this time.”
“Easy for you to say. You can just smash through walls. I have to pick locks and risk prison.” She sighed. “Any more jobs for me?”
Clark thought it over. “If I go back right now, would you settle my hotel bill? There's some money in my suit pocket; it ought to be about enough to cover it.”
Lauren blinked. “No problem. Where were you staying?” Clark told her, and she copied it down. “Anything else?”
“I think that's it. Thank you, Lauren.”