"Master Corrigan, you are incorrigible…"

Zatanna giggled and grabbed her escort's arm all the tighter as she stumbled down the street, teetering on her high, heeled shoes. The world seemed to spin as she stared into the darkened street, watching the night folk pass by in a blur as Captain Corrigan tried to steady her wavering gait. Her stomach churned to smell the rising burn of charred eel and undercooked meat. Corn sizzled on open fires and the sickly sweet smell of burnt caramel made her bile rise. Still she kept the smile plastered to her face as she trotted beside her man. It was what he had paid for after all.

"I could carry you," he said leaning close and Zatanna could barely hold her stomach in check to smell the rank stink of his unwashed body and rusting mail. Zatanna laughed-

"Not necessary at all, kind sir," she giggled, nodding her head, wishing she had not. "A stout arm and steady stride is all I need. But thank you…"

Captain Corrigan nodded and Zatanna leaned into his well-muscled frame. Her eyes roved up and down, admiring his metal clad muscles, the fine cut of his tunic, the flash of white in his otherwise fiery red hair peeking from beneath his helmet. He was a Captain in the City Watch and Town Guard, and she was damned lucky to have found him again, most especially with a full, heavy purse. She giggled again and flashed a bit of leg, holding on tightly as her own personal guardsman picked up his pace.

Zatanna hoped that her father would be in bed and not waiting up for her again as he had been the last few weeks. He hated what she had become, what she was forced to do, but Zatanna knew the reality of it far better than he, living his life in times past. They needed money. His little shop of simples did nothing to pay the Land Owners, and his much-vaunted reputation was as nothing to those that ran the streets. No one cared what he was twenty summers past, nor what had happened ages ago. No one cared that he was the keeper of an artifact, revered by Fate and one of the chosen.

Zatara the Magician was a burnt out old man in truth. His powers- if he ever really had any- were long gone or stagnant, an old man's dreams and memories. Zatanna had no time for such folly. They needed money, and she did all she knew to get it. If that meant selling her 'wares' to the first bidder, so be it. Last night it was John's Son, the Carter. Tonight it was Corrigan, a captain in the city militia. Tomorrow…

They turned onto the Broad Way strolling past the venders and those other women that had staked out claim closer to her home. By right she should have the near block, but she just did not feel right standing in her father's shadow to sell herself. Zatanna knew that he would be watching her, and how long before he might interfere?

"What is that?"

Zatanna looked up at Corrigan's words and saw the crowd of people ahead. They seemed to be gathering about her father's shop, standing about, pointing and staring. It took a moment before she smelled the smoke, another heartbeat before she spotted the flames-

"Oh, Gods!"

Zatanna broke away, suddenly sober as she ran down the boardwalk, her high-heeled shoes clacking out a panicked rhythm behind her. She heard Corrigan shout, running after her to catch up but she ignored him, charging forward headlong into the gawking crowd. She shoved and pushed, ignoring their complaints as she rudely forced her way through the small mob, struggling to see through teary eyes, trying to keep her balance as she tottered on her heels.

Her father was in the shop still, she just knew it, maybe hurt, maybe dead. She had to get in. Had to-

"Father!"

Zatanna cried out as she burst through the front ring of the crowd of on-lookers. There were a few of the city militia half holding the crowd back, half watching the blaze with an almost lustful glee. One man held a wooden bucket in a loose grip watching as the flames licked higher. Something exploded within and Zatanna screamed.

She started forward again, swallowing her fear and ready to charge headlong into the flames when she felt a firm, rough hand wrap about her bare arm. She glanced back and barely recognized Corrigan through her tears as she struggled to break free.

"Let me go! Damn you, I have to-"

Corrigan backhanded her, the sudden blinding pain clearing her head and making her sag. She would have fallen into the street if the captain had not held her upright. He hoisted her up straight and shook her and Zatanna moaned, trying to focus.

"Look!" he shouted into her face, his spittle hitting her, dotting the stinging spot on her cheek. She craned her neck weakly, staring at her home as it became engulfed in flames higher and hotter. "No one could survive in that! Your father's dead…"

"No…" Zatanna moaned feeling a wave of nausea wash over her. She wanted to wretch, to faint away, but only the horror of what had happened, what was happening still kept her awake and aware. Corrigan moved to draw her close, take her in his arms-

"Gods! There's someone in there!"

A random shout followed by screams as the crowd seemed to surge forward. Zatanna pulled away from Corrigan, staring into the inferno that had been her home all these years and gasped even as others shouted and pointed. She saw the shadowy silhouette as well, a figure moving about within the raging fire.

"Father!" Zatanna screamed running past the militiamen and through the flames licking at the doorway. She started coughing immediately as a choking smoke enveloped her, stinging her eyes as she tried to spy the shadowy figure that all had seen just moments before. The heat was all but unbearable and sweat sprang from Zatanna's skin as she struggled forward. Her skin hurt in the blaze and she could hear her hair singing and crackling with every step forward.

"Father!" she called out, hacking as smoke filled her lungs. "Father…"

He was suddenly before her, towering over her like a wall. He looked a devil with his pale green skin shining in the glare, his features dark and handsome, smiling as he placed his hands on her shoulders. Zatanna craned her neck, tilting her head back to peer up into his sparkling golden eyes. A wave of fear washed over her as he chuckled, his fingers digging into her shoulders as he licked his lips. Fear, and recognition as well-

"Zatanna," he began, his voice cool and soft yet booming over the crackle of flame. "It has been some time. You have grown…" His right hand held her tightly in place while his other brushed at her throat then trailed down to her breasts. Zatanna shivered, a chill racing along her spine at his vile touch despite the heat of the burning, crumbling building surrounding her. She knew then who stood before her, remembering somehow another time when she was but a child-

"Wotan…" she whispered, paling at the sight of the man her father had promised would never touch her again. He seemed changed, but still the same as his hand lingered at the laces of her best tunic, his fingers brushing her suddenly bare skin.

"I am so pleased that you have not forgotten me, my gentle caress, the lingering taste of my deepest affection. A pity we do not have the time to renew old acquaintances. Tell me where the Bell is child, and I will take my leave- for now."

Zatanna stared, wide-eyed and bewildered. She knew nothing of any Bell, and all she could remember was Wotan entering her room those many nights not so long after her mother had died. Uncle Wotan had been her father's friend he had said, over and over, every night. Her mother's friend as well, and he wanted to be her friend too he had said.

Her special friend in a special way. He had wanted to show her a different kind of magic, something special. It had hurt…

"The Bell, child," Wotan said, his voice getting louder as his grip tightened on her arms. He shook her. "Tell me where that drunken sot of a father hid the damn Bell and I'll leave you be. Tell me!" He shook her again.

"Father…"

Something whizzed past her head and she heard Wotan scream. Something hot and wet spattered her face, scalding her and bringing her back to her senses in one fell swoop. Zatanna's eyes widened in shock to see the true face of the creature that held her in his grip; his sickly green skin rotting from his bones, his handsome features in reality a twisted visage wrought from her darkest nightmares. His face was twisted in agony and rage, his lips aquiver and snarling as he cursed and spat. A quarrel jutted from his shoulder, spurting blood.

"Let her go, monster!"

Zatanna pulled away, stumbling back into the waiting arms of Captain Corrigan. He stood there, his red hair crackling in the blaze, his arm outstretched as he trained a hand crossbow at the creature wailing before them. Wotan screamed, his mouth wide and showing fangs as he ripped the bolt from his shoulder. Blood spewed forth, sizzling where it struck, smoking in the fire a retched stench.

"The Bell, whore!" he spat, stalking forward. Lightning crackled from his eyes and fingertips. "I will not ask you again."

"I don't know," Zatanna whined, falling closer into Corrigan's arms. The captain of the militia held her close, trying to step to the fore and still keep the monster in his sights.

"Stay back!" Corrigan shouted as part of the upper floor collapsed in a blazing shower of spark and char. Wotan ignored the soldier's warning, raising his hands into fists-

"Die!"

Zatanna heard Corrigan gasp as his hold on her loosened. She turned as his crossbow fell to the floor, the bolt springing free and sailing away into the flames on impact. The captain was clutching at his throat, his eyes bulging as he gasped for breath. Zatanna screamed as he fell to the floor, his fingers raking at the smoldering wood. He grabbed at her ankle, squeezing as his breath caught in his throat. Then just as suddenly his grip weakened and loosened and he collapsed on the floor in a heap, no longer struggling at all.

"Corrigan?"

Zatanna heard Wotan's laugh and turned to face the demon. He looked slick and handsome again, his hands wiping back through his long, verdant hair.

"Your hero is dead child, and I do not have the time to play. You know nothing, apparently. Your drunken father kept you in the dark, ignoring your true potential. A pity really, but it cannot be helped now. Your sire is dead-" Wotan gestured to a corner of the room and Zatanna screamed again to see the charred and withered husk that had once been her father. She felt anguish rise up in her throat, clutching at her heart, but oddly the tears that had been flowing so freely suddenly dried on her cheeks, evaporating in the moment.

"…rebmemeR"

The wall fell away, the fire engulfing the remains of her father, but Zatanna felt nothing as the corpse, the last link to her childhood vanished before her eyes. He had been a drunken sot, a vainglorious braggart who had lived in the past as long as she could recall. They had lived a penniless, harsh existence, but she had never been wanting. He had loved her, she knew, and she had loved him in turn…

"!niaR"

The word was just suddenly there in her mind. It was a word like her father might have used back in the day. Back when he was someone, a great mage and not a drunken has been. There were other words as well-

"!mrotS"

Rain started to pound down through the open spaces above. A pouring tempest raged through the burning roof, the driven water extinguishing the inferno on impact. Steam rose in the sudden chill and charred and sizzling wood hissed, the burn suddenly quelled, the thirsting fire suddenly quenched.

"!ecI"

A frigid wind whipped through the smoldering building, the standing water and driving rain freezing instantly. Zatanna shivered to hear the crowd's screams as her tempest swelled and pushed out into the streets. She could barely see, but she stood fast straddling the fallen body of Corrigan who had saved her, directing her sudden power at the demon now flailing and confused. She remembered her father trying to teach her, to ply his trade and transfer his knowledge and skill into the little lost girl that simply missed her mother. She had ignored him- hated him for so long, or so she had thought. Apparently she had paid attention after all.

"Witch!" Wotan cursed staggering forward against the sudden gale force winds. He ignored the pain of shifting heat and cold, ignored the panicked shrieks of the gathered crowd beyond as he stalked his prey, every step agony weighted down with the freezing ice. He raised his hands again, fire blazing from his fingertips. He cursed and the abused and weathered floor gave way beneath his weight clogged with ice. Wotan fell…

Zatanna stepped timidly up to the ragged edge of the hole. She had had no idea that there was another level beneath the shop, a basement or cellar. Perhaps it was some connection to the sewers that ran water and waste into the thickly polluted bay. She had no idea at all, still she peered down into the darkened depths quite certain that her foe, her father’s murderer was still alive. She braced against a charred, smoldering beam jutting down from the ceiling as she leaned out-

Zatanna screamed as Wotan’s frigid hand grasped her ankle, pulling her down. Her fingers clawed for purchase, nails digging into the old wood but ripping through and clutching empty air. She tottered on her heels, heard the floor moan at the sudden strain and was then falling, the demon’s weight dragging her down into the darkness.

They landed together, crashing in a heap and Zatanna heard the creature moan as her weight fell hard between his legs. Quickly, ignoring her own pain she scrambled up to her feet, scrabbling away from the monster and his groping hands. She shuffled back, almost tumbling off balance and slammed hard up against something harsh and cold and cast in metal. She heard a ‘clang’…

Zatanna gasped as the small chamber she was in gradually came alive with a flowing glow of light. She could see the small confines of the room, obviously meant to be hidden with an old slim ladder on the far wall. A trapdoor at the top no doubt led beneath the old dresser of her father’s room if her sense of direction was still correct. There was nothing else before her save the battered and burnt form of Wotan, his skin charred and rent, his face a twisted mask of torment and rage. Eyes crackling, Zatanna watched in horror as he struggled to his feet, his gaze seeming to burn into- no- past her...

Zatanna turned ever so slightly and saw the object of his attention. There on a pedestal, rather hovering above the small wooden stand was a bell. It was swaying back and forth, to and fro and the Witch could just hear the faint resonance of the iron clacker still tapping the sides. It was glowing, and it made Zatanna’s eyes sting and water to stare at it straight on, or too long.

“The Bell…” she heard him croak and suddenly felt the demon’s hand on her arm, shoving her aside as he staggered forward. Zatanna stumbled back against the wall, watching as Wotan reached for the softly swaying bell. His hands seemed almost to glow, to smolder as his fingers grew nearer, groping-

“Arrgh!” he screamed, his hands coming alight with fire. Zatanna screamed at the horror, whatever magicks she had recalled before now swiftly forgotten in the excitement. She could see the demon’s agony as he grabbed at the bell, his flesh melting away at the metallic touch. Oddly, she felt no heat-

“Your master, Desaaid, had little faith in you demon…”

Zatanna gasped again, staring up at the shadowy form now dropping, floating through the gaping hole above. He wore a raggedy cloak and hood of green, tattered and frayed and smeared with dark gory stains. His skin was white as salt or chalk, his body little more than rotting flesh on bone and only his softly glowing eyes were visible from the folds of his cowl. He appeared a ghost- a specter- and Zatanna had never seen the like before. Still, when he glanced her way shortly and she saw the barest edges of the ghastly visage she thought she detected the slightest hint of a smile, and more.

Recognition…

Wotan screamed again to see the specter before him and fell to his knees. His blazing hands loosed their fatal grip on the still pealing bell and it tumbled away only to hover there between the two. Smoldering tears rolled down the demon’s cheeks as he whimpered before the ghost.

“Zatara was a great mage in his day. One of the Chosen, the Society of Justice set to protect the artifacts of old. His spell required something be forfeit should the Bell be taken from its hold. Something of near equal power…” the ghost chuckled, his voice as cold and hollow as a mausoleum.

“Apparently all that you had to offer was the last fragment of your filth stained soul.”

Wotan looked up, the fire blazing along his arms now, his hands charred and fallen away. He pleaded with the ghost, then spied Zatanna-

“Please…” he whined, his voice hoarse and choking. “Please, Zatanna…”

Zatanna stared at the demon, the man who had been like an uncle to her for so long. It had not all been bad, but the evil he had done far overshadowed the tiny bit of good. He had killed her father-

“!nruB” she whispered, choking back a sob and at once the demon flared as her own magicks added to those of her father. There was a final piercing scream and then the demon, Wotan, simply crumbled to ash.

The specter stepped forward and waved a sickly hand over the smoldering pile and a stiff breeze seemed to stir and blow the remains away. Zatanna saw his wide grin then as he motioned and the bell floated up to him, though he was careful not to actually touch it. He turned his gaze on her then. Zatanna jumped as something crashed overhead and she saw sparks flittering down through the hole as the fire yet raged above.

“The burden falls to you now, Zatanna,” the specter said, motioning the bell towards her. Zatanna pressed back into the warm stone wall behind her, afraid to share Wotan’s fate. “Fear not, child, and take the construct. Your father was wise and named only you as his successor. The magicks of the Bell will harm you not.”

Zatanna glanced at the ghostly face and saw the cold, cruel smile twist its lips. Somehow she knew it spoke the truth, but still she did fear. She swallowed however, and tentatively reached out. As her hands drew near the bell seemed to swirl and spark, glowing ever brighter until it was lost within a blazing azure glow. Zatanna tried to pull back, but the specter urged her on, beckoning she stay her ground. She whimpered…

Zatanna opened her eyes to see the tiny silver bell in the palm of her hand. It sparkled brilliantly in the firelight and she could feel the barest thrum as it continued to peal. Apparently when she had first inadvertently bumped it before she had set off some spell laid into the artifact. It was ringing still, tolling something. But what? She turned towards the ghost again, seeing his form lifting slowly, preparing to leave-

“Wait!” she shouted after, and the specter gave her a final glance. Zatanna’s eyes grew wide to recognize that face at last. “What…” she swallowed, her eyes still tearing, “What do I do now?”

The specter smiled coolly. “Seek Fate, child. You must journey to Afeika and there seek the Legion, the League of Kingdoms gathering even now to stem the tide and quell the shadow of the gathering darkness. But take heed, Desaaid will not be pleased that his emissary failed and there will be others along the way who might stop you. Trust no one until you reach Fate’s Tower, and even then trust only your heart.”

“But what about you?” she shrieked, stepping under the hole as the specter continued his ascent. “Help me Corrigan!” The specter paused, glancing down one final time-

“Would that I could, chi- Zatanna,” he said with a frown. “My task lies elsewhere however. I have my own fate to find…”

And he was gone…

Zatanna stared up into the empty opening for some time, turning only when she heard part of the roof above collapse, the blazing fire spreading across the floor. She glanced at the ladder but knew she would not be able to move the dresser above the trap door from below. She could see the flicker of fire besides. Wotan had done his job well. True, he did not have the Bell, but he had destroyed what was left of her life. Her home destroyed, her father dead, her life no longer her own.

Zatanna stared at the small silver bell in the palm of her hand, finally curling her fist about it. She thought for a moment, considering, then finally spoke, one simple word said in reverse-

“!yawA”

Zatanna vanished as the tiny Simple’s Shop swelled then fell in on itself, smothered in a roar of flame. It was a miraculous escape, a dramatic exit timed to the second and would leave the gawking crowd forever wondering and wanting more.

Her father would probably have been proud…