Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3)(16)

Arching smoothly into a bridge over the next sensor beam, the world tilted upside down for a heartbeat as her gloved hands met the marble floor. A push of her legs and pull of her abdominal muscles had her feet rising up and over, her landing as smooth as silk.

A dance. These movements felt like a dance. One she’d learned to enjoy.

Just as she’d enjoyed taking that diamond from the Gotham Museum three days ago. And that trove of jewels from a shop five days before that. Little dances—little tests.

Tonight would be another step. A bigger one.

Considering those two burglaries had proved…disappointing.

Sure, she’d made off with what she needed. But no one had even put up a fight. A challenge. And no one had come looking for her afterward.

Selina slid to the marble floor, slipping beneath a low-hanging beam.

She’d make sure tonight was different.

A larger expanse of space opened before her, leading to a more intricate web of sensors. The last stretch before the statue’s glass display case in the center of the hallway.

She could make it with a few careful dips and ducks.

But where was the fun in that?

She’d been devoid of fun for most of her life. Had found it only in rare moments. And even then it had been overshadowed with fear and dread. But tonight…

She’d learned to take the things she wanted. Including her own amusement.

Sucking in a breath, again checking that the bullwhip was secure, Selina launched herself forward.

The motions were muscle memory, the calculations sharp and precise. Glorious.

Front handspring into a twisting backflip, followed by a high-soaring tuck, right into a somersault that sent her into a neat tumble over the final alarm sensor. And right up to the glass of the case.

Breathing loud beneath her helmet, Selina grinned at the Bastet statue.

She could have sworn that ancient bit of bronze seemed to smile back. Seemed to say, Go on. Take it.

So Selina did.

A claw of reinforced steel slid free from her black glove. Perfectly honed. Perfectly ready to slice a circle through the thick glass.

Selina caught the panel of glass in one palm as her other hand slid into the case and wrapped around the figure.

And just as she’d planned, the alarms began blaring.



* * *



—

Selina was gone before GCPD arrived.

But she was not done.

The Bastet statue tucked into a satchel at her side, Selina knelt at the edge of a high-rise rooftop and adjusted the focus on the scope of her rifle.

She didn’t use guns on people. Ever.

She’d allowed Nyssa to teach her how to wield them, but she’d kept her thoughts on the matter to herself. Never mentioned how she’d seen them used to such detrimental effect and destruction, how she’d seen them bring such pain and sorrow into the lives of those in the East End.

So it was a good thing Nyssa wasn’t here. And a good thing Selina had so many other weapons in her arsenal.

But for this task…

Selina counted down the seconds. Knew it was coming.

Her finger shifted slightly on the trigger as she aimed the rifle at the top of the eleven-story GCPD precinct building. The most important building in this city, by her account.

The door to the precinct roof flung open, and two men rushed out.

Selina allowed them to get close to the object they sought. The giant spotlight.

She allowed them to turn it on, the beam of light spearing into the sky, the bat icon dark against the bank of clouds. She allowed them that one moment of calm before she fired.

The rifle’s kickback was a punch to the shoulder, but the shot was a whisper thanks to the silencer. The crack of shattering glass and metal and the shouts of the two officers were not.

Selina fired again a heartbeat later, her careful planning and the scope’s night vision allowing the bullet to fly perfectly.

The glowing power source on its lower left side shattered before the bullet embedded in the brick wall of the stairwell entrance.

More shouts and cursing from the men, now whirling in her direction.

But Selina flicked the safety back on the rifle, shouldered the weapon, and prowled for the stairs, little more than a shadow against the night.

This time, someone would come looking.

Hopefully, they’d want to play.





Luke had been surprised to see Alfred’s name light up his cell at three a.m.

Mostly because they’d never once called each other, though Bruce had given Luke his butler’s number in case of emergency. The sort that involved Bruce either never coming home again or needing a discreet pickup. Thankfully, Luke had never had to make a call, but if Alfred was calling…

The call, like the man on the line, had been polite but firm.

“Hey, Alfred,” Luke said, instantly awake and sitting up in bed.

“Good evening, Mr. Fox,” came the dry British voice at the other end.

Luke set his feet on the cool wooden floor. “Is Bruce all right?” Better to get down to business. Alfred, at least, seemed just as disinclined to make small talk.

“Yes. His mission is going well.”

He knew the butler would say no more than that. Luke scanned the city skyline beyond his bedroom windows, struggling for the right response. “Glad to hear it.”

A lengthy pause. Luke winced a bit. But Alfred just said, “Commissioner Gordon sent a message through the usual channels to say that he needs to speak to one of the Bats flapping around this city.”