Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3)(77)

“At three-fifteen in the morning?” But Ivy beckoned her in, glancing around the dripping dark of the old train tunnel.

Selina surveyed the space again, noting the desk against one wall, full of piles of those little circus-ball bombs. Some were only half formed, left in pieces beneath a magnifying glass and light. On the desk chair, Harley’s bandolier of throwing knives draped to the floor.

“She’s certainly got the madcap villain’s lair down,” Selina observed.

“She views this as the ultimate form of self-expression.” Ivy waved a hand toward a vine-covered table shoved against a poster of a lion tamer. The table was covered in papers, books, and—plants. “That’s the only self-expression I’m allowed to have here,” she said, chuckling. “The only place Harley isn’t allowed to ‘decorate.’?”

The plants shimmered and writhed under the sunlamps humming above them. “Your pets?”

“My friends,” Ivy said, padding over to the table and smiling at the seven potted plants. “Elizabeth, Emma, Fanny, Catherine, Anne, Marianne, and Elinor.”

Selina’s brows crossed beneath her helmet. “You named them after Austen heroines?”

Ivy beamed as bright as the twinkling lights strung overhead. “You’re my new favorite person. No one ever gets the reference—even Harley asked me what the hell I was talking about.”

Selina slid the lenses of her helmet up as she studied the seven plants. “I’m more of a Bront? girl.”

Ivy waved a hand. “Ugh, Mr. Rochester is gross. Darcy all the way.”

Selina grinned, nodding her concession. “Why are you up, anyway?”

Ivy pointed to the laptop half buried among the papers and books on the table. “Working.”

“Where’s Harley?” No sign of her in this underground circus.

Ivy slid into the swivel chair in front of the table and twirled around. “Don’t know. She left a few hours ago in a hurry. Hasn’t come back since.” Worry darkened her eyes. “But she does that a lot. I try not to pry.”

It seemed like Ivy never wanted to pry, to push Harley. Silence fell, and Ivy stared up at her. Waiting.

Selina blew out a breath. “I may or may not have made out with someone I shouldn’t have.”

Ivy grinned rather wickedly. “Oh, do tell.” Selina knew the woman was well aware of who it had been.

Selina paced across the worn, star-flecked blue carpet, past the three large mallets leaning against the red velvet fainting couch. “It just…happened. I don’t know.”

“Was it good?”

Selina sighed at the vaulted stone ceiling. “Yes. God, yes.”

Ivy scanned her from head to toe. “So you came here to tell me all the steamy details?”

“I came here…I don’t even know.” She glanced toward the metal door. “I should let you work.” She grimaced, desperate for any way out of this. “What are you working on, anyway?”

“Refining the formula for that regenerative salve I used the other night. And don’t try to change the subject.”

But Selina asked, “That formula—are you going to sell it?”

Ivy waved a hand. “It would require so many stupid hoops with FDA approval that there’s no way I could really sell it. Especially with who I am.”

“You could have a third party represent you—stay hidden.”

“And have them get all the credit? No.”

“So you’ll make this miraculous thing and not share it?”

Ivy frowned, propping her bare feet up on the table. One of the plants—Emma?—reached out a green tendril and tickled her. Ivy laughed, toes curling. But the smile faded again as she said, “I started down this road. I have to face the consequences.”

“You can change lanes—change the direction. There are…there are a lot of people who could really use that salve. You should find a way to share it with them.”

“I know,” Ivy said, lowering her feet to the blue carpet. “I think it could be particularly successful with burn victims. At least, it’s worked on me.”

Selina raised a brow, scanning Ivy’s expanse of smooth skin.

Ivy winced. “I may or may not have experimented on myself—”

“You burned yourself?”

Ivy waved a hand. “Just a little one.”

“Jesus,” Selina said. “You need to get into a real lab.”

Ivy stiffened. “I did have a real lab. Until it was blown up.”

“I mean with people. Other scientists to help you.”

“You get a ‘real’ job, and I’ll get one, too.”

Selina smiled. “Fair enough.”

Ivy gave her a sly look. “You still haven’t told me about your make-out.”

Selina glanced to the metal door behind her and started slinking toward it.

“Don’t you even dare leave without telling me the details,” Ivy said. She marched across the room, dodging everything from discarded fishnets to pink wigs to a cymbal-playing monkey toy. Plopping onto the red fainting couch before an old TV, she patted the worn velvet beside her. “Time for some girl talk.”

“I don’t know how to do girl talk,” Selina admitted, approaching the couch.