here.”
The assassin before her said, “You stand charged of theft and high treason. Do you deny this?”
“I do not.”
The assassin to the leader’s left tensed, as if yanking at the leash. The leader went on, “Return what you stole, what you have come here to sell to these godless fools, and the League will make your death swift.”
The threat was clear: if she did not…oh, this death would last a long, long time.
Selina laughed quietly. “And what did I steal, exactly?” Beyond time. She’d stolen that. Too much of it.
“You will not delay this with foolish questions,” the leader snapped, drawing a blade sheathed down her back, twin to the ones that had been removed from Selina’s own suit. “You know what you stole.”
Selina lifted a brow. “You can’t mean to tell me that Nyssa doesn’t remember her little formula?”
Silence.
Selina snorted. “Perhaps she should have paid attention to those scientists she kidnapped—and not had us execute them when they were done.”
Selina had snapped one of their necks amid the gunfire of the other assassins.
A moment after he’d whispered to her, begged her not to. Explained what Nyssa had made him work on in secret for ten years, never seeing sunlight, never seeing his family. Knowing that if he disobeyed, she’d kill them. So he’d worked beneath the compound. Had done her bidding.
He and the two other scientists had found a way for the compound’s Lazarus Pit to become self-regenerating. A formula to create one from scratch—and for the Pit to be used over and over again. The ability to grant immortality to the highest bidder. To bring back people from the dead.
The most valuable weapon on earth.
He had told Selina where the data was stored, his password. Begged her to help him get free. To keep Nyssa from unleashing this thing upon the world. Selling it to the worst of mankind.
Nyssa had entered the blood-splattered room a moment later, demanding to know why Selina hadn’t finished the job.
Selina had broken the scientist’s neck before Nyssa finished speaking.
And now, standing before the assassins who had trained her, tormented her, made her into this thing she’d become…Selina lifted her chin.
The leader snarled, “Give us the formula. Now.”
Selina smiled again. “It’s too late.”
The assassins began to advance, moving as one down the smoky cellblock hallway.
Selina went on, “Do you know that in the weeks I’ve been here, my crime spree has gleaned some very interested buyers? People willing to do anything not to die.”
The approaching assassins halted.
Not at her words, but at the figure emerging from the smoke behind her.
The person she’d been brokering that formula to. He’d made it up from the sublevel. And right on time.
The Joker let out a hoarse laugh, his white jumpsuit baggy on his slim form as he stepped up to Selina’s side and drawled, “Thank you for confirming the formula’s existence.” He sketched a mockery of a bow, the smoke obscuring his face, his body, as he said to Selina, “We have a bargain.”
Then he clicked his tongue.
Even the League assassins seemed to recoil in surprise as the Joker’s army of vicious criminals exploded from behind them and charged down the hall.
She had insisted Ivy bring Harley into their circle for this. All of it, every step—for this.
This moment, this gamble. This alliance with the Joker.
To have his army, her army now, fight for her when Nyssa’s legion came to claim her head.
If the League assassins were cold precision, the Joker’s people were scalding chaos. No rules, no lines.
In the madness, the Joker extended a slim hand to her. “The formula, if you will.”
His reedy, light voice made her skin crawl.
Selina inclined her head. “Give me an hour, and meet me at the Statue of Saint Nicholas.” Right before the city proper, if they followed the long road from the outskirts where Arkham lay, he would easily find the marble statue for the patron saint of repentant thieves.
She turned to go, but the Joker gripped her arm, his long, thin fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. “If you aren’t there”—a breathy laugh—“you can imagine what I’ll do to you and yours.”
She peered down at the hand holding her, then up into the pale, angular face just barely visible through the smoke. “Don’t ever touch me again,” she said.
The Joker’s dark eyes swirled with cruelty—and madness. “We’re going to have fun, you and I,” he promised.
The words skittered over her, raking talons along her spine. She shook off his arm. “Don’t be late.”
Down