It’s mine.” She hadn’t used that tone since those days in the East End. Enforcing Mika’s rule.
The stranger snorted; some of the flowers in her hair closed. As if they were alive, too. “Do you know that there’s a species of dung beetle that just waits for other beetles to create their reserves and then takes them? It happens all the time in the animal kingdom, actually. It’s called kleptoparasitism.”
Selina smiled, even though the stranger couldn’t see. “You’re Poison Ivy.”
With the living plants on her, there was no one else the stranger could be.
Selina had heard and read the rumors: mad scientist who specialized in plant-based weapons and toxins. That she had no allegiance to any criminal organization, had outright refused to be recruited, and only sought to save the planet. By whatever means necessary. The more outlandish stories claimed that Ivy had become plant-based herself.
Perhaps reality wasn’t so far from the myth.
The vines around Ivy’s wrist began writhing, as if they were small snakes, readying for a strike. “And you are?”
She’d dealt with posturing plenty, both in the Leopards and at the League. So Selina prowled across the parquet floor, aiming right for that painting. Getting a sense of whether the other woman would hold her ground, whether she’d cede direct access to the painting. “No concern to you.”
Selina got within three yards of Ivy before the young woman sidled a few feet away from the painting. And the reach of Selina’s bullwhip.
Still, Ivy lifted her chin and said tartly, “I’ll be taking that painting, thank you.”
Brave woman. Selina snickered, halting three feet from the painting. “To fund your save-the-rain-forest bullcrap.”
A low hiss—one that sounded like it came from something other than Ivy’s mouth. Selina’s helmet ran another scan and only the same generic readout: living organism. Ivy demanded, “You know how much money was at that gala tonight? For what? This museum? These dead, lifeless things?” Ivy gestured around them, vines shifting.
“So sad,” Selina clucked, knowing precisely what beast she was prodding. Or plant, she supposed. “Just awful.” She studied the fruit-bowl painting, hardwired to the wall. Exactly as it had been earlier. Separate from the alarm system. It’d start shrieking the moment she touched it. Selina sheathed her claws but kept the whip clenched in her left hand. She’d planned three escape routes, anticipating the guards’ layouts. But Ivy added another variable.
Selina asked without looking over at Ivy, “You buy that exterminator-at-the-ball getup at the Halloween store?”
Ivy chuckled, drawing Selina’s attention to her left. Ivy’s head bobbed as she surveyed Selina’s League battle-suit, the night-vision lenses, the receptors on her helmet. “Yeah, but now I wish I hadn’t passed up the sexy cat costume.”
The corners of Selina’s mouth twitched upward.
First rule of disorder: find some interesting company.
Ivy kept within range of the painting even as Selina stood directly before it. “You allied with any of the gangs or bosses?”
“I answer to no one.”
Ivy hummed in approval. “Why’d you come to Gotham?”
“Curiosity.”
“Doesn’t that sort of thing usually not end well for your kind?”
Selina huffed a laugh, the sound devoured by her mask. Not much time. Every second delayed was a risk, a potential disaster. Yet she said, “Things have been quiet—and the money is easy picking.”
Ivy yielded her spot to the left of the painting and approached Selina’s side to face the painting directly.
Selina unsheathed the claws on the hand she had tucked behind her, monitoring Ivy’s every breath. Ivy said, “You sound like a cyborg with that helmet.”
Selina bit her lip to keep from laughing again.
Ivy pointed with a green-wrapped finger to the painting. “Here’s the deal. We split it fifty-fifty.”
“Ninety-ten. Be grateful you get a million out of capitalizing on my hard work.”
Ivy shook her head, red hair catching in the moonlight, some of those blossoms opening once more. “Sixty-forty.”
“Eighty-five, fifteen, and stop wasting my time.”
Ivy opened her mouth. And then the shouting began.
Selina’s Death Mask offered an analysis of how long it’d take the museum guards to approach: one minute.
“I thought you disabled the alarms,” Ivy hissed, the vines along her hands now roving up her arms.
Selina scowled beneath the helmet, shifting her bullwhip to her right hand. “I did.”
Someone had been waiting, then. Anticipating this robbery. Her mouth dried out, though something like lightning shot through her veins.
“Seventy-five, twenty-five, and that’s it,” Selina said, tossing the whip over her shoulder and lunging for the painting. Alarms screamed as she hauled the small frame off the wall, yanking out a piece of