Cold-Blooded: A DC Universe Fanfiction (#Wattys2015)

Chapter 9: Yukie, Nora: Damage Control

Yukie turned her phone back on as she left the hotel. One e-mail, two texts, the first from a stranger, the second two from Dr. Fries. Skipping the e-mail for the moment, she checked the two from her employer. The first of those apologized for disturbing her in her off hours, but he required her assistance at Nora's clinic rather urgently. The second reminded her of his villain days—he demanded to know where she was and ordered her to meet him at the clinic immediately. A third message arrived even as she read the second—he first apologized for the tone of the last message, there was no medical emergency, yet he would still appreciate her help.

She hailed a taxi and gave the clinic address, then fired off a reassuring text that she was on her way. With that out of the way, she looked at the stranger's email. It was from (of all people) Ra's Al Ghul, or at least it was sent in his name. There was no point in wondering how he got her address, as people on his level of power could access anything they pleased.

It was only one sentence, 'Is it not familiar?', but there was an image attached, a copy of a woodblock print from the Edo period, when Japan cut itself off from the outside world for more than two hundred and fifty years. Woodblock prints were not high art at the time; they were much like posters or comic books of the current day: cheap, mass produced examples of popular culture.

This one was part of a series, '36 Contemporary Beauties From The Pleasure Quarter'—portraits of the reigning courtesans in that era's red-light district. This was 'Miss Carnation'—the accompanying poem read 'This flower wilts sadly in the heat—the stem that fills her slender vase must have enough dew to refresh her. How she enjoys it!'. A pretty, ephemeral bit of verse—unless you knew that stem was a euphemism for penis, vase meant vagina, and dew meant seminal fluid.

However, Ra's had not sent it to her for the sake of the poetry. 'Miss Carnation' was shown lounging on cushions in her boudoir, a black iron incense burner in the shape of a rattan ball at her feet sending tendrils of smoke through the air to caress her. She was wearing a black furisode with a pattern of falling snow in shades of grey and white, with a scarlet obi in a basketweave pattern. Identical, or nearly so, to the garb Yukie had worn to the Jian Wu competition.

Why was one of the most formidable individuals in the world bothering with her, especially since it had been more than two years since they met? Bedmate aside, she was still very much a nobody.

Why this particular interest in what she had worn? The designs were hardly unique.

Which of her secrets did he know, or had he simply been teasing her? Even if he had somehow secured a copy of her grandmother's final letter to her, only she knew how to read the secret message. Was she the only one, though? Her grandmother must have picked up the idea from somewhere.

Was it perhaps something she did not even know herself? That was always a possibility.

She considered several possible replies to his e-mail before sending, 'How charming of you to remember me! Yes, 'Miss Carnation's' ensemble is very like the one I inherited from my grandmother. How exciting it would be to have a connection to such an alluring figure from the past, but the falling snow motif and the obi pattern are still popular today, or they are popular again, I should say. I thank you for calling this to my attention, and I will see about getting a copy. Sincerely, Yukime Kuwano.'

There. That was done. Polite, pleasant, noncommittal, and respectful. Also, considering what to say and how to phrase it had filled the ride to the clinic quite nicely. She found Dr. Fries and one of the clinic doctors in the observation room. The doctor's body language was stiff and defensive, Victor's hunched and despairing.

On realizing she had entered, her employer looked up with an expression of relief. "Thank God. You're finally here."

"What's wrong?" she asked, placing her overnight bag beside the sofa discreetly.