Previously in Wonder Woman…

Daughter. Princess. Warrior. When the amazon queen, Hippolyta, begged the goddesses of Olympus to breathe life into a body of clay, she never imagined that girl would grow into the champion of her people, known in the world of men as Wonder Woman!

During a battle with her mother’s murderer, Diana has a vision of a past lost to her; a vision realised by the Agency, and a doppelganger named ‘Donna Long’.

A TOUCH OF DEATH

Part II

By Miranda Sparks

FBI Field Office, Perez Plaza
Celestial City

A dossier can only say so much about a person.

Take Agent Donna Long – born Donna Hinckley, August 27, XXXX; daughter of Dorothy Hinckley, biological father unknown; orphaned age six after a building fire; spent the remainder of her formative years in foster care under Carl and Fay Stacey.

Six foot one, one-hundred and eighty nine pounds, IQ of one hundred and thirty three; able to run a quarter mile in under a minute, a whole mile in five; personal deadlifting record of three hundred and twenty pounds; qualified sharpshooter. 

Studied criminal science at UMass before transferring to Quantico and graduating with honors in 20XX; fluent in English, Spanish, Greek and French; currently receiving intelligence training as an FBI recruit, while also liaising with ‘The Agency’.

Married at age twenty-one to Terry Long, history professor at UMass, with whom she shares a daughter, Artemis. The couple remain together and are situated in Celestial City.

But what did the files say about the little girl in the back of her mind, unable to forgive herself for being powerless? Only that her misappropriated guilt wasn’t an obstacle for a psych evaluator in approving her for field work.

She marched down the hall, ubiquitous aside from her frame, eyes married to her destination. A summons from her superiors was nothing to sneeze at, and Agent Long was nothing if not punctual.

The department head ushered her through a door. Another of an endless string of meetings with suits with another agenda bleeding into hers; the infinite web. 

At the table, however, sat a figure who couldn’t contrast more from the bureaucrats; dressed in red and blue leather armor, adorned with gold and silver. Her smile was warm and inviting, as was given for a princess. She was like a figure from an animated fantasy Artemis so loved.

“Hello, Don-” The woman stopped herself. “Excuse me. Agent Long.”

“Wonder Woman,” she gasped.

In the flesh! In her building! There to see her, for reasons she couldn’t determine. Terry had joked that Donna resembled the hero from news stories and articles, but that they should meet was unthought of!

The amazon stood, bringing herself eye level with the agent. She closed the space between them so she could study her more closely. Donna tensed, but said nothing. She was in over her head, and then some.

Wonder Woman took her hand like an elder sister leading her home. “Sit with me. We’ve a lot to talk about. Would you prefer I call you ‘Agent Long’?”

On any other day she would have insisted on a professional title, but something about the amazon took her off guard. She fumbled her words, fought for breath, yet she knew the hero was of no harm. Normally she was so composed.

“Donna’s fine,” she said.

“Do I look familiar to you, Donna?” Diana asked.

The agent looked past her into the reflection on mirrored glass. Sure enough, save for their fashion, some additional development and the marks of age, the two were exactly alike. It was supposed to be a joke, but Terry was right. The basement opened at the pit of Donna’s stomach, but she collected herself. This was not the time to lose her cool.

“There’s… a resemblance,” she said.

Diana hummed. “More than that, Donna. I’d like to show you something, but he warned; it’ll come as a shock.” She reached for a nearby folder and slid it in front of the agent. 

“Is this a recruitment?” she asked. “I’d be proud to serve beside you, ma’am. After all you’ve done – Poison Ivy, Starro, the Montana incident…”

“I’m not here with a mission,” Diana said. “All I have are questions and the hope that you’ll help me answer them. Will you please help me?”

It was then that Wonder Woman produced the most powerful tool in her arsenal; able to dispel chaos with a touch. Some called it the ‘Thread of Gaea’, others the ‘Golden Perfect’ or the ‘Lasso of Truth’ – an incandescent rope against which no falsehood could stand.

Consciously, Donna had no reason to fear the thing. She was as honest as they came, only withholding information at the discretion of her work or privacy. So why did she balk in the face of it?

Diana folded the threads and pulled the bite taut. “May I?”

Like a woman reaching into an open fire Donna hesitated, but steeled her nerve. She was strong, both in body and spirit. Whatever surprises were in store, she could take it. Wonder Woman looped the perfect around her wrist, letting it hang loose. Its warmth ran between, swirled in their chests, united the two so their hearts beat in time. Their eyes locked, and under Diana’s crystal blue gaze Donna was naked – vulnerable, seen in ways few ever would, even by those dearest to her. Donna latched onto the perfect, daring herself not to look away. She was greater than the sum of her fears, and would prove it.

“I’m an open book,” she said with determination and dread. What could she possibly know that Wonder Woman of all people would go to these lengths?

Diana paused, summoning the courage to speak. “Your mother,” she said at last; “she died in a fire, yes?”

“My second mother,” Donna said. Her eyes became wide. Where did that answer come from? Her Mom, ‘Dottie’ to her friends, wasn’t the only parent she’d ever known, but she was the first; that was the truth as she knew it, and yet…

She clung to the rope in spite of herself. Its power flowed through Donna, slicing through her doubt. None of it made sense. Diana pulled closer and took her hand, wishing more than anything she could offer some comfort; but their journey was not yet over.

“What do you remember of your life before the fire?” she dared to ask.

“Not much,” Donna said. “I was so young. I…” Realization washed over her. “I… I was a princess… born into paradise…”

Why would she say such a thing? Donna was a New England girl, through and through. Yet her mouth would not let her deny these strange words that seeped from her, revealing things that couldn’t be real. She searched Diana for answers, for mercy, and saw between them a spectral figure; a woman of the ages, larger than them both, regal and timeless, draped in a purple gown and sat on a marble throne; a woman Donna had never laid eyes on – or was only remembering for the first time.

“Hippolyta…”

She jumped from the table, throwing the thread down. That name! But with every earth shattering beat of her heart she knew the truth. Her mother, and Diana’s mother…

Agent Long charged from the room, past her superiors, past security and to the stairs. The world was collapsing around her and she needed air.

Rachel was not at all well. It had been days since she last held down a meal; since she’d had the energy to pry herself from bed, or was able to reason through the fog in her brain. Her yellowing skin was slick with sweat, and no amount of scratching could ease the toxin devouring her flesh from within. Just as planned.

With more strength she thought herself capable, Rachel rolled from her sheets and pulled on some clothes. Nothing special – a flannel, tee and jeans that were strewn about the floor. ‘Clean’ was superfluous, given her state; she was anything but that, from skin to festering core. Her body was failing her, but had yet to fail completely. That required an audience; that was her mission, which would ultimately lead to the gathering…

The following journey lingered in flashes. Rachel didn’t recall booking a taxi, but no matter. The driver knew where to go, and seemed to have given up the pretense of conversation.

She arrived at her destination; the Highpoint Mega Mall. Did she pay the driver? Didn’t matter. She’d already stumbled inside with seconds to spare. Nothing could stop her now. Three levels of floors flooded the hazy kaleidoscope of her vision. There were voices, drowned and instinct, but carried the tone of ‘are you okay?’ Rachel ignored them and pushed for the heart of the pavilion.

Joints burned, muscles ached, and sweat poured off her like rushing waves. It steamed at a fever pitch, cooking her thoughts and her senses, evaporating awareness bit by bit. Too close to death for most people’s liking, but Rachel had faith – in God, in her comrades, and her own ability to survive; an ability bestowed by a father who loved her, who saw the future in her.

She collapsed and struck the marble floor. It was a pain that sharpened her before she lost consciousness; a reminder she was still alive.

They say the truth will set you free, despite the terror it inspires in equal measure. The innocent fear the truth the same as the guilty – Diana knew this; for while not all truths are cold and hard, it is rarely, if ever, forgiving. To be absolutely sworn to it requires a level of bravery few possess, for to always embrace it sometimes means to embrace heartbreak, disillusionment, and worse.

It took all the amazon had to restrain herself; to keep from chasing the agent into the parking lot, to embrace her, to comfort her as best she was able. Though it would be for her own sake, not Donna’s. It wouldn’t do to ease her conscience at the expense of a terrified woman. So she sat and nursed her own difficult truth – that she was not the woman she thought she was; that despite being ‘Diana’, dark forces had meddled with her development, and that of a sister she never knew.

Wonder Woman opened the report on the desk and thumbed through the contents. Her fingerprints, retinal scan, blood type and genetic markers were identical to Donna Long in every way. Steve made mention of a ‘clone’, but there was more to it than that. Neither woman was a copy of the other. The golden perfect twinged. Perhaps that was a truth even Diana wasn’t ready for.

A knock on the door shook her from her reverie. It was one of the analysts, looking distressed.

“Ms. Wonder Woman, ma’am? Colonel Trevor’s on the line. There’s a situation.”

When last Cassie wielded a sword she was in high school, where she was dressed in Elizabethan garb, biting her thumb in a production of Romeo and Juliet. That sword was made of wood, and it was clumsy, not at all like the heavy metal instrument that dragged her arms down. It was intended for a single hand, but Cassie needed both to keep it balanced.

She shrieked as Ettahcandei brought her weapon down, and nearly lost her own to the force of resistance. Steel scraped against steel, singing and hissing as though it too savoured the taste of battle. Cassie did not; nor did the rush of adrenaline give her a thrill – only panic.

“Keep your head on your shoulders, girl,” said the crone. “Act; don’t react. That’s the amazon way!”

Was that a threat of decapitation? Cassie tried not to think about it, and fumbled for her wits. She’d need every last shred if she was to survive. Even with her raggedy bones and empty eye sockets, Ettahcandei moved with the ease of a woman taking a summer stroll. Her dance of death was well-rehearsed, evenly paced, perhaps fun for a person on the blunt side of a blade.

Cassie backed away, struggling to follow the old woman’s movements with her own sword, but she was a shifty one. Always twisting and turning.

“I’m not an amazon!” she cried, before falling ass first into the grass.

Ettahcandei pursed her lips. “I can see that, but you will be soon enough.”

She offered the girl a wrinkled hand which was deceptively strong. With one pull she brought Cassie back to her feet.

“What does that even mean?” she asked.

Was Cassie destined to be a warrior; a hero like Wonder Woman? Sure, it was a nice daydream, but the reality was something else entirely. More monsters, more danger, more risk. The most Cassie’d ever risked was a bad grade.

The old woman cupped her cheek and hummed. “Child, you fret too much. Fate promises us nothing. I, however, promised you the gift of my teaching, didn’t I?”

Cassie balled her fists. A part of her wanted to resist the inevitable. Wasn’t that more reason to fight, so that she might reclaim her own sense of destiny? And yet there was an opportunity that few ever lived to experience.

“Teach me,” she said.

Ettahcandei smiled a giddy smile, as though the answer surprised her. Then again, it wasn’t everyday a young woman embraced an unplanned future. The crone shifted back toward her tent, collecting the other sword as she went.

“Lesson one,” she said. “Savor the fruits of life. Enjoy the moment! Take the time for your own pleasure.”

“Okay,” Cassie said. “And how do we do that?”

Ettahcandei reached into her tent, and from it pulled a neon rainbow hat with a pinwheel attached on top. On front it bore the logo of a Celestial City destination; ‘FANTASY FALLS AMUSEMENT PARK.’

Cassie raised her brow. Was the old woman serious? She had to be. There was no other way to read that grin.

For every perceived supernatural event there is a natural explanation. Donna Long clung to that notion like driftwood in the open ocean. Her alarm, she told herself, was a primal reflex, nothing more; and once she’d had the opportunity to settle, catch her breath, a cooler mind would make sense of things. And yet she had doubts.

She fumbled for her car keys, opened the door and threw herself in the driver’s seat. Despite being stationary, gripping the wheel offered a sense of control that evaded her a moment ago. She clasped it as though it were the only anchor to keep from flying into chaos. Her other anchor was just a button push away. Donna snatched her cell from out of her handbag, scrolled down the list of recent contacts, and selected the third name on the list. It rang.

“Drugs,” she told herself.  It was the easiest way for an interrogator to coerce a desired answer from a subject; easier even than squeezing the truth. Any number of psychotropics – tasteless, odorless; transmitted by touching a surface or slipped into her coffee – could influence her or her recollection.

But why would Wonder Woman do such a thing? Perhaps she wasn’t the hero everybody said she was. Perhaps there was truth to rumors of metahuman experiments at the hands of the government, and that ‘Paradise Island’ was a cover story. Of course it was too good to be true.

The phone clicked, and a man answered.

“Hi, hun. I’m in between lectures. Is everything alright?”

Ted Long, ‘Teddy’ in exclusive company. Her husband, her rock, her number one supporter, ten years since the pseudo-scandal of his courting a younger woman in Donna. They’d weathered it all, together, and not once had his eyes strayed. If he couldn’t be trusted, nobody could.

She fought for words, but they caught in her throat. All Donna could manage were chokes and sobs.

“Breathe for me, Donna,” Teddy told her. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here. Can you slow down for me? Just listen to my voice… nice and slow…”

A cool head in a crisis was always a blessing, and Teddy had it down to a tee. Nothing seemed to shake him – not loud noises, not the thousand little dramas that came with parenthood; not the night terrors that had his wife start awake in the middle of the night – terrors she’d had since she was a little girl. Teddy always took them in his stride, and for that Donna was glad.

Slowly but surely Donna wrangled her breathing, bringing her heartbeat down to a steady rhythm. Her chest ached. Tears of desperation rolled down her cheeks, but started to dry. She caught her reflection in the rear view mirror. God, she was a mess.

“Donna,” Teddy said in an even tamber. “Is everything alright?”

The woman shook her head, as though he could read her through the phone. She laughed with bitterness.

“You will not believe my day,” she said.

Over the course of millenia, native civilizations spanning the world have honed unique skills, giving them advantage in their surroundings. Some are finely tuned to their climate, and sense even the smallest shift; others are so in tune with the Earth’s magnetic field that they need no instruments to find north. For amazons, it’s the ability to taste magic – a skill honed over generations, and made necessary by the influence of ne’er-do-well-spirits. Too many amazons have met an ugly fate under charms and hexes; and those who employ or consort with the elements, though often venerated, also give cause for a woman to be wary.

Asteria was damn near nauseous from the stench. While it permeated the paradise of her former home, it proved an elusive thing in the world of men, and she had lost her tolerance.

She moved through the frost covered sidewalks of a city called ‘Anchorage’ and followed the magical trail. A sorceress was simple enough to track most days, but in the world of man she was like a fire in the night. Asteria found her leaving a coffee shop. Fiery red hair, just like in her vision; dressed in furs and smiling without a care, as though death weren’t nipping at her heels.

“Circe…”

The witch moved through the crowd, but her scent was strong. Asteria was never far behind. She needn’t have used her eyes to sense her movements. All that magic flew in her face in a sickly cloud. The trail turned from the street. Concealed inside a narrow alley, Asteria reached into her coat and unfurled the xiphon tucked under her arm. Her quarry was close, and so, she hoped, was the meaning behind her vision.

For a split second she caught sight of the redhead, and she looked back, almost knowingly. Were it not for the shadows, Asteria might have sworn she saw a wicked grin. Circe vanished around a corner, and Asteria sprinted to keep apace. She thirsted for blood – for honor, for vengeance. So lost was she in her hatred that she was unaware of the thickness in her veins.

Time slowed to a crawl, and Asteria’s body was out of sync with the world. Asteria flew at her from the alley, missed, and stumbled into the road. Like a monster from the abyss, a van set upon her, swatting her like a fly from the air. Though it was less than a second, she was aware of every ache to ripple through her body. A warrior did not fear pain, and sometimes even reveled in it; not so much, however, when it made them helpless.

Asteria tried in vain to rise from the asphalt. Her weapon was cast far from her reach. The gasps drowned under the ringing in her ears. She cursed herself. She was too eager!

Circe sauntered to her side and knelt down, humming like the cat who got the cream; and she spoke with words that didn’t use sounds, but echoed inside Asteria’s head.

‘And what will you do now that you’ve found me?’ she asked.

In amazon culture, a warrior must be more than her combat prowess. A true warrior, they say, is adept in all things; with a singular, disciplined focus that can be called upon as needed. This, and for no other reason, was the reason Diana cast Agent Long from her thoughts; not for a lack of caring, but due to the urgency of her immediate task. Compassion, like other emotions, can dull an individual’s wits, leaving one prone to danger. Best to place those feelings to one side. They would still be there on her return.

She sat in the back of a humvee, where Colonel Trevor briefed her on the situation at hand: two dozen civilians, men and women between the ages of eighteen to thirty, collapsed at various points in close succession. The official prognosis was ‘poisoning’, but there was more.

“The staff have never seen anything like it,” said the Colonel. “Whatever’s in their systems is more than some toxin. They’re ravenous, speaking in tongues.”

“Tongues?” Diana asked.

Steve frowned. “Gibberish, or that’s what they thought at first. One of the doctors recognised it as a language, something akin to what’s now known as ‘Koine Greek’.”

“The language of my ancestors.” This was a job for Wonder Woman, if nothing else to be a translator.

Colonel Trevor went on. “The popular theory is they’re all part of some kind of cult. Some think-” The Colonel tensed. He could no longer bring himself to look at Diana. “Could they be… amazons?”

Diana considered him. For all the military man’s skepticism, he must have been desperate to lean on mythology. She peered out the window, casting her assessment toward their destination.

“There are no men among the amazons,” she said. “This is something else.”

St. Cosmas Hospital

The ward stank of rot and dying. The sickly almond scent of gangrene caught in Diana’s nostrils. Neither she nor the Colonel were prepared for the landscape of bodies littered through the hall.

“Sweet Hera…”

If any god were present, they were not a god of love or justice, but of suffering in its most congealed form. Their collective breath was noxious to all who approached, even one such as Wonder Woman, whose compassion spurred her on.

Colonel Trevor pulled a handkerchief over his mouth. “Don’t get too close,” he warned. “They’re still assessing the situation. Doctor? Is there a damn doctor here!”

But the princess couldn’t help herself. She had to see to understand, lean close to hear their breathy rambling. Stilling the terror in her heart, she knelt beside a frail woman in a flannel shirt, and listened. Sure enough, the woman’s words fell within her understanding.

“From the blackest pits… death beyond death… stewing in the belly of man… even the titans fall… children of Cronos… food for worms…”

More ominous babbling there never was; but what did it mean? Diana inspected the woman further. She was blind and delirious. Where there should have been pupils and irises her eyes were sickly white, like storm clouds from above moving over her soul.

“This is no mortal affliction,” Diana muttered. “This is the work of sorcery – some of the darkest I’ve ever seen.”

She turned to her companion, whose trust and skepticism were suddenly at loggerheads. But her concern was earnest, and the list of rational explanations whittled away with each moment. He steeled his nerve. 

“It’s your call. What do we do, Diana?”

Wonder Woman jerked. Her arm sizzled in the vice grip of what should have been a debilitated patient. It took more than human strength to free herself. Prying those fingers away was like opening shackles fresh from a forge. She gazed into inhuman eyes. They were no longer a milky void, but churning pools of hatred. Whatever dread toxin ran through her veins, it existed for one purpose; one echoed by the dozens of bodies that crawled toward her.

“Ki-i-ill… youuuuu,” they rasped. “Ki-i-ill youuuuuu!”

NEXT ISSUE: Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor face ghouls, Asteria faces Circe, Donna Long faces the truth, while Cassandra and Ettahcandei have the time of their lives. All this and more as “A Touch of Death” continues…