“L. Jack Baum was just the first,” Commissioner Gordon said.

“Sure an’ he was,” Chief O’Hara agreed, “and he’s still unconscious. Every independent Christmas tree seller in Gotham City has had their entire inventory stolen. A couple of them who were assaulted seem too embarrassed to give us any details. We’ve had dozens of requests for extra police protection. I don’t have the manpower with events like the Gotham City Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony needing extra security.”

“They’re using a live tree this year, aren’t they?”

“Yes, it was in the paper.”

“Hmm. I have plans to attend this evening’s ceremony with Barbara.” Gordon leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “Well, getting back to these incidents, the initial reports made them seem like mere petty crimes.”

“There was that strange phone call right after Baum was attacked,” O’Hara pointed out.

“Yes. At the time, I had assumed it was just a crank, but now . . . .” The Commissioner paused, deep in thought, until he became aware of his subordinate’s inquiring glance. “Ordinarily, I’d expect your fine police department to bring the culprits to justice, but these crimes have devastated Christmas tree merchants across the city! This seems like the first ripple of another holiday crime wave.”

“You don’t mean,” Chief O’Hara asked hesitantly, “the Joker?”

“No, Chief,” Commissioner Gordon responded. “The Joker is still in jail. It seems his holiday crime sprees have inspired other criminals in Gotham City’s vast, murky underworld.”

“Do you think they’re trying to ruin Christmas, sir?” Chief O’Hara asked.

“For hundreds of Gothamites, perhaps thousands, the holidays are already tainted. There may be only one man who can save the season."

“Santa Claus, sir?” Chief O’Hara asked. O’Hara and Gordon had met the legendary elf at the North Pole when they once helped the Terrific Trio capture the Joker and Catwoman.

“Batman!”

“Begorra! He can do it!”

“I really hate to ask our friends behind the masks to aide us at this time of year, but I fear we’ve got no choice.” As the Commissioner spoke, he stood, crossed his office and lifted the cover from the Batphone.

Seconds later, Alfred, Bruce Wayne’s faithful butler, answered the summons. “I’ll attract his attention, sir,” He made his way to the kitchen where Mr. Wayne and his vacationing, college-age former ward, Dick Grayson were finishing preparations for the last batch of Christmas cookies with Dick’s Aunt Harriet Cooper. “You have a phone call in the study, sir.”

“We’re wrapping up at a good time, Aunt Harriet,” Bruce Wayne said. “This could be about some arrangements I’ve been trying to make. Come on, Dick. I may need your help.”

“Okay, Bruce. We’ll see you later, Aunt Harriet. Duty calls.” Both men pecked her on the cheeks and left the room hurriedly.

“Both of you remember to be ready to attend the tree lighting ceremony later tonight,” she called after them.

“Don’t worry, Aunt Harriet,” Dick said. “We wouldn’t miss it.”

“Attending that ceremony is our civic responsibility,” Bruce agreed.

“Mercy alive, Alfred,” Harriet Cooper commented. “They’re more active at this time of year than usual, and I can’t hope to keep up with them.”

“Indeed, madam,” Alfred said, slipping the tray of cookies into the oven.

Bruce and Dick, as they have done many times before, trotted into the study where Bruce Wayne snatched the red phone. “Yes, Commissioner?”

“I fear our fair city may soon be swept by another wave of holiday-related crime, Batman.”

“Robin and I will be at Headquarters presently to help you clean it up.”

“Thank you, Caped Crusader. I’ll see you soon.”

Bruce replaced the red phone in its cradle. As he often did, the multimillionaire thought of his murdered parents as he reached for a bust of Shakespeare beside the phone on his desk. He tipped back the head and toggled a hidden switch, activating the retracting bookshelf that faced the phone. “To the Batpoles,” he directed, leading the way.

He and Robin were about to continue their never-ending quest to rid Gotham City of its murderous scum. Supervillains employed thugs or associated themselves with skilled specialists who aspired to supervillainhood themselves. Once these dire dreams were realized, the cancerous, self perpetuating cycle of crime would perpetuate itself again.

Batman understood his parents’ murder had begun a much needed intervention. His crime fighting constituted surgical strikes at the cancer and his mentoring of Robin and Batgirl had become an inspiration for other healers. Killing the cancer was perhaps too great a hope, but he and his colleagues would go on doing what they could.

Bruce and Dick wrapped themselves around the narrow, brass poles, which had replaced the labeled, painted poles the Joker had accidently discovered seven years earlier. On that occasion, Alfred had slid him mercilessly up and down one pole until the police had arrived to take the Clown Prince of Crime into custody, thus keeping stately Wayne Manor’s other secrets. Subsequently, the signs and the occasional need to paint the poles had been judged enough of an inconvenience and security risk to warrant the installation of the brass poles.

The Dynamic Duo slid toward the Batcave while the bookshelf returned to its accustomed place. They dashed across the Batcave and leaped into the Batmobile.

“Atomic batteries to power,” Robin reported. “Turbines to speed.”

“Roger,” Batman acknowledged. “Ready to move out.”

The Batmobile shot from the cave and the Dynamic Duo began their fourteen-mile journey to Gotham City. A curtain of snowflakes fell from the sky.

The Christmas Crime Infection

Batman’s fabulous vehicle pulled to a stop in front of Police Headquarters. The Dark Knight and Robin made their way up the steps and into the elevator. They were whisked to the Commissioner’s floor and Bonnie, the official’s secretary, waved them through the office’s double doors. Dispensing with pleasantries quickly, the quartet of crime fighters considered the case.

“Are there any features of the case that strike you as important, Batman? “ Commissioner Gordon asked.

“You said three of the tree sellers were beaten badly enough to be put in the hospital?”

“Yes, that’s right, Batman.”

“Did anyone else witness the crimes?” Robin asked.

“Sandra Claussen was the last victim,” Chief O’Hara said. “Apparently, the thieves tied her up and left her shivering in the snow, but she was treated much more gently than the other victims. Unfortunately, we’re having a hard time finding someone who speaks Finnish so we can get her statement.”

“Were any of the other victims women?” Batman asked.

“Sure an’ they weren’t, Caped Crusader.”

“Holy Equal Opportunity! That fact could be significant.”

“A crook with manners? The Minstrel?” Batman pondered out loud. “Or perhaps a feminist? Nora Clavicle?” Batman reached a decision. “A session with the Batcomputer may help narrow the field of suspects from our many foes, Robin. We’d better hurry. There may not be a moment to lose!”

Before they could leave, however, Barbara Gordon entered. “Ready, Daddy?” she said. “I hope you aren’t working too late.” Then she noticed the others. “Oh, good evening, Chief O’Hara. It’s nice to see you again . . . and, of course, Batman and Robin.” In her civilian identity, Barbara allowed herself to be more in awe of Batman than Batgirl ever would be. She curtseyed and the men bowed slightly to her. “I hope work won’t keep you from the ceremony?”

“I need to check in with Lieutenant Mooney, who’s in charge of security,” Chief O’Hara said. “Please excuse me.”

“Robin and I must race to the Batcave and get cracking on this case. We are still unsure with whom we are dealing. Any clue we can uncover could be crucial!”

“Right,” Robin agreed, slamming a gloved fist into his other palm. “We might discover a pattern by mapping the locations of the attacks.”

“With you two on the job, I can enjoy my evening and citizens can live their lives free from the fear of criminals,” Commissioner Gordon said.

“Have a good evening, Ms. Gordon,” Robin said, as he and Batman took their leave.

“Well, pumpkin, I wouldn’t miss this ceremony,” the Commissioner said with a smile, “since I have the chance to watch it with you.”

“Great! The ceremony will really put me into the Christmas spirit. We’ll just have time to grab a quick bite before it starts.”

“Let’s go.” They left Police Headquarters, arm in arm.

As the Gordons and Bruce Wayne’s party prepared to attend the Gotham City Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony, four avaricious attendees made perfidious preparations below the dais on which the tree was displayed.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have hit our first victim so hard,” Betsy mused as they worked. “Nobody seems to have figured out what our agenda is.”

“They will after tonight,” Poison Ivy pointed out.

“The gas is ready,” Nancy reported.

“Good,” Ivy said, watching with a smile as a remote control she held turned a line of large fans on and off as well as the time-release mechanism on each of several tanks lined up neatly behind her and in front of the fans. “Time to take the antidote pills.” Veronica and Betsy joined Nancy and their boss, swallowing the tablets the redheaded ringleader distributed. “Let’s go over the rest.”

“First, the public passes across the dais and makes their donations,” Veronica said. “We’ll let them do that.”

“When the mayor starts speaking again, we release the gas, hook the chain running from our truck to the tree and free the tree from its bondage,” Betsy said.

“Right,” Nancy said with a laugh, “literally stealing the show in the process.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Poison Ivy said. “We’ll withdraw from our position for a time. See that the coast is clear, Nancy.”

“The cop in charge of security is coming this way. We can take her out, if you want.”

“Her?”

“Yes. I can tell the difference, you know.”

Poison Ivy shot her blonde-headed henchwoman a dirty look. “Get out of sight,” the Redhead Reprobate commanded. “Unless she comes in here and finds us, leave her alone.” Silently, the curvaceous conspirators concealed themselves.

Seconds later, a flashlight shined around underneath the dais. The beam came to rest on one of the gas canisters without discovering the fans associated with them. The concealed criminals shrank deeper into the shadows.

“Lieutenant, the Chief is here,” an officer called.

“All right,” Lieutenant Mooney called back. “I’m coming.”

“Let’s get out of here, before she sends someone else to investigate our preparations.” Poison Ivy said.

“What will happen if anyone looks too closely at everything down here and finds the canisters and fans?” Nancy asked.

“The gas will probably knock them unconscious. If not, you and Betsy can beat them senseless before they can report to anyone. I don’t think that Lieutenant looked down here before, so she has no reason to suspect our gas canisters don’t belong.”

“You’re sure about that, Ivy?”

“Positive! Now, let’s go.”

Later, Mayor Linseed stood at the microphone on the dais and addressed the assembled crowd. “Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the man who will lead us in holiday giving. Remember, folks, your generosity benefits all of Gotham City. Now, you didn’t come here to hear a speech. So, let me introduce the philanthropist who leads the generous Wayne Foundation. I give you Gotham City’s own . . . Mr. Bruce Wayne!”

“Thank you, Mayor Linseed. Those of us who have the most must give the most. It gives me great pleasure to present, on behalf of the Wayne Foundation, a check for one million dollars. Mr. Dick Grayson will now present my check for your inspection. Dick.” The crowd cheered as Dick Grayson carried a check the size of a poster onstage and slid it into a clear sleeve above an empty container. “Now, my friends,” Bruce Wayne began, “it’s your turn.”

Slowly, Gotham City’s citizenry filed across the stage, adding checks and currency to the container Bruce Wayne had indicated. As the container filled, Bruce and Dick withdrew from the stage. The mayor returned to the microphone and coughed. “Thank you . . . again, Gotham City,” he said . . . and fell to the stage where he lay scratching himself vigorously!

Before help could reach him, a shapely redhead wearing knee high boots and a green trench coat moved to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me assure you the Mayor will recover from the gas to which he has been exposed. My name is Poison Ivy, and I have come to expose the cruelty our society exhibits every year at this time.”

“What are you talking about?” someone from the crowd demanded.

“Every year,” Poison Ivy responded, “entrepreneurs and families trample the nation’s coniferous forests, scrutinizing the trees. When each finds one to their liking, they take steps to take it home. Do they dig it up, roots and all, to plant it in the yard and admire for years to come? No! They pull out axes and saws and attack the very tree they’ve selected for its beauty.” Ivy paused to wipe a tear from her eye. She was obviously genuinely struggling to stay in control of her emotions. “They chop and cut at the trunk until the tree is severed and torn away from its roots forever. To put it simply: they murder the tree! For the tree, death is only the first indignity. Families tie the tree to their cars and carry it home. Then, without ceremony, they drag it into their living rooms and clamp it into a stand. As the life-giving sap begins to drain away, they burden its dead branches with lights and other decorations. This tree then remains clamped in place for the greater part of a month and then, afterwards, when the murderers have finished enjoying their victim’s diminishing beauty, the tree is simply thrown away!” Poison Ivy gestured to dramatize her point. “People either have the deadwood hauled away with their garbage, or burn it in the fireplace after cutting it into small pieces.”

Poison Ivy’s expressions had been of sadness and lament. Now her face changed, becoming a mask of anger . . . and hate. “The worst part is, society traditionally rewards the children of families who engage in these cruel practices with toys and other gifts. It’s bribery! These facts lead to one inescapable conclusion: The pine, the spruce, and the Douglas fir are the annual victims of contract murder!”

Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson had been watching the ceremony from a position near the front of the crowd. Mrs. Cooper and Alfred had been separated from them since the multimillionaire and his companion were participants in the ceremony. Bruce and Dick looked at one another without a word and made their way to the limousine in which they had arrived. They entered the car, and the heroic Dynamic Duo emerged moments later. The crowd remained focused on the shapely speaker.

Meanwhile, Commissioner Gordon faced his daughter and put his hands on her shoulders. “It looks like I’m going to have to go to work.”

“I understand, Daddy.”

“Could I please talk you into heading home? This could get ugly.”

“Of course, Daddy. I don’t want your worrying about me when you have to deal with Poison Ivy.”

“Thank you. I’ll call you later.”

“Daddy, don’t bother. I’ll probably go to bed early or maybe curl up with a good book.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Go get her!” Barbara encouraged and gave him a peck on the cheek before turning away.

Barbara hurried to her nearby apartment and underwent her tantalizing transformation. Then, mounted on her Batgirlcycle, Batgirl began racing back to the Gotham City Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony at the top legal speed.

On the stage, Poison Ivy was finishing her address. “Therefore, we will not stand idly by while these majestic trees are abused. Accordingly, we will remove this tree from its cruel captivity and use your generous donations to further my research, which one day will allow the pines murdered at this time of year to live again.” Ivy took a deep breath. She had finished her manifesto. Now her manner became sly and cunning. “Many of you will disagree with this cause. So, a number of large fans behind me began to push a cloud of the gas that incapacitated this windbag toward all of you moments ago!” The roguish redhead indicated the fallen Mayor and laughed. “The plant kingdom will rise to its own defense, but the time for the first massacre has not yet come.” As if on cue, most of the crowd slumped to the ground and began to scratch themselves vigorously.

Suddenly, Batman and Robin swung onto the stage from opposite sides flanking the sinister speaker. They slid filters over their noses and mouths to keep Poison Ivy’s ghastly gas from preventing them barring her escape.

“It’s time to send you back to prison, Poison Ivy.” Batman said.

“Where you belong,” Robin chimed in.

“Warden Crichton disagreed with that assessment, Boy Wonder.”

“What do you mean?”

“He granted me early release for good behavior, even after Max Chessman’s accusation that I provided the poison with which my soul sister, Playgirl, tried to kill him. I was a saint compared to the inmates who tried to kidnap Batgirl, commit murder or escape.”

Poison Ivy swung to face the Caped Crusader. “I want to thank you for sending me to jail, Batman. Before my incarceration, I was a spoiled little rich girl, nothing more than a thrill-seeker. During my time in prison, however, I had an epiphany. I came to realize two great truths. First, the plant world represents all that is pure and good in the world. Second, men are responsible for all that is foul and evil!”

“Concern about the environment is commendable,” Batman admitted, “but this is hardly the right way to go about expressing it.”

“Oh, Batman, I’ve been itching to face you again. Not only can I put my ideology into action, but I also want revenge . . . against you! You humiliated me. You strung me along by taking me out on dates, then my friends and I had to be fished out of that quicksand pit by the police an hour after you left us!”

“You poor, deluded female. You were perfectly safe.”

“That is hardly the point!” Poison Ivy shouted. Then she calmed herself. “Never mind.” Her manner transformed and she laughed. Veronica, Nancy and Betsy had crept behind Batman and Robin, carrying their cudgels.

“Look out behind you, Batman!” Commissioner Gordon called weakly. He was leading Chief O’Hara, Lieutenant Mooney, and a squad of police toward the stage.

Poison Ivy ignored them and went on. “You gentlemen are far too chivalrous to really fight with women. You’ll defend yourselves, of course, but I know your defense will be nothing like a good offense and that you‘ll both be beaten well in to submission long before I’ve finished with you. Girls, thrash them!”

The tiptoeing trio swung their weapons as Poison Ivy backed from the battle zone. As the fight began, the Caped Crusader’s uniformed reinforcements fell, overcome by the gas.

Batman timed his defense precisely. He jumped over the cudgel aimed at his legs. The Dark Knight caught the cudgel aimed at his head in one hand and used his free hand to swing the weapon in the direction it was already moving. Veronica, who had wielded the weapon, was carried toward the edge of the stage and felt her hands torn from the weapon as she knocked over the microphone and fell off the edge of the platform.

Robin was not so fortunate. Betsy, his attacker, was the most proficient of Ivy’s team with the weapon. He, too, jumped over the initial strike aimed at his legs, but in one motion the white haired girl redirected her attack to his head. Robin blocked the blow, but his arm went numb instantly.

Robin’s bruised arm was useless for all practical purposes. With his good hand, he caught the next attack aimed at his head and pulled. Betsy felt herself yanked off balance and pushed at her weapon, letting its momentum rob Robin of his footing. Falling, she maneuvered the cudgel across the young crimefighter’s throat and managed to land on top of him when he fell. By the time Robin recovered, Betsy was pressing the graphite beam against his trachea.

Nearby, Batman, now armed, blocked the attack from his second opponent. The Caped Crusader and Nancy circled one another, spinning their weapons and probing one another’s defenses. Periodically, Nancy bashed away at him and had her blows expertly blocked. Veronica returned to her feet and spotted the fallen microphone stand. She picked it up, then climbed onto the stage and swung her weapon at Batman’s legs. Nancy saw her coming and maneuvered her opponent off balance with a high strike. Batman fell to the dais. By the time Batman recovered, Nancy was pressing her cudgel viciously against his throat. Veronica tossed her makeshift weapon from the dais and tried to wrench her cudgel from Batman’s hands.

Robin, meanwhile, was also trying to hold the cudgel away from his throat. Betsy pushed against him with her full weight. She didn’t weigh much, but had spent a great deal of her time in prison working out. Robin didn’t know how long he could hold her off with one arm.

As her henchwomen dealt with the Dynamic Duo, Poison Ivy checked the lashings holding the tree and box of money to her getaway vehicle. Then she quickly went about making other preparations.

The sound of an engine was getting louder as Poison Ivy returned to the dais carrying a canister and dragging a hose. She set these down, then gingerly plucked the filters from Batman and Robin’s faces.

“Poison Ivy, I presume,” Batgirl said, pulling her Batgirlcycle to a stop before the stage.

“Well, what do we have here? The female of the species.” The Botanical Baddie put her hands on her hips and regarded the new arrival. “You’re Batgirl.”

“That’s right. I’ve come to place you under arrest.”

“I have no quarrel with you, Batgirl. Leave now and keep it that way.”

Batgirl noticed the Dynamic Duo were in dire straights. “That’s not going to happen. Release Batman and Robin at once!”

“What for? They’re so useless, and becoming more so with each passing second. Girl power has won here.” Poison Ivy’s henchwomen renewed their murderous thrust against Batman and Robin with new enthusiasm.

“The psychological reports I’ve read about you are true: You’re obsessed with plants and have no use for men whatsoever.”

“I’m guilty on both counts, Batgirl, although I’m afraid I do have plans for Batman and Robin.”

“You will let them go! Do it NOW!”

Poison Ivy threw her head back and laughed. Batgirl engaged the kick-starter on her Batgirlcycle. “What?” the voluptuous villainess asked. “Let Batman and Robin live? I don’t think so. Girls, apply the chemical in the tanks to them!”

The Batgirlcycle and its ravishing rider covered the remaining distance between Batgirl and Poison Ivy’s positions. Poison Ivy’s three evil employees ceased the pressure on Batman and Robin’s windpipes. Veronica collected the cudgels while Betsy and Nancy armed themselves with wands extending from the canister their boss had brought out. Poison Ivy herself aimed her hose at Batgirl as the heroine hurtled toward her. “NOW!” the curvy crook cried.

The force of the water jet that fired over Batgirl’s windshield from the hose at Poison Ivy’s elevated postion tore the Purple-clad Paragon from the seat of her vehicle and sent her to the ground with a smack. She lay, wracked with pain, as Betsy and Nancy emptied their canisters on the Dynamic Duo.

“What have you done?!” Batgirl asked.

“To you, nothing much,” Poison Ivy said. “I’d get inside if I were you. The water saturating your costume will give you quite a nasty chill. I’d hate for you to catch your death of cold.” Poison Ivy paused to laugh. “Batman and Robin are another matter. They have been doused with a liquid, concentrated form of the chemical I used to incapacitate this crowd. Unless you find the antidote to my chemical in time, they’ll try to scratch every scrap of flesh and muscle from their bones. Until then, they’ll be weak and helpless. The crowd will also itch, but will be able to wash the chemical away without difficulty. Goodbye, sister. I’ll be in touch.” Poison Ivy continued laughing as she turned to lead her helpers away.

Batgirl started to stand and felt her body protest. She collapsed again as Poison Ivy and her malfeasant minions left the dais. Moments later, the crooks, their loot, and the tree, were gone.

Shivering induced pain, which enveloped Batgirl’s body and kept her conscious, as she lay drenched in the puddle formed by Poison Ivy’s hose. Just over a week ago, Shame had dumped her into a well and left her to drown. She had survived the chilling fate the Conniving Cowboy of Crime had planned for her and taken good enough care of herself to keep Barbara Gordon from becoming ill. As she gritted her teeth and stood, she realized her record for good health was likely about to come to an end.. A sneeze reinforced her fears along with the crunch of ice beneath her feet as she moved from the freezing puddle. Batgirl wanted to dry herself and soak in a hot bath, but Batman and Robin needed her attention first. Her teeth chattered as she climbed atop the stage and bent over their still, prone bodies.

“Batgirl?” Batman whispered.

“Stay still, Batman. Poison Ivy has attacked you with a chemical. I’m giving you and Robin a Universal Bat-Antidote Pill and a sedative.”

“Chemical . . . on our Bat-filters . . . can be analyzed.”

“Good thinking, Batman. I’ll put them in evidence bags after I attend to Robin.” The sedative had taken effect before Batman could respond.

“Feel . . . weak, Batgirl,” Robin said as she bent over him.

“It’s Poison Ivy’s brand of chemical warfare. Doctors and I will do whatever we can to combat it.”

“Thank . . . you. What about . . . Batman?”

“He’ll be fine.” The sedative prevented further conversation.

Batgirl sealed the filters, which she handled with tweezers, in separate evidence bags. A note she taped to them described the attack on Batman and Robin as well as the measures she had taken to treat them.

A cold gust of wind made Batgirl shiver as she slid from the dais to the ground and the partial shelter the shadow of the stage offered. She looked with sympathy at the scratching crowd and located the Batgirlcycle. It was soaked.

“Time to get warm,” Batgirl said. She sneezed as she moved toward her fallen motorcycle, and her teeth chattered during the short, torturously frigid ride to Barbara Gordon’s apartment. The steamy bath Barbara sank into ten minutes after her return home was a welcome contrast and an extraordinary relief.

The next morning, Barbara ate a huge bowel of chicken soup for breakfast and went to work. Just before her lunch hour, the vibration her Personal Digital Assistant made against her hip told her Batgirl had received an e-mail. She locked herself in her office and accessed the message, which summoned her to Police Headquarters.

Her quick tantalizing transformation, meeting, return to the library and reverse transformation spanned her lunch hour . . . .

“What Poison Ivy has done to Batman and Robin is outrageous!” Commissioner Gordon raged. He emphasized his feeling by slamming his hands to his desktop. “Now, she has the gall to send flowers and a note!”

“May I see the bouquet, Commissioner?” Batgirl asked gently.

Commissioner Gordon took a deep breath and reached for his intercom. “Bonnie, please bring in the flowers.” He calmed visibly. “I have to thank you for sedating the Dynamic Duo. When they are conscious, they cannot resist scratching themselves. Restraining them has reduced them to a near catatonic state. The doctors are analyzing the sample of the drug their titian-haired torturer used, but it’s breaking down.”

“Do you mean the poison is biodegradable?”

“Part of it is. It seems to react with something in the body to bring about its effect.”

“Is everyone else all right?”

“Thankfully, yes.”

Bonnie brought in the bouquet. Lavender lilacs surrounded a group of yellow carnations, which had been arranged in a vaguely bat-like pattern. Batgirl blew her nose and examined them, spotting the envelope with her name on it nestled among the stems. She plucked the envelope from its place and opened it. The note was typed.

BATGIRL,

IF YOU WANT TO KEEP THE DYNAMIC DUO FROM SCRATCHING THEMSELVES OUT OF EXISTENCE, COME SEE ME AT MY IVY-COVERED MANSION TONIGHT. BATMAN AND ROBIN KNOW WHERE IT IS.

SEE YOU,

POISON IVY

“Would you mind if I kept this, Commissioner?” Batgirl asked.

“I suppose not,” Commissioner Gordon said, taking it from her and reading it. “Do you know were this mansion is?”

“Not yet,” she replied, tucking the note into her utility belt, “but if Batman and Robin know, it must be the same house she used before. I’m sure the address is in your files. We’ll find it and I’ll be there tonight.”

“It’s probably a trap,” the Commissioner objected.

“More than likely.”

“You don’t expect her to just give you the antidote, do you?”

“No, Commissioner,” the Dynamic Dynamo said, “I’m prepared to make her give it to me . . . and I have few qualms about how I’ll do that!”

Batgirl was right. It turned out no one could ever prove Pamela Isley had bought her home with stolen money. The ivy-covered mansion was waiting for her when she was released from prison.

That evening, Gotham’s Dark Angel wore thermal underwear beneath her costume as she made he way to the mansion at maximum legal speed. With luck, the additional chicken soup she had consumed would keep her from having to blow her nose as often as Barbara Gordon had during the day.

She parked and draped her cape over the wall to protect herself from the broken glass and other shrapnel strewn there. A light in a first floor window drew her across the lawn. Peering through the window, Batgirl spotted the Flowery Felon reclining, eyes closed, on a couch in a tastefully decorated living room. Batgirl reached for the window and was surprised when it pushed inward. Poison Ivy didn’t stir. Batgirl shrugged and climbed inside.

“This is almost too easy,” Batgirl muttered as she approached the sleeping villainess.

“Lifelike, isn’t she?” Poison Ivy asked, stepping from the shadows and aiming two wrist-mounted dart launchers at Batgirl.

“What do you want from me, Isley?”

“A little private girl talk, Batgirl. First–”

Batgirl spotted the darts flying toward her and dodged. The figure on the couch exploded with a loud pop.

“Inflated with . . . gas,” Batgirl said as an all-too-familiar scene began to play out.

“The gas is derived from the pollen of Alba Bulgaria, or, in laywoman’s terms, poisoned lilacs. I hope you enjoy my little tribute to my friend Louie. He might be the only man in the world who begins to understand me.” By the time Poison Ivy had finished speaking, Batgirl was unconscious.

Later, Batgirl revived to find herself outside, suspended above an illuminated swimming pool from a high diving board. Chilling wind made her body shiver and her cape billow behind her. “It was a trap.”

“I’m surprised that wasn’t obvious.”

“It was.”

“You’re not stupid. So, you must care for Batman and Robin." Poison Ivy resignedly sighed, then continued, “That’s too bad.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. I invited you here to try to show you the error of your ways and to persuade you to join my crusade against those male busybodies.”

“Listening to your speech last night, I got the impression you see yourself as the queen of the plant kingdom, fighting for the rights of Christmas trees.”

“I’d prefer the word ‘champion,’ rather than ‘queen.’”

“There’s always the word ‘thief!’”

“There are spoils in war," the curvaceous criminal commented with a careless shrug. "I’m simply collecting them.”

“I gather you feel your ends justify your means?”

“Absolutely!”

“You’re fighting a two-front war, Poison Ivy. History tells us such campaigns are hard to win.”

“Precisely. That’s why I’d like you to join me.”

“Never! I only came for the antidote to your chemical.”

“You’ll have your chance to get it,” the redheaded rogue declared with a laugh.

“Where is it?”

“Look down.”

Batgirl saw a treasure chest at the bottom of the pool. As she stared at it she became conscious of the familiar ache in her shoulders caused by suspension. “Looks like I’ll have to dive for it.”

“It does appear so, Batgirl,” Poison Ivy agreed. “Too bad it’s almost Christmas. The water will be freezing cold. Wouldn’t it be better to save yourself the trouble? With your drive and power, my cause would be unstoppable. I could mute my tactics because our enemies would be afraid. They would not dare–”

Batgirl felt her body convulse as she sneezed. The Botanical Blackguard had made Batgirl susceptible to a cold with the dousing delivered at their last meeting and, despite Batgirl’s precautions, it wasn’t getting any better. The impending dip in the pool did not auger well for her health, either. “Wake up, Poison Ivy! Don’t you realize people selling Christmas trees are entrepreneurs, not soldiers?”

“They’re murderers. We disagree over ideology. Fine. The rewards in this campaign can be material as well. Look at my mansion. When I lived here before, I was surrounded by every luxury and could easily pay the bills. Do you know how?”

“How?”

“Crime paid for all of this. I was good at it, Batgirl. When I came to Gotham City, I had a plan to toy with Batman and get even richer in the process.”

“Let me guess. You lost.”

“I went to jail and Batman will pay dearly!”

“It’s personal for you.”

“Of course. So, if you’re with Batman, you’re against me. I’ll ask you again—one last time: Will you join me against Batman and his chauvinistic ilk?”

“I do oppose chauvinism and support wise use of our environment, but I’ll not sanction robbery, violence, torture, and murder!”

“Grow up! These tactics are modern and effective.”

“They’re sadistic and your victims are human beings!”

“They’re the enemy! I told you the ends justify the means. I choose to employ them because they work. Look at Batman and Robin. As we speak, they’re in the hospital and I am here, advancing my campaign.”

“Your victims are people with whom you disagree. You can engage them within the system and advance your point of view. You can score points in the arena of ideas. Terrorism only gives your ‘enemies’ legitimacy. It also weakens your position. You attacked Batman out of a desire for revenge and fear.”

“I’ve heard enough!” Poison Ivy shouted. “I’ll give them eternal peace. As for you, happy landings!” Poison Ivy pointed at the ropes suspending Batgirl from the diving board and fired two of her wrist darts at them. The darts severed the ropes and Batgirl dropped into the pool with a splash.

The sudden immersion in the subzero water took Batgirl’s breath away. She did not have time, however, to notice the cold. She took advantage of her descent into the pool by swimming to the treasure chest and yanking upward at it. The chest didn’t budge. Next, she tried to open the chest. It was locked. She needed air and swum to the surface.

Batgirl found it difficult to catch her breath. “Is . . . there *gasp* a key to that chest?”

“I think it’s under the chest, which, by the way, is bolted to the bottom of the pool,” Poison Ivy said conversationally. Then, she shrugged and chuckled.

“I noticed!”

“Good for you. I don’t suppose you’ve also noticed in what you’re swimming?”

Batgirl had not given the question a thought, but the sinister psychological effects the question engendered began to assert themselves upon the Dynamic Damsel. She could feel herself beginning to itch.

“You fiend!”

Poison Ivy threw her head back and laughed. “While you were submerged in my chemical, I turned off the pool heater. It was the only thing keeping the pool from freezing. So, in just a few minutes, the pool will start to freeze. I doubt you’ll scratch your skin off before hypothermia sets in, but that isn’t really my problem.”

A sneeze made Batgirl’s body convulse again. Poison Ivy smiled and drank in the sight of her suffering new enemy.

The Leafy Lawbreaker’s explanation of Batgirl’s predicament made Batgirl realize she did not have time for the customary badinage in which she engaged villainesses in these situations. The Angelic Avenger gritted her teeth and took a lock pick from her utility belt as she dove for the treasure chest again. Reaching it, Batgirl began working at the lock. Presently, she felt a shiver having nothing to do with the cold follow her spine upward. The submerged lights upon which she was relying to illuminate the blue waters around her were suddenly extinguished. Deep blackness instantly enveloped her.

Darkness should not have hampered Batgirl’s lock picking chore. She proceeded by feel. The effects of the lights going out were primarily psychological. If the lock didn’t give way soon, she would have to surface again for air. Then, she would dive back down. How would she find the chest again in the dark?

Besides that, Poison Ivy’s insidious chemical made her itch unbearably. She had to stop and scratch herself . . . and now she was running out of breath.

The chest was still locked when Batgirl swam to the surfaced of the pool again. Greedily, she inhaled, but as she did, she realized something was happening above her.

What?

A grill was closing over the pool above Batgirl’s head, high enough so she could breach for air, but too low to allow her to climb out.

“Ivy!?”

“I’ve decided it’s getting chilly out here,” the redheaded rogue said. “I’m sure you understand. I’m heading inside, but I don’t want my absence to spoil your swim. So, I‘ve taken steps to insure you won’t be disturbed. Goodbye.” Poison Ivy’s sultry chuckle lingered over the sinister scene as she retreated. The newest reason for the villainess’ merriment was quickly apparent as a metal mesh slid into place above the pool.

Batgirl realized she was scratching herself. “One problem at a time,” she muttered. Then, she sneezed, and dove again. She was trapped in the pool, but could not think of escape yet because Batman and Robin’s survival . . . and now, her’s too . . . depended upon her success!

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