For the Season’s Resurrection

Batgirl felt her chest contract as she exhaled and was delighted to feel it expand again as she filled her lungs. She turned her head and felt her body rotate, following her gaze.

The room was strangely intact with its tables, advertising displays behind the counter, and unplugged refrigerators. She had been in so many fights that had left their venues a shambles her loss to Poison Ivy’s aides depressed her.

Had her effort really been that weak? Was she really so powerless against the Botanical Blackguard? Did her cold cause her weak performance, and if so, to what degree?

While Batgirl worked with the police, she did not answer to them. Her own assessment of her work guided her along with public opinion. Her effectiveness as a crime fighter was measured through success and failure and her performance at extricating herself from these deadly situations was measured by the same unyielding standard, with much higher stakes and zero margin for error. Batgirl’s assessment of her performance at the flower shop so far was harsh.

Batgirl had literally fallen into an almost perfectly plotted trap. Poison Ivy deserved credit. She had realized Batgirl might escape the obvious trap at the mansion, and knew Batman and Robin would come after her promptly. The villainess had practically bragged about her readiness for that eventuality. She had also manipulated Batgirl’s investigation with the card and the flowers. It had all been done very cleverly, Batgirl bitterly acknowledged.

The pretty prisoner looked up and spotted the sinister substance sliding down the vine toward her shackled hands. The fiendish fluid was viscous, moving slightly faster than the pace of drying paint. Even so, it would eventually reach her clasped hands and, for Batgirl, its arrival would come all too quickly.

The position of her hands was the only thing keeping the noose from its terrible work. She had to maintain her grip on the vine, because the second she let go . . . .

Her mind’s eye focused on the flower shop in its proverbial heyday with her body strung up in its central position. “It’s like dying at a funeral,” she murmured.

Batgirl sighed and let out a breath. Then she coughed and swore.

This explosive syllable vented Batgirl’s depression and snapped her mind from its gloomy daydreams into a mode of searing self-analysis.

She rarely, if ever, allowed herself to reveal naked frustration. Now, she was angry because she had been moping, wasting valuable time, of which she might have very little. Batgirl had escaped every dire deathtrap in which she had been placed. On most of those occasions, she had worked her own way out. There was no reason for this flowery finish to claim her. She could cheat death again, and she would.

The vine from which she was suspended was vulnerable. Poison Ivy’s choice of Batgirl’s own handcuffs to restrain the victim might also have been ill-considered.

Despite the bindings on her legs, Batgirl could, through a feat of gymnastics, bring her belt within easy reach of her hands. She might be able to grip the vine above her with her feet and reach any of the miracles encircling her shapely hips, or even the keys to her Batcuffs. The necessary exertion would be tiring, but the chance to live was more than adequate motivation. Of course, if her feet slipped or the conniving chemical reached her feet while Batgirl’s life depended upon their grip . . . .

It was worth a try and Batgirl cleared her throat to concentrate on her escape. Then she raised her legs parallel to the floor. She inhaled and used her stomach muscles to move her legs upward and curl her body so her legs were parallel to the vine from which she hung. She was looking at the chemical as she moved her feet into position to grip the vine. Her eyes widened as she realized her feet would be slathered with the chemical if she executed her plan.

With a mental shrug, she tried to spread her legs with the idea of slipping the vine between them and gripping it lower down with a part of her legs closer to her crotch. The bindings would not yield. Batgirl lowered her body and breathed heavily, relaxing.

While the contents of the utility belt encircling her waist were well known to the world, the backup implements in Batgirl’s boots and gloves were virtually a secret to her enemies. Most considered the flanges of her gloves to be merely decorative. Both blades and lock picks were among the tiny tools concealed there, and she could reach them.

Batgirl glanced at the fluid flowing along the vine and released it with one hand. She felt the strain in her shoulder as she reached for her opposite glove. Her fingertips brushed the hilt of the tiny blade. Her body weight, which Poison Ivy was using against her, would favor her by maintaining stress on the vile vine, as she cut away at it. Nevertheless, the blade for which she reached, while well-honed, might well take too long to sufficiently weaken the organic entanglement.

There was a blade at her hip more likely to do the job quickly. She suddenly realized there was another way for her to reach her belt. She once again grabbed the vine with both hands and, using surprising upper arm strength, she began pulling herself upward. First her head, then her chest, and finally her abdomen ascended past her hands until she held them at the level of her waist. Batgirl released the vine with one hand and reached for the lock picks in her utility belt.

As her fingers withdrew the precious lock pick, she realized her life depended upon keeping hold of the tiny implement. If the lock pick was to slip through her fingers . . . .

Another cough and a glace at the descending chemical caused Batgirl’s eyes to widen in horror. It had taken much longer to get into position to retrieve the lock pick than she had imagined, or Poison Ivy’s chemical was descending along the vine more rapidly than before.

After a precious breath, Batgirl eased her body into its original position, maintaining her grip on the lock pick. Millimeter by millimeter Poison Ivy’s fiendish fluid continued its descent along the vine.

“Good,” Batgirl murmured. She glanced upward and realized the movement of the vine as she had maneuvered herself into position to retrieve her lock pick had sped the descent of the viscous fluid toward the captive’s hands. Poison Ivy’s chemical was less than a foot away. “Bad!” Batgirl said. “No time!” It was too late to pick the lock now!

Was it her imagination? Did her voice quaver?

The tip of the lock pick scraped the handcuff as Batgirl desperately maneuvered it toward the lock. A spark flew into space and died harmlessly.

Batgirl froze. She felt her lungs collapsing as a breath she did not realize she was holding escaped. Her eyes narrowed and she tapped the lock pick against the handcuff again.

Another spark burst to life and died.

She felt a wetness touch the highest point of the glove with which she gripped the vine. Poison Ivy’s chemical had reached Batgirl’s hand.

Her mind raced. Obviously, striking the flint lock pick against the steel Batcuffs generated sparks that could ignite the vine. Maybe. This possibility would become dramatically more plausible if Poison Ivy’s chemical were flammable. It was a faint hope, but it was all Batgirl had left. Testing the proposition would be utterly impossible. She had to gamble, to take her chance--her only chance! If she were right a race against time would ensue, and if she were wrong . . . .

Again and again the lock pick brushed against the handcuffs to ignite a spark. “Come on!” she encouraged as sparks drifted away from the vine and died harmlessly. Then, she saw a spark touch the chemical slathered vine. Batgirl held her breath as a wisp of smoke began to curl toward the ceiling. “Yes! Come on!”

Simultaneously, flame shot upward crackling along the vine above Batgirl and the helpless heroine felt her grip fail. The intact noose tightened as her body descended. Now, Batgirl’s body hung suspended in exactly the manner Poison Ivy had envisioned!

The critical inch of slack representing the difference between life and death had been taken from the noose!

It had finally happened. Batgirl had been too slow to cheat death. The lock pick fell away from her fingers, but that didn’t matter now. Her eyes closed. She felt a warmth lick at her as breath begun be slowly, horribly squeezed from her throat.

Time ceased to have meaning for Batgirl as the new sensations of death impressed themselves upon her sequentially. She was falling. A very loud thud echoed from a distance that was too close . . . or perhaps too far away to judge. Then, there was a twinge of stabbing pain before blackness enveloped her. Finally, she felt nothing!

Meanwhile, an odd purple light bathed Poison Ivy’s lab, illuminating the splotches of fungus rooted in Batman and Robin’s flesh. Robin was in much worse shape, as the satanic spores wormed their way into his exposed legs, arms, and head.

So far, only the lower half of Batman’s face was effected, although he could tell it wouldn’t be long before tendrils had worked their way through his costume. Both realized the glass to which they had been glued was fragile and struggled vainly to damage it.

“I can’t break this glass, Batman.”

Both heroes were constantly spitting and blowing, trying to keep the spores from covering their lips and mouths. “Our focus may be wrong here, old chum.”

“What do you mean? We have to get out of here! Could we sing our way out of this?”

Robin recalled at least two occasions when their voices had saved them. Singing selected notes had kept the perforating needles of a piano roll printing machine from harming them, according to the criminal mastermind Chandell’s evil twin brother Harry’s plans, and singing the sympathetic vibration of Catwoman’s giant echo chamber had prevented the magnified echoes of a dripping faucet from bashing their brains into oatmeal and shattering their minds.

“I fear the consequences of breaking these ghastly glass tubes,” Batman said.

Robin considered his mentor’s concern and inhaled. “Holy Time Bomb! We’d release these fungi into Gotham City!”

“Right. We can’t be certain this monstrous mold or your potentially lethal lichen will be as vulnerable to the elements as Louie the Lilac’s gusty gourmands.” A single blast of cold air had rendered the Flowery Felon’s man-eating lilacs utterly harmless after the villain had set them upon the Dynamic Duo.

“Then . . . what can we do? We didn’t tell Commissioner Gordon and Chief O’Hara where we were going! They won’t be able to send Batgirl, or Flamebird, or anyone to our rescue!”

“We may have one slim chance, Robin.”

“What?”

“I’m wearing my Wrist Batradio. If I can twist it to activate the Automatic Distress Call Feature . . . .”

“That’s new.”

“Yes. I’ve been testing it with Alfred.” A soft beeping began to sound. “There. I’ve done it!”

“Now what?”

“Now, old chum, we wait.”

All was quiet for a time, except for sputtering; blowing; and the beeping of Batman’s distress call.

“Batman! I’ve just had a horrible thought!”

“What is it?”

“I doubt I’ve been able to keep from breathing in at least some of this stuff. Do you think . . . it could grown inside us?”

“For now, Robin, all we can do is hope not.” Then, much more quietly, Batman said to himself, “I sincerely hope not.”

Meanwhile, in the Batcave, Alfred stepped from the service elevator and listened to an intense beeping coming from the Batcomputer. He crossed the cave and set his feather duster aside to examine the flashing light.

“Oh my goodness!” the faithful butler said aloud. “The master has activated his Wrist Batradio Automatic Distress Call Feature.” Quickly, the Englishman gathered the Wrist Batradio Mobile Tracking Unit, climbed into Robin’s Redbird, and roared away at top speed.

Somewhere, Batgirl moaned. She considered it impolite of death to have dealt her a throbbing headache. She moved her hands together to touch the spot on her head from which the pain emanated, but found a large lump there underneath her cowl that was sensitive to the touch. Batgirl was cold and felt her body convulse as she sneezed.

‘Not even death cures a cold?’ Batgirl also decided it was odd how her body was responding to pain in death exactly the same way it had in life. She opened her eyes and was surprised by the familiarity of her surroundings. She was still in the Blossoms Flower Shop. The Dark Angel seemed to be lying on its cold floor and began to rise. She stopped when she realized her hands were shackled and her legs were still bound at the knees and ankles. Collapsing, she groaned again and tried to think.

Pain in her head was the overwhelming focus of her thoughts. ‘Isn’t death supposed to be restful? Shouldn’t someone on the other side have released me from these restraints?’ Then a somewhat wicked smile crossed her lips. ‘Maybe now I’ll have the power to haunt Poison Ivy!’

Batgirl turned her head and felt her eyes narrow. Something was rising through the murk clouding her mind. A thought was struggling to impress itself upon her. There had been a trigger, a memory cue, which had started her subconscious mind working at a faster pace than her conscious thoughts could hope to maintain. She blinked and let her eyes focus.

Yes. She was staring at the thing that had jump-started her brain. It was her lock pick lying on the floor some distance away. Obviously, it had fallen from her fingers and rolled when Poison Ivy’s chemical had made her hang herself.

Wait!

Flames had shot up the vine at the same moment her sinister suspension had really begun. For how long had she been hanging? What had stopped the torturous process? Why was her dead body not still unceremoniously dangling above the floor?

Experimentally, she tried to move toward the lock pick. Waves of pain swept over her, but it now sunk in that her body was obeying her commands to move. This could mean only one thing: ‘I’m still alive!!’

With this realization, she first felt a little silly. Then she embraced the pain and moved slowly toward the lock pick that gave her hope of freedom. She rested when she reached it and cleared her throat before taking the pick in her hand and slipping the tool into the lock of her Batcuffs.

The dull throb in her shoulders was welcome as she worked and the pain of blood returning to her hands thrilled her while it took her breath away. When she was ready, she sat up and waited for the room to stop spinning before taking a knife from her hip and slashing the bindings at her knees and ankles. She stood and leaned against the counter, working out how she had managed to survive.

The fact she was alive was simply incredible. The chemical Poison Ivy used to make the vine slick had to have been flammable. The flames would have weakened the vine so that her weight tore her body down from the rafters rather than keeping her suspended from them to die in slow, breathless agony. If her deductions about the flames were correct, it was amazing the flower shop had not been turned into an inferno.

No fire suppression system had been engaged. Batgirl spotted the charred stub of the fallen vine and understood. It had been entwined on the overhead pulley from which she had been suspended until her body had fallen. Once the flames had sufficiently charred the terrible tendril, it had broken and fallen free from the trap, just as Batgirl had. As she lay unconscious on the cold floor, the vine had gone on burning. Subsequently, the fire had died once all of its fuel had been consumed.

She must have hit her head on the counter when she fell. There was no telling how long she had lain helplessly knocked out. Time had not been very important while she revived either, but now she might need every second to stop Poison Ivy’s plans.

Batgirl heard herself laugh and realized she had absolutely no idea what Poison Ivy was planning other than killing Batman and Robin as well as her. Gotham's Dark Angel resolved to search the flower shop. Not only might she find a clue to the ecologically-inclined evildoer’s plans, she just might find an ice pack for her head.

“I think I hear something,” Robin said as he shook his head violently, “although I can’t be sure with this lichen growing in my ears!”

Batman listened. ”I don’t hear anything!” he said loudly. “What was it you heard?”

“It sounded like an engine stopping outside.” Both of them now were able to discern a door creak open and softly close. ”Do you think Poison Ivy and her gorgeous goons are coming back?”

“I think they’re quite finished with us, old–”

“Bless my soul, sir! What has happened to you and Master Robin?” Alfred hurried into the room and stared at his employers in their partially foliated state.

Batman blinked his eyes, trying to see through the malevolent mold. “It’s good to see you, Alfred,” Batman began. “Poison Ivy attacked us with some of her pitiless plants and has set up ideal growing conditions for them.”

“I see, sir. There should be a release mechanism here somewhere.”

“Wait, Alfred!” Batman cautioned. “We need to make sure the fungus is dead before we’re released!”

“There’s no telling what would happed if this stuff is unleashed on Gotham City!” Robin explained.

“Oh, my! I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Molds and fungi like these prosper in damp, dark conditions. Some time in low humidity under blazing hot lights should kill these fiendish fungi.”

Alfred extracted a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and put them on after studying the controls Betsy had used to set up the lighting and climate. “I think I see how to adjust the conditions to your specifications, sir.”

“We’d better close our eyes, Batman,” Robin suggested.

“Good thinking.”

“I’m changing the lights now, sir.” Alfred said. Lights blazed above the foliated crime fighters.

“How long will this take, Batman?”

“We’ll need to be patient, chum. It has taken time for the fungi to make the progress they have.”

Alfred watched the mold and lichen slowly blacken. A powdery residue began to appear around the captives.

“I think I can move, Batman!”

“Lie still, chum. We don’t want the fungi to reestablish themselves in our systems. I was hopeful, however, that the hot lights would do a job on Poison Ivy’s organic glue as well as the spores.”

After awhile, Alfred observed, “Sir, you’re smoking!”

“Yes, Alfred. The spores lodged in our flesh are being purged and the bond between the organic glue and our bodies is being severed.”

Robin opened his eyes and stared at the white smoke curling toward the top of his tube. “We might need to spend some time tanning as Bruce and Dick, Batman.”

“Yes, chum. Alfred, I think it’s time to have Bruce Wayne invest in a couple of tanning beds.”

“Yes, sir. Do you think it is safe for you to leave now?”

“I believe so.”

“Very good, sir.” Alfred killed the lights, removed his sunglasses, and opened the tubes from which Batman and Robin emerged. Both were brushing the ashes from their costumes with Bat Whisk Brooms.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Robin said. “You really saved us this time.”

“My pleasure, young sir. It’s good to spend some time in the field, as it were.”

“We’re happy to have your help, Alfred.” Batman turned to his crimefighting partner. “Robin, we need to each take a Baticillin Lozenge.” A hose and faucet were nearby to help the heroes take their medicine. After they did so, Batman continued, “I think we should look this lab over and see if we can figure out why Poison Ivy is stealing Christmas trees. I think there may be more to it than just giving them a ‘decent burial.’”

“There were several trees in the next room,” Alfred said, leading the way.

“When we arrived, Poison Ivy was studying one of those charts hanging from the flower pots,” Robin recalled. He took one of the charts and examined it. “It’s like she’s conducting an experiment. Holy Frankenstein! Poison Ivy is a scientist, as well as a super-criminal.”

Batman held another chart and looked at it admiringly. Almost to himself, he said, “Unlike her gang, Isley did graduate from her Ivy League school. He then turned to Robin. “John Watson might be more analogous. This is more of a clinic than a mad scientist’s lab.”

“A clinic for plants, sir?” Alfred asked.

“Why?” Robin asked.

“Poison Ivy believes those who harvest Christmas trees commit murder. That means the trees become casualties. She has also proven herself to be a brilliant biochemist.”

Robin turned to Alfred. “But she also confessed to us that she has murdered two . . . .” he paused. Robin gulped and finished his thought, “. . . men.”

“I think Poison Ivy’s plans involve more than vengeance against males, as well.”

“If I may, sir,” Alfred said. “I was in the flower shop the other day buying some mistletoe for the house and they were discussing a technique of plant augmentation called grafting.”

“Doctors graft skin from one part of the body to another, in cases like severe burns,” Robin said.

“I think Poison Ivy is grafting the trunks of cut Christmas trees to new root systems.” Batman said. “These charts suggest she’s having some success.”

“Why would she do that?” Robin asked.

“To save the trees.”

“I wonder if she is finished collecting specimens?” Alfred said.

“Assuming we’re correct, I wonder where she plans to plant the trees she saves,” Batman said.

“Let’s keep searching and find out,” Robin suggested.

Their efforts, however, taught them nothing else about Poison Ivy’s intentions and they returned to the Batmobile. “I think we’d better check in with Commissioner Gordon. Batgirl may have learned something.”

“Right. How did you get here, Alfred?” Robin asked.

“Oh, I took the Redbird.”

“You didn’t scratch the paint?!” Robin said in mock horror.

“Certainly not, Master Robin,” Alfred said in his most dignified manner. “It is parked around the corner.” Both Batman and Robin smiled at their most trusted friend. “Now, I’d better be going. Mrs. Cooper will soon return from this week’s meeting of her whist group. Good luck.”

A quick call on the Batphone revealed a meeting in progress at Police Headquarters. The Dynamic Duo soon arrived to find Batgirl discussing the case with Commissioner Gordon, Chief O’Hara, and Lieutenant Mooney. Batgirl was sipping at a thermos of broth Diana had picked up at Gilligan’s, while Mooney was holding a cold pack to Batgirl’s head.

“We’ve been trying to figure out why Poison Ivy is stealing Christmas trees,” Batgirl said.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Lieutenant Mooney complained. “She stated publicly that she feels a tree is murdered as soon as it is cut.”

“It makes sense to Poison Ivy,” Robin said. “She considers Christmas trees victims and is trying to bring them back to life.”

Commissioner Gordon’s jaw dropped. “Do you mean . . . she’s trying to resurrect dead trees?”

“Precisely,” Robin confirmed.

“That’s insane!” Chief O’Hara declared.

“We’ve just come from Poison Ivy’s lab at the abandoned Gardner Labs,” Batman told them. “She was attending to one of her ‘patients’ when we arrived.”

“I’ll detail some officers to watch the place,” Lieutenant Mooney said. “We might get lucky. Oh, what happened after that?”

They all brought one another up to date.

“We need to figure out what Poison Ivy will try next,” Batgirl said.

“That way, we can beat her to the scene of the crime and stop her,” Robin said, slamming his green-gloved fist into his green-gloved palm.

“You may be onto something, Batgirl,” Batman said. “I think . . . she will try to steal the biggest, live Christmas tree in Gotham City!”

“By ‘live’ tree, you mean one that is not artificial?” Lieutenant Mooney asked. “Poison Ivy would claim all the trees she has stolen had already been murdered by the time she took them.”

“Precisely,” Batman confirmed.

“So, she considers the thefts to be a humanitarian effort to save the dead trees?” Batgirl queried.

“I doubt she would use the word ‘humanitarian,’” Robin pointed out.

“Right,” Batgirl said, clearing her throat.

“Experience tells us most crooks build from small crimes to bigger ones and try to finish with one huge criminal masterstroke,” Robin observed.

“Good thinking, chum. The question is, where are we in Poison Ivy’s plan?”

“She may be pretty far along,” Batgirl said. “Our enemies usually seem to try and kill us just before the big caper to keep us from interfering.”

“Poison Ivy doesn’t seem to have accounted for Flamebird and Batwoman,” Robin pointed out.

“With the three of you on the case,” Commissioner Gordon explained, “I haven’t felt the need to call them in.”

“Wait a minute,” Batgirl said. “Poison Ivy had her helpers hit those stores. I bet she will attend to her next job personally.”

“You may be onto something, Batgirl,” Batman said. “I think . . . she will try to steal the biggest, live Christmas tree in Gotham City!”

“Begorra! Where is the biggest Christmas tree in Gotham City Poison Ivy would want to steal?” Chief O’Hara helplessly asked.

“America’s Mall at the Crystal Castle!” the Terrific Trio declared in unison.

“You could be right,” Commissioner Gordon said.

“We’ve given her enough of a head start already!” Batgirl said. The broth and cold pack had made her feel much better than she had in hours. It was time for her to haunt Poison Ivy . . . and not as a ghost.

“She‘s right, Robin. We may not have a moment to lose!” Batman agreed. ”Let’s go!” The heroes dashed through the Commissioner’s double doors to their vehicles and sped away at the maximum legal speed.

Later that afternoon, at America’s Mall at the Crystal Castle, evil events were beginning to unfold.

“Everything’s hooked up, boss,” Betsy reported.

“Check the seals. We can’t afford to waste the chemicals.”

“The seals are tight,” Veronica said, ”just like the shoppers’ budgets will be once we’ve finished with them.”

“Not to mention the merchants,” Nancy said with a laugh.

“Start pumping!” Poison Ivy ordered. Her vile itching gas began to circulate through the mall’s ventilation system.

“It won’t be long before every dollar in this place will be ours,” Veronica said.

“No, Veronica,” Poison Ivy said, “it won’t. Soon, everyone in the mall will be far to busy scratching to stop us from stealing every cent we want from right under their noses. The best part is: Batman, Robin, and Batgirl being permanently unavailable! We, like the plant kingdom, are unstoppable!” The four fiendish females laughed and got into position to make their entrance.

Unknown to Poison Ivy and her attractive aides, the Terrific Trio had arrived much earlier to meet the head of security, who had led them to his office, from which he could monitor the entire mall. “It’s good to see you again, Batgirl, and a pleasure to work with all of you,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“We have reason to believe a woman called Poison Ivy and her gang will try to steal your Christmas tree and rob your stores and patrons,” Batgirl said.

“We’ll take care of them,” the head of security confidently said. “My facility survived Ma Parker, her family, and their gang’s assault and this other lady will have even less success because our forces are stronger.”

“There she is!” Robin said, pointing at a monitor after a few hours of watchful waiting. He stared at the monitor as the others focused their attention on the image he had indicated. “Wait a minute. She’s nowhere near the Christmas tree or any stores. So, what’s she doing?”

“She’s taking command of the mall public address system!” Batman said. “Is there a layout of the mall ventilation system?”

The head of security unrolled a diagram. “This shows all the vents leading into the mall.”

“Robin and I will need to put a Bat-filter over each of those vents to protect the public from the gas Poison Ivy is no doubt using.”

“My staff can help with that, Batman. We’ll cover the ground more quickly,” the official offered. “Incidentally, I’m glad you waited until a threat materialized before risking alarming our patrons.”

“Commerce is what makes our nation great,” Batman said.

“I’ll go after the crooks,” Batgirl said. “They’ll probably go for the Christmas tree first while their gas circulates.”

“What about the chemical already in the air?” Robin asked.

“It should be fairly dilute. Once we’ve neutralized the threat, the mall will need to distribute the antitoxin pills the police have manufactured for us,” Batman said.

“Right!” Batgirl said. “Let’s go!” The Dynamic Duo followed her from the security office.

As her enemies dispersed to combat her, Poison Ivy stepped to the microphone of the mall public address system. “Attention mall shoppers,” she announced. “This is Poison Ivy speaking. You will all be approached shortly and asked to surrender certain valuables. I urge you to do so to avoid unnecessary injuries and also to have a chance to be treated for exposure to a chemical that already permeates this building.”

“Wrong, Poison Ivy!” Batgirl said.

The redheaded rogue whirled to face the newcomer. “Impossible! You should be a dead decoration by now!”

“I’m very much alive, and so are Batman and Robin. In fact, their Bat-Filters have neutralized your itching gas.” While not strictly true, this announcement might help calm the shoppers in the crowded mall. The Foliated Fiend was still transmitting. “Now, Poison Ivy, I’m placing you under arrest.”

“That isn’t very likely,” Poison Ivy said, letting go of the microphone. She began to raise her arms and fired a pair of darts at the delectable daredevil. Batgirl dodged and sent a Batarang back at her attacker, which found its mark and dropped the Leafy Lawbreaker to the floor. Before she could nab the Nature-Loving Ner’-Do-Well, she heard footsteps pounding toward her.

She spun toward the oncoming figures and smiled. Veronica, Nancy and Betsy were racing to their evil employer’s rescue. “Time for the rematch,” Batgirl murmured, “and this time I’m ready for you.”

“There she is!” Veronica called to her companions.

“Let’s get her!” Nancy encouraged.

“She doesn’t stand a chance,” Betsy said.

Batgirl dove to the floor and tumbled to her feet behind the new arrivals. In the same motion in which Batgirl straightened, she spun and clipped Nancy’s chin with her heel to drop the botanical, blonde babe to the floor. “One down,” Batgirl murmured.

Veronica lunged at Batgirl, prompting the heroine to sidestep and raise a knee into her attacker’s gut. The maneuver was rewarded with a grunt. Betsy was kicking at her, so Batgirl couldn’t follow up immediately. Batgirl jumped above Betsy’s blow aimed at her leg, but Betsy swept past Batgirl.

Arms seized her from behind and Batgirl saw Veronica coming for her. “This is going to be fun,” Poison Ivy’s second-in-command said, slamming a fist into Batgirl’s stomach and eliciting a groan. “I’m going to take you apart, piece by piece,” Veronica threatened. The next blow doubled Batgirl over and moved Veronica closer. Veronica began to assail her voluptuous victim with uppercuts.

Suddenly, two feet launched into Veronica’s exposed abdomen hit her with the force of driven pistons. Veronica groaned and began to sag as Batgirl straightened. The arms encircling Batgirl’s body began to squeeze more tightly as Batgirl’s knee drove upward into Veronica’s mouth. The kick that followed the straightening sycophant upward connected with her chin and knocked Veronica out of the fight for good.

“That’s two down,” Batgirl managed to say. She was breathing heavily and felt the arms encircling her body tighten further.

“I’m going to squeeze you until you pop, Batgirl,” the white-haired Amazon whispered menacingly into her ear.

“You’re not my type,” Batgirl protested and fired both elbows back into Betsy’s gut. As the grip of the constricting arms slackened, Batgirl raised her arms and sat on the floor to slide free of Betsy’s arms. The henchwoman’s ankles were suddenly right behind Batgirl’s hips and easily within the reach of her hands.

The Dynamic Darling swept Betsy’s feet out and felt her lips curl into a smile as her attacker hit the wall with a thud and began to slide behind the heroine. Before Betsy’s body had settled into place, Batgirl had risen to one knee, spun, and fired a right cross at the white-haired girl’s chin. “Merry Christmas, Betsy. Three down and side out . You’re all going to jail.”

The Purple-Clad Paragon stood and took Batcuffs from her hip to quickly secure Poison Ivy’s assistants. Once they were restrained, she turned her attention to their leader. Poison Ivy was gone!

Batgirl scanned the crowd as she retrieved her Batarang. After a moment, Batgirl noticed a woman running toward one of the mall’s many exits. Batgirl’s Batrope quickly looped around the Batarang and the weapon wound the Batrope around a metal girder overhead. A purple streak swung over the crowd before Batgirl hit the polished floor, running after the fleeing woman.

Clad in her green costume, Poison Ivy was easy to spot as she ran through the slush covered parking lot. The fugitive was already in a car when Batgirl reached the lot, but the car had not started. Batgirl grinned as she raced for the Batgirlcycle. “Having to steal a getaway car is slowing her down,” she murmured as she engaged the kick-starter. Batgirl’s engine roared.

Poison Ivy had reached the exit as the Batgirlcycle pulled into traffic. Maneuverability was one of the reasons Batgirl had chosen her mode of transportation, and her selection paid off as she darted between cars to reach Poison Ivy just as she pulled into the street.

Traffic limited Poison Ivy’s speed and Batgirl had no trouble keeping pace with her quarry. The Dominoed Dare Doll kept her distance, though, recalling the wrist dart launchers her enemy had employed against her more than once. She had no doubt Poison Ivy was capable of counterattacking with deadly force and in the crowded city there was no telling how many innocent citizens would be caught in the crossfire.

Poison Ivy fled toward her ivy-covered mansion in the gathering gloom of one of the shortest days of the year. The chase grew faster as traffic thinned. Soon, Poison Ivy and Batgirl were the only vehicles on the road. Batgirl sped after the villainess, gaining on her all the while. Then Poison Ivy turned off the main road and led Batgirl along a winding, snow-packed road that became narrower and more rutted the further along it they traveled. The pace of the chase slowed as Batgirl needed to be cautious of stones covered by snow in the winding lane. The villainess gained ground with her knowledge of the geography and the more stable vehicle.

Batgirl pressed on. As the car vanished around each bend, Batgirl was swallowed in the darkness her single headlight valiantly combated. Still moving quickly, Batgirl was surprised to see only black as she rounded another bend. She let her Batgirlcycle coast to a stop and listened. She could hear the getaway car straight ahead, and began to cruise toward it. The road remained straight. Poison Ivy had switched off her lights.

Soon, Batgirl accelerated to ascend a hill. At the summit, she peered intently ahead at a long straightaway on which she should have no trouble catching Poison Ivy. A smile curled her lips as her Batgirlcycle accelerated further descending the hill. The chase was almost over as she spotted a dark shape being swallowed by a deeper darkness below and ahead of her.

Batgirl’s mind worked with the speed of a supercomputer. She knew she was approaching the Sprang River at a point upstream from where it reached Gotham City. She also knew the area in which she was driving was rural. Batgirl made two deductions in rapid succession. Poison Ivy was now heading for Douglas Ironwood’s Christmas tree farm, and Batgirl was approaching a covered bridge. She was already flashing across the bridge when the next significant fact asserted itself. The bridge, along with its roof, was covered with ivy!

A sixth sense made Batgirl stomp at the brake of the Batgirlcycle, but her attempt at evasion was too late! She collided with something stretched across her path that tore her fingers from her handlebars and her body from its seat on the Batgirlcycle. Her back slammed into the surface of the bridge with stunning force that made her gasp. Then, pain slowly traveled from the point of impact along her nerves until it gripped her entire body, holding her motionless.

“Happy landing, Batgirl?” Poison Ivy asked as Gotham City’s Gorgeous Guardian reached up to discover it was a vine which had tore her body from the Batgirlcycle. Both hands curled around the taunt vine, which Batgirl used to pull herself to her feet. The pain was ebbing as she focused on Poison Ivy, who had moved into the beam of the fallen Batgirlcycle’s headlight and was busy coiling something in one hand at the end of the bridge.

Batgirl cleared her throat. The cold she had caught fighting Poison Ivy had evoked a habit. She was mentally ready to face her enemy. “Poison Ivy, I’m placing you under arrest.”

The voluptuous villainess laughed. “You should have read your tea leaves more closely, Batgirl,” Poison Ivy said. “I’ve barely started with you. So, stick around.” Batgirl prepared to duck under the vine and approach her enemy, but discovered her hands were stuck in place around it!

“It seems you’ve given me no choice.”

“None at all. I, on the other hand, have several means of doing away with you at my disposal.”

“I’m sure they’ll be just as effective as the means you’ve already employed.”

“I could send you to paradise with a single, well-placed perforation, or draw out your death with several shots.” The fiendish fanatic aimed her wrist darts at Batgirl.

“Why don’t you do it, then?” Batgirl demanded.

“I probably should. You have spoiled all my fun. I think, though, my darts would give you too quick a death.”

“I’m obviously in your power again. What will you do with me?”

“I haven’t finished exploring my options,” Poison Ivy protested. “Now, if I lashed you to your Batgirlcycle, I could send you on a nice one-way trip — to oblivion.”

“You’d make a lousy travel agent.”

Poison Ivy laughed and continued her analysis. ”As poetic as using your famous gadgets against you would be, that idea seems rather mechanical. Besides, the car I took will probably already have been reported as stolen. So, I’ll take your Batgirlcycle as a legacy from you.” Poison Ivy laughed.

Batgirl yawned audibly. “You’re becoming tiresome, Pamela.”

“Then I‘ll wrap this up.” She tossed her coil toward Batgirl and the end of the thin strand wrapped around the vine to which Batgirl’s hands were fastened. A slight tug ensured the new uncoiled strand was also affixed to the vine.

“Did you notice the ivy on this bridge?”

“I saw it,” Batgirl responded.

“Good,” Poison Ivy said, her voice taking on a sultry quality. “Imagine how natural the bridge looks in the daylight, how picturesque. It’s really quite lovely.”

“I imagine you would be fond of the local habitat.”

“I am. Nature, though, can turn on its admirers very quickly, as you’ll soon learn. This beautiful bridge is also extremely flammable. In fact, you could think of it as a life-sized tinderbox.”

“It was very clever of you to trap me in it.”

“Thank you. I thought using the vine against you more than once was a rather good idea. It’s coated with sticky pine sap that will keep your hands right where they are for the rest of your short life, well away from your famous utility belt. You’ll also discover it will act as a very effective accelerant.”

Batgirl nodded.

“My vine will turn this bridge into your funeral pyre, Batgirl. The second a flame touches it, your own private inferno will be ignited. ”

“You know what happens when you play with fire,” Batgirl warned.

“You get burned, or so the saying goes,” Poison Ivy answered. “That is precisely why I won’t be staying. Besides, I have an unscheduled date with Douglas Ironwood. First things first, however.”

“You realize you’ll murder the ivy, as well as risk destroying this habitat, by burning this bridge?”

“Some sacrifices are necessary in war, Batgirl. I simply cannot pass up the chance to leave you to cook in your own juices, like an apple roasted over an open fire.”

“You ghoulish devil!”

Poison Ivy held up the coil she had fastened to the vine to which Batgirl was stuck. “This is a hollow reed,” the voluptuous villainess said. “It will burn very slowly, unlike everything else. Mr. Ironwood will make a splendid alibi. Well, I’d better be going. Bye.”

“Run while you can, Poison Ivy. Dead or alive, I will be right behind you!” Batgirl vowed.

The green-clad villainess backed from the bridge, unwinding her reed. She mounted the Batgirlcycle; lit the reed; let the flaming, natural fuse go with a flourish; and touched her fingertips to her lips. “Have a hot time, baby!” With a final laugh; a blown kiss; and a parting wave, Poison Ivy pulled away on the Batgirlcycle.

Darkness quickly swallowed the Batgirlcycle and its taillight disappeared shortly before silence enveloped the bridge. Batgirl focused on the glowing orange eye at the end of the burning reed. It was moving closer to her very slowly. She could not guess how long it would take to reach the vine her hands were curled around. Once it reached the vine, she had no idea how many short seconds she could survive in the ensuing blaze.

Cutting the lights had confused Batgirl into pausing in the chase to locate her quarry. Once the getaway car had crested the hill, the villainess had let the car coast, pick up speed, and cross the bridge. With that deception arranged, Poison Ivy had slid from the driver’s seat and set a very clever trap. The straight road on which Batgirl expected to catch her quarry had her accelerating down the hill and licking her metaphorical chops. Batgirl knew she had entered the proverbial parlor with her eyes wide open. She had not suspected a thing until it was much too late.

As Poison Ivy had gloated, Batgirl had repeatedly and vainly tried to release her gloved hands from their position stuck to the vine. Now, Batgirl backed as far as the vine would allow and tried again without success.

She cleared her throat, braced her feet, and tried leaning backwards. Nothing happened. She considered throwing her weight against the vine and dismissed that approach in order to limit the scope of the task of escaping to freeing her hands. Getting other parts of her costume stuck to the vine would not help.

“Hmm,” Batgirl said. Then she thought, ‘All I have to do is free my hands. They don’t even have to be in the gloves!’

She approached the vine without touching it and wrenched her arms upward. The vine bent upward and her hands remained stuck in place. Even her fingers remained curled around the vine in what was literally a death grip.

The reed was growing shorter as it burned.

Despite the slow speed at which it smoldered, time was running out!

The closeness of her utility belt coupled with her inability to make use of any of the implements it contained was utterly maddening. The simplicity of her escape did not correspond with ease by any means. It was time for Batgirl to rethink her predicament.

She was trapped in her gloves. These clutched the vine, which would soon touch off the bridge. The fire would reduce the bridge to ash and burn her to death in the process. The slowly burning reed was marking the time Batgirl had left. Seconds after the flame reached the vine, fire would engulf the entire bridge, thus springing the trap. Somewhere in the sinister setup was a weakness. Batgirl knew there was and had to find it before the flaming fuse reached the vine—perhaps the most literal deadline Batgirl had ever faced.

What was the weakness?

Batgirl glanced to her left, in the direction from which more vine separated her from the side of the bridge and turned to face the right side of the bridge. Then, she pulled. Perhaps it had been the division of the force her tugging had exerted on the vine’s connections to the bridge which had rendered her earlier efforts ineffective. Now, she could hear the vine brush the dangling foliage draping the side of the bridge.

“Progress,” Batgirl muttered. She tugged again and felt the slack in the fine taken up before it held firm. ‘I’ve got to exert more force,’ Batgirl thought. She glanced at the burning reed and felt herself shudder as she realized how little time remained. The glance at the burning reed had told her she still had a chance to preserve her perfect escape record.

Batgirl turned around and faced the right side of the bridge. She raised her right leg and pressed her foot against the rail on her side of the bridge. She inhaled and prepared to put all her weight, every ounce of her strength, and any additional leverage and force she could generate against the vine’s connection to her side of the bridge. With a loud cry, she pulled at the vine. She felt the foliage budge slightly and then the vine tore free! Batgirl landed on her butt.

Another glance at the burning reed as she got to her feet told Batgirl she needed to extinguish it immediately. She tried to bend the vine, maneuvering herself to where she could crush the flames under her heel. Unfortunately, the flammable sap with which Poison Ivy had treated her vine had made it rigid. Batgirl’s eyes widened with horror.

She had cheated death countless times and was on the verge of doing so again, but her final life-saving chore had seemingly been suddenly thwarted. Could Batgirl stretch her legs back, grip the rail with her feet, and pull the vine free from the bridge’s ivy covering before the foliage caught fire?

She did not know, but realized the presence of the railing had shattered an illusion her mind had been playing upon her. While the ivy draped the covered bridge, it formed a mere curtain. The darkness and the foliage had fooled Batgirl into imagining herself enclosed by the bridge.

The flames within the reed had nearly reached the vine now, and Batgirl did not hesitate. Only one course of action remained! She charged toward the point where the vine met the ivy and vaulted to the bridge rail. She hesitated, inhaled, and leaped from the bridge into space.

She was relieved to feel the vine tear free before the splash and the shock of immersion in the frigid, fast-moving water. She was far downstream when she came to the surface.

The fire was now away from the bridge. It was safe. She would not be roasted alive, as Poison Ivy had planned. Of course, she had new problems now.

Her most minor problem was probably the roar in her mind of which she became aware the second her head broke the surface of the water and her lungs inflated.

The human body, Batgirl knew, would last about thirty seconds in water like this before hypothermia set in. If this condition were allowed to evolve, paralysis would begin at her extremities and inch toward her body’s core. A thin layer of ice on the surface of the water shattered when she hit it, and her weight plowed through it as the swift current snatched her and carried her inexorably downstream. If she allowed her body to submerge, she might never reach the surface again!

Submerged, she wondered if she would still hear the unceasing, distracting roar that sounded in her mind.

To avoid this disastrous submersion, Batgirl spread her arms and dragged them through the water. Her head remained above the water level. She took a breath and began swimming toward the nearest riverbank.

Approaching her destination rapidly, Batgirl felt her shoulder graze a rock and whipped her legs forward. Nothing would be achieved if her head hit a rock that could cause her injury or unconsciousness. The current dragged her along as she realized how difficult it would be to swim downstream on her back and reach the shore safely in the available time. She needed to devise a plan, but the roaring in her head seemed to be getting louder—distracting her further.

Something about the incessant roaring seemed to demand her attention.

Horror suddenly seized Batgirl as she realized the roaring was not just in her mind. It was external, and its source was the rapids ahead—and the sheer drop the river made in their midst.

Her probing feet kept her body from being battered against the rocks above the waterfall. She had no idea how far down her body would plunge after she reached the lip of the falls. She would be swept over and fall among the mist shrouded rocks below where her body would be shattered shortly before she drowned. Hypothermia would never be given the little time required to do its deadly work.

Her best plan to avoid this fate, given swimming to the shore would now be utterly impossible, would be to fling herself from the lip of the falls and hope she jumped beyond the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. She might have an undertow with which to cope afterwards, but she knew her chances against this phenomenon were greater than those the rocks offered.

Her plan seemed desperate, but she had already somehow avoided being trapped beneath the surface of the frozen river and drowning. Also, the swift current had threatened to dash her fragile body against submerged rocks. If she survived the waterfall descending ahead of her, she would have three or perhaps four miracles to which to attribute her continued existence.

Batgirl could already feel the pressure of the cold water washing around her hips. Her lower body seemed almost numb and something seemed to have arrested her progress along the river. The realization came to her slowly. Piece by piece, her mind assembled the intricate puzzle. Somehow, another miracle had occurred--her fateful fall had been delayed.How?

She tried to focus and probed the water around her with her hands. Her fingers encountered something solid, smooth, and slippery. Its surface was curved and Batgirl determined it was a log with the bark stripped away by the water. An experimental pressure told Batgirl the log represented the Dickensian chance that could save her from the river’s menace. She wrapped her arms around the log and began to pull herself toward the near bank as the frigid waters threatened to tear her away and send her literally over the edge to oblivion. Again and again she repeated the movement with her arms, since her lower body was numb with cold and practically immobile. Inch by inch, breathing heavily, she dragged herself upward and emerged from the swirling whitewater. Finally, she reached the point where the water-slick root vanished into the riverbank and let go.

She sneezed and felt her body shake uncontrollably as she collapsed on the snow-covered riverbank. She lay shivering for a long moment watching the water plunge out of sight and was glad to be alive to feel these numbing sensations. Batgirl would have to find some shelter soon to cope with the threat these sensations represented. Now, however, her discomfort confirmed she was alive and she was grateful for them. Slowly, she rubbed feeling into her legs and began to climb the steep riverbank, her boots crunching in the snow. Out of the water, her legs were slowly functioning and responding better and better to her mental commands as she continued moving.

‘I’ve swum in so much cold water lately, I should be an honorary member of the Polar Bear Club!’

At the top of the riverbank, she rested under an enormous willow tree. She looked around and spotted a light in the distance. Once her breathing had normalized, she sneezed and began to descend a much gentler slope, approaching the light she had spotted.

As she grew closer to the light, she considered how the wind dried her costume when it blew, while chilling her to the bone. She sneezed and entered the shelter of a coniferous forest. As she crept forward, Batgirl realized the trees were aligned in uniform rows. No natural forest was this well organized.

As she passed through the trees, Batgirl identified them with a casual glance. Rows of pine, spruce, and fir trees stood neatly aligned. Her observations brought about deductions that were confirmed when she reached the far end the coniferous forest. She had reached Douglas Ironwood’s Christmas tree farm – Poison Ivy’s planned destination, and the Batgirlcycle being parked beside the house proved she was right.

Batgirl savagely thrust thoughts of her discomfort aside and dashed into the shadow of the house in a crouch. Poison Ivy’s assistants were undoubtedly in custody by now, so it was unlikely lookouts were posted, but stealth might still prevent the stray glance from inadvertently giving away her presence prematurely. The footprints she had left in the snow might give her away, but there was nothing practical to be done about them. Batgirl paused briefly at her vehicle, collected some things and began to decide how to enter the house. Whatever she decided to do, she would have to hurry.

Her hands shook as the opened the French windows and she stood shivering inside for a moment before beginning her search. She stifled a sneeze and realized her poor health could jeopardize lives in addition to her own. ‘I’ve got to change into my spare costume.’

She found a bathroom on the first floor and peeled her drenched costume from her body, before slipping on the spare she kept tucked in a hidden compartment of her Batgirlcycle with another utility belt. The warmth of the dry cloth was absolutely luxurious and Batgirl had to focus on her job after she had put away the soaked costume and equally wet long underwear she had worn beneath it. Ever vigilant, she listened while she changed, but heard nothing. “Up or down?” Batgirl murmured. The main staircase offered the most obvious route to another floor and Batgirl ascended it as silently as a wraith.

The rustle of cloth drew Batgirl to the master bedroom where she found a woman bound to the bed and gagged. The Dynamic Dynamo shined her tiny Batlight on herself and smiled as the crime victim relaxed visibly. “I’m Batgirl,” the heroine whispered. “You’re safe now. Do you understand?”

The bound woman nodded and Batgirl slashed the ropes around her hands and began to undo the gag around the woman’s mouth. “Thank you, Batgirl,” the victim said quietly, aware of the purple finger at Batgirl’s lips.

“What happened?” Batgirl asked softly, freeing the woman’s legs.

“Some little-,” the former prisoner began. She described Poison Ivy in unflattering terms and went on, “. . . broke in here, tied me up, and took Douglas downstairs. I think she plans to kill him and rob us. She kept going on about his ‘crimes’ against nature.”

“Please stay here. Call the police while I take care of Poison Ivy.” Batgirl held her gaze while she nodded again and smiled. Then, she was gone.

A faint sound from the first floor study drew Batgirl’s attention. As Gotham City’s Gorgeous Guardian peered into the room, Poison Ivy reached for the dial of a safe and began to manipulate the tumblers. The heroine coughed and Poison Ivy whirled to face her.

Batgirl dodged into the room as a dart flew into the door she had peered around. “Missed me, Poison Ivy,” Batgirl said.

The roguish redhead lowered her arm. “So, you escaped from the bridge. Well done. Now that you’ve caught up to me, you can kiss my–”

Batgirl advanced and slapped the other wrist-mounted dart aside as the voluptuous villainess raised it to fire again.

“Forget it,” Batgirl said. A purple boot hit Poison Ivy in the gut and doubled her over. “What have you done with Douglas Ironwood?”

“The plant kingdom is crushing him as we speak. You can kick me around or save him. The choice is yours.” Batgirl swung her leg into the air and brought her heel crashing down on the back of Poison Ivy’s head. Batgirl frowned as her enemy collapsed, because she had left all the Batcuffs she carried on her belt in America’s Mall at the Crystal Castle on the wrists of Poison Ivy’s henchwomen . . . and she had just left her spare utility belt at the Batgirlcycle!

Mentally Batgirl shrugged. If Douglas Ironwood’s life was in danger, she had no time to retrieve the spare Batcuffs. She cast a regretful glance at Poison Ivy’s prone body. The villainess lay still where she had fallen and did not look as if she would get up any time soon.

Interrogation was not an option. Batgirl would have to search for Douglas Ironwood. As she flitted from room to room, she began to review her visit to the house in her mind. Mrs. Ironwood, the woman bound to her bed, had said Poison Ivy had taken her husband, “downstairs.” She had gone over the first floor without finding him. The answer occurred to her as she opened a door at the top of a staircase. Poison Ivy had arranged to kill Douglas Ironwood in his basement!

Batgirl hurried down. “Mr. Ironwood, where are you?” she called.

Would he hear her? Could he respond?

Batgirl listened and heard a faint thump. She moved in the direction from which she believed it had come and intently listened. She heard nothing.

“Mr. Ironwood!” she called again.

As silence answered Batgirl, her glance swept the room. She faced a deep freeze she realized was the only possible place to hide a body. Inhaling fearfully, Batgirl rushed forward and tried to raise the freezer lid. The chest was locked. As she pulled her lock pick from her hip, another thump sounded. It came from inside the deep freeze!’

“I’m coming, Mr. Ironwood! You’ll be out of there in a moment!” Seconds later, the lock on the deep freeze surrendered and Batgirl opened it. Inside, Douglas Ironwood lay bound with Poison Ivy’s vines. One thick tendril encircled his throat and Batgirl’s eyes widened as she saw the frost accumulating on the vines. “Oh, God!” Batgirl gasped, expelling her breath sharply.

Poison Ivy had soaked the vines that bound her prisoner and had left the cold to contract them and strangle Ironwood!

A well-honed blade from Batgirl’s belt severed the vine around Ironwood’s throat.

“Thank you, Batgirl! My wife, Rose--”

“Is okay. Poison Ivy is unconscious in your study. Your wife is safe.”

“Batgirl, you’re wonderful!”

“Let’s get you upstairs where it’s warm,” Batgirl said, acknowledging the compliment with a smile as she slashed the rest of Ironwood’s bindings away.

“I’m going to enjoy handing that-,” Ironwood began and described Poison Ivy in terms just as unflattering as the ones his wife had earlier employed. Then he finished, “. . . over to the police. I suppose she’ll rot.” He laughed at his small joke. He stopped laughing when he and Batgirl came upon his study where the open, empty safe yawned at them. “I thought you said she was unconscious?”

“She was playing possum!” Batgirl said.

“Rose!” Ironwood exclaimed as his wife entered the room.

“I’m safe, Douglas. I saw our first visitor fleeing like a coward across the snow.”

“Excuse me,” Batgirl said. She moved quickly from the couple’s presence toward the French windows she had used to enter the house. She cursed herself under her breath. Poison Ivy had focused Batgirl’s attention on her intended victim, faked helplessness, and waited for Batgirl to leave. Then she had hit the safe and was trying to make her getaway—on the Batgirlcycle!

As she raced outside, Batgirl permitted herself a private little smile. Poison Ivy was listening to the Batgirlcycle’s engine cough, but refuse to turn over. The villainess tried the kick-starter again and swore.

“Such language,” Batgirl teased.

“What is wrong with this thing?” Poison Ivy demanded.

“It doesn’t work well without the spark plug.”

Poison Ivy’s jaw dropped and her shoulders turned to face the Gorgeous Guardian of Gotham City. The Dark Knight Damsel grinned back at her, holding the spark plug and waving it tauntingly in front of Ivy in a fair imitation of what both Catwoman and Max Chessman had done to Batgirl.

“You!” Poison Ivy said, pointing at Batgirl and quaking like a volcano about to erupt. Batgirl’s eyes narrowed when she realized the villainess had not reloaded her wrist darts. Poison Ivy slid from the seat of the Batgirlcycle and faced her enemy.

Batgirl stood with her legs spread to shoulder width and her hands resting on her shapely hips. “I should warn you, Poison Ivy, the Ironwoods have already called the police. Your only chance to escape is to take this spark plug away from me.”

“You imagine I won’t?”

Batgirl quizzically cocked her head to one side and grinned. “I sincerely hope you try,” she invited.

Batgirl was far from disappointed. Poison Ivy raced toward her and leaped. Batgirl launched two punches and spun to deliver a shattering kick. Poison Ivy absorbed the blows and wrapped her arms around Batgirl, taking Batgirl’s plant leg from beneath her. The two women fell in the snow and struggled, rolling back and forth as each tried to gain an advantage over the other.

The fight drew the Ironwoods who cheered for Batgirl as she maneuvered herself into position to deliver a series of blows to Poison Ivy’s midsection. Batgirl pivoted beneath her opponent and sent Poison Ivy tumbling over her shoulder. The villainess landed on her back in a snow drift and felt her body hauled backward and Batgirl’s arms encircle her shoulders.

Batgirl ignored the helpless writhing of Poison Ivy as purple fingers laced together behind the villainess’ neck, bending it forward and applying pressure. Slowly, Poison Ivy’s vain struggles ceased, but Batgirl maintained her grip until she heard sirens. Only then was Batgirl sure her opponent was knocked out, despite the evidence of her limp body. “Please turn Poison Ivy over to the authorities with my compliments,” Batgirl said.

“It will be our pleasure, Batgirl,” Rose Ironwood said.

“Thank you,” Douglas Ironwood said.

“You’re welcome,” she responded. “Merry Christmas.” The Dark Knight Damsel put her spark plug back in place and sped away into the night.

Barbara Gordon’s cold was on the mend two days later as she glanced over the newspaper headlines. One article suddenly caught her eye and she drained her teacup before reading on. The Police Benevolent Society had turned over all the Christmas trees Poison Ivy had brought back to life to Douglas Ironwood to sell to the public at cut-rate prices. The proceeds from their sales and accompanying donations were divided among the merchants Poison Ivy and her girl goons had beaten up in the early stages of their anti-Christmas tree campaign.

“That is good news, Charlie.” Barbara said to her pet bird. She would have to remember to tell her father what a nice gesture she thought the donation was. Then, she changed her mind and reached for the phone.

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