Tony woke to the sound of his phone buzzing against the nightstand. The clock beside it read 2:17 PM, meaning he'd managed almost seven hours of sleep. A new personal record. He fumbled for the device, squinting at the screen through bleary eyes.
Three missed calls from an unlisted number. One text message: Call me when you're among the living. Morrison.
"That was fast," he muttered, sitting up and running a hand through his disheveled white hair.
The floor of his apartment above Devil May Cry was littered with discarded clothes and empty pizza boxes. Living alone had its perks, chief among them not having to explain his disaster zone of a living space to anyone. He stepped over a pile of magazines, making his way to the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face.
The mirror revealed a nasty bruise along his jawline, already turning yellow at the edges as his accelerated healing kicked in. One of the cultists had gotten in a lucky hit with what felt like brass knuckles. By evening, the mark would be gone completely.
After a quick shower and change into fresh clothes, Tony headed downstairs to the shop. The main phone was blinking with messages, probably clients wondering why he wasn't open during normal business hours. Normal wasn't exactly in his wheelhouse.
He grabbed a cold slice of pizza from the fridge, dialed Morrison, and wedged the phone between ear and shoulder while he located his boots.
"Redgrave," Morrison answered on the second ring. "Thought you might be dead."
"Not for lack of trying," Tony replied around a mouthful of congealed cheese. "You got my message about the seal?"
"Yeah, and it's ringing alarm bells. Trigon-level stuff isn't my usual gig." Morrison's voice carried the gravelly quality of someone who smoked too much and slept too little. "I made some calls. That warehouse location sits on old Gotham ley lines. Major mystical convergence point."
Tony frowned. "The Wayne Enterprises connection feels random, though."
"Nothing's random in Gotham," Morrison replied. "Listen, I've got a contact at S.T.A.R. Labs who might be able to help. Specializes in artifact analysis. If you recovered anything from the site, she could take a look."
"She?"
"Nicoletta Goldstein. Brilliant technical mind, extensive knowledge of occult items. Bit of an acquired taste, personality-wise."
Tony grinned. "Sounds like my kind of people."
"Thought you'd say that," Morrison sighed. "I'll text you the address. And Tony? Try not to piss her off. She's one of the good ones."
.....
.....
...
S.T.A.R. Labs Gotham occupied a gleaming complex on the outskirts of the financial district, all glass and chrome against Gotham's gothic architecture. Tony parked his motorcycle in the visitor lot, the cherry-red machine looking defiantly out of place among sensible sedans and hybrid compacts.
He approached the security desk, guitar case slung over his shoulder. Inside was Rebellion, along with the artifacts he'd collected: a ceremonial dagger with unusual engravings and a vial of the substance the cultists had used on the seal.
"Tony Redgrave for Nicoletta Goldstein," he told the guard, flashing the visitor badge Morrison had arranged.
The guard frowned at Tony's casual attire, red leather coat, white hair, but checked his computer. "Ms. Goldstein is expecting you. Basement level, Lab 7. Elevator's to your right."
The basement level felt more like Tony's natural habitat: organized chaos of equipment, dim lighting, and a faint smell of ozone and machinery. He followed the numbered signs until he reached Lab 7, its door plastered with hazard warnings and a handwritten note that read "Knock or Die."
Tony knocked, more out of curiosity about the "or Die" part than actual courtesy.
"It's open! Just don't touch anything that's glowing!" called a female voice with a slight Southern accent.
He pushed open the door to find a laboratory that looked like it had survived a controlled explosion. Workbenches crammed with electronics, mechanical parts, and what appeared to be occult paraphernalia filled the space. In the center stood a woman bent over something smoking faintly on the main table.
She wore heavy-duty welding gloves up to her elbows, protective goggles pushed up into dark hair streaked with red. Tattoos covered what he could see of her arms, and a cigarette dangled precariously from the corner of her mouth.
"You Redgrave?" she asked without looking up.
"Last time I checked," Tony replied, closing the door behind him. "You must be Goldstein."
"Nico. Nobody calls me Goldstein except my tax guy." She finally looked up, pushing her goggles completely off. Dark eyes widened slightly as she took in Tony's appearance. "Well hell, Morrison didn't mention you'd be so..."
"Devastatingly handsome?" Tony suggested with a grin.
Nico snorted, extinguishing her cigarette in a nearby ashtray shaped like a demon's head. "I was gonna say 'exactly like the kind of troublemaker who gets my lab privileges revoked,' but sure, we can go with your version."
She pulled off her gloves and extended a hand. Tony noted the calluses and small burn scars, marks of someone who worked with her hands and didn't mind getting them dirty.
"Morrison says you've got demon problems," she said as they shook hands. "Right up my alley. What'd you bring me?"
Tony set his guitar case on a clear spot on the workbench and opened it. "Ceremonial dagger used by Trigon cultists, and a sample of the substance they used to damage an ancient seal. Fair warning, the liquid does nasty things to metal."
Nico's professional demeanor shifted instantly, her eyes lighting up with genuine interest. She grabbed a pair of tongs and carefully lifted the dagger for examination.
Damn," she whispered, almost reverently. "This is old. Pre-Babylonian symbols, but with modifications." She glanced at Tony with newfound respect. "Where'd you get this?"
"Took it off a cultist trying to gut me with it," Tony replied, leaning against the workbench. "Hard way to make a first impression."
"You hunt demons professionally, then?" she asked, already setting up equipment to analyze the blade.
"Among other things. Exorcisms, hauntings, occasional vampire. If it goes bump in the night and causes trouble, I bump back."
Nico's mouth quirked up at one corner. "Sounds like my kind of party."
She placed the dagger under a specialized scanner, fingers flying across a keyboard as she configured the settings. Tony watched her work, noting the efficiency of her movements and the complete focus in her expression. Whatever else Nicoletta Goldstein might be, she was definitely good at her job.
"So what's your stake in all this?" he asked. "S.T.A.R. Labs doesn't strike me as demon central."
"Official title is 'Specialized Weapons Engineer,'" she replied, eyes on her monitor. "Unofficially, I'm the resident expert on weird shit nobody else wants to touch. Started as a mechanical prodigy, discovered a knack for reverse-engineering paranormal tech." She glanced up with a sardonic smile. "Turns out having a grandmother who practiced black magic comes in handy in the tech world."
"Family businesses are the worst, aren't they?" Tony commented, the joke carrying more truth than he let on.
Nico studied him for a moment. "Something tells me you know exactly what that's like."
Before Tony could respond, her computer beeped. She turned back to the monitor, whistling softly.
"Well, that's definitely not standard issue," she murmured, tapping commands to enhance the image. "The blade's molecular structure is abnormal. Metal's been alloyed with... something organic." She looked up at Tony. "Blood. Human and something else."
"Demon," Tony supplied. "They like mixing the two. Creates a resonance that amplifies ritual energy."
Nico's eyebrows rose. "You're not just a pretty face after all."
"I have layers," Tony replied with a mock bow. "Like an onion. Or a parfait."
She laughed, a genuine sound that transformed her face. "Did you just quote Shrek at me during a serious paranormal investigation?"
"Testing your pop culture knowledge. You passed."
Nico shook her head, still smiling, and turned her attention to the vial. She handled it with extreme caution, transferring a drop to a specialized containment plate.
"This is gonna take a bit longer," she said. "Compound analysis isn't exactly quick, especially with non-standard materials." She glanced at him. "You in a hurry?"
Tony checked his watch. "Got a hot date with a demonic seal that needs fixing, but my contact's still working on solutions."
"Then pull up a chair," Nico said, gesturing to a cluttered stool. "Unless watching a pretty girl run lab tests is too boring for a demon hunter."
"Depends on the pretty girl," Tony replied, clearing the stool. Something in her expression caught his attention, a flicker of color in her cheeks quickly hidden as she turned back to her work.
For the next hour, Tony watched Nico analyze the mysterious substance. She narrated her process, explaining complex concepts in layman's terms without condescension. Her enthusiasm was infectious, hands moving animatedly as she described molecular structures and mystical properties.
"This," she declared finally, pointing to a 3D model on her screen, "is nasty stuff. It's a catalytic compound designed to break down magical barriers. The base is human blood, but it's been infused with corrupted ectoplasm and... some kind of energy I can't identify."
"Demon essence," Tony said. "Probably extracted from sacrificial victims."
"Charming," Nico grimaced. "The clever part is how it targets specific magical frequencies. This wasn't cooked up by amateurs, Tony. Whoever created this knew exactly what seal they were targeting."
Tony leaned closer to examine the model, his shoulder brushing against Nico's. She didn't pull away.
"So the cultists are just delivery boys," he mused. "Someone else is designing the weapons."
"Someone with serious knowledge of both demonology and advanced biochemistry," Nico agreed. "That's a rare combination."
She turned toward him, their faces suddenly inches apart. Tony caught a whiff of motor oil, cigarettes, and something sweeter underneath, like cinnamon. For a moment, neither moved.
Nico broke the tension first, clearing her throat and stepping back. "The, uh, dagger's interesting too," she said, voice a touch higher than before. "Those symbols form a ritual pattern. Not just for killing, but for extracting and containing life essence."
"Soul stealing," Tony translated.
"Trust me, it's not," Tony muttered. "Can you create something to counteract this stuff? Something that would repair or reinforce the seal?"
Nico bit her lower lip, considering. "Maybe. I'd need to understand the seal's original composition. If I could get samples..."
"I might be able to arrange that," Tony said. "Young Justice is currently guarding the warehouse."
"Young Justice?" Nico's eyes widened. "You're working with the cape crowd now?"
Tony shrugged. "Temporarily. We have overlapping interests."
"Huh." Nico studied him with renewed interest. "Never figured you for the team player type."
"I'm full of surprises."
"I bet you are," she murmured, almost to herself. Louder, she added, "I'll need time to develop a countermeasure. And access to that seal."
"I'll talk to the kids," Tony said. "Though fair warning, their babysitter is the big bad Bat himself."
"Batman?" Nico whistled. "You really are connected. That explains how you got into S.T.A.R. Labs so easily."
"Actually, that was Morrison's doing."
"Morrison wouldn't have the pull without someone backing him," Nico countered, gathering the analyzed items and returning them to Tony's case. "Batman's got eyes everywhere in Gotham, especially on people like you."
"People like me?"
"The ones who blur the lines," she replied, meeting his gaze directly. "The ones who aren't quite human."
Tony stilled. "What makes you say that?"
Nico tapped the side of her head. "Grandma Nell didn't just teach me black magic. She taught me to see what others don't. Your aura's... different." She smiled, no fear in her expression. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. I've always had a thing for dangerous men."
The bluntness of her statement caught Tony off guard, and he found himself chuckling. "Most people run the other way when they figure it out."
"I'm not most people," Nico replied with a shrug. "Besides, anyone who quotes Shrek during a demon investigation can't be all bad."
She scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to him. "My personal number. Call me when you can get me access to that seal. Or, you know, if you just want to call."
Tony pocketed the number, surprised by how genuinely he was smiling. "I might take you up on that."
"Good," Nico said, walking him to the door. "Oh, and Tony? Next time you come by, bring food. Lab work makes me hungry, and the cafeteria here sucks."
"Pizza acceptable?"
"Pizza's perfect," she replied, her smile brightening her entire face. "Extra pepperoni, light on the demon guts."
As Tony rode back toward the city center, Nico's paper burning a hole in his pocket, he found himself looking forward to their next meeting more than he'd expected. It had been a long time since he'd met someone who accepted his nature so easily, who looked at him and saw more than just a weapon or a monster.
His phone buzzed with a message from Robin: Seal activity increasing. Need your contact's input ASAP.
Tony sighed, reality crashing back. Demons, cultists, and ancient seals waited for no man, not even half-demon ones with potential dinner plans.