A Match Made In Hell

The rain continued to pour down relentlessly, punctuated by the odd flash of lightning or rumble of thunder. The streets were entirely deserted, as the people of New York sought shelter from the violent storm. Nothing was happening and no one was going anywhere, as New York City ground to a halt.

That suited Gwen Stacy just fine, weary as she was from the demands of attempting to juggle a career as a superhero with her money problems, her grades, her acting career, her responsibilities to her mother, and her evening job at the Empire State Coffee Shop. Today was a day that called for a plain T-shirt, blue jeans and her favorite pair of red Converse high-tops, combined with Taylor Swift and the latest Twilight novel.

It was nice to be able, for the first time in several weeks, to really be able to lay back and relax…

…at least until Gwen was roused from her pleasant trance by the laughter coming from Kitty's bedroom.

Rolling her eyes with a half-smirk, Gwen went back to her reading.

She'd never understand just what it was Kitty found so funny about those stupid reality shows.

SPIDER-WOMAN #21

"A MATCH MADE IN HELL"

His eyes narrowing in frustration, Ronald Hilliard checked his inbox for what was probably the sixth time that day.

Nothing.

Ronald just couldn't understand it. He had set this online shrine to Spider-Woman up more than a week ago, and yet she had never bothered to take the time to thank him for it. All this effort, and not one visit, not one e-mail, not one phone call, not even a damn card!

He sighed in frustration, leaning back in his chair as he listened to Eric Clapton's classic song Layla on his MP3 player:

Layla, you've got me on my knees.

Layla, I'm begging, darling please.

Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind

Let's make the best of the situation

Before I finally go insane.

Please don't say we'll never find a way

And tell me all my love's in vain.

Seething in frustration, Ronald stewed in his chair for several minutes as he thought the matter over. There had to be some way to get Spider-Woman to notice him…

As he continued pondering, the music eventually switched to Sting and the Police's Every Breath You Take:

Oh can't you see you belong to me?

How my poor heart aches with every step you take

Every move you make and every vow you break

Every smile you fake

Every claim you stake, I'll be watching you…

Then it hit him. Grinning happily, he sat up and started typing away at his computer, knowing how he could get Spider-Woman's attention.

When he met her, she'd just have to notice him…

Gwen sat at the Empire State Coffee House after work a few days later, flipping through the Daily Bugle while she waited for Randy Robertson to arrive so they could discuss opening night for A Streetcar Named Desire, which was set for tomorrow. Already she'd gotten a dose of bad news, reading that Polestar had managed to escape from the Raft along with a few other supervillains. If past experience as a superheroine had taught her anything, she'd almost certainly end up running into Polestar again sooner or later.

She couldn't help but mentally recount them all: Blizzard, the Brothers Grimm, Firebrand, Will O' the Wisp, Tarot, Moonstone, the Constrictor, Boomerang, the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, and Jack O' Lantern. Aside possibly from Blizzard, Gwen had no doubt that any of them would be happy to have her head decorating the wall above their fireplace.

In about six months of superheroing, Gwen realized she had already gained a considerable "rogues gallery", to use the popular term that referred to the collection of supervillain enemies that every costumed hero eventually seemed to develop no matter where they lived in the world, whether it was America, Peru, Tajikistan or Angola.

Somehow, Gwen wasn't entirely thrilled at the idea, wondering yet again why she was still putting on her red and gold bodysuit when there wasn't any real reason for it.

She hadn't come any closer to a conclusion when she heard her phone ring, and opened it up to answer.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Yeah, Gwen?" Randy replied on the other end.

"Randy?" Gwen said in surprise. "Are you okay? What's the matter?"

"Yeah, I just got called in to work," Randy said ruefully. "I forgot I traded shifts with another guy so I'd be able to make it for opening night. I'm really sorry, but I won't be able to meet you."

"Oh, that's fine," Gwen assured him. "See you tomorrow night," she finished, before hanging up. Ever since classes had finished, she had switched to the day shift, which freed up her evenings for her acting career, her webswinging, and looking after her mother.

Speaking of which, she realized she probably had a few hours to visit her family…

"So that's how it is?" Gwen frowned as she discussed her mother's therapy bills with Aunt Nancy after dinner that evening.

"I'm afraid so," Nancy sighed. "My insurance only covers immediate family. And George's alimony won't be enough to cover it on its own."

"And we're still coming up short," Gwen realized. "I'm so sorry, Aunt Nancy-I wish I could do more, but-"

"It's alright, Gwen," Aunt Nancy assured her. "We'll find a way. Jill said she can-"

"You and she do more than enough already," Gwen scowled in frustration. "I'm not just going to let you-"

"We can take care of it," Nancy interrupted. "Gwen, you don't need to take this all on yourself-"

"But I'm not doing anything right now!" Gwen shot back, as she fought to keep her temper under control. "I mean, Mom's my responsibility!"

"She's our responsibility," Nancy replied gently. "You do a lot already, Gwen-you look after her alimony, you helped Karen Page set everything up with the divorce, and you've always just been there when she needed you."

"That's not good enough," Gwen muttered. "Mom's still the one who'll end up paying taxes on the alimony, Dad screwed Page and I with the divorce, and it still doesn't pay for the therapy she needs."

"Gwen-" Nancy tried to interject.

"It's not enough!" Gwen snapped, fire in her eyes. "I mean…I just can't…I just wish there was something else I could do…"

All Nancy Stacy could do was hug her niece tightly.

Opening night at the Aristophanes Playhouse was filled with energy as the cast of A Streetcar Named Desire put on their costumes and prepared their makeup. The play's director, Archibald Llewellyn, was all abuzz as he made last-minute checks on the lighting, the props, and the music, before finally calling his performers together for some last-minute words.

"Almost all of you have done exceptionally well in the weeks leading up to this, the moment of truth," Mr. Llewellyn said, "and I have full confidence that we will do justice to Mr. Tennessee Williams. Not only have almost all of us performed well on our individual merits, but almost all of us have bonded as a family."

The cast members, including Gwen, all smiled at one another, glad to finally hear some praise from a man many of them had fantasized about strangling over the last several weeks. All their hard work was about to pay off.

"The sole exception, I am afraid, is with Miss Gwen Stacy," Mr. Llewellyn frowned, turning his head as he looked disapprovingly at Gwen. "Not only has Miss Stacy's chronic tardiness for rehearsal, when she bothers to attend at all, hindered the overall readiness of the production, it is ever more amply clear that outward physical beauty does not translate into acting talent. I very much regret my previous casting choice, but there is little to be done at this point. With the exception of Miss Stacy, I bid you all the best of luck in the coming production!"

The actors just stood there for a moment, looking at each other and then at Gwen in surprise. Some of them seemed sympathetic towards her, particularly Randy, while others were more inclined to scowl and mutter, as if they agreed with the director's assessment. No one said anything out loud, though, not wanting to cause any more problems with less than five minutes to go before curtain.

For her part, Gwen stood there stiffly, her face reddened in humiliation and anger. A furious, boiling rage welled up inside her, but she forced herself to remain calm, breathing deeply to keep from yelling something she knew she'd probably regret. It was only after Randy tapped her on the shoulder that she reacted.

"Are you…" he began hesitantly, his own mind still reeling with the shock of what he'd just seen.

"Yes, I am," Gwen replied with an icy calm.

"What are you…" Randy began.

"…going to do?" Gwen asked, as she turned to look at Harry, her voice as cold and hard as before. "I am going to go out there, and I am going to do justice to Mr. Tennessee Williams, as Mr. Llewellyn demanded."

Taking one final breath, she marched to her place as the curtain began to rise.

The applause had been one thing, but reading the reviews in the next day's edition of the Daily Bugle was immensely satisfying for Gwen. Most of it dealt with the performance of the leads, the set direction, and everything else in the review, but there were a few lines that caught her attention:

Arguably the most underrated aspect of this production is Gwen Stacy in the role of the Strange Woman. Despite it being such a small role, Stacy played it with immense pathos and conviction, displaying a seething cauldron of emotion that hints at a deep turmoil and pain within her soul. One can only imagine what the Strange Woman is thinking as she interacts with the rest of the cast, and whether her emotions are genuine, or a mask that hides her true feelings.

Gwen laughed about it with Kitty the next day at breakfast before she left for work, telling her all about Mr. Llewellyn's strange temper tantrums and increasingly bizarre demands.

"Archie Llewellyn's weird even by New York theater standards," Kitty shook her head. "At least, that's what everyone else has been telling me."

"Yeah, but what I don't get is why he insulted me right before the curtain rose," Gwen shook her head.

"He carries a lot of grudges," Kitty explained, "and he can't stand what he calls the 'beautiful people'."

"'Beautiful people'?" Gwen echoed in surprise.

"People he thinks try to become actors based on their looks, rather than their talent," Kitty shrugged. "Apparently it drives him nuts."

Gwen only scowled.

"What's wrong?" Kitty asked.

"On the one hand, he's right," Gwen muttered. "There are too many people who just try to get by on their looks. But on the other hand, that's why other actresses can have such a hard time being taken seriously."

Kitty only frowned in sympathy.

Harry Osborn looked up in alarm as he heard the key turning in the lock and the door to his apartment open. Charging out of the back room, intending to run for the kitchen to get a knife to protect himself, he was stunned to see Liz Allan walking into the room.

"Liz?" he asked in amazement. "How did you…"

"You had a second key made for me, remember?" Liz replied. "You never asked for it back."

Harry stood there in silence.

"…So what do you want?" he asked, sitting down on the couch and gesturing for her to join him.

"I noticed that a lot of shares in Osborn Industries were recently sold on the stock market," Liz replied. "I got a couple of Business students I know to help me crunch the numbers. These bonds are worth more than five million dollars," she realized.

"So?" Harry rolled his eyes.

"Harry, were you the one who sold all those shares?" she asked in confusion. "I mean, according to what the other students told me, the only person who could own more stock than that was Norman Osborn. There's no way he'd sell his company."

Harry just sat in silence for several minutes, rubbing his temples. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"You really want to know what I've been doing these last few months?" he asked. "About the strange men I've been meeting? Why I've been disappearing? Why I never have any time for you anymore?"

Liz only nodded.

"I've had it with my old man," he spat. "Norman Osborn is a control freak who never lets you forget that he's the one with all the power. That he can make you, or that he can break you. He makes you feel small, he makes you feel worthless. He lets you know that you're a disgrace to the family name. That's what it's like being Norman Osborn's son."

"So, then are you-" Liz tried to reply, before Harry interrupted again.

"That's why I sold my shares in Oscorp," Harry continued, "so I could tell Norman where he could shove his university payments. I want to be my own man, Liz. I don't want anything to do with chemicals, finance, or anything like that. I want to be in film-I want to direct, I want to produce, I want to do whatever I can. If Norman won't let me do that, then I don't need him."

"So that's where you were," Liz realized, "making the arrangements to sell your Oscorp stock."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "and the men I was dealing with were a stockbroker and some investors that I know. They were willing to take the stock off my hands, and give me a good price for it."

"But why all the secrecy?" Liz asked.

"Because Norman would have screwed us all over if he'd found out," Harry explained. "The guys who bought the Oscorp stock will be alright now that they actually have it, but Norman would have found some way to scare them out of the purchase if he'd found out."

"Oh God…" Liz put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"Gwen was right," Harry said, as he took Liz's hand in his own. "You had to put up with both our crap for way too long. I know I've been treating you like garbage, and I'm really sorry. It's just that…I just couldn't stand living under Norman's thumb any longer, you know? If I hadn't done this, I probably would have ended up killing myself."

Liz didn't say anything, instead just hugging him in response.

"Don't worry about it," she said gently. "The only thing that matters is your being able to live your life."

Harry just smiled back.

"So is it over now?" she asked. "No more secrets or disappearing?"

"None," Harry shook his head firmly. "I'm done with all that. I've got the money, I'm done with Norman, and that's all that matters."

"What about me?" Liz asked, a mischievous grin crossing her face.

"Huh?" Harry asked in surprise.

"You still have me, right?" Liz winked at him.

"And that's another thing Gwen was right about," Harry shook his head as he laughed.

Liz blinked in surprise.

"You've got the patience of a saint and the compassion of an angel," Harry explained, as he drew her in for another hug.

Ben Reilly leaned back in contentment as he finished his slice of birthday cake and put the plate away in the dishwasher. It was his mother's forty-fourth birthday, and just like every party Ben attended with his family, he was having a great time. His cousin Kitty Pryde was in the living room with a number of members of the Levins family, who were Karen Reilly's blood relatives.

Getting up with a happy sigh, Ben retrieved a beer from the refrigerator and sat down to join several of his relatives. His Uncle Steve, Karen's younger brother, was regaling some of the younger Prydes who had come for their Auntie Karen's birthday with another one of his stories about the engineering work he did at Hammer Labs. Steven Mark Levins had always been quite the character, ranging from his muscular physique and rakishly handsome looks to his thick brown hair, and it was no surprise that women half his age still found themselves staring at him whenever he passed them on the street.

"Antigravity technology could mean all sorts of changes for the future," Steve was telling Ben's cousins as he sat down. "Look at all the work Tony Stark is doing with that new solar power technology!"

"So does that mean we're all going to have flying cars in a few years?" one of the Prydes asked humorously.

"Well, that's a few years off yet," Steve shook his head. "Right now, antigravity technology can really only carry one person at a time. It handles like nothing else, though."

"Cool," the young Pryde smiled, as he and his siblings finished their drinks and went back to get some more, leaving Steve and Ben by themselves.

"So," Steve said, turning to Ben, "how'd your exams go?"

"Pretty good," Ben said proudly. "I'll probably be doing some more interning at Bellevue Hospital this summer. How about you? How are things going at Hammer Labs?"

"Same old, same old," Steve replied. "There's always so much to do and so little time..."

"Too bad," Ben shrugged. "So you don't have a girlfriend?"

Steve only laughed.

"I wish," he chuckled. "Not many women work in high-tech engineering, and all the ones that do are spoken for. But how about you? You're the one who's supposed to be chasing the girls…"

"Plenty of dates, but no commitment," Ben shook his head. "There is this one girl I really like, though…"

"Who's that?" Steve asked.

"Gwen, the one that Kitty's living with. You met her at my birthday party a few months ago, didn't you?" Ben asked.

Steve thought for a moment, then nodded in realization. He then got a look of horror on his face.

"Wait a minute…isn't she the kid of that George Stacy guy?" Steve asked.

"George who?" Ben raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"George Stacy," Steve spat in disgust. "He was the one who had his wife and sister kidnapped by the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. Apparently he's been donating a lot of money to the Friends of Humanity."

That got Ben's hackles up. The young man's eyes narrowed as he recalled how Kitty's room at the Empire State University dorm had been destroyed by anti-mutant racists. It had only been after Gwen offered to split the rent on a place with Kitty that she had found somewhere else to live.

"Gwen's his daughter?" he realized, his look turning slightly sour.

"I'm afraid so," Steve shook his head. "I've got to say, though…I never really liked her."

"What? Why?" Ben asked in confusion.

"She just seemed so…I don't know…snobbish," Steve said after just the right amount of hesitation. "Always looking down her nose at people like Kitty, kindly offering to help them just to prove how good she is. And she never lets you forget just how pretty, rich and perfect she is, always happy to show that she's such a nice person for helping you out."

Ben blinked in surprise.

"I never got that impression from her," he said in confusion. "And Kitty never did either…"

"Trust me, I know the type," Steve sighed. "They make nice, they put on airs, but underneath they're the same arrogant, manipulative jerks that so many other people are. They don't give a damn about anyone but themselves, and just hide their true motives behind a wall of sugar and bullshit."

Ben was about to say something else, but then he was interrupted by the rest of the family gathering to watch his mother open their presents.

Confusion whirled through Ben's mind as he tried to understand what his uncle had told him.

Everything he knew about Gwen suggested to him that Steve was wrong, but at the same time he knew his uncle too well to dismiss his claims.

His happiness at seeing his mother enjoy her birthday was genuine, but at the back of his mind the doubts and uncertainty continued to gnaw away at Ben.

He was only in his mid-forties, but Silvio Manfredi was still referred to as 'Silvermane' for his thick silvery-gray hair. Starting in his early twenties, his thick mane of black hair had rapidly begun graying, to the point where it turned completely silver before his thirtieth birthday. In truth, Manfredi did not mind the nickname, feeling that it sounded refined and elegant, which was how he liked to present himself. A man in Silvermane's position had an important reputation to uphold, after all…unlike the crude Johnny-come-latelies that had come to infect his city like a plague.

With the decline of many of the established New York crime families in the 1980s, a power vacuum had opened in the New York underworld. Many of the surviving gang lords, weary of the violence of the interracial gang wars at the time and wanting to maintain the profit and stability that organized crime offered, eventually banded together in a multiethnic syndicate. Calling itself the Maggia, the new outfit prized profit and stability over stupid and pointless racial strife. New leadership swiftly rose to the top of the syndicate, who saw the way the legitimate wealthy bluebloods of Europe and America lived, and were determined to enjoy the same trappings and prestige.

Many of its members were thus noted for both their exquisite refinement and their enjoyment of highbrow intellectual and artistic pursuits, and their bone-chilling criminal exploits. Unlike other criminal groups, who sometimes had standards in the types of crimes they would commit, the Maggia truly had no compunctions about who they exploited, cheerfully sold everything from drugs to snuff films, and were willing to shoot down as many innocents as necessary in order to kill the people they wanted dead.

Silvermane, head of the of the Maggia, was not particularly disturbed by the fact that the other gangs of New York's criminal underworld were just as violent and depraved as his own. It was a sign of the times, after all-only sentimental idiots actually believed organized crime syndicates gave a damn about anyone but themselves. It was true that some criminal groups had tried to show charity and compassion…which is why over the last decade they had been slowly strangled by the more ruthless and brutal syndicates. The crime world was simply changing to become more bloody, more violent and outgoing, as noted by the phenomenon of the increasingly common and especially dangerous brand of criminal known as the supervillain.

Really, the only thing that bothered Silvermane was how the other crimelords-the French expatriate Philippe Bazin, the flamboyant Crimewave, the psychopathic Green Goblin and the mysterious, never seen Kingpin-were so crude. None of them were capable of appreciating the beauty of a painting by Caravaggio, or the sonorous notes of a Chopin symphony, or the heart-stirring works of Dostoyevsky. They insisted on conducting their meetings in stinking warehouses, serving the most debased and low-class of meals, and speaking in an appalling slang that jarred Silvermane's ears.

As he sat in his office one afternoon, working diligently at arranging the latest smuggling routes for the summer shipping season, Silvermane was startled to hear his telephone ring. Answering it with smooth efficiency, Silvermane wasn't very surprised to hear the voice of George Stacy on the other end. George's financial acumen had been invaluable in helping the Maggia launder its money, and unlike most legitimate businesspeople Silvermane didn't have to worry about bad public relations from being associated with a known anti-mutant supporter.

"It's so good to see you again, George," Silvermane smiled. "What's the purpose of your call?"

"We have a problem," George said grimly on the other end. "Philippe Bazin has found out about our connections to the hit on Judge Baylor," he explained, referring to a judge who had been assassinated by Boomerang at the Maggia's request after he'd threatened to go public with the bribes they'd been giving him. Although Moon Knight had managed to capture Boomerang, not even he could prove that it had been anything more than a bank robbery gone bad. That was the classic technique for modern assassinations-instead of making it look like an accident, the hit had to look like the victim perished in the crossfire of a random supervillain attack.

"What?" Silvermane thundered in a rage. "That's impossible! How could Bazin even know?"

"He apparently found Baylor's bank accounts," George replied, "and he did the math."

"How did you find this out?" Silvermane demanded.

"I have a friend who works for one of Bazin's front companies," George explained, "who passed all the details on to me. How do you want to handle this?"

"I want copies of those documents," Silvermane said, fury in his voice. "And then I'll see how Bazin reacts when the D.A.'s office gets wind of that child pornography ring that's been bringing him so much money…"

"Sound good," George agreed, before he hung up.

Leaning back in his chair, Silvermane grinned, reflecting on how else he could make life hell for Bazin.

If Bazin insisted on upping the ante, the Maggia could play that game too.

Entry #5:

It's quite simple, really-so many of these organized criminal syndicates try to appear ruthless, disciplined and tough, but in truth they're paranoid, fearful and hateful. Behind their façade of being calm and collected businessmen, they're ready to murder each other at the slightest provocation. They're no better than the rest of the self-centered hypocrites out there. They put as much effort into hiding their own dark sides as much as the supposedly "legitimate" people they prey on.

Hence why the game I have begun, with George Stacy as my proxy, is so deliciously fun. These men frantically seek to destroy one another, wanting to expose each others' secrets while striving to keep their own concealed. They go on a rampage, murdering each other (and any innocents caught in the crossfire, which makes things all the sweeter) for the sake of their power, their money and their images.

A false trail here, a properly placed word there, a threat of blackmail in one place, a lie in another. All it needs is a few proper words in the right places, and suddenly it takes on a life of its own, as accusations and suspicions follow one after another and add fuel to a fire that burns ever brighter, consuming more and more victims.

And all I need to do is sit back and watch.

George Stacy had more knowledge of the criminal underworld than anyone suspected, no doubt in connecting many of his well-heeled "legitimate" clients with the syndicates. All this knowledge became mine when I 'persuaded' him to share it with me after being exposed to the mind-control gas from my pumpkin grenade. From there, it was simple-installing devices on George's computer and telephone that will allow me to track his progress, and provide appropriate guidance along the way, while simultaneously concealing and deleting from his telephone and computer records any connection between us.

No one will be able to trace this back to me…until the time is right.

Of course, many things may not go according to plan. The characters in my little drama may go off-script. Unforeseen circumstances may interfere in ways I could not have anticipated. But that's the beauty, you see-my plan is not in fact so complex and circuitous that it can be defeated by a single unforeseen circumstance.

I fully expect many of the protagonists in the coming war to realize they have been deceived. The entire house of cards, built of lies, false accusations and mutual recriminations, will come crashing down at some point. The syndicates will not be destroyed.

But when the players in the drama seek to determine how this could have happened, and who was responsible for this, who will they find at the center of it all?

Why, George Stacy, of course.

Ah, Spider-Woman…or, dare I say it, Gwen Stacy…I didn't forget you in my little play…

After all, the syndicates are known full well for their vengeance, and I do not suspect they will restrict themselves to taking vengeance on George alone…

They will make your loved ones pay with blood.

And if you survive that...I will be coming for you.

As I finish typing this entry, I turn in my chair and look at my pumpkin helmet.

I begin to laugh.

It goes on for hours, insane, maniacal cackling that sounds like it could come from the Devil himself.

I like the comparison.

The young woman glanced once more through her deck of cards, trying to discern what they were telling her. For some reason, their messages had become obscure in recent weeks, ever since the supervillain invasion of New York City. The woman, who used to call herself Marie-Ange Colbert, had played no part in the invasion, although she had watched with interest. Ever since her encounter with Spider-Woman, who had thwarted her attempts to murder many of her old tormentors, Marie-Ange had opted to remain in hiding.

She was dressed all in classical black robes, with a white hood, cloak, gloves and mask, rarely seeming to wear anything else anymore. Ever since she had taken to living in the abandoned country house, Marie-Ange had been unsure of what her next course of action should be. The young woman used to call herself Marie-Ange, but in truth she preferred the name 'Tarot', derived from her ability to summon and invoke the spirits of the Tarot, commanding them to use their extraordinary abilities. The healing ability of the Temperance spirit, the building ability of the Tower spirit, the feeding and agricultural abilities of the High Priestess, and more were all at her disposal. They had repaired the abandoned country house she now lived in, and allowed her to obtain the food, water and other modern conveniences she needed.

It was also with their help that she had found another young man, starving and near-death. Formerly imprisoned in Ravencroft Asylum, the young man had suffered horrible beatings and torture at the hands of the bullies at his school, before his murderous attempts to take revenge on them. Formerly called Nelson Gruber, but now calling himself the Bookworm, the young man had developed the ability to create magical constructs of anything he read, through his own mystical studies.

The Bookworm's initial attempts at revenge had been thwarted by the mysterious superhero calling himself Sleepwalker, and the Bookworm had been imprisoned at Ravencroft until he had been broken out and mentally enslaved along with many other supervillains by the nightmarish creature called Psyko. Freed from Psyko's malign influence after the monster's defeat by Sleepwalker, the Bookworm had managed to escape New York City and the manhunt searching for him, wandering the countryside until Tarot had found him and nursed him back to health.

The wraithlike Bookworm entered into the room as Tarot continued glancing through her cards. He was painfully thin, even more so than Tarot herself, his dead-white skin seeming as if it would be torn by his bones every time he moved in that jittery manner than reminded Tarot of a marionette. Thin patches of ink-black hair sprouted at random from his otherwise bald skull, even as his eyes gleamed with a murderous dark light, reflecting the demonic power he had inherited.

"Your cards tell you nothing?" the Bookworm demanded as he sat down across from Tarot.

Tarot didn't bother looking up, only scowling as she continued to flick through her cards. For some reason, she felt distinctly uneasy, and on edge.

"The message is obscure, as if there's some kind of fog around it," Tarot narrowed her eyes. "It's…confusing…"

"We are wasting time," the Bookworm sighed in frustration. "Have you become a feminine Hamlet, inclined to hem and haw over the consequences of your rightful course of action, ever delaying and permitting the survival of your enemies?"

Tarot frowned back at him.

"Are you so consumed with the desire for vengeance?" she asked him.

"Are you so inclined to allow your tormentors and betrayers to go unpunished for their wicked deeds?" the Bookworm demanded.

Tarot recoiled as if she had been slapped.

"I-" she began.

"We have been blessed with magical gifts possessed by few other mortals," the Bookworm continued, his voice becoming increasingly manic. "Do you mean to tell me you will simply allow them to go to waste?"

"…I was once told," Tarot said after some moments of thought, "that with great power must come great responsibility."

"Hogwash!" the Bookworm shouted, pounding the table in a rage. "If such is true, why did those who were responsible to us not use their powers responsibly? They could have protected us, assisted us, nurtured us! But instead we suffer at the hands of those who beat us, torture us, who make us suffer for their own perverted amusement! Do you mean to allow them to escape unpunished?"

A bitter, angry scowl crossed Tarot's face, as she recalled the stink of cheap alcohol on her mother's breath…her father reduced to working two jobs out of state to pay her medical bills…Felicia Hardy's merciless, catty insults…Gwen Stacy's pathetic, patronizing attempts to help her…

Any trace of hesitation was gone, as she returned the Bookworm's cold, piercing glare.

"That's the thing, though," she whispered menacingly. "They won't go unpunished."

Tears formed in her eyes as she said those words.

Spider-Woman swung through the evening June sky, patrolling on one of the few nights she'd had to herself in the two weeks since opening night for A Streetcar Named Desire. Now that the play had wrapped, Gwen finally had some free time, and had resumed her patrols as Spider-Woman. Fortunately, the city had been quiet for the last two weeks, the calm broken only by a few minor incidents that the city's other heroes had taken care of with a minimum of fuss. None of Spider-Woman's own enemies had apparently done anything at all-nothing had been heard from Polestar or Moonstone.

The sun was still high in the sky due to the long days of summer, and so Spider-Woman had been easily able to keep Liz and Harry in sight as she shadowed them. While she was truly happy to see that they'd apparently patched things up, Spider-Woman couldn't shake the notion that something bad would happen to them. She'd met Norman Osborn once when he'd come to her father George's house for a business meeting, and even just thinking about him sent shivers down her spine. Knowing her father, Spider-Woman wouldn't have been at all surprised if the people he associated with would try and take some form of revenge on anyone who crossed them.

Her spider-senses, which allowed her to track anyone upon whom she'd planted her special pheromones, began buzzing urgently as she realized someone she'd marked was in a critical situation. Swinging in for a closer look, she saw another couple approaching Harry and Liz. Their normal clothes suddenly evaporated and were replaced with bizarre seraphic garb, and their hands began glowing. All of a sudden, the man shot a wave of fire from his hands and the woman shot a blast of ice, first stopping Liz and Harry in their tracks and then blocking their paths as they tried to run away.

It didn't take Spider-Woman long to swing down into the park and drop both the man and the woman with sting blasts, before landing on her feet next to Harry and Liz. Quickly smothering the flames with her webbing so Harry and Liz could escape, Spider-Woman turned and began wrapping the bizarre couple that had attacked them with her webbing.

As they struggled to break free, Spider-Woman approached to have another look at them, but was then forced to turn again at Harry and Liz's screaming. To her horror, she saw a group of giant winged monkeys flying down towards them, easily catching the two youths in their strong grip and then flying away with them.

Spider-Woman moved to follow, but she was forced to dodge a fireball thrown at her. The strange couple, the Lovers, had freed themselves from her webbing and were now attacking her again. Cursing her bad luck, Spider-Woman leapt over their blasts and bound them again with her webbing, before striking them with her sting blasts. They instantly vanished as the energy bolts struck, and as Spider-Woman came over to examine them she found nothing but a pile of her webbing.

Her anger began rising again as she realized that she'd probably just learned where Tarot had been all this time. And now, to make matters worse, she was probably allied with the Brothers Grimm, the only people who could make bizarre creatures like those winged monkeys come to life.

She didn't know what interest the Brothers Grimm had in allying with Tarot, and she didn't much care.

What she did know was that she could track Harry and Liz to wherever Tarot was taking them.

She focused on her spider-senses.

Behind her white mask, Tarot felt pale and sickly as both her own tarot creations and the monstrosities summoned by the Bookworm brought back more and more of the prisoners. While some of this could have been put down to the fact that at least one set of her creations had been thwarted (which was why the Bookworm had insisted that their minions team up in rounding up their hostages), her mind was still consumed with the nightmares she'd seen last night, when she and the Bookworm had slept after consummating their newfound relationship.

In her dreams, she had seen the spirits of her cards, and felt the palpable sense of anger and disappointment from them. Worse yet, she had felt something lurking at the edge of the dream, a sickening something that filled her heart with terror. Even now, that same fear lurked at the back of her mind, even as she realized that once again the message of her cards was confused and obscure.

She knew all that, but then she still felt the deep rage that so many of her prisoners stirred in her, and that spurred on her support of the Bookworm. Looking over at her beloved, she saw his eyes glowing brightly as he continued to read the books Tarot had found for him, summoning fantastical creatures to do his bidding. Most of the prisoners had been hypnotized by the Star spirit, and so offered no resistance, although their fear and anger had been palpable when they first came into contact with the Star.

"So now justice will be served," Tarot finally said. "Now, they will understand our pain and our sorrow."

"And our revenge will be all the sweeter," the Bookworm laughed, a sickly grin spreading across his face.

"Our…revenge?" Tarot began.

"But of course, my love," the Bookworm grinned. "Did you yourself not desire vengeance when first you were thwarted by the Spider-Woman?"

Tarot looked down and didn't reply. She could recall how much she'd wanted to destroy Spider-Woman after her first battle with the arachnid heroine, but that desire had faded with time, which was why she'd never tried to seek out or attack Spider-Woman again. She'd seen the Tarot spirits in her dreams, and the strange looks on their faces when she had first fled.

She looked at the Bookworm again, particularly his eyes, which now glowed with a hellish light, and felt a sudden, piercing headache.

Then she saw one of the Bookworm's monsters bringing in Felicia Hardy and Sally Avril, and her rage returned, submerging her headache.

Spider-Woman's heart sank as she approached towards the country house her spider-senses were telling her Liz and Harry were being held. The entire area was being patrolled by a variety of bizarre creatures, most of which Spider-Woman did not recognize. There was no way she could fight all these things-not only would she be overcome with sheer numbers, but chances are some of the monsters would return and kill the prisoners while she was occupied.

Spider-Woman realized that these abductions, done in broad daylight, would almost certainly attract more attention, possibly other heroes or the police. She thought of waiting for reinforcements…but then realized that she had no idea how long Tarot or the Brothers Grimm would let their prisoners live. It was entirely possible that they'd kill the hostages simply because they felt like it, something Spider-Woman wouldn't put past the Brothers for a second.

Gritting her teeth in frustration, Spider-Woman rounded the perimeter of the house. There was some cover in the trees that surrounded the wooded estate, such as where she was currently hiding, although nothing she could really swing from-she'd had to go hopping from roof to roof on top of cars that were driving in the direction she needed to go, once she'd left the city. Still, the trees were thick enough, and after spending some time watching the movements of the monsters, she began to get a good idea of their patterns.

Years of jazz, tap and ballet training had made Spider-Woman agile and light on her feet even without her spider-powers, and she moved without a whisper through the trees towards the back of the house. Slipping in through a back window, she heard the voices coming from upstairs.

Without their leaders, the minions summoned by Tarot and the Brothers were as nothing.

One disturbing thought crossed Spider-Woman's mind as she snuck carefully up the stairs.

Some of the creatures patrolling the grounds outside were monsters like the Cyclops, the Hydra, and Cerberus, creatures she'd recognized from her study of classic Greek plays. Most of them were too large for someone like the Brothers Grimm to conjure, and in any event he'd never been interested in mythology.

Who was she going to be fighting?

Tarot and the Bookworm were caught off guard by the door behind them being smashed open, but only temporarily. They tried to dodge as Spider-Woman came charging in, binding them with her webbing before they could do anything. The three figures stared at each other intently, before a sly grin crossed the Bookworm's face.

"I hadn't expected you to be the first to arrive," the Bookworm chuckled at Spider-Woman, as Tarot stared in hateful silence. "I thought that Sleepwalker would have arrived first. After all, I think he'd be the one to recognize my modus operandi, as it were."

Spider-Woman merely stared back at him, but she didn't recognize the young man, so thin and pale he looked more like a ghoul than anything else, dressed in the clothing of a Victorian gentleman, complete with top hat and tails.

"You don't know me?" the Bookworm asked in mock sadness. "Oh dear, what a pity. Nonetheless, I am quite certain my lady love has her own commentary to provide on the matter."

Spider-Woman turned to Tarot.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked Tarot slowly.

"Why do you think?" Tarot demanded, her eyes glittering with hate. "This is justice. Everyone's going to pay for everything they've done to me."

"Justice?" Spider-Woman asked in amazement. "So you're going to murder everyone who ever-"

"Vengeance is a demanding mistress!" the Bookworm shouted gleefully.

"N-no…" Tarot suddenly said, shaking her head as her piercing headache returned. "Justice…it's suppose to be justice…"

"Ah, but the blood will flow! They will know the pain we have suffered at their hands!" the Bookworm sang.

"You suffered this badly?" Spider-Woman demanded. "To the point where you'd kill them?" she pressed, seeing Tarot continue to shake her head.

"Justice…justice…it has to be justice…" she whispered, as she seemed to go into convulsions.

"You can stop this!" Spider-Woman shouted. "Whatever they did, it can't be this bad!"

"Do you honestly think you can stop us?" the Bookworm scoffed. "We have but to give the word, and our prisoners will receive their final punishment!"

Spider-Woman's hands gleamed with her sting blasts.

"Not one word!" the Bookworm howled, his eyes gleaming with black fire.

Within her mind, Tarot struggled with her rage, the hate she felt for Spider-Woman, for Felicia Hardy, for everyone imprisoned in the basement of her house. Her headache continued to worsen, even as that vague sensation that had so terrified her continued to rise within her mind. She saw her cards, the spirits of the Tarot, who stared at her in anger, sadness and disappointment.

All it would take was a single command, and her cards would destroy her victims.

Victims?

But this was justice…

And then she realized the truth.

The magic of the tarot was not evil. It was meant to provide guidance and succor to those in need, those who appreciated its abilities and potential. But the magic wielded by the Bookworm was wrought of hatred, of a desire to inflict pain and horror on those who had done it to him. She felt it pressing on her mind, feeding on her rage. Now she knew why the messages of her cards had become obscure, and why the images of the Tarot had become so angry with her-the Bookworm's demonic magic was interfering with her own. Her tarot creations still obeyed her, but their own magic was becoming warped by the Bookworm's evil influences.

She knew what she had to do.

Spider-Woman rushed to the window in horror as she heard the sound of the fierce battle outside. To her amazement, she saw the supernatural creations summoned by Tarot attacking those of the Bookworm. Whirling around in shock, she saw Tarot staring at the Bookworm in hatred.

"Suffering and misery, that's all you want," she hissed at the ghoul who sat across from her. "This…it…it isn't right…"

The Bookworm was too shocked to will his creations to defend themselves, and by the time he did many of them had already been destroyed.

"You treacherous little…" he spat at Tarot, before Spider-Woman blasted him from behind and knocked him senseless. Looking back outside the window, Spider-Woman saw what was left of the Bookworm's minions fading away with the defeat of their master. She turned back to Tarot, who closed her eyes and dismissed her own minions.

"So, what now?" Spider-Woman asked.

"It doesn't matter," Tarot said sadly. "They can take me away. I have power, and look at what I did with it. I'm no better than he is," she continued, gesturing with her head towards the stunned Bookworm.

"But…you…" Spider-Woman tried to reply.

"I'd have had so much blood on my hands if you hadn't stopped me," Tarot sighed sadly.

Spider-Woman merely sat down next to Tarot, even as she listened to the commotion coming from downstairs as the prisoners were freed from the Star spirit's hypnosis.

"You realized what you were doing was wrong," Spider-Woman comforted Tarot, as she began peeling the webbing off her. "That's as good a start as any."

Peter Parker smiled widely as he read the letter of acceptance for the internship position at Fireheart Enterprises. For all the ups and downs in his life, even when he wasn't fighting crime as the amazing Spider-Man, it was nice for Peter to finally catch a break. The pay was surprisingly good for a summer internship, something which Peter suspected had been bolstered by the glowing letters of reference his professors had written for him, especially the one by Dr. Curt Connors.

Science, especially chemistry, had always been the defining factor in Peter's life. Long a victim of bullying and torment at the hands of school bullies, science had provided Peter an outlet for his intellect and a refuge from his pain. It had allowed him to set out his path in life, even to a point he never could have imagined.

The bite from that genetically altered spider had changed Peter's life forever. He could still remember the incident as if it was yesterday…

Most of the students at the Empire State University field trip hadn't had much interest in scientific research. In truth, a lot of it also involved getting the Grades 11 and 12 students out of school for a day so that Midtown High could be prepared for the big Homecoming ceremony next week. One exception was Peter Parker, who was genuinely interested in the work being done to imbue animals with genetic traits from different species.

Peter had seen a glass container full of genetically altered spiders, and had picked it up to get a closer look. He was so absorbed in his study that he never saw Flash Thompson sneaking up on him to give him a wedgie. The sheer surprise caused Peter to fling the glass container through the air, before it hit a table and shattered, sending the spiders flying everywhere.

As many of the girls screamed in terror and Flash laughed like a hyena, one of the spiders had landed on Peter's hand, biting him as it did so. He reflexively clenched his wrist at the searing pain that resulted from the bite, reflexively looking around for the spider as it fell off his hand. He had already seen another spider bouncing off the back of Gwen Stacy's neck-

Peter froze.

A genetically altered spider had bounced off the back of Gwen's neck.

His mind reeled at the thought.

Gwen slumped down on her bed in exhaustion, weary after the long day. While she was sincerely glad and relieved to have been able to stop Tarot and the Bookworm, she hardly felt like celebrating when she realized just how badly her mother needed money. Her money from the play and the coffee shop could hardly be expected to pay that and her other expenses, but there just wasn't any other work Gwen could obtain that could give her a lot of money very quickly.

Unless…

...Gwen felt her skin crawl as she considered it, but she realized she didn't otherwise have a choice. Roderick Kingsley had given her an open invitation to participate in the modeling shoot for his summer collection, and she'd already seen how well he'd paid for the Red Lavender shoot. Unfortunately, the way Kingsley had always smiled and stared at her made her want to retch.

Even though she felt like she needed a shower for doing it, Gwen found herself looking through her wallet for the business card Kingsley had given her, before opening her phone and dialing the number.

She began shuddering involuntarily as Kingsley replied on the other end, although her voice was calm and cordial.

(Next Issue: Gwen is forced to take up her modelling work with Roderick Kingsley, even as Ben Reilly begins wrestling with his Uncle Steve's claims about the Stacy family. Meanwhile, Jack O' Lantern's malevolent plot continues as the rumblings of a city-wide gang war boils in the background. Spider-Woman finds she has other things to worry about, however, when she's confronted with an electrically-charged psychopath calling himself Supercharger! All this and more in Spider-Woman #22: Short Circuit!)