Siren Quiets the Divas

AT GOTHAM CITY MUSIC CENTER, ONE DIVA WELCOMES ANOTHER TO HER DRESSING ROOM . . .

Carrie Maria was warming up her voice as she looked in the mirror. She paused for a moment when she finally heard a repeated knocking at the door.

"Who is it?" she yelled cautiously.

"It's Lorelei Circe. I've come to wish you good luck on your opening night."

"Come in, please, come in," she said as she walked over and sat on the couch of her ornate dressing room, which was bigger than some studio apartments in Gotham City.

Unlike most people, even other women, Maria wasn't dazzled by the entrance of the silver-clad Siren, who was carrying a bouquet of roses. Maybe that was because Carrie, wearing a sleeveless black lurex dress on this night, was quite a gorgeous and flamboyant diva in her own right.

She had long, honey-blonde hair, a very thin waistline and ample breasts, which seemed a bit out of proportion for her svelte frame. Her provocative outfit showed off all of these assets, while her high cheekbones, big brown eyes and glittering smile completed the package of the confident chanteuse who believed that she was the most beautiful singer in popular music, as well as the most talented.

Of course, her unexpected visitor certainly would disagree with her on both counts.

Even before her career- and life-altering transformation, Lorelei Circe's vocal ability was strikingly similar to Carrie Maria's. At that time, both dazzling divas had a five-octave vocal range, and the media on both sides of the Atlantic liked to play up the supposed rivalry between them. Yet, although they certainly weren't friends, there was a mutual respect between the two. That's another reason why Maria wasn't shocked at the other chanteuse's sudden appearance.

"How are you, Lorelei?" Carrie asked, glancing over quickly at her guest as she walked back to the huge dressing table, where she continued primping her hair.

Carrie addressing her as Lorelei demonstrated how the other accomplished chanteuses and divas, both in Gotham City and Londinium, were quite insulated from the criminal underbelly of the two cities. Crime was something someone else dealt with . . . something these singers rarely, if ever, saw.

So, to Carrie Maria and all of the other famed vocalists, the stunning diva with the preference for silver wasn't the Siren. She was still Lorelei Circe. Siren knew that and was ready to use it to her advantage.

"I'm just fine, Carrie," replied the Siren, whose silver handbag was slung over her left shoulder. "And you, you look absolutely ravishing."

"Thank you so much."

"I came here to bring you something."

"And those roses do look wonderful," Carrie said. "Please, put them on my dressing table."

"Would you like a little career advice, Carrie?" Siren said with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"I wasn't aware I needed any," Carrie replied with a trace of indignance in her voice, "but I'll listen to what you have to say. After all, you already were famous when I was still in my teens." The older chanteuse ignored the subtle knock at her age and didn't miss a beat.

"I've heard some of those duets you've done with those, those rappers," Siren said, spitting out the last word as if it were a bone in her throat.

"I take it you have a problem with that.”

"Yes, I most certainly do," Siren said. "My deah, you have such a beautiful voice, almost as lovely as mine. Why are you allowing it to be submerged for the non-stylings of some no-talent males? . . . and you call yourself a diva! You're a disgrace to us all!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Carrie said with anger, "but some of us appeal to a lot of demographics, not just one." She paused and added, "I think you should leave. If you want, you can have your flowers back."

Carrie picked up the roses and was about to hand them to Siren when her rival said, "You can keep them. In fact, I have something else for you, too."

Siren reached into her handbag, and palmed a round metal device in her right hand.

"What's that?" Maria said with a trace of concern in her voice as the Siren drew closer.

"Just open wide, Carrie and say, ‘ahhhhh,’" Siren said as she pressed a button and a buzzing noise was heard from the device.

‘Hey! What are you doing?’ Maria tried to yell, but the words weren't audible. She felt a strange sensation in her throat, as if something were missing, as well as some pain. She focused on Siren, who was grinning broadly.

"You've just gone from a five-octave range to a zero-octave range, my dear," a triumphant Siren said.

Maria, mouth still agape, lunged at Siren, but the mesmerizing mastermind grabbed the roses from Carrie's hands and shook them in her counterpart's direction. A light mist was emitted into Maria's face, and she fell to the floor, unconscious.

Siren admired her handiwork with a smile and then closed the door behind her. In the hallway next to the door stood a security guard wearing a yellow jacket and staring straight ahead. The 6-foot-4 guard towered over the silver-clad seductress, who stood 5-6. As always, however, the Siren had subdued a much larger obstacle without any violence and without a weapon, at least the kind you could hold in your hand.

Siren snapped her fingers right in front of his face, and said, "Anything to report, kind sir?"

The guard blinked his eyes, looked at her and said, "No, Siren. I was prepared to follow your instructions if anyone approached, but no one did. You may now make your getaway."

"Splendid," Siren exclaimed, looking in both directions down the hallway and seeing nobody. "You deserve a reward, my good man."

She wrapped her arms around the guard and kissed him. Although he was under Siren's spell, a small smile crept across his lips.

"I'm glad you enjoyed that," she said after breaking off the kiss, "because now, at the count of three, it will be time for you to take a nap. Is that clear?"

Disappointment was etched on his face as he said, "Yes, Siren."

The diabolical diva smiled. Witnessing the effect she had on men never got old. "One, two," Siren counted with glee, and as she reached, "three," she touched him on the shoulder with her index finger. He slowly slumped to the floor, unconscious before he hit the ground, a dumb half-smile still on his face.

"Cheerio. It's quite unfortunate, but I suspect this concert will garner terrible reviews," Siren said out loud to no one as she left through a side exit.

THE NEXT DAY, AT GOTHAM CITY POLICE HEADQUARTERS . . .

Although she had worked late the night before, Lieutenant Diana Mooney arrived early because she figured her presence would be requested by Commissioner Gordon. After the bizarre assault on Carrie Maria, she had been called in by the investigators on the scene.

As the leader of the GCPD's Anti-Siren Task Force, Diana was the resident expert on the chanteuse formerly known as Lorelei Circe, so she always was the first person called anytime the dangerous diva was suspected of something.

Her interrogation of the security guard, once he came to his senses, convinced her of the bad news, without a doubt.

The Siren was back in Gotham City.

As she expected, Gordon called her not long after she arrived, telling her to report to his office for a meeting with him, Chief O'Hara, Batman and Robin. He obviously had read her report of the previous night's events.

Lieutenant Mooney walked briskly to the Commissioner's office, not stopping to exchange greetings with anyone. The look on her face made it clear she was all business.

Diana had taken this assignment very seriously from the start, knowing full well that this arch-criminal was probably more threatening, in her own special way, than any of her male counterparts. In addition, Siren's most recent caper in Gotham City, in which she had captured and brainwashed Mooney as well as two of Diana's subordinates, had made things very personal between the sultry sorceress and the lovely lieutenant.

"Begorra," Chief O'Hara said. "It's a crying shame that we men can't all wear earplugs all the time to protect us from this wicked wench, sure an’ that's the truth."

"You know we considered such a course of action, Chief," Batman reminded him, "but it would not be practical. While certainly it would protect men from this evil enchantress, as well as from her apprentice, the side effects would be too detrimental. Imagine a Gotham City in which men were totally oblivious to the sounds around them. There would be all sorts of accidents and havoc, having nothing to do with the Siren."

O'Hara nodded sadly in agreement.

"So, Lieutenant," Batman turned his attention to Mooney, "has Ms. Maria been able to give any details about what happened?"

"No, Batman," Diana replied. "She doesn't appear to have been hypnotized, but she seems to have blocked out the memory of what happened. Plus, she is only able to communicate through writing, as her voice has not returned."

"Did you try the solution of sweet basil, garlic salt and goat's milk to restore her voice?" Robin asked, referring to the remedy that had been used successfully when Catwoman had employed a Voice-Eraser.

"We did," the Lieutenant said, "and there was no effect."

"Holy New and Improved!" Robin exclaimed.

"Please understand, I'm not doubting you personally," Batman said, looking at the Lieutenant, "But how can you be so sure it was the Siren? I'll admit, Robin and I were briefly fooled the first time Catwoman used a Voice-Eraser, thinking at first, because of the evidence available at the time, that perhaps the Penguin or the Riddler was behind the dastardly deed. Maybe someone is leaving false clues once again."

"I'll handle this one, Lieutenant," the Commissioner said, putting up his hand. "There were some details of the crime that were not released to the media, to prevent widespread panic. Not only is the security guard who was stationed at Ms. Maria's door suffering from amnesia about the events of last night, he was found unconscious, smelling of perfume and with lipstick on his cheek."

"That's right," Mooney said. "We were able to identify the scent as something called ‘Spectacular.’"

"Great Scott!" Batman said. "That fragrance was designed by–”

Robin finished the thought. ". . . famed British chanteuse Lorelei Circe!"

"It's obvious," the Lieutenant said, "that Siren wanted to leave her calling card. She wanted us to know it was her."

"She believes she is above the law," Batman said sternly, "but no man or woman is, just as surely as no man or woman is below it."

The brief discussion of perfume and lipstick made Robin's mind wander ever-so-slightly, and he said, "By the way, Commissioner, where's Batgirl?"

This time, the Commissioner actually had contacted Batgirl first, even though the father in him felt guilt for doing so. He knew, however, that against this particular foe, she had to get the first call, simply because she had a better chance of apprehending Siren than the Dynamic Duo, who were at an obvious disadvantage.

Gordon had briefly considered calling Batwoman and Flamebird, but had decided against it for two reasons. First, the Commissioner knew, with no small measure of parental pride, that Batgirl was far and away Gotham City’s most experienced female costumed crimefighter. Second, the ordeal Flamebird suffered at the hands of the Siren’s protégée made him reluctant to bring the Distaff Duo in on the case unless absolutely necessary.

"I sent her a message and am waiting to hear back from her," the Commissioner said. Once she returned the message, he planned to speak to her privately, because he now always felt nervous addressing her in her guise as Batgirl in front of others, lest anyone catch on to what was now their secret.

"Does anyone have any suggestions?" Commissioner Gordon added, looking around the room.

"I have one, sir," Lieutenant Mooney said. "I think we should stake out the Britany Fears concert tonight at the Thomas Wayne Memorial Arena. Next to Carrie Maria, she's the most famous female vocalist currently appearing in Gotham City, and could very well be the Siren's next target."

"That's a very good idea, Lieutenant," the Commissioner said. "I'll leave it to you to make the necessary arrangements. Obviously, you should have as many members of the task force on hand as possible."

"Of course, sir. I'll get right on it."

BUT AT THAT VERY MOMENT, AT A MODEST BEACH HOUSE ON A TYPICAL STREET IN A TYPICAL TOWN ON NEARBY SHORT ISLAND, A BEAUTIFUL AND QUITE ATYPICAL WOMAN IS CATCHING SOME SUN . . . AND MAKING PLANS OF HER OWN!

Siren closed her eyes and leaned back in the lawn chair.

As she twirled her long dark hair, which she had let down, she thought, ‘My operation is rapidly coming to fruition. Soon, all of Gotham City's divas will be speechless, and more important, at my mercy! They will be ready to do anything to restore their precious voices.’

Just then, Sirena, her young criminal co-conspirator whom Siren had transformed into a similarly mesmerizing vocal vixen through means of a fiendish electro-shock experiment, returned from a "shopping" expedition at one of Short Island's many malls. The younger siren, wearing a cut-off black tank top and tight blue jeans, was taken aback when she saw the older one wearing a black one-piece swimsuit.

"Siren," she said, "I don't think I've ever seen you when you weren't wearing silver of some sort."

"Well, Sirena," her mesmerizing mentor explained, "I'm wearing a bathing suit because everything is going so swimmingly with my latest plan . . . and while I, of course, do own a swimsuit in my favorite color, it kind of defeats the purpose. I want to collect the sun's rays at this moment, my dear, not deflect them.

“I'm glad I commissioned Riddler's old buddy, Professor Charm, to design a new and improved Voice-Eraser based on the original specifications,” Siren added. "It was so wonderful of him to do it pro bono."

“Didn’t Catwoman originally invent it?” Sirena asked.

“Catwoman!?” Siren said, spitting out the name as if it were virulent. “I’m sure that feckless feline had nothing to do with designing it. That brainless bimbo probably couldn’t spell Catwoman if you spotted her the C-A-T-W. What is the point of her constant whining and pining for that Clueless Crusader, Batman? Unrequited love for a man is a disease, Sirena, to be avoided at all costs.”

Sirena nodded. They then both smiled and looked at the ocean just beyond the backyard.

"This place isn't bad, Siren. It's great to be right on the beach like this." Sirena quickly had become accustomed to changing places of residence every few months, just as her mentor had.

"It's quite serviceable," Siren replied, "and that nice man who owns it was more than willing to let us use it while he stays at a hotel at his own expense. The hospitality of you Americans never ceases to amaze me, Sirena." Siren laughed and threw her unfettered hair back before rising from her chair.

"Let us go inside, Sirena," she added in a low voice, "where we can have some priv-a-SEE from the prying eyes and ears of suburbia."

Once they were in the house, Siren turned to Sirena and said, "Young lady, do you have that schedule I gave to you?" Siren pronounced 'schedule' in the English fashion with a silent 'C,' as she always did.

"Yes, of course," Sirena said.

"What time is the Britany Fears concert at the Thomas Wayne Memorial Arena?"

"Why do you need to know that, Siren?"

"Maybe I want to steal her voice."

"Hmm. I wasn't aware she had one."

"My, we're becoming awfully catty, aren't we, Sirena?"

"Unlike you, Siren, that's one Brit I don't respect," she said, shaking her head angrily.

"Very clever, Sirena. I'm glad to see my voluminous vocabulary and wanton wordplay is having an impact on you . . . but you needn't fret, young lady. I have no intention of using the Voice-Eraser on Ms. Fears. With that feeble voice of hers, she never could be considered competition for as accomplished a vocalist as you, Sirena."

Sirena smiled at the compliment.

"Besides," Siren added, "numerous constables from the Gotham City Police Department as well as the Tempestuous Trio of Batman, Robin and Batgirl likely will be standing guard there."

"So why do you need to know what time she's performing?" Sirena said as she handed her co-conspirator a flyer detailing Britany Fears' concert schedule.

"That will be our cue to be committing mischievous mayhem someplace else," Siren said as she spread her arms and looked skyward. "Kelly Lewiston will be performing at the Eastberry Music Fair, thirty minutes from here, and fifteen minutes before Britany is scheduled to appear."

"She's the one who won that reality show," Sirena offered as she went to her bedroom.

"Yes," Siren called, a bit miffed Sirena had wandered off for no apparent reason. The Siren now had to practically shout to be heard. "She was the first grand-prize winner of that infernal show that spotlights up-and-coming divas."

Sirena quickly re-entered the living room, wearing a different outfit than she had been wearing moments ago. "You do like new clothes, don't you, Sirena?" Siren said with even more than her usual haughty attitude in her voice.

"Well, where is it written that a super-villainess has to dress the same all the time?" The younger criminal brushed her dirty blonde hair, which was streaked with black, as she looked in a full-length mirror at her latest outfit, a black halter top with ample empty space to show off her taut stomach and burgeoning breasts, coupled with a pair of microscopic black leather shorts. "Just because Catwoman does doesn't mean Sirena has to."

The Siren was a bit startled — that was the first time she had heard Sirena refer to herself in the third person, or call herself a super-villainess, for that matter. It was enough to rekindle the English enchantress' irrational fears.

Ever since Siren had determined that Sirena was totally immune to any of her hypnotic powers, she had envisioned a worst-case scenario in which the blonde beauty, fed up with the Siren, hypnotized numerous musclemen and brought them back to the hideout. Then, the mesmerized men would tie up and gag the Siren, as they would be immune to her hypnotic note, because they already were under Sirena's spell. They then would bring her to the police, leaving Sirena free to plunder Gotham City solo.

Siren couldn’t know such a thought hadn't entered Sirena's mind. The apprentice arch-criminal yearned for Siren's approval and knew Siren's experience would be helpful to her. Yet Sirena also could feel her confidence growing, ever since she had placed Robin under her spell back in Londinium. That was her first real taste of what she could accomplish with her powers, and it left her hungry for more.

Siren decided, because of her own fears, that this was a good time to tell her protégée about the next phase in her plan. She would sell it to the younger woman as if it were the ultimate goal of her latest scheme. The Siren, though, had plenty more up her beautiful sleeve . . . and hoped Sirena wouldn’t realize it.

"Sirena, within the next few weeks, there will be an acute shortage of beautiful female singers in and around Gotham City. Who better to fill that void, once you've altered your hair color a bit more, than a gorgeous young brunette with an incredible voice?"

Sirena placed her arms over her breasts and caressed herself as her eyes widened. "Thank you so much, Siren!" she finally said.

"This means a lot to you, doesn't it?" Siren asked sincerely.

"Well, yes. You had a successful career before this happened to you. I didn't. I'm sure you still loved to sing even after you became the Siren."

"I'll admit, Sirena, it wasn't easy to juggle two careers, one as a world-famous chanteuse and one as a world-class criminal. That's why I eventually had to give up singing. I must admit, however, it was fun while it lasted doing both."

Sirena sat down, to wait for the inevitable story. She wasn't disappointed.

"I told you about the night I first tried out my new powers on a captive and captivated audience, right?"

"Yeah, at the strip club."

"Well, I think I forgot to mention that after the men gave me their money, I took them all backstage."

Sirena's expression changed from awe to shock, and Siren quickly noticed.

"My, you do have quite an imagination, young lady, don't you? Well, nothing such as what you're thinking happened, at least not on that night. I just wanted to have a little fun, so I put on one of my recordings and had those men literally dancing to my tune, as I snapped my fingers to control them."

‘I wonder what else she hasn't told me?’ Sirena thought.

"You must understand," Siren continued, "how to harness this gift, especially if you are going to be singing for an audience. You DO NOT want to belt out a note and suddenly mesmerize half the audience by mistake, so you must be very careful."

"Did that ever happen to you, Siren?"

"Honestly, no, but that is because I took precautions. After my first performance as the Siren, I had my supersonic note recorded. I spent many hours listening to my own voice, comparing the various notes and getting used to the difference between them. I listened to them on my old record player, because I always preferred vinyl. I suppose you do as well, only a different kind." Siren looked disdainfully at Sirena's latest skimpy outfit.

Sirena pretended not to notice the insult. "How did it change your legitimate career?" she wanted to know.

"It's funny you should ask, because I still vividly remember my first meeting with my agent, Sam Wagner, after I had been transformed. He came to my luxurious apartment for a meeting, fully expecting to be paid for services rendered. It didn't work out quite that way."

Siren flashed back in her mind to that interesting night.

Wagner said, "According to my figures, Lorelei, you have yet to pay me my ten percent commission from the twenty percent raise I got you from the Opera House earlier this year."

The ever-dutiful representative had done his best to ignore the fact that Lorelei Circe had dressed in a white Greco-Roman gown and silver globe-shaped earrings for what ostensibly was a business meeting, as he barely even looked up at her.

Feigning concern, Siren replied, "You are exactly right. Whatever will we do about that discrepancy? Oh, wait, I have an idea."

She then sang her stunning note, immediately mesmerizing Wagner.

"Look at me," she commanded, and he immediately raised his head and began staring at her.

"Now," Siren continued, "how about if you pay me ten percent of that raise, and refund to me all my commission payments for the last five years?"

She stroked his face as she talked. "I think that would be a much fairer arrangement, considering I am the star."

"Whatever you say, Lorelei," he said, his eyes glazed over.

"Please, call me Siren."

"Yes, Siren."

Siren focused back on the present. "You won't need an agent other than myself, Sirena. I'm sure I can be quite persuasive in landing you some excellent opportunities."

LATER THAT NIGHT, IN KELLY LEWISTON'S DRESSING ROOM AT EASTBERRY MUSIC FAIR . . .

The young, brown-eyed brunette was fixing her gown when she heard a knock at the door. "May I come in, Ms. Lewiston?" asked a female voice with a British accent.

"Yes, please do."

"Pardon me for dropping by unexpectedly," Siren said as she entered the room, clad this time in a silver evening gown with the strap across her right shoulder. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Kelly said with a wide smile. "It's quite an honor. I've heard so much about you, Ms. Circe."

"Please, call me Lorelei. I do admire so very much your evening gown," she said, pointing to her young counterpart's cream-colored gown. "As you can see, however, I don't think a choker is necessary."

"So what brings you here? Your singing is legendary. I would love to take some voice lessons with you someday."

"Funny you should say that, my deah," Siren replied, "because you may be needing those lessons quite soon."

Kelly was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"You will find out, soon enough."

"Uh, maybe I should call someone—"

Siren interrupted her. "I don't think anyone out there will hear you. They all are fast asleep."

The beautiful young songstress looked warily at her uninvited visitor, backing up against the marble wall of her dressing room. "What do you want with me?" she asked in panicked tones.

"My dear, I promise you that what I am about to do will leave no scars on that lovely face of yours, nor anywhere on your skin. The damage will be audible, not visible."

"But why me?" Kelly inquired.

"I have my reasons, young lady," Siren said as she advanced toward her prey. "I'm quite dismayed by that hit song of yours, Since U Left Me. The proper title of the song should be Since You've Left Me. Do you think we Brits spent hundreds of years developing the English language just so you Americans could ruin it?"

Siren glared at Lewiston.

"But . . . it's just a figure of speech," Kelly said in a pleading voice.

"Well, you won't be using any of those for the foreseeable future," Siren said as she pulled a small device from her silver handbag.

Suddenly, Lewiston recalled a news report she had half-listened to on the radio. "Is-is th-that the Voice Eraser?" the frightened singer asked.

Siren unleashed her most sinister smile and replied in her most overpowering British accent, "What does it look like? A BANAHNA?"

Siren pointed the device toward Kelly's mouth and pressed it. Within seconds, the young singer was clutching her neck with both hands, unable to make a sound.

Siren laughed and said, "Without your voice, you now will become an American idle!"

The villainous vocal vixen exited the room, closed the door and stepped over three male security guards, all unconscious on the floor. She gave her trademark, "Cheerio," to them, and was gone.

THE NEXT MORNING, IN THE STUDIO OF THE DOWNTOWN GOTHAM CITY OFFICES OF MAXIMUM MAGAZINE, A PHOTO SHOOT INVOLVING THE LOVELY SINGER SHANA FINN IS ABOUT TO BE INTERRUPTED BY ANOTHER VOLUPTUOUS VOCALIST!

Siren approached the security guard at the front desk. She wasn't clad in her normal silver garb, but instead took off her white fur coat to reveal a one-piece, off-white blouse that segued into short shorts, coupled with matching thigh-high boots. Her hair wasn't swept back into a bouffant, but was quite lustrous and luxurious, and her fingernails were red instead of their customary silver.

One thing hadn't changed, however, and that was her attitude, as the security guard was about to discover.

“Sir, where is the photo studio?” she asked.

He sized up her clothes with a puzzled look and said, “I believe we’re doing the photo shoot for the retro issue tomorrow, ma’am. You probably should come back then.”

“Retro, my good man?” the Siren said in a shocked voice. “The Siren is classic, never retro. My timing always is perfect.”

She unleashed her seven-octave hypnotic note on the guard, who now stared at the sinister songstress.

“I will repeat myself. Where is the photo studio?”

“Right through those doors, ma’am,” the guard said robotically.

"Thank you, sir. You will not contact anyone else in security, or the police, for that matter, about what has taken place. You also will neutralize the alarms on all the emergency exits. Is that understood?"

“Yes, ma’am.”

Siren sashayed into the photo studio, which was an elaborate one, looking almost like a movie set. There were several different sets of furnishings in the huge room to set the mood for various photo shoots. One was of a den, complete with faux books on the lone wall and a lectern with a map on it. Another was of a college dorm room, with a bunk bed and pennants on the wall.

Shana Finn, the beautiful recording star, was wearing a skintight purple outfit and posing for a pictorial in another section of the room, furnished in futuristic fashion with fluorescent lighting and multiple mirrors.

The door to the studio suddenly opened and in stepped another beautiful brunette. The lovely lady from Londinium briefly paused in the fake den, and placed her hands on her luscious hips in a classic Siren pose, surveying the room she was about to conquer.

Before anyone could react, she let loose her stunning note, two octaves above High C, immediately incapacitating every male in the room. She quickly noticed, however, that the photographer's assistant was a redheaded woman. Siren pulled a miniature spray bottle out of one of the pockets on her blouse and sprayed the unfortunate woman with knockout gas before advancing toward Shana, who had been posing next to a full-length mirror.

"What do you want from me?" Shana protested.

"I am the Siren, in case you didn't know, and I wish to talk to you about that hit song of yours, That Don't Excite Me Much. You are aware the correct word in that sentence is ‘doesn't,' are you not?"

"Of course I am," she said indignantly. "The word 'don't' fits the melody better, that's all. Besides, I didn't write it."

"You knew it was wrong and you went along with it, anyway. The cavalier attitude of you Americans toward proper English never ceases to amaze me."

"But I'm not an American. I'm Canadian," Shana protested.

She had offered that information in the hope that it would placate the enraged Englishwoman.

It had quite the opposite effect.

"Why, that's even worse, you silly Canuck," Siren said. "You folks used to be loyal subjects of the British empire. In fact, you still should be. How DARE you misuse MY language?"

Siren also made it known she didn't like the outfit Finn was wearing for the photo shoot. "I don't approve of your taste in clothes, either. That purple lurex reminds me of that infernal Batgirl," Siren said with a scowl as she stared at Shana in an attempt to intimidate her even further.

Siren then noticed that Shana appeared to be getting woozy.

‘I'm concentrating so hard,’ Siren thought, ‘that I'm about to hypnotize her. I will keep going.’

"Can you hear me, Ms. Finn?" Siren said.

"Yes, Siren," Shana said with a blank expression.

"Good. This won't hurt a bit, I promise."

Siren pulled the Voice-Eraser out of her silver handbag and pressed it in Shana's direction. The bewildered brunette snapped her head back slightly, but did not react otherwise as the device did its wicked work.

"You will remember none of this," Siren said. "Just nod your head, my dear."

Shana nodded her head, ‘yes.’

"Go to sleep."

Shana rested her head against the mirror and became unconscious while still standing.

The evil English enchantress scanned the room and smiled approvingly, seeing how everyone left in her wake was either unconscious or catatonic.

"My work here is done. Cheerio," she said with a laugh as she left through an emergency exit. The alarm, of course, didn't sound.

LATER THAT DAY . . .

Barbara Gordon already had heard of Siren's latest malfeasance through the police grapevine. Thus, she was well-prepared when her father called her on Batgirl's cellphone.

Barbara said, "I don't know," before pausing to add, "Commissioner. Siren seems even more determined than usual. I think you should have someone on Lieutenant Mooney's task force try to find out exactly which female singers will be appearing in and around Gotham City in the coming weeks. It's going to be very difficult to determine where – or who – she's going to strike next."

"That's very sound thinking, Batgirl," Gordon replied. "Do you have anything in mind?"

Barbara hated worrying her father even more, but felt compelled to tell him the truth. "I'm thinking about going to Gotham Hospital to question Kelly Lewiston and Carrie Maria. I know they haven't been able to communicate much of what happened to them because they both still were in shock, but they might be up to it now. Of course, they will have to communicate through pen and pad, but it might be worth a try."

"Be, uh, be. . ." Gordon couldn't finish his thought.

"Of course I'll be careful," Barbara said as she clicked off the phone and activated her still-secret Batgirl changing room.

HOWEVER, SOMEONE ELSE HAS OTHER IDEAS . . .

"Why are we going to the hospital, Siren?" Sirena said from the passenger seat of her mesmerizing mentor's silver van.

"My inadvertent incapacitation of Shana Finn has given me a brilliant idea, Sirena. I understand from the news reports that both Ms. Maria and Ms. Lewiston have been under heavy sedation after the shock of those unfortunate incidents." Siren smiled at the havoc she had wrought and added, "If I can hypnotize them before they can give accurate details to the authorities, I can plant false clues that will confound the constables of Gotham City even more."

Siren was wearing a drab lab coat, the same one she had used in her successful plot to infiltrate the Royal Experimental Nuclear Facility in Londinium several months earlier. Sirena, for once, did not have her navel exposed, and in fact was wearing a lab coat of her own.

"You know what to do, young lady, if we encounter Batgirl?"

Sirena smiled and pulled a small vial out of her coat. "I've got it right here," she said. "This will definitely change her outlook."

"This definitely will change her outlook," Siren said with a grin. "Never split infinitives."

The two seductive sorceresses laughed as they pulled into the employee parking lot.

As they did, Siren noticed the Batgirlcycle in the visitor's lot. "Blast it all, she got here before we did. No harm done. We'll catch up with her quite soon."

Inside the hospital, in room 235, Batgirl was by Kelly Lewiston's bedside, questioning the young singer, who was scribbling her answers on a pad. Suddenly Kelly's eyes grew wide.

"Did you just remember something?"

Kelly shook her head and pointed past Batgirl, but the Caped Crusadress thought she was pointing at her.

"What are you trying to tell me?"

Kelly shook her head again and finally scrawled frantically on the pad.

LOOK BEHIND YOU

Just as Batgirl read the writing, however, a hand reached around the crimefightress and put a cloth over her nose and mouth. Batgirl's eyes closed as she slumped unconscious next to the bed.

"I'm glad that's done," Siren said. "That was enough physical labor to last me the rest of the year."

Siren, still wearing her lab coat, looked at Kelly's panicked face. "Don't worry, young lady, I'll deal with you later. For now, I have more pressing matters. Sirena, will you do the honors on our musical colleague?"

"My pleasure, Siren," Sirena, also still wearing a lab coat, said as she pulled out a small needle and syringe and injected the contents into Lewiston's arm. "That summer I once spent as a candy-striper is finally coming in handy."

Kelly closed her eyes as the sedative took effect.

"Sirena, round up a few males to help us, and make sure the nurse on call has been temporarily neutralized. Once that's done, Batgirl will be all yours. Just make sure that she is awake when you take care of her."

Sirena nodded and then smiled before she left the room.

TWO HOURS LATER, IN THAT SAME HOSPITAL ROOM . . .

Batgirl awakened and looked up groggily, not sure if she could believe what she was seeing. Sirena was approaching her, dressed in a nurse's outfit, or at least the risque renegade's alluring approximation of one. Her cleavage was visible and a small red and white striped scarf was around her neck. She also had white boots, white stockings and garters.

More important was what was in her right hand — a huge, almost comically large, hypodermic needle!

This, though, was no joke. Batgirl's mind raced as she pondered what could be in the hypo.

‘Could it be Cataphrenic? Sodium Pentothal? Quinine?’ Batgirl's mind raced as it pondered the evil possibilities.

"I hope you don't mind needles, Batgirl," Sirena said with a smile.

Batgirl looked around her to see four men holding her down. Two appeared to be orderlies and two appeared to be doctors. All of them seemed to be under Sirena's hypnotic spell.

"That's right, boys," she said sweetly. "Continue to restrain Batgirl. I must give her this antidote for her endless meddling."

"Yes, Sirena," the men responded in unison.

Sirena came closer as Batgirl continued to struggle in vain. ‘I can't let this happen!’ Batgirl thought as the sinful seductress drew nearer.

"This won't hurt a bit, Batgirl," Sirena said.

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