The apprentice jumped to her feet, clutching the bedclothes around her. She was in a dark room, two spent candles adorning the ebon windowsill. The room had a gothic feel that disturbed her yet felt somewhat familiar. However, somewhat familiar wasn’t good enough for her, and escape became her top priority.

    “I hope this isn’t another test,” she muttered to herself. It would be just like Hagatha to drop her in some sort of peril to discern her progress. Deciding that it would be best to escape her current predicament fully clothed, she began to search through the dresser in the corner.

    After a few minutes of rifling through the drawers she came up with a blood red dress along with a navy blue cloak. Since she was unaware of the weather outside, she decided that it would be best to don both and simply ditch the cloak if she found it too warm.

    Unfortunately she could not find a bra that fit, and strangely enough the one she wore beneath her nightshirt was too large as well. She removed the garment and replaced her nightshirt before slipping into the red dress. It fit well, if a bit loose.

    Whitney struggled to remember the spells Hagatha had taught her to conceal herself, but she could not force them to the surface of her memory. She kept an eye out for Hagatha’s cat; she still couldn’t shake the feeling that somebody was messing with her, and her grandmother was at the top of the list.

    Whitney poked her head out the door, checked to see if the coast was clear, and silently slipped out of the room. She made her way down the hall, appreciative and apprehensive of the architecture. Her feet echoed ever so slightly off of the cobblestone floor until she removed the boots she had found to silence her footsteps. Torches lit the hall, flinging distorted shadows throughout the passage.

    Whitney turned around a corner, and stopped. There in front of her, with his back to her, stood a young man. He was dressed in entirely black, and as such blended with the shadows of the hall. She darted back behind the wall and considered her options.

    Deciding it would be best to capture the mystery man and ask questions later, she began whispering incantations beneath her breath. Mystical energy gathered around her, swelling and gaining in power. Once she was ready, she jumped out from behind the wall and hurled the mystical equivalent of a net at the spot where the man had been.

    “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” spoke the man from behind her.

    “How the-?” she got out before he grabbed her by the wrists. “Who are you?!” she demanded, regaining her voice.

    “I’ll ask the questions, thank you very much. Who are you and what am I doing here?” he demanded. The golden glow of his eyes flashed to emphasize the seriousness of his question.

    “I was about to ask you the same thing. Did Hagatha put you up to this?!” Whitney responded forcefully. She struggled with her captor but found he was much too strong for her.

    “Hagatha? I don’t know who you’re talking about. Just tell me what I want to know and I won’t hurt you,” assured the man. Whitney had heard talk like that before, and didn’t buy it.

    “Hey, Blackhearted, where you at?” called a booming voice. Loud footsteps echoed against the walls as both Whitney and her companion froze. “I’m goin’ stir crazy, cooped up in here! We gonna play cards or what?”

    In a brief flash of golden light, Whitney and the man disappeared from the hall. A man in a skintight uniform and a topknot rounded the corner. “Dammit Blackhearted, where are you!” called out Killer Shrike in frustration. Even he was tiring of trading insults with Keiko for the day and he desperately needed another form of entertainment.

    Whitney reappeared in a closet, a cramped closet at that, considering she was sharing it with her mysterious captor/savior, depending on how you looked at it. She quickly shoved him off of her and opened the door.

    “You could thank me,” he said gruffly as he regained his feet.

    “For copping a feel in a closet?” Whitney demanded, still not entirely trusting him.

    “I did no such thing! That was accidental!” he protested. “Look, I think that maybe we’re on the same side here. I’m Goldeneyed. I’m a superhero.” He struck a suitable pose to emphasize his point.

    “A superhero?” asked Whitney doubtfully.

    “Yeah, a superhero! I can teleport, and I have enhanced strength and reflexes,” boasted the neophyte do-gooder.

    “Do you always tell people what you can do? Because it seems to me that a superhero would realize that it’s best to keep your potential a secret so as to catch your enemies off-guard,” rationalized the teenaged witch.

    “Umm, well, you’re not a threat to me, so it’s okay.” Goldeneyed stopped briefly and considered the girl before him. “Or are you?”

    “I have no idea where we are, just like you,” replied Whitney. It occurred to her that Goldeneyed was not working for her grandmother; he was much too trusting for that.

    “Well, don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here,” promised G-Eyed. That was a superhero’s job, after all, to rescue damsels in distress. Especially cute ones like her, he added to himself.

    “And how do you propose we do that?” she asked him sharply. She wished that she had paid more attention to Hagatha’s lessons now; she could doubtlessly magic her own way out if she only knew the proper spells. For now it seemed she might actually need the hero’s help.

    “Easy.” G-Eyed’s mask moved with his lips as he smiled. “Like this.”

    Goldeneyed triggered his teleportation power, envisioning his new residence, the Lair Mansion, in his mind. He extended the teleportation effect to include the girl, and in a flash of light they disappeared.

    They reappeared in the exact same spot.

    “Did you do anything yet?” asked Whitney impatiently.

    “What’s going on? What happened?” whined Goldeneyed. It was hard to impress the ladies when your primary superpower fell flat. Plus it was just damned annoying anyway.

    “I’m afraid that I have very strict rules regarding unauthorized teleportation in my home,” said a man standing in the doorway. He spoke with a rich Latvian accent.

    “Your home? So you’re the one working for Hagatha!” accused Whitney, gathering what magicks she could to protect herself.

    “I assure you, Miss Darkness, I have no part to play in your current dilemma. However, I shall rectify it for you.” The Hooded Hood shot a very stern glance that only one being would receive.

    Eddie gulped and undid his enchantment on the Hooded Hood’s companions.

    The Sorceress and Blackhearted blinked and looked in surprise as they both found themselves in a rather different room from the last one they’d been in.

    “Much better,” said the Hood as he turned and left the room. “And Eddie? Remember the rule.”