Epilogue: Lois Lane, The Daily Planet's Greatest Sorceress

"How the hell does she do it?" Cat Grant asked, as she slammed the paper down. "I mean, I know Lois Lane is good, but no one is that good."

The headlines blared out LEX LUTHOR GUILTY. The shit had barely hit the fan, and government officials had damn near tripped over themselves deputizing Superman to bring Luthor in, on state and federal charges. Foreign nations were already talking about holding trials for the crimes Luthor had committed in their countries in absentia.

Carrie Castle poured tequila. The rest of the reporters pushed their glasses forward, and no one went away thirsty. Yet this wasn't the usual bullshit session as the journalistic literarti unwound while reading the headlines. There was a black mood on them.

Lois had arrived at Ukraine just as the Russians invaded. Been the first to break the scandal that the Joker had tainted the Gotham City reservoir, and in time to prevent any 'joker babies.' Gotten an interview with Static, Black Lightning, Icon, and Hardware just in time for Martin Luthor King Day.

Lana Lang slammed her glass down. She reached for a cigarette, and Cat Grant snatched the pack away. The redhead looked haggard.

"She fucked me," Lana said soberly.

The others at the table turned their heads.

"It was after she'd revealed Brainiac was behind those LexCorp intellicrops in Smallville. My home town. We'd been celebrating with some of Pa's moonshine..." She snatched the bottle before Carrie Castle could grab it. "I don't...I don't remember most of the night. But I woke up, and I was...God, I was so sore down there. I thought the football team had run a train on me."

Jimmy Olsen coughed and blushed. The women ignored him.

"I remember she kissed me in the morning. Gave me that little smile she has, when she knows something you don't. Said I was wonderful, and that we should do it again sometime," Lana had carefully filled the shot glass to the brim, and brought it up to her lips. "Then when I was in the bathroom, I found out she had already sent her copy. Somehow, she had matched me shot for shot, fucked me raw until I passed out moaning her name and my labia looked like hamburger, and there was this grey goop pouring out of my cunt, and she beat me to getting the story in."

Lana threw the shot black and slammed the glass back down on the table.

Her lip trembled.

"I still moan her name in my sleep."

Cat reached over and patted her hand.

"She fucked me too. I mean, not like that—she didn't snipe a story—but somehow she heard I was poking around, trying to figure out who her new sources were, and then she cornered me in the bathroom and—" Cat Grant, who had broken more marriages than any Playboy Playmate, got a far-away look in her eye. "—she slammed me into the wall, pressed her mouth against mine, and her hand came up and ripped my panties away...and it was inconceivable, I mean, I've never been with a woman before and I was just wet, instantly, my whole body feverish as I melted into her arms, and she was plunging her fingers in and out of my cunny and I swear I came right there and she didn't stop and didn't stop until I was clawing at her back and begging her to just let me stop cumming..."

The woman set her mouth in a firm line. "And the bitch did. She stopped right there and winked at me and said if I ever needed to ask her a question, she would be happy to answer me in the same way."

"G-gee whillickers," Jimmy said and adjusted his bowtie. "Miss Lane never did anything like that to me, except one time..." The photographer turned a shade of crimson from ear to ear. "She told me to shoot Gina Gervais, who had been badmouthing her—she does the horoscopes, and claims to be a real witch, or Wiccan, or something like that. You know, really gothy, and kind of overweight and lots of piercings and tattoos, but cute for all that—and I do, get some nice snapshots of her, nothing candid or anything, and Miss Lane she picked one and she draws this...this diagram around it, and lights these little black candles, and then...then she tells me..."

Cat leaned forward. "Told you what, Jimmy?"

"She told me to take out...Little Jimmy," sweat was pouring down his forehead now. "And I...I don't know why I did, it was just something about her voice....and I took it out, and she told me to start stroking it. So I'm rubbing myself, and I'm getting big, and she tells me to look at the photo while I'm doing it, and I can't take my eyes off of it. I'm harder than I usually am and I can't stop, can't stop looking at Gina, and Miss Lane reached behind me and suddenly her finger is back there, and I never had anything back there, and she's mouthing these words and then I'm, I'm shooting off..."

He got a little wide-eyed.

"...and Miss Lane tells me to pull my pants up, and my ass is a little sore and I don't know what to make of it, and then I see Gina in the hallway and...we just sort of stared into each other's eyes and slipped into the supply closet, and she pulls down her panties and gosh she was wet, and suddenly I'm hard again and neither of us thinks about a condom..."

Jimmy gave a sad little smile. "She just tested positive today. I'm going to be a father. Miss Lane told me where I could get a real good deal on a ring...and Gina doesn't mind putting her finger back there at all, in fact I can take three or four now with no trouble at all. I'm told it's quite a sight if you want to..."

A hand clapped on Jimmy's shoulder, shutting him up. the women at the table looked up gratefully at a haggard face with a perpetual five-o'clock shadow. Hair like dirty straw, blue eyes like a choir boy that has seen it all.

"Sounds like she's not just good," he said and reached over Jimmy's shoulder for the tequila. "She's magic."

Lana Lang swallowed. "You're...I recognize you. You were with Zatanna when the stripper succubi invaded Las Vegas..."

"John Constantine," he said with a smile that had no doubt made many a panty drop. "I'm something of a magician myself. Now the question is...what are we to do about Lois Lane, ladies and gent?"