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Author's Chapter Notes:
Time for a slight detour
* * * * *

While all that was going on, in Gotham City, there was something equally bizarre happening in neighboring New York.

It all started when the Green Goblin stole a rare book on occult magic from Shadowcrest. That was the name of the Long Island mansion once owned by the legendary stage magician, Zatara the Great (and since inherited by his equally famous daughter, Zatanna).

Spider-man did his best to capture the verdant villain. He even followed the Green Goblin back out to Shadowcrest, via one of his "spidey-tracers." Unfortunately, the latter got the drop on him using a pumpkin bomb that was somehow impervious to the webslinger's "spidey-sense."


Spidey found himself landing flat on his back, too dazed to move. This allowed the Green Goblin to throw a blanket over him, before exclaiming:

"eclaP mih ni sniahc!"

When the blanket was removed, the wall-crawler found himself shackled from head to foot!! Or, more precisely, from shoulders to ankles. The Green Goblin cackled with glee as he then chanted:

"pU, pu! yM eof sah nesir. tuP mih ni a citsalp nosirp."

Whereupon, Spidey levitated off the floor and into a giant plexiglass tumbler. When that had been accomplished, the verdant villain chanted once more.

"lliF htiw retaw!"

A clear blue liquid immediately materialized around Spidey's ankles...and rose upward from there.

"Heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee! Don't drink it all, while I'm gone, Spider-man. I want enough left, on my return, to toast your demise. Heeheeheeheeheeheehee!"

With that, the Green Goblin flew off, on his gas-guzzling "Goblin Glider," through a pair of French doors opening on to a balcony. By which point, the water level in the giant tumbler was up to Spidey's waist. And, getting ever higher!

"Got to...maneuver...my web-shooters..straight...upward," he muttered.

Just as the waterline reached his neck, however, a new (and indisputably female) voice commanded:

"retaW, pots gnisir. nruT ot nitaleg."

That was when Spidey realized that all splashing noises had ceased. And, the medium in which he was trapped was now rippling in a different fashion.

"Must be jello," he muttered: "Because, jam doesn't shake like this."

That was when the female voice spoke again. Or, more accurately, it giggled and tittered. Thereby allowing Spidey (who now felt like a fly trapped in amber) to recognize it.



One "flash-bang" later, there she stood. Looking just like her posters: a twenty-something brunette with raven-black hair and blue eyes. Wearing a Navy-blue tuxedo over a white shirt, black bowtie, purple cumberbun and baby-blue briefs. Off-set by black high-heels, sheer nylons, a Navy-blue top hat with a purple band, and a white-tipped wand that she leaned on with her right hand.

Her left arm, which had been akimbo, now doffed the top hat in a melodramatic bow of greeting.

"Hi ya, Spidey. Long time/no see!"

Spidey knew exactly what she was referring to. It was the first anniversary of the adventure that the news media had dubbed: "The Mystery of Blackwell's Ghost."

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