#practical alchemy

The stairwell was empty and dim, illuminated by a single lightbulb hanging on a thin string. It swayed lightly despite the windows being closed, despite the stale, stuffy air that was only barely diluted by short, loud exhales that left my mouth whenever I turned around the corner of the stairs to sneak a look at the unevenly painted floor number on the wall.

2, 3, 4. The stairs were as well-behaved as ever, leading me to each floor in it's proper place. I haven't encountered such consistent numeration since the second day that I moved in. The house seemed to be more sentient than I would have liked it to be; it liked to catch people off-guard. The more tired I'd been, the more likely I was to encounter multiple wrong floors on my way up.

2, 3, 4. The ball of anxiety, cold and tense, spread from my gut towards my limb, its barbed, slimy appendages grabbing forceful hold of my stiff limbs. The logical side of me, one I'd long abandoned after picking up witchcraft, had woken up once more, only to supply the fuel to my worst fears.

2, 3, 4. The house was calm because it was busy with Tony. The house was calm because it'd been fed - or fueled. The heating season wasn't in yet but the paperwork stated the house had a sustainable, affordable heating system and the temperatures were adjustable in every room, all for a fixed price. Now it seemed to good to be true.

2, 3, 6. Was the house itself an entity, was it a portal to the nether realm or was it just a nest for the unsightly creatures that lurked in the shadows? The ones that made you look twice at the darkest corner of your room, at night, because the darkness was a little too thick and the room itself a little too quiet?

6, 7. The 'missing' floors were drastically different from the habitable parts of the building. Here, the stairway abruptly changed in design; white walls and iron handles became more outdated, wood replacing every bit of plastic and iron, except for the knobs. Those were tinted a dirty brass with a hearty layer of dust covering them. The red rug on the stairs themselves was dirty and stained with mud.

The number seven was imprinted on a lacquered wooden plaque, the material faded and old. There was a bell hanging next to the door itself; unlike all the doors I've seen before, this one was big, with a smaller opening at the bottom of it, just like for a housecat.

I rung the bell once. It coughed up more dust, specks of it floating in the air as the metal let out a quiet, reluctant jingle. The cat doorflap moved; something scratched thinly on the other side of the door. Blink-and-you'll-miss-it, soft and reluctant footsteps made me clutch the milk and cookies closer to my chest, as if the confections could save me from whatever was on the other side. It didn't sound human, the footsteps too quiet, the scratching too quick.

With a mighty creak and another wall of dust permeating the small stairwell, the door slowly moved inward. With its underused hinges and sheer size, I waited for what felt like eons until finally it opened enough for me to to be able to see inside.

Darkness. Opaque, saturated darkness; the kind of black that you encounter in the middle of the forest at night: silent, expecting. The footsteps and the scratching stopped completely, I felt as if whatever was waiting for me on the side was observing, sizing me up in the wake of the inevitable. The urge to back away was overwhelming.

I took a slow step towards the room, instead. My foot crunched against something thin and spindly as it made way over the doorframe. The floors here were wooden, the feeling of the old, moist carpet disappearing. My sneakers made no noise on the floor; not a single creak or a shuffle penetrated the odd darkness.

As soon as I fully entered the room, it's contents became visible to me. Not as clear as day, but rather illuminated by an eerie, cold, dim glow; like under the blue moon. My eyes adjusted quickly, finding the room to be wide but empty, no clues to the source of the noises I heard.

Upon closer inspection, the room wasn't empty. There was a counter to the right of me, like at an old saloon, plain save for a single leather bound book on top of it, complete with a quill ink pen standing neatly next to it. A few places behind it was a single bookshelf, it looked to be empty, too, but I knew I couldn't trust my eyes in this place.

I had no other choice but to walk over to the counter. There was a plaque laying flat; it was metal, but very thin, gothic script on it faded.

"The rules of the Archive:

1. Please be quiet.

2. Please sign into the visitor's book: your name, the date of visit and the information you are looking for.

3. Please don't linger on the premises more than necessary.

We hope you find what you are looking for!"

It seemed reasonable, at the time. I immediately picked up the quill pen, opening the first page of the book, hoping for an additional clue in it - just to find it completely empty. The pages were yellowed with age but blank, and the quill pen stung me as I wrote out the necessary details, placing the milk and cookies I'd brought on the other side of the counter.

Jotting down my name, I briefly paused to gather my wits. "Looking to retrieve a friend from the basement of the house." I'd decided on a simple request in a semi-formal tone, clumsily but carefully penning out the words in dark red ink. Something swished against my legs briefly and I immediately looked around, predictably, finding no-one there.

The milk and cookies, however, went missing, tray and all.

Finished with the task at hand and more than a little unsettled, I made for the next obvious objective - the bookshelf. It was fairly small, equally old and decrepit, with darkness behind it - it looked like a wall, almost, except I was sure there was an empty space behind it. No matter how much I strained my eyes, I couldn't see past the lacquered redwood of the bookshelf.

I approached it on quiet feet. A sudden wave of disorienting dizziness befell my senses; the smooth edges of the bookshelf blurred and the scenery around it smudged like viscous, wet oil paint: all saturated colours and creamy outlines of shadows. A hazy presence arose behind me, intangible and unclear, yet I felt it's stare directed at the middle of my back.

Rows of identical, dark brown leather bound books lined the shelves. All of the spines were blank, all save for one - it was conveniently placed in direct line of my sight, golden-painted letters adorning the spine of it. Vision still swimming and senses reeling, I couldn't discern a word. I had to pick it up to read it.

My hands flipped it open without as much as a second thought as I tried my best to force my mind adapt to my surroundings as the darkness around me thickened and the shadows behind my back began to breathe down my neck. I felt the tame touch of long, frail nails drawing senseless lines all across my shoulderblades.

"To retrieve a loved one from the In-between-Place, you will need a large ball of red yarn, a mirror and a candle.

To find your loved one, follow these steps: find an entry point to the Place and tie the end of the string to the door once you enter. Stand with your back to the entry point and place the mirror in front of you so the entry point and the red string is clearly visible. Light the candle and bring it up to the mirror. It will become fogged for a brief moment."

The words burned into my mind. I didn't have to try and memorize them - as the crescendo of shadows behind me rose, their thick, viscous energy flooding my senses, my mind remained clear, vision focusing on the neat letters effortlessly. The creatures behind me grew bolder, wrapped themselves around my legs, leaving a trail of icy needles wherever they touched my skin.

"As the fog clears, the reflection in the mirror will show an empty hallway with the red string clearly visible. The reflection is your compass; it will lead you to your goal. Remember - whatever you see around you, whatever you hear - it is not real. The mirror will stay true no matter what."

I blinked away the tears that had began to gather in the corners of my eyes. My legs felt like I'd gotten frostbite; numb and heavy. I wanted to sit down, to catch my breath for just a moment. My heart was a wild rabbit in an eagle's grasp; jumping aimlessly in my ribcage, thrashing against the cold, sharp claws that pierced every millimeter of my body.

The whispers began as a distant rustle; like falling leaves at first, fading into the background regardless of the pregnant silence filling the wide room. I couldn't differentiate a single word. The noises were full of sorrow, gathering what little free will I had and bringing it up to the surface. So many restless spirits, so many people stuck between the waking realm and the afterlife...

With shaky fingers, I slammed the book shut, sliding it back into place, almost dropping the tome in the process. The cured leather felt like silk between my fingers, soft and slippery. As soon as the spine lined up with the rest of the books, the whispers receded and whatever was holding me hostage released its clutches from my flesh.

The goosebumps gave way to the blood thumping, thumping, thumping in my veins. Warmth flooded my entire being in a rush; I had no recollection of stumbling back, past the reception desk and out the exit, coming to my senses when the loud slam of the heavy wooden door made pillars of dust rise in the air.

I gasped, keening over and resting my palms on my knees. The cat door promptly lifted, ejecting the empty tray and jug with a force almost violent; the metal clanged on the floor, noisy, in the empty stairwell. The sounds echoed over and over, piercing right through my skull.

Fuck all, I decided, leaving the dishes to lay where they had dropped.

One, my skull was ringing from the experience and my skin was stretched taut where the undead, restless souls sunk their metaphysical teeth into my life force. It wasn't their fault - cursed to aimlessly wander the places where the lines between this world and that were blurred, they couldn't help but be instantly drawn to the closest source of warmth. And what is warmer than all, if not a living, beating heart?

Two, I now knew that there was a sure way to retrieve Tony from the elevator. Or the In-between, as the book had called the place he was supposedly stuck in. The doubts were there, as it is when the logical human mind tried to understand the intangible, but deep down in my soul, I knew. And I hoped I wasn't too late.

Stephen and Lucy were exactly how I left them; both blankly staring at the TV. Maggie Smith paraded around on the screen in a frilly dress, completely ensnaring Lucy's attention. The sorcerer's eyes followed her every movement but his eyes were unseeing, mind far, far away.

"I'll get him back," I breathed as I barged through the apartment door. "Give me a moment and I'll get him back," heart still running a mile a minute, hair disheveled and clothes rumpled, I ran towards my bedroom to retrieve the small, handheld mirror and pluck a ball of yarn out of my knitting supply basket with quick motions.

Thudding footsteps approached my bedroom door. "Do I need to come with you?" Stephen asked, the tremors of his hands obvious even as he attempted to stuff his fists deeper inside his pockets.

"No need, it'll be faster If I go alone," I replied, not knowing, in all honesty, what would happen if more than one person decided to go down there. It seemed unnecessarily dangerous and if he remained up here, me and Tony would at least have a small chance of making it out somehow should we both get stuck.

Stephen nodded jerkily, meeting my eyes with his pleading stare. I froze mid-action, feeling my face soften in response to the sheer terror he tried so hard to hide. Pocketing a candlestick and some matches, I approached the man, laying a soft hand on his shoulder.

"I'll get him back. I swear, I promise," the reassurance came out choked up and quiet. Much like him, I could not imagine my life without Tony in it. The engineer's antics had grown on me tremendously, and the fact that his presence alone considerably brightened my days lingered on mind at every possible opportunity. Every time Tony left, he took a small piece of myself with him.

"Okay," Stephen breathed, taking out his shaking hands without breaking the eye contact, laying both of them on my shoulders. "I believe you," his words struck a chord within me, within the very depths of my weary soul.

One of us reached out; neither knew who was first, but we stayed, rocking gently, in each other's arms for the longest moment that still felt too brief. I exhaled some of the tension and worry that had flooded every pore of my being, letting go of the paralyzing fear that haunted the nethermost depths of me since that fateful phone call.

The sorcerer withdrew, smoothing over my hair with a shaky hand before stuffing it into his pocket, wandering back to the couch on unsteady legs.

Lucy stood up, motioning me to the kitchen just as I was about to leave. I obediently followed, figuring the demon child was hungry again. Leaving Stephen as a snack was most certainly counter-productive.

"It's dangerous down there," she signed, a strikingly somber expression on her face. "It lives there. It's always hungry."

I froze, studying her. She looked so much older than she was - it was in her eyes. They were hollow and haunted, as if someone had wiped off her usual childish curiosity with an oily rag.

"I don't have a choice," I mumbled, acutely aware of how stupid I sounded.

"I can help," she carefully observed my reaction. "But it will hurt. A lot."

I leaned against the table, twirling the ball of yarn in my hands. "How?"

"I can bite you. The Thing will stay away." Lucy inched closer to me, as if she knew right then and there, that I had made up my mind. "We have an agreement," she added, smashing the last of my hesitation.

It made several questions pop into my mind but I had no time to ask them. I nodded derisively and Lucy picked up her doll, nodding in the direction of the door, wordlessly telling me it's time to go.

My anxiety rose once again as I caught a glimpse of her mischievous visage return, briefly, as she waved goodbye to Stephen, the eerily blank mask of indifference returning once again as soon as the door to my apartment slammed shut.

We walked out into the stairwell, hip to hip, a bounce to her step that didn't fare well with the grim situation I was about to face. Our steps echoed as we reached the door of the elevator and Lucy immediately turned around, looking up at me expectantly.

Taking a deep breath, I rolled up the sleeve of my shirt and offered her the soft flesh of my forearm. Her fingers closed around it as she drew nearer, letting me take another quivering gulp of oxygen. The click of her jaw sounded like a button pushed too hard, too many times; the thin, jagged teeth pierced my skin without a hitch.

Warm blood trickled down my arm; it was in my mouth where I bit into the side of my cheek to curb the scream that was building in my throat. Lucy's bite felt like a thousand paper cuts, so sharp it felt hot. It scratched against my bone, bypassing it and delving deeper into the energies making up my higher self.

Lucy took a hefty chunk of me and ran it through a meat grinder. The pain was enough to make me faint, yet I clung onto consciousness with stubborn determination, forcefully squeezing my eyes shut. It didn't make a difference, however, as the darkness behind my eyelids burst into colour, crimson, like the blood pouring down my arm, and sicky yellow, like the old, dirty stairwell I was about to get devoured in.

In place of Little Lucy was a blob of concentrated darkness, the kind that children chase away with colorful nightlights; the obscurity was everywhere, the walls were made of it, the doors - everything was saturated with it. It pulsed and throbbed, pus-like appendages growing and writhing from it, snagging onto each other only to immediately begin tearing the other to shreds.

Like hungry lampreys, the arched and oozed towards me, none quite reaching me, but squirming close enough that I could sense the putrid, rotten stench.

The pain ebbed away and I stumbled back, opening my eyes, blinking away the disgusting scenery, dumbly searching for the elevator button. Lucy was nowhere to be seen; I wasn't sure how much time I'd spent standing there, too terrified to open my eyes, held captive by the morbid vision.

The car opened and I stumbled in; it immediately began descending although I had not pressed any buttons. Too dazed to seriously consider the implications of what was about to happen, I prepared, lighting up the candle. Once the elevator doors opened again, I beelined for the plain white door, throwing it open and tying the loose end of the yarn without a second thought.

The mirror didn't exactly fog up; the world briefly fell out of focus and then, I had a path to follow. Keeping my head down and my eyes peeled to the contents of the mirror, I began walking ahead, straight down the empty hallway.

The walls were plain and a pale yellow, like in a hospital. It smelled just as neutral, too, filled with cool, slightly dusty air. There were no doors or windows, no visible ventilation holes, the continued journey felt more and more like a dream the more rooms I went through.

Archway after archway, their angular edges began to blur. If I dared to raise my eyes from the reflection and the red string, I immediately became dizzy, me eyes watered, making it harder and harder to keep the thin line of red in focus. The string was the only thing that felt real, the saturated colour standing out in the noxiously bleak hallways around me. Even the flowers on the front of my shirt seemed to have lost their colour, as if the shirt had gone through hundreds of washes in the short time I spent in the hallways.

Time? I had lost track of it as the scenery blurred, faded in on itself just like my memory. The ball of my yarn hadn't grown any smaller in my palm despite me having made way through dozens of spaces just like this one.

Where is Tony?

Just as I gathered enough thought to ground myself into the reasons behind this peculiar journey, something wandered directly into the line of my eyesight.

I screamed, jumping back, daring to lift my eyes just to meet two blank, brown orbs blearily blinking in my direction.

"Tony?" I breathed, bringing the mirror to see if the string was pointing to him. It was.

"What? I'm, I-.." He seemed so confused, stuttering, looking around. "I don't know..."

What Tony didn't know, I wasn't sure of. He didn't resist when I grabbed him by the arm, linking us together, turning around to follow the string back to the exit. A dozen archways, perhaps, was all it took us to find a way out; the doors of the elevator opened invitingly as a still-dazed Tony shot me more incredulous looks when I began to shake at the mere sight of the empty elevator car.

I didn't know how long I'd spent in that place. I didn't know what happened to Tony, I didn't know if he was okay or would he ever be. I was sure of only one thing: I am never stepping foot in the basement again.

"Your total is twelve dollars, seventeen cents," I rattled off on autopilot, casting a glance at the cash register and plastering an automatic smile onto my face. The pleasant expression was frozen on it, stuck like glue, despite the news I had received earlier in the day. "Thank you, have a nice day," I doubted the customer actually heard my words.

One of those business-types, wearing a tailored two-piece, with a Bluetooth headset attached to their ear and brain always a mile away, our little coffee shop a mild interruption in their daily routine of making more and more money. "Hello, how can I help you?" I addressed the next customer, my eyes unseeing, gliding over their face and to the storefront where I noticed we were running low on eclairs and carrot cake.

"Hey, Starlight," the woman's voice was familiar, tone soothing, as I snapped my eyes to meet a pair of reddish-brown ones, staring at me with concern. "The usual," our city's very own superhero; Wanda Maximoff stood before me with her head curiously tilted to the side and her brother hovering behind her, examining the assortment of various cakes on display. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," I sighed, sending off the organic, single-use cups with scribbles off to Dave, our barista. Wanda's order was large, usually about ten or twelve coffees and quite a few treats, so I donned on some nitrile gloves to package the treats while Dave handled the drinks with practiced ease. I admired his stoicism. "Might be seeing a bit less of me," the woman's eyebrows rose in displeasure at my admission.

"Tony won't be happy," Wanda mumbled, side-eyeing the backdoor behind which my boss usually resided during the day. "You got fired?" The words attracted the attention of her brother. Pietro was immediately at her side, joining into the concerned staring.

"Nope," I popped the 'p', methodically shoving the food in its packaging. "The café is expanding hours and our shifts are being split now. Jeremy is dead set on me working the graveyard shift, so I'll be here six AM to two PM," I couldn't help the sigh that left my lips.

My boss, Jeremy, had opened his boulangerie little over two years ago, and as he had predicted, it set off almost immediately. The place was located almost in the heart of the dozen corporate sky-rises full of busy, wealthy people who liked their things to be both instant and luxurious. Jeremy had fit right in with the law sharks and business vultures, if you ask me, with his penchant for demanding the impossible.

I was expecting an increase in work hours, I wasn't going to lie - our little cafe was busy nearly all the time it was open - but the fact that he chose to split a day's shift came as a punch to the gut. Like most service staff, I made most of my money from the tips, and they and they only were the only reason I stayed in a place with a shrew for a boss and the worst health insurance in the area. Thankfully, the rich businessmen from local offices didn't count their money and left me more than generous tips.

The coffee machine beeped for the last time as Dave passed me the three cupholders before I carefully bagged them, arranging the treats on top. I saw Wanda lick her lips at the aromas coming from the paper bag before Pietro snatched them out of my grasp. I rattled off the total, catching Wanda's eye as she passed me several twenty dollar bills, waving off my attempt to return the change.

"Penny for your wandering thoughts?" She smiled warmly as I chuckled at the question I've grown to expect with a quiet sort of joy.

The first time she'd wandered in, soaking wet from the rain and looking as lost as a child in a mall, ten minutes before closing time, I was reading my book right at the counter as I waited for the coffee machine to clean itself. I hadn't even noticed the quiet woman until her words startled me out of the book-induced trance and I shamefully had to ask her to repeat herself, hastily shoving my book under the counter. She smiled at me, shyly, and asked me about my reading instead of rattling an order for one of the sickly sweet caffeine concoctions female customers seemed to love. And she returned in a few days, asking the same question after taking a careful look at my face.

"And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about." I took a careful moment to recall a paragraph from the book I was currently reading, Murakami's 'Kafka on the Shore'. It seemed fitting, with all that had been going on in my life recently. I was still caught in the middle of the storm, unsure if I'd make it out but hoping for it nonetheless.

"That's beautiful," Pietro smiled at me, the tips of his silver hair reflecting the lights of the cafe's baroque style chandeliers. I barely managed to smile at him as he was already speeding off, the entrance door banging shut behind a blur of white and blue. Each time he did that, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to not spill any of the hot beverages.

"Because it's true," Wanda added with a comforting smile. I nodded in agreement, hoping some of her positive attitude would dissipate the sense of doom I'd been lugging around all day. She departed, taking the sense of comfort with her, as I caught the tail end of something shouted in Sokovian - something that sounded exactly in place, coming from one disgruntled sibling to another.

When the residents of the nearby Stark tower began frequenting my workplace, I barely had the composure to stifle my quiet fangirling to socially acceptable levels. Not long after the Scarlet Witch turned a semi-regular, she started bringing her colleagues with her - Hawkeye at first, who was a decent, normal dude; he looked like an exasperated dad and Pietro appeared every thing the rambunctious son, as the younger man peppered the older man with questions about the cakes on our display.

They all had fancy names, but at the bottom of it, a chocolate cake was a chocolate cake. That much I told them, with a snort, earning myself a lopsided grin and a generous tip as I patiently listed off the more commonly used, simplified designations for the twins as the knowledge of them being European immigrants crossed my mind.

After Hawkeye came the Black Widow, and then Captain America with a sunny smile and his moody boyfriend in tow. While Bucky Barnes' expression was generally sour, the man had a wicked sweet tooth, shoveling frosted, glazed treats at the rate of a competitive eater. Both men were extremely polite if not very chatty and tipped well.

Tony Stark himself - well, he was a special one. His sense of humour trailed on the fine line of obscene, oftentimes raising the eyebrows of nearby people standing in line. I wasn't born yesterday, either: years of customer service work left me with little-to-no surprise regarding overzealous men and I could quip back equally as sharply, just slightly south of Tony's own jokes. He never overstepped, however, and with time, I developed a quiet appreciation for our small talks.

Which did brighten up my day, if only a little. "A little birdy told me your boss is being a douchebag. Want me to clean up that muck?" Tony was, as usual, wearing a bespoke suit and sunglasses, which he'd pushed up to his forehead as he frivolously leaned on the counter after placing his order.

I sighed, remembering Wanda's words. I didn't know what to expect from the eccentric billionaire; last of all, I didn't want any handouts. I'd started a search for a second part-time job the very day I got told my pay would be essentially cut in half. "No need, Mr. Stark, I'm gonna be fine and dandy," I replied with a smile that I was sure didn't really reach my eyes. "We'll still be able to resume our nice chit-chat at brunch on Saturdays," I winked, hoping to keep up the usual light atmosphere of our banter.

"I told you to call me Tony!" He exclaimed, like always, shaking his head and glaring at the back door. "Yeah, no," the man had absolutely no chill. "I'll still sic the IRS on him," the last part was said quietly. Mr. Stark often spoke to himself.

I laughed at the rich-kid, spoilt way he was acting. A grown man with an attitude of a teenager and a sweet tooth to match one - except for his coffee. That was always the strongest, blackest one we had on hand. I hadn't even heard of a triple espresso until Mr. Stark had waltzed in, skipping the line and filling the air around him with the smells of cologne that smelled like money, motor oil, iron and soot.

The moment I opened my e-mail at home, I felt my gloomy mood worsen, Mr. Stark's words echoing in my head. I'd sent my resumes to two dozen places and only a handful even bothered to reply - all preemptive rejections, there weren't businesses needing a part-time employee with a useless degree, who could only work evenings. Except bars, but they required some sort of certificate for bartenders and lots and lots of bare skin for waitresses. I tried to steer away from that part of the industry as much as I could, saving it as a last resort option.

It had come down to browsing Craigslist as I ate my way through a carton of cheap take-out, too exhausted to cook and too anxious to go out to the nearby bodega after 9 PM. One more negative side of working late shift - making my way home in the dead of the night in NYC and hoping Spider-Man was hanging out nearby should a thug decide on me to be their next victim. The joys of big city life.

As the column of various ads stared at me with various suspicious offers to make quick money, ads for 'young, sociable women' and I stared back at them in muted disgust. The 'looking for a job' section was much more sensible with the few ads I'd clicked on out of curiosity depicting people seemingly in a similar situation as me - short on money but not desperate enough to surrender their dignity to corporate greed. The decision was momentary - I'd started typing and hit the post button before I was through with my food, slapping my old laptop shut as soon as the as posted.

Hopefully, the creeps will stay away. The next couple of days stretched out slowly as I got up at the crack of dawn to open the shop, served the early birds whilst sipping my own matcha latte and clocked out not a second later than 2PM, taking home half the usual amount of tips. My e-mail remained as silent as ever, only a few suspicious replies to my ad, texts that I didn't even bother replying to. Human trafficking and pyramid schemes, was that all that NYC had to offer?

Apparently, not. Around 6PM, my phone dinged as a notification popped up and I scrambled to read it - all too aware of the upcoming rent day, and was pleasantly surprised with the contents of the e-mail, re-reading it several times to make sure there weren't any hidden stones under the water. I replied with my phone number, not expecting it to ring within minutes of hitting the send button.

"Hello?"

"Hi, we just corresponded," the voice on the other side was feminine but slightly rough, as if it's owner spent days chain-smoking. "I would like to invite you for a small interview, if you wouldn't mind."

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Could I ask you some questions first?" The levels of anxiety, I thought, were reasonable in the situation. It mutely gnawed at my chest.

"Sure," the woman agreed amicably. "My name is Odette, by the way," she mentioned off-handedly, the name fitting her voice in a strange way.

"Uh, well," I stammered. "You mentioned it's a herbal medicine shop, you're not selling weed under the counter, are you?" I voiced my worries meekly, hoping for an honest answer.

The woman laughed, a sharp, terse sound. "No, dear, I do not sell or possess anything illegal. I merely offer supplies for the locals that prefer natural, alternative medicine." She sounded jovial.

"Like - um, healing crystals?" I vaguely remembered reading about them on the internet, or seeing them in a YouTube video, perhaps.

"Yes, we sell those, too," her tone grew more joyful at the mention of the shiny rocks. I didn't think that they actually cured anything, to be honest, however I was willing to give it some credit - the placebo effect was a scientific fact. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

"Okay then," I chuckled nervously. "I'm free tomorrow after 3 PM."

"Grand. The shop is open until 10 PM, just say your name at the counter and I'll be right with you."

As soon as I hung up, relief and curiosity and trepidation blossomed within me, imagination unhelpfully supplying images of human trafficking documentaries, basements with chains and other, less horrifying but still unusual things. The pep talk over a wine glass that I had was necessary: it was a herbal shop, for fuck's sake. Worst case, I'm going to work with Karens who think the Earth is flat and quartz cures cancer. I could even get a funny story or two out of those, something to share with Bucky or Wanda in lieu of the usual book quotes I entertain them with.

The day went by smoothly, the café no more and no less busy than usual so after a brief detour back home to put on something that didn't smell like coffee grounds and yeast: comfortable pants and a soft sweater, something that would keep me warm but would not unnecessarily restrict any movement. My good luck charm, a large oval necklace with a shiny gold star in the middle, hung heavily around my neck, providing quiet comfort.

Heart thudding in my chest, I approached the old-style, inconspicuous building, double-checking the address before opening the old, heavy wooden door right at the corner of the building. It was like a movie scene, in a way - the day was overcast, meager sun rays shining through the lead curtain of clouds, the streets were clear and few honks rung out in the far end of block, sending a flock of pigeons into a lazy scatter over the slanted roof. The door creaked softly, the handle cold under my touch, instantly filling my nose with a strong smell of herbs so plentiful, I could not distinguish one from another.

Inside didn't look any less intriguing: the décor was outdated but somehow fitting and homely, high wooden shelves stocked with glass jars and wooden boxes with neatly placed labels on them. The counter was empty - save for a large, golden bell, which I timidly pressed.

The woman who emerged from behind the worn cotton curtains behind the counter most certainly was impressive. Tall and broad, with dark eyebrows and even darker eyes, she critically surveyed me for a moment, making me shiver under her gaze - and then she smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth and instantaneously losing the imposing aura around her.

"Um, hi- I'm-" I didn't get to finish my nervous stammering.

She interrupted me with a careless wave of her hand. "Here for the interview. Yes. Welcome, Star," her eyes briefly fell on my necklace while I struggled to swallow the unease.

I hadn't told her my nickname - to be honest, these days, I heard it more often than my given name. People quickly took notice of my love of star-patterned items and teased me relentlessly over it, losing heat only when I calmly went along with it, too used to hearing the same jokes since my early childhood.

Odette motioned me over, parting the curtains to reveal a tiny, but tastefully decorated hall with two doors on each side and a staircase at the far end of it. I followed her into the room on the left, which turned out to be a peculiar sort of office. I thought I noticed an Ouija board in there but wisely kept my mouth shut.

"I live on the floor above the shop so don't go throwing any parties while you're on the job," she remarked playfully, gesturing to a pot of tea. "It's peppermint, does wonders for calming one's demeanor," the gesture was sweet - and very telling.

I wondered if I looked as spooked as I felt. After all, it didn't seem like Odette and her business were fishy in any way, and the décor and atmosphere were quite... Appealing, in a way. Something magical, something belonging in Europe or on a high schooler's Pinterest board. I sipped my tea in-between questions, thinking how maybe, I could actually grow accustomed to this place.

The shopkeeper acted as if I'd already accepted the job and I - well, it's not like I had any other options waiting for me. The pay was more than I expected it to be, for such a small bodega and a part-time shift, and it would help me cover my bills with enough to spare. The customers were said to be mostly regular and undemanding, with a few rare exceptions, and should I need assistance, the owner was always a call and a floor away.

With a considerably lighter heart, I left to pad the damp sidewalk back towards my house. Thankfully, my new workplace was only a short walk away.

The tag list is open until the story is finished. Please use the 'taglist' Google form to request (top of the fic, clickable link).

The fabric of my skirt was suddenly yanked and I jumped, dropping my phone and startling out of my daze. Two big, blue eyes stared up at me, curiousity mixed with impatience in them. I crouched down to pick up my device, coming face to face with a tiny blonde girl about nine or ten years of age.

"Lucy, hi!" I squeezed out a smile at the child. She looked pale, as if she'd never seen the slightest bit of sunlight, chubby cheeks contrasted by an overall spindliness of her body. Her dress was a puffy, long-sleeved, red and white polka dotted monstrosity with at least two petticoats that made her seem bigger than she actually was. "Sorry, didn't see you there. Long day at work," despite there being a worm of anxiety crawling deeply in my chest, I heeded the warnings on the list of rules and swallowed any unease I had.

Which was a hard feat. The stairs had gotten confused and I lost ten minutes of time going back, over and over, after encountering floors "5", "8" and "19" instead of my third floor, in a five story building. The building providing extra floors shouldn't have surprised me that much but the worst was fighting with the desire to explore them, my rational brain unhelpfully supplying that if this building was truly dangerous, nobody would be living in it.

The pull was almost unnatural in its strength yet my protection charms remained unaffected. Too tired from returning to work, I decided to distract myself with my phone - and nearly ran poor little Lucy off her feet.

"You are new," she signed to me slowly, carefully observing my reaction to her using ASL.

I had been truly unsettled by the rule list, perhaps more than I wanted to admit to myself, so I spent a night wide awake brushing up my meager sign language skills. "Yes, my name is Star," I replied, not quite sure if I wanted to shake her hand or simply make myself scarce as soon as possible.

Lucy gave me a closed-lipped grin, swooshing her puffy skirts in what I perceived to be a calculated amount of shyness. "Can I play with you, please?" Her hands moved a little more rapidly as she side-eyed my apartment door.

I briefly ran a mental checklist of the contents of my fridge. "Sure," I figured that two leftover steaks in it would be more than enough for the little girl. I'd splurged and gotten four prime pieces of meat to treat myself after a hectic moving process, cooking only half of them on the first day. "Come on it. You hungry?"

The door swung open as I led Lucy in, her bright dress and pale skin standing out in the twilight of my apartment. She nodded her head seriously, looking at me from head to toe as shivers ran up and down my spine. My bag was unceremoniously dumped on the couch, my socked feet shuffling into the kitchen and beelining for the fridge.

Lucy followed me quietly, taking a seat at the dinner table and folding her thin arms atop it, expectant blue eyes following my every move. As I plated the meat and reached for the roll of paper towels, I felt like I was being examined under a microscope. Somewhere in the distance, a quiet hissing noise was beginning to rise.

Lucy politely declined the fork and knife I attempted to give her so I just set down the plate in front of her, leaving the kitchen to change out of my dusty, sweaty clothes, too tired to really worry about the loud, sloppy and wet chewing noises and low growling coming from the dining area. I decided as long as she wasn't attempting to have me for dinner, I was going to be just fine.

I found Lucy on the carpet of my living room, flipping through a fashion magazine she'd found somewhere after I was done with scavenging some sweatpants from my mostly-unpacked closet. Her blonde curls bounced as she looked up at me with another tight smile, this time looking calmer, friendlier somehow. "I like those dresses," she signed, pointing at a few pictures with models wearing ballroom gowns in all kinds of colours. "And these..." She pointed out a tiara, probably not knowing how to sign the words.

"This is a tiara," I spoke slowly, signing the last word with my hands carefully as she observed. And then a few more times, until she repeated her last sentence perfectly. "Good job, Lucy," I praised her as she beamed at me. The river of quiet, scratchy giggles never stopped as she pointed out various things and I tried to sign them to the best of my ability, Lucy not showing any signs of upset whatsoever if I couldn't get the name for something right.

After some time, it was beginning to get very dark outside and a couple of pointed glances at the clock was all it took for her to stand up and carefully dust off her skirts. "Thank you for playing with me, Star," Lucy signed excitedly. "I like you. Do you want to know a secret?" She leaned in conspirationally, bursting into my space bubble with a lack of care only a child could posess.

I nodded, not trusting my mouth whatsoever. The closer she leaned in, the more overwhelming her smell became. Her pretty dress reeked of mildew and stale water, her breath - of dried blood and something earthen, like moist soil and cold cobblestone.

Lucy's eyes widened dramatically. "If you need answers, go on to the seventh floor. Bring some warm milk and cookies, they won't bother you too much, but be careful and don't stay for too long. You look tasty," I struggled to keep up with her rapid signing, my eyes firmly trained on her. Lucy's hand carefully patted my cheek and in my frozen state, I could only wave back as she skipped to the door and unlocked it, giving me one of her closed-lipped smiles before disappearing behind it without a noise.

The lock slid shut on it's own after the girl's departure. My heart briefly jumped up into my throat, trapping my jerky inhale in-between my throat and my esophagus. Coughing, I went on to double check the door lock before scrambling for the TV remote to add some background noise to the suddenly eerily quiet apartment.

The sit-com that popped up wasn't any of the ones I knew so I sat helplessly watching unfamiliar people get themselves into more and more absurd situations as the grating noise of pre-recorded audience laughter mocked the characters actions. A sudden shriek pierced the late night stillness, followed by a sound of breaking dishes and a woman's voice tiredly chastising the miscreants.

Samantha.

I'd seen her a few times as she smoked her strong cigarettes in front of the entrance, her twins running in circles around the large pothole in the middle of the driveway. She'd been friendly enough, the dark circles under her eyes and the unkempt state of her clothes telling me more than her words, "I love them, I really do. But I just want some sleep," she rasped as she sighed and attempted to gather her two kids.

I didn't examine them too closely but on first moment's notice their eyes and teeth appeared... Wrong. Samantha had taken them inside after that, clutching a coffee thermos of a size truly impressive, and I went on my merry way, trying not to think too much of the poor, single mother and her two mutant kids. I felt a little proud, even, as she didn't just abandon them like many other people did after discovering their children had an active X-gene.

It didn't take me long to cave in and offer my help with watching the twins, Anya and Arman; one noisy weekend bled into the next and I began to genuinely feel bad for the overtired woman. Inviting the two terrors into my apartment was a choice I had made mindfully: having asked Odette about advice on hyperactive children, she had proposed a puzzle or two.

The thrifted, wooden items weren't able to hold the twins' attention for long, and Anya was the first one to begin gnawing at the hard blocks, covering the area around her in splinters. Arman was a quiet boy compared to his sister: he'd stare at the TV or at the walls, avoiding eye contact and conversation at great lengths.

My couch was jumped on, my dishes were taken out and my houseplants rearranged chaotically; it was almost as if they purposefully tried to get a rise out of me without doing any actual damage. I spent the remaining few hours of my Sunday putting things back in their places - all that pent up frustration had done wonders for the state of my apartment; it sparkled, looking cleaner than the day I moved in.

The babysitting became a somewhat regular occurrence, more often than not with me popping in for a couple of hours so Samantha could run some errands and the odd weekend when the twins came over to me so Sam could get some much-needed sleep.

She was a kind, gentle if chronically overworked woman. We clicked pretty quickly over our shared desire for comfortable stability and some fucking peace; neither I nor she had it in sights for the foreseeable future. Sam's reaction to me being a witch was a shrug and a top up to her wine glass as she pointedly looked at her daughter who was busy chewing on a door handle, leaving small, jagged marks all over the dull metal.

I just had gotten sorted with a bunch of complicated orders when the radio interrupted Eric Clapton with an emergency message and instructions to steer clear of the next few blocks over. Something had hit NYC again and Avengers had been called but nobody knew exactly what it was or when it was going to be dealt with.

As soon as I shot a text to Sam, explaining the situation, I immediately retreated to the back rooms, setting up my healing station over the noise of Odette preparing her office for visitors. For some time, I waited with baited breath, jumping at every little noise coming from the outside. The people tickled in slowly, mostly one by one and all were covered in foul-smelling sludge that evaporated with a loud hiss when the concentrated light of the UV lamp in my office touched it.

"Some kind of aliens, I think," a man with a face somewhere between a human and a hedgehog told me, wincing as he retracted his spikes back into his skin. "There's a hole- a portal, right on a crossroads and there's these things coming out. They kinda look like dragons, or flying snakes maybe," the more light breached the surface of his skin, the more relaxed he became. "The Sorcerer and the Witch are trying to close the portal, unsuccessfully might I add, and the muscle is just," he paused, scratching his chin. "Just killin' 'em, I guess."

I nodded enthusiastically, prompting him to continue to rely the state of the affairs as I applied the thick, viscous ointment on a gash on his leg. "It's hammer and Frisbee time," I mumbled to myself sarcastically.

"Yep," the man popped the 'p'. "Most of us are trying to keep the creatures contained to that one block. I saw Iron Man blasting off some of the creatures off of some of my friends," the last sentence contained a great deal of puzzlement. "Though you won't be seeing much of us this time. These things... They're vicious. They've got claws the size of my foot. A lot of us are going to die where they gut us," the sentence was spoken so matter-of-factly, my hands paused on the man's leg, bringing my eyes to his unblinking dots of black.

"What do you mean?" I swallowed in an attempt to chase away the dry, rough feeling in my throat.

"Those beasts... They're smart. One of my friends - she's a... Telepath of sorts... Says they're an intelligent hivemind," the man's broad, warm palm closed over mine. "The beasts leave only the ones that won't get help in time. They can smell death from a mile away. That's how they hunt," his voice was gentle, soothing over the sudden ringing of my ears.

"I..." My mind stuttered, a sticky ball of anxiety, fear and sorrow gathering up in my chest. "I'm so sorry. I..."

"We know what we're doing, out there, we know the risks," his smile was tight and full of grief. "You're doing your part here, makin' sure our babies have parents. We're out there makin' sure our streets are safe. Such is life," the grin acceptance in his pitch-black, small eyes set fire to the tension in my chest.

I exploded, inside out. The sudden burst of decisive, clear-headed energy made the objects around me vibrate, metal resonated my sorrow and my determination, the wood heated up with the force of Mother Nature itself responding to an act of cruelty bestowed upon her creations.

As soon as the man's bandage was finished and he headed out, I grabbed my old, ratty backpack, hastily shoving things into it in a semi-organized fashion. Clean linen strips, bandages, some premade elixirs and draughts, a few jars of salves, carefully tucked in-between the cloth. As I knocked on the door of Odette's office to retrieve the last few items I would need for my reckless journey, the door handle turned on its own, letting me observe her tending a woman who's skin was peeled off most of her back.

"Can't you see I'm..." Odette exclaimed, throwing her free hand towards the door, which did not budge. She turned on her heel, eyes widening when she observed my wide, solid stance in the doorway, lips immediately curling into a small grin. "I understand. Take what you need. It's not wise to resist Her call," the words were spoken carefully, as if not to spook me, before Odette resumed her delicate work of putting the injured woman back together.

Without a word, I finished packing and left through the front door, not needing more than my scarf and my light sweater to keep me from the freezing gusts of wind. My very core was the centrefold of an active volcano, bursting with white-hot bursts of energy as I approached the injured people on my way towards the terrible screeching noise.

This far out, most of the injured were able to make it to Odette's or to the other healer, who's name I had found out only then, but they were thankful for the water I offered them. Not once did they question me: my star-patterned scarf, out of all things, had become somewhat of a symbol for me among the different folk. Mutants approached me fearlessly, giving generous updates on the direction of the battle and the hotspots I probably should have avoided.

The louder the screeching noises grew, the more people needed my help. The stops took longer, my painkillers were becoming a short supply, the main relief provided by a couple of mid-range, mid-strength energy manipulating mutants that began to tail me after I offered to patch them up in exchange for help with the injured.

It was as if I instinctually knew where I was most needed, my decisions were seldom my own. Me and the two mutants bid a haste goodbye after loading up their truck with the injured, although deep inside, I knew that the amount of corpses, bloody and messy, littering the streets had begun to get to them. In a normal state of mind, I would not have been able to look at them either: then, each mangled, broken body only added fuel to the fire within me.

As I stepped foot in an intersection where someone had piled up bent and broken cars, the shadow flying over my head shrieked, taking a fluid nose dive towards another, smaller flying figure. I dropped flat on the ground, the contents of my backpack clattering, watching the small figure in the sky blast the beast with an off-blue ray of concentrated energy. As soon as the creature began it's graceless drop, Tony turned around and flew off, looking none worse for wear.

At the very centre of my chest, a faint feeling of fondness and hope blossomed into tiny little flowers that soothed the aching sorrow for the dead. Each warcry of the beasts from another world fed the anger, the anguish Gaia seemed to exhibit at their intrusion; the revolt I felt upon laying my eyes on one of them made me sweat, hands clenching into fists until my skin crawled under my nails.

The last part of me that wanted to pretend I was in control was gone; my soft, untrained body a mere vessel for a force stronger than me, stronger than anything. Noise around me grew in pitch, some of the creatures circling around my hiding spot cluelessly, aimlessly, as if they could not find what they were looking for.

I moved spots in a daring series of runs, bringing me almost to the portal itself, and the hellish lizards dived into my previous sanctuary, shattering the concrete and the wood of the house under the amused black stares of glassless windows.

The realization set it - they could not see me. Or perceive me properly, I deduced, inspecting the creatures for any sort of orifice except for their mouths and finding them to lack eyes and ears.

My own stare fell onto Sorcerer Supreme, floating amongst a variety of moving golden circles; I was close enough to hear him talking in a language I did not know. Wanda was hovering nearby, holding up a wall of red energy, protecting the chanting sorcerer.

A united screech invoked a shiver from every living being within it's reach, the creatures circling the portal for the last time before flying off in haphazard directions as the portal slowly began to close. I was prepared to cheer, yet, something stopped me; not a second later, the circles surrounding Stephen dimmed as the man himself jumped up onto his feet in alarm, screaming something unintelligible at the Scarlet Witch.

The overturned food cart I was hiding behind slowly began to creep towards the portal. A couple of rats, a pigeon - the animals flew in front of my eyes, rapidly, as they struggled against the unseen force. My hands grasped the handlebars of the cart in vain, I struggled against the force, seeing a moment of confusion on Wanda's face as I floated- no, rocketed past her as Stephen's golden magic forcefully pushed her out of the portal's reach.

It's size no bigger than a doorway, the vile thing blew cold, dry air under my sweater, muffling Stephen's cursing as we briefly collided during our violent expulsion into another world.

And then, there was darkness.

Sorcerer Strange stared at me with the heat of a plasma beam after I finished stuttering throughout my story, one accurate eyebrow raised and sharp cheekbones painting him displeased and dangerous in the yellow light of the store lamps. The whole experience shook me more than I would have liked to admit to myself and his mute reaction wasn't helping matters at all.

"Hmph," he finally cleared his throat, taking a step back and casting a thoughtful look over the shelves in the store. "You did all you could. Perhaps, we owe you gratitude," his tone was far kinder than his face. "How long have you been doing... This?" He vaguely gestured with a gloved hand.

"Long enough," I replied without thinking. My stress levels urgently rose above acceptable and the feelings needed to be let out now; Wong's dismissive attitude and Strange's half-assed apology for the attitude was still fresh in my mind.

The sorcerer sighed, briefly touching the bridge of his nose. "I won't pretend to understand the reason for your hostility but I'd like to remind you we're on the same side here," his steely blue eyes attempted to peer into my soul.

"There are no sides here," whatever he was selling, I wasn't buying it. "There are just people who get hurt, either because of unstable maniacs with superpowers or aliens who think Earth is an all-you-can-kill buffet," I stuck my dirty, bloody hands in my pockets. "You do your part in mitigating the damage, I do mine. That's all there is."

"And you would be making my job expotentionally harder if you get in the way and slow down professionals, even if you mean well," the man's temper had, evidently, won over and he immediately got on the defensive, crossing his arms and trying to glare me down.

Odette's words rang true, starting a storm of hollow anger in the pit of my skull. "Now listen here, you privileged prick," the damn burst at the seams as I squared up to give him a piece of my mind. "You and your Hogwarts rejects and the merry band of billionaires may have the opportunity to 24/7 healthcare and near-instant compensation for any damages the villain of the week decides to bestow upon your shallow little heads," I advanced half a step towards Strange, hands bailed into tight fists, internally rejoicing at the way he leaned back. My blood sang with adrenaline as I breathed the exhilaration.

"But how many people do you overlook? How many children never make it because your super secret organisation gives their parents an ultimatum just because they are different? This is a safe space for the ones you pretend not to see until it's convenient and it will stay that way, over my fucking dead body, if need be," I stared at the tall man, almost physically feeling his brain halt and pause with the cartoony sound of screeching tires. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this.

A pregnant pause hung in the air, both of us waiting for the other to explode.

"Don't you think I am aware," Strange finally seethed through gritted teeth, alarming golden sparks shining in his eyes. "The Avengers are not under the rule of SHIELD and I, personally, have no affiliation with either. I do not condone their barbaric methods," the man was struggling to form his sentences properly but even despite that, I understood his ideas.

I desperately wanted to believe his words to be true, I really did, but... "Then do your fucking job and let me do mine. I do not go out there and intervene, I merely clean up the mess you all leave. Something that nobody wants to do do, so unless you've got any takers, I'll keep helping those you deem unfit," in a fit of muted rage, I flew my arm to point at the abandoned cars and destroyed concrete outside of the window, the empty street and the clouds of dust rising into the moody skies.

The entrance door flew open suddenly, with a force strong enough to bang the heavy, old handle against something outside, letting in the stuffy air inside the bodega. Strange jumped at the sound of the screaming hinges, my own heart skipping a beat from the startling interruption.

Visibly composing himself, the man pierced me with a final stare before starting a dangerously quiet, "Very well, goodbye," and hightailing it out of Odette's before disappearing in a golden circle just outside the front porch.

I let my shoulders sag for a brief moment of respite, feeling the tension bleed out of me and penetrate every nook and cranny in the room. My protection charms were mostly destroyed, silver dull, glass and amber crackled. Tossing them into the appropriate recycling bin, I set to clean up the shop, flying through the motions in record time and wandering home through the damaged streets on autopilot.

My anger had cost me more than a fortune in my past but no matter how much I sought to reason with myself, I couldn't bring it to justify Strange's attitude towards my choices. The more I thought about it, the less rational my guesses became; I forced myself to stop thinking about it when my brain had unhelpfully supplied an absurd notion of him being jealous of my lifestyle: he knew next to nothing of my skills and his opinion was based solely on seeing me work the store front and one cleansing spell I'd performed on Bucky. There was simply no rational explanation for his behaviour.

NYC life wasn't affected by the battle in the slightest, it seemed; a day and a half later, I was back at Jeremy's, serving overpriced hot beverages to the rich and the busy. I'd slept on the Bucky and Strange situation, got a handle on my feelings and decided to simply put it away. There were other, more pressing things to worry about than a couple of men.

I didn't expect the flood of anxiety that turned my hands to lead upon seeing Tony Stark's signature suit-and-sunglasses wearing ass waltz into the café. He flashed me his usual easy grin but didn't remove his glasses, eyes eerily blank behind them, as he motioned for his usual order before leaning on the countertop with the entirety of his upper body. "So, Starshine, what is it exactly that you do?" Came the question I was dreading. "Are you, like, a witch? The broomstick and cauldron kind?"

"Mr. Stark, I am serving you coffee and a muffin as we speak," I replied curtly, raising an eyebrow.

"Drop the act, honeybuns. I thought we were friends," if I squinted, I could see that he was genuinely hurt by my lack of desire to communicate. Or, perhaps, he simply was unused to not satisfying his curiosities immediately.

Either way, I stood no chance against Stark patented puppy eyes. "I clock out at two," a sigh of epic magnitude left my mouth against my will. "You can interrogate me then. Until that, it's lattes and cheesecakes only."

Tony narrowed his eyes, smile warming up by a smidgen. "Interrogate you? Never," he pocketed the napkin with Dr. Banner's scribbles the doc had forgotten last time. "I'm merely curious." Another flash of his teeth and he was gone, taking what little peace I had left along with him.

The hands on the clock made their hurried rounds over and over. My chest had grown it's own set of ticking, grinding, mismatched gears as the endless possibilities coursed a steady stream through my head. Tony Stark was a wild card, his struggles with authority a widely known fact, as frequent as his strange habits in just about anything. And while I doubted I would get ambushed and locked up, I had no qualms of him berating me for telling off his boyfriend. He seemed like the possessive, overprotective type, anyways.

As soon as I exited the café, surrounded by the smells of flour and coffee grounds, my eyes immediately landed on the shiny, brand new Audi illegally parked right in front of the establishment, it's owner leisurely leaning against the hood with a face of contented boredom as passerby pedestrians shamelessly ogled him and his ride. His face lit up as he noticed me, immediately rushing to hold the passenger side door open for my comfort. "M'lady," the dorky remark didn't fail to summon a smile to my face even if it was a weak shadow of my usual camaraderie.

"Mr. Stark," I greeted him as soon as he peeled off the crowded sidewalk.

The lack of joy on my face didn't go unnoticed by him and every now and then, he snuck a glance at my face. "Relax, Starshine, I won't bite."

"Well," I mumbled, remembering the vicious way I had torn into his boyfriend. "Good to know."

Seeing as that didn't do much for my nerves, he suddenly swerved right, rushing into a busy intersection with the ease of a practiced manic driver. "I'm feeling like a cheeseburger," he announced unceremoniously, pulling into a parking lot of some place I never noticed.

I doubted that I could swallow anything at all but relented, sitting down opposite him in the furthest booth from the entrance. I ordered the biggest milkshake they had as Tony grinned big at the waitress, finally taking off his sunglasses when she left for the kitchen.

I rested my elbows on the table under the scrutiny of his gaze. He kept quiet. I couldn't hold back my curiosity any more. "So?"

His sharp, clever brown eyes captured and held mine for the longest second in my life. I struggled not to break eye contact until he relented, focusing on the shine of my rings instead. "RoboCop almost died from the shit that happened to him," Tony's words were curt. I inhaled sharply, assuming he was talking about Barnes. The engineer's fingers began to fiddle with his glasses. "We couldn't figure out how you helped him. Not the medical, not Banner, not me and and not even Steph," he paused to run a hand through his hair. "Barnes was hit with a poisoned arrow. There were no toxins left in his body, not even a single inflammation marker showed up on the tests." With that, Tony expectantly turned to me.

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Magic," I simply answered, figuring Strange had already briefed him about my occupation.

Tony shook his head with a snort. "Magic that the Sorcerer Supreme doesn't recognize or cannot detect?" The question was saved in nature.

Stephen Strange was Sorcerer Supreme and I had pissed him off and remained alive. I couldn't believe my luck, if Odette's stories were anything to go by. Inwardly rejoicing, I nonetheless resigned to answer truthfully. "Because there is nothing to detect, no foreign energy," I tried to phrase it in a way a scientist could understand. "What I use to heal, it is given me by nature and willingly. Think of me as a... Conductor. I merely store the energy short-term and direct it where it is needed."

That sparked a visible interest in Tony. He leaned forward, running my whole form, over and over, with his sharp eyes, searching for something I knew he wouldn't find. "Like... Making a blood transfusion?" It was obvious that he was thinking hard about the subject. "Like a successful organ transplant?"

"Something like that," I agreed amicably, seeing as he was talking at himself rather than engaging in a conversation with me.

"But it doesn't come from nothing, the first law of thermodynamics..." He started off in slight confusion.

"Yes, the total amount of energy remains constant," I interrupted him, making his eyes widen. "It's all around us, Mr. Stark. You cannot see it, and most people even cannot feel it, but mother Earth supports her creations. More than we like to think," the corner of my mouth tilted upward at the memories. Working with Gaia directly was like being briefly submersed in a cocoon of pure, warm sunshine; like being held in mother's arms as a babe. "She is kind and she is merciful, especially to the ones whose suffering is unjust," I let the man mull over my words.

The waitress brought our orders; my throat was parched, I took a few haste gulps of the chocolate milkshake. Tony's burger, however, remained unnoticed and untouched.

"Earth is a sentient organism?"

The question made my eyebrows rise; I coughed slightly, meeting his confused eyes with a smirk. "Mr. Stark, keep your science headcanons to yourself," the banter came easily now that the status quo was established.

He rolled his eyes, fitfully resisting the smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm telling on you to Mean Green," there was no malice behind his words.

I doubted the shy scientist would do much more than stutter out two jumbled questions but let the topic slide in favour of closing up on the issue. "Would you call a wolf sentient? No," I shook my head. "But it is autonomous, it has free will. Think of it like that," I wasn't really up to par on explaining Tony all the ins and outs of my craft. The more I spoke, the more questions danced in his eyes. It was charming but not something I wanted to spend most of my day on.

"I won't pretend to be anything but sceptical but as it is, I happen to be dating a wizard," the engineer finally chortled, making hands for his burger. He made a vague gesture with his fork, expression still not-quite out of the thinking place.

"They say opposites attract," I shrugged.

"Romanoff keeps saying we're two sides of the same coin, so," he non-commitally shrugged in return. "Can't help but wonder what the fuck did you tell him that day. He was seething," Tony raised an eyebrow, tone teasing.

"Oh lord," I briefly palmed my face. "Here comes the shovel talk."

"No, no," a fry landed on the table in front of me. I snatched it right from under Tony's hand. He pouted. "He probably deserved it. I mean, you saved the Terminator and, honestly," he paused. "I heard about one third of his rant and I distinctly remember something about 'girls way over their heads' and whatnot," he did a poor imitation of his boyfriend's deep voice. "Now, I consider myself a feminist so, respectfully, I disagree," he finished with a self-satisfied smirk.

I blanked, trying to process the avalanche of information. "That's a lot to unpack," I acquiesced.

"It means he likes you. I would know," the man had the audacity to wink at me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was Tony Stark.

"Are you hitting on me for your boyfriend?" I couldn't resist snarking back, briefly catching his eyes as I polished off my milkshake.

Tony looked at me through his thick, long lashes, a picture perfect visage of surprised innocence. "Maybe," his tone a little too south of friendly, the direction of his eyes a bit lower than my face.

The snort escaped me before I could put a stop to it. The banter - it was easy, comforting in this situation where I found myself to be akin a fish out of water. Like I was a slightly socially awkward witch, Tony was a genius engineer and a notorious flirt. He toed the lines of appropriate with practiced gusto and I hadn't had the heart to do anything but indulge in a little bit of harmless fun ever since he first stepped foot in the café, seeing right through his stone cold facade of an alleged womaniser. Call it a hunch, if you will.

Say what you want about Tony Stark but one thing was definite: he was a gentleman. I thoroughly enjoyed my ride home in his expensive, fast, latest model car. As the city streets zoomed by in a flurry of blurred lines and flashing colorful lights, I allowed my mind to finally calm and resume it's usual even wandering pace.

A hand loosely thrown over the steering wheel, Tony quietly hummed along to the music, playing with the hem of his tee whenever it wasn't occupied with driving the car. He looked so peaceful like that.

The sound system played some contemporary rock that blended in with the moderately busy afternoon of the NYC streets, submerging the surroundings in catharsis. Grey everything with the occasional burst of colour from a traffic light; the brief car ride lulled me into a state almost drowsy.

"You with me, Salem?" Tony's voice quietly took me out of my stupor.

I blinked, seeing the front door of my apartment building. "Yeah, yeah, thanks," I didn't resist the big, wide smile of relief and rejoiced upon seeing his face return to his normal expression, sparkling and mischievous. "That's my stop," I motioned lamely.

Something hung in the air, something unsaid. It leaked through the gaps between Tony's smile and his eyes, it filled up the car with something thick and foggy. I was powerless to stop its influence on me; the daze remained just as it was when we zoomed through city streets.

Tony's fingers twitched on the steering wheel as I exited the vehicle, giving him a short wave before he put pedal to the metal, quickly disappearing into the twilight. I watched his tail lights glow red amongst the flat blacks and greys and beiges of my surroundings, blinking away the dryness in my eyes only when the car disappeared from my view completely.

My apartment was just as I'd left it, warm and slightly messy- but a new feeling had crawled up from the very gutter of me, foreign and impending. The walls didn't breathe the comfort I had hoped I would finally find: if anything, none of what I encountered on my rapid beeline towards the couch felt real.

I'd grown accustomed to the comforts of my solitude and routine, to attached to the simplest task of being. Sorting through my dirty laundry had never been a favourable ordeal for me, I'd much rather lived in a relatively wide bubble- rationally, I knew that sooner or later, change had have to come, but there was nothing ever rational about having feelings on one matter or another.

My spirit was trying to tell me big things were coming and I had no choice but to listen and let the currents of fate and happenstance snatch me up and take me whichever way they pleased.

"What. Were. You. Thinking?!" Strange was seething, his enormous figure and broader height towered over me, the blood-red of his cape vibrating, the only spleck of colour in the grey and dusty dark world.

"I had no choice in the matter," I replied as calmly as I managed, gritting my teeth, memories of our past stand-off fresh in my mind. We could have bickered until the end, until one of the beasts flying overhead spotted us and decorated the bleary grounds of this forsaken planet with the crimsons of our life blood. "I think it's best if we get to safety first, argue later. I have no desire to become somebody's lunch."

That much was true: I had taken a good look at our surroundings as soon as I recovered from the vacuum-like sensation of being pulled into a magical gateway; the visibility was terrible, the planet's natural light very scarce. Several suns were hardly visible in the sky, their rays barely penetrating the mists and the ashes freely floating in the air.

There was oxygen even if breathing in a full lungful seemed impossible; I tried not to think about the contents of the air, or the possibility of radiation poisoning, as the multiple amulets and charms seared into my skin where they rested under my clothes. I had four bottles of water, some bandages and salves and a sacrifice for a single ritual to my name and absolutely no conviction that Mother Earth would be able to hear the call of an earthling gone so astray.

But it was hope, so I held on.

"Fine," Stephen sighed, suddenly looking tired and weary, glancing around with furrowed brows. "Let's see if I can open a portal," his hands did that complicated set of gestures that I'd grown to associate with a golden circle and sparks on the ground. The thing flickered, once, twice, before disappearing, as if the Sorcerer's magic had run out of batteries. "Yeah, I thought so," he whispered to himself, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"The bad news first, please," I interpreted his hesitation with a realistic outlook on our predicament.

"I can't open a portal just anywhere on this planet. We need to find a... Rift, of sorts," the man was anxiously looking around. "And those things, they'll smell us... Right about now," his eyes shot up at a winged, rapidly approaching shadow. "No good news, I'm afraid."

I allowed myself a small sigh of disappointment, keeping a tight leash on the panic slowly creeping up my body. The feeling of determination, the power of Gaia within me was still present, laying in a cozy dormant ball slightly south of my solar plexus. "Give me your hand, please," I reached out to Stephen only for him to promptly recoil.

"You should've thought about the consequences of your actions, I'm not going to hold your hand because you're scared shitless," his words were sharp but they lacked the venom. He wouldn't, or couldn't, meet my eyes.

"I know you have scarred hands. I'm a healer and you don't have to feel embarrassed or ashamed I, I've seen worse," I stated in my best 'mutant nurse' voice as Stephen's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. "Those things can't sense me. And I know they won't be able to sense you too if we have skin-to-skin contact. So unless you want me to get under your... Robes," I gestured to the layers upon layers of clothing he had wrapped himself in. I considered the possibility of his whole body being covered in scars, too, and couldn't help the pang of sympathy. "Take one glove off and give me your damn hand before this trip to Jurassic Park goes full pterodactyl massacre!"

I saw the thing in the sky open it's mouth - but no sound came out, the clouds reducing it's outline to a vaguely triangular shadow. There was something very unusual about this planet's atmosphere.

With a couple of jerky movements, Stephen slid off the glove from his left hand, looking away as his large, dry, warm palm encompassed mine in a gentle, trembling grip. It made no sense to interlace our fingers, so I help onto him like a child holds onto their parent; the size difference of our hands and his imposing aura surely made me feel like one.

We stood a foot apart, watching the shadow in the sky begin to circle the place we stood in, it's gaping maw opening again and again, before it zigzagged across the sky with a strong dash of confusion, it's graceful glide becoming a series of rapid turns and twists. With a final inaudible shriek, it flew off into the dusty greys of the horizon, becoming a dark spot far away in mere seconds.

The silence was so loud in this world. Like the eerie stillness of my, undoubtedly haunted, apartment, I was eager to dissipate it with something beyond our combined heavy breathing. "Please don't tell Tony," I timidly gave our touching hands a sway. "He'll never leave it alone."

A chuffing noise coming from above had me whip my head up to see Stephen holding in a puff of nervous laughter; his shoulders dropped slightly as he eyed me in turn. "What makes you think I won't tease you about it?"

"You wouldn't dare," I took mock offense, rising my leaking nose to the skies.

The grumble and the eyeroll I expected, the smirk that faded into a ghost of a smile I did not. "We should go. Usually there is a rift within a few miles of every location everywhere," he tried to keep the content expression as he spoke but the storm in his eyes betrayed his concern. They were so blue, I felt like I was drowning.

I let myself to be tugged in a direction - everything seemed exactly the same, a never-ending ashen wasteland with the occasional dark grey rock that crumbled to dust as soon as the heel of my shoe touched it. My light blue sweater quickly became the colour of rotten wood, a sickly, dull monotone between brown and gray.

The complete lack of any kind of natural noise brought out the desolation of this wretched place; if we gripped each other's hands tighter, neither of us chose to acknowledge it. It was too easy to get lost in your own mind when the surroundings were dead set on rebuking anything that was in any shape or form alive.

I caught myself thinking that this must be what people think Hell should look like.

Strange walked briskly for the most part, periodically clearing his throat and eyeing me when I struggled to keep up with his long strides. It could have been an hour, or maybe two, of aimless wandering and rapidly imploding portals accompanied by Stephen's increasingly overcast face before I made the man stop and offered him a water bottle, which he insisted we split between us two.

It didn't take me a tarot reading to figure out our chances were grim. Needless, I gave him the same look I give to injured, scared mutant children when they come to the bodega for the first time; a look of quiet temperance.

And then we walked, and walked again, as Stephen grew moodier and moodier, marching on with the force of a seasoned soldier, only taking breaks when I forced him to stand still and breathe with me. As cautious and closed-off as he was, I pressed onto the fact of me being a healer of sorts, and he relented if briefly, always reluctant, always seasoned by a great dose of bewilderment.

"Do you feel that?" Stephen's stride halted, both feet firmly planted on the ground.

The ground had tremors had coming from deep within, small shocks that could have been easily missed if not for the complete lack of sound on this world. My nod was mute, I didn't trust my voice not to break when I clearly knew there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, endless fields of nothing all around us.

"Hold onto me," promptly, I was grabbed and pushed into his chest, his long arms easily picking me up, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist. "Hold tight, I might need my hands," my face grew hot as I wound my arms around Stephen's neck, clinging to him like a monkey, a palm resting on the soft fine hairs if his nape. It felt too intimate somehow, in the wake of imminent danger.

The Cape that previously swayed behind him in rhythm with his steps billowed, the red fabric of it tough as it levitated us a few feet above the ground. I felt Stephen tense with each tremor; within moments, the surface shook and stuttered more and more, cracks appearing in between the dust, turning the plains into a marble-patterned patch of darkness.

We rose above it, high enough that I could see the veins resulting from the quake stretch far out into the wasteland, jagged, abrupt lines of even more concentrated darkness. And as quickly as the quake started, it was over, leaving little evidence as the ground settled.

Stephen floated us to a larger patch of the ground, criss-crossed with thinner, less prominent lines, poking the ground with his foot before allowing it to fully bear our weight. He was shaken, there was no doubt. "That was... Something," he stated lowly.

"Mhm," I hummed, fighting the urge to frantically look around, forcing my hand from clutching at his palm like a lifeline. I had decided on a plan while I was busy playing baby koala - not that there were many other options except to wander these god forsaken bare badlands until our painful demise. "Listen, Strange, I'm aware you don't hold my people in particularly high regard but you're going to have to trust me on this," my words came out derisive as I placed his palm on the back of my neck and kneeled, forcing him to do the same behind me.

The contents of my bag greeted me grimly with out last bottle of water and the couple knick-knacks that gathered the black dust on them. I hastily poured the water into a bowl, dipping my fingers in it, and added the crushed bones to the mixture.

The time that was required to make a paste-like mixture, I used to address a bewildered Stephen. "This is a last resort. I don't know if it will work, we're not on Earth," I briefly breathed my distress. "I don't even know how far we are from home. But I refuse to die here, in this grotesque Hell, without putting up a fight and Gaia has always looked out for her flock. I might get very, very sick if this is successful."

The warning had him attempt to object before he cast a long look around us, shoulders sagging, as motioned for me to continue, those piercing blue eyes boring into my face. "Tell me what do I need to do," his voice quietly attempted to soothe my very obvious fear.

I was terrified, both of dying, nameless, faceles in this world full of Nothing; the prospect of withering away after depleting all my resources was, perhaps, equally unappealing, but dying on my home planet sounded better than dying here. "Have faith," I replied curtly, beginning to chant softly under my breath as soon as Stephen's expression hardened.

My eyelids grew heavy, limbs filling with lead and molten lava as I summoned the forces of Mother itself; my body was aching, exhausted by answering her call as it was. The warm ball in my chest that previously comforted me grew, spreading its smelten power through every vein, every vessel. No part of my body was left cold. A sense of purpose filled me, pushing me forward, driving me to move, to run, to leap.

"This way," even to my own ears, my voice sounded pained. It felt as if I was walking through swamp waters, full of clay and debris, each step taking my barely coherent form through an individual bog full of pins and needles. The force of Mother Nature burned inside of me, enraged at the state of her surroundings.

Stephen spoke to me but all I could hear was mumbling, thousands of voices, low and shrill, unintelligible to the human mind. I could feel the sorcerer's pain; the itch and burn in his throat, the constant, dull throb in his scarred, broken hands. His hand in mine only intensified the situation and I fought with his injuries like I fought with the black dots in my eyes, I forced down the unpleasant sensations, setting fire to them, letting the reigns of control on the raging inferno within me slip just the smallest, tiniest bit.

The steps of his long feet stuttered as I felt the discomfort lessen yet I simply towed him along. Time leaked through the cracks in my eyes, which were mostly unseeing anyways. The useless things grew blind at some point, not that I noticed it on the greys and blacks of the surrounding scenery. It was harder to walk, my breathing grew laboured with the extertion as we finally reached the place that felt right.

"Here," I rasped, voice so quiet it could have been mistaken for a breeze. I craved to feel it; the soft puffs of wind, the sound of running water. I had called for Earth and she demanded its child back.

The portal appeared without a stutter even though Stephen's hands shook; I saw the uneven channels, the energies traveling through them at an uneven pace. As soon as I pushed through the wormhole, coming to my senses in an unfamiliar, light room, I fell to my knees.

Stephen's pained moaning told me he was probably experiencing the same stinging, burning sensation on his skin; my eyes, they were the worst - my eyeballs felt like they were melting, leaking out of my sockets into thick, gelatinous tears streaming down my face. I blindly groped for the sorcerer's hand, directing the forces within me to soothe his hurts much like I had done in the wastelands.

"Strange?!" A masculine, shocked voice exclaimed before footsteps crashed into my sensitive ears with the force of an elephant herd. "Oh my God, they're here! Tony, come!"

"Stop fucking screaming," Stephen gasped out as I felt him curl into himself.

"Friday, scan them," I recognised Tony's voice, the tiredness and desperation standing out in it more than it did in the rest of the whispers in the room.

"They appear to be experiencing a sensory overload. I would recommend to engage Peter's Cooldown mode," the mechanical voice replied, barely audible. The noise still grated on my ears after spending... How long were we gone?

"Do it, Fri," Tony's soft footsteps reached us; I smelled the spices of his cologne next to my and Stephen's prone forms. "You gave us a scare there," the tone was admonishing but gentle.

"We were scared shitless ourselves," I attempted to speak, only now noticing how grating my voice sounded. "We were in Hell," I mumbled to myself, slowly removing my hand from Stephen.

"That," he coughed up the word, breathing through his nose before speaking again, his voice sounding much better than mine. "That place was as close as possible to biblical pits I have ever seen," there was shuffling and gentle murmurs as the two men ensured each other of their presence and well-being.

The burning sensations receded back to my core, the embers of the fires dying out, leaving me feeling like deflated beach ball, all shell and no filling. With a groan, I rolled over onto my back right in the middle of the pristine carpet on the floor, forcing my eyes open and breathing through the pain until I could somewhat see the champagne coloured ceiling without black dots obstructing my vision.

Shuffling noises reached my ears as a familiar round face with light red hair came into my line of sight, Wanda's gentle features concerned. "Star, do you need to go to medical?" She eyed me almost suspiciously but the question was earnest.

The idea of a doctor fixing a magical burnout was bizarre to me, as if it ever was that easy; I chortled sardonically. "No, Wanda, there's nothing wrong with me that a doctor would be able to fix," I replied honestly. "I should call Odette."

"I've called, she said to notify her when you return," Sam's voice was gentle as he approached. I could feel him glaring daggers at a rapidly reddening Wanda. "She was the one who said you'll definitely come back," he offered me his hand.

I had to choke down a moan of relief as I grabbed it. The warmth, the life of another human being, the precious gift of a beating pulse under my fingertips was divine. "You should listen to her. She knows her stuff." It was easy, talking to Sam as if he was an old friend. He had one of the most pleasant auras I've seen on a human being.

"I'm a doctor," Stephen suddenly perched up, sounding almost bashful. "And I can aid the healing process," he stated over Tony's disgruntled mumbling. "If you can explain to me how the hell you managed to hold a... an entire sun's worth of energy!" The more he spoke the more bewildered he became, tone growing in pitch, ending the sentence with an exclamation.

"I don't know," I replied with a sigh. The whole indignation in this man, I was not prepared to face. "When I took this up," I gestured vaguely to the burned, bent metal adornments I began to remove off my body. "I thought I was going to get an increase in tips and a better outlook on life. Help my friend with her asthma as much so she wouldn't have to use her inhaler every time she gets suprised or scared," my jewelry hit the floor with a dull clank, piling up into bent silver I wouldn't even be able to cleanse and repurpose.

Sam whistled lowly, poking at a necklace that had twisted on itself, a grotesque spiral of dull ashen grey.

"I certainly didn't think that a bleeding mutant accepting his fate as cannon fodder will call for the Earth itself," my tone grew vicious. Exhaustion was nesting in my bones. "And that Mother Nature would take over my body, pour lava into my veins and bleed recklessness into my thoughts. But here I am, freshly out of Hell and alive and kicking."

A stunned silence was interrupted by Tony's frantic whispering. "You are not leaving my penthouse for the foreseeable future," as the weight of the incident set on him. The knuckles of his hand clutching Stephen's dirty tunic turned white.

"I am," Stephen eyed me with a strange look in his eye, as if he was seeing me for the first time. His eyes then turned to Tony, who'd began rambling, arguing with Stephen. The sorcerer stopped the word vomit with a grim confession. "I'd be dead if not for Starlight. I'd be meat and bone, splattered across a barren, radioactive land in the deepest, darkest pits of the universe."

I felt my face droop in slow-motion. My throat flexed, swallowing a thick lump of filthy mucus, I coughed up, "Ra-radioctive?" As soon as I could work my voice without it squeaking.

My insides clenched, seeing the yellow and blue notice taped to my door - the building manager rarely left notes, so whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. I had managed to wind myself up into an anxious frenzy by the time I had gone inside and locked my door behind me, immediately thinking I would have to exhaust myself by turning to magic to keep a roof over my head.

For once, the news turned out to be positive: a neighbor was being evicted and turned in to the police for stealing packages. The building manager urged the tenants to report any missing items and apply for a refund when possible, apologizing for the inconvenience. I wondered what prompted this, basically unheard of in NYC, act of kindness as my altar stared at me with mocking amusement, pointing out the obvious by its mere presence.

Grinning to myself, I texted Odette - predictably, she was happy for me, happy that my protection spell had turned out strong and steady, and added a few tips of her own for my spell to stay that way. It felt like I'd grown invisible wings, those days, with all the possibilities open - and never once did I let myself entertain a thought of getting back at an enemy of the past for longer than five seconds.

Sure, it was perfectly human to consider making the cheating ex go bankrupt or make sure the college professor, that failed a couple of students each semester as a 'reality check', trips and face-plants at least once a day... I mean, who wouldn't experience a malicious sort of joy from petty revenge?

But I found my powers were best applied with a positive result in mind. My friend's cat was the first test rat- I mean, living creature I had practiced my healing spells on. The eleven year old kitty was struggling and both me and my friend loved the critter dearly - so the short, but tiring spell I performed yielded exactly the results I was expecting. Odette said something about genuine love backing up the magic, and- well, Dumbledore much?

On humans, it turned out, it wasn't nearly as simple. I didn't know what I had expected would happen after performing nothing short of a whole improv-performace type of ritual right in front of my very puzzled but hopeful friend with chronic asthma, but it wasn't the sheer exhaustion that ran bone-deep and left me bedridden for a whole day.

Odette visited my dingy apartment with her signature enormous purse full of vials she spoon-fed me and trinkets she strategically placed in and around my immediate sleeping area. "There, there," the woman patted my head as I pitifully moaned at the ear-splitting headache. "The first one is always the most challenging. After all, if it would be easy, everyone would do it."

I understood that. But at the same time, it felt unfair that no good deed went unpunished. I told Odette so, raising my voice to the best of my ability as she rummaged around my kitchen.

"Nothing in this world comes out of thin air, whatever you decide to give has to be taken from somewhere," she explained patiently. "People like us are considered hedge witches. We do solitary work and draw most of our energy from the Earth, from mother Nature. We cannot perform miracles, however, the cost of our spells are very low," I felt an immediate peak of interest at the simple yet effective explaination she gave me. "We remain mostly human. Gaia* is kind and generous to the ones who pay respect," Odette continued over the clatter of pans and pots. "There are other kinds of witches - who take from other people, who take from the dead. But taking something by force always leaves scars and taking something from the dead means bringing a piece of them back to places it should not be."

I pondered the words as Odette brought the kettle to a boil, the whistling shriek piercing through my skull like a sharp projectile. "What about Voodoo practitioners?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity.

Odette cleared her throat. "What is left of them is mostly not human. Their gifts are great but the costs are greater. They can live far, far longer than the average witch but their souls will know no peace, just like the souls of the dead they anchor to themselves over time," Odette entered the room with a bowl of tangy, creamy liquid that smelled like pumpkin soup. "We do not bestow any judgement upon our brothers and sisters but it is our duty to inform the young." She cast a pointed glance towards me, passing me the soup and a wooden spoon I didn't know I had. "This should help you recover. Take tomorrow off if needs be."

She left shortly afterwards and I hadn't much strength than to use the bathroom, wash the rune-engraved spoon and curl up in my bed, only waking up when the meager light shone over my face from the window. Sleepy and fog-tinted, the early morning NYC was damp and windy as I stuck my head out of the window to soak my sleep-heated head in the cool air.

As uneventful as the day at the café was, I still wasn't up to 100% energy-wise, but the long walk from Jeremy's to Odette's was pleasantly invigorating. I didn't find the cold autumn moisture displeasing; the small raindrops kept me awake and alert. Odette nodded in muted pleasure as I clocked in and returned the special spoon back to her. The runes on it were interesting; I had taken a picture of them for research purposes, fully intending to craft myself something similar.

"Odette has taken on an apprentice," Wong's voice had me take in several deep breaths in preparation for the inevitable fuck-fest on my patience. "She has been avoiding me. And the girl is painfully slow."

I didn't hear the answer of Wong's companion over the rustling of the boxes I was hastily shoving in their places before the Asian man's temper grew foul. More foul. Ugh. The sharp ding of the bell had me yelling a, "Just a second please, I'll be right with you," while trying to keep my tone polite.

Wong's sour face and a list of items required greeted me as I flew out of the backrooms, noticing the locked doors of Odette's office on my way out. Wong's companion stood at the far end of the store - his robes quite different from the ones I'd seen people of their kind wear, his lithe, tall figure seeming strangely familiar. I squinted my eyes at his back. "Is this all you need?" I waved the list around, increasing the volume of my voice.

The tall man turned around and I could only gape. He, in turn, also froze, the stern, unfriendly expression losing heat and giving way to perplexed wonder. "I had placed an order, for sorcerer Strange," Tony's boyfriend eyed me somewhat sheepishly under Wong's concerned gaze.

I nodded, eyeing Wong in turn, letting satisfaction nestle a warm ball in my chest. Stephen's look of displeasure had turned onto his... Colleague. By the time I finished retrieving Strange's order and packing up the items on Wong's list, the Asian man had left, leaving Stephen to sheepishly pretend to examine the books on the furthest shelf. I waved the paper bags as he took long strides towards me, his fancy, large necklace glimmering under the lights.

"So, how long have you been working here?" Sorcerer Strange asked after I told him the total.

The cash register beeped loudly, coins clattering on the desk as I counted out his change. "Some time now," I shrugged noncommittally. I felt his magnetic eyes gloss over my adornments, the star necklace, the various rings; I could practically feel him coming to his own conclusions. "Long enough for your colleague to get an attitude with me," I had to make sure he knew I would be taking no bullshit from him - or anyone else, for that matter. Odette's opinion on his kind was firm and I was heavily inclined to agree.

"Hmm, I see," Strange was equally as keen on hiding his curiosity. It was a funny thing, really, that we, being adults that we were, treated this encounter like some sort of a dirty secret. "Don't take it personally. Wong is like that with everyone," The man briefly scratched his beard with a gloved hand before pocketing his change and picking up the bags. "Except Beyoncè, maybe," the wink he threw me was positively mischievous as it caught me off-guard, giving him a fox-like appearance.

I sighed as the door shut behind him. Pretty white boys - the ultimate human disasters.

I had no time to dwell on them, however, as something - or someone, hit downtown with all the malicious intentions to wreak havoc on the innocent civilians calmly going about their day. Mutants and people who knew Odette came in hordes, scrapes and bruises and strange wounds that required imminent healing.

My boss was no rookie, she dutifully accepted each and every single soul, looking worse for wear with each minute. Not being able to withstand seeing her drain herself, I simply took over the simplest tasks - and she said nothing, just gave me a nod, instructed to use whatever I needed and write it down somewhere along with the name of the person who required the healing.

As the battle raged, the crowds thinned but the ones who managed to come to Odette's spouted more serious wounds, obviously a result of them fighting back. Mutants covered head to toe with coats and hats and robes, for me to swallow my shock when they undressed - horns, tails and weird skin textures were on the far end of the normal. I dutifully extracted small pieces of information from each and every person I treated.

Yes, the Avengers were winning. No, there aren't many people hurt, most of the damage is cosmetic. Yes, the villain of the week is as stupid as usual. It was like a mantra. Odette poked her head into the spare room every now and then, her eagle eyes briefly scanning over me to make sure I wasn't exterting myself.

As I applied the healing salve to a tiny, pink-skinned woman, bandaging up her hands, my boss entered and closed the door behind her, setting down on the creaky chair with a loud thud. "Just got the news, the Avengers apprehended the terrorist," she sighed long and slow. "We've done all we could, the next few days I'll be handling house calls so you'll be here on your own. I'll probably see you in a few days, don't hesitate to give me a call if something comes up," Odette seemed to be barely standing up, yet when she tore off a few pieces of her jewelry and chucked them into a big tin can under the sink, the glossy sheen in her eyes melted away.

"Okay," I mumbled under the watchful eyes of the mutant woman. "Will there be more people coming in today?"

"No," the woman in front of me snorted. "SHIELD is prowling the streets. They are not fond of us, they always say we intervene unnecessarily even though we willingly do their dirty work so our children could be safe," the bitter, harsh tone took me off-guard.

I had to admit, there was reason behind her words. "Will you be able to get home safely? I have a puffy coat and a hat you can borrow." Figuring an expensive taxi ride would be a better alternative to something terrible happening to the woman, I offered her my winter clothes.

She smiled at me, razor blade teeth and large, red eyes the kindest I'd ever seen on a person. In the end, she took the clothes, promising to bring them back in a few days and Odette gave me a parka that was too small for her frame - despite it smelling like someone's grandma's attic, I found it to be quite lovely vintage. The puffy knitted scarf she added felt like warmth and safety - she had to have knitted it herself, for I knew, handmade items carried a significant amount of energy in them.

The shop was eerily quiet as I cleaned and scrubbed the stained, dirty floors and disposed of the bloody clothes and bandages in the tiny, odd fireplace in Odette's office - that was a thing most peculiar, it burned everything I put in it, but had no chimney, no place for the smoke to exit. Magic.

Something banged loudly against the entrance door. I let out a startled shriek, broomstick falling out of my hand and adding to the sudden cacophony of noise as the figure behind the stained glass slowly slid down the door, a deep, male voice groaning something incomprehensible loud enough for me to hear.

Grabbing a large serrated knife we used for mincing the bones of small animals, I made quiet steps towards the door, seeing a large, obviously humanoid figure helplessly lean on the door. The man's arm glinted chrome black and gunmetal grey in the low light. "Sargent Barnes? Bucky?" I whisper-shouted, carefully plying open the door.

He lifted his head, blood dripping down from it, his face looked like someone went to town on it with a meat mullet, his eyes were unfocused and couldn't keep a straight line. His flesh arm leaned heavily on the door frame, the prosthetic hanging limply, dragging his whole body to its side. It must've weigh a ton.

"Я должен найти капитана Роджерса," he whispered.

I didn't understand Russian at all but I could make out the name of his boyfriend. Which made sense. Bucky looked severely concussed - I idly wondered what exactly they had been fighting, what could have given a freaking super-soldier such a brain-leaking injury. "Sargent Barnes, follow me," I put on my big girl shoes and used my momma bear voice, towing the man behind me.

He, too, weighed a ton, as I stumbled, helping him into the chair in the spare room that became my healing station for today. The longer I looked at Bucky, the less lucid he grew, eyes falling shut as he murmured something in jagged Russian, slurring his words.

There was no time to think about the consequences of exposure of my witchcraft; mortar and pestle, herbs and salves flying everywhere, I assembled a healing spell and memorized the according ritual in what felt like record time. He was bleeding all over the chair, fresh crimson blood pouring out of his nose and mouth and it was all I could see.

I hadn't known true terror until the blood that poured out turned black. Whatever it was in him, it was poisonous - my protection charms grew hot, scalding as they left marks on my skin; powering through the pain and unable to turn my eyes off the convulsing Barnes, I finished the chant just as the flow of vile, tar-like liquid suddenly ceased. It pooled around his feet, dripped down the armrests and matted his long hair. It reeked, too, of copper and putrid meat.

Bucky had passed out somewhere mid-spell, the slow, steady breathing bringing me my own sense of calm. To say that I was drained would be an understatement - my vision swam and my world spun on it's axis as I unlocked Odette's office to messily rummage through a cabinet for the emergency tonic I knew she kept there. I chugged the vial, an avalanche of almost anxious, jittery energy hit me like a freight train - exactly what I needed.

I bought myself a couple hours of time. Cleaning up the sludge around Bucky's feet and removing the outer parts of his gear was easy as he remained as relaxed as a cooked spaghetti noodle. The amount of weapons he had on him was impressive, but those weren't what I was looking for - his phone. It was dead, so I plugged it in, waiting for the 5% to show and bringing it to his fingertips, hoping he used the print recognition instead of the password option... And I lucked out.

"Hello, this is Star, I found a Bucky. Tell Dr. Strange to come get him, he knows where I am." I texted the "Stevie ❤️" contact, my inner fangirl self squealing at the dorky name of his boyfriend's contact in Bucky's phone. Shortly afterwards, I went ahead and snapped a picture of myself next to sleeping Bucky, figuring out some actual proof wouldn't do any harm in this bizarre situation.

The answer didn't let me wait long. "10 minutes" came the first text, and shortly afterwards - "Is Bucky okay??????". I had to snort at the amount of question marks before honestly replying "He will be ☺️" and putting the phone back in Bucky's pocket. I cleaned up and attempted to lift Bucky up, succeeding in waking him up into a half-lucid state, probably courtesy of decades of training and whatnot, to at least drag him to the front of the store. I wasn't particularly comfortable with strangers seeing the backrooms.

Bucky leaned with his back against the counter, ass flat on the floor and a towel with a cold compress pressed to his head when the doors all but flew open, revealing Captain Rogers, still in uniform and Stephen Strange, arguing with his boyfriend, both still suited up and bloody and grimy.

"Uhh," I blinked owlishly, causing the men to stop bickering and stare first at me, then at Bucky. "I think he hit his head," I offered weakly, backing up slightly at the amount of burning eyes staring at me.

"Shortcake, that you?" Tony's eyebrows rose as he surveyed the bodega, the items on the shelves, the black and red blood stains on my previously pristine, yellow shirt.

"Now is not the time, Tony. Go with Rogers, make sure the medical is prepared for Barnes and disable his arm," Strange barked out authoritatively, shooting me a puzzled but compassionate look. "The portal is open. I'll talk to Star, find out what happened." He advanced towards me as Captain picked up Bucky bridal-style as tenderly as he could while making sure the compress stayed on.

"Keep that tone fo the bedroom," Tony's voice was more than displeased as he shot me and Strange a hurt look, but followed Steve into the golden circle right outside the door before it sparked shut.

"Now, now, what happened here?" The sorcerer's voice lowered into a soothing drawl as I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. My shoulders sagged, fingers twitching with anxious energy. The man extended a gloved hand, briefly squeezing my shoulder. "It's alright, take your time."

Damn, did I look that bad?

The world outside the house reminded me of something I had once seen in a dream. The colours of it runny, like specks of oil paint over simmering water, pulsing and changing hues, too viscous to soak up the burning winter sunlight reflecting from the fresh morning snow.

My eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying; out of sheer relief, I collapsed as soon as I helped the disoriented engineer inside my apartment and straight into his boyfriend's arms. As Stephen noisily fussed over Tony, I leaned against the entrance door, exhausted and aching, I let the waterworks get the best of me.

Lucy wandered over, wrapping her thin arms around me in a motherly gesture: it felt like coming home to a place long forgotten and abandoned, like touching something rotten, moist and a little bit sticky; the helplessness, the hopelessness and the realization all jumbled together in an earthly mass of poisonous flowers and squirming roaches.

"It's going to be okay," Lucy signed, briefly, watching horror paint my face into a grimace. The cool, calculated disinterest had no place on a child's face, yet I found it suited her far more than the exhuberant joy I was used to seeing. "You will adjust. They all do," with her final words, she disappeared behind the door without a noise, shooting a careful look at the two men still locked in a tender embrace.

Tony had slowly come to, minutes of Stephen's carefully woven spells supplying the energy required to pull a person back from the In-between. I wondered if Stephen fully understood, what exactly had transpired.

"Starlight?" Tony's confusion had finally reached me.

I got up from the floor, extending a shaky smile to the engineer. "Yeah. Sorry about everything," I mustered an apology. I was at a complete loss of what to say.

"You don't have to," Tony's eyes softened. "It was an accident. I should know better than to bother people in the middle of the night." Some of his cheekiness was returning. Finally, Stephen smiled too. It was like a family reunion, one of the good kind.

"But then you wouldn't be you," I argued, mostly out of habit.

As bittersweet as the moment was, it wasn't meant to last. Stephen whisked Tony away for more check-ups and I was too exhausted to be a good host; as soon as they disappeared, I immediately fell onto the couch, my limbs full of lead and my head stuffed with cotton.

The lines between the waking world and my dreams blurred; I was stuck in a limbo, observing myself as a detached third party, watching the putrid energies of the cursed house seep into my pores and intermingle with the clear magick that previously saturated my being.

Filth and mud, I was infested through and through with boils from which a hundred tentacles squirmed and oozed, a parasitic bond which slowly but steadily fed the entity that was the house with my spirit, flesh and blood. My body was not my own anymore; if that made me shudder, then witnessing the very core of my being being penetrated over and over by the stalks, pulling out threads of my very essence and consuming it, filled my mouth with bitter bile and rancid disgust.

Even after a full night's sleep, I woke up restless. My body moved on autopilot, snow crunching under my boots on my way to work. I was there, but I wasn't. The skies of the city were blurry, bearing down on me, hiding the tops of high-rise buildings in freezing, milky white fog. I was suffocating, having icy ground under my feet and an impenetrable led cloud hanging over my head, the mass of it ready to plummet down and crush me at a moment's notice.

The winter brought in more customers than ever and of someone noticed my mental absence, they didn't remark on it. Everyone was busy with stocking up on cold and flu medicine; the amount of complaints about kids' runny noses and the elderly coughing up a storm kept me from withdrawing into myself completely. I knowingly nodded and smiled when appropriate, packing up ginger extracts and organic honey with kindness and ease.

I will get used to it, I reasoned with myself whenever panic began to scratch at my throat. All my neighbors did - Lucy had said so - and I hoped it was, indeed, a slice of truth. None of them looked unhappy. Except Samantha, maybe, however she was a strong woman. I never once doubted her resolve.

The prospect of having to live the remainder of my life in the house was terrifying, to say the least. A year in the clutches of a parasitic interdimensional entity was an eternity, but decades? As much as it liked to think of itself of a symbiotic hivemind, I struggled to agree. The undisclosed details of the arrangement I was forced to enter kept my chest tight, the house had shown me images of Tony over and over, rubbing salt on my wounds and stating the obvious.

You or him. Your life or his.

Comparing being drained of my life force over several decades versus annihilating Tony's entire being in one go; I didn't regret what I had done to myself in the slightest.

I didn't know nearly enough about the incredibly rare, sentient beings that made up these teyollocuani, these soul eaters, but what scarce information I've seen pointed towards their ultimate goal of assimilation. With time, I would become one with it, another putrid growth, mindless, painless, selfless. Putting up a fight with a soul eater wasn't something I was planning on doing; it would just find another way to get under my skin or simply devour me, shred my soul to pieces and deny me the chance to rejoin Mother Earth after my flesh expired.

The doll I had given Lucy, the impromptu ASL classes, made me cackle inwardly, explosively and bitterly. My kindness had worked out in my favour, for once, and I was able to retain some independence: I was allowed to continue my witchcraft and even leave the house overnight, for a couple of days; if I decided to make a run for it, I'd die in a week anyway - the parasitic bond was fresh, yet it was strong, and I imagined that with time, my ball and chain would only grow heavier and larger. The squirming, writhing masses piercing my astral form never left my mind for longer than a few minutes.

Mirrors terrified me. Every single time I looked into one, I expected to see the craters piercing me, leaking pus, blooming rot in places where my eyes and mouth used to be. So I avoided them.

Stephen and Tony remained in touch, both men texting me often. I appreciated their attempts at maintaining our friendship; I wouldn't have blamed them, however, should they have chosen to distance themselves from me after the traumatic experience. Stephen hadn't noticed anything wrong with Tony and the engineer himself didn't have any complaints besides amnesia and a mild headache.

The lack of action from the Sorcerer Supreme puzzled me, surely he'd noticed the large parasite feasting on unsuspecting citizens of New York city? Apparently, he hadn't. I wasn't in a rush to explain it to him, either, knowing damn well that a siege on that thing very well could end my life.

I wasn't ready to die.

Wong was the only one giving me a side-eye, not that was anything out of the norm, but even the grouch seemed to be warming up to me. The Asian man's demeanor slowly grew from insulting to witty and on days where my existential crisis wasn't too overwhelming, I indulged him by quipping back a sarcastic joke or two.

I used to count the last minutes before clocking out; now, I stayed at work as long as possible, putting in unpaid overtime like my life depended on it. Maybe it did, or at least my sanity - hours spent in the apartment, plagued by knocking on my door and Samantha's screaming children, not even the TV could drown out the loud storm of terrified thoughts inside my head.

Another round of knocking barely made me jump; I just shivered, curling up under my blanket and trying to drown it out. I was so, so tired.

"Star, it's me, Sam," Samantha's voice called out from behind the door, causing me to immediately spring to my feet and throw open the door. Sam walked in with her two kids in tow. "Sorry to barge in on you like that," the woman was apologetic. "Hank is fixing our dryer and it's making my babies restless, do you mind if we sit with you for half an hour?"

I smiled at Sam, inviting her into my living room, happy for the company. "Not at all, feel free to..." I shot an amused look as Arman unceremoniously walked into my kitchen and promptly returned with a spoon in his mouth, the metal already beginning to warp and twist. "Grab a snack?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Sam clutched the side of her face.

"Nah, it's fine," I waved off her embarrassment. "As long as the metal baseball bat is left unchewed," her daughter immediatelly made a beeline for it and I winked at Sam, remembering Anya's sharp little teeth effortlessly piercing through door handles. That should keep her occupied for a few.

Samantha chuckled in relief, settling down on the couch, gratefully picking up the glass of wine I kept in stock just for evenings like this. I reached for my own glass just to hear Samantha's sharp inhale - eyes wide, she fixated on the bandage I used to dress the wound Lucy's bite had left. As days passed, it kept bleeding and oozing clear liquid at random times.

As quick as it appeared, Samantha's suprise vanished, leaving bitter acceptance and disappointment written plainly on her face. "She got you too, huh?"

I blinked furiously, chasing away the sudden tears. "Yeah," I mumbled for a lack of better things to say.

"I hope it was worth it, at least," her eyes glossed over her children. Samantha was haunted by her predicament, as there was an underlying rage to the softness she felt towards her twins. I didn't dare ask yet she interpreted my silence accordingly: "They had leukemia. Annie went down first, me and Arrie visited her in the hospital every day. Lost all her hair," Sam was lost in the memory, leaking sorrow all over her pale cheeks. "My ex husband said he couldn't do it, couldn't bear to see his children wither away," there were no words good enough to express my sincere compassion for this exhausted human being.

I placed an arm around her shoulders and she leaned in, hiding her tears behind a curtain of dry, thin hair.

"Arman just fell one day. He fell and didn't wake up. We spent seventeen days in the ICU. Doctors said his brain was damaged," Sam hiccuped. "I was looking for an alternative method, witches, mutants, anything. Found a lady that said she can try to fix it, but it'll cost me... Everything. I was ready to give up my life for them," a ball of viscous sorrow stuck in my throat, I downed the remnants of my wine in a single gulp and Sam followed suit, wiping her face with the back of her hand, crystal tears and blood red wine everywhere. "I moved in here and let that infernal demon take a good bite outta me the same day," the woman spat bitterly. "Anya and Arman were discharged in a week. The doctors said it was a miracle, some other unknown disease masquerading as cancer. I didn't know what to think."

In a single sentence, Samantha lost all of her heat. The fight evaporated from the woman like a puddle on a hot summer's day, leaving a gaping crater in its wake.

"Then they began to change. They wouldn't listen, their teeth and eyes turned them into... What they are now," Sam wouldn't, couldn't say the word but I understood. They turned into monsters. "Every time I tried to do something about it, they would start fainting, throwing up blood. I had no other choice," eyes wide and pleading, Samantha looked up to me expecting judgement.

I squeezed her shoulder in a mum gesture of compassion. My head was full of corrosive sorrow; it ate at me, leaving me bruised and weeping from the inside out. I had only gotten a glimpse of the parasite's insidious nature.

"Children are more susceptible to supernatural powers and beings," I needed Sam to know it wasn't her fault. "They're like a blank slate, a glass not yet quite full. You did all you could, mama."

Samantha's sniffles and quiet sobbing caused her kids to run over and plop themselves down at her legs, hugging a knee of her's each. Their bottomless black eyes devoid of any feelings, their teeth sharp and unforgiving, twin horrors offered little support to their mother.

"We do not hate you, mother," Anya said in a scratchy voice that reminded me of little Lucy.

"I know, baby, I know," Samantha ruffled the girl's hair.

"Do what must be done," Arman added quietly. It was the first time I head him speak and his voice was much softer than the shrill screaming I was used to hearing from the children.

I frowned, looking back at Sam.

Immediately, she withdrew into herself. "I was thinking about... Moving out." The whispers were all but lost behind her hair once more as her shoulders hunched. "I have enough money saved up for a funeral."

The words spoken so timidly washed over me like a tsunami; cold and hot at the same time, the sheer force of will and the unbreakable spirit of that woman re-ignited the sparks of hope in my chest. The decision was as momentary as they always had been for me.

"I can think of something," I replied confidently. "One of my friends is a very powerful sorcerer. There are more witches I know," I recalled Wanda and her reality-bending powers. Between at least the three of us, possibly more, there had to be a way for me to end this spiritual slavery.

Armin and Anya stared at me, expressionless yet hopeful. I knew that somewhere, deep under the layers of parasitic growth on their little souls, there still remained pieces of two small humans doing their best for their mama.

My chest had a jagged, gaping hole in it for days at that moment and I didn't think anything in this world or the other could make it worse; I was proven wrong. Being in tune with Mother Earth, I found I had a massive soft spot for children and babies in particular.

Heads or tails; at the time, I couldn't quite pinpoint if it was the driving force behind my sudden rush of bravery or my mind was grasping at straws and trying to find an exit out of a lose-lose situation. A child's soul shattered and consumed - no, the rage I had felt before, when the flying creatures had invaded Earth, it was definitely there, albeit considerably muted.

I had told Samantha, rest assured I'd do anything I can to find out as much as possible about the creature that held us hostage. My confidence in success was frail, nightmares still plagued me and my skin crawled from a sensation I couldn't quite shake off when I left the house. And yet...

Odette wasn't much help in regards of acquiring information; after all, she was a healer witch and not an exorcist or a hunter. I had no choice but to trot over to Stephen's with caffeinated peace offerings in tow, stepping foot inside the Sanctum, armed with curiosity I could barely hold back.

"Star," he smiled, opening the door just enough for me to squeeze through and immediately slamming it shut to prevent snow and freezing air from coming inside the spacious house.

I didn't blame him whatsoever. Heating up a house this size must've cost a fortune and a kidney. "Hi, Stephen," his warm aura and the wiggling cloak brought a smile of my own.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hopefully I'm not interrupting," I shrugged off my wet coat, hanging it on a nearby rack. Pointing at my equally wet shoes, I snorted when Stephen vanished the snow with a flick of his wrist. "I'm here to research!" I stated confidently.

"Seeing a dear friend is never a bother," he threw a mischievous wink at me and I was immediately taken aback. I couldn't fathom the stoic man having such a playful side, even after seeing Stephen indulging Tony in his antics. The action made my cheeks flush. "What are you looking for?"

The coffee migrated into his hand as he pointed the way, both of us walking side by side. I risked to throw a curious glance around every now and then, spying some interesting trinkets and Wong, surrounded by a dozen people in plain, brown robes, all of them intently listening to the Asian man's speech.

The dozen heads turned to us as we trotted past the open door and I immediately did my best to hide behind Stephen's form. Something about the crowd scanning me with their eyes was unsettling.

Stephen glared in their direction, his cloak puffing out behind him. "They're trainees, don't mind them."

I chuckled at his territoriality. "I was wondering if you have some literature on autonomous entities existing in astral and earthly dimensions simultaneously?"

We came to a halt in front of a massive double-sided solid oak door. "That doesn't sound good," he eyed me with concern, a gloved finger tracing the rim of his cup.

"I know," I raised my eyebrows. "That's why I'm researching. Odette had nothing on it, despite supposedly performing exorcisms every other month," I allowed myself to exhale the bit of annoyance I felt towards my boss.

Stephen chewed on his lip, the corners of his mouth downturned. After a brief moment of hesitation, he nodded to himself. "I've heard your kind can be private and priggish about their knowledge, which baffles me. It's counter-productive," scoffing, Stephen opened the doors to the library for me. Shelves upon shelves worth of books.

I stepped in, breathing the comfort of the dusty, dry air; momentarily transported to the bright days of my childhood spent in the quiet of the local public library, I couldn't resist closing my eyes and rapidly inhaling a lungful of the tart, wooden waft.

Only Stephen's soft chuckling took me out of the brief trance. I flushed again, taking a haste sip of my coffee to hide my response.

"Come on," tone jovial, the sorcerer led me to a shelf full of books, old and new, ancient, leather bound and decorated with gold and silver and various metals I'd never seen. "My promise stands. Take what you need, learn, text me if you have any questions." Eyes glistening in the yellow light, Stephen looked down at me with softness I couldn't quite shake.

"I will," I promised. A ray of hope blossomed within me. Like spring's first saplings, it took root and seized hold of the icy, vicious frost of despair, not quite containing it, not quite letting it continue to fill my soul with dread. "Thank you," one of his hands found its way in mine. Much like the times before, I gently took hold of it, squeezing it with care and gratitude.

"Don't be a stranger, Star." One crooked smile and wink later, his cloak marked his departure with its billowing wine-crimson trail.