Misha was walking on the city street. Rain poured down in torrents and soaked through her hoodie. She really wished she could just shadow jump to the train station. However, that would create too much suspicion. Besides, the only shadow location the had memorized for the train was on the green line, so she would have to take an extra line to get out of the city. It was better to just walk, rain or not.
The wafting smell of freshly brewed hot chocolate reached her nostrils.
Well, what’s the harm in getting some?
She stopped her walk and ducked into a small coffee and bakery place.
“One hot chocolate, please”
“Coming right up.”
She paid and left the store, letting the warmth from her cup seep into her hand. She debated jumping into the cup, swimming in the warmth, but decided against it as she didn’t have a change of clothes with her. After the last stop’s catastrophe, she had nothing but the clothes on her back and the cash she had in her emergency supplies.
Her last stop had been a government run ‘safe house’, which she had thought was just a regular safe house at the time. As soon as she was checked in(Under a fake name), they had confiscated her stuff. Realizing what was going on, she locked herself into a bathroom, jumped into a shadow underneath the sinks, and was long gone by the time they had gotten in the door.
Unfortunately, she could only think of one place to go in her panic, and had ended up at the last place she had been able to hold down a job for a few months. This had set her travels back by a month or so, as she could not remember the location of any shadows from her more recent travels. She hadn’t had to shadow jump like that for the last month. Stupid police. Why’d they have to ruin everything?
Misha glanced at the clock in the street. It was already quarter past two. She knew she had to get there before three; that was when the police would become more active. She walked for another hour into the residential areas, scanning for a safe place. Sighing, she knocked on a door, noting the carved marks in the banister. She placed her hand in front of her face, enveloping it in darkness.
“Can I help you? Oh, you better get in here before someone sees you!” An elderly lady answered the door.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t let her guard down, or her darkness fall for several hours. Once dinner was served, she decided the police weren’t coming, that she could safely stay the night.
“You know, my grandson was like you. I haven’t seen him in years, ever since he ran away. I have kept this place open in case he comes by.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Tell me if you see him? His name is Max.”
“I will. Do you have a place that is always shadowy?”
“The closet, except when I’m cleaning”
Misha committed the closet to memory, noting how the corners were dark even when the door was open.
“Thank you. That way I can bring him here when or if I find him. Or I could just visit you.” She smirked evilly, the way her father had taught her to. The old lady grinned in response.
Max looked through his few belongings for a piece of paper and a pencil. After a few hours of sitting on a ledge, he had finally been able to piece together a physics topic he had been trying to learn about for the last month. But being on the move, not all schools were covering the same things at the same time. He often wished he was not a superhero, as everyone called him. He wished he had never developed powers, that the dog had never bit him, that he could have gone to school like a normal person.
He wished the person he called his friend hadn’t ratted him out. He wished that all his shifts didn’t have the same distinctive features, white feet, blue eyes, gray...whatever. His hand shook as he picked up his stub of a pencil and connected the lines he had scrawled on a dirty notebook from his previous sessions. Slowly, his notes began to connect, and he put the two concepts together.
Every movement, every skittering of the mice in the attic, made his heart leap. He had been cowering in this attic for over a month, but was still terrified of being discovered. The occupants were gone half the day, allowing him to steal food. There was a hole in the chimney that let him dive in as a bird and materialize in the attic as a human. He would skitter out as a mouse when one crossed his path. Terror governed his life. When he heard sirens, he instinctively curled up and hid in the corner, hoping to change into a mouse and hide in the insulation. After his month with mice, and the few hours he spent in their form, he had decided they were all stupid, forgetful animals. Every time he talked to them, they would offer him cheese. Five minute later, they would once more ask if he would like cheese, despite him never leaving their eyesight.
He much prefered talking to birds, who could hold an intelligent conversation and gave nice directions. In fact, he was about to head out to somewhere they had recommended. Changing into a mouse, he skittered up the chimney, sat on the roof until a bird flew overhead, and took off after it. He was headed to a hideout today. A place where he could talk to people without the fear of changing into a copy of them, or another animal. A place for people, as much as he hated to admit it, like him.
