NINE

Alley clenched her teeth, trying to keep the bone-deep shivers at bay. Being so still for so long in the snow was never a good idea – but Alley Cat was determined to stay where she was. At least until she had unravelled the mystery that was Doctor Stephen Strange.

For all Tom’s reluctance to help her find the murderers that had driven her to him, he had been willing to help her track down the man that had nearly unravelled her. Of course, she hadn’t told him why exactly she wanted to know about the former neurosurgeon. She had told Tom she wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to tell the police about her. In actuality it was something harder to explain.

She told herself it was because – as he had inadvertently admitted at the party – Strange had connections to private collectors with special goods unknown to the government or local law. She tried not to think about the weird pull that drew her to him, much as she had been drawn to the Idol and the Bell. She still had the Idol – hidden where even Tom wouldn’t find it. Something had stopped her from telling him, from enquiring as to its value at Ernest’s shop.

Something had brought her here today; shivering in the mouth of the alleyway opposite a jeweller that Strange had disappeared into. Today he had been alone, cutting a solitary figure through the snow, head bowed against the wind. Alley had felt a pang of loneliness watching him, something resonating through at the sight of his footprints in the snow.

She missed her-

No.

Alley curled her hands into fists, and tried to think of something else.

The jeweller’s door opened and Strange emerged again. For a moment, he paused, eyes narrowing. Through the light flurry of flakes, Alley watched him slowly scan the street. She shrank back behind the dumpster, heart pounding. After a moment, however, he turned on his heel and began to stalk back down the street. Waiting a beat, Alley slipped from her hiding spot and started after him, careful to keep herself behind the cars on the street as best she could. They crossed the street in tandem, but just as she cleared the cross walk, she saw his shoulders stiffen and his head begin to turn. Alley threw herself behind the closest parked car and sucked in hasty breath. The cold burnt her throat, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from coughing. She sat there for two minutes before she decided to look again.

Strange was nowhere to be seen.

Alley frowned, scanning the empty street for any evidence of his passage. It was as if he had just vanished into-

A bright flash of light; white and blue toned exploded from the mouth of the lane across the road. Strange. Instinctively, she knew it was him. She’d seen him do things she couldn’t explain, and she wanted to see more. Alley hurried across the road, a sudden surge of nervous energy sending her stumbling over the sidewalk, legs breaking into a run seemingly without her control.   

The scene down the side street was like nothing she had ever seen before. Well – the footage of the Battle for New York she had studied in middle school came pretty close.

Strange stood with his back to her. The dark sweater, coat and pants he had been wearing were gone; in their place, a sweeping cloak of deep red swirled around his person like a living thing, and he wore strange blue robes beneath. Stranger still were the four things – robots? – shooting bolts of white-blue energy from the long, thing gun-like weapons in their clawed grip. They were tall; almost as tall as Strange, made out of a silvery metal so pale it was almost white, and vaguely human shaped, but instead of a head, a large globe with a green camera lens sat on top of their shoulders. Alley’s jaw dropped.

He was putting up a good fight – his orange shields were up, but as she watched, two of the robots turned and scuttled up the brick wall like spiders, the weird, disjointed flexibility of their limbs archaically creepy. Distracted, Strange turned to throw a bolt of dark purple that appeared from his closed fist. In the opening he had left, one of the lasers from the other robots caught him in the chest and he stumbled and fell to one knee. A dull horror descended upon her at the sight of three drops of blood on the white snow.

Alley turned and grabbed the nearest thing she could; the lid of the dustbin was covered in snow and as she threw it towards one of the robots on the wall, the white powder flew out like a sparkling cloud. It resounded with a clang off the side of its round head, and the sound made the lasers stop. 

In eerie synchronicity, all the heads of the robots turned to regard her. The large green camera-eyes focused all at once upon her, clicking and swirling. The back of her neck prickled; and she dived for the ground. Laser bolts darted over her, and she rolled, feeling a faint heat on her exposed face that told her she had been inches from disaster. She scrambled upright as one of the robots from the wall jumped down, and slid again, gaining speed and traction on the snow as she skidded between it’s lanky legs. One of the other robots’ lasers caught it in the chest and it fell with a whine of dying machinery, green eye going dark.

A cold, hard grip closed around her neck. Alley was lifted suddenly from the ground, the long pronged claw of one of the robot’s hand spanning the entirety of her throat. She couldn’t even scream as its grip tightened. The robot hauled her up to its eyelevel. This close, Alley could see the machinery whirring behind the light of its eye. She bucked, head getting light as her airway closed. Through blurring vision, she watched as the light expanded, and began to scan over her face. It tickled and heated her skin.

“Let the girl go.” Strange’s voice came from behind her, a low tremulous darkness staining his tone. Even as speckles of blackness began to obscure her vision, Alley strained to look at him.

“New target acquired. Extermination imminent.” The robot’s voice sounded like a GPS’ mechanical recitation, like it’s English was a programmed response rather than a natural language. Alley could hear her heart in her ears, thundering louder than anything else. The world darkened around her, and her hands fell limply away from the metal around her neck. Her last thought was not so dark; her family were waiting.

She sat up with a gasp.

“What the fu-”

Alley turned at the loud outburst, finding Strange crouching beside her, recoiled and staring at her as if she was a ghost. Around them, snow was beginning to gather on the blacked remains of the robots. She swallowed thickly, the scars on her chest itching and niggling at her. She rubbed at her chest through her coat, and met Strange’s eyes.

“How did you do that?” He demanded suddenly, narrowing his eyes at her. “What spell did you use?”

“W-what?” She blinked, confused. How long had she been unconscious.

“Your heart stopped. You were dead.” Strange was blunt, suspicious.

Alley shook her head, “No. I couldn’t have-”

“I checked your pulse.”

“You must’ve made a mistake.” Alley told him, challenging.

Strange scowled at her. “I’m a doctor, kid, I think I know what I’m talking about.”

“Well…” She looked down at herself and flexed her limbs. She felt fine. Better than fine. The faint aches and pains from her late night before were gone, and she felt rested, as if she had actually slept more than four hours. “Explain this then.”

Strange’s frown only deepened. “I can’t.” A silence fell between them, and Alley looked back at the robots.

“What were they?” She asked quietly. The phantom touch of metal around her neck made her shiver.

“Eyebots. They travel dimensions and galaxies to wipe out any magic they can find; object or user. Usually they’re not so persistent.”

Eyebots? Magic? Alley’s head throbbed. “Magic.” She repeated dumbly, staring at Strange again.

“Yes.” He said, no trace of amusement or falsehood in his face. “Magic.” As she watched, the corner of his red cloak rose into the air of its own volition, crooked itself and waved at her. Her heart skipped a beat, and she scrambled rapidly away from it. It drooped, like a dying flower, and Stephen batted it down. “You’re scaring her.” He muttered, to the cape. It swished around him, like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“What the fuck.” Her voice wavered audibly, and she swallowed down a wave of nausea. “I don’t understand- why did they- it tried to kill me!”

“I wonder why that might be?” Stephen’s sarcastic tone made her shake her head. He tilted his head at her, still with that vaguely irritated look on his face. “Kid – I don’t know who or what you are, but you are very clearly drawn to, and imbued with, the Mystic Arts. And it didn’t just try. It succeeded.”

“No, it didn’t!” Alley couldn’t help the volume of her voice. She was frightened now, truly frightened. Her breathing was picking up, so hard and fast her head was beginning to grow heavy again. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Magic? Interdimensional-wizard-killing-robots? She had to get back to Tom. She had to get back to the Tower. She had to-

Strange reached for her, brow furrowed, and she was too slow to avoid his fingers. He tapped her once squarely between the eyes and her world went white.

When Alley woke up again, she didn’t know where she was.

That alone was enough for panic to begin surging through her limbs again, but caution held her still. Tom always stressed upon her the importance of surveying her surroundings, and so she forced herself to sit up slowly.

She was on a low ornate cabriole couch, upholstered in deep red velvet, wood well-polished and sturdy. The room itself was small, the ceiling low enough to tell her she was in some kind of attic space. The walls were wallpapered in a slightly lighter red, and patterned with small gold shapes that seemed to shift and move as she looked at them, making her eyes water. Most of the furniture was hewn from the same kind of wood, but there were two bookcases on the opposite wall that looked like Ikea furniture. A small side table and a lamp sat beside an armchair next to the cabriole, a desk was pushed against the far wall under the round window there, and on one of the large shelves that lined the wall beside the door, a candle was burning with an unnaturally still flame. She got up quietly, looking down at the large Persian rug beneath her feet. It muffled her footsteps, and she crept towards the door.

It was locked.

Alley reached into her pocket – only to realise she had been stripped of her coat, leaving her in the Cat Suit. Shit. She kept her lockpick-kit in her coat, along with her only loose change and half a protein bar she was going to have for lunch. Lunch. At the thought of it, her stomach rumbled. She didn’t even know what time it was. There was no clock in the room, and the window was shuttered closed. The shutters were dark green, and though she tugged and heaved, they wouldn’t budge.

A sense of doom made her eyes prickle with tears.

Clenching her jaw and willing the embarrassing emotional reaction away, she swivelled, eyes falling on the heavy looking bronze lamp. She picked it up, and ran at the window, raising her makeshift battering ram.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Alley startled at the sudden voice, dropping the lamp and whirling. Though she had not heard it open, Strange was standing in the open doorway. He was regarding her with a cool expression, and was back in his dark shirt and pants. Not a hair was out of place, and it looked as if the fight in the alley had never happened.

“You’ve kidnapped me.” Alley accused, balling her hands into fists. “Let me go or I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Call the police?” Strange sounded amused, and Alley went quiet. “I didn’t think so. You are here under observation; until Wong and I can work out what you are, you cannot leave.”

Alley ran at him. His eyes widened, and taken by surprise, he took an automatic step back. Alley may have been out of her depth, but she had been out of her depth before, and she was not going to let this Houdini-wannabe keep her-

A sharp hot pain ran through her body, and she resounded off thin air, unable to make it out of the doorway. She fell back, letting out an involuntary snarl. Strange was watching her with a cool amusement that made her blood boil, and she got to her feet. This time when she approached the doorway, she held her hands out first. The moment her fingers made contact with the invisible barrier, the burning began again. She grit her teeth and pushed.

White hot pain raced up her arm, but still she pushed, watching as a faint gold light appeared at the point of her contact. Though it hurt, though it felt like shoving at a brick wall, she pushed on. To her surprise, with a feeling like breaking a vacuum seal, the very tips of her fingers began to break through. The skin was bright red as if it had been burnt, and she watched in horror as her knuckles began to blister.

“Stop.” Strange barked at her. “You’ll die before you get through.” She ignored him, pushing-

Strange stepped back through the doorway and shoved her away from the barrier. She fell again, but this time a wave of exhaustion made her eyes slide shut for a beat too long. “Stupid girl.” Strange muttered, crouching before her, and grabbing her hands brusquely. He examined them, and she hissed at the touch on her raw, blistering fingers. Her head was heavy, and every time she blinked it was an effort to open her eyes again. She forced herself to stay awake, focusing with intent on the first thing she noticed.

It was the stark scars running the length of Strange’s fingers that caught her eye. They were a raised, angry red, but smooth enough to tell her they were long healed. At the sight of the scars, her own began to itch again. Strange reached beside him, and out of thin air, a small bowl appeared. It was filled with a white cream, and silently he began to spread it on her fingers.

She was too tired to protest, too tired to scoot away from his foreign touch, too tired to address the way everything was making her feel.

After another slow blink, she opened her eyes to find she was back on the couch. She couldn’t even bring herself to be surprised anymore, watching as the bowl blinked back out of existence. Strange was sitting in the armchair, turning something over in his grip. It was her lockpick. “What’s your name?” He asked, this time in a slightly quieter voice. Alley remained silent. “I can make you tell me.”

“No, you can’t.” Alley thought back to the spell he had used on her back at Thain’s mansion. And it had been a spell, she realised.

Strange scowled at her. She annoyed him, she realised, with a distant satisfaction. “Are you human?” he asked.

She couldn’t help but laugh at the question. “Uh, duh…” Her hands had stopped hurting, and as the pain receded, a little of her energy returned, along with a sharp stab of hunger. “Are you?”

“Obviously.” He snapped. “How long have you been attuned to the Mystical?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. How long have you been Harry Potter?”

“Harry Po-” Strange sighed heavily. “Long enough to know how to turn you into a toad if you don’t start cooperating.” It was meant as a threat, but Alley laughed again.

“Cool.” She settled back in the couch. “So, if you’re not letting me go, can I get a sandwich?” She had meant to sound casual, flippant, but as she spoke, her stomach let out a loud growl. This time when he looked her over, it was with a brief flash of pity. It made her angry. “Or you could just let me go.”

“I can’t do that. I am duty-bound to monitor Magickal threats.” Strange stood. A surge of desperation sent her lurching after him. She grabbed at his wrist, looking up at him and adopted her very best pleading expression.

“Please – I’m not a threat! If you let me go, you’ll never see me again! A-and, I’ll return that Idol!”

A glimmer of interest sparked in his eyes, and she doubled down on her earnest, pitiful expression. But then he shook his head, and shook off her grip. “No. You stay here. I’ll locate the Idol myself.” And then he was gone, sweeping from the room in a manner that told her he was used to having his cloak on his shoulders. The door closed quietly behind him with a definitive click.

Alley sagged back into the couch. The room was still, so quiet she could hear the soft patter of snowflakes on the roof. Silently, she bowed her head, and let out the tears she had been holding at bay.

I’m sorry, Tom. I wasn’t careful.

I’m sorry, Mom. I couldn’t save you.