"I just need a lighter, It's New York, someone should have one!" "I have a flamethrower, will that work?"

Irene shoved the pack into her purse, carefully; can't let the monitors catch her. She resisted the urge to glance at the cameras stationed in the corners. "I just want some cigarettes, nothing suspicious about that," She whispered quietly. She started walking. The florescent lights painted a contrast between the girl's pale white features and her pitch-black hair.

Irene twitched as she walked past customers. I suppose I could just use these new abilities-The pale girl stopped in the middle of the aisle-no, I won't. I'm not this thing that they made me. I. Am. Not! She opened her eyes, red swirling in them and wisps curling off her clenched fists. Then she blinked, and it all disappeared. No.

Quickly, innocently. Irene walked slowly, flashing a guiltless smile at the cashier as she left the store, the ting-a-ling of the bell ringing as the door closed. She started to walk. Lit up signs flashed harshly against the semi-darkness. One, two, four, seven blocks. The New York night was filled with noise and people of all types. But Irene only heard the click of her heels, only saw the alleyway she would slip into.

Head up high, eyes ahead, poker face, squared shoulders. Crowds parted out of the girl's way, Dead Sea style, on the sidewalks. They can't, won't find you that way. Guiltless, don't look guilty. Afterwards, they questioned themselves, why were they afraid of an eighteen-year-old girl?

Ten blocks from the store, Irene squeezed into an alleyway. She lounged against the wall. The stolen cigarette pack peeked out of the top of her handbag. Opening it up, she put a cigarette to her lips. But where was her lighter?

Irene frowned, a slow crease of ruby red lips. She rolled her eyes and started rooting through her purse. "You've got to be kidding me." A lighter didn't show up.

"Great," Irene hissed, drawing out the word. Now she would have to ask. Ask people on the sidewalks, because she couldn't possibly go back to the store. She sighed. So. She slumped against the wall, idly picking at the threads of her white dress. Which angle am I going for? Cutesy? Homeless? Drunk? Better go for tipsy. The teen sloped out of the alleyway.

On the sidewalk, Irene turned into a tipsy sorority sister. She plastered on a happy smile and tottered in too high heels. "Heyyy, do you have a –hic- lighter?"

Percy frowned at the slight girl leaning on him. "No," He said, gently pushing her off. All of a sudden, she whipped around. The girl growled, deep and feral. Her skin glowed and her hair floated upwards. Percy blinked. She had disappeared into the crowd spilling off the sidewalk. Percy sighed. He began to follow the tail of her white dress. Something was wrong with that girl, and that usually meant monsters. The hunt was on.

After an hour, Irene gave up. The cute drunk act was starting to attract the wrong people. She slinked back to the alleyway.

"Why?!" Irene growled, gritting her teeth, "I just need a lighter, it's New York, someone should have one!" She punched the brick wall. Light green blood dripped off her knuckles and splashed on the concrete below. Irene didn't notice. Rage clouded her mind, swirled around her head, whispered sweet evils in her ears. The sounds of New York passed by the alleyway, a bubble of silence in a sea of noise.

Minutes passed by. Irene had closed her eyes and slumped. She seemed visibly relaxed, the anger gone. One, three, five, seven, nine, eleven, thirteen. A lucky number. The not-quite-a-girl straightened, and took a deep breath. Concentrate. Take it, and use it. The pale teen melted into the shadows. She missed the lone figure watching. "I have a flamethrower, will that work?"

Twenty miles away, amongst crowds of supernatural hunters and catchers, a wisp of blue-grey air escaped the mouth of another black-haired teen. Danny smiled. "Finally." The hunt was on.