The window was open a crack. It had been a hard night. She was lucky to have found it, so she glanced around the suburban midnight and, finding no one as expected, forced the window open with her fingertips and crawled in. There she found her luck continued. Empty. There was no car in the garage. She closed her eyes and tried to think back. Had there been a car in the driveway? No, she didn't think so. "No 'didn't think so's, Adain, make certain," she whispered coarsely to herself. In a flash she jumped back up on the windowsill, holding onto the edge with one arm and a tail, three-prongs, each digit grasping at a different angle. With such a careful, albeit unusual, hold on the frame of the window, she was able to lean the whole of her solid little body out of the window and peer around the edge of the garage. Nope, just as empty as the inside.
With a perky jump, she sprang back into the garage. Two possibilities, then, she thought to herself as she stepped over a chainsaw, boxes full of junk and a volleyball net. Either they've gone for the night altogether and I have the place to myself, or they're just out for the evening and could return at any second, which could be more risky, somehow, than just being here and being asleep. She crossed to the door leading into the house when another possibility struck her. Maybe more than one person lives here. Maybe just one person took the car and the other, or others, stayed here. Or is staying up for them. This could be too risky to just walk into. Is it worth it? She took a long look around the garage, as her eyes became more adjusted to seeing without the light of the moon and the stars. Looking over all the things in the messy garage, she concluded that, yes, it was worth it.
Approaching the door, she had to reevaluate it again. There was a security system on the door. Not that sophisticated a one, but just the same, if she guessed wrong, she could possibly be caught. It was late. She was hungry and tired. This was the best chance that she had seen all night and she was unlikely to find something so promising. No, this house fit her needs perfectly. Adain took a deep breath and unscrewed the casing to the security box. It was simpler than she had expected inside. She carefully disconnected two wires, placing them some place safe within the little box and replaced the casing. Closing her eyes and whispering under her breath "please let this work," she turned the doorknob, and opened the door. Nothing happened. She exhaled, having forgotten that she had been holding her breath.
It was cleaner inside than she had expected. First things first. She opened cupboards one at a time until she found what she was looking for: a bag of Wonderbread, a jar of peanut butter, one of jam and a knife. When she opened the peanut butter, though, she found that the smooth surface hadn't been disturbed yet. She sighed her disappointment and put it back exactly where she had found it. She made two, then three jam sandwiches. She ate one as soon as she had made it, then she went to the sink and washed the knife with a drop of handsoap she rubbed over it with her fingers. When she had rinsed the knife and returned it to the bottom of the drawer that she had found it in, she ate another of the sandwiches. Then she wiped up all the crumbs she could find around the counter and threw them in the garbage, washing off her hands. Taking the last sandwich in one hand, with the other she opened up the bag swung over her shoulder, between her wings. She dug through the bag until she found a piece of plastic wrap crinkled into a ball. She unballed it and wrapped it around the sandwich, which she then put back into the bag. Now to find a place to sleep.
Usually, Adain slept on the couch while the people who owned the place slept unknowing in their beds. She could get a good sleep and wake up before they would come down and find her crashing in their living rooms. But if she felt that someone would be coming home unexpectedly, she wanted to be out of the way. This would be a good time to take a tour of the place.
The first floor was out of the question; it was designed in the trendy common-area style, the kitchen, the dining area, the living room all being open without walls between them, the only partitions being the backs of couches and fake potted plants. Even if she escaped notice when (if) these people returned tonight, there would be no way for her to get out of the house. She'd have to hide until they left to go upstairs. That was too risky. So she climbed up the carpeted stairs, walking on the balls of her feet, her wings and her tail out to ensure her the most balance possible. She didn't want to be surprised by a bump in the pipes and fall down the stair to break something and lay there unconscious until the homeowners returned.
Upstairs there was a huge study with two desktop computers, a laptop and an imposing (and expensive) stereo system, not to mention piles of folders stacked one on another and books all over. As she peered at them, she noticed they were law books. She made a mental note. Just out of the study, there was a strange closety thing. She inspected it closer and realized that it was an elevator. Some people have too much money on their hands. Just next to it was a pristine room, bed made with hospital corners, empty vase on the dresser. This must be the guest room. That had potential. She walked through the rest of the top floor, finding the bathroom and the huge master bedroom, which had almost as many files as the study in addition to expensive suitjackets draped over exercise equipment. Adain allowed herself a grin. This was perfect.
First thing she did in the bathroom was start the water on her dress and spare underwear. She washed them with a bit of shampoo and rinsed them and wrung them out. Then she dug deep in the linen closet until she found a threadbare towel, which she put under the door of the closet and hung her dress and underwear to drip dry. After that, she used the toilet, stripped out of her "work clothes"—the jeans and t-shirt with holes cut in them to allow her wings and tail to work for her unobstructed—and got into the shower.
She had a good shower. It felt nice to shampoo her hair on her head, and the hair on her shoulders, and her wings, which had really gotten greasy, and down her back and the short, fine hair on her tail. It felt so right to be clean and warm again, but she knew she shouldn't linger in the shower longer than she needed. She almost stepped out twice, but then she justified herself by washing herself again, this time in cold water, to decrease the amount of steam in the bathroom. Finally, she turned off the water and shook herself off. She reached over the edge of the bath and pulled the towel in from off the floor. She dried herself expertly and quickly, then began wiping down all the wet surfaces of the shower. When she was satisfied, she wrapped herself in the mostly-damp towel and stepped out.
She had just picked up her work clothes and was about to take down her dress when there was a loud double knock on the bathroom door. She froze. She had never been caught before. Usually, she had an out, but there she was, wrapped in nothing but a towel, in a small bathroom without windows, on the second story and if she didn't open up in three seconds, the booming voice on the other side of the door was threatening to knock it down.