When I open my eyes, Avery isn't there, and for a split second I'm filled with terror that I've gone somewhere I didn't mean to. My blood hammers in my ears, threatening to drown out everything. Then I realize that I'm in his bed – it's his red blankets tangled around my legs – his crappy ratty looking Nirvana poster on the wall. I sit up, rubbing my eyes and looking around. I can hear pots and pans clanking in the kitchen, and that slides the last piece of the puzzle into place. Avery loves cooking – he watches every show the food network has to offer. But the only edible thing he's ever produced out of the kitchen is toast. His mother's home, which means Avery is asleep on the couch in the living room.

I put a hand to the collar of his shirt, which I probably shouldn't go waltzing out into the kitchen in. But as I look around, and spot my stained clothes sitting neglected in a dark corner, I remember the funky smell of sewer clinging to them.

I pull my legs out from the blankets, and tiptoe over to the door before I hesitate. When I cleaned up last night, it was pretty basic. Wash out the hair, clean the sewer stench off my skin. I probably look like a mess. Misses Jacobs pretends not to care about my background – she feels sorry for me, so she lets me stay here without complaint when it gets bad with my Dad – but the truth is she's always worried about me dragging down her son. I can't blame her really – I'm not exactly on the fast track to fame and fortune. Hell, I worry about what I do to him to. I've tried leaving him alone before even – when they moved out of the Narrows. He just got angry and insistent. Still I don't need his mom seeing me looking like I'm feeling.

The problem is that the bathroom is by the front door – which requires a dash past the kitchen.

And then it occurs to me – teleportation.

But all at once revulsion threatens to throttle me, forcing me to take a step back from the door. Because as much as these powers could mean to me, I can't get the ringing out of my ears that's haunted me all last night – that voice purring in my ear. Mine, and not mine. Powerful, alluring. Ruthless.

I take a deep breath, and open the door silently. I move down the hall, and wait until her back is turned to dart across the final stretch and into the bathroom. I shut the door what I hope is quietly and lock it. I wait for my heart to stop racing, and then go to the mirror.

Imagine looking at a mirror, and instead of seeing yourself, the reflection is someone entirely different – someone infinitely more beautiful than you could ever be. Someone who is nothing like you. Like you've been hijacked.

When I went to sleep last night, my hair was bleached so blond it was almost white, dry and crackly and short with streaks of blue and red. But the girl staring at me in horror has black, healthy hair reaching well past her shoulders. Her brows are dark and sculpted to curve perfectly around her eyes which seem to have darker longer lashes. She has none of my acne, and her eyes lack the normal bags and dark circles which have always lurked under mine. Her cheekbones seem higher, her skin… fairer. And her eyes aren't my dull green ones at all – hers are sharp dark green with gold around the pupil. There should be something wrong – dry drool trail at the corner of her mouth, rats nest hair, bloodshot eyes, anything. But there isn't. Her hair falls in casually perfect curls, lips are full and devoid of drool, and her eyes are clear and alert, even in their fear.

I turn on the tap, and dunk my face in the freezing water over and over until my eyes sting and my face prickles from the cold. Only then do I towel off the moisture, and stand waiting for my eyes to clear. When they do, I see the girl giving me a hopeful stare, which at once turns to disappointment.

I jump as there's a knock at the door. "Rachel, sweetie, breakfast is all ready. Avery's up – you better hurry if you want to eat."

"Thanks." I keep my voice light and cheerful somehow. "Be right there."

I should have known she saw me running – she has the eyes of a hawk. So I look back to the girl, her face a twisted expression with lips pressed flat together.

You can do this. You just have to kill a few hours of daylight, and then hunt down the guy in a big black cape you're supposed to be enemies with. Simple.

I take a rattley breath in through my nose and then lick my lips. Do pretty girls lick their lips? I don't think they do – too self-conscious of an action –

Focus.

When I open the bathroom door, I hear the screech of a fork against a plate. After a moment Avery speaks. "Yeah, we'll probably go see a movie or something – try and get her mind off her Dad. It got ugly last night I think."

"Is she hurt? I could check her."

"I think she ran out before he could hurt her. Thanks though, Mom."

Misses Jacobs is a nurse at the new Gotham General. She was working the day the Joker bombed the hospital – luckily she was on one of the buses that got out unhindered. Avery had nightmares for weeks. I take a minute to work up my nerve, and then I enter the kitchen. Misses Jacobs is just drinking coffee, but Avery has a mouth full of food when they look up. Misses Jacobs pauses, her brows raising, but Avery chokes on his food, diverting the attention at once. He manages to clear his windpipe, but before he can speak he sees the look in my eye and changes direction entirely. "Did you brush your hair?"

"Yeah." I smile tensely, sitting down in front of a plate of pancakes and sausage. "It's nicer after the dying – I kinda want to keep it that way, you know?"

"You look fabulous, Rachel!" Misses Jacobs says, and I can see she means it honestly. She smiles. "When did you have all this done?"

"A few days ago." Lying comes easy to me. "My grandma finally sent me my birthday money, and said to spend it on something that would make me happy, so… new look."

"I liked the streaks." Avery pushes one of the little rolls of meat around his plate as he inspects me.

"Avery!" His mother hisses. Is she scared I might rethink the newer 'polished' me? She rolls her eyes and laughs. "He's wrong, Rachel. This really suits you. You look… grown up."

"Thanks." I'm surprised to find I mean it. This whole thing terrifies me – having someone say it's not such a bad thing makes me wonder if it really isn't. We don't talk about it further, and halfway through breakfast her pager goes off, which quickly leads to her departure.

I'm putting the plates in the dishwasher when Avery comes back from locking the door.

"So… this happened last night?" He gestures to my face.

I nod miserably, shutting the washer door and leaning on the counter. "I look like I belong on Mean Girls. I look like a plastic!"

He laughs at my distress, taking my hands and pulling me to him. "You do not look like a plastic." He sooths, which does nothing to fool me. "Have you thought about what you want to do."

"No." I mutter, leaning my forehead against his chest. "Kinda. I should deal with the money – Emma has her dance lessons right now, I could save Mom the trip, pick her up myself and go shopping. Stop by Aunt Tracy's on the way home, pay the rent on the way out…"

"I meant about -"

"Batman." I finish for him, peeking up into his eyes slowly. He looks worriedly down at me. "I know… it just – it feels like running into trouble. Again."

"He's Batman, Rachel. He's the good guy."

"And I'm not." I counter, frowning as I see the argument building. "Avery – I'm the daughter of an ex-con who likes to beat his kid. I take needles for money. Something in my veins in genetically engineered to kill Gotham's hero. Running to him without more information seems… imprudent."

"Imprudent?" Avery raises an eyebrow. "Why are you talking like that?"

"I don't know!" I snap, and pull back out of his arms. I glance at the clock on the oven as I head to his room. "But I need to go. Right now, I just want to spoil my sister and forget for a minute that I'm completely fucked."

"Rachel, this isn't the kind of thing you set aside to let stew for a while." Avery follows after me, standing at his door as I go to the corner and pick up my ball of wet mess, tossing it in a plastic bag on the ground and then grabbing it along with my jacket which is sitting on the dresser. "You need to make a plan and follow it. If you don't, it will only get worse for you."

"Because you know all about it?" I whirl around and snarl, sudden spitting hot rage burning me. "You live in a nice apartment with a mother who wants you, never having to worry about rent or clothing money, or anything. Avery you haven't got the slightest inclination what to do when shit hits the fan. That's my area. And from experience – running and dodging works just fine. Now get out of my way!" I yell as I try to leave and he blocks the door.

"Rachel -" He holds out a hand cautiously, watching me wearily. "You need to calm down and think. I know you're scared -"

"What do you know about fear?" I sneer, and that's the moment I realize I'm not the one talking. This is the voice that isn't mine and is. My body stalks up to Avery, hips swaying and fists curling. "Hmm? Go ahead Avery, explain to me. Fear Daddy's not coming home?"

He lets out a little puff of air, eyes widening. I gasp and shrink back as my body is instantly returned to me, puppet strings cut. I drop the bag, covering my mouth as I watch the hurt spreading all through this beautiful boy who only wants to help me. I want to be anywhere but here.

The carpet disappeared from under me, and someone rams right into me forcing me to stagger. My bare feet are stepped on by a pair of dress shoes as the first man apologies without stopping. "Sorry, didn't see you."

I wince and look around at the crowded Gotham sidewalk, the thrum of the city all around with honking cars and clicking shoes and general life. I look up miserably at the building in front of me – clean nice brick with a sign over the narrow glass door reading in elegant print, 'The Sherry Lynne Dance Studio'. It's a place I loath – mostly because they all know I'm from the Narrows, and love to look at me to see what the newest fashion faux pas is. They're going to love the hobbit footwear. I take a deep breath, my eyes blocked my images of Avery's hurt face, and head into the studio.