There were rules Emily had learned to live by if she wanted to live in New York and stay sane. The first rule was to stay the hell away from any place or person who was capable of doing her harm, especially in a place like Manhattan where weirdness seemed to breed unchecked, like excited rabbits in the wild.

Then there was her second rule, which was to never back down, to never let anyone in this town get the best of her. And that man on Bleecker Street, whoever he was, had gotten the best of her. It ate away at her mind as her cab sliced through Greenwich on its way to her studio apartment in the East Village.

Emily gazed down at her phone. The screen was a mess of broken glass. And the longer she looked at it, the angrier she became.

"Turn the cab around," Emily said.

From his rearview mirror, the cab driver glanced at her in astonishment. "Say what?"

"I'm going back to Bleecker Street."

"Jesus, are you serious?"

"I've got a twenty dollar tip in it for you, plus your fare. Turn the cab around."

He shrugged and maneuvered through traffic to double back.

Emily checked her phone's charge. Forty percent. It would be enough. She was going to get those pictures. She just had to be cautious. The man who had appeared out of nowhere obviously had some sort of enhanced abilities. And she was going to find out exactly what those abilities were.

When they arrived back on Bleecker Street, Emily asked the driver to drop her off at the end of the block, well out of sight of 177A. She took her time, trudging down the sidewalk as if going to a funeral. She wanted to take photos of everything, just in case there was something important to glean from them later. It still amazed her to see so many "For Lease" signs on storefronts all along this street. Especially when there was a good amount of foot traffic.

When she got to the middle of Bleecker, she stopped cold. She couldn't believe her eyes. Dozens of people loitered across from 177A. Some of them were praying with Buddhist beads. Some were holding up signs begging for healing, for peace. Many were chanting, their eyes fixed on the upstairs window with a strange symbol that glowed warmly from lights deep within the house.

Emily shook her head. It looked like she was going to have to ignore Rule 1 in order to implement Rule 2. Then again, crazy people can provide a great distraction. She took more pictures, first of the house, then of the religious zealots near her. If people began worshipping enhanced individuals, who knew what the implications would be? Whatever they were, it could apply to her case and was something solid she could give to the jury.

She stood there until twilight, milling around with the others, asking questions. One woman from Queens claimed her daughter had been possessed by a spider demon, and she came every night during the new moon to offer prayers of thanksgiving to Krishna. An aging hipster with a long white beard said the "sorcerer supreme" living here had pulled his deli out from another dimension. He spent at least thirty minutes telling Emily how his kosher bologna was eaten by a giant spaghetti monster right before he and his deli had been magically rescued. Emily plastered a smile on her face as he recited his monologue of crazy, praying to any god that would listen for him to go away.

A limo pulled up next to 177A Bleecker Street. As soon as it stopped, the worshippers grew silent, even Emily. She couldn't speak if she tried. Emily felt a pull inside her mind. There was no other word to describe it.

One by one, all of them began to walk away. Emily felt every muscle longing to leave with the throng, to go back home. Peace settled over her, a sense of joy. Why had she come here? She couldn't remember. She didn't want to remember. All she wanted was to go back home and rest.

She moved with the crowd, away from Bleecker Street. The limo driver, a man wearing deep red sunglasses, exited the car. Why was the man wearing red sunglasses? It didn't matter. It was fine. Everything was just fine. Emily opened her purse to put her phone away. She couldn't even remember why she'd had her phone out to begin with.

Her jagged screen caught on the fabric inside her purse. Her thumb slipped across the glass. The sharp edge sliced through her skin.

Pain gripped her mind, stronger than the pull to go home. It snapped Emily out of her mental oasis. The urge to leave still lingered, but it was muted. Like pillows piled high against a speaker, muffling the sound until she could no longer recognize the tune. Instead of wanting to go, she remembered why she was here, what she needed to do. Her stubbornness snapped the last threads of the desire to leave, and her mind was set free.

She shook her head as if to clear it. What the hell had just happened?

Sucking the trickle of blood from her thumb, she raised her phone to snap a quick photo of the limo driver. There was just enough light to see his face. He appeared to be close to her age, maybe a few years younger, and athletic. His psyche combined with those sunglasses made her doubt he drove limousines full time. He walked inside the house, and came out again a few minutes later carrying an older man who was bald and wearing a nice suit. The driver placed him in the back of the limo, while the Asian man Emily had met at the door of 177A earlier brought down the most unique wheelchair Emily had ever seen. She took pictures of it all.

One by one, a variety of cars arrived at the front of 177A to collect their occupants, and one by one an intriguing variety of men exited the house to leave. One of the men was Tony Stark. Her heart pounded as each man received plenty of snapshots from her phone. When the line of cars began to ease, Emily checked her cache of photos. She could make out every last detail of the men and building she'd captured.

Perfect.

Inside 177A, lights began to go out. Emily darted away. The last thing she wanted was another confrontation with the man she'd met earlier. If he was a sorcerer, and after speaking to so many people tonight she believed he definitely had some kind of extraordinary powers, she didn't want to stick around now that his party was over.

She stayed on the sidewalks, blending in with the crowds. The thought of taking a cab crossed her mind, but the memory of having her desires manipulated caused her to choose the subway. There was safety in numbers and in staying in public areas, after all. It took a lot longer to get to the East Village this way, but she didn't care.

She didn't feel safe until she walked past her doorman. And she didn't breathe a sigh of relief until she was back inside her apartment.

She locked the door behind her and fell against it in a rush of satisfaction. She'd done it. She'd gotten the pictures. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and a wide grin spread across her face. Maybe she could look into becoming a private investigator if she somehow lost this case.

"Hello Emily."

She screamed, her hand slamming against her mouth in alarm. The man from Bleecker Street suddenly stood five feet in front of her.

"Sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier." He held out his hand. "Doctor Stephen Strange. Sorcerer Supreme."

Equal parts fear and rage flooded through her body. "How the hell did you get in here…?"

"Sorcerer." He smiled.

She felt her anger dominate, overriding her fear. He looked the same as he had earlier, in casual pants and a shirt, nothing like the sorcerer he and all those worshippers claimed him to be.

"You seem to enjoy hanging around Bleecker Street," he said. "Was there something I could do for you?"

"You forced everyone to leave Bleecker Street," she accused. "You tried to force me to leave."

"No, I didn't."

"Oh really?" Sarcasm leapt from her throat. "Sorcerers can't bend people to do their will?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't have that level of telepathic ability."

"Someone inside that party did. And they almost forced me to do God knows what."

"They nudged you to go safely home, Emily. And if you hadn't broken the link, you would've been a lot happier than you are now." Stephen tilted his head to the side. "How did you break the link?"

Emily held up her thumb. "Cut myself."

"Pain can only do so much. You must have a very strong will."

"You bet your ass I do." Emily yanked her phone from her purse. "And I'm using it to call the police."

Her phone transformed into an emerald hummingbird in her hand.

Emily gasped and let it go. Her purse fell to the floor, but the hummingbird fluttered in front of her. It hovered in mid-air, its wings fluttering, before shifting and morphing before her eyes into a cell phone once again. It crashed onto the hardwood floor.

"Transmutation." Stephen gazed down at her crippled phone and shook his head. "You really should invest in a Lifeproof screen. It's invaluable, especially when battling the Skrull. Would you like to see mine?" Stephen pulled a cell phone seemingly out of thin air.

Emily didn't know whether he was trying to be funny, or if he was just making fun of her. She only knew her screen would be far worse now, and all of her hard work rested on her being able to open those photos. She felt tears fill her eyes, but she refused to cry in front of him. Instead she concentrated on bending down slowly to pick up her phone.

"Emily, wait."

She crouched down on the floor, her hand frozen just above her phone. Teardrops loomed at the edge of her eyes. If she blinked, they would fall.

She heard Stephen kneel down next to her. He placed his hand gently on hers.

Her tears fell then.

"I'm sorry," Stephen whispered. "I didn't come here to hurt you."

"What did you come here for?"

He wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed gently. Angry red scars lined his fingers. "To talk to you." With his free hand, he scoped up her phone.

She didn't trust herself to look at his face. She was afraid any tender expression she saw there would make her burst into sobs. Instead she waited, staring at the floor. As he stayed there beside her, continuing to hold her hand, she realized with embarrassment that he understood she was close to breaking down and was giving her time to collect herself.

Finally, she nodded. "I'm okay."

He handed her phone back to her. "Here you go."

Emily brushed away another rebel tear that had managed to escape. "Thank you." She turned the phone over and gasped. Her screen was fixed, not a single crack in sight. It was perfectly smooth.

She gazed up at Stephen in amazement. "How…? Oh, right. Sorcerer." She laughed, and more tears fell. She wiped them away as she checked her screen. Her phone was powered off. She pressed the button to turn it on again, but nothing happened. The screen stayed black.

"It won't turn on again until I leave," Stephen said. "Which I don't plan on doing until I find out why you want to take photos of everything going on around the Sanctum."

"The Sanctum? Is that what you call your house?"

"It's many things to many people, but that's its official title. It's a sanctuary for anyone who needs it."

Emily rubbed her eyes and walked to her couch. With a sigh of defeat, she collapsed on a soft cushion. "Okay, we can talk. But if we do, and you don't like what I say, promise me that you won't throw me into another dimension and sacrifice me to the bologna-eating spaghetti monster or something."

Stephen chuckled. It brightened his face, changing his entire demeanor. "You must have met Jerry. I'd forgotten he comes around with that throng outside."

"He talked my ear off for a good thirty minutes."

Stephen eased his way over to her couch and gestured, as if asking her permission to sit. She nodded. He made himself comfortable on the opposite end. "No matter what you tell me, I won't throw you into another dimension."

"Promise?"

He nodded.

"Even if what I say is a complete waste of your time?"

"Even then." His face became solemn. "And before I forget, I want to take this opportunity to thank you."

It took Emily a good three seconds to process the change in subject. "You want to thank me?" Emily couldn't remember the last time she'd been so caught off guard by someone. "For what?"

"For getting me to delete my Tinder account for starters. Complete waste of my time. Do you know how many psychotic people are on that app?"

"Oh my God!" She gasped. She tried not to laugh, but it bubbled out of her all the same. "It's you! I remember you now. You were the guy who said he was a wizard…"

"Sorcerer."

"Holy shit, I thought you were crazy!"

"Not crazy. Just honest. And speaking of honesty, let's talk about what you saw tonight."

Emily sighed. She had no idea what his reaction to her motives might be, and she always made it a point to learn how someone would react before she confessed to anything. "I witnessed several people, all of them men, leaving your house. And all of them had special powers, or seem connected to someone who does."

"You're a lawyer, not a private detective. So what were you doing there?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You said you couldn't read minds, so how do you know I'm a lawyer?"

Stephen pointed to the Harvard Law diploma proudly framed on the opposite wall.

"Oh. Right."

Stephen steepled his hands across his chest and waited.

She gave up. She was far too exhausted to even think up a credible lie about taking pictures, let alone make it convincing. "I am trying to find evidence for my client."

Stephen sat up stiffly, no longer relaxed. "Evidence about what?"

His sudden interest made her nervous, but there was nothing she could do but press on. "About enhanced people. Or mutants. I'm not sure which, but my client killed one of you in self-defense, and I need to know why."

"I'm not enhanced, Emily."

"But… you're a sorcerer."

He laughed, and the sound filled her apartment, rich and untamed. "I learned to be a sorcerer. With time and practice, anyone could do what I do. Even you."

"I seriously doubt that."

Stephen grew quiet. He also looked more relaxed since Emily had mentioned her case, which meant he wasn't trying to disguise the fact that enhanced people used his home or came there for help. But he was hiding something. She was sure of it. And whatever it was had to do with her being at his home when those men were there. She made a mental note for later. Time to turn this conversation to her advantage.

"Can you tell me about enhanced people?" she said.

"I don't know much, since I'm not enhanced myself. You probably know more than I do if you're actively researching a case…"

"Could a teenager be enhanced? Experimented on?" Emily found it hard to get those last two words out, to imagine a kid being tortured. "Or is a teenager more likely to be a mutant?"

"More likely, he would be a mutant. I can refer you to a friend of mine named Charles Xavier. He runs a school for gifted children, a place of safety where mutants can learn to use their powers for the good of humanity."

"Xavier, you said?" Emily got up to grab a notebook. The note app on her phone was in a coma, thanks to the sorcerer sitting on her couch. She scribbled Charles Xavier. And underneath that, Why so many men coming out of Bleecker Street? Secret meeting? Turning her mental note into a physical one.

Emily brought her note pad and pen back to the couch. As she swooped back down, Stephen sat up straighter. He never broke eye contact. She ignored the butterflies in her stomach and tried to concentrate on what she needed to ask him next, but instead it was him who spoke.

"Why are you a lawyer, Emily?"

This was not the direction she'd hoped their conversation would take. His question was kind, but it surprised her all the same. She hadn't been expecting him to venture beyond her activities on Bleecker Street. She deflected with humor, the way she always did when anyone got too personal. "Hey, I'm the one taking notes." A shaky smile formed on her lips. "Aren't I supposed to be asking the questions?"

Her nonchalance didn't work. He saw right through her and pressed on. "Because when you mentioned those experiments on people, you turned pale. It sickens you to think someone could be hurt in that way, especially a child."

She swallowed hard. The last thing she needed was him being able to read her face, even if he couldn't read her thoughts. "It does," she admitted.

"You know what I think?" He leaned forward. "I think you have doubts about your client."

Her throat went dry. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you've spent the better part of today searching for answers in a place that houses the very people you and your client are supposed to be afraid of."

Emily stared at him in stunned silence.

"It's amazing what you can hear with your eyes, isn't it?" he whispered.

She nodded. She had always prided herself on being able to read people, but Stephen must have taken a masters class. For one of the first times in her life, Emily couldn't find the right words to say. Seconds drew out, stretching the uncomfortable silence. When she finally spoke, she used the same reasoning she always did when people asked why she defended criminals. "It doesn't matter what I think. My client deserves a fair trial."

Stephen sighed. "Answers like that are why people don't like lawyers. Just so you know."

Emily glared back at him. "It's the truth."

"No. It's an excuse."

Her anger resurfaced, and with it came the strength she needed to fight. "I'm sorry my reasoning doesn't fit your moral standards."

"Actually, I have a feeling it doesn't fit yours."

She lost control and stood to her feet, shaking with rage. "I love how people like you want to judge me without knowing all the facts. You see my diplomas and think I had it easy, like all those rich kids I sat next to in lectures. I barely got into Harvard Law. I almost didn't go, but I wasn't about to pass up that kind of opportunity even if all my student loans are now higher than my mortgage. And my feelings about my client don't make any difference. I still have to do my best for him. Oh, and fun fact: If I don't win this case, I'll be out of a job. Which means I'll be out on the streets because, unlike you, I can't just use magic to make money appear out of thin air."

He rose to stand next to her, close enough that she could see the comfort in his eyes. There was more inside those eyes, too: empathy, maybe. Or acceptance. Standing next to him made her feel so small and vulnerable. She hated that feeling as much as she longed for him to understand her.

When he spoke, his voice was as soft as his gaze. "Would losing your job be so bad?"

"Yes. It would be. It's all I've done for over a decade, so unless you want to wave your magic wand and make Derrick Johnson alive again, this discussion doesn't matter."

Stephen went still. "Did you say Derrick Johnson?"

All the kindness in his eyes vanished. Emily's stomach fell to the floor.

"Did you know Derrick?" she asked.

The room was thick with tension. She could've cut it with a knife. Her head pounded as she tried to think her way out of this. Was Stephen related to Derrick? And if so, what was the sorcerer capable of, knowing she was defending the killer who had murdered him?

"No, I didn't know him," Stephen finally said.

A little bit of her apprehension dissipated, but only a little. His eyes were still cold. Emily exhaled. "Do you know Derrick's family?"

"No."

"But you recognized his name?"

"Yes."

"So... then you have to know something, right?"

"Sorry."

Here was a man who had chosen all of his words so carefully up to this point, which meant he was choosing to be belligerent. Emily felt her irritation rise, but she pressed on. "What about those men at your house tonight? Did they know Derrick?"

"No."

His monosyllabic answers were exasperating. "Are you going to tell me why they were there?"

He grinned. "Nope."

Damn him and his secrets. Emily allowed her emotions to boil over. "Then this conversation you wanted to have with me is over. I hope you got what you came here for."

"Actually, I did." Stephen held out his hand to her in a formal goodbye. "It was nice talking with you, Emily. Thank you for your time."

Again, his actions surprised her. She didn't know what to say. She had expected him to begin another mind game, or at least a battle of wits trying to find answers. All the wrath she had stored up was sucked out of her, replaced by a sudden sense of disappointment. She had no idea why. Shouldn't she be grateful he was finally leaving?

Emily kept her face impassive as she reached out to shake his hand. His touch was electric. She wanted to keep her hand resting inside his, and longed to yank it away at the same time.

"Thank you for fixing my phone," she said lamely.

He smiled. "You're welcome."

Stephen let go of her hand. The air around him electrified and … twisted somehow. Like ripples on an invisible pond, flowing out from the sorcerer standing at its center. Then he was gone.

Emily blinked once, twice, and looked around her studio apartment. "Stephen?"

No one answered her.

Her phone blinked on.

Emily let out a laugh of optimistic relief. At least that part of her night hadn't been a waste of time. She typed in her passcode, and opened her photos to download them into an email for Linda. Her boss could peruse them before their meeting and maybe brainstorm a secondary defense strategy that Emily hadn't thought of before.

But when her photos came up on her phone, her elation vanished. There was nothing to send. Every single picture from Bleecker Street was gone.

THANK YOU for reading everyone! Feel free to leave a review and let me know what you think.