It's been over a week now, and except for the unicorn boy, Maverick, I haven't trusted anyone with my condition. I tried going to the Rashoud Clinic; three times, in fact. The first time, I just stood across the street from the place for four hours. I wasn't the only one there, staring across the gulf of concrete and steel, but I was the only one not looking at it longingly. I left, mostly from hunger, but a little from fear. Whatever things I had known before, one of them was that the Rashoud Clinics were dangerous grounds for me. The second time I made it up to the doors before I realized that at some point I'd gone invisible. I listen to my instincts, so backed off and went to the library to do some research on nova groups. That's how I found out about the Blackburn. The third time was more of a lark, just to see if I had enough control over my power to stay in sight all the way to the front door. I did, but only barely. I was starting to sweat and my head was pounding by the time I let off it; that was it. I'm done with Rashoud Clinics and Project Utopia, at least for now.

So now I'm standing outside the Blackburn. There's no lizards crawling up my spine here, nothing at all really, except the cynic in my mind trying to map out the building well enough for escape routes and possible attack vectors. Nothing different than how I look at restaurants or libraries. Except that this place is full of novas. Which is why I'm here, right? Okay, then.

It really is a beautiful hotel. The bouncer standing outside the door frowned at me when I approached, letting me know the same thing as the sign behind him, that the club wouldn't be open for Wednesday Night Jazz Night for another four hours. He was watching me, looking me over as he spoke, courteously but firmly, and I think trying to see if he knew me. Interesting. He didn't. "And you won't get in dressed like that, miss."

I glanced down at my clothes, the same jeans, jacket, and scarf I've been wearing since my memory began. Jazz night, huh? So, some skimpy slinky shiny dress and a boa, oh and don't forget the kill-me heels. And I should really remember not to think to loudly to my clothing, as it has the tendency to obey. I've learned enough to know that it's a eufiber colony, and that only novas wear them. I also now know the jazz dresses are distressingly breezy and I am not used to high heels.

The man's demeanor changed, from gruff-but-polite to downright subservient in a heartbeat, his eyes going wide at as the clothing snaked it's changes around my body on a public street. "Pardon, miss, I didn't recognize you. Do you have business here, or wish to visit the Nightingale Room? I can have an escort called."

I shiver and order my clothing back to something sensible before I fall over. "It's alright. I don't recognize myself most days." It's not a joke, but he thinks it is and smiles in relief. "I'd like to talk to someone here. Someone discreet who is good at finding information." Someone safe, but I doubt that's an option. "Can someone like that be found here?"

The guard cracked an actual grin then, and opened the door for me. "I know just the one, miss. Go ahead and wait in the lobby while I send up for him." He motioned to plush couches and chairs set decoratively around the front room, and sat, waiting.

Henry was woken from his sleep by an old rotary phone ringing just in arm's reach of his head, sitting on the floor just a ways from a bare mattress that stunk of the man who'd died on it. Wearily, he relented to wakefulness, his eyes caught by the pale streamers of light that shot in through a series of haphazardly placed boards over the eighth story window. Minsk, he reminded himself. He'd spent the night in a bolt hole in Minsk. Only a few people knew the number here, and only two of them would call him. His arm lashed out and picked up the receiver.

"Hullo?"

A voice on the other end spoke.

"What's that?"

"'Eve'... You're right, there was some bird calling herself that. Made one post asking for New York novas and never came back."

"Well, I don't fucking know, Alex, maybe because I don't live in New York."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't be a such a cunt. I'll be right over. Cheers."

Hanging the receiver back up with a toss, Henry stood up, feeling the wood creak beneath his feet. Surveillance had gone well the night before, well enough that he could call it quits. He'd more than gotten what he needed, he thought, regarding the old 35mm camera sitting square in the middle of the room's only furniture, an old dining table with one rickety chair. Ponderously, he dressed himself, putting on his trousers and shirt, its burgundy tie still tied and loose around the collar, his loafers, and then retrieved his jacket from an exposed length of pipe he'd used for a hook. With a barely audible pop, he opened a doorway to somewhere lush, green, and elegant, picked up the camera, and tossed it onto a nearby ottoman that on its own cost more than most people can bear to spend on a small house. With a flick of his wrist, the door closed, and he opened another, this one to an equally familiar location, but much less quiet, bull of bass and chatter, an unending torrent of voices and noise.

"I'm in", he said out loud to nowhere in particular, walking plainly through the gate into his old office space at the Blackburn Hotel, itself barely a pip more luxurious than the place he'd just left.

"I can see", a disembodied voice, that of a young man, seemed to come from nowhere. "She's downstairs, waiting. Lenox buzzed you twice, already."

Henry grunted somewhat and muttered, slipping off his overcoat and leaving it on the proper coat rack in his office, then retrieving a half-empty pack of cigarettes from the desk drawer, lighting one on the third try with an all but empty bic, and made for the elevator.

His finger mashed the lobby button. "How is she?", he asked to the open car.

"You'll know better than I could, once you see her. I don't know, man. Nervy. Leery."

"Good enough", he nodded, the car going straight to the ground floor, the doors opening with a slightly magnetic hiss that betrayed the old world furnishings and decor the Blackburn boasted. Acknowledging a few of the regular faces at the hotel as he made his way to the lounge with a polite but weary smile, he found the woman who calls herself 'Eve' sitting uncomfortably in a very comfortable chair, and dressed for the weather.

"I hope you weren't waiting long", he smiled at her gently, closing the distance between them with an offered hand. "'Eve', correct? I'm Henry Yeager, 'Cain', if you like. What can I do for you?"

When he held out his hand I realized I wasn't really in the habit of touching people; the minor technicality of not know at this point if I'd accidentally poison them. I returned his smile, apologetic and nervous he'd take it the wrong way.

"No, not long, Mr. Cain." I lowered my voice so that nothing would carry beyond the us. Kind of clandestine, I guess, but I seemed used to that. I motioned to his proffered hand, "I mean no rudeness, please understand. Is there somewhere less...exposed, we could speak in? Somewhere with less people?"

"Not at all, love", he smiled, betraying no hint of reservation or appearance of considering her request odd. "I keep something resembling an office a few floors up, and it will serve our purposes quite neatly."

Everything about her was shy and awkward, hesitant, watchful, like a bowstring pulled taught to the point of snapping. He wondered if this was her natural nature, or if someone or something had spooked her to this. It couldn't have been the former; who could live like that for any length of time? He wasn't even sure why the woman called herself "Eve", and her appearance didn't sell her out, either. She didn't look like Bounty, who was the closest corollary he could think of in terms of names. Maybe she looked uncomfortable because she wasn't nude? Maybe she was just really, really fertile. He almost smirked at the thought.

It was plain enough that she was wearing eufibre, even though she'd put it into a solid state, it still bristled and vibrated in little ways you wouldn't notice unless you were attuned to such things. Where in the world had she acquired such a thing? What an enigmatic young woman. Truth be told, he confessed to himself, he was glad for the diversion, and the mystery. He couldn't do much about the fact that his life was an endless string of defeats and failures, but hell, at least they could be interesting.

"If you'd care to come with me?", he gestured towards the elevator.

I followed him into the elevator and up to the office on the fourth floor. I managed not to fidget, but I felt so exposed, so vulnerable. I just kept taking everything in, going over details like the squeel of one of the wheels in the pully system of the elevator. It needed oil or a slightly thicker metal for better tone. One of the two. I could feel a steady trickle of adrenaline throughout my system, and started walking in an odd heel-toe heel-toe fashion. I couldn't even hear my own steps.

Once we were in the office I could relax a little, though the readiness was still there. I thought about taking a seat, but I just would have fidgeted and felt confined. "Thank you for speaking with me. I can only repay that kindness right now with the sum total of my situation." I took a breath, having rehearsed for two days now, and managed, "I do not know who I am. I know I am a nova. I know of two...abilities of mine. I- my memory goes back perhaps two weeks. Right now I am looking for someone that might be able to help me. I'm more concerned with my current situation, my homelessness and unemployment, than my memory. That can come once I am secured and stable." I swallowed and mentally ticked off my list of points I'd wanted to cover once I'd made contact with someone. I held out my wrist to him, the one with the small almost-medical bracelet. One side was the twined silver snakes around a golden double helix in relief, and the other side was engraved with the inscription 'Eve, who is every woman.' "This is my only possession other than my...than my eufiber."

I watched him, both tense and curious as to what he would make of my situation and the questions he would ask.

He'd nearly stopped her at "I can only repay...", since what usually follows is some bollocks hard-luck story that somehow precludes the exchange of large and painful sums of cash. Which was exactly what he'd gotten, although at least it was interesting, which was more than he could say for the day's events thus far, and besides, an enigma like the woman that was Eve presented an altogether unique form of mystery, one that had potential for being profitable in ways other than monetary in the solving. It wasn't that he couldn't be a good Samaritan, he reflected, and he confessed a certain small excitement at the idea of doing the kind of job that's usually left to Rashoud Clinic staff. He flashed on the idea of operating a sort of orientation clinic for the newly-erupted run by novas, Terats, but quickly shoved it aside for the time being. Something to discuss with Raoul later.

As the woman who was Eve spoke, Henry regarded her with inscrutably stern interest, his brow furrowed in a pensive knot, scouring her story and her body language for holes, clues, anything that might be helpful. He didn't want to frighten her: Syn was right, the girl was nervier than a noncommittant suicidal.

"First", he said, raising his index finger, "as to your homelessness and unemployment, I think I can remedy both. If you'd prefer to maintain your low-key presence, I'm sure that I can arrange a job for you here at the Blackburn, and considering the circumstances, that'll include room and board. If you specifically want to get out of the area, I know a bloke who can set you up in Madrid. Either way, the work will be light and the life subsistent, until you can find something more to your liking.

"Two", he continued before she could speak, "as to the mystery of who you are. Given a little time and some cooperation - nothing fancy, love, just a bit more depth to your story, a set of fingerprints - I do believe I can help unravel that question for you, as well. Now, I don't work pro bono, love, at least not usually. But your case, well, I have to say, I'm intrigued, and I do want to help you. So as to terms, what do you say to an agreement between equals to resolve the matter in favors at some later date? Aces?"

Conflicting emotions seem to be my MO. On the one hand, his offer of employment, even boring employment, has me near jumping in joy. I realized I'd been bored, horridly bored, for the past several days, and feeling absolutely lost without any sort of useful activity to engage in. 'Net surfing and wondering if I wanted my memories back did not count as gainful employment to me. On the other hand, probably the left, I wasn't so keen on making open promises to men I'd just met. He didn't know the extent of what I could do, and I'm pretty sure this one of the kindest offers he'd made in a while to strange women that show up on his doorstep penniless and begging for help. Still.

I realized I'd been spacing off for a moment too long as the silence in the room became loud. I took the seat now, serious and focused. "Thank you for the offers, both of them. For the employment, I would be quite grateful. I've no real desire to leave New York or to stay. Either is fine." I look down at my hands, wondering if this next bit would ruin the kindness I'd been shown. "Though perhaps leaving the city would be a wise choice. I have one memory, which is how I know of my second ability. It is...unpleasant."

I look up him, "I'm bringing this up because I cannot agree to future favors with no conditions, simply because of what I am capable of." I smile in kindness, trying to soften any sting or insult he might perceive in my words. "I do not mean to cast aspirations on you, but I also do not wish to give my word if I will not keep it." My fingers are worrying at the cuffs of my jacket. I take a breath, knowing I may be attempting to escape this place in few moments to avoid incarceration for murder. "I poisoned a man, Mr. Cain. I do not know why, nor who he was. My memory is merely of the act, of somehow poisoning him by a touch and then leaving him to die." I shiver at the coldness in me at this. It could not have been the first time.

He almost wanted to laugh, and probably didn't only because he wasn't completely heartless. For all he knew, the guy Eve had accidentally killed was a good man, with a family that relied upon him. But he could have given every cent he had to war orphans, and it wouldn't have changed the fact that the deed was done, and accidentally, no less, so there was really little more to be done about it. Getting her out of New York would be an obvious necessity at this point, but honestly, now, getting knotted up because you accidentally twatted someone with powers you can't control? Regrettable, but hardly worth flogging yourself over.

Still, because he wasn't heartless, his face dropped, a somber, commiserating drop, and he nodded slightly, understanding. "That's unfortunate, Miss Eve, and if it makes you feel better, you're free to punish yourself 'til doomsday about it. But my understanding of the situation is that you possess an infirm mastery of a series of powers you're all but totally in the dark about. What happened to that man was tragic, and if it pleases yeh, you can make recompense in time. I'll even help you track the fellow down. But you'll benefit no one by getting arrested and put through a baseline legal system for what amounts to an accident."

He leaned back in his chair, the thing squeaking out for want of oil, and drew a black packet of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, pulling one out and lighting it. "For now", he continued thoughtfully, "we can adjourn to your new digs as soon as you're ready. I'll have to prevail upon a mate of mine to arrange it for you, but it should be little trouble." He smiled knowingly at the woman across the table, clarifying "Raoul is always willing to go out on a limb for a beautiful woman. You be careful of that man, love. Nice fellow, but he's quite the lady killer.

"Oh! But forgive me!", he leaned forward, almost as if in surprise, producing the pack from his pocket and offering it forth. "Fancy a fag?" Almost as an afterthought, and before she could respond, a look of momentary confusion came over him, "Eh, now... What might happen to be your first power?"

I shook my head at the offer of the cigarette. It smelled awful, but hospitality said that I should ignore minorly offensive habits of my host. He seemed to think what I'd done was an accident. That was sweet, and I'm pretty sure that I've used assumptions of my innocence due to my age or sex to my advantage before. I stood up and pushed that part of me that was unearthly until I couldn't hear myself anymore. I could see from the look on Cain's face that I'd disappeared on him. Crossing the two steps to his desk, I leaned across it with my hand resting just an inch from his face. Then I unraveled my invisibility, and looked him firmly in the eyes. "It wasn't an accident, Mr. Cain. In my memory I entered his home, murdered him, and left. I was in control. In that time I knew what I was doing, and why. It is only now that I am confused."

I leaned back, never having touched him. "I am not punishing myself. I do not know why I murdered him; I have only a brief understanding of how. I was simply making you aware of as much of the situation as I am capable of. Who is Raoul?" I hadn't meant to ask that yet. I guess the lack of sleep and all the strangers and strangeness was finally getting to me. I need....something. Something dark and quiet and faintly musty, with the gravel of an old man's voice speaking from somewhere close.

Unraveling this bird's head was proving to be less puzzle and more punishment than he was in for. He was observant, after all, but he wasn't a bloody mind reader. So she'd killed the bloke on purpose, it turned out. Might not have even been the only time, it's just the only time she could remember. Still, that was no concern of his. There was no time to internally soliloquize about morality, but suffice it to say that Henry had, himself, long since dispensed with his inherent sense of outrage at the killing of another human being. The thing she seemed most concerned about now was the idea that she couldn't remember the wherefore of the aforementioned murder. Her jarring transitions between nerve-wracked amnesiac and cold-blooded assassin babe was a little perplexing; Henry found himself wondering if perhaps this woman was more trouble than she was worth, and momentarily regretting extending his offer for aid to such an extent. All the same, damage was done.

"Raoul?", he countered somewhat sceptically, wondering aloud how anyone could not know the name. "Count Orzaiz. He's one of the founding members of the Teragen, and probably the closest thing we have to a Public Relations face." He almost said more, perhaps some things he should not have said, but stopped himself. It was easy, when talking about Raoul, to go on too long. He'd learned his discretion the hard way.

I almost smiled. He seemed to like this Count Orzaiz or at least talking about him, and friendship was a quality of the elite. "And you think he would not mind me staying in his home?" Very little of this had been like what I had read on the OpNet sites of the Teragen. Then again, none of those sites had had any claim to objectivity whether they were fan or detractor sites. My thoughts strayed for a moment, and in the spirit of glasnost I spoke up on another matter, "Also, I may have perhaps at third ability. I haven't slept since my memory returned to me. I feel a little fatigued, but hardly what would be appropriate. Is there a safe place or method for determining any other talent I may have? One that does not involve the Rashoud Clinics."

"Yes", he responded without hesitation, glad to finally be thrown a question he could answer easily and without pondering. "There are several in our organization who specialize in nova studies, and I could name a few right off that could help you more in a couple days than the twats at Utopia could with months of your time and an army of baseline scientists. Non-invasive, too", he smirked. "As to Raoul, there won't be any problems. S'good PR, what he does. Don't be disappointed if it doesn't come out of the man's own good heart; you'll still have a place to stay, and you'll be safe, and that's what counts, aye?

"Oh. Also, what you're describing", he continued, "isn't all that uncommon, by the way. A lot of novas get better metabolisms when we erupt. Some of us don't even sleep t'all, anymore. S'weird, right?"