Starchild

Wizards of Bleecker Street

The Sanctum Sanctorum might be one of the most magical places here on Midgard, even keeping in mind the powerful covens around. It also works as a home for the wizards currently protecting it, Doctor Strange and Wong, and as a place for magical refugees to stay, like me.

I have been assigned a room at the end of the east hallway of the second floor - the furthest room from Strange's. A detail that I immediately noticed, and that he knows I noticed. Wong's room is in another hallway, closer to the library.

My temporary room has nothing special to it; it's not as big as the ones in Asgard, but it's not tiny. It is bigger than the room Sabrina once gave me, at least. The few colours are dark and most things are made out of wood, giving my surroundings a smell very different from the castle. It has only one simple window, which these last two days has helped me get an idea of Midgard's clothing, based on the humans I watch walk in front of the building - clothing that I quickly copied on myself.

A knock on the door makes some dust fall off the old wood planks. A true magical home.

—We are going out to eat, come on. —Wong says from the door, —I don't feel like cooking today. —

Without a second thought, I start walking behind him. The halls feel shorter than they look, thanks to the illusional factor of the building, which makes it easier when one wants to get to some place quickly. Going down the stairs, I look at Wong, —After we come back, may I finally visit the library? —

Even though Strange and I's first interaction happened in the library, I still have not been able to go back there. It is protected with magic, so I cannot sneak in with a simple spell.

—No. Strange and I agreed that you should not have access to it. Demons are enemies, after all. You probably understand our concern. —

I frown. —Yet you want me to teach you about my magick. —

He does not comment further.

Strange is waiting for us at the door. Just like Wong, he is wearing normal Midgardian clothing. He looks at my own, —Who did you copy that outfit from? —

—Some gentleman. —I shrug.

He raises his eyebrows, —Well, a black turtleneck and dress pants would be considered formal by many. Maybe too formal for lunch. You should change into something more casual, like what I'm wearing. —

I look down at what I am wearing. It's something Father would definitely like. —This looks better, though. —

Strange sighs. —Alright. Let's go. —

The busy streets of the city - which I believe is called "New York" - are louder when you are walking among them. Their density is underestimated until you are struggling to keep up with two totally average men who know this place like the palm of their hands, and who for some reason love walking as fast as possible.

Every human is looking down, focused on their steps or their devices. They all look very different, both in their clothing and their appearance, yet they all follow the same paths and actions as the others. The tall buildings are covered in technology, showing what I suppose is advertising, for the same products with different names.

Noise; what a distraction. The voices, and the vehicles, and the horns, and the steps, and the other voices that nobody else can hear are getting overwhelmingly louder in my surroundings. This city alone has more civilians than the entirety of Asgard, and every second that passes, it seems like the number increases.

A few of them sneak glances at me. What do they see?

—Lokidottir. You stayed behind. Wong is already getting us a table. —Strange is next to me again, us two now standing right in the middle of the crowd. The humans don't mind; they simply walk around us.