Don't touch my lighter. That's rule number one.
Rule number two: don't speak when I'm trying to think. In fact, don't even breathe. It's annoying.
And the infamous third rule: don't mention my family. Ever.
I'm Valerie Murray. I'm not going to explain the third rule, because if I did, I would most likely have to kill you, or at least send you into a coma for the rest of your miserable life. But the first and second are fairly easy.
#1: Touch the lighter and you die.
The lighter was a present from my mother. Her name is Roxanne, and she's a Shifter, like me. That is the end of the discussion about her.
The lighter itself is nice. It's a nondescript silver color, but the etchings on the bottom say otherwise. It has my name there, and my date of birth. Since I obtained it, I have carved spirals and swirls into the sides of it, whenever I'm bored or have free time. That's not often.
But the reason no one touches it is because it serves a far greater purpose than just making a small candle flame. According to my mother, will tell me when I've found my father. I'm still trying to figure out how exactly a lighter will speak to me, but finding my father is something I've been trying to do for three years or so.
#2: Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe.
Don't blink. Ha ha. Anyone see what I did there? No?
Yeah, don't interrupt me while I'm trying to plan something. It would be best for you to not even think, because even that bothers me. I'm no Whisperer, but neural activity disrupts me just the same. It's one of the downsides of being a super.
A super. Superhuman, not superhero. Superheros tend to be male, and they wear a lot of tight fitting clothing. Seriously, no one wants to see that. Superhumans are a lot easier to deal with. They could be anybody, anywhere. Some may not even know they have powers until a certain age, or until something happens to them.
Me, I've known my whole life I was different. And not just because my mother raised me that way. When I'm angry, bad things tend to happen. Once when I was in the second grade, a girl threw sand at me. I got mad, and the entire sandbox around her turned into a pool of lava. It wasn't real, of course, but it gratified my small mind to see her scream. As a Shifter, I can't actually turn one thing into another. Not on the scale of a sandbox, anyway. I've been practicing with smaller objects, but I still haven't gotten the hang of it.
What I can do is change the appearance of things. I can turn what a simple wallet into what you would perceive to be a grenade. But for me, it's much larger than just a wallet. Most Shifters can't change things on a large scale, but I can. I've been able to turn cottages into a backdrop of trees, a chain-link fence into an impassable wall. It's very useful in my line of work.
Which is serial killing.
* * * * *
Istanbul, Turkey
I wrapped my coat tighter around my form as I stepped out of the hotel and into the cold air. Fumbling with the zipper, I pulled it up to my chin, then reached for a cigarette that I always kept available in my left pocket. My hands were steady as I flicked the lighter on. I held the flame to the end of the cigarette, then sucked on the other end. Releasing the smoke into the cold night, I snapped the lighter closed and returned it to my jeans pocket.
No one would find the body until morning. That gave me a little under six hours until daylight broke over the skyline. I took another drag on the cigarette, then let out a sigh of relief. This was the time when I felt most alive, after I had taken another life. It made me feel strong, free, invincible. If I could kill a fully grown person, themselves equipped with powers similar to my own, then I could do anything.
It had helped that I had found the time to teach myself a bit of Stealthing, bending light waves to make myself invisible. That was one of the reasons why the Mirage was so elusive. It's not hard to hide when no one can see you.
I laughed out loud. And they actually thought the Mirage was a man! No man could accomplish what I had in the last three years.
The mark this time had been a Wiper, a man who had cleaned the minds of many former Division agents. I had felt justified as I sent the bullet into his body. He would destroy no more. But my next target was going to be much harder to reach. She had proved herself elusive, gliding swiftly under my radar. That was why I decided to take the chance and call on my cousin. It wasn't often that I disturbed him, but it wasn't often that I needed help.
But Leon Foster owed me a favor. And I was counting on him to repay me.
