For the millionth time, I wished I hadn't taken this job.

Oh, it's glorious the first few days—running around and going places—but let me tell you: most days sucked.

This was the tale of how I destroyed New York City.

Or at least, a small part of it.

It was sunny—a little too much for my taste. Pulling on my headscarf lower to hide my face, I navigated through strings of daily commuters. Blend in, I say to myself as much as I wished I hadn't taken this job. My eyes flitted everywhere, drinking in even the minuscule details. After everything I've sacrificed to get here, I can't afford to get sniffed out again.

The past few days have been hectic. I can't even remember what it's like to sleep for eight hours. My eyes were heavy and I lived off of my savings, buying donuts and instant coffee. As I walked through the city's winding streets, I noticed a man in shades reading a newspaper in the nearby cafe. Looks suspicious, if you ask me, or maybe I was just getting paranoid. Most people in New York have shades and read newspapers.

I lengthened my steps, eyeing the subway entrance. At least, if those creatures attack me, there would be less witnesses. Or more, depending on the rush hour. I checked the cracked watch on my wrist. Huh. 11:30 AM. Good.

People streamed past me, brushing me in the shoulders and tripping over my orange suitcase where I stashed the journals, my laptop, and a few sets of clothes. Most of the people didn't give me even a sideways glance, used to tourists looking lost in the streets of this vast city. No one bothered me, of course, until the moment I reached the first step of the stairs.

I was yanked backwards. My suitcase and my scarf flew back; the orange case skittered across the pavement. Every head present in the street turned to look at me. To them I must have been a poor, confused girl sprawled on the ground, looking like someone pooped on her.

They weren't seeing what I was seeing.

The newspaper man in shades morphed into a tall humanoid with fire for hair, burning with orange flames sticking up to the sky. Pointy ears stuck at both sides of the humanoid's head; his eyes flashed with magma-like intensity as he swept his head around the vicinity.

Panic gripped my throat as I scrambled back with my hands towards my fallen suitcase. The humanoid stepped forward, his clothes alone were enough to power a Girl Scouts' campfire. He took his time, one step at a time, as he swept his hand past a sheaf of napkins by the white table by his right, it promptly burst into flames.

People started screaming. I yanked my suitcase up. What were they seeing, even?

No time to wonder about that. I dragged my suitcase into the nearest curb, crouched down, and wrenched it open. The journals greeted me in the most insulting manner as I snatched them out of their cage. I looked behind me where the screams had faded into a couple of hushed whimpers. Flames feasted on a nearby table umbrella. Just great.

I hugged the journals close to my chest, stood up, and ran for the life of me. Praise heavens for cloud storage that let me leave my laptop without a thought.

I rushed past the hordes, slamming shoulders and tripping commuters. Some cursed at me, muttering gibberish swear words in their accented English that I only hear in movies. I ignored them. They weren't going to be fried to a crisp the next minute if a flaming man caught up to them.

The journals dug to my chest as I tore through New York's lengthy manicured pavements. Screams and cars screeching harassed my ears as my footsteps deepened. My breaths came in short, quick gasps as my eyes searched for a building where my best friend said he currently stays at. I needed to get to him before the campfire fairy got me.

I ducked into the nearest alley, taking note of the street. His apartment should be along this road.

A loud crash made me look back as the flaming fairy crossed the street behind me and slowed. The corners of the humanoid's lips pulled up to reveal pointed teeth as he smiled. Ew. Creepy.

I froze in my tracks as I watched him come across a parked car. Anger twisted his smile into a distasteful frown. Then, I flinched when he slammed his hand on the car's hood. The humanoid shrieked as he hefted the car above his head like it was made of goose down.

With a grating, metallic shriek, the car split in two as the humanoid pulled it apart with his flaming, bare hands. My throat dried up as the flaming man tossed the halves away. The road screaming as metal hit it when the car skidded more than two blocks away.

I expected there to be screams. Instead, there was silence. People started to look harder. Some took out their phones and began filming. No, they culdn't make sense of what's happening, but they tried. When humans try, something worse is bound to happen.

The flaming man locked eyes with me, taking step after step forward as I went farther back. My knees shook.

Then, the humanoid flinched as light speared for his face. I cursed when my eyes landed on the source. A boy not older than fifteen held his phone with the flash on, casting a weak spotlight on the humanoid's fiery face. No doubt he was recording the whole thing.

The flaming fairy shrieked and charged at the boy. Oh, dear son of a—

I threw the journals away and lunged for the boy. I reached him just as the flaming man swung for the boy's arm. The boy gave a confused yelp as we slammed into the ground.

"Run," I rasped to the boy. He looked blankly at me for a few seconds before picking himself up and getting his ass away from here.

The air around me heated up and I turned just in time as the humanoid lunged for me. My breath caught up in my throat as I ducked and rolled, coming to a stop a few distance away.

Come on, think!

Desperation ate at my gut as I looked around for something that could buy me enough time to run and reach my friend. Sweat beaded from my forehead from the combination of New York humidity and the walking oven stalking towards me. I crawled backwards with my rear scratching the pavement and my wrists carrying the weight of my body.

My hands brushed a phone. It was the phone the boy used to film. I closed my hand around it as the flaming fairy stepped closer. His eyes narrowed, studying me. Realization hit me. He was sniffing for the journals.

His face curled into a scowl when he didn't find them on me. My face betrayed me when my eyes suddenly flicked to the curb where I—ahem— dumped the journals. He followed where I was staring and forgot about me.

I let the phone fly. It landed on the fairy's fiery hair and exploded. I covered my head as splinters of melting plastic rained on me, the stench wafting into my nasal cavity enough to make me gag. The fairy swatted at the smoke billowing around him.

Go!

I dashed forward, pumping my legs with the last of my adrenaline. I aimed for the curb. A growl threatened to freeze me in my tracks but I shook my head. Come on. Forward. My shoes skidded across the pavement as I reached the curb. I bent down, snatched the journals up, and ran again.

People gave a wide berth to me, their confused eyes indicating they at least knew that there's something going on. The streets, shops, and cars bled into a blurry image in my head. Footsteps and the sound of asphalt squishing as it melted resounded behind me. There's no way I could outrun a creature like that.

I need to shut it down. I need to buy myself some time. I need to—

An idea popped into my head as motorcycle after motorcycle parked in random restaurants passed by me. Their owners were out, probably getting midday Starbucks or something.

What could make the flames die? Water. I almost stopped to laugh giddily about my idea. Then, the thundering footsteps reminded me of what was going on. Just a little more.

There.

I spotted a fire hydrant across the street, standing still and glowing rose red. Its arms were almost waving at me in a friendly greeting. Sorry, hydrant. Big sis needs what was inside you today.

I need something heavy to hit it though. Come on, think! I swerved my head to the motorcycles. Aha!

I tucked the journals inside my jacket and hoped they would not fall off. A motorcycle parked in a nearby takeout came up. No time to lose; no lives to gamble. I threw my leg across it and revved the engine. Thankfully, the owner was kind enough to leave the keys on. Foolish move.

The motorcycle screeched as I leaned to the side. Smoke and noise tore through the midday air as I recalled all my driving lessons with my father back home. I pushed past the New York speed limit and aimed towards the fire hydrant.

Thoughts dragged themselves away from my brain as a strange crunching sound filled the silence. My world slowed; I was weightless.

Then, time caught up to me and my wrists slammed into the pavement to stop my fall. Water burst forth in strong currents, dousing me and consequently, the journals. Stars danced in my eyes as I flailed in the salty hydrant water. I tripped, half-blind.

The water tasted weird. I sputtered and I maneuvered my way out of the fountain I made. The flaming humanoid screamed as he ran but it was too late to stop with the speed he got on me.

The fairy slammed into the torrent and shrieked for the last time, his flames snuffing out as if someone had blown on it.

I panted, shivering from the cold wind that whipped past me. Did I make it out alive? I think I did. I might have broken something as I hit the ground but who cares about that?

Surveying the scene, I found the motorcycle missing its front wheel, the fire hydrant bent into a recognizable letter, and the fairy shrieking bloody hell, sprawled on a puddle of water. He looked so pathetic without his flames.

People gathered around with more phones trained on me and the scene around me. I have no time for this. There might be more creatures around. Sirens wailed not too far ahead.

I needed to move fast. Get out of here.

I picked myself up, patted the journals inside my sopping jacket, and turned away. I ran all the way to my friend's apartment.

"Reigl, what the hell?!" my best friend, Denny, said when he opened the door to reveal me.

I pushed past him, unwittingly getting his clothes and his floor drenched. "Talk later," I rasped.

I moved towards the lone rosewood table he had in the center of the room. In one arm-length sweep, I drove everything atop it to the floor. Something cracked. A laptop crunched.

Reaching into my jacket, I pulled the journals and slammed them into the table. Thanks for giving me hell, by the way.

I expected them to be sopping wet like I was, but when I studied them I found out that they were, in fact, dry.

Bullcrap. I shouldn't have protected them like I did.

Someone tapped my shoulder and I whirled around and pinned the person on the dark green couch beside the table.

"Ray, it's me, Denny!" my best friend shouted. His eyes were wide as he dragged them up and down my face.

I let him go. He sat up, rubbing his neck. He looked at me with his iconic confused face.

"Sorry. Reflexes," I shrugged, moving on to the journals.

"What has gotten into you?" Denny demanded after some time, picking himself up to loom over me. "How did you find me? How did you get here? The last time I checked, you're on the opposite side of the world."

"Correction, we are eight thousand, two hundred and seven miles apart and not even half of the estimated diameter of the earth," I snapped, dusting the journal on top as if that did something.

"Huh, smart ass," Denny muttered.

"I looked it up on Wikipedia, in case you're interested," I flipped through the journals and cursed when I remembered I didn't have my laptop anymore. "To answer your question, I believe you told me where you live over PMs."

Denny shook his head and plucked his phone from his pocket. "Where in the world is 'an unflattering imitation of a Mario game mixed with beige-ish paint' to you?" he scrolled through his phone and waved the screen at me, demanding an answer.

I slumped against his couch. "Seriously, Denny?" I waved my arms at him exasperatedly. "You pose with your friends at your gate and post it on Instagram!"

Denny's ears reddened as he brought his phone to his face. "Wha— you little stalker!" he shouted.

"It was all over your profile!" I shouted back. I sighed and plopped my head against his couch. Never mind that I was dripping water on it. "Besides, I wouldn't have to bother you if I'm not in dire need of help right now."

"Yeah, I figured," Denny plopped onto the couch beside my head and inclined his neck to study me. "You look awful."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Captain Genius."

"Okay, so what brought you here?" Denny scratched his head, frowning at the mess I made with his things.

"I need money to go somewhere very far from here, a laptop and a new suitcase," I blew a breath and gestured from the journals to myself. "And some extra clothes. As you can see."

He blinked. "That's...very specific."

I grinned at him. "That's my specialty," I put my hands together and made a pouty face. "Please?"

Denny scratched his neck. "The thing is..." he began to say. "I am low on resources right now."

I stood up. "Okay. Nice talk. I'll see myself out."

Denny lunged for my arm and pulled me back. "Wait!" he yelled a little too loudly. "I know someone who could help you and she's super rich!"

I narrowed my eyes at him as I sank next to him on the couch, forgetting that I was, in fact, a living mop. "You have a girl."

"I—" Denny's cheeks flushed. "You could say that."

My grin widened. I poked his side. "Oooh, you big geezer! You've got yourself a dalagita!"

"Yes, and she's coming over now, so I think we could settle something with her," Denny ran his hands on the back of his neck.

"First, get me something to change into. I'm freezing," I ran my hands on my arms to signify just that.

Denny nodded and peeled himself off the couch. "Yeah, sure."

Denny disappeared into the other room. A minute later, he emerged carrying a bundle of clothes.

"I have nothing that can fit you and these are the only ones I could think of," Denny held up black sweatpants and a blue hoodie.

I beamed. Hoodies could never go wrong. "That's enough. Thanks!"

I pushed past him and disappeared to the other room to change. Denny's my best friend. There was no malice between us.

"So, why New York?" he asked as I was going back to the main room. He had a look like that of a sad puppy whose own mother left him. Did he miss his family at all or was I just imagining things? Where are tito and tita anyway? Portland? "You could have saved a lot of money by going to Malaysia or something that is closer."

I scoffed. "Yeah, and my best friend is in Malaysia."

Denny narrowed his eyes. "Where'd you even get the money?" he asked, his accent still carrying a hint of home. "Flights here are expensive."

I shrugged, hanging my clothes to dry on his hamper. "Savings," I quipped. Never mind that I picked a lot of pockets from Quiapo before I got on a plane leaving for the US. "Besides, I need long flights and New York seems to be the best place to go."

"Why do you even need long flights?" Denny scratched his chin.

My stomach soured thinking about the real reason. I sighed. "I work better on planes."

Denny's attention moved to the journals. He picked one up from where I'd left them. "Yeah, but what's this? Why are you carrying Nat Geo magazines?"

My immediate thought was huh? until my brain computed that Denny was an average and normal human being and I'm not. I shrugged again. "Uh, it helps with the inspiration," I pressed my lips together and licked them.

He didn't press. That's one thing I like about Denny. He had that dexterity to know you're not ready to talk about something.

I settled back on the couch, prying my wet shoes off my feet. The sudden removal made my feet feel tingly and cold. I tossed my shoes away.

Denny sat beside me, still wary. I raised my eyebrow. "So, you didn't tell her about me?"

Denny pursed his lips and shrugged. "Didn't come up in a conversation."

Oh. I leaned back, resting my aching back against the couch. "Won't she think it weird?" I crossed my arms and inclined my head at my best friend. "That an unknown girl is here in your apartment?"

Denny's ears reddened. "You know, on the bright side, we should get you out."

"Get who out, Denver, and why are the police at your front door?" a female voice erupted from the other side of Denny's door. "God, I had to get into a fist fight with an officer to get here!"

Blood drained from my face. My dear fire-bottoms.

It seems like I would be destroying more than that part of New York City today.