Storm, page 2
Ororo stumbled, limping away from the crash site. Emergency workers had begun digging through the destruction, moving debris and helping injured people up. But no one tried to stop her as she wandered. She was just another kid in the crowd. Her feet led her down a nearby alleyway as a mob of people tried to push past her for a better look, peering at where her home once stood. While others were running toward the terrible bad thing, she was drifting away.
“Hey! You!”
Ororo whipped around. A boy stood on top of a crumbled piece of concrete. He was older, maybe by a few years, and dressed in dirty jeans, a black shirt with a brown scarf wrapped around his neck, and gray sneakers. His jet-black hair was pushed back and tied in a small ponytail.
“Never seen you around,” he said with a curious expression. “Who are you?”
Ororo rubbed her arms, backing away. “Please…”
He cocked his head to the side. “What’s wrong with your hair?”
She trembled. What was wrong with her hair? Her mother had never truly explained. And now her mother was surrounded by hot darkness. Her legs started to feel numb, a chill overtaking her.
“It’s…it’s…just this way,” she said through chattering teeth.
The boy blinked in surprise. “You’re American.” He looked back at the crash. “Wait. Were you on that plane?”
She shook her head.
“No,” she whimpered, eyes filling with tears. “We were home. My mother. Daddy…”
The words didn’t seem real. She must be dreaming, she tried to reason with herself as her body swayed.
The boy glanced back at the crash site and the onslaught of people gathering.
“Do you have any other family?” he asked softly.
Ororo thought hard. She didn’t know of anyone else. It had always just been the three of them. And now her parents were gone.
She shook her head.
He whistled through his teeth. “Damn.”
That was when it truly hit: Ororo was all alone. Where would she go now? Where could she even go?
“What’s going to happen to me?” she wondered out loud.
“Well. Nothing,” the boy said. “You’re one of us now. You’ll be in the streets, with the rest of the kids who don’t have parents.”
Ororo shivered, blinking furiously, thinking of the kids she saw digging through the remnants that were once her home. She thought of the kids she often saw panhandling on her way to school.
How would she eat? Where would she live?
She started breathing harder and harder, her lungs struggling. The boy jumped down to stand in front of her with a torn expression, mumbling Arabic under his breath. He gave her another once-over.
“Maybe…I may have someone who will help you. But you’ll need to pass the test. All of us do.”
Ororo shut her eyes and took a big gulp of air. “…Test?”
“Yeah. I’ll show you. But first—” He pulled the long brown scarf off his neck and handed it to her. “Here. Wrap up your head.”
“Why? I’m not Muslim.”
“You don’t want to draw so much attention to yourself,” he explained. “Do you?”
Ororo hesitated, but quickly realized: if no one knew what her hair looked like, maybe they wouldn’t treat her so differently.
She looked at the boy, taking in his wary expression but kind eyes, as if he knew what she was feeling.
Slowly, she nodded and took the scarf. She wrapped it around her head as best she could, trying to stuff her hair inside.
“Here, let me help you. At least until we find someone who can really show you how to fix it right.” He stepped closer and turned her around, tenderly tying her hair back. “I’m Moche, by the way. What’s your name?”
She struggled to find her voice. “Ororo.”
Moche stepped back, admiring his work. “Not bad.” He took her hand and tugged her down the alley. “All right, come on. I’m taking you to my boss, Achmed El Gibár. He’ll know what to do with you.”
* * *
Time blurred in the weeks that followed. Before Ororo knew it, staying with Achmed, Moche, and the other boys like him almost felt normal.
She still couldn’t stay inside for too long. The walls always seemed to shift and move closer. She slowly became more comfortable stepping inside, but only during daylight hours. At night, she still preferred the outdoors, where the ceiling could not cave in on her.
It had been just shy of three months of living with them when Ororo found herself following Moche through unfamiliar busy streets. She had never been to this side of Cairo, and certainly not without her parents. The thought of them, stuck under that rubble, in that dark place, still made her chest go hollow.
“Where are we going?” she whispered.
“Remember that test I told you about? It’s time.”
Dread filled her belly. “What? But…I’m not ready.”
“Boss says you are, so you are.” Moche glanced back at her with a grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”
Moche led her through an open-air bazaar filled with Egyptian people bartering goods, toward a small back alleyway, making a hard left. He slipped through a narrow hole in a boarded-up door. Inside, the building lay largely in shadow, filled with rotted wood and machines covered in dust. Pigeons fluttered above, raining down feathers. Streams of sunlight slipped through the cracks in the covered windows.
“What is this place?”
“One of the old silk factories,” Moche explained. “This is how we move through the souks. Come on.”
But Ororo’s feet were frozen, eyes widening at the falling ceiling beams and burnt furniture. The floor looked like it would cave in at any moment.
Trapped. She would be trapped, under the rubble. Again.
“I…it’s too dark in here,” she gasped, suddenly unable to breathe. “We…we can’t get out…no light…”
She struggled to explain, struggled to find the words as panic flooded her trembling body, dust circling as her vision blurred.
Moche shook his head. “Ro, you can’t live outside forever! This is the fastest way to get through the souks. And we’re not talking a stroll. You gotta move like you have somewhere to be, always.” He clapped a hand on Ororo’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, watch. Ready? Go!”
Moche took off through the abandoned building, hopping over broken chairs, skating around discarded tables like he was made of air. Ororo pushed her legs to keep up, holding her breath as the walls seemed to close around her, fighting against the desperate need to close her eyes and block the raging panic. The desperation made her move faster, strides almost matching his. Moche glanced over, as if proud, before slowing near a broken window, climbing out onto the roof of the next building.
“See?” he said. “Easy. Best way to travel and give security the slip.”
Catching her breath, Ororo let out a small, relieved laugh. Following Moche, she climbed down a stack of wooden crates leaning against the side of the building and peered inside a narrow window. On the other side was a packed bar filled with tourists and Egyptians alike, drinking red wine, snacking on dates. A man in the corner played a flute over the heated discussions and laughter.
“You see that white man over there in the brown jacket?” Moche whispered.
Ororo followed his gaze, spotting the jacket across the room. Despite the commotion, the man focused solely on his book, taking casual sips of dark beer.
“All you have to do is take that wallet in his left pocket.”
Ororo blinked up in shock. “Take it. You want me to steal?”
He snorted. “Oh boy, are you green. Yes! Steal that man’s wallet.”
The most Ororo had ever stolen in her short life was a piece of candy out of her mother’s purse, earning her a brutal scolding and lingering shame. She shook her head, hot with alarm.
“I can’t. I’ll get in trouble.”
“Not if you don’t get caught. But you have to snatch it quick. Walk in the front door, then out the back, and run down the alley. Don’t stop for anything.”
Ororo wavered. “This is really what Achmed wants me to do?” He had taught her about picking locks, but he never mentioned anything about taking what wasn’t hers.
“Of course. Nothing in life is for free, and we all must pay our way somehow. If you can pull this off, Boss will take you in for good. He only takes in a special few of us, and we’re his children.” Moche shrugged. “Otherwise, you’ll be stuck on the streets with the other kiddies, digging your next meal out of the trash.”
Ororo shuddered. She had seen other children rummaging in garbage while out shopping with her mother. Watched her father give coins to the kids begging outside the gates of the museum. She didn’t want to be one of them.
Ororo looked back at the man in the bar, still reading. “But…why him?”
Moche rolled his eyes.
“Boy, I have to teach you everything, don’t I? Okay, let me give you some tips. You have to, what I call, read the room, to pick out your best target. Look around, what do you see, what do you hear? See his watch, how nice his blazer is? He has money. When he ordered, he had an American accent….”
Moche went on as Ororo examined the man again. Could she really do this? But what choice did she have? It was either be with Achmed, Moche, and the other boys, or be in the streets…alone.
“Okay.” She sighed. “I’ll do it.”
“Good. Meet you on the corner at the end of the alley. Remember, don’t stop.”
“Move like you have somewhere to be,” she said, repeating his mantra.
Moche patted her shoulder and took off.
Ororo swallowed hard, setting her eyes on the wallet sticking out of the man’s pocket. She glanced at the exit on the other side of the bar, a few feet away. Could it be that simple?
Be brave, she heard her mother say. But wasn’t bravery doing the right thing? How could the right choice feel like she was about to do something wrong?
She edged toward the door of the bar and slipped inside. The room was so busy that no one paid any mind to the small girl who had just walked in, and she slowly made her way through the bustle, eyes trained on the man in the brown jacket. He set down his glass of beer, fishing out the wallet, unaware of the girl stalking him like prey. She watched as he flipped through a thick stack of dollar bills before calling over the waiter.
Moche was right about him, she thought. But if the man was preparing to pay his bill, then he would be leaving soon. It was time to act.
Heart thrumming, Ororo tiptoed behind him, little fingers splayed. No one looked her way. For once, she was invisible. Eyes fixed on the man, she held her breath, feet moving double-time. In one quick move, she snatched the wallet and speed-walked toward the door without flinching.
A wave of adrenaline rushed through her body. She had done it, she was brave. A smile bloomed over her face….
And then the world went quiet. Something didn’t feel quite right. The room around her was almost mute.
Her skin prickled. She glanced to her left, fidgeting with her headscarf. Maybe someone had seen her or spotted her hair.
It was then that she noticed a waiter at the bar, his eyes unmoving, coffee steaming out of a pot suspended in midair. She turned to her right to find a couple stuck midstride. In the corner, the flute player’s cheeks were puffed, but no sound came out.
The entire room had frozen around her.
Is this some kind of joke? she thought.
“This is not a joke, young lady.”
Ororo spun around. The man in the brown blazer stared directly at her as he slowly stood up. Ororo couldn’t move. Though she wasn’t frozen like the rest of the room, fear kept her rooted in place.
He smiled as he approached. “I believe you have something of mine.”
Ororo gripped the wallet in her hand, tears of shame exploding.
“I’m…I’m so sorry. I’m…”
“It’s all right,” he said, bending to meet her eye. “What is your name?”
She hesitated before croaking out, “Ororo.”
His eyes fell on her headscarf. “That is quite a beautiful name.”
Ororo tucked an invisible stray hair back in place, glancing around the frozen bar. “How did you do that?”
He smiled. “My name is Charles Xavier. I’m a professor.”
“My father was a professor,” she blurted out. “American, too.” In that moment, thinking of her father, a wave of humiliation hit her. What would he say if he saw her like this? What would he want her to say? “I’m sorry I took your wallet! I…I…”
“Hmm,” the professor noted, then closed his eyes. He frowned as his lashes twitched and fluttered, almost as if he was thinking too hard for his brain to handle it. He let out a loud exhale. “Ohhh. I see. You’ve been through something quite terrible, haven’t you?”
He opened his eyes, now full of pity, and patted her little hand.
“But your mother was right. You were meant to be part of something bigger. And this”—he tapped the wallet—“isn’t you.”
Ororo clutched his wallet, guilt an immense boulder on her shoulder.
“You are destined for something far greater,” he continued. “But the only way to learn that is to go home. Your real home. That is why I…”
His mouth opened but quickly closed before his head snapped up, like a gazelle that has just realized it’s being hunted. He looked past Ororo, eyes widening at something unseen.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Ororo asked.
He jerked with a wince, gripping the side of his head.
“Ororo,” he said through gritted teeth, “it’s time for you to go.”
She struggled to find her tongue. “But…”
“Keep the wallet,” he groaned, struggling through some invisible pain she could not see. “I’m sure you’ll give it back to me someday.”
Footsteps echoed behind them. A sharp, cheery whistle cut through the silence, the melody somehow pleasant yet eerie.
Someone was coming. Ororo glanced at the rest of the room, still unmoving. Chills crept down her spine.
“Run along now,” the professor whispered. “Hurry. And hide. Don’t let him see you.”
Him? she thought. But her fear spoke loudly, and Ororo didn’t waste a beat. She ran out the exit, but stopped short at the sound of a deep voice she had heard before.
“Why, you are not what I was expecting at all.”
Heart thudding in her ears, Ororo’s curiosity spiked. Her senses told her run…but she couldn’t help herself. She had to know.
Ororo tiptoed back to the door, peering inside. Who was the “him” the professor wanted her to hide from?
On the opposite side of the bar, a large man in a crisp white suit stood at the entrance, the sun shining behind him. Dark purple glasses covered his eyes, and the tassel on his burgundy fez swayed with his every move. Ororo squinted, racking her memory. She knew this man from somewhere, but where?
“I’m sorry to disappoint,” the professor said. “And you are?”
The man glanced around the frozen room, amused. “I sensed a presence…an incredibly powerful energy nearby.”
“Well, there is no one here but us.”
The large man laughed. “Are you so sure?”
The professor motioned at his table, and the large man joined him, his white suit gleaming. He removed his glasses to reveal dark, unreadable eyes.
“It is not you I’m in search of, my new friend,” the large man declared, scanning the motionless bar. “Though I am thoroughly impressed with your talents. But this person…this person is beyond both of us. Might you be hiding this person from me?”
The professor seemed unfazed by the threat. “I would do no such thing. But if such a person existed, what would you want with them?”
“I would want what any self-respecting businessman would want,” he said with a wet laugh.
“Ah,” the professor said, sipping the last of his beer and setting it down on the table. “So, you must be the Shadow King.”
“Indeed. And you, you are not from around here.”
“I make it my business to know of others with…special talents.”
The Shadow King slammed a large hand on the table, causing the empty glass to rattle, and Ororo jumped. “You know of me,” he bellowed, “and yet you dare come to Cairo and not make your presence known?”
The professor sat, unmoving, as the two men stared at one another. Ororo’s pulse raced, her every nerve alight with panic. She took a closer look at the table, eyes skipping over the professor and the Shadow King. Wildly, she sensed a silent conversation was being had, words exchanged but never uttered.
Suddenly, the professor’s eyes turned a glowing red, almost like bright Christmas lights. Ororo stopped breathing.
“No,” the professor groaned. “Stop.” He snapped his eyes closed, frowning hard. He held two fingers to his temple. The large man let out a yelp.
The professor’s eyes returned to brown.
Ororo slapped a hand over her mouth to keep silent.
“We will not battle here, my friend,” the professor barked. “We should continue this conversation of the minds in the Astral Plane.”
“If you insist,” the Shadow King hissed.
The two men went silent again, their eyes closed, mouths taut. Sweat dotted their furrowed brows, their facial expressions morphing from pleasant to anguished to surprised.
Ororo’s eyes jumped back and forth between them. She had expected them to leave, to go to the astral place the professor had mentioned. But they remained motionless.
