Few people could hide a birthday surprise so well as a telepath and a woman whose thoughts were shielded from external contact. The only giveaway, perhaps, would be the occasional furtive glance or stray giggle (from the telepath).
“Something smells delicious,” Charles remarked as he entered the dining room, lifting the lid of a large serving tray. He inhaled the rich scent of sausage and selected a plate from the short stack on the table. “Where’s Logan today?”
“He was up as early as sun-up. Heard him in the hall when it was still dark,” Stevie commented as she brought out the platter of scrambled eggs and hash browns.
“He didn’t sleep much last night, anyway,” Ororo sniffed. “Hardly ever does.” Jean scowled.
“How do you know?”
“I can hear him. Whenever he leaves the house. That’s what he does. He goes out to the lake. His footsteps carry back to me on the wind.” She grimaced. “So do those awful songs he sings, too.”
“Awful, huh?” Stevie chuckled.
“It’s a good thing he has other gifts,” Ororo said pointedly. Jean snorted into her coffee cup and nearly choked. It always tickled her that Ororo was so straight-faced no matter what came out of her mouth. And there she was again, serene and cavalier as she drizzled honey on her buttered toast.
“You’ve a seminar this morning, haven’t you, Ororo?” Charles inquired before he forked into his eggs.
“Yes. I do.” She smeared the honey through the melting butter with her finger, licking the tip, savoring the sticky sweetness.
“Will you be coming home once it’s done?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Mm-hmmm.”
“So…what will you be DOING after your seminar’s finished, child?”
This cat-and-mouse was typical of life at the school. His daughter only offered what was asked for, and only incrementally.
“Finishing up a few things that I have on my plate,” she shrugged. Her smile was, again, serene and slow. Charles sighed, but smiled back indulgently.
“That’s fine, then. At any rate, I’m planning to pick up Moira from the airport today.”
“Why not just send a car, Professor?”
“It’s a beautiful day outside. I’d enjoy the drive and the fresh air.”
“So do I,” Ororo agreed kindly. “Tell her I can’t wait to see her when you get there, Charles.”
“Japheth and Jamie are staying behind this time,” he informed her. “Jamie in particular wants to focus on his studies.”
“I know Japh doesn’t,” she snorted dryly. “He should have just come out to visit.”
“He’s been a bit subdued lately. Moira said he’s faring all right since his mutation manifested, but he’s just having a hard time adjusting to some of the complications associated with it.”
“Complications?” Jean asked.
“Things keep disappearing out of his room. He emailed me. Said last week it was his soccer ball.” She shrugged as though this was of no consequence. Jean’s brows beetled together.
“Professor, how’s he supposed to control it?”
“How do you control your power, Jean? Patience, practice and persistence.”
“The three P’s,” Ororo muttered, bored.
Behave yourself, young lady, he admonished. Ororo made a face. “Not all mutations are as benign as yours or Ororo’s, Jean. My own took me by surprise, and it took all the effort I had to lock out the thoughts that threatened to drown me. I almost lost myself.” He watched Ororo stirring sugar into her coffee. “Anyone can lose themselves. Never take your control over your powers for granted. Not only for your own sake, Jean.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “Believe me, I know, Professor. So tell me, how do his powers work again? He absorbs strength from things he eats? But he doesn’t eat himself? It’s…his INTESTINES?”
“Correct. In a nutshell. Japheth has a symbiotic relationship with his intestines, as you phrased it. They share his sentience, functioning as an extension of his nervous system and following signals from his brain.”
“So, let me get this straight,” she scoffed, incredulous, “his stomach can think?”
“Yes. And it’s actually two of his intestines. He’s even named them.” This time Jean choked.
“Went down the wrong pipe, sister?”
“Eerrgh! Almost coughed up a lung…I don’t want to know what he’s named them, do I?”
Charles’ grin was impish, an expression that was thoroughly out of character. “Eeny and Meeny.”
“Sweet baby Jesus,” Stevie tsked with a roll of her eyes. “That child, that child. You can tell he belongs to this crazy family, I can tell you that much.” She muttered all the way back to the kitchen. “Ate the soccer ball. Eeny and Meeny. Folks wanna give a woman a heart attack…bad enough ya got one of ‘em runnin’ ‘round nekkid…” Jean’s shoulders shook as she covered her face with her napkin. Ororo and Charles sighed.
“It’s an hour to the airport if I just take the car.”
“Why not take the train?”
“I want Moira to have room for her luggage, and some decent leg room, with the coming holidays sending more people to the station.”
“She picked a great time to come back,” Jean pointed out. “Just in time for the, er, fall colors.” Her smile was guileless, but there was a twinkle in her bottle green eyes. She knew Charles wouldn’t pry, but she raised her mental shields just the same. “I’ll see if Stevie needs any help after Douglas is finished with his lessons, Professor.”
“That would be nice, Jean.” He folded his napkin and rose, smoothing his silk blazer and tweaking his tie into place.
“You look nice today.” He beamed, trying but failing to suppress the flush that reached all the way to the top of his head. “Moira will like that suit.”
“She was the one who taught me how to cut a dash. By myself, I’m hopeless.” He pushed his chair into the table. “She’s always been there to save me from myself.”
“Sounds like something a wife would do.”
“Not a wife.” He tapped his temple, and Jean noticed the fine lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes had deepened over recent weeks. “She lives in here, as well as my heart. And my soul. She’s my soulmate.” Jean swallowed around a lump and felt emotion pricking at her eyes.
“Then why won’t you stay together here, Charles? Or at Kinross? Staff the school and just live here part-time? Why…why would you distance yourselves when you love each other so much?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Everything’s complicated around here,” she sniped. ““There’s no normal life, Wyatt. There’s just life,’” she drawled in an exaggerated accent. He huffed a short laugh.
“Well said, Jean! What was that from?”
“Doc Holiday, from ‘Tombstone.’ It’s kinda become my mantra. I dwell on that a lot since Annie died. Since I felt her die.” The tactile memory of her best friend’s body curled up in her arms beside the curb never left her. Her lifeless eyes followed her into sleep every night. She still felt Annie’s soul, slipping free from her fingertips.
“I know. And I’m sorry, child, for that loss.”
“Everything changed.”
“I know.” She reached for him, taking his hand in hers.
“And it taught me that life’s too short, and better lived with someone willing to go with you for the journey.” He squeezed her fingers.
“Point taken, Jean. I’ll see you in a few hours. I’m taking Moira for lunch on the way back.”
“Drive safe.” She and Ororo lingered over their coffee after he left. Ororo had been thoughtful and quiet.
“I’m afraid, Ororo.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever find that someone I want to keep my company on my own ‘journey,’ and here I am, lecturing the professor. I feel like a hypocrite.”
“How do you propose to fix that problem, O Wise One?” Ororo ducked as Jean threw a bit of sausage across that table at her.
“I don’t have a clue.”
“So why are you afraid? Goddess, Jean, what do you even have to be afraid of? You’re certainly beautiful, if the way every male who knocks on the door is any indication. You made poor Douglas collide with the wall yesterday when he was rounding the corner.” She began ticking off points mechanically on her slender fingers. “Smart. Silly. Soft hearted.”
“I’m not that much of a softie!”
“You cried over ‘Ever After’ when we watched it last night.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Sympathetic. Talented. Insightful. Instinctively, not just because you know what people are thinking.”
“I don’t always know what you’re thinking, sweetie.”
“Patience, persistence and practice,” she shrugged. The corners of her full, ripe mouth curled.
“I only put up with you because I love you so much.”
“I know.”
“Brat.”
“I know.”
“Why aren’t you ever afraid of anything?”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“I don’t know, Jean. I don’t have a clue.” They were interrupted by a knock on the entry way door.
“I’ll get it.”
“We’re going shopping next, yes?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” she sang, rushing off in a swish of sage green skirt. Ororo listened to the clop-clop of her kitten-heeled shoes and her customary “Good morning, how can I help you?”
Except this time, it was absent. No, Ororo decided, abbreviated.
“Good morn…erk.”
Erk? Ororo left the table and followed her into the hall.
“Who is it, Jean? Oh, hullo,” Ororo announced pleasantly, nodding to the shy looking young man who easily stood as tall as she was. He was riveted on Jean, staring at her through a pair of odd glasses with deep crimson lenses. He cleared his throat and looked just as bashful as he met Ororo’s gaze.
“H-hi. Er, I’m here to see, uh, Mr. Xavier? Charles…Xavier?”
“The Professor,” Ororo corrected him. “He just left.”
“He’ll be back!” Jean insisted hastily. “God, where are my manners, come in! Come on in,” she pleaded, jerking Ororo back to allow him entry, practically shoving her behind her. “I’m Jean! Jean Grey! I’m a student, one of his senior students! Charles left a little while ago. He’ll be back! He had to go to the airport. Not to fly anywhere, mind you, I mean, he wouldn’t just fly off when he was expecting you today! He never said he was expecting you, and that you were showing up this morning. What did you say your name was again?”
“I, uh, I didn’t. Scott. It’s…Scott. Summers.”
“Make yourself comfortable, Scott Summers.” Ororo’s tone was bland, and he was dazzled by her striking looks, even though her blunt manner baffled him.
It was almost like talking to a living, breathing doll. Pretty to look at, but her features, even her gestures, were absent of deep emotion. Jean skipped ahead of them both, giving a nickel tour.
“This is the dining room. You must be starved! Where are you coming here from, Scott?” She was already pulling out a chair for him. “Can I take your coat?”
“Can I have it back?”
“Yes, you can have it back,” Ororo stated briskly. He shrugged out of his weather-beaten brown corduroy jacket. The fluffy fleece lining still held the warmth of his lean body when Jean took it from him, stroking it.
Dimly she wondered why Ororo was finding it so easily to revert to type, unaffected by his looks, by his very presence.
The boy was a knockout. A shy, unassuming, pleasant, clean-cut knockout. His bone structure was chiseled and well-defined. He had the high forehead of an intellectual, with locks of chestnut brown hair falling carelessly into his eyes, or it would, if not for the glasses. His lips were thin and wide; he was a man who smiled easily, and he sported a tiny cleft in his chin. It was a very nice chin, Jean noticed. Very, very nice.
She stopped herself from reaching out to press her index finger into that tempting cleft to see how deep it was.
“Right. Let me hang this up. Food. Let’s give you some food.” She trotted out of the room, turning back around to give him one last glance. She smiled at her full wattage, showing dimples. “Ororo, keep him company?”
“Not moving,” Ororo chirped. She was out of earshot when Ororo muttered “Gads.”
“I will get my coat back, won’t I?”
“She might keep it as collateral.” Her honesty made him chuckle, breaking the awkwardness. “Want anything to eat?”
“Anything that’s not nailed down.”
“The furniture isn’t.”
“Can I have some eggs?”
“That works, too. They aren’t bad.” Ororo got up and started ladling his plate full of the table’s offerings and pouring him some juice. “You never said where you were from, Scott.” Because Jean didn’t let you get a word in edgewise.
“Anchorage.”
“Long flight.”
“Arms are still tired.” He sampled the eggs and sighed with contentment. “Right on the money. These are pretty good.”
“Told you.”
“Are you a student, too?”
“Student teacher,” she clarified smoothly. “I’m attending college and getting work experience here as Charles needs me.”
“You call him by his first name,” he pointed out.
“I used to call him Daddy. He was heartbroken when I stopped.” He opened his mouth, whether to pepper her for an explanation or to show he was at a lack for words, she couldn’t tell. Jean swept in, eliminating the need for the former.
“I had an idea,” Jean breathed. “Wanna come shopping with us?” His eyes would have glazed over if they could see them, Ororo was willing to bet. His answer surprised her.
“Where?”
“Salem Center. I know the Professor wouldn’t have mentioned it, but it’s his birthday. Moira had an ulterior motive for coming this week. She’s his associate and a liaison to the school. You’ll like her.”
“She’s more than that,” Ororo murmured, sitting back down and picking apart an abandoned crust of her toast. “She’s also my mother.”
“Wow.”
“Yup.”
“Take your time, finishing up.” She didn’t tear her eyes away when the front door opened again. Ororo sat up in her seat at the sound of heavy, booted footfalls in the hallway and a familiar voice cursing under his breath.
“The lord of the manor returns,” she quipped. “Stevie won’t need us to clear away the food yet.” She called out toward the door, “There’s plenty of breakfast left, Logan, if you’re interested.” Jean automatically sat down next to Scott, edging her chair so close that the wooden arms bumped.
He didn’t seem to mind. Ororo’s smile was wide and knowing.
Goddess help you, Scott. Jean refilled his juice before he could ask her to pass the pitcher.
If Scott started Jean rambling, Logan did the opposite, sucking the conversation out of the room. He shucked his Stetson, running a hand roughly through his hair to make it spring back into its tousled self. He brought the scents of fresh air and leaves inside with him. His hair was damp; Ororo could smell lake water. She guessed he’d availed himself of the bath house on the shore.
“Hey, sport,” he greeted, nodding to Scott, but his eyes were wary. “What brings ya here?”
“A jet,” Ororo interjected. “This is Scott.”
“Hm.” Jean narrowed her eyes at his brusqueness.
“Scott, this is Logan. Charles invited him to come stay with us.”
“Not a student, huh?” Scott inquired.
“Do I look like a flamin’ student, bub? Ya see any acne or knobby knees?” Scott’s smiled faltered when he said “Guess that makes ya a student, then.”
“Gads,” Ororo muttered under her breath. Logan chose that moment to level her with his gaze.
Sunlight stroked her caramel skin and set her hair ablaze as it streamed in through the large dining room window. She chose a snug long-sleeves black sweater, with a deep scoop neck and a horizontal white strip that spanned her generous breasts, making them pop. Hello, Mama. She wore jeans, which seemed to be her favorite togs, but these were snug and new, made from stiff, dark denim and boot-cut to show off her long legs. She wore ankle-length black boots of buttery soft leather, which he only noticed when she leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, swinging her foot.
The mouth that starred in his fantasies was moving again, and it picked him as its target.
“Jean and I won’t be here long, Logan. We’re running a few errands. Think you can hold down the fort, between that and…whatever it is you do?” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. He deftly flung his hat onto the side table and took a plate, zeroing in on the sausage links. Her tone suggested he couldn’t.
“Think I’ll manage. What’s with the glasses, bub?”
“Oh. These. They help keep my eyes in check.”
“Know what they say ‘bout wanderin’ eyes,” Logan drawled.
“Logan,” Jean tsked. “Stop it.”
“The professor said he might be able to help me. He said Moira helped to come up with these. I’d like to thank her when she gets here.”
“How do they help, Scott?” She propped her chin in her hand and studied him with undisguised interest.
“They keep me from losing control. I don’t know how.”
“Ya’ve got powers, don’tcha?”
“I found that out three years ago, after I lost my family.” He heard Jean’s intake of breath and felt her soft fingers wrap around his hand, the need to touch him driven wholly by sympathy.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m alive,” he offered. “Thanks.” He squeezed her fingers, not unlike how Charles had before he left. A current of something warm and comforting ran through her bones. Ororo watched the silent exchange of emotions on their faces, and, she could have sworn, of thoughts.
“So what can ya do, sport?”
“Got a quarter?” he asked, nonplussed. Logan set down his fork and grunted, digging into his pocket and extracting a coin.
“Knock yerself out.”
“We’re not supposed to use our powers in the house,” Ororo warned calmly.
“No. YOU can’t,” Jean amended.
“I’m special. Can’t turn mine off,” Logan bragged, enjoying the irritation that flitted over Ororo’s face. He loved getting her goat. When she’d let him.
“Then let’s take this outside.” Scott excused himself and strode outside through the front door. Jean followed, hot on his heels. Ororo and Logan took their sweet time.
“’Nother mutant,” Logan muttered. “What next?”
“He learns what he can here. Charles helps him, and he decides where to go next. Doesn’t sound complicated, does it? Don’t’ strain yourself with that concept.”
“Someone drank their cup of smart ass this mornin’.”
Knock it off, you two! The boy wants to show us something. Yeesh!
“Sorry,” Ororo mumbled, folding her arms.
“Call heads or tails,” Scott beckoned, holding the coin in his palm.
“Heads,” she said predictably. He flipped it up neatly.
SHRAKKTT!
In the blink of an eye, he deftly raised his glasses. Jean saw his eyes glow red before a scarlet beam exploded from them, nailing the coin. She shrieked, so startled that she bumped into Ororo.
“Didjouseedisjousee! Ohmigod!” Scott grinned as he caught the coin, glasses safely in place. He handed her the quarter.
“Maybe you could string it on a necklace,” Ororo suggested. “Neat trick.” He bore a hole neatly through the coin, dead center, leaving no rough edges. Jean traced it with her fingertip.
“So that’s what you can do. That’s amazing, Scott.”
“Looks like ya have a good enough handle on it, pal.”
“Only with these,” he explained, tapping his lens. “Can’t take ‘em off, even to sleep.”
“We’ll have to see what Charles can do about that.” She took him by the arm and led him back into the house. Logan and Ororo watched them move up the steps, body language similar and comfortable.
“She put the hook in him.’
“He’s not even fighting it,” Ororo agreed. “So.” She turned to him haughtily. “What are you doing today?”
“Lyin’ low. What I do best, darlin’. Might even go out an’ help Ramsey in the shed.”
“Fine. I know you don’t want to go shopping.”
“Give the lady a gold star.”
“Clean yourself up for dinner tonight. We’re having it here, but it would be nice if you’d stand on ceremony. Like, bathe.”
“Takin’ it under advisement. Might even use utensils. Or not.” She sighed. He shrugged.
It might help…if he wasn’t so darned sexy. He stood with his hand on his narrow hip, rubbing his nape as he appraised her.
“Heard ya strugglin’.”
“Excuse me?” Her brow wrinkled. “When?”
“Last night. ‘Bout an hour after ya turned in. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she insisted. “Do you always eavesdrop on people when they sleep?”
“Hard not to, babe.”
“What’d I say?” she challenged, disbelieving. Her arms folded themselves beneath her breasts. He mentally wiped away drool.
“Got me.”
“So you were probably just hearing things.”
“Uh-uh. I heard ya talkin’ in yer sleep.”
“I doubt it.”
“It just wasn’t in English.” That made her pause in her attempt to leave him behind. She froze. He heard the wind pick up, rattling the remaining leaves in the trees. Overhead, the clouds rolled ominously.
“How do you know?”
“Heard Ainet say a few of the things you did, every now and again. Never understood all of it, but it was the same dialect.”
“What…you don’t know what I was saying?”
“Best as I could tell, darlin’, it sounded like ‘Help.’”
~0~
How far are ye from here, Charley?
“Roughly a half an hour away,” he spoke aloud, projecting both his words and a visual of the scenery zooming by. “I may get there by the time you retrieve your luggage.”
Food was bluidy awful. Aye, they should be ashamed of themselves. Charles chuckled.
“Stevie will spoil you once you get back to the house. Ororo sends a hug along with me.”
The lass isn’t coming wi’ ye, then?
“She had an errand to run with Jean before you got here. One that involved party hats.” He adjusted the volume of his CD deck, lowering it until the Beethoven symphony piping out from his speakers lilted gently in the background.
Och! Charley, dinna disappoint the girls an’ ruin the surprise! Yuir wicked, ye ken that? Ooooooooooh! Dinna make me kick yuir bum when I get off this plane!
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Moira, I promise.”
How did ye find out?
“They were covert enough. But the Salem bakery accidentally dialed my office extension to ask if the cake order was for chocolate or lemon.” He heard her quiet laughter in his mind.
Scamp.
“How’s Kevin?”
The same. No better, although perhaps a little worse. He’s grown so dark, Charley. So bitter.
“Moira…you don’t have to go through this alone.”
What’s yuir suggestion, then? We’re continents apart. I kinna move him -
“The school is large enough, well-equipped enough to transfer him here. We could find a way, colleen,” he urged, falling back on an old, seldom used pet name. It sparked memories of racing their mares along the beach outside her estate, and of her voice murmuring to him in the dark, her breath stirring the hairs on his chest. As he’d told Jean, things were complicated.
He still loved her.
I still love ye so much it breaks m’heart, Charley. He felt her emotions, resigned and a little sad, realizing that he’d leaked his own into their link. Dinna doubt that for one moment.
“Don’t say no. Please, Moira, not yet.”
Kevin’s unstable. It took months tae build the containment cell. An’ it’s still a bluidy cell, no matter how much I try tae make it his home. He’s trapped, Charley. I’d die tae give him a full life, tae replace what was taken away from him. I love me son, but he’s set on hating his mum until he breathes his last. An’ what kind of mum am I?
“Ask Ororo that question when you walk in that door, Moira. You’ve been loving and strong. Don’t ever think that you’ve never done enough for that child, for Kevin, for Japheth!”
I haven’t saved any of them. He felt her despair, and through her eyes, saw the runway. The poor wee lass can’t feel! Not like yuirself an’ I, Charles! I let her out of me sight once, an’ look what happened! Once was all it took!
“She can feel.” Charles’ sigh was ragged and deep, and he felt himself straining at the edges, fighting back his own grief. “Whenever you watch a storm building in the distance, the child’s expressing her emotions, Moira. Whenever the sun breaks through the clouds, whenever a rainbow drifts across the sky after a hard rain, that’s Ororo. Laughing, crying, or letting you know you’ve stepped on her toes. And she can feel love. Yours. Mine. Jean’s or Stevie’s. The only thing she can’t feel, for the moment, is fear.”
The dreams are worse?
“She still won’t let me in, conscious or awake. She can’t. Something’s still blocking her.”
Ye tried a more in depth, psychic evaluation?
“The feedback nearly killed me.”
Och. Poor lassie.
“I am happy to report one thing, however. She’s changed since my associate from Cairo came abroad.”
Oh?
“You’ll see when you get here. More verbal. I’d hazard saying that she’s more open.”
I ken I’ll believe it when I see it wi’ me own eyes, Charley. Shadows from the leaves brushed over him as she steered the Rolls down the gravel road. The symphony reached a crescendo…
A tall, burly figure leapt out from the trees, launching himself directly into his path.
“Good heavens!” Charles bellowed, flooring the brake as the blood in his veins froze, gripping the wheel so hard it was painful.
The impact of the man’s solid bulk crumpled the bumper and bent back the hood, launching the fragile ornament through the air.
All Charles could see were the man’s eyes. Determined and cold. Remorseless…
~0~
“Can you carry one more bag, Scott?”
“I think I can “ oof! “ manage,” he huffed as Jean looped one more around his wrist. Ororo sighed as she balanced the large cake box, inhaling the tempting aroma of buttercream frosting.
“I can’t wait to get back and show Stevie the stuff we got for the table,” Jean gushed.
“We should have enough time to get everything ready before he gets back from the airport,” Ororo reasoned.
“How old is the Professor this year?” Scott inquired.
“He won’t tell us,” Jean sniffed. “My mom calls it her annual 29th.”
“I don’t see what the big deal about getting old is, anyway.”
“I do. I’m afraid to get old,” Jean admitted to Ororo.
“Only one alternative to getting old. And one of these days, we’ll all die. Why be afraid of it?”
“Ororo…you’re scaring me,” Jean laughed, trying to lighten the moment, but Scott suddenly sobered.
“Kinda makes you not mind the idea of getting old.” He playfully nudged her shoulder with his. “Might as well have fun on the way there.”
“Doesn’t sound that bad when you put it that “ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
“JEAN!” Scott cried, dropping the packages and catching her just as she folded. She gripped her head between her fists, as though she could tear away the pain gripping her. Several passerby paused to see what was wrong in the middle of their busy street, but Ororo’s expression brooked no interference.
“Get back,” she hissed. She set down the cake and knelt by Jean, who was babbling and sobbing, rocking back and forth on her knees.
“Don’t,” she cried. “DON’T! PLEASE! Bleeding,” she whimpered. “Burning. Like fire. Too much, too much, too much!”
“Jean,” Ororo exclaimed firmly. “What’s happening to you?” Her grasp was strong as she pried Jean’s fist from her temple, keeping her from beating the images out.
“Not…me.”
“Jean…” For the only time in Jean’s memory since they met, Ororo’s lips quivered.
“Moira…I’m…sorry,” Jean rasped. “Always love you, colleen.”
“Goddess!” Ororo’s stomach dropped sharply, making her lurch.
“I tried,” she insisted, her green eyes pleading with her sister, except it wasn’t her that she saw. “I tried, Moira. Every day of my life. I love you. Don’t…think badly of me, colleen.”
“What’s happening to her? What’s she saying?” Scott demanded, unwilling to let go of her.
“It’s not Jean. It’s Charles. He’s speaking through her.” Scott’s face was twisted in confusion. Jean’s sobs slowed, and Scott felt her slump against him, spent.
“Charles has been attacked. If we don’t get to him, he’ll die!”
~0~
All he saw was rage, and crimson. His heart pounded out of his chest. The beast before him hungered for its pulse between his gnashing teeth as he lunged for him.
The collision didn’t harm him. He stood. Rose from the ground and smoothly rounded the car. The door slammed open and fell off the hinge before Charles could recover himself.
“Nice day fer a drive, eh? Sweet ride. Gonna have one helluva story ta tell yer mechanic!” Charles felt himself jerked from the driver’s seat once the belt was torn away. The feral stranger flung him aside like a doll. His flight through the air was broken by a tall oak. Charles bit his tongue as he slammed against its bulk, tasting copper. He spat out a thin stream of blood.
“How did you get…*cough*…”
“Decided ta take a holiday. See the sights, stateside. Missed it.” His amber eyes gleamed. Despite the sunny day outside, Victor seemed to attract shadow, cloaking himself in it. He wasn’t as shabbily dressed as the night that they fought. His body was massive; he showed no signs of aging or slowing down, except for pronounced brackets around his mouth and frown lines between his brows. His coarse blond hair was longer, clubbed back neatly and hanging down his back. Charles’ back throbbed, but he mastered the urge to collapse.
“What do you want?” Vic shrugged and popped his knuckles. The sound was sickening.
“Don’t matter what I want. I’m just here fer the ride, asshole. Call me a friggin’ tourist.” He advanced on him, enjoying the scent of wary fear emanating from the fallen man. “Ain’t gonna call me much of anything in a minute. Say g’night!” He lunged for Charles, who timed it just long enough to dodge him, rolling free to let inertia carry him head-first into the oak. Victor grunted, annoyance giving way to rage.
“Pussy,” he spat, watching Charles scramble back toward the car.
“I won’t make this easy for you,” he croaked.
“Too late fer that. Gonna make it painful fer you.”
He didn’t spend those years in the Army fighting for his life and his country only to die alone now. Charles measured his stance and searched for weak points, deciding his best weapon was distraction.
~0~
Charley! CHARLEY? Answer me, damn you! ANSWER ME, CHARLES!
~0~
“He isn’t answering his cell,” Stevie grumbled.
“Eh?” Logan went to the kitchen sink to wash his grubby hands. “Were ya expectin’ ta hear from him?”
“I wanted to know which room he wanted me to neaten up for Moira.”
“Give her a place ta put her feet up when she walks in through the door and figure out the rest later.”
“She’s gonna be wiped out. I hate long flights.” She shook herself; Logan smelled a change in her body chemistry before she even cried out. Her eyes clenched shut and she gripped the counter to steady herself.
“Oh…no! Don’t…leave me alone,” she begged him. “Won’t let the children find me this way!” She writhed, and Stevie fought Logan’s hands that reached for her.
“Cripes! What the hell’s happenin’ to ya, darlin’!”
“Wants to kill me,” she insisted before her brown eyes rolled back. “VICTOR!” she screamed. Logan reeled back, dizzy from his hammering pulse.
“Victor,” Logan growled. “How d’ya know ‘bout Vic? Ya’ve never even met him! Talk t’me, woman! Where’s VICTOR?”
“Can almost see the lake from here,” she gasped. “Sun’s in my eyes.” Her eyes snapped open, this time focusing on him with eerie clarity. “Tell Moira why I didn’t make it!” Her voice was different. All of Stevie’s usual mannerisms were gone; her tone was more formal, her vowels pear-shaped.
“Chuck?”
“Bleeding,” she told him before she passed out.
~0~
“I told the dispatcher to send the ambulance to the house. There’s only one road for them to follow to get there,” Jean informed them from the back seat of the small Civic Charles gave Ororo for her eighteenth birthday. Ororo was too busy with watching the road. Scenery whizzed by them at more miles per hour than the speedometer would allow; the needle bounced back.
“Shit,” Scott rasped, holding tightly to the door bar and flooring an imaginary brake.
Their heartbeats drummed in mad, frenzied sync.
“I’m coming, Daddy,” Ororo whispered. Her eyes held cold steel as she gunned the gas.
~0~
CLANG!
The tire iron that Charles managed to grab from the back of the ruined car bounced off of Victor’s shoulder, narrowly missing his head once he found an open opportunity to strike.
“FUCK!” Charles staggered back, feinting out from claw’s reach. They were truly claws. Charles discovered that from close up, too close. His suit jacket lay in tatters from where Victor had wrenched it off while grabbing him. Charles had wriggled free before he could suffer any more than a superficial injury, but his shirt was laced with long bloody streaks and ragged tears.
He knew Victor was too fast for him to run. Too canny for him to get another advantage. His keys were still in the ignition…
“AAAGHH!” Vic cuffed him across the cheek almost hard enough to send his head spinning off his shoulders. Pain exploded across his flesh. The iron clattered free from his hand.
“Gettin’ sick of this shit, old man,” he huffed, shaking his head. “Ya don’t get it, do ya? Ya ain’t walkin’ away from this. Ya know what this is about? Ya shouldn’t have crossed Farouk.”
“You don’t have to yield to him,” Charles managed, still edging back on his haunches, dragging himself along the gravel. “You’re your own man!”
“Still on his payroll. Fucker’s got a piece of everything, everywhere! How’d ya think I traveled in style like this? First class,” he muttered, swinging out and kicking Charles in the chest. “Limo.” He hoisted him up, not caring that his claws scored his chest as he brought him up to his feet. Charles gurgled but didn’t cry out as Victor choked him, digging into his jugular. His feet dangled off the ground. “Mints on the pillow. Can’t beat fancy livin’, eh? Yer hidin’ the runt, too.” Charles’ eyes looked bleak.
“What…do you want with him?”
“Ya already know that,” Vic tutted, licking stray blood from his lip. “Don’t take it personal, asshole. I’m just doin’ my job, an’ doin’ it well. Don’t hurt that I get a few perks. And it ain’t just about the runt. Farouk wants his property back. That sweet little girl. He knows it’s been you standin’ in his way, whatever the fuck ya’ve been doin’,” Victor sneered. He tapped his forehead with one claw. “Ya can’t get in here. Most folks ain’t welcome, anyway, but Farouk’s checkin’ IDs at the door.”
“Then tell him…” Charles gulped for another breath. Victor drew him close, steaming his face with hot breath. He watched the feral thug’s nostrils flare, pupils dilating in his hard amber eyes.
“Tell him what?”
“I will see him again soon,” he informed him, with less bravado than he felt.
Victor’s incredulous bark of laughter shook his chest. He wrung Charles by his shirt with the effort. His body stiffened. A new emotion bloomed in his face.
Satisfaction.
The laughter continued, deepening, becoming more sonorous and confident. It boomed, deafening Charles and sending birds into flight from the trees.
“You took away my body, Charles. Reap what you have sown!” Farouk’s laughter issued loud and cruel from Victor’s fanged mouth. He proceeded to rip Charles’ spine apart.
~0~
Moira frantically signaled a cab driver. Her suitcase and duffled remained abandoned on the carousel outside the terminal. Her purse banged her hip as she flagged down a yellow car.
“You! Aye, YOU! Over here, damn it! I need t’get tae Westchester!” He looked bored until she took her life in her hands, yanking out a wad of bills and waving them furiously. His head perked up, and he rolled down his window.
“Where, ma’am?”
“Westchester. School for Gifted Youngsters! Och, just take me there! I’ll tell ye where t’go, an’ ye drive like a bat out of hell! HURRY!” She tripped across three lanes of traffic heading toward the gates and slammed the door shut after her. “GO!”
I’m comin’, Charley…
~0~
Logan had grown accustomed to the darkness in people’s souls, following and even creating a trail of blood that lingered, covering his hands.
The grisly scene before him hit him keenly, making his gut lurch because this time, it was a man he knew, lying on the ground and leaking blood over the gravel road. He skidded to a stop.
“No,” he growled. “No. Not you, Chuck, damn it, not YOU!” Charles lay still, but his eyes peered up at him, their irises growing glassy. He groaned, valiantly restraining himself from crying out. When Logan took his hand, his fingers didn’t squeeze back. His skin felt icy cold; he whipped off his thick jacket and laid it over his chest, covering the widening stain. “Chuck!”
“Look,” Charles whispered. “There.” He tore his eyes away and let them drift where Charles’ led.
I SEE YOU. The letters were scrawled in the professsor’s blood across the hood of the Rolls. Logan caught Vic’s scent, still warm. The beast roared through his blood, clawing its way up from his soul. He felt Charles’ ebbing pulse and tasted metal.
None of it, any of it, was worse than Jean’s shrill scream as Ororo’s Civic screeched to a stop.
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