Chapter 14

The voice was silent for a minute. I want to show you something, it finally said. Close your eyes.

To her surprise, Jean found herself cooperating. Think about the outfit you're wearing, the voice instructed her. Think about every last seam. Think about the texture. Feel the sensation of it against your body. Incredibly, she realized she COULD feel the clothing, as if it were a part of her body rather than a separate entity. She could sense every last strand, every last tuck. She felt the way her Levi's felt against her leg, the way the collar of her button-down shirt gently brushed by her neck.

Now, the voice instructed. Change it. Jean's brow furrowed. Don't open your eyes, and don't argue. Feel your clothing change.

She wasn't exactly sure how to go about it, but she concentrated nonetheless. For a moment, she felt nothing. Concentrate, the voice urged again. She focused harder. What should she focus on? Jean tried to think back to the last magazine she'd read. On the cover, some celebrity smiled, showing off an airy green sundress.

Amazingly, she felt the fabric loosening, the denim of her jeans opening up and thinning. The collar of her shirt shortened and tightened into the square-cut neck of a cotton sundress. Opening her eyes, she was amazed to see that her jeans and shirt had disappeared, giving way to a loose-fitting sundress.

"I don't believe it," she whispered, her hands running over the sides of the dress. "What just happened?"

You shifted reality. The voice was oddly calm, as if something relatively mundane had just occurred. Using my power as a supplement, you used your telekinesis to shift and alter the structure of your clothing. The result is something completely different than you began with.

"That's incredible," she spoke, still in awe.

It's merely a beginner's exercise, the voice spoke, a strange hint of amusement in its usually even voice. It's one small usage of the immense magnitude of power you have at your fingertips. So you tell me, Jean. Do you want to continue moving rocks, or are you ready for something worthy of your skill and potential?

Quietly, she considered the words spoken to her. On the one hand, she could not deny that she longed to learn more, to test the limits of the powers at her hands. And what would be wrong with it? The power was hers to us, why shouldn't she learn to control it?

On the other hand, the idea of wielding that much power terrified her, down to her very core. Would it consume and destroy her? Would the power twist her, as it twisted Magneto, reshaping her? Could it kill her?

In the end, she made her choice. "Show me," she whispered. "I want to learn."

-----

Rogue's family had never been much for outings. Her father, a workaholic, could never be bothered to take the family out. Her mother, not one for socializing, never took Rogue anywhere unless it was absolutely necessary. For the most part, her family had always done as they pleased, typically only spending time together at the dinner table, when they gathered to spend 30 minutes carrying on mundane conversations and trying not to annoy her father. The whole idea of spending "quality" time with a family was virtually alien to the young Southern teen.

"What do you want," Mystique asked Rogue, turning away from the Starbucks counter, where a bored looking twenty-something stood, waiting to fill the order. Mystique, an avid coffee-drinker, had insisted they stop on the way to the art gallery.

"Ah'm not much of a coffee person" she said, smiling sweetly. Raven snorted before ordering a frappuccino for the teen.

Rogue had been somewhat shocked when Magneto, the man who once nearly succeeded in killing her, had insisted on taking everyone, her included, on what he referred to as a "cultural expedition." This trip included a brief stop at the Met to take in some artwork, followed by a trip to the symphony that night.

Surprisingly, she found herself looking forward to the trip, though she questioned whether someone like the Blob, who possessed the cultural intelligence of a Q-tip, could appreciate a paint-by-numbers, much less a Van Gogh. Still, there she was, standing next to St. John, on their way to the museum.

"Here," Mystique said, pushing a warm cardboard cup filled with steaming coffee into Rogue's hand. "Try it."

There she stood, cup in one hand, other arm looped through that of the blind Destiny, who'd been quiet for the whole trip. Rogue had wondered why the blind seer had insisted on accompanying them to an art museum, but the old woman had assured her that she saw more clearly without her eyes than with them.

Taking a sip of her coffee (which only solidified the fact that she was NOT a coffee person, whatsoever), Rogue followed her would-be family, gently leading her elderly guardian along the busy New York sidewalk. Mystique walked just behind her, keeping an eye on the group before her, as if she were an elementary school teacher and they her class.

She felt Destiny's old hand squeeze hers and she turned, noting the smile on the blind woman's face. "You have a visitor," she said before going quiet again. Rogue turned, her eyes searching until they found their intended target, a smirking Cajun boy, who leaned against a street sign on the opposite side of the road. Tipping his sunglasses so his glowing eyes peeked out, he smirked, then lifted a couple of fingers in a silent greeting. Rogue grinned, then turned to see Mystique's penetrating gaze. The shapeshifter turned, trying to see what had caught her attention. Nervously, the Southern girl turned, but to her surprise, Remy was gone. Seeing nothing, the shapeshifter had turned back, glancing curiously and a bit suspiciously at Rogue, who stifled a giggle and marched onward.

The museum was crowded by groups of schoolchildren, who ogled the artwork, charmed more by the colors and shapes than the message itself. The Blob, clearly unimpressed by the idea of staring at paintings, wandered off, probably to track down something to eat. Magneto, accompanied by a beaming Pietro, wandered off to explore on his own, while Mystique, her hands clenching Destiny's, followed a curious St. John around. "Are you coming?" Raven had asked her, the curiosity still apparent.

"Ah think ah'll wander around on mah own, if that's alright with y'all." The shapeshifter narrowed her eyes for a moment, but Rogue maintained her composure. Finally, Mystique shrugged and took off behind the wandering St. John.

She wandered alone for a few minutes, silently observing some of the paintings. The closest she'd ever been to real artwork was the county fair back in Mississippi, where some of the local artists displayed their works year after year. Now, watching these famed works, the local art seemed almost pedestrian in comparison.

"Bet y' never saw anyt'ing quite like dis, River Rat." She could feel his breath gently brushing against the back of her neck. Turning around, she found his face hovering dangerously close to hers, his gleaming red eyes smoldering softly as they held her glance.

"Well," she said, cocking one dark eyebrow, "Ah suppose these paintings are nothin' compared to the ones ya've stolen, am ah right?" The boy grinned, revealing a set of near-perfect teeth.

"Jus because de boy is a t'ief don mean he can't appreciate de art." Taking her gloved hand in his, he swept it up to his mouth, pressing his lips against her covered knuckles. "Come wit' me an' I'll give you de tour."

He led her around the museum, his hand never letting go of hers. The boy walked slowly, always pulling her closer to him. Every time his eyes burned into hers, she thought he might kiss her, but he never did, instead just smiling as if to say 'Not yet.' The prospect of his lips once again pressing against hers simultaneously frightened and enthralled her. Silently, she shook away the images, doubting he would risk things again just to feel her against him. Still, the way he sometimes looked at her gave her the tiniest glimmer of hope, which she held on to like a shimmering piece of silver.

"Dis one is my favorite," he said, moving behind her. "My pere showed it t' me when I was a pup." Slowly, he slid his arm around her stomach, pulling her back so that she leaned against him. The side of his face pressed into her smooth hair, and she heard him breathe in slowly, taking in the soft citrus scent of her shampoo. She closed her eyes, listening to his voice speak to her, smooth and slow like the molasses her mother kept in the pantry growing up. Her eyes opened again slowly, and from the corner of her left eye, she could see his free hand slowly moving up to brush her bare cheek.

"Stop," she whispered, closing her eyes tightly again to press back the tears that threatened to come. "Ya can't touch me."

"Because of y' powers?" She heard him chuckle slightly, then felt his arms grasping her stomach and turning her slowly. Taking her gloved hands into his, he spoke again. "Look at me." At first she refused, but he repeated once more. "Look at me," he urged, more a plea than a request. Slowly, she opened again, her lashes dampening as they touched the traces of salty tears that lingered on her eyelids.

"Listen t' me now," he said gently, "Maybe de other boys in y' life are scared t' touch y', but dat isn't me." He smiled reassuringly, and she felt herself begin to smile, despite the tears that still framed her eyes. "I'm not afraid," he whispered, "and y' shouldn't be either."

Once again, she saw his hand draw to her face. "Do y' trust me?" he whispered, his hand hovering just above her downy cheek. "Say it," he urged.

She closed her eyes. "Ah trust ya," she said, swallowing. "It's me ah don't trust."

His hand lowered again, and she could practically feel his disappointment. "Dat's okay," he said, taking her gloved hand to his lips again. She opened her eyes and saw his grin. "Dat's somet'ing we can work on. In de meantime, y' mere over dere is givin' me de evil eye, an' I don' wanna die jus' yet. Perhaps we continue dis another time?"

She grinned. "Ah think ah'd like that," she told him, as Mystique began walking over. "But how will ah find y'?"

"When y' need me, I'll be dere," he told her, dropping her hand and grinning. He pulled at the collar of his trenchcoat as he began to move away.

"How will ya find me?" she asked, brows furrowing. He grinned.

"Don' worry, chere. Dat's been taken care of."

Mystique reached Rogue just as Remy made his exit through the door. "So," she said, her eyes on Rogue's. "Wanted to explore by yourself, huh?" Rogue just grinned, then walked back over to the laughing St. John who stood by a smiling Destiny. The shapeshifter shook her head. "Can't leave any of them alone for five minutes."

-----

Jubilee decided she didn't like the guest instructor one bit. One look at the perfectly pressed suit and serious face of the dark-haired woman gave the young Asian girl the impression that she wouldn't like her at all.

Though she'd insisted the students call her by Tessa, an extremely informal name for a teacher, the woman did not appear particularly relaxed. She had virtually no sense of humor, not even cracking a smile at Bobby's impressions of the other teachers. "You sure you didn't freeze her into a block of ice, Popsicle?" she'd whispered to the blonde boy, who'd only shrugged.

At least she'd brought eye candy along, Jubilee thought, her eyes drifting to the dark-haired boy who sat at the back of the room, arms crossed. He was a definite babe, she thought, even if his sense of fashion extended no farther than black pants and a matching black shirt. Oh well. At least she could console herself with the fact that his shirt was tight.

For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why he kept his mouth covered with a tight scarf. Fashion statement? Horrible disfigurement? Maybe his face just got cold easily. Jubilee made a mental note to discuss it later on with Paige, whose eyes hadn't left the boy since he sat down.

She forced herself to turn back to Tessa, who was currently lecturing about some boring poet who Jubilee was certain had written an equally boring poem. She wasn't ashamed to admit that her idea of fine poetry pretty much extended to Dr. Seuss and a few select limericks that could make Remy blush. Kitty, however, seemed enthralled with Tessa's teaching, nodding and writing down notes fervently.

"She's so incredibly intelligent," Kitty gushed when the class let out. "It's like she knows every little detail about that poem. It's incredible."

"Incredibly boring, maybe," Jubilee said, yawning for emphasis. "What did you think, Bobby?"

"She was hot," he said. Then, getting elbowed by Kitty, he added "Her lecture wasn't bad either."

"She has a very European teaching style," Monet sniffed, "Something most of you," her eyes glanced at Jubilee, "wouldn't appreciate." Jubilee just rolled her eyes.

"Ah liked her," Paige said. "Ah thought she was very interestin'."

"Please, Paige," Jubilee said, "Like you were paying attention to anything but the tight abs on the new kid." Paige flushed as the other kids, save Monet, cracked up. "Nothin' to be embarrassed about," she said, "I was ogling him too."

"Ah wasn't oglin'," Paige objected, her face still pink, "Ah was just wonderin' what kinda powers he has."

"Who cares, so long as he knows what to do with those nice big hands of his." Jubilee wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Paige's blushed deepened. "I swear, Hayseed, you embarrass more quickly than anyone I've ever met."

The topic of their conversation chose that minute to walk by, headed in the direction of the cafeteria. Jubilee whistled and he turned, giving her a strange look before walking away. "Oh yeah," she said, "he wants me."

"Wants you to keep your scary stalker hands off of him, maybe," Bobby cracked, earning him a sharp smack on the arm.

"C'mon Paige," Jubilee said, grabbing the blonde Kentucky native by the arm, "We're going to talk to him."

The boy sat at an empty table in the corner of the cafeteria. As they approached, Jubilee wondered briefly why he didn't have anything to eat before him. He didn't even have a drink. Pulling Paige down beside her, Jubilee plopped down in a seat across the table from the boy. He looked at her, his dark eyes blinking contemplatively.

"Hi," she said, "I'm Jubilation Lee, better known as Jubilee. This is Paige Guthrie, better known as Hayseed." Paige blushed again. "We came over to introduce ourselves."

The boy was quiet for a minute. "Jonothan Starsmore. Jono."

For a second, Jubilee swore the boy had spoken in her head instead of out loud. Turning to Paige, she noticed the other girl appeared to have heard him speak too, so she said nothing. "Is that a British accent?" Paige questioned him.

"Indeed it is, gel," he replied, which caused Paige to grin. "Would I be right in guessing that's a Southern one?"

"Kentucky, born and bred," she told him. "That's where me and mah brother Sam are from. Sam goes here too."

"Fascinating," Jubilee said, breaking into the conversation. "So, Jono. What's with the scarf? Fashion trend of some kind?"

If the boy smiled, she couldn't tell. "Sure," he said, a slight chuckle in his voice. "You might say that."

"I bet you guys get all sorts of great trends before us," Jubilee said. "We got a lot of them back in LA. I'm very into fashion. Paige here is an overalls kind of girl. We're still working on her."

The look the Southern teen gave Jubilee let her know that if Jono wasn't sitting right there, she might have backhanded her. Jubilee was fairly sure she would hear it later on that day. "So Jono," she said. "Noticed you don't have any lunch. Not that I blame ya, I'm not a fan of cafeteria food either. What say we ditch for the rest of the day and go get some real food?"

"Thanks fer the offer," he said, "but I think I'll pass."

"What's the matter," Jubilee teased. "Don't eat?"

"No, actually." Jubilee's eyebrows shot up curiously, while Paige just tilted her head.

"Part of my mutation," he said. "I don't have to eat or drink."

"Freaky," Jubilee said. "So what is your mutation exactly?"

"Pardon the interruption." Jubilee wanted to groan as Tessa approached. "But I was wondering if I might speak with Master Starsmore alone, briefly. I won't keep him long."

"Sure," Paige said, standing up. "Let's go, Jubilee. It was nice to meet you, Jono."

"Pleasure," he told them, as they left. "Care for a seat, Tessa?"

"Thank you, but I won't be long," she said. "I just came to give you an assignment." At his strange look, she clarified. "More of a favor for Miss Frost and Mr. Shaw, really. They want you to let me know everything about your interactions with the students. What you talk about, what kind of powers they have. Everything you learn."

"Why?" he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice. "Why would the headmasters be interested in what a bunch of teenagers talk about?"

"School business," she said. "Nothing too important."

"If it wasn't important, then why ask?"

"We simply want to get a feel for the school." Her flat tone betrayed nothing to Jono, who still glanced at her curiously. "We want to see how the students get along and what their concerns are. It gives us the resources we need to run our own school and keep up with our students, is all."

"Sure," he told her after a moment of silence. "I'll let you know."

Tessa nodded, then turned. "Oh, and Jonothan," she said, turning around again. "Pay extra attention to those girls you were just speaking with, and their friends as well. I understand they're in some sort of gifted program here. Perhaps you could let us know more about it, so we can form one of our own back at the Academy." With that, the dark-haired woman turned and walked away.

-----

"Have you got it yet? ... Well, hurry up!"

It was taking too long, Ryan thought, as he watched his friend work at the lock on the church door. Nervously, he turned around, making sure the coast was still clear. The street was empty, smoke rising up from the grates.

"I've got it," his friend said as the lock clicked. "Let's go." Quietly, the two boys slid inside the Catholic church, shutting the heavy door behind them. "It's freezing in here. You'd think they'd never heard of heating."

Ryan turned nervously, stumping his toe on a piece of furniture. "Shit!" he cursed, dropping the flashlight.

"Man, you shouldn't curse in a church," his friend said, looking through the doorway. "It's like, against God, or something."

"We just broke into a church. Cursing is the least of my concerns." Ryan picked up the flashlight. "C'mon, we have to hurry."

The sanctuary was eerily silent, even for a church. Used to coming during the day, Ryan found that the church at night was a bit of a spooky place. "It's creepy," he muttered.

"We're wasting our time," his friend said. "There's nothing here."

"Let's just look around a bit more," Ryan insisted, making his way past the pews. Approaching the altar, he found himself growing more and more spooked by the darkness.

"A demon in a church?" His friend snorted. "You've officially lost it."

"Hey, you didn't have to come," Ryan snapped. "Now be quiet, or someone might hear you."

"Do you smell that?" his friend said, wrinkling his nose.

"What?" Ryan peeked into one of the rooms off to the side.

"It smells like sulfur. Man, don't they clean this place?"

"Why don't you go find out what it is?" Ryan suggested, shining the flashlight at the ceiling of the sanctuary. As the light hit the roof, he could have sworn he saw a shadow scurry away.

"Whatever," his friend said, going into the door where the choir entered. "Don't let any ghosts get you."

Ryan walked down the pews again, shining the light down each one. Turning around, the smell of sulfur hit his nostrils as well. "What is that?"

From the other room, he heard a startled scream. Seconds later, his friend tore out, screaming.

"What is it?" Ryan asked as his friend plowed into him, knocking him over.

"It's got yellow eyes, let's get the HELL out of here!"

"What?"

"GO!"

The two boys jumped to their feet and took off to the front of the church.

BAMF! For a second, Ryan thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Right before his eyes, a cloud of smoke appeared, just in front of the front door. At first, he saw nothing but the smoke. Seconds later, however, a pair of very bright, very yellow eyes shone right through.

He screamed, dropping the flashlight. Dropping down to reach for it, he heard the "bamf" noise again. When he looked up again, there was nothing there.

"What the..." He had never been so confused in his life. For a moment there, he could have sworn he saw something, staring back at him from that puff of smoke. Now, there was nothing there but the slightest wisps of smoke, which very might as well have been fog.

Suddenly, he became very aware of a soft breathing behind him. Slowly turning around, Ryan found himself face to face with what might have been something out of a comic book. A pair of shining yellow eyes shone back at him from the face of a blue-skinned man with pointed ears. A pointed tail stuck out from behind the creature, twitching slowly.

For a moment, neither said anything. Then, to Ryan's shock and horror, the creature grinned, and then spoke one word. "Boo."

Screaming, he took off out the church door, bolting behind his friend who was already halfway down the street. As he ran, panting, Ryan could have sworn he heard laughter, emanating from the church door.

-----

"Alex?" Scott pushed the shop door open, stepping into the softly lit room. "Alex?"

"So where's this brother of yours?" Lorna asked, stepping in behind Scott. The door swung shut with a bang, startling the green-haired woman.

"Right here," Alex said, stepping in from the back room. It was then that Lorna got her first real look at Scott's mysterious brother. At first glance, the stubbly electrician looked nothing like the obsessively hygienic and clean-shaved Scott. He was unkempt, his button-down shirt hanging over his relaxed cargo pants. His hair, a sandy blonde, was longish, falling in his face every few seconds. Wiping an unidentifiable tool on a grimy rag, the blue-eyed man peered at the two of them, silently observing.

"Scotty," he finally said, walking over and offering his hand to his older brother. "Beginning to think you weren't coming."

"Thanks for the favor, Alex," Scott said, "I appreciate it."

"Don't go thanking me yet, Scott," he said, sitting down on a bench behind the desk. "I only agreed to meet with your little friend here." He gestured his head towards Polaris. "I don't hire anyone without interviewing them first."

"Lorna's extremely capable and intelligent," Scott said. "She'd be perfect for keeping the books and handling the business aspect."

"I'm sure she would," Alex said, nodding. "Course, if you'd have stayed with the business like Dad intended, we wouldn't need anyone to do that."

Lorna noted the way Scott's jaw hardened. She felt as if she should say something, but she wasn't in the habit of getting in family arguments. Turning back to Alex, she noticed his gaze fixed intently on her. "Lorna, is it?" he asked, setting the rag down. "You go to college?"

"I graduated not long ago," she said, nodding. "Geology."

"I studied archaeology in college," he said, grinning briefly. "Now I build electronics for a living. Funny how things work out, huh?"

"Maybe that's just how it was meant to be," she said, shrugging.

He nodded. "Maybe. Then again, maybe some of us get out easy," he looked at Scott, "while others of us take care of the things we're supposed to take care of."

Lorna could tell Scott was about to say something, so she cut in. "I'm perfectly capable of handling myself with accounts and whatnot."

"I don't doubt it," Alex said. He stood. "Alright. We'll give this a shot. I assume you've got a place in the city to stay?"

"The Professor set me up with a small apartment," she replied. "Nothing big, but it fits my needs."

"Must be nice to have everything taken care of," he said, looking at Scott instead of her. "Kind of like a surrogate father, taking care of all your needs. Must be easy to forget your real family with all that."

"That's enough, Alex," Scott finally said, his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles had faded to a ghostly white. "There's no need to drag up ancient history in front of Lorna."

"Ancient to some, not to others," Alex said, his gaze fixed on Scott. Then, turning back to Lorna, he said "Sorry you had to see this. My brother and I have a complicated history."

"What family doesn't?" Lorna said, though she was the only one who smiled.

"You can start tomorrow morning," Alex told her, standing to shake her hand. "Store opens at 9, be here by 8."

"Will do. It was nice to meet you, Alex," Lorna shook his hand.

"You too," he responded, giving the first genuine smile he'd flashed for the entire visit. "Oh, Scotty. You ever control those optic blasts of yours?"

"You know I haven't," Scott said, opening the door. "I wear these glasses for a reason."

"Shame," Alex said. "I guess the Professor can't give you everything, huh?"

-----

It was a risky move, but one Warren was willing to make. As he sat in the office of Frost International's esteemed CEO, he found himself questioning why he'd agreed to help the Professor with his insane plan of infiltrating the Hellfire Club in the first place.

They knew little to nothing about this supposed "Inner Circle" of the Hellfire Club except that there was a potential that it was composed of very wealthy, very dangerous mutants. This Emma Frost that he was waiting to meet was, as rumor told, one of the most ruthless women in the business world. It wasn't such a stretch that she might be one of the most ruthless women in the mutant world, either.

The previous night had been a stressing one, with Betsy spending literally hours constructing near perfect mental barriers in Warren's mind, which would conceal any information regarding Xavier, the Institute, or the infiltration from Emma's telepathy. His girlfriend had virtually exhausted her capabilities in performing the task, and would likely have limited telepathic abilities for a couple days.

The office door slid open and in walked Emma Frost, dressed in her trademark white business suit. "Warren Worthington," she said, shaking the billionaire's hand, "It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

"Miss Frost," he said, smiling cordially, "I've heard much about you."

"Only half of it charming, I'm sure," she said, flashing an enchanting smile. "And please, call me Emma. So, what can I help you with?"

"Emma, I've come to you with a rather... sensitive matter."

"Sensitive matters are what public relations teams are for," she said, holding a pen in one perfectly manicured hand. "I'm not sure what help I could provide, that your press team cannot."

"I'm afraid it's a bit more serious than the typical public relations issue." Emma cocked one eyebrow. "You see," Warren continued, keeping his composure as best he could, "As you undoubtedly know, with success comes extraordinary amounts of attention. Which is why I've come to you. For all your success, you've got a remarkable talent for staying out of the headlines. Your presence is known and felt, but never reported on."

"I'm not quite sure what you're getting at, Warren." Emma reclined in her seat. "What does my media coverage have to do with your... sensitive matter?"

"I'm a mutant." Standing up, he removed his heavy coat, revealing the bound wings underneath. "I've concealed this matter from most for years, but it's getting more difficult by the day."

Emma's smile never faltered. "Yes, I can see how that would be a sensitive matter, but what does that have to do with me?"

For a moment, Warren wondered if maybe the X-Men were wrong and Emma wasn't a mutant telepath. What if he'd just revealed his most guarded secret for no reason? No, the Professor was too cautious to put anyone at risk for nothing. Warren took another risk.

"You see, Emma," he said, pulling his coat back on, "It has come to my attention that I'm not the only mutant in the business field. I'm not the only one investing time and energy into concealing this. Do you see what I'm getting at now?" He leaned forward. "I'm seeking your help in protecting my dirty little secret because you've done so well at protecting yours."

Emma was silent, and Warren wondered briefly if he'd overplayed his hand. Now that her cover was blown, how would she react? Would she backtrack and invest all her energies into protecting whatever it was the Hellfire Club had to hide? Or worse, would she wield her own powers against his, protecting herself at any cost.

To his amazement, she laughed. Then, slowly, she began to clap. "Well played Warren. For a moment, I wasn't certain you'd push it that far." She stood, walking around the table. "So, you've managed to uncover my precious secret. I am a telepath, yes. I won't ask how you uncovered this fact when most of my family hasn't. I suppose we all have our ways." She tilted her head, observing him. "You have remarkable mental barriers. My telepathy can't penetrate them without risking permanent damage."

"I believe in being prepared for any situation," he remarked, a wry smile on his face.

"Naturally." Her eyes flashed. "I think I can help you," she said, "Though it would be best not to discuss it here. Perhaps you could join me for dinner later. Say, eight o'clock at the Hellfire Club? I understand you are a member."

"I inherited it from my family," he replied. "As did you, I understand."

"Yes. I have certain investments in the Club that transcend normal membership," she said. "But we can discuss that later. It was a pleasure to meet you Warren." She shook his hand. "I look forward to dining with you tonight and discussing our mutual interests."

"I look forward to it as well," Warren responded, exiting the office. He waited until he was in his limo and on his way back to his own office before contacting Betsy. "Hey," he said, cradling the cell phone, "It worked."

"Wonderful!" Betsy said, "This might be easier than we thought. So, what happened?"

"I got her to reveal that she's a telepath," he said, "which is a step in the right direction. I'm meeting her for dinner tonight at the Hellfire Club to discuss it further."

The line was silent for a moment. "Betsy?" he asked, momentarily wondering if the connection had cut off.

"Warren, we had plans tonight, did you forget?" Warren winced. "We were meeting my family for dinner tonight."

"I'm sorry, I completely forgot," he apologized. "I was just so focused on completing the job that it slipped my mind."

"Mmm," Betsy responded, adopting the tone she used when she was upset, "and I don't suppose this dinner invitation included me." When Warren didn't respond, she continued, "No, I didn't think so."

"There's nothing to be upset about," he told her.

"Maybe. But just remember that Emma's reputation doesn't just extend to ruthless business tactics. She also has a knack for seducing powerful businessmen in order to further her own success."

"C'mon, you don't really think, I'll fall for that, do you? I thought you trusted me more than that."

"Oh, I trust you implicitly," she replied. "I just don't trust conniving telepathic businesswomen who invite you to private dinners at social clubs where they may or may not be part of an elite group hell-bent on obtaining as much power and wealth as possible. I'm sorry, the idea of that just isn't something I'm comfortable with."

"I'll be fine," he said, reassuring her. "I won't let her trick me into anything."

"See that she doesn't," Betsy said, her tone lightening, "Or I might just have to have my own private meeting with Miss Emma Frost, and I assure you, it won't be for a polite dinner."

-----

Storm glided through the airspace over the mansion, letting the wind whip through her snowy hair. She enjoyed these private flights, times when she could get away from the bustle of the school.

Her students were showing remarkable progress. It was a source of pride for her to watch the talented youngsters come into their own and control their powers.

Glancing down, she noticed movement by the gate. She dropped slightly, getting a better view. The figure was masculine, but she couldn't make it out from this altitude. She watched as the shape made it over the front gate and into the lawn.

Narrowing her eyes, she dropped to stop the intruder, who had a faded trenchcoat pulled up around him. Holding out a hand, she sent forth a strong gust of wind, which knocked the figure backwards. "Halt," she said, touching down on the ground.

"Ow," the figure said, turning over. "Watch where you aim dat wind, Stormy."

"Gambit," she said, placing her hands on her hips. "I have told you not to call me that. I assume you have a good reason for scaling the walls when you could have come through the gate like a normal person."

He grinned, flashing his charming smile at her. "Where's de fun in dat? Besides, I don' feel like runnin' into de petits. Dey always want t' be around me, neh?"

"Perhaps if you did not flirt so much with the female students," she said, a wry smile on her face, "they wouldn't always follow you around. You have quite the fan base here."

"De ladies love LeBeau." He jumped to his feet and walked over to her. "Dey cannot get enough of me."

"So where have you been this afternoon." She raised her eyebrow and looked at him questioningly. "You've been taking quite a few off-campus trips as of late."

He waved his finger. "Dat's for me to know, chere. Don' worry. I try to stay out of too much trouble."

"That is a bit reassuring." She smiled at her friend. "You might be interested to know that the new instructor, Tessa, has arrived, with one of the students from the Massachusetts Academy. No doubt you are eager to woo her as well."

He grinned. "Maybe later, Stormy. I have other t'ings t' do, non?"

She widened her eyes. "Something more important than charming a new teacher?"

He shrugged. "What can I say? Other t'ings have come up." Flashing one more smile at his friend, he bounded off back to the mansion, leaving her to look curiously after him.

-----

News of the church demon spread through the neighborhood like wildfire, scaring and upsetting the residents of the Manhattan neighborhood. At first, the story just spread through the local high school, scaring some of the students. From there, it passed to the teachers and then finally to the residents of the neighborhood.

When questioned, the church officials claimed that no one resided in the church save a handful of priests. But as news of the "demon" spread, the church found themselves facing more than just upset parents.

Night after night, the church was subjected to graffiti and bricks thrown at the windows. Eventually, the "demon" was rumored not to be a demon at all, but rather a mutant that the priests had supposedly been hiding.

The church, naturally, denied everything, but began taking security measures nonetheless. Guards now sat in the entrance of the sanctuary, stopping any attempted break-ins by teenagers or angry residents who were determined to "drive this dirty mutie out."

Finally, they made good on their promise.

It was close to midnight when the mob arrived, carrying an array of homemade weapons. In a group, they broke into the church, easily subduing the security. In a sweep, they searched out the church, until they found him hiding.

He was demonic in form, yet seemed to have a gentle nature. When the crowd rushed him, he disappeared with a puff of smoke, only to reappear behind then. This enraged the crowd, serving as further "proof" of his evil.

He fled continually, all the while knowing that soon he would tire and they would catch him. He was making his final peace when the crowd suddenly stopped attacking.

They stood there, unmoving, the rage gone from their faces. 'What's this?' he asked himself. 'They seem calm.'

That would be my doing, a voice told him. It seemed to speak directly in his head. Turning his head about swiftly, he sought out the mystery voice. I'm right here.

He turned, only to see a bald man in a wheelchair staring serenely at him. You don't have to run anymore, Kurt Wagner. You are safe.

"Who are you," Kurt asked in a thick German accent. The man smiled.

I am Charles Xavier. I've come to make you a most intriguing proposal.

"I don't know how you stopped them, Herr Xavier, but I am thankful. I am willing to listen to you, but I would much rather be far away from this lynch mob, as you might understand."

Agreed. My car awaits. There is much to discuss.

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