GO WEST

Chapter 24: "Wheel in the Sky"

Emma Frost couldn't fully contain her malicious smile as Sebastian Shaw was rather brusquely escorted into her recovery room by two Security personnel, as well as a uniformed Akiko Tanaka and Gilbert Dane. Gilbert, the very picture of pleasantness, showed Shaw to a chair, then approached Emma's bedside, along with Akiko.

Shaw, for his own part, was looking as disdainful as ever. "Thank you," he addressed Gilbert coldly, "but I'd prefer to stand."

"Suit yourself, Mr. Shaw," Gilbert smiled, with just a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

After giving the young mutant a long look, Shaw turned to gaze at the two Security guards, whose weapons remained trained on his back. He then looked to Emma. "I see your staff and your students are as hospitable as ever, dear Emma. Remind me never to drop in on a sympathy call again."

"Now, now, Sebastian," Emma chided him, calling forth as much voice as she could. "McConnell, Jones, Akiko and Gilbert have been acting under my orders."

"My," Shaw noted, dryly. "Still carrying a grudge over last winter's little business with Selene?"

"Not at all, my dear," Emma smiled. "Now, let me explain what is going to happen here. McConnell and Jones are going to stay where they are, weapons drawn. You may wish to note that these are energy weapons, which your powers of absorption cannot counter."

"Such hostility," said Shaw, crossing his arms.

"In addition," she went on, "Gilbert here is going to go into his alternate form to keep an eye on you."

She glanced to the side and nodded to Gilbert, who nodded in reply. He then leaped up onto her bedside table and turned into his rabbit-self in one fluid motion. The rabbit turned and blinked in Shaw's direction.

"I am duly intimidated," Shaw grated, the humor rapidly disappearing from his tone.

"Actually, Gilbert is merely going to listen and smell, to make doubly certain that you are completely honest with us. And if you are not, or if you attempt anything we deem excessive, Akiko will shift into her dragon form and roast you where you stand. And I doubt that even you could withstand her fire."

Shaw glared at Akiko, who gave him a very prim, very innocent, very Three-Little-Maids-From-School-Are-We look in reply. She then smiled, showing him her perfect white teeth.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Shaw said to Emma at last.

"Very much so, Sebastian."

At length, he decided to take the indicated seat after all. "Alright, so much for the sympathy call. What have I done to merit such a warm welcome?"

"I was hoping you'd ask," Emma smiled, but this time, it was the icy smile of the former White Queen. "True or false, Sebastian. You sent Manuel De la Rocha here last October."

There was a pause, in which Shaw blinked a few times, as though confused. "And what in the world gave you that idea?"

"Nothing more than a full confession from one Dennis Brooks."

"Ah," Sebastian nodded, with a small, weary smile. "I should have known it was only a matter of time."

"Indeed," Emma went on, coldly. "Having a mole in my Security force is something I can understand, of course, but threatening a man's life and family to force him into working against me? I thought you were above such petty threats."

"We do what we have to do to get the job done, Emma. You know that as well as I."

"Do I, now? Please, answer the question."

Shaw nodded slowly. "Yes, I sent him."

A low growl interrupted the conversation. Shaw looked over with some surprise as he realized the sound was coming from Akiko. It was a deep, guttural sound that a slender little Japanese schoolgirl had no business making.

"Easy, Dragon," Emma warned her student. "I'm sure Sebastian was just about to explain why he did such a thing."

"I'm not impressed by the theatrics, Emma," Shaw frowned. "The truth? De la Rocha came to me and offered me his services shortly after he parted company with the Nova Romani. I sent him to the Academy to convince Colbert and Stavros to defect to the Hellfire Club. Simple as that."

"Oh, you have a fine way of convincing!" Emma shot back, her voice suddenly full of heat and fury.

"I never intended for him to rape the girl!" Shaw replied sharply. "His orders were to use his powers to convince them to leave the Academy, and nothing more. How was I to know he would alter the plan in such a way?"

Emma was furious. Not so much at the idea of what Shaw had done, as this was very like him. What angered her was the way he referred to "the plan," as though Marie-Ange's rape was merely an unfortunate setback. "And why, pray tell, did you wish to bring them to your side of the fence?"

"Quite simple, really," he shrugged. "You brought this about by removing the Academy from the Club's supervision. We are still highly interested in the idea of teaching young mutants to further Hellfire's ends, and since you no longer see fit to include your precious institution in our plans, I am in need of competent mutant teachers who shall. Colbert was the best available resource, and Stavros, I imagine, would have the bent for our work."

"Yes," Emma snapped. "And now, because of your actions, they are both gone, as is Catseye. It seems I have you to thank."

Shaw rose from the chair and straightened his coat. "If you have heard enough, I believe I should be on my way. This ceased to be a sympathy call quite some time ago, and I have no wish to be lectured by the kettle, as it were."

"Very well. McConnell and Jones will show you out. And Sebastian?"

"Yes?"

Emma let herself smile that very cold, very dangerous White Queen smile she'd used earlier, and countless times in the past. "If you should ever cross me, or any of my students or staff, in such a way again, you will not live long enough to regret it. Are we clear?"

"Clear as crystal," Shaw replied, coolly. "I wish you luck with the Academy, Emma. By recent events, you need it. And if you should ever require the Club's assistance, you have only to ask."

"Burn in Hell, dear heart," she smiled sweetly, as the Security agents escorted him out.

Meanwhile, Gilbert had hopped down from the table and reverted to his human form. "Well, he was telling the truth, at least as far as I could tell."

"Thank you, Gilbert. And thank you as well, Akiko. I hope you know that I had no intention of asking you to burn him."

"Arigato," Dragon nodded, "though I hope you know that I desperately wished to do so."

Sun Motel, Winslow AZ
Sunday, 23 January 1994 9:52 am MST

To be perfectly honest, James Carlson hated working the front desk of this motel, but not nearly as much as he'd hated working at Blockbuster. At the very least, he'd been taken off the graveyard shift and put on mornings, with very little to do but check people out of their rooms and play games on his laptop computer. So all things considered, he couldn't really complain. It wasn't like anything unusual ever happened on this shift anyway.

He had just completed another combat simulation on the latest AD&D game when the door to the office was pushed open. Looking up to see who it was, James had to forcibly clench his jaw to keep it from dropping.

She was a blonde. Not only that, but a gorgeous blonde. Not only that, but a gorgeous, stacked blonde wearing nothing more than a loose halter top that didn't nearly do the job, and a pair of bikini-cut panties.

She also looked at least three-quarters asleep. Not really watching where she was going, she shuffled up to the front desk counter and leaned heavily against it.

"What time is it?" she asked in a raspy voice.

James blinked a couple of times, then consulted the clock. "Nearly ten."

The blonde blinked furiously, trying to focus on him. She didn't appear to be having much success. "What day is it?"

"Excuse me?"

"What day is it?" she repeated, sounding mildly irritated.

"Um... Sunday."

"Sunday?" she repeated. She blinked a few more times, then frowned. "What date?"

"What date?"

"Yeah, what date?"

"It's the twenty-third," James informed her. "January," he added, trying to head off the next question at the pass.

"Ah," she nodded, with a half-smile. "Good. Okay, I'll be right back."

She turned around and shuffled off, disappearing through the front doors. James took a moment to replay the conversation in his head to see if perhaps he'd missed something, then got back to his game.

About five minutes later, she came back through the door again, still in the same state of dress. She once again shuffled up to the counter, but this time, slapped a few twenty dollar bills down on the desktop. "I need to pay for three more nights, if I could."

"Ah, sure," James nodded. "What room number?"

The blonde's face creased with thought. "One-twelve," she said at length. "The name's Stavros, with two esses."

James checked the motel computer, then, to see that there was indeed a Stavros listed in room 112. "Okay, Ms. Stavros, three more nights comes to... eighty-four twenty-six."

"Here you go," she smiled sleepily, passing him the five twenties.

"Alright, and your change is... fifteen seventy-four. Thanks very much."

She accepted the change mutely, and turned to go. James watched her for a moment, then realized he probably shouldn't be doing so, and finally turned back to his computer.

Another five minutes passed, and then the phone rang. He picked it up on the second ring. "Sun Motel, this is James, may I help you?"

"Hi, James, this is Jenny again."

"Um... Jenny?" He chewed on this for a moment, then realization dawned. "Oh! Ms. Stavros?"

"Yeah, Ms. Stavros. Um, I wanted to know if I could get a wake-up call."

"Sure. What time do you need it?"

"Eight a.m."

"Okay, I'll mark you down for..."

"Wednesday," she interrupted.

James paused. "Excuse me?"

"I need it for Wednesday morning, eight a.m. If anyone calls for me before then, I'll be asleep, okay?"

"Ah, sure, whatever you say. Wednesday at eight it is."

"Thanks, James. G'night."

The phone clicked. James held the receiver away and just looked at it for a while, then at length, hung it up and got back to his game.

Massachusetts Academy, 2:11 pm EST

Mick looked up from his Multivac terminal as there was yet another knock at the open door to his office. He was somewhat surprised to see Etienne Delacroix standing there, looking troubled. The expression on the young Frenchman's face was one Mick had never before seen, and it immediately put him ill at ease.

Nonetheless, he gave Etienne a light smile. "G'day, Stevie," he nodded. "C'mon in."

"Merci," Etienne replied, stepping into the tiny office space and closing the door behind him. He seated himself in the only other chair, took a deep breath, and said nothing at all.

"What's on your mind, mate?" Mick asked, trying to edge things along.

Etienne nodded a couple of times, took another breath, and let it out slowly. "M'sieu..." he began, but again ground to a halt.

With a sigh, Mick switched off his computer monitor, transferred his keyboard from his lap to the desktop, and turned in his chair to give the younger mutant an even gaze. "Stevie, it's me, Mick. C'mon now, mate, you've never been one t' hold back what's on y'r mind. So... what's on y'r mind?"

"Mick... I do not wish to bother you, but this is important, and with la maîtrise in the infirmary and Mam'selle Tessa as busy as she is, I..."

"You came t' tell me," Mick finished for him. "An' I appreciate it. So what is it?"

Etienne was silent for a time, clenching and unclenching his jaw repeatedly as if biting back on the words. When, at last, he did speak, the words came in a rush. "I wish to request a leave of absence."

"A what?" Mick asked, genuinely surprised.

"I wish to take a semester of academic leave, so that I may take my brother home."

Mick blinked a few times, working this through in his head. "Stevie, you don't haveta' do that."

"Yes, I do," Etienne insisted. "Mick, he is... terrified here. He remembers nothing of this place, of these people, or of what happened to him. He wants to go home. And I wish to take him there."

"But we might be able to help him get his memory back," Mick countered. "Now, I know Emma's not going to be in any shape t' do much for a while, but I can help, and we might be able to call in some help from Greenbriar, or..."

"Then have them come to Tarascon and see us there!" Etienne suddenly burst out. "I want Jean-Pierre to have his memory again! I want him to remember all the things we've done together since coming to the Academy: the missions, the field work, the training, the dances, the trips to Boston, the lady-watching, all of it! I still remember everything we've done together, and now it is like I am the older brother, and he never did any of these things with me!"

"Let us help, then," Mick insisted. He could tell that Etienne was genuinely upset; he wasn't making any effort to exaggerate his accent, and his hair was beginning to puff out just slightly from an involuntary build-up of his electrical power. "You, ah, might wanna ground y'rself, mate."

Etienne paused, embarrassed, and let the power fade out. "I think that taking him home, to a place he still remembers, might help his memory."

For a while, Mick thought about this. "You could be right," he admitted. "Maybe bein' in familiar surroundings would trigger something, and the rest might start comin' back. Hell, anythin's possible in a case like this, I s'pose."

"You approve, then?" Etienne asked, sitting up straighter in his chair, his voice suddenly hopeful.

"Well, I said y' could be right. But I can't just send you two off to France in the middle of everythin' like this. I'll need t' talk it over with Emma, Tessa an' A.C. first."

There was a long pause, and at length, with much hesitance, Etienne said "Does... he need to know?"

Since two of the three people on the list were women, it didn't take a lot of mental effort for Mick to figure out who "he" was. "Yeh, 'smuch as anyone else. What's wrong with that?"

"I do not wish to explain myself to that man."

"Okay, back up some here," Mick said, brushing his hair back out of his face. "Y'gotta understand, Stevie, I ain't had a lot of sleep lately, and the little bit of sleep I have got's been spent walkin' around in people's dreams. You're gonna have to be real specific with me. You have a problem with Doc Ace?"

"He called me a murderer."

"When?"

"In the Combat Room, before la maîtrise collapsed."

"I... don't remember him callin' you a murderer, mate."

"Not to my face, but the word murder was used, and he was pointing in my direction. I do not wish to speak to him about this, now or ever."

There was another short pause, while Mick tried to collect his confused thoughts. "You ain't never had a cross word to say about 'im before."

"Non, m'sieu, I merely chose not to say them."

Mick sighed loudly. "Alright, talk to me."

"Do you know what some of the first words were which I heard from this man?"

"I wasn't here those first few days," Mick shrugged. He had to wonder how long Etienne would keep referring to A.C. as "this man" or "that man."

"We were in the Combat Room, the new senior team, with he and Tessa in the control room. Buford suggested an idea for an exercise, and do you know what this man said? He said 'What a complete waste of time,' in that sarcastic tone he uses so well. You should have seen the look on Buford's face. In his first duty as our supervisor, his first words as our supervisor, that man humiliated my best friend in front of his teammates. At that moment, it could be said I was beginning to suspect I would not like him. But I tried. I helped him to move in, and I came to his soirée, and I remembered his music. After a time, I thought to myself, 'Etienne, this man is an artist,' and 'Etienne, this man may have no tact to speak of, but he has a good heart.' I even began to like him. But this..."

During his narrative, Etienne had risen to his feet to pace the small space, gesturing with both arms to emphasize his points, or to pantomime his introspective thoughts. At this point, though, he trailed off, and his arms dropped to his side.

"Go on," Mick nudged.

"Nobody in the world knows better what I have done than I myself, Mick. It is something I have always wondered about. I have known for a long time that I have the power to kill another person, but I always wondered if I would, if I had to."

"I remember," Mick nodded. He had counseled Etienne on this very subject early on in the younger mutant's training.

"When Jean-Pierre was placed on the senior team," Etienne went on, "I thought more of it. Before he had been there, I had long wondered: if anyone were to hurt Haroun, or Sharon, or Jennifer, or Marie-Ange, would I... kill? If someone hurt Buford, my best friend? And then my own brother? I wondered for a long while, and then... I saw this man try to kill my brother, and I had my answer."

Mick was momentarily disoriented by the use of "this man" to describe Johnson rather than A.C. "You acted under orders," he said, gently.

"No, m'sieu, at that moment, Haroun's orders were the furthest thing from my mind. I saw Jean-Pierre fall, and I reacted."

"So y' did," Mick nodded, slowly. "Y'know, Chance was there, boostin' y'r power."

"Oui. But even without her influence, I was not shooting to wound, or to incapacitate."

"Are you proud of killin' Johnson, Etienne?"

"Non, m'sieu," Etienne replied, shaking his head. "I am terrified. As I said, I always knew my powers were capable of killing. To know that I, myself, am capable of allowing this... frightens me deeply."

After another silence, Etienne's face darkened, and he continued. "And M'sieu Kokiadis, with that look of self-righteous disgust, calling me a murderer... what does he know of what had happened? What does he know of my seeing by brother suffering at the hands of a madman? How can he understand what it is like to have the power to... electrocute someone, and not to have the strength not to use it?"

"Stevie, maybe you better have a seat," Mick said, very softly.

This seemed to startle Etienne, and he took the indicated seat, looking mildly confused at Mick's tone.

"Okay, couple of things, here," Mick went on. "Regardin' A.C., I think you should give him both a little credit, and a little time. You're right: he doesn't know about what you went through, but mate, you haven't any idea what he went through, either, and it wasn't pretty. I think it's safe t' say that anything that was said on the Combat Room floor could be taken with the whole damn shaker of salt. I honestly can't believe that he'd think of you as some crazed killer."

Etienne nodded, but did not look convinced. "Let me take my brother home, Mick. Please."

"It ain't just about Johnny, is it?"

When Etienne said nothing in reply, Mick went on. "You're pretty shook up about this, too, aren't you?"

"Oui, c'est vrai," Etienne whispered.

"You hoping, maybe, that some time home'll clear your head and Johnny's both?"

The young Frenchman chewed his lower lip for a moment, then nodded. "Oui."

"You ain't just runnin' away?"

"Non!" Etienne replied, immediately. "Non, I would never do that. I want to come back once Jean-Pierre is better, and continue here. I... seem to have more to learn."

"Ain't we all," Mick sighed. He looked Etienne square in the eye for a long while, then took a deep breath. "Like I said, I'll have t' take it up with the other three, but... I'll tell 'em that I insist that this'd be the best thing for y' both."

Etienne paused for a moment, then stood, and nodded to Mick. "Merci." Without another word, he turned and left the office.

After he was gone, Mick sat in silence for a long time, thinking about Jean-Pierre, thinking about A.C.'s nightmares, thinking about what Emma's reaction to this new news would be, but mostly thinking about the thoughts that had been running through his head when Paul had been dropped by Johnson. No, he couldn't blame Etienne. Not a bit.

Underground Ready Room, MassAc 7:00 pm EST

As could be expected, it was a sedate crowd of Hellions that gathered for this latest emergency briefing. Standard practice would have demanded that this meeting take place in uniform, with team seating, but given the events of the weekend, Mick and A.C. had lobbied for a more casual approach, and Tessa, outnumbered, had assented to their wishes. The Hellions, in civvies, sat in one huge clump of seats in the tiered lecture hall, in whatever order they felt best.

Mick took a look over the crowd as he waited for things to settle. He was somewhat relieved to see that Kristina was there, seated next to Buford and holding his hand over the armrest. Buford, for his own part, seemed to be containing the discomfort of his burns fairly well. Kyle, too, was present, and currently had a seat on the edge of the clump, next to Dan... and Mick couldn't help noticing that it was as far away from Gilbert as possible. Etienne was there as well, leaving his brother to rest in the infirmary, but sitting very quietly, arms crossed.

That left Jean-Pierre, William, Cassie, and now Chance missing, not to mention Emma.

Once the noise level in the room settled, Tessa took the front podium and started things off, while Mick and A.C. stood behind her, awaiting their turns.

"Good evening, students," she began. "Frankly, I wish that we had better news to give you in the wake of this weekend's events. The attack, and subsequent matters, have been a great strain, and all of you should be congratulated on your resilience in the face of disaster."

An interesting way of putting it, Mick thought. The three supervisors had agreed that a positive message right off the bat would be a great help, and Tessa had put it in her own inimitable, analytical style. Mick exchanged glances with A.C., but neither man spoke.

"The past days have necessitated a number of changes, both to personnel, and to the investigation into the disappearance of Catseye and Tarot last October. The purpose of this meeting is to bring you all up to date on our current status, and our future.

"First of all, I would like you all to formally welcome Wraith back into the ranks of the Hellions. Kyle has elected to stay at the Academy until further notice, to continue his education with us. Welcome back, Wraith." There was a smattering of applause as all of the students looked over at Kyle, who just shrugged and gave a little wave.

"Similarly, Rabbit has returned from his... unexpected leave, and will also be resuming his education, both with the Academy and with the Hellions." This, too, was met with a small round of applause. Gilbert, wearing a very serious expression, nodded acknowledgement but did not smile.

"Unfortunately," Tessa continued, "it has become necessary to put a number of the roster on inactive status, for various reasons. Jetstream sustained severe damage to his cybernetic systems. He has been sent to his chief cybernetic physician for repairs, but he will be away from the Academy for at least a week as these repairs are made. He will also require rehabilitation training before returning to his place with the alpha team.

"Gemini is also being placed on inactive status until further notice. As yet, there has been no sign of Pollux, and Castor has remained in dominance through multiple attempts at body-shift. Recovery is, as yet, unforeseeable, so Gemini's return to active duty remains in doubt."

In spite of the words, Mick found himself incongruously humored by Tessa's use of the twins' full names. Neither Paul nor Cass had grown to appreciate the names given them by their very post-hippie zodiac-minded parents, even if it had eventually made selection of a codename quite simple.

"Embers, also, will be placed on inactive status until such time as her cardiac condition has improved sufficiently to allow her the exertions of mutant training."

There was a ripple of surprise, as her condition had not been generally known by her colleagues. Kristina looked down at her lap, unable to meet anyone's eyes.

"Chance," Tessa went on, "has vanished from Academy grounds, but appears to have departed voluntarily, so it is assumed that she has gone AWOL. This matter will be investigated in due course.

"And finally, Lightningrod has not yet recovered his lost memory. He remembers nothing of the Academy, nor his time as a member of the Hellions. As a result, he and Bevatron will be departing in two days' time, to return to their family home in France, in hope that these familiar surroundings will assist in the resolution of Lightningrod's amnesia."

The surprised reaction was even greater, here. Mick glanced over at Buford to see that he had a look of utter shock and hurt on his face at this news. Etienne hadn't even told his best friend, Mick realized, and he sighed quietly at this.

"The headmistress, meanwhile, is recovering quite well from her injuries," Tessa continued. "She remains under close watch for the time being, and Dr. Friedlander has asked that any visitation requests be given directly to her, so that her patient's recovery time may be monitored.

"I now give the floor to Dr. Kokiadis, who will brief you on the continued investigation into last October's attack."

Tessa stepped back from the podium, and looked over at Kokiadis. A.C. glanced over at Mick, gave him an expression of vague dread, then approached the podium.

"Evening. Well, like Tessa said, I wish we had good news, but at the very least, we have news. Before I go any further with this, I just wanted to say that well-deserved credit should be extended to Chief DeCandido, to Marsha, and to Gilbert, for their part in uncovering what's been uncovered."

And then A.C. told them the whole story, as it now stood, of the night of October 27, 1993. While he did not go into any sort of graphic detail, he did make all of the points, stating clearly that Empath had been the rapist in question, and that Catseye had been his killer. Mick watched the reactions very carefully throughout the revelation, and noted expressions ranging from shock, to denial, to confusion, and even, in a couple of cases, to justification, or satisfaction.

"As for why Catseye and Tarot chose to depart as they did," A.C. said here, "we cannot say. One guess is that they simply panicked and bolted. Mick also has a theory, based on a dreamwalk he had some time back, that Tarot was incapacitated during the time of the escape, and that Catseye facilitated the whole thing on her own. Marsha's original farsight of the crime scene seems to suggest the same, not to mention that if Marie-Ange had been able to act, that flyer should never have crashed. We'll be looking into this as well."

He then went on to describe how the new evidence was found, including details on Gilbert's road trip with Jenny, the confrontation at the Buchwald house, the interviews with William and Dane, and (in considerably less detail) the results of Marsha's farsighting of Devin's corpse.

"In a lot of ways," A.C. finished, "we're no closer than before to finding where Catseye and Tarot have gone. However, we do have some new ideas, and we'll keep you posted as things develop. So... Mick, I think it's your turn now."

Mick nodded, and took A.C.'s place at the podium. "Now, apart from new theories and new info, all of this has brought us one more bit of newness. Will Buchwald is bein' readmitted to the Academy, and to the Hellions."

There was a brief, surprised outcry from sections of the room, but Mick held up his hands for silence. "I know that for the past few months, it's been pretty well accepted that Will was at least involved in October's break-in. That might be somethin' that's tough to let go of, but I need to ask all of you to try. His power's more in control now than it was last spring, and so's his sanity. He deeply regrets his actions here before he went AWOL, and he wants a chance to do what he came here for in the first place... the same thing all of you came here for... to learn about his powers, and to learn control. I want you all to give him the same courtesy you'd give any new student, 'cause frankly, he's gonna need all the support he can get, just the same as the rest of us."

There was another brief muttering from the students, so Mick waited a moment before he went on. "Now, with the new additions, and the new losses, one thing we will have t'do is re-think our approach a little bit, and re-organize ourselves for the immediate future. Tessa, Doc Kokiadis and I have discussed this amongst ourselves, and with Ms. Frost, and we've come up with this.

"The team lineups'll change again, to reflect all that's happening. More importantly, though, we'll be implementin' something that Ms. Frost's been wantin' to try for some time now. There'll be team designations, yeah, and most of your team-training will be within your teams, same as before, but we'll be startin' to blur the edges more, so that every one of you has a chance to work with everyone else, and to learn more about each other's powers and strengths and weaknesses. In a sense, it's almost like we're goin' back to the days when there was only one team, but only to a point. As for why we're doin' this? It's because we're all gonna need one another to get through the next however-long, and it's about time we took more steps in that direction. Pretty soon, you might be seein' yourselves workin' with a different team-within-the-team almost daily, with the greatest emphasis put on the current team lineups, which'll be as follows:"

Mick paused to take a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket, unfold it, and spread it out on the podium. "These lineups are the result of some intensive deliberatin' by the three of us, along with Ms. Frost. If you have any questions or concerns about 'em, please take 'em up with one of us after this meeting's concluded.

"Team A: Leader'll be Jetstream, with Beef as co-leader. Beef will also be acting leader until Haroun's finished with his R and R. Team members will be as follows: Dragon, Hardbody, and Kilowatt, with a couple of vacant spots left open for Bevatron and Lightningrod, should either or both of 'em come back in the near future." Mick paused a moment, noting that a stunned Giancarlo was being bombarded by congratulations from his peers.

"Team B: This one's the most in flux, given Gemini's condition, but for the time being, the leader'll be Rabbit, and the co-leader'll be Recall. Team lineup'll be Farsight, Pathfinder, Current, Wraith, and eventually Camouflage." This was met with even more surprise, and most eyes went to Gilbert. For his own part, Gilbert looked worried, but that was normal. To ease his mind a little, Mick added "We've discussed things with Rabbit, and he's said he'll step down as leader once Gemini's fit for the job again. Which is somethin' we're all hopin' for. No offense, mate."

"None taken," Gilbert nodded, with a half-smile.

"Anyway, Team C will still be led by m'self, with Dough-Boy as co-leader. Team lineup for now'll be Bacchus, Rush, Stat and Floater. We'll leave the light on for Embers and Chance. Those're the divisions, and we'll be settin' up team meeting times in the next couple of days, so keep your eyes on the bulletin boards.

"Also, I know the whole Mentor concept has been a little bit lax lately, so we'll be reinstatin' that, soon as we figure out who to match with whom. All in all, you should be ready for a level of team and one-to-one integration greater than we've ever had before. And I hope you'll all agree that it's about time we got on with doin' so. Ms. Frost had started plannin' this back before Brainwash was ever hired, and then started again just before the attack last October. Now, hopefully, we can make it work, but we'll need all of you to help make it so."

Here, Mick took a deep breath, and just listened to the silence for a while. "I do believe that's it. Like I said, if you have any questions, we'll all three of us be available to take 'em in private. So, unless we've forgotten something..."

"I believe we have covered everything, Michael," Tessa said, stepping up to the podium. He nodded and stepped back to give her the floor.

"Again, Hellions, you are all deserving of commendations for your perseverance. It is our sincerest hope that this disaster, for there is no other word to describe it, will eventually make us stronger than ever before. Thank you. You are dismissed."

"Fuckin' A, Bubba," A.C. whispered to Mick as the students proceeded to disperse.

"Come again, mate?"

"Oh, I guess you didn't see that movie, then?"

"Guess not."
 
 

Etienne had departed quickly, hoping to avoid any confrontations, and had retreated to his dorm single in Dent Hall, to continue packing. He hadn't been able to get much done between his talk with Mick and the subsequent briefing, and he still had a substantial amount to cover.

First, the matter of packing the essentials of his wardrobe into a suitcase. Then, the process of going about the room itself to see what was worth taking. He had been assured the room would be maintained just as he left it, awaiting his eventual return, but he didn't wish to leave anything of great importance, just in case said return wasn't quite as eventual as expected.

He scanned his bookshelf, then. Perhaps this time away would give him a chance to catch up on some reading. He began selecting one book after another, tossing them gently across the room to land on his bed.

Eventually, he came across a picture frame, turned face-down on the shelf, and even though he knew what it was, he turned it up and looked at it.

The picture had been taken nine months before, on one of the happiest weekends of Etienne's life. A road-trip to Boston, an afternoon wandering the city, shopping, sightseeing, and just enjoying the company. A group photo, out by the harbor: Jean-Pierre, Rhiannon, Etienne, and Jessica.

And with the picture, of course, came the memories, made all the more vivid as he looked at Jessica's face, and saw her beautiful smile, frozen in time as she stood beside him, her head leaning on his shoulder, her arms around his waist, and his around hers. All the while he and Jean-Pierre had dated the Pfahler twins, Etienne had privately believed Jessica to be the more beautiful of the two by a damn sight.

How to reconcile that smile with what had come after? The fights, the insistences, the misunderstandings, the demands, the tears... She could never understand why, if he loved her, he would not leave the Academy with her after graduation, and of course, he couldn't tell her, beyond the fact that he should stay with his brother, even as Jessie and Rhi were headed off to the same college together. But even then, it hadn't been enough, after all the words of love, all the talk of forever, all the promises that nothing could sever their bond, only to find that something could after all. And then the reversal, the spite, the demands of why he had to make the sacrifice instead of her, the anger, the slammed doors, and the silence that followed...

Etienne untucked his shirt and used it to dust off the picture frame, then tossed it, face down, into the suitcase, atop his clothes.

He'd wanted so badly to leave, and to go with her. But when it came right down to it, being a Hellion was more important to him, then, than any other person in the world could ever be.

He paused in thought for a moment, and he realized that they might want to know about what had happened to Jean-Pierre. Unlike his brother, Jean-Pierre had managed to turn his parting with Rhiannon into a long-term, long-distance friendship. Perhaps it had worked out for them because he had been a college freshman dating a prep senior, and they had known all along that he would be staying while she would leave.

How would Rhiannon react now, knowing that Jean-Pierre no longer remembered her? Maybe it would be best if she didn't know, after all.

But if Etienne didn't tell her, who would?

With a sigh, he picked up his phone and started to dial a number in the 805 area code. Even though he had never used it himself, he had it memorized, even as he had memorized every other word in the first, last and only letter Jessica had sent him after her move.

Before anyone could answer, though, there was a knock at his door. Etienne hung up the phone, caught between irritated and grateful, and stepped across the room to answer the knock.

As he had suspected, it was Buford.

"Can I come in, 'Tron?" he asked, quietly.

"Of course," Etienne nodded, stepping aside and giving a less-than-heartened version of his mock-bow.

Buford slowly and carefully ducked into the room, wincing with pain as he did. He was wearing the lightest of shirts, but even that could not have been particularly easy, given his burns. Etienne closed the door behind him, and the two faced one another across the silent space.

"I just need t'know one thing, Etienne," said Buford.

"And what would that be?"

"You really comin' back?"

There was a long silence, and Etienne filled the space by taking a deep breath. At last, he let a grin creep over his features. "But of course, mon grand ami. However would the school survive without me?"

Buford laughed a small laugh. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Aside from which," Etienne continued, his expression souring, "someone needs to make certain that man does not make a mockery of everything we have accomplished here."
 
 

Meanwhile, two floors down, Gilbert was also interrupted by a knock at his door. "It's open," he called out, not getting up from his desk.

The door opened, and Kyle first poked his head in, then the rest of him followed. "Team leader, eh?" he said. "Gotta admit, Gilly, I'm surprised."

Gilbert stood up slowly, taking a measured breath, and turned to face Kyle, leaning back against his desk for support. "No one's more surprised than me," he shrugged.

Kyle looked none the worse for the previous week. A bit of rest, followed by a trip out to the mall to do some shopping for clothes and such, had done him a world of good. Gilbert had to laugh internally at the T-shirt Kyle was wearing: the words "Nobody Knows I'm" in small print across the top, with the word "GAY!" beneath, taking up the rest of the shirt. Definitely his style.

"Why aren't you going back to L.A.?" Gilbert asked him.

"Oh, thanks for the welcome," Kyle snorted. "Back for a day, and you're already trying to get rid of me?"

"No, that's..." Gilbert began, but cut himself off. Their entire relationship had been this way, and he wasn't going to rise to the bait this time. "I just thought it was strange that you'd up and decide to come back. Didn't you like it out there?"

"I was bored out of my mind! Some entertainment Mecca that place turned out to be! I was considering coming back anyway, and our pal Big Johnson just got me here a little sooner than I expected."

"I see," Gilbert nodded, even though he didn't, really. It seemed like a huge decision to be making on someone else's whim.

After another silence, Kyle went on. "Look, I'm not gonna pretend that saying 'sorry' is gonna fix anything at this stage, okay? I know I wasn't real fair with you."

"No," said Gilbert, "you weren't."

"Yeah, but if we're gonna be on the same team, especially if I have to be looking at you as a leader, I just wanted to get that out in the open, okay? Sorry won't fix anything, but I'm sorry anyway."

"Okay."

"Okay? Just okay?"

"Okay, apology accepted!" Gilbert shot back. "Geez, what do you want from me?"

Kyle looked down. "You're angry."

"Yeah, you could say that."

Another silence followed. At great length, Kyle shuffled his feet slightly, and brought out a small folded bundle of cloth he'd been holding behind his back. "I picked this up for you at the mall today," he said, without looking up. "If you're gonna be team leader, you'll be in the spotlight a lot more, and even though you've always been good at hiding things, well... you just might want to think about this, okay? Just some friendly advice."

Kyle tossed the bundle across to Gilbert, then left the room. Gilbert caught it, looked at it for a moment, then unfolded it.

It was a grey T-shirt, with the words "Closets Are For Clothes" written across the chest in small black letters.

In spite of the situation, Gilbert had to smile. Something to think about, indeed.

University of California, San Diego: Revelle College
Monday, 24 January 1994 11:52 am PST

"Hey, Sharon got in, too!" Doug nodded, scanning further down the list. "I knew she would."

"How is that?" Marie-Ange asked him, as they moved away and let someone else get a look.

"Her audition was incredible," Doug chuckled. "I stuck around to watch after mine, and she was just... sensational. I mean, picture this six-foot-three woman with her hair colored lime green, getting up on stage, and just... flipping the switch, turning herself into the Housekeeper from Hell. Perfect accent, perfect expressions, just the right amount of fierce added in... She can loom, that's for sure. Heck, I was cowed, and I was all the way in the audience."

"I hope this might... cheer her somewhat."

"Yeah," Doug nodded, the humor leaving his voice. "Yeah, I hope so too."

Marie-Ange crossed her arms before herself, in a gesture of withdrawal. "I am... sorry you were not considered for the lead."

"I'm sorry you weren't," Doug answered.

There was a long pause, and most of the students began disappearing into the main rehearsal hall for Chorale. Danielle, Rahne and Warlock were probably already there. Doug was about to suggest they follow, but Marie-Ange had not altered her stance in the slightest, and he knew right away that something was wrong. "What is it?" he asked, gently, though he had a good idea of it.

When her voice came, it was low, constricted, and on the verge of tears. "I cannot stop thinking of them," she whispered. "I barely slept, for worry."

"I know. Neither did I."

"Oh, Douglas," she sighed. "All I can think about is... Paul playing the piano at the jazz clubs, or Jean-Pierre apologizing for his brother's advances, or Kristina seeking my advice because she was too frightened to speak to Buford... I cannot bear to think that they have been hurt, or killed... and that I could have stopped it..."

"No you couldn't," he whispered in reply, putting his arms around her. He took a look around to make sure no one was in earshot, and saw that they had attracted a few glances, but little else. Maybe people would think that she was taking her failed audition badly after having seen the list.

"Look, maybe it'd be a good idea if we just headed home," he went on. "We could do like Sharon's doing, and just take the day off. We deserve it. Maybe then we can just talk this through some more, and get as much of it out as we can. Do you think that'd help?"

After a pause, she nodded. "Peut être..."

"C'mon," he tried to smile.

They left the building together, and started across the campus, out past the dorms, to the eucalyptus-shaded outskirts. All the while, not another word was spoken. Finally, it was Doug who broke the silence.

"Can I tell you something that's been eating at me for a while?"

"Of course."

He took a deep breath. "I... hate to see you blaming yourself for what happened at the Academy, mostly because self-blame is something I'm really good at. Just like... what happened to you last fall."

She shot him a surprised look. "How does that involve you, though? You had nothing to do with it."

"I have everything to do with it. Now, I've told you about how Manuel came out here back then, with Amara, and made our lives hell overnight, right?"

"Oui," she nodded. Doug couldn't help noticing that she had tensed briefly when he had mentioned Amara's name, but he let that slide for now.

"Well, after we gave him the boot, I just... sulked for days. I withdrew. I spent more time at the library, or at the arcade, or anywhere but at the house. I didn't want to talk about it with anyone, because I just wanted to stew and feel sorry for myself."

"Everyone does that sometimes," she shrugged.

"Yes, but I shouldn't have. It was totally selfish, and completely unproductive. But more to the point..." He paused for a moment. "I should have told you. I should have called you. You, of all people, would have understood what we'd been through. More importantly, though, you would have been forewarned. I should have known he'd head back out there once he left. I should have let you know. If you'd been warned, if you'd known he was still up to his old tricks, would you have ever let him into your suite that night?"

She stopped walking, and Doug turned to face her, taking both of her hands in his.

"Stop," she told him, shaking her head. "What is done is done. You cannot blame yourself for the actions of an evil, twisted parody of a man."

"Then neither can you," he insisted. "If you can forgive me, then forgive yourself. You're right: what's done is done. And even if you'd been there, Brainwash still would have come for Catseye. It's not your fault."

She closed her eyes and nodded slowly, letting her breath out in a sigh. "Oui, I see your point. It is so much easier, though..."

"To blame yourself," he finished for her. "Believe me, I know."

At this, she actually smiled, but it was a small, somewhat hollow smile. "You are... very good to me, Douglas."

"I should hope so. You don't deserve any less."

They continued walking, hand in hand, down the street that led to the house on the cliffs. After a while, Doug spoke again.

"Do you want to go back there?"

After another, longer pause, she sighed. "Je ne sais pas, cher. Je ne sais pas..."

Underground Infirmary, MassAc
Thursday, 27 January 1994, 4:14 pm EST

The first days of Frost's recovery had been, to understate the matter, tumultuous.

After a very promising Sunday, in which she'd been out of her coma, accepting of medications, and even, heaven help them, agreeable to the restrictions placed upon her by Dr. Friedlander, things had taken an out-and-out nosedive on Monday afternoon.

Sharon had expected this, to be honest. Apparently Emma had spent much of the week prior to her injury in an alcoholic haze, not to mention her binge drinking in the months before. She needed a detox as much as anything else, but this case was complicated just slightly by the severity of her injury. For her entire adult life, Emma had cured her own hangovers and such with the use of her telepathy, and now those powers were dulled by injury and medication, and Sharon could not risk a standard detox protocol with her patient already as weak as she was.

Thus, on Monday afternoon, with neither medicine nor mutant power able to hold things in check, she began going into serious withdrawal. And as Sharon now knew, the DT's take on all new and dangerous forms when the subject in question is a telepath, even a dulled telepath. Emma's first serious seizure had forced hallucinations on almost everyone in the infirmary, with only Giancarlo spared the brunt of it, thanks to his partial immunity to psychic powers. Sharon, Akiko and Cassie, however, were hit hard by full-sense visions of being covered by innumerable spiders, scorpions, and other crawling horrors.

Once the first wave had passed, Sharon immediately had Cassie moved to the upstairs infirmary: she, for one, didn't need to be subjected to any more than her own body was giving her. She also dismissed Akiko from her temporary role as nursing assistant until further notice, and barred all visitations to the infirmary until such time as Emma recovered.

Recovery, though, was a long process, with Sharon keeping constant medical vigil during Frost's waking hours, and Mick riding shotgun while she slept, keeping the bad dreams at bay as best he could. By Wednesday night, the seizures seemed to have run their course, leaving Sharon and Mick as exhausted as the patient.

On Thursday afternoon, once it became clear that things had settled, Sharon finally allowed Emma visitors, but on brief and official matters only.

The first such visitor was Tessa, which came as no surprise to Emma or anyone else.
 
 

Frost had to admit that she was relieved to see Tessa: not out of any concern that the woman had not been well, but because Tessa was always a sure sign of business as usual. She rarely, if ever, let circumstances get in the way of getting things done. Seeing Tessa this afternoon, dressed in a business suit and wearing her hair up, Emma felt strangely reassured. At least someone among them had been unshaken by the past week's events.

Tessa took a seat at Emma's bedside, gave her employer a searching look, then that very proper and businesslike face broke into a look of purest human concern. "Oh, Emma, you look dreadful."

"Thank you, my dear," Emma croaked. Grooming hadn't been one of her primary concerns of late, that was certain. "I'm glad to see you well."

"Of course I am," Tessa half-frowned. "I seem to be one of the few to have made it through this last week unscathed."

"I was just thinking that." Emma tried to laugh, but it didn't quite come out.

"I have five minutes to bring you up to date," Tessa went on, getting back to business. "And Dr. Friedlander was looking at her watch as she let me in, so I think she's more serious than ever this time."

"I don't believe we should upset her. She's performed above and beyond the call of duty, I can assure you."

"Indeed. Well, first things first, then. Jetstream's treatment is progressing nicely. Once Haroun gave his consent for the 'enhancements,' Dr. Mackey went right to work. He should be able to return to us by the weekend, and Mackey estimates one to two weeks of rehabilitation exercise."

"Very well."

Tessa nodded and paused, looking for all the world as though she were making a mental checkmark on her flawless mental agenda. Frost nearly laughed again at this familiar gesture. "Bevatron and Lightningrod arrived safely in Tarascon, and Bevatron has promised weekly status reports to keep us up to date on their condition. Gemini's condition has improved very slightly, at least to the point that her seizures no longer require sedation, though they still cause her great pain. Embers was taken to a cardiologist on Monday, and the preliminary tests are suggesting that further surgery may be necessary. Beef and Hardbody are recovering extremely quickly, and as yet, we have had no word on Chance. Dreamwalker intends to attempt tracking her in his sleep, but as you know, he has been busy lately."

"Yes, I know. What of the investigations?"

Tessa paused. "Are you certain you want that now?"

"Very certain."

With an uncharacteristic reluctance, Tessa pursed her lips, took a slow breath, then continued. "Dr. Kokiadis and Dreamwalker spoke with Dr. Williams at the ALEXA on Monday, and according to him, Catseye visited him aboard the ship in early January, and in fact accompanied them on one of their excursions. Apparently she gave him no indication that anything was amiss: Dr. Williams was genuinely surprised to learn of her disappearance. He also mentioned that she briefly told him she was still in school, but he assumed she meant here at the Academy. He has no idea where she went after they parted company at the end of the tour."

"Interesting," Frost said, quietly. "And what of your own investigations?"

"I contacted the Colbert home first," Tessa went on. "I did not speak with Mme Colbert herself, but with the head maidservant, a Sylvia Maurant, who was very helpful. According to her, both Tarot and Catseye visited the estate in late December, along with a young French-Canadian man by the name of Pierre Coulombe. They left shortly before the new year, and did so rather abruptly, though Maurant was not certain just why. When I contacted the Thibaudet family in Paris, they also described having seen the three just before and just after the new year, though by their last meeting, it was Tarot and Coulombe only, with Catseye having apparently departed. From what the family remembered of the conversations, Tarot described that the three of them... herself, Catseye and Coulombe... were in school together, though again, their location was left unsaid, and they left behind no address."

"Then they're alive," Emma nodded, letting out a slow breath.

"Alive, well, and in another school, apparently," Tessa shrugged.

"Any ideas?"

"I ran a few preliminary checks on the name Pierre Coulombe, and found a very obscure reference in our files on known superhuman activity." She seemed amused by this memory. "Pierre Coulombe, aka The Crimson Frog, possessing superhuman leaping abilities. His only claim to fame was," and here her grin deepened as she remembered the exact wording, "'getting in the way of an Alpha Flight mission in Montreal.'"

"Heavens. Did you pursue this lead?"

"Yes," Tessa frowned, "but it came up dry. Our friend the Crimson Frog graduated college some time ago, and in no way matches the description of the young man in the company of Tarot and Catseye. We shall have to chalk this one up to coincidence. It is my intention to next search college databases for the name, starting with Quebec. Coulombe was described by both Maurant and Thibaudet as a French-Canadian, and Quebec would not be an entirely illogical place for our missing students to have gone, being across a national border, and being a region where Tarot, at least, would be able to speak the language. I'm sure there must be more than one Pierre Coulombe in the province."

"Good. Do continue with that. You may also wish to check..."

She trailed off, and Tessa gave her an odd look. "Emma?"

Airline tickets. Those would be a sure sign of their departure point. "Never mind... That's something I'll check on my own once I'm out of this blasted infirmary. Has there been any news on Roulette?"

"Some. Security has been making checks on her known credit accounts. Since yesterday morning, she has made sizeable cash advances from several of her accounts in the following cities: Winslow, Arizona; Gallup, Albuquerque and Santa Rosa, New Mexico; Amarillo, Texas; Clinton, Oklahoma City and Tulsa, Oklahoma; and last, Joplin, Missouri. Her destination is uncertain at this point, but she is definitely moving north and east, which makes either her home in New Jersey or the Academy itself among the possible destinations."

"Have them keep at it," Emma nodded, weakly. "If possible, try to send someone out along the path; maybe they'll spot her car."

"And if they do?"

"Just have them follow her."

At this point, Sharon opened the door to the recovery room, and stepped inside. "Tessa?"

"Of course, Doctor," Tessa replied, rising to her feet. She looked back at Emma, the concern once more breaking through the cool exterior.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Tessa," Emma remarked.

"Thankfully," Tessa smiled, "you will not need to find out."

Holiday Inn, St. Louis MO
Saturday, 29 January 1994 10:14 am CST

Jennifer Stavros was finding herself no closer to home, to balance, or to peace of mind than she had been when she had driven away from the Buchwald house in Flagstaff eight days previously.

She was no longer angry, at least. Her long rest in the appropriately sleepy town of Winslow had taken that edge off, and cleared her head enough that she could think rationally again. But the long sleep, and the long days of driving since then, hadn't done anything to restore her own internal balance.

For a full week earlier in the month, Jennifer had been using her luck powers constantly, on a twenty-four-hour basis, in her efforts to track down Camouflage. She'd never done anything on that scale before, and it had thrown her completely off kilter. She'd tipped the balance in her favor so much that she was now feeling it tip back, and tip back hard.

In one sense, this was quite a discovery for her. It had been theorized that she, herself, was a keeper of some kind of psycho-something-or-other balance, and could tip it one way or another with the use of her mutant power. She'd thus been warned never to nudge too hard, and had spent most of her years of training with the Hellions seeing just how far she could shove reality without having reality shove back. And for the most part, she'd been successful, using good and bad luck with equal frequency, thus maintaining not only her own balance, but balance with whatever Cosmic Psycho-Something Balance Emma had always wondered about back at the Academy.

She'd known all along that using her powers as she had to track Camouflage was going to seriously screw her up, but at the time, she hadn't cared about the thereafter, only the accomplishment of her goal. And then revenge had been denied her. She knew now that it hadn't been Gilbert who'd done the actual denying, though it was easier to blame him than to realize the truth: that she'd been wrong, Emma had been wrong, everyone had been wrong, and Angie and Sharon had died for a reason no one even knew.

And so it was that when Jennifer packed up her things from this latest hotel room, checked out, went out to her car, and sat down at the driver's seat, she found herself completely at a loss as to where she should go now.

Here she was, out in the middle of the Great American Adventure, with no clear destination, no friends, no company, and reality breathing down her neck, demanding a restoration of the balance she'd so thoroughly fucked with. She'd hoped that time would slowly restore things, and that her week of rest and mindless driving would ease the strain, but it was all still there. She needed to put out some serious bad luck into the world around her, or she'd never recover. She knew, distantly, that she was in bad shape. Even though she'd finally recovered enough vanity to clean herself up, she had zero appetite, even less energy, and barely enough mental strength to get concerned over it.

She could, theoretically, let it all out in a big black rush of bad karma, but she had the distinct feeling that she'd probably kill not only herself, but everyone within a quarter of a mile. The thought of people experiencing sudden unfortunate heart attacks, or having their tires blow out at just the wrong time, or having the building they were standing in experience a sudden unexplained structural collapse just didn't thrill her.

For the time being, she'd been heading back in the direction of New England, which meant three possible destinations. She could go home to Paul in Atlantic City and start hitting the casinos (the best possible places to release pent-up luck of either kind, she'd discovered). If not there, then to New York, to see Felicia, who no doubt knew all the best gambling spots on the globe. And of course she could turn tail and limp back to the MassAc, hoping that someone there could fix her.

The third wasn't even a real possibility so much as a last-ditch effort, though. Either Paul or Felicia would be her best bet. She'd spent the last few days draining her bank accounts and pushing her credit cards to the max, so that she'd have plenty of cash to use on the endeavor (since it was certain that she wasn't going to win anything in these casino trips), and by now, she'd expended those resources, leaving her with a bunch of useless cards and a purse filled with about eighty thousand dollars in cash: her combined life savings, the remains of her inheritance from her father, and her available credit, all in one big lump.

With any luck, Paul or Felicia could help her until the balance came back, and then she could start over.

She buckled her seat belt and put her key in the ignition, but hesitated before starting the engine.

Could she really drag Paul or Felicia into this mess with her? What if she lost control? She was a time bomb waiting to go off; could she risk doing so in the presence of her brother or her friend? The idea of looking for help had been bugging her all along, but she had figured that was just her independent streak acting up out of reflex.

To use another metaphor, she was basically radioactive: bad for herself, and for everyone around her. That meant no going to Paul, no going to Felicia, and certainly no running back to the Academy.

She took the keys from the ignition and sat back in the driver's seat, sighing heavily. She needed to go somewhere; sticking around here wasn't going to help anything.

Atlantic City might still work, even if she didn't go to any of her family. But even then, she'd be close, and she knew that she'd feel pulled to one of those three places. She needed something else: someplace with the potential for some serious luck to be exchanged, like Atlantic City. Someplace where everyone was counting on luck, and living on luck.

And then just the right place came to mind. It was obvious, once she thought about it, and she found herself wishing she'd come up with this idea in Winslow, when she was still within a day's drive of the place.

Mindful of this, she started the ignition, revved the MR-2 to life, pulled out of the parking lot of the Holiday Inn, and started heading back the way she came.

McAudry House, La Jolla CA
Sunday, 30 January 1994 2:41 pm PST

What had been intended as a surprise visit had turned into an impromptu jam session that most amateur guitar players would have died for.

Danielle Moonstar and Lila Cheney had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to shake down the walls of the McAudry house with noise, and were making a pretty good job of it. It had started off in the TV room, with the both of them playing acoustic, then escalated in volume when Lila had made a brief teleportational jump home and back to bring her own Stratocaster and a large amplifier, then escalated still further when she'd gone back to get a second electric guitar and amp for Danielle. The vast majority of Danielle's guitar experience had been with an acoustic, but she was thoroughly enjoying the chance to cut loose, and to do so in such good company.

The original purpose to Lila's visit had been to respond to a series of messages left at her Malibu address by Doug, and rather than simply call back, she'd decided to track down the house itself and drop by as a surprise, both to see what Doug had wanted and to finally see her friends' new home. The surprise had been Lila's, however, when she'd arrived to discover that only Danielle was home: Doug, Rahne, Marie-Ange and Sharon were at preliminary rehearsals for "The Secret Garden," and Rictor had convinced Warlock to accompany him on a road trip to Los Angeles to see some mutual old friends of theirs at the Heartbreak Hotel.

So Dani had given Lila the tour of the house, after which Lila elected to wait for Doug to get back from rehearsal so that they could discuss whatever the messages had been about.

While waiting, the subject of music had come up, and the inevitable jam session ensued.

They had since run the gamut, playing everything from Indigo Girls to U2, from Lila's own stuff to Rush, from Hawkwind to The Who, and all points in between.

Finally, after winding up about twenty minutes of traded guitar solos at the end of Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird," they opted to take a break.

Lila collapsed onto one of the couches, fanning herself off with both hands. "Nice playin', luv," she grinned. "Well, that was something..."

Dani took the opposite couch, wiping her sweat-soaked hair out of her face. "Spirits, you are tough to keep up with, you know that?"

"So everyone keeps telling me," Lila laughed. "But don't sell yourself short there, luv. I knew you could play, but I never knew you could play like that."

"Neither did I, really. You were pushing me hard, you know that?"

"Yeh, but what a sound, eh?"

"Oh, I wasn't complaining," Dani grinned. "It's just kind of a new experience. Playing with Doug and Angie is one thing, but you're just..." She looked across the room at her superstar guest, and her words trailed off. She'd just been jamming with Lila Cheney. Her friend, yes, but at the same time world-famous, glamorous, incredibly talented, damn fine-looking, and a lot more besides.

"You ever considered going pro, Dani?" Lila asked.

This interrupted her train of thought, and Dani realized she'd been staring. "No, not really. Doug likes to talk about starting a band, and we've even had a few mini-jams, but we're always so busy. We don't have a lot of time."

"That's a shame... You know, I miss things like this."

"How do you mean?" Dani asked, somewhat surprised.

Lila waved her hands to either side, vaguely. "Do you know how often I get the chance to hang about in the living room of some friend's house and play for no reason at all? Hell, I play music for a living, but so much of it is large-scale, with a huge sound, in a huge place. Much as I love the stage, sometimes that can burn me out. It's times like this that make it worthwhile." She reached over to grab Dani's old acoustic guitar, from where she'd set it down before, and set it across her lap. "Anyway, I still think you lot should play more."

"Like I said, we've been busy," Dani shrugged. "You know, though, I have the distinct feeling Doug's gonna be itching to play real soon now."

"Why's that?"

"He always gets inspired when he goes to concerts. He and Warlock and I are going out to the east coast next Wednesday night to see a friend's band play, and then the Monday after that, Rush is playing the Sports Arena, and we've all got tickets."

"Yeh, great bunch of guys, Rush," Lila grinned, absently playing one of the band's acoustic pieces on the guitar in her hands. "You know they gave me my first big break in North America, right?"

"Really?" asked Dani, who hadn't.

"Oh, yeah! I was one of the opening acts for their 'Grace Under Pressure' tour. I was still a teenager, with barely a name for myself in the U.K., much less here. Touring with them got me noticed on this side of the pond, and the rest is history."

"You should tell Doug that. He might get a kick out of it. And you know, I'll bet the other concert we're going to is what he wants to talk to you about."

"Oh yeh?"

"Yeah. This friend of ours in the band, A.C., he's a big fan of yours, I guess, and Doug and I were thinking that he might get a big kick out of it if you could come out to this club with us and see the show."

Lila's face took on a thoughtful look. "What day was this again?"

"This coming Wednesday, the second."

"You know, I'd have to check, but I'm almost certain we don't have a show that day." She chuckled. "Dani, luv, do you know how long it's been since I've actually watched a band play in a club? I'd go stir-crazy. I'd want to be on the stage."

"Well, y'know, I really don't think A.C. would object if you wanted to join 'em on stage for a song or two." Dani replied, with some sarcasm in her voice. Ohhh, to see the look on A.C.'s face...

"I'll check the tour schedule," Lila nodded. "Hell, most days I barely know what I'm doing tomorrow, much less the following Wednesday, but I do like the idea."

Dani nodded slowly, then realized that she was staring again, so she reached for her newer acoustic as a distraction.

"You okay, luv?" Lila asked, suddenly.

"Fine, really." Dani admitted. "Just thinking thoughts, that's all."

"Yeh? What kind?"

"The kind that would get me in trouble. Don't worry."

Lila gave her an amused look. "Best kind of thoughts to have. C'mon, tell."

"I don't think it'd be... appropriate."

"Danielle," Lila said, in a tone lying somewhere between humored and sincere, "you and I have known each other for... what, five years now?"

"Yeah, but I'm not the same person you met five years ago."

"Then start with that," Lila shrugged.

After a long pause, Dani regarded her. "You really want to know?"

"'Course I do. I'm an incredibly nosy person by nature."

Dani paused again before she went on. "I spent about a year and a half MIA in Asgard, you know."

"Right, fighting the evil hordes or something like that."

"Yeah, something like that. Well, let's just say that... I've been through some changes with all of that, and I look at life, and at people around me, from a somewhat different perspective than I used to."

"Mhm."

"So... when I got back here, to Earth, I sort of had to re-acquaint myself, in some ways. And I'm still doing it, even after all this time back, 'cause I've gotta tell you, Lila, after watching you play, after playing along with you..."

"Go on."

"Well, let's just say that I understand exactly what Sam and a few million other men see in you."

"Ah," Lila nodded. "I think I follow you."

"Does that bother you?"

"Does what bother me?"

"That I would find you... somewhat attractive." There, it was said.

To Dani's surprise, Lila laughed outright. "Christ no, luv, why should it? Honestly, I've been in this business for ten years, now. With all the bands I've played with, all the studio techs and roadies and producers I've worked with, do you think this is the first time I've worked with someone, or been friends with someone, who found me 'somewhat attractive?'"

"I... guess not. How many of 'em were women, though?"

Lila smiled. "You know, I've actually got a pretty good following among lesbian women, and it's never bothered me a bit. I've shared stages and stories with the Indigo Girls, I've been to hot-tub parties with Melissa Etheridge... I've seen what it's like, and it doesn't bother me. It's... not a lifestyle I'd choose for myself, but I respect it. And you're still my friend, however you live your life."

For a moment, Dani did not reply, as she was still trying to picture Lila casually hanging around with some of Dani's own musical idols.

"You haven't told everyone yet, have you?" Lila ventured.

Dani shook her head. "No. Just Doug, Warlock and Angie know at this point. I'm kind of afraid to tell Rahne, to be honest. Religious reasons, y'know?"

"Yeh, I've been there. Or didn't you know that my music is the voice of Satan?"

There was a long pause, as Dani tried to sort this one out. Lila had said this completely deadpan, and when she finally got the reference, Dani burst out laughing. "Well, Rahne doesn't hold that against you, don't worry."

"Then maybe she won't hold anything against you," Lila shrugged.

For a moment, Dani thought about this. "You could be right... I'm just glad you're okay with it... I mean, I'm not lusting after you, or anything like that. I've... already got someone. A very wonderful someone."

"And so do I," Lila nodded. "One that I haven't seen in a long time, and I miss him dear, but I've been faithful, and I'll go on bein' that way until I find him again."

"It's been tough for you, hasn't it?" Dani asked her. "Knowing that he's out there somewhere, beyond your reach, where you can't find him?"

"It's tough, alright. And it doesn't get any easier."

"I know how you feel. I won't be able to see Mist again for... a long time. Hell, she's even encouraged me to be unfaithful in the interim, but I... haven't been able to do that."

Lila paused in thought, then strummed a chord. "And there's a rose," she sang, "in a fisted glove..."

Dani grinned and joined in, playing and singing along with her.

And the eagle flies... with the dove
And if you can't be... with the one you love, honey
Love the one you're with!
Love the one you're with!

"Me either, luv. Hell of a song, though, innit?"

Queens, NY
Monday, 31 January 1994 2:12 am EST

Chance was on the run, as always.

This time, though, it was from a more immediate danger. Somehow, someway, she'd been tracked down by her uncle and his "cause," and this time, they were taking her back for good and all.

Barely aware of the cold, hardly conscious of the puddles of frigid water she splashed through as she raced down the deserted streets and alleys, she ran as she had always run: swiftly, desperately, and most of all alone.

Eventually, she paused a moment to catch her breath, listening for the sounds of footsteps behind her. They were still coming! Even after all the running, they were still behind her!

Then, to her shock and horror, someone grabbed her arm, yanked her into a nearby dark alley, and clamped a hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming.

Chance struggled for all she was worth, but the arms holding onto her were stronger, and she was pulled back into the shadows. "Sssh!" a voice sounded near her ear.

The footsteps drew closer, and for a very painful moment, Chance was tempted to get loose and cry out to them, thinking that even her uncle's goons would be more welcome company than a stranger in an alley somewhere in New York.

Finally, though, the footsteps passed. They'd run right past the alley. She was safe, at least from them.

As for her new assailant, she waited until he relaxed his grip just slightly, then planted an elbow in his midsection and made a run for it, further down the alley, away from both him and the goons.

"Chance!" a familiar voice called.

The voice brought her to a halt, and she turned around slowly, widening her eyes as she placed it.

Her assailant stepped out into the light. She recognized the hat first, then the leather duster, and finally the face. "Mick?" she gaped. "But... how'd you get..? What are you..?"

"Ain't you guessed it yet, Chance?" he shrugged, giving her a lopsided grin.

Realization began to dawn. "What, am I dreaming?"

"Yep."

Chance's temper snapped. "You stupid Aussie shit! What the hell gives you the right to go invading my dreams, huh?"

"By the looks of things, love, you needed an assist. So who was that, chasin' you? Just irrational fear, or have you gotten yourself into some real trouble?"

"Oh, spare me the psych stuff, willya?" Chance ranted, throwing her hands up in disgust. "You stay outta my dreams, man. I'm wakin' up outta this one right now."

"Chance," Mick repeated, but this time with a definite edge of authority in his voice.

"What?!"

"Listen carefully," he said, his voice now back to its old concerned-psychologist self. "I just wanted to tell you that you didn't have to leave the Academy. No one blames you for what happened to Johnson. You acted in a life-or-death situation, and that's just the way it turned out. We want you to come back, and we promise there won't be any blame placed."

"Oh, yeah, right, just like there wasn't any blame placed when I accidentally fried that Goombah guy?"

"Well, now, that was hardly life-or-death," Mick snorted. "There's a big difference, girl, between fightin' for your life and nearly killin' a classmate in a practical joke."

Chance said nothing. She simply crossed her arms and turned away from her former teacher.

"Y'know, your teammates have been worried 'bout you. Especially Robby."

"I'll bet he has," Chance huffed. "He ain't got no one to shut his power off now."

"I think we both know there's more to it than that," Mick replied, evenly. "He was the one who first found out you were gone, and he came racin' to my office to tell me. He was worried, love, 'cause he cares. Just like the rest of us."

"Awwwwww, ain't that sweet?" she said in a low voice.

"Y'know, I just don't get you," Mick sighed. Chance was surprised at the tone of his voice. It was as close to genuine anger as she'd ever heard from him. "What is it with you? How come you never let anyone care about you? How come you always bite back, an' never let anyone get too close? What happened to you that you don't trust anyone, or believe anyone?"

"You're the psychiatrist. You figure it out."

"Y'know, when you were at the Academy, I thought I saw you comin' out of it. I think you really liked helpin' people like Robby, Aaron, Kris, and Keiko. Not outta some superiority kick or anything like that. I thought you really liked helpin' 'em get better with their powers. I'd hate to think I was wrong."

To this, Chance said nothing, and simply stood there, silently, willing herself to wake up.

"I won't come and bug you in your dreams any more if you don't want me to, but I will tell you that we'd be glad to have you back. I don't know where you've taken yourself, but I hope you take a good look around when you wake up, and decide if that's what you want for yourself. You know where to find us if it ain't."

After this was said, Chance heard footsteps, and when she looked back, she saw Mick walking away, back to the main road. He turned the corner, hopped up onto the sidewalk, and headed off out of sight.

Chance immediately took off after him. "Mick, hang on a second!" she called out, but as she turned the corner and looked for him, he was already gone.

"'Scuse me."
 
 

Chance awakened to a finger digging into her shoulder, and a blast of foul-smelling breath.

"'Scuse me, lady, you seen my dog?"

The voice belonged to an old, filthy man with a ragged beard, and the aroma of stale liquor was heavy on his breath. Chance instinctively flinched back away from him. "Hey! Get the hell outta here!"

"'E's a big dog, lady, a big dog. German sheppud. 'E's brown, and 'e's got black spots. You seen 'im?"

Fully awake in an instant, Chance grabbed her blanket and her knapsack and got the hell away from there.

The streets were dark and deserted, as they'd been in her dream. She found herself looking for Mick, though she knew he wouldn't be there.

"Ain't you seen my dog?! I know 'e's 'round here somewhere!!" the old man was shouting behind her, so she kept walking. She'd need to find another place to sleep now. She'd lucked out tonight, finding a relatively sheltered spot in an alley, near the almost-warm exhaust vent of a hotel's laundry room, and now she'd lost it.

Angrily, she stuffed her blanket back into her knapsack as she walked, then slung it over her shoulder. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, to try to shield herself from the frigid temperatures.

A part of her wanted to call Mick, right now, and take him up on his offer. The idea of having a warm place to sleep, some decent food, and even some people to hang out with, sounded pretty good all of a sudden.

She'd get by, though. She always had.

Chance paused, took a good look around, and continued walking, trying to get the warmth back into her legs.

The Sands, Las Vegas NV
Wednesday, 2 February 1994 6:33 pm MST

Jennifer walked into the casino like she owned the place, or at the very least, looked as though she expected to own it after a few rounds at the blackjack tables.

She knew better, of course, but being in a casino again just seemed to bring out that old confidence in her bearing, and purpose in her stride. When people looked at her, and they would definitely look at her, they would see a woman who was in charge of her own destiny, dammit.

Again, all show, and she knew better, but what the hell. She knew she was here to lose, and to lose big, but no sense advertising this to anyone.

As she'd expected, she turned heads everywhere she stepped. She'd gone all-out on looks tonight, spraying her hair up into a waterfall of blonde waves, painting her face up to highlight her best features, pinning on her favorite dangly diamond earrings, wearing a jet-black gown with plenty of cleavage on display (might as well flaunt it, she'd figured), and the requisite stiletto heels to give her at least a little height. Single men stared while trying their damndest not to look like they were staring, men with women glanced, briefly gaped, then turned guiltily back to their ladies, pretending they hadn't been affected, and women gave her the catty once-over and immediately made an effort to ignore her.

Weaving her way between row after row of slot machines, she decided to make a start, if for no other reason than to see if she could really release this much bad luck in such small amounts.

Finding an empty machine, she fed twenty dollars into the bill-taker, giving herself twenty plays. The machine was one of the three-row types, allowing the player to pay for any or all of the three rows displayed, so Jenny chose them all. She then paused for a moment, let a tiny bit of the black energy go, and then pulled down the machine's handle.

The three wheels whirred, and eventually came up with three rows of losing combinations, though all three of them were close.

Of all the rotten luck.

This gave her another idea, though, and on the next pull, she chose only the middle row. When the wheels stopped, and the bad luck had taken its course, she almost smiled when she saw that the $5000 jackpot BAR-BAR-BAR combination had come up on one of the rows she hadn't played this time.

She was on a roll now.
 
 

After a while, the slots weren't doing it, so she went to change in $5000 for chips, then slinked over to the blackjack tables. She found a space at a table with an old lady who looked like a kindergarten teacher, a young couple who could barely keep their hands off each other (probably just married by an Elvis impersonator or something), and a tall, quiet guy in black, with long black hair.

The dealer dealt her into the next hand, and as he passed out the cards, she again started the release. Before she even picked up her cards, the dealer turned up his, showing an ace and a queen. "Blackjack! Dealer wins."

The next hand went much the same way. Jenny went bust on her fourth card, the young couple went bust on their third (after having been dealt a ten and a two, their next card was a jack), and the old lady and the guy in black, standing on an eighteen and nineteen, were both beaten by the dealer, who came up with a twenty.

Two more hands went the way of the dealer, and Jenny looked her table-mates over. The old lady was disgusted, and vocally so, while the guy in black said nothing at all, merely letting his distaste show in his expression. The young couple, though, was taking things pretty badly.

Jenny looked at the new bride, and realized that the girl was even younger than she was. The groom looked like he was barely old enough to get into the place, and his buzz-cut hairdo marked him as military.

Probably a Navy guy marrying the girl he'd knocked up, and now they were betting everything they owned in a wild weekend of romance and gambling. She'd seen this sort of thing any number of times back in Atlantic City, watching her father deal the cards. They'd catch the fever, and they'd go broke, and all the romance of their new marriage would be gone once they realized they wouldn't be able to make next month's rent.

Time for a shift of focus, maybe.

On the next hand, Jenny once again went over twenty-one, but so did the dealer, and all three of the other hands won. The girl gasped with surprise and delight and hugged her man, the old lady laughed a laugh that could better be called a cackle, and the guy in black, as was apparently habit, said nothing, and merely waited for his next hand.

It was working, she realized. No sense in giving all the bad luck to the gamblers without spreading a little to the casino itself. She also realized she'd have to let herself win once in a while, so as not to arouse too much suspicion, but that was do-able.

The process was slow, though, and she knew that she'd be here for days, at least.

Casting a glance sideways, she saw that the black-haired guy was looking at her. Unlike most of the men she'd noticed looking her way all night, though, he was looking into her eyes, and not at her chest.

Feeling suddenly uneasy, Jenny let herself and the dealer lose the next two hands, then made a convincing display of getting up in disgust and telling the dealer that she was going to find herself a luckier table to play at.

McAudry House, La Jolla CA
Thursday, 3 February 1995 3:18 pm PST

The Wednesday night concert with A.C.'s band on the east coast had had just the effect on Doug that Danielle had predicted. By the time classes were over on Thursday, and the seven mutants were all home from school, Doug was itching to put a band together.

It started out acoustic, with Doug and Dani jamming on guitars to some of the songs that 1812 (A.C.'s band) had played the night before. Before long, Angie had "drawn up" a bass to join them, and Sharon joined in with her sax. Warlock played piano, keeping several sets of sensors trained on his four selfriends to keep up with what they were doing. Rahne and Ric watched the five with interest, despite being asked several times to join in.

By three-thirty, Lila surprised everyone by dropping by for a brief visit. She had a show to do in New Haven before long, but since to her that was only a pair of teleportational jumps away, she'd spared a few minutes to see if Dani's prediction had been right. She was more than a little humored to discover that it had, and sat in to listen to them jam.

"You lot simply need to start a real band," Lila insisted. "Honestly, if this is what you sound like with no real practice time, you'd be a smash with a little work."

"I hate to toot my own horn, since that's Sharon's department," Doug admitted, "but we do sound pretty good. I think we can do this."

"Uh-oh, Doug's been inspired," Dani joked. "Everyone outta the way, quick!"

"Shaddup, Chief. No, really, think about it! Dani kicks butt on guitars, Angie can play anything with strings, Catseye's got the horn, Warlock's good with the keys, and I can fill in where you need me."

"You need drums, though," Lila noted.

"Yeah," Dani agreed. "Come on, Ric, why don't you join in?"

"Self echoes encouragement of frienDani!" Warlock added, immediately abandoning the piano and reassembling himself into a drum kit.

Ric gave them all a dubious look, both hands raised to ward off any further encouragement. "Guys, come on. Look, I know you're all fired up about this, but... I've tried. I'm just not good at it. I tried practicing, but I just ain't got the rhythm for it, I guess."

"Don't sell yourself short, Ric," Marie-Ange assured him. "I'm sure you're much better at it than you give yourself credit for."

"Thanks, but... Look, if you really want a band, I can be your roadie."

"No shame in that," Lila pointed out. "Every band needs one."

"Yeah, but that still leaves us without a drummer," Doug nodded.

"How about Harris?" Dani asked.

"Harris already plays in about three different bands. I doubt he'd have the time, but I can mention it to him."

"Catseye will drum," Sharon put in, abruptly.

Now all eyes were on Catseye. "I didn't know you could drum," Doug observed.

"Ah, yes, Catseye has not done much, but spent muchtime watching Jennyluck drum, and has played little drums with Jennyluck before. Catseye can play."

"She used to play percussion for us on songs with no horns," Marie-Ange elaborated. "She's quite good, really."

"Yeah, but then we'd lose that horn sound," Dani grimaced. "That'd be a shame."

"Self wishes to point out that self could fill in on drums for friendCatseye on songs requiring saxplayer," Warlock pointed out. He brought a human shape out of the structure of the drums and seated himself at the stool, sticks in hand. "Self, similarly, has watched friendrummerHarris on many occasions, and remembers his technique."

"I guess we could run with that," Dani agreed. "How about you, Rahne?"

"Yeah!" Doug nodded. "You're good with a piano, right?"

"Och, not like all of you are," Rahne snorted. "Honestly, Douglas, I canna play anythin' without sheet music. I could ne'er keep up, playin' off the top of me head like the five of ye."

"Then you can sing," Dani shrugged. "I know you can do that well. And didn't you tell me you used to play flute when you were younger?"

"Aye, but I havena' practiced that in years! B'sides, how much of... this kind'a music... has a flute in it?"

"The lady hasn't heard a lot of Jethro Tull, I see," Lila grinned.

"I'll bet we could find a place for it," Doug assured her. "As for the sheet music... Warlock, between you, me, and my computer, I'll bet we could come up with plenty of it, you think?"

"Self agrees, frienDoug."

"Alright, loves, I have to fly," Lila interrupted, rising to her feet. "But I have a challenge to leave for you."

"Uh-oh," Doug laughed, looking from Dani to Marie-Ange.

"Now then," Lila went on. "Consider this a challenge, or a dare, whichever you prefer. If you can get this band off the ground, get a good sound, and put together an hour-long program, I'll find you a place to play. How does that sound?"

"Oh, we're there," Dani grinned at Doug. "What do you think, spud?"

"Ms. Cheney," Doug said in a mock-stuffy voice, "you may consider your challenge accepted."

"Good to hear. You just keep me posted."

Excalibur Resort, Las Vegas NV
Friday, 4 February 1995 11:58 pm MST

The mock-Arthurian casino/resort Excalibur was the third stop on Jenny's mission of financial destruction. She'd figured out early on that she couldn't spend too much time or money in any one place, lest she be noticed. Admittedly, a young lady on a colossal losing streak wasn't bound to draw as much unwanted attention as an equally grand winning streak, but she didn't want to take chances, considering that she didn't have any good luck left to get her out of a tight spot. As for the bad luck, there was less of it to get rid of, now, but still a pretty damn big chunk. At this rate, she'd take at least another week.

After only a couple of hours in Excalibur, though, she made a personal vow that her stay at this particular place would be cut short Real Soon. The music wasn't too bad -- Jenny dug Renaissance music, having listened to and played a decent amount of it with Angie in the past -- but the people here were about to drive her batshit. If she heard a "thee" or a "prithee" or a "mayhap" one more time, she'd be about ready to shove someone's brightly colored tights where the sun don't shine.

She'd started off with dice this time, and done badly, as expected. From there, she'd gone to Ye Olde Slotte Machines to relax a little, and finally decided to work her way back to blackjack. Best to milk this place for a little time before moving on.

On her way to Ye Olde BlackeJacke Tables, though, something entirely unexpected happened.

First, a man in a blue pinstripe suit sidled up to her. "Miss, have you got the time?" he asked.

Jenny was about to reply that she didn't have a watch when another voice brought this thought to a screaming halt. "Jenny!"

She looked up out of reflex, and was astonished to see a tall man in a tuxedo shirt and black slacks walking right up to her. He had black hair, slicked back from his forehead and pulled into a ponytail, and his expression was one of amazed delight. "Jenny, how are you? My God, it's so good to see you! I didn't know you were in town!"

To her continued amazement, he all but picked her up in a huge hug before she could say or do anything to stop him.

Not letting her or the guy in the suit get a word in, he went on talking. "Geez, how long has it been? Long time, long time. Hey, let me buy you a drink at Ye Olde Pub. We've got so much to catch up on!"

She was about to protest, but then his voice again brought her short, this time because she heard it in her mind. *Play along. You're in danger.*

"Uh, yeah, that sounds great," she nodded, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. He immediately smiled, took her hand, and pulled her off toward the bar.
 
 

Instead of the pub, they actually went off to a restaurant within the resort complex. Jenny didn't argue, but she kept a wary eye on this guy nonetheless. By now, she recognized him: the same guy in black she'd seen at the blackjack tables back at the Sands. A lot of that night was a blur, as so much of her life had been lately, but she was dead certain she'd never even spoken to him, much less given him her name.

A man dressed in medieval finery greeted them at the restaurant. "Ah! Lord Wing! 'Tis a pleasure to see you back, good sir."

"Thank you, m'lord," 'Lord Wing' nodded, giving the man a smile. "A table for myself and my lady, if you would?"

"Certainly, lord," the maître d' smiled, gesturing that they were to follow.

He took them to a small, cozy table near the back of the place (which packed a pretty good crowd, even after midnight), and after they were seated, he promised to send a squire to take their order forthwith.

Jennifer took this opportunity to study her companion more closely. His hair was jet-black, and it looked genuine, not dyed. He had a long face that looked vaguely European, but his hair, combined with his moderately dark complexion and distinctly bent nose, marked him as being at least part Native American, at least as far as she could guess. His eyes were dark brown in color: almost black.

She was almost certain that she'd never seen him, except for the other night, yet there was something very distantly familiar about him. Given that he had spoken to her telepathically, she was betting that he was a mutant, and maybe he'd had a run-in with the Hellions a while back. She couldn't remember when, though.

"Okay, let's get something straight here," she said once the host was gone. "I don't know you, do I?"

"I don't think so, no," he replied.

"Great. You want to tell me how you know my name, then?"

"Simple. I'm telepathic, and you have an amusing tendency to mentally narrate your life in dialogue form as you go. 'Okay, Jenny, how are we gonna lose this time?' and so on. I also know what you've been doing with your mutant power."

"Wonderful. You go looking into the minds of total strangers often, then?"

"No, not as such..."

He was interrupted as a squire came with their menus. "There you are, Lord Wing... m'lady. May I interest either of you in an appetizer?"

"We'll just need a few minutes to decide, thank you."

"Of course, Lord Wing," the squire bobbed, departing quickly.

"'Lord Wing?'" Jenny repeated, once the coast was clear.

"Well, Mister Wing, anyway," he shrugged. "They like to use your name around here. Makes you feel at home while you're losing all your money."

"So what's your first name? 'Buffalo?'"

At this, he actually laughed. "No, actually, it's Shadrack. Shadrack Oliver Wing, at your service. My friends call me Shad."

"'Shad Wing?'" she said back. Quite suddenly, one fragment of memory clicked with another. "'Shad O. Wing?'"

"Oh, you've heard of me?" he asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I've heard of you. Back where I'm from, we studied you as an example of what not to do with your powers."

He laughed again, with no small amount of irony. "Well, I'm glad I was good for something."

"You can't tell me Shad Wing's your real name," she went on. "I mean, that'd be too corny for words."

"No, my name's Gerald Corvus Junior, but I go by Gene. And since I'm probably still wanted back in Santa Barbara for whatever charges they tried to put together, I hope you know that I'm trusting you a lot by saying that."

She was taken aback by his suddenly serious tone. "Okay, fine. So why me?"

"What's your full name?" he asked, ignoring the question.

"Stavros," she said after a pause. "Jennifer Stavros."

"Mind if I go on calling you Jenny?"

"Be my guest. So why are you telling me all this?"

"Because, like I said, you're in danger."

At this point, the squire came back. Gene ordered for the both of them, then the squire took the menus and was off.

Once he was gone, Jenny picked up the thread of conversation again. "I see. Mind telling me why?"

"Ever heard of the Friends of Humanity, Jenny?" Gene asked, taking a sip from his water glass.

She paused. "Yeah. Yeah, how could I not have heard of 'em, considering?"

"I figured as much. Well, they've got a pretty strong presence here in Vegas. Y'see, a lot of the casino owners don't like the idea that there could be mutants out there with the power to make themselves win by, say, telekinetically manipulating a roulette wheel, or putting a little extra spin on a dice roll, or mentally reading the dealer's hand at a blackjack table. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I think I do."

"Right. So our pals with the Friends of Humanity do business with them. Apparently the local chapter somehow got hold of some mutant detection equipment, and they make regular runs through the city."

Jenny felt her insides turn cold. Detection had never been a danger back when she used to hit the casinos in Atlantic City. But then, the Friends of Humanity also hadn't been the huge organization they were now. "They found me, then?"

"Yeah. And call me sentimental, but I feel responsible, since they were looking for me."

"How do you know all of this?"

"Well, you see, I'm not a mutant. I have powers, but they aren't genetically rooted, like yours, and as a convenient side effect, their equipment doesn't detect me. So while they've been watching for me, wondering what's wrong with their equipment, I've been watching them, trying to get a feel for their organization. They're actually kind of dim as far as investigations go: even with the cheesy pseudonym I've been using, they haven't figured out where or who I am, but they picked up your trail almost the moment you arrived. Remember blackjack at the Sands the other night?"

"Yeah. That was you there, wasn't it?"

"Yep. There were a couple of FOH guys there looking for me, and I was keeping an eye on them as I played. They noticed you right away, and in the last couple of days, they've been watching your moves, looking for a good way to take you out safely. For all they know, you could be a walking thermonuclear device."

"Right now, that's pretty close," Jenny nodded, slowly. "If you know what I've been doing, like you said, then you probably know what I've got in me right now, don't you?"

"I've got a pretty good idea, yeah. But they've decided to go with the risk and try to quietly kill you ASAP."

Jenny took a measured breath. "So what happens now?"

A quartet of madrigal singers came up to the table and sang "O Eyes of My Beloved" until Gene tipped them $50 to make them go away.

"Well, it's like this. Remember the guy who asked you for the time just a few minutes ago?"

"Yeah. What about him?"

"He's one of them. And unless I miss my guess, he and two other guys have found a table, and they're sitting... from your angle, somewhere over my left shoulder. Don't look directly at them."

Without moving her head, Jenny glanced over Gene's shoulder and saw that, indeed, the guy in pinstripes and two other men were at a table near the entrance, and were casting occasional glances in their direction.

"See 'em?"

"Yeah," she replied.

"Here, give me your hands."

"Why?"

"Just give me your hands," he smiled, pleasantly, reaching across the table to take them himself. "Remember, as far as they know, we're old friends. Might as well look the part."

She brought a smile to her face, but it contained no small amount of sarcasm. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Do I look like I'm enjoying it?"

"Honestly? Yes, you do."

"Good. Maybe they'll think so, too."

She gave a frustrated sigh, but kept smiling. "Are there more of them here?" she asked.

"A few, yes. They won't make a move as long as you're here in a public place having dinner with a friend who hasn't seen you in years," he cracked a wider smile at this, "but once we're clear, it's anyone's guess. And keep smiling, or they'll get suspicious."

"Okay, I've got just one question."

"Just one? Good. I'd hate to meet my quota so soon."

"Fine. If these guys don't know what you look like, and don't know what name you're staying in town under, how do they even know you're here?"

"Because I told them."

To her credit, her smile didn't flicker. "Come again?"

"I told them I'd be coming to Vegas to get them."

"You, ah, wanna explain why?"

"Simple," he replied, the smile never leaving his face, though his dark eyes seemed to harden. "Their cause makes me sick to my stomach, and I swore on the grave of a friend that I'd bring them down."

Jennifer had to suppress a shudder at the calm, matter-of-fact way he said this. His false smile only served to make the words all the more disturbing. She decided to change the subject quickly.

"Can't you... I dunno, fly us out of here? You got wings, right?"

"Not real ones. And I hate to say it, but ever since my little oil rig accident in Santa Barbara, I haven't been firing on all thrusters, if you catch my meaning."

"Great. So what can you do?"

"Offensively? Not a hell of a lot, except at close range. Defensively? I can keep you as safe as I can for now, and keep an eye on our friends over at the other table. My question for you is this: do you know anyone around here that might be able to help you get out of town in case it comes down to a fight?"

Jenny paused to consider this. She didn't know of any mutants in Vegas, that was certain. If she got in touch with the Academy, Emma could probably send that teleporter kid from the B-team with the cavalry, but she really wanted to avoid that. She was worried, frankly, that she'd be in some kind of trouble with them over what had happened in Flagstaff. She was also well out of Felicia's range, not to mention Paul's.

Then, realization dawned, and she began looking through her purse. "Hey, do you know how far it is to San Diego?"

"About five hours. Why?"

After a few moments, she found what she was looking for: a business card from some place called the Yellow Brick Road Amusement Center, with a handwritten phone number on the reverse side. The home number for Go West. Doug had given her this card at the Mutant Fair, and told her she was welcome to call for any reason. She'd done so a couple of times soon after for moral support, and Doug had always been there to listen to her, but after a couple of weeks, she'd lost touch.

Hopefully, he and the others would be up to doing more than listen this time.

"I need to get to a phone," she said.

"Who're you calling?"

"Doug. He's a friend of mine down in San Diego, and he might be able to help us out. Is there a phone around here?"

Gene responded by taking a clip-on cellular flip-phone from his belt. "Use mine. I don't think it'd be a good idea to go off looking for one right now."

She took the phone from him, flipped it open to get a dial tone, then started dialing a 619 number.

After a series of connection clicks, it began ringing. After three rings, there was a click, and then a sleepy voice answered. "Allô, McAudry house."

Jennifer's thoughts went fugue, and she felt a sudden wave of numbness throughout her entire body.

"Angie?" she whispered in a tiny, choked voice.

McAudry House, La Jolla CA
Friday, 4 February 1994 11:21 pm PST

Normally, neither Doug nor Marie-Ange would have been in bed by eleven on a Friday night, but this entire week had been both physically exhausting and emotionally draining, and with the house almost to themselves for the first time since their return from France, they planned to get some much-needed rest so that they could continue exhausting themselves over the weekend.

This was going to be their only weekend off for the entire quarter; at last weekend's preliminary rehearsals for the musical, they'd been given a schedule of meeting times, and it had become quickly apparent that free time was a thing of the past. Best to enjoy this weekend before time got any shorter.

Rahne had elected to spend her weekend off making her first roadtrip to the Heartbreak Hotel with Ric, to meet these friends of his that he'd been telling her about. Ric was looking forward to introducing her to them, though she had seemed more than a touch dubious. Ric had been spending a lot of time there lately, and Rahne wasn't sure she liked it.

With the two of them gone, Dani had decided to take up the McAudry family's invitation to spend the weekend out at the ranch and trade horse stories, thus leaving Marie-Ange and Doug alone, apart from Warlock and Catseye, who were humorously careful to stay out of the way.

So the two had made it an early night, relishing the opportunity for a romantic, semi-secluded weekend to follow.

The phone had other ideas, though.

The first ring caused Marie-Ange, a light sleeper by nature, to stir awake. She took a disoriented look around the dark room, and when the phone rang a second time, she zeroed in on its location. The cordless was lying on the endtable, on her side of the bed. "Douglas, the telephone," she murmured, slipping out of his arms.

"The machine'll get it," he said, vaguely, but Marie-Ange had already fumbled for the phone and switched it on. "Allô, McAudry house."

There was a brief silence from the other side, but at length, a tiny voice replied. "Angie?"

Marie-Ange was awake in an instant. "Jennifer? Jennifer, is that you?"

At the sound of this name, Doug, too, was wide awake. "Jenny?" he asked.

"Angie, you're..." came Jennifer's distant voice, rising in pitch.

"I'm here, Jennifer, I'm here. Where are you?"

Doug threw off the covers and went to get the other phone in the whatever room, startling Catseye, who'd been curled up asleep in the beanbag chair. With a click, he joined the conversation. "Jenny, this is Doug. Where are you?"

"Doug?" Jennifer replied in a high-pitched, constricted voice. "Doug, I need... oh, God, I'm... what..?"

"Jenny, please, just tell me where you are," Doug insisted.

The voice that answered, however, was not Jennifer's. "Hello, is this Doug?"

Doug was momentarily taken aback by this new, male voice. "Yeah, this is Doug. Who the hell are you?"

"My name's Gene. Listen carefully. Jenny and I are in Las Vegas. The Friends of Humanity are following us, and Jenny seemed to think you could help in case we couldn't get out of here without a fight. Follow me so far?"

"I hear you," Doug nodded. Back in their room, Marie-Ange quickly started getting dressed at the mention of a fight. "Where are you in Vegas?"

"The Excalibur resort," Gene replied, calmly. "Right now, we're in a restaurant, and we were planning to stick to public places until backup arrived. I take it you're the backup?"

"I guess we are," Doug nodded. Seeing that Catseye was giving him a worried look, he pointed to her, pointed to Marie-Ange, then jerked his thumb toward the door to Catseye's room, mouthing the words "Get dressed!" Sharon nodded and dashed for the indicated door.

"How soon can you be here?"

"Hopefully not long. How's Jenny doing?"

After a pause, Gene's reply came, sotto voce. "She's freaking out. Who's Angie?"

Doug mentally cursed. "Long story. Just try to keep her calm, okay? We'll be there as quick as we can."

"Good. Um, by any chance, do you have a cellular phone?"

"No, but I can fake one with the same number you just called."

"Ohhhh-kay," Gene replied, apparently deciding not to pursue. Just as well, as Doug had no intention of explaining.

Doug put his hand over the receiver. "Warlock, wake up! We're gonna need your help big-time, pal! Angie, I need the cordless!"

With a mechanical whir, Warlock, who had been sitting on the entertainment center and recharging himself, emerged sensors from his block-shaped dormant form, took in the scene, and immediately started reconfiguring into a humanoid shape. Marie-Ange, meanwhile, paused in lacing up her shoes and tossed the cordless across the small space to Doug. He caught it on the fly, hung up the whatever-room phone, and took the cordless back into his room so that he could get dressed, too.

"Doug, you still there?" Gene asked.

"Yeah, I'm here. Just had to switch phones. Is there a number where I can reach you in case we get cut off?"

"Sure. Got a pencil?"

"I'll remember it. Go ahead."

"Fine. It's 805-555-9797."

"Got it," Doug nodded, struggling to hold the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he pulled on a pair of pants. At this moment, Warlock came into the room, looking alarmed. "Selfriend requires assistance?"

"'Lock, could you make me a headset phone that'll transmit on the same frequency as this thing?" Doug asked, indicating the cordless handset.

"Of course, selfriend," Warlock replied. He placed one hand over Doug's head and used some of his surplus structure to create the requested headset. Once it was completed and detached from Warlock's hand, Doug switched off the cordless and continued to get dressed. "Sorry about the delay," he said into the microphone, "but you kind of caught us asleep."

"Understandable. Sorry to call at a bad time, but this is kind of an emergency, you know?"

"I hear you." Doug quickly buttoned up a shirt, then looked desperately for his shoes. Marie-Ange, by this time, was pulling her rapier and quarterstaff from the wall, where they had been hanging on display, and then started rummaging through the closet for one of the team costumes they almost never used.

"You about ready?" he asked her.

"Oui," she nodded, breathlessly.

"Warlock, you got the power to fly us all the way out to Vegas?"

"Affirmative, but with interruption of recharge, self's systems are below optimum levels, and task would be difficult, particularly if battle becomes necessary."

Doug sighed. In the old days, this would have been a snap for him. "Listen, Gene, how long d'you think you guys can hold out?"

"How long do you need?" Gene asked in reply.

"You got a few hours to kill?"

"We could probably work through that, yeah."

"Okay, hang on." He covered the microphone. "We'll take the beemer. Where's Sharon?"

"I'll check on her," Marie-Ange nodded. She took her sword, staff and costume and hurried from the room.

"Gene, we're gonna be driving out there to meet you, okay?"

"That'll do."
 
 

Marie-Ange looked into Sharon's room, to see that Catseye had thought ahead to the possibility of a fight, and was already donning her costume. "Sharon, are you nearly ready?"

"Ready, redhair," Catseye replied. She snapped on her gloves and grabbed a pair of sunglasses from her nightstand. She then paused, and gave Marie-Ange a troubled look. "Cannot go with goldenmane, though, yes?"

"I was just thinking that," Marie-Ange said with a frustrated sigh. "Come, we'd best be quick."
 
 

Doug quickly slipped on his shoes and started lacing. His mind raced as he tried to think of everything they'd need to make this trip. "Warlock, could you try to page Dani? We could certainly use her help."

"Transmitting," Warlock replied, forming one hand into a miniature radio dish to do so.

"Hey, listen, Doug," Gene then said through the headset. "I'm going to have to hang up now. Jenny's... not doing so well, and it's drawing attention. I'll get back to you, okay?"

"Okay, we'll be at the same number."

"Fine. Talk to you soon."

There was a click, and then silence. Doug scanned the room, desperately seeking anything else he might need. Perhaps his glasses, for a start.

"FrienDani has not answered page," Warlock reported.

"Damn. Okay, 'Lock, here's what I need from you. I need as much range as I can get on this headset, and I need to have any calls that come to the house phone forwarded directly to it. Will that be a problem?"

"Negative. Self is on the task."

"Beautiful. Thanks, pal."

"Observation: It's cool, brah."

Doug actually managed to laugh at Warlock's colloquialism. He dug his own costume out of the closet and bundled it up. "Soon as you're done with the phone, meet me at the car, okay?"

"Affirmative," Warlock replied, kneeling beside the telephone jack to plug a small piece of himself in.

"Angie, Sharon, you ready?" Doug called to the wing at large.

As if in reply, Doug heard a roar from the other side of the house, which he immediately recognized as the engine of the BMW. For a moment, he was too surprised to act, but then he dashed down the hall in pursuit.
 
 

The automatic gate on the "exit" driveway typically took eleven seconds to roll aside, from the moment the pressure sensor registered the weight of a car to the point that there was sufficient space to drive through. Tonight, these were eleven of the longest seconds of Marie-Ange's life.

As she waited, she took the time to try to take stock of the situation. "Alright. It's about three hundred miles to Las Vegas." She checked the gauges. "We have a full tank of gas... two packs of tarot cards... it's dark..." Here, she glanced over at Sharon, whose mane (dyed a bright reddish-orange this week) framed her angular face like a halo of flame. "...and you're wearing sunglasses."

"Hit it!" Catseye grinned.

"Angie!" came a shout from behind. Without looking back, Marie-Ange gunned the motor and tore out of the open gateway as fast as she could accelerate. Catseye stuck her head out the open side of the convertible, letting the wind whip through her hair.
 
 

By the time he'd emerged from the front doors of the house, the BMW was already all the way up the driveway, and the gate was almost open.

"Angie!" Doug shouted, sprinting down the driveway in pursuit. He was not fast enough, though, as Marie-Ange pulled the car out onto the street with a screech of tires and a blast of exhaust.

By the time he reached the gate, they were long gone, leaving only the sound of the motor, receding into the relative quiet of the late Friday night.

Doug cursed loudly and headed back into the house at a dead run. "Warlock!" he shouted down the circular hall.

"Alarm!" Warlock answered, coming out of the living wing and meeting Doug in the hall. "Where have selfriends gone?"

"They took the car and went alone!" Doug growled. "Dammit! We'll need to chase 'em down. You got the strength for that?"

"Affirmative, if selves merge."

Doug paused to take a breath. "Okay, any word from Dani yet?"

"FrienDani has not responded to message sent to pagermodule."

"Great." He touched one hand to the headset-phone. "You got this thing ready? We'll need a pretty big transmission range."

"Self has created receiver-module which should cover necessary range."

"Good job. Can I make an outgoing call on it?"

"Affirmative. Query: Destination of call?"

"Call the ranch. Hopefully someone's still awake."

A dial tone came through the headset speakers, followed by two rings, and finally by a voice. "Hello?"

"Hi, Brian?"

"Hey, Doug! You're up late."

"Yeah, 'fraid so. Look, is Dani there?"

"Nah, she and Kellen and Brynn went out someplace. I dunno when they'll be back."

"Damn. Could you please have her call just as soon as she gets back? It's really important."

"What's wrong, cuz?"

"No time to explain. Just have her call, okay?"

"Will do. Is it a mutant hero thing?"

"Something like that."

"Alright, I'll tell her."

After hanging up, Warlock gave Doug a querying look. "Should self page selfriendsRahneandRic in LosAngeles?"

Doug considered this, then shook his head. "No time. Besides, it might be best if they're not involved in this."

"Understood. Is selfriend ready to fly?"

"Yeah. Let's do it."

The mutant and alien dashed out the front doors. While Warlock began reconfiguring himself again, Doug punched in the code to turn the alarms on, then stepped into Warlock's structure, merging the two of them into one.

Take us up quiet as you can. Maximum stealth.

Affirmative.

They'll have to take I-15 to get to Vegas. Let's cut 'em off at the pass.

Excalibur Resort, Las Vegas NV
Saturday, 5 February 1995 12:33 am MST

It didn't take Gene long to figure out that Jenny had been given some kind of unexpected shock when her call went through. Once it became apparent that she was incapable of speech, he'd taken the phone from her, hoping this Doug guy would listen. From her other hand, he took the business card and studied it, wondering what an amusement center had to do with any of this.

All the while Gene talked to Doug, though, Jennifer sat across the table from him, her lips working soundlessly. Gradually, she began to cry, and eventually, she began to shudder violently. At this point, Gene got off the phone and turned all of his attention back to her. His telepathic tap on Pinstripe, light as it was, reported that they'd drawn his undivided attention. Small wonder, that: half the restaurant had noticed her condition by now.

"Jenny, calm down," he whispered, reaching across the table to take one of her hands. "Look, everything's going to be fine. Help is on the way. Just relax, okay?"

His assurances were useless, and by taking his focus off Pinstripe, he was able to determine, with a gentle telepathic touch, that her mind was in turmoil, and rational thought was buried beneath the hysteria this Angie person had brought forth in her.

*Jenny, listen to me,* he sent to her, trying to lay his telepathic voice over her churning thoughts. *Look, in spite of what the rest of this place looks like, I'm not much of a knight in shining armor. I want to help you, but I can't rescue you. I can't do it alone. I need you back, okay? Please?*

This seemed to help a little, though she was still trembling with emotion.

On cue, the squire re-appeared with their entrees. "M'lord, is the lady not well?" he asked.

Gene showed the man his cel-phone before clipping it back into place. We just got a call from my fiancée's father. Some very bad news."

"Oh, m'lady, my sympathies," the squire said in an honest enough voice.

Gene reached for his wallet, put away the card with Doug's number, and pulled out a pair of fifties to hand to the squire. "Listen, she's very upset, so we'd best retire for the evening. I'll need this delivered up to my room. It's number 1233, and the name's Wing. Keep the change for yourself."

"Of course, Lord Wing." Again, the squire gave Jennifer a sympathetic look that actually seemed to go beyond the act. "And I echo thy sorrows, m'lady."

"Thank you, squire," Gene replied, forcing a smile. He then stood, came around the table to help Jenny do the same, and led her out.
 
 

Once they were clear of the restaurant, Gene let out a held breath. Pinstripe would be following, and probably alerting others. He'd have to move fast.

"Alright, we'll just have a change of plans, then. We'll fake like we're going up to my room, then circle around the front, get my car from the valet, and get the hell out of here. Does that sound good to you?"

"Will it work?" she whispered.

"I don't know, but we couldn't stay in there any longer. What was that all about?"

"She's dead," Jennifer said in reply.

Gene paused, decided to let that one go for now, and checked back over his shoulder. Pinstripe and his friends were talking to the squire that had promised to have their food sent up to the room. Perfect. Maybe that would throw them off for a while.

He led Jenny to the elevators. They got into the nearest one and went up to the fifth floor.

"Where are we going?" Jenny finally asked, as they navigated the fifth floor hallways.

"Stairs. We'll come out on the other side of the restaurant and head up front before they can find us."

That said, he led the way to the staircases (even these were decorated in period, he noticed), and they made their way down. Jenny was having a little trouble navigating the stairs with her high heels, and eventually Gene suggested she remove them, as time was of the essence.

As he had hoped, the staircase emptied out very close to the main entrance to the resort. Gene put one arm around Jenny, plastered on his best fake grin, and headed toward the valet desk.

A woman in the garb of a serving wench was waiting there. "Fair eve to thee, m'lord, m'lady," she smiled. "How mayst I help thee?"

"My carriage, please," Gene smiled, handing her a small plastic card he'd been carrying in his back pocket. "The lady and I must momentarily depart."

"Of course, m'lord," she said with a curtsy. "If thou'lt wait outside, one of the livery lads shall bring it to thee forthwith."

"My thanks," he nodded. He tipped the girl, seeing as you had to tip everyone else in this damned town, and headed out to the front gates, his arm still around Jenny.

It was cold outside, and Gene realized he'd left his tuxedo coat upstairs. He'd have to come back for his belongings another time, once this was all over.

Jennifer shivered against him from the sudden cold, and when he glanced down at her, he realized that she had no coat, either, and he doubted that the dress she was wearing was affording much protection. He was over a foot taller than she, and from this perspective, he could actually see quite a bit of unprotectedness.

This was no time to admire the view, however, tempting as it was.

After a few tense minutes, the valet brought his car: a black Ford Mustang he'd picked up just weeks before from a dealer in Ventura.

"Your carriage, m'lord!" the valet beamed, handing Gene his keys.

"Thank you, my good man," Gene nodded in reply, handing the man yet another tip. "Well, m'lady," he then said to Jennifer, "shall we be off?"

"Stop those two!"

Gene whirled to see Pinstripe coming out of the entrance, with no fewer than four other men behind him. The valets and customers all broke for cover as Pinstripe pulled a gun out of his coat.

"Get in the car!" Gene shouted to Jenny. He then summoned up his power, letting black shadow crawl over his back and arms, fanning out into the wings that were his namesake.

The wings had the desired effect of causing Pinstripe to hesitate out of shock. "It's him!" Pinstripe shouted to the others. "Get 'em both!!"

Gene was about ready to slam the man with one of his telekinetic foci, but quicker even than he could act, a back disc of energy shot past him and hit Pinstripe square in the chest. As he pulled the trigger, the gun exploded in his hand.

Pinstripe dropped to his knees with a shriek of pain, and Gene cast a glance backwards to see that the disc had, indeed, come from Jennifer, who was now standing beside him. The danger seemed to have shocked her out of her previous state, as her face was now dark and angry.

The four goons closed in, but Gene and Jenny were ready for them. Gene surrounded each of his hands and feet with a focus point, and aided by his telekinesis, he slammed the first in the face with a practiced karate kick. Beside him, Jennifer planted her fist in the midsection of another, doubling him over.

Within ten seconds, the two of them had laid their four assailants out on the concrete. Pinstripe was kneeling at the entranceway, holding the remains of his right hand against his chest.

"Nice," Gene told her. He took a look around to see that they had caught the attention at least two dozen potential witnesses. "Come on, let's motor."

Interstate 15, near Escondido, CA
Friday, 4 February 1994 11:57 pm PST

Doug and Warlock caught up with the BMW fairly quickly. The trick was going to be in getting down without being noticed by the other cars on the freeway. For a long while, they followed, keeping pace well above the road, waiting for an opening.

When selfsensors finally determined the coast to be at least mostly clear, they made their move. First, they shot a small probe/module at the car, which attached itself to one of the motors which controlled the convertible top. Seizing control of these motors, they caused the top to pull back, then dropped out of the sky and swooped down, deftly landing their joined structure in the back seat of the convertible.

Marie-Ange had been surprised enough by the top retracting by itself, apparently, but seeing the merged techno-entity drop into the back seat startled her so much that she nearly swerved out of the lane. She looked back with wild eyes as the two separated. "Mon Dieu!" she gasped.

Catseye looked back and gave the two a surprised expression. "Goldenmane! 'Lectro! Found us? Always being clever, yes?"

Doug was in no mood to take a compliment from Catseye. "Okay," he growled. "What the hell do you two think you're doing?"

"Douglas, you shouldn't be here!" Marie-Ange replied, looking back to the road and shaking her head. "We have to do this alone, Sharon and I."

"No you don't!" Doug shot back. "Jenny's our friend, too! She called 'cause she needs our help! What the hell were you thinking, taking off alone? Just the two of you against the effin' Friends of Humanity?"

"Self agrees," Warlock added. "To attempt rescue without utilizing all available selfriends' abilities is unwise, and dangerous."

"Jennifer is our responsibility," Marie-Ange stated, flatly. "She wouldn't be in this predicament if we hadn't disappeared."

"Oh, Christ, will you stop that?" Doug cried, exasperated. "When are you going to stop taking the blame for everything bad that happens to all of your friends?"

"Do you understand any of this?!" she snapped, furiously. "You told me yourself! The only reason Jennifer left the academy was to avenge us! She shouldn't even be in this danger!"

"That doesn't