Disclaimer: The X-Men and related characters are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission. This is a non-profit making work of fan-fiction.

Chapter One - The Gathering

Julianne McInnery is an Irish-American who lives in a fifth floor apartment in Seattle. Apartment is a flattering term; it is a bedroom with the word 'room' being taken under advisement. She is three weeks behind with her rent, but her landlord is permanently drunk and has not yet noticed. Julianne will pay as soon as she can – she has no desire to be forced onto the street, like Maxwell, the down-and-out who lives in a cardboard box by the entrance to the apartment block – but the fortune-telling business does not pay well, even if you are good at it. And Julianne is good; she is a mutant and she really can see the future.

She has a gift, an ability to discern impressions from objects she touches, visions of its future or its past. She edits out the worst of what she sees before relating it to her customers. People pay more if they believe their future is bright. Tonight, she has managed to secure a place in a stage show down at the old Adelphi theatre. She is scheduled to appear between the fire-eater, who also juggles with live chainsaws, and a hypnotist, whose act has been described as raunchy and explicit. Judging by the class of people in the audience, I suspect that is what most of them are here to see. I have seen hypnotism in all its forms and am not easily impressed. I am here for Julianne.

She has dressed well for the occasion, in a red and orange gypsy outfit with a blouse that reveals just enough cleavage to preserve her modesty and entertain this crowd at the same time. Her gold hoop earrings are almost completely hidden beneath masses of dark curls. Then her eyelids flicker open and I forget all about what she is wearing. Her green eyes have transfixed me, lancing through me like spears through struggling fish. Around me, the audience is motionless, enchanted by this woman's spell. Is physical beauty a mutation? If so then this woman possesses it in abundance.

I barely notice her act. Her claim that a leggy blonde will meet a tall dark stranger is met with laughter by the audience, until she goes on to state exactly when and where that meeting will take place. They are going to have twins apparently. She also helps a bald African-American locate his lost dog, his sole companion in the world, simply be touching its food bowl. It is trapped in next door's basement, but there is some food down there so it is in no danger of starvation. Her act continues in a similar vein, her initial revelations greeted with scepticism before she packs them with so much detail that you find yourself wanting to believe. I do not need to take her act on faith. I would not be here if I did not know the truth of her abilities.

When she leaves the stage, I follow. I have to ask the comic, who was on at the start of the show, to point me in the direction of her dressing room. Laughter and lewd comments follow me from the auditorium and down into the bowels of the theatre. She has been given a room at the far end of a corridor, a room I suspect has until recently been a broom-closet. She is removing her make-up and does not turn when I enter; she can see my reflection in the mirror.

'I've come to make you a proposition,' I begin, at which she laughs. It is a braying, ugly sound with a hard metallic edge. I get the impression that she is a woman who has had little enough to laugh about in her life.

She looks me up and down. 'I'll admit ye're not exactly unattractive, but are ye sure ye've got the right choice o' words?' she asks.

I consider smiling, but I am not really amused. My business is important, vital even. I am also a woman for whom life has provided little in the way of laughter.

'You have a gift,' I say, 'a gift that could be very useful. I want to give you a chance to use that gift to shape your destiny and the destiny of literally billions of others.'

She cocks her head to one side in amusement. 'Whatever ye're on, can I have some?'

'I admit that the road will not be easy,' I persist, 'but let me tell you about my dream.'

An hour later I leave the theatre, confident in the knowledge that I have recruited Visionary to our cause.

* * *

It is ironic really. Removing the plants has only made the attic seem smaller. This space at the top of the mansion in Westchester, New York, used to belong to Ororo Munroe, an African weather-witch. She filled the room with greenery to make it feel like home. The space was crowded, a veritable jungle, but it had an openness that echoed the outside world it was designed to imitate. Ororo is long gone and so are her plants. Now a young Chinese woman called Jubilation Lee has claimed the attic and despite the room's emptiness, she wonders where all the space has gone.

To say the room is sparsely furnished would be an understatement. There is a sofa bed – currently folded up. And that's it. All of Jubilee's worldly possessions are contained in a large red and yellow rucksack stuffed behind the sofa. The rucksack has not been unpacked. Jubilee likes to think that it is because she has not had the time. In more reflective moments she realises that it is because it has been a long time since she last considered anywhere home.

Jubilee reaches upwards and opens the large skylight. A breeze wafts into the room and tugs at her tangled black hair. It has been a long time since she had a proper haircut, preferring instead to simply do a hurried trim herself. The pink rays of dawn caress her round face, still child-like in appearance. The woman stretches, arching her back like a cat, and then begins her exercise routine. Once, she was quite an accomplished gymnast, but she has been out of practice and her body is reluctant to respond to her mind's coaching. On top of that, she is still badly bruised from the battle yesterday. She had been stupid enough to try and tackle Psylocke – or was it a clone of Psylocke? – in single-combat. The ninja had wiped the floor with her for the second time in as many days. It hurt to work her limbs this hard, but Jubilee knew that she had to get back into shape fast if she was going to have any chance of saving the world.

Saving the world. Once, the very idea had been a joke. A stupid idea that only existed in films, comicbooks and the few novels that Jubilee bothered to read when her Mom insisted. Then her parents were killed, shot down by assassins in their Venice Beach apartment while Jubilation was down at the mall with Cynjen. The irony? The assassins had got the wrong Lee's. After that Jubilee had been bounced from foster home to foster home, never with much success. In the end she simply decided to run away. And run away she did, though not quite in the way she expected.

On the day she made that fateful decision, she was hanging out in a mall in Encino, rollerblading around the shoppers and generally making a nuisance of herself. It was a few weeks since she had discovered that she was a mutant, able to create pyrotechnics with her fingers, and she was still adjusting to the idea. Then everything erupted into chaos. A Sentinel attacked the mall and two women tried to stop it. One was a white-haired African dressed in black, the other a blonde American in blue. Both had the bodies of super-models. Both were mutants. The African could create whirlwinds and lightning bolts to harry the giant robot. The blonde, the pop star known as Dazzler, could convert the ambient noise into devastating blasts of laser light. Between them they made short work of the mutant-hunting machine.

Most of the shoppers had fled in terror, but Jubilee stayed. She watched the whole thing from behind the escalator rail, fascinated by these women. They were mutants. She was a mutant. Maybe someday she could be like them. Then they were teleported away and somehow the curious girl was carried with them. Shortly after that, Jubilee found herself a member of the mutant outlaws known as the X-Men. She was a super-heroine with all that entailed. Well, excluding the supermodel's physique.

But Jubilee never felt comfortable with the X-Men. Her powers were lame in the extreme and she felt she was little more then a mascot who just tagged along without really making much of a difference. So, when it was decided to form a new academy to train mutants to use their powers, Jubilee was one of the first to sign up. Life in Generation X, as the new group became known, was almost as hectic as life with the X-Men, but at least now Jubes felt she was achieving something. She made some strong friends and developed a special relationship with a boy called Everett Thomas. Time passed and Jubilee grew too old to attend the school. However, she and most of Generation X still hung around to hone their powers.

Then one of the headmasters died. The other, Emma Frost, suffered a nervous breakdown and left. The remaining mutants tried to run the school as best they could, but things were already falling apart. Then the school was attacked by an anti-mutant hate-group called the Friends of Humanity. Jubilee escaped. Everett did not.

Jubilee screwed up her face but she did not cry. She had shed all of her tears long ago. Besides, she had recently discovered that Ev might still be alive. If he was, she would find him. She had to.

When the school collapsed, Jubilee made her way back to Southern California. She had no money and no friends to turn to so she took to living on the streets. Her experiences there had changed her. She was still trying to forget, but she was permanently scarred. She had been made to feel vulnerable, weak and violated and though some semblance of her old bravado was returning, it was just a cloak, easily stripped away to reveal the frightened girl beneath.

Jubilee pauses in her exercises, fighting back the flood of painful memories. Given time, she had blocked them out, formed a scab over the wound, but in the past few days people had been picking at that scab and the pain had returned.

Tugging a towel from her bag, Jubilee clambers out of the attic and heads for the shower.

Kate Pryde had found her when she was at her lowest and had offered her a chance to rebuild her life. Kate had a dream of re-forming the X-Men who had drifted apart when the previous generation got to old to fight the good fight. Four days ago, that dream became a reality. Nine people brought together by a common dream: Cannonball, Husk, Wolfsbane, Shadowcat, Chamber, Wraith, Siryn, Sunspot and Jubilee. She has come full circle. She has come home.

* * *

Koblenz. A semi-detached house two streets down from the open-air market. I indulge myself and buy a bag of apples on my way. From the house there is a wonderful view of the park. A family of geese are swimming on the lake. The house's owner is a bit of an eccentric. Gilbert and Sullivan's H.M.S. Pinafore is playing on an ancient gramophone and whenever the record finishes, he moves the needle and starts it again. Every so often during our conversation his attention will drift and he will start humming one of the parts, vocal or instrumental. I do not mind, he has a pleasant voice to listen to. Were time not so pressing I would be tempted to stay longer. Wilhelm Krantz is certainly a charming host.

Krantz is a journalist and a novelist, with over thirty published novels. He turns out five a year – on a wide range of subjects – with more than twice that number rejected. He can accomplish this feat because of his incredible typing speed. Krantz is a mutant, one for whom the rest of the world seems to run in slow motion. To the rest of us, Krantz appears to move at blinding speeds.

We have been making small talk, trivialities to give me time to work out how to approach the real issue. Krantz is distracted again by a particular female solo so I turn and stare at the view beyond the windowpane. A child runs down to the lake dragging an orange kite behind him. He trips and almost upends himself into the water, but his mother is there to catch him. The geese, startled by the commotion, all take to the air in near perfect synchrony. Even indoors we can here their deafening cries.

'It is a lovely view, nicht wahr?' It takes all my self-control not to jump. I did not here Krantz get up and stand behind me.

'It's beautiful,' I manage, regaining some of my composure. Krantz nods his silent agreement.

'It's a shame it can't last,' I add. Krantz raises an eyebrow. He is far from verbose, rarely wasting time with unnecessary words, but even his simplest gestures convey more than enough meaning.

'There is a war coming,' I explain. 'Surely you must know this, given your condition.'

'My condition?' It takes Krantz a few moments to untangle my deliberate vagueness. 'Ah, you mean my being a mutant. But I trouble no one. Why should anyone trouble me?'

I sigh, hoping I am not overdoing the theatrics. 'I wish that were the case, Wilhelm. Unfortunately, there are always those who will hate you because you are different, because you have talents they do not. And the people who hate you will want to hurt you. And your family. And your friends. They will have no regard for anyone who gets in their way. All this' – I gestured about vaguely – 'will be no more. And that sort of thing will happen right across the globe.'

My words have had an impact. Krantz is looking decidedly unsteady and opts to sit on the couch before he falls. I remain standing.

'I represent a group of people who do not want to see mutants treated like animals, as something less than human. We intend to defend the interests of mutants against the hateful mass of humanity. It is our wish that mutants can live out their lives in peace and safety unmolested by others because of their unique genetic heritage.

'We would like you to help us.'

From his sitting position Krantz can still look out of the window. He can see the little boy flying his kite without a care in the world. I can almost see a cloud forming behind his eyes as he considers the boy's possible future. I try not to sigh out loud; some people are so easy to manipulate.

Brushing a strand of greying hair out of his eyes, he murmurs, 'I'll do it.'

I manage a reassuring smile. 'I'm glad.' It is not a lie; the team will be much stronger with Speedfreak at our side.

* * *

Jonothon Starsmore lies in bed watching the bright red numbers of the clock on the bedside cabinet. His back is turned to Paige Guthrie, his lover, but he can feel her pressing against him. He lies very still – she is still asleep and he has no desire to wake her – but for once he takes no comfort in her touch. She is the most beautiful woman in all the world and she wants to stay with him for the rest of her life, but he still finds himself having doubts about their relationship.

Jonothon is horribly disfigured. He is missing most of his face and chest. His mutancy manifested itself as a mass of self-renewing psionic energy deep within his chest. He has the ability to project that energy outward to devastating effect. Unfortunately, the first time this power had manifested, it blew away much of his upper body. Even in bed, he still has to wear bandages around his face and chest to keep the force in check lest he unwittingly harm Paige. He is a monster and he keeps people at arms' length because of it.

And because of that attitude he had almost lost Paige before their relationship had even begun. Paige had seen beyond his disfigurement and fallen in love with the person beneath, but Jono could not see it. He could not accept that someone might love a freak. Their relationship had been a rocky, troubled one, but they had weathered the storm and it looked as if they might be prepared to take the jump into wedlock.

They had travelled to Kentucky to seek the permission of Paige's family. Her brother Sam had refused. Paige had stormed out in anger, turning her back on the family she had once loved with all her heart. It was an amazing show of devotion to Jono, but it only served to make him uncomfortable. Between his shame and Paige's anger, the wedding never actually seemed to happen. They lived together and started careers in an attempt to put together a new life. And then they tried for a child.

Paige miscarried.

Jono blamed himself. He was the freak. His mutation was preventing them from having children. So long as Paige was with him she could never lead a normal life. There and then he told her to leave him, to find someone who deserved her, who could make her happy. She refused. But Jono could never free himself from his doubts. Then they had agreed to help Kate form a new team of X-Men. Neither knew that Sam Guthrie was also being considered for membership. For Kate's sake, they persevered, but neither Paige nor Sam could stand to be in the same room as one another. And Jono felt his shame come back with a vengeance. What claim could he, a monster, make on the goddess lying beside him?

* * *

Whatever Jono might believe, Paige is not asleep. Instead she presses herself against him, enjoying the feeling of his closeness. For all her mutant abilities, all her intellect and talents, she never feels safer than when Jonothon is beside her. She just wishes she knew that he would be there forever. She has chosen him over her family, but that means that he is all that she has left. If he should abandon her as well...

If only he could pluck up the courage to commit. She is sure that that is what the problem. He wants to commit, but is ashamed because of his disfigurement, frightened of the consequences. But what about yesterday? Yesterday they had battled Proteus, a mutant who could alter the very fabric of reality. He had offered to make Jonothon whole again and he had chosen that over Paige. Paige feels certain he had been mind-controlled, but what if he had not? Just how deep are his feelings for her? And then, when they could have been sorting out their problems, he had run off, abandoned her to go to the aid of Rahne Sinclair – another woman! Paige is not normally the jealous type, is sure that there is nothing to be jealous of, but she can not help but have doubts. She would do anything for Jono, but she needs to know that he feels the same.

* * *

Despite the season, it is pleasantly warm in Paris. I am in the Bois de Boulogne, surrounded by a crowd of people all here for the same purpose. Today we shall see a group of skydivers parachute into the centre of the park. It amazes me how people can find such things spectacular. We live in an age of super-humans, an age where just by walking down the street you my see a display of abilities that would once have been considered magic (and may still be depending on the power displayed). Yet still people flock to these displays of merely human skill. In a world where Galactus may attack at any moment or we may be visited by travellers from a distant future, I find that my definition of spectacular is a lot more difficult to satisfy.

I force my way through the crowd with little patience. My progress is hampered by my small stature – I must force people out of my way as they do not see me – but inevitably I manage to reach the barrier at the front. To my right stands Vijay Singh, the man I have come to see. Like everyone else his eyes are fixed heavenwards, but I can forgive his interest. His brother is one of those who will jump today.

I stand at the barrier and bide my time. They will jump soon so I must wait to approach Singh. He is an unimpressive specimen. A reedy young man in a white shirt and faded jeans. A pair of small round spectacles are balanced precariously on the end of his nose. He hardly looks like a man who will help usher in a glorious new future for mutantkind, but looks can be deceptive.

The sudden change in the mood is palpable, anticipation as a physical thing. Then I can hear it too, the drone of the aeroplane's engines as it climbs higher and higher above us. Then I see them, tiny figures hurling themselves into empty space. Nothing slows their rush towards the oh-so-solid ground. I find myself unwittingly caught up in the mood. Surely they must open their parachutes now. How much longer can they leave it? Then the parachutes spring open.

But wait – one of the divers is in trouble. He has not opened his chute and is still falling at fatal speed. Excitement shifts to panic all around me. Only one person remains calm. Vijay knows the diver is not in danger.

He flexes in a motion that runs down his entire body and then he starts to grow. Unlike many other megamorphs his clothes grow with him too. Vijay has an aura that allows him to influence the size of inanimate objects in close proximity. He has topped ten feet, twenty, thirty. Still he grows, stretching out a giant hand and catching the falling skydiver. Then, gently, Vijay sets him on the ground.

Vijay Singh is a hero. Unfortunately, the rest of the crowd do not see it that way. He is a freak, a mutant, une monstre. They hurl things at him: food, stones, bottles. At his current size they cannot physically harm him, but there are many other forms of hurt. Vijay has learned firsthand the truth of mutant-human relations. What you do does not matter; humanity only sees what you are.

As he shrinks, I reflect on this and see the dejection in his body language. Humongous will be an easy recruit to our cause.

* * *

When Jean Grey-Summers enters the underground hanger she is greeted by the soles of a pair of shoes. The shoes are on the feet of the man who is at that moment concealed beneath the Blackbird jet, the X-Men's primary mode of transport. Jean gives a polite cough to let him know that she is there and then stands aside to let him slide out from beneath the vehicle.

The man is her husband, Scott Summers. He is tall, with brown hair that was now graying. He wears ruby-coloured sunglasses at all times to control the deadly blasts that he emits from his eyes. He is forced to see the world only in shades of red, but he deals with this stoically, never uttering a word of complaint. Jean hands him one of the two mugs of coffee she carries – black, two sugars – and they both spend a moment drinking in silence. The Summers had inherited the mansion when Professor Charles Xavier had died. It had seemed more than appropriate to use it as the base for the latest incarnation of the X-Men. They both wish that they could take a more active role in the team, but their time has come and gone and the future rests in the hands of a younger generation.

Of course, that does not mean that they will not help out where they can.

'How's it going?' Jean asks, nodding in the direction of the Blackbird.

'Not good,' Scott admits. The previous day, the X-Men had flown into a radically warped version of Manhattan in order to save the world from Proteus and the Hellfire Club. Unfortunately, they had had to ditch the Blackbird into 5^th Avenue on route. Now they needed transportation to Antarctica to rescue their friends from Magneto – not to mention putting an end to another one of his plans for world domination. Scott had offered to fix up the Blackbird while they tried to get some much-needed rest.

Scott raps his knuckles on the hull of the jet. 'The damage was a lot more extensive then we first thought,' he explains. 'I reckon I can make her fly, maybe patch up one or two of the defence systems, but that's about all.'

'If Kate hadn't charged off in such a hurry I'd have suggested that she take this and the others take the Midnight Runner,' Jean says.

Scott shrugged. 'Well, it's too late now.'

Jean can feel her husband's thoughts through the psychic link they share, knows he disapproves of Kate running off to England when the X-Men were going into battle to face Magneto, but that he feels that it was not his place to intervene.

'Look at it this way,' Jean comments aloud, 'Annie went with her so at least we know that she's out of the immediate danger.'

Neither Scott nor Jean was particularly happy with the idea of their daughter adopting the career of a costumed superhero, but given their own past they did not feel that they could do anything to stop it. The idea of her facing off against Magneto – arguably the most powerful mutant on the planet – would have been more than either of them could bear.

'I wouldn't be so sure,' Scott mutters, his face tensing as he considers his daughter's safety. 'X-Men attract trouble. They always have, they always will...'

* * *

As the aircraft descends into the island that is Hong Kong I find myself wondering if one of the skyscrapers we threaten to graze belongs to Takishi Matsuo, the man I am here to...acquire. Unfortunately, from the ground the city is a completely different place and I am unable to confirm my suspicion as the taxicab winds its way through the busy streets. I loathe taxi-drivers – they can never go fast enough for me and I much prefer to drive myself, or travel by alternative means – but my lord does not wish me to be conspicuous and hiring a car of my own would leave a paper trail.

The building is almost entirely glass. It rises out of the ground like a glimmering icicle as we round the last corner. I can faintly make out aluminum struts holding the panes of glass together, the effect like that of a cobweb across a window in Winter, glittering in its delicacy. I pay the driver and nod to the man at the door as he allows me access to the heart of the Matsuo Empire.

The entrance hall is spacious, the furnishings minimal. I turn to the receptionist at the desk.

'I believe I am expected,' I say.

She does not need to ask who I am, nor does she need to check with her employer. To all intents and purposes she is her employer. With a small nod, the slightest of affirmations, she leads the way to the elevator. Removing a small key from a chain about her neck, she inserts it in a slot in the panel before pressing the button for the penthouse suite. I have to restrain myself from beginning my business here in the elevator. Sometimes expediency must give way to good form.

The opulence of Matsuo's own chambers is in stark contrast to the offices below. He is a man who feels the need to keep business and pleasure separate in the minds of others while intermingling the two himself. As the door to the elevator slides silently open, he bounds out from behind the desk – there is no other way to describe it – and vigorously shakes me by the hand. His grip his firm, his eyes bright, but his smile false. He does not see people in terms of personalities, in terms of individuals to be liked or disliked; he views them as objects, advantages or impediments to his progress and he is not a man to have an emotional attachment to a 'thing'.

He is short – smaller even than I – and dressed in a well-cut grey suit. His black hair is slicked back and shines in the artificial lights. As he returns to his seat, he removes a pair of reading glasses from a case in his pocket, but chooses to regard me over the top of them.

He is a man used to treating others as inferior – naturally it is he who starts the conversation.

'I do not usually choose to grant audiences to people who will not identify themselves.'

'I gave you my name.' My reply is curt. This is a sore point for me, but I can see that he will not let the subject drop.

'Forgive me, but you must admit that a nom-de-guerre is hardly a name.' He is laughing at me. I would love to reach across the desk and rip that superiority right out of him, but, at least for the moment, I need him more than he needs me.

'That name is the only one I have,' I continue, holding my temper in check. 'I gave up everything when I joined the cause. All I am I became since that point.'

He steeples his fingers. That superior smirk still stains his face. 'And you are here to recruit me to this cause. I am a leader not a follower. I only agreed to your visit so that I could see what sort of person you are. Now you may leave.'

I do not move. If anything, I allow myself to become more comfortably ensconced in my chair. There is only one language Matsuo will understand, I knew that before I arrived. Each one of my recruits has had to be approached in a different way – fortunately, I did my research in advance.

'How much is you empire worth?' I ask, staring at a point just over his right shoulder.

'Seventeen million American dollars,' he replies automatically, 'give or take five hundred thousand.'

'And all yours,' I continue.

He begins to protest, mentioning shareholders, staff, but I cut him short. I am in charge now.

'I know all about you, Matsuo,' I comment, turning my head just enough to make eye contact. 'I am well aware that everyone in this building is merely a puppet, controlled via your mutant power. The Matsuo "empire" is simply one person – you – roaming around in many bodies.'

I have removed the smirk from his face. It now graces my own.

'That is not my concern. Nor is it really my concern that, if you do not spend the money very quickly, you will soon lose every cent of those seventeen million dollars. Give or take five hundred thousand.'

It is an entertaining sight, that of the pressure building up within him until he is ready to explode.

'Lose it!' he roars, flecks of foam dancing on his reddened lips. 'And who, perchance, shall take it away from me. You?'

'Oh no,' I say, rising to my feet. 'I have no interest in your money, only your obedience. Of course, when the world learns that you are a mutant, you shall find that the herd that is humanity will find it very easy to pull your empire to the ground.'

'I'll kill you before you tell anyone!' he exclaims.

My hand rests on the call button for the elevator. 'Oh, I won't tell,' I promise. 'Why hasten the inevitable. I had come to offer you a way out, a way to rise above the petty confines of humanity, but since you don't want my help...'

The elevator door slides open. I pause for but a moment before placing one foot inside.

'Wait.'

I turn. The door slides shut where my foot was a second before.

'What must I do?'

He is truly subservient now. Despite myself, I take time to savour the moment.

'Join me,' I state simply. 'Serve my master and help him raise mutantkind to its rightful place as the new rulers of the planet.'

Then I turn and call the elevator once more. I need stay no longer; there is only one answer he can give.

* * *

The shadow springs silently from branch to branch, swiftly traversing the wood without ever touching the ground. Her tail flicks behind her, helping her balance each spring. She perceives the world in a glorious combination of all five senses, a profusion of information so detailed it is beyond human comprehension. Beyond the comprehension of non-mutant humans, that is. She can see the open window from where she is, measuring the distance, registering the smells emanating from the room, the faintest thud as an insect bounces of the raised pane. She tenses then relaxes almost immediately to allow a sparrow to fly past between her and her target. She tenses again, her leg muscles coiled like springs, her forelimbs already reaching forward to grab the ledge still a dozen metres away.

Then she leaps. Her front feet touch the ledge and give her one final push into the bedroom. She lands with the lightest of touches, the fur drawn inwards like a film in reverse, her snout shrinking, her fingers elongating. Naked as the day she was born, Rahne Sinclair slowly rises from her wolf-like crouch and reaches for the robe that hangs off the back of the wardrobe door.

The workout was exhilarating and she can still feel her blood burn within her veins. The scent of her own sweat is intoxicating. She wants to run and run and run. But now the sensations are fading, her senses becoming dulled as the transformation from Wolfsbane to Rahne is completed. Wolfsbane is a creature of energy and passion and excitement. Rahne is staid and quiet and shy. Pulling her robe tightly about her she heads for the shower.

The water is cool and inviting, washing away the last trace of her exertions. Her other self both excites and frightens her. She is the flip side to Rahne's personality, the Hyde to her Jekyll. She is always concerned about what the other girl will do with her lack of inhibitions, but it is something she has learned to live with. No longer does she see her mutancy as a curse. It may not be a blessing, but it is who she is and she can cope with that.

She has found a happiness of sorts, a sense of self. She wishes her friends could say the same. When she looks at Kate she sees a leader doubting her ability to lead. She tried to talk to her earlier, but she had already gone, fleeing her responsibilities for fear of the harm she might cause by her mistakes. In Jubilee she can see a girl scarred by her experiences, a girl who has shut herself off from her feelings, hiding from the world rather than giving herself the opportunity to heal. And Jonothon? Jonothon loves Paige, but has no regard for himself so his love manifests in trying to force his love away. Until he learns to accept his own worth he may never be happy.

She remembers when her power first manifested, how Reverend Craig had branded her a monster and an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. And like a good Catholic girl she had believed him. She had disgusted herself, frightened of whatever sin had caused her to be so horribly cursed. She had been as much in fear of herself as were the rest of the small Scottish town she had grown up in. That was before Moira MacTaggert had found her, had explained the truth behind her mutation. She had taken the terrified thirteen year-old girl into her care and shown her how to become a balanced young woman.

She wants so much to return the favour by helping Jonothon find his own sense of self, but she does not know how to approach him. She met him for the first time only a few days ago and she is still nervous around him. Most of that nervousness is due not to Jono himself, but to his relationship with Paige and, through her, to her brother Sam. Sam and Rahne are old friends. She used to have something of a crush on him back when they were both members of the New Mutants, training at this very mansion. She lost touch with him, however, when he and a group of like-minded students broke away from Xavier's teachings to form the more militant group known as X-Force. All too often in the intervening time they had found themselves on opposite sides of an ideological divide, but Rahne had always sensed that Sam's heart was in the right place and that he was acting from the best of motives.

But that was then. The Sam Guthrie that had turned up at the mansion on Friday night was not the Sam that she remembered. He was bitter and cynical, traits that were only enhanced by the presence of his sister. There had been a disagreement of some kind between them, probably involving Jono, Rahne had deduced, but the three of them were keeping their secrets. Rahne had set herself up as peacemaker, but even she could not resolve a problem she did not understand. She does not know whether to side with her old friends or new and silently prays that she will not be forced to choose.

* * *

Our boat glides slowly across the grey-green water of the Florida swamp, the sound of its engine almost drowned out by the calls of the birds and the chattering of the cicadas. My guide steers our vessel according to my directions, no questions asked. I like him.

It is not long before we reach a pool cut of from the main river, deeply shadowed by the overhanging trees. I signal my pilot to stop. Then I lean back and close my eyes, allowing myself to travel. I am beneath the water, the glow emanating from my own form illuminating the darkness. Fish swim around me, swim through me, but most avoid what they cannot hope to understand. If only Homo sapiens would show such sense.

There is a shadow in the distance. The fish react first, fleeing in the opposite direction, until I am left alone. Alone with the shadow. The creature approaches, its form resolving out of the darkness, yellow eyes gleaming. It is beastial, skin covered with scales, face distorted by a fanged muzzle, fingers webbed and pointed with claws. There is a human intelligence behind those eyes, however.

'Good morning,' I say.

The creature lunges forward, murder in its heart, but it passes straight through me. I am unharmed, but it takes all my effort not to flinch all the same. He tries twice more, before coming to a halt, settling into a crouch on the riverbed.

I cross my arms.

'So this is where you've been hiding yourself,' I comment scornfully. 'Are you that frightened of mere humans. My master can help you strike back against them. If you're interested that is. It might be easier to talk on the surface.'

When I open my eyes again I can see the look of horror on my guide's features. My reptilian associate is surfacing.

'Well?' I prompt.

'What do you want,' he growls.

'We want you to join my master's personal guard.'

'And what's in it for me?'

I kick out my leg suddenly, sending my petrified human guide tumbling into the water. He struggles feebly for a moment, before a set of jaws clamp down on his throat.

'A gift,' I explain, 'and there's plenty more where that came from.'

My companion looks up from his meal, muzzle stained with blood.

'And who is this master of ours?' he asks.

I allow myself a half-smile.

'Have you ever heard of a man called Magneto?'