Beneath a London townhouse, in a space hollowed out by the combined powers of an elemental mistress and the wielder of the Phoenix Force, existed another townhouse of sorts.

An odd kind of townhouse, one without windows -- and a very strange bedroom.

Because where the bed should have been there was was an open coffin, lid hanging to the side.

And in that coffin a very young woman was laid out in the traditional manner and by every test and examination known to man, just recently deceased.

And then the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

Kitty Pryde's eyes snapped open with a suddeness that had frightened more than just a few people. She tilted her head to look down the length of her body ... and sighed.

Loudly.

She shook her head as she levered herself out of the coffin. She'd crossed her arms. Again.

Just like some damned cheap vampire from a damned cheap horror movie.

Which, according to Dr. Strange, master of the mystic arts, was why Kitty was doing it subconsciously. She'd seen it in too many movies during her all too young life.

The living part of her life anyway.

Brushing the whole thing from her mind Kitty walked over to the closet, pulling off her nightgown ( a gift from Meggan who'd thought it looked just too cute to pass up) and pulled on a set of plain clothes.

Kitty sighed again.

Poor Meggan. She wanted so badly to be as friendly with her as she was with everyone else but Kitty's undead state was like a rusty razor on raw nerves to Meggan's elemental and empathic abilities.

Just as well she didn't 'live' either at the Bradock manor or Muir Island -- even if it worried most of them that she might get too lonely or depressed.

The dead didn't get lonely or depressed, thought Kitty, as she walked into the next room, they just decomposed.

Kitty shook her head again. Well, it looked like she still had her warped sense of humor, which given all she'd been through in the last two months meant she was either more resilient than she'd thought... or too stupid to know when to break down and go crazy.

And, as she looked over at the shredded remains of her armored Shadowcat costume she'd brought back from her encounter with the Darkholders in New York, she wasn't sure which one was correct.

Her fingers traced the puncture that ran through the front chest armor and right out the back.

And through her heart.

The best way, she thought grimly, to disable a vampire but keep her intact so that you could move her to a more... congenial enviroment.

Where you could starve and torture her (amoung other things) to force her to tell them how it was she still existed when every other vampire across the world had been destroyed by Doctor Strange's casting of the Montessi Incantation.

Less than a year earlier they'd cast upon her -- from a distance, of course -- spells they'd once planned to place upon Dracula. Spells to enhance vampiric strength, speed and senses, to 'bribe' her into accepting their 'assistance'. To lead the Cult of the Darkhold.

She'd handed their butts over to Dr. Strange.

'Guess they took that badly.'

Very badly. They'd known they couldn't take her on her home territory of London so they'd fed rumors to the Midnight Sons, a group of supernatural hunters whom Kitty had worked with in the past, to trick them into asking for her assistance.

And then, they lowered the boom.

Kitty knew a lot of the fault had been hers. She'd been rolling over every villian she'd encountered for the last year and had gotten cocky.

Overconfident.

Not surprising. She was the queen of the undead, after all. A queen without a kingdom -- in a world without vampires, perhaps, but still the supreme vampire.

All of which meant nothing to people who knew many of the secrets of the Darkhold.

Kitty finished her examination of the suit, something she hadn't had a chance to do earlier since her return to London was followed immediately by Black Air and the Hellfire Club's plot to unleash the demon beneath the city.

It should never have gotten to that point. She'd known they'd been plotting something, but she'd been drawn away by those damned Darkholders.

The suit was a write-off. She might be able to salavage some of the parts, but that was about all.

Luckily, she had spares.

Well, not so lucky. She tended to go through them rather quickly and was always putting new ones together with advanced armors and equipment and what not.

Still and all, it was a damn good thing Rachel hadn't seen this suit when Kitty'd gotten back. She'd have had a litter of ... 'kittens'.

Even worse, she'd cry, feel guilty and hover over her for weeks, giving Kitty no privacy, and basically driving her insane.

Rachel was finally beginning to let her go, and building her own life, and not trying to make Kitty live one.

Not completely, thought Kitty ruefully.

Ray still insisted Kitty do 'normal things'. Things like go outside (not as Shadowcat, and not just on her once a year birthday drink), shop, do non-crime related work... etc, etc etc.

Admittily she had to agree with the working part. Being Shadowcat cost money and given her undead state she was likely to be around for a very, very long time and hence would need a steady supply of cash not dependent on those with mere mortal life spans.

She didn't like thinking in those terms but it was simply the truth -- just as she wished Ray would see the truth that Kitty was dead (well, undead, but it was pretty much the same thing), didn't -- and couldn't -- have a 'normal' life.

That being Shadowcat was her unlife.

After all, what else was there?

Besides drinking blood, that is.

Kitty walked into her 'kitchen', pulled out a random pack of animal blood from her freezer and placed it in a microwave to thaw it out. Not too warm though -- it reminded her all too much of the very few times she'd had fresh, hot blood right from the source.

She'd never imagined it was possible to feel such ecstasy and such disgust at the same time.

Or to want to feel that again and again and again.

Particularly now, as her fangs cut through the plastic bag and drew the foul tasting, lukewarm animal blood into her. Not like the sweet, sweet taste of warm human blood.

Kitty closed her eyes, forced down her nausea and finished the bag. She knew she should have another, she never 'ate' enough, but not now.

Later. She's have another later.

Kitty slowly made her way up to her townhouse (slowly due to all the various security systems she'd installed, she could phase or do the vampire mist thing, but she was in no hurry and wanted to check all the systems) and had decided she wouldn't go out tonight.

Not as Kitty Pryde or Shadowcat -- emergencies not withstanding, of course.

She did have a lot to catch up on; she had, after all, been away for a month.

If Ray did psi-check up on her -- and she likely would -- she'd just have to be content with finding her here. At least she'd be above ground.

Kitty paused before the last door and called up the security history on the touch screen by the exit. The townhouse had the best security system money could buy and then some, but even the best could be overcome.

It had happened nearly a year ago.

Unfortunately for the burglar, he'd made two mistakes.

The first was picking her house.

The second was picking her house on a night she'd been down in the 'basement'.

Last she'd heard, he still wouldn't sleep with the lights off.

Stupid twit.

Everything came up clean, so Kitty hit the button and walked in.

The townhouse was a modest two story residence in one of the better parts of London, chosen in part due to the fact that Kitty's special 'basement' could be added without too much trouble.

Kitty walked throughout her home, looking to see what had changed. Even when she was in London she rarely spent time here so an outside service had been contracted to send in a maid once a week to clean, dust, replace past dated food kept there for the very rare visitor, and once a month use a preset amount of money to 'update' the place.

This usually involved updating the entertainment systems, but from time to time it included changes in the decor.

The only thing the maid service wasn't allowed to change were the rugs.

They were designed to make it easy to clean out blood stains and the like. Union Jack from time to time was forced to use this place, with Kitty's blessings, as a safe house when things got to hot for him and his pride wouldn't let him call for help from Excalibur.

A trait he shared with Kitty.

She'd also lent it to him for the odd party he'd wanted to throw but couldn't fit in his own little flat.

Kitty didn't mind, it was nice to see the place get some use. All she asked was for advance notice so she could clear out the breakables and anything that could connect the place to her, and notify the maid service they'd be needed the following day.

Kitty had always liked Union Jack. He'd hunted vampires before they'd met and never forgot what she was, something everyone else always did. He knew just how dangerous she could become and, even though they'd become friends, she knew he wouldn't hesitate to stake her if she went over to the darkside.

That had always ... comforted her.

Other than a new picture of the Queen there was nothing new, so Kitty moved into the front room. She knew she had lots of computer work to catch up on, among other things, but she thought she'd deal with whatever mail had built up while she'd been away.

As always, the maid had collected and divided up the mail into different catogories. Kitty picked up what had been dropped through the mail slot since the maid had last been here and added them to the appropriate piles.

It always surprised her how much mail someone with no life outside of superheroeing could get. Other than all the tech mags she got to keep up to date, most of it was junk mail with the odd relevant piece or two.

Kitty sat down at her desk before she noticed that the answering machine was blinking. She considered getting back up to listen to it, but decided against it.

She was in no mood to listen to audio spam.

Although how they got her number, she didn't know. It wasn't in the phone book, after all.

Likely a random dialer system.

Brushing it from her mind she began going through the junk mail first in her normal fashion by reading it, deciding whether or not it was a scam that needed investigating, then feeding it into a paper shredder.

Next came anything that looked like a bill or what not. Since all of Kitty's bills were paid via automatic deposit most were just confirmation of payment with the odd bit that looked like a bill but was in truth junk.

Once she had them filed away (or shredded) she turned to the last envelope and felt her eyebrow rise in surprise as she saw the name on the return address.

'Luba?' she thought, 'Why is she writting me? I'd told her she wouldn't hear from me for a few more months. Hope nothing's wrong.'

Quickly Kitty sliced open the envelope and removed the pages folded within. That reassured her, given that bad news was always short and to the point.

The letter was classic Luba, thought Kitty, starting with greetings and hellos and followed with nearly a page of how are yous and the like.

'Ok lady, I'll bite,' commented Kitty as she continued to scan the page, 'What's up and ... WHAT!!!!'.

Kitty reread the offending sentence, but it wouldn't change.

"I'm writing you now even though you'd said you'd be on sabbatical to give you some wonderful news, I've just finalized the contracts to turn your first book into a movie!"

Somehow Kitty managed not to scream and instead turned her head to look at her bookcase and the shelf which held four hardback 'fiction' novels.

Which told, in an edited way, her 'life' since her 'death'.

Kitty rubbed her eyes with a groan. When she'd first agreed to join Excalibur after helping the others to rescue Rachel from Mojo's forces, she'd been in a rather depressed state at the time. Suicidal in fact.

If, in fact, it was possible for someone who's undead to commit suicide.

Moira had tried, along with Prof. X, to get her to agree to see a shrink. Ok, a therapist.

And since she tended to become...  hostile when the point was pressed, Moira and the others had hunted around for another method to give Kitty the help even she knew she needed.

Still needed, in fact, to tell the truth.

Somehow they'd come up with the idea of having her write down what she couldn't bring herself to talk about. In the end they'd only gotten her to agree to this form of therapy because Ray had said if Kitty would, she would too. From what she'd known of Ray's past, Kitty thought she'd needed help as much as she did.

So she had.

Of course she hadn't written down everything. She never penned her 'superhero' activities, just everything else. And also at Moira's suggestion, she'd written it as if she was talking about someone else... among other things.

Despite her earlier reluctance, Kitty discovered that writting it all down helped.

A lot.

And both she and Ray made something of a game of it, trying to outdo each other while Moira gave them both reviews of their work.

Kitty had always assumed Moira was taking what she was writting and running it by a therapist, but Kitty could live with that. Kind of, anyway.

It wasn't until she'd pushed a published hardback copy of what she'd been writting in front of her that Kitty realized Moira had been doing more than that.

Admittily it hadn't been Moira's fault completely (Ray'd been involved too, somehow) but once the ball had got rolling she'd let it keep going.

If anything good had come out of her reaction to her 'life' being put in a book store, it was that at least Moira and the others saw her at her undead angry worst.

Of course, they still forgave her long before she forgave them... but, after several months, she'd finally started talking to them again.

A little bit, anyway.

Part of that was due to the fact her book went straight to the top ten best sellers and stayed there for months and months on end.

The rest was due to Luba who'd become her publishing agent. With a bare few e-mails and then phone calls they'd become friends and it was her encourgement that finally convinced Kitty to continue her 'fictional' story...

...Kicking and screaming the whole way.

Kitty returned her attention to the letter.

Following the bit about the movie deal was pretty much what she expected, Luba's suggestion that not only would it be great if her latest book came out at the same time the movie was released, but also that it might be a grand time for her to come out of her writter's 'retreat' as part of the publicity.

The first one, maybe. But as for the second?

Not a prayer. At all. Ever.

Putting aside the little problem of her not showing up on film, she simply didn't want to. Whatever minor benefits she might gain were completely overshadowed by all the trouble that would come of it.

Hers was a life lived in the shadows. She might be a best selling if unknown writer, might also be a much sought after computer electronics specialist working for Braddock Technologies, but that was all secondary to her 'life' as Shadowcat.

Those other things just funded her work as Shadowcat.

That was all.

What else, after all, was there?

Now thoroughly depressed (as usual) Kitty slid the letter into a slot in her desk.

She'd get back to it later; there were e-mails to check, programs to debug, books to write, unlife to live.

Swiveling her chair Kitty looked longingly at the fully stocked wet bar at the other end of the living room, but she'd have to drink it near half dry for it to have the desired effect.

Still, wasn't that half the fun?

She was giving it some hard thought when she noticed the blinking answering machine.

'Screw it!' thought Kitty as she rose from her seat and walked over to the phone. 'I'm going to find out what salesman was stupid enough to dial my unlisted number and make sure he regrets it.'

Thoughts of murder filling her mind, Kitty pressed down on the play button.

She didn't get what she expected.

<"Beep? Was that the beep?">

'Huh?'

<"Uh, yeah I guess it was. This is Pete, I mean Pete Wisdom. We met at that bar a few days ago, remember...">

Kitty felt her jaw going slack. 'What the...?'

<"I had a ... friend of mine at the phone company dig out your number for me but please don't mention that to anyone. It seems your number's one of those they don't give out unless under threat of death. Which was pretty much what I had to do to get it.">

<"Umm, well as for the reason for the call ... Well ... I was just wondering if you'd want to go out for drinks some night or sometime. No special reason, you know. Just thought you'd like a friendly ear to bend again.">

Kitty listened in a kind of stunned state as Pete Wisdom went on like that for the length of the recording, only just managing to get his phone number in before the time ran out.

She stared down at the answering machine for a moment, then placed her ear next to the speaker and hit the replay button. Her hearing was now supernatural and she used it now to study the recording and tried to discover if there was more going on than was apparent.

But after playing it several times she couldn't detect anything (like someone behind Wisdom with a gun to his head forcing him to say all he said). Then again, if someone was trying to set her up, they'd likely know about all her abilities.

Assuming Wisdom himself hadn't figured out what she really was and was planning to take her out himself.

Kitty sat down in a nearby chair and turned Wisdom's message over in her head, as well as her encounter with him several days ago on her 'birthday'.

She'd been rather free with her mouth that night, more so than she'd been in a long, long time. Maybe too free. After she'd left, she'd considered going back and using her vampiric mind powers to remove his memory of their talk, or having Ray do it.

Of course, she realized, she'd also considered going back and continuing their talk.

It had been so so good to talk to someone who didn't know she was an undead nightmare.

To bare a small bit of her soul and receive a few words of comfort not couched to avoid hurting her 'feelings'.

Even now she still wasn't certain as to why she'd said so much that night.

It just wasn't like her.

Nowadays, anyway.

Then why?

And why had Wisdom called her?

As Excalibur's resident detective, Shadowcat had intensively researched Pete Wisdom when he'd been 'forced' on the team by the government of Britain. She'd been already aware of Black Air and ALL her warning bells had gone off when she'd heard one of their agents would be assigned as liason on Muir Island.

But her investigations had, for the most part, stilled those bells. There had been some contradictory issues in his life which didn't seem to make sense in someone working for Black Air but she'd never gotten around to pursuing them. There was always something else more immediate to deal with.

And then she'd been dragged away by the Darkholder's plots.

And come back chatty as a blue jay.

Could it be... could it be that he... liked her?

Or, more likely, just felt sorry for her?

Much more likely.

But, if he wasn't, if he was interested in her, just how interested was he?

He certainly wasn't looking for a girlfriend, no one was THAT desperate as to look in her direction. Not to mention all the little remarks someone his age would generate hanging around someone her 'age'.

Unless, of course, as she'd thought earlier he'd worked out what she really was from all the little clues she'd handed out the night and decided to go all night stalker on her.

But the more she considered it, the more unlikely it seemed. From what she'd learned of him, it seemed he had a hard time believing in alien life forms, much less the supernatural.

So... then what? Was she simply being too paranoid?

Of course, paranoia *was* a nessasary survival tool for an undead vampire -- but it was possible she was taking it just a bit too far here.

Kitty pondered the situation for several more minutes before coming to a simple conclusion. She just didn't have enough information.

But there was a way to solve that.

And, strangely, she found she was looking forward to it.

But having Mr. Wisdom walking around town after dark with a 'child' could (and likely would) cause trouble not only for him, but herself as well. All kinds of trouble.

But there was a way to solve that.

She just didn't like it.

Walking across the room Kitty swung a framed picture to the side, revealing a wall safe. A moment later it was opened and Kitty reached in and through the back of the safe to a section reachable only by phasing, and pulled out a small box.

Kitty removed the plain looking watch it contained and slipped it onto her wrist.

And activated its image inducer function.

It had a multitude of disguises, including her Shadowcat costume. After all, if every attempt to photograph Shadowcat failed, someone just might remember that old bit about vampires not being photographable.

But there was one image disguise in it, placed there by Moira, that Kitty had never used and had never thought to ever use because she'd never wanted to, never wanted to see...

The one of her. The one that showed her as she would have looked today had she not 'died' all those years ago.

She walked up to the small mirror hanging on the wall, and activated the inducer.

A face suddenly looked back at her from the mirror where a moment ago there was none. A face surprisingly like the one that had once looked back, years ago. The face was a little thinner, all the 'baby fat' was gone, but it was hers. Just a few years older.

Kitty stared at that face for several more moments and caught herself reaching to turn off the inducer.

Moira had been trying to get her to use this for months -- but likely never for a reason like this. Kitty had to chuckle at that thought.

Not for a reason like this.

Which made it another good reason to use it.

But then what?

After she'd determined just what reason or reasons Pete wanted to see her, then what?

What if, as she'd thought earlier, he was... interested in her as a person, as a ... woman.

A worst case scenario. And an impossiblity.

She was an animated corpse, an unliving nightmare, a horror.

Not a companion. Or someone more.

That possibitly ended years ago under the fangs of Dracula.

But that didn't mean she couldn't fake it, if only for a little bit.

If only for a little while.

Kitty looked back down out the image inducer, made her decision, and walked over toward the phone and picked it up.

Yes, tonight she would live the lie. The lie that she was human, that she had a future...

That there was hope.

Kitty dialed.