Chapter 10
The road was no more than a narrow slit through endless trees, and every step Harry took thumped up through the soles of his sneakers into the base of his spine. He tried to keep his pace even, but the blacktop slanted uphill, making it even harder to run. Sweat soaked through his shirt, and the material clung to his muscular frame. He pumped his arms, inhaled, and exhaled in rhythm. He didn't try to use his powers to augment his body. That was the point. There was supposed to be no shortcuts.
It was a punishment run, he told himself. The Danger Room drills had started to make him winded, and that wasn't good enough. He wanted to be as fit as the others, maybe fitter. He could teleport, sure, but even that required a burst of energy he'd never fully mastered. If his body couldn't hack it, he'd be useless, powers or no.
The sun was getting low, and the sky behind the trees was slashed with pink and dirty gray. He knew the road twisted back on itself in less than a mile, but every turn looked exactly like the last. There were trees, brush, and even more trees. Harry kept his head down while sucking in deep breaths and let the rhythm push him forward.
There was a flicker of motion in his peripheral vision. He tried to ignore it, but the hairs on his arms prickled. He didn't slow down, but he stole a glance over his shoulder. He didn't see anything but the front row of trees and the darkness beyond. It was just the endless parade of gnarled trunks and shadows. He snorted and rolled his eyes at himself. The expansive mansion grounds were safe. There was a fence, cameras, and all the security money could buy. If something was watching, it was probably a deer or maybe a raccoon desperate for a meal.
Still, he ran harder. His shoes slapped louder against the blacktop, and his heartbeat picked up to match his pace. There was a heavy, wild smell in the air. It was the kind that belonged to a large animal. He was sure now. He was not alone.
He crested the next rise, and the road bent back toward the main drive. He could see a little patch of sunset reflected on the far-off lake through the trees. He slowed his pace and then stopped, his hands braced on his knees. Sweat dripped from his face, and he wiped it with his forearm as he looked around.
He heard the snap of a branch, closer than before. It wasn't the dry crack of something small, but the full-bodied break of something thick and heavy. Harry straightened his back and narrowed his eyes as he peered into the woods. For a second, the forest looked like a mess of black cutouts overlapping each other. He took a step back onto the pavement, his heart hammering.
There was a rush of air, and a massive weight slammed into him from behind. His vision twisted along with his body. Harry felt the impact like a train wreck. Pain radiated up through his shoulder and down the side of his face as he skidded across the asphalt and into a tangle of undergrowth. Leaves and dirt filled his mouth. His vision blurred, then went sharp again as he thudded against a rock. Everything stopped moving, except for the ringing in his skull and the lurch of his heartbeat.
He blinked away the brain fog, pushed up to hands and knees, and spat out a mouthful of blood and leaf mulch. His shoulder burned where it hit the road, and his elbow was torn open, but he could already feel the pain subsiding and the weird tickle of skin knitting back together. He pushed himself upright, wiped his face, and stared through the trees. Something was coming, and it was big.
A shadow moved between two trunks. Harry braced himself, ready to fight if he had to, but the thing stalking him didn't rush. It walked on two legs with long, confident strides. He heard the scrape of claws against tree bark. Then the thing stepped into the light.
Sabertooth looked bigger than Harry remembered. He wore an open vest, torn cargo pants, and nothing on his feet. His arms were covered in coarse, yellowish fur, and the scars running up his left bicep looked fresh. He grinned, showing a mouthful of yellowish canines.
Sabertooth watched Harry closely as he snarled. His eyes were small, yellow, and nearly lost in the mess of matted fur and scar tissue that crisscrossed his face. He took the time to enjoy the moment, licking blood off his canines as he stalked forward. His left hand flexed as he showed off his long, dirty claws.
"Hey, runt," Sabertooth said, his voice twisted into a parody of cheer. "Long time no see."
Harry didn't blink. He matched Sabertooth step for step, edging away from the boulder and angling for open ground. "You've got the memory of a goldfish," he said, snarling back. "Last time I saw you, you crawled away with your tail between your legs."
Sabertooth grunted, unamused. "We got unfinished business." He flexed his right shoulder, testing it, and made a loose fist. "Last time was a draw, but this time, I'm taking something with me."
Harry inhaled, trying to calm the unnatural rage that was threatening to boil over. He closed his fists, and both hands burst into flame. The heat rolled off his knuckles and ran up his forearms, but it didn't burn him. He saw Sabertooth's pupils contract, and for a second, Harry thought he saw a flicker of doubt. It was gone a moment later.
"Go to hell," Harry said. He thrust his hands forward, and two jets of blue-white fire exploded outward, splitting the dusk. Sabertooth dived low and to the left. One jet cut through the branches, torching a half-dead pine, but the other caught Sabertooth on the chest. The impact made a wet, hissing sound, and Sabertooth was thrown back into a tree hard enough to snap it off at the root.
Sabertooth's vest disintegrated into ash. Fur and flesh sizzled, and the smell of scorched meat hit Harry in the face. Sabertooth rolled to his feet, his shoulders hunched, and his hands scraping the dirt. His chest was a blackened mess, but Harry could see the muscle and tissue already knitting closed, turning pink and raw-looking.
"Big mistake, runt," Sabertooth spat, his beady eyes going wild. He threw back his head and roared, and the sound echoed through the woods, rattling the birds out of every tree. Then he charged.
Harry braced himself, and fire streamed from his hands, forming a shield. Sabertooth barreled through it, flames licking up his arms and face, but he didn't slow. He hit Harry like a battering ram with his claws flashing and teeth snapping. Harry brought his arm up to block, and his claws slashed bone-deep. Blood spattered the ground, and Harry twisted and threw himself backward, landing hard on his back. Sabertooth was on top of him in an instant, his hands wrapped around Harry's throat.
Harry's vision tunneled from the sudden lack of oxygen, but he grabbed Sabertooth's wrists and let all the heat and power he could muster surge into the monster's arms. Sabertooth howled as his flesh bubbled and split around the bones, but he didn't let go. He didn't let up even a little. Harry's vision started to go black.
He tried to twist out, but the grip was relentless. Desperate, he let go of the fire and focused on the ground underneath. The earth under his back liquified, sucking him down. The sudden drop caught Sabertooth off balance, and for half a second, the pressure on his neck loosened. Harry flashed away, leaving Sabertooth knee-deep in the muck. Harry appeared in front of him in a burst of fire. He caught Sabertooth in the ribs with a vicious kick and sent him rolling. Harry gasped, rubbed his aching neck, and blinked the haze out of his eyes.
Sabertooth shook off the smoldering pieces of his own skin. His chest was mostly healed into a patchwork of scar tissue and scorched fur, but his forearms were a complete mess. Harry could see exposed bone, though the wounds were rapidly healing over. "Nice trick," he rasped. "But you're running out of steam."
Harry wiped blood from his arm and spat into the dirt. "Not even close."
Sabertooth stretched his claws. "Let's see if you're still this cocky when I feed you your own legs." He pounced faster this time, and his dirty claws gleamed in the fading light as Harry's fiery hand swung up to meet the charge.
Magical Mutations
The afternoon was unseasonably warm, and Logan made the most of it. He was flat on his back with his head stuck under the frame of an old Harley, wrenching a stubborn, rusty bolt. His shirt was off, and the muscles in his chest and arms flexed with every twist of his hands. Every now and then, he'd let out a grunt or swear quietly when the wrench slipped.
Jean and Scott were sparring on the patch of grass near the garage. Jean circled with light, bouncing steps. Her arms were up and ready, and her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Scott moved efficiently, using angles and pivots, and never giving up a straight line to the target. Their practice was controlled and friendly, but the tension between them was real. Neither of them liked to lose.
Logan tightened the bolt, gave the tire a hard thump, and slid out from under the bike. He shaded his eyes against the sun and watched as Jean ducked under Scott's jab and swept his legs out from under him. Scott hit the grass with a thud, then looked up at Jean, who offered him a hand.
"Nice one," Scott admitted, letting her pull him up.
"You were getting predictable," Jean said. She grinned, then stuck her tongue out. Scott ruffled her hair in retaliation, and Jean laughed and shoved him away.
Logan shook his head with a faint grin across his lips. "If you two idiots are finished dancing, can I get some help with this damn chain?"
Jean flipped him off with a smile and started over. Scott followed, wiping the grass off his jeans.
It was then that all three of them saw it. There was a lance of white-blue fire streaking up through the treetops beyond the lake. It shot high into the air before vanishing. The ground vibrated just enough to set Logan's teeth on edge.
Scott squinted at the horizon. "What the hell was that?"
Jean's smile faded. "That's the north trail," she said. "Harry was heading out there for his run."
Logan's hackles rose. He put the wrench down, wiped the grease from his upper lip, and lifted his nose to the air. He sniffed deeply and then froze. "Son of a bitch," he said, and spat again. "Sabertooth."
Scott tensed. "You sure?"
Logan nodded, and his voice was practically a growl. "I'd know that stink anywhere."
Jean looked into the distance and saw several more flares of glowing light. Her hands clenched tightly. "We need to get out there … like now."
Suddenly, Storm burst out of the back door. Her hair was pulled back in a white ponytail, and she wore a lab coat over a very tight pair of running shorts. She moved with purpose, and her eyes scanned the horizon. "Xavier says Harry's in trouble. Serious trouble. I'm going ahead," she said, and without waiting, she took off running. Ten steps later, the wind whipped around her, and she lifted into the air, angling up over the trees.
Logan didn't waste time. He wiped the grease on his pants and jogged to the garage. "Jeep," he ordered. Scott was already unlocking the door, and Jean sprinted for the passenger side. Logan slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and floored the pedal. The tires squealed, then caught on the slick concrete floor. The front wheels skidded as he swung backward out of the garage.
Jean barely had her seatbelt on. She braced herself on the dashboard as Logan took the first turn way too fast. "Careful!" she snapped.
Logan grinned. "I'm always careful, Red. You two keep an eye out. If Sabertooth brought friends, we might have a mess on our hands."
Scott rolled down his window and scanned the treeline. "Can you go any faster?"
Logan stomped on the gas, slamming the jeep over a pothole and onto the dirt track. The trees blurred past as they followed the flicker of firelight ahead, and the echo of a feral scream made Jean's skin crawl. Above them, Storm's silhouette flashed against the late afternoon sky as she rode the wind and closed on the site.
Back in the jeep, the three passengers were being tossed and jerked aside as they flew over the uneven ground. Logan didn't let up. He slammed the stick into second and took the next bend hard. "Almost there," he grunted. "Hang on." Jean yelped as the jeep hit a high spot on the road, sending her body flying up. Thankfully, her seatbelt kept her safely in her seat. That didn't stop her from shooting Logan a withering glare. Logan looked at her and chuckled.
Magical Mutations
Harry ducked as the tree tore through the air above his head. It was the whole trunk of a young maple, ripped out of the ground and wielded like a caveman's club. The wind of its passing fluttered Harry's hair. He rolled left, and dirt and pine needles stuck to his sweat-drenched skin. Sabertooth let the momentum spin him, then jerked the trunk back and swung again, this time lower. Instead of dodging, Harry disappeared in a burst of fire. He reappeared twenty or so feet behind Sabertooth.
Sabertooth roared in frustration. His face was half-melted, and one ear hung limp. His chest fur was still smoking from an earlier blast. It should have slowed him down, but Harry watched as pink new skin bubbled up under the charred patches. The beast grinned with what was left of his lips.
Harry raised his hands, and he pictured the dirt beneath Sabertooth's feet as liquid, soft as soup. With a twist of his wrist, the earth under Sabertooth's feet collapsed, sucking him down to the thighs. The big man barely paused. He just hurled the maple trunk at Harry. Harry sidestepped, but it clipped his ribs. The impact staggered him, and every nerve screamed in protest. He didn't have time to count the bruises or guess how many ribs had cracked. Instead, he focused on the branches overhead.
He flicked his fingers, and a dozen branches ripped free from the trees. They hovered in the air, twisted together, and formed long, sharp spears. With a grunt of effort, Harry flung them all at once. Sabertooth tore his legs free of the mud just as the first spear hit. The sharp tip punched through his stomach, and the second embedded in his chest. He wailed and tried to dodge, but the others struck home, pinning him to the nearest pine.
Harry took a step forward, adrenaline running through his veins. The spears wouldn't hold Sabertooth for long. Already the monster's hands were yanking out the wood, one by one. Blood gushed, but it closed over the wounds almost immediately. Harry wanted to scream in frustration. He raised both hands, conjured fire in each palm, and poured it out as fast as he could. The blue fire swept across the clearing, torching everything in its path.
Sabertooth vanished inside the flames, but then he burst out, screaming with his hair on fire. He hit the ground rolling. He then spun to his feet and barreled at Harry. Harry teleported again, but this time Sabertooth anticipated it. He doubled back and leaped, catching Harry as he appeared on the other side of the clearing.
The claws raked across Harry's chest. The pain was white-hot. His t-shirt was shredded, and blood ran down his ruined skin in thick ropes. The wounds were deep, and for a second, Harry thought he might black out. Harry dug deep, and his entire body burst into flames, giving him a new surge of energy. He lunged forward and punched Sabertooth in the mouth, letting out all the rage he felt.
The fire immediately engulfed Sabertooth's head. The force of the blow drove the beast's skull sideways. Harry heard the crack as Sabertooth's jaw shattered. He staggered with one hand cradling his face, and the other slashing blindly. Harry pressed the advantage.
Sabertooth's jaw hung crooked, and the lower half swung like a loose gate. He spat blood and bits of bone onto the dirt. The fury in his eyes was pure, but there was a note of fear now. He turned to run, but Harry hurled a fireball at his back. It hit a tree next to Sabertooth, exploding it into a hail of wooden shrapnel. Splinters peppered Sabertooth's exposed skin. He howled and tried to keep moving, but then the sky rumbled. Black clouds swirled into existence, blanketing the woods in an eerie darkness.
Thunder cracked so close it felt like it ripped the air out of Harry's lungs. Then a lightning bolt as thick as a telephone pole smashed down on Sabertooth's back. For a second, the monster glowed blue-white, and Harry swore he saw a silhouette of his skeleton beneath his skin. He screamed once and then collapsed onto the dirt, twitching and spasming.
Storm dropped out of the sky, and electricity was arching from her eyes and fingertips. She landed in the clearing with a force that sent a shockwave through the ground. She turned to Harry, saw the slashes on his chest, and her face twisted with worry and fury in equal measure.
"Are you alright?" she asked, crossing the clearing in three long strides.
Harry nodded as the fire on his body extinguished. "It hurts like hell, but I'll live."
She examined the wounds with gentle but confident touches. "You're lucky. Another inch and he'd have gutted you."
Harry laughed, which hurt more than he expected. "I didn't plan on getting within slashing range."
She pulled a scrap of his shirt up and pressed it to his chest, staunching the worst of the bleeding. "You need to get to the MedLab."
"Sabertooth …" Harry said, pointing at the twitching heap.
Storm's gaze was icy cold. "He's not coming anywhere near you … and if he does, I'll be waiting."
Sabertooth, incredibly, was already trying to get up. He flopped on the ground like a fish, but his arms worked as he dragged himself away from the smoking crater. The skin on his back was fused and blackened, but new pink tissue was already bubbling at the edges. He shot Storm a look of pure hatred, then rolled into the brush and out of sight.
Storm moved to follow, but Logan and Scott crashed into the clearing, quickly followed by Jean. Logan went straight for Harry, his nostrils flaring.
"He got you good, kid," Logan said, his eyes glued to the wounds.
"Don't worry. I got just as good," Harry grunted.
Jean grabbed his hand, and her green eyes were wide with worry. "You're bleeding all over," she declared, looking at his horrible wounds.
"It's already closing," Harry said, looking down at his chest. The blood on his skin was drying, and the deep gouges were knitting shut. It was strange seeing the muscle and skin crawling back together. He looked up at Storm and Logan, flashing a cheeky grin. "Not bad, huh?" Storm huffed, and Logan snorted in amusement.
Scott joined his side and offered a flask of water. "Can you walk, or do you need a stretcher?"
Harry shook his head. "I can walk." He took the flask and gulped down some water. His shirt was ruined and covered in blood. He focused his powers, and the shirt cleaned and repaired itself.
Storm put a hand on his shoulder. "Next time, don't fight alone. Even with your tricks, Sabertooth will always be physically stronger and more durable."
Harry nodded, too exhausted to argue. Logan clapped him on the back. "Not bad for a rookie," he said. "But you got a lot to learn. Storm's right. Don't tangle with that prick alone. Even I haven't managed to gut him yet."
"Next time, I'll be ready," Harry said. Jean slipped her arm through his, determined to help him in some way.
They started back down the trail with Harry leaning on Jean. He was fine to walk on his own, but he definitely wasn't going to turn down a chance to press up against the very sexy Jean Grey. Logan walked a few steps ahead, sniffing the air while muttering about shoddy security systems. Storm circled above, scanning the woods with her eyes. Scott came up the rear, keeping his head on a swivel just in case Sabertooth decided to ambush them. At the first bend in the path, Harry looked back.
The clearing was empty except for a huge crater where Storm had fried the miserable prick. He grinned stupidly. He would never admit it to them, but he found the whole ordeal exhilarating. Harry liked testing his strength, and he knew he would only get stronger with practice. However, he put that out of his mind as Jean's curvy body rubbed up against him.
Chapter 11
The siren wailed in three short bursts, and the world snapped to life around Harry in the blink of an eye. He hit the field at a full sprint, and the grass underfoot was too green, too even, and too synthetic. That's because it wasn't grass at all. It was just the Danger Room's idea of grass. A sound like sheet metal being torn in half thundered behind him. Harry risked a glance over his shoulder and saw four Sentinels rising up from the forested margin of the training field, their armor panels shimmering with metallic reds and purples. Each one was easily twenty feet tall. Their round eyes glowed orange, and one of them leveled an arm at him.
Laser fire lanced through the air. Harry twisted sideways and felt the energy bolt whip past his ribs with an electric sizzle. He kept running, staying low to the ground and using the uneven contours of the field as cover. The Danger Room kept things interesting. The open grass suddenly dropped away into a shallow dip, and Harry dove into it, skidding on his shoulder and letting the artificial turf skin his elbow. He barely had time to roll before another searing beam fused the dirt inches from his face, glassing a hand-sized patch of mud.
Logan's voice grumbled in his ear. "Don't just run, kid. Mix it up."
He grinned and pressed his comm. "I'm working on it."
Three Sentinels strode into the field while one hung back, their metal knees flexing with a dampened hiss. Their hydraulic arms lifted, ready to fire again. Harry braked hard and reversed course. One Sentinel fired at his feet, and the ground exploded around him. Harry threw himself forward, then let the Phoenix in him surface for a split second. He burst into flame, and he reappeared on the Sentinel's shoulder, standing on a lip of armor, thirty feet above the ground. The robot tried to swat him off with a massive hand, but Harry bent backward and dropped flat. The panel was hot and vibrating under his chest. He rolled, anchored himself by jamming his fingers into a vent, and then aimed a kick at the Sentinel's faceplate, just to annoy it.
The Sentinel beside it reoriented, its targeting lasers crisscrossing the air. Harry smiled, gave the middle finger to the main camera, and vanished in a swirl of orange fire just as a wide-beam laser pulse cored the first Sentinel's head. Its skull detonated with an explosive clang, and pieces of servos and hot plastic rained onto the turf below.
He landed back on the ground, a dozen yards ahead of the wreckage, and kept running. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, and the familiar feel of adrenaline filled his body. Harry heard the Sentinel crash behind him, and the brutal impact made his teeth rattle. He heard Logan chuckle over the comm.
The third Sentinel adjusted its approach. A massive hand scooped up a chunk of earth, aiming to hurl it at him. Harry faked left, then teleported right, keeping low and moving in erratic patterns. He could sense the Danger Room's predictive targeting algorithms having a hard time keeping up with him. Sure, it couldn't think on its feet like a human could, but it was still a worthy adversary.
Ahead, the field abruptly ended in a thirty-foot brick wall. It was absurdly tall and smooth. There was no way up, and no obvious handholds. He felt the Phoenix's giddy enthusiasm bubble up. 'Why not try something new and slightly crazy?' Harry asked himself. Harry raised a hand and focused. The bricks at the bottom of the wall warped, bulged, and suddenly flowed upward like a wave. He sprinted up the moving ramp as it surged under him. The bricks formed and dissolved under his feet, and his momentum carried him high enough to catch the top edge.
Another laser fired, vaporizing the ramp as he leaped. Harry twisted midair, got both feet on the edge, and vaulted. He dropped twenty feet on the far side and landed in a shoulder roll, then came up running.
The Sentinels had adapted, and the final one had joined the group. They were now back to three. They didn't try to jump the wall. Instead, they punched through it, brute-forcing a gap. The wall shuddered and cracked as twin fists made a canyon-sized breach. The robots advanced, intent on finishing him off.
Harry reached the base of a sculpted hill. The rendezvous point was a hundred yards up. He started to climb, but paused. The Sentinels were lining up their shots, targeting him as they stepped through the broken wall. Harry inhaled some much-needed oxygen, then snapped his fingers.
The wall morphed before his very eyes. The bricks liquefied, then sprouted into a forest of steel spikes, each one the thickness of a telephone pole. The first Sentinel caught four through the midsection and froze in place as blue sparks fountained from its back. The second took a spike through the shoulder and stumbled. Its arms windmilled as it tried to keep its balance. The third tried to stop before reaching the spikes, but Harry had already conjured a sphere of pure energy. It was dense and flickering with firelight. He hurled it at the cluster of Sentinels and watched as the orb rainbowed through the air and then detonated.
The fireball turned the near field into a warzone of flying shrapnel. Fragments of Sentinels flew in all directions. A severed hand tumbled past Harry's head. The shockwave flattened the top of the hill, and the explosion of Phoenix fire made the air uncomfortably hot. He shook off the ringing in his ears and started running again, barely winded.
He crested the hill, saw the blue holographic flags of the rendezvous point, and made it to the finish line with a final sprint. The moment his hand crossed the threshold, the grass, the wind, and even the sparks from the destroyed Sentinels froze. The Danger Room's simulation was locked in a perfect still frame. The field reset, and Harry was left panting as the room's true gridwork and silver struts reemerged from behind the fantasy. A faint clapping echoed through the steel rafters.
Magical Mutations
When the real world reasserted itself, Harry found the Danger Room cool and quiet. His own breath was the loudest sound in the room. He straightened and stretched his back, finding his muscles sore and slightly aching. He'd spent the entire run in overdrive, and now that the threat was gone, he felt the heat crawling up his neck and into his ears.
A heavy hand smacked him on the shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble. Logan stood there with his arms crossed, wearing a shit-eating grin. He had an unlit cigar stub jammed in one corner of his mouth. "Not bad, kid," Logan said. "You gonna take a bow, or you want to hear how you could've done better?"
Harry shook his head, still catching his breath. "There's always a speech."
"Damn right." Logan gestured with a meaty hand. "You got fancy with the wall trick, but you gave up high ground. Next time, use the terrain instead of making it show off for you. Second thing … you keep blinking around, and you're gonna end up blindsided. Sentinels adapt, remember?"
Harry grinned and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "You should run it sometime, and see how fun it is with four of them shooting at your face."
Logan huffed out a sound that might have been a laugh. "I'd be done before they could finish calibrating." He shifted his weight, scanning the overhead monitors that hung suspended in the gridwork above. "You got a minute to talk, or you got a hot date with the showers?"
"That depends. Is this about Sabretooth again?"
Logan's brow crinkled. "You think I got you running evasion drills for my health?" He plucked the unlit cigar from his mouth and gestured with it like a pointer. "That bastard made it onto school grounds last night. He left his calling card on the perimeter fence."
Harry frowned. "I thought security would keep the unwanteds out."
"Not if he's motivated. He tore three panels out of the ground and walked through like he owned the place." Logan's eyes were sharp and intense. "You notice anyone in town acting weird lately? There's some real weirdos at that school of yours. Anybody spending a lot of time near the property edge?"
"No. Not unless you count Jean's ex-boyfriend. He drives by the gate sometimes. I'm pretty sure he's looking to kick my ass, though. I think he suspects that it's me who keeps pissing in his car." Harry tilted his head. "You don't think he's working with Sabretooth, do you?"
Logan barked out a short laugh. "If he is, the world's doomed." He pocketed the cigar and clapped Harry's shoulder again, gentler this time. "Don't worry. I got people fixing the fence and adding more hardware. Next time he shows up, he'll catch a laser right in that ugly mug of his. But you keep your head on a swivel. He's got a hard-on for you."
"I'm flattered," Harry said in a deadpan voice.
"You wish." Logan jerked his thumb toward the access door. "You're done for now. Next up is the new batch."
A shuffling sound and a chorus of muffled complaints signaled the arrival of the next training group. Scott was at the head, his ruby shades reflecting the Danger Room lights. Jean walked beside him, already rolling her eyes at something he'd said. Behind them, Kitty bounced in place, her ponytail flipping with each step. Kurt, in his normal blue form, teleported into the room.
Scott raised a hand. "Yo, Logan. Can we run the simulation, or is the field still smoldering? Harry really did a number on those Sentinels."
Kitty circled Harry with wide eyes. "That was insane! The spike thing? Totally overkill."
"It worked, didn't it?" Harry said.
Logan cut in, raising his voice so the group would settle. "Alright, listen up. Standard Sentinel protocol. First, you run it solo, then together as a team. You know the drill. Summers, you're squad leader. Grey, you run defense. Kurt, you're on point for retrieval. Kitty, you're up first."
Kitty's expression slid from eager to resigned in the space of a breath. "Can I have, like, five minutes to stretch?"
"Nope," said Logan, already tapping at the control panel on the wall. "If you want to stay alive, you stretch while you run."
Kurt wagged his tail and offered Kitty a dramatic, clawed hand. "I will catch you if you fall, liebling."
Kitty ignored him and started jogging in place, muttering under her breath about sadists. Harry caught her eye as he headed for the exit. "Good luck," he said with a smile.
She stuck out her tongue. "Don't shower too long. If I die in there, it's on you to avenge me."
Harry offered a salute, then ducked through the access door. The hall outside was cool and smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals. He felt the adrenaline starting to drain away, leaving a pleasant, tired ache in his limbs. The Danger Room's observation deck was empty except for a few discarded candy wrappers that probably belonged to Kurt. That boy really loved his snacks.
He paused at the water fountain, drank deeply, and thought about what Logan said. Sabretooth would probably try to get onto the property again. The bastard never gave up … but neither did Harry.
A boom echoed from inside the Danger Room, followed by what sounded like Kitty's voice yelling, "This isn't fair!" He grinned and headed for the locker room, knowing that by the time he got out, the squad would be up to their elbows in disaster. He knew Scott and Jean could handle themselves, but Kurt and Kitty were new. They'd be in for a rough time. He couldn't help but chuckle.
Magical Mutations
Harry slipped out the mansion's side door with his hands jammed deep in his hoodie. The early morning air was very cold, and his breath fogged the moment he let out a shivery exhale. Even the birds seemed to second-guess waking up this early, holding off on their usual jovial chirping. It wasn't even seven yet, and like most days, Harry had slept only a few hours before waking up fully refreshed. Instead of sitting around waiting for everyone else to wake up, he decided to take the opportunity to visit Storm's greenhouse.
A thin vapor of heat curled from the glass roof that was already collecting dew on every pane. Harry paused at the entry and looked in. He didn't see her. The usual smell of compost hit him as he stepped inside. It had become his morning habit to help Storm haul sacks of mulch or arrange the large pots with his powers. They were chores she could easily handle on her own, but Harry knew she liked having someone to boss around. He liked just being around the sexy woman. She was easy to get along with, and she had a playful side that others rarely got to see.
Ororo's black stiletto heels were parked neatly under the edge of the potting table. On top of the table sat her pressed gray trousers, which were folded into a precise rectangle. A crisp, folded white blouse rested on top of the trousers. Harry raised an eyebrow. He looked around for any sign of her, but everything was exactly in its place. Everything was exactly where it should be, right down to the carefully labeled bags of mulched bark and peat, the tidy rows of ferns, and the African violets.
"Ororo?" he called out, soft enough to avoid disturbing the odd peace.
"Back here, Harry." Her voice, even muffled by a row of tall, thick tomato plants, was still easily heard. Her voice was quite powerful for a woman of her size. He moved toward it, brushing the leaves aside, until he caught a glint of movement near the hydroponics tanks. Harry then stopped short.
Storm stood with her arms raised and palms up like she was about to catch a lightning bolt. Her camisole, which was a white scrap of paper-thin fabric, was plastered to her body. Water beaded on her bare shoulders and trickled down the deep valley of her cleavage before streaking over the faint swell of her flat, smooth stomach. The camisole was soaked clear through, and it clung so tightly to her chest that Harry could see not just the curve but the exact shape of her breasts. He could even see the stiff peaks of her chocolate-colored nipples. Her white panties had gone almost transparent. The elastic dug into her thick, fleshy hips, and Harry spotted the outline of her smooth mound below. He swallowed loudly when he saw the way the crotch clung to the shape of her plump pussy lips.
All around her, rain was falling from a precise, isolated storm held overhead like a personal weather system. Though it was more like a heavy drizzle. Water blanketed the raised beds and sprayed in silver sheets around her. Her feet were bare and slick on the tile, and her long white hair had been drenched into a single wet rope that trailed down her back.
Harry's brain stuttered. Blood rushed into his cock so fast he had to shift his stance, hoping his thigh would disguise the obvious. He tried to say something, but his throat only delivered a weak grunt.
Storm turned slowly and theatrically and dropped her arms. She regarded him with a raised eyebrow. Her icy blue eyes narrowed while her full lips pulled into a delicate smirk. Her eyes swept down to his crotch, and she smiled.
"Well, good morning to you too," she said, pausing to let her gaze linger. "I was wondering if you'd show up this morning. Logan put you all through the wringer in the Danger Room last night."
He wanted to make a witty joke, but the words jammed up at the mere sight of her nipples poking through the wet fabric. He tried to drag his eyes to her face and mostly succeeded.
"You're, uh," he began. "You're watering the plants again."
"Very observant, Harry." She splayed her hands, and the rainfall above condensed to a needle-fine drizzle. "You'll forgive me if I'm wearing less than you're used to, but I enjoy the sensation of water on my bare skin." She glanced down her own body as if only now noticing how little she wore. "It reminds me of my time in Africa."
The light drizzle had dampened his forehead, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. He had obviously seen Storm watering her plants before. She often wore small shorts and tight shirts, but he had never seen her so exposed. Her unhurried posture and the way she stood in front of him, with no intention of hiding herself, made it feel like she had meant for him to see her this way.
"It's a good look," he offered, and his voice croaked a little.
Storm laughed, and it sounded soft and genuine. "I know this isn't exactly appropriate." She gestured at herself. "But I enjoy it. There's something pure about getting drenched with rain. Besides …" She took a step closer, letting her hips roll just a little. "You seem to appreciate it."
Harry tried really hard not to stare at her breasts, instead fixing his gaze on her eyes. "You really went all out today, didn't you?"
She clicked her tongue and circled a hand, and the rain above her thickened, soaking her again. "I like having a friend whom I don't have to hide from. I enjoy being myself, even if it's only for a brief time every morning." She squinted at him. "You're very tense, Harry. Would you like a closer look? Or should I put on a robe for your delicate sensibilities?"
He knew she was toying with him. Storm liked to push at the boundaries between them, but never quite like this. Still, he wasn't going to back down.
"I'm fine. I mean, you're fine. It's just …" He lost track of the sentence, embarrassed at how his cock pressed against the seam of his jeans.
Storm tilted her head and strolled toward him, water dripping from her arms. She stopped just short. She was so close he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. "You're blushing," she said with a smirk. She reached out and dragged a finger along the line of his jaw, then flicked a bead of water onto his nose. "Relax. You look like you're about to faint."
Harry chuckled nervously and shrugged. "You're the one who looks like a swimsuit model on the cover of a gardening magazine."
She smiled sexily. "Not just a model, Harry. A goddess, remember?" She caught his gaze again and held it. She then tipped her head back and exhaled. The rain stopped falling from the swirling clouds above them. Storm's skin glistened with wetness, and her muscles slightly trembled from the cold water. The outline of her nipples stood out even harder now. She caught him staring and did not look away.
"You know, I could just strip down completely," she said. "But then you might really need a chair."
"I'd be fine," he assured her with a small smile.
Storm shook out her head, sending sprays of water everywhere. She laughed again and ran her fingers through her hair. The movement made her perky tits jiggle wonderfully.
"You're a bold one, Harry. But I'm not sure you're ready for all of me."
He smiled a little wider. "Who knows? Maybe I am."
She leaned in, lowering her voice. "Careful. You might get what you wish for."
Then, without warning, she flicked her fingers, and a burst of water dropped from the swirling clouds above, dumping a torrent of water straight onto his head. The shock froze him for a second. His sweatshirt was instantly plastered to his skin, and the water was cold as hell. He yelped and staggered back.
Storm cackled and pointed at him. "See? You're not so tough."
Harry squeezed water from his sleeves and stared at her. His face was wet, and his hair was plastered to his head. He let out a breath, grinned back, and shook his head.
"Fine, you win," he said.
She straightened up with her arms folded under her breasts, pressing them together so they strained even more obviously against the wet camisole. Storm was really putting on a show for him. "You're soaked," she said teasingly. "Maybe you should take off those clothes before you catch a chill."
Harry laughed, and the tension between them fizzled and was replaced with something easier. He grabbed a towel from the potting bench, but when he tried to towel off, Storm intercepted him and pulled it away. "Let me," she said softly. She carefully and slowly blotted his cheeks.
For a minute, neither said anything. Water dripped from the greenhouse roof and splattered on the flagstones. Storm's thumb traced a line along his cheekbone. The touch was gentle and almost affectionate. Then she turned away, her own cheeks darkening with embarrassment.
"I should get dressed," she said. "But I hope you'll join me again tomorrow."
Harry couldn't wipe the grin from his face. "Yeah," he said. "I'll be here."
He watched her grab her clothes and disappear behind a screen of hanging ferns, her wide hips swaying with the same deliberate tease as before. The last thing he saw was a streak of her white hair, shining in the early-morning sun.
Outside, the morning had warmed up slightly, and Harry waved a hand at himself. His clothes and hair instantly dried with a puff of warm air. As he strolled back to the mansion, he couldn't shake the image of Storm's wet, sexy body from his mind … not that he wanted to. He wore a goofy grin all the way back to his room.
Chapter 12
The lake glinted under a beam of pale sun, and Jean kicked a pebble into the shallows. She'd worn skinny blue jeans that hugged her hips and a sweatshirt that kept threatening to slip off one bare shoulder. Her red hair was down and loosely bounced against her back with every step. Harry tried not to gawk, but Jean was very sexy, and she damn well knew it.
"You're staring," Jean said, smiling sideways.
"As Logan always tells us, I'm keeping my head on a swivel," Harry said. "The last time I walked out here with you, you pushed me in."
She looked back, pretending to think about it. "That's because you touched my butt. Besides, you teleported away before you even hit the water. You spoil all the fun."
He loved her dimpled grin, and he had a feeling that she knew exactly what he was thinking. Jean fueled the fire by brushing her hair behind he ear. "I told you … that was an accident. But you know what they say … If at first you don't succeed, try, try again." Harry's eyes drifted over her sexy body.
Jean rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were pink. "You're quite confident in yourself."
He chuckled and shot her a boyish grin. "It's my most endearing trait."
They made it to the rickety dock, which creaked when Harry stepped on it. Jean followed, balancing like she was on a catwalk. She spun once with her arms out and lost her footing when a loose plank shifted. Harry reached out to steady her, and his hands gripped her sides. She stumbled forward, and her chest pressed against his. For a second, she just stood there and stared into his brilliant green eyes, and her freckles darkened as she blushed.
"Careful," Harry said, his voice playful and amused. "I don't want to explain to everyone how their favorite ginger drowned in a foot of pond scum." Jean's hand squeezed his bicep.
She snorted. "Scott would probably hold a memorial every week for a year." She didn't move her hand.
He felt a strange current between them. It was like two magnets desperate to come together. His hands lingered, then slid down to her waist. Her eyes moved from his eyes, down to his lips. Harry didn't have to read her mind to know what she was thinking, and he was very tempted to try his luck.
"Do you remember what happened last time?" Jean asked with a sexy smirk, answering his unspoken thought.
"Yep, but I think it's worth the risk," Harry said, and his face was close enough to hers that her eyelashes tickled his cheek.
"Who knows? Maybe you'll be luckier this time around," she teased, not pulling away.
He grabbed her by the waist tightly and held her body against his. Jean giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her hands fisted in his hair.
"You're smoother than I thought," she said, then kissed him. Her soft lips just brushed against his at first.
Harry instantly kissed her back, not caring if they both lost their balance and crashed into the water. She deepened the kiss, opening her mouth and inviting his tongue in. Their kiss was slow at first, but it quickly turned greedy, like she'd wanted this for months. Her lips tasted like bubblegum, and the slide of her hips against his made his knees a little unsteady.
"You have zero self-control," Jean said, breathlessly breaking the kiss.
Harry looked down at her, staring at her wide, wiggling hips. "You're the one grinding on me."
She giggled and pressed harder against him. He could feel her perky breasts mashed against his chest. "So what if I am?"
He moved his hands lower and squeezed her ass, just hard enough to let her feel it through her jeans. She yelped, then slapped his shoulder. "Harry!"
He was about to come back with a legendary retort, but Jean went straight for his lips again. She moaned into his mouth, and her hands slid under the back of his sweatshirt, her nails scratching light trails over his back. Her body was very warm, and her lips were incredibly soft.
He bent her back against the railing, and she let him, arching with a sigh as Harry's lips found her neck. Jean's eyes fluttered, and she gripped his hair for support. "You keep this up, and I may just keep you all to myself."
"Promises, promises," he joked, and kissed along the line of her jaw.
Jean was suddenly full of passion, and there was no hesitation in her actions. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and she kept moving against him like she was testing his limits. Harry felt her smile into his mouth. "You're seriously hard right now," she said, and she ground harder, rubbing her jean-covered crotch against the bulge in his trousers.
He didn't get to answer, because a sudden, telepathic voice cracked through his brain.
"Jean … Harry …" Xavier's voice thundered inside both their heads. "Apologies for the intrusion, but there is an urgent situation. Please report to the Blackbird immediately. I'm assembling the team."
Jean gasped and jerked back. "He … he totally saw all of that."
"I don't think he's actually watching," Harry said, but even he doubted it. "Probably."
She scrambled to right herself. Her hair was slightly tangled, and her lipstick was smeared. She tried to smooth her shirt, then gave up and glared at him. "Look what you did," Jean said. Her lips pink and puffy. "Now I have to explain why I'm horny and late to a mission brief."
Harry took her hand and tugged her off the dock. "Just tell everyone you got blasted with the telepathic interference of a couple of horny joggers nearby. No one will ever know."
She smacked him in the chest and snorted. "You're an idiot."
They started running up the hill, toward the mansion. Her hand stayed in his, and when she glanced sideways, her smile was almost naughty. "Play it cool when we get there, or everyone'll know that we've been fooling around," Jean said as they neared the mansion.
"I don't mind everyone knowing," Harry smirked. She rolled her eyes and kept tugging him along.
They hit the back patio, and Kurt was already there, teleporting in and out of the shadows. "You two are late!" he called out, his blue tail wagging. "Everyone is waiting!"
"We're on our way," Jean called back, not bothering to hide the rasp in her voice. Harry shook his head and chuckled.
They slipped inside, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief when the warmth of the mansion washed over him. The rest of the team was waiting in the bowels of the mansion. Scott stood ramrod straight, already in his uniform. He shot an unimpressed look at Harry, then Jean, taking in their windblown hair and swollen lips. He didn't say a word. He just pointed at the Blackbird.
Harry didn't bother hiding his grin. He squeezed Jean's hand once, then let it go. She punched his arm again as they walked, but her eyes never left him.
They hit the loading bay and jogged up the ramp, still breathless but now locked in game mode. Harry didn't know what crisis awaited, but whatever it was, he was actually looking forward to it. He had been training a lot over the last few weeks, and he felt that he was slowly getting better at using his powers.
Jean pulled him into the seat next to hers, and they buckled up as Storm fiddled with the Blackbird's controls. A few minutes later, the sleek jet shot down the long tunnel, exited through the cliff face, and shot high into the air.
Magical Mutations
In the darkness of night, a long black limousine idled on a small runway next to a private jet that had just landed. The driver silently got out and went to the door. He opened it with the kind of careful formality reserved for politicians and royalty.
Principal Darkholme made her way down the step, her crisp gray skirt suit swishing with every confident step. She slipped into the car without so much as a thank you.
Inside the limo, a middle-aged woman with short brown hair and dark sunglasses sat. Darkholme slipped in, and the door shut behind her.
"Hello, Irene," she greeted the woman, her voice ice-cold and unhurried. "It's been a while."
Irene didn't need vision to recognize Principal Darkholme's voice. The woman had a reputation for running the school with military discipline and zero tolerance for disruption. What most didn't know was that her real name was Raven Darkholme, and she didn't just enforce order. She compelled it, bent it, and twisted it until reality matched her vision. Irene couldn't see her cold eyes, but she felt their weight on her face. "Raven," she greeted her back with a nod. "I'm sorry to call you here, but it's urgent."
There was a subtle ripple in the air, and then Principal Darkholme's voice shifted and slightly deepened. Irene never saw Darkholme's body morph into her true form … that of Mystique. "Do you have any idea what your little protégé has gotten herself into?"
Irene was careful with her words. "Marie was at a party. She was dancing with a boy, touched his skin, and her powers manifested. We both knew this day would come," Irene nervously stated. "Now he's in a coma. The boy's name is Cody, and he's currently at the hospital. His parents are with him. Marie is, at this very moment, making her way to his house. That's where she thinks she belongs. She's lost, Raven. The sudden flood of new memories is overwhelming her. Marie's confused, and she needs help."
Mystique's patience frayed. "What she needs is containment. The X-Men are on their way. If they get their hands on her, all our plans will be for naught. We've had years invested in her, Irene. Carefully-managed exposure, slow acclimation. She was one of our most promising recruits. Now all that effort …"
"Is not wasted," Irene interrupted, her voice soft. "You've seen what I've seen. She's still valuable. She's still ours … if we can get to her first."
There was silence. Irene could tell Raven was weighing her options. Finally, Mystique spoke again. "You can see the future. Tell me how this plays out."
Irene hesitated. The visions were always fractured, like watching a movie split across a dozen screens. She concentrated harder and saw Marie standing at the threshold of Cody's house, fumbling with the doorknob. "She'll go to the boy's house. If we wait for Xavier's lackeys, they'll scoop her up, and she'll vanish into the compound, never to be seen again."
Mystique's fingers drummed against the leather seat. "We can't allow that. Not after all we've done."
"There's another way," Irene said. "Let me talk to her first. She won't trust you, not yet. But if I can reach her …"
Mystique's smile was cold. "You always enjoyed playing the mother. However, that won't be necessary. I have a plan of my own."
Mystique broke the silence. "You're not going to hurt her, are you, Raven?" There was a pause, then a bitter exhale. "After all, she is your …"
"I know what she is," Mystique snapped. "Now tell the driver the boy's address and let's go," she said, leaving no room for arguments.
Magical Mutations
Xavier, Storm, Logan, Harry, Jean, Kitty, Kurt, and Scott all loaded into the black Suburban parked at the back of the garage. The Blackbird had taken them as far as it could, and now they had to continue their journey on the roads of Mississippi.
Storm took the wheel and merged onto the highway heading south. Logan rode shotgun with an unlit cigar stuffed in his mouth. In the back row, Kurt, Kitty, and Scott sat with their shoulders squared and their knees wedged uncomfortably against the vinyl seat. Xavier was in the second row, his wheelchair locked into a special rig on the back of the SUV. Harry found himself next to Jean, who was sitting next to Xavier. He could feel the nervous excitement in the car.
"Is everyone clear on the objective?" Xavier asked, his voice even and unreadable.
"Get the girl, avoid a scene. No powers unless necessary," Scott rattled off. He tended to get quite stiff during a mission.
"We're not just grabbing her," Jean added. "If she's lost control, she'll be terrified. We need to approach her gently."
Harry stretched his legs and looked around at the team. "What's her story, again?"
"Her name's Anna Marie, and her powers triggered at a party a few hours ago. She panicked, ran, and no one's seen her since," Xavier answered.
"She put a boy in the hospital," Storm added, glancing at Xavier. "His name is Cody Robbins. He hasn't woken up."
"Which is why we're going to the hospital first," Xavier said, his hands folded in his lap. "If we can see the effect her touch had, we may be able to help her before anyone else gets hurt."
Logan growled. "Why not just do your thing and scan the kid from here?"
Xavier shook his head patiently. "The boy's mind is in disarray, likely due to the psychic residue left by our young mutant. We will need physical proximity for a proper scan." He looked at Jean, who nodded in return.
The SUV rolled to a stop in the hospital parking lot. The building was a squat, ugly structure built in the seventies, with low ceilings and brown brick everywhere. Logan took point, leading the team through the revolving doors. The reception area was mostly empty except for a bored-looking nurse and a pair of elderly men reading newspapers.
Xavier lingered at the curb, and Storm wheeled him up the ramp. The rest of the team filed in, scattering throughout the waiting room like a crew of misfit relatives. Harry and Jean stayed together, waiting while Xavier quietly checked in at the front desk.
"Do we know where the guy is?" Harry whispered.
Jean closed her eyes and concentrated. "The Professor says he's on the third floor, intensive care. Room 312."
Kitty looked around to make sure no one was watching, then phased through the wall just long enough to peek at the security station. "There's a cop posted outside the elevator," she reported after phasing back. "It might be tough getting in."
"Want me to stir up a distraction?" Kurt said, with a toothy grin.
Harry considered it for a moment. "Let's save that for emergencies." He turned to Jean. "I've got an idea. Ready?"
She took a deep breath and nodded. "Ready."
Harry held out his hand, focused his intent, and changed both his and Jean's clothes. Her jeans and sweater shimmered into a crisp nurse's uniform, and his hoodie and sweats became a set of green scrubs. He even conjured up fake hospital badges. "Show off," Jean whispered, but she was smiling now.
Xavier, from across the room, raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod of approval.
"Alright," Jean said, her voice shifting into professional mode. "Let's go."
They walked briskly around the corner and to the elevators. They nodded at the stationed cop, and Harry pressed the call button. He barely looked up as Harry and Jean stepped in.
On the ride to the third floor, Jean mused aloud. "Do you think she meant to do it?"
Harry shook his head. "No one ever does, not the first time at least. She's probably more scared than anyone."
The elevator dinged, and they stepped into a pale green hall lined with faded posters about heart health. They found room 312. The blinds were closed, but they could see people moving around inside through the cracks.
Inside, Cody lay unconscious, connected to monitors that beeped and blinked with unsettling regularity. His parents hovered at his bedside, holding his hand and whispering softly. There were at least three more people in the room, probably other family and friends.
Harry slipped in first, flashed a practiced smile, and addressed the adults. "Hi, sorry to interrupt. We're here to check his vitals."
Cody's mother looked up with worried eyes. "Please, just … whatever you can do."
Jean moved quietly to Cody's side and placed a gentle hand on his forehead. As she pretended to check for a fever, she closed her eyes and dug into his mind. Harry nodded his head as he pretended to read the monitoring equipment.
Jean saw flashes of the incident. There were swirling images of a girl with a shock of white and auburn two-toned hair. She could feel the panic, a sudden drain, and the memories colliding and bleeding together. She heard a psychic echo. "She didn't mean to. It was just an accident."
Jean's hand trembled, and Harry moved to her side. Through their open mental link, Xavier was quietly absorbing everything she saw. Jean finished her work and straightened up. She smiled softly at the family. "There's no fever, and his vitals are strong. That's a good sign. The doctor will be by soon to update you."
They left the room, walking quickly until they reached the end of the hall. "Are you alright?" Harry asked, concerned.
Jean looked pale, but nodded. "I saw everything. There are even bits of her memories in his mind. She's so lost. She doesn't even know who she is anymore."
Harry put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "We'll find her."
They took the stairs down to the first floor, moving with purpose through the labyrinth of corridors. When they exited, the rest of the team was waiting in a line of battered hospital chairs. Xavier beckoned them over.
"Good work, you two. Now that I've seen the boy's mind and know what to look for, I can easily sense Marie. She's completely overwhelmed. She's trying to find her way home … Cody's home. The memories are … mixed up. She's headed there now," Xavier explained.
Logan's expression slightly softened. "Should we cut her off before she gets inside?"
"Give her space," said Xavier. "We need to let her feel safe, or she'll lash out again. Harry, Jean, you'll approach her first. The rest of us will remain close enough to step in if things go wrong."
Scott grumbled, but nodded. Kitty turned to Harry and Jean. "Nice work, by the way. You two make a cute medical team."
Harry saw the flush on Jean's cheeks, and he grinned. "She's very good at playing nurse."
Jean snorted. "You just wish you were the patient."
The banter was cut short by Xavier. "Come along. We need to get going. I already have the boy's address from his medical forms." They all nodded and herded back to the waiting SUV.
Magical Mutations
Marie didn't know who she was anymore, and that frightened her more than anything that had ever happened in her life. She moved through the world with two sets of memories, and they clashed and tangled in her head. She kept hoping that it would sort itself out, but every time she closed her eyes, she relived two entire lives at once. Sometimes she was Marie, a girl from Mississippi with a curious mind and an excellent sense of fashion. Other times, she was Cody Robbins, a high school baseball star who was as dumb as a post but still kind-hearted. The problem was, she couldn't tell which one was really her.
She wandered the streets after making her escape from the party, drawn by the memory of Cody's house. It wasn't just in her head. The familiarity of the front porch, the chipped paint, and the creak of the spring-loaded screen door felt as vivid as her own. Her feet followed a route she'd never walked before in her own body, and yet she arrived without a problem. Her hands trembled as she rummaged under the chipped ceramic frog by the porchlight, because she already knew the spare key would be there. She had never been to this house, but she remembered where the key was hidden and the exact way to jiggle the lock so it wouldn't stick. She didn't know if she was breaking into someone else's home or coming back to her own.
The house was silent, and it was the kind of deep quiet that made even the hum of the refrigerator sound abnormally loud. Marie stepped inside and shut the door behind her, cringing at the soft click. Her shoes left dirty prints that only she would have noticed. Cody never cared about dirt on the carpet. She moved through the darkened living room with the confidence of someone who'd grown up there, but her mind screamed that none of it belonged to her.
She paused beneath the family photos along the stairwell. There was Cody, grinning with a black eye under his Little League cap. There was his mother with her hair pinned up. She made her way up the stairs, each step recalling memories that were never supposed to be hers. She tried to push the memories away, but they kept coming, relentless and all-consuming.
When she reached Cody's room, she hesitated outside the door, her hand hovering over the knob. She expected to see someone else's life on the other side, but instead, the room looked achingly familiar. His bed was unmade, and the sheets were twisted up in a heap. There were jerseys pinned to the wall and a stack of baseball cards on the nightstand. She slumped onto the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands, rocking back and forth. None of this made sense. She didn't know if she'd killed Cody or if she'd become him. Maybe she was just losing her mind.
She sat there for a long time, and her tears soaked through her gloves. She sobbed once, then clapped a hand over her own mouth to keep quiet.
A noise snapped her to attention. There was a creak, a muffled footstep, then the unmistakable sound of someone moving in the hallway. Every hair on her neck stood up. She wiped her eyes and looked for something to defend herself with. She grabbed the first thing her hand found, which was a heavy metal trophy from the shelf.
The footsteps grew louder, and a shadow moved under the door. Marie stumbled to her feet and backed up as far as she could. The door burst open, and a man filled the frame. He was short and broad-shouldered, and he was wearing a strange brown and black outfit.
He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I heard you like to party, girl," he growled. He stepped into the room, and the air seemed to get colder.
Marie gripped the trophy so hard her knuckles went white. "Stay back!" she yelled, and her voice warbled embarrassingly. The man ignored her and closed the door behind him with a quiet click.
"Be nice, girlie. I'm here to deliver a message from the X-Men," he chuckled gravelly.
He stalked toward her with slow, menacing steps. He lifted his hands, balled them into fists, and six long blades shot out from between his knuckles. They gleamed in the dim light, and the sound they made was like knives being sharpened at once.
Marie's mind raced. She had to get away. She had to survive, but her legs wouldn't move. She was frozen in place, stuck between the bed and the wall.
The man grinned wider and licked his lips. "Let's dance," he said, and lunged at her.