Nightfall

Chapter One: Dusk

Tom, Hannah and I are sat in the rec. room, with Tom sitting on my lap as we read a book slowly together while the rest of the team is pursuing their afternoon training session in the Danger Room. Hannah is lying in her pushchair, fast asleep, blowing bubbles and occasionally letting out contented purring sounds as she dreams. In my effort to give my son something to read that I used to enjoy as a child, meanwhile, I have found an old copy of a Gumdrop book, and while I'm the one who is doing most of the reading, I've found it's been very helpful for him if I point out a sentence and then ask him to read it for me – learning by doing is probably the best form of learning I've ever come across, after all. It's slow going, because he's only two and isn't really that competent with his written words yet, but it's so rewarding to see him grin broadly whenever he knows he's got one right. It takes us about half an hour to finish the book, and Tom immediately tells me how much he enjoyed it, and that he wants to try reading again, just with a different book this time. He's babbling away so happily that I almost miss the storm-clouds in the sky, the driving rain outside the window battering the glass even harder as the wind picks up speed. The rest of the X-Men are equally oblivious to the weather, as both Scott and Ororo's squads are training in the Danger Room, in this weekend's communal practice session. Tom tells me suddenly that he wants something to drink, so I set him on his feet and walk over to the bar, where I pour him a tall glass of frothy white milk and begin to walk back to where he is waiting for me –

And that's when the walls collapse inwards. A formless, purple-edged shape smashes through the window and impacts heavily on the floor, gouging a deep trench in the floorboards and sending up puffs of dust as it comes to a halt. Telling my son to keep back and look after his niece, I creep closer to the crater where the shape landed and peer over its lip. In the centre of the ground, bleeding and coughing, lies Magneto, his cape ripped and his helmet dented. Vaulting the edge of the crater, I land next to him and kneel down, grasping his right hand in mine instinctively, while at the same time stimulating his brain to produce endorphins so that the pain from his injuries is lessened. "Stay calm," I whisper gently, transmitting a message down to the Professor as I do so. "You're safe now."

"Who's that, Mummy?" Tom says as he peers curiously over the lip of the hole. "Is he okay?"

"Stay up there, sweetheart," I say, keeping my eyes on Magneto the whole time. "Let Mummy handle this." Leaning closer to Magneto, I whisper "Can you stand? We need to get you out of here so the Professor or Doctor McCoy can take a look at you." Magneto mumbles something about not needing any help, but even I can see that at least two of his ribs are shattered and his right arm is crushed into a bloody mess. His body, where it isn't covered by his costume, has been almost julienned by some kind of sharp object – if I didn't know better, I'd have thought that Wolverine had been hacking at him continuously for five minutes. And more than that, there are what looks like bite marks in several places on his chest, which are still weeping ruby-bright blood. Curiously, they are edged by some kind of white froth, as if whatever bit him was rabid. Whatever the case, he has to be taken down to the med-lab as soon as possible, so I help him slowly towards the nearest lift down to the infirmary sub-level, telling the Professor and Hank to meet me there. It's slow going, because Magneto is so weak and I'm trying desperately to support him while keeping an eye on my son, who is trotting along behind us carrying Hannah curled up against his chest, his blue eyes wide with fascination at the strange man who has just arrived so violently into his home. When we reach the lift, I help Magneto lean against the wall and push the button that will take us down to where Hank and the Professor will be waiting. He pants heavily, sweat running down his face and soaking through his costume, turning it the colour of wine, and he runs his good hand over his face to try and clear his head. His thoughts are little more than a jumble of violent images to me, his formidable psychic defences preventing me from getting anything close to a clearer picture.

Tugging at Magneto's cape with one hand while balancing Hannah with the other, Tom looks up at our new visitor and says innocently "Mister? Are you okay?" Magneto looks down at him in disbelief and then looks back at me, incredulous, as if he is asking for an explanation of who this tiny little person is that he is daring to question the Master of Magnetism so brazenly.

"He's my son. His name is Tom," I say briefly. "And he's asking you a question, Mr Lehnsherr. You don't want to be rude, do you?"

Magneto looks thoroughly enraged at my brazen impudence for a moment, before the pain of his injuries takes over and he looks back at my son, extending his good hand. "Hello, Tom," he says with difficulty, his voice coming painfully from a throat which is clearly very dry. "My name is Erik Lehnsherr. It's... it's nice to meet you." He extends the gloved hand of his good arm as much as he can, and I take Hannah from him so that Tom can return the gesture a little more easily, his small fingers virtually disappearing in Magneto's grasp.

"Are you one of Mummy's friends?" Tom asks innocently, and the awkward expression on both Magneto and my faces tells Tom all he needs to know. "Oh. Are you like the clown-face man who follows my sister around, then?"

"Not quite, darling," I say, denying Magneto his opportunity to pour much-deserved scorn on Mr Sinister. "Sometimes Erik and Uncle Charles are friends, and sometimes they have big arguments. They usually work everything out in the end, though." I pause, and look up at Magneto, who is clamping his good hand to his ruined shoulder again. "Don't you, Erik?"

"Yes," Magneto replies, his teeth gritted with pain. His expression softens a little when I make his brain produce more endorphins, but I can tell, even without the benefit of my psychic powers, that he is still in considerable agony. "Your... Uncle Charles... and I know each other from a long time ago. He's one of my best friends."

Tom is about to reply when the lift doors hiss open and we are greeted by the Professor and Hank, a hover-stretcher floating between the two of them. Quickly, Hank moves forward and helps Magneto up onto it, administering an anaesthetic jab quickly. Before he loses consciousness, Magneto holds out his good hand, whispering "Charles..."

The Professor grasps the outstretched hand quickly, squeezing it tight until Magneto slips into a restful slumber. "I'm here, Erik," he breathes. "We'll take care of you."

Magneto stirs, finally, a few hours after Hank has finished healing his broken bones and binding the last of his more minor wounds. I feel as if I owe him enough to want to see him come round, so I'm sat by his bedside with Tom on my lap (since he insisted that he be allowed to see the mansion's new "house guest" again). He blinks twice, and holds his bandaged fingers to his forehead, the ache I can sense throbbing dully in his skull hitting him as soon as possible. He mutters something under his breath and then looks over at me, an expression of surprise falling across his face.

"Good afternoon, Miss Braddock," he says, his voice still very hoarse. "I'd have thought you would be the last person I would be seeing while I was here."

"It's 'Mrs Worthington' now, actually, Erik," I tell him matter-of-factly, holding out my left hand so that he can see the simple white-gold ring on my finger. "And believe me, this wasn't at the top of my to-do list. Tom here wanted to come and see his new Uncle Erik, didn't you, sweetheart?"

Tom nods with enthusiasm from his seat on my lap. "Maybe we can read a story together?" he suggests hopefully. Magneto raises an eyebrow, glancing at me for a second as if expecting me to chastise my son for his presumption. Clearly his idea of an obedient child and mine are very different things – but then, I suppose Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch are clear examples of his parental skills, so it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that he wants to maintain a clear boundary between Tom and himself.

"I think that would be a wonderful idea, don't you, Erik?" I say, gleefully enjoying the notion of that boundary shattering into a million pieces. Then I look down at Tom, saying "Uncle Erik and I need to have a word on our own for a little while, now, darling. Why don't you go and play with Uncle Bobby? Maybe he can make you a snow cone?" Lifting him off my lap, I watch him as he scurries away out of the med-lab, yelling and shrieking with excitement at the thought of Bobby making him some ice cream, and it's only when I hear the sound of the lift doors closing that I turn back to Magneto with a more serious expression on my face. "Now, before Charles gets down here, I need to know just what it was that I rescued you from; it seemed like that you must have been hit pretty hard, considering the speed you were travelling."

Magneto shakes his head. "I wasn't hit," he says, coughing a small trickle of blood down his chin, which I wipe away with a small piece of tissue paper – much to Magneto's disgust. "I was... I was escaping. I needed to find a safe haven before they caught up with me." Panic starts billowing outwards in his mind at the mention of these mysterious assailants, and I decide that vague hints really aren't enough for me just now.

"'They'?" I ask, leaning forward in my seat. "Who are 'they'?"

Magneto's panicked expression turns to one of predictably scornful indifference. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, X-Man."

"Try me." I fold my arms. "Trust me, Erik, I have quite a high disbelief threshold. If I didn't, I really wouldn't be able to believe my own life sometimes."

Just then, the Professor enters the med-lab, looking with concern at his old friend. "Hello, Erik," he says in his usual kindly tone. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," Magneto says in a matter-of-fact way. "I was just about to tell Miss... Mrs Worthington... the reason I came here. If you wish, I can tell you as well. Or you could just take it from my mind – I know that that facade of non-interference you like to project has certain... limits."

The Professor raises his eyebrows and sighs deeply. "If you feel it necessary, Erik, I'm all ears. Much as you insist otherwise, I wouldn't take that information from you by force unless one of my students was in danger." He leans forward in his chair, steepling his fingers and focusing directly on his old friend. "So – why are you here? And why were you in such a battered state when you arrived?"

"I was in New York for a discussion with King T'Challa about a trade agreement with Wakanda," Magneto begins. "My duties as leader of Genosha tend to take me to places that I would not normally be allowed to go. Neutral territory was best for both of us, of course, so we agreed to meet in the United Nations building. While on my way there, my honour guard of Acolytes and I were attacked, and our cortege destroyed."

"Attacked?" Xavier says, concerned. "By whom?"

Magneto purses his lips. "Vampires. That's the only word I can use to describe them," he says flatly. "I can't say whether my Acolytes escaped as well – I told them to split up and make their way here as quickly as they could, but I assume you haven't seen any of them?" The Professor shakes his head, and a stab of pain flashes across Magneto's face, the intensity of the emotion making both the Professor and myself wince for a moment. "Damn it," he whispers. "They were good people. They didn't deserve that."

"Who have you lost, Erik?"

"Scanner, Voght, Javitz, Cargill and the Kleinstocks," Magneto says sadly, and I can see tears beading at the corners of his eyes. "They were my best, my chosen." His face twists with rage then, his fists clenching tightly and glowing with magnetic energy, all the sadness burned away in an instant. "Those creatures will die for this." He tries to raise himself off his bed, but his strength fails him and he slumps backwards.

"Don't try that again for a while, Erik. You've lost quite a lot of blood," the Professor tells him gently. "Hank tells me you should be ready to move in a few days, but until then, I'd suggest you stay where you are."

"Are you insane?" Magneto cries, furious. "Would you leave your X-Men if they needed you, Charles? I think not. My Acolytes are my children, and I will not abandon them."

Charles opens his mouth to reply but then shuts it just as quickly, and silently nods his head. "I see your point. However, you would help them more by staying healthy. I can link you to my X-Men and you can guide them from here. It would help both of us, believe me."

Magneto scowls blackly, before he takes a deep breath and raises his eyebrows. "Once again, you point out the obvious. I really ought to take lessons sometimes, old friend. Very well." He points at the Professor, his flint-grey eyes gleaming. "But if this does not work, I will hold you responsible. Are we clear on that?"

"Crystal." The Professor gives Magneto one last brief smile before he turns his hoverchair around and leaves the room, motioning for me to follow him. As we walk down the corridor towards the lift that will take us back up to ground level, the Professor continues "Did Erik seem afraid to you at any point, Elisabeth?"

I nod. "Yes, Professor, he did. I never thought I'd feel that. Do you think he could be telling the truth about what attacked him?"

"Well, I've never known Erik to really lie about things that scared him," the Professor says, running his hands over his hairless scalp as his hoverchair glides over the tiled floor noiselessly. "I shall notify Scott's team to mobilise in ten minutes. It would seem we are to be vampire-hunters today." He looks up at me curiously. "Would you like to go along with them? I know how much you miss field missions, and I'm sure Jean would love to look after your children while you're gone. I imagine she'd appreciate the chance to do so after... well..."

"Yes, I think she'd like that, too," I say, sparing him some momentary embarrassment. We both know how raw Jean still feels about her miscarriage, so anything that takes her mind off that pain is a good thing for her at this point. Besides, Tom really loves his Aunt Jean, so it's good for him to spend time with her, too. She always lets him eat as much ice cream as he can fit inside him, which I suspect has something to do with why he thinks so highly of her. And besides that, I don't think Emma would appreciate me asking her for help looking after Tom and Hannah – not when there are so many other people in the mansion who'd be willing to take on that burden before her. It's a shame that Rebecca isn't here, actually – her little weekend holiday to Venice with Sam has, as is usual for any X-Man, come at a rather bad time. I virtually had to push her out of the door when she left, as she didn't want to leave Hannah behind, but I assured her that I would take good care of her baby while she was away. I'm sure she's still complaining about that to Sam even now... in fact, I'd be disappointed if she wasn't. She's my daughter after all, and we Braddocks do tend to pride ourselves on being objectionable...

Cyclops scans the surrounding area, sweeping his visor quickly from left to right before he allows his tensed muscles to relax a little. The driving rain pounds the concrete and thumps noisily off the tops of dustbins and crossing lights, obscuring visibility after a certain point and making the cold that much more telling. He raises his gloved hand and points towards the end of the strangely deserted street. "Wolverine, take point. We need you as our eyes and ears in this rain," he says simply. Logan nods silently, before padding off in front of the rest of the team, his body hunched low like an animal on the hunt for prey. He kneels suddenly, pulling off one of his gloves and touching the ground with his fingertips. "What is it, Logan?" Cyclops asks.

"Damndest thing," Logan says, almost in disbelief. He sniffs his fingers again to make sure he hasn't imagined the scent he's found. "This is Frenzy's scent... but there's something else here too. Smells like blood. Like... death."

"What are you saying?" Cyclops says, and I can feel his confusion radiating out towards me like a searchlight. The answer seems fairly elementary to me, but then I suppose I'm not the only one on this team. Nightcrawler and Rogue look fairly nonplussed by what Logan is saying, too, and Warren is equally puzzled.

Logan's lip curls in frustration. "I'm sayin', bub, that this don't smell like a live person – it smells like a corpse."

"So they killed Frenzy, then?"

"That's the thing," Logan says, frowning. "This spore's the start of a scent trail. So either whatever those things were that attacked Magneto took her body, or..."

"Or she's not really dead at all," Cyclops says grimly, his jaw clenching again.

"Well done, human," says a voice from above us, and we all look upwards, startled – even Wolverine, who looks especially shocked that his heightened senses didn't detect anything approaching us. Floating above us are a group of pale-skinned, bestial-looking humanoid creatures with long fangs and claws, their movements oddly graceful and completely at odds with their animalistic appearance. As they touch down, I put one finger to my temple and establish a psychic connection to Magneto as he lies back in the mansion's infirmary, so that he can see what I can see.

Are these the things that attacked you and your Acolytes, Erik? I ask him quickly.

Yes, he replies, and I can sense the anguish and rage in his psychic "voice" as he recognises their leader, a large, long-haired man with muscles straining against his silken clothes. Surrounding this brutally powerful creature are three of Magneto's Acolytes – Scanner, Voght and Frenzy. All of them have dispensed with their Acolyte uniforms in favour of the looser, more darkly-coloured clothing that the other humanoids are wearing. And most chillingly of all, they all wear the same bloodthirsty expression on their faces, their mouths split by wide, fanged grins and their hands tipped with razor-sharp claws. Hissing, Scanner slithers sinuously towards the front of the pack, her eyes lit with hunger and her hands outstretched, ready to tear into Kurt's flesh – but then she stumbles backwards, shielding her face in abject horror. Even if I couldn't sense her emotions (though why I couldn't before is still a concern to me. Perhaps they're telepathic as well, and were simply masking their presence from me), it's written clearly enough on her face that I can tell she is absolutely terrified of him, the fear almost burning out of her every pore. Voght throws herself at Warren – and is repulsed too, with a similar stab of horror. Kurt looks down at his chest, where his golden crucifix is nestled underneath his costume, a flash of realisation crossing his face. Reaching down inside the neck of his costume, he pulls it out and holds it up in front of him, the tiny emblem hanging off its chain and almost gleaming in the driving rain. Every last one of the creatures howls in agony and stumbles backwards at the sight of it, their eyes almost rolling backwards into their heads. Their leader says something in a garbled language I can't understand – although I daresay I could, given a few minutes to plunder their brains for the necessary information – and they all scramble away into mid-air, some of them still clutching their heads in their hands. It's a while before I can feel their agony fading from my skull.

Find my Acolytes, Magneto's voice suddenly says at the back of my mind. Kill them. Please...