A/N: I know I said I was done with the Craft-related fics, but I just can't seem to stop. So for the time being, I'm back, and so are they. Will there be more? Maybe, who knows. Hold on to your pointed hats people, here we go.
WARNING: This story contains content of Wicca and Witchcraft! If this offends you, DO NOT READ!
Ghosts Of Samhains Past
Rogue had been on the run for what seemed like years, in truth the wheel scarsly turned at all. Samhain was once again approaching, and Rogue couldn't help but be bombarded by the ghosts of the past.
She had been constantly moving from place to place, making her way, she knew not where.
Her last Samhain had been one of joy, spent with friends, and honouring the dead in the tradition of her religion. Everyone had been so excepting, even if they didn't quiet understand.
All that had changed however.
Now, because of the intolerance and ignorance of others she was forced to spend the rest of her life running.
Rogue packed up quickly, she needed to be out and on her way by midnight, she had already stayed too long.
The ghosts hammered at the back door of her mind, begging to be let in as she packed up her meager possessions.
A charred corn doll, burnt nearly to nothing, and a charred and smudged copy of the Wiccan Rede; the code by which she lived. This was all that remained from a once happy past that came to a firey end what seemed like decades ago.
Stuffing what little cash she had in her pocket, Rogue swung onto her bike, stroking her thumb along the Adamantium pentacle around her neck. She adjusted the scarf she now wore around the right side of her face to hide yet another remnant of her life before.
She pulled up to a truck stop to fill up and get a bite to eat; she'd take it to go, and find a quiet spot on the road like she always did. She just couldn't stand being around people; especially now.
After filling up her bike, she traced the Radio rune for protection during travel over the seat to keep it safe from theft and went inside.
Walking up to the counter, she ordered the Special to go, and shifted nervously while she waited. Attatched to the side of the diner was bar, a tavern of sorts. Quaint and quite like so many others found in the remote parts of Canada, not loud and obnoxious like the ones back in New York.
She found herself wandering in, she found the scent of cigar smoke comforting, but couldn't really say why. She found herself taking a seat at the empty bar, toying with a stray bottle cap.
Rogue stiffened as an all too familiar energy registered on her extended senses. She had been careful to cover her tracks. Changing clothes often so as not to leave a scent trail, paying in cash, as not to leave a paper. She had built up and strengthened her barriers so the Professor wouldn't be able to find her, and employed cloaking techniques to make herself appear less obvious, almost constantly. She had even used a glamour or two.
But he still found her.
The rich, dark energy she was sensing grew stronger, as its owner causually approached. Rogue stiffened, pulling all of her energy in, winding it tight inside her, as she strengthened her cloak, and willed herself to blend seamlessly into her surroundings.
When a hand rested on her shoulder, she dared not move.
"Been lookin' for you", Rogue coiled herself tighter as the familar voice played with her ears and her head, resurrecting ghosts better off dead.
He gently drew her up and led her over to the corner so he could speak with her. She cut him off before he could start. "I'm not going back".
"Rogue"...
"I'm not going back, I can't ever go back"! Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, boxing her in against the wall, and leaned in.
The spring snapped.
She pushed out with all of her energy, releasing the tension she had been building in her body. The resulting force flung Logan clear across the room.
Racing out of the bar, she flung some money on the counter, grabbed her dinner, jumped on her bike, and was off.
How in the name of the Goddess did he find her?
Sending out a stream of energy, Rogue covered her tracks as she went. The clouds above were heavy and Rogue called up to the Great Mother to shake out her bed, and send down the snows.
Rogue thanked the Goddess silently as the world turned white.
After what seemed like a lifetime, Rogue finally relaxed enough to find a room for the night and bunk down.
But she only gave the outward appearance of being asleep.
Rogue's astral form swept through the air and in through the window where Logan slept.
She noticed the dresser was littered with burned down candles and something covered with a black cloth.
She recognized this.
it was a ritual set up.
The object under the cloth was a scrying mirror, it had to be covered when not in use to keep the magic in, and to keep things from getting trapped inside.
Mirrors were famous for that.
Rogue had guarded herself against physical tracking, against mutants, but had forgotten to hide from the metaphysical world.
No one knew how to track her that way.
Or so she thought.
But scrying took concentration.
More ghosts.
That would have meant he would have had to have been paying attention...
Rogue came back to herself gasping for breath. If he could scry for her, what was stopping him from being aware of her astral presence?
Rogue forced herself out of bed before sunrise, she was feeeling really beaten down, but she had to get ahead of Logan before he found her again.
The going was slower than she would have liked.
The moon was dark, the thee day period between full and new where it made no appearance. It was at this time that a respite was taken in order to replenish the energy used throughout the month, and to gather more for the coming one. It was for this reason that magic was abstained from at this time; it could be preformed under nessecity, but it took a toll.
Boy did it ever.
Rogue opened the door only to be met by the leering form of her hunter.
She glared up him as he grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving.
The power began to coil inside her.
"I thought you visited me last night", and before you start, I'm not here to take you back. I'm here to see how you are".
Rogue blinked.
Logan sat her down on the bed, "the things you went through...I wouldn't ever expect to force you back to that". Rogue had neglected to wrap her scarf about her face and the bright fresh scar of 666 blazed strikingly against her pale skin in the predawn light.
Logan licked his lips and swept a hand over it, hoping to heal the physical scar, even though he could never heal the emotional ones.
They ran too deep.
But nothing happened.
They were both surprised.
While Rogue had been so focused on controlling her energy into a tight coil she would use to lash out, she had been holding the energy that triggered her muatation tightly at bay as well.
Curious to see how far she could take this, Logan continued to touch her. She found the light sensation moderately irratating in it's experimental aloofness and used that to keep the energy controlled.
Finding her focused control to be adequate, he wondered how well it would hold under distraction.
Rogue was definately surprised when he kissed her, and quickly channeled the initial response into blowing out a window.
So much for her damage deposit.
Sho found it odd tha the was completely relaxed, knowing that her control could slip at any moment.
When Logan opened his eyes, he was disappointed and destressed to find no sign of Rogue.
All he felt was an energy of mixed regret, fear, and loss.
But who did it belong to too; him or her?
And where had she run to now?