Disclaimer: I don't own any of this; I'd be able to afford more than this damn computer if I did! Not making money, etc etc etc

A/N: for anyone reading this who's read my other stories, this is a helluva lot darker, and I MEAN IT about the NC-17 rating. If you don't think you can stomach it, go away. As much as I love getting reviews, go away. Well, not this chapter. Next one.

A/NII: font switches mean time period switches, & a * indicates an interval w/in the same time.

A/NIII: Go read Nightshade, by Nightshade Darkholme. It's really good, and isn't getting the credit it deserves! Once you've finished reading this, of course.

A/NIV: (I promise I will eventually shut up) it may be a loooong time before I update this again. I posted it in desperation because I've had writers block for months. If anyone gets a spurt of inspiration, tell me in your review. But no promises, K?

-Shameless Advertising: Go read my other stories! And the Evolution stuff is written in comic character because I like them better. I just had to have Logan walk up to Evan with a snake and tell him he'd found his aunt!

-Done now. Story!

* * *

Serena paused at the entrance of the mansion. The gates were huge, more imposing than she imagined the gates of hell would be. Iron bent and twisted into geometric swirls and patterns. Bars barricaded the Xavier Estate from the outside world, a high brick wall enclosing the entire grounds. Just like the differences that had made it impossible for her to cross just such a wall, and join normal society.

She flicked a strand of white-blond hair behind her ear and closed her big blue eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened them again, they were the same hard ice-blue they always were. She reached for the "doorbell", knowing that the X-Men must already know she was here. What they wouldn't know, however, was that she knew all about them. A half-smile quirked on her face as she wondered exactly how they'd react to her – and her lineage.

Her mother had left only a few things with her when she sent her daughter out for adoption just after she was born. None of the doctors could figure out why her mother was letting her go; she was obviously wealthy, and even if a daughter was illegitimate, families with money usually kept them around. But her mother – whose real name she'd never known, only a nickname – had only checked into the hospital when she was born, surprising the hell out of the hospital. It was a fast birth, and she'd gone up for adoption the instant her first cries had emerged. A healthy baby – too healthy, some of the nurses had muttered.

Her new parents took good care of her, loved her and treated her as if she was their blood. All three family members had a tendency to forget that she wasn't. It had never mattered. Both of her siblings, an older brother and a younger sister, were also adopted. Her sister, Meng Lee, was from China, and her brother had been adopted from Texas when he was five. He'd been a proper southern gentleman. All her friends had loved him. She loved him too – and still did –

But he doesn't understand. He's a homebody, he likes living in the little town where we grew up and coaching the next generation of football players at the high school. I wouldn't mind any more, but then again, I've become a genuine globetrotter.

She'd been popular, but she'd never liked the way she felt like a round peg in a square hole when she was with her friends. She'd taken to heartbreaking as catharsis. Then she'd broken the wrong heart, and he and his buddies came after her when she was walking home from a movie.

One swipe with the switchblade was all it had taken.

Powered by her fear and fury, her genetics kicked in. A blast of pure, unrestrained telepathic power shot out of Serena, flattening half of his gang of eight. The long, shallow slash on her cheek was slowly knitting up. Her healing would speed up as she grew. Her left hand curled into a fist as she reached up to feel what had now been reduced to a long scab. Her hand spasmed, and a soft phft was all that heralded the last of her transformations. Coming out of the last joint on each of her fingers was a two-inch claw, as sharp and strong as any made of adamantium.

She studied her hands with cold passivity, then smiled cruelly at Jason, her tormenter. He and the remaining flunkies were still staring in shock at her smooth, flawless cheek. There was a little blood left, but she had healed completely.

"Looking to have a . . . good time, Jason?" Serena growled, her voice lower than usual, with the hint of a snarl. "Funny, I was looking for the same thing. And I found you," she felt exulted, freed from a prison, like she'd grown wings to fly. Her nose flared as she caught his scent, and the night lightened as her vision intensified. She cocked her head at him, smiling a smile that had never been seen on her face before. Her ice-blue eyes glinted in the scant light behind the theater. She had been a preppie, a beautiful girl who got good grades and had all the best friends. She'd had good morals, and had never (outwardly, anyway) liked fighting.

That Serena was gone.

So, for that matter, was Jason.

She leaned casually against the back of the theater, watching him and waiting for him to leave. When he and his groupies finally sped out of the parking lot like rabbits chased by hounds, she folded. Sliding down the walls, she stared at her hands in the harsh light.

"Shit," she muttered.

*Serena?*

"WHATTHEFUCK?!" Serena screeched.

*I know this is strange, and new to you, but listen to me. I'm in your head – or I will be. I'm your mother. Your birth mother. I'm a telepath – a mutant. You're a mutant too, because this message was set to trigger when your powers emerged. Knowing myself and your father, you probably have my telepathy (it seems to be hereditary), and healing. An advanced immune system. It's a passive ability, so don't count on ever getting sick again. I can't predict what else you might get, or even if you'll be either of those things. Life for a mutant, for our kind, is hard. I know. I've lived it. I just thought, that since I can't be there with you, I should give you what advice I deserve to give, and some information. Don't blame your parents for not telling you. They didn't know. Your father is another mutant, called . . . Sabretooth. His real name is Victor Creed, and you never want to meet him. Ever. He's insane, trust me, I've been in his head. He's a disease with no cure, so potent no amount of healing ability could ever help him. He's old and he's smart and he has absolutely no emotions. He cares for nothing and no one, and trusts nothing and no one, not even me, who's been in his head more times than I care to think about. Don't let his age fool you; he hasn't aged a day since he was twenty-five. All he cares for is his bloodlust, and sating it. He was working as a hired assassin when you were born; I don't know what he'll be doing by the time something traumatic enough happens to trigger your powers. He'd just gotten a long assignment when I discovered I was pregnant. I didn't know how he would react to you, and I never wanted to find out. I wanted an abortion, but I couldn't have one, because they cost, and I was living off him at the time. I'm sorry, but it's true. Can you blame me? So I did the only thing I could think of, I carried you to term and got you as far away from me as I could. I psi-scanned your parents when they came to see you, and they were the best people I, or anyone, could ask for. I know this whole thing is unbelievable, but it's all true. Your parents don't know about my being a mutant, but unless they've done a 180 in personality and outlook, I'd say it was safe to tell them. You be the judge, you're the resident psi now.

Some advice: telepathy is really very easy, once you get control of it. Build a mental wall until you can see it, and until you get to the point where you have to think about it to take it down. Leave one brick out to passively scan those around you for threats, and get some good training. Another thing; Sabretooth had enemies. Lots of them. And I'd suggest that you go the Xaviers School for Gifted Youngsters, in Westchester, New York, but . . . Sabretooths greatest enemy is one of their charter members. If you're ever at your wits end, without any where else to turn, go there. But only then. I'd avoid telling anyone who birthed you. He's not your father any more than I'm your mother.*

A mental sigh was a weird thing, but Serena took it in stride.

*Don't let anyone exploit you for your powers. EVER. That's how I fell in with Sabretooth, and it was the worst thing that ever happened to me. It will probably be the death of me. I'm sorry I couldn't be a better mom, but I don't dare. I . . . Well. Good luck.*

The strange message stopped for a moment.

*By the way – my name's Birdie.*

"Hello?" came a soft southern drawl from the speaker. "Xaviers School for Higher Learnin'. Who is it?"

"Rogue," she muttered. "I got the southern belle. May I speak to Xavier?" she asked, louder.

"Who are ya?" the mutant on the other end of the speaker asked again.

She hesitated. "Serena Creed."

There was a short pause.

Then: "PROFESSOR!!!"

"Chris?"

"Serena!"

Serena sighed. Her once-long blond hair was pulled back in a tight pony tail that barely reached her shoulders, the last inch and a half or so dyed dark red. "Where are you?" Chris demanded.

"I'm in New Orleans. I finally got a good place."

Chris, all the way back in Portland, Oregon, shook his head. "You never had to run, sis," he told her. It was the same thing he told her every time she called. She never spoke to her parents, not after they . . .

"I know I wasn't forced to run, Chris. I've told you more times than I can count, I had to run. It's okay down here. New Orleans, when looked at from the right perspective, is a creepy city. There are most ghosts around here than at the cemetery back home."

A year had passed since the emergence of her mutant powers had awakened her mothers latent message. She'd spent most of that time jumping around the country, using her rudimentary telepathic powers to stay alive. And she'd finally found a place where she wouldn't have to hide them from her landlady.

"So where are you? What are you doing?" her brother asked.

"I'm working for a psychic."

"You're – what?" Chris burst out laughing, and Serena joined him. "You're the psychic!"

"I prefer 'telepathic', but psychic will do," she teased. "I'm the 'assistant', and I tell her what to say. We've considered just giving me her job, but truthfully, she looks the part of a psychic and a necromancer more than I do. She's much more convincing."

"Alright. Are you sure you're in for a while this time? In decently?"

"I'm fine, big brother. For now."

"For now?"

"For a while, Chris. This is working. She doesn't make much, but both of us can live off it."

"So what name are you using now? And I'd like a phone number," Chris requested.

"Iris Winter. 675-890-6004, ask for Iris and tell Ms. Murray you're my brother, Chris."

"Murray? You're working with a woman whose last name is Murray?! Not very mystical, is it?"

"She goes by Katerina the Serene and Mystical. Mystical enough for you?"

"Yes, sis. Can I call you anytime soon, or do I have to wait a minimum of days?" Chris asked sarcastically.

"Call day after tomorrow. And don't call me every day, like you did when I was in Chicago. It spooked the roommies." she complained.

"Fine, fine. Can I tell Meng Lee where you are?"

Serena scowled, and wished Chris could see it. "Dammit, Chris. Don't tell Meng Lee or mom and dad. You know the routine, I've been at this for a year."

"Serena, I'm worried about you, you know that. And I wish you wouldn't swear. It's vulgar."

"Jock," she accused. "Highborn white boy."

"Like you're any better."

"I'm a female."

"Ha! As far as half this country is concerned, you're little more than fodder. You're only sixteen, Serena!"

"And I'm a mutant, yes, I know. I'll talk to you later?"

"Sure, sis. Cave, Serena!"

"Vale, Chris," Serena responded in the same language. Cave, pronounced kah-way, was Latin for 'be careful' or 'beware'. Vale, pronounced wah-lay, meant 'goodbye'. The phone clicked as it hung up.

"You say your name is Serena – Creed," Xavier repeated.

"Well, my name is Serena Finch, but my birth fathers last name was Creed," Serena corrected.

"Do you know his first name?" Xavier inquired neutrally.

Serena snorted. "I've met him, actually. Victor Creed," she cocked her head. "Sabretooth."

The short, stout man standing behind Xaviers wheelchair shook his head. "Creed has a darlin' daughter. Never thought I'd see the day."

"You're just as likely to have an illegitimate kid as Creed, 'Wolverine'. Only yours would probably be older than me."

If looks could kill, Logans wouldn't have been slightly deterred by Serena's advanced immune system.

"How old are you, anyway?" Xavier asked.

"Nineteen."

"How long have you had your powers? And what are they, exactly?"

Serena sighed. I should have expected this. Well, he's certainly a more powerful telepath than I am. Although I might be a match for Logan, the professor here'd defeat me without sweating. So here goes nothing. And Birdie – where ever you are, heaven or hell, thanks for giving me one last escape.

"From my father I got healing, and the seemingly-inevitable claws. Only difference is, mine are retractable."

Phft.

"Perdictable," Logan muttered. Phft.

"I'm also a telepath."

"Another one?!" came a faintly-accented voice from the ceiling. Serena looked up, unsurprised by the extra presence. She'd sensed someone else when she walked in, but when she hadn't noticed anyone else offhand, she'd figured Xavier just gave off a strange psychic reading.

The mutant lounging on the ceiling struck a vague chord in her, although she couldn't quite figure out what it was. He was dark blue, with black hair and pupilless yellow eyes. The whites of his eyes were yellow, and everything glowed. The blue was short fur, and his prehensile tail was about three feet long, with an arrow at the end. Pointed ears, three-fingered hands, fangs, and the scent of sulfur.

"Nightcrawler," she identified him. "Yes, another one. I got it from my mother. It seems to be hereditary."

Now Logan was giving her a very odd look, a switch from his murderous glare. "Who's yer mother, kid?"

"I believe you had a very interesting encounter with her, Creed and Mystique in France a few years ago," she paused. "Birdie."

"The blond chick?"

"I assume so. Her I've never met. She's been dead for quite awhile."

Xavier sighed. "Serena. Aside from reminiscing with your fa – Sabretooths enemies and once-confiners, why exactly are you here?"

Serena bit her lip. She'd planned this from the beginning, but that didn't mean she had to like it. She had had too many bad experiences with opening her mind to people, especially her father. That was what had scarred her. She had never wanted to consciously touch another persons mind ever again – and hadn't. Until now.

Serena closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, fumbling from lack of practice, and slowly, carefully, 'stood' back and looked at the room that served as Xaviers office. There were only the four of them, she, Xavier, Logan, and Nightcrawler. She studied their psychic pattern for a moment, intrigued by what she saw in Logan and Nightcrawler. But Xavier sensed her reaching, and held out his 'hand'. Cave, Serena, she reminded herself.

Then she took his hand.

"Any takers today, Iris?" Ms. Murray asked from the back room. Serena was sitting cross-legged in a small alcove on the second floor, facing the street outside. The streets of New Orleans bustled, and it was tourist season. Especially ghost hunter season, and Serena found she could easily lure amateur ghost hunters into the shop. A small front room served as reception, waiting, and gift shop all in one. A few rabbits feet, some occult fact by credible authors, and an entire wall of horror, sci-fi and fantasy, all specializing in the occult. The gift shop in and of itself made more money than Murray's psychic business.

"I think I have a couple coming back after lunch," she replied. "We don't do well in the mornings, except for the book shoppers. There's a group of college-age girls, though, roommates, at the restaurant across the street. They look semi-Goth, into occult but not obsessed, or Wiccan. I take it back; one's Wiccan. They'd be good candidates for books; lemme see what I can do."

Serena closed her eyes and concentrated, drawing one of the girls notice to the shop. Then she examined the Wiccan.

Her eyes popped.

Not just Wiccan, but a witch! She had real Power, and the girl was no mutant. Shit. She's actually a witch. Wiccan. Dammit. Wait, Serena, think – this could work. She hasn't got good training in her Craft yet; lure the group in with psychic tendrils. She'll think she was imagining things, she wasn't brought up Wiccan and doesn't even know she's a witch. I'm reeling this group in, and having Murray tell the girl – Rhiannon – that she really is a witch.

"I've got the group, Ms. Murray – and the Wiccan's a witch! She doesn't know it yet; should I put on my typical Wiccan disguise?"

Murray looked thoughtfully out the door. "Yes. I don't think this one will believe at first. But this will help. She's been poltergeisting."

"Oh, man. I'm not psychokinetic, I can't control that!"

"I don't think she'll go nuts in here. She'll wait till they get back to the hotel room."

Ms. Murray was neither psychic nor clairvoyant, but sometimes her ability to see – or See – things like that frightened even Serena.

"Here they come!" she announced. "Screw the outfit. Get back there!" Serena motioned Murray into the back room with a wave of her hand. The entire group of five walked in. One of the girls immediately began scanning shelves as the others walked right up to her. "In the back," Serena told them in her bored-mystical-Goth voice. The Wiccan, fortunately, was among them.

As the fifth girl meandered around the bookshelves, Serena picked things off her mind and the minds of her companions, feeding them to Murray. The girls had their fortunes and their pasts told, one past life experience, and then they left – all but the Wiccan and the bookworm. "Hey," Serena called to the Wiccan.

"Yes?"

"You're a witch."

She sighed. "Actually, I prefer the term 'Wiccan' –"

"No; you don't understand. You're a witch. A sorceress. You have Power. That's why things have been moving when you get mad, or frightened – you've been poltergeisting. That's where the poltergeist effect comes from. Witches who don't know they're Powerful."

"Are – are you a witch?"

"No. I'm a mutant. It's worse, trust me. Get some real Craft training, it'd be good for you. And the people around you who've been getting mowed down by paper airplanes will be thankful too."

"Who – who are you?"

"My real name?" Serena thought about it. Well, she might as well tell someone. "Serena Finch. I'm a telepath; that's how I can tell you're a witch."

"Rhiannon. Rhiannon Byrd."

"What in the seven hells are you watching, Drake?" Serena demanded. She had been at the mansion of several days now, learning names and attaching them to faces. Sabretooth had had a skewed vision of the people and life here at the mansion. She was settling in, and now she regretted Birdie telling her not to come here until she was at the end of her rope. They would have been suspicious of her, but she could have become a family member. Maybe even contacted her family again years ago, instead of only a week ago.

The past is past, and now . . . now I have to learn to live with the consequences. The image on the screen was one of a big worm shooting out of the ground while Kevin Bacon screamed.

Iceman looked up from the rec room couch and grinned. "Tremors."

Serena shook her head. One of the people was being eaten by the worm-thing now. "I asked again: What are you watching?"

"I told you: "Tremors". It's about these big prehistoric worm-things that wake up after millions of years and start eating the people in a small town in Nevada called Perfection Valley, Population: Fourteen."

"Not very much for those things to eat," Serena commented. Bobby snorted, slapping his forehead. Serena plopped down on the couch next to him, while he rapidly tried to explain the main plot line as the worm-things (graboids) ate more of the no-longer population of fourteen. Then they all get blown up in a parade of orange guts flying over a cliff as Kevin Bacon screams "Kin you fly, you sucker? Kin you fly!?!"

"I believe," Serena remarked sarcastically, "that they lack that ability."

Bobby throws some of his popcorn at her.

Ten minutes later, the flurry of flying popcorn had been reduced to a drizzle.

"Ow! That one was frozen!" Bobby yelled.

"What, like I'm not going to throw the pop-sicles back at you? Oh, popscicles! That's really a word!"

Bobby throws more frozen popcorn in her direction, as a diversion as he tries to sneak up behind her. He makes it to within two feet when he remembers that she's telepathic and it's not likely that he'd get this far unless –

"Hah! You have fallen into my trap!" she screeches, pouncing on him and batting the popcorn out of his hand. She pins him to the floor like a lioness. In a desperate attempt to free himself, Bobby does something unexpected.

He kisses her.

He never meant it to go any farther than a peck, something to surprise the hell out of her while he escaped. But the instant their lips met, it evolved into something more. Heat raced between them, through his arms pinned beneath her hands and his legs under hers. They parted a moment, then kissed again.

This time, it was halted sharply and decisively as Serena leaped away from him. She ran to the door, turned back a moment, her knuckles white as they clenched the door frame. "I . . . No." she spun and ran, leaving a bewildered Bobby on the floor, touching his lips.

The noises downstairs were not comforting.

Neither were the vastly different telepathic signatures she was picking up.

A cold took over her as she realized who it was downstairs. She slowly got up and dressed, then slipped downstairs.

The tableau that faced her would have been one of horror if her mother hadn't given her an ample idea of what it was like to work for Sabretooth. The shop was in ruins. An immense blond man stood over Murray, clutching her neck in one hand and his other arms raised to deliver the killing blow.

"Don't kill her, Creed," comes the cold, recognizable voice from behind him. Creed freezes, drops the woman, and exclaimed "BIRDIE?!"

He spun. The kid standing behind him was Birdie . . . Too young to be Birdie, but she smelled and felt exactly like her. "You're not Birdie.

"Too bad, Victor."

"How the hell do you know who I am, frail!?"

Serena's voice went soft, the way a girls does when she talks to her pet chiwawa. "Aww, hasn't poor Sabretooth figured it out?"

"Who are you?!" Creed demands, and Serena smiles. Still using the cutesy voice, she starts to circle him.

"Mwister Sabretooh, I'm disappointed with you, you should recognize me. What's poor Victor doing here in this confoosing place?"

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?" Creed swipes his claws an inch from her face as she continues to walk slowly around him.

"Aww, poor Sabretooth's so confused," she stops in front of him, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, clasping her hands innocently in front of her. "Does Sabretooth need some help figuring out who I am?"

"I won't ask again, frail!"

Serena gives him an innocent look. "Poor Sabretooth. Feeling slow today?" she mock-sighed, still playing innocent. "I guess I'll have to tell you."

Phft.

She held up the single finger with it's claw out and ran it down her cheek, tracing the cut from the switchblade. Blood poured down her cheek for a few moment before it healed completely.

"Does Sabretooth need another clue?"

*

Serena called the police, glad for once that she didn't have to feign her shock. What she'd ripped out of Sabretooths mind had shocked her plenty.

He'd been here looking for a telepath. Any telepath who could take the pain away. Since Birdie died, he'd been searching. She'd also picked up one other thing, something she could have lived without knowing.

He had loved Birdie dearly, and never even recognized the emotion for what it was, not even now. He couldn't. He'd never loved before – it was an alien emotion. Emotion in an of itself was alien. He'd been shocked when she'd died, suddenly so terribly lonely, but had attributed it to the fact that Birdie wasn't messing with his head anymore. Wasn't there to let him forget.

It sickened her.

She called the police, gave them her statement, apologized to Ms. Murray, gathered up he things and left before the hour was gone.

"Serena, let me in!"

Bobby was pounding on her door, yelling at her. "Dammit, Serena, I want to talk to you!"

Just then, Gambit walked by, gave the door one look, then another, and then shot a weird glance at Bobby.

"You know, mon ami, it's open."

Bobby glared. "I'm well aware of that. But I'm not going in until she lets me in."

Remy shrugged and kept walking, hoping to stay out of whatever conflict Sabretooths daughter had gotten into.

"Did you mean that?"

"What?" Bobby replied intelligently, surprised to have finally gotten a response from Serena.

"Did you mean that," she persisted. "That you wouldn't come in uninvited."

Bobby thought about it for a minute, shook his head, and answered "Yes."

"Then . . . Come in."

Bobby slowly opened the door a crack, then walked in. Serena was curled up on her bed, which was actually embedded in the wall. Serena had chosen the smallest room in the mansion for her own, crammed a huge desk into it, but otherwise the room was bare. It was empty, completely bereft of personality. Even the walls were harsh and whitewashed.

Maybe it's not that she hasn't redecorated . . . it's that she has. The thought chilled him for a moment.

"Shut the door behind you?"

Still wary, Bobby slowly closed the door.

"Lemme guess; you're wondering why I ran off," Serena sighed.

"How'd you guess?" Bobby asked sarcastically.

"I am a telepath," Serena responded, trying for a weak laugh and not even getting that.

"I – not a very good one. I can tell you've got holes – " Bobby reached out to touch her temple and she pulled back sharply. " – up there . . ." His hand hung in the air between them for a moment, and Serena stared at it as if it were a hissing cobra. When his hand was at his side again, she relaxed. Bobby studied her, the expression on his face one of befuddlement. This is worse than Marrow. "You are some piece of work, Serena. I don't think any of us have you quite figured out yet – So would you give this clueless Iceman a hint of what he did wrong?"

Serena hugged her legs to her chest, and Bobby realized for the first time just how young she was. Old enough for college, surely, but not much older. "Look, would you just tell me? I'll leave you alone if that's what you want, I swear –"

"No," Serena shook her head. "It's not you; it's me. Y'see," she took a deep breath. "My daughters name is Becky."