Title: Vermillion Nights

Rating: PG-13/possible R for later chapters

Author: Tempest

Email: mortal_belleza@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters recognizable from "X-Men" or any of its affiliated comics, movies, etc, and I guess that should go without saying that I don't own the comics, movies, so forth and so on either. They are owned by Marvel™ et al. I also don't own the "Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter" series. It is owned by Ms. Laurell K. Hamilton. I'm not using any of her characters, but I'm stealing her plot like a mofo. I also do not own the characters from other fandoms that will be used in this story such as, but not limited to, Street Fighter (owned by Capcom™) and Dead or Alive (owned by Team Ninja/Tecmo™). Basically, if you recognize the characters from somewhere else, then that means I don't own it. If you don't recognize it, hell, I still might not own it. I make no money off these works; this is solely for entertainment purposes. No copyright infringement intended.

Foreword (Important: Read): Issued as a challenge by a friend, I was supposed to "rewrite" a series using a different fandom while staying true as possible to the series (I can add my own unique twist though). The series I chose to rewrite was the "Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter" and the fandom I chose to rewrite it in was "X-Men". I don't think you have to be familiar with the Anita Blake series to get this fic. A couple of phrases from the series will be used here and there, including the opening line of this chapter. Leave it to me to choose the long, drawn-out series that reads like a soap opera. It will feature a more cynical Storm. Not everything is going to follow movie-verse, so prepare yourself for some differences. Don't like it. Good, don't read it.

Dedication: This one is for Stephanie, Connie, and Nick – my constant sources of inspiration. I also want to dedicate this fic to Domino and Jen, both of whom are quickly becoming my newest inspirations.

*

1.

Mortimer Toynbee was a jerk before he died, and his being dead didn't change that. I trusted the little toad about as far as I could physically throw him, which probably wasn't very far, but I sure as hell could beat the living (or rather dead) shit out of him. I interlaced my fingers together on my desk, avoiding his little, beady eyes. You know what they say about vampires, don't you? Well, I wasn't ready to join the ranks of the undead, yet.

Before he was turned into a vamp, Mortimer was the type of sleaze ball who always knew what was going on in the darkest, dirtiest parts of the city, and he was always willing to sell you that information for a price. Usually, it was to keep his shady ass out of jail. There were many people like Mortimer teeming this city, making him an expendable asset – until he was turned that is. However, he was still willing to give up information for a price. Like I said, the guy was a real scumbag, but now he was an undead scumbag.

I unlocked my fingers, tapping them along my desk impatiently. We'd been sitting here for the last ten minutes, and still Mortimer hadn't managed to tell me what brought about his unexpected visit. "What do you want, Toynbee?" I asked, peering at him for a second from under my eyebrows. He caught me looking, and I quickly directed my eyes elsewhere.

"You're really bloody scared of us, aren't ya?" He asked, and I didn't have to see his face to know that he was gloating at me. Up until now, the little bastard didn't have one up on me.

"I'm not afraid of you, but I am not stupid either." I responded as casually as possible. Truth was, being in such close contact with a vampire did leave me feeling a little disconcerted.

"Say whatever makes ya feel better lady, but we both know I know the truth." He made a loud sniffing sound and I shrugged. How do you argue with someone who can smell your fear?

"I'm not going to ask you again," I said threateningly. "What do you want?"

I was sick of playing these little mind games with him. Just because he got turned didn't make him any smarter; it just made him another dead bloodsucker that I would happily destroy. I think I might've lost myself for a moment because Mortimer said, "You ain't gonna try anything funny, are ya?"

The sky rumbled dangerously outside and I looked at him for only a second, smiling slightly, and his face paled. That was a new one on me; I didn't know vampires could pale. "No, what made you think that?" I asked, dropping my eyes again before he made good use of the situation. If I was destined to get bitten, it definitely wouldn't be by him.

"I'm here to pay ya like any payin' customer. I don't want no trouble." He held his hands up in a sign of a truce.

I snorted incredulously. "What could you possibly want from me? I raise the dead for my money, no pun intended. What would vampire need with a zombie?"

"I ain't here for none of that hoodoo voodoo shit you do. I need ya to investigate some murders."

"The sign on my door does not say Ororo Munroe, private eye." I snapped, sitting back in my chair. "If you want a private investigator, I suggest you go elsewhere, Toynbee."

"I need you. You're the only broad I know who knows everything worth knowing about vampires," he insisted.

"So what? You know, I do have other priorities besides sitting here, listening to you talk out your ass. Could we get to the point of this meeting?" I asked impatiently.

Mortimer leaned on my desk, concentrating on my face. "You heard about them murders in the District, ain't ya?" I nodded. Seems that someone was feeling less than empathetic toward our growing vampire population. They found a couple of vamps decapitated, hearts missing. Quite a mess from what I heard.

"Yeah, I heard about them."

"And you're working with the cops, ain't ya?" He prodded.

I nodded again. "On retainer, yes, but what does that have to do with anything?" I wasn't so sure if I was going to like what he was trying to tell me.

"That's why I need you. Those cops don't give a damn about another dead vampire, laws or not." Mortimer said with a fervor I had never heard in his voice. Maybe, some things do change when you die. "Ferguson vs. St. Croix ain't change nothing."

He was speaking about the monumental court case that defined vampirism and what rights should be allowed to the undead. The only thing they couldn't do was vote, and it wouldn't be long before that was changed. "What makes you think I feel any different?"

"Oi, how many bloody times do I have to tell ya that you're good at what you do? What do ya want me to do? Fall at your feet and tell ya you're a goddess?"

"That would be a nice start." I quipped.

"Look, we only want the best in the biz."

"We?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "Who's we?"

"Wouldn't ya like to know." He answered with a mischievous smile. "You shouldn't worry ya pretty, little head over that. Just know that you're looking at some real cash. We want ya to look into them murders."

I shook my head. "I already talked to the police about those murders, and don't you ask me to give you the details of that discussion. You know as well as I do that I can't discuss police business with you of all people."

"I told 'im you wouldn't do it, but he told me I gotta try. He's willin' to pay ya three times your standard fee. That blows the money you make raisin' people's dead cats out the water."

Three times my fee. It was tempting, and it explained why I was even in this meeting in the first place. If there was one thing my boss loved, it was money. He probably slept on it. That was beside the point. I had qualms about dealing with vampires, and I didn't make my feelings about them secret. I couldn't just turn down a meeting to hear a potential customer out, but I did have the right the say "hell no", and those were just the words waiting to fall from my lips.

"I'm sorry. I can't help you." I said, trying to maintain my professionalism. Mortimer visibly bristled at this last statement, and fear clutched my throat momentarily. I slid the drawer of my desk open, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. I wrapped my hand around a small, silver gun, shielding it from his view I brought it to my lap.

"Why won't you help us, ya bloody cow!" I guess I made old Mortimer a little angry.

"I'm already working with the police. What more do you want me to do?" I asked nastily. He sat there motionless for a moment, the room completely void of any noise. Then suddenly, he moved quickly, jumping from his chair, extending his hands toward me. I quickly pushed my chair back, holding my gun up, my chest heaving. He tried to grab me; I cannot believe he tried to grab me.

"Nice try, Toynbee. You said I'm the best there is. If you really believed that, then you should've known that little stunt you tried to pull wouldn't work." I said, trying to sound like I was in control of the situation.

"You're right, but you're still human, and there's no way an ordinary human can move so quickly. You reflexes ain't meant to match a vampire's." He said accusingly.

I stood from my chair, still holding the gun at bay. "I think it's time you left. Tell your boss. I'm not interested. I don't work for vampires." I moved toward the door, opening it.

"You'll be sorry. The boss don't take no for an answer." Mortimer said, glancing at me one last time before disappearing out the door. I slammed the door behind him, sinking in the chair he just occupied. It was days like this I wished I was a secretary for a boring law firm. Good thing this was only a weekend job.

Mortimer was right about one thing; I wasn't exactly a "normal" human being. Unlike our ever-growing vampire population, people were a lot less tolerate of what I was. Vampires have been romanticized throughout the years, making it desirable to be one of the undead, but mention the word mutant once in a conversation, and you've got the secret ingredient to instant tension.

Yeah, that's right. I, Ororo Munroe, am a mutant, but you won't hear me saying that aloud on these streets. I didn't want to be the next target of some radical anti-mutant group. Just last week, those bastards tortured and killed a girl who could read minds. The girl was only 15-years-old, and now, her life was over before it had truly begun. Talk about your tough luck.

Few "non-mutants" knew my secret, and since most of my time was spent at Xavier's Institute or animating the dead every now and again, I didn't really feel the need to associate with too many people outside of the team. Who's the team? Well, the X-Men of course. We're a group of mutants who basically try to help others out. The Professor has this idea that humans and mutants can coexist peacefully; they just have to understand that we're really not the enemies.

I believe in the Professor's dream (maybe, foolishly). I believed in it enough to leave behind a village in Africa that revered me as their goddess. I believed in it enough to live in a country that hates people like me with a depthless vehemence, and I hope that one day the Professor's dream does come true.

I couldn't sit around daydreaming any longer; I had to meet a Mrs. Stryker in the cemetery. She wanted me to raise her departed husband because of a slight misunderstanding with his will. From what I understand, it just sounds like Mrs. Stryker got the raw end of the deal, and Mr. Stryker's mistress was set for life. "Don't you just love a happy ending?" I asked aloud sarcastically.

I tucked my gun securely in the waist of my pants, just in case Mortimer was still hanging around. Regular bullets didn't kill vampires, but the cartridges my gun carried were specially made just for people like him. If he couldn't get it through his thick skull that I meant no, then I had a .357 that would show him I meant business.



The sun was appearing over the horizon when I finally made my way back to the mansion; the sky was an assortment of colors that rivaled the alpenglow of any mountain summit. Usually, I would've been home well before the sun started to rise, but there were some nights that I didn't make it home as early as I wished. I had spent a better part of my night listening to Mrs. Stryker use five-dollar words to criticize her husband's infidelity.

I stumbled into the mansion quietly. Most of the children were still sleep, except for the younger ones who made it a habit to park themselves in front of the television for Saturday morning cartoons. I heard someone rattling around in the kitchen, and when I heard the refrigerator door slam followed by a string of curses, I knew exactly who it was.

"Language, Logan." I said in my best authoritative voice as I paused for a second in the kitchen door, leaning a shoulder against the frame. He grunted as he continued to search through cabinets. I couldn't help letting my eyes wander a little as I admired his bare, sculpted arms and abs and nicely, toned thighs accentuated by a pair of snug jeans. Now, that's how men were supposed to wear jeans, and don't get me started on him in his X-suit.

I wouldn't say I had a "crush" on Logan. I had thought about what it would be like to be with him, but what hot-blooded female didn't? A woman either had to be blind or not into guys if she didn't at least think about him. He was the embodiment of every woman's fantasy of the bad boy. It was just too bad that he was starry-eyed over Jean.

I walked into the kitchen, taking a cup from a cabinet, filling it with water. I sipped from the cup leisurely. "What are you looking for?" I asked, tilting my head a little to get a better view of his butt. I didn't really need to know. I knew exactly what he was looking for – his beer. He wasn't going to find it hidden in the kitchen or anywhere else for that matter. It met with an unfortunate accident while I was feeling particularly merciless before I went to work.

I guess my question sparked a note of suspicion in Logan. He stood up slowly from rummaging in one of the lower cabinets and turned his dark eyes toward me. "It was you, wasn't it? You got rid of all my damn beer. If you didn't do it, you know who did."

A slight smile teased the corner of my lips as I shrugged innocently. "Me? What makes you think I know anything about your missing beer?" I asked, trying to feign innocence. "Maybe it spontaneously combusted." That wasn't exactly a lie. Cases of beer made good target practice.

"Twice in one week? Spontaneously combusted, my ass…" He grumbled trailing off. He finally gave up his quest for the missing beer. Opening the refrigerator, he yanked a carton of orange juice from the fridge and drank from the carton without thought.

I opened my mouth to scold him, but thought better of it. There was no changing Logan, no matter how much we lectured him. I don't think any of us really wanted him to change. It was these so-called bad habits that made him Logan; they were the reasons we liked him. I place my cup in the sink and exited the kitchen.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally entered my room. I dragged across the room to my bed, pushing aside the papers on my bed. I had been working with the police after hours on a case dealing with the murders of random vampires. I was known for my vast knowledge in the area of supernatural and occult studies. It was what landed me my job as an animator of the dead, but it's not something I do everyday. I couldn't do it everyday; I'd go crazy.

My first obligation is the X-Men and the school, but right now, I could care less about vampires, murders, or anything else. I just wanted to sleep. I fell into my bed without bothering to take off my clothes, my eyes closing the instant my head the pillow.

Knocking on the door, followed by footsteps, woke me from my sleep. I didn't open my eyes as I felt someone sit on the edge of my bed. "Ororo? Are you woke?" I heard Jean asked.

I opened one eye and looked at her quizzically. "I am now." I answered, sleep still edged my voice. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. I'd been sleep two hours, but it felt like two minutes. I sat up in my bed.

"I know you didn't come in until a little while ago, and I was just wondering if you were still up to tonight." She paused for a moment before asking, "You didn't forget, did you?"

"No, I didn't forget." I lied. "Don't worry. I'll be ready."

I scanned my brain. What was happening tonight? Oh right, one of Jean's friends was taking her out to celebrate Jean's last days as a free woman, and I was going to act as the responsible person of the group. The official bachelorette party wasn't until two days before the wedding. I still couldn't believe my best friend was about to get married.

"And I have one small request," Jean said hesitantly, and I searched Jean's face, looking for a hint of what this "request" might be.

"What's that?"

"Try to have fun tonight, Ororo. I know how you feel about Carmen, but this isn't about her. I want you to relax tonight. You push yourself too hard, and I just want you to have a little fun tonight. Who knows, you could meet someone interesting. Besides," Jean stood up from my bed flashing me a brazen smile, "I'm the bride-to-be, so what I say goes."

I was still stuck at the words "meet someone interesting". Was she insinuating that I needed love in my life? She was, wasn't she? What is it with women and thinking a man will fix everything. I sound bitter, don't I? Really, I'm not. I won't say that I don't have time for romance in my life right now; I just did not have time to devote to looking for the "perfect" lover.

Love was a hard thing to come by in this day in age, especially when you had expectations of the man you were going to give your love too. I wasn't just going to give myself to anybody. I'd been out on dates, but not with anyone who interested me much. They were either power hungry or only concerned with one thing – getting into my goody basket. Catching stars was easier than finding love. Jean didn't know how easy she really had it.

I would go out with them tonight, but I couldn't promise her I'd have fun or "meet someone interesting". I mumbled something unintelligible, and then, I rolled over and fell back into my much deserved sleep.

I dreamed about Logan's snug fitting jeans and butter pecan ice cream. Now, that's what you call a dream.