I'M THE FELLA YOU CAME IN WITH
Prologue
Erik Lensherr awoke in the voluptuous embrace of Miss Elizabeth Taylor.
She stretched luxuriously against him, glanced down between their bodies. "I told you I could hold it all night," she purred with her smoldering smile.
-o0o-
Chapter One
Wilbur Clark's Desert Inn, jewel of the Las Vegas Strip, shimmered in the heat of the late-morning sun. After a typically bitter cold night, the day was expected to be balmy.
Mystique was sprawled nude across the high-roller 'Hollywood' suite's master bed, sipping coffee and perusing the latest issue of Photoplay magazine. While he always encouraged and preferred the woman's exotic natural form, Erik had to admit that last night's seduction by Marilyn Monroe - and the abundant morning charms of the violet-eyed piece de resistance – had been intriguing, to say the least.
Toweling off stray shaving cream, he emerged from the bathroom post-shower in a robe and swim trunks. He looked forward to a snooze on the pool deck, then his regular afternoon blackjack session. Peering through the patio drapes, he noted Emma Frost attractively arranged on a poolside deck chair, speaking into a house phone, having spent her morning basking in both the sun and the attention of many male admirers.
The trio and their cohort had traveled extensively throughout Europe, seeing the world while Erik and Emma racking up fabulous sums at both major gambling resorts and private salons. Always careful and discreet, Erik kept them moving often enough that they kept just under the radar of casino management or international police enquiries, but they had no real worries: Emma's talents, combined with generous and judiciously placed gratuities, guaranteed their welcome.
Having tired of both slopes and tropics, they'd encamped for the winter in Las Vegas. The past several weeks here had been a glittering whirl of Christmas and New Year's holiday festivities, followed by an endless circuit of casino high-limit salons, dining and showroom extravaganzas. Last night they'd enjoyed Liberace tinkling on his keys. Tonight would be a lavish Valentine's Day dinner show.
He'd become quite well-known and well-liked around town, always accompanied by the stunning blonde and often the fiery redhead as well. He'd soon found himself invited into Vegas' shadow world - Bosses "Doc" Stacher and Meyer Lansky accepted him as a kindred spirit, and 'business meetings' as well as private parties were opened to him. Now, maitre'd's whisked him with alacrity to best tables. Prominent local celebrities and figures acknowledged him socially.
Yes, Erik Lensherr had quickly found himself noticed - under any other circumstance, his cue to immediately cut and run.
But Las Vegas has no memory.
So Erik played this game – merely the latest of many – just as he had all the others. Ever mindful of his take and his Mob 'hosts' alike, he was prudent to keep the money and Champagne flowing both ways, and the party never stopped.
It didn't matter, after all.
Soon enough, with Homo sapiens superior dominant, any laughable 'power' wielded by the Jewish and Italian Mafia Families would be the least of humanity's problems. Ultimately, Erik dismissed them utterly as necessary though barely tolerated.
Like everything else in his life at present.
Long accustomed to a tiger's solitary existence, Erik now found himself in charge of a largely mistrustful streak of them . . . two bickering tigresses in particular. Emma considered Mystique too immature and conflicted to be of any use - which she never failed to remind Erik at every available opportunity - and Mystique no longer could rely upon the inviolable limit-line of filial love and trust, which Emma exploited to the point of both verbal and telepathic screaming matches between the two (which Erik, of course, had to break up). Finally, as was für die beste with all things Las Vegas, he'd found that simply throwing money at the problem until it went away was the path of least resistance.
Anything for some quiet time to think!
For that was the problem: Erik had never thought past killing Sebastian Shaw, so all-consuming had been the chase.
His life's defining goal now achieved, he now found himself adrift in the tide of this new and greater cause, as yet ill-conceived: mutants over humans. The basic planning had begun with survival and foundation-building: They needed money, a lot of it, and as quickly as possible before they were inevitably forced to operate underground. This had been accomplished, (but he found himself pausing at the second step yet not knowing why. The uncertainty of stop, go back would not be denied.
Never before had he hesitated, never second-guessed himself.
He hated this.
More and more often of late, Erik had found himself longing for the all-too-brief respite he'd found in letting someone else take the reins for a spell . . . in the order of Charles Xavier's anchoring presence, his influence and methods. . . even in the man's ideals, flawed though they were. It all seemed so very far away. The people in the world about him now were so narrow-minded, so predictable. There was nothing at all stimulating or mysterious about the greed or self-interest of humanity.
Erik Lensherr faced facts: The continual upheaval and change he forced upon himself was not out of any concern for safety or secrecy…rather, it was his only weapon against the deadly ennui that encroached ever closer upon his mind.
Calm your mind…between rage and serenity...
For Erik that balance would forever 'rage'-heavy.
Which brought him to timing . . . the primary source of his disquiet.
Erik's unease had grown as more and more time had passed yet their caprice remained unimpeded. Erik's calculated expectation of the progression of events was now inexcusably off, and his finely-honed survival instinct told him things were not right.
Some variable had occurred, and unexpected variables concerned him.
Shaking it off, he flopped back onto the bed and slid Mystique into his arms once more. Indeed, he never tired of her, but her very presence remained yet another continual, unwelcome reminder of what and whom they'd both given up of their own free will.
And her own moodiness of the past weeks had also not gone unnoticed.
Kissing the top of her head, Erik grinned down at his lover with a malicious wit.
"You seem…blue."
Mystique glared up at him over her coffee cup. The remains of a Lucullan room-service brunch were spread on a cart nearby, and there was a slushy clink as the Champagne bottle settled deeper into the ice bucket. She set the cup and magazine aside, and rolled into him, sighing.
"It's nothing." But her flat reply was forced.
"It's not 'nothing.' I know perfectly well what it is. You're tired."
"We're all tired."
"Do you want to change your mind? To go back?"
"No."
"It would be an easy matter to slip in unnoticed."
"No."
"Do you want to call him?"
"Jesus! Just leave me alone!" Mystique exploded upright, pushing off in sudden fury. She stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door. As if on cue, the sliding glass door opened and the drapery parted. Raking off her sunglasses, Emma simmered in, skin glowing, bedecked in ubiquitous white and silver. Erik smiled at the pleasant view, inhaling the piquant warm aroma of Sea & Ski suntan lotion. Emma jabbed a shocking-pink manicured finger toward the bathroom, eyebrows raised in question. Erik shook his head, reached over and started buttering the last piece of toast.
"Good news," Emma poured herself another glass of Champagne. "Riptide and Angel are checked in at The Sands; Azazel's with them. When do we move?"
"Tomorrow. Just enjoy the day."
"I intend to. I saw a diamond ring I like at the boutique." She looked over at him, expectant. Erik opened the bedside table drawer, withdrew his billfold from beneath his pistol. He peeled off several hundred-dollar bills and handed them over. "What is it they say here? Knock yourself out."
"You know, it would look better if you went shopping with me. You won all this, they should see you spending it."
Erik looked at her.
"Fine," she put the money in her clutch purse and shed her robe. Erik's gaze roamed and lingered appreciatively over her curves. She threw on a wraparound sun dress then sat at the vanity, pulling off her head wrap to brush out her hair. Her gaze caught his reflected, and she turned, scowling.
"What is with you lately? You've been distracted for days; I've had to communicate hands to you twice. This isn't like you, and it's not good for business. Keep your head in the damn game."
"I've had a lot on my mind."
Emma was unimpressed. "Not 'a lot.' I've told you, I'll be able to tell immediately. I've felt it before; I'll know when they're back up and running. There's been nothing but silence. Snap out of it and stop worrying! You'll be the second person to know."
"Remember what we talked about."
"I know." Irritable, she returned to her primping. "It'll be two-way for us; I'll get as much out of him as I can before he shuts down."
"It'll have to be fast; he'll have the same advantage," Erik warned.
"I'm not stupid."
"Neither is he."
"I'm well aware of that."
Her glare reminded Erik that she had not forgotten Russia.
"And when are we leaving here for good?" Emma demanded point-blank, rising once more. "You obsess for weeks about planning and keeping mobile, and now it's like you don't care anymore."
Before he could answer, the bathroom door opened and Mystique reappeared. She and Emma regarded each other warily. The azure woman was blotting her face with a cold towel but otherwise showed no emotion. She then pulled on a stray robe; the gesture's significance was not lost on Erik.
"Why don't you go, too," Erik suggested with atypical gentleness, peeling off a few more hundreds. Mystique smiled faintly, took the money, sighed and shifted into her Raven persona once more.
Now Erik could see she had been crying.
Emma did not conceal her outright exasperation at this. As the telepath's sexual interest in Erik was purely strategic, she harbored no jealousy. But she did not like anything that distracted him from their goal, and Mystique's was the first name on that list.
Or the second.
But Emma ignored the ramifications of that particular messy triangle. They were unimportant to her - for now.
"Fine. Come on," she went to the second bedroom, selected a pair of slingbacks for herself and an outfit for Raven. She shoved it toward her. "Wear that."
Raven snatched the hanger up and started back toward the bathroom. She halted with a abrupt stagger, then turned. Her quickly-evolving smile was more radiant than the desert sun.
"What?" Erik said, frowning.
She looked up at him, eyes sparkling, hand flying to her forehead. She gasped and laughed in rare delight.
"Charles!"
Erik and Emma had just enough time to glance at each other, to comprehend, before the mental flashover ripped through both of them.
Emma screamed, dropping her shoes and grabbing her head. She sank to her knees, barely catching herself.
"Follow it! Follow him back!" Erik shouted at her through his own blinding pain as he stumbled like a drunkard toward the closet. This was nothing like what he'd experienced in the Atlantic depths, or at Westchester. He's so much stronger now! Cerebro. . .Mein Gott, is this what it really does?
Mystique had backed away from the other woman, astonished and fearful at her companions' reactions. Charles, stop, please! she thought wildly, but she could tell her brother was not hearing her, was as apart from her mind as he'd always promised.
Head ringing in agony, Erik at last scrabbled a desperate hold on what was hidden from prying eyes, and slammed the helmet onto his head. The relief was instantaneous, a deluge extinguishing the fire in his mind.
Emma was not so lucky. But she had to hold on. In fact, she had no choice now but to face the brunt of it - she couldn't let go…couldn't move! She moaned in deep agonal heaves on the carpet. Wave after wave of loneliness, pain, fear, terror crashed into her.
And…truth.
It stopped.
-o0o-