"Here we are! My room's just down the hall, and Bobby's is next door," Kitty chirped. I was bodily shoved into a small, spare room.

It was fairly generic, though Kitty was busy assuring me that we could personalize it however we wished, short of painting the walls. She truly was a happy individual.

Happy…and talkative, I reflected ruefully. I exchanged glances with Bobby, who simply shrugged, his face saying I'm used to this. Or was it his face saying it? God, this could get confusing…

"So, I guess we'll leave you alone then, to get settled in. It was really great meeting you, Aimee!" Kitty's exit—through the wall instead of the door— jolted me out of my reverie.

"Oh—thanks, Kitty. See you, Bobby."

Bobby turned as if to leave, then turned back. "Hey, Aimee—"

"Yeah?"

"There's a lot of kids here who came from similar situations to yours. Most of us are runaways who learned about our powers very abruptly. So—if you need anything… we're here."

I looked up at him with dawning respect. Pretty perceptive, I conceded.

"Thank you, Bobby. I appreciate that," I returned, stumbling over the words.

He made as if to say something else, then thought better of it and slipped out, closing the door behind him.

As he left, I sat down on the bed with a disbelieving, semi-hysterical sigh. Just breathe. One thing at a time. Sighing, I keeled over, burying my face in my pillow.

The door creaked open. "Aimee?"

I knew without looking it was Ororo, but Logan wasn't behind her. Well thank God for small blessings. "Yeah?"

Gently, she said, "I know most of your things are still in Houston. We took the liberty of finding your foster mother's will, and she left everything to you. This leaves you with a sizable bank account, although the house will have to be returned to the bank."

My house. I choked back tears. The old house had been built in the fifties, and despite it being slightly dilapidated, I loved the place—it had personality. But I knew Marian

hadn't paid off the mortgage, and even if I could afford it, it would be impractical to do so now. "Okay. Anything else?"

"Well, your things are still there. We can send you to Houston to pack everything up. But we will be sending you with a chaperone."

"Why?"

"Because, for all intents and purposes, Aimee, we are your guardians now." The woman seemed slightly impatient, but softened.

"I know this is a lot to take in. But I think it might be easier if you have your things—it might help you adjust."

Fair enough. The woman didn't strike me as a bad person—just slightly stressed. "Thank you, Ms. Munroe."

"Call me Storm—everyone else does."

I frowned. "Storm? Interesting name."

"It's got a story behind it." I waited, but she didn't seem inclined to provide any more information.

"Okay—when do I leave?"

"Tomorrow, if that's not too early. You're on the ten o'clock flight."

"That's fine. Thanks again." Inexplicably, I yawned. My sense of Storm flickered, indicating—amusement?

I looked out the window. The sun was setting behind a carefully tended garden and—are those gravestones? I stood and crossed to the window. "What are those?"

I felt Storm behind me. "Those are graves. The largest one is the former headmaster, Charles Xavier. The two smaller ones are two teachers, Scott Summers and Jean Grey."

I felt a well of pain rise inside her, but when I turned to see her face, her expressionless mask snapped back into place.

I didn't know what to say.

Storm sighed. "Get some sleep. Go down to the garage tomorrow at nine—someone will be waiting to take you to the airport."

"Thanks, Storm." I caught her eye and smiled. "I really do appreciate what you've done for me."

She smiled back, and I felt her pain lessen. "Of course, Aimee. We've all been in your shoes. If you need anything, just call."

"I will."

Abruptly, she turned on her heel and swept out. I turned towards the window again.

"Well met."

I whirled. A man stood in the doorway. At least, it was the size and shape of a man, though my instincts—and my newfound sixth sense—screamed that he wasn't human, or even similar to the mutants I'd met so far.

"Who—who're you?" I asked. I wasn't proud of the squeak that crept in at the end.

He bowed his head. "My name is Kurt Wagner," he answered, in a heavy German accent.

"I did not intend to startle you—only to thank you."

I could tell he truly hadn't meant to scare me—almost as if he was used to just popping in behind people. "Thank me for what?"

"It has been long since Storm has smiled. Dr. Xavier was her mentor, and Mr. Summers and Ms. Grey her dear friends. Taking care of you has given her something to take her mind off of her pain—and perhaps begun to heal it."

Hmm. There's a story here. "What happened to them?"

He frowned. "I do not believe it is my place to tell another's story."

Oops. Touchy subject. Attempting to alleviate the slightly awkward silence, I asked, "How did you get behind me like that? I've been able to sense people coming near me before."

He smiled. "Because my mutation is—I believe you would call it teleportation." He moved closer, out of the shadow of the doorway. He wore an overcoat, although it was warm in the house.

Wait—is he black? I squinted. No…his skin is blue! It was true—his skin was navy, with raised tattoos. He smiled, seeing the source of my confusion.

Wincing, I apologized. "I'm sorry—I'm sure you get that a lot."

"Yes. And when you do not mean to gawk, I am not bothered by it." He took my hand—And…he only has two fingers—and raised it to his face. Slowly, I traced one on his cheek.

"What do they mean?"

"One for every sin."

I nodded slowly. "Thank you, Mr. Wagner. I am honored."

"Of course, child—what is your name?"

"Aimee."

"Aimee…" he repeated. "Beloved?"

"Y-yes."

"It suits you well."

"That's what my mother said," I replied, smiling brokenly.

"She was correct. I believe you will be good for this place, Aimee. I look forward to meeting you again." And with that, he poofed out of existence.

"And you," I murmured, as I lowered my hand. With a last look out the window, I stumbled over to the bed, fell on it, and rolled over to my back.

I chuckled quietly, bitterly. Could this get any stranger?

If only I knew.