Chapter 4

"The CIA has no idea where Magneto is," Hank reported. "Or if they do, no one is telling me."

"Bzzt. Weather tomorrow should be partly sunny-"

"Also, at least one person tried to lure me into a meeting in an isolated location. I don't think I'd trust any information I got anyway."

"Bzzt. Lost five to six, with a tie-breaking-"

Hank cast a glare at Alex, who was flipping through channels on the living room TV, despite being repeatedly asked not to.

Charles didn't bother to making another request of Alex, he just raised his voice. "As a best guess, do you think they have even a rough idea of where to find Magneto and company?"

"Tough to say. On one hand, if they knew where he was I think they'd have confronted him, and I think we would have noticed that level of trouble. On the other hand, something is up—they were acting a little edgy."

"Edgy as in 'we don't want to talk to a mutant freak' or edgy as in 'we're about to launch a nuclear missile down your throat?'" Sean asked.

Hank colored.

Alex snarled, "Feel free to open your mouth when you actually have something useful to say, Banshee. As in, never." He hurled the TV remote at Sean with a tad too much force to be playful.

Sean ducked. "Jeez, I was going to say sorry! I didn't mean anything by it—we already know that we're all freaks to them."

"Still talking, ugly" Alex growled.

Hank said, "Drop it already, Alex. I did get the feeling some of my ex-colleagues were nervous to talk to me, even the ones who seemed to still like me. One told me that the higher ups were cracking down on information. But I don't have any reason to believe they're actively trying to kill us at this time. Where do we go from here?"

Hank had defused that nicely. He'd really grown into himself in the last few weeks, Charles thought.I should have been the one to say something. But I'm still trying to figure out what Alex was angry about. It's not Sean's fault, something has been making Alex edgy. Did I really rely on telepathy this much, without even noticing?

"Professor?"

Oh, right. "Did either of you two find anything?"

Sean shot an uneasy glance at Alex, and said, "Nothing much."

"I found a funny story about presidential imposters scamming hotels," Alex said. "See? I didn't just waste my time watching TV."

Yes, I definitely need to talk to Alex, Charles thought. Maybe his problem is that he feels useless. I could help with that, find something that requires his talents.

"So what you're saying is this imposter was good enough to be a shapeshifter?" Hank asked. "What makes you think that?"

"Let's just say that Mr. President came with some interesting companions, like a Hispanic girl, silent guy, odd person who didn't let anyone see his skin, and a scowling jerk who sneers all the time and thinks he's the boss of everyone. And if that's not familiar enough, one radio show had a sound bite about the president turning into a blue scaly monstrosity. It was played as a joke, of course. A dumb hick sees aliens."

Great, Hank had known that Alex was talking about Raven but Charles hadn't. What if this whole time he'd been thinking he was smart, when actually it was all based on his ability to read minds?

A pen rattled and fell off the coffee table.

Luckily no one else seemed suspicious about this. Hank picked the pen up and put it back. "We should visit this hotel, find out if there's anything to the story. It's the only lead we have."

Sean said, "That does sound like something they would do. It would certainly appeal to Raven's-"

Alex shot to his feet. "I know I told you to shut up!"

The door rattled.

Sean shouted back, "I'm sorry! Sorry you're such a nut job! You can go ahead and call her by name, and him too!"

"Not in front of Hank!"

"Don't even pretend this is about him!" The door shook harder.

Charles cleared his throat. "If you would both sit down and pretend to have the maturity of, say, high-schoolers, and-"

The doorknob ripped loose and sailed across the room, embedding itself in the center of the coffee table with a sickening thud. Little pieces of glass flew in all directions.

"-control your tempers," Charles finished, shock leaking through his voice. "I'm sorry. Is anyone hurt?"

The door fell forward with a sickening thud. A pair of metal hinges inched sheepishly away from the wreckage.

Hank stepped on them to stop them from wiggling. "I'm fine, the glass didn't spread far. Alex, Sean?"

The two muttered reassurances. Both hung their heads, looking almost as guilty as Charles felt.

Hank said, "I'll get something to clean that up. Professor, you stay where you are, or the glass will puncture your wheels. Then we can go to the lab to run a few more tests-" he stopped himself "-or we could go somewhere else. Away from my new new computer."

Charles controlled his flinch. After all the times he'd lectured Erik about controlling his temper—he had a newfound sympathy for his friend. It felt like not just anger but any strong emotion was enough to set him off. Did Erik have a much better mental discipline than he did? Embarrassingly, Charles had always believed the opposite.

Alex said, "My bedroom and all adjacent rooms have been completely stripped of metal. I'm also working on the second-floor den."

Charles sighed. "Right. Very sorry about this. Alex, please find the address of that hotel you mentioned. We need to track down Erik and see if he can use Cerebro to fix this."

Sean asked, "What if he won't help us? What if he likes having the Professor's powers? Or maybe he wasn't affected and still has his powers?"

Charles said, "That's quite possible. But Erik has another telepath with him, an uneasy ally at best, and if he won't help she's the only other one I know of."

I need help too badly not to try, he added silently. Not something he could say out loud—no need to scare the others.

The receptionist was a scrawny, middle-aged woman name-tagged as "Mrs. O'Henry," with curly brown hair rippled with grey and eyes that twinkled with warmth even when she was being completely uncooperative.

"I do wish I could help you," she said (and she even sounded sincere), "but the manager has forbidden any of the staff to talk about that incident, on the pain of losing our jobs. I think he's embarrassed about calling his mother to tell her that he had the President as a guest. He's a good sort, really, and I don't think he'd actually fire me, but I also promised Madeline. The poor girl has been through enough, she doesn't need any more reporters and scandalmongers bothering her. That child swears she'll never say the word 'blue' again. And she's a good girl, let me tell you, doesn't believe in drugs, rock and roll, or blue aliens. She's having a bit of rest now and doesn't need to be bothered."

Charles sighed, and gave it up. Repeated attempts to engender sympathy and develop a bond with Mrs. O'Henry had already gotten him nowhere. Apparently being charming to women was another thing he could only do when he had telepathy. And the trail here was already twelve days old—oh, for the ability to just read what everyone here knew from their minds and move on in a matter of seconds…

A pen leapt off the desk and bounced off Mrs. O'Henry's head. She gave it a puzzled look, and put in back in the cup.

He really had to stop accidentally trying to read people's minds while he controlled metal. One of these days he might seriously injure someone, and wouldn't that set a lousy example for his students.

Lucky none of them were here to see that. He'd left Alex in the car and come alone, figuring that his most temperamental student might not be a diplomatic asset. He might have preferred to take Sean (Hank was out for obvious blue hairy reasons) but Alex had volunteered and he couldn't think of a good reason to say no.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind, and he would have jumped if his legs still worked. Alex said, "It's no good. We'll find the bastard another way."

When had he shown up?

Mrs. O'Henry said, "That sounds rather personal. Isn't your friend a reporter?"

Alex shook his head sadly. "No, I just asked my retired ex-reporter friend to help me."

"Retired?" Charles exclaimed. How old did being bald make him look?

Alex inserted smoothly, "My apologies. I'm sure you'll get back to work once you've recovered from your tragic accident rescuing a kitten from a tree. I know I'm a terrible person for dragging you from your hospital bed, but how else could I find my cheating bastard of a stepfather and the money he stole from us?"

Charles was tempted to tell Alex to cut the ham and wheel him out of here, but Mrs. O'Henry looked intrigued. "What makes you think your stepfather is connected to our alien incident?"

Alex lowered his voice. "He has a fetish for painting girls blue. How many others like that could there be? If you said there was a llama involved, I'd know it was him. And I think I can identify the girl, too. My mother's poor little sister, a sweet girl if a tad mentally retarded and prone to picking her nose in public. She ran off with him when he left. We think he might have given her," Alex lowered his voice anonymously, "coke."

Mrs. O'Henry looked puzzled. Alex explained, "Drugs."

She raised a hand to her mouth in horror.

Alex elaborated, "He forces them on all kinds of innocent, nubile women. He's even been known to stick them in unsuspecting people's food."

"That explains all the weird things people saw while he was here! Like when Ken said one of the guests had a forked tail! And I'm not sure I didn't just imagine those funny people dressed like the Ghost Squad looking for mutants."

Charles was unable to tear his eyes away…it was like watching a train wreck. But the last words caught his attention. "Did you say someone was looking for mutants?"

Alas, he was ignored.

Alex was gazing soulfully into Mrs. O'Henry's eyes. "But what really burns me is what he did to my mother. She has diabetes and heart cancer, and he made off with her medicine, her life's savings, and my dead father's pocket watch. Why, he's even tainted the memory of my real father." Alex pounded his fist on the desk in fury. "The worst part is, deep down I think she still loves him! Even though he doesn't deserve her in the slightest and should be set on fire and tossed off a cliff while being eaten by rabid weasels!"

Charles wished he still had his telepathy. Then he would be able to confirm whether or not Alex was suffering from brain damage.

"Oh, you poor thing. Well, perhaps I can tell you-" Mrs. O'Henry uncapped a pen and began scribbling on a piece of hotel stationary. "This is where the funny men from 'macs' said they were going to look for him next. Just give your best to your poor mother for me."

"You're a saint among women. I'll dedicate the bastard's thrashing to you."

Back in the car, Alex waved the paper triumphantly. "Look at this! Golden Gate Hotel at 1314 K-"

"Alex, can we talk?"

"I got the information we wanted. What else is there to say?"

"You seem very angry about something lately."

"I get pissed at dealing with people's crap. I always have. Forget it, it's nothing."

Charles wouldn't have dropped it, except they were still in a car, and with his recent experience with metal and emotionally charged topics he thought he had better go back to meditating for a bit, or this conversation might lead to someone's untimely demise.