"What did you do to her?" Lance asked, glancing from Wyngarde to Jean, who now wore a vacuous expression of bliss.

"I've immersed her in a reality she appears to be accepting for the moment," Wyngarde replied, smiling. Turning to Jean, he asked, "Shall we go for a walk in the garden?"

"That would be nice." Jean's grin broadened and her eyes swept over Wyngarde's face, caressing it. She rose to her feet and stood beside him.

With her in a pair of Wanda's pajamas and Wyngarde in a tailed coat, knickers, and a lacy white blouse, they made quite a pair. Lance wondered which of them would be more likely to get thrown in the loony bin and decided Wyngarde definitely looked like the crazier of the two.

"Yo, could make Wanda look at me that way?" Toad wondered.

The fly he had been tracking landed on the wall, and he lashed out with his tongue, only to have it caught on a protruding nail. When he tried to retract the tongue, his feet were pulled from beneath him, and he fell hard on the only section of floor not covered with dirty clothing.

"Thee hethed me, didn't thee?" Toad lisped as he struggled to his feet and used both hands to free his trapped tongue.

"It would appear so," Wyngarde agreed. "And no, I couldn't permanently alter Wanda's perception of you. Maintaining an illusion of sufficient caliber requires concentration, as well as my attention being devoted to the subject." He ran a finger down Jean's cheek, eliciting a soft sigh of contentment from her.

Wanda shook her head. "That's sick."

"At least she's in one--" Lance began, but when his surroundings changed, he forgot what he had been about to say.

They were in a mansion. It wasn't a dark, stuffy place like the X-Mansion, but more like the set of a TV show about spoiled rich people in California. The furniture all looked new and white, and everywhere he looked there was something soft to sit on like an overstuffed white chair or a futon. An open archway lead into a dining room with a glass table and fancy lawn chairs all around it. At the head of the table, Jason Wyngarde occupied one of the chairs, and from the superior smirk on his face it may as well have been a throne. Jean perched on one of his knees, wearing a white, strapless sun dress that covered very little of her deeply-bronzed skin. On the table in front of them, a gigantic cake had the words, "Congratulations, Jean" painted on it.

"Whoa." Wanda's eyes widened as she turned her head, taking in the lavish surroundings.

"Yo, you mind if we grab some cake?" Toad asked.

Fred had already helped himself to a slice the size of a loaf of bread, and Pietro had darted off to explore the rest of the illusion.

"It's not real cake, moron." Lance ignored the rumbling in his own stomach and fixed his eyes on Wyngarde. "What is this?"

It was Jean who answered. "Oh, Jason! You've invited all my friends to my going away party! Don't worry about me, Lance. Studying with professor Magneto will be a dream come true. And Jason is taking me himself."

"Friends?" Toad chuckled. "You've really done a number on her!" He twirled his index finger next to he head for emphasis.

"How long are you gonna keep this up?" Lance asked.

"Until I have delivered her safely into Magneto's care." Wyngarde stroked Jean's hair as if petting an exotic cat. "For the time being, she will know only exquisite contentment."

"It still seems kinda sick," Wanda muttered, glaring at Wyngarde's hand, which had drifted to Jean's thigh. "But I guess if this is how my dad wants her brought in..."

"Your father understands the magnitude of this creature's powers. A lion cannot be tamed by force."

The illusion vanished, leaving them once again in the stale-smelling confines of Wanda's bedroom. Fred stared at his empty hands as if wondering where the cake had gone, Wanda ran her eyes over the mess and mold, sighing, and Toad leaned back against the wall, looking glad to be "home".

Lance shrugged. "So take her already. And tell Magneto we want the money now."

Wyngarde smirked as he glanced around the room. "I will be sure to communicate the urgency of your need for financial assistance. Come, Jean." He tugged on her arm, and she followed him toward the door.

In the doorway of Wanda's room, Jean craned her neck to look back at them and smile. "Thank you all for coming to my party."

"Yeah, no problem," Toad muttered.

"Goodbye, Jean!" Fred called, smiling and waving.

"See ya!" Pietro added.

Lance and Wanda exchanged a look. Neither of them bothered speaking to Jean, though for all Lance knew, the version of him in her mind had thought of the perfect parting words.

Once Wyndgarde was out of earshot, Lance muttered, "I don't like it."

"Yo, two days ago she was roadkill and now she's eating cake in a beach house. It's like she freakin' died and went to Heaven, right?" Toad replied.

"He's taking real good care of Jean," Fred agreed.

"We know what dad wants with her!" Pietro rubbed his hands together and grinned. "We know he wants to pay us for bringin' her in. We're back in good with Magneto now! We'll be doing jobs, paying the rent. Before you know it, we'll have our own beach house."

"Whatever our father wants, it's what's best for all mutants," Wanda added softly, sounding as if she wanted to convince herself.

"He seemed almost afraid of her," Lance mused, not really caring if anyone heard or replied. "'You can't tame a lion by force...' Why a lion? Why's he thinking of her like a dangerous animal?"

"Like the X-Men haven't kicked our butts before?" Toad snickered. "I'm afraid of Jean! Especially if she ever remembers the accident. Whoo-boy! We'd be toast. 'Swhy I'm just as glad Magneto's got a leash on her."

"Whatever. It's over now." Lance shrugged and sighed.

"What now?" Fred asked, looking at his empty hands as if still envisioning the illusory cake.

"Now we go to school." Lance sighed again. A day of listening to clueless teachers and pretending he cared about crap like algebra and history didn't exactly appeal, but at least they had food there.