Chapter Fifty-one


"Get him, Angel!" Scott's voice carried over Riverside Drive to Warren, who was tracking the flying super-criminal known as the Beetle over the Upper West Side. The X-Men had been in New York to appear at a fund drive at a midtown hospital, and on their way out the call had come through about the Beetle robbing a jewelry store in the mid-Nineties. They had arrived on the scene just too late to get hold of their quarry, but Warren, flying up high well over the skyline, caught the Beetle frantically moving towards the Hudson. Warren caught up to him with contemptuous ease, and engaged their foe while the others followed. He was cautious with the older man-the Beetle's armor made him more than a physical match for Warren. But the X-Man flew so quickly, and so deftly, around the Beetle that the latter was flying in circles. By the time he got himself squared away, the rest of the X-Men had arrived. Iceman threw an ice jacket around the Beetle, who managed to crack it with an effort and started to fly away again. That was when Scott had issued his order to Warren.

Maria looked up, ready to intercept the Beetle when Warren had gotten him back down to earth a little. Suddenly, the Beetle had problems gaining altitude. Maria looked at Jean, and saw her friend smiling grimly as she snared The Beetle in a telekinetic net. Hank jumped up onto the Beetle's back and with a few blows immobilized the Beetle's power-pack. Helpless, he flew in ever-narrowing circles to the street. When he landed he lay there, prone, and Maria walked up to him and smiled.

"Hi there, Mr Beetle," she said. "You don't want to fight anymore, do you?" The beaten man just lay there, motionless. Finally he looked up at Maria, took off his helmet, and laughed bitterly.

"I wasn't expecting the #&^%$ X-Men," he said wearily. "The Torch, Spider-Man, one of the lone guys, yeah. But not the whole lot of you damned freaks."

"Is that any way to speak to someone who has your fate in her hands?" Maria said cheerfully, bringing the Beetle to his feet. The others walked over, and the Beetle shrugged helplessly.

"OK, you got me. Now what do you do with me, anyway?"

"There's never a cop around when you need one," Warren said heartily. Then a voice broke in-a deep voice, used to command.

"We'll take him off your hands, X-Men. With our thanks." They looked, and saw Captain America and the Avengers walking up. This was interesting. Maria-the whole world-had been stunned by the sudden resignation from the Avengers of Iron Man, Thor, Giant-Man, and the Wasp. Their replacements-Hawkeye the Marksman, his partner and lover-and former Sovier spy-the Black Widow, and Spider-Man's old enemy the Sandman-came up on Cap's heels. The shockwaves from all this hadn't begun to settle yet. The heroes-out! The crooks-in! Already, the press had dubbed them "Cap's Kooky Quartet". The Professor had told the X-Men that the Avengers had come close to disbanding altogether, when these three old adversaries came forward to offer their services, on a promise of reform. The Avengers-and the National Security Agency-had agreed, and the Avengers had been saved. But their sudden descent from strongest super-team, to weakest, had been a vertiginous shift in the super-hero balance of power. Were they-the X-Men-the strongest team now? Maria would have bet money on it.

"You're welcome to him, Captain," Scott said solemnly. Maria wondered briefly if she should ask Cap for his autograph, then decided against it. She was a professional now, she reminded herself sternly. Act cool. Captain America smiled at Scott.

"Good work." He turned to Maria. "Miss Gianelli?"

Maria's heart skipped a beat. "Yes, sir?" she asked meekly.

" 'Cap' will do fine," he said with a smile. "Miss-I just wanted to say how much I admire you, the work you do with kids. You've put the light into a lot of young lives, Miss Gianelli. I, for one, appreciate it."

Maria hemmed and hawed and generally tried not to act as if her feet were six inches off the ground, while both teams laughed good-naturedly. Hawkeye shrugged.

"Kid-you've gotten the Cap treatment. There's no known cure."

Jean smiled at Captain America. "I suppose we'll see you at Reed and Sue's wedding?"

Cap smiled back. "We wouldn't miss it for the world, Miss Grey. It's good to see you, X-Men. Again-good work." And the Avengers left with their helpless, but oddly cheerful captive. Scott looked his team over.

"That was good work, guys," he said. "We worked as a team." He turned to Maria. "Hope you didn't mind basically sitting this one out, Maria."

"Hell, no," Maria said. "You guys have to carry your weight once in awhile, you know." This pearl of wisdom was met with a chorus of Bronx cheers, which Maria took in the spirit of a prophet without honor in her own country. Meanwhile, the inevitable army of children had descended upon the X-Men like locusts, most of whom congregated around Maria. The others waved and headed off, leaving her to entertain her peanut gallery. Which she did with great enthusiasm, not leaving until every kid there had gotten a few words and an autograph, if requested.


Wanda sighed. The latest hide-out wasn't an improvement over Staten Island, but she accepted what she couldn't change. A loft over an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn. The Manhattan skyline soared to their west. But surrounding them were old warehouses, burned out storefronts, the creeping tentacles of slums encroaching on the neighborhood. A depressing place, which she hoped wouldn't be their home for long. Pietro walked into the corner of the loft where Wanda was sitting, trying-and failing-to concentrate on a book.

"You don't like it here, my sister?" he asked, brows raised.

"I'm just restless, Pietro," she said. "Ever since the Stranger, we have done nothing. It's been long since we had any clear purpose. Once we served Magneto because of gratitude, for saving our lives. Somewhere along the line, Pietro, I have come to believe that he has a destiny, a shimmering goal that is worthy of support. But I do wish he would enlighten us more as to what that goal is."

Her brother laughed softly. "Indeed, Wanda. But I know what you mean. Magneto has changed since we joined him. He is less callous, less insensitive. Not less domineering or demanding. But still, a changed man." He frowned. "Suppose that alien had taken him-and the Toad. What do you suppose we should have done, anyway?"

Wanda shrugged. "Who knows, Pietro. Joined the X-Men, perhaps? That would seem to be the logical step."

He frowned ever more, shook his head. "I do not think so, my sister. I cannot quite see us fitting into their world." He picked up a paper. "These new Avengers-! Maybe we would have fit in with them."

Wanda laughed. "What an idea! Two mutants joining the Avengers! Oh, we and Captain America would make just a wonderful fit, wouldn't we, Pietro?"

Her brother laughed. "Well, sister, when you put it like that..."

Wanda smiled. "Where is Magneto now, Pietro?"

"Where do you think, Wanda? With Wyngarde. Trying to restore him. I shall give him that. He has worked tirelessly to bring Mastermind back to us."

Wanda looked thoughtful. "He surprised me, Pietro. Wyngarde, I mean. Towards the end, I feel he really was almost a gentleman. He certainly worked loyally for Magneto. That was not always the case when we first joined, as I hardly need remind you."

Pietro laughed. "No, indeed. But somehow, Wanda, despite everything, we have become a team. A real team. I wonder if Magneto wanted this, or if it has taken even him by surprise?"

Wanda rose. "I cannot say, Pietro. I wish to speak to Magneto." Her brother shrugged and vanished in an instant. Wanda knew he could make a survey of all five boroughs and return in the time it took her to speak with Magneto. She found their leader, indeed, in a laboratory, the solid block of mass that had been Jason Wyngarde on a slab. He looked frustrated.

"How are things progressing, Magneto?" she asked. He scowled at her, then relaxed and smiled in apology.

"Frankly, Wanda, not well. I haven't been able to figure out even in the slightest just what the Stranger did to poor Wyngarde here. And if I can't figure out what he did, then I can't figure out what my course of action should be."

She looked at Wyngarde, frozen in a moment of time, and realized-somewhat to her surprise-that she felt sympathy for him. "Why not consult experts, Magneto? Reed Richards. Henry Pym. Men who know more about biology than you do."

He frowned. "Because they are men, Wanda. And we are mutants. How would it look, if we went hat-in-hand to humans, asking for aid?"

Wanda almost-but not quite-asked Magneto if Wyngarde's well-being wasn't more important than their prestige. "Then what about Charles Xavier, Magneto? He asked us to keep him in mind if we needed help. It appears that we do. Why not go to him?"

Magneto didn't respond for a moment. "Wanda-I have decided to do that very thing. It wounds my pride, but Charles might be able to help. I am not going to let Mastermind stay in this purgatory any longer than necessary, if the X-Men can aid us."

"I am very happy to hear you say this, Magneto."

He looked sharply at her. "Oh? Why do you say that, Wanda?"

"Because I thought Wyngarde was a changed man at the end. In the beginning, I was afraid of everything and everyone. The Toad, Mastermind. Above all, you. Those fears have abated these past months. I find that I want Wyngarde to be well."

Magneto almost, not quite, smiled. "I do not frighten you anymore, Wanda?"

"No, Magneto, you do not."

"Have I become so much less fearsome?"

"Perhaps. Yes. But that is not the real reason, Magneto."

He frowned. "Oh? And what is the real reason, Wanda?"

She smiled at him. "Because I have come to the realization that I need fear no one, Magneto."

They looked at each other for some time. Finally, Magneto smiled-a smile of genuine warmth. "Wanda-that's the best thing you could have said. I do believe you have grown up."

She nodded. "I think so too, Magneto. And don't forget it." She turned and left the laboratory, feeling Magneto's stare burning a hole in her back as she went.


Charles Xavier was looking out of his study window at the big front yard that rolled down towards Graymalkins Lane. There blessedly didn't appear to be demonstrators out there today. In fact, this was the case now more often than not. People could get used to anything-even the X-Men in their midst. The initial shock had died down, everyone had had their say, and for better or worse, they had become a "normal" part of people's lives, part of the world of discourse and celebrity. He himself was now a celebrity, he supposed. He had been interviewed on TV, his name and face appeared on the front pages of newspapers and magazines, he had his own sacks of mail. Much of that was heart-rending. People desperately asking for his aid-with autistic children, people in comas, people with mental disorders of every conceivable stripe. Many of these people he couldn't help. But many, to be honest, he could. There simply wasn't enough time to help everyone. Therefore, with very few exceptions, he helped no one. Every letter was answered, as honestly as possible. And every one cut him just a little more to the bone.

The doorbell rang. He sighed. They had posted a sign out at the street, explaining that the School was not open to the public and that they did not have the time or facilities for visitors. This discouraged most would-be guests. They did no more than this, however. Charles was determined not to padlock the School and the grounds. He did not want to feel he was in a prison or high-security facility. Fred Duncan reasonably said that the School was a high-security facility. Perhaps Charles would agree with this assessment in time, if the situation warranted. For now, he wanted at least the illusion that they weren't hidden away from the world.

Jean appeared at his study door. "Professor-someone wishes to see you. I believe you should see her."

Charles came to with a start. He had never seen Jean in this mood before. She seemed tense, almost aggressively hostile. Was there something wrong-? "Oh, Jean? Why do you say that?"

She scowled, and his curiosity grew. "You'd best let her explain, sir."

Oh, my. What could have set Jean Grey off like this? He nodded numbly. "Very well, Jean. Send my guest in." Jean left, swivelling on her heels grimly. He thought he heard her grunt in disgust. What on earth was going on?

A moment later, Jean returned with a young woman in her mid-twenties, very blond, with a rather bold face and stark blue eyes. Charles stiffened. This young woman was a mutant. That was obvious at once. She smiled at him, as if she realized what he was thinking. She was dressed in what Charles supposed was a fashionable skirt, a full three inches above the knee. Charles nodded.

"Please have a seat, Miss-?"

"Frost," the young woman said. "Emma Frost." She sat down across from his desk, crossed her legs, and took out a cigarette. "You don't mind?" she asked Charles, who merely shrugged. Jean stood there like a statue, and Charles realized that she was acting for all the world just like a cat or dog whose territory has been invaded by a strange member of their own species. He almost saw Jean's fur flying, her back arch, a hiss coming from her throat. Charles was secretly a bit amused. Jean-behaving in such a way! He was almost glad to see she could react in such a "human" manner. For Miss Frost and Jean, it appeared, it was dislike at first sight. Miss Frost took a puff of her cigarette, and smiled at Jean.

"So this is the famous Miss Grey! Dear-your pictures simply do not do you justice. You are such a beauty-well, I have no words."

"I should imagine that is an unusual experience for you, Miss Frost," Jean said in the iciest tone imaginable. Miss Frost smiled amusedly.

"Please, dear-Emma. Make it Emma. Is that all right for you-Jean?"

"Certainly. Dear." And Jean turned on her heel and left the study. Emma laughed a silvery laugh.

"What a sweet girl. I do believe I have aroused a wee bit of feminine rivalry in our All-American Mutant, Professor. Or would you prefer Charles? It would make things easier."

"Charles would be acceptable."

Emma took a drag of her cigarette. "Excellent, Charles, excellent." Then to his surprise, she spoke to him telepathically. Let us not waste time, Charles. I am a telepath. You know nothing of me because I have taken great care that you should not. I am a member of the Hellfire Club. Do you know of it?

He made no reaction to her boldness. Only by reputation, Emma. I did not know that any mutants were members.

As I said-we have taken great pains that you should not. Or that Magneto should not, for that matter. We are not interested in your mutant wars. Our concerns were-and are-domination and power. Over humans, mutants, aliens, devils, angels, creatures from the Black Lagoon, you name it. Our mutations are a means towards that goal, not an end in themselves.

Charles blinked, a gesture more emphatic than a shrug would be with a human. Very well. What of it?

Things are happening that concern us all. You know to what I refer. Trask. And the Sentinels. We are forced to get involved in the games of mutant and human against our will.

Another blink. How did you learn of them?

Does it matter? How did you, my dear Charles, if it comes to that? I am a telepath. I learn things.

Go on.

The Changeling. Graydon Creed. I have had my eye on Creed for some time. He bankrolls Trask-and the Club. Some of whom are involved with Trask. Watching Creed is a simple matter of self-preservation. He has a new secretary. Charles could hear Emma laughing to herself as she said this. A woman. Janice. She and Creed have become very close. One guess who Janice is.

Charles winced. He had hoped the Changeling would have resisted that particular-temptation. He knew very well the sort of man he was dealing with. He used him, though, because Banshee had recommended him, and because he, Charles Xavier, had been impressed with him when they met, almost despite himself. Yes, Emma, I infiltrated the Changeling into Creed's organization. How he did so was up to his initiative. For better or worse, he has managed to get close to Creed. But I must tell you, he has been able to learn very little. Have you done better at the Club?

There was a pause. Charles could tell that Emma was considering this question very carefully. Finally: Not really. I hesitated just now because there are cross-currents going on that don't affect the over-all situation. I can tell you that Edward Buckman-the head of the Hellfire Club-is close to both Trask and Creed. But we do not know yet whether he is trying to throw us mutants in the Club to the wolves or not. For the briefest of moments, Charles saw something in Emma's mind- She was lying. Buckman had decided to "throw the mutants to the wolves", as she put it, and she knew it. He hesitated- No. Emma did not notice his getting through her defenses. Thank God. He knew something then that she didn't know he knew-that she was lying about this. Why would she want to, however?

Charles realized the answer almost immediately. Emma's loyalty wasn't to her fellow mutants in the Club; it was to someone, something, quite different. Charles had to suppress knowledge of this. He couldn't hesitate in his replies, give her time to wonder about him. Very well. Let us assume that this Buckman is your enemy. What do you intend to do? Why are you here?

Emma shrugged her shoulders-an elaborate gesture for a telepath. We simply wish to know what you do, my dear Charles. For our mutual protection. That surely makes sense, doesn't it?

Charles hesitated. It did make sense. But Emma Frost's concerns weren't completely with her fellow mutants. What did he feel obligated to say to this young woman, anyway? I have infiltrated the Changeling into Creed's organization, Emma. So far, Creed has been very cagey. He has let-well, 'Janice'-know nothing about his plans concerning Trask and the Sentinels. Janice is continuing his-her-efforts. That is all I can say, Emma. I have information from other sources, but they have been given to me under a promise of confidentiality.

Emma made an impatient gesture with her fingers. Of course, Charles. Of course. She shook her head. You will contact me, via the Club, if you hear of some imminent danger-whatever the source? I shan't ask you for the name of the source. Just what they say, if it threatens us.

That sounds eminently reasonable, Emma. Of course.

Emma rose. Very well then, Charles. I appreciate your time. Thank you, and it was an honor to meet you. And that dear Grey child. Make sure to give her my best wishes. No, no-I'll see myself out. Charles looked out the front door, and saw the elegant form of Emma Frost striding down the front walk towards Graymalkins Lane. He thought hard to himself for some moments.

Jean, he called out to the girl telepathically. Please report to my study. Jean appeared a minute later, her face a blank mask. Charles smiled slightly.

"I take it you do not approve of our Miss Frost, Jean?'

"I think the word 'bitch' was invented just for her, sir."

Charles blinked. "Indeed. Jean-I do not believe I have ever heard you speak so of anyone before."

"That, sir, is because I've never met anyone like her before."

Charles nodded. "That makes sense, as far as it goes. Jean. Forget your feelings for her. Be objective. What kind of person would you say she is?"

Jean frowned slightly. "Professor-I'd say she's exceptionally smart. Smarter than me, I concede that-and I'm far from dumb. I'd say that she's basically disloyal to people around her. No, I'm not being catty. I mean just what I said. She wouldn't turn on someone out of sheer malice, though God knows she's capable of that. But she knows what side of her bread is buttered. She would betray anyone, if she felt her safety was threatened. But she would be honest about it. She would never lie to herself."

Charles pursed his lips. "I see she made quite an impression on you, Jean."

"She did, sir."

"Go on."

"As long as she is loyal to someone, she would be invaluable to them. If she were cornered, she would fight with intense ferocity. She is sexually promiscuous to an extreme degree. She enjoys games, as long as she gets to set the rules. She is essentially a cold-blooded woman. She gets into emotional situations, but has never really been in love. I feel very sorry for her."

Charles laughed. "That was not the impression I had earlier, Jean."

"That was pure animal instinct, sir. On reflection, I do feel sorry for her."

Charles looked thoughtfully at his student. "You really sense all this about Emma, Jean?'

Jean nodded. "I do, sir. And I trust my instincts about her. I think you should, too."

He nodded. "Thank you, Jean. I believe I do. That is all." Jean left the study, and Charles Xavier sat there, thinking very hard.