Chapter 2
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The police had arrived on the scene moments after the incident had happened...at least that is what the coroner had deduced from the time of death. Sergeant Lucious Renoieve had put away three cups of coffee, poor quality coffee at that, but the police departments did not give a lot of perks, especially on the night shift. But no matter; the cafes would open soon enough.
'Then I can get le petit dejunier (breakfast)."All the pictures had been taken of the crime scene, and the body was being zipped up in the black bag to head off to the morgue. Renoieve chuckled a moment at his own stupid joke. It's not like they would need the coroner to tell them how the man died. But it was certainly curious. The fellow was a good 250 lbs. It was not so easy to decapitate someone of that size.
"I will deal with it tomorrow," Renoieve decided as he headed off down the block to an open cafe. He still had a lot of paper work to finish before he went home but no rush.
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The Blackbird settled down in a small clearing about five miles outside of Paris. They had come in low over the landscape to stay out of radar range. The engines shut down and Storm unbuckled her harness.
Scott stood behind her. "OK. I will call for a cab. We'll head to the police department first."
"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was, monsieur?" A petite secretary questioned of Scott with a flirtatious French smile.
"Scott Summers. And this is Ororo Monroe and..." he paused.
"Logan," the loner provided.
It was then that Scott realized that none of them knew Logan's last name. Or if he even had one."We are investigating a disturbance in the area and were wondering if anything unusual has happened in the last few hours." Scott continued.
"You are federal agents?" Ms. French Smile questioned.
"You might say that." Storm replied quietly.
"Excuse moi un minute, si vous plais. (Excuse me, one minute, please.)" With that, the secretary scuttled off into an office nearby.
After a moment or two, a gentleman exited the office and beckoned them within. "Please, come in. I am Sergeant Renoieve."
The three mutants entered the office and Scott and Storm sat while Logan leaned against the wall, as was his fashion.
"Now, what is your business here in Paris, mademoiselle and messieurs?" the gentleman asked.
"We are investigating a disturbance in the area, Sergeant," Scott replied, "And we were wondering if anything particularly strange has happened in the area within the last few hours?"
"And how, may I ask, did Americans come to be involved in business of which I have only recently become aware, in my city nonetheless?" Sergeant Renoieve inquired. It was obvious that he was more than suspicious.
"We have connections and, if you want to stop whatever is going on before it gets too serious, you'll help us, pal," Logan answered curtly.
"It already is serious!" Renoieve snapped.
"Why, Sergeant? What has happened?" Storm questioned gently, doing her best to be diplomatic. "Perhaps we could help each other."
Just then, Ms. French Smile entered the office. "Sergeant, here are the photos of the crime scene off the Champs Elysees. Decapitated, trés gross!"
Sergeant Renoieve gave her a deathly look and took the file. "Merci, Jolene. That is all."
She seemed to get the point and quickly scurried from the room.
"A decapitation?" Storm prompted.
"Oui, most unusual case. We have no leads as of yet aside from a bloody sword." Renoieve was as short as politely possible. He wasn't about to let them know about the series of mysterious decapitations in Paris over the years.
"A sword?" Scott echoed and then Storm nudged his foot.
"Merci beaucoup, Sergeant Renoieve. We will get out of your way now." she said, rising gracefully.
Sergeant Renoieve seemed to be a little pacified by the lady's politeness and, as such, stood to bid them good-bye.
"Oh, and mes amis, don't go messing around in my city," he added.
"Is that a threat?" Logan practically growled.
"Non, it is a warning." The office door closed.
With that, Storm pulled the two men out of the police station, Ms. French Smile casting another yearning look at Scott's retreating back.
"So now what?" Logan asked as they stepped out onto the street where they met up with Piotr.
"Did you find anything out?" the tall Russian asked.
"The Sergeant said that there was a decapitation off the Champs Elysees. I figure we follow the yellow tape." Scott suggested.
With that, the four mutants set off into the city as daylight grew in Paris.
Back at the Mansion, Xavier had repaired Cerebro and again sat at her console, lifting the helmet onto his head.
'Let's give it a try.'
He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to find the energy path from earlier. He looked among mutants, concentrating longer than he ever had before, searching through Europe intensely. Nothing. Then he tried the humans and found something interesting; amidst the white lights that made up humanity, there was something faint, something different. They weren't mutants but they weren't fully human either. What were they?
As Professor Xavier lifted Cerebro's helmet from his head and set it on the console, he pondered, 'What on earth…what could it be?'
Turning, he whirred out of Cerebro and into his office, opening up his communicator.
"Scott. Ororo. Are you there?"
"Hello? Yes, Professor?" Storm answered the summons. "Have you found anything?"
"Yes, something quite unusual: an abnormality among the humans. Not mutation but something different altogether. They are human and yet not." Professor Xavier rested his fist on his lips. "Have you been able to find out anything from the authorities?"
"Yes, apparently, there was a decapitation early this morning somewhere on the Champs Elysees."
"That could definitely be a useful clue. Investigate, but discreetly."
"Yes, Professor." Storm closed her communicator.
"What did he say?" Logan asked.
"He wants us to check out the scene. Let's find that alley."
Piotr looked around in wonder at the most famous city in the world as they walked around. He had never been anywhere but Russia and the Institute so to view some of the rest of the world was a brand new experience for him.
"Whoa." Logan was a man of few words and even fewer polite ones, but the sight before the group was certainly interesting.
Glass littered the alleyway between the two buildings just off the thoroughfare of the Champs Elysees. The devastation began with the streetlights at the opening of the alley and continued on back. What little there was in the narrow space showed signs of an assault, garbage cans lay strewn about and dented in, some charred black in spots as if burned. Pieces of rubber from tires were melted into piles. The mayhem culminated around a large outline of chalk at the side of one of the buildings...nearby another smaller round outline. Blood was everywhere.
"Be careful what you touch," Scott said as he moved to look about the crime scene.
"What are we looking for?" Piotr said as he stepped closer to where the body had lain.
"Anything that stands out...if the cops left anything." Scott answered. Then looked at where Storm stood transfixed by the scene.
"Are you alright?" he asked, hoping she wasn't too sickened by the blood. His question seemed to snap her out of her thoughts.
"Yes...it is just..."
"Just what?" Piotr inquired from where he had moved to peer into the dumpster.
"I have seen this before...but not with the blood," Ororo waved her hand about the alleyway. "After a lightening storm…I have seen this type of destruction before." She looked at Scott. He nodded in response.
"And the professor said he saw lighting in Cerebro," Piotr commented, looking to Storm for verification.
"Yes, I saw it, too, but just briefly before the machine shut down."
"So whatever caused this was like a lightening storm," Scott sighed as he looked behind some wooden crates, charred black from flames. "There is nothing left. If there was any thing to begin with, the cops probably have it."
"Not quite."
The group looked to where Logan stood next to the wall across from the pool of blood. He was staring at it.
Ororo moved over to see what he was looking at.
"More blood?" she asked, seeing the small trail of blood on the brick wall, so dark it blended in with the dirty bricks themselves.
"Yep." Logan stuck out a hand and touched his finger to the blood, bringing it up to his nose to smell.
Ororo tried not to grimace.
Logan then moved and with another finger wiped up a bit from where the victim had lain. He concentrated a moment before he looked up at the others. "Not from the same guy." Logan then wiped the blood from both fingers off after sniffing the other one more time.
"So what does that tell us?" Piotr asked.
"Nothin' yet." Logan then stood and sniffed the air. "But if I had done this, I wouldn't have gotten rid of the weapon anywhere near the body."
He then moved out of the alley the back way, pausing to sniff before turning right and down another alleyway. The group followed.
Methos left Nadya's apartment a little after noon, and, after serious debate--mostly for the option of free beer--decided not to go to Mac's barge and indulge himself. It was beer, after all, that had gotten him into this mess.
'No, mustn't blame the beer.'
Methos remembered the bottle he had left the bar with and hadn't gotten to finish because of the large fist that his jaw suddenly got introduced to after the presence had washed over him. Beer dulls reaction time.
'Not like I hadn't figured that one out millennia ago.' He chuckled to himself.
No, it was time to head home and get some rest.....then some beer. Yes...at Joe's or Macleod's. Or both? Methos wrapped his trench coat around himself and headed home.
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Logan could smell the fear just before he entered the alleyway. It was strong, the kind you smell just before a person dies, or is threatened with death. It's strong. He had been following it for blocks, along with the scent of blood, which now was stronger than before. Logan went over to the dumpster which had some blood on the corner.'It's the same....and the one who died was not the one who started this,' he thought to himself as he also caught the smell of beer. He looked down. The shards of a beer bottle lay up against the wall. Logan knelt and lifted a piece of it. The person's scent entered his nose....not the fear or the blood.....but the guy's true scent. And it was ....
'Familiar....but from where?' Logan kept this to himself as he rose and looked back at the others.
"Found anything?" Scott questioned.
"Yeah. He came this way...both times, too." Logan sniffed the air again. The combination of the blood, fear, and now the guy's own smell made picking out the path easier. Logan started to move off down another street, before pausing and looking back at the others.
"If I hear one word about hound dogs or tracking, you are going to find this guy on your own," he growled and then stalked off down the street.
Scott and Ororo looked at each other and smiled. Piotr trailed along behind, taking in as much of the city as he felt he could without getting to distracted from what he was supposed to be doing. But it wasn't easy.
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Nadya had just settled down into her favorite chair after putting the dishes into the dishwasher. She should be doing work but, instead, had grabbed a new book to enjoy with her Pepsi.
She was just about the flick the TV on for background noise when she heard the knock at the door.
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It was late afternoon when they had reached the flat. The scent of blood was strong here. Logan even noted some on the floor. They followed him upstairs to one of the doors.
"Here," Logan said softly, pointing to the doorframe. "It's been washed with..." he sniffed and snorted. "Arg! Bleach, but he was here."
"Ok." Scott whispered. "We don't know what we are dealing with, so let's not try to make them angry." He raised his hand slowly to knock on the door.
Logan got ready to extend his adamantium claws as the others prepared to go on the offensive if the guy inside was violent. A moment later, the door opened.
A pair of deep-brown eyes peered up into Scott's face, then around to the other people standing outside her doorway.
"Hello. May I help you?" Nadya asked in simple French.
The scent of blood had struck Logan strongly as the door opened. He almost leapt through it, certain that the guy must be in there. But he held himself back.
'She's so small.'
The X-men looked down at the young woman, unsure as to how to proceed, when Ororo suddenly pushed past the men. "Nadya?"
The girl's eyes widened and she quickly switched to English. "Ororo, is that you?"
Storm smiled widely and took the young woman into her arms, hugging her tightly. "How wonderful to see you!"
Nadya laughed. "And you! Please, please, come in!"
As they filed in through the door, Storm introduced the others. "These are my friends Scott, Logan, and Piotr."
Piotr held out his hand. "You can call me Peter."
Nadya smiled as she shook it. "Piotr? Rooskee, da? (Russian, yes?)"
He looked surprised and replied in his native language. "Da!"
"Meen yah za voot Nadya. Ochin preeyatna! (My name is Nadya. Nice to meet you.)"
"Ochin preeyatna, Nadya." Piotr replied.
Nadya threw him a sweet look. He was a good-looking Russian, which was to be sure. "Would you all like something to drink? Tea, water?" she offered politely, doing the honors of the house.
Piotr and Ororo took tea and Logan and Scott settled for water. As Nadya hurried off to the kitchen, Scott leaned towards Ororo.
"Does she...?"
"No, she doesn't know."
Logan, meanwhile, had sat on the couch and the strong scene of blood mixed with the pure scent of their quarry almost sent him into a conniption. "He's been here and a long time, too," he muttered to the others.
"She knows him then..." Scott began.
"How do you and Ororo know each other?" Piotr asked quickly and rather loudly as Nadya suddenly returned with the tea and water.
"Ororo came to my university and gave a lecture, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and we spoke extensively afterward. We've tried to keep in touch over the years." Nadya smiled as she handed Piotr his teacup.
"Nadya was an extraordinary student and writer; it was a pleasure to meet her. What are you up to now, Nadya? How did you come to be in Paris?" Storm questioned.
Nadya smiled. "I work for Coopers and Hills Publishing House; I'm an editor. I felt that I needed a change of scenery and so I put in for a transfer to the Paris office for a while."
Ororo smiled. She had known that Nadya was a talented young woman and now to see her having achieved success was satisfying. The group conversed for a while, Nadya filling Storm in on the events of her life over the past few years.
"What about you, Ororo? What are you doing in Paris? And on my doorstep nonetheless?"
"Oh...we're just about doing some sightseeing. Trying to find a friend but we must have gotten the addresses mixed up." Scott supplied.
"Well, how about we meet up this evening, catch up some more? A friend of mine owns one of the best blues bars in Paris. And I'm sure he'd love to meet you. Here's the address," Nadya pulled out a pencil and pad and wrote down: 11 rue de Nesle, 75006.
"Shall we say seven?"
Ororo took the address and pocketed it. "Sounds wonderful!"
Nadya smiled, "If you get there before I do, just ask for Joe and let him know that you're friends of mine. He owns the place and will give you the royal treatment. I'll bring a few friends with me so you can meet them."
Ororo smiled as she and the others rose to leave. "We shall let you finish your work," she indicated to the stack of manuscripts on the desk.
Nadya nodded and gave Ororo another hug before opening the door for them. "See you this evening."
When she had shut the door and they were down the hall a ways, Logan snorted. "She knows him. He was there. He spilled a lot of blood in that apartment."
Ororo shook her head. "There's got to be a good explanation. Nadya would not be involved in murder; she just couldn't!"
Logan glared at the back of Storm's head as they walked down the hallway. "Not everyone's as innocent as they look," he snarled. "I could smell him, on her, too!"
She whirled around to face his eyes. "I know her, Logan!"
Scott stepped between the two. "We're meeting her tonight, perhaps her friends have noticed something strange going on."
Nadya, meanwhile, was calling Mac and Methos to let them know to meet her at Joe's that evening. Then, she called Talia's villa in the countryside, just in case the elder Immortal cared for a night in Paris.
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'Home sweet home.'
Methos had strewn himself across his king-sized bed. However, he awoke and glanced at the clock when Nadya's message clicked on the answering machine. A good three more hours' sleep; he could do that.
He turned over and tore the bandages from his bare torso, glancing at the brick-brown blood that had soaked them through. Nadya had developed into a right good nurse; Mac wouldn't be happy if he knew that Methos ran to Nadya whenever he needed to be patched up or housed right after a Quickening.
'She's a good child.'
Of course, Talia would tell Methos that Nadya was not a child; she was a young woman. But, he still thought of her as a little girl. Couldn't help it; it was one of the few ways he could endure her patronizing ways sometimes. He imagined a little girl in a blue dress and pinafore with hair ribbons, playing 'Mom' with her dolls and it usually evaporated any annoyance when she scolded him.
Anyway, sleep now. Thinking and beer later.
About the time a small but fast European sports car had pulled itself off the back roads and onto one of the main highways headed toward Paris, the really old immortal had done a double-take with his own bedside clock and realized he was going to be late. Not that he would care, but he should shower. Looking down at the dried blood caking his chest confirmed this thought.
"So I'll be late," Methos said to no one in particular as he pulled himself out of bed.
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The police had arrived on the scene moments after the incident had happened...at least that is what the coroner had deduced from the time of death. Sergeant Lucious Renoieve had put away three cups of coffee, poor quality coffee at that, but the police departments did not give a lot of perks, especially on the night shift. But no matter; the cafes would open soon enough.
'Then I can get le petit dejunier (breakfast)."All the pictures had been taken of the crime scene, and the body was being zipped up in the black bag to head off to the morgue. Renoieve chuckled a moment at his own stupid joke. It's not like they would need the coroner to tell them how the man died. But it was certainly curious. The fellow was a good 250 lbs. It was not so easy to decapitate someone of that size.
"I will deal with it tomorrow," Renoieve decided as he headed off down the block to an open cafe. He still had a lot of paper work to finish before he went home but no rush.
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The Blackbird settled down in a small clearing about five miles outside of Paris. They had come in low over the landscape to stay out of radar range. The engines shut down and Storm unbuckled her harness.
Scott stood behind her. "OK. I will call for a cab. We'll head to the police department first."
"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was, monsieur?" A petite secretary questioned of Scott with a flirtatious French smile.
"Scott Summers. And this is Ororo Monroe and..." he paused.
"Logan," the loner provided.
It was then that Scott realized that none of them knew Logan's last name. Or if he even had one."We are investigating a disturbance in the area and were wondering if anything unusual has happened in the last few hours." Scott continued.
"You are federal agents?" Ms. French Smile questioned.
"You might say that." Storm replied quietly.
"Excuse moi un minute, si vous plais. (Excuse me, one minute, please.)" With that, the secretary scuttled off into an office nearby.
After a moment or two, a gentleman exited the office and beckoned them within. "Please, come in. I am Sergeant Renoieve."
The three mutants entered the office and Scott and Storm sat while Logan leaned against the wall, as was his fashion.
"Now, what is your business here in Paris, mademoiselle and messieurs?" the gentleman asked.
"We are investigating a disturbance in the area, Sergeant," Scott replied, "And we were wondering if anything particularly strange has happened in the area within the last few hours?"
"And how, may I ask, did Americans come to be involved in business of which I have only recently become aware, in my city nonetheless?" Sergeant Renoieve inquired. It was obvious that he was more than suspicious.
"We have connections and, if you want to stop whatever is going on before it gets too serious, you'll help us, pal," Logan answered curtly.
"It already is serious!" Renoieve snapped.
"Why, Sergeant? What has happened?" Storm questioned gently, doing her best to be diplomatic. "Perhaps we could help each other."
Just then, Ms. French Smile entered the office. "Sergeant, here are the photos of the crime scene off the Champs Elysees. Decapitated, trés gross!"
Sergeant Renoieve gave her a deathly look and took the file. "Merci, Jolene. That is all."
She seemed to get the point and quickly scurried from the room.
"A decapitation?" Storm prompted.
"Oui, most unusual case. We have no leads as of yet aside from a bloody sword." Renoieve was as short as politely possible. He wasn't about to let them know about the series of mysterious decapitations in Paris over the years.
"A sword?" Scott echoed and then Storm nudged his foot.
"Merci beaucoup, Sergeant Renoieve. We will get out of your way now." she said, rising gracefully.
Sergeant Renoieve seemed to be a little pacified by the lady's politeness and, as such, stood to bid them good-bye.
"Oh, and mes amis, don't go messing around in my city," he added.
"Is that a threat?" Logan practically growled.
"Non, it is a warning." The office door closed.
With that, Storm pulled the two men out of the police station, Ms. French Smile casting another yearning look at Scott's retreating back.
"So now what?" Logan asked as they stepped out onto the street where they met up with Piotr.
"Did you find anything out?" the tall Russian asked.
"The Sergeant said that there was a decapitation off the Champs Elysees. I figure we follow the yellow tape." Scott suggested.
With that, the four mutants set off into the city as daylight grew in Paris.
Back at the Mansion, Xavier had repaired Cerebro and again sat at her console, lifting the helmet onto his head.
'Let's give it a try.'
He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to find the energy path from earlier. He looked among mutants, concentrating longer than he ever had before, searching through Europe intensely. Nothing. Then he tried the humans and found something interesting; amidst the white lights that made up humanity, there was something faint, something different. They weren't mutants but they weren't fully human either. What were they?
As Professor Xavier lifted Cerebro's helmet from his head and set it on the console, he pondered, 'What on earth…what could it be?'
Turning, he whirred out of Cerebro and into his office, opening up his communicator.
"Scott. Ororo. Are you there?"
"Hello? Yes, Professor?" Storm answered the summons. "Have you found anything?"
"Yes, something quite unusual: an abnormality among the humans. Not mutation but something different altogether. They are human and yet not." Professor Xavier rested his fist on his lips. "Have you been able to find out anything from the authorities?"
"Yes, apparently, there was a decapitation early this morning somewhere on the Champs Elysees."
"That could definitely be a useful clue. Investigate, but discreetly."
"Yes, Professor." Storm closed her communicator.
"What did he say?" Logan asked.
"He wants us to check out the scene. Let's find that alley."
Piotr looked around in wonder at the most famous city in the world as they walked around. He had never been anywhere but Russia and the Institute so to view some of the rest of the world was a brand new experience for him.
"Whoa." Logan was a man of few words and even fewer polite ones, but the sight before the group was certainly interesting.
Glass littered the alleyway between the two buildings just off the thoroughfare of the Champs Elysees. The devastation began with the streetlights at the opening of the alley and continued on back. What little there was in the narrow space showed signs of an assault, garbage cans lay strewn about and dented in, some charred black in spots as if burned. Pieces of rubber from tires were melted into piles. The mayhem culminated around a large outline of chalk at the side of one of the buildings...nearby another smaller round outline. Blood was everywhere.
"Be careful what you touch," Scott said as he moved to look about the crime scene.
"What are we looking for?" Piotr said as he stepped closer to where the body had lain.
"Anything that stands out...if the cops left anything." Scott answered. Then looked at where Storm stood transfixed by the scene.
"Are you alright?" he asked, hoping she wasn't too sickened by the blood. His question seemed to snap her out of her thoughts.
"Yes...it is just..."
"Just what?" Piotr inquired from where he had moved to peer into the dumpster.
"I have seen this before...but not with the blood," Ororo waved her hand about the alleyway. "After a lightening storm…I have seen this type of destruction before." She looked at Scott. He nodded in response.
"And the professor said he saw lighting in Cerebro," Piotr commented, looking to Storm for verification.
"Yes, I saw it, too, but just briefly before the machine shut down."
"So whatever caused this was like a lightening storm," Scott sighed as he looked behind some wooden crates, charred black from flames. "There is nothing left. If there was any thing to begin with, the cops probably have it."
"Not quite."
The group looked to where Logan stood next to the wall across from the pool of blood. He was staring at it.
Ororo moved over to see what he was looking at.
"More blood?" she asked, seeing the small trail of blood on the brick wall, so dark it blended in with the dirty bricks themselves.
"Yep." Logan stuck out a hand and touched his finger to the blood, bringing it up to his nose to smell.
Ororo tried not to grimace.
Logan then moved and with another finger wiped up a bit from where the victim had lain. He concentrated a moment before he looked up at the others. "Not from the same guy." Logan then wiped the blood from both fingers off after sniffing the other one more time.
"So what does that tell us?" Piotr asked.
"Nothin' yet." Logan then stood and sniffed the air. "But if I had done this, I wouldn't have gotten rid of the weapon anywhere near the body."
He then moved out of the alley the back way, pausing to sniff before turning right and down another alleyway. The group followed.
Methos left Nadya's apartment a little after noon, and, after serious debate--mostly for the option of free beer--decided not to go to Mac's barge and indulge himself. It was beer, after all, that had gotten him into this mess.
'No, mustn't blame the beer.'
Methos remembered the bottle he had left the bar with and hadn't gotten to finish because of the large fist that his jaw suddenly got introduced to after the presence had washed over him. Beer dulls reaction time.
'Not like I hadn't figured that one out millennia ago.' He chuckled to himself.
No, it was time to head home and get some rest.....then some beer. Yes...at Joe's or Macleod's. Or both? Methos wrapped his trench coat around himself and headed home.
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Logan could smell the fear just before he entered the alleyway. It was strong, the kind you smell just before a person dies, or is threatened with death. It's strong. He had been following it for blocks, along with the scent of blood, which now was stronger than before. Logan went over to the dumpster which had some blood on the corner.'It's the same....and the one who died was not the one who started this,' he thought to himself as he also caught the smell of beer. He looked down. The shards of a beer bottle lay up against the wall. Logan knelt and lifted a piece of it. The person's scent entered his nose....not the fear or the blood.....but the guy's true scent. And it was ....
'Familiar....but from where?' Logan kept this to himself as he rose and looked back at the others.
"Found anything?" Scott questioned.
"Yeah. He came this way...both times, too." Logan sniffed the air again. The combination of the blood, fear, and now the guy's own smell made picking out the path easier. Logan started to move off down another street, before pausing and looking back at the others.
"If I hear one word about hound dogs or tracking, you are going to find this guy on your own," he growled and then stalked off down the street.
Scott and Ororo looked at each other and smiled. Piotr trailed along behind, taking in as much of the city as he felt he could without getting to distracted from what he was supposed to be doing. But it wasn't easy.
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Nadya had just settled down into her favorite chair after putting the dishes into the dishwasher. She should be doing work but, instead, had grabbed a new book to enjoy with her Pepsi.
She was just about the flick the TV on for background noise when she heard the knock at the door.
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It was late afternoon when they had reached the flat. The scent of blood was strong here. Logan even noted some on the floor. They followed him upstairs to one of the doors.
"Here," Logan said softly, pointing to the doorframe. "It's been washed with..." he sniffed and snorted. "Arg! Bleach, but he was here."
"Ok." Scott whispered. "We don't know what we are dealing with, so let's not try to make them angry." He raised his hand slowly to knock on the door.
Logan got ready to extend his adamantium claws as the others prepared to go on the offensive if the guy inside was violent. A moment later, the door opened.
A pair of deep-brown eyes peered up into Scott's face, then around to the other people standing outside her doorway.
"Hello. May I help you?" Nadya asked in simple French.
The scent of blood had struck Logan strongly as the door opened. He almost leapt through it, certain that the guy must be in there. But he held himself back.
'She's so small.'
The X-men looked down at the young woman, unsure as to how to proceed, when Ororo suddenly pushed past the men. "Nadya?"
The girl's eyes widened and she quickly switched to English. "Ororo, is that you?"
Storm smiled widely and took the young woman into her arms, hugging her tightly. "How wonderful to see you!"
Nadya laughed. "And you! Please, please, come in!"
As they filed in through the door, Storm introduced the others. "These are my friends Scott, Logan, and Piotr."
Piotr held out his hand. "You can call me Peter."
Nadya smiled as she shook it. "Piotr? Rooskee, da? (Russian, yes?)"
He looked surprised and replied in his native language. "Da!"
"Meen yah za voot Nadya. Ochin preeyatna! (My name is Nadya. Nice to meet you.)"
"Ochin preeyatna, Nadya." Piotr replied.
Nadya threw him a sweet look. He was a good-looking Russian, which was to be sure. "Would you all like something to drink? Tea, water?" she offered politely, doing the honors of the house.
Piotr and Ororo took tea and Logan and Scott settled for water. As Nadya hurried off to the kitchen, Scott leaned towards Ororo.
"Does she...?"
"No, she doesn't know."
Logan, meanwhile, had sat on the couch and the strong scene of blood mixed with the pure scent of their quarry almost sent him into a conniption. "He's been here and a long time, too," he muttered to the others.
"She knows him then..." Scott began.
"How do you and Ororo know each other?" Piotr asked quickly and rather loudly as Nadya suddenly returned with the tea and water.
"Ororo came to my university and gave a lecture, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and we spoke extensively afterward. We've tried to keep in touch over the years." Nadya smiled as she handed Piotr his teacup.
"Nadya was an extraordinary student and writer; it was a pleasure to meet her. What are you up to now, Nadya? How did you come to be in Paris?" Storm questioned.
Nadya smiled. "I work for Coopers and Hills Publishing House; I'm an editor. I felt that I needed a change of scenery and so I put in for a transfer to the Paris office for a while."
Ororo smiled. She had known that Nadya was a talented young woman and now to see her having achieved success was satisfying. The group conversed for a while, Nadya filling Storm in on the events of her life over the past few years.
"What about you, Ororo? What are you doing in Paris? And on my doorstep nonetheless?"
"Oh...we're just about doing some sightseeing. Trying to find a friend but we must have gotten the addresses mixed up." Scott supplied.
"Well, how about we meet up this evening, catch up some more? A friend of mine owns one of the best blues bars in Paris. And I'm sure he'd love to meet you. Here's the address," Nadya pulled out a pencil and pad and wrote down: 11 rue de Nesle, 75006.
"Shall we say seven?"
Ororo took the address and pocketed it. "Sounds wonderful!"
Nadya smiled, "If you get there before I do, just ask for Joe and let him know that you're friends of mine. He owns the place and will give you the royal treatment. I'll bring a few friends with me so you can meet them."
Ororo smiled as she and the others rose to leave. "We shall let you finish your work," she indicated to the stack of manuscripts on the desk.
Nadya nodded and gave Ororo another hug before opening the door for them. "See you this evening."
When she had shut the door and they were down the hall a ways, Logan snorted. "She knows him. He was there. He spilled a lot of blood in that apartment."
Ororo shook her head. "There's got to be a good explanation. Nadya would not be involved in murder; she just couldn't!"
Logan glared at the back of Storm's head as they walked down the hallway. "Not everyone's as innocent as they look," he snarled. "I could smell him, on her, too!"
She whirled around to face his eyes. "I know her, Logan!"
Scott stepped between the two. "We're meeting her tonight, perhaps her friends have noticed something strange going on."
Nadya, meanwhile, was calling Mac and Methos to let them know to meet her at Joe's that evening. Then, she called Talia's villa in the countryside, just in case the elder Immortal cared for a night in Paris.
......................................................................................................................
'Home sweet home.'
Methos had strewn himself across his king-sized bed. However, he awoke and glanced at the clock when Nadya's message clicked on the answering machine. A good three more hours' sleep; he could do that.
He turned over and tore the bandages from his bare torso, glancing at the brick-brown blood that had soaked them through. Nadya had developed into a right good nurse; Mac wouldn't be happy if he knew that Methos ran to Nadya whenever he needed to be patched up or housed right after a Quickening.
'She's a good child.'
Of course, Talia would tell Methos that Nadya was not a child; she was a young woman. But, he still thought of her as a little girl. Couldn't help it; it was one of the few ways he could endure her patronizing ways sometimes. He imagined a little girl in a blue dress and pinafore with hair ribbons, playing 'Mom' with her dolls and it usually evaporated any annoyance when she scolded him.
Anyway, sleep now. Thinking and beer later.
About the time a small but fast European sports car had pulled itself off the back roads and onto one of the main highways headed toward Paris, the really old immortal had done a double-take with his own bedside clock and realized he was going to be late. Not that he would care, but he should shower. Looking down at the dried blood caking his chest confirmed this thought.
"So I'll be late," Methos said to no one in particular as he pulled himself out of bed.