CAJUN CINNAMON
Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle

Chapter XIII
"The Herald Angels Sing"

Cayanne was almost - almost - relived when Professor Xavier came into the small room, his expression kind and concerned.
The teen-ager returned his gaze, chin up. "I not hurt no-one?" she blurted out, voicing her concern while internally kicking herself for sounding so - what? Worried? Well, she was.
"No-one was injured, no." Xavier's voice was soothing, which served to make the Cajun youngster sit up straighter in the bed.
"Den what?"
Xavier watched her a moment, seeing the guarded, not-quite-hostile glint in her eyes. She was shaken, yes, but trying to conceal it. Clearly this was as much frightening to her as curious, a balance between emotion and intellect.
"Cayanne, do you know what telekenisis is?"
She shrugged. "Psychokenisis - de ability t' move or infl'nce obj'ts by force o' will alone." the teen-ager defined.
The Professor steepled his fingers, gaze gentle, showing no accusation or anger, only compassion and calm. "Impressive." Right now she needed that acknowledgement. Telepathy didn't tell him that - years of working with young mutants whose entire worlds turned upside down did. "What of psionics?"
"Kinda umbrella term, oui? Powers o' de mind."
"Yes." Xavier nodded. "Some telepaths possess psionic potential in many areas. Jean is such a one." He took a deep breath. "As are you."
Cayanne regarded him with an unreadable gaze. "I'd know, if was." she objected. "Dis tel'pthy I c'n belive hidden inside my head, but not dis - psi'nics." she replied, drawing her knees up to her chin.
Xavier spoke carefully. "Such gifts take time to fully mature, and control is an issue..." he began.
"Arrgh! More o' de shrink!" groaned Cayanne, clapping a hand to her forehead.
"You will need time to explore it, learn your gifts' full potential." encouraged the telepath. "Jean and I can help you - if you will allow us."
Cayanne watched him warily. "What Papa say, den?" she asked, softly.
"I belive you should ask him."

Bounding into her father's arms, Cayanne hugged the tall man tight, and for a moment all was right with the world. She rested her cheek against the soft fabric for a moment, then looked up at him.
"Papa -" she began, voice uncertain. "Cayanne's powers. Dey - dey not..." She looked away, feeling her throat close up.
"Votre Papa vous aimera toujours, ange idiot." Remy said, gently tilting his daughter's chin up. "Hear? " He gathered the shaken teen into his arms and held her tight."
"Even though..." Cayanne burrowed against him. She couldn't speak, so deep were her emotions.
"Always."
She grinned up at him, feeling lighter somehow. "Aimez-vous, Papa."

Warren Worthington III - the mutant known also as Archangel - hated Christmas. He hated the season, the crowds, even the gift-giving, and at the moment he hated it more than he normally did.
But he was also tired. Wonderfully, joyfully tired.
Restored.
Dropping silently down onto the roof of the Institute's mansion, wings giving a final beat to keep his balance as he landed, Warren heard the shouts and laughter of children and adolecants as he settled onto his perch.
Young mutants - including the youngest - were gathered around in clusters, talking excitedly about the pre-Christmas trips arranged by the Institute. Of course, the children - even shy little Iolana, who had just arrived from Hawaii - would have escorts going to the malls, largely from a pool of volenteers.
Perched on the roof, Warren extended this wings full out, feathers catching the frost-prismed rays of the sun, simply exulting in the freedom of the movement and the cool air that smelled so clean at the moment.
"Iiiihe oooften neeehd tooo dooo thhaaat ahhlsooo." The sibilant, almost-hiss tones were distinctive, and the blond mutant's head jerked up reflexively.
What at first glance seemed to be a statue moved, wings unfurling to shadow the column near where it stood.
Black wings.
Demon wings.
The smaller figure moved with uncanny grace, folding those shadow-pinions around an oddly athletic, whip-thin body and fold-locking the spar joints at the neck as it padded forward.
"You're one of the new students, aren't you?" Warren couldn't place the boy - if you could call him that - by name. Then again, the odd, demon-dragon head, mouth filled with sharp, serrated teeth,digigrade legs, tail, and glowing, prismatic eyes removed him from his fellows by quite some distance.
"Iiiihe aaahm. Yhhooou aaahre thhheee ohhhne thheeey caaahhl Aaaarcaaahngel." The gaze was solumn, strange prism eyes reflecting flickers of white and gold in their depths. "Yyoooohu dhooo nhooot eenjhooy thheee cceeleehbraatioons?"
Warren frowned, folding his wings back neatly against his back. Despite being around mutants of every shape and size, this particular one made him uneasy for reasons he couldn't quite explain, even to himself.
"I have some things I need to do." It was a bit rude, but Warren leapt easily into the air, angling down to the window of his room.
Justin's head lifted slightly on his neck, gaze tracking the graceful arc of the older mutant.
"Iiiiahhe knnoooohw." the young mutant murmered to himself, stepping back into the shadows.
Christmas shopping was an impossibility for the likes of him.

"What're we gonna do fer the holidays, Cayanne?" asked Zane, from his position near the entrance to the study-room.
The young Cajun grinned impishly, reaching over to smack him affectionately on the shoulder. "Nous ne pouvons pas être à la maison, mais nous nous avons."
Liam smiled shyly, eyes glowing with inner joy at that comment, and Zane's grin turned on him full-blast.
"We could go to the mall with the other kids." suggested Brendan. "I really want that new Gundam anime."
"What anime you not want, mon ami?" grinned Cayanne, mischeviously.
"I could do without that Trigun one, I have a copy..."
"DVD?"
The young mutant blinked, then wrinkled his nose in affectionate annoyance. "I hate you."
"Hah!" commented Fabian, who idley tossed a book on the table. He grinned at the other boy, well aware of the affection Brendan bore the girl. "This from a guy who asked for a portable DVD just so he could watch his flicks in class!"
"Pest!"
"Twerp!"
"Jerk!"
"Enfants!" mock-scolded the young Cajun. "More plottin', less gripin'!"
Graham spoke up then. "We should do the most reasonable thing. Prepare for the morning." he said, voice calm and rational.
"Dat de borin' way, we got more energy dan that."
A near-silent rustle announced Justin's arrival. "Aaaapooologiies fffooor beeeiing lhaaate." his soft, sibilant voice slid over the shadows of the library, as he crouch-sat on a stool Cayanne slid over to him with one foot.
"If we go shoppin', mes amis, we all go."
Justin's horns flicked slightly, a sign of inner disquiet. "Iiiihhee...."
"All." emphasized the young Cajun, pressing a gentle hand on the long, alien hand of her friend.
"Yeah." agreed Zane, leaning back precariously again in his chair. "Well, this joint ain't exactly full of the most accepting of folks, despite what they say. That Althea b..."
"Zane!" warned Graham.
"...Bimbo causes more trouble fer us than it's worth."
"Dis better dan...ah...." Uncharacteristically, Cayanne hesitated.
Zane pounced. "What?" His suspicions about the girl returned full-force.
"Better dan a boardin' school o' de state, oui?" Her grin was almost feral. "We find other way t' celebrate."
"Maybe..." Liam's shy, tenative voice trailed off, until Zane's hand touched his shoulder reassuringly. "I...I was just thinking, how we used to celebrate? Maybe we could take some music..."
"The stupid rules say no noise after midnight." grumbled Fabian.
"Rules not always only guideline." said Cayanne, folding her hands under her chin. No admission there.
"Cayanne might not know what we used to do." There. Zane's comment pressed the issue. His violet, startling eyes met the Cajun's. "Come on, Cayanne." He took a deep breath. "Please. If you are who I think, then couldn't you just say? I mean, if you aren't, then you won't know what we're talking about, since she taught it to us. Right, guys?"
"Zzzzhaaaane dooooes haaahve aaahaa phooooiiint...." said Justin, slowly.
Intrested, Fabian added, "Yeah. I mean, not that I minded livin' with the LeBeaus and stuff, but...."
Liam's soft voice said, "Without her...there would have been no family of us Hidden to save." His voice trembled ever so slightly, and Zane wrapped a protective arm over his thin shoulders.
Cayanne looked from one face to the other, feeling both trapped - and blessed. She ran her fingers along the edge of the table. "You know I love Papa. Always. Oui?" She could not ever, no matter what, ever stop being the daughter of Remy LeBeau. "But," and her voice grew soft and warm, affectionate in a quiet way, "then again, I was Hidden. Yeah. I know the way we celebrate. And I know why, thanks to Papa."
"Damn." Zane was grinning, though a suspicious shine was in his eyes. "You found us, again, after all that? You were just a kid!"
Cayanne snorted, flicking the boy's nose with a snap of her fingers.. "Was never a kid." But she grinned in return.
The others were grinning - even Justin - and the world grew warmer in the bonds reforged.

Sneaking out of a tightly-secured mansion was an easy matter to a member of the Thieves' Guild. Cayanne climbed over the fence, pausing to enter a series of commands in the small device she carried.
Hurry up! This telepathy thing was useful, sometimes, she was discovering, as Justin, huge wings silent in the night sky, carried Graham over the fence. Liam and Zane arrived, with characteristic dark-folding ripples around them.
She grinned, peering up at the moon. "We got a place?"
"Yeah." Fabian was grinning broadly. "I found a cool spot. Rave party tonight there, so we can get to the Den easy."
Graham looked disapproving. "This is a violation of the rules, you know." he interjected.
"Ooo. Terror jus' grip my heart." returned Cayanne, clutching her chest in mock horror.
Liam uttered a sound suspiciously like a giggle, but he promptly ducked his cloaked head when Graham frowned at him.
"Cut it out, ya oversized Vulcan." scolded the young Cajun. "You love this as much as we do. Stop de gripe. Hear?"
The taller boy grumbled, and Fabian rolled his eyes.
Cayanne grinned. "Dis town not home. Not know it nearly as well, but den, Internet maps useful. Oui?" She held up her find - a modified old handheld device with a global tracking cartridge taped into the port.
"You took that without permission?" Graham sounded shocked.
The teen-age Cajun's grin widened. "Hate to break dis to you, ami, but we are thieves."
Zane burst out laughing, and Justin swing his wings to his back, tail dancing with amusement.
"Besides. Was in de "recycle" bin." She looked down at the worn, battered case. "De school gonna pitch it. I make use o' it."
"You're evil." snickered Fabian.
"Nah. If I were t' be evil, I'd own part interest in Hell by now."
Their laughter was soft, but not muted in it's enthusiasm.

Warren sat at the table, Jean on one side of him and Scott standing at the counter, going through what seemed to be an endless ream of Christmas wishes.
Bobby was sipping hot cocoa from a huge mug, grinning appreciatively to himself at the taste.
"What do our little angels want for Christmas?" Warren rather hoped his voice was neutral. No sense in ruining the fun for everybody.
"Well, Iolana wants some seeds so she can plant a garden-box." Jean smiled at the childish scribble. "And a Digimon..."
Stryfe, who at entered at that moment, snorted. Half the students wanted something-mons. The figures were often left in scattered heaps in the RecRoom, despite constant warnings from the adults.
"I see our resident Scrooge has arrived." commented Scott, a somewhat tenative smile on his face. The relationship devoloping between him and the one-time would-be conquerer was tenueous, but the hostility was at least draining away.
"This entire celebration seems rather overdramatized." he said, telekenetically fetching a glass of mile from the refridgerator. "Nathan and I have secured the perimiter."
Bobby swallowed his cocoa the wrong way and went into a coughing fit.
Logan, who was entering from the other direction, gave the younger man a swat on the back that nearly landed Bobby in his drink.
"Geez, Wolvie, you don't know your own strength."
A noncommental growl was the only reply as Logan searched through the 'fridge for his beer. He had to hide the Molson, otherwise the kids tended to get into it - not something he exactly approved of, though, granted, it tended to scare some of them off drinking for life after a few swallowes.
Suceeding in his quest, he turned a chair around and sat opposite Jean, taking an absent-minded swallow as he tapped his fingers absently against his thigh.
"Say, Wolvie - you like Christmas, right?" Bobby spoke up, turning to look at the Canadian.
Logan shrugged. "I suppose." he rumbled.
Jean looked up. "You suppose?" she almost squeaked. "You don't like Christmas?"
"Not my time o' year." He took another swallow, then looked back at her. "What?"
"Well, I know you're not exactly...uh...." The red-head suddenly floundered.
"Christian?" suggested Logan, grinning wryly. "Nah. Not exactly against it, just ain't never been much of a religious type."
Scott blinked a few times. Somehow, he had never considered that aspect of Logan's character.
"Cayanne's gone." Althea announced, entering with Denise in tow. Both seemed rather pleased with themselves.
"Gone?" Scott frowned at the girl, who was smiling suggestively at Logan. Oh, God. he thought, fighting down a smile despite himself.
"Yes. She left the grounds without permission..."
"Thank you, Althea, but you're supposed to be in bed." said Jean, turning a determinedly neutral gaze on the young woman.
"But..."
"Now." Logan's growl sent both girls scurrying.

Cayanne hoisted herself up the back of the fire escape, giving Zane a hand up behind her. Liam scrambled up a moment right behind them, and Justin landed a moment behind. Fabian and Graham finished their race up the rickety stairs to skid to a halt behind the group.
"Dis good place." said the Cajun, taking a deep breath of the rendolant, spice-scented air. Tilting her head back, she let the wind stroke through her hair, shaking it out absently.
A park on a building was a relatively new idea to the group, but Cayanne was rather pleased with the idea. Up above the ground, they could perform their year-end ritual without being seen. Or heard.
Graham set down the bag and looked around. "There is that party...." he began.
"Ravers not worry 'bout us up here. And dey not really care if dey see us, anyhow. Dat de good t'ing 'bout ravin'."
"Right." muttered the tall boy, as the others set down their burdens.
"We have what we need - Li, you got your flute?" added Zane, carefully lifting the simple lap-drum from his backpack.
The shorter boy nodded, hands absently stroking the precious object. Though simple in design, it had been a gift from Zane just before the Hidden, and he treasured it.
Pacing off the Circle, they called it. Each member of the little group would have their own space, and each would have their own voice. This way, the ritual was a part of all of them.
The lap-drums were settled in place, and Cayanne turned to Liam, eyes sparkling with starlight and shadow. "You need t' call dem." she said, sitting down next to him.
Dipping his head, the shy young mutant murmered softly.
The shadows rippled.
From them, three figures emerged.
One was barely more than a furball with eyes, skittering excitedly to Liam and crawling to his shoulder.
The second was massive. Humanoid, in char-black armor, carrying a huge battle-axe, the glowing red embers of his eyes focused on the boy, making a slight bow, more affectionate than subserviant.
The last was catlike shadow, all muscle and furless, sliding through the shadows like a whisper in the dark.
"Giggles, no ears!" pleaded Liam, scooting a bit over so the knight-like creature could kneel beside him. The cat-thing sat with an inscrutable gaze, watching as the young mutant stroked between his ears.
Zane started, a low, steady beat that was barely audible. A heartbeat, picking up slowly as Cayanne's rythem brought a pulse. Liam added an otherworldly, haunting tone, as Justin began to croon, a low rumble underscoring the others. Fabian added his own drum-beat, then Graham. There was no speech but the drums, the whistle of the flute, the eriee croon of Justin, all blending slowly into a living rythem. It spoke in it's own way, and each instrument added it's own voice.
Raw, untamed, the music was not something taken lightly. Too much pain was being released here.
Too much rage.
As the rythems blended, the three otherworldy creatures took the sound and kept it going, as the teen-agers flung off their outer wear and entered the Circle, each throwing their own movements into the night. Each remaining in their own space. Not touching, but part of one another. Nothing refined or practiced, nothing neat or clean.
Only primal.
Ending. And beginning.
The boys had their shorts on, for the chill night air did not warm them as their own movements did.
In this ritual, invented and expanded on by them alone, defined by their own needs, held by their own law, the boys found release from the past year.
Cayanne had on shorts and a loose t-shirt, struggling with her own demons.
Unfortunately, some demons refused to let go so easily.

Logan had tracked the "runaways" with no great ease - they had experiance avoiding being seen, but for the mutant known as Wolverine, it was simply a matter of time.
When he saw them, perched on a ledge across from them, the instinctive part of him understood.
This was a battle.
Not fought with any physical weapon, and not won with any physical strength.
These young mutants were battling with themselves, struggling for balance. Definition. Identity.
His feral senses allowed him to almost experiance their ritual, though he was an uninvited observer.
But his gaze was caught on the teen-age Cajun who, for once, danced with a savage abandon that was both threatening and oddly erotic. Cinnamon and spice and the scent of burning pine.
A moment later he had swung down from his perch and was gone.

"They're okay." growled Logan, shoving open the door.
The adults stared at him, most questioning, some puzzled.
Xavier spoke quietly. "Why would they leave the grounds, Logan?"
"Their own celebration."

Warren grumbled. He had been assigned to supervise - of all things - choir class.
Veronica was sick with a cold, and somehow he had been shuffled in to supervise - of all things - Christmas carols.
"Dddhoooo nnnhooot sssiiinng." came a strange voice, directly behind him.
Warren spun around, staring into alien eyes.
"Justin!" he said the name more harshly than he intended. The boy was on the class list, by name, at least.
The head cocked, and came up a bit on the draconian neck. "Ccccaaaayaaane tttttoooold uussss oooonnnce ttthhhaaaat iiifff yoooohu caaanoooot ffffheeeel, ttthhhheeee mmmmmuuusssiiiiic mmmmeeeeans nnnoooothiiing."
Oh, God, I must be depressed. A teen-age demon is trying to bond with me. thought the mutant savagely. "It's just Christmas carolling." he said, indicating the rehersal room. "Nothing too complex."
"Ttttrrrrulllly? Thhhheen Iiiih hoooopeee yhooou wiiilll fooorgiiive meeee, buuuut Iiiiih knnnooow nnnnnooonnnne aaaaat aaaaaalllll."

Cayanne groaned and clamped both hands over her ears as another enthusiastic - if more than a little off-key - round of "Jingle Bells" started.
"Hey, there." Logan's voice was gruff as she trotted into the kitchen. Pretty much the only safe haven from overdosing on Christmas sweetness at the moment.
"Gaaahh!!!" she moaned. "Another o' de chorus! I musta run over de bus o' nuns in de past life!"
Despite his reputation, Logan actually grinned a little. "They got spirit." he comforted, feet comfortably kicked up on the table.
"Dey got somethin'. One more round o' de "Wish You Merry Christmas" and I gonna borrow Nathan's gun and go de postal."
Logan snorted with laughter.
"Speakin' o' grim occurance, where de winged lump o' misery? De one you call Archangel?"
"Dunno, darlin'." Logan had pulled out a cigar, and Cayanne was eyeing it with speculative disgust - and a squirt bottle. Grinning wolfishly, he put the stogie away and leaned back comfortably. "Probably off flappin' his wings."

Warren tryed to hide a sense of growing misery. Christmas at home had always been a simple delivery of presents and prompt banishment to his room - he had no "glowing family memories" to miss.
Justin was the only student that seemed to notice.
So when the group gathered, he was suprised when the boy padded over to an unfamiliar girl and spoke softly. Once he pointed back at Archangel, then the pair were promptly joined by four boys.
He gave his most encouraging smile to the group. "Good job, everyone! That was great. Ready to show the others what you can do?"

As the fourteen young people filed out in front of the mansion, they all were whispering to one another.
Justin spoke up softly, before anyone could say anything. "Fffoooorgiiive thhheeee iiiiinnnteeeruuuptiooon, buuuut wheee aaaaske tooo siiiing fiiiirst. Aaaa sooong - aaaaa giiiiift - tooooo aaaaa teeeaaaacheeerr?"
When no-one objected, the demon-like mutant tugged Cayanne over, and the rest of the small group gathered around him.
Untrained voices began to sing, all focused on one person.
One person who had lost his faith.
One person who felt no joy, because he had been given none.
They sang to fill a void, because they knew.
And Justin sang, sibilant-odd voice beautiful somehow, in the gift he gave.

Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!
Joyful, all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies;
With the angelic host proclaim
Christ is born in Bethlehem!
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born King!

And somehow, for one, shocking moment, Warren understood. This was his family. And somehow, someway, he - indeed - was an angel of sorts. Not just a warrior angel, an archangel.
A herald.
The image of the past was replaced, at that moment, of all the X-Men gathered around him, the students now singing lustily about snowmen and bells and trees, with one of priceless peace.
Of angels, light....
The triumph of the skies.
And here, with a demon-winged mutant boy who took one moment on this day to show him that wings didn't make an angel.
It was about being able to give without needing and comfort without holding back.
About family.
About home.
Despite himself, despite being in the middle of the crowd, with the children cheering and the adults laughing and congratulating, Warren Worthington III wept.
And he knew, somehow, Justin understood as he began to sing, awkwardly, softly, about Christmas, flying, and being home, at last.

Translations from the Cajun (French)

Votre père vous aimera toujours, ange idiot. - Your Papa will always love you, silly angel
Nous ne pouvons pas être à la maison, mais nous nous avons. - We can't go home, but we have each other.