Chapter Twenty-Five:
Later that evening, after all the guests had returned, the Malloys treated them to a fabulous buffet of pizza and beer prepared in the safety of their home. No one really seemed interested in venturing into the city for another adventure. The evening news was still reporting random acts of shoe store weirdness, but the wave of odd customers had boosted sales of vintage platform shoes by eight hundred percent, so retailers were not really complaining.
Toad had quickly detached himself from the revelers (he really had no interest in listening to the blonde vampire tell ridiculous stories from her high school), and made his way up to the rooftop deck. The sky had turned cloudy after the sun set, the moon shrouded until there was nothing left of its light but a vague circular hazy. The only other visible light was from the lamp above the doorway to the stairs, which lead down into the house.
Toad crouched in one far corner of the roof, his elbows leaning against his knees. He would have been nearly invisible in the heavy shadows if not for the glow of his small computer. He held the screen close to his face, a habit remaining from when he was young, before his severely nearsighted eyes had been effectively treated. By now, he had most of the names on Magneto's list memorized, but that did not get him any closer to locating anyone.
The articles he had found online about 'Maximoff, Pietro' were still tucked safely inside of his coat, but he wanted more than news clippings to show when he and Mystique returned to the Island. The blue shape shifter had reported back to Magneto earlier about the progress of Pyro's training, and Toad had been quietly relieved when she made no mention of seeing the 'secret' list. Their leader had been pleased to hear about Pyro's advancements, and had not sounded surprised about the 'rules' that Rebecca was forcing the boy to recite. Rules were the way of the Council, Magneto had explained, and since it had not troubled him, then it did not trouble Toad.
Shame Pyro didn't get to blow up the car, Toad thought to himself and grinned, reminiscing back on the events outside of the Westchester train station from nearly two years before.
Magneto had tossed around the police vehicles like Matchbox toys, and Pyro had told them about destroying the cars outside of the home of one of the X-Men. Next time the Brotherhood is faced with the authorities, it was going to be one hell of a show.
Toad tucked the computer inside of his coat (double checking to make sure it was secure), and scaled down along the side of the building until he reached the line of parked cars. He hoped Mystique noticed that their transportation was missing at some point before he got back, just so she knew that he was carrying on with Magneto's mission, whether or not she thought she had some kind of advantage over him.
The city streets were fairly calm as Toad made his way downtown. He had equipped the car with a navigation system long ago, a luxury rarely needed but one he was grateful to have tonight. There had only been one 'Maximoff, Pietro' listed in the New York metropolitan area. The address was a penthouse in a very exclusive residential area. Toad knew he would have no problem driving through the area unnoticed. Magneto had no problem acquiring high-end automobiles, and the tinted windows ensured pedestrians would not spot the mutant driver.
Toad followed the route indicated by the navigator until he neared a swanky high rise. He drove slowly past the entrance but did not stop. There were two bellhops giving salutations to residents as they arrived or departed and Toad could see a security station just inside the glass doors.
After he had parked the car in the back of the building, Toad took a paper out of his pocket and double-checked the apartment number.
14-C, he thought and grumbled unhappily, "Bloody wonderful..."
As he climbed toward the fourteenth floor, Toad maneuvered around rows of windows and wide decks that jutted out past the outer wall. He could hear random snippets of conversation as he moved upward, and his face melted into a hateful sneer. The people sounded mostly happy, chatting and laughing, sitting high above the real world in their gilded flats, stuffing their rich faces with sweet breads and champagne, having no idea what life was like beyond their carefree and cushioned existence.
Toad could feel raw fury burning behind his eyes. The soft light coming from the various apartments seemed sharp and hateful. The happy voices mocked him as he scuttled through the dark. He hated soft. He hated posh. He hated anything that made life normal, because normal had always hated him.
His fingertips were becoming sore as he scraped his way upward, moving with uncanny speed, almost too fast for the sticky secretion on his hands to give him a solid grip on the rough wall. Toad did not notice his discomfort. He was nearly shaking with outrage at the humans around him and all the light had turned to horrid shades of gray.
It took him a moment to realize his fingers were losing their adhesion to the stone and Toad inhaled sharply as he began to slide downward. He reached out for something to grasp, his booted feet scraping uselessly against the finished surface.
No trolls to break your fall this time, mate, Toad thought, a panicked chuckle caught in his throat as he tumbled backward.
Fortunately, Toad did not fall far before his body impacted into a solid surface, which was thankfully lined with some kind of cushioning. He lay there for a moment, watching the pretty stars dance in front of his face. He blinked a few times, letting the endorphins of relief rush into his system, before registering the dull pain in his back.
"Oh...fuckin'ell," Toad muttered unhappily, and put a hand to his head before sitting up.
He glanced around and realized he had landed square in the middle of a long fold out pillow. He sighed heavily and chuckled again.
"Bloody futon to the rescue," he said aloud, and then froze when a voice spoke from nearby.
"Whoa," a small, surprised little boy said from shadows, "Are you okay?"
Toad was on his feet in an instant, reflexively taking a defensive stance when he heard the boy speak.
"Where the heck did you come from?" the boy asked with a strange kind of awe.
Toad frowned and tilted his head. The boy was sitting cross-legged on another pile of pillows. His skin was dark and he was wearing a blanket over his head like a hood. All that was really visible were the whites of his intensely curious eyes. The kid did not seem frightened, and Toad was grateful for it. All he needed was the kid to start screaming for mum and da before Toad could get on with his mission.
Without replying to the boy, Toad crouched and took one of his gloves off. He flexed his webbed fingers experimentally, and scowled with annoyance as the moisture slowly returned to his skin. He did not notice the little boy inching toward him carefully.
"Hey!" the boy suddenly exclaimed, making Toad jump back into fighting stance, "Your hands are just like mine!"
Toad watched with surprise as the boy walked right up next to him and held out one hand proudly. Toad noticed for the first time that the kid's skin was dark purple, except for his left eye, which was encircled with a sickly brown ring.
The English mutant regarded the webbing between the boy's fingers and then flexed his own hand again in comparison. Toad glanced uncomfortably at the boy, who looked like he had just inherited Disneyland. As if the expression was contagious, Toad began to grin as well. He scratched his head and wondered if he had been knocked out. The mutant boy's strange enthusiasm seemed a little surreal.
"Um..." Toad began uneasily, "D'you know what floor this is?"
The boy's eyes widened again when he heard Toad's accent, his new guest becoming even cooler cause he sounded like Harry Potter.
"Eleven. I live in apartment eleven-B, one-o-nine south Ascher Street, New York," the boy replied proudly, and then asked with heartbreaking innocence, "Are you from Hogwarts?"
Toad frowned, having no idea what the hell 'Hogwarts' was, and shook his head.
"From England," he replied simply and the boy nodded with delight.
"Yeah! That's where Hogwarts is!" he replied, "Is that where you're from?"
"No..." Toad said, still grinning strangely, "I'm... from... York... actually..."
The boy frowned, "You mean 'New York'?"
"No..." Toad replied, "I'm from York...Old York. The first one was in England."
"No way!" the boy replied, "That's almost as cool as Hogwarts!"
Toad nodded, but glanced around with confusion, "Yeah, right..."
Suddenly, the deck doors shuttered as someone pounded on them from the other side. The boy winced and drew the blanket closer around his face. Toad frowned and noticed for the first time that all the windows around the deck had been covered in heavy drapes. He glanced back at the boy with a questioning stare.
"I'm not supposed to be loud," the boy replied in a whisper, "We've got company. I'm supposed to stay out here when we've got company. Mom and dad says people will get mad if I bother them..."
The boy's jovial expression had changed so quickly to shame that Toad felt new anger stir in his chest. When the boy looked at him again, it was with a strange desperation.
"I'm not botherin' you, am I?" he asked, taking a few steps back, "Cause I'll leave you alone if I am. I didn't mean to bother you... I didn't mean to make you mad..."
Toad blinked, and shook the new scowl from his face. The boy had mistaken it as something directed at him. After a moment, the green mutant composed himself and offered the boy another friendly grin.
"You're not botherin' me," Toad replied, trying to sound supportive, "I never met anybody else wit' webbin' either..."
The relief that washed over the boy's small form was so intense that he began to shake. Toad examined him again closely, and speculated about the strange brown discoloration around his eye. He wondered if it was mum or da who liked to hit.
"I gotta go," Toad said, and the boy looked despondent again, "I'm... workin' now. Gotta finish and get back home."
"Back to Old York," the boy asked with a grin.
"Yeah," Toad said in agreement, not wanting to spoil their vague bond.
"Can you come back and visit again?" the boy asked hopefully.
"No," Toad replied honestly. He would not give the mutant boy any false hopes. The kid did not have a terrible life here, at least compared to the hell Toad grew up in. From the piles of books around, he figured the kid could read, and there was a basket full of food and snacks near the doors. Even the black eye seemed minor against the gray areas of hate that hid Toad's memories of 'old York'.
The boy watched sadly as Toad got to his feet and pulled the black fingerless glove back over his hand. He tested his grip against the outer wall surface and pulled himself out over the ledge. Before he crawled away, Toad paused and glanced back at the kid.
"What flat you say this was again?" he asked, and the boy puzzled for a moment before Toad corrected, "I mean... apartment. What apartment is this?"
"Eleven-B," the boy replied, and then stressed, "In New York."
"New York," Toad repeated with a reluctant grin and then began to scale the wall upward again. He did not look back.
After three more floors, Toad turned a sharp left and climbed around to the other side of the building. He counted the windows until he reached an outcropping next to the corner flat. The apartment was obviously larger than most in the building and from what Toad could see, it was much more luxurious as well.
There were voices coming from within and Toad moved closer to a pair of large open windows. He glanced inside, partially hidden by flowing curtains and regarded those present carefully.
He saw three women and two men, all sitting comfortably around a lavish dining table and chatting amusedly among themselves. Toad did not make an effort to hear what they were saying. It was obvious that neither of the men were Maximoff. He waited, and after a few more minutes, one of the ladies called out loudly.
"What are you doing in there, Pietro?" she chided silkily, "Smashing the grapes yourself?"
"He could..." one of the men shot back, "...as fast as he likes to do things..."
"Not everything," another of the woman replied, garnering laughter from the ensemble.
Toad ignored them and turned his attention to the far side of the room as a man with starkly blonde hair joined the group. He was in his mid-thirties, slender to the point of being gaunt, and smiled suavely at his guests as he offered to refresh their wine.
"I abhor stomping," Pietro Maximoff announced to his guests, "Far too strenuous. I simply took a quick sprint to the Napa Valley..."
The guests all praised his wit with peals of robotic laughter. Toad also grinned, but not at the other man's humor. This was definitely the mutant from Magneto's list. Toad reached into one of his many pockets and took out a small camera. After snapping a few close ups of Mr. Maximoff, he shifted himself away from the window and moved back down toward the car.
Now, he not only had an address, but also had documentation identifying the mutant; more than enough to please Magneto and to wipe the smug amusement of his 'failure' off Mystique's face. The mutant's listed nickname was Quicksilver and Toad wondered if Pietro's 'sprinting' comment had been a joke.
