AN: Don't ever, Ever, EVER take an income tax course unless you have LOTS of free time, and you like numbers. Yech. Also, please review.

darkstorm5000: Hey, thanks for the review. Sorry, didn't get to the whole native tribes thing … yet.

Chapter Three: Conversations

X-Mansion

"Look, I've already said it once, and I'll say it again: I'm sorry for calling you a stripper."

"That's not good enough," Emma replied to Jake, her entire form seemingly seething in cool anger.

"Well, I'm still sorry," Jake said. "It's just that, considering the environment, I wasn't expecting to see so much skin." The moment he said it, he realized he said too much.

"And what exactly does that mean," she nearly yelled.

"It means-," Jake began, his voice even louder than hers. He paused for a moment, reigning in his temper. "It means," Jake continued, more calmly, "that you've not considered how you dress might affect the kids."

"And how is that," she asked coolly.

"Teenage boys are like walking hard-ons," he said evenly. "One look at you, and their li'ble ta pop."

THAT IS ENOUGH! Professor Xavier's voice yelled into their minds, the equivalent of a jackhammer to the brain. "I will not have you two arguing as nothing more than children," he said tersely from behind his desk.

"I apologize," Jake said to both Professor Xavier and Emma. "What I said was out of line." He held his hand out to Emma. "I'm Jackson Ayers, but most people call me Jake. Nice to meet you."

She looked at his hand, and for a moment Jake didn't think she would grasp it. "Likewise," she said, taking his hand. Her eyes, though, said another story.

"Now, I know that you both wanted to speak with me," Professor Xavier said to the two. "Emma?"

"You've been having dreams," Jake said, more a statement than a question.

"How-," Emma began.

"I can sense it," he said, seemingly looking through her. "I don't know how, though," he continued, mystified.

"Magic," the Professor asked.

"Probably," Jake replied, his eyes clearing. "Do you mind if I ask what they are about?"

She looked towards the Professor, in silent askance, who nodded his head ever so slightly. "I've been seeing something kill Jubilee. It was a blue-gray, humanoid thing, with entirely black eyes. And after it kills her, I see Logan falling to his knees before her body."

"Nothing about that seems familiar," Jake said, after a moment.

"Familiar," Emma asked.

"That's right," Jake said, thoughtfully. "You've been kind of out of the loop. I hope you don't mind me asking, but have you developed any new powers recently, say within the last two months or so?"

"What does that have to do with the dreams?"

"Everything or nothing," Jake said. "We don't know yet."

"Yes," she replied slowly. "I'm stronger than what I used to be when I'm in my diamond form."

"Did this happen after a thunderstorm,' Professor Xavier asked.

"Yes," Emma answered. "But, what does all of this have to do with the dreams I've been having?"

"We don't exactly know," Jake answered her. "But, there is something that we have to tell you."

"And that is?"

"You had better sit down for this," the Professor told her.

"What's going on here," she asked hesitantly, as she took one of the seats in front of the Professor's desk.

"A couple of months ago," Jake said, "there was a massive storm that passed overhead. This storm was not natural, but magical in origin, and it caused lots of changes around here.…"

- - - -

Nearly an hour later, an awestruck Emma walked out of the Professor's office, her mind still trying to grasp that she had just been speaking with someone with the potential to be more powerful than the Phoenix. "What do you think," Jake asked the Professor, as she closed the door.

"It seems," the Professor began, "that the number of comrades-in-arms that we are to have for this … task … will include almost all of those that we have fought alongside."

"I was thinking something along the same line."

"I know," the Professor replied, wryly. "I am a telepath." He looked up at Jake, his smile disappearing. "Now, there was something that you had wanted to speak about with me," he asked, getting down to business.

"Yeah," Jake replied, pulling out a manila folder. "I nearly forgot about it, until I answered the door. I've been busy grading papers … but in any event." He laid the folder on the desk. "I was going through some of the files you had on team members. And they're very well detailed. But, I came across several files where there is no definitive answer as to whether those members are alive or dead. They're names are …"

"Sage, Havoc, and Moonstar," the Professor finished.

"How'd you …", Jake began.

"I was there," the Professor said, a sad half-smile etched into his face. "At the time, Ororo and her team had still been gone from the mansion. As it was, though, they were in southern Ontario, not too far north of Niagara Falls."

"So, they weren't so far away?"

"No, they weren't," the Professor replied. "If it had not been for the fact that they had been so close, things might have been much worse that day."

"What exactly happened?"

"Robots attacked us; robots that were modeled after us," the Professor replied. "Each machine had the combined abilities of three or four of us. To my knowledge, all of them had the ability to repair themselves, with advanced nanotechnology. Many of them had optic blasts, and were able to take massive amounts of damage." He paused for a moment, organizing his thoughts. "Many were able to absorb energy blasts, and reuse the energy for their own purposes. Last of all, they were all armed with mini-guns, and grenade launchers."

"Damn," Jake said softly. "They weren't here for a fight; they were here for an execution."

"That was exactly what came to our minds at the time. We fought them, and for a few moments, it seemed as if we had been able to defeat them. That was when we realized that some of them were repairing themselves. It wasn't until that time, that we realized that we would be needing help. And it wasn't until nearly thirty minutes later, that Storm and her team arrived."

"And what happened in the meantime?"

"Half the mansion was demolished, while almost everyone had been injured. By the time that the others arrived, the only ones standing were Cyclops, Wolverine, and Iceman. Alex and Dani, they had both been fatally injured. Alex's chest had been crushed from a blast from one of the energy absorbing machines. Dani, she …," the Professor paused. He tried to compose himself, but the bitter memory was still evident in his eyes. "She had been almost entirely cut in half by one of the machine's guns." He closed his eyes, and hung his head. "Henry was only able to make them as comfortable as he could.

"As Storm and her team landed, Scott and Bobby tried to clear an area for them. But, while doing that, Bobby was taken down with a blast from one of the same machines that had injured Alex. He lost his left arm, and most of the left side of his torso."

"But, he was still in ice form, though. That's why he still has both arms." It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes," the Professor acquiesced. "He was one of the luckier ones that day." He paused, remembering the day. "Storm's team drew fire the moment they appeared overhead. Rogue was the first out, drawing fire, and allowing everyone else a chance to get out of the jet. Storm had created a massive thunderstorm, but, yet, it was still not enough." He paused, memories he had tried to forget floating back to his waking consciousness. "Sage, she was in the wrong spot, at the wrong moment. Several bullets ricocheted off Logan's shoulder blade, and perforated her lungs. She began to drown even before Henry could get to her."

"What happened to Hank?"

"The machines," the Professor answered somberly, "had targeted his legs with their energy blasts. They broke them both." He paused, the memories haunting him. "But, even if he had not been injured, he would not have been able to bring anyone to the infirmary, because rubble was blocking the way."

"Professor? Are you okay," Jake asked. He'd noticed the elder man's increasingly grave voice.

"It is just that there have been few times when I truly thought the X-Men would not persevere," he replied. He looked up, his eyes grave. "By the time that Sage was shot," he continued, "only Rogue, Ororo, Scott, and Logan were left standing." He smiled gravely.

"I know," Jake said, understanding the smile all too well. "The two of them are so different, but, yet, at times are more similar than either of them would ever be willing to admit."

"Yes," the Professor replied. "Scott had a broken arm, and Ororo was bleeding from a bullet wound to the shoulder. Logan was still standing solely because of his rage. And it was then that the machines had been about to start their final attack."

"But," Jake asked, expectantly.

"But, a sudden, heavy blue-gray mist appeared. It swept over us, and made the few of us left standing pass out." The Professor paused, gathering his thoughts. "But, before I lost consciousness, I heard the sound of electric circuits shorting out."

"What happened?"

"To this day, none of us are entirely sure," the Professor replied. "But the mist saved our lives that day." He looked up towards Jake, meeting the younger man's eyes. "We awoke approximately twelve hours later, with not even a scratch on any of us. But, at the same time, Alex's, Dani's, and Tessa's bodies had disappeared. What was left of the machines was laid out before us, disassembled into scrap metal."

"But, that wasn't the end of it," Jake stated more than asked.

"No, it wasn't," the Professor responded. "Several months later, I detected Dani's mind for a short time, maybe a minute, somewhere in Italy."

"Italy?"

"Yes," the Professor answered. "But, that was still not the end. Perhaps a week afterwards, I sensed Alex in Africa, specifically in western Kenya. Try as I might, I could not get in contact with him, though. After ten minutes, the contact disappeared."

"Did you investigate?"

"Yes, immediately." Professor Xavier smiled gravely. "Storm, Bishop, Beast, and Jean left for Kenya within the hour. But instead of finding Alex, we found someone else."

"Betsy," Jake said softly.

- - - -

En Route to New Mexico

"Why didn't you tell me you dated her," Celeste asked, her Australian accent deepening.

"I didn't think it was important," Joey replied, sitting across from her in the jet.

"You didn't think it was important to tell me that your former girlfriend called you for help," she asked, her eyes glaring daggers.

"No, because the last time that the two of us spoke, we'd broken up, and were just friends."

"You think on that word, Joseph Whitefeather," she replied hotly. She turned, and walked towards the back of the plane, leaving a confused Joey. She sat down, opposite Kurt and Angela, fuming on her own thoughts. She pulled the small metal case she brought with her closer, her train of thought obviously changing.

"What is in the case," Kurt asked.

"What," Celeste asked, only hearing his voice.

"What is in the case," he asked again.

"It's a prototype me, Hank, and Kitty have been working on," she replied. She noticed he was squatting on the edge of his seat, his tail swaying gently behind him, balancing his seemingly precarious stance.

"A prototype? What kind," he queried further.

"You remember the cybernetic suit that Sybre wore," she asked. He nodded slightly. She noticed that Angela's eyes seemed to almost glow at Sybre's mention. "Well, this is a prototype of the next version of that suit." She looked at Angela for a moment; the fire in her eyes seemed to have died down, but it was still there. "The original used nanobots that would spread out not just over the skin, but also throughout the body. But, the user had to keep metal bracelets on his or her arms to control them."

"And how is this one different?" It was Angela that asked the question, who now seemed to be truly interested in the subject.

"The first is that we were able to base the new suit on both human and Shi'ar technology. We were also able to mimic the technology in Cable's body."

"You were," Kurt asked, surprised.

"Yes," she replied. "I have to admit, Apocalypse may've been one crazy bloke … but he was a genius. But, anyway, we were able to make nanomachinery that inserted itself into the very genome of its host."

"Isn't that a little dangerous," he asked.

"No," Celeste replied. "But, if there is a problem, we have a failsafe." She opened the metal case, withdrawing a small remote, about the size of a garage opener. "If something goes wrong, the host can just press this button, and all the nanobots will shut down. The body will naturally dispose of them, the same way it would any other dead cell." She put the remote away, closing and locking the case. "Another thing is that once it has bonded with the host, the machines will also protect him or her even when the person is not suited up."

"Really," Kurt asked.

"Yes," she replied, her excitement growing. "And because the nanobots are able to employ nanotechnology, they are able to change the form of the suit at the host's will. This will allow the host to create weapons, from the most archaic to those with complex parts, such as rockets or even guns. It will also allow the host to create locomotion mechanisms, such as, perhaps, propellers, or even a jet engine."

"The three of you were able to invent all of that in just under six months," Angela asked, incredulously.

"Yeah," Celeste replied. "Kind of amazing, huh?"

"Yes," Angela answered. "Quite."

"Now," Kurt said, sitting next to Celeste, "when are you going to tell him?"

"Tell who what," she asked, puzzled.

"When are you going to tell Joey that you've been hurt by lies and half-truths?"

"How," she began exasperatedly. She shut her mouth quickly, almost snapping it, and eyed him suspiciously. "You sat me up."

"Yes," he replied calmly. "But, one cannot talk about problems angrily. The anger can only get in the way."

"Damn you," she cursed half-heartedly. "You and your damn seminary training." She sighed resignedly, picking at her fingernails. "Do you think I overreacted," she asked, looking up.

"I do not know," he admitted. "You had a reason to be upset, of course. He did not, after all, tell you the whole truth." He looked down to his hands, and smiled slightly. "But, perhaps there was a reason he did not tell you."

"Do you think so," she asked, looking into his eyes.

"Yes," he replied, smiling. "As relationships are concerned, most men are as blind fools wondering aimlessly through a dense forest."

"Nice analogy." She smiled, looking at her fingernails again. "I'm still angry at him, though," she said, looking up.

"I know," Kurt said. "And you have a right to be. But, you know as well as I that any good relationship is based on trust and communication."

"I think I'm going to go talk with him," she said softly. "Thanks," she said, turning towards Kurt. "You're a saint." With that, she stood up, and walked towards the front of the jet.

"You're a priest," Angela asked, after Celeste had sat down next to Joey.

"I was," he replied, forlornly.

"Why aren't you anymore?"

"I … I don't really want to talk about it," he replied, the defensive tone in his voice unmistakable.

"Okay." She reached out, and took his hands in hers. "But, if you ever do want to," she said, half-smiling, "I'm a very good listener."

- - - -

Canadian Rockies

"Okay," Michael said, tensely. He was trying not to move his mouth too much, for fear of the claws at his throat cutting him. "My name is Michael … Michael Corvin." He gestured with his eyes towards the woman under the blankets. "That's Selene."

"That's a start," Logan snarled. "Now, what the hell are you?"

"She's a vampire.…"

"We already know that," Jean said, her eyes blazing. "But, what are you?"

"I'm a hybrid," Michael said, trying not to swallow. "I'm half vampire, and half lycan."

"Lycan," Logan growled questioningly.

"Werewolf," Michael clarified.

"And what are you doin' here?"

Michael hesitated for a moment. "We're," he began slowly, "running."

"From what," Jean asked, standing behind Logan.

"Other vampires," he answered, eyeing the claws. "Do you think you can put me down now?"

"One more question," Logan replied. He was almost face to face with Michael, his eyes shining with intensity. "They still followin' ya?"

"No," Michael answered. "We lost them maybe a hundred miles back."

"Good," Logan said, sheathing his claws. He stepped back, and dropped Michael unceremoniously to the ground.

"Thanks," Michael, said half-heartedly. He rubbed his throat, checking for blood. Finding none, he eyed the couple in front of him. "I didn't get your names."

"I'm Jean." She pointed towards Logan. "That's my husband, Logan." She crouched down to eye level, a question suddenly coming to her. "You know, you really didn't say where you were heading, or why you were running."

"It's kind of a long story," Michael said.

"Then tell us the short version," Logan said gruffly.

Michael looked up at the other man momentarily, slightly offended. "We're involved in a war between vampires and lycans – werewolves – that's been going on for nine hundred years."

"But, why are you running," Jean asked.

"Two reasons," Michael answered. "The first is that I'm a hybrid, something that the vampires are more afraid of than any lycan." He paused, and looked towards the still unconscious Selene. "The vampire elders were so afraid of hybrids that one of them, Viktor, put his own daughter to death for marrying a lycan, and for being pregnant with a hybrid child."

"He killed her fer lovin' somebody diff'rent," Logan stated, anger rising in his voice.

"Yeah," Michael answered. "He was a bigot."

"Was," Jean asked.

"Yeah, that's the other reason we're running," he said. "Selene killed him to save me." He looked somberly at her covered form next to the couch. "He was like a father to her. But when it came down to it, he was unable to accept a vampire and a lycan being in love."

"I thought you said you were a hybrid," Logan asked, suspiciously.

"I am," Michael responded curtly. "But, I … wasn't always."

"Ya still haven't answered her first question, bub."

"Where we were going?" Michael smiled solemnly. "We had heard of a large lycan den somewhere in western North America. It was, supposedly, run by the brother of the lycan general."

"Who was that," Jean asked.

"Lucian," Michael replied. "He was Viktor's son-in-law. It was Lucian who has led the lycans during the last nine hundred years. I think that it was because of him that lycans haven't gone extinct yet."

"Vampires were hunting them to extinction," Jean asked rhetorically. Behind her, Logan growled menacingly, the thought of an extinction agenda striking a raw nerve. "Did you find where the … den … was?" It had struck a nerve with her, as well, but she hid it as well as she could.

"Yes," Michael answered. "Supposedly, it was in L.A."

"I think ya made a wrong turn, bub,"

Michael looked at the other man petulantly. "Every time we turned south, Death Dealers, over a hundred of them, would cut us off."

"Death Dealer?" Logan stared at Michael intensely, the very term provoking his already incensed temper.

"Vampire extermination squads," Michael clarified. "Every time we turned south, they corralled us north."

"Until you got here," Jean said.

"Yeah," Michael replied. He looked up at her, and then at Logan, a question forming behind his eyes. "Do you mind if I ask …," he began. He paused, casting his eyes downward. "You two are mutants, right?"

"Yeah, what about it," Logan asked, defensively. His arms were at his sides again, his hands clutched into tight fists.

"Well, the thing is…," Michael began slowly. "The thing is that Selene and I had never heard anything at all about mutants before about three months ago in London." He paused, finding something especially interesting on his hands, while trying to ignore the intense stare of the two mutants. "It was also about the same time that we met Blade, and found out that there was more than one vampire race."

- - - -

Unknown Location

The man sat with an open book on his lap. Before him was a small dais with a stone alter in the center. A network of small sluiceways was carved into the altar's surface, as if the tributaries to a great river. The sluiceways led to collection pools on either side of the altar. On the sides of both rectangular pools were carved symbols so worn, that they were almost smooth. Around the dais were hundreds, maybe thousands of candles, all casting an eerie light.

The effect on the room made it seem that much more the crypt it actually was.

The man turned the page in the massive tome, finding an ancient depiction of what he was looking for. Judging from the drawing, and the caption below it written in Latin, it would be a truly brutal procedure. It would take both finesse and care to keep the subject alive long enough to finish the bleeding. Luckily for us, he thought, we all have fought in enough battles to excel in both. He smiled, the low light on his Celtic features making it seem that much more predatory.

He closed the book, hearing his lieutenants come in through the door behind him. Turning, he saw his lieutenants, Claudia, a muscular blonde woman, Deacon, a slim man, but quite powerful, and Wes, a squat, but incredibly built former cat burglar. They were dragging an unmoving mass in a large burlap sack. "My Lord," Claudia began, "we found a candidate."

"Does she fit the requirements," the man asked. He stood, his eyes intense in askance.

"Yes, sire," Claudia replied. She motioned towards the other two, who emptied the sack. A teenage girl fell to the ground, naked, blindfolded, and gagged, her hands tied behind her back.

"Good," the man replied. "Put her on the altar." He turned towards Deacon and Wes. "Alert the others. Tell them that we are ready for the procedure." They nodded their heads, turning around and heading out of the room.

"Do you know what needs to be done, sire," Claudia asked, as she finished tying the girl down.

"Yes," the man replied. He walked over to the altar, removing the blindfold and gag. The girl was maybe fifteen, sixteen at most. She was attractive, if not exactly pretty. "We must remove her eyes to change form; her tongue and heart to be able to hypnotize; her lungs to become mist; her skin to resist daylight; her spinal cord to control the weather; and lastly, her blood, both as a sacrament and as that which gives us all the other abilities we await."

"Are there any special requirements, sire?"

"Yes," the man replied. "As you already know, the parts will be blended, and brewed over a fire. What you do not know is that those who wish to drink the … concoction … will have to chant the sacred spell."

"That does not seem so difficult, sire," Claudia said.

"No," he replied. "The difficult part, luckily, is made easier for us by an accompanying spell which prolongs death long enough to complete the task."

"She must be alive through the entire ordeal," Claudia asked.

"Alive … and conscious," the man replied, as his followers started flowing into the ancient crypt.