Pyro was waiting by the landing pad with a worried expression on his face. He was trying to cover it with bravado. "It's not my fault." he stated, defiantly. "I didn't know what she was up to before she did it."

Mystique. Erik sighed. "What did she do?"

"Broke a lot of stuff, set fire to your bed, and shoved a stick of dynamite in the furnace as a parting gift."

It's just as well I'm not bringing Grace here immediately. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Nope. She also said you dumped her for somebody who was almost a flatliner."

"She was mistaken. Ms. Engstrom is far from being a flatliner. Her gift is as unique as it is difficult to comprehend." Erik stepped down from the copter and headed for the main building, the younger, shorter man hurrying to keep up.

"What is it?"

"I said it was difficult to comprehend, but if you think of it as a form of precognition, you will have the basic idea."

"She sees the future?"

"Not exactly. I said it was difficult to comprehend."

"But you dumped Mystique for her because she's pregnant, and it's yours." Pyro sounded certain about that.

"This is yet another mistake. It's more complicated than that. And whether it is mine or not is no-one's business but mine and Ms. Engstrom's."

"Then what's going on?" They were making for the assembly hall.

"Let me answer that with another question. Do you intend to marry someday, and have children?"

"What?" There was a look of panic in Pyro's eyes.

"I don't mean now. I mean someday when you are very, very old—at least thirty. I was under the impression you were heterosexual, or did I read you wrong?"

"No. I'm straight!"

"You needn't be so defensive, dear boy. It's nothing to me who you like to sleep with. Let us suppose that you do marry one day, and that she is a mutant. As matters stand now, half your children would be mutants, and half sapients. It's a question of genetics. What would you do with the sapients?"

"I—I don't know."

"Do you choose to abort them, to abandon them, to give them up for adoption? Or do you raise them among your other children, worms that will never turn into butterflies like their siblings? Turn your home into a breeding ground for envy and hatred? What would you do?"

"I don't know. I never thought about it."

"Would it not be better if every child born to you was a mutant, assured of his or her gift before they were conceived?"

"Now that you put it that way, yes. And Ms. Engstrom is the key to all that?"

"She might be. However, that is the long range plan." He opened all the steel doors of his fortress simultaneously, and the winds roared through the hallways like a triumphant lion, signaling his followers both that he had returned, and that he wanted them.

"The short term plan is that we are about to join Xavier and work with him and his people to shove a lawsuit down the sapients' throats and make them choke on it."

"What? We're going back there?"

"There is no other way. Remember that I told you Ms. Engstrom's gift was somewhat similar to precognition?"

"Yes…"

His other followers now awaited his revelations. "Listen, and understand…"


In the Xavier mansion, someone was having a hard time accepting the new order. "Oh, man! I cannot believe you're buying this crap!"

Jean and Ororo led Grace past the closed office door. "Don't mind Logan. He'll get over it." Jean advised her.

"Especially when he learn he'll be in another state most of the time." added Storm.

"How'd you sleep?" Jean asked as they climbed the stairs.

"At first I didn't. My little friends started singing to me, or at me, the moment I lay down, so eventually I had to take refuge in Erik's room—which was what they wanted all along. He didn't mind."

"I'll bet he didn't," murmured Ororo. "No animals in there?"

"Actually, there was one, and now I'm worried about meeting Erik's daughter Wanda because I'm afraid they're going to make me try to fix her up with someone. The voice told me 'Girl needs a boy', and he meant her."

"So you not only have to sue the government and save all of mutantkind, you have to matchmake?" Jean laughed.

"Apparently. I think that's what they want, anyway. I could be wrong."

"Having you around is going to be interesting." Ororo commented. "Your problems are not like anyone else's."

"Tell me about it." Grace sighed.


That went well, Erik thought, as he mounted the stairs to his bedroom. He knew his followers, and he knew their loyalty was largely dependant on his skills as a leader and a speaker. Let me not be under any illusions. One major catastrophe and they are lost. I will never hold such sway over so many again. He reached his bedroom door. Now to see how bad the damage is…

As he habitually sealed most of his belongings in steel cabinets, the bed and some towels were the only major losses. He shook his head, popped open all his closets and drawers, turned one into a trunk, and started to pack.

While he did so, he slipped on a phone headset, and called Pietro's number. I might as well multi-task…

"Hello, Pietro. It's your father."

"Hello, Father."

"How are you?" Erik asked.

"I'm fine."

"And Luna?"

"I saw her Wednesday. She's fine, too."

"Crystal is keeping well, I hope?" Asking after his son's ex was always risky.

"I suppose." Pietro replied. There was an awkward pause before his son asked. "How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you. I have some news to share with you. I'm thinking of marrying again."

"What?"

"I said I'm thinking of marrying again. Also, Xavier—." It was too late. Pietro had, for whatever reason, hung up.

I wasn't expecting that reaction. He hasn't hung up in the middle of a call in at least two years. This is quite a setback. The thought depressed him slightly. Ah, well, it can't be helped. He called Wanda.

"Hello?"

"Hello, dear. How are you today?"

"I'm all right. I guess."

Not a good day, he deduced. He wasn't sure what his daughter needed, but his children often sounded down when he spoke to them. Yet I keep trying…

'I'm sorry. I wish you were happier. I wish there was something I could do or say that could help.' He wanted to say that, but he couldn't. Instead he tried:

"You don't sound all right."

"I'm fine! Was there something you wanted?"

"Yes, actually. I have some news to share with you. I'm thinking of marrying again."

He heard her gasp on the other end. "Not the snake!" she wailed.

"Snake? What snake?"

"The blue snake! You're not thinking of marrying her, after all this time? You can't! Teega me bornie roosa!" He knew what meant. Over my dead body.

"That's what you called Mystique? No, it's not her. We've broken up." He cast an eye over his incinerated bed.

"Hvala Bogu." she said, in the Old Tongue. Thank God. "But who?"

"This must be kept absolutely quiet, and I mean that, because of a lawsuit she's putting together. Do you understand?"

"Yes! Fine, I won't talk about her to anyone but Pietro. Who?"

"Her name is Grace Engstrom, and she's a knitwear designer."

Silence for a long moment.

"She designs knitwear." Wanda stated flatly.

"Handknits, specifically. She's very talented."

"You're telling me that after nearly twenty years with the snake, you're thinking of marrying—marrying—a knitwear designer?"

"She is a mutant." He told her.

"Tell me she's not twenty-three and empty-headed with a bosom like a pair of cannonballs." Wanda sounded despairing.

"She's not twenty-three, she's forty-seven. I'm not going to comment on her bosom, but it's certainly not like a pair of cannonballs. She's also intelligent."

"Then—wait! She's that woman who was all over TV yesterday. In Michigan."

"Yes, that's right."

"She's pregnant." Wanda told him.

"Yes, I know." Here I go, enjoying myself again. This is remarkable. I don't remember the last time I had a conversation this long with either of my children.

"But—but you didn't—you aren't—are you?" Her voice sank to a whisper.

"I don't see how that's relevant." Erik informed his daughter, nonchalantly. "I am thinking of marrying her. She is the sort of person with whom I can envision spending the rest of my life. Should anything else matter?" I believe I mean that. I astonish even myself.

"I don't believe it." Wanda said.

"I'm sorry that you don't, because it's true. I have more news."

"What else could there be, after that?"

"I mentioned the lawsuit, didn't I?" He explained what Grace hoped to achieve for mutantkind.

"I don't believe it!"

"Again, it's true. It's vital that her case succeed, because otherwise we face certain extinction. To that end, Charles Xavier and I have agreed to set aside our differences and work together to ensure it comes about. I'm moving into the school today, with all of my people, and Grace and I are going to try living together."

"You should have stopped when you told me about the lawsuit." she said, her voice suddenly icy. "Pietro, I don't know how you made your voice sound just like his, but it isn't funny."

"I am not your brother, I'm your father, Erik Magnus Lensherr, otherwise known as Magneto."

She said a short phrase he didn't understand, but it sounded rude. Extremely rude.

"You'll have to translate that if you expect me to respond properly," he told her, amiably.

This is amazing. I'm having a real conversation with Wanda, one in which I'm not apologizing every third sentence, and she doesn't have on her polite façade. I'm enjoying this tremendously. How long has it been since I genuinely shocked anyone? Outraged, certainly, but not shocked. I didn't realize it would be such fun.

"You're really not Pietro."

"Correct."

"You really are him."

"Yes, I am, if by 'him', you mean your father, Erik Magnus Lensherr, etcetera. "

"And you truly are thinking of marrying this Grace Ingram."

"Grace Engstrom, not Ingram. You should look at her website. The blog and e-mail are off-line, due to the hate messages she's been receiving, but the rest of it is still functioning."

"Does she know that you're interested in her?"

"Of course she does. When I say living with her, I mean closet space, a bathroom, and a bed. Did you just whimper?"

"No!"

"Oh? That's what it sounded like. In any event, you ought to come by the school and meet her before the trial begins. I'd like her to have a chance to get to know you, and vice versa. Just give us a day or two to get settled in."

"Father, this is—This is wrong!"

"What's wrong? I can't answer that if you aren't more specific."

"I don't know!"

A sudden blur resolved itself into his son. Pietro stood before him, his sides heaving and his eyes wild.

"Well, your brother's here, so I'll say goodbye for now. If you work out what it is that's bothering you, why don't you call me back, and we'll talk about it? I would enjoy getting a call from you." he encouraged her. His children never called him; he was always the one to call them.

"I—all right. Goodbye, Father."

"Goodbye, Wanda."

He hung up and smiled at Pietro.