A/N: This chapter has turned out to be so long, it has to be split into two. The lawyer chapter will be two chapters from now, not next chapter...
Grace combed the part back into her hair, and mentally made a note to add 'curling iron' to the list of things she was shopping for that day. Her baby-fine, straight hair was cut in a layered bob which gave it texture, but it still needed help.
"So you really designed the ice princess hoodie for Anthropologie? And the midnight garden cardigan? That's amazing!" Kitty was holding the hooded sweater up against herself, and looking in the mirror.
"And this scarf is gorgeous…" Jubilee wrapped a plush, shimmering scarlet rectangle around her neck and vamped.
"It doesn't go with your yellow top." Kitty criticized.
"I know, but with the fringes on it, it's just so Captain Sparrow!" She dissolved into giggles.
Callisto was not about to commit to anything warmer than, "Nice," but considering the source, that single word meant more than the others' effusive admiration.
The girls were allegedly helping her move into the attic, but the truth was that once the first sweater container had been opened, they had pounced. They aren't doing any harm—might as well let them have a look. "Okay—ground rules. The attic is my space as much as your rooms are yours. These garments aren't a huge wardrobe for me or anyone else, they're merchandise. That means don't come up here without permission, and no unauthorized borrowing, appropriating, trying on or even just looking. Got it?"
"Of course, Ms. Engstrom!" They went back to work, leaving the garments on the bed.
Grace looked at her reflection more closely. Her eye make-up had smudged at one corner; she fixed it and reapplied her lipstick. "I guess I'm almost ready for the mall."
Rogue was hanging around the side of the biggest wardrobe, trying to be inconspicuous. "Ms. Engstrom? What are all the things that have talked to you so far, if you don't mind mah asking?"
She glanced at the girl. "The first was the lion. Then there was a poster in my doctor's office—are you taking notes?"
The teenager had indeed pulled out a pocket-sized notebook and a pencil. "Uh-huh. Ah'm gonna write this down."
"Okay. The poster had a stork on it. Then there was the illustration of a baby alpaca on a skein of yarn, followed by every picture of an animal in an entire yarn shop. Next came my wooly friend the lamb—which was possibly the strangest of them all."
"Why?"
"Careful—my computer's in that one!" she called to the boy who was balancing it. "Because it told me to take it with me, and when I wouldn't—it was a display item, and not for sale—the owner of the shop, who's a friend of mine, gave it to me. Right off the shelf, no mention of payment, as a baby gift. I had to wonder if it hadn't told her to, just like it told me."
"Do you think it did?"
"Not out loud, at any rate. Don't expect to get straight answers from them. They won't tell you why they want you to do something. Like last night, they didn't tell me to touch you so they could talk to you. They just insisted that I hug you. They're going to order you around, trick you, harass you, annoy you…anything it takes. I think they think it's funny.
"The next of them was the brass monkey. Then I came here, and the portrait on the wall in the one parlor spoke. Not the person, but the dog by his feet."
"The dog…in the portrait…In which room?" Rogue repeated the words as she wrote.
"I'm not sure. It had blue curtains." Curtains…If I don't get some curtains for up here, the morning sun is going to broil me—us! every morning. Grace kept a dressmaker's tape measure in her purse. She pulled it out and stepped over to the nearest window.
"That's okay. Ah know the one. And then?"
"A stuffed owl and an illustration from the Raven, in the professor's office. Then came the fish potholders in the kitchen. That was when you came in--they told me you needed a hug. Listen—if you're going to write down what I say, write down this on another page. 72 by 84, times three…"
"Right."
"A stuffed moose head up here—I wonder where it got to?—was the one after that, and then a political cartoon of a donkey on an old magazine. Yesterday, there was the cow on the milk container and the chicken on the egg carton, followed by the elephant on the bag of peanuts and rounded out by the soap-dispenser sticker with the penguins on it. I think that's right. Oh, and the more specific they are, the more you should worry."
"Got it…"
"Um…hello?" Wanda appeared in the stairwell.
"Hello yourself." Grace returned, pleasantly. "Welcome to my attic."
"This is a nice space…I really came up because I wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday. I was horrible."
"You were surprised. I understand."
"Can we try and start over, as if yesterday never happened? Hello. I'm Wanda. You must be Ms. Engstrom." Erik's daughter smiled nervously.
"Mend what is broken!" said the lion, from the depths of her bag. Okay, okay, already!
"Yes, I am." Grace smiled back. "I'm glad Erik wanted us to meet. He's very important to me, and you're important to him, so that makes you important to me." I draw the line at hugging her, but I will shake hands.
Wanda took the hand Grace held out to her, and squeezed it briefly but firmly. "Thank you." she told the older woman.
"You're welcome."
"Is what you're wearing right now your own work? It's stunning. So sophisticated."
Grace smiled again, glancing down at the caramel sweater coat which she wore over a black turtleneck and black pants. The waistband of the pants was cutting into her flesh—not painfully, but enough to leave a groove. "Yes, it is. Thank you. There are some other pieces of mine on the bed—I just want to give my list a once over, before we go."
Wanda made noises of appreciation while Grace read what she had written down. Most of it would be easy to remember, such as bras, underwear and other clothes, but there were a few, more exotic items which had never appeared on her shopping lists before—moisturizing cream for stretch marks, for example. She added 'curling iron' and 'curtains' to the bottom of it before folding it and replacing it in her purse. "Would you like to come along to the mall with us?" she offered Wanda.
"If you'd like to have me, I'll be happy to."
"Then I guess that's it." Rogue, Wanda and Grace filed down the stairs.
Grace did not realize, however, that one of her pieces was now missing from the bed. One of the people who had gone back and forth through her attic had taken it. Exactly what was missing, and who took it, were known only to Grace's voices, whoever they were.
Meanwhile, Erik was making the rounds of open houses in New York, and not enjoying it very much, when he had an idea. "Cartier's, please, " he said to his taxi driver. I am going to buy Grace a little something.
Bobby and Rogue put the latest shopping bags in the back of the mini-bus and locked it up again. "That woman sure can shop." Bobby commented.
"Well, she did lose all her stuff, pretty much. Remember when Ah first came here, Ah didn't have much more than the clothes on mah back."
"I remember."
Guarding Ms. Engstrom had been so simple—at least so far—that they were practicing covert watching, to prepare for when they might have to guard a witness who shouldn't learn he or she was being protected. While at least two people were overtly with the woman at all times, the others took turns tag-team watching, schlepping bags to the mini-bus, and doing some shopping of their own.
As they crossed the parking lot, Bobby glanced at her, and asked, "So—what do you think those voices of hers are?"
"Ah dunno, but Ah really hope they aren't guardian angels. Mah momma had this thing for guardian angels, and it got so's Ah couldn't stand the sight of them. Coffee mugs, refrigerator magnets—She even had this bumper sticker that said, 'Never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly' on her car.
"Her favorite song was 'Angels Watching Over Me'. Ah mean, it sounded real pretty, but if you listened to the lyrics, it was all about how angels were watching and protecting the singer every step she made—like a speeding car running out of gas before it hit her, cause her angels wouldn't let nothing bad happen to her. Most of the song was about her congratulating herself on being so special. One time Ah asked her, if angels watched over everybody good, how come little Jon-Benet Ramsey got murdered? Was her angel off-duty? She got so mad at me, she nearly burst a blood vessel."
"I can see how that would get on your nerves. Hey, though, from what you said, if you want them to help you, you have to listen. Maybe that's how guardian angels work. Maybe the way they help people is to tell them what they have to do to be safe. What people have to do is listen."
"Oh, Ah sure hope not…"
"Hey." John—no, Pyro—was sitting on a wall near the mall entrance with a Starbucks cup in hand. Rogue and Bobby paused.
"Hey." Bobby began. "Did you know about Ms. Engstrom before this?"
"Are you kidding? You found out before I did. The first any of us heard was when Mystique got back yesterday morning, right about the time I woke up. I went downstairs to find her breaking stuff in the kitchen. That's how I found out."
"Look, Jean is calling me. Ms. Engstrom's done shopping at From Here to Maternity, and she wants to go on to Sephora. Ah'm supposed to meet her there with Wanda." Rogue waved a little goodbye, and went back into the mall.
"Later." Bobby called after her. He turned back to Pyro. "So what's up with you?" He took a seat further down the wall.
"I'm okay. It would be nice to know what the hell was going on. You know," Pyro picked some bits of loose mortar from between the concrete slabs and tossed them out into the parking lot. "I always thought the humans would win. Just because they have us outnumbered. There isn't going to be any future—and you know, neither Professor X nor Mags talk about one. Oh, the prof talks about how someday if we work hard and are good little muties, the flatliners are going to accept us, and Mags talks about the glorious day when we rise up and overthrow—."
"Hey, you should be careful about talking like that in public!" Bobby glanced around to make sure nobody was in earshot.
"It's okay. Nobody's close enough. Anyhow, both of them talk talk talk about it, but neither of them offer any hope for it coming true for years. If ever. All I know is, if I stick with Mags, at least I'll go down fighting.
"Then yesterday he comes back, and instead of conquest, he's talking about litigation, and Ms. Engstrom's this visionary, and we have to get all this stuff done before she pops her brat…"
"I have to warn you not to talk about her like that." Callisto was suddenly just there, like a statue.
"Jeez, don't do that!" Pyro scolded her.
"Sorry. You were saying?" She seated herself on the wall as well, and folded her legs.
"Well, not only is he actually talking about a date, a real date, but he starts talking about what's going to happen when I have kids. Me! It's like the future is going to start next week. And it scares the shit out of me."
"Why? Nobody's going to make you have kids." Bobby joked.
"Because I can handle there not being any future, but if there could be a future, and all we have to do is make it happen—then what if we try and we fail? That one's going to hurt like nothing else."
