Four days later: October 20, 2006, 3:00 PM
The dragon on Rogue's shirt coiled all the way around her body to look at Grace and hiss, "Dessstroy the firebird. Desstroy her!" This baffling and unwelcome instruction came as Jean, Rogue and Grace were going up the steps into the New York headquarters, which, coincidentally, were also the adjoining brownstones on West 57th St where Robert Angevin lived and had his law offices.
The attorney had pointed out to Erik that since part of the reason the mutants needed a base in the city was to provide his family protection, it would make sense to have them on the premises. The pair of brownstones, part of his wife's late father's estate, were five stories tall and had plenty of bedrooms. All the mutants needed were appropriate reasons to say they were there. This also solved a lot of problems such as scheduling and meals.
Angevin had decided to throw a hiring party to welcome his new 'staff', including his current and more regular employees, Grace and some others from the school, plus selected friends and neighbors. As the weather had taken an upward turn and become warm once more, his wife Ella decreed it should be a barbecue party in the conjoined backyard.
Grace shifted the container of cookies to her other hand. Pausing on the steps, she looked up and down the street, looking for a Pontiac. As her eldest brother's first car had been a 1969 Pontiac Firebird, that was what sprang to her mind first. All right; where is the car, and why on earth do they want me to destroy it? Am I really the best person for the job? Surely Colossus or Erik would be more efficient at getting rid of it.
However, there was no muscle car in sight. Stravinsky's Firebird, maybe? If they want me to smash a music CD…?
"Desstroy the firebird. Desstroy her!" the dragon repeated.
"Grace? Are you okay?" Rogue turned. The dragon hastily scampered back to the front of her tee.
"Perfectly. The dragon on your shirt…" Come to think of it, back when they told me to let her tag along, the lion said, 'You're going to need her to deal with the firebird. "What does the word 'firebird' mean to you, Rogue?"
"Firebird…? Harry Potter. Fawkes." was the girl's prompt reply.
"What does that have to do with—Oh. Dumbledore's pet phoenix. All right. That's it. I'm officially confused." I wish they'd be clearer about things, but no. That would be too easy for me, wouldn't it.
"I think Phoenix, Arizona, myself." Jean said. She reached out and rang the bell.
Ororo answered it. "Fantastic! Come in and see the place." The townhouse was well over a century old, an iconic example of the classic New York brownstone—a marble-floored hallway led toward the back of the house.
"It's lovely." Grace said, looking around. Jean and Rogue also admired it.
"Where have they put you, Kurt, and Quill?" Jean asked.
"I'm up on the fifth floor, in a suite off the greenhouses." Ostensibly, Ororo was the Angevins' new orchid gardener—orchids having been the late Hugo di Uzzano's hobby. He had an enormous greenhouse on top of the structure, and had devoted a great deal of time and money to caring for and breeding the rarest and most beautiful examples of those exotic flowers. "Kurt is on the second floor, with the family. Quill is on the third floor. Come on out to the garden."
"Sorry—but where's the powder room?" Grace asked. One symptom of pregnancy she had, and disliked, was increased frequency of urination—as her womb expanded, it put pressure on her bladder.
"Right in there…"
The little bathroom had a beautiful Japanese scroll on the wall, a pen-and-ink drawing of a joyous horse. Grace eyed it suspiciously as she sat down, and sure enough, it said, "Destroy the firebird. Destroy her!"
"I hate it when you talk to me at times like this. It's just a very bad moment for you to intrude. No doubt you know exactly what I'm doing at all times anyway, but I'd at least like the illusion of privacy."
"Destroy the firebird. Destroy!"
"Maybe I could if you'd give me a few more clues! Ever think of that?"
"It was never meant to be a person." the horse added, compounding Grace's confusion. "It will burn her out."
"Who? Who's getting burned?" The horse went back to being ink on paper once more. "Can you at least give me some idea of what progress Rogue is making, since I need her to deal with it? Is she even close to listening yet?"
The horse refused to say. "Fine." Grace flushed the toilet and washed her hands. Looking in the mirror, she touched her hair, examining it critically. Great. The grey really shows in this light. What am I supposed to do about it? Somebody said coloring one's hair while pregnant or nursing is bad for the baby, but I wouldn't be drinking or eating the stuff. It goes on my head, after all, so how bad can it be?…I need a trim, too.
"Grace? I'm gonna go ahead." It was Rogue. I've barely had privacy in which to pee for a month now, even without my little friends. All this familial togetherness is starting to get on my nerves.
"I'll just be a second." She found her way to the backyard by herself.
The combined yards were, for New York City, where the value of a square foot of land could be tens of thousands of dollars, enormous. There was a tiled patio, a few trees, a fountain, and even a few flower beds. At the moment, there were also a lot of people.
"Grace, hello!" Over by the grill, Angevin raised a hand with a hot mitt covering it. "Make yourself at home. This is my wife, Ella."
The woman Grace remembered from his cell phone photo raised a wine glass. "Ms. Engstrom. I'm very glad to meet you. Welcome to our home."
Ella di Uzzano-Angevin had carroty-red hair and brown eyes. She was also horse-faced—long nose, long jaw, somewhat prominent teeth—but undeniably attractive. "Thank you, but please, call me Grace."
"Grace it shall be. And I'm Ella. This is grape juice." She handed over a glass identical to her own. "Oh, you didn't have to bring anything? What is it?"
"Chocolate chip cookies—the universal food." And one of the few things I can make with confidence. Grace had never been a very good cook—food, unlike yarn, did things on its own when she took her eyes off it—it boiled over, or burned, it went sour or curdled or moldy in extreme cases, and then it wasn't food anymore, and nothing could be done to turn it into food again. A knitting project gone awry, on the other hand, could be unraveled and turned into something else, months or years later. Food was untrustworthy.
"My weakness. The food table's over there. Let me introduce you around; Robert has to watch the steaks and the salmon."
In rapid succession, she met the law office staff—a private investigator, an accountant, a second attorney, and a legal secretary—, four or five friends of the Angevins, and two of Ella's cousins. Finally, Ella led her to a patch of grass where Kurt Wagner was playing ball with Hugo Angevin, the light of his parents' eyes.
"And this is Hugo." Heedless of her immaculate clothing, Ella swept the boy up into her arms, where he clung around her neck. He had bits of dried grass all over his clothing, a pair of corduroys and a sweatshirt with a puppy on it. "Are you having fun, lovey?" she asked him.
"Teddy!" he chortled, pointing at Kurt.
"It is my fur." The German-born mutant explained, standing up. "He seems to think I am the biggest stuffed toy ever. And while I think he may be having fun, I know I am."
"You are going to be a great help around here. I'm learning that you need at least two adults per small child on hand at all times—and that doesn't mean you can practice law and medicine while you're on hand." she told Grace. "Kurt is going to make a great nanny—and a great father when the time comes."
"Oh, that is not very likely. Where would I find a lady as lovely or charming as either of you? You are already both spoken for."
"Boy needs a girl." said Grace's panther, from around her neck. "Make me a match."
Oh, no. Surely he doesn't mean…
"Kurt and Wanda, sitting in a tree, K-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love. Then comes marriage…" sang the puppy on Hugo's shirt.
Oh, no…
In the meantime, Stryker pulled up in a car with Marine StarCare's chief attorney. Oyama drove it, her eyes as impassive as ever. "Ready?" he asked the lawyer. They had no appointment, but the small size of Angevin's firm made it impossible for him to have more than one case on at the same time. Grace Engstrom's attorney was not very likely to turn away the head of the HMO's legal department.
"Yes. And wired for sound. You'll hear everything." Picking up his attaché case, the man left the car.
Stryker turned on the receiver, and listened to the lawyer's faint breathing as he crossed the street, went up the steps, and rang the bell.
"Yes? How can I help you?" Stryker could see the face of the person who had answered the door—a young man, quite evidently Asian.
"I'm Archibald Lewes. I represent Marine StarCare. I'd like to see Mr. Angevin, please."
"One moment. I'll see if he's available."
A few minutes later, the man himself came to the door. He had on a barbecue apron with the words 'I'm sure I didn't invite all these people.' emblazoned on it. Stryker was disappointed in his unprepossessing appearance—he was none too tall, and he looked like a kid. You'd think his momma's milk was still wet on his lips.
"Hello, Mr. Lewes. Won't you step in? Thanks, Quill." The door closed behind Lewes.
"I can't leave the grill for too long. I hope you don't mind." chatted the younger attorney.
"Not at all. Thank you for seeing me without notice. I'm sorry—have I interrupted a party?"
"If you join in, you won't have interrupted it at all. It's a welcome party for new staff. We've taken on several at once."
"As delightful as that would be, I'm afraid I'm here on business. I've come to put a settlement offer on the table." Stryker could hear the sounds of people socializing nearby—the clink of glasses, laughter, talking.
"Really? Then you're in luck. Ms. Engstrom is here right now. You won't have to wait for Monday to get an answer. Here's the garden. Hey, everyone!" Angevin raised his voice. "This is Mr. Archibald Lewes. He's head of Marine StarCare's legal."
The socialization suddenly stopped. "I—er." said Lewes.
"It's all right. We're going to be seeing a lot of each other over the next several months. Shouldn't we at least know each other by sight?" Angevin sounded normal, reasonable, and cheerful; like a new neighbor, or a co-worker. "Here, let me introduce you to some of them. Ororo, this is Mr. Lewes. Ororo Munro is one of our new staffers. She's the new curator of the Hugo di Uzzano orchid collection. He left it to the American Orchid Society, on the condition it be kept here. This is J. Howard Norfolk. He keeps the books for us. Next is Quill, who got the door for you—he's interning here while he decides whether pre-law is right for him…"
Ororo Munro! The shock Stryker experienced at hearing that name was repeated, over and over, as Angevin introduced name after name which Stryker knew, and knew well. Jean Grey. Rogue. Grace Engstrom herself. And finally…
"This is Kurt Wagner, who's going to try and cope with that little chap by his feet there. I know Mr. Wagner is an unusual choice for a nanny, being a guy and all, but they get along great and we're going to try to come up with a better term for the position."
"I favor 'childhood socialization professional' myself." said the former circus performer.
How dare he? How…? I own that animal. And how can Angevin? What can those mutants have done to him?
"But—but he's--." spluttered Lewes.
"What?" Angevin asked, deadpan, as if he really couldn't see the freakishness of the creature he had 'hired' to look after his son. "A Roman Catholic? I'm surprised at you, Mr. Lewes. Grace, if you have a moment—Hey, William. Can you watch the grill?"
Hearing his own first name made Stryker jump. "Sure thing, Robert." came a mid-Western twang.
"He's a mutant!" hissed Lewes, as the reverberation of the footsteps told Stryker they had gone back inside.
"Yes. I know. So is my client."
"So were at least five other people you just met out there." Grace Engstrom had a deeper than average voice for a woman, with something both cool and husky about it—a voice that fit her face. Delilah. Jezebel. Lilith!
"But—."
"He comes well-recommended, he's great with children, his moral character is excellent, and we like him. Most importantly, so does my son. Added to that, he has certification in CPR, and Dr. Grey's made sure he knows first aid. This is my office. The red chair is the most comfortable, Grace. Mr. Lewes, the yellow will be most convenient for you."
Once they were seated, he heard Lewes open his briefcase. "Marine StarCare regrets what has occurred—which is in no way an admission of guilt or responsibility. However, realizing that you feel you have been mistreated, we would like to make a good-will offering of five million dollars, on the condition that you disclose nothing of what occurred, and nothing which might have been in your medical file, Ms. Engstrom."
She did not hesitate. "I'm sorry you should have wasted your time coming here, Mr. Lewes, because I don't want to settle out of court. Mr. Angevin sent that letter as a mere formality. That's all I have to say. If you'll excuse me…?" She left the room.
"Is this upon your advice?" Lewes demanded of Angevin.
"It's with my full and complete support. I don't want to settle out of court either. I intend to push this one all the way." The affability was gone from Angevin's voice. "To what purpose has Marine StarCare been assembling its genetic database, Mr. Lewes?"
"I'm afraid I cannot answer that question. You're a traitor, you know. Why are you doing this, Mr. Angevin, if not for money?" Lewes sounded like Stryker felt.
"Why? You met the reason."
"The mutants here?"
"Yes. One of them in particular. My son. I suppose you and others like you will be trotting back and forth for a while, making more offers, but as Ms. Engstrom said, you'll be wasting your time. If any anti-mutant groups mount an attack of some kind –Molotov cocktails through the windows, home invasions—I'm sure you've realized by now that the mutants who are currently in my home are more than merely employees of a mundane variety, and we also subscribe to a private security company with an excellent reputation and equally good equipment.
"For example, they've text-messaged me to tell me they're keeping an eye on the two persons who came here in the car with you and are now watching this house from across the street. I tell you this not to boast, but to inform you that we expect things to get very ugly before they're done, and are preparing for it."
"Are you implying that Marine StarCare would—."
"Not at all. But I'm sure someone will."
Stryker had heard enough. He turned off the receiver and pulled out his phone. "Stryker here. I want someone here to follow the Engstrom woman and whoever leaves with her. Get planes ready. She's in with Xavier's people, and that means they've probably come by jet. If we can pick her off now, we're going to."
Next: Rogue learns to listen, the Phoenix manifests herself, and Grace figures out how to use that anti-gravity power of hers the hard way…
