Morning was splendid.

City port turned out to be just like he imagined. Throughout the noise of engines he heard people shouting in different languages - dark-skinned men, nicely dressed gentlemen and servants, sailors and nobles. Everything was pulsing with life and energy.

Charles gave up trying to find Erik in the crowd of passengers. It was sad, that he couldn't even say goodbye properly. He hoped they'll meet again and soon. Now, there is no time for daydreaming.

'That's it. Collect you luggage. We're meeting Mr. Howlett at the City Hall. I was told that's not far from here.'

'Why didn't he bother to come and meet us here, like normal people do?'

'Alex, I'm sure, he had his reasons.'

'Professor, there are people who'll carry the luggage over there.'

'Thank you, Sean.'

'Damn! You pushed me, idiot!'

'Alex, I shall ask you again to withhold from using such expressions. Sean, you'd better step away. Have you checked everything? Are you sure you haven't forgotten anything?'

'Nothing but self-respect…' Alex's muttering was distinct enough to be heard.

They reached the place in half an hour.

Sun dazzled his eyes mercilessly and air became heavy with heat. Charles had to stop and pull the hat of the trunk. It was not that helpful, but at least he could see the road.

City Hall looked like an ordinary two-storied stone building. Nothing fancy. The only difference was the guards at the entrance. By the way, Charles has noticed a lot of military men on the way here. French legion as well as British forces. What does this mean?

'Excuse me,' a pleasant female voice interrupted his musings, 'I'm looking for professor Charles Xavier. We've scheduled an appointment here.'

'Ah, sorry! Nice to meet you. And you will be…' Charles attempted to lift his hat.

'Leave it. I don't want you to get sunstroke on the first day. I'm Moira MacTaggert.'

She purposefully took his free hand in the unusually firm clasp.

'I reckon, you're used to hearing it, but I imagined you a bit different. To be more precise, older. If that helps.'

Charles was rendered speechless.

'I'll do my best to improve, my lady,' muttered he,' and, um... please, you may call me Charles.'

'Excellent, Charles.'

He reached back and grabbed the sleeve of the right person, currently lurking on the periphery. Hank, given his height, shouldn't even try hiding behind the likes of Charles.

'Allow me to introduce you Doctor Henry McCoy, a prominent specialist.' Hank bowed and was about to pull away, but Charles' grip was deliberately strong.

'Sean Cassidy, a very capable student. One of the best in the department.'

Sean looked at Moira like at the eighth wonder of the world and held the offered hand for too long.

'Alex Summers, he will also help us.' Alex sent him a dark look.

This lady was fearless, mused Charles to himself. She patted the boy on the shoulder, ignoring his obvious irritation.

'Easy, young man. It gets more interesting from now on!'

Strange, but Alex withheld his remark.

'How was your journey?' Moira looked at Charles expectantly.

'Not without pleasant surprises. Could you help me to find Mr. Howlett? We have to discuss our further plans.'

'Ah, you mean Logan,' Moira shrugged and one delicate hand started fumbling with her umbrella. 'He's in the country house, and yes, we're going there right now. Actually, we'll deal with all matters concerning expedition from there. And one more thing you ought to know – I wrote you on his behalf.'

Someone snickered behind his back, but Charles was too mortified to pay attention to Alex at the moment.

'How so?...' he silently prayed that he'd simply misheard something.

'I wrote you letters, Charles,' she slowly repeated, 'and do not give me these scared eyes. Everything will be all right. Just as we've agreed. Logan, he is not much into epistolary, but soon you'll see for yourself.'

She suddenly bristled:

'Honestly, Charles, I was not sure if you'd listen to one lady MacTaggert or to Mr. Howlett, previously involved in many expeditions of the kind, even though the only thing he investigates right now is local whisky. Don't worry about Logan, I'll take care of him. Any questions?'

'I don't know where to start …'

'In that case, you'll think on the way. Let's get moving.'

The promised estate was not that far from the city boundary and was situated in the closed-off valley, which, according to Moira, was a perfect location. Moira told him she was managing the estate; and, meanwhile, trying to organize a sanctuary for endangered species. Her husband was a friend of Mr. Logan Howlett – they served in the same division.

The only problem left is security escort. Here she swore in such a colorful way that Charles wished for earth to open and swallow him whole. They must hire a dozen soldiers. The rumors of kidnappings and some maimed bodies, found in the river, made people realize that they live in a completely foreign country, where cruelty is the essence of survival. Authorities suspect cannibal tribes, but Moira thinks they are playing a different game. Cannibals rarely leave their territory. Local prejudices have never been that strong. People are nervous for a reason. Too many soldiers in the city. They're getting ready for something big.

'All in all, we have to work with leftovers. All adequate people are mobilized. Well, speaking about captain Shaw and his infamous bunch of … don't even want to use this word in your presence. Great, here we are!'

Moira jumped to the ground in one easy motion and hurried towards the house.

'I'll warn Logan. We haven't had guests for a while. Charles, do not stand in the sun – come in! Servants will get your luggage.'

Sean came to his senses. He hadn't taken his eyes off Moira all the way.

'Amazing,' he whispered.

Hank shrugged and looked at Alex.

'Why are you staring? I don't have any comments,' he tipped his blond head and squinted at the sun. 'Well, maybe I can think of some proper words.'

'Not now, Alex.'

'Everything's going to be fine,' Hank tried to express something akin to enthusiasm, but soon faltered and quietly continued. 'We really should go inside.'

The house itself was a nice one-store residence with high windows – most were tightly closed. Traces of long gone luxury and local furniture created interesting interior altogether.

Moira has changed into a light yellow dress and was waiting for them in the hall. A young African stood beside her.

'Everybody, meet Armando. He'll take care of your luggage. If you need something, ask him.'

Charles shook his hand and smiled:

'Pleased to meet you, Armando. I'm Charles. This young man's name is Alex. He'll help you to bring in the luggage.'

He's heard a muffled hiss somewhere from behind.

'Follow me,' urged Moira.

Charles caught up with woman in the corridor.

'Don't worry, Charles,' she leaned over – her hair smelled like tropical orchards and reminded him of spring and chocolate sweets.

'It's going to be better than expected. He'll like you, I'm sure!' she winked. 'I see, you appreciated my perfume. Later, I'll show you these flowers – they grow almost everywhere near water.'

She knocked on the heavy door – two long and three short knocks in rapid succession.

Then, whispered:

'If I were you, I'd memorize the signal, just to be safe.'

She pulled the doors open and they entered a fairy large sitting room. It was dark, but sunrays struggled through closed window shutters and produced enough light to navigate the room. Creepy wooden masks and animal heads were grinning from the walls. His eyes watered almost immediately – the reek of stale whiskey hung heavy in the air.

Déjà vu?

Home, sweet home – Charles was somehow touched. Now mother's going to call him Brian and sent for a new bottle.

Hank picked up a dusty book on the table.

Someone has hurled a knife from the darkest corner and poor Henry was saved by the book in the last second. Blade sank in to the hilt.

Charles hasn't even got a chance to become scared.

'Holy goodness!' gasped Sean on his left.

'Nice catch, doctor!' praised Moira. 'Logan, for God's sake, stop throwing knives at people!'

'Why are you always complaining? And where are my cigars?'

'I'm not you maid, Logan. Get out of the corner, so that I can introduce you!'

'Yes, colonel MacTaggert!' an imposing shadow emerged from the corner.

'Windows, Logan!' Moira opened the shutters.

Involuntary, Charles closed his eyes. When he's finally adjusted to light, he saw the master of estate in all his furry glory.

To tell the truth, at first he's thought him one of stuffed animals. That was not surprising, because the room was apparently the dream of every taxidermist. The owner himself resembled a strange cross breed of gorilla and tiger.

'What have these children forgotten here, Moira?'

'This is professor Charles Xavier, he arrived…'

'Probably, professor's decided to send his son, instead.'

He sniffed the air like a dog and grumbled. 'You don't look like professor, younker.'

'Let's see, and you don't look like I imagined either. But I'm not bound to fulfill your expectations, as well.'

Logan threw his head back and laughed.

Moira emphatically closed her ears.

'I like you, professor. Let's drink to celebrate your arrival!'

Moira stared at Charles – her angry eyes promising him a lot of suffering would he choose to agree.

'Excuse me, sir. Next time with pleasure, but right now I'm really tired. If you excuse me.'

'Huh, lightweight,' he turned to Hank. 'And what about the doctor and the red-head? Don't be shy!'

Sean started to back away in Moira's direction.

'Leave them alone, Logan. Don't you see? They've just arrived. Where is what was left from your manners?' she tilted her head and said. 'I want you to look human and presentable tomorrow morning – we have a lot of work to do. Gentlemen, I'll show you to your rooms.'

Charles was not lying when he told Logan he was tired. He slept till evening. The bed was soft and spacious and he let himself doze, enjoying a subtle sounding of tropical night. Hard to believe that his dream has come true – he's travelling around the world with its infinite possibilities. So many interesting discoveries are waiting for him... At last, he's living up to his dreams.

Finally, hunger drove him from the comfortable bed. Moira told them that no one cooks for guests, but if they are suddenly hungry, there's always something left to eat in the kitchen.

He put on a kettle. Tea leaves were in the box on the lower shelf. He poured hot water in the pot and let it brew. Charles tried to be quiet, but the house seemed deserted. He took a cup and decided to go outdoors. Earlier, he noticed several wicker chairs on the porch. That was an ideal place to enjoy a cup of tea and relax.

Someone was sitting in the chair – the sturdy figure could belong to no one but their host. Logan was lazily sprawled in the chair, smoking a cigar. Smoke was rising into the night sky in white rings – a surprisingly peaceful picture.

Charles wanted to leave when Logan called out:

'Where are you going, younker? Sit down. Bear my company for a while.'

Hesitantly, he sat down, cradling a warm cup in his hands.

'Please, don't call me that. And I've got the impression that you don't like company.'

'Nonsense!' Logan growled. 'Moira likes to exaggerate.'

'Well, she's always right, that woman,' he grunted in response to Charles' skeptical look. 'She is a remarkable one. Ought to find her a decent spouse. By the way… You're not engaged, right?'

Charles has nearly choked on a mouthful of tea.

'Easy, easy. Young people are so sensitive these days. Besides, you have already met someone…'

'Have you read my mind to reach that conclusion?'

'Mind-reading is all yours. I don't need it – I can smell these things.'

They both fell silent.

Charles finished his tea and looked at the mysterious pattern of petals on the walls – some people believe that the pattern of tea leaves will tell them about future. That would be so much easier. He put down the cup and automatically checked his lapel pocket. The broken watch was pleasantly cold against his skin.

'What have you got there, younker? A photograph of a loved one or a lock of hair?'

'No. Family heirloom.'

Logan smirked.

'Just an old broken watch.' Charles pulled it out and waived in the air - out of childish desire to prove the presumptuous man wrong.

'You don't treat it well. Let me have a look,' Logan whistled, impressed. 'Elephant must have stamped on it.'

'That was not the elephant and it was the accident.'

Logan suddenly frowned, silently staring at the watch.

'So, you were saying it was…'

'My great-grandfather's. He gave it to his son and ordered to keep it. Since then… Well, that was what I've been told. Actually, our family doesn't have many traditions. I'm not a very good…'

'Hey, hold on! I'm not in the mood for your family annals. And never will be, mind that! Have they been here before?... In Africa? Your relatives?'

'My great-grandfather was.'

'Listen to me very carefully – hide that goddamned watch or better throw it away. Anyway, it's useless like that.'

'Am I allowed to ask you why?'

'Have you ever seen this engraving before?'

'Yes, this is a phoenix amid octagonal star.'

Logan stared.

'While studying for my first degree I took some interest in heraldry and symbolics,' shrugged Charles.

'Maybe, you really are the professor.'

'I don't know… should I be offended or grateful,' murmured Charles to no one in particular.

'Be thankful. This symbol reminded me about madness that captured the land about hundred years ago. Many people perished, pursuing the legend – the Myth of the Lost City. They rushed to search for gold, but lots of men were searching for something else – the lost technology, some hellish magic. Those fools have established a cult. Numerous meaningless expeditions were lost in the depth of jungles. Needless to say, none of them came back and those who did…'

Logan took a long drag.

Charles was not that patient.

'Mr. Howlett?'

'Fairy tale is over and you should go to bed,' he said and then added. 'And do something about that watch. Have you see what's happening in the city? Here he's – walking with gold in the pockets.'

Charles took one look at the watch and clasped his hand around its cold surface.

As a rule, he preferred not to ponder on politics. All his free time was spent in the labs, where he tried to earn the respect of more experienced and therefore older colleagues. He felt obliged to help his students, diligently ignoring letters from Westchester and spending evenings in the clutches of alcoholic oblivion in one of Oxford's pubs.

But the world was changing – and not always for the better. Various disturbing rumors, news and whispers formed a frightening pattern. He swallowed audibly and thought – what if his fears are true, what if the world is already collapsing…

'Yeah, you're the clever one here, Xavier,' Logan was watching him with shrewd eyes. 'It's bound to happen. Maybe we still have a year or two, or even ten – if we're lucky.'

Fated?

Charles wished to disagree, but couldn't.

War was coming.

Erik handed the package to the French officer of indeterminable rank. He was waiting for Erik in the pre-agreed place and was terribly nervous. His face was covered in sweat and he was twisting his mustache – probably fake, guessed Erik. After reading a letter from Anna Marie he became less miserable and they parted on almost friendly terms.

Erik has checked in at the hotel in the city center and the rest of the evening spent walking around the city. Things have changed since his last visit.

After he came out of local store – in clothes less fashionable but more suitable for climate and excessive movement, he noticed that he was being watched. Two unremarkable men were following him on the safe distance.

Professionals.

Erik turned around the corner. He quickly reached the dead end of the familiar street. High wall stood right before him.

It's high time to refresh some old tricks.

He jumped and grabbed the ledge; pulled himself up. Erik has managed to hang on the edge of the wall one-handed.

One more little effort and he softly landed on the ground on the other side. Erik carefully listened to muffled noises – two men, running. As soon as the sounds have reached his ears, he smiled. They exchanged some words, which he couldn't discern and one has left the area.

He still had a few hours to kill, that's why he decided to look around. The church was probably one of new buildings – he vaguely remembered the opulent opening ceremony - it took place before his departure. Odd, the central entrance was locked. Erik shrugged and climbed up the tree.

He reached the closest window and peered inside. His idea has brought its merits, it appeared. Yesterday's hippo-man, his face red and swollen and arm in the sling, here Erik minutely let himself to enjoy the view, was talking to a priest. They went up to the altar and priest did something – from this perspective Erik was not exactly sure. The floor behind the altar has parted to the side, revealing a dark tunnel. Priest let the hippo-man inside. He triggered the mysterious mechanism again and the tunnel was hidden from prying eyes, but not from Erik.

What exactly did he see there? Erik entertained himself with various speculations, while getting dressed for dinner.

Most definitely, some rich loafers playing the game called "secret cults" again.

She has scheduled a meeting in the most expensive restaurant in the city at eight o'clock.

Erik came on time, but his latest acquaintance - in elegant ivory dress – a sparkling diamond necklace on her neck, in return for documents – has already occupied the table in the far corner in the company of a certain French officer.

She has caught his eye and Erik joined the party, reluctant.

'Herr Eisenhardt, captain Shaw – an old friend of mine.'

Erik and Shaw exchanged usual greetings.

Immediately, he tensed – there was something definitely wrong with this man. On the surface, he couldn't pinpoint anything disturbing and yet… Erik wouldn't have survived in the jungles even the tenth part of his life if not for his instincts.

'I still don't trust my eyes. Who would have thought, dear Sebastian!' her bright smile was surprisingly cold. 'Old uniform looked good on you. Why change?'

'It didn't bring me luck!' saluted Shaw.

'I assume, you've won all luck in the world for yourself by now.'

'Who knows, Emma? Who knows?...' his pale eyes flashed with dangerous sparkle.

That was familiar – people of this kind are not uncommon. One more mad treasure hunter to the pack – reached his verdict Erik.

Fortunately, captain received an urgent message and had to leave.

They were left tête-à-tête.

'Emma?'

'Yes, this is my name. Satisfied? Unfortunately, I've met Sebastian long before I realized the benefits of anonymity. Honestly... I swear to god, that he hasn't changed at all. It's unbelievable.'

She put her dessert to the side and offered:

'Let's talk upstairs. My apartment.'

In the room she gave him a worn-out leather handbag.

'See for yourself. Here are the results of my hard work – appreciate it. Not everything falls into an order. Crucial figures are missing from the pattern. Nevertheless, there's something I know for sure – they're calling themselves Purifiers. Over the last decade, they've eliminated a few influential families. Digging for gold, I think. Your funds are yours, because old Eisenhardt was a wise man and had a scheme of his own. In America they act more straightforwardly. Supported by the government, obviously.'

Erik looked through the papers. Meanwhile, a wave of cold fury was burning his insides. He couldn't understand the reason beyond dozens and dozens of deaths. As if the pieces of puzzle didn't want to line up in comprehensible structure.

'Must ask a genius to figure it out,' smirked Emma.

'How do I repay…'

'Forget that we've ever met,' she harshly cut in.

'Excuse me?'

'I don't need anything from you. This is personal…'

He has never heard so much bitter hatred before, concentrated in a few words:

'Stamp them out of existence.'