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It happened by chance, really, although it could hardly have been a surprise. Mystique flitted through government offices and military ranks and contractors and criminals like a ghost; Magneto, on the other hand, tended to cut through like a sword. When the dust settled and the last door of the compound they had somehow both managed to infiltrate on the exact same night was ripped off its hinges, they found themselves facing two boys, hand in hand, clearly scared out of their wits but extremely determined. One of them was furred with frost all up his arm, growing thicker before their eyes; the other appeared to be on fire.
Magneto turned to Mystique with raised eyebrows. “Charles?”
Mystique didn’t bother to duck a poorly-aimed gout of fire. “Charles.”
*
Bobby and John they pressed into service immediately (after the gouts of fire had stopped, and the frost had melted a bit) to help carry out the boxes of files that were deemed mysterious enough to be useful. Even to two people practiced in espionage finding relevant information was hit-or-miss; “You can kidnap two kids for weapons research but you can’t hire a decent secretary?” Magneto was heard to mutter, elbow-deep in a filing cabinet. So the files had to come along, which meant everyone got to carry a box, including two stray mutants who ought to have been grateful but who were, instead, really rather whiny.
There was also the question of how they were going to get to Westchester. Levitating four people, plus boxes, was impractical and probably unsafe, and Mystique’s car had unfortunately been used as a projectile during the course of Magneto’s unsubtle infiltration. “The reasons that we parted ways were good reasons,” Mystique observed, surveying the crumpled wreck that had previously been a rather nice turquoise GSX.
“Can I put this down? It’s heavy,” John’s voice had a particularly grating edge to it.
Magneto pulled the one intact car in the lot over. “Here, this one is . . . “ He frowned at it. “Did two people design this thing without consulting each other or something? The front and back are completely different, it makes no sense.”
“It’s a Gremlin, duh,” Bobby spoke with all the native authority of a twelve-year-old.
“Why would anyone call a car a ‘gremlin’? Aren’t gremlins known for causing machines to malfunction or something like that?” Mystique’s voice had an edge of wonder that seemed strange for a blue-scaled shapeshifter who had grown up with a kid who could actually read minds and now rescued people with superpowers from other people who could only be categorized as Bad Guys. “Well, at least no one’s going to miss it.”
“Purple,” Magneto said thoughtfully, popping open the rear window so they could deposit their boxes inside. “I think I like it.”
*
“You have to take off the helmet. The cops are going to pull you over for obstruction of vision or something.”
“Are you crazy? We’re going to see Charles, I’m not taking this thing off. That’s a bad idea. The last time that happened he took control of me and . . .” Magneto’s full-body shiver transferred itself outward to the frame of the Gremlin. It didn’t seem entirely unpleasant.
“And he passed up a chance to make you quack like a duck on national television.”
It was a good point.
“This guy we’re seeing can do stuff like that?” Bobby asked.
“Oh, if he wants to he can control your brain,” Mystique said, blasé.
“Far out,” said John, sounding impressed. “What else?”
Magneto took off the helmet.
*
“Are we there yet?”
“No.”
“How about now?”
“No.”
“Are we there yet?”
“No.”
“How about now?”
“No.”
Erik hunched over the steering wheel. “Mutants are genetically superior to humans,” he muttered. “We are endowed with superhuman abilities. It is our destiny to rise above our oppressors in triumph. We are the true heirs to this world. Mutants are my people, my precious brothers and sisters. I will protect them, lead them to a glorious future—”
“Are we there yet?”
“NO!”
*
The gates to the mansion gleamed with new paint, and a brand new post had been installed with a shielded intercom on the driver’s side.
“Who’s there?” the voice that crackled through the plastic speaker grill was barely intelligible.
“It’s Magneto,” said Erik. “Tell Charles—”
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
“I said, it’s Magneto. Can you open the gates? And tell Charles—”
“I can’t understand you at all. Who did you say you were?”
“Erik! It’s Erik, okay, and Mystique, and if you could tell Charles—”
“Look, I have no idea what you’re saying, but I’ll open the gates. Drive up to the house, Logan will meet you at the door.”
Mystique blinked. “Logan’s still here?”
“You brought Logan here?” Erik said, in the same instant.
“I thought maybe Charles could help him—”
“—he might not be the happiest to see me, did it ever occur to you—”
“Look, he’d forgotten all about that when I fished him out of the bay, so—”
“I’m just saying that maybe we should—”
“Excuse me, you two, but—” said John, in a completely different accent from usual.
“—the gate is open, and Logan and Hank and I will be waiting—” said Bobby, in precisely the same.
“—in the foyer,” said John. “You can park—”
“—out front. And bring in the boxes, please, there might be—” Bobby continued.
“—information relevant to Bobby and John in them,” John finished.
Mystique finally broke the resulting silence. “Charles, that’s creepy.”
“It’s a good effect, though, don’t—” said Bobby.
“—you think?” John was smiling, a sly adult smirk that was entirely familiar. “John and—”
“—Bobby here think it’s ‘way far out’, isn’t that right, you two?” Bobby said.
“Waaaaay far out,” John agreed in his own voice.
Erik’s lips compressed, although the telltale twitch to their corners gave him away.
*
Naturally Charles’ smile was for Bobby and John, both of whom he greeted with manly handshakes that clearly impressed them. The futuristic wheelchair also had a strong impact, along with Hank’s furry bulk and the remodeled foyer. It was clear that they felt like they’d walked out of a nightmare and into their wildest pre-adolescent fantasies.
“Oh man this is just like the Action Team, where they all go to school together and then fight crime, only better!” Bobby was whispering in John’s ear, not nearly as quiet as he seemed to think he was.
“Dr. McCoy will show you to your rooms, and introduce you to the other students,” Charles continued serenely, ignoring the whispered exchange.
“Professor—” Hank shot a worried look at Erik, who returned it with a cool lack of concern.
“Nothing to worry about. And I’ll see about contacting your parents— I’m sure they must be worried sick about you two.”
John looked faintly concerned about that. “Will we have to leave and go back home?”
Charles rewarded him with a smile that oozed paternal assurance, and Mystique coughed into her hand. “Maybe for a little while, but I’m sure your parents will see the appeal of pursuing your education at a quality private institution with astonishingly low tuition.”
With that the two pre-teens seemed content, and willingly followed Hank upstairs. Which left Mystique, Erik, Charles, Logan, and four boxes of documents in the foyer, in an increasingly awkward silence.
“Well, then,” said Mystique, shifting on her bare feet, “I’ll just be going . . .”
“What, and leave me and Chuck to carry all the boxes to the study?” Logan growled. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he somehow contrived to creak threateningly.
“Logan, please.” Charles held up a hand to forestall him. “Your help would be appreciated, of course. And it would be nice to get some of the details regarding your rescue of Bobby and John from minds that aren’t twelve years old.”
Charles heaved one of the boxes into his lap without too much effort and set off for the study; Logan gave Erik a scornful once-over before he did the same. Clearly only one option was acceptable.
*
They were still sorting through papers two hours later, and things had become more congenial, possibly because Charles had poured whisky in the tea in an attempt to make the papers less tedious. When the pot seemed to be running low, he just shrugged and topped it up from the whisky bottle again.
“What they were planning is evil,” Erik said, putting aside yet another intricate and incomprehensible report, “But not hiring a proper secretary? Diabolical.”
“At least we have contact information for John and Bobby,” Charles said, “I’ll make the calls tonight; I’m sure their families will be relieved.”
“Not right away?”
“A few more hours won’t matter much. Besides, I have to come up with something plausible to tell them.”
“Chuck’s not great at improv,” Logan said, and glanced over at Mystique. “You did pretty good getting me back from those military types, you want to give us a hand tonight?”
“I guess it would be a disaster otherwise,” Mystique agreed loftily. Her cheeks had flushed slightly purple from the whisky. “But I’m not staying any longer than that.”
“No, no, of course not,” Charles soothed. “But actually . . . since you’re here right now, I thought that you two could perhaps aid us in a different matter.” He tapped another pile of papers. “There are references here to another young mutant, one that these people intended to target next. It would certainly be safer for her here, since we don’t know if these weapons contractors had any other facilities. I mean, it might specify in these files somewhere, but it’s going to take us forever to figure them out.”
“You can’t go?”
“Normally I’d head out with Logan, yes, but it’s not possible this week.”
“Pottery week,” Logan said around his unlit cigar. “Gotta supervise the kiln.”
“The last time I was here Hank built a plasma concentrator, flexible sonic parasail gliders, bulletproof suits, and a mutation enhancement serum,” Erik said, leaning back comfortably in his chair and stretching out so that Charles would notice. “And you think he can’t run a kiln?”
“Kid does science and engineering pretty good,” Logan said, “but this is art.”
“You can stay here tonight, and leave tomorrow morning,” Charles was staring at the length of Erik’s legs. “That will give us the time we need to get some more information out of this mess.”
“Well, I guess if it’s to help my mutant sisters and brothers I can put everything else on hold for a little while,” Erik said, trying to be nonchalant.
“Rav— Mystique?” Charles turned to her with a hopeful smile.
“I can’t believe you two,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this— yes, all right, fine.”
*
Hank handed her a thermos of coffee on her way out the door of the mansion the next morning, and Mystique mumbled something that she hoped was grateful. Whatever it was, he flashed her a well-fanged smile and wished her good luck.
Erik was leaning against the car’s purple door, cheerfully spinning the key he had made for the Gremlin around his finger and singing something in French in a voice that wasn’t too bad. There was no helmet or cape in sight. He appeared to be wearing his clothes from a decade before, and Charles’ aftershave.
“Don’t even talk to me until I’ve had half of this,” Mystique informed him, climbing into the passenger side. “You’re driving.”
Erik smiled, and the Gremlin chugged to life.
*
Je te promets la clé des secrets de mon âme
Je te promets ma vie de mes rires à mes larmes
Je te promets le feu à la place des armes
Plus jamais des adieux rien que des au-revoirs