Kitty was somewhat relieved that the Gypsy was better able to affect the individual tentacles than the monster as a whole.

But there were so many of them, streaking at her friend in a relentless onslaught! “Can you hold them?” the mutant yelled.

“Yes!” An especially large tentacle slammed into the shield, bashing it backward. Amanda likewise fell back a step, giving up ground.

Kitty turned back to her instruments and controls, then did her best not to think about what might be happening just a few feet behind her. Or about the fact that the Runner was presently about as aerodynamic as a grand piano. She’d trust her teammate to defend her back, focus calmly on the task before her as Wolverine and her other senseis had taught her, and fly.

Because of the tentacles, Kurt had half-consciously expected the demon to resemble a colossal octopus or jellyfish, and to some extent, it did. But when he turned, he saw that the creature’s body, currently squatting midway between the Runner's tail and nose, was a dark humanoid head ten feet high, with lean, chiseled features, blank, lambent yellow eyes, and pointed ears. A huge copy of his own features, in fact.

Lightning flared, illuminating the head and revealing its expression. It wore the perverse, sadistic smirk that Kurt had only seen on the features of that other Nightcrawler whom Belasco had broken to his will, and thereafter in a nightmare or two.

Startled and repulsed, the mutant simply gaped at the monster for a moment, until he noticed the stealthy glide of a thin tentacle across his throat. The loop bit suddenly tight like a garrote, but he teleported out of it before it could cut off his wind or slice into his flesh.

This time he managed a clean landing, reappearing immediately in front of the mammoth head. In the split second he needed to anchor himself, it flowed from a copy of his own features to one of Amanda’s, her wide-eyed face a mask of panic and despair. He drove the saber into it. Amber ichor spurted, and the slipstream flung it away.

Tentacles reared about him, flailing and grasping. As he fought, he teleported repeatedly to elude them, always aware of just how easy it would be to bungle a shift and slip from the spine of the reeling plane, Meanwhile, the head, now mottled with the yellow stabs and gashes he’d inflicted on it, oozed from Amanda’s countenance to Piotr’s, his ordinarily pleasant features twisted into an ugly scowl of rage.

Before long, the strain of making so many jumps in rapid succession began to take its toll. Nightcrawler moved to deflect a tentacle with the guard of his saber, but the arm whipped under his guard and, before he could execute a second parry, clipped him on the temple. His vision blurred with the jab of pain, and other limbs battered and clutched him.

Then Colossus and Dracula clambered onto the top of the plane.

If the Russian even noticed that the monster had reproduced his own face, the discovery didn’t seem to faze him. More or less crawling to make sure he didn’t take a fall, Piotr dragged himself to the base of the gargantuan head, grabbed its jowl with one hand, and punched it with the other. His steel fist plunged into the monster’s flesh as easily as had Kurt’s blade.

Dracula, a snarling gargoyle with long, pointed ears and enormous wings, tightly folded at the moment to keep them from catching the wind, raked the head’s other profile with his claws. A heavy tentacle whirled at the back of his own misshapen skull, and, somehow sensing the blow, he ducked beneath it.

The limbs attacking Kurt faltered for the instant he needed to pull himself together and teleport. With Piotr and Dracula now fighting there, there was no room for anyone else to attack the giant head from the front, so he jumped on top of it, noting that, though it currently looked like steel, it still felt like rubbery flesh. Perched on that new vantage point, he noticed the lights of a city beneath the Runner, and, a bit farther ahead, a broad, black expanse that must be the Mississippi River.

For the next half minute, he cut at the monster furiously, trying to strike at its eyes. Meanwhile, his allies assailed the creature just as savagely. But no matter how many shining yellow wounds they inflicted, the creature’s tentacles bashed and clutched at them relentlessly, until, gasping, he began to wonder if it was even possible to kill it.

The monstrous head flowed into a facsimile of Dracula’s aquiline, arrogant human countenance. Deep puncture wounds, many of them the product of his own fist, marred the portrait, but as far as Colossus could tell, they hadn’t even slowed the demon down.

Time for another approach, then, repugnant though it would be. He grabbed the lip of the one of the punctures and yanked downward, turning the hole into a long gash. Then he started to squirm his way inside it.

Wet, reeking flesh, a blackness streaked with amber phosphorescence, enfolded his upper body, effectively blinding him. It might have suffocated him as well, except that in his armored form, he did not breathe. But the acrid stench of its fluids was almost unbearably foul.

He felt tentacles looping about his legs, and kicked madly to dislodge them before they could drag him back out. Clutching at the monster’s substance, he dragged himself entirely inside it, then struggled to his knees.

The demon’s tissues clenched around him like a fist, a terrible peristalsis that threatened to immobilize him and might in time even pulverize his armored body. He retaliated by tearing at the monster furiously. If the creature had vital organs, his rending hands would encounter them sooner or later. If not, then he’d simply continue until he demolished the entire mass.

Eventually, after what seemed an eternity spent sightless and constricted in this reeking, claustrophobic cavity, his fingers raked through a lobed node of flesh softer than the dense, rubbery meat surrounding it. Then the demon’s body suddenly melted into slime. He grinned, but his satisfaction was shortlived. With nothing solid anchoring him in place, he lost his balance, slid on the layer of jelly beneath him, and tumbled off the plane.

When the monster dissolved into glop, Kurt abruptly had nothing to cling to. Hanging in midair, he started to teleport back onto the Midnight Runner’s spine, then perceived just in time that the nose was dropping while the plane as a whole was spinning on its axis. The wing whirled around at him like an immense black fly swatter.

With the transport spinning, it would he impossible to jump back aboard, even if there was any point to it. He frantically shifted himself across the sky, out of harm’s way, then looked on helplessly as the jet hurtled on and vanished in the darkness. Praying that his companions too would get off safely, Kurt pulled his ripcord.

The stink of ichor and scorched demon flesh burned in Kitty’s nose and throat, all but choking her. “Just so you know,” Amanda panted, “I’m about six feet behind you. The tentacles keep pushing me back.”

“Got it,” the younger woman said, keeping her eyes locked on her instruments. The monster’s limbs rustled on the floor, whizzed through the air. Amanda shouted a magic word, and her mystical bolts crackled, the flashes illuminating the interior of the plane.

Then came a splashing, squelching sound, and the layer of limbs obscuring the window in front of Kitty dissolved into fluid, which instantly began to stream away.

Kurt, Piotr, and Dracula must have succeeded in killing the demon. What’s more, she could now see Natchez beneath her, and the Mississippi, dead ahead. By some miracle, she’d piloted the Runner where it needed to go.

Tortured metal shrieked. The plane dropped, spun, and with a final flicker of red warning lights, the controls went dead. She heard a thump and a slosh: Amanda falling and melted monster flesh slopping around.

She twisted in her seat to make sure the sorceress was all right. She was, bouncing around inside the rotating cabin like laundry tumbling in a dryer, but conscious and unharmed. “Get to the ground!” Kitty cried.

“Right!” Amanda said, then disappeared.

Shadowcat phased, then, waiting until the Runner was upright, rose from her chair, passing effortlessly through the straps of her safety harness and standing not on the floor but on the air itself. The plane hurtled on, its substance penetrating hers as harmlessly and painlessly as the belts had, leaving her behind in an instant. It raced on toward the surface of the river, flying to pieces in the moment before it hit.

Kitty peered about the rain-swept sky. Presumably Petey, Kurt, and Dracula had all survived the fight with the monster, then jumped clear as the Runner began its final dive. Having plummeted in free fall. Colossus would already be on the ground by now, but perhaps she could spot Nightcrawler dangling from his parachute, or the vampire flapping around on his leathery wings. Yet even when the lightning strobed, she found herself standing alone in the void beneath the storm clouds and the earth.

Which might well mean that the team had been thoroughly scattered, and there was no telling how much precious time it would take them all to find one another again.

Unaffected by the frigid wind and the downpour, she ran toward the ground as if she were jogging down an invisible ramp.

Chapter 10

Shivering, the woman who now remembered that her name was Ororo peered longingly through the window of a Circle K convenience store. Though the establishment was closed and dark, like nearly all of the businesses she’d passed in the course of her wandering, she might be able to break in, steal some food, and, assuming no alarm went off, take shelter until morning. Enemies or not, she didn’t want to continue aimlessly prowling the streets. She was weary and chilled to the bone, and her hunger was a fierce, cramping ache in her belly.

In the hours since she’d dragged herself from the spillway, her memory had continued to return in bits and pieces. She knew her name. She could see the loving faces of her parents, and recall the nightmare moment when the bomb exploded, killing them and leaving her buried in rubble beside her mother’s corpse. After her escape she’d eked out a miserable existence in the back alleys of Cairo, friendless and often as cold and famished as she was right now, until the master thief Achmed el-Gibar took her in and taught her to steal. Still later, prompted by an unfathomable yet irresistible instinct, she’d trekked south to the Serengeti, her mother’s native land, where she’d discovered her ability to control the weather. She used it to aid the local tribes, and in consequence they came to worship her as a deity.

So much was clear. But she was still unsure of the full extent of her powers or of precisely how to wield them, just as she had no idea of why or when she’d left Africa for America.

Please, Goddess, she silently prayed, heal me. Restore me to myself.

Down the street and to her right, three figures emerged from the hissing rain. Two of them had rifles in their hands.

Perhaps, Ororo thought, the gunmen were nothing to do with her. Even if they were her enemies, it was entirely possible that they had yet to spot her in the gloom and the downpour. Intending to hide, she skulked toward the corner of the convenience store as Achmed had taught her, whacking her with his rattan cane when she failed to move stealthily enough to suit him.

The two riflemen shouldered their weapons. The guns flashed, banged, and Ororo threw herself sideways. Twin holes appeared in the windows. If she hadn’t dodged, at least one of the bullets would have caught her in the chest.

So much for the optimistic notion that the men meant her no harm, or that they had yet to notice her, for that matter. She sprinted for all she was worth, while the rifles banged, and glass cracked and shattered just behind her.

When she rounded the corner of the Circle K, she nearly ran headlong into two more men who were trotting the other way. The larger of the two, a pudgy man in a gleaming black slicker, had a sawed-off shotgun in his hand. The other, leaner and younger, his head shaved, carried a sledgehammer. He wore a white T-shirt that the storm had rendered transparent and glued to his torso, which bore the letters foh.

The initials meant something to her, something abhorrent, but she had no time to try to tease it from her memory. At her sudden appearance, the fat man flinched backward, but his companion bellowed, raised the sledgehammer over his head, and charged.

Acting on instinct, she pointed her hand at him, and a gust of wind, powerful as a tornado, sprang up out of nowhere. The skinhead reeled backward, a crust of frost forming on the front of his body.

From the corner of her eye, Ororo glimpsed the other man pointing the shotgun at her. She pivoted, willing the freezing wind to batter him as well, but instead of shifting as she intended, it simply died.

She dropped low as someone—she could suddenly picture him too, a short, muscular man with bristling black hair and bushy side whiskers—had taught her. The gun boomed, and the blast streaked over her head. At the same instant, she swept out her right leg, snagged her attacker’s ankle, and jerked him off his feet.

As he fell, he cracked his head against the white-painted cinderblock wall of the store, but the blow didn’t stop him from clumsily trying to aim his weapon at her again. She straightened up and kicked him in the jaw. Bone snapped, and he slumped back, seemingly unconscious.

Ororo spun toward the skinhead. He was on his knees, whimpering and shuddering, no longer a threat. But she knew her first three attackers must even now be charging up behind her. She raced on, her boots splashing up water, and headed down a side street lined with strip malls, tire stores, and fast food franchises. She prayed that she could lose her pursuers somewhere along it.

Another band of men appeared in the murk ahead of her. Guns flashed and banged. “Mutant!” someone yelped.

Mutant. It was another piece of the puzzle. She mm a mutant. It was the source of her powers, and for some reason, many ordinary people feared and hated her kind. But she had no time to ponder that piece of information, either. It was obvious that despite her efforts to go unnoticed, someone had spotted her and called out a posse of hunters to stalk her. They’d surrounded her, and now they were moving in for the kill. '

If she could fly, she could soar over the perimeter of their circle and leave them all behind. She called for an updraft to carry her aloft, and the atmosphere responded to her will. But she realized immediately that the wind was bearing her along too slowly and that she was riding it too awkwardly, like a cow struggling to swim. Her gift was still weak, and her technique no better than on that long ago summer day in Kenya when it had first occurred to her to try flying. She couldn’t escape by air after all, not in her present condition. AH she’d succeeded in doing was making herself a better target.

Guns flickered, barked, and boomed. A bullet tugged at her sodden white tresses, startling her and breaking her concentration. The steady current of air supporting her dissolved into useless chaos. She fell the fifteen feet back onto the street.

Ororo landed heavily. The impact jabbed pain through her ankle and tumbled her sprawling on the asphalt. She scrambled to her feet and ran in the direction of a hamburger restaurant.

Beyond the building was a pair of green metal dumpsters. If she’d pulled far enough ahead of her pursuers to make them lose sight of her, she might be able to hide inside one of the bins. She poised herself to jump into the one on the right, and then a bullet cracked into it and, whining, ricocheted.

Too late. The hunters had her in their sights. Trying to quash her fear, to silence the insidious voice that whispered that no thief’s trick or mutant ability would save her tonight, she dashed on. Her ankle throbbed with every other step.

Changing course whenever she glimpsed motion ahead of her, trying repeatedly and unsuccessfully to hide herself, she ran until she lost all sense of direction. Until the breath rasped in her throat, and her long stride decayed into an agonizing hobble. Until at last she found herself standing at bay on the lawn in front of a long, one-story brick elementary school, with a flagpole to her right, bike racks to her left, and the mob closing in on her like a noose.

She could see that there were about twenty of them, ordinary citizens armed, for the most part, with the sort of weapons anyone could legally purchase for hunting or home defense. She sensed that if she were operating at full capacity, she could scatter them easily, and the realization made her plight seem all the more galling.

“What is wrong with you people?” she cried. “I have done nothing to you!”

She didn't actually expect anyone to answer. She thought they’d simply open fire again. But perhaps her frantic flight had served to convince them that she posed no real threat to them, and thus, now that they had her cornered, they were willing to take the time to justify themselves.

A heavyset, thirty-ish man in a John Deere cap said, “You got a lotta gall to ask that, lady, after you muties attacked our city!” He sounded genuinely outraged.

“You tell her, Arnie!” shouted someone else. “Hell, we all saw it on TV!”

“I do not care what you saw,” Ororo said, “I was not involved.” Despite the lacunae in her memory, she was certain of that.

Arnie laughed. “Sure you weren’t. This weather just happened, didn’t it? Even though all the scientists say that it violates the laws of nature. You ’d never make a flood to drown all us homo sapiens like rats, would you, not a sweet little monster chick like you.”

“You’re wrong,” Ororo said. Suddenly she remembered what she was doing in Natchez. “I came here to stop the rain. To help you.”

“Nice try,” Arnie said, “but you can’t pull the wool over our eyes. We know you muties wanna wipe out every real human being in the world. Let’s clean up the gene pool, boys.” He lifted his .357. “We’ll all shoot together, on three. One—”    "

“Wait!” yelled a skinny man in a nylon windbreaker who, Ororo now observed, was carrying not a weapon but a camcorder. “Let me get a better angle. I don’t know if I can really shoot anything in this light, but if I can, I bet Hard Copy'll pay plenty for it.”

“Okay,” Arnie said, “but hurry.” The aspiring video journalist scuttled around the ring of hunters. “Two—”

Prompted by a surge of instinct, Ororo thrust out her hands. Overhead, lightning flared and thunder crashed. Dazzling bolts of electricity sizzled from her fingers.

But once again, her control was lacking. Instead of striking any of her tormentors, her own personal lightning leaped harmlessly to the metal bike racks and flagpole.

The blinding, crackling blasts did startle the mob and send them reeling backward. Though the effort of casting the thunderbolts had all but drained her strength, Ororo plunged forward in an effort to break out of the ring.

For an instant she thought she was going to make it. Then someone clubbed her from behind. The blow spiked pain through her skull and knocked her down in the cold, wet grass.

“The freak tried to electrocute us!” someone exclaimed indignantly.

“No,” she groaned, dazed. “Just shock you ... would not kill...”

“Can you stand her up again?” asked the man with the camcorder. “It’ll look better if you shoot her and then she falls.”

“Forget it,” Amie said, suddenly looming over his prey and pointing his automatic at her face. ¹ ‘We need to finish her off before she tries any more tricks.”

A shadow swept across the sky. Ororo thought it was shaped like an enormous bird, or at any rate, some sort of winged creature. An instant later, when it lit on the muddy, saturated ground, she saw that it was actually a tall, pale, black-bearded man wrapped in a high-collared cape. His aquiline features were by no means conventionally handsome, but, strong, intelligent, and proud, they were striking and magnetic nonetheless.

The mob jumped back at the newcomer’s unexpected arrival, and he raked them with a contemptuous gaze. “I remember when cowardly rabble hunted supposed witches and heretics through the streets,” he said in a deep, lightly accented voice. “The quarry has changed, but I see the sport remains the same.’’

The man in the cloak radiated power and utter confidence. Indeed, his demeanor was so intimidating that the mob simply goggled at him for a moment. Finally Arnie swallowed and said, “You should have flown right on by, mutant. Now we’re going to kill you too.” His voice was a little shaky.

“You have no conception how fortunate you are,” the stranger replied. “Out of deference to this lady’s sensibilities, I will permit you to flee. But I hope you’ll choose to stand your ground instead. She was telling the truth, you see. She would not have killed you, no matter how desperate her plight. I, on the other hand, would take profound pleasure in slaughtering you like the swine you are,”

The hunters hesitated. Then Arnie spat an obscenity, pointed his .357 at the figure in black, and opened fire. In the next two seconds, all his companions did the same. The roar of their weapons was deafening.

Ororo cringed, but her would-be rescuer didn’t fall. The sneer on his sensuous lips didn’t even waver. It was as if the bullets slamming into his flesh were powerless to harm him, and indeed, though some of them must surely be hitting him in the head, they left no marks.

The guns fell silent as, one by one, the shooters exhausted their ammunition. The humans’ savage expressions gave way to bewilderment and dismay. The pale man strode forward, his inky cape flowing behind him, someone emitted a high, quavering wail, and then the hunters turned and fled.

The stranger pounced on Arnie like a cat pouncing on a mouse, then hoisted him into the air. “You appear to be the leader of this pack of jackals,” the cloaked man said, “so I think it only appropriate that you precede your followers into death. Rest assured, I’ll send them traipsing after you soon enough.” The white fingers of his left hand closed around

Arnie’s throat. The human thrashed and beat at him with his pistol, to no effect whatsoever.

“No!” said Ororo, dragging herself to her knees. “Don’t!”

Turning toward her, the man in black arched an eyebrow. His face and body language betrayed no strain at all, for all that he was holding a full-grown man off the ground with one hand and strangling him with the other. “You can’t expect everyone to abide by your own scruples, my dear Ororo, particularly when chastising a wretch so manifestly unfit to live.”

Arnie lost his grip on the .357, which fell and splashed in a puddle. His face was red, his eyes bulged, and tiny, choking noises escaped from his throat.

“Please,” Ororo repeated, “for my sake. He ... he said he believed that I’ve been hurting people.”

The stranger rolled his dark eyes. “Very well, my dear one. For you.” He dropped Arnie on the ground, where the would-be mutant killer lay shaking and wheezing. His attacker’s long, pointed nails had sliced his neck. “Go, and don’t ever let me see your face again.” When the human didn’t spring into motion immediately, he gave him a brutal kick in the ribs. “Run, cur!”

Arnie sobbed, dragged himself to his feet, and staggered away. The cloaked man turned his back on him at once, as if he’d ceased to exist.

All courtly gentleness now, the newcomer offered Ororo his hand and lifted her to her feet. His touch was startlingly cold. Probably the rain had chilled his flesh.

“Thank you,” she said. “For rescuing me, and for sparing him.”

He smiled at her. “I never anticipated finding you here, although considering what’s transpiring, perhaps I should have. You’re fortunate that I noticed the mob shooting and scurrying about, and flew lower to investigate. I must confess, I wouldn’t have expected such courteous words from you, despite the circumstances of our meeting.”

“1 don’t know what you mean by that.” She smiled ruefully. “I don’t know a lot of things. Something’s wrong with niy memory. But you called me by name. You know me.” “Of course.” His dark eyes gazed down at her, studying her face. “But you no longer know me.”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t remember much of anything after my days in Africa.”

“Then an introduction is in order.” He was still holding her hand, and now he raised it to his lips, which proved to be just as icy cold as his fingers. “My name is Vlad, and as always, my beautiful windrider, I am at your service.”

“That man—Arnie—said that you’re a mutant too.”

Vlad grimaced. “About that, as so much else, Arnie is mistaken.” He led her toward the shelter of the school building’s doorway. “I am the king of another mighty race, of a realm that exists in secret alongside the nations that common people know. Years ago, I met you, loved you, and asked you to be my queen, but. . . circumstances tore us apart. Afterwards I lay incapacitated for a long time. I imagine you even believed me dead.” They stepped up onto a concrete porch and into the close quarters of the doorway. Ororo was grateful to escape the rain. “Do you truly not remember any of this?”

Feeling vaguely ashamed of her ignorance, Ororo shook her head. “No. I hope that doesn’t hurt you. After you saved my life, that’s the last thing I want.”

He smiled sardonically. “It’s scarcely a tonic for my pride, but I’m sure you’ll recall everything in time, as you recover from what ails you. Speaking of which, do you know what that is?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“Well, I can venture a guess,” the tall man said. “As I said, we’ve been separated for a long while, so I’m ignorant of your recent history. I can’t tel! you how you came to the United States, or to Natchez in particular.”

“I came to stop the rain. I do remember that.”

His eyes narrowed as if in annoyance. She sensed that he didn’t much like being interrupted by anyone, even a woman for whom he professed affection. But the next instant, his smile returned. ‘ ‘Ah. Well, what you may not have realized is that a mutual enemy of ours, a sorcerer called Belasco—” She tensed. “I see the name means something to you.”

“Yes. I don’t truly remember who he is or what he’s done, but I know it was cruel and terrible.”

“Indeed. He conjured this rain, but even that is the least of his mischief. He presently poses a threat to the entire world, which is why I came here to deal with him. I suspect that when you tried to disrupt his schemes, he attacked you and made you as you are now.”

“Maybe,” Ororo said. “I do think that someone attacked me.”

“Then there you have it,” said Vlad. “My dear one, I wish I could spend the whole night talking with you, reminiscing and reminding you of who you are, but sadly, time is of the essence. I must find you a safe refuge where you can complete your recovery, then track down the warlock before his plans come to fruition. But I couldn’t bear to move on without making certain you understand that I still adore you.” His rich, compelling voice throbbed with the force of his desire. “I still yearn for the union that an unkind fate once denied us. I understand that your mind is jumbled, but surely, when you look into my face, you feel some stirring of the love we shared.” His dark eyes shone in the gloom. For a moment, no doubt due to a trick of the light or her own exhaustion, they almost seemed to glitter red. Her head swam, and then powerful emotions and vague half memories welled up inside her. She had loved him once, in a way she’d loved no one else, so passionately that it was somehow frightening, so devotedly that her entire existence had revolved around him. His touch had filled her with a strange ecstasy that she’d never felt before or since.

Her expression must have revealed that she was remembering, because he opened his arms, spreading the folds of his cloak and revealing a cravat, ruffled shirt, waistcoat, and frock coat just as antiquated as his outerwear. Ororo stepped into his embrace.

Kurt dropped toward a black expanse of water. As best he could judge, it had originally been a pond in the center of a small public park, but now, swollen with rain, it had overflowed its banks to engulf the surrounding area. Trees, benches, barbecue grills, swing sets, a jungle gym, seesaws, and, beyond the borders of the submerged field, parking meters protruded from the flood.

After battling outside the Midnight Runner, the mutant was already wet, but even so, he saw no reason to immerse himself in a muddy lake. He waited until he saw just a few yards above the surface, then released the harness of his parachute and teleported out of it to the sloped roof of a nearby furniture store.

He shed the impetus of his descent with a somersault across the rough wet shingles and flipped nimbly to his feet. Peering about, trying to get his bearings, he wiped the stinking, luminous ichor off his saber onto the edge of his red, V-shaped tabard and, with the ease of long practice, returned the weapon to the scabbard on his back.

He saw no sign of his friends or Dracula in the immediate vicinity, not that he’d expected to. Given the Runner's velocity, and their disparate methods of escaping the doomed jet, his teammates could well be scattered across a number of miles. He pulled up the white, scarlet-trimmed cuff of his right gauntlet and activated the wrist radio underneath.

“Amanda,” he said. “Shadowcat. Colossus.” He supposed he should have thought to provide Dracula with one of the devices as well, but it was too late to worry about that now. “This is Nightcrawler. Come in, please.”

Overhead, lightning flared. The radio crackled with static, but failed to produce any voices.

Kurt scowled. Why didn’t the others respond? Perhaps the storm was somehow responsible.

Whatever the problem was, he’d evidently have to find his comrades the hard way. He set off running across the rooftops, bounding from one to the next. His trained acrobat’s balance and mutant clinging power kept him from slipping, even on the slick surfaces produced by the rain, just as his powerful legs managed the leaps without difficulty. Periodically he teleported a few hundred feet, so as to cover more ground.

After a time, he noticed a snapping sound. His intuition told him that it might have been going on for awhile, but until that moment, his ears hadn’t been able to separate it from the hiss and clatter of the downpour. Crouching atop the gabled rooftop of an old house with the boughs of an ancient elm tree looming over him, he strained to hear it more clearly. When it came again, he was able both to discern that it was coming from somewhere off to his left and to identify it as gunfire.

He smiled grimly. If someone was shooting at someone else, it was a good bet that one or more of his comrades were involved somehow. He chose a destination, the top of another tall tree down the street, and willed himself there.

Hugging Vlad was like holding a pillar of granite, as if the tall man had no body heat at all. Up close, he had a faint putrid odor.

But neither the cold nor the smell repulsed Ororo. Feeling lightheaded with the desire that had suddenly come upon her, she lifted her face.

To her surprise, her rescuer didn’t press his lips to hers. Instead, moving slowly, evidently savoring the moment, he inclined his head to the side to kiss her on the neck.

For some reason, his action sent a thrill of terror jangling down her nerves. Instinctively she drew upon her power, and a jolt of crackling electricity leaped from her body to his. Startled, he flinched, and she twisted from his grasp, retreating back into the wind and the rain.

“I’m sorry!” she said, chagrined by her inexplicably violent reaction yet somehow trusting it nonetheless. “I can’t, not now, not yet. Perhaps once I remember—” Her words caught in her throat as she saw his tender, lover’s expression melted into the rapacious stare of a lion closing in on a crippled gazelle.

“Oh, yes, you can, my angel,” he said. “You can and you will. It’s time to embrace your destiny and rule the night at my side. I didn’t want to woo you roughly, but I will if necessary. You’ll thank me once you ascend to your new estate.” He glided after her, eyes crimson, fangs bared.

When she saw the gleaming fangs, she knew him at last. He was Dracula, the monarch of the living dead. Years ago, she’d had the extreme misfortune to kindle what passed for love in his satanic heart, with the result that he’d striven to transform her into a soulless, murdering monster like himself.

Retreating, she hurled a dazzling bolt of electricity. It rocked the vampire back a pace, but then he kept coming. She tried again, only to find that, though sparks popped and flashed around her fingers, her power lacked the strength for another discharge.

Grimly, knowing just how strong and resistant to harm he was, she dropped into a fighting stance, feet at right angles, fists raised. The instant he strode into range, she launched an attack, simultaneously kicking his knee and punching at his throat.

Dracula didn’t even bother attempting to block or evade her blows, nor did there appear to be any reason why he should have. Her attacks didn’t even make him break stride or shift his balance. His cold, white hands shot out and grabbed her by the shoulders.

Twisting, kneeing, kicking, and stamping, throwing elbow strikes and gouging, she used every trick she knew to break free of his grasp, all to no avail. “I love you,” he said, shifting around to embrace her from behind. “I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you.” The tips of his fangs indented her skin.

“Let her go!” cried a familiar voice.

Surprised, Dracula turned his head, and Ororo did the same. Crouching only a few feet away, but still somewhat indistinct in the darkness, was a dark goblinlike figure with pointed ears and lambent yellow eyes. A saber hung on his back, and some sort of phosphorescent amber stains glowed on the edge of his tabard.

It was her friend Kurt. He and she were fellow X-Men. The rest of her memories cascaded back into her head.

“Stand back, Wagner,” Dracula said. “Ororo is mine now.” Storm raked her heel down the vampire’s shin, stomped on his foot, then tried to grab his little finger and break it. She might as well have been attacking a solid steel statue.

“No, she isn’t,” Nightcrawler said, his tail lashing sinuously back and forth. “You swore an oath that you’d behave as a loyal comrade.”

“A loyal comrade to you, Rasputin, Miss Sefton, and young Miss Pryde. Not to anyone else.” He smiled mockingly. “If you wanted me to promise that I wouldn’t lift my hand to any X-Man, you should have said so.”

“I guess I missed a trick,” said Kurt, “Fortunately, from time to time I remember one as well. For instance, back on Muir Island, I remembered that if I had to work with you, it would be wise to carry one of these.” He slipped one threefingered hand inside his tabard and whipped out a small crucifix.

Hissing, Dracula flinched, and Ororo finally managed to wrench herself from his grasp. Kurt stalked forward, the cross upraised, and the vampire retreated, keeping his face averted as if he were trying to avoid looking at a light source as bright as the sun.

“It seems that my faith has more power left than you supposed, vampyrthe Bavarian mutant said, a grim satisfaction in his voice.

Dracula snarled, “Put the vile thing away!”

“Is the promise you gave me still in force?”

“Yes.”    ’

“And do you now extend that promise to encompass Storm and any other X-Men we encounter?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.” Kurt returned the crucifix to its place of concealment. Ororo tensed, but Dracula didn’t pounce. He merely turned and gazed at her with such naked, frustrated yearning that for a moment she could almost believe that the passion he felt for her might be somehow akin to human love after all.

Kurt strode to her side. “Are you all right?”

“Relatively,” she said, keeping a wary eye on the vampire. “I’m still recovering from an energy drain, and from a lot of general wear and tear since. But he didn’t bite me. What is this, Kurt? Is Excalibur really working with Dracula now?” “For the moment,” the indigo-furred mutant replied, “we have to. He got us involved in this matter in the first place. We wouldn’t even have known that Belasco is in Natchez if it wasn’t for him.”

“Then that is true?” Storm asked.

“You wound me,” said Dracula, mockery in his voice, his expression composed and arrogant once again. “Would I lie to the woman I love about such a thing?”

“You lied when you claimed you didn’t know why I left Africa,” she retorted.

He leered. “My sweet, naive young lady, any gallant will bend the truth a hair to accomplish a seduction. You’ll back me up on that, won’t you, Wagner?”

Kurt ignored him. “We’ve actually spoken with Belasco,” he said to Ororo. “While we—Amanda, Kitty, Piotr, Dracula, and myself—were flying here, he appeared to us in astral form. He boasted that he’s figured out a way to bring his verdammt Elder Gods back to Earth this very night, then sent a monster that essentially demolished the Midnight Runner before we dealt with it. We ditched, and now we’re scattered across the city. We have to reassemble quickly and then find Belasco. Do you feel up to helping us? We need you desperately.’’

Storm hesitated. ‘ ‘I remember how to use my powers now, and a meal, some aspirin for my ankle and the bump on my head, and a few minutes sitting down might go a long way toward restoring my strength. But...”

‘ ‘I suppose that when Dracula stumbled across you in your weakened condition, the temptation to attack you was irresistible. But now that he’s given his word to leave you alone, I think he’ll keep it. He wants to stop Belasco as much as we do.”

“How well you understand me,” the vampire said ironically.

“I’m not afraid to work with Dracula,” said Ororo to Nightcrawler. ‘ ‘Not with you and the others to watch my back, anyway. But I came here to prevent a flood. And then there’s Rogue. Something has happened to her.”

“I assure you,” Dracula said, “that all your problems stem from Belasco, and that the only way to solve them is to attack them at their source.”

Storm grimaced. She could scarcely deny that up to now, she hadn’t had any luck altering the weather system threatening Natchez by employing her usual methods. “Very well, Kurt, count me in.”

Chapter 11

When they’d agreed to stop and eat—which was about the only thing all three of them had agreed upon in the last couple hours—Logan had pulled the Blazer under the porte cochere of a defunct Buick dealership. Posters hung behind the glass walls and door to the shadowy, empty display room, advertising a fabulous year-end clearance on all makes and models.

Seated on the hood of the Blazer, Jean munched a ration bar from her belt pack. It was a nutritionally balanced, high-energy food with a fruit-and-honey taste that was better than one might expect. Nevertheless, at some point Wolverine had replaced the bars in his own belt with beef jerky, and now, sitting cross-legged on the pavement with his back against the glass, he was wolfing down a slab of the dark, dried meat with one hand and smoking a cheroot with the other.

Meanwhile, Scott was in the back of the car with the dome light on and his tool kit laid out on the seat beside him, checking out the mechanisms of his visor and glove controls. Since the devices had failed him in the carriage company’s stable, he’d become almost obsessive-compulsive about tinkering with them at every opportunity. Despite his customary perfectionism and meticulous attention to deal, that wasn’t like him, and it worried Jean. But she hesitated to say so for fear that she’d only upset him.

Just let us get through this nightmare, she thought. Scott would be all right, they’d all be all right, once they’d finally had a chance to rest.

Swallowing the last bite of her meal, she slid off the nose of the Blazer. “I might as well try another scan from here,” she said.

“Go for it,” said Wolverine.

As she stepped from beneath the overhang into the hissing, clattering rain, she reflected that she’d acquired her own neurotic tic on this mission. She knew it shouldn’t make any difference to the potency of her telepathy whether she was standing under a roof or the open sky, but suddenly, it felt as if it did, and it seemed better to capitulate to the feeling than to fight it and risk letting it throw her off her game.

Her perceptions of her immediate surroundings grew vaguer as she sent her awareness sweeping across the area, sifting through the signature impressions of countless minds, nearly all of them seething with anxiety, for the distinctive patterns of Rogue and Ororo.

Nothing. She did her best to quash a surge of frustration so bitter it verged on despair, reminding herself that the objects of her search could fly, and she had yet to scan the air above the city. Reflexively lifting her head as if it were necessary to peer skyward with her eyes, allowing the rain to pummel her face, she reached back and forth and up and up and up.

At least the sky wasn’t cacophonous with the mental babble of thousands of people. She no longer felt that she was attempting the psi equivalent of determining where Waldo was. Her mind brushed the thoughts of two SAFE agents patrolling in a hovercraft. One was wishing she was home in bed with her new husband. The other wondered if the guy who brought Rogue down would receive a commendation, or possibly even a promotion.

Jean left them to their musings, encountered the thoughts of another pair of agents, and moved on once more. Then her telepathic gaze fell on the mind of someone who was alone.

It wasn’t Rogue or Ororo, but it was a woman she knew well. Indeed, she’d once established a psychic bond with her, just as she did with all the X-Men, and although she hadn’t activated that link in quite awhile, it now automatically thrilled to life. In her mind, Jean saw a slim, brown-haired young woman running down a slope of air with the wind and pounding raindrops passing harmlessly through her body. The phantom broke stride when she felt the mental contact.

Jean? she said mind to mind, as the Professor had taught her.

At the same time, Scott and Logan hurried up to Jean. No doubt her husband had sensed her sudden excitement over their own special link, while the short man had observed a change in her body language.

“Which one did you find?’’ Cyclops asked.

“Neither of them. It’s Shadowcat. She’s overhead.” At the same time, Jean broadcast the telepathic message, yes, Kitty, it’s me. Scott and Logan are with me.

“Kitty?” said Logan, water dripping from the rim of his Stetson. “What’s she doin’ here?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jean replied tersely. “I’ll tell you when I find out. Please be quiet.” Nontelepaths didn’t realize that trying to communicate orally with one person and psychically with another was as annoying as attempting to carry on two ordinary conversations, one face-to-face and one on the phone, simultaneously.

This is great! Shadowcat enthused. Where are you?

On the ground, about a quarter mile to the southeast from you. I’ll guide you in.

No, Kitty said, pivoting and beginning to jog once more. 1 mean, not yet. Some of Excalibur is in town, too. Petey, Kurt, and Amanda. Reach out and touch them and get them heading in your direction.

Will do, Phoenix said. With luck, it will be fairly easy to find them now that I know to look. I’m very glad you and your team are here, Kitty. We have serious problems.

I know, Shadowcat replied. Or at least I do if we ’re both talking about the same stuff. She hesitated, and Jean detected a thread of anxiety running through the younger woman’s thoughts. I hope you ’11 still be glad to see us when you find out who we brought along. Is Ororo anywhere around?

Piotr stepped into the cramped, shadowy space between two buildings. His massive, towering frame and reflective skin were less than ideal for sneaking about, but, splashing up filthy water, the Army Hummer rolled on by without stopping.

When she’d made telepathic contact with him, Jean had warned him that, traveling on foot as he was, he should make his way to her location inconspicuously. Evidently the X-Men had run afoul of the authorities yet again, a fact that made his stomach chum in frustration. With Belasco’s scheme nearing completion, it was a complication he and his comrades definitely didn’t need.

He skulked on, and after another minute, the failed car dealership that Phoenix had told him to look for emerged from the veils of rain. A point of orange light, probably the tip of one of Logan’s cigars, shone beneath the porte cochere. As Piotr strode toward it, he abruptly felt an unanticipated reluctance.

He faltered, and then the slender, yellow-clad form of Amanda popped into view beneath the overhang. Jean immediately gave the other woman a hug. Piotr sighed.

“I always said you didn't have enough sense to come in out of the rain,” said a teasing female voice from overhead. Colossus looked up to see Kitty standing on the edge of a roof about ten feet up. “Why are you hanging back here? Don’t you feel like a family reunion?”

“I do,” he said, “but perhaps the family does not want a reunion with this particular black sheep. Remember, my situation is different than yours. You and Kurt only left the X-Men when you thought everyone else was dead. I quit to join Magneto’s Acolytes.”

Kitty scowled. “Give me a break. You had your reasons, and anyway, it’s ancient history. Nobody cares about it anymore. You’ve got to stop listening to Drac's nasty little digs. It’s not like the creep has your best interests at heart.”

“Perhaps not, but that doesn’t mean there was no truth in what he said.”

“Just let it go, will you? Even if somebody was mad at you, what matters now is stopping Belasco, right?”

Piotr’s muscles tightened. “Da. Absolutely.”

“Then let’s hook up with the others and get back to work.” She jumped to the ground, her knees flexing to absorb the shock of the fall, landing with the agility that her martial arts training had given her. She squeezed his forearm and then they walked on.

When Colossus and Kitty appeared, Logan felt disgusted with himself. Despite the darkness and the drumming rain, he should have spotted them before they got so close, especially since the metal man had some kind of phosphorescent yellow stains all over his uniform. Scowling, he stepped forward to greet them.

He offered Piotr his hand, and, although he had big hands for a man of his height, saw it more or less lost inside the giant Russian’s steely grasp. “Rasputin,” he said, and the other man’s eyes nanowed, almost as if he were flinching. Apparently he didn’t like something about his former teammate’s greeting. Logan felt a pang of annoyance. It really was ridiculous that a guy roughly the size of a Kodiak bear had feelings that got themselves hurt so easily.

Logan extricated his fingers from Piotr’s grip, turned, and gave Kitty an avuncular hug. For a moment the distemper that had gnawed at him all day gave way to warmth. “Good to see ya, kiddo,” he murmured.

“Ditto,” she whispered back, “even though you just made a liar out of me by being so brusque and cold with Petey.” The Canadian grimaced. “Everybody’s after me to spruce up my manners today.”

“Level with me,” Kitty said, stepping back, the better to look him in the face. Even though she was all grown up now, she was still only an inch taller than he was, and it was easy for her to make eye contact. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want us here?”

“I do, except that after what Jeannie passed on to me, I’m worried about trusting your judgment. What the hell were you thinkin’—” He broke off his remark when Ororo, Kurt, and Dracula emerged from the curtains of hissing rain.

Storm was limping, and missing her cape and bracelets, which would certainly explain why her teammates hadn’t managed to reach her via Comm-Stat. She looked as if she’d gone swimming in muddy water—which, based on what Rogue said, she probably had. Like Piotr, Nightcrawler had shining amber smears on his uniform, although not nearly as many. He was walking between the black woman and Dracula, keeping them separated. The vampire was his usual composed, arrogant self. He looked like he was sauntering into a meeting of the Dracula fan club, not an assembly of the enemies who’d once staked him through the heart.

“Forget it,” said Logan to Kitty. “I shouldn’t be reamin’ you, Amanda, or the Russkie out when it wasn’t your call. My beef is with your boss.”

He strode toward Ororo, even gladder to see her alive than he had been to lay eyes on Kitty, but still angry about everything else. Jean reached the windrider a step ahead of him and threw her arms around her. “We were so afraid you were dead,” Phoenix said. “Rogue said she killed you.”

“Not quite,” said Ororo. “You’ve seen her, then.” “Yes,” said Cyclops glumly, “but unfortunately she got away from us. She’s still as confused as she must have been when she attacked you.”

“I scanned and scanned,” said Jean to Storm, “but I couldn’t find you. Even now I’m having difficulty perceiving your mind. It’s as if someone wrapped you in a psi shield.”

“The important thing,” said Wolverine, “is, are you okay?”

She gave him a smile that, haggard and bedraggled as she was, made her face as ethereally beautiful as ever. “I’d like a bite to eat, a little first aid, and to sit down for a few minutes. Then I’ll be ready for duty.”

“Take all the time you need,” Logan said. “We’ve got a little business to take care of anyway.” His claws whispering from the sockets on the backs of his gloves, he pivoted toward Dracula.

“Wolverine!” Kurt snapped. “Dracula is our ally for the duration of the mission.”

“Are you crazy?” Logan replied. “He’s a monster, a mass murderer, and hell-bent on turning Storm into a bloodsucker like himself.” Nightcrawler’s mouth tightened, and somehow that flicker of expression conveyed an ugly truth. “He’s tried to do it tonight already, hasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Kurt admitted, “but he’s given his pledge not do it again.”

“Oh, well,” said Logan sarcastically, “in that case, excuse me for even bringing it up. If we can’t trust Dracula’s promise—”

“We trust it because we have to,” Colossus said, moving up behind Wolverine as though positioning himself to restrain the smaller man if necessary. “We wouldn’t even have known to come to Natchez if not for him. Besides, he’s already shown us that he’s as committed to stopping Belasco as we are.” The sorcerer’s name was enough to make even Logan hesitate. “Belasco? He’s involved in this?” The last time Wolverine had seen the magician, Belasco had been tumbling into an extradimensional vortex and the clutches of the demonic race called the N’Garai. Much as Wolverine loathed those particular otherworldly horrors, on that occasion he’d been more than happy to wish them bon appetit. “What does it take to kill that scumball?”

“My friend,” said Ororo, “thank you for trying to protect me. But I’ve already accepted the fact that this once, we must work with one devil to thwart another, and I ask you to do the same. Otherwise Belasco may finally succeed in unleashing his Elder Gods upon the Earth.”

Smiling a poisonous smile, Dracula extended his pallid hand to Logan. “Comrade,” he said.

The Canadian glared up into the cloaked monster’s crimson eyes. “I’ll be watchin’ you, leech. You even think about screwing us over, and I’m gonna finish the job we should have finished in England.”

Dracula sneered. “My ill-bred, swaggering little savage, I invite you to try.”

“Enough,” said Scott, beads of rain on his massive red glasses, his trenchcoat flapping in the wind. “The issue is settled, and we have more important things to do than threaten one another. We need to pool our information, then figure out our next move.”

Dracula inclined his head. “You’re quite right. Summers. The bluster can wait. Since it was I who discovered that Belasco has returned to Earth, allow me to share my knowledge first. Some time ago, I founded a coven of my progeny here in Natchez....”

The vampire, Ororo, and Jean all spoke in turn, concisely and coherently, contributing pieces to the puzzle. Logan listened to it all with a growing sense of apprehension.

“I infer,” said Dracula when Phoenix concluded her story, “that Belasco generated the storm to lure this Rogue of yours to Natchez. Upon her arrival, he transformed her by inducing her to absorb the essence of one of my brood, possibly rendered more virulent by his magic. Knowing that her fellow X-Men would come looking for her, he also cast spells to make her—and incidentally Ororo, who, assuming she survived the altered Rogue’s attentions, could serve as a source of information—relatively invisible to telepathy. The object was to hinder your search while he drew Rogue into his presence.” “Makes sense,” Cyclops said. “But there’s still plenty we don’t understand. Even if she herself wants to hurt people, why is Rogue claiming that the X-Men as a whole have declared war on the city? Just because she’s demented? And more importantly, what does Belasco want with her? She must figure in to his plans to bring the Dark Ones back into the world, but how?”

“Many rituals of high magic involve a balance of male and female elements,” said Amanda.

“And Belasco has repeatedly incorporated female victims into his schemes,” said Storm, sitting on the pavement and munching a ration bar. “First, Beatrice dei Portinari—at least if you can believe that medieval ship’s log Ka-Zar found— then our friend Shanna, and finally Illy ana. Still, Scott’s question is a good one. Why choose Rogue? Surely it would have been easier simply to abduct a woman with no mutant abilities.”

“He picked Illyana because she had the potential to become a sorceress,” said Amanda, “but I’ve never detected any trace of magical ability in Rogue.”

“Maybe it was to spite us,” said Logan, sucking the pleasant bum of tobacco smoke into his lungs. “Not only does he bring the Dark Ones back, he uses one of our own teammates to do it. Anyway, who cares why? If we can get to her—or him—in time, the reason won’t matter. So how do we do that?”

Kurt turned toward Amanda. “On board the Runner,” he said, “before the monster attacked, I suspected that you were trying to divine the location of Belasco’s physical body.”

The blonde sorceress grimaced. “I was, but it didn’t work. He’s shielded himself.”

Dracula sneered. “Pathetic.” Amanda flushed.

“Can you do any better?” demanded Wolverine.

“I had hoped to trace Belasco through one of the vampires he’s placed under his control,” said the creature in the high-collared cloak. “Unfortunately, it now appears that will not be possible.”

“Then explain to me why it is that we need you. Or better yet, just shut up.”

“Both of you put a lid on it,” Cyclops said, evoking a fresh surge of anger from Logan. Summers just wouldn’t stop riding him, even when he was sticking up for one of their own. “If you haven’t got something useful to contribute, don’t say anything. Nightcrawler, I don’t suppose that any of your team brought a mini-Cerebro?”

“We did,” the indigo-furred mutant said, “but it went down with the Runner. At that point we didn’t know we’d have any use for it, so we didn’t bother to save it.”

‘ ‘Then Phoenix and Amanda will just have to keep scanning with their powers,” said Scott. “Storm, Shadowcat, and Dracula will look for Rogue from the air. The rest of us will search as best we can on the ground. With luck, one of us will turn up something.”

Logan suspected it would take a lot of luck, but didn’t see much point in saying so. He did, however, have another issue to address. “There’s somethin’ else we’d better talk about. How do we handle Rogue if we do find her?”

Obviously puzzled, Nightcrawler cocked his head. “Try to persuade her to surrender herself into our custody, I assume. Subdue her if we fail to convince her.”

“Sounds good,” Logan said, “except, what if we can’t do either of those things? She already mopped up the floor with Cyke, Jeannie, and me.”

“I know she’s immensely powerful,” said Kurt, “but we’re powerful too.”

“There speaks the brilliant mind that saddled us with Dracula,” Logan said. “You’re only powerful until she touches you, elf. Then you’re out cold on the ground, and she has your power to turn against the rest of us. And in the state she’s in, she’ll be more’n happy to do it.”

“What are you saying?” Kitty asked. “That all nine of us working together can’t beat her?”

“No,” Logan answered. “I’m sayin’ that last time I held back because she’s my friend. I’m sure Cyke and Jean did too. And it didn’t work. We may find that it won’t work the next time around, either. We may have to go all out and run the risk of killing her.”

Shocked, the others simply stared at him for a moment. Their stunned reaction irked him. “You don’t mean that,” said Storm at last.

“I don’t want to mean it,” Logan said. “I feel bad for Rogue. I understand what she’s goin’ through better than any of you.” He had problems with his own memory. At some point in his past, a master brainwasher had tampered with his mind, erasing some memories and possibly even implanting false ones. And of course he was thoroughly familiar with the urge to kill. “But the whole world’s on the table. We have to be willing to do whatever it takes to preserve it.”

“Not if it means killing a teammate,” the windrider said. “Not if it means killing anyone. There has to be a better way.”

“There is,” said Colossus, “find her and let her lead us to Belasco.”

“Maybe she’d shake us off her tail,” Wolverine said. “Or maybe all he has to do is look her in the eyes and say, ‘Presto,’ to let the Dark Ones out of their cage. We can’t risk letting her get to him as long as we have a choice.”

“But it’s not as if she’s a complete monster,” said Kitty. “Tell that to the civilians she’s been slaughterin’.”

“But... at least she held back from hurting you, Scott, and Jean.”

“That was hours ago, and we have to assume the poison inside her’s been eating away at what was left of the real

Rogue ever since. She could easily be a complete monster by now, with no trace of her old self left to revive, even if we knew how.”

Cyclops turned toward Amanda. “Evidently,” he said, “what’s happened to Rogue is partly magical. If you got close to her, could you undo it?”

“Break one of Belasco’s spells?” said Dracula. -‘Unlikely, not with the puny magic she currently wields,”

“I didn’t ask you,” said Scott.

“I could try,” said Amanda, self-doubt and perhaps even a hint of shame in her voice, ‘ ‘but he’s right. It might be very difficult.”

Scott looked at his wife. ‘ ‘Could you use your telepathy to help Rogue recover her sanity?”

Jean shook her head. “I suppose that theoretically, it’s possible, but frankly, I doubt it. Rogue has always been difficult to reach telepathically, and the situation is far worse now that she’s taken on what amounts to a psychic parasite. I could barely even probe her when we found her before.”

“Then . . .” Scott hesitated, as if summoning up the willpower for an unpleasant task. “Then I’m afraid Wolverine has a point. If worst comes to worst, we might have to use maximum force against Rogue without worrying about the potential effect on her.”

“Oh, Scott,” said Ororo, “not you too.”

“The X-Men’s mission is to defend ordinary humans against dangerous mutants,” Cyclops said. “Any dangerous mutants.”

“This debate is puerile,” Dracula declared. “We are warriors, and warriors kill without compunction when that is the most efficacious way to achieve their ends. Surely even you X-Men with all your absurd pretensions to virtue comprehend that much.”

Great, thought Logan sourly, first Summers and now Dracula come down on my side. Considering the rancor he felt for them, their support actually annoyed him, but failed to shake his conviction that he was right.

“When I became Dark Phoenix,” said Jean slowly, her lovely face troubled, “or rather, when the entity that took my place did, she sacrificed her life to keep herself from destroying the world. I... I think that if it comes down to it, Rogue, the real Rogue, would want us to help her do the same.”

“I say that we must not allow it to ‘come down to it,’ ” Piotr said. “We must find Belasco, and deal with our problems at the source.”

Logan gave him a contemptuous glower. Was Piotr’s head solid steel all the way through? Hadn’t he understood that they didn’t know how to find Belasco? “Yeah, well, too bad deserters don’t get a vote.”

Colossus actually rocked backward, as if someone as inhumanly powerful as himself had slapped him. Then his features twisted into a snarl. ‘ ‘Better a deserter than a bloodthirsty animal. For all your pose of reluctance, I imagine you’re actually hoping for a chance to rip Rogue apart.”

“Not Rogue, Acolyte. But I’ve got to admit, slicing and dicing your tin-plated butt would be a treat.” He stalked forward, and, fists clenching. Colossus moved to meet him.

A beam of scarlet energy blazed forth and pulverized the patch of pavement between them. Flying bits of concrete stung Logan’s legs. “Knock it off!” Cyclops barked.

Glaring at Piotr, Logan growled, “Later.” The Russian responded with a nod.

“That’s enough, people,” said Scott. “I’m making a command decision. If I give the order, we’ll use maximum force against Rogue. Is that understood?”

“It’s understood,” said Ororo, “but it’s unacceptable.” No one had gotten around to bandaging her injured ankle yet, but she dragged herself to her feet anyway, putting herself on the same level with Cyclops.

Scott sighed. “We know you’re squeamish. No one expects you to strike a mortal blow.”

“Thank you,” the white-haired woman said coldly, “but that’s not good enough. The mission must not proceed with this odious plan in effect.”

“Yes, it will,” said Cyclops, “I’m field commander, and it’s my call.”

“No, it is not,” Storm replied. “I’m a team leader too. I conceived the idea of a mission to Natchez, and I was on the ground before you. I’m in charge.”

“Ordinarily,” said Scott, “that argument might hold water. But by your own admission, Rogue’s attack scrambled your mind, and judging from the way you’re acting, I’d say you’re still not thinking clearly. It would be irresponsible for me to let you lead.”

“You’re both overlooking something,” Nightcrawler said. “I’m the leader of Excalibur, and my team will follow my orders. Even if that means operating on our own, along with any X-Men who care to join us.”

Kitty watched the argument develop with an ever-increasing sense of bewilderment and horror. She’d known the X-Men to argue vehemently on many occasions, but this time it was different. There was an almost hysterical edge to the bickering, a pettiness and vindictiveness that were new.

She could scarcely believe that Logan and Piotr had nearly come to blows. Or that Scott had fired an optic blast simply to keep them in line. Ordinarily he would have done it with that whip-crack tone of command he could assume at will.

It was even more astonishing that Jean, one of the most loyal, compassionate people Kitty knew, had accepted the idea of killing Rogue so easily. Just as it was amazing to see three mature, generous, self-confident individuals like Scott, Ororo, and Kurt squabbling like jealous, insecure kids over who would lead the mission.

And now it appeared that the group might even be on the verge of splitting up, when any idiot could see that their only hope of defeating Belasco lay in sticking together. Unable to contain herself any longer, she screamed, “Stop it!”

Evidently her outburst caught everyone by surprise, because, startled, they all fell silent and turned to gawk at her.

“What’s the matter with you?” she demanded. “This isn’t the X-Men I remember. We were a family! You’re acting like you hate each other!”

The anger in her friends’ faces and tense postures gave way to consternation and shame. She could see the change even in Logan’s gruff, tough demeanor. In a flash of insight, it occurred to Kitty that if their incarnation of the X-Men, the team Professor Xavier had formed after the majority of his original students departed, had been a family, then she, a teenager years younger than any of the others, had been everybody’s surrogate kid sister. She was an adult now, of course, but on some unconscious level, perhaps the others still regarded her as a kid. Maybe they were chagrined that they’d quarreled in front of her and upset her. In which case, it was possible that her outrage had jolted them to their senses when no one else’s could.

“I apologize,” said Scott heavily. “To all of you. I’ve been edgy and morose all day. I keep trying to snap myself out of it, but I always slip back.”

“I feel the same way,” said Jean. She looked at the members of Excalibur. “We’ve seen some difficult duty lately. Our nerves are raw.”

“I wonder if that’s really the problem,” said Amanda, her forehead furrowed with thought. “I’ve seen you worn out and facing difficult problems before. It doesn’t usually set you against one another. To the contrary. It pulls you together.” “Then what is wrong?” Logan asked.

“I have a guess,” the Gypsy said. “Let me check it out.”

Breathing slowly and deeply, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth, Amanda sharpened her powers of perception. Warmth flowed up the center of her body, sparking the energy centers—what Eastern mystics called chakras—to tingling life. The auras of her companions shimmered into view.

Thin strands of a dark, poisonous vermilion coiled through the haloes of all the mutants, like loops of webbing some monstrous spider would use to bind its prey. Only Dracula’s shadowy aura, filthy with his own innate corruption, was free of the taint.

“It’s there,” she said.

“What?” Cyclops asked.

“Something else Belasco did to help keep you from finding Rogue,” Amanda replied. “He’s put a curse on you. A subtle one to make you irritable and apprehensive, cloud your judgment, and give you bad luck.”

“Like makin’ our gear break down?” asked Wolverine, exhaling a pungent blue cloud of smoke. “So far we’ve had trouble with the Cerebros, the Citation, and Cyke’s visor. Half the time I can’t even get a match to light.”

“You can add the GCS system to that list,” Kitty said. “We tried to radio you from the Runner.”

“Yes,” Amanda said. “The spell could very easily do that. It’s also contagious. Once we all got together, the effect spread to Kurt, Piotr, and Kitty. They were X-Men once, and evidently, as far as the magic is concerned, they still are.”

“Far as we’re concerned, too,” Logan rumbled. He turned toward Shadowcat. “Glad the whammy didn't mess with your head as much as it did with everybody else’s.”

Kitty grinned. “Well, it makes sense. I always thought that I was the only noncrazy person in this outfit.”

“Can you lift the curse?” said Scott to Amanda. “Precisely because it is such a subtle spell,” the sorceress replied, “Belasco didn’t put an enormous amount of force into

it. So perhaps I can.” She whirled her hands through an intricate cabalistic pass, then pressed her palms together as if she were shaping a snowball. She visualized an orb of emerald light, the externalized manifestation of her power, swelling in her grasp like a pearl growing in an oyster. In a few moments, actual green radiance spilled from between her fingers.

“By the grace of the Seraphim,” she said, “who shield humankind from evil. By the might of Cyttorak, whose power no demon can withstand. Flames of the Faltine, heed my call and burn the taint away.”

She raised her arms straight over her head, then whipped her hands apart. The ball of green light exploded into sizzling arcs of lightning, which leaped forth to strike the mutants, not harming them in the slightest but surrounding each of their bodies with a verdant corona.

The discharge of the mystical energy left Amanda momentarily weak. Her knees went rubbery, and she nearly fell. Kurt lunged to her side, caught her by the arm, and supported her.

The green haloes flickered out, and her strength came trickling back. She scrutinized the mutants’ auras. The Flames of the Faltine had destroyed most of the vermilion coils, but a few wisps of Belasco’s power remained. In all likelihood, they’d fade harmlessly away over the course of the next few hours, but it was also theoretically possible that the threads would grow, the ends fusing and reestablishing the malediction.

“Did you zap the curse away?” Kitty asked.

Amanda hesitated. “I think so.”

Dracula shook his head, his almost pitying expression telling her that she was woefully inadequate to the challenges before her. That she’d best embrace the knowledge he had to give her before it was too late, before she failed Kurt, her friends, and the entire human race. Fearful that he was right, she wrenched her eyes away.

“Good,” said Wolverine. “I, uh, guess I could apologize too. ’Specially to Petey and to you, Cyke. You don’t always screw up. Just mostly.”

“You know what’s odd,” Cyclops replied. “During the time when Belasco’s spell was presumably making you irrational and obnoxious, I never noticed any difference.”

Logan smiled. “I don’t believe it. Was that solemn Scott Summers tryin’ to make a joke! You better give him another jolt of that green light, Amanda. He still ain’t back to his normal self.”

“I apologize as well,” said Ororo. “Much as it troubles me, I know that on occasion it’s necessary for someone on the team to strike with deadly force. Simply promise me that when we find Rogue, you will only do it if there’s absolutely no alternative.”

“Of course,” Cyclops said.

‘ ‘Then I think you should lead, my friend. In case someone must give the order that I could not.”

“That’s fine with me as well,” Nightcrawler said. “Ex-calibur is at your disposal.”

“Fair enough,” said Scott, visibly reassuming the nononsense demeanor he so often presented in the field. “I’ve already told you the plan, so ...” He hesitated.

“Got a bright idea?” Logan asked. “We could use one.” “Maybe I do,” Cyclops said. “We aren’t the only ones chasing Rogue. SAFE is after her too, and they have enough people and the freedom of movement to investigate the scenes of the attacks and interview any surviving witnesses. It’s conceivable that they’ve uncovered information we don’t have, and I think it would be smart to go and get it.”

<2 Chapter 12

Kneeling, peering around the corner of a little concrete block gas station, Kitty studied the National Guard armory across the street. With its perimeter wall and steel gate, the old, sprawling building had no doubt always resembled a fortress, and now that SAFE and the Army had commandeered it for their headquarters, it had become one in truth. Armed soldiers guarded the entrances and stood watch on the roof, while trucks, APCs, and one of the hovercraft sat in the parking lot, the rain drumming on their metal bodies. Pinkish lights burned atop tall posts, illuminating the grounds.

“It looks,” said Ororo, peeking over Shadowcat’s shoulder, “as if they’re afraid that Rogue will attack here.” Cyclops had chosen her, Kitty, Logan, and Dracula to infiltrate the command center, on the assumption that a sneak thief, a ninja, a secret agent, and a creature with supernatural powers of stealth ought to be able to slip in and out of the place undetected.

“Maybe that’s smart,” Logan said. Now that he was headed into action, he’d discarded his cowboy hat and duster and pulled his cowl over his head. “She’s crazy enough to try, and maybe powerful enough to get away with it.”

“I suggest,” said Dracula, “that we examine the other faces of the enclosure. It will likely be easier to approach from another direction.”

“Yeah,” said Wolverine, pointing. “Let’s go that way.” In the twinkling of an eye, Dracula dropped to all fours and shifted into the form of an enormous gray wolf. With his head lower to the ground, he’d be harder for anyone to spot, and, at a distance, likely mistaken for a stray dog even if somebody did.

Taking advantage of every bit of cover, still keeping their distance from the armory’s perimeter wall, the four companions skulked through the downpour. Ororo glided along in much the same way that Kitty did. The tricks of stealth she’d learned in Cairo had much in common with ninja techniques. Though Logan too was a master of Japanese martial arts, to Shadowcat’s knowledgeable eye, his slinking progress differed from that of the women. It looked more natural, feral, akin to the flowing gait of the huge beast Dracula had become.

There were no gates in the rear wall. Summoning a sudden updraft that tugged at Kitty’s tangled, sodden tresses, Ororo bobbed just high enough into the air to peer over the barrier, then instantly dropped back down to earth. “I don’t see anyone on this part of the grounds,” she said.

“Then we might as well go in this way,” Kitty said.

“I agree,” said Storm. “Everyone, close your eyes.” The younger woman obeyed, and brilliant, strobing radiance shone redly through her eyelids. With luck, the lightning flaring in the sky would dazzle the sentries on the roof.

When the display stopped, the would-be trespassers darted toward a section of wall equidistant between two lights, where it was darkest. Dracula leapt over the barrier. As the wind shrieked, Ororo levitated, gripped Logan’s hands, and carried him to the other side. Kitty simply phased through the tiers of bricks and mortar.

Crouching low on the soggy grass, she waited a moment for an alarm to blare or for someone to start shooting. During her career as an X-Man and member of Excalibur, she’d occasionally run afoul of surveillance systems so cunningly designed that it was difficult for any intruder, even a ninja, to defeat or even detect them before they revealed her presence. She doubted that the armory possessed such a system—even if the new occupants wanted one, they’d scarcely had time to install it—but you never knew.

Nothing happened. So far, so good, she thought.

She and her companions crept on toward the armory, from one patch of shadow to the next, more or less directly under the noses of the soldiers on the roof. Trained infiltrator though she was, Kitty found the process nerve-wracking. At that moment she would gladly have traded her phasing power for, say, invisibility like Susan Richards of the Fantastic Four had.

Since that exchange was impossible, she took each step with an absolute economy of movement, grateful that at least she didn’t have to worry about her intangible feet raising a telltale splash or squish from the muddy ground. Her senseis had taught her that, though technique was vital, stealth was ultimately achieved through a kind of faith. If she believed that no one could see her, her confidence would lend her body the grace to make that belief a reality. She did her best to embrace that attitude now.

After what felt like an hour but had likely been only a minute, she and the others reached the side of the armory. Solidifying, Kitty permitted herself a sigh of relief. As long as they hugged the wall, the sentries overhead probably wouldn’t see them.

“Door,” Logan whispered, nodding toward the left. The intruders took another wary look around, then skulked toward the entrance in question.

Unfortunately, a yellow light bulb shone above it. Phasing, Kitty surged from the shadows, into the pool of amber illumination, onto a concrete stoop, and through the substance of the door itself, all in a single second.

On the other side was a narrow, dimly lit hallway with walls in need of painting and a dingy linoleum floor. It looked as if Kitty had invaded a service area, where no one but the maintenance staff would ordinarily come. She opened the door and her companions instantly lunged through. Dracula returned to human form, his muzzle sinking back into his skull, his ashen fur lightening into bone-white skin or darkening into funereal garments, the toes on his forepaws lengthening into fingers.

The intruders stalked on toward the front of the armory, toward brighter illumination and the echo of voices and footsteps. Kitty tried not to dwell on the fact that, now that they were sneaking through the confines of an occupied, well-lit building, their risk of being discovered had increased enormously. Water dripped from their soaked hair and garments, but some application of Ororo’s power dried it as it fell and kept them from leaving a trail.

They peeked into one area after another, searching for something that appeared to be a repository of information. Then Logan halted and gave the hand signal that meant, take cover.

The next moment, Kitty heard what he’d heard, or possibly smelled. People were proceeding down the intersecting hallway up ahead. Becoming intangible, she stepped into a wall, with only her eyes sticking out to observe what happened next. Logan, Storm, and Dracula hid in doorways.

Half a dozen fit-looking, crewcut men in combat boots and mottled gray, urban camouflage jumpsuits trudged into the juncture of the two corridors. Three were carrying automatic rifles, and they all had pistols hanging from their belts. They looked wet, haggard, and disgruntled, not unlike the X-Men themselves. As if, after a long day of fruitlessly hunting mutants out in the miserable weather, they were spoiling for a fight. Her pulse beating rapidly, Shadowcat watched until they disappeared from sight.

The infiltrators prowled on, backtracking at one point to avoid passing by the open door of a cafeteria where some three dozen soldiers and SAFE agents sat eating biscuits, fruit cocktail, and fragrant, steaming beef stew. They were just about to turn down a branching corridor when Kitty heard a gasp.

She pivoted. A dozen feet behind them stood a gangly, freckle-faced GI who looked no older than sixteen. Evidently he’d just emerged from the restroom doorway on his left. His eyes wide, he clawed for his sidearm even as he sucked in a breath to yell.

Dracula lunged and knocked him cold with a single backhanded blow. To Kitty, the sharp crack of the impact seemed dreadfully loud, but with luck, it wouldn’t be enough to alarm anyone all by itself. The soldier started to fall, and the vampire caught him. Then, to her horror, he bared his fangs.

She and Ororo both scrambled forward to stop him, but Logan was ahead of both of them. His claws snapping from their sockets, he whispered, “Don’t even think about it. Give the kid to me.”

“No,” Dracula replied, just as softly. “I pledged that I wouldn’t harm Excalibur or the X-Men. I said nothing of anyone else.”

“Please,” said Storm, “you spared one man for me.” Dracula smiled sardonically. “And therefore you assumed that I would always curb my natural urges to indulge you? Despite the love I feel for you, I fear that isn’t possible. And isn’t it sensible that I make certain that the boy won’t wake and warn his compatriots of our presence?”

“He ain’t wakin' up any time soon,” said Logan, “not as hard as you tagged him.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” the vampire said. “But I can. If I partake of his blood and so place him under my control—’ ’

“You ain’t gonna pass even a mild dose of your flamin’ curse on to anybody else,” the Canadian said. “Not for any reason, not while you’re runnin’ with me.”

“But you’d have to attack me to prevent it,” Dracula replied, sneering, “and our battle would undoubtedly make enough noise to draw everyone in this garrison down on our heads. I daresay we could then fight our way clear, but we might hurt or even kill any number of humans in the process.

and in any case, we would fail to achieve our objective. You wouldn’t want that.”

“Nope,” said Logan, “but it won’t stop me, either. Count on it.”

The two men, one tall and gaunt, the other short and muscular, stared into one another’s eyes. At last Dracula grimaced and thrust the unconscious soldier into Wolverine’s arms. “By defying me, you’re jeopardizing the entire world for the sake of this one life,” the vampire said. “You truly are as mindless as the animal you resemble.”

“Yeah,” said Logan, grinning and retracting his claws, “that’s what people tell me. But on the plus side, I’m not the guy who blinked. I’ll stash Beetle Bailey here in one of the bathroom stalls. With luck, nobody’ll find him for awhile.” He effortlessly lifted the soldier over his shoulder, then carried him into the men’s room.

When he reemerged, the foursome skulked on. In another minute, they found a room containing half a dozen softly humming computers. Stacks of printouts and heaps of files stamped classified and eyes only littered the work tables, and maps of the Natchez area hung on the wall.

It looked like a place for analyzing data and formulating strategy, and to Kitty’s relief, no one was inside. Maybe the occupants were currently scarfing down supper in the mess.

The intruders hurried into the room and closed the door. Dracula remained beside it, perhaps to listen for people coming down the hall. Wolverine studied a wall map. “Interesting,” he muttered, scratching his chin, his fingertip rasping against his beard stubble.

“What is?” Ororo asked.

“We can talk about it when we’re out of here,” he replied. “We may only have a couple minutes before somebody comes back. You’re the computer ace, Kitty. Work a little magic for us.”

Shadowcat dropped into the office chair in front of one of the terminals. “Magic coming up.” she replied, grabbing the mouse and pulling down a menu. She clicked on an item and a prompt on the monitor asked her for her password. “Darn.”

“Trouble?” asked Storm, flipping rapidly through one of the printouts.

“I hope not,” Kitty said. She opened her belt pack and brought out a square gray plastic gadget half the size of a pack of cigarettes. She and Forge had designed the device together, the Cheyenne inventor creating the hardware and Kitty writing the software. She inspected the back of the computer, disconnected it from the other machines in the network, plugged her device into the port, and turned it on. The message on the monitor flickered, and the government computer’s hard drive chattered.

“What is that thing?” asked Dracula. Evidently the clash with Logan hadn’t left him too grumpy to be curious.

Kitty smiled. “A specialized minicomputer. Forge and I call it Raffles, in honor of a burglar in some book he read when he was in the hospital recovering from his war wounds. Basically, it’s sort of like a cyber version of you. It takes control of other computers. If the guy who wrote SAFE’s security software left himself a back door, or if it just isn’t a superwonderful program, then Raff should crack it open and let me at the good stuff.” The message on the screen changed to password accepted. “Outstanding! She shoots, she scores!”

“Good,” said Logan. He and Storm came over and crouched behind Kitty’s chair. “What’ve we got?”

“Looks like profiles of a whole bunch of super people, including the X-Men,” Shadowcat replied. “Along with contingency plans for taking us out if the government decides it needs to.”

“Pretty much the same reports that I was just looking at on paper,” Ororo said.

“We also have forensics from the scenes of Rogue’s attacks and the autopsies of the victims, transcripts of testimony from a couple witnesses, and hey! Somebody shot some video.”

“Let’s see that,” said Logan. Dracula strode over to watch with the others, and Kitty double clicked on the icon for the MPEG file that contained the video.

The picture quality was miserable. The camera operator had shot it outdoors in the gloom and the pouring rain, backing away from the subject, hands shaking badly. Nonetheless, the video showed more than Kitty could easily bear.

The eye of the camcorder was peering through the plate-glass facade of a supermarket. The store was crowded with shoppers who had no doubt ventured out in the nasty weather to stock up on supplies to ride out the storm. Now, panic-stricken, they were scurrying this way and that as Rogue swooped around slaughtering them. She broke one elderly woman’s neck with a slap of her open hand. Caved in a stock boy’s chest with a front snap kick. Contemptuous of the flashing pistol in his hand, she flew straight at a policeman, picked him up, and hurled him twenty feet to crash through a display of Coca Cola bottles. At one point she paused in her rampage to shout. Kitty was no lip reader, but she assumed her former teammate was ranting about mutants striking back at humankind.

Kitty realized that up until now, some part of her hadn’t quite believed that her friend could really have gone crazy and started killing innocent people. The actuality was horrible in a personal way that even the threat of Belasco devastating the entire world couldn’t match. She struggled to swallow away a lump in her throat.

After about half a minute, Rogue turned directly toward the camcorder, and at that point the video ended. No doubt the camera operator had prudently run away.

“An impressive display of ferocity,” Dracula murmured, “but at first glance, I see nothing helpful.”

“No?” Logan said. “Roll it again, Kitty.” Shadowcat obeyed. On the monitor, Rogue lifted her hand to strike the old woman. Kitty wanted to flinch.

“Pause it,” the Canadian said, and Kitty froze the image. “Notice anything?” She studied the screen, but saw' nothing significant.

“She’s wearing gloves,” Ororo said suddenly. “When she attacked me above the river, her hands were bare.”

“Give the lady a cigar. And when Cyke, Jean, and I fought her in the stable, they were the same way.”

“Is that significant?” Dracula asked. “She could have removed her gloves, then put them back on again.”

“No,” said Storm, “I remember when she attacked me, her right glove and sleeve had been shredded. We’ve been assuming that she’s attacking people because, with a vampire’s essence poisoning her psyche, she wants to absorb their vitality. That certainly seemed to be the reason she turned on me. But she can’t drain anyone through her gloves. That’s why she wears them. She isn’t... feeding here, simply battering her victims to death.”

“Bring up those autopsy findings,” said Wolverine. Kitty put them on the screen. “Now flip through them. I just need to skim.”

“Weird,” said Shadowcat a minute later. “Every body recovered at the scenes of the massacres was mangled in one way or another. There w'asn’t a single guy whose heart and other organs apparently just quit working, which I’m guessing is how the remains would look if Rogue grabbed him and sucked the life out of him.”

“It’s possible,” said Dracula, “that the energy she drained from Ororo sated her, and for the time being, she doesn’t crave any more.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen her in that stable,” Logan replied. “She reminded me of a junkie needin’ a fix. Besides, if she isn’t killing people for their life force, w'hy is she doing it?”

“Perhaps the assault on her personality has driven her mad,” the vampire said. “At certain moments, she may actually believe that she’s attacking in concert with the rest of the X-Men in a coordinated attack on mankind.”

Logan grunted. “Maybe, but it doesn’t smell right. Kitty, have you got some kind of image-enhancing program available on that machine?”

“I’ll see,” she said, clicking the mouse and pulling down other menus. “Yeah, here it is.”

“Run the video up to where Rogue was yelling about mutant liberation or whatever. That was the only moment when she wasn’t streaking back and forth. Then stop it and give us the clearest, cleanest close-up of her face that you can get.” It took her about a minute to zero in on the raging murderer’s face, then sharpen the picture as much as possible. When Kitty finished, Ororo caught her breath. “I don’t see any redness in her eyes,” the windrider said, “or fangs in her mouth, for that matter.”

“I’ve made a study of all you X-Men,” Dracula said, “and it’s my understanding that one would expect those alterations to disappear over time.”

“But the psychic pollution should fade right along with them,” Logan replied. “That’s the way it’s always worked. But obviously she was still acting as vicious as ever.”

Perhaps it was silly, considering that the whole human race was still in danger, but Kitty felt as if a weight had been lifted from her heart. Turning in the swivel chair, she said, “Then you think—”

“That Jeannie was right and I was wrong,” said Wolverine. “We got two Rogues runnin’ around Natchez. The real one that I saw in the stable, who was half vampire, but fightin’ it. And a fake, who’s doing all the high-profile killing. To sucker us into hunting her instead of the genuine article, and to get the government gunning for us.”

“I think you may be right,” said Dracula thoughtfully.

“Although if Belasco dispatched an impostor to confuse us, I would expect him to make certain his agent was an exact double.”    ~

“He couldn’t know beforehand that our Rogue was going to wind up with funky eyes and teeth,” Kitty said. “Sometimes she takes on external physical features from guys she drains, sometimes she doesn’t. It’s unpredictable. And even if he had known, he probably would have given the phony Rogue the original face anyway. Remember, he was hoping that none of us would ever lay eyes on the real one again to make a comparison, and he wouldn’t want the authorities to have any doubt that our Rogue truly is the murderer.”

“I want a quick look at the statements of the witnesses,” said Wolverine. “Then we’ll make off with one of these maps and get the hell out of Dodge.”

Phoenix sent her awareness sweeping back and forth across the city until the strain threatened to revive her headache. Then, knowing that she wouldn’t be any use to anyone if she exhausted her powers, she reluctantly stopped scanning. She’d rest for a minute and then resume the effort.

At least, she thought wryly, she no longer felt as if she needed to stand in the driving rain while she searched. It wouldn’t do to help save the world only to perish of pneumonia. She turned to see if Amanda was having any better luck than she was.

Unlike Jean and her fellow mutants, still cooling their heels in the cramped but comparatively dry space beneath the porte cochere, the Gypsy had chosen to stand beneath the open sky. The downpour pummeled her. Seemingly oblivious to it, she swayed sinuously back and forth, hands upraised, while dim blue globes of light drifted in the air before her. Occasionally one of the orbs jittered rapidly about for an instant, or exploded in a silent explosion of sparks.

An oval of shadow oozed into existence behind the azure spheres, a disk of deeper blackness hanging on the face of the night. Amanda slowly extended her arm toward it in a gesture of command, Jean felt some sort of charge building in the air, and then the black shape dissolved into tatters, while all the luminous orbs burst at once. Amanda’s features twisted in frustration.

At once Kurt was at her side, half invisible in the darkness even though Jean was only a few feet away. “Easy, liebchen,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” the sorceress muttered. “I’m trying, but Bel-asco’s shielding spells must be incredibly powerful.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Nightcrawler said. “Everyone knows you’re doing your best.”

“I wish I were,” said Amanda glumly. “At least then maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty. But we both know I could do more, if I were willing to pay the price.”

The Bavarian scowled. “That is not an option.”

Evidently Dracula hadn’t related everything that had occurred before Excalibur hooked up with the X-Men. Jean opened her mouth to ask her friends what they were talking about, but at that moment, Ororo swooped down from the sky carrying Wolverine by the wrists. “Good news!” she cried.

“What is it?” cried Piotr. Scowling, throwing off waves of hatred that even Jean’s psi shields couldn’t wholly dampen, he’d been pacing like a caged tiger ever since the infiltration team departed on its errand. Now his muscles tensed as if he expected Storm to serve Belasco up for his vengeance that very instant.

“Rogue’s not a murderer,” Kitty said, emerging from the darkness and the rain. A black-furred, leather-winged horror, Dracula lit on the asphalt, then flowed into human form.

“Or at least we got reason to hope that she ain’t caved in to the impulse yet,” said Logan, stepping under the overhang and extracting his crumpled pack of cheroots from his belt. “She’s not the one attackin’ dozens of people at a time, anyway.” Phoenix felt a thrill of elation, and the Canadian gave her a crooked grin. “You can say you told me so if you want.”

Cyclops said, “Give us a full report.”

Wolverine proceeded to do so. When he finished, Jean said, “If Rogue hasn’t given in to her bloodlust yet, then obviously her true personality still exists. It’s possible that she can still be saved.” She hesitated. “As a matter of fact, I have an idea of how I might be able to do it.”

“That’s wonderful,” Ororo said, sitting down on the hood of the Blazer. Though she could walk with all her accustomed grace at need, she was attempting to stay off her bad ankle when possible.

Jean had tried to keep any trace of her worry from flowing across her psychic link with Scott. But when he spoke to her mind to mind, it was obvious she hadn’t succeeded. This idea of yours is dangerous even by our standards, isn ’t it?

Yes, Jean admitted.

Then I think I can guess what it is, and I don’t like it one little bit.

I’m not crazy about it myself. But you know I have to try.

Scott hesitated, then grudgingly said, Yes. I do. I’ll watch your back when the time comes.

“I’m glad to hear about Rogue,” said Kurt, “but—”

“But this information doesn’t put us any closer to stopping Belasco,” Piotr interrupted. “And we only have a few hours left to find him!”

“Or to keep Rogue from reachin’ him,” said Logan, taking a drag on his cheroot. “You’re right, but I got some thoughts on that. Check this out.” He removed a map from his belt, squatted, and spread it on the asphalt. His comrades gathered around the display.

“The dots of red ink are Rogue sightings,” the Canadian said. “Notice that except for this one over here—” he pointed “—they’re all in the southeast quadrant of the map. The one that ain’t was an incident where Rogue roughed some woman up, but suddenly broke off and flew away without killing her, or babbling any gibberish about the X-Men declaring war on the city, either. I’m guessing that was the real Rogue. All the other dots are massacres, and like I explained, that’s the phony Rogue. My hunch is that Belasco wants us hunting her in this area because his hideout is somewhere else, and as he pulls the real Rogue closer and closer to him, she’ll be in that same area too.”

“That makes sense,” said Jean, “but unfortunately, ‘somewhere else' is still most of the map. You probably haven’t narrowed the search area enough for it to make a difference to my psi scanning.”

“Or to my scrying,” Amanda said.

“Much as I hate to say it,” said Nightcrawler, his yellow eyes shining in the shadowy vagueness of his features, “in one respect our task seems even more difficult than before. At least the woman we thought we were hunting emerges from hiding periodically to kill. If we were quick enough, we might be able to catch her in the midst of committing one of her atrocities. But neither the real Rogue nor Belasco are doing anything likely to attract our attention.”

Logan nodded. “Exactly. Which is why I’m thinkin’ that we ought to catch ourselves the ringer.”

“But that does not make sense!” Colossus said. “What the impostor is doing is monstrous. Of course we have to stop her as soon as we have the time. But you said it yourself. She’s a diversion. Belasco wants us to chase her.”

“Chase her, yes,” Cyclops said, frowning thoughtfully, “catch her, no. Otherwise she wouldn’t hit and run the way she has. It’s a good bet that she knows where Belasco is, and if we got our hands on her, Jean could pull the location from her mind.”

“That’s what I’m thinkin’,” Logan said.

“It sounds promising,” said Kurt, “assuming that we can catch her in time. We have to assume that Belasco has shielded her against long-range telepathy and magic, and she’s roaming a fairly large area. It would be helpful if we could predict where she’s going to strike next. I assume it will be yet another location where there are a large number of potential victims assembled, so she can run up an impressive body count quickly.”

“Back at the armory,” said Shadowcat, tugging at a tangle in her brown hair, “I wondered if she might hit there. It sure looked like SAFE and the Army were worried about the possibility.”

Logan shook his head. “They don’t need to be. Remember, Belasco wants the feds hunting the X-Men. They can’t do that if his flunky takes them out. Kurt’s on the money. The fake’ll hit some other place where there are a bunch of people. Beyond that, we need to find the pattern in where she’s popped up so far.”

“If she didn’t want people to anticipate her next move,” said Jean, “wouldn’t she strike more or less randomly?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Wolverine replied. “But people fall into patterns without realizing it, even when they’re trying not to. I learned that back when I was a spy. Now, our girl probably thinks she was being slippery by hitting at locations that are relatively far apart. But look at this.” He moved his fingertip from one ink dot to the next.

“It’s a zigzag,” Kitty said.

“Bingo,” said Logan. “Jumping from west to east and back again, and gradually dropping from north to south. Which means that next time, she ought to show' up somewhere around here.” His finger drew a circle on the map. “We need to figure out all the prime locations for a massacre and stake ’em out.”