Jean’s fix on Rogue guided her toward an old brick cube of a building that, with its big double doors, rather resembled a garage. She set her teammates gently down on the empty sidewalk in front of the place, then floated to the ground herself. Near the doors was a vacant ticket booth, with the words NOSTALGIA CARRIAGE TOURS—DISCOVER HISTORIC NATCHEZ painted on the window in gold.
“She’s somewhere inside,” Phoenix said. “I can’t pinpoint her location any further than that.” She uncoupled her mind from the mini-Cerebro, and her headache abated.
Wolverine stalked to the double doors. From long experience, Jean knew that he was checking out the site with his inhumanly keen senses, though how he could use his sense of smell with a cheroot still smoldering in his mouth was a mystery she’d never fathomed. As she and Scott skulked up beside him, she murmured, “What are you picking up?”
“Rogue,” Logan said. “She put her hand right here—” he pointed to a spot on the right-hand door “—and shoved to break the lock. But her scent’s a little off—a little rank—like you said her brainwaves are. Other than her, I smell leather, axle grease, hay, and horses. The horses aren’t here anymore though. Guess the owner hauled them off to make sure they wouldn’t drown. Anyway, the point is, I ain’t pickin’ up anybody else, but of course that don’t guarantee she’s alone.” “Understood,” said Cyclops. “We’re going in. Spread out as you step through the door.” If someone was lying in wait for them, he didn’t want him to be able to hit all three of them with a single shot. “Ready, set, go”
Cyclops and Wolverine yanked open the doors and the three of them charged into a spacious, unlighted stable with a high ceiling. Bits of straw littered the concrete floor. As Logan had predicted, the stalls were empty, but a pair of the carriages remained, their shapes vague in the gloom. For some reason, they reminded Jean of a black horse-drawn hearse she’d seen in a Hammer horror movie when she was a little girl, an eerie-looking conveyance that had haunted her nightmares for weeks afterward.
No one attacked the X-Men. Nothing moved at all. The rain clattered and hissed on the roof, the susurrant sound somehow magnifying the silence that prevailed inside the building. For a moment Jean wondered if she’d brought her companions on a wild goose chase. Then Wolverine lifted his head, peering up at a loft that extended from the back wall, “ ’Lo, Rogue,” he said.
Looking where he looked, Jean too finally spotted her missing teammate, a crouching shadow with a white streak shining in her dark, tousled hair. “Go away,” Rogue said.
Cyclops eased closer to the loft. “It’s us, Rogue—Cyclops, Phoenix, and Wolverine,” he said. “We came to help you.” “You don’t understand,” Rogue groaned. The timbers beneath her creaked as if she were digging her super-strong fingers into them. “You have too much life. I can’t resist.” Read her mind, said Scott to Jean across their psychic link. We have to know what we ’re dealing with.
I’m on it, Phoenix replied. She focused her telepathy on Rogue, only to encounter another painful and disorienting burst of mental static, like a flare of bright light burning straight into her eyes and a trumpet blaring directly into her ear, both at the same time. Frowning, she started digging her way through it.
Meanwhile, Logan said, “Come on, darlin’, whatever’s wrong, we can fix it. We always have before.”
“No,” said Rogue. For an instant her eyes seemed to gleam scarlet in the darkness. “He poisoned me. Addicted me.” “Who?” asked Scott.
“The red angel. He’s callin’ me. Drawin’ me to him. And half the time, I want to go. I want to go so bad I”
“Go where?” Logan asked. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. I just have to follow the call.”
“Is it—” Scott began.
“Ain’t you listenin’ to me?” Rogue exploded. “I told you to get out of he re I”
Jean’s telepathy abruptly drove through the barrier that had been holding her out of Rogue’s consciousness. Unfortunately, that failed to end her difficulties. As she knew from past experience, it was immensely difficult to read her teammate’s mind, probably because her psyche contained the fragmentary ghosts of so many different personalities, and at present, the problem was even worse than usual. Rogue’s essence was in furious flux, a maelstrom of conflicting impulses whirling and thrashing like a maddened animal striving to rip itself apart.
Phoenix groped in the chaos, fighting to capture some coherent impression. After a moment, a barrage of images assailed her, thrusting her into the perspective of the viewpoint persona. Faster and stronger than any ordinary human, she leapt on her victims and tore them apart, reveling in their pain, their terror, and the spurting of their beautiful, fragrant blood. She moaned in horror, and her stomach churned. Then the agitation in Rogue’s mind, possibly aided by her own revulsion, hurled her out.
“We can’t just walk away when you’re in trouble,” said Logan to Rogue. “You know us better than that. Besides, even if you don’t want our help, we need you to help us find Ororo.”
“Ororo,” Rogue repeated. She sobbed, and then the sound melted into a cruel laugh that made Jean’s skin crawl. “If you want her, look on the bottom of the river. Or maybe she’s floated all the way to the Gulf of Mexico by now.”
“What exactly are you saying?” asked Scott, his voice nearly as steady and calm as usual. Jean imagined that only she could have discerned the tension in it.
Rogue cackled. “You know what I’m saying. I ate her. I drank her down.” She extended her arm at Scott, and suddenly the air smelled of ozone.
Cyclops frantically leapt to the side. A dazzling bolt of electricity shot from Rogue’s fingertips, blasting the patch of floor where her teammate had just been standing, proof that the female mutant truly had absorbed Storm’s powers. Though
Scott had escaped a direct hit, the force of the explosion still staggered him.
“I warned you!” cried Rogue. “Why wouldn’t you listen?” The vicious mockery was gone from her voice. Now she sounded anguished and distraught again. But she dove from the loft like a hawk swooping down on a mouse, and as she did so, Jean saw that the other woman’s outstretched hands were bare.
Phoenix frantically interposed a telekinetic barrier between Rogue and Scott. Wolverine spat out his cheroot and ran to intercept the seemingly homicidal mutant, his claws leaping from his wrists with a sharp yet sibilant snikt. Jean hated to see the adamantium blades emerge, but she knew that her friend had made the right choice. Besides, the claws could do no serious injury to Rogue’s near-invulnerable form.
Rogue slammed into the psychokinetic shield and rebounded. Jean felt a shock, almost as if she’d been holding the barrier in her hand. Logan sprang into the air, slashing, but missed Rogue by an inch. She turned and hurtled at Jean.
Phoenix reflexively tried a mental bolt, but it had no effect. Stupid! she thought. If she could barely even probe Rogue’s mind, she should have known that she wouldn’t be able to stun it. She reached out with her telekinesis, grabbed one of the carriages, and swung it at her teammate as if it were a club.
Rogue dodged, veering higher. The carriage streaked beneath her and tumbled on to demolish the fencing enclosing two of the stalls. Grinning and so exposing a pair of fangs, she streaked closer. Jean threw up another psychokinetic shield.
A wind as strong as a hurricane smashed into her back, flinging her into the barrier she’d just created, slamming her forehead against it. The shield blinked out of existence, and, dazed, she sprawled on the wooden floor, the mini-Cerebro slipping from her grasp.
Stupid again! Even though she’d just seen her opponent throw a lightning bolt, she’d fought as if she were only battling Rogue, not Rogue and Storm in one package.
Rogue landed and crouched over her, reaching for her face. Jean struggled to fling the other woman backward with her telekinesis, but muddled as she was, the power wouldn’t respond.
A crimson ray blazed across the bam. It caught Rogue in the side
and smashed her through a wooden support column. Jean realized that Scott had recovered his equilibrium just in time to save her.
Logan sprinted after Rogue, but failed to reach her before she levitated back into the air. They traded furious attacks. Thanks to his animal reflexes and martial arts expertise, he dodged all of her monstrously strong punches and grabs. Meanwhile his gleaming claws shredded her uniform, but at best merely grazed the skin beneath.
Scott circled the melee, obviously looking for a clear shot. Jean staggered to her feet, rubbed her aching forehead, and tried to clear her mind sufficiently to bring her psi into play.
Cyclops fired another optic blast, which missed and bashed a hole in the wall. A split second later, Rogue finally connected with a punch to Logan’s left temple. The impact made a sharp crack! Jean knew that her teammate’s adamantium-reinforced skull couldn’t be broken, but the blow still smashed him to the floor, where he sprawled motionless. Rogue floated lower and reached for him as if she intended to take him in her arms and kiss him.
Advancing, Scott battered her with narrowly focused, high-intensity beams. Jean was afraid that Rogue would absorb Logan’s essence anyway, since ordinarily the process only took an instant. But perhaps the barrage, powerful enough to sting even her, enraged her, because she hissed and flew at her attacker.
Cyclops dodged from her path and shot her again, jolting her sideways. She waved her hand, and howling wind gusted, lashing Jean’s hair. Scott lurched into the air and hung there. Suspended in an updraft, he wouldn’t be able to evade Rogue’s next attack.
Phoenix grabbed for Rogue with her psychokinesis, but her power was still too feeble to immobilize the other woman. Breaking free of the hold, Rogue looked over her shoulder and cried, “Run! While I’m.. . taking him, you and Logan can get away!”
“Don’t hurt him!” said Jean, simultaneously employing her telepathy in an attempt to project the same message deep into Rogue’s mind. “He’s your friend! We’re all your friends!”
Spinning all the way around, Rogue threw out her hand. Jean levitated up and to the side, and the sizzling bolt of lightning missed her, blasting another section of floor into splinters. Scott fell heavily out of the air, landing with a thud.
Phoenix expected Rogue to follow up with another attack, but instead she streaked straight upward. The telepath made another psychokinetic grab for her, but missed outright. Stop her! she called to Cyclops, mind to mind.
Scrambling to one knee, Scott oriented on Rogue. His right hand closed, but no ray shot from his eyes. Jean felt his shock of consternation. He reached for the firing stud on the right side of his visor, but by that time Rogue was already smashing through the roof like a cannonball. When his optic blast did blaze forth, it merely shone through the ragged breach she’d left behind.
Jean flew up toward the hole, noticing as she did how slowly she was rising, and how much concentration it was taking. She wouldn’t be able to keep up with Rogue even if she left her companions behind. Reluctantly she drifted back to the floor.
If she or Scott had taken the punch that felled Logan, they would likely have been unconscious for hours or even days assuming they survived at all. But Wolverine sprang to his feet, instantly dropped into a fighting stance, and pivoted this way and that to locate the enemy.
“You can relax,” Scott said glumly, standing up considerably more slowly. “She got away.”
Retracting his claws, the Canadian scowled. “I saw that last punch coming, Cyke. I saw it and I still didn’t duck it.”
“I didn’t handle myself all that brilliantly either,” Phoenix said.
“And I couldn’t shoot her when I needed to,” Cyclops said. He undid the hidden flap in the palm of his yellow glove and peered at the wafer-thin panel of buttons and circuitry inside. “My visor controls broke. The safety didn’t release. It must have happened when Rogue dropped me,’ ’ He shook his head in bewilderment. “But it shouldn’t have happened. The mechanism is built too sturdily, and I just serviced it two days ago.”
‘ ‘I guess now we know what they mean by amateur night in Dixie,” Logan said sourly.
Jean was sure that Wolverine meant to indict his own performance as much or more than anyone else’s, but it was obvious from the flare of anger in Scott’s mind that he assumed the remark had been aimed specifically at him. “I’m telling you,” he said, glaring, “I checked it, and it was fine.”
“Who said any different?” Logan said, manifestly angry in his turn. “I’m sure the gadget did look fine to you. The same way it looked like I was going to gut that moron with the shotgun.”
“No one who knows you would blame me for worrying that—”
“That’s enough!” Jean said sharply, profoundly annoyed at having to play peacemaker yet again. The two of them were like squabbling little boys. “Rogue is immensely powerful. It’s nobody’s fault that she got away from us this time around, and it’s idiotic to take our disappointment out on each other.’?
Scott grimaced. “You’re right.” He looked Wolverine in the eye. “Sorry if I overreacted to what you said.”
Logan shrugged. “Whatever.”
Suppressing a fresh twinge of irritation, Cyclops said, “We’ll take a moment to catch our breath, then get after her. Fortunately ..,” He turned, then stiffened in dismay.
Jean looked where he was looking, then felt sick to her stomach. Perhaps Rogue hadn’t actually been aiming that final electrical discharge at her after all. In any case, the lightning had blasted the mini-Cerebro into a lump of melted plastic and fused circuitry.
Wolverine turned toward Phoenix. “Still, Jean,” he said, “now that you found her once, you ought to be able to lock in on her again, right?”
“I hope so,” she said, but privately, she doubted it.
“I should have brought a backup unit,” said Scott somberly.
“Don’t start,” Jean told him. “You can’t anticipate every contingency. I don’t think we’ve ever lost a mini-Cerebro before.”
“She’s right,” Logan said, surprising her. Perhaps he’d belatedly remembered his promise to be nicer. “Don’t blame yourself.’’ He flashed a crooked grin. “That’s my job. Look, if we ain’t ready to move out, maybe we should talk about what just happened. Starting with the obvious, Rogue’s gone crazy.”
“Yes,'” Scott said. “She wanted to warn us off and kill us at the same time. I imagine you noticed the red eyes and the fangs. I think our earlier guess was right. She’s absorbed another personality that’s fighting her true identity for control.”
“I got inside her mind for a moment,*’ said Jean, “and judging from the turmoil and the clashing tendencies I found there, I think you’re right. But as far as we can tell, she took in the other person’s energy hours ago. Normally the effect would have worn off by now.”
“Yeah,” said Logan, extracting a crumpled pack of cheroots and a book of matches from a pouch in his wide scarlet leather belt. Jean noticed that his left eye was badly bloodshot, but the discoloration was fading by the second. “Normally. But Rogue said that ‘the red angel,’ whoever he is, ‘poisoned’ and ‘addicted’ her. I’m guessing that means he tricked her into sucking in a personality that would mess her up really bad. That would make her want or maybe even need to use her leech power.”
“I agree,” said Scott, “and evidently the point was to turn her into a creature who will do his bidding. But why? What does he want her for?”
“Impossible to guess until we find out who he is,” Logan said, lighting his smoke. “But in any case, we’ve got to face the fact that she probably really did kill all those civilians.” “But she’s fighting her cravings,” Jean said. “She tried to restrain herself from attacking us, and then she broke away from the fight, even though she had an excellent chance of finishing us off. There still could be a case of mistaken identity.” The protest sounded lame to the point of absurdity, even to her.
“I suppose it’s possible,” said Logan, ma
nifestly humoring her, “but to be honest, I think you’re grasping at straws. The way I figure it, the part of her that’s still Rogue cares about us. She wouldn’t feel the same way about a stranger, and that could make it impossible for her to hold herself back. Besides, there’s no doubt that she drained ’Roro.”
Jean sighed, “No, there isn’t, is there? And when I looked in her mind, I glimpsed memories where she was gleefully stalking and murdering people. Of course, those could be recollections of things that the foreign personality did in its original body, but even if they are, they still show just how eager the new Rogue is to hurt people. It’s simply that I don’t want to believe the worst.” Her eyes stung, brimming with unshed tears. She blinked them away. “Do you think there’s any chance that Storm is still alive?”
“Yes,” said Scott firmly, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. “Especially since Rogue’s power doesn’t ordinarily kill people outright.”
No, thought Jean bleakly, but now Rogue wants to kill, and she said she threw Ororo into the river. She struggled to give her teammates a brave smile, and also to do what was immeasurably more difficult: keep the leaden despair in her own heart from echoing in her husband’s mind.
Chapter 9
His gleaming metallic face contorted with hatred, his massive fists clenching, Piotr took a stride across the Midnight Runner’s deck toward Belasco. Kurt could easily imagine his friend charging and crashing through the rear of the cabin. He grabbed the hulking Russian by the arm. “Easy!” he said. “He’s not really here. It’s only some sort of projection. See how the light shines through?”
“Da,” said Colossus thickly. He looked as if he would have liked to attack the phantom even so, simply to vent his rage, but he halted his forward advance.
“Very observant,” said Belasco, leering at Kurt. “Of course, you always were one of the more clever X-Men. That was why I chose you to be my body servant.”
Nightcrawler wanted to snarl, That wasn’t me! But he stifled the impulse. He didn’t want Belasco to see that his taunts could get under his skin.
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