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 th
e 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—”
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