by Stuart Moore
Jean forced a smile. “So I’m a disappointment?”
“More like an enigma.” Moira frowned at the screen. “Your cells are in a state of constant mutation.”
“Into what?”
“I don’t know. But it looks like it’s been going on for some time.”
“Since the shuttle crash.” Jean hissed in a breath. “When I died.”
“Possibly.” Moira looked up, concerned. “I wish you’d come to me sooner.”
“The Professor was monitoring me… until he left.”
“Charles!” MacTaggert scoffed. “He was never much of a diagnostician—not the sort you need. Come on, let’s try something else.” She tapped at the screen three times. Jean turned in surprise as an elaborate chair rose up from the metal floor. Its arms and back were studded with sensors, and it was equipped with wrist, ankle, and throat restraints.
“This is a more tightly calibrated measuring device than the large testing chamber.” Moira gestured for Jean to sit. “I’ve found it particularly useful for gathering data on telepaths and telekinetics.”
Jean settled herself into the chair and touched one of the wrist shackles. It felt tough enough to hold a gorilla. She turned to Moira and raised an eyebrow.
“Adamantium alloy,” Moira said. “I’ve, ah, had some fairly dangerous mutants in here.”
“Am I a dangerous mutant?”
Moira looked her in the eye.
“You’re a very powerful young lass,” she replied. “Who may or may not be in full control of that power.”
Jean grimaced and nodded. Moira fastened the shackles over her wrists.
“Can we skip the collar, at least?”
“Aye, I think this will suffice.” Moira stepped back, nodded, and turned away.
“Wait.” Jean felt a stab of panic. “Where are you going?”
“Nothing to worry about, dear.” She walked out past the monitoring console to the outer edge of the room, and tapped the screen again.
Jean watched as a clear plastic barrier, reinforced with metal threads, dropped down from the ceiling. It touched the floor with a dull thud, sealing Jean inside the chamber. Her panic grew stronger. She tested the restraints, rattled them slightly. The Phoenix seemed to roil and surge within her, like a caged beast.
“Can you hear me, Jean?” Moira’s voice crackled through the chamber’s speakers.
“Yes.” Jean tried to force herself to be calm. “What do you want me to do?”
“Just be yourself.”
“Not sure I know who that is.”
Beyond the barrier, a look of worry crossed Moira’s face. She flashed a quick smile and turned back to her tablet.
Jean drew in a deep breath, leaned back, and concentrated. She reached inside, struggling to grab hold of the Phoenix Force. As always it was elusive, resistant to her control. A part of her, yet outside of her as well. Ancient, alien, terrifying.
“Don’t rush things,” Moira said. “We’ve got time.” She paced back and forth. “Why don’t you catch me up on things? Tell me about Antarctica.”
“Antarctica,” Jean echoed. “What do you want to know?”
“Did you actually kill Magneto? The most powerful mutant on Earth?”
That’s not an idle question, she realized.
“I—I’m not sure.” She leaned back. Felt a rush of unpleasant sensations, dark memories she’d tried hard to forget. “The molten rock… it separated me from Scott and the others. I was alone with him, with the—the man who’d captured and humiliated me, who’d subjected my friends to days of torture.
“He gave me that look,” she continued. “The one I’d seen on him a dozen times before. The glare that said, You’re nothing. All of you, humans and mutants alike. I would kill you all to save myself. I wanted to punch him, break him in half, make him feel the pain I’d felt at his hands.
“And then I heard Scott cry out. I’d never heard a sound like that before, and I couldn’t hear him in my mind. But I knew it was him. Magneto… he pulled a length of metallic ore out of the volcano’s walls and sort of swatted it at me. As if I was a fly, some sort of insect that had wandered into his house.
“And I felt this whole new level of rage. Not human rage— something else.”
“The Phoenix,” Moira said.
“Yes.” Jean squeezed her eyes shut. “I reached out with my mind, with my power—it was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I barely had to form the thought when it seized hold of him, lifted him off the ground. I felt his ribs snap, heard him scream in agony. And I…
“Moira, I liked it. I wanted more.
“So I squeezed harder. I-I think I felt his heart burst. I’m not sure. Then the magma… it flowed over us. I felt a searing, scorching heat, so I lashed out, forcing it away. And then, all at once, my power crested and began to fade. I remember thinking, No! Not now! But it was no use. I was spent, exhausted, my reserves depleted. I felt myself losing consciousness, watched helplessly while molten fire consumed the rocky cavern.”
She opened her eyes. The Phoenix Force had flared up all around her again, forming the familiar shape of a bird of prey. The chair held her tight, tiny circuits humming with activity.
“You’re doing great,” Moira said. “Keep going. How did you survive?”
“I woke up days later, on the surface. Lying in the snow, my costume in tatters. I don’t know whether someone rescued me and left me there, or…”
“No injuries?”
“There wasn’t a mark on me.”
“Mmmm.”
Jean knew what the older woman was thinking. The Phoenix. It took control, guided me through to the surface, and kept me alive while my body regenerated. All without any conscious thought on my part.
“Moira,” she said. “I can’t move.”
“Won’t be much longer.” Moira paused, peered in through the barrier. “What happened after that?”
“There was a U.N. base just a couple miles away. I managed to make it on foot.” She shivered at the memory. “The scientists there… they were so kind. They checked all radio reports, air traffic. There was no sign of the X-Men or Magneto, no one flying in or out.
“That’s when I knew they were dead.
“My power… it seemed to have retreated, receded deep inside me. I couldn’t fly, could barely keep the air warm around me. I had to get out of there, but the thought of returning to the school… to Xavier’s… it was too much. I wasn’t ready.
“I boarded the first ship leaving Antarctica… it was headed for Italy. But we ran into some mechanical trouble, had to change course. The nearest island was Kirinos, a small Greek port. A coincidence… I remembered Professor Xavier talking about Kirinos, about his visits there. He said he’d spent some of the happiest times of his life on that island. It seemed like fate, so I decided, well, to stop over. Kind of an impulse, but it felt right.” She laughed. “Does that sound stupid?”
“You’re a powerful telepath. Your ‘impulses’ might hold hidden depths.”
“I… I suppose.”
She felt strangely warm. Energy flowed from her body, radiating outward—but the chair seemed to hold it in, to channel it in waves. The air glowed crimson all around. Moira had passed out of sight, beyond the thick plastic barrier, but Jean could still hear her.
“What did you find on Kirinos?” the scientist asked.
“What?” Jean replied. “Nothing… nothing really.”
Just a man, she thought, who made me feel… strange. Like the life I’m living might not be the life I’m supposed to lead. But she wasn’t ready to talk about that yet—and even if she were, Moira wouldn’t understand.
“I lost my passport,” she continued. “I was going to wait for a replacement, but then I, uh, decided not to bother. I flew out over the ocean until my power faded again, then caught a ride with a passing ship.”
“You wee hitchhiker, you.”
“Ha! Yeah, I suppose so. Anyway, at that point I figured I’d better
get an expert opinion on my, let’s say, erratic powers. You’re the second greatest authority on genetic mutation, so—”
“Jean…”
She looked down, startled. The restraints were melting, slipping off of her wrists. Flowing like the magma beneath Magneto’s volcano, leaving her gloves and the skin beneath unharmed.
“Enough,” Moira said. “Enough! Shut it down, please.”
Jean clenched her fists, willing the Phoenix to withdraw. The glow around her faded away, slowly but steadily. As the plastic shield began to rise up toward the ceiling, Moira ducked under it and hurried inside.
“Well,” she said, examining a melted wrist shackle. “That’s a first, aye?”
Jean shifted back and forth. She felt like a high school student who’d just embarrassed herself in front of the teacher.
“What’s the verdict?” she asked.
Moira turned, cocked her head.
“First of all,” she said, “I’ll thank you to know I’m the greatest authority on human mutation. And if that follicly challenged patriarch were t’roll ’is way in here right now, I’d tell him the same thing.”
Jean laughed.
“Second…” Moira smiled. “How about some tea?”
* * *
JEAN TIPPED her wooden chair back, letting the warm tea slide down her throat. She’d changed into jeans and a loose shirt, using her telekinetic powers to transform the molecules of her costume. The Jean Grey of a year ago could never have performed that feat, but the Phoenix pulled it off with barely a thought.
Moira stood at the counter, pulling a jar of cookies out of an old wooden cabinet. A wood-burning stove burned in the corner, filling the room with heat. Jean cast her eyes across the plain oak table, the simple toaster and wooden cutting board.
“This is very… rustic,” she said.
“Not like the rest of the complex, aye?” Moira crossed over to the table, carrying a tray. “I bought this place from an old… hermit, they used to call ’em. He built a home here with his bare hands. It was beyond repair—I tore most of it down, but I kept this room. Had the center constructed around it.”
“It’s soothing,” Jean said.
“My little retreat from force rays, Juggernauts, and Multiple Men.” Moira gestured toward the cookies. “Go ahead.”
Jean picked one up, bit into it. It melted on her tongue, sweet and delicious. “Fo what’ff the verdict?” she asked, covering her mouth.
“Jean, is there anything else you can tell me?” Moira leaned across the table. “You say your powers have been coming and going ever since the shuttle crash. Any recent, I dunno, anomalies? Spikes in energy, unusual displays?”
Jean turned away, remembering. Kirinos, she thought. Her power had surged, burning bright, and that strange voice— the Phoenix—had spoken through her. “Mine is the fire that consumes.” Had she really said that? Where had they come from— those ominous words, and the power behind them? She didn’t know, but she knew what had triggered them.
Jason Wyngarde. His strange manner, his eerie house, and the rough kiss she could still feel on her lips. Wyngarde was an enigma—he’d barely flinched when she mentioned Magneto, or when her power lit up the sky. If anything, he seemed enticed by her fury, by her tales of tragedy and death. What sort of man was he?
“Jean?” Moira was staring at her.
“Things have been… off,” she said. “With Scott.”
She paused, startled at herself. She hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t even realized it was true until the words came out of her mouth.
“I love him,” she continued. “Loved him, I mean, and I know he loved me. But after the shuttle crash, things were different. I was different. I felt myself withdrawing, pulling back from him… from all of them.” She felt tears rising to her eyes. “I think he was afraid of me, Moira.”
She looked up at the older woman, seeking comfort, but the look in Moira’s eyes made her heart sink. Moira turned away, fussing with the teapot.
You’re afraid of me, too, Jean realized.
“You’ve been poking at me for days,” Jean said. “You must have some answers.”
“Dear, I’m just barely figuring out the questions.” Moira sighed. “I’ve compared your readings with the data Charles sent me last year. The wavelengths are different, the power levels are orders of magnitude higher. Whatever happened to you on that shuttle, your psi powers have taken a quantum leap.”
“And you’re worried I can’t handle it,” Jean said. “Well, I’m worried, too.” She stood up, paced over to the wooden stove. Raised her hands to warm them, and felt an echoing flame inside.
“Maybe I should have stayed dead,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She took a moment to compose herself, then turned back to Moira. “I should check in with my parents. I emailed them when I left Antarctica, but they haven’t heard from me since.” She rummaged in her pockets, then let out an embarrassed laugh. “You know, I haven’t even got myself a new phone yet.”
Moira reached into a drawer, pulled out a small phone, and tossed it to Jean. “Punch in your number.”
Jean tapped at the screen, then frowned. “It says ‘no service.’”
“Ah, hang on a tick,” Moira said. “This is a rock in the ocean—no cell towers. I’ve also got security concerns.” She crossed to the counter and reached behind the toaster. At the touch of a hidden button, a panel opened on the wall, revealing a touchscreen.
Jean smiled. “So much for rustic.”
Moira tapped in a security code. “Try it now. You should have satellite access.”
Jean held up the phone—and froze. Text messages filled the screen, buzzing one by one as they popped up.
JEANNIE – YOU ALIVE, DARLIN?
IT’S KURT. TRYING YOU AGAIN.
JUST ARRIVED BACK IN WESTCHESTER.
IF THERE’S ANY CHANCE YOU’RE OUT THERE…
“Oh my god,” she breathed.
Moira crossed over, alarmed, and peered over her shoulder. “Oh!” She squeezed Jean’s shoulders, smiled briefly, and withdrew.
Jean stood alone for a moment. The phone buzzed again and again, texts scrolling down behind the cold glass. She swiped the messages away, clicked over to the dial pad, and tapped in a number she knew better than her own. Then, trembling, she slumped against the counter and waited for the answering click.
“Scott?” she whispered.
CHAPTER SIX
“LANDSCAPERS ARE clearing the grounds now,” Nightcrawler said. “Skyship’s ready to go, the Blackbird is being serviced. The dorm rooms are a little dusty… there’s evidence of a rodent infestation upstairs.”
“Of mice and mutants,” Cyclops mused, striding with purpose down the hallway. He was dressed in khakis and a sports jacket. “Let’s get the exterminators in first, then the cleaning service.”
“Right.” Nightcrawler wore his X-Men uniform; he kept pace with Cyclops, capering and leaping along the dusty halls of the mansion. “Oh, and a pipe burst in the library during our time away. It’s been repaired, but we’re going to have to replace some of the multicultural studies books.”
“They could probably use some updating anyway.”
Nightcrawler continued his litany of tasks that needed to be done. Security systems, fiber-optic upgrades, new computers for the science labs. A set of high-capacity washing machines to handle an increased number of students.
Cyclops barely heard a word. One phrase, two simple words, kept echoing in his mind: She’s alive.
“Don’t ask about the Danger Room,” Nightcrawler said.
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Good.” Nightcrawler sighed. “I’m working on it.” He leapt forward, planted both feet on the wall, and stuck his body out horizontally to block Cyclops’s path. Then he grinned. “Have you spoken with her?”
Cyclops smiled.
“Few minutes ago,” he replied. “Her plane just arrived a
t the airport… she’s planning to fly the rest of the way under her own power.”
“It’s a miracle,” Nightcrawler murmured. “Jean Grey, alive. Again.”
“She’s hard to kill, all right.”
Three workmen squeezed past them, carrying a pile of lumber. “Leave it by the elevators,” Nightcrawler said. “Danke.” Then he turned somber. “Scott, I…”
Cyclops held up a hand, cutting him off. He’d never been comfortable with displays of emotion, and he wasn’t ready to let his feelings out yet.
She’s alive.
“Is the website ready?” he asked. “We’ll have to be ready to handle a flood of applications.” He paused, then added, “I hope.”
“Soon.” Nightcrawler dropped to the floor, shook his head. “There is so much to do. Reopening the school is one thing… expanding it like this is a major initiative.”
“Blame Storm. She argued—persuasively—that despite our losses, we still have a duty to help as many young mutants as we can. To not just carry on the Professor’s dream, but to build on it.”
Nightcrawler cocked his head. “I had a feeling she also wanted to distract you from your loss.”
“That’s possible.” Hesitantly, Cyclops gave another smile. “Not an issue now, I guess.”
“Jean’s return is indeed the best possible news.” Nightcrawler reached out a hand to touch his friend’s shoulder. “Perhaps this will be a new beginning for all of us.”
Cyclops frowned. A strange sense of unease came over him— he couldn’t identify the source. “Any word from Storm?” he asked. “She sounded pretty optimistic about signing up our first new student.”
“Still nothing. She is overdue to check in.” Nightcrawler pulled out his phone, frowned at it. “I will give her a call. As soon as I…” He paused, shivered dramatically. “…inspect the Danger Room.”
Cyclops let out a small laugh.
“Find me when Jean arrives,” Nightcrawler said. He whirled around and vanished in a puff of sulfuric smoke.