X-Men: Dark Mirror (13 page)

"I could knock and find out."

Scott actually seemed to think about that. "We could always say our car broke down."

"Forget it. I was joking. You do that and someone will be on the phone to the cops. We won't have time to do anything." Logan examined the lock. It was simple; looked like the original, even. "I need something to pick this with. Do you still have that wire?"

Silent, face devoid of expression, Scott reached into his pants. Logan stared. He began to ask, but Scott shook his head. Yeah, he was probably better off not knowing— but it still wasn't easy touching that wire.

While Scott watched the street, Logan bent over to work. It was difficult to see—he missed being a mutant— but he slipped the wire in the lock and jimmied it around until he heard a very satisfying click.

"Security," Scott reminded him again.

"I know," Logan said, but without more time or the tools to do a proper examination of the property, they were going to have to wing it anyway. Alarms or not, that door was coming open.

And when it did, when Logan pushed his way into the house, he heard not a sound. He looked around for a
security panel, some blinking red light that would give it away, but there was nothing.

"This Maguire is a real trusting guy," Logan said, stepping sideways so that Scott could enter.

"Maybe he has a reason to be."

"If he's a mutant, you mean."

"The evidence suggests that he is."

"But why us?" Logan sniffed the air; a reflex. He felt only slightly foolish. The house had no discernable odor; perhaps, only, a hint of some flower, perhaps a rose. He listened, and though he heard nothing, wondered if that was only his own weakness, whether there was something he was missing, something escaping his notice, all because he was human now, and weak.

Not weak. Not for one minute, don't you tell yourself that.

Because he was only as weak as his spirit, and he refused to let this—his new body, these circumstances— break him.

"I think this is his office," Scott said, peering into a room off the main entry. The woodwork was old, classic, with fine carved flowers in the dark trim and shining hardwood floors that smelled like lemon. A large desk faced the sole window. Its surface was clean except for a computer, a thin sheaf of paper, and one framed picture of a dark-haired woman with a lovely smile and amazing cheekbones.

"Wife?" Logan asked.

"Could be," Scott said. He glanced around the room. "Check upstairs. I can handle this."

"Yes, ma'am." Logan flashed him a grin and ducked out of the office. He examined the kitchen first, a quick walk through, and then headed up the stairs on light feet, listening for any movement, any sign they were not alone. Everything was quiet. No life here. Nothing except for them.

All the doors stood open. Logan perused the rooms, taking in the complete lack of furniture or personal items. No paintings, no soft chairs; Maguire had a bed, but it was only a twin, covered in a threadbare quilt. One pillow. One closet half-full of dress shirts and suit jackets. One dresser, with only one drawer filled with underwear.

And one drawer for a teddy bear. Very soft, very worn, and missing both its eyes. It had been placed carefully inside the dresser, sitting in the center with its little mournful face turned up. Logan picked up the bear, holding it gingerly in his hands. He sniffed its fur. It smelled clean, like detergent.

He heard footsteps in the hall. Scott entered the room, stopping when he saw what Logan held.

"Does this mean anything to you?" Logan held up the bear.

"It's the only personal item I've seen in the house, other than the photograph downstairs."

"Which means it's important, because this guy doesn't have crap. Looks like he moved into this house with a suitcase and set up shop."

"A temporary living space? Something that gives the appearance of permanence?" Scott pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. "I found this on his desk."

Logan took the paper. "An e-ticket receipt for a flight to New York. The good doctor left last night. That's convenient."

"Very. I'd say the evidence against Maguire is getting stronger."

"I'd say you're right. I'd also say that our bodies went with him, but probably in
our
jet."

"That requires specialized knowledge to fly, Logan."

"Cyke, if the man really did do a mind switch on us, then he's probably strong enough to pull some information out of our heads while he's at it." Logan hesitated, staring at the teddy bear. "Here's what I don't get. This is a man who has no life. Or rather, the life he does have has been built around a specific purpose. My guess? To screw us. I wanna know why."

"You're assuming a lot. We don't really know him. His goals might not be to hurt us, but to
use
us."

"Don't get technical on me, bub. Your wife is a man and the both of us have boobs. I'm not feeling the love."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Fine, I agree that his intentions aren't exactly noble. In fact, I'll even go so far as to say he has it in for us—"

"—thank you—"

"—but that doesn't answer your question. Why?"

Logan gazed around the room. The teddy bear felt soft and warm in his hand; he was reluctant to put it down. "Did you find out who the woman in the photo is?"

"No," Scott said, "but she must have been special."

"Yeah. This isn't a man who owns a lot. Which makes me wonder why he would leave without the picture and the bear. They're easy to pack and they obviously mean something to him."

"He's traveling light."

"Not good enough."

"Because he thinks he's coming back?"

"Or because he knows he's not."

"As in what? He thinks he's going to die? He plans on committing suicide?"

"Maybe. It doesn't seem like he has much of a life, anyway."

Scott shook his head. "If I was going to kill myself, I would want my most precious mementos nearby."

"As a reminder of your misery?" Logan waved the teddy bear in Scott's face. "Does this really say why, God, why'?"

"Maybe to Maguire."

"Or maybe he's left the trappings of his life behind, so he can be free to do what needs to be done. He's going out as a man of resolve."

"That still doesn't explain why."

"I don't think we're gonna get that why' until we catch up with him, meaning we need to find some way of getting back to New York before he finishes what he started. Whatever that is."

"Infiltrating the X-Men?"

"As a start. He has something bigger in mind, that's for sure." Logan shook the teddy bear. Quiet, almost to himself, he murmured, "What the hell is going on here?"

"That's what we're going to find out." Scott folded up the receipt and stuck it back in his pocket. "Come on, Logan. Let's get out of here."

Two things happened before they left Jonas Maguire
's
house.

The first was that Scott made a phone call. It was almost 8:30 in the morning on the East Coast. Plenty of time for everyone to be up and about and ready to answer phones.

The school had a 1-800 number for the students in case they ever needed to reach someone at the Mansion and did not have enough money for a pay phone. Just another safety precaution—Jean's idea, even—and Scott had never been happier for it.

He tried Storm's extension first, but that proved to be a dead end. Scott was not sure who else was at the Mansion. The day before he and his team left for Seattle, Bobby and Sam had dragged Piotr off to the woods for a camping trip. Gambit and Jubilee were supposed to be around, but they did not pick up their phones, either.

Scott gave up and called the main line. It rang five times before someone answered. The voice belonged to a girl, young and breathless; one of the students, though Scott did not recognize her.

"Hello?" she said. "Um, Xavier's School for the-"

"Is Ororo there?" Scott interrupted. "Storm?"

"Uh, sorry. She went out early to go shopping. Can I take a message?" Polite, distant, the perfect voice for dealing with strange adults.
But I am not a stranger,
Scott wanted to say.
You know me. I probably taught you geometry last week. Brat!

Scott grit his teeth. "What about any of the other senior teachers? Gambit? Is Sam or Bobby back?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but they're all gone for the day. It's the weekend, you know. If you give me your name ... ?"

He almost said "Scott," but stopped himself just in time. Without seeing him face-to-face, listening to everything he and the others had to say, it would be difficult to convince Storm or any of their friends that they were the real X-Men. They all knew secrets about each other that could not be faked, but just finding the chance to get them to listen was going to be an ordeal.

"My name is Mindy," he said carefully. "I'm a very close friend of Scott Summers and Jean Grey, and I have some important information about them for Ororo.
Very
important."

For a moment there was only silence on the other end of the line. Scott said, "Hello?" and the girl made a small sound.

Quiet, tentative, she said, "Are they okay? They've been gone for a couple days."

Scott hesitated. There must have been something in his voice, or maybe the girl was just that perceptive.

"No, they're not okay," he finally said, striving to be calm, to not shout into the phone. "You need to get that message to Ororo as soon as possible. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," said the girl, and Scott felt a great deal of pride at the change in her voice, the seriousness of her commitment. Good kids, all of them. Maybe the X-Men weren't doing such a bad job of teaching the next generation.

"Do you have a number where she can reach you?'" asked the girl.

"No," Scott said. "Just tell her I'll call back again in
a
couple of hours."

"Okay," she said, and that was it. The girl hung up.

Scott felt a brief pang in his heart when the connection died. In this body, with his identity stolen, he was nothing but an outsider looking in, some distant unknowable human—a wannabe, a stranger—and it hurt It hurt that the student had not recognized him, that she would never believe him if he told her the truth.

Crazy. She would think you're crazy. Even your friends are going to think you're crazy, unless you can convince them of the truth.

It would be easier if Xavier was around, but he and Hank were in Geneva for the next two weeks, attending a mutant-rights symposium. Mutants representing mutants, in an effort to stem the tide of world legislation aimed at curbing the use of their powers. Scott did not know how to reach him, and even if he did, calling Geneva collect from a pay phone and actually getting through was highly unlikely. Xavier was keeping the company of world leaders; getting someone to fetch him for a call on some unrecognized line might be as difficult as getting his body back.

Logan entered the study. He carried a plastic shopping bag.

"What have you got in there?" Scott asked, frowning.

"Maguire still had some food in his refrigerator. I also took some of his clothes and underwear. Couldn't find any money, though."

"We need to figure out how to get some," Scott said, rubbing his face. "Okay, let's—"

Logan held up his hand; a sharp gesture, one that made Scott shut his mouth and listen. Logan closed his eyes.

Scott heard it, then. Sirens.

"Are they coming here?" he whispered, already moving out of the office. "Did we trip something on our way in?"

"Maybe someone saw us."

"We've been here almost twenty minutes. The cops would have gotten here sooner if we were seen breaking and entering." Or if they had triggered an alarm.

"Whatever," Logan said. "Let's move it."

They left through the kitchen, which had a back door that opened into a tiny garden filled with roses. The grass had not been mowed in quite some time, a sharp contrast to the front yard. Scott stepped on something squishy. There was enough light in the sky for him to see the remains of a fat slug beneath his shoe. Scott blinked hard; he still had trouble adjusting to the sudden influx of so many different kinds of color.

The sirens sounded closer; Scott and Logan pushed through a gap in the neighbor's bushes and used the cover of chaotically manicured trees and tall decorative grasses to partially hide their movements as they raced from one yard to the next, until half a block down from Maguire's home they made their way to the sidewalk and peered out at the road.

They watched the nearby intersection; two police cruisers sped past Highland Avenue down the hill toward lower Old Victoria. Scott sighed, rubbing his chest. He forgot he had breasts and got a handful before he remembered. Logan smirked at him.

"Shut up," Scott said, even though Logan hadn't said anything. They left Highland, still listening to the sirens. There were more cars on the road, but none slowed as they passed Logan and Scott. They were just two women out for an early-morning stroll.

"Those cop cars seem to be stationary now," Logan said, just as the sirens went dead. He looked at Scott, and there was no mistaking the question in his eyes.