Disclaimer: They're Marvel's. Pity them. This is the third story in my "Satan and Lucifer" series, following the events in "The Moment" and "The Essential Thing". Thanks goes to Luba Kmetyk for beta reading.
Charles Xavier turned to the federal agent at his side. "This is the second juvenile criminal we've tried to recruit, Fred. I don't like this pattern."
Fred Duncan shrugged. "It's not that bad. Scott Summers didn't have any choice in being a criminal, and it looks like this kid Bobby is just being held for his own protection against that mob over there," he nodded to indicate the crowd watching the police station, held back by a line of cops. He flashed his badge at the door officer and ushered Charles inside. "We can find out all the facts from the police before we do anything. And besides, the next two kids we're after are a football star and a bona-fide superhero. Just let me do the talking, and we'll have this kid out in two shakes of a lamb's tail."
"I wish this hadn't happened, though," said Charles, "I was hoping to collect our students at a more leisurely pace. But we have to get Bobby Drake out of his current predicament, and we should collect the other mutants before anything else goes wrong."
Charles still wasn't used to the comfortable friendship Agent Duncan had with him. Fred had a more distant relationship with Magnus, whom he knew was a mutant, but that was half because Fred was in awe of Magnus's powers and half because Magnus discouraged the human agent's attempts at friendship. Charles sometimes wondered what would happen if he told Fred that he too was a mutant. Would Fred still casually, cheerfully offer friendship? Or would he become awed, worshipful, as he often was with Magnus?
Fred Duncan flashed his badge and a smile to the desk officer. "I'm Special Agent Fred Duncan, with the Bureau. Quite a crowd you've got out there."
"Bunch of animals," the desk officer muttered. "I'm Sergeant Douglas. What can I do for the FBI? Are you here for the kid?"
"You read my mind. What can you tell us about what happened?"
Sergeant Douglas frowned. "Bobby Drake's barely twelve years old, he's walking his girlfriend to the malt shop when a couple of high school boys start picking on them. Pretty standard for a Friday night around here. Except one of the high school boys decides that twelve is old enough for him, and he starts dragging the girl off to his car. You gotta understand, these boys were drunk as skunks when we picked them all up. And I wouldn't believe what happened next, but all the kids agreed this is how it went. Bobby Drake turns into a snow man and shoots ice out of his hands, burying the bully, Beasley, in a sheet of ice. Beasley's friends run screaming, we pick them up. We found Drake kicking this huge block of ice, trying to shatter it so he can get Beasley out. Beasley's in the hospital, nearly suffocated to death, plus a case of hypothermia. Drake told us what he did and why, he's being real cooperative, but his parents are going crazy with worry. They weren't surprised when we told them what happened, they said they knew their kid was a walking Popsicle maker, but that he'd never mean to hurt anyone."
Charles was amazed to feel no fear coming from Sergeant Douglas. He probed deeper and found that the whole incident was so far outside his idea of reality that he simply hadn't absorbed it. He wasn't afraid because he was still in shock.
Sergeant Douglas finally shook his head and spread his hands wide. "This is crazy, you know? I mean, can you explain it?"
"That's why we're taking him off your hands," said Fred, "to try and figure out how he did this. Where are his folks?"
"In back, talking to him. Poor kid's pretending to be tough, but he's pretty shaken up. I'll take you."
Charles and Fred followed the sergeant to the holding cells. Two guards flanked an unlocked cell where Bobby Drake's parents sat beside their son, talking to him in soothing, low voices. Fred turned to the sergeant and said, "We need a minute alone with the Drakes, if that's okay."
"Sure thing," said Sergeant Douglas, "just give a yell if you need anything. Come on boys, let's give them some room." He headed back to his desk, and the guards moved further away.
Fred and Charles entered the cell, and Fred knelt beside Bobby. "Sounds like you had a pretty good scare, huh?" he said. "You did the right thing, trying to protect your girl, you just didn't know how to control what you were doing, right?"
Bobby nodded. "Who are you?"
"My name's Fred Duncan, I'm with the government," said Agent Duncan, keeping his voice soft and level. "This man here is Charles Xavier. He runs a school to teach kids like you to use their powers."
"You're not putting my son in a pen for freaks," Mr. Drake snarled. "What branch of the government are you? I want to see your badge."
Fred drew out his badge. "I'm with the FBI. Your son isn't in any sort of trouble, though, not as far as we're concerned."
Charles stepped forward. "At my school, you'll learn everything you'd have learned in high school and college, but I'll also teach you to control your gift. You didn't want to suffocate that boy, did you? You just wanted to stop him. I can help you make sure an accident like that never happens again."
"Will I still be able to see my folks? Can I leave if I don't like it?"
"It's not a prison, Bobby. You can come home for visits on the weekend or breaks, or your parents can visit you at those times. And you'll be around students and teachers like yourself, who know what it feels like to be gifted."
Bobby looked up at his parents. "I want to give this a try. I don't ever want to be scared of hurting anyone ever again."
Fred nodded. "I know this is sudden, but we should take you now, before that crowd out there gets any worse. We have two more stops to make before we go back to the school, but you can call your parents every night until we get there, and they can send your clothes and things or bring them to the school themselves on Monday."
"Wait, we still haven't agreed to this," snapped Mr. Drake, "You can't just take our son!"
Fred Duncan frowned. "Mr. Drake, those aren't your friends and neighbors out there any more. That's a frightened mob. And a frightened mob can very easily become a lynch mob. I've been an agent for eight years, I know what I'm talking about."
Mrs. Drake touched her husband's arm to restrain him, then kissed her son's forehead. "It's all right," she said. "You call us tonight, do you understand me? We'll see you on Monday."
Charles and Fred led Bobby to the front office, but Fred paused. "If we take him out there, that crowd is going to go crazy."
"No, they won't," said Charles.
"Charles, I'm not kidding. Those are frightened people out there. I don't want to shoot panicked civilians."
Charles paused a moment, debating. "Fred, I want you to do exactly as I tell you. We can discuss it later. The three of us will walk out of this station in a calm, orderly fashion, get into your car, and drive away. No one will bother us, I assure you."
Fred watched Charles for a long moment. "We'll talk about this later." Then he opened the station door and, with one hand on Bobby's shoulder and one hand on his gun, he walked out to his car. Charles pushed at the minds in the crowd, forcing them not to see, not to care, as Bobby got into the back seat and Charles sat in front beside Fred. Then Fred slowly drove the car back through the crowd, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
After they'd driven about twenty miles, Fred pulled over onto the shoulder. His still, almost painful grip on the wheel and his forced, level breathing made the fear and betrayal Charles sensed in his mind redundant. "You've been holding out on me, Charles," he said in quiet anger.
"I didn't want to lie to you," said Charles. "Magnus was afraid of your superiors. He wanted me to remain our ace in the hole."
"You could have told me. I thought we trusted each other. I thought we understood each other."
Charles was acutely aware of Bobby, frightened and confused in the back seat. But this conversation couldn't wait. "I'm a telepath, Fred. I can read people's minds."
"Or control them, like you did with that crowd out there. Did you do that to me? Have you been changing the way I think and feel?"
"I would never do that," said Charles. "I can change the way people think and feel. But because of that, people's true thoughts and feelings are vital to me. How can I believe I'm right if I have to control everyone to make them agree with me? How could I have a friend if I knew that my mental control was the only thing that kept them with me? I clouded the minds of the crowd so they didn't notice our exit. But I would never tamper with your mind."
Fred closed his eyes and screwed up his face, smacked the wheel with his palm.
"If I was controlling you, would I let you doubt me now?" Charles pressed. "You're a good agent, Fred. Trust your instincts."
Fred paused a long moment, staring out into the night. Then he turned the ignition back on and moved the car back onto the highway. "Don't ever lie to me again, Charles."
As the sun sank to the horizon, Magnus Lehnsherr and Scott Summers landed in a patch of forest at the location Magnus's contacts had given him. "I saw a town from the air; we can get rooms there after we find Magda's grave," he told Scott. He chose a direction and began walking, using the Earth's magnetic field to keep himself from getting lost.
He walked quickly, with Scott jogging at his side, eager to find the grave before dark. He knew better than to split up; Scott's glasses kept back his optic blasts, but severely limited his eyesight and night vision.
It was an old forest, full of massive oaks and rotting willows, so like the one Magnus had first run through when fleeing Auschwitz with Magda. His starved, trembling limbs had barely held him up then. Now, powerful, muscled legs pushed on down a deer path, driving him towards his goal.
Twilight approached, a cool darkness, by the time Magnus spotted the grave. He knelt beside it, tracing the crude letters in the dim light. The stone read simply, Magda Lehnsherr. No dates, no epitaph. He'd taken her name, hoping to lose his own past, but he was surprised that she had kept it when she was in hiding. Perhaps in the end she had stopped being afraid of him, afraid he would find her. Or perhaps she simply hadn't wanted to leave this earth without any trace that she'd ever existed.
He scrubbed at his eyes, furious that he showed his weakness in front of Scott. Why had Magda run from him? He had only acted to save their daughter, and when that proved impossible, to avenge her by killing her murderers. Why couldn't Magda see that? Why couldn't she have stayed, so that they could grieve together?
A gentle, trembling hand touched his back, and Magnus drew in a painful breath. "I-I'm fine, Scott. Thank you." He leaned forward and kissed the cool granite, then fumbled until he found a small rock at his feet. He put the rock on the grave and stood up. "Come. We should be going."
The little town did not have an inn, but one of the locals was happy to host Magnus and Scott in his son's old room for a few coins. Magnus's next stop was the bar, to buy a supply of alcohol to get him through the night. But as they approached the bar, Magnus saw Scott becoming more and more frightened and withdrawn. Magnus finally turned to the boy and said, "You can tell me what's bothering you. I won't get upset."
Scott stared at the ground, digging his shoe into the dirt. "I don't want you getting drunk. It scares me, being around drunk people. I mean, I know you did it back at the house, but at the house we weren't sleeping in the same room, you know?"
Magnus had never gone to bed sober since he was twelve years old. The thought of lying in bed in the dark, waiting for the nightmares to come, clenched Magnus's stomach and made his hands shake.
He forced down his fears. Scott had every right to be frightened of drunk men. Besides, what sort of an image would he present, a drunkard going to collect his child after all these years? "If it bothers you that much, I will simply go without alcohol. And in the future, Scott, just tell me when you're upset. I do care about what you think."
Scott lay awake in the dark. Magnus tossed and turned on the bed while Scott lay wrapped in a blanket on the floor. They hadn't said anything about the single bed, no awkward jokes, no suggestions to share it. Magnus had simply pushed the blanket and pillow to the floor without comment. He always made allowances for Scott's fears without ever mentioning them, a fact for which Scott was grateful. But it made Scott feel horribly selfish for asking Magnus not to drink. Though Scott couldn't understand the foreign words Magnus kept whimpering, it was obvious his guardian was having a nightmare as bad as any Scott had ever had. He could finally understand why Magnus drank himself unconscious every night, but it was too late to take back his request and let Magnus do what he needed to keep the nightmares at bay.
Scott rolled over, trying to shut out Magnus's helpless cries. He tried out names in his head. Scott Summers. Scott Lehnsherr. Scott Summers Lehnsherr. Scott Lehnsherr Summers. There was no question in his mind that he wanted Magnus as a father. He'd often despaired of being adopted at all, let alone by someone who could understand his fear that he could hurt someone with his powers, or someone who understood how sometimes he couldn't stand being touched at all, but sometimes desperately needed to be held for hours and hours.
But what about Scott's real parents, whose faces he had blocked out? How could he give up on them, replace them? And what about Magnus's kid? Would Magnus abandon Scott when he found his real son or daughter? Scott couldn't completely rule out the possibility, despite Magnus's current sacrifice on his behalf. He wished his own parents were as driven to find him as Magnus was to find his kid. After all, Scott's parents could have just put an ad on TV or asked the government or something; Magnus had to go halfway around the world.
Magnus suddenly leapt up, eyes wide and staring, body crouched and ready for combat. He was breathing as fast as a marathon runner.
"Magnus?" Scott asked, pushing aside the blankets. He stood up and gingerly touched Magnus's arm.
The older man jerked away and looked at Scott like a stranger for a moment before rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Scott?"
"It's me," said Scott, reaching out for his guardian again. This time Magnus gripped Scott's hand gratefully, then abruptly let go and charged out of the room.
A few seconds later Scott heard retching sounds coming from the direction of the outhouse. Magnus came back inside and lay down, shivering and sweating on the bed. "I feel sick," he groaned.
"Tell me what to do," Scott begged. "Should I call the doctor? How do I call a doctor in their language?"
"No doctors," said Magnus. "Please, stay with me. I feel like my head is trapped in a vise."
Scott picked up the blankets and covered his guardian, then gently wiped the sweat from Magnus's forehead. "I'm not going anywhere," said Scott. "I'm here."
"Liebling," Magnus moaned, "Hatzilu, Magda...Charles!"
Scott hugged Magnus tight, praying for morning and wishing there was something he could do.
Scott watched the doctor examine Magnus, wishing he spoke the local language. At least the doctor spoke a little broken English; aside from that, Scott had to make do with pantomime. "Is drink!" the doctor, a beady-eyed man with wild gray hair informed him.
"But he hasn't had anything to drink," protested Scott.
"Yes! Stop drink, get sick. Hot and cold, pain, itch. Three day."
Scott thanked him and handed him a few silver coins Magnus had made when they arrived. He handed a few more to their hosts, who did not seem happy to have a sick stranger in their house. He hoped the doctor was right about this only lasting three days; Scott was frightened and he was running low on cash.
For the next two days Scott spoon-fed Magnus broth and helped him to the outhouse, where he usually immediately emptied his stomach again. Again, there was no question of sleeping arrangements; Scott slept with Magnus's head cradled against his belly, his fingers entwined in Magnus's white hair. Though Magnus was often aware of his surroundings, he was usually helpless with pain and nausea.
On the third day, Magnus reached up and stroked Scott's hair. Scott burst into tears at the gesture, and Magnus wrapped his shaky arms around Scott and held him while he cried. "I'm so sorry, Scott. I didn't mean to frighten you."
"I didn't know what I was asking!" Scott bawled, "It's all my fault!"
"No, you were right, Scott. It needed to be done. Hush."
Magnus still felt weak and shaky, but his senses were sharper, his mind clearer than usual. There was a gypsy kumpania just outside of town; Magnus and Scott headed there first. Up ahead he could see the wagons of a gypsy camp. He called a Romany greeting as he approached, and a middle-aged man dressed in brown and yellow walked up to them and greeted them both with a hug. "Welcome, both of you! From where do you hail? Come, there's hot coffee waiting."
"I thank you. I'm from a Polish kumpania; it's good to see hospitality travels wherever there are Rom." He drank some hot, bitter coffee that chased away his headache, and began making conversation about the local police, the latest stories of local Romany exploits, putting on a persona of loud cheer. Finally he got down to business. "During the war, I was separated from my pregnant wife. I have heard that she is dead, but that the child may still be alive."
The Romany man shrugged. "I am very sorry for your loss. But there are so many orphans of the war it must be like looking for a grain of rice in a barrel of wheat." He frowned. "Though I did hear a strange story a few years back of an old widower who was given twin babies by a creature who looked like a cow. One of them was said to have white hair like yours."
A cow creature? That made no sense whatsoever. "I don't think that's who I'm looking for. But do you know where that widower might be?"
"No, I'm sorry."
Magnus tried again. "I was told the child might be a changeling, if you've heard any stories about such an infant."
The man frowned and asked, "And you would want such a child?"
"It's my child," said Magnus, carefully.
"True. I've heard a few rumors of children who are not quite human in other kumpanias. It is not something one brags about, you understand. But still, news travels fast. I heard one story that a gypsy family found a creature who could grant wishes, and they all killed each other for sole possession of the creature. But that was supposed to be an old, wizened being, not a child. Margali the witch, who runs a circus, is said to have a demon child she found, shaped like a blue devil. Some say it is her familiar. But she is a dangerous woman."
"I can handle a witch," said Magnus. "Where is this Margali?"
"This time of year, she should be near Berlin, for the city crowds. I have also heard a rumor that a gypsy woman died giving birth to a monstrous creature with fur and claws, which her family keeps hidden in their wagon." He shuddered.
"Do you know where that kumpania is?" asked Magnus, gritting his teeth. The man was so ignorant and foolish! How much of this information was a garbled account of mutant births, and how much was gypsy exaggeration?
"There I can't help you. A long way from here, though. Many kumpanias have moved around, since the war. No one keeps to the old routes anymore."
"Thank you, though. You've been most helpful." Magnus put down his coffee cup and swept himself and Scott up into the air, heading for Germany.
From Long Island Charles, Fred, and Bobby traveled by plane to Illinois, in time for the Saturday football game at Dunfee High School. Bobby was slowly getting used to the strange turns his life was taking, and cheered in the stands for the home team alongside Fred Duncan. Thanks to their star player, a boy who could leap ten yards in a single bound on his enormous hands and bare feet, the home team slaughtered the competition.
After the game, Charles walked into the locker room and approached the star player: the genius, athlete, and all-around good-guy Hank McCoy. The boy was large and hairy, with a wide grin as he joked with his teammates. "You played very well today," said Charles. "You're a month shy of fifteen, but your abilities place you in a category far above the high school seniors on the team."
"Are you a recruiter?" Hank asked. "Because I'm already taking courses at the local college; I can take my equivalency and be ready to go whenever you want."
Charles smiled. "Yes, I'm a recruiter. I take it you're not afraid of traveling, changing your life?"
"I want to see the world," said Hank, "I want to make something of myself."
Charles smiled. "At my school you could take college courses and have an opportunity to work with some of the most brilliant minds of our time, like Dr. MacTaggert and Dr. Richards." He watched the boy's eyes light up at the names that graced most copies of Scientific American and Today. "But that's not the main focus of my school. You're a mutant, Hank, gifted with unusual abilities. I'd like to teach you to hone your talents, to do everything that your mind and body are capable of. Would you like to make of yourself, not something great, but something extraordinary?"
Hank grinned. "Do I get a full scholarship?"
Margali Szardos was not a beautiful woman, but what she lacked in beauty she made up for in powerful magic. And so she was not surprised when the white-haired man and the boy with red glasses came to the circus, asking for her.
She watched them from a distance while the circus performers played dumb, remaining close enough to hear their conversation as the two strangers took a moment to regroup.
"Why are you assuming your kid looks strange?" the boy with red glasses asked in English.
"So far, most mutants I've met have some identifying characteristic. My hair is white, Charles has no hair at all, and you needed ruby quartz glasses to correct your headaches even before your powers emerged. More importantly, the report I received mentioned that the child was likely mutated or disfigured, and probably traveling with gypsies. And it makes sense that Magda would go back to her people and give them her child."
"Magnus, look!" said the boy.
The strangers stared at Margali's little fuzzy elf as he chased her two true children in a game. The three children wrestled in the dirt in innocent fun, but Margali's heart still clenched. She had seen that in all likelihood Kurt would kill his foster brother and turn his foster sister against Margali. Margali would die at her own daughter's hands. She had hoped that by raising him herself and treating him with love, she might avert that terrible future, but so much of her fate was out of her control. But she knew this: if the strangers took Kurt from her now, Kurt would surely kill Margali and her son when he was grown.
"I'm Margali," she said in English, calling their attention away from Kurt, "and I know what you seek."
The man called Magnus turned to face her. "What makes you think you know my heart, woman?" he asked in German.
"I know many things," she replied in the same language, "I know you seek your seed, but Kurt is not of your line."
"He's a mutant. I should bring him with me. If some crazed mob decided--"
"Kurt is my child. I assure you, I am quite capable of protecting him until you come for him again."
"Again?"
"If I am able to counter the destiny that awaits my family, you will come for Kurt in seventeen years." She could see that future so clearly as she spoke, a future where her children had become her dark servants, killing Magnus and his allies easily. "If I am not able to change our fate, you will come in fourteen years, when Kurt is eighteen." And she could see that future too, in which Kurt killed his murderous brother only to face a crazed mob believing him guilty of his brother's crimes. "In either future, you will find Kurt alive and healthy when you return. It is only the deaths of myself and my two birth children that hang in the balance. But until either future comes to pass, I will love Kurt and raise him as my own." She muttered a spell to strengthen her words, to turn this driven man to some other path.
"You're right," Magnus slowly agreed, "that child is six years too young to be my son. But if you can see so much, can you see if my child is still alive, and where?"
Margali smiled in relief and touched the man's face, staring into his cold, blue eyes. He let her in past his defenses. The sensation was like suddenly falling into a chasm. His drive, his passion, made his destiny so clear to her. His twin children were less than a hundred miles from here, both gifted with extraordinary abilities. One of them had the power to make unlikely things happen. If Margali could harness that power, she could change her destiny to whatever she chose. She had to get those children before Magnus found them. She had to throw him off the scent.
Margali wove her spell in Magnus's mind, focusing his desire, clouding his doubts. "You have a daughter," she said, "traveling with a kumpania far west of here, in England. She becomes what people want; a changeling, a shape shifter. Where others see a monster, you will see your child."
Magnus frowned and pulled away from her questing fingers. "But if she becomes whatever people want, how will I know she is truly my child?"
Margali strengthened her spell. "I have seen it written in your eyes, in your blood. She is the child you seek."
Magnus gripped her hands in gratitude. "Thank you. You have no idea how grateful I am," he said.
Margali smiled. "Go. You have no time to waste."
She watched Magnus catch the boy with the red glasses around the waist, and the two flew off at great speed towards the west. When they were out of sight, she called to one of her clowns, "We leave immediately after the show."
"But--"
"No arguments. Get ready to pull up and move out. Tell the others." In a fortnight her family would be increased by two, the twins of that mighty fool. And then no power in heaven or hell could keep Margali from achieving everything she desired.
Hank was perfectly willing to kiss his folks goodbye, throw his clothes in a duffel and head off that afternoon. His mother cried over him for an hour and a half before she'd let Hank's father, a sturdy man trying his best to seem stoic about his son's departure, pull her away. Hank and Bobby quickly struck up a friendship on the trip back to New York, telling dirty jokes and starting wrestling matches which Hank always won. As Bobby gained more confidence, though, he began pulling pranks, like making snowballs to toss down Hank's shirt.
Once they reached New York City, Fred took the boys out to dinner while Charles sought out the last student on their list. He walked through the bad neighborhoods, watching the skies, using his telepathy to protect him from the notice of criminals.
Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, he found what he was looking for. A young blonde man with the wings of an angel fought off two men with knives. Charles waited until the Avenging Angel finished his work. Then he stepped out of the shadows to greet the winged boy. "Warren Worthington the Third, I presume. Your parents are worried sick about you."
The boy covered his shock well. "I'm sorry, citizen, but you must have me confused with someone else."
"You came to New York to be a superhero, to do something worthwhile with your life, to be something more than your father's scion. I have a dream, Warren, that someday mutants like us will live without fear, without hiding what we are. I'm fighting for a day when we will be accepted, when we can celebrate our gifts instead of hiding them. Will you fight alongside me?"
Charles could hear the debate inside Warren's head. Warren didn't want to give up his private rebellion to become part of an institution again. But at the same time he was impressed, swept up in the idea of this grand dream, this worthy cause, a way to prove his own worth to his father...and to himself. "You know quality when you see it," he said finally, "I'll join you."
Charles was surprised and relieved that Warren got along well with Bobby and Hank. He had feared the richer Warren would have a hard time with the rough-and-tumble Hank, even if Bobby came from an acceptable, upper-middle-class background. But the three boys quickly found a working dynamic that morning at the hotel, and kept up cheerful banter on the car ride home.
"So where the hell is Magnus, anyway?" Fred asked as he drove. "You said he was out of the country, but you didn't say why. I can't believe he'd miss something this important."
"I don't understand it either," said Charles. Fred frowned at that, and Charles caught the stray thought. Fred doubted Charles was telling the truth. It would take a long time to repair the damage to their relationship. "I'm serious, Fred. He just said he had personal business to attend to, and he left. I only found out hours later that he'd taken Scott out of school. I wish I knew what was going on or where to find them. I'm worried. And angry."
Fred glanced at the boys in the rearview mirror. "They're amazing."
Charles took a deep breath. "I never told you how much your sense of wonder and acceptance meant to me. You're an uncommon man, Fred."
"You should talk," said Fred with a half smile. "I'm not going to tell my superiors about you. I can understand Magnus's fears on that count. But I need some time to think things over, for myself."
"I promise, Fred, I'll never lie to you again. I'll give you whatever proof you require. I trust you, and I want to regain your trust."
"Just give me time, all right?" said Fred as he turned the car onto the gravel driveway. "Okay, everybody out."
Charles looked up at the mansion as he stepped out of the car. His childhood home, so rich and cold, so full of terrible memories, now turned to a brighter purpose, a home where the future could grow. "Come," he said to the boys as Fred drove away, "let's get you all settled. We have much to do."
Magnus landed in the forest close to the gypsy camp. "This has to be the one. The other kumpanias all directed us here." According to reports in the other local camps, this camp had originally come from the Balkans, but had fled the Nazis to England. And the gypsies in the other camps had told him that this camp harbored the changeling they sought.
Scott nodded. It was so hard to tell what Scott had been thinking on this last leg of the quest, as they drew ever nearer to their goal. The boy was not the sort to reveal his feelings easily.
As the approached the camp, Magnus called out a greeting and was answered in kind. Impatient though he was, he forced himself to engage in casual talk of local news and rumors, and give word of the other kumpanias he had visited.
Finally he said, "I am looking for a strange child, one who is not human."
The whole camp fell silent. Finally one man asked, "What would you want with this creature?"
"She is my daughter. I have come to take her home," said Magnus.
Several people began backing away from Magnus and Scott. But the man whom they had just talked to said, "It is a strange thing to tell, but we have a child in our camp, a changeling. She might be the one you are looking for." He turned his head. "Jana! Bring Meggan out!"
A woman in multi-layered blue dresses shot the man an indecipherable look, and then went into one of the wagons. She came out leading a monster by the hand. "Is she what you are looking for?" the woman asked Magnus.
Magnus stood up and walked over to the knee-high creature. It was a thin, pitiful, hunchbacked thing with patchy brown fur, limp blonde hair, webbed limbs, and clawed hands and feet. Yes, this was how the outside world viewed mutants. Or was this merely the true product of his twisted soul? No! His first daughter Anya had been a beautiful child with soft white hair and the face of an angel--
Magnus took an involuntary step back as the monster before him changed shape, becoming the perfect image of Anya the day she died at age four. White hair framed huge blue eyes that looked up at him with such hope... Cries went up all around the gypsy camp. Magnus touched the girl's cheek. "You are my daughter," he whispered, trying to talk past the lump in his throat. "What is your name, child?"
"Meggan," she answered in a soft, English accent. She looked down at her arms. "I look like a normal person! I'm all pretty! How did you do that?"
"You did it yourself," he said, "It's your special gift. Come with me, Meggan, it's time to go."
"My parents--" Meggan protested.
"They are not your parents." He turned to the gypsies, who regarded him with awe and terror. "I thank you for raising my daughter, but now that I've found her, I should take her with me." He turned back to Meggan, and led her over to Scott. "Meggan, I am your father, and this is your brother. Come, we're going back to America. It's time to go home."
Magnus flew across the ocean with Scott and Meggan by his side. Scott was exhausted from weeks without regular food or sleep, but Meggan more than made up for his fatigue with her nervous energy. Magnus cradled them both within the protective sphere of electromagnetic energy, hurtling them forward at top speed. He was eager to get back to America, where he could finally stop searching, where he could finally make up for lost time and become a father again. Where he could finally apply himself to Charles's dream with a full heart, determined to make the world safe for his precious children. "Wake up," he told Scott, whose eyes kept drifting shut and snapping open, "We're almost home."
They landed next to the front door, to the wide-eyed amazement of three boys playing football on the lawn. One boy looked more like a gorilla than a human, another stole the ball from him and took to the sky on angel's wings. The third boy, made out of snow, hit the angel square in the back with a blast of ice, but let the ball drop to the ground, distracted by Magnus's arrival. "Hey guys, look!" the snow-boy shouted, changing to human form, "More kids!"
Charles came out of the house at the shout and watched Magnus with a grim expression. "You abandoned me. You left without a word, and you kidnapped one of my students."
"My son came willingly," said Magnus. "Are these our new students?"
"My students. I had to get them earlier than I had planned, due to unforeseen events," said Charles coldly.
Magnus stepped forward, his hands clutching Scott and Meggan's shoulders protectively. "This is my daughter," he said, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "I couldn't wait another day to find her, to protect her from those who hated her. I am finally ready to sacrifice myself for your dream, Charles, to give all that I am to keep my children safe. If you'll give me the chance to prove my sincerity."
Charles stared at Magnus, wishing he could read the man's thoughts. He had every right to cast Magnus out, to get rid of the thorn in his side. And yet... Was this, finally, what he had been waiting for? Was Magnus ready to stand by his side, his friend and equal partner? Would their fighting end now that Magnus's bitter rage was soothed? If they could finally work together, they could accomplish so much more than Charles could hope to do alone.
Magnus was his equal, a passionate leader, a brilliant thinker. A man whose passions for revenge and for absolution finally seemed quenched. A man who could do more harm than good to the cause of mutantkind if left to his own devices.
Charles offered Magnus his hand. "Welcome home, my friend."
End.