Generation X #19 "Death to a Monarch" by Lee March 13, 1998 Warning: This was writing on Friday the 13th. While I was sick, no less. The characters used herein are the property of Marvel Comics, and their use is not intended as infringement upon the copyright or trademarks held by Marvel. All of this is done in fun, boys and girls. Note: Senator McKinnley is a definite, blatant retcon of a name used previously for the host of the Shadow King. No one should go into this thinking I did this because I forgot or hadn't properly paid attention to continuity. This is, I repeat, an editor approved retcon. --- Senator McKinnley's Country Estate - Maryland The dark corridors beneath the Senator's lovely countryside home suited her in mind and mood. Gloomy shadows lurked in alcoves and doorways, flickering only as the small light she held disturbed their rest. By the harsh electric lantern, her features were thrown into sharp contrast, emphasizing her angular face and deep-set eyes. But though the light escorted her through this modern dungeon, her true alliance was with the shadows surrounding her, and clothes she wore -- all an unrelenting black -- reflected this. There was a silence that accompanied the dark, almost as if Sound had escaped with its sister quality Light. Three doors, then four, passed on each side of the auxiliary corridor, and before each was a thick layer of dust. No soul had traveled through those doors in a long while. Only the corridor itself appeared to have been traveled, and that only rarely. Like the chess piece after which her title had received its name, the Black Queen exuded power and authority. She glided along the empty corridor with long, purposeful strides, posing effectively though she knew there were none to notice. But what was once an act had long since become reality, and the Black Queen -- who at another time may have gone by Selene or, even further back, by Hecate -- had perfected the part. In a world of declining monarchies and upstart democracies, hers was a timeless role. A silent door beckoned to her, and she heeded its call. Stopping before the solid black door, she passed her hand over its smooth, featureless surface. The sound of heavy tumblers marred the silence just as the door began to swing open of its own accord. Within, the chamber was stark in its appointments and gothic in its design. The Black Queen had enjoyed that style, though for reasons she preferred not to share. Heavy draped curtains surrounded two large, canopy beds, and it was to these that her soundless steps led her. Standing between the two beds, she smiled just slightly. It was nothing more than a faint upturning of one corner of her lips. Its reflection didn't reach her eyes, except, perhaps, to magnify the brilliance and cruelties within its depths. Pushing back the curtains of each bed, she sat between them on a cushion of silk. "Hello, my pretties," she whispered to the figures on the bed. Pale and fragile as fine porcelain, two figures laid in silent repose upon their gilded cages. Yet despite having no apparent means of restrain, neither figure could move. Only the quickening of the two hearts, which the Black Queen heard with her exquisite hearing, signified that they were aware of their surroundings. "Poor little ones," she crooned, swaying slightly as her eyes closed. "Locked in cages too tight to break. That will teach you to play with shadows." A silent laugh echoed within the minds of the three individuals as the Black Queen slipped into the Astral Realm. --- The Astral Realm The scene shifts as if seen through hazy, sleep shrouded eyes, and as it sharpens into reality, the dullness of the Waking World translates into bright and vivid hues. The Astral Realm shimmers with the energy of a billion minds, though most of these minds are far too shallow to ever appreciate the full depths of the Realm they have helped to create. Standing in her true element, Selene, the Black Queen, flings back her head and laughs. Melodious, it nevertheless sends a shiver of fear down the spines of the two captives before her. A jackal, one thinks as it hears her laugh. The sound of my own death, thinks the other. "I'm sure you were getting tired just laying there, so I thought we'd all have a little fun. You two wouldn't mind humoring me, would you?" asks Selene. Her Astral Self - a shadow made real and shining brighter than the sun - throws out its hand mockingly as it executes a courtly bow. Neither speak. They have both been through these little games with the madwoman before. A small tsking sound breaks the silence. "Now, both of you do know that if you refuse to play, I will be very upset. I will only keep you alive so long as you continue to amuse me." A hard edge enters the husky voice. "You'll only keep us alive so long as we continue to supply you with the life force you need to thrive, you mean," comes a tired, angry response. With a carelessness born of hopelessness, the young man lifts his eyes to the woman he kneels before. Tattered and bruised, his Astral Self is a reflection of his True Self. The months spent in the Selene's care haven't been good months at all, and yet there is still fire burning within him. "Ah, Shinobi Shaw. Ever the defiant one, even when you realize there is no reason left to defy. You are truly your father's son. Though, if you'll forgive me, I doubt you'll ever become half the man he was." Her eyes glance towards the distance, losing its sharp focus for a moment. "Very well, then. You shall go first today." She smiles and approaches ... ... and to his credit, he does not scream, nor cry, nor plead to the Gods he does not believe in to relieve him from this agony. He feels his soul slip away, his spirit devoured by the vampire standing above him. A darkness passes across his mind. The near lifeless husk falls to the ground with a limp thud as Selene removes herself a distance away. "Mmm ... not half the man your father was, but ah ... the potential excites me. If only you were to live long enough to fulfill that potential," she says with what almost sounds like genuine regret. Turning to the other captive, her eyes gleam in the omnidirectional light. "And now you, my dear. I wouldn't have anyone say that I was playing favorites, after all." She approaches the other woman with a deliberately slow gait, relishing the rising panic in the younger woman's eyes. "Please." The word forces its way through a throat tight with fear. "Don't." Her trembling cannot stop. And though she has said these words many, many times before, still she says them again. "Don't do this, Selene. We were allies once. We can be again. Release me and I will do your bidding." Selene laughs again. "Candra. Candra, Candra, Candra. You will never learn. But I like that about you. I like that you are so dense and stupid that you do not understand what it is to accept one's fate. Viewed from another angle, it might be a positive trait, and from another angle still, it might be impossibly annoying. But ... I find it rather amusing. You always did know how to make me laugh." Candra shivers, and as Selene approaches, the younger woman retreats into a far corner of her mind. She still feels the draining of her life, but hidden as deeply as she is within her mind, she feels it without the accompanying terror and horror. Burrowing deeper still, she tries to reach the comatose state she knows lies just outside her reach. There I will be safe, she thinks. Selene merely laughs as she feeds. --- Frost Enterprises, Penthouse Suite - New York City The young woman stepped smartly along the marbled floors, her heels tapping a cadence for her heart to follow. It was her first assignment as the President and CEO's personal assistant, and she didn't want anything to ruin this moment for her. She burst into the Penthouse suite, her pace only slowing minutely. Ms. Frost had requested her presence immediately, and as all of her employees knew, when Ms. Frost said immediately, she meant three days ago. A flurry of expensive suits and hand tooled briefcases scattered before her as those milling around in the lobby of the suite recognized the look of someone possessed. Jenkins Clark, an up and coming trademark attorney working on the new alliance with Worthington Enterprises, gave her a small smile as she hurried into an adjoining hallway. "Good luck, Rena," he whispers conspiratorially. She merely glared. Everyone knew being Ms. Frost's personal assistant was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because at the end of such an assignment, anything - and that was literally anything at all - would be open to her. Paris, London, Tokyo - all the major cities of the world would be hers to choose from. Fashion, technology, military contracts, publishing - all of the major departments would clamor for her to be a part of them, because as they all knew, former personal assistants were the equivalent of direct lines to the President and CEO's ear. But it would also be a curse. Ms. Frost demanded perfection, and anything less resulted in immediate termination and a black mark on the personnel record. And as every employee knew, a black mark could spell death in one's chosen profession. Few companies chose to hire Ms. Frost's black-marked employees, though why was up to intense speculation. She stopped before the large double doors which led to Ms. Frost's personal quarters and hastily arranged herself. Her face was set into a cold mask of attentive indifference, and her suit was smoothed over her slender body. That Rena Brandt was a physically attractive woman was obvious, but it was her eyes that showed her true steel. A sharp mind, quick wit, and ruthless determination was what had gotten her hired as Ms. Frost's personal assistant in the first place. // Will you be waiting out there until I come out to greet you personally, or are you trying for a grand entrance? // a voice blossomed inside her mind. Tinged rose and goldenrod, it was filled with amusement. She froze in shock, and with a dawning realization, realized exactly the real reason behind why it was considered a curse to be the personal assistant. That no one had any idea of this reason, it remained lie a serpent lying in wait for the next unsuspecting employee assigned to Ms. Frost. That no one had any idea of this reason gave testimony to just how powerful Ms. Frost really was. Rena Brandt, just raised to the position of personal assistant, realized and accepted all of this within a quarter of a second. That pause, which would be barely noticeable to almost anyone, was the only thing that stood between that mental voice and her entrance into Ms. Frost's quarters. --- Frost Enterprises, Penthouse Suite - New York City Emma watched as her personal assistant entered her private suite. The small pause earned the young Rena Brandt a small frown, though Emma realized she was hardly the slowest to respond. The slowest had been fired immediately. The quickest, as Ms. Brandt would realize if she thought it through, had gone on to become the Chief Financial Officer of the Military Contracts Division of Frost Enterprises. An enviable position, indeed. Ms. Brandt approached the older woman with confidence, and as Emma peered quietly into her mind, she knew the confidence was real. Good. She was seldom a bad judge of character - for obvious reasons - and she hated it when she was wrong. "Good. I'm glad we got past that little obstacle," Emma said, gesturing for her assistant to take in the chair next to her. "Thank you, Ms. Frost." Ms. Brandt took the proferred chair. "I choose you for a reason, you know. And I'm sure you know what those reasons are. It's no secret you're a rising star in Frost Enterprises. I like that. And if you continue to be a rising star, I'll like it even more. And that can only bode well for you." "Of course, Ms. Frost." Emma nodded her head. "Alright, then. Let's get down to business. A few disclaimers, most of which I'm sure needn't be said. But in this case, I'll make an exception." She paused, and her ice blue gaze locked with that of the gray eyed woman before her. "What we say is private, of course. What we do is no one else's business. Not the company's, not your friend's, not your soulmate's, if you should happen to have one. I expect - no, I demand complete obedience. Failure to do so will result in immediate termination. "And, of course, that's just the mundane disclaimer. Then there's the special disclaimers. You will have a psionic monitoring system placed on you at all times. I will know exactly where you are, who you're speaking with, and what you say whenever I choose. You will be psionically locked and shielded. No one will know that you have a psionic tag on you, and you will not be able to speak of it. You will be psionically locked. No other psion will be able to reach your mind, neither to free you nor to subvert you. You will be placed under a psionic geas. You will not be able to tell anyone what we've said, either voluntarily or involuntarily." "Of course, Ms. Frost." The reply was quick and without hesitation. "Good. Please do not rest under the assumption that you contain free will of any sort. While you are my personal assistant, you will be answerable only to me, but I will demand more of you than anyone within my employ. The rewards, I assure you, are great." Emma relaxed her demeanor. "Though, of course, I do have one question for you. Will you accept all of this of your own free will? I suppose I should have rephrased my pervious statement. This is the last chance you will have to leave. If you do so, your mind will be wiped of this encounter, you will be terminated, and you will be found employment in a very distant city. Now, then, do you agree?" Again, "Of course, Ms. Frost." Emma smiled, her lips curving gently. "Wonderful. Then let's get started." She held Ms. Brandt's eyes for a moment longer, and that was all it took for the young woman to be psionically safeguarded. She crossed her legs, and the light caught and reflected off of the white vinyl, stiletto-heeled, thigh length boots. A quick thought passed through her assistant's mind - she was immensely relieved that she wouldn't be required to duplicate her employer's dress code. "Check with the investigations team," Emma said, "and have them find out all they can about a Jean Paul Beaubier and his twin sister Jeanne Marie. I believe they're still in Quebec or else Montreal, perhaps. Level 1 priority." Ms. Brandt nodded her head in time to the list, memorizing them as soon as they were spoken. The planner laying open in her lap was mostly for show. "Do you mean the Olympian, Ms. Frost?" she asked. As Emma turned, distracted, to look at her, she stilled, wondering if she should not have spoken. Emma smiled and nodded. "Please don't misunderstand what I said previously. I have no problem with my assistants having minds of their own, Ms. Brandt. In fact, I prefer it that way. Being served by brainless twits is the surest way to defeat." A wry twist of the lips. "I learned that lesson early on." She stood from her chair and made her way to the private bar near back of the room. Pouring herself a glass of mineral water, she turned back towards her assistant and said, "Just so long as you use your mind to serve me and my best interests, you need never fear saying something. Although you should use your best judgement as to when to say it, of course." "Of course, Ms. Frost," Ms. Brandt said faintly as she relaxed in relief. "And yes, I do mean that Jean Paul Beaubier. The same one who was in the paper a few months ago proclaiming his 'gay pride'." She sounded faintly disgusted. "You don't approve, Ms. Frost?" "Of the fact that he's gay or the fact that he felt the need to publicly shout it to the world? I could care less who he wishes to socialize with. Such matters have never concerned me, and I am entirely supportive of people being themselves." A soft laugh of things remembered but not shared filled the spacious room and danced across the plush, white carpet. "But I would prefer someone much more ... subtle, as it were. Yet, I believe that was simply the heat of the moment getting to him and not an actual personality trait, and so I'm willing to go out on a limb for this one. And, still, there's always the added benefit of his sister. Now, she is one to watch." She smiled lazily, her lips tilting upwards in a gesture faintly reminiscent of the Cheshire cat, though without his zeal. Tilting the glass just slightly, she watched as the sun's rays shifted through the windows and refracted against the edge. Ms. Brandt watched her employer as the older woman contemplated the shimmer of colors. "Of course, Ms. Frost," she said, quietly, unsure why either Beaubier would be of concern to the woman. But it wasn't her place to question, and given her current position, she was sure she would discover the reason in time. "Oh, yes. And I'll need you to set up a meeting with a certain woman from Maryland. She's been recently seen in Senator McKinnley's camp. I want you to arrange for her to meet me at this address. You needn't tell her who it's from. I'm sure she'll already know." --- Former Headquarters of the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club - New York City Emma stood stiffly. Garbed as she was in the formalwear of a member of the Inner Circle, she was required to stand stiffly. The whale-bone corset held her spine firmly in place, her breasts jutting out before her. The fine lace choker was exquisite and tight against her slender neck. The vinyl boots that she had worn earlier were replaced with knee high, bleached leather boots, and like the previous version, this too included sharp stiletto heels. The emmense amount of bare skin should have left her cold, but she felt nothing. No expression crossed her impassive face, yet amusement colored her features. Wouldn't Sean find her quite the stunning figure if he could see her now. She couldn't tell whether he would gasp inaudibly that she would wear such revealing clothing, or whether he would be secretly pleased. One way or the other, he would not have soon forgotten the sight. Ms. Brandt had informed her that Selene had accepted the invitation, just as Emma knew she would. The myriad dances and dinners and gala events that she had endured in the past days paid off as she discovered where her former ally had retreated to. She discovered, more importantly, that Selene was a part of the reason her charges at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters had been threatened. The Black King - or, as he was more widely known, the Shadow King - had been looking to recruit new hosts. He had wanted the Samoan Mondo. A mutant able to morph in such a way combined with the significant psionic prowess of the Shadow King would result in a creature nigh impossible to kill. But the Shadow King's plans would all be for naught, Emma promised herself. She didn't take kindly to those who threatened hers. Maybe it was a part of her competitive nature. Maybe - and this was an outside possibility - it was because she actually cared about these children. Regardless, she intended to see to it that the Shadow King returned once again to the oblivion from whence he came. A warning buzz teased along the edge of her awareness. Ah. That would be Selene. Let the party begin. Emma smiled coldly. --- Former Headquarters of the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club - New York City "Selene." The word was cold. Emotionless. Without inflection. Without meaning associated to it. It hung in the air between the two women. As if it were a formal occasion, both women were dressed in the regalia of their offices, though neither were technically of those offices any longer. One had relinquished her title when she became Headmistress of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, while the other had relinquished hers when she helped the Shadow King to destroy the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club. Still the highly polished leather and metal gleamed in the chandelier's light. "Ah, mine sororal counterpart," the dark one whispered, sibilant words on a silver tongue. "A pleasure, indeed, to remake your acquaintance. I have missed your presence." Her lips drifted into a lazy smile, though none of its apparent warmth reached her eyes, and her head dipped in a stately nod. "It warms my heart to hear you speak in such a way," the light one replied. "I was afraid that you would be less than overjoyed at my return." A delicate eyebrow arched in some sign of interest or surprise, though her expressions were all simply a facade. Behind the malleable exterior, little revealed itself. "Of course I am less than overjoyed." A hint of laughter - vicious and cruel - caught in the tone. "I have always believed that Queenship should be a solitary pursuit and not one shared among friends." The sterile formality of the exchange began to give away to a blunt candor. From opposite ends of the room, the women moved, each drawing closer, attracting the other as a candle would attract a moth into its deadly embrace. "And therein lies your downfall," the light one remarked. "Your solitary nature has gifted you to one more powerful, and your lack of support has resulted in your easy defeat. You are weak, Selene." Expression rippled the calm surface of the dark one's face. "Defeat? I rule the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club at the side of the Black King. I have servants to do my bidding, people to feed my hunger, and the power to rule as I see fit." A small, tight smile. "You are confused, sister, for which I do not blame you. You have been long out of the Game." Graceful hands spread from the side of the light one, raising in a subtle gesture. "Indeed, I may have been, for I see you rule at the feet of the Black King, and not at his side. Tell me, sister, do the chains chafe at your pretty neck, or have you learned to ignore their feel?" Black eyes narrow. "The only chains I feel belong to those who serve and do my bidding. These I hold in my hand, to do with as I please. With my Lord at my side, these human sheep are mine to command. Mine is the power, the word, the will. I am the Dark Mistress whose voice calls their terrors from within their breasts and their obedience from their soul." "'With my Lord at my side'," the light one scoffed. "Your control over people is meaningless. Any can control them. It is who controls the Inner Circle that truly matters. And from what I have discovered, the True Power no longer resides in the hands of the Queens. You are his plaything, for him to do with as he pleases. You are blind if you do not see this." She paused, and her words hung for a long moment, quivering tensely between the two women. Finally, and almost reluctantly, the dark one's voice again drifted to the other. "And you -- you who have departed from the Game before the Black King arrived -- you would claim to see the Truth?" A simple nod. "I would. As would you, were you not cowed by his power. Yet, his power is naught compared to our combined might. You have seen this before. You know it to be the Truth." A faint curve of black lips and the slight unfocusing of the eyes. Yes, she remembers. The Inner Circle in the height of its glory: the power, the revelry ... the freedom. Dark eyes lock with icy blue ones. "Yes. It is true. This new lord, this new Black King - " Her voice dropped dangerously low. " - He forget his place. He thinks he rules. He has not upheld the tradition and the glory of the Inner Circle. Yet as you say, he is powerful. I have challenged him, but despite his inappropriateness for the mantle, he exhibits all of the power that the Black Kings of old are known for." The light one dipped her head, her golden mane reflecting the chandelier's cold, electric light. "He must be put in his place." They stood, only an arm's length separating the two powerful women. Reflections cast in a looking glass, they mirrored each other's stance. "Indeed," the dark one whispered as their minds' barriers dropped just enough to share the information that would lead to the false King's defeat. --- The New York - Washington Express Train - Maryland They spoke little on the trip to the nation's capital. The train - a quaint but comfortable mode of travel - lulled them with its steady rhythms and deep rumbling. Few passengers had boarded, and those had were in compartments far from theirs. Ms. Brandt flipped through the stacks of pages with the eye of a divorce attorney searching for a weakness in a prenuptial agreement, though her profession had not originally been that of a lawyer. Her mind blanked of everything except the document before her. "Ms. Brandt. Your assessment?" Emma flicked a piece of dust away from her with the distaste of a missionary in a leper colony. Dressed in her signature white, she fairly glowed with the reflected light. With a single, leather encased hand, she gestured towards her assistant. "Appropriate, Ms. Frost. Her records are impeccable. She comes from prime stock. Her father is a powerful man and former member of the Hellfire Club itself. Her brother is powerful as well, implying that her genes are not simply a random occurrence. The X-Factor thrives within this family. I would not consider her, however, were it not for her recent traumas. Based on reports by the examining doctor, not only has her physical age regressed, so has her mental age. This marks her as a choice operative considering the ease with which you will be able to monitor and control her." Ms. Brandt straightened her papers and turned quickly to a specific page. "In fact, her current personality assessment shows her to be someone who would take the position were it offered her. She seems to desire nothing more than immediate physical and emotional gratification." Emma nodded. "Which, I assume, is simply your way of saying that she's out looking for a good time. Indeed. I want you find her for me, Ms. Brandt. Extend to her an invitation. Or, better yet, inform Ms. Maximoff that I will be in touch with her personally." "Of course, Ms. Frost." --- Frost Enterprises, Penthouse Suite - Washington, D.C. Frost Enterprises contained offices in every major city as well as a majority of the smaller ones. Its offices in Washington, D.C., however, were more in line with its private policy - be visible but don't be seen; watch but don't attract attention; and above all else, always know which sentiments were moving with the winds. Located behind a nondescript federal building, the Frost Enterprises Penthouse suite in which Emma found herself offered an unobstructed view of the dome of the Capitol building. She took a step forward, stiletto heel clicking on the white marble floor. Her gloved hand pushed aside the drapes just enough for her to peer at the building of her contemplation. Her quarry was there, she knew. Not that she had bothered to attempt to sense him. She knew the Shadow King was able to detect her presence in the city, but she knew, too, that he didn't consider her a threat. And as far as she was concerned, she wasn't. Not for now, at least, and so there was no need to tip her hand before the plot had hatched. It disturbed her only minorly that her power, in and of itself, was small compared to his. She had reviewed the reports and coverage of the disaster in Antarctica. Even from this distance she could feel the arrogance and confidence he exuded. He would continued to think of his situation as one in which he was the sole principle, and so long as she remained a non-threat, she could do as she wished in the city and exist beneath his attention. And so, of course, the first thing she did after settling into her penthouse was to send Ms. Brandt to Senator McKinnley's office with a request for a lunch meeting. As far as anyone else was concerned, this was the President and CEO of Frost Enterprises requesting a lunch meeting with a Senator. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet, as Emma well knew, the note had contained a petition requesting an audience with the Black King. She insisted on using that title, though she knew it would not last for much longer. Ms. Brandt had delivered the request earlier that morning. It was strange and unruly, but this desire to meet with the creature she would soon destroy was an unquenchable one. She had not informed Selene that she would do it. Her trust in the other woman was still minimal at best. And though it might cost them the game, she had to flirt dangerously with the flame that she sought to extinguish. A set of heels clicked against the marble from the direction of the office. "Ms. Frost?" "Yes, Ms. Brandt?" "Your request has been granted. Senator McKinnley will meet with you tomorrow. He requests that you join him at his estate for lunch." "Very good, Ms. Brandt." "Shall I arrange for transportation?" Emma nodded. "That would be satisfactory." The sound of heels indicated her assistant's departure, and Emma let go of the breath she had been holding. Well. She wanted to flirt with danger, and flirt she would. Either way, it would be over soon. --- Senator McKinnley's Townhouse -- Washington, D.C. Selene strode into the foyer with the grandness of a queen returned to her realm. With a well-trained attentiveness, her servants scurried before her, anxious to do her bidding. They were barely clad young men and women, all within the prime of their lives. All not missed by the same society which threw them out to exist at the mercy of predators and vultures. And wise old vampires like herself. A small smile curved her bloody lips. Soon she wouldn't have to pretend to this power over the human cattle; her power would be absolute. While in some ways, she and Emma were very similar, in others they were quite distinct, and the raven haired woman knew that they would be well content with the way in which the power was distributed in the soon-to-be newly reformed Inner Circle. These thoughts, though, barely registered with her conscious mind before they were ferreted away. Just before the faint sound which caught her attention came a stirring in the Astral Realm around her. At her strength and expertise level, she constantly existed with at least one portion of herself always keeping tabs on the Astral Realm. She knew, then, the moment that her lord and Black King would enter the room, and without conscious thought, her mental wanderings were sheltered tightly in a deep part of her psyche. She lowered her lashes and tilted her head up slightly. Her smile grew more vicious, the smile of a crazed woman or a sexual predator. As she gazed up the grand staircase, her eyes met those of her lord. The Shadow King descended the staircase with the regal manner he had perfected under Selene's unknowing tutelage. With a graceful nod, he held a single hand out to her, palm up. "My dear," he whispered, pleased with her return. "My lord," Selene responded. She dipped her head slightly to acknowledge him and placed her long, slender fingers upon his palm. "I trust the trip was entertaining?" he asked, his voice still barely above a whisper. The servants moved quickly, disappearing into the niches of the large townhouse. "Oh, entirely," she answered, tone and inflection dripping with boredom. She seemed to glide, now, instead of move, and the Black King's eyes watched her with each step. Laughing, he expressed no humor. "But you did as I asked, yes?" His tone brooked no disagreement. His fingers tightened around her hand minutely, but she felt the threat within the innocuous gesture. The black-clad couple ascended the grand staircase, moving towards the living quarters of the lush townhouse. "Of course, my lord. To the letter, as you knew I would," she replied. "Of course," he repeated thoughtfully. His fingers tightened even more, yet this gesture was more possessive than threatening. "You have always served your lord well, though it chafes you." Selene cast a haughty, sidelong glance at the man beside her. "You who have known no bounds cannot understand what it is to bear them. But I do, and will, for so long as your power remains." Her half lidded eyes bore him that promise. Lifting her hand to his cold lips, he bowed his head to her. "I would not expect it any other way. You are a caged tigress, my dear -- dangerous and tamed but only so long as you remain within your cage." "Of course," she responded to him. They were truths they could have left unsaid, each knowing it intrinsically, yet neither could not resist speaking of the matter. Silence settled in the halls of the country-house, thick and restless. Selene waited, unconcerned with the passing of something so mundane as time. They entered the master suite and settled into what passed for their routine. Without waiting for him to continue, she casually allowed her dress to slip from her shoulders. It fell to the floor in a hushed rustle of silk. She continued undressing and drew herself a bath, foregoing, for the moment at least, the benefit of servants. She was aware of his presence as he entered behind her. Standing to one side, and watching her with the absent-minded look that occasionally overtook his features, he was a silent shadow. She slipped into the hot, soapy bath, sliding into its depths as she allowed her body to unwind. Selene was nearly ready to believe that he had finished when, finally, he spoke. "You do know Emma is in Washington. Her old penthouse." He stated it. There was no question in his mind. "Of course," she answered easily. "Emma doesn't bother to hide herself. Not as you do, my lord." She lifted one leg from the soapy water and watched as the light caught and reflected itself in the bubbles. "Have you attempted to make contact with her?" There was steel threaded into his voice, daring her to lie to him. Selene lifted her eyes to the Shadow King and smiled her bloody smile. "Of course. She and I are ... " She paused significantly. " ... what passes as friends among such as ourselves." Her brow arched delicately, lending an otherworldly air to her already exotic features. "Don't tell me you're jealous?" she taunted. Her taunt fell on unhearing ears. "She has petitioned for an audience with me. She will be here tomorrow for lunch. Go to her tonight. Find out what she wants," he replied brusquely, pushing himself away from the wall and turning towards the suite. "And find out when she's leaving." He stepped out of the bathing room, but his voice drifted in to command her. "Watch her. She's a cunning one." Selene forced relaxed into the hot liquid, her dark hair floating in contrast with the white bubbles. She would ponder Emma's petition later. "Of course, my lord," she whispered under her breath. "As you command." --- Frost Enterprises, Penthouse Suite - Washington, D.C. Ms. Brandt gazed up at the tall woman with an expressionlessness the woman approved of. Emma's new assistant appeared quite capable indeed, or at least she would as soon as she came to understand more about this world she had entered. "Inform Ms. Frost that I am here to see her," Selene said, the command evident in her voice though she had made no effort to do so. "Yes, ma'am." Ms. Brandt straightened her suitjacket as she stood. She wondered only briefly how this woman, whom she had met only once before, had gotten past all of Ms. Frost's security, then realized that she wasn't paid to wonder these things. Knocking quietly on the door to Ms. Frost's office, she called out, "Ms. Frost? Your associate is here to speak with you." There was no doubt who this associate could be. "Send her in," came the reply. Nodding to herself, she moved back to her station in the foyer of the penthouse suite and gestured to the set of double doors behind her. "Ms. Frost will see you now." Selene nodded graciously, a piece of courtly behavior long since discarded. She entered the office, and the doors were closed behind her. "Selene. What a surprise," the dry voice commented. "Those were my very words when I discovered you had spoken to the Shadow King. I understand you hardly trust me, but I could hardly contain my astonishment when he told me the news," Selene said without preamble. Emma shrugged her slight shoulders as she moved around her desk. She gestured to a seat near the floor to ceiling windows and took one herself. "It was a whim. It was also to guarantee that you wouldn't get cold feet, as it were. I can't wait here forever." "We hadn't planned on 'forever'. I doubt you know the concept of the term," came the reply. "Regardless, the longer I remain in this city, the greater are chances of discovery. As it is, the psionic shielding I've erected around my office bears marks of probing. He isn't threatened enough to call me out, but he's ready should I make a move. This way, I hope to catch him off guard." Selene sank gracefully to the chair, her hands falling gracefully over the ornate armrests. "Mmm ... true. But still chancy. We should've waited until the opportunity presented itself." Emma's laugh caught both women offguard. "I'm sorry, Selene, but do you honestly believe an opportunity will present itself? And when have you been the picture of diligent patience? If I hadn't known you were no match for him by yourself, I would've expected you to have simply gone to him and kill him immediately." "I am capable of planning," came the taut reply. "Do not insult me, Emma. I will not tolerate it." "You seem to be doing a good job of it with the Shadow King," Emma said, falling to temptation. The glare in Selene's eyes, though, caused her to hastily raise a gloved hand. "Peace, Selene. My quarrel is not with you. We have a common enemy, now, and so long as it is so, I would not have us at each other like alleycats." Nodding to herself, Selene sank into the high-backed chair. "Agreed." Emma paused, allowing the atmosphere to recover some sort of equilibrium. "So," she asked, "Have you given any thought on the future of the Inner Circle? A Circle of Two Queens will hardly be a Circle, though it is a healthy start." "No. I prefer to wait," came the curt reply. Dark eyes cast a long glance at the other woman. "You have decided." The words were a statement, plain and bold, with no hint of question. Nodding politely, Emma responded. "Yes. I had been considering who I would choose even before our present straits. It is simply that my timetable has been moved up." After a pause, she added with some distaste, "Considerably." Neither woman spoke after that, each realizing that to say more would not only jeopardize their situation but even, perhaps, their fragile alliance. The lights of the city sparkled like forgotten thoughts through the window before them. With only a slight twist of perspective, a paradox shift into another, sister Realm, each could see another sort of tapestry of lights. The threads were small and delicate and blew easily in the wind, but despite their passing nature, the minds which created that tapestry were necessary. For what good would it be to dominate and rule were there not any to rule over. Selene pondered, for a moment, whether she was, in fact, truly dominant considering her reliance on such weak creatures. Yet it was not in her nature to ponder her own dependent nature, and so the thought fled and joined the myraid other forgotten thoughts in the city below. --- Senator McKinnley's Country Estate - Maryland Days of fate are never marked as such. There is never a ticker tape parade, nor banners nor heralds, nor marquees pronouncing that the Destined Day has arrived. No, those sorts of days are, by and large, exceedingly normal. And exceedingly dull. And, for the most part, no one - not even the next door neighbor - knows that anything out of the ordinary has happened. This was such a day. To say that birds were in the air, chirping their sweet song, and flowers were blooming along the road to the country estate would be a hyperbole, but the scene was similar, or so Rena thought as she watched the Maryland countryside pass her on the other side of the glass. She could faintly see her reflection in the glass itself, though at times, when she was in a self-analytical mood, she could hardly recognize herself in the sharp-eyed, hard nosed image she portrayed. She mentally reviewed the day as it was scheduled to occur. At eleven thirty precisely, she and Ms. Frost were to arrive at Senator McKinnley's country estate. According to her files, the good Senator was the next one to watch for the presidential elections in the year 2004. Still a long ways off if one didn't realize that such things as presidential nominations were prepared for far in advance of the appointed hour. Rena couldn't fathom why Ms. Frost would be interested in pursuing a relationship with the Senator. As far as she could tell, the two highly successful figures were polar opposites. Even had the press realized that a major financial personage was lunching with an influential Senator, they would not have considered something so scandalous as under the table support. More likely, they would have scratched their heads and wondered if maybe a scheduling accident hadn't occurred. She herself often wished to do the same thing since she had become personal assistant to Ms. Frost. The woman was a study of containment, of subtlety, and of feints and maneuverings. Rena gave up trying to predict her employer's next move, a trait she had always before fostered in herself. Employers in general liked their employees to be at their beck and call without actually having to do any becking or calling, but Ms. Frost seemed to be an exception. Tearing herself away from the time-wasting reflections, both mental and physical, Rena once again focused on the files before her. The picture attached to a personnel data sheet showed a young Asian woman. Funny. Though she appeared to be Japanese, her heritage showed her to be from well-respected, well-bred English nobility. There was no hint that she had been adopted. Rena shook her head minutely. Another mystery to attend to later, she supposed. Her sense of time always impeccable, Rena realized it was eleven thirty precisely and lifted her head just as the Rolls Royce was turning into the long, sinuous driveway of Senator McKinnley's estate. Perfect. And then at eleven fourty-five, they would be shown through the house and seated on the deck in the back, there to enjoy a nice, leisurely meal away from the prying eyes of the public and the servants that always seemed to be underfoot. Rena didn't consider herself a servant, of course. No, she was a part of that in-between realm. Honestly, she liked to consider herself an apprentice, and one day she would become a Master, just as Ms. Frost and the Senator had themselves become Masters before her. And then she would rule, just as they ruled. And Ms. Frost must believe the same thing, she rationalized, because Rena would be allowed to serve them their meals and join them when no on else would. She alone would be privy to the secret councils of the rich and powerful. She liked that feeling. The Rolls Royce stopped in front of a classic Victorian structure. Rena eyed the building critically, and noted with disdain that the architect was a fairly confused young individual. Young because there was obviously a tendency to rely on previously created design concepts; there was no sense of individual style emanating from it. Confused because though it was Victorian, there was still a hint of Baroque to it in the faintly convex and concave curves of the wings. She shook her head and dismissed it. Despite it's neophyte architect, it really was a stunning building, and more than suitable for the Senator. A young servant, dressed head to toe in unrelenting black, opened the door and allowed the rich country air entrance into the car. Ms. Brandt, having already gathered her things into her attache case, accepted the young man's hand and stepped out, bowing her head carefully. She took a deep breath and nearly smiled. Birds chirping and flowers blooming. It could almost be true. She turned and waited for Ms. Frost to join her. The older woman was dressed almost demurely today. Her jacket, short and stylish, left only a small amount of cleavage to view, and her skirt almost reached her knees. The trademark stiletto heels were still present, however, as were the short gloves. She carried nothing with her; that's why she had Rena along, after all. "Ms. Frost, the Senator is waiting for you on the sun porch. He would like you and Ms. Brandt to join him there." The man's lips tilted upwards in a smile which didn't reach his blank eyes. Holding the door open, he gestured for them to enter. Rena looked around the large country home and couldn't help feeling both impressed and disturbed. There was a definite atmosphere here, and it caused shivers to run up and down her spine. She followed Ms. Frost onto the sun porch where the Senator and his woman-friend waited. They rose and came forward, and Ms. Frost held her small-gloved hands out to the Senator. "Senator McKinnley, how good of you to have me here," she said. She gave a nod of greeting to the raven haired woman beside him. "This is my assistant Ms. Rena Brandt." Her hand reached out of its own accord, and years of training allowed her body to go on autopilot. "A pleasure to meet you, Senator McKinnley. You have a lovely home," Rena said. "Thank you, Ms. Brandt. Please, have a seat." The Senator smiled kindly, and Rena lost herself for a moment in his black eyes. There was something about him, something that made her want to trust this man. The papers were right, she thought, he is a good man. Abruptly, a sharp pain passed through her temples, but polite behavior prevented her from doing anything more than wincing just slightly. The Senator, though, had moved his attention to Ms. Frost, whose current demeanor was as icy as her name implied. "That'll be enough, Senator McKinnley," she said in a low voice. "Why, Emma, my dear, whatever could you be talking about?" he said, and Rena felt a shift, again, in her mind. The scene began to take on a surreal quality. Flickering shades of colors she couldn't begin to describe floating around the three before her. "We came here to speak, not for you to mindrape anyone today," Ms. Frost said with a candor that had the dark haired woman laughing quietly. "Really, Emma, you've always had a way with words." Selene - which was the only name Rena knew her as - glided to the table and seated herself with the grace of a predator. "Come, now, the both of you. Let's at least pretend to be civil." Her aura - and Rena supposed it was an aura - flickered darkly in strange counterpoint to her lilting voice. "Of course," the Senator said smoothly. "We're not here to fight, after all, are we, Emma, dear?" He held his arm out to Ms. Frost, and a portion of his aura swirled away from his body and slid behind the smaller woman. Ms. Frost's aura responded by brightening. She left the Senator and strode to the table through her own volition. "Indeed," she answered in the dry voice she had. "Rena, please excuse yourself. We'll be served now." Rena's mind snapped back, and the auras disappeared. Ms. Frost's abrupt disregard of protocol disturbed her. "Of course, ma'am." She turned and walked into the servants' doorway. As she disappeared behind the bend, her mind again constricted. This time, she cried out softly as the pain intensified, spreading from her temple to the point at the base of her skull. It began to throb, and soon all she could see was a red haze. --- Senator McKinnley's Country Estate - Maryland "How long has it been? Several years, at least, since we've last met. Have you reconsidered, then? With Charles Xavier and Jean Grey dearly departed, we three represent the strongest minds in the world. Our might would be unstoppable." The Shadow King was using his persuasive voice, and it grated against Selene's nerves to no end. It was lost, here, in this company, but he had grown so used to it that he forgot. Hopefully, he had also grown too used to a great many other things and would soon forgot just how vulnerable he was in this company. "Don't forget the other Summers girl," Emma cautioned. "The one who took her mother's name. Rachel Summers. She is truly her mother's daughter." She tilted her head and gazed at the man through cat like eyes. "Strange how so many women exhibit the power, isnt' it? Telepathy - I'm almost sure it's the source of what so many have labeled 'feminine intuition'." She laughed, a sound that was comfortable and confidant and clear. Selene watched him frown at that. He wasn't used to someone who so blithely ignored his power. But what was Emma's game? And when would she ... She nervously glanced around, but she needn't have worried that her own thoughts would betray her. He was focused, now, on Emma, his defenses beginning to rise as he steeled himself for whatever she had in mind. "True," he said, voice lowering and beginning to lose the ingratiating pleasantness he had become accustomed to. "But she is one. And we are three. She is inconsequential." He turned, now, to Emma. "Unless, perhaps, you are implying that she would be a necessary addition to our current gathering?" Emma spread her fingers broadly, a playful smile fliting its way across her bright features. "I'm not implying anything you're not inferring," she said. Selene near choked on the water she was sipping. Emma was certainly playing a daring game, the older woman thought darkly. The Shadow King turned to Selene. "Something bothering you?" he asked warningly. "Not at all," she replied. Her mind went appropriately blank. "Perhaps this talk is exciting her. Selene's always been far too excitable," Emma said, smiling sweetly at her 'friend'. Selene remembered herself before she sent a glare back at the other woman. A low male laughter cut off any remark Selene had been about to make. "I see your game, now, Emma. You think that three is too many, mmm? Maybe it should be you, and not my dearest, who should rule by my side?" He turned dark, souless eyes towards her and forced her to meet his eyes. "What makes you think, little one, that your power is that important to me?" Selene set her glass down on the table, panic blossoming in her heart before she ruthlessly cast it aside. Emma would not play this game with her. She would not attempt to turn the Shadow King against her. She could not. Could she? "My Lord," Selene hissed. "Quiet." The Shadow King dismissed her, focusing instead on Emma. "Allow me in, Emma, and pledge me your support and I will consider what you offer." Selene glanced at Emma and noticed no drop in the mental shielding that had surrounded her since she arrived. Yet, still, the enigmatic smile graced the smooth young face. "My mind is my own, O Shadow King. You may choose as you will, but I will not be dominated by you." The Shadow King took the unspoken challenge and leaned forward. Emma's brows drew together as his assault began. "If you wish to do this the hard way, we will." Selene raised her own mental shields to full strength as the two began to duel. She didn't know Emma's game, but something was not going right here. The point was not to provoke him into an aggressive stance. She noticed, though, that they paid her no heed, their attention locked on each other and their battle. And because they were so occupied, no one except Selene noticed the return of Ms. Brandt. She held a tray just above waist level, on which was a single, cloth-covered dish. Selene almost ignored the woman, but something about her blank eyes caught her attention. Emma was clearly straining now; the cords in her neck stood taut in testimony to the awesome might that was raining down on her psychic defenses. "This is futile, Emma, my dear," the Shadow King whispered, too wide smile showing too many teeth. "You can lower your shields now or I will force them down myself. I can guarantee that my way will be infinitely more painful." "Indeed?" was the only reply. Selene startled as it was spoken not by Emma, but by the mortal woman behind her. A rather small, rather mundane gun was in her hand. It was raised towards the Shadow King, and before Selene could react, it fired. Abruptly, the tension in the atmosphere eased, and Emma, breathless and wide eyed, said to her, "Quick. Now. The astral realm." Selene laughed and ... --- The Astral Realm ... continued to laugh as her astral self blossomed into reality. The perspective shifted before her. "So nice of you to join me," Emma said through gritted teeth. "Everything you've got while he's still recovering from the shock of being killed, if you please. I don't relish what he'll do if he does recover before we're through with him." "Too much talk," Selene replied, following up her words with actions. She unleashed her psionic ability in a fury of blows, driving the sharp spikes of her power through the shapeless mass that was the Shadow King's astral self. Emma joined her, linking their power and thoughts as if, for this one moment, they were a single entity and not two. The darkness ebbed and flowed, growing strong in some parts before shrinking back under the single assault. The struggle was bright and loud, and the aftershocks of each power discharge rocked the astral realm around them. The Shadow King coalesced upon himself, still too disoriented from the shock of his mortal body's death to do more than defend himself. Yet each defense he erected was torn down around him as another hot charge shattered against his now fragile form. "Goodbye, tormentor," Selene/Emma said. "Your time here is through. The Inner Circle returns to its true Keepers. Farewell." She laughed, and its clarity rang through his form until it began to vibrate at its natural frequency. Another bright psionic attack, and his form melted into the astral realm. From the shadows he came, and into the shadows he returned. The Shadow King was dead. Again. For now. --- Renovated Headquarters of the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club - New York City Construction was a loud and bothersome business, but the newly renovated seat of the Hellfire Club was coming along nicely. Emma glanced at her assistant and nodded her approval. "Go ahead and tell them to use the marble for the foyer. The one that was picked out yesterday. And, maybe, you'd better supervise it as well. I don't want anyone to drop a tile. Incompetents," she muttered. Ms. Brandt nodded and turned on a sharp heel, clicking down the dusty, remodeled hallway. Emma felt a familiar presence on the edge of her awareness and answered the psionic 'knock'. // Yes? // she sent. // Are those fools finished yet? Why did you insist on doing it the difficult way? // Selene sounded exasperated. // Because I want it done right. Mindless slaves have a tendancy to do things like drop expensive marble tiles. Have you found anything? // // No. I have scanned the world over several times. He is gone. // Exultant arrogance suffused the woman's thoughts. // Don't be so hasty to assume such, // Emma warned. // Xavier thought him gone before, and each time the Shadow King returned stronger than before. // Selene tsked. // Worry not, dear sister. For now, at least, he is departed from this mortal realm. When he returns, we will stand ready. Though I daresay we won't catch him again with another 'mortal shoots him while he's busy dueling' trick. // Emma allowed herself a congratulatory smile. // Well, he really *had* grown too complacent. I couldn't have done it without him. // The two shared a quiet laugh as the construction continued around their mental conversation. Outside, Ms. Brandt was supervising the placement of the building's bronze marker. Neighboring businessmen and women and the odd nearby resident commented on the renovations, but no one was really surprised at the return of the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club. It was only a matter of time, after all.