A Captain Scarlet/X-Men Multiverse Story by Caroline Smith

Adam Svenson III threw his gold pen down on the burl-wood coffee table and flopped against the comforting contours of the leather sofa in the living-room of his Manhattan penthouse. He squeezed and rubbed his eyes as if to remove invisible grains of sand behind them; it was hard enough trying to decipher his chief financial officer’s brick of a monthly report without being distracted by Senator John Roberts’ latest ravings on the televiewer:

“In the last year, we’ve seen a geometric increase in the numbers of mutant children born, most of them to what seem like ‘normal’ parents. But soon this will change, these mutants will eventually produce more children, and goodness knows what that genetic mix will give rise to. Ordinary people have the right to know who is in their midst, whether their children are in school with mutants, whether those same children are taught by mutants, whether our doctors or nurses are mutants. That’s what this registration is designed to achieve. I don’t believe that is an unreasonable aim. I’m happy to believe that the majority of mutants are, at the moment, law-abiding citizens, but who’s to say that won’t change over time? What concessions will they start to demand, and if we are not prepared to give them, who’s to say they won’t try to take them by force? No, I believe the time has come to address this issue, before things get out of hand.”

“Some people might say that you have a personal revenge motive at work here, Senator; it’s common knowledge that your daughter suffered and died at the hands of a suspected mutant.”

“People can say what they want. We need registration and if the World Government is not prepared to deal with the issues then quite frankly –”

Adam didn’t wait to find out what doom Roberts was about to pronounce. He killed the transmission with mounting frustration, then stood up, stretched to his full six feet three inches and barked a voice command to open the huge sliding glass windows at the far end the living room. What he needed was some fresh air to clear his mind. He stepped out onto the paved terrace, savouring the sharp bite of the night air. He owned the entire top floor of the forty-three storey building; it cost plenty, but then he could afford it, after all, he was the sole inheritor of the multi-billion dollar Svenson Corporation and its Chief Executive Officer.

But he was also undoubtedly the only CEO who sprouted a pair of white feathered wings between their shoulder blades.

He leant his tall frame against the balustrade of the terrace and looked out over the city spread out around and below him, glorying in the view atop his own private aerie, hearing the concerto of the city all around him: the wail of police sirens, the honking of the taxis and cars. He breathed in deeply, and stepped up onto the stone edge, his wings flaring outwards, his arms joining them in a salute to the world below. Then he tipped over, into the abyss, his wings fast-slapping the air currents, swooping downwards into the glass and concrete canyons in a long lazy u-curve-of-a-dive, skimmed sharply upwards at the bottom of the curve into a fast climb, soaring past a floating neon sign towards freedom.

Up and up he rose, his wings beating hard and strong, until the haze of a million street lights faded and the clear black night greeted him. He dipped and dived, arms wide, savouring the invigorating rush of cold air against his body, rippling through his hair, his wings, enjoying the glorious sensation of flight, the enthralling, euphoric drug of his choice. Lazily, he rolled, turning on his back, as if resting on a feather bed, to stare at the constellations, his mind unravelling as if by enchantment from the cares and woes of his earthbound self.

He had no idea how long he spent aloft, but slowly, reality took hold of him, and the thought that the longer he spent up here, the higher the chance of being seen by some low flying aircraft. He scanned the skyline for the familiar landmarks of his neighbourhood; saw the silvery flash of the East River, and with regret he began the long swoop earthwards. As he dropped gracefully onto his terrace, his newly-calm frame of mind was rudely shattered by the shrill tone of the telephone inside the apartment. He hoped it wasn’t Bob Riley with more of his blasted figures; although the flight had cleared his head, he had had about enough for tonight.

“Adam, is that you? It’s Charles.”

He immediately brightened on hearing the voice of his former mentor.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you at this late hour,” Gray continued.

“No problem, I was just taking a breather from some tedious paperwork, consider it a rescue. What’s up?”

“Have you heard of a place called the Spectrum Society?”

“Sure, I happen to be a member.”

“You are?”

“Yes, I inherited the membership along with Svenson Corporation, after my father retired. It’s an old, ostentatious and risqué establishment club. I never really had the inclination to go there.”

“Do you think you might allow yourself the inclination, as a favour to me?”

“Well, call this complete coincidence, but I have an invitation to a charity ball that’s being held there on Friday evening. I hadn’t planned to go. What on earth is your interest in the place?”

Gray recounted their run-in with the mystery soldiers during Paul’s rescue.

“It seems unlikely that there’s any connection at all,” Adam said.

“Well, the link is extremely tenuous; perhaps this is just another coincidence.”

“Look, I have the invitation,” Adam said, making a decision. “Why don’t I go along anyway? I can have a snoop around and see if I find anything suspicious.”

“Well, nothing so drastic, I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble.”

Adam glanced at the pile of waiting reports on the table.

“Oh heck, the corporate life was beginning to pall anyway. And speaking to you makes me realise how much I miss my old life. I’m afraid running a Fortune-100 company is taking its toll, at least until I get this year’s budgets under control.”

Gray gave what sounded to Adam like a smothered chuckle. “You’ve come a long way from the young man I first met at Harvard. But then, I always knew there was steel and determination beneath that devil-may-care exterior of yours.”

It was Adam’s turn to chuckle. “Yeah, duty gets us all in the end.”

“Goodnight, Adam.”

As he replaced the hand-link he figured he had better decide which of his ten dinner suits would be suitable for the occasion; after, he thought in answer to the loud rumble in his guts, he raided his fridge.

The magnified image on the wall-screen cast an eerie blue glow around the room and on the faces of the X-Men sitting around the conference table in the basement. Edward focused his light-pen on the image.

“Well,” he said, “we didn’t find any transmitters on him, but we did find something else. This man’s entire skeleton has been fused with an extremely rare alloy called tritonium. I could hardly believe the analysis when it was completed, so we ran the checks twice. There’s no mistake.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Gray said, “but have never encountered it until now.”

“Fused?” Patrick interrupted. “You mean someone did this to him? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, that would take some doing.”

“How could someone survive a procedure like that? It is barbaric!” Juliette added, her eyes riveted on the image.

“In this case,” Edward said, “I can only suspect that he survived because of this mutant healing ability of his. But I can’t imagine how the procedure was carried out, and it wasn’t something I wanted to ask him at the time.”

“I fear that Mr. Metcalfe suffers those nightmares as a result of this,” Gray said. “I presume his claws are made of tritonium as well?

“They are. It’s an incredibly durable metal, resistant to heat and cold. His bones would be rendered practically unbreakable as a result of being combined with it. And coupled with his healing ability

“Makes the guy virtually indestructible,” Rick completed Edward’s thought. “Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble over him. I can’t imagine a procedure like this being cheap.”

Dianne glanced at her fiancé with a flicker of surprise; there was a callous note in his voice she hadn’t heard for a long time.

“Who would do something like this?” Patrick said. “Doesn’t he have any idea?”

“No, not at the moment,” Gray replied. “His nightmares may be the only clue.”

Rick sat back in his chair with a frown. “What happens when they come looking for him again? There are obviously a lot of people real interested in him and his metal spikes. Hell, with all that metal inside him, Magneto could control him with a flick of his little finger. I think it’s crazy bringing him back here and suicidal for even thinking he can stay. It’s bad enough that he has no control over –”

“We can’t just turn him away!” Dianne interrupted him.

“And exactly what do we owe him?” he flashed back at her.

“We owe it to every mutant to be a place of sanctuary,” Gray cut in, and his tone was unusually sharp. “Otherwise we’re no better than those who oppose us.”

Rick’s face darkened. “I know that. But I still don’t like it, there’s too many unknowns.”

“I agree it’s risky,” Gray replied. “But he also took a risk in trusting us. I’m not going to break a promise.”

Rick remained in his chair as the others got up to leave. He stared broodingly at the image on the wall, twiddling a pen in his fingers. Patrick noticed and turned back towards him.

“What’s up?” he asked quietly.

The American shook his head. “Am I the only one who has a bad feeling about this? Okay, Metcalfe’s had a rough deal, but he’s got half the universe chasing him. And they’re going to come knocking on our door. I’m wondering if the old man’s starting to lose it.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit harsh. He’s always worked this way. You and I wouldn’t be where we are if he didn’t take in people like ourselves, on trust; or have you forgotten that?”

Rick scowled. “Of course I haven’t forgotten. But times have changed.”

“Suspicion of mutants never has. Charles wants us to occupy the moral high ground, otherwise where the hell are we?”

Rick remained silent, staring at the desk.

“You know,” Patrick said, “Paul’s all right. I’d stake my life on it. You should have seen him fight off those goons in the snow. I think he’ll make a good asset to the team.”

“Maybe.”

“Is there something else bothering you, boss-man?”

Rick jerked his head up. “No – there’s nothing else.” He stood up, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe you’re right. I should give him a chance. It’s just that there’s so much stuff going on, and there’s Dianne and her nightmares.”

Patrick nodded, as if comprehension dawned. “No improvement then?”

Rick shook his head. “Even though she’s found Metcalfe, it hasn’t stopped them.”

“Well, I’m sure Charles is working on a way to resolve it.”

“I’m just worried the cure might be worse than the disease,” Rick answered.

As the X-Men discussed their new arrival, he was searching for Magnolia Jones. He finally found her in the gym locker room. When she saw him approach, he noticed her eyes dart about, as if to find a way to avoid him. Like a skittish colt, he thought. I must have scared her half to death.

“Look,” Paul said, “I wanted to apologise for last night, for hurting you. They told me you were fine but I wanted to make sure of it for myself.”

“Yeah, I’m great,” she replied with a small shrug.

“That’s a relief. I’ve been worrying about you since I woke.”

“There’s nothin’ to apologise for. I guess I shouldn’t have been in your room anyway, and I stole your power and all, and nearly killed you so I could save myself, so I guess that makes us quits.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” He paused for a moment, regarding her soberly. “Look, I think I might be staying here for a few days, and I didn’t want to have any bad feeling between us.”

She gave him a stiff little nod. “That’s okay, there’s none on my part.”

“There’s just one other thing,” he added, as she sidled along the wall away from him. She stopped, eyeing him warily. “Gray said your mutant power might also absorb people’s memories –” he purposely avoided mentioning the obvious deadly side effect; there was little point in dredging it up again. “So, I just wanted to know, that when you touched me, if you absorbed any of mine.”

Her white-tipped hair swung in the negative. “I – uh – don’t remember.”

“You didn’t experience any images at all?”

“Well, I got flashes, kind of like a movie shutter firing, they were horrible. I thought I was imagining things ‘cos I was dying, you know how they say, your life flies in front of your eyes?”

“And?” he asked hopefully.

She shook her head again. “Like a dream. You can’t remember any of it after you’re awake for a few hours.”

“That’s why I’m here, in case anyone didn’t tell you,” Paul said. “I don’t remember any of my past, and there’s a whole bunch of people following me trying to hunt me down like an animal.”

He saw something flicker in her brown eyes; it could have been pity or empathy, he couldn’t tell, and then her mouth tightened in a line.

“I’m sorry,” she said, almost inaudibly and this time, she fled before he could ask her any more questions.

Brad felt the lactic acid burn in his legs as he came to the end of his run. He stopped and bent over supporting himself with hands on knees, breathing heavily. Mutant powers or not, there was nothing like plain good-old fashioned exercise for making a body feel good. He licked salt off dry lips. Maybe he should have a swim just to round things off. That would definitely work up a thirst before dinner, and then he could really enjoy all that food. As he approached the locker room, he found Magnolia outside in the corridor. She looked upset.

“Hey, what’s up? You okay?” he asked her.

She jumped like a scared rabbit. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

“How about a swim? I was just on my way to the pool.”

“I think I’ll skip it.”

She looked tight as a coiled spring, so he kept pushing. “Look, you know a few laps up and down the pool makes a body feel better. C’mon, I wont take no for an answer.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Okay, you win, lead on.”

The pool was situated at the rear of the mansion in the state of the art leisure complex. After changing into his trunks, Brad hit the water in a long flat dive, leaving barely a ripple in the water at his entrance. He flipped his feet together, one, two, like a sleek dolphin, and then broke the surface to turn around and look back at Magnolia. She followed him with an equally elegant and frictionless dive and bobbed up in a stream of bubbles next to him. He found himself admiring her lithe, muscular body, with the waist and hips of an athlete.

She flicked her hair back, her eyes narrowing as she saw him scrutinizing her. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing – just thinking you look good in a swimsuit.”

She blushed. “Sure you just ain’t making fun of me?”

“I’d never do that Magnolia. C’mon, race you, twenty laps, last one out of the water’s a sissy!”

He flipped over and disappeared into the water, surfacing several feet away. The girl shook her head and followed him. They swam their twenty laps, using one another as a spur to finishing the exercise. Finally Brad hauled himself out of the pool, water streaming off him, and sat at the edge, contemplating the girl, who remained there, treading water. She looked at him with her mysterious dark eyes.

“You weren’t tryin’, you just let me win,” she said in a peeved tone. For a brief second his mind shut down and he reached for her to pull her out of the water. Her eyes flashed fear and she shrank back from him, so his fingers missed contact with her skin by nanometers.

“What are you doing’,” she gasped. “Tryin’ to kill yourself?”

“Sorry, I know, stupid mistake.” He tried to look contrite, and he found himself wishing again that he could make her smile as she pulled herself out of the water to sit beside him. He threw her a towel and she rubbed herself dry.

“You know,” he said, “I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk again.”

The towel stopped mid-wipe. “I told you all before, I only came here if no one would ask questions. And no one else does, except you.”

“Yeah, well sometimes, talking about it helps. You’re a lovely girl, Magnolia, what could be so bad in your life that you can’t open up to people?”

She bowed her head away from him, covering her face with her hands, and Brad swallowed hard, realising at last he had hit a nerve, but having started down this road of discovery, he knew there was no going back.

Finally she turned back to look at him, and her eyes were clouded with dark pain. “He was called Cody. We went to school together. He didn’t care what the others thought about me. We used to sneak off to the park together after school. Sit and talk on a bench, hidden in the trees, overlooking the lake.”

“What happened to him?”

Her voice was barely audible, “I did.”

“I don’t understand. But this is making you feel bad, honey, you don’t have to go on. I’m sorry I pushed, I shouldn’t have, it was wrong of me –”

“No,” she interrupted him. “It’s okay. I want to tell someone. I need to tell someone, finally.”

She took a deep breath. “One afternoon, we were out there, just talking, as usual, and I made a joke, I can never remember what it was. But Cody laughed and then he looked at me funny, in a way that nobody ever had before, and especially not a boy. It made me shiver inside, and he suddenly grabbed my shoulders and kissed me. It was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to me. I felt like the sun was warming me all over and the light was in my head, all bright and yellow and – I couldn’t let him go –”

A tear formed, rolled and broke from one eye; leaving a ragged streak down her dark cheek. Her breathing came out ragged and harsh, as the memory took its toll on her.

“I didn’t realize he was trying to struggle, to get away from me. When I let him go, he fell over. He’d gone grey, and his skin had pale blue lines all over it, like spiders webs, on his face, his hands, his neck, even in his eyes. I’ll never forget his eyes –”

Brad felt his skin crawl.

“And then, I could see everything he had, all his memories. It was like I was Cody, but he was lyin’ on the ground. I’d never seen a dead person before, but I knew as sure as anything that he was dead.”

“What – did you do?”

“I ran away, what could I do? I was so scared, I just left him there, and I kept runnin’. I’ve hated myself ever since. I felt like I really was a cursed witch that day.”

“You were a kid, it wasn’t your fault. You have to believe that.”

“Tell that to Cody, and his parents, who never saw him grow up.”

Brad wanted to reach out and take her in his arms hug her tight, and make it all better for her. She was too young to have been subjected to something so horrifying, and there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t sound pathetic. Instead, he held out his hand, palm upwards, and concentrated his mind. Moisture began to coalesce out of the air forming swirling tendrils above his outstretched hand. Magnolia’s eyes widened as she witnessed this manifestation of his mutant power. Brad formed and shaped the vapour and it began to crystallize. In a few short minutes a tiny ice dragon appeared in his palm, with outstretched wings and curling tail, even the little eyes and teeth had been formed in his long snout.

“Here, take it,” he said, holding his hand out to her.

She stared at it, with an almost childlike wonder through her drying tears. “It’s so beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like it; I’ve never been given anything like it.”

“Hey, I made it so I could see you smile, not burst into tears.”

“I – don’t deserve it.”

“Sure you do. You’ve been through hell, Magnolia, and you’re still living it. I can’t imagine what it’s like not to be able to touch a living soul. But here, you’re with friends, we’ll help you to control your power, and take control of your life.”

Her eyes widened and another dark shadow crossed her face. She looked away for a moment, and when her face turned to him again her jaw had become hard-edged.

“I appreciate the gesture and all, but I don’t deserve it; thanks anyway.”

“Magnolia, you just can’t keep pushing people away all your life. Just because you can’t touch them physically doesn’t mean you have to exist without affection.”

She flashed her eyes at him. “If you had three lifetimes you couldn’t imagine what it’s like for me.”

“Don’t you think that’s an excuse? Other people have disabilities: paraplegics, the blind, and the deaf. They manage to live and love, get jobs, have children.”

The hard expression faltered for a moment, and the sorrow returned to her eyes. “I didn’t mean to be ungrateful, it’s just that –” She turned away from him. “I can’t explain, there’s no point,”

“I don’t believe that, and I don’t think you do either, not deep down.”

She shook her head, and stumbled to her feet. And without another word she fled the pool-room. Brad sat at the edge of the pool, watching his little creation melt into a forlorn puddle on the tiles.

Adam arrived at the exclusive Spectrum Society, spectacularly situated on New York’s Fifth Avenue. He sat in the rear of his limousine for a few moments, and studied at what passed for some sort of coat of arms above the massive stone doorway; the circular rainbow image with the stylised S in the centre. He sensed pretentiousness about the place, which was subconsciously why he hadn’t really wanted to visit it before now.

“What time shall I collect you, sir?” his chauffeur enquired from the front seat.

Adam pursed his lips. “I’m not sure when I’ll be returning exactly.”

“That’s not a problem, sir, I can wait for you.”

“I’ll be fine, I can fly, remember, if I really have to. Anyway, why don’t you just enjoy the ball-game?”

“Well, that’s very kind of you, I think I will. It’s about time the Mets got a break; I’d like to see them win tonight. Have a good evening, sir.”

Adam got out and watched the black car disappear down the street.

He strolled up the steps, into the splendid foyer. Several couples dressed in eveningwear handed their coats to the cloakroom staff.

“May I see your invitation please, sir?” enquired the doorman. He was dressed in bright cyan; one of the colours of the spectrum that characterised the club. Adam thought it was slightly ridiculous, even bordering on the pantomime.

As he handed it over for the man to scrutinize, he saw one of the guests, a bejewelled matron, bestow a smile upon him. He returned it, yet wondered how she would have reacted if he had arrived with his wings in full spread. When he was younger, and more foolish, he hadn’t cared who knew about his ‘uniqueness’, either at Harvard, or at the crazy parties he had at his home when his parents were away. There were fewer mutants about then, and his particular manifestation of the X-factor gene was somehow perceived as unthreatening, even rather ‘cool’. But times had changed, and so had he. There was the company to think of – responsibilities beyond his own desires, and in this current climate, ‘outing’ himself to the general public was not on the top of his ‘to-do’ list. Even the mega-rich had their limitations as to what polite society deemed ‘acceptable’. So tonight, his wings were strapped up and folded beneath his clothes in a specially designed harness.

The doorman returned his card and another usher politely directed him into the splendid ballroom. This one was garbed in violent green, making him look like an 21^st Century version of Robin Hood’s Merry Men. Tonight Henderson was taking from the rich to give to the poor, but Adam wondered how altruistic he really was. For a moment he stood on the threshold, taking in the scene. The polished Italian marble floor was thronged with guests, all dressed in sartorial elegance, and the glittering crystal chandeliers had tough competition from the rocks adorning the necks and arms of the women present. Champagne flowed and there was a heady buzz of conversation. A small section of the floor was reserved for dancing, and there were several couples already gliding around to the soft strains of Manhattan’s finest jazz quintet. The event had attracted the rich, powerful and famous from all echelons of the corporate, political and celebrity world.

Adam spotted Henderson holding court in a corner of the room, the small group of people hanging onto his every word. A waiter, dressed in indigo this time, stopped to offer him a glass of champagne. As Adam lifted the glass from the salver, Henderson caught sight of him for the first time.

“Svenson!” he called out in a booming voice, waving Adam over. “I thought you were never going to darken our door.”

“Sorry, I had no intention of being rude; I just never seemed to find the time.”

“Well, glad you could make tonight’s little shindig. Make room everyone, and I’ll introduce you.”

Adam’s heart missed a beat as he saw, too late, the tall figure of Senator John Roberts within the group. A wave of loathing rolled over him, so intense that he thought he might throw up. He swallowed down and returned the Senator’s nod of greeting with a controlled face.

“Congratulations on getting your company into the Fortune 100, Mr Svenson,” Roberts said, with a plastic smile only politicians were able to cultivate to a fine art.

“Yeah, thanks,” Adam replied absently. “I didn’t know you were a member of this club, Senator,” he added.

“I’m not, I’m here as a guest of Mr Henderson.”

And that got Adam wondering what Henderson and Roberts had in common. Money most likely, he thought acidly. Henderson who had it, Roberts who wanted it. The man’s political ambitions were no secret. And running for the presidency of the United States still required a whole lot of money.

Taking a break from mutant-baiting then? were the words Adam wanted to say, but instead he said: “So, how is the committee’s decision coming along on the vote?”

“Very well, thank you.” Roberts replied.

“And you really think that it’s going to help matters?” Adam asked, unable to stop himself.

“It’s a dangerous world out there; the people expect us politicians to do something about it.”

“That’s only your opinion, Senator. I don’t see mutants running amok and killing people. It happened once. And now you’re placing the blame on the entire community, and asking them to pay for one man’s sins. And the fact he just happened to be a mutant gave you the excuse you needed to start this crusade. I’d say you should take a good look at your own motives, Senator. They seem a bit suspect to me.”

Roberts’ phlegm evaporated and his face went white. “My daughter’s death has nothing to do with this, Mr. Svenson.” His eyes narrowed. “What are you anyway, some kind of mutant lover?”

“Will that be a crime next? Maybe we should all be worried about our human rights the way things are going,” Adam said.

Henderson intervened with a calm voice. “Gentlemen, please, tonight is for pleasure not politics; let’s not get our feathers ruffled over this contentious issue tonight.”

Adam blinked at the analogy, knocking the anger out of him, and he cursed himself for losing his self-control and letting his mouth speak before his brain was engaged. But he couldn’t just stand here and smile and pretend that he agreed with the idiot. That would make him just as bad as all the other fence-sitters.

And aren’t you just as bad as them anyway, so scared of being who you really are? I don’t see you here displaying your mutant wings to all and sundry, a little voice chirped in the back of his head.

“I’m sorry, Senator,” Adam said. “That remark was uncalled for. Perhaps we can just agree to disagree?”

Roberts nodded, but didn’t look as if he was remotely mollified by the apology.

Henderson hastily initiated another topic of conversation and there were looks of relief all round. Adam listened with barely any interest and realising that Henderson was going to be occupied for the foreseeable future, decided that perhaps now was a good time to take a poke around the inner sanctums of the Spectrum Society.

He excused the group on the pretence of needing the rest-room. The doorman pointed him on the way on the second floor, and after he had completed his ablutions, he exited the room and went the opposite way down the corridor. He hoped that most of the staff and guests would be restricted to the ballroom but, if he bumped into any of the staff he had his membership card handy.

He wandered along the corridor until he came to a narrow circular stairway, barred by an ineffectual golden rope, like something seen in an old museum. He couldn’t see any cameras in the vicinity so he quickly slipped the thick rope off its mooring and made his way to the top in the gloom. One of three doors in the corridor sported a digital lock – and that was the one he went for. He removed one of Patrick’s lock-scramblers from his dinner-jacket and placed it onto the door. Lights flashed in sequence and a low-toned beep sounded. He cautiously pushed open the unlocked door and stepped into the room beyond.

His eyes became adjusted to the gloom and he blew out a breath of suppressed astonishment. The large room was unexpectedly decorated like some tableau from a medieval banquet. The dim light came from several flickering wall scones within depressed niches in the exposed stonework. Perhaps it was the massive table and ornately carved chairs, on a raised dais, or the opulent furnishings in silks and velvets, or the frayed tapestries with erotic scenes that left little to the imagination, but the room gave him an impression of old and arcane rituals taking place here. Maybe, he thought, feeling the heat on his cheeks, they still did take place.

From the limited business deals he had had with Henderson, it was obvious the man was something of a money-grabbing megalomaniac, but he hadn’t figured in him having a taste for the bizarre as well. Still the club’s risqué reputation had been around for a lot longer than Henderson, and it obviously had gotten it from somewhere.

Adam re-locked the door and retraced his steps to the second floor where he checked out the other public rooms. The members lounge was empty, apart from the barman polishing glasses behind the well-stocked bar. Massive double-panelled oak doors opened up into the magnificent library, stocked with an impressive collection of books. The décor took baronial to the limit with the collection of weaponry and painting on the walls above the bookcases; swords, muskets, and double-headed axes, as well as several paintings of Napoleon Bonaparte. He wandered around the room, pushing idly at the bookcases, peering behind the first editions and pressing against the wood panelling on the walls.

He sighed, feeling just a touch foolish, and realised that this place was just what it seemed, a pompous excuse for rich guys wanting to play-act. Like these people who dressed up as Yankees and Confederates and beat the crap out of one another on some muddy field at weekends, in a re-enactment of the glories of the Civil War. And then again, who was he to talk? Memories of times spent fighting in the basement of the Gray mansion in leather outfits might be construed as equally bizarre to some people’s way of thinking. He glanced at his chronometer. It was still early, but he really couldn’t suffer bumping into Roberts once again. He would make his excuses to Henderson, who was the host for the charity, make an extra-large donation to salve the man’s ego, and leave.

As he sauntered discreetly back into the ballroom he scanned the floor looking for the businessman. Instead, his eyes alighted on a young woman leaning against the wall next to one of the large French-windows, looking a trifle bored as she watched the couples on the dance-floor. She was tall for a woman, with hair the colour of honey, and elegantly dressed in an ankle-length white dress that moulded to her generous curves. He thought for one minute that he recognised her, and intrigued, wandered over to introduce himself. She turned at his approach and returned his appraising look with one of her own. His pulse quickened sharply and his intention to leave dissolved in a flutter of endorphins.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked her, turning on his most dazzling smile.

A loud voice from his right shattered the moment. “Ah there you are, Svenson, I was just saying to Roberts here that you really ought to spend more time at the Society.” He looked at the blonde. “I’m sure we could persuade you, couldn’t we, Karen?”

Adam mentally slapped himself. Karen Wainwright, CEO of Wainwright International. He had heard the name, knew of her company in the business circles he moved in, but he had never actually had the opportunity to meet her in person. She looked much younger than the printed pictures would suggest, and infinitely more attractive.

He held out his hand in greeting. “I barely recognized you from your photographs.”

Her hand was cool to the touch, and her voice was husky. “I should sue the magazines,” she said, regarding him intently.

Adam was caught in the depths of her hazel eyes. “I was on my way out, but I feel the evening might just have taken a turn for the better.”

“Do you dance Mr Svenson?” she said.

Uh oh…

“Well, not really, if I can help it.”

He would actually have loved to, and he was able to dance just fine, but the music required that they would have to dance very close – and there was every possibility she might feel the bulkiness beneath his jacket. That might take some explaining. He wasn’t ready for that.

“Oh good, neither do I,” she replied with a smile.

He relaxed, grateful and said, “Instead, why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

She glanced at Henderson for a brief second, and he could have sworn something unspoken passed between them. Then she nodded and accompanied him across the room outside to the small bar. Adam wanted to get as far away from Roberts as possible. After they were seated on tall stools, he asked the barman for champagne for two.

She took a long sip from her crystal flute and fixed him with her gaze.

“So – Adam Svenson III,” and the way she said his name sent a pleasant tingling sensation all the way down his spine. “I can’t imagine how we’ve never met before. Two brilliant, intelligent young people like ourselves. Tell me why I’ve never seen you at the Spectrum Society before?”

“I always imagined that it would be entirely too stuffy for my taste. I was obviously wrong.”

She gave a little laugh and as their eyes met, Adam felt his stomach do the tango.

“So, how long have you known Henderson?” he said in as neutral a tone as he could muster.

“Oh, for years. We decided to merge two of our subsidiary companies and float them on the stock market. The world’s still full of male chauvinists, they think that all a woman’s good for is the kitchen, the bedroom or the kindergarten. Henderson isn’t like that, he appreciates brains, and he doesn’t care whether the package comes with a skirt attached or not.”

“Yes, I remember that deal; must have made you a lot of money.”

She ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “Yes, it did. But you must know that isn’t the real name of the game, is it? The money is incidental. The real thrill is in the deal.”

“That gives you the excitement in your life?”

“Amongst other things –” she replied, glancing up at him with a veiled look in her eyes.

For one moment, Adam’s mind flitted to that strange room at the top of the building. Thoughts of mysterious and sensual rituals danced around his brain again and Karen Wainwright appeared in them. The idea slid queasily along his stomach, and he tried to dismiss thoughts that were at once disturbing and erotic. He realised then that he had missed part of her conversation and he refocused, to see her staring at him.

“Sorry, I was miles away, what were you saying?” he replied, feeling a little foolish.

“I was saying that –.” Her voice trailed as she looked straight past him. She slipped off the stool. “Wait a minute,” she said, “I’ll be right back.”

He turned around to see her wander off in Henderson’s direction and felt a tiny flash of jealousy. And then he wondered just what the hell he was doing chatting her up. He thought he had given up lust-at-first-sight a long time ago. He was distracted by another business associate, who engaged him in idle chat for a while, but he couldn’t stop himself from scanning the room, looking for the delectable Ms Wainwright. When she returned she seemed to light up the very space around him again.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go now I’m afraid,” she said.

“I’m sorry too. I was enjoying your company. It saved the night from being a total drag.”

She flashed him a smile. “My thoughts exactly, but if you’d like to continue our conversation, perhaps you should ask me to dinner?”

His pulse danced faster and he tried to figure out why he was getting a sudden panic attack about this woman? It wasn’t like he had been completely celibate in the last few years, but he felt less inclined to indulge himself in surface encounters. With all the distrust and prejudice around these days, he felt there was too much at stake to risk surrendering his anonymity to some gold-digging floozy, who’d sell her story to the tabloid with the deepest pockets. He had no wish to wake one morning to headlines like ‘How a high society angel made me fly to seventh heaven’.

“Maybe. What’s the food like here?”

“Unbelievable, the crab legs are to die for, not too mention the wine list.”

He smiled. “Well, I’ve always been partial to seafood. Do you really want me to invite you to dinner?”

Why are you suddenly playing so hard to get? he wondered. Are you suddenly afraid of what might happen if you agree? Come on Adam, he reassured himself, she’s only suggesting dinner for goodness sake, not marriage.

“I don’t make offers twice,” she said.

“Would you care to join me for dinner, Ms Wainwright?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“No, Dianne, forget it! It’s too dangerous!”

She flinched as Rick slammed his hand on the bathroom door. They had just returned to their room after eating supper with the others, when she told him that Gray wanted her to mind-link with Paul Metcalfe to access his hidden memories.

“If I don’t help him, Charles says he might eventually go mad.”

His brows knitted darker above his glasses, the line of his mouth tightened, and a muscle ticked along his jaw-line. She knew the signs; he was desperately trying to block his emotions from her, and not succeeding terribly well. She was caught in the empathic wave of his thoughts cascading over her like molten gold, making her flinch and bite her lip. As if he realised his outburst’s effect on her, he passed his hand to his forehead, getting himself under control.

“Why can’t the professor mind-link with him, why has it got to be you?” he asked in a calmer voice. But she continued to sense his still-simmering emotions; there was fear for her, certainly, but there were hints of jealous green amongst the yellow-gold of his aura.

“I – we don’t know. He just can’t seem to penetrate his mind. Look, don’t you think if there was any other way I’d be taking it?” She took a deep breath to calm herself and crossed the room to where he stood, his shoulders stiff. She took his hand gently in hers. “Look,” she said softly, “Imagine if that was you, not knowing who you are, where you came from, who your parents were? With nothing but terrifying images waking you night after night, how would you feel if you knew someone could help you but someone else wouldn’t let them?”

“You saw what happened to Magnolia Jones.”

She squeezed his hand tighter. “You don’t seriously think we won’t take precautions? Charles won’t allow any harm to come to me. Paul needs me to help him and I can’t believe you won’t let me. I really didn’t think you were that callous.”

“I’m not! I’m just concerned about you, is that a crime these days?”

Out of nowhere, her feelings flipped. For so long she had needed and wanted this man, her pillar of strength; so why was all of a sudden did the protectiveness she once cherished feel more like a suffocating blanket?

“I wish you wouldn’t keep treating me like I’m made of glass,” she said, hating the snap in her voice. “I’m a grown woman, so why can’t you trust me to know what needs to be done? Since I melded with Cerebro, I’ve felt stronger, my telepathic powers have increased. Charles told me so.”

“He did? When was that?”

“Do I have to account for every minute of the day?”

He looked at her, slack-jawed with astonishment, and she instantly regretted her outburst. For a few seconds they stood regarding one another like strangers.

Then Rick reached out and pulled her gently to him. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, and she felt his lips brush her cheek. She leant back, so she could study his face, unable to resist pushing back a lock of unruly hair that had slipped across his forehead. He gave a short sigh, and she felt his aura change again.

“If it means so much to you and Charles to do this, then go ahead. Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he said.

“Cross my heart.”

He didn’t make the obvious response.

The following day, Paul met Gray for breakfast and he agreed to the mind-probe. After they had eaten, they descended to the basement laboratory where they found Dianne waiting for them. She gave him a quick, self-conscious smile, but her eyes heralded the seriousness of their impending discussion.

Gray said: “Dianne is going to attempt to establish a deep psychic link within your mind, to see if it’s possible to find a way past the tampering.”

Paul frowned. “I’m still not sure this is a smart idea. What about these?” He raised his hands. “You know what I did the night I arrived.”

“With your permission, we’re going to restrain you - just in case,” Gray said

The word made his heart-rate rocket. “No problem,” he said flatly, but he saw Dianne’s face go pale almost as if she could feel the fear washing over and out from him.

“You know we won’t hurt you in any way,” she said.

“I know that,” Paul replied, “I just don’t want to hurt you –”

“I won’t let that happen,” Gray said.

Paul blew out a breath.

“Then you’re in agreement, we can proceed?” Gray said.

He nodded.

“Very well,” Gray said, and motioned Paul to a padded gurney, which was fitted with ankle and wrist restraints. Both telepaths felt the waves of fear emanating from him as he approached it.

“Are you sure about this?” Gray asked him.

Paul took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm himself. “I’ve got to – I need to get my mind back.” He climbed onto the gurney, settling himself down.

Dianne fastened the metal straps, securing them tightly. He looked at her, saw the lines of tension on her face, mirrored in his own. His heart stopped for a moment, suddenly unsure of whether to proceed, whether this would all end in disaster.

She smiled at him and, in trying to resolve his frustrations and his anxieties, she let her own emotions flow towards him, catching his own, the two melding in a swirling astral dance – she felt his scarlet-warm aura mingle with hers – felt his heart beat slower in tune with hers – heard his thoughts tumble one over the other:

These people are smart and they know what they’re doing - my one and only chance - don’t want to be an animal - I’d be totally crazy to pass this up - I’ve risked things all my life this is just one more thing…

He gave her a tight smile. “Do it,” he whispered.

She acknowledged his command with a sharp nod and her copper-red hair shimmered with the movement. He focused on the colour, watching it even as she stood behind him to place her cool fingers at his temples. He shivered as their eyes locked, blue on blue, and her touch evoked such treacherous thoughts in him. He heard her breathing quicken, felt her fingers tighten on his skin – and then Gray broke the spell.