Chapter 19: Dropped Calls, Bad Service
Lorna shot up this time.
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Fantomex glanced between Cyclops and Wolverine. “You want me to do what?”
“Lead us to The World,” said Scott.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit!” Logan roared, grabbing the masked man by the trench coat and slamming him against the wall. “I just got a chunk of my stomach torn out and my mood’s not pretty. You start singing like a canary or I’ll skin you like a bear.”
“Is this how X-Men treat all their guests?”
Logan rammed his fist into the man’s kidneys.
A dangerous spark of energy came from behind Scott’s visor. “This is how we treat enemies, Weapon XIII.”
Fantomex sighed. “So you found out.”
“We have our ways,” Scott smugly noted.
“Do you people even know what The World is?”
“We were hopin’ you could shed some light on that, bub.”
“You didn’t play by our rules, Fantomex, and we don’t appreciate cheaters.”
Logan unsheathed the claws on his left hand. “The X-Men ain’t nobody’s fools.”
Despite being threatened, Fantomex nodded. “I’ll lead you to The World on one condition.”
“You’re not in a position to bargain, bub.”
“It’s more of a prerequisite,” he elaborated. “I have to use my ship, E.V.A., to get in and she only holds three people. I’m assuming Wolverine here is coming because The World holds a great deal about his past.” Logan raised his eyebrow but kept himself skeptical. “So that only leaves one other spot. Can I assume it’s going to be you, Cyclops?”
The two X-Men spared each other a quick look before nodding at their guest.
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“A flayer?”
“A flayer.”
“I’m afraid to ask what a flayer is.”
“Well, it... umm... how should I say this... It’s job is to keep lesser demons from acting up. Since there’s few of them and lots of the others, they have these extensions coming out of their bodies and shadows and they use them to flay their brethren, to teach them a lesson, hence the name ‘flayer.’”
“Is flaying also how they heal themselves?”
“Yes it is, actually. They don’t regenerate because it takes too long in their line of work, so they just rip bleeding hunks out of their surrounding demon folk and absorb it. Now, tell me sis, how do you know...”
Betsy swore she heard a light bulb go off in Brian’s mind. If they weren’t talking on the phone, she would’ve reached over a cuffed the side of his head. As it stood...
“Brian, hand Meggan the phone, please.”
“Sure luv, hang on.”
Shuffle, shuffle, then an overly joyful, “Hello Betsy!”
“Meggan, could you hit Brian for me?”
“Of course!”
Shuffle, crack, then an “OUCH!”
Giggle, giggle, groan, shuffle. “Did you have something to do with this, sister of mine? My own wife nearly broke the phone on my face.”
“That’s for not living up to your mantle of Captain Obvious. Honestly Brian, for the ruler of everywhere not earth, you can be pretty dense.”
“Well, this dense brother wants you to come back to Braddock manor. We’ll get Doctor Strange over here and figure all the ins and outs of your body. And sorry about this, but as much as I love the X-Men, I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be going back into the fold so soon. You never know what they get themselves into.”
“Don’t worry,” chuckled Betsy, “With so many of us here, any troublemakers would be insane to take us on. Besides, what could one more night hurt? I’ll catch the next flight tomor-”
*BETSY!*
The telepathic scream crossed Betsy’s eyes and loosened her grip on the phone. Emma. Another woman with a gun. A sharp pain. Darkness. Betsy opened their psychic rapport but couldn’t reach the blonde. No amount of yelling, forcing, or pleading woke the woman from whatever slumber she was put into. The mild comfort? Emma wasn’t dead, but Betsy still worried.
She caught her breath. Trust, Emma trusted her. In the turmoil, desperation, and surprise, she called out for her. No one else in the mansion would go help. Emma had no one else to trust. Her students? No, she’d never put her students in harm’s way. Betsy was Emma’s last and only hope.
“Get your ass into gear,” Betsy mumbled to herself.
No time to waste now. Emma gave her a second chance at life by destroying the Shadow King, and not repaying her, attraction or no, wasn’t the way Betsy functioned. She threw on her workout clothes and bolted out the door, unsure where to go and what to do.
“Hello?” came Brian’s worried voice from the dropped phone. “Hello? Betsy, what’s going on?”
Sage. Sage could find mutants. She had her computers and mutant powers and what nots. Where was Sage? Couldn’t find Sage because of her mental shields. Not time to look, move on.
Jean. Jean was the Phoenix, the Phoenix could do anything including finding Emma. Instead of taking the stairs, Betsy leapt from the second floor and landed in front of a startled Esme Stepford. The girl yelped in surprise, dropping the box of inhalers, syringes, and vials in her hands. Probably a student project or something. Too bad, no time, and couldn’t reach Jean telepathically. Right, she was the Phoenix and the Phoenix had other priorities.
The Professor. The Professor could go down to Cerebra and find Emma. No, Forge was fixing Cerebra. How did she know that? One of Emma’s memories, one from talking with Kitty. She had no use for the Professor since he’d probably be against her flying alone on the Blackbird.
“Are you sure you can fly it?”
“I’m not convinced at your mental stability.”
“Is Emma really in trouble?”
“Bring someone else along.”
Betsy didn’t have time for talking.
Up ahead lay the hangar. Sage. Jean. Professor. Couldn’t find ‘em or didn’t want to. Probably could use Rachel’s, Kitty’s, or Scott’s help, but she was at the hangar already. Getting them down here wasted precious time, time Emma didn’t have. Punching in a series of access codes, she opened the launching bay and darted into the X-Men’s signature ride. Sleek, fast, stealthy, and loaded, this plane would get her to Emma... if only she knew where she was.
Ignition. Take-off.
As she hurled through the night sky, Betsy peeled her fingers off the armrest and scrunched her brows. The haze of a few seconds ago left her.
“What the hell am I doing?”
Going after Emma with no back-up, no idea where she was at, no clue where to go, and no plan? What kind of insane, half-baked impulse was that? Why was she suddenly so hasty and desperate? Her taking the Blackbird did no good except to make her fly in circles real fast. She still had a bond to Emma, and despite not getting feedback from the blonde, the persistence of their connection told her many things, like most important, Emma wasn’t in immediate danger.
A rational idea would be to focus on the blonde and judge her location by strength of their rapport like a psychic game of Marco Polo. This flying blind crap wouldn’t do. And when all was said and done, Betsy needed to call her brother and apologize for suddenly running out on him, twice--once now, once at dinner. Then she needed to apologize to Esme for knocking over her... her... syringes?
What was a student doing with syringes in the middle of the night? Never mind that, what was she doing in the mansion? A shudder of uncertainty coursed through Betsy’s spine. The mere recollection of going from reasonable to uncontrollable sickened her, and for the first time, she wondered what was happening behind the mansion’s curtains. Seemed like once she left the place, her thoughts cleared up and her impulses didn’t override her rationale.
Betsy massaged her temples. “What’s done is done.”
And what’s fact was Emma’s strengthening, but rapidly moving, presence. Betsy brought up the map on the screen. At the moment, the Blackbird flew south toward Manhattan, but the tugging sensation in her head told her Emma traveled west. To Betsy, following her vague bond affinity while flying the plane by hand felt too uncertain, which also meant unsafe, which also meant exciting. How fast should she be going? What would she do if she caught up with Emma? Was the blonde in a plane, train, or car? Well, if the speeds had anything to say, Emma was definitely in a plane. If Betsy concentrated enough, she could almost feel this other vehicle outstripping the Blackbird’s current pace.
She grinned.
“Time to see what this baby can do.”
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- To be continued...
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