Chapter 43: Cold Logic
An unnatural rumble perked Mystique’s ears. No, this sound didn’t belong to Belasco, Magneto, or Vargas. It resembled something human, something only terrible homo sapiens could bring to the world.
One of the craftier demons tried to drop onto her from the tree above. She sidestepped, then after it landed, flung it to the ever-present, sword-swinging Vargas. Great, another thousand times and he might get tired. Emphasis on might.
Rampant demons cushioned his approach, but sooner or later, the tactic of maneuvering Otherworld denizens between her and the whirling dervish would fail. Hey, he’d already clipped her once with that sword: didn’t need to do it another time.
The rumbling continued. Mystique hurdled a park bench and squeezed past another pack of fanged monsters. Their claws dug into her skin, but whatever they dished out had nothing on one of Vargas’ grazing blows. She didn’t look back; she didn’t stop. A battle cry drowned out the hungry roars, the verbal noises giving way to whispers of steel on skin.
Her lungs burned, her legs hurt, her head lightened, but the damned rumbling wouldn’t stop. Finally glancing into the sky, but of course keeping her strides going, Mystique saw a group of... of... something in the air. Aerodynamic contours suggested planes, but who they belonged to became the million dollar question. What other players did Irene predict would get into this game? What unthinkable twist hadn’t happened yet? What-
“-the hell?!”
Rock solid hands pulled her collar and dumped her on the cold grass. An unmovable weight settled onto her chest, preventing comfortable inhalation. For a second, Mystique thought a demon had gotten her, but her captor looked a lot like an undeformed woman. An undeformed, attractive woman. An undeformed, attractive, diamond statue of a woman.
“Frost?”
“We meet again, Mystique.” An index finger and thumb wrapped snuggly around the metamorph’s neck. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you for handing me to McCoy.”
Was this lady insane? “Vargas is coming!”
“I think Psylocke has him occupied.”
Above the crunching of bone and general slaughter of Belasco’s fodder rang a kia. Mystique couldn’t see, but she guessed the resounding smack and resulting boom meant a certain Spaniard took a nasty spill.
The digits pinched tighter. Mystique tried to dislodge the arm but only hurt herself in the process.
“Why?” pressed Emma.
The White Queen had the advantage. Needed to go on a limb. Needed to trick her, maybe talk a way around her. Mystique called on her years of observation and bullshitting in hopes the experience would allow her an avenue of escape.
“Psylocke saved you,” she mustered through clenched teeth.
“She did.”
To quote Irene, young love would see her through. *Oh Irene,* she prayed, *Don’t fail me now.*
In her most confident and derisive tone, Mystique said, “It turned out for the best. She would have never admitted her love for you otherwise.”
More pressure closed around her neck, making her gag. “How did you know about us? Another one of Destiny’s diaries?”
“What else? That’s all the woman is to people like you: the sum of her words.”
“You and Irene Adler have a vested interest in my love life?” smirked Emma, “I find that hard to swallow.”
“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Frost. Every one of us has a part to play in fate.”
“You shot me in the back. You pretended to be Isa Hayes to destroy my image. I’m suppose to believe you did that to keep this cosmic play going? I’m suppose to think you have nothing to do with this chaos in Manhattan?”
“If I wanted you dead, I would’ve pushed you out the window of your damned office. Instead, I saved your life and led Psylocke to you. I’m not a friend of you X-Men, but I do care for my daughter enough to make alliances where I normally wouldn’t.”
“What makes you think I even believe a quarter of these words you’re feeding me?”
“You’re not taking my head off. Everyone else is stark raving mad for some reason, but you’re not affected. You’ve still got a trace of good sense left in you.”
Interested, Emma removed her hand from Mystique’s throat. “Do you know who is destabilizing and distorting thoughts?”
Destabilizing... destabilize... stabilize... stable... keep them stable, away from the poles. Only common link between stability and instability? Magneto. Keep them stable, away from the poles, away from the daughter. Magneto. Polaris. Something between them must’ve been clouding everyone’s judgment. No, not between them, Irene would’ve been clearer about something like that. Away from the daughter, away from Polaris.
The puzzle began to piece itself together.
Frost seemed unaffected by whatever machination at work. Mystique couldn’t find the Cajun anywhere. Psylocke had Vargas occupied. Rogue, stubborn and foolish Rogue, probably needed help because she got in over her head. And besides, didn’t Mystique have to keep them--whoever “them” were--away from the poles?
She’d done a good job bullshitting Frost, turning her from murderous to curious in record time. Maybe she could be of further use.
“Listen, get off of me and we can rehash old wounds later. You have a reputation to uphold and I have a daughter to help.”
Reputation? Emma refused to budge an inch. “What reputation are you referring to?”
“Your name, of course. If you save New York from destruction, everything I said as that nimrod doctor would be trumped by your heroics. I am not your enemy, Frost, not this time. Our partnership could be mutually beneficial.”
“But what about Psylocke?”
Christ, forgot about the Ice Queen’s new fuck buddy. “Irene wrote that she’ll face her killer and win,” lied Mystique, “That is Psylocke’s destiny.”
The diamond princess hauled Mystique to her feet. “I haven’t settled my score with you yet,” the blonde warned. “Don’t make me settle it early.”
Hope sprung eternal, didn’t it? Hot damn, the bitch bought it! “Have no fear, Frost. I wouldn’t betray a fellow lesbian, especially one I converted.”
In all honesty, if Emma wasn’t so coldly logical in her diamond body, she would’ve clubbed the mouthy mutant over the head with the nearest blunt object. However, since she was coldly logical at the moment, she realized that any response would delay action, and the last thing anyone needed was a delay. A delay meant wasted time, and wasted time spelled the difference between life and death.
Betsy faced Vargas. Destiny or no, she could use Emma’s assistance; however, Mystique’s observation about trumping enemies through heroics sounded too alluring to ignore. Here was her past, present, and future and a chance to reclaim it all. Emma looked around for a giant fight, one with an Asian woman and a hulking Antonio Banderas look-alike. Nope. Betsy was no longer in sight and Emma didn’t want to risk turning back into flesh (demons, Mystique, telepathic suggestions, oh my) to find her over their bond, so she had to make a snap decision.
Coldly logical and devoid of emotion, young love played no role in the snap decision process. Efficiency and sensibility reigned and Emma was unable to care. Which outcome would bring the greatest returns? Which act would be the path of least resistance? Which would be the quickest?
Snap.
The rumbling from moments ago almost deafened Mystique’s sensitive ears. Both women looked up at the disturbance.
Mischievousness glimmered in the red head’s smirk. “Something wicked this way comes.”
Emma rolled her eyes and pulled Mystique away from the park and toward the Empire State Building.
*****************
“ETA?”
“Thirty seconds and counting.”
“Unable to acquire target. Repeat, unable to acquire target. The magnetic disturbance is too great.”
“You better come up with a miracle. We’re at the point of no return.”
“Keep it together, soldiers. The fate of the mankind rests on your capable shoulders. You will succeed because you have no other choice.”
“Bombs armed.”
“Any sign of detection?”
“Negative.”
“Fifteen seconds.”
“May God be with you.”
“Ten.”
“Target in sight! Target in sight! Switching to manual aim!”
“Five.”
“Shit, there’s tons of them!”
“Drop the payload now! Now damn it!”
******************
- To be continued...
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