He looked up, deliberately casting his eyes around his room. Now was not the time for introspection. He had no doubt that Alisa would have already completed the first stage of the plan. Stage two was where he came in. His curtain call, as Victor would have said.
He was ready for it, his powers idle but alert, waiting to be unleashed. He’d learned the value of calmness in the cold, crushing earth. That was one thing he could be thankful of. He took in his room as he waited, his eyes easily capable of piercing the dark.
Graymalkin had never been one for material possessions. In part he understood that was because he had been brought up in a simple household that cherished utility. It was difficult, however, to accept the sheer level of consumerism in the world he now inhabited. How many items did one need to own? How much happiness could be derived from so many individual objects? It seemed as though everyone he knew owned so much yet were no better for any of it. Graymalkin’s only concessions to such luxury were his books. As a child the only text his family had owned had been the Bible. His mother had told him, though, that wealthy gentlemen sometimes collected entire libraries, covering all manner of different subjects. He’d dreamt of doing the same. Now he owned over eighteen books, stacked neatly on his shelf and desk. Most of them were historical or philosophical in nature. When he had first escaped from his early grave, he’d been hideously dislocated and confused. He’d begun to make sense of the world around him not with phones, apps and e-readers – all still alien and unnerving to him – but with those books, and a few magazines to accompany them. He was already planning his next purchase, the Oxford Handbook of the Cold War.
There was little else in the room. He preferred his clothing to be simple and comfortable, and his wardrobe was only half full. He had several framed pictures of himself and Victor, plus a few other Institute students. Alisa was in most of them too, albeit invisible. She didn’t like having her photo taken. Gray could understand that.
The wait continued. His mind wandered to the task ahead of him. He felt no uncertainty regarding the plan they had hatched. It was well within his abilities. Less certain was the fate that awaited them once it was complete. There would be no hiding his involvement. What punishment would follow? Rule-breaking never came naturally to him. From a young age, his understanding of who he was had torn apart his conscience. How could his mere existence be a sin? Had God not made him this way? Had he been born merely for destruction?
Being confronted by authority filled him with dread. Memories of his father’s rage, of the caning stick or the penance cupboard he’d been locked away in still haunted him when he tried to sleep. And no memories were as painful as the night when he had tried to explain to the furious old man just who he was. He’d been found with another boy in the family barn. His father wouldn’t listen. The old man kept screaming at him, a litany of abuse. Graymalkin had forgotten much during the centuries of his imprisonment, but every single one of those words was still with him, ringing in his head.
Until finding the Institute, he had never known an authority that didn’t hate him for who he was. He knew he would just have to trust the others. They would look out for him, and he would help whenever he could. Victor in particular was part of the reason he had found acceptance. To find someone that was at peace with themselves, who knew they had not been born a sinful creature… that had comforted Graymalkin, for the first time in his life.
Now Victor had to find his father. He couldn’t possibly stay here. Gray accepted that, even if he couldn’t entirely understand that familial bond, not in the same way. Victor’s earlier words came back to him. Would his father have deserved the same? No, Graymalkin knew. But would he still do the same? He believed he would. Whether that was weakness or strength, he did not know.
When he was in his darkness, Gray could sense Alisa. It was the slightest of things, akin to a premonition or a sense of déjà vu, but he knew when she was there. He’d never told her – he was afraid it would undermine their friendship. He knew how important her powers were to her. She had never come across someone who could detect her when she didn’t want them to. But there she was, just phased into his room.
“Are you ready?” she whispered gently.
“I am,” he replied, not looking at the space he knew she currently occupied by the door. He had long ago come to associate her ethereal presence and soft voice as something akin to that of a guardian angel. Not, of course, that he would ever tell her that. He was not worthy to converse with angels, of that he was sure.
“Two more minutes,” she said, and then was gone. Gray looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them, feeling the raw potency there. Then he stood.
Darkness was coming to the Institute, and he’d be right where he belonged. In the middle of it.
Chapter Seventeen
One corn bushel and three minutes to go. He was totally going to do this. Another week in the premium tier of Farmyard Heist, the eighth-longest consecutive top one hundred of any player worldwide. Wilbur was about to grab the final sack when a loud bleep made him jump and nearly drop his phone.
It took him a second to realize it was the security radio sitting in its charging holster next to him. It blipped again, like it was laughing at him. Scowling, Wilbur snatched it and hit transmit. “Eaks, I was about to complete the final points challenge!”
“Just shut up and listen,” Eakin snapped back, his voice chopped and distorted by static. “Did you see what just happened in the data vault?”
“The data vault?” Wilbur repeated, in no mood for these sorts of games. “Aren’t you there right now?”
He looked up at the monitor showing the cam footage from the lower levels. Sure enough, there was Eakin next to the big data stacks, staring right up at him through the camera.
“Yes, but I don’t think I’m alone,” Eakin’s voice crackled back. He sounded concerned. “I think… someone was down here with me. They just took the elevator back up.”
“What do you mean?” Wilbur demanded, confused. “Did you see them?”
“No. I just… I got this funny feeling when I first stepped out of the elevator. Then I swear I saw something weird in it when I was about to leave.”
“What do you mean ‘weird?’ You’re not making any sense!”
“Look, can you just check the student manifest and tell me how many in the current cohort have invisibility listed as one of their powers? And while you’re at it, get eyes on Borkowski again. Something’s up.”
“Ah,” Wilbur said as he glanced up at the infirmary screen. “Listen Eaks, about that–”
Chapter Eighteen
Phase two.
Cipher bit her lower lip, a subconscious habit she’d only recently realized she fell into when she was under stress. This was the delicate part.
Another wire loosened and unwound. Flip the circuit breaker. After visiting Graymalkin she’d phased into the motherboard for the western wing of the Institute’s electrical systems and set to work, isolating the Lower North exit. This was the sort of activity she’d done for as long as she could remember. It had started out as simple childhood pranks but had quickly developed as a survival necessity. Sabotage could be easy for one who could go anywhere unheard and unseen, but it still took practice and dedication. She’d kept those abilities hidden from the Institute, partly because she worried they would expel her if they discovered she’d spent months learning the school’s layout, passcodes, alarm networks, camera grids, security failsafes and electrical systems before they were even aware she was inside. Those sorts of precautions came naturally to her. She was convinced they would come in handy some day and, lo and behold, here she was. The data she’d extracted was of a more particular nature where Victor was concerned, but it should make the difference between success and failure once he was out.
There was a dull thud, followed by a row of red LEDs flashing into existence on the motherboard. She al
lowed herself a smile. That had done it. The main corridor lights along the route to Lower North would be out. The emergency lighting had already kicked in, but there was nothing she could do about that, not from here anyway. This would have to do for now. On to phase three.
As she slipped out of the circuitry, she heard the faintest ticking noise, followed by an ear-aching, shuddering wail. It filled the corridors, ringing with deafening intensity through the Institute’s depths.
Someone had finally triggered the primary alarm. It had taken them longer than she’d expected. It must have been Wilbur in the security room tonight.
Two more tasks to perform. She passed through a solid rockface, her body turning cold at the stone’s density, and reached out with her consciousness, propelling her invisible form up through another elevator shaft and out onto the dormitory floor. A few students were spilling from their rooms, bleary-eyed and worried. One gasped as Cipher passed clean through her. No time for subtlety.
Graymalkin’s door lay open. He’d already left. She carried on to Vic’s room, passing inside before breaking her phase.
It was empty. She grabbed his rucksack and left via the door.
•••
At some point the lighting system in the corridor leading to the Lower North hatch had failed. The cameras had gone with it, the monitor in the control room covering that section of the Institute reduced to a static fuzz.
Wilbur had gone to investigate while Eakin tripped the alarms and reported to the principal. The security guard tried not to panic. The night felt as though it had totally deteriorated before he’d even realized something was wrong.
And now Victor Borkowski was missing.
Wilbur had first hurried to the infirmary with Eakin’s curses ringing at him over the radio. He’d found Mrs Borkowski still sound asleep in bed, the only incongruence the hoodie and sweatpants that had been left on the stool next to her. The night nurse hadn’t seen Victor leave. That was when the circuit board had reported a systems failure in Lower North.
At least the emergency lighting had kicked in. That was what Wilbur had told himself as he’d hurried down the stairs to the reserve exit – the elevators automatically locked out once the alarms triggered. He quickly found himself less than reassured when he got down to the actual level itself. The backup illumination in this section of the Institute emanated from low-level red strips. They had cast the length of Lower North in a dark, deep crimson glow that seemed to Wilbur nothing if not sinister.
He stepped out of the stairwell and fully into the corridor. The alarms also appeared to have cut out down here, and while he didn’t miss their ear-aching assault, it only added to the eerie sense of dislocation that permeated the scene. Alarms were still going off elsewhere in the Institute, but down here they were audible only as a distant, ululating clatter. Something about that seemed to further fray Wilbur’s nerves.
He advanced down the corridor tentatively. The red-shot gloom hardly seemed better than the pitch black, and the sounds of his footsteps echoed weirdly back at him. He could just about make out the heavy hatch where the corridor terminated. Lower North was the smallest of all of the Institute’s exits, little more than a service hatch that opened out onto the rocky slopes of the mountainside the school was buried in. Wilbur keyed his radio as he walked slowly towards it.
“I’ve got eyes on the hatch,” he said, trying to sound unconcerned. Now he really did wish the Farmyard Heist top one hundred was the biggest of his concerns. “No sign of any movement.”
He was about halfway between the stairwell and the entrance when he felt it. His first thought was that the hatchway was open – he sensed a sudden breeze stirring the still air of the corridor.
Then he realized that it hadn’t come from the direction of the hatch. It had come from behind him.
He turned hastily, eyes straining in the crimson light. Had the stairwell doors just closed? Had what he felt been a breeze, or something passing by him? He spun again, stumbling, before coming to a complete halt.
There was something at the end of the corridor. Wilbur could have sworn it wasn’t there the last time he looked, and yet there it was now – a figure stooped over next to the exit hatch, draped in shadows, the hellish red light giving it the appearance of some blood-drenched specter.
Wilbur stood rooted to the spot, unable to even raise his radio. He’d dealt with mutant kids with all kinds of abilities, but this, this was something different. The thing seemed to look at him, then shifted so it clutched the wheel lock on the rear of the hatch door. There was a heavy grating sound, and a reverberating thud as the wheel started to turn.
“Oh God…” Wilbur stammered, finally finding the strength to snatch up his radio.
“There’s something down here,” he whispered into it, voice hoarse. “There’s something opening the Lower North hatch! From the inside!”
“Say again, Wilbur?” Eakin’s voice came back at him, accompanied by a harsh, static-edged blurt of alarms – they were clearly still ringing where the other security guard was on the upper levels. The abrupt noise made the thing in the red-dark look back at him again. He almost moaned with terror.
“Just get someone down here,” he pleaded into the radio, eyes fixed on the thing as it went back to unlocking the hatch. “I need backup. Now!”
The corridor filled with the slow groan as the heavy door swung inward. The wheel lock disengaged, and the hatch was being hefted open by the thing. Beyond it was nothing but darkness.
“Give me your flashlight, Wilbur,” said a voice from right behind the security guard. He leapt in fright, rounding to find Principal Summers looming over him. He’d entered the corridor from the stairwell without Wilbur even noticing, so focused had he been on the ghastly apparition. Wilbur felt a surge of relief as he saw the X-Man advance to his side, one hand on the edge of his visor. He was so thankful he missed what Summers had actually said to him.
“Your flashlight,” Summers repeated, holding out his hand. Wilbur hurried to comply, pulling the flashlight from his security belt and giving it to the principal. He glanced back nervously at the specter, trying to find the right words to explain how it had simply appeared where it was. It seemed to be looking out of the hatch and into the night beyond, oblivious now to either Wilbur or the principal.
Summers strode further along the corridor, raising and switching on the flashlight as he went. The sudden beam of white light cut through the crimson gloom and framed the thing in a perfect circle. It turned, an arm raised to shield its eyes, cringing in the sphere of brilliance.
It was only then that Wilbur realized that it wasn’t a specter at all. It was just a kid, dressing in jeans and a black T. Gray-skinned and gaunt, yes, but not a blood-dripping, fanged phantom. Wilbur hurried to catch up with Summers as he carried on along the corridor, beginning to feel thoroughly foolish.
“Relax, Wilbur,” the principal told him as they went. “It’s just Graymalkin. One of the students.”
“It… He came out of nowhere though, principal,” Wilbur tried to explain, still struggling to reconcile the terror he’d felt with the kid now frozen before him. “I couldn’t really see him in the dark.”
“Graymalkin’s powers are their most potent in low light,” Summers said, not looking at the red-faced security guard. “In the dark he is exceptionally quick, strong and resilient. But not in the light.”
So it seemed. The student had lowered his arms but still squinted in the glare of the principal’s advancing flashlight, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Summers stopped a few yards short of him and flicked the direction of the beam onto the half-open hatch. It lit up a section of the gravel path outside, and the rough rockfaces flanking it.
“I don’t suppose you have a reasonable explanation for all this, Jonas?” Summers demanded. Wilbur stood beside him, feeling supremely awkward. Graymalkin faced them, his own posture stiff now
that the light was no longer on him, his face set, unreadable.
“I would not presume to lie to you, Principal Summers,” he said, slowly and carefully.
“Then you’d better tell me what’s going on,” Summers replied. “Where is Victor?”
Graymalkin glanced towards the open hatch but said nothing.
“I’m assuming Alisa is the one responsible for killing the lights,” Summers went on. “Perhaps you can tell me where she is, if you’re not going to give up Mr Borkowski?”
“She’s still here, principal,” Graymalkin said dutifully. “Within the Institute. Neither of us intend to leave.”
“But you’ve helped Victor do just that?” Summers demanded. “I expected better from you, Jonas. Not only have you broken the Institute’s rules and abused my trust, but you’ve embarked upon a scheme that is doomed to failure. How far do you think Victor will be able to get on foot before we catch up with him? His shifting abilities will not help him avoid the security team’s scanners. I would have hoped for better from a trio of future X-Men.”
“It was not my intention to deceive you or disrupt the school, sir,” Graymalkin went on. “But I acted out of the necessity of friendship. Even if you do not approve of that, I’m sure you understand it.”
Summers shook his head and turned towards Wilbur.
“Get on the radio and get Eakin, Sarah, Wyld, and Tamara down here right away,” he said, his tone turning brusque. “Tell Eakin to bring the tracker and inform them they’ll be doing a full external perimeter search beginning in Lower North. After that I think you’d best take yourself back to the control room. You look… flushed.”
First Team Page 13
