“And so you shall,” said a deep voice with a trace of an Eastern European accent.
His heart jolting in his breast, Colossus lurched around. He’d never dropped his guard, yet he hadn’t sensed the intruder approaching, and his teammates obviously hadn’t either.
A tall man wrapped in a voluminous black cloak stepped from the darkness between the edge of the cliff and the round concrete helipad. The high collar of his mantle framed a haughty, aristocratic face, with pallid skin, an aquiline nose, bushy black brows, and a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. Intelligence shone from his deep-set crimson eyes, just as there was cruel humor manifest in the quirk of his full, sensuous lips. The nails of his white hands were so long and pointed that, on a figure less imposing, they might have seemed effeminate.
Piotr felt his mouth turn dry. His friends occasionally chided him for what they perceived as a propensity for selfdoubt, and he supposed they had a point. But self-doubt was by no means the same thing as timidity, and after all he’d been through since Professor Xavier brought him away from his home among the grain fields of Siberia to use his powers in the service of humanity, few dangers could daunt him anymore. The being in front of him, however, was one of them. A demon in the guise of a man, whom the world at large believed to be merely a myth or a figment of a Victorian novelist’s imagination, but whom the X-Men had discovered to be all too real.
The cloaked man inclined his head. “Colossus.” He turned toward Amanda. “Miss Sefton.” He pivoted on toward Kitty’s place of concealment. Obviously her ninjutsu hadn’t hidden her from him. “Shadowcat.” He shifted once more, to stare directly at Kurt. “And Nightcrawler.”
“Dracula,” the German mutant answered coldly. Clad in his red, blue, and white costume, his razor-sharp saber sheathed on his back, Kurt emerged from the shadows. Superficially, with his pointed tail and other features, Nightcrawler resembled the popular conception of an evil supernatural creature more than the vampire did. But to Piotr’s eyes at least, the contrast between the two could scarcely have been greater. Kurt’s tone of voice and body language bespoke a staunch and thoroughly human determination to protect his teammates and himself, and, underlying that, an anxiety masked so well that only one of his closest friends could have sensed it. Dracula, on the other hand, radiated a diabolical malevolence so repugnant that he almost seemed to reek like the ancient, lifeless thing he truly was.
“I assume you were expecting me,” the vampire said. “Otherwise my opinion of your intelligence will decline yet another notch.”
“Yes,” said Kurt, “we suspected it was you. You gave me enough clues. You made it clear that you’d met us all back when we were X-Men, before the founding of Excalibur. You knew I was a Christian. You threatened to impale Amanda, your favorite form of torture and execution during the Middle Ages. You wanted to meet at night, to avoid the sun. And outside our home, because you would have had difficulty entering without being invited. I only doubted my guess because 1 thought you had to sleep during the day.”
“A partial misconception. I’m physically dormant—which was precisely why I had to possess Miss Sefton to communicate with you—but I can become psychically active if the need arises.”
“We also thought—and hoped—that poor Rachel van Helsing really did destroy you back in that castle in Cornwall,” Kitty said in her Midwestern American accent. Piotr knew that the gibe was her way of managing her own uneasiness.
Dracula gave her an unpleasant smile. “Oh, she did, but death isn’t the same for me as it is for one of you mortals. I’ve found my way back from the great darkness on several occasions.”
“You want to try it again?” Kitty asked.
The vampire sneered. “Brash as ever. You should guard your tongue, little girl. I remember a world where peasants who spoke insolently lost their tongues, and that was if their lord was feeling merciful. Rest assured, that world will come again.”
“Don’t count on it,” Nightcrawler said. “But we didn’t come here to trade threats. You said we have business to discuss, so let’s get to it. What could you possibly want from us, of all people?”
“I want you to help me destroy an enemy.”
“In your dreams,” said Shadowcat. “Any enemy of yours is good people as far as we’re concerned.”
“Indeed," said Dracula. “Even if the enemy is Belasco?” Piotr tensed. Belasco was the sorcerer who’d trapped his beloved younger sister Illyana in the mystical dimension called Limbo. For Colossus, only a few seconds elapsed before she returned, but for Illyana, seven years had passed, years of torment during which Belasco had done his utmost to corrupt her, to make her his willing bride and accomplice in his schemes to liberate the Elder Gods. Though she eventually won free, the horned man had stolen her childhood, left an indelible scar on her spirit, and, by awakening her mutant powers and magical ability, arguably set her on the path that ultimately led to her death. Piotr felt an instinctive loathing for Dracula, but he hated Belasco as he’d never hated any other foe.
“What do you know about Belasco?” the Russian demanded.
“Ah,” said the vampire, “I see I’ve roused your interest.”
“Answer him,” said Kitty, her pretty young face looking almost as grim as Piotr felt. Illyana had been her best friend.
“I intend to,” Dracula said. “I assume you recall the Mon-tesi Formula. It figured rather prominently in our last encounter.”
“The spell from the Darkhold grimoire,” said Kurt, “for killing vampires.”
Dracula inclined his head. ‘ ‘Later on, Stephen Strange used the ritual to obliterate every vampire on the face of the Earth. As you can imagine, after I rose from the ashes, my first priority was to roam the globe creating new progeny.”
“What does this have to do with Belasco?” Piotr said.
“Patience, X-Man, and you shall hear. 1 normally maintain a vague psychic connection with all my brood, but one such link, to a certain coven I recently founded, faded abruptly. When I investigated at long range, using various methods of divination, I determined that the vampires in question had renounced me in favor of a new lord.”
“Belasco?” Piotr asked.
“Yes.”
“But isn’t that impossible?” asked Amanda, frowning.
“So I had always believed,” Dracula said wryly. “According to the tradition of my people, the only way a nosferatu can repudiate the authority of his king is to challenge him to a duel, destroy him, and assume the throne himself. But it would appear that there are few absolutes in this world, at least where powerful sorcerers are involved.”
“What would Belasco want with your coven?” asked Kurt.
“That,” Dracula said, “I could not determine. Naturally, I swore to punish the usurper and my rebellious subjects also, but I didn’t turn my hand to the task immediately. I had other concerns which seemed more urgent. But now, suddenly, I sense from certain disturbances in the ether that Belasco may finally be on the brink of freeing the Dark Ones, as he’s aspired to do for nigh unto seven hundred years. Someone had better deal with him immediately, or it may be too late. And although I’m the single most formidable entity in the world, in some conflicts even I require troops to help me crush the foe.”
“But why us?” Nightcrawler asked. At the base of the escarpment, the waves hissed and crashed. “Why not use other vampires?”
“Two reasons,” Dracula said. “Belasco has already subverted the loyalty of one circle of undead. For all I know, he could do it again, with a snap of his fingers. I also know you’ve vanquished the wretch before. Now, will you help me? If not, I must take my leave to make other arrangements.”
“We need to confer,” said Kurt. “Will you wait here?”
“If I must.”
The German mutant led his teammates back inside the entrance hall of their headquarters. Colossus realized that Kurt wanted to make sure that the vampire, with his inhumanly keen senses, wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop on their c
onversation, but understanding failed to allay the impatience seething inside him.
“What is there to talk about?” he asked as soon as Kurt closed the heavy oak door with its core of nickel-titanium alloy. “If Belasco has come back, we have to go after him.”
“What he said,” Kitty added.
“Yes,” said Nightcrawler, “but is Belasco back? We only have Dracula’s word for it. He might be trying to sucker us into a trap.”
“Why?” asked Shadowcat. “Why even mess with us when we thought he was dead? I mean, really dead, not just his normal dead.”
“To avenge his defeats at our hands. To take us hostage and use us to get at Storm.” They’d originally met Dracula when he’d attempted to claim their teammate Ororo to be his undead queen. “To turn us into mutant-powered 'progeny.’ To kill us now because he figures he’ll have to do it at some point in order to conquer the world. The possibilities are endless.” Kurt turned toward Amanda. “Do you have any sense of his real intentions?'’
The blonde sorceress shook her head. “His aura is black with evil. Every time I look at it, I feel like I’m drowning in sewage. But that’s just his true nature showing. I can’t tell if he specifically intends to do us harm. I do know that no matter how powerful he is, I hate the thought of heading into danger with a creature like him beside us. We’d be better off tackling Belasco by ourselves.”
“I think so too,” said Kurt, “but Dracula would never agree to it. Assuming he’s telling the truth, he has a personal score to settle. And as things stand now, he’s indispensable, because he was careful not to give us the slightest clue where this rebel coven is. So unless you can sniff Belasco out...” Looking chagrined, Amanda said, “Considering that he could be anywhere in the world, and may well have cast spells of concealment, it would take me a very long time if it’s even possible.”
“Then we’ll have to work with Dracula or not at all.” “By the White Wolf!” Piotr exclaimed. “This is nonsense! I’m going to find Belasco whatever the rest of you decide!” Nightcrawler grimaced. “Calm down, mein freund, I remember the hellish wasteland Limbo was, and I suspect that was a tropical resort compared to what Belasco’s gods would
make of the Earth. Of course, we all have to go. But perhaps we can buy a bit of insurance first.”
Kitty quizzically cocked her head. “How?”
“To us, Dracula is a monster and a fiend. But in his own mind, he’s an aristocrat. A feudal warlord and a man of honor. Perhaps we can turn that to our advantage. When we get back out there, let me do the talking.”
They walked back into the night. When he and his companions came close enough, Piotr saw the king of the undead standing motionless, with only the inky folds of his cloak and stray stands of his raven hair stirring in the cold, damp wind. With his white face and hands, he looked almost like a marble statue that someone had dressed in real clothing. "Well?” he said.
“One question,” Kurt replied. “How do we know we can trust you?”
Dracula raised an eyebrow. “You insult me, X-Man. Do you fear that I’m lying, or that I’ll turn my coat? If memory serves, it was your doppelganger who gleefully embraced the chance to serve as Belasco’s groveling lackey.”
Kurt scowled. During their first encounter with Belasco, the X-Men had discovered to their consternation that he’d already crushed another incarnation of the team, one evidently hailing from an alternate universe. He’d slain some members, the other Piotr included, and displayed their remains as trophies. Even more horribly, he’d somehow degraded Nightcrawler’s counterpart into a willing, sadistic slave, a creature like the imp he so resembled.
“And you, Piotr Nikolievitch Rasputin,” the vampire continued. Caught by surprise, the mutant gave a start. “You forsook the X-Men to throw in with one of their greatest enemies. Later you likewise deserted Magneto’s camp. Then you made your way here, and in a fit of jealous rage, savagely attacked a fellow champion of goodness named Wisdom, simply because he dared to love your little Katya here—” he leered at Shadowcat “—even though you’d cast her off long before.” “It... it wasn’t like you're making it sound!”' Colossus said, although in his heart, he often felt that it was. How the devil could Dracula know all the most shameful mistakes he’d ever made?
Kitty touched him on the arm. “Take it easy, Petey. You don’t have to defend yourself to him."
“Perhaps not,” Dracula said, “but the fact remains that for all your heroic pretensions, you X-Men are manifestly as capable of treachery as anyone else. Perhaps I should be begging assurances of you.”
“You can have them,” Nightcrawler said. “We promise to treat you as an ally for the duration of the mission. Will you do the same?”
“If I must,” the vampire said. “I swear on my honor as Domnul of Wallachia, Knight of the the Dragon, and King of the Undead that I will comport myself as your faithful comrade until Belasco is defeated.” He sneered. “Does that oath satisfy you, mutant?”
“I guess it’ll have to,” said Kurt. “As you asked, the Midnight Runner is ready for takeoff. Where are we going?” “I’ll tell you once we’re in the air,” Dracula replied.
“So much for camaraderie,” Kitty said.
Chapter 6
Scott, Jean, and Logan climbed from the X-Men’s newly acquired Cessna Citation X into the pounding rain. Despite the instant drenching, Cyclops was glad to be on the ground. Though the Citation lacked the VTOL capabilities of the Blackbird, it had been modified to take off and land in a fraction of the space required by any normal jet. Still, setting it down on a bumpy stretch of grass in foul weather was scarcely his idea of fun.
Bundled up in a blue poncho. Laurel Smith trudged out through mud and puddles to greet the new arrivals. A petite middle-aged woman with a wide, humorous mouth and brown, wrinkled, sun-damaged skin, Laurel was a mutant with a low-grade pyrokinetic talent, which, though the fires it kindled were no larger or hotter than those produced by an ordinary match, had nonetheless caused her no end of trouble until Professor Xavier taught her to control it. In appreciation, she’d joined the underground network of well-wishers who supported the X-Men in a variety of ways. In this instance, her contribution was allowing them to use her farm as a makeshift airfield.
“How was your flight?” she asked.
“Fine,” said Cyclops. In reality, landing hadn’t been the only dicey part. Battered by the storm and plagued by intermittent instrument malfunctions and an odd, worrisome undertone to the drone of the engines, he’d found the entire journey relatively nerve-wracking, even for an expert pilot who’d survived dogfights and antiaircraft fire in his time. But he didn’t want to waste time going into it when there was more important work to be done.
The wind gusted, and rain slipped down the collar of the
tan trenchcoat he’d thrown on over his blue-black and yellow uniform. He had the visored mask thrown back and a pair of his glasses on, so theoretically, he ought to pass for an ordinary civilian so long as people didn’t look too closely. Clad in his cowboy hat and an oilskin duster, Wolverine was similarly disguised. For her part. Jean was dressed entirely in what appeared to be ordinary clothing. But her garments were made of unstable molecules, and using her telekinesis, she could reconfigure them into her uniform in an instant.
“Have you heard from Rogue or Storm?” Cyclops asked.
Laurel shook her head. “Sorry.”
“There’s the Blackbird,” said Wolverine, nodding at the sleek jet, ninety feet long and twenty feet tall, gleaming like polished obsidian in the rain. “I want to take a look inside.”
They headed for the larger plane. A fork of lightning flared across the sky, and thunder boomed a second later. The wind tried to snatch Logan’s beat-up old Stetson and Jean’s broad-brimmed scarlet hat. He grabbed his headgear with his hand and she tugged hers firmly down with the power of her mind.
Scott pulled off one yellow synthetic leather glove, climbed the crew ladder, and pressed his hand agains
t the bio-molecular lock. For a moment, nothing happened, and then the panel rather grudgingly slid aside. The X-Men boarded the jet with Laurel tagging along behind, rubbernecking.
Jean telekinetically switched on the cabin lights, revealing the electronic countermeasures station, the display monitors, and the rest of the futuristic appointments. Logan skulked toward the nose of the plane, sniffing. “Nobody but ’Roro and Rogue has been on board lately,” he said.
I could have told you that, Cyclops thought irritably. Whatever happened to them, it happened after they left here. But actually, he knew that Logan was right to check out every possibility, and chided himself for letting his irritability over the flight down creep into his thoughts.
Scott inspected the area around the pilot and copilot’s seats.
If Rogue and Storm had had some intimation that they were heading into danger, they might conceivably have left a note. But there was nothing.
He turned to lean, who nodded before he had a chance to articulate his thoughts—not surprising, since husband and wife shared a psychic rapport, a link far stronger and more intimate than the ones she’d established with the other X-Men.
For Wolverine’s benefit, she said, “Now that we’re actually in Natchez, or as good as, I want to start scanning again.” Her lustrous green eyes grew wide as she stared into space. Cyclops felt her straining, felt the worry and frustration she did her best to banish, lest they undermine her ability to focus. Finally she shook her head. “I'm not getting anything that way,” she said. “I’ll try it with the mini-Cerebro.”
She took the portable short-range unit from inside her raincoat. Ordinarily the mini-Cerebros interfaced with the master system back in New York, but in a pinch, as now, when the machine in the mansion was out of commission, they could function independently. Though that made them less reliable, it should at least protect Jean from another painful accident.
Yet as Scott watched her activate the little black plastic box, a marvel of miniaturization scarcely larger than a deck of playing cards, he was suddenly all but certain it was going to hurt her, and nearly dashed it from her hand. Lord, but he was tired! Why did Rogue and Ororo have to stumble into trouble now? And as long as he was pondering unanswerable questions, why did he always have to feel as if it was entirely his responsibility to make sure things turned out all right?
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