The air didn't smell like salt more than baking soda, but that was just a olfactory curiosity, one of many on this plane of existence.

A whorled black and white shell scuttled away from him, up the beach, as Bob started walking towards a beach house, set on stilts near the high tide line of the shore. It was a quaint but expansive looking bungalow, its wide cedar patio facing the ocean, but there was no one out on it to greet him.

But he knew his arrival had been instantly noted. He was, in fact, being watched closely.

He managed to walk all the way up and around to the front door, past clinging red vines that half heartedly reached out to grab him ( and missed ) and purple flowers as big as his head, shedding a fragrance like copper and blood, only to find the door open for him.

"Hello?" He asked, stepping inside. There was a nice, airy living room, enjoying the light seeping in through the window wall of the patio, giving the veined marble floor a curious lime green cast. The furniture was a jumbled mix of styles, but heavy on the rattan. "Cammy? Can I have a minute?"

Suddenly there was a woman sitting at a marble table near the patio doors, knitting contentedly, and never glanced at him or missed a stitch. "I have to admit, of all the people I expected to see, you weren't on the list, Bob. You're still calling yourself Bob, aren't you?"

"Yep. I've grown attached to its banal simplicity," he admitted, pulling out the wrought iron chair across from her and having a seat. "So how're tricks, Cam?"

"Oh, ordinary. Which is fine by me." She pulled out a piece of red yarn - he guessed it was chenille, or something like it - and kept knitting, the needles making the faintest of clicking sounds, competing with the roar of the surf to fill the house. "But you're not here on a social call."

"No, I'm afraid not. Fenrir's out."

That made her glance up at him for the first time, but she never missed a stitch. "Who would be dumb enough to let him out?"

Bob was forced to shrug. "I don't know. A shit for brains, that's for certain, but I'll deal with them in time. Right now, I gotta get Fenrir back in his cage."

"No," she said, with the type of certainty that could give a person chills. "Once was bad enough. He needs to be destroyed."

Bob sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'll burn that bridge when I come to it. Look, I need a favor, Cam, but I bet you already guessed that."

She looked at him appraisingly. Cammy - in this guise - appeared as a matronly Latina, maybe middle aged, with short, glossy black hair and skin the color of bronze. She could have passed as anyone's madre in Mexico City, with the slight but obvious problem that where her eyes were supposed to be were simply almond shaped holes in her face, bulging with red blood that never fell, but still seemed to swirl in its own personal Brownian motion. As always, Bob was sure the blood was not her own. "You want to call in your chip - is that how the Lessers put it?"

"Humans. And yeah."

She returned to her knitting, needle clicks filling up the moment. It looked like she was making someone a new coat of crimson skin. "I won't have dealings with that dimension anymore, Bob. Even if it is to stick it to Fenrir."

"You won't have to come. I just want you to take some people under your aegis."

She knitted thoughtfully - if that was possible - and didn't look up from her work. Bob placed his hands on the table, which was as warm as fevered flesh, and while the marble had the usual gold and black veins winding through it, it also had tiny red veins that seemed to pulse with life and light.

"Would you like some tea?" Cammy - also known to a few select Humans as Camaxtli - asked.

"Sure." Far be it from him to turn down her ( well, the Humans saw Cammy as a him - but, as usual, the truth was actually in between ) hospitality.

He didn't even feel a shift in reality as a china tea cup appeared on the table in front of him, the rim gilded with the purest gold, although the pattern painted  on the side of the cup was a brightly hued grotesque of a skeletally thin Human body with a large owl head. He recognized it as Ah Puch, the Mayan god who ruled Mitnal, the lowest and most bloody awful of the nine hells. Well, as the story went; again, reality was just a bit different. There were more than nine "hells", and Ah Puch was really just a bastard, but a friend of Cammy's. Perhaps he made the cups, and put the bone back in bone china.

"Thank you," he said, as a silver spoon materialized, allowing him to stir the steaming, reddish brown liquid. It smelled like mango, chamomile, and black currant; it was nice of her to remember to leave out the blood.

"Why would taking Humans under my protection do you any good against Fenrir?" She finally asked, as soon as he had a sip of his tea. "Yes, Fenrir couldn't kill them, but they're still lessers, and couldn't do anything against him."

"Ah, but these Humans are mutants, Cammy. With your power backing them up, they could be the army I need to take Fenrir down." When he set his cup back down, a gilt edged saucer appeared beneath it. It had a spider web of cracks that looked too red to be genuine.

"Mutants? Oh, do you mean those lessers that can do those quaint little tricks?"

"The very same."

Her needles clicked out an almost hypnotic rhythm as she worked and considered it. He remembered the old myth about the Three Fates, and idly wondered if Cammy really was working out the skein of someone's life. Well, stranger things had happened. "So your idea is to take them under my wings, so their abilities will be of some use while you face Fenrir? Do you expect me to protect you too?"

"Absolutely not. Give your energy to them; I'll take care of myself."

She glanced up at him and her bronzed lips pulled back in a smile that was one or two microns away from a wolfish leer. " You wish for me to protect them to the potential detriment of yourself? Lessers will be the death of you, Bob. Should I say again?"

"No. Humans didn't kill me the first time, and technically I didn't die, I was transmutated."

"To our kind that is a death of sorts. And you were stuck on that plane, which is worse than death in my opinion."

Bob shrugged. There was no arguing with her about it - he knew that from experience. "I have all my stuff there."

She continued to smile at him, even as she looked back down at her knitting, the red chenille draped across her lap like a bloody flag. "Still insouciant too. Wasn't that what got you in trouble in the first place?"

"Oh, probably. I never learn. Will you do it, Cammy?" After a pause, he knew she was probably weighing the odds of turning him down. So he called on the Belial strengths he did have in this flesh: the art of the sales pitch. "We both know of all the Highers you could kick Fenrir's ass without gettin' off the couch. Fuck, you don't even need to get out of bed. Compared to you he's a misbegotten peon, a boil on the bum of the Higher Realms. If he's gonna go down for the big sleep, I can't possibly do it alone, and you know it. Give me a hand here, Cam - help an old friend out. Please."

She glanced at him with a single bloody eye, and said, "You've always been good, you know?"

He shrugged. "It's a gift."

"You know what I require."

"You can have mine."

Now she stared at him, and almost dropped a stitch. "There is no reason for that. Just give me some of the lesser's - "

"I am more potent, yes?" He interrupted. Did she think he had amnesia? he knew what her price would be before he came here; and he also knew what he would offer her in its stead. "A little from me will go a far sight longer than a whole bunch from some Humans. I know what I'm doin' - accept it before I chicken out."

"You don't chicken out, Bob," she said, resuming her smooth and easy clicking. " You sacrifice yourself for lessers who would kill you if they knew what you were."

"Some of them have an idea of what I am, and they don't wanna kill me. They're not all bad,Cam."

"Fine. Most."

"Hey, watch it - I got family who are pretty damn Human."

She made a noise of disgust. "Cross breeding."

"Like you never! Come on."

"Well at least I had the good sense to kill my mistakes."

"Pardon me if I think that's less than charitable."

"You always were a softie."

"Can I count on you, Cam?"

He let her have a moment, knitting away, as the chenille skin seemed to grow much faster than she was creating it. "If you call on me, I will help. But there's no point in risking yourself for these creatures."

"It's my decision, Cam - humor me."

"Don't we always?" She replied, giving him a razorblade sharp smile.

Well actually never as much as he would have liked. But he could live with what little they gave him.

***

"Tell me you're just redecoratin'," she said, standing in the doorway.

He looked up at her, surprised, but didn't stop shoving his t - shirts into his backpack. "Look, Rogue, I don't belong here. Thanks and all, but - "

"Why, 'cause your part demon?" He'd been turning away, and that made him freeze and stiffen, kind of the way kids did when Logan shouted "Hey!". It didn't matter if he was even in the same room with them, most kids were just afraid he was talking to them. "Yeah, I know, and I don't care. Neither does the Professor - you're mutant; you're more than welcome here."

"You know about this demon shit?" He asked angrily, turning to face her. He wasn't actually mad at her more than genuinely upset; she had felt the same way about her mutantism, once the reality of it had sunk in.

"Hell, I've absorbed a couple."

"So I suppose Bobby knows too?"

"Well ... "

His expression became suspicious. "He doesn't?"

She grimaced, and realized there was no reply she could make that didn't sound completely chickenshit. "It's hard to know how to start that conversation."

He snorted derisively and turned away, back to search his dresser drawers one more time. "Yeah, I bet."

"Bren, you can't just leave. Where are you gonna go?"

It seemed to take him a few seconds to think of an answer, and even then he refused to turn back around and face her. "I don't know, I'll think of something. Maybe wherever demons go."

"Don't be stupid. Have you even talked to Matt about this?"

"Hell no. What the fuck would I tell him? "Sorry, we're not the same species?" come on!"

"So you'd just walk out without sayin' a word? If a guy dumped like that, I'd never forgive him."

He froze again, turned around slowly like he was rotating on a metal pole jammed up his butt. "What did you say?"

"Oh, come on, give me a break. When two young guys don't even give my tits a cursory glance, I kinda got a clue."

"Well, technically I am bisexual," he said, somewhat defensively. "You're just not my type."

The funny thing was, her first impulse was to say "why not", but she managed to hold it back. "He'd hate you if you just left, Bren. I know you don't want that."

No, but ... " He seemed unable to finish the sentence. "Look, I can't stay here, all right? I'm an even more freaky piece of shit than I thought."

"So what? This is Freak High! We're all freaks here."

"But you're not demons, are you?"

"No. But we're gearin' up to fight a god."

He snorted disdainfully, shaking his head as he turned back to his backpack, laying on the bed, and zipped it closed. "Sure you are."

There was just no getting through to him, was there? Pig headed bastard. "Look, you can't leave the mansion right now."

"Why not? Am I grounded?"

"There's some freako killing people that have anything to do with this place," A bit of a lie, but hell, if it kept him from leaving, why not? "We're huntin' him down, but until we get him it's probably not a good idea to leave. If he rips your guts out there'll hardly be enough of ya left to bury."

He stared at her, and for the first time she realized how eerie his red eyes could be. "You aren't serious."

"I am! Didn't you hear about Jean and Scott finding all those murdered people? And me last night? Come on, I ain't bullshitting you. Do you think some psycho asshole is gonna care that you're not 100% mutant? Your blood is red; that's all he cares about."

His shoulders sagged, and his chin sank to his chest as he seemed to believe her. "What is it about mutants that makes people want to kill you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know." Maybe he'd find some solidarity in the fact they were all being hunted like dogs. How depressing was that? She wondered if there was a more cheerful topic, and said, "Besides, you can't leave before you see Logan. If you think Matt is hot, wait."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. "I heard he has weird hair."

"Well, yeah, but as soon as you see his biceps you forget about it."

"Really?" He made a circle of his thumb and forefinger, neither of them touching, but close. "Like that big around?"

She copied his gesture, but made it about two inches wider, taking her best guess since she'd never measured Logan's biceps. She doubted he'd stand still for it. "More like this."

His eyes widened appreciatively. "Whoa."

And if lust wasn't a universal constant, she didn't know what was.

12

Of course she didn't believe him, but Logan could smell it: fear and flop sweat and despair, as thick as it was coming from Keenan, but there were dozens of people mixed up in this smell, two dozen, more. And it was made all the more eerie by the fact that the streets were totally deserted.

It was the fear, he supposed. It looked as if windows and doors had been barricaded, and he guessed people were trying to keep their phantasms out. The problem was they were all personal demons, and, as the cliche went, wherever you went, there you were. All they had done was locked their ghosts inside with them.

"Wow - is this what they mean by a ghost town?" Clia asked, as Logan parked his bike at the curb in front of a closed bar. Closed due to personal manifestations of guilt and regret? That would have been a hell of a sign to stick in the window.

"If you make another pun I'm knockin' you out," he threatened half heartedly. He needed her still - she knew what Kevin looked like; he didn't.

"You still seein' the dead wifey?"

He wheeled on her and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. He saw the fear in her eyes before he smelled it. "Don't you dare mock her," he snarled, feeling a strange raw anger make heat flush through his skin.

He felt the cooler touch of Mariko's hand on his, and she said, "You're letting it get to you. You're better than that, love - don't give in."

He almost asked her letting what get to him, but he wasn't so far gone he didn't get it: the demon. He thought that whatever drove these people over the edge wouldn't get to him, but it must have been far more subtle than simply having Mariko show up. She was simply the first symptom of the disease.

Logan took a deep breath and let Clia go, only realizing as soon as he released her that he had pulled her off her feet. She stumbled back, and glared bloody murder at him. "Fucking psycho, what the hell was that about?" She spat angrily.
"Are you going loco like Keenan or somethin'? " She rubbed her neck and straightened out her wrinkled shirt, using indignancy to cover her fear. She probably didn't realize he was that strong, even though she had seen him break open doors with small rabbit punches. Well, they were only trailer doors, and she was the demon here; it must have been natural to assume she was the stronger one.

"I might be," he admitted. "So don't fucking piss me off." He turned away before he could get mad at her again, and stopped dead when he almost walked into Mariko. It didn't matter that she was just a figment of his imagination - he wasn't going to walk into her or through her or whatever.

"It's getting stronger," she said, stepping out of his path.

It took him a moment to get it, but he did. "The demon." The sky was darker now, but he didn't think it was actually night; he no longer had any idea if it was day of not. It was just the sky had become gunmetal grey, like they had been locked inside a submarine and had nothing to do but stare at its interior hull. Some of the street lights had come on, but the light pooled beneath them like oil, and it seemed any beams that strayed out of its limited range were absorbed by the darkness.

He missed the sky. He never thought it would ever occur to him to do so, but he did. And the ceiling replacing the firmament made his skin crawl; it was like he was trapped inside the trunk of a car ( or a tank, or small cell like the cold drawer where they stored bodies in morgues, like he was buried alive .. ).

He was tired; his brain was starting to feel heavy behind his eyes. Was this what it was like to feel sick? He really didn't like it.

"What demon? Where? " Clia asked, and he could tell she was keeping her distance behind him. If she ever trusted him, that was pretty much gone now.

"I don't know. The thing causing this, it's getting stronger."

"Well, no duh. You can't see the sky anymore. Any other brilliant observations, Captain Obvious?"

He could feel something like a slow motion car crash occurring inside of him, his fragile patience giving way before the flood of his rage, but then the scent of Mariko was there, and he heard her in his ear saying, "No, not yet. Don't give in."

He had thought the calm and thoughtful Mariko was a strangely helpful apparition, that the thing behind all of this had badly miscalculated, but he understood now that he was wrong: she was probably killing him quietly, subtly, deftly, a scalpel making incisions so clean they didn't even hurt. Or at least not right away.

He felt Mariko put her arms around him and press up against him, and he wanted to scream. But his second instinct - to shove her away - would be pointless on a ghost, wouldn't it? He swallowed hard and tried to focus on the matter at hand .. which was ... uh ... "Are vampires better than Belials?"

"What?"

"You heard me." He closed his eyes and focused on the pulse of blood vessels in his eyelids. At least that was real.

"Fuck no. Those half breed losers are full of shit. "

"But I know some vamps who could probably sniff out this big bad demon, so if
those pieces of shit can, why can't you?" He turned to face her before he opened his eyes, hoping Mariko would remain behind him. But of course she was standing behind Clia and to the left, watching them both warily.

Clia's lips twisted in disdain, and he was sure he was in for some withering retort. But she must have changed her mind, because instead she got defensive. "Hey, do you know how many demons are in this town?"

"Not many," he replied, before she could flesh out her lie any further. "Give me credit - I know the difference between Human smells and demon ones. Wanna try again?"

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "She's scared," Mariko said.

Logan knew that, so he didn't bother to respond. He thought she was his Mariko at first, but now he really didn't know. It just seemed like the psychic weight of her -

( the guilt )

- was crushing him. "Look, I can't just - " Clia began, but never got a chance to finish.

A horrific, anguished scream suddenly split the false night, making Clia jump, and Logan turned his head in the direction of the sound. It died very quickly, but he was sure he had pinpointed the location. All he needed was a sound.

He left the bike where it was, and ran across the empty street, towards the direction of the sound. "Hey - where the fuck do you think you're going?!" Clia shouted after him, trying to hide her fear with rage.

But Logan didn't answer, and never looked back. Right now it just felt good to run; and maybe if he ran fast enough, he could leave it all behind.

***

He had had hardly started walking down the polished wooden halls when he realized he was in the forefront of someone's mind. Hmm. " - and I'd like to see it through. But a daily mutilation just won't do."

It wasn't too hard to track them down, although he had to take an unplanned trip upstairs. They were in the corridor outside the main library. "And the water doesn't work and the pipes are iced," Bob sang quietly, and loved the irony. And here he thought the song was more appropriate for Logan. "What's the problem, Bobby?" He said, reverting to speaking. Well, people only sang at each other in musicals. "And should I just call you Bob Too and make it easier on both of us? I got an ex who calls me Bobby, and frankly it drives me barmy. But if it makes her happy, hey."

The young man peeked around the corner, surprised that his quarry had found him first. His ice blue ( ha! More irony! ) eyes were wide with shock, as he was curious how much he knew about what he was thinking. "Um, no, I'm okay with Bobby," he admitted nervously. Bob had overwhelmed him with words, and he was a little scattered. He thought when he found Bob, he'd have the advantage of surprise.

"It's okay, I didn't read that far ahead," Bob assured him. "What's on your mind?"

He hesitated slightly, but finally decided to just spit it out, especially since he figured Bob already knew and was just humoring him. "Look, I know something's going on, probably related to that psycho who's been killing people in town, and ... if Rogue's in on this, i want to come with too."

"You want to protect her." He couldn't help but grin - it was touching. "You know she hardly needs it."

Now he was embarrassed. He looked down at his shoes, reddening slightly, and Bob put his arm around his shoulders and started subtly guiding him back towards the stairs. Well, there were people coming, and not everybody needed to hear this. "No, Bob, I think that's natural. Hel was worried about me and if she knew what was goin' on she'd want to come here and help, even though there's nothing she can do but get killed. You care about someone, it doesn't matter how powerful they are: you never want to see them hurt, or in danger. It's instinct." And it was the same reason he hadn't told Helga about Fenrir - he didn't want her in on this. Sorry, but she was out of this fight, even though he knew as soon as she found out about it she'd probably toss him off the balcony. He was willing to risk her wrath to keep her out of harm's way.

"So you don't think I'm an idiot?"

"No, not at all." He patted his shoulder in a reassuring manner, surprised at how much he resembled a great great grandson of his. Well, except that great great grandson was part Laotian, but still, save for the eyes, the resemblance was uncanny. "In fact, I'm glad you've volunteered - as it were - because I think you could help."

Bobby glanced up at him, trying to hide his pleased smile but failing. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Go get Marie and Kitty and meet the rest of in the Professor's office in five minutes."

He raised his eyebrows, lips twisting uncertainly. "Kitty?"

Bob nodded. "I'll explain when you get there. Go on."

Bobby nodded and gave him a weak smile as he went off to find the others.

The kids were resilient and willing to accept his lead, assuming he knew more about what was going on than anyone else. And they were right, of course. But he wondered if he'd have to push some of Xavier's people to get them to accept his lead.

Because he already knew they weren't going to like it.

13

"What going on?" Scott asked, staring at Bob. Oddly enough, he wished Logan was here to deal with this weirdo; he seemed to run interference pretty well, and he and his so called "friend" kept things pretty much to themselves. But now that Logan was gone ( was it wrong for him to hope he was dead if he didn't have the guts to show up here? ), they got full on Bob, and how irritating was that? He thought filtered Bob was about all he could stand.

"I got a plan to kick Fenrir's ass," Bob said, his eyes sparkling with humor. What, had he picked up his thoughts? Oh, who cared? "But it requires you playin' ball with me. Can you handle that?"

"What kind of ball?" He wondered, and glanced nervously over at the kids, clustered in the corner opposite Bob. "Should they be here?"

"They're in."

"No they are not," Scott snapped, his worst fear confirmed. "They are kids, and I am not - "

"We can take care of ourselves," Rogue interrupted irately, crossing her arms over her chest. "Ain't that why we're here? To learn to take care of ourselves?"

"Nothing is gonna happen to them," Bob said. "I won't let it. I know it's hard for you, but you're gonna have to trust me, Scott."

"We should hear him out, don't you think?" The Professor suggested, but they all knew it was simply a polite order. Scott sighed, feeling defeated - for the hundredth time today - and sat on the couch beside Jean, slouching forward with his elbows on his knees. Jean put her hand on his back in a gesture of comfort, but it was automatic, and he didn't know if she really meant it anymore.

"Now, I cut a deal with a friend that's gonna help us beat Fenrir, but you're gonna have to undergo a ceremony."

Bobby and Kitty didn't look confused, so he assumed someone ( Rogue? ) caught them up on what was going on. Poor kids. "What sort of friend? And what do you mean by ceremony?"

"Camaxtli. She hates Fenir - who doesn't? - but doesn't want anything to do with this dimension, or internecine battles. So she's agreed to lend you her protection, so Fenrir can't kill you, but that requires a temporary bonding ceremony."

"Camaxtli?" Jean said, struggling to pronounce it. She was braver than him - he couldn't even imagine how you spelled it. "That sounds Incan."

"Mayan, but you were close."

"Bonding ceremony?" Storm wondered, getting Bob back on the more important topic.

Bob shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal, or didn't sound as sinister as hell. "Chuck was kind enough to let me start settin' stuff up in a room downstairs. I can do the ceremony - it's nothing major - and shouldn't take long. But I should warn you - to be fair - while under her protection you will bear her mark."

"Mark?" Scott repeated dubiously.

"Oh, like a tattoo? We get tattoos?" Rogue asked, sounding inexplicably thrilled by that idea.

Bob grinned, but it seemed uncomfortable somehow. "Nah sweetheart, you'll still have to pay to get one of those. But it may look a bit like one while it lasts."

"What will it look like?" Jean asked. She didn't like the sound of it either.

"A feathered serpent with bloody eyes. Most likely it'll be on your forehead."

"Our foreheads?" Kitty asked nervously, reaching up to touch her brow. Rogue might have belonged here; Bobby was a stretch; but Kitty certainly didn't. She was a sweet girl, and belonged as far from this madness as possible. Scott wasn't sure he'd ever been as innocent as she was.

"Don't worry - as soon as Cammy withdraws her protection, they'll disappear."

"What does this ceremony entail?" Storm asked.

"Oh, just some chantin' and liturgical crap like that," Bob said dismissively. "But I'm afraid you aren't comin' with us, Ororo."

"What? Why?"

"Because Fenrir can control the atmosphere too, and even with Cammy's power backin' you up, it's a stalemate. You'll only be cannon fodder. I'm sorry, Storm, but you're out. Chuck, you too."

The Professor didn't seem all that surprised. "Because telepathy is of no use against a god."

Bob nodded. "You'll just make your own head explode. And Jean, you're on the fence. Don't use your telepathy, which you already guessed, but how much value your telekinesis is gonna be is up in the air. But we can give it a shot. And Scott, you're probably not going to be able to do much but annoy him, but I'll settle for that. Rogue - how long can you hold the powers of someone you absorbed?"

She had to think about it for a moment. "I don't know. Half an hour maybe?"

"You were Logan for days," Scott pointed out, reminding her of the last time she had absorbed him.

"Yeah, but I drained him dry. If he was a normal person, I'd have killed him; I almost did anyways. And I was not Logan for days. Maybe like a day, tops."

"At least you didn't get the facial hair," Bobby pointed out, giving her a small smile.

She grinned back at him. "Yeah, but the claws may have been cool."