Chapter 11
She awoke very gradually, dream and reality intermingling almost imperceptibly. She had the sensation of floating - not flying, she realized, because she wasn't going anywhere in particular. She really couldn't see anything, but she could hear a murmur all around her, which reminded her of the atmosphere of a church, or of a concert hall prior to the performance. She felt warm, safe, and comfortable. The murmur, rather than seeming threatening, was like the unintelligible but comforting sounds that a mother makes to her child.
"Rogue?"
She snapped awake instantly, and the whispering in her head was silenced abruptly. She slapped the button on the intercom on her night stand. "Here, Hank," she replied. "How's Archetype?"
"Come down and see for yourself."
Rogue scrambled into a pair of jeans and hurried down to the infirmary. She found Henry seated at one of the consoles, surrounded by paper printouts, with his head in his hands. "What's wrong?" she asked, worried.
Henry pointed to the closed door of the recovery room. "That man is going to drive me to drink," he growled.
Rogue grimaced. "That bad?"
"He was juggling the bedpans an hour ago."
"Why don't you get some rest yourself?" she asked him.
"I'm about to hit the sack. The Professor relieves me in a few minutes."
"Can I go talk to him?"
"If you're up to it. How do you feel?"
"A lot better. The rest did me some good. I had a really weird dream, though."
"Let me guess. You were floating around in a dark place, and there was whispering all around you."
She stared at him. "How did you know that?"
"Because Charles and I both had the same dream, and I'd bet good money that some of the others here did, too."
Rogue glanced at the door. "You think he's responsible?"
"I'm not sure. Take a look at this," he said, pulling a sheet of paper out of the pile in front of him. "This is an analysis of his EKG patterns while he was out. They're a bit incomplete because of that scrambling field he emits. Ororo and Warren came down earlier to check on him, and I did scans on them for a baseline analysis."
"And?"
"Well, I think you'd have to see it to understand it." He turned to a computer terminal and brought up a display. "I asked both of them to take a brief nap while I scanned their brain waves. While they were asleep, parts of their patterns were identical. When I woke them up, they both reported having the same dream that you did."
"Okay," she said, "somehow he's influencing our dreams. Next question - why?"
"I've got two guesses. Either we're picking up some sort of psychic echo of his healing state..."
"Or?" she prompted.
Henry grimaced. "The 'or' gets stickier. Ever since he got here, I've been reading all the material on Jungian psychology I can find."
"And?"
"Well, after I came up for air, I came up with a theory that's a bit out in left field. It's possible that our dreams are part of an effort to aid his healing process."
Rogue frowned. "From who?"
"The collective consciousness."
She looked at him. "You're kidding, right?"
He shrugged. "It fits in with both Jungian theory and the available evidence. My best guess, cornball though it may be, is that his mind was placed in some sort of... I don't know, protective custody, I guess, while his body was given a chance to heal."
"Have you talked with him about it yet?"
"I'll do it after I get some sleep." He looked at his desk and grimaced. "Maybe I should clean up before Charles gets here."
"Good idea." She walked over to the recovery room door and tapped lightly.
"Come in," she heard. She opened the door to find Archetype sitting up in bed, surrounded by books. His face, while still somewhat drawn, had regained a bit of its vitality, and had a cheerful expression. That expression faded, however, when he saw who had entered.
"I seem to be apologizing to you a lot lately," he said. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that."
"I stopped being angry a few hours ago. Now I just want to know why."
His face became troubled. "I wish I could give you a straight answer, but to be honest, the best one that I can give you is that those events took place in the time when they were supposed to happen."
"Wait a minute," she said, as she settled down in a chair, "are you saying that what happened was... I don't know... predestined?"
"I wouldn't call it predestination as much as I would... appropriateness. Sometimes, I find that circumstances in my life reach a state where my options all reach the same conclusion - where all the paths lead to the same destination. At that point, the actions that I take are almost incidental to the event itself." He paused. "Did that make any sort of sense?"
"You're saying that you're sort of... bound by necessity?"
"That's a good way of putting it," he said approvingly. Suddenly he yawned.
"Should I let you get back to sleep?" she said tentatively.
"I think I'd better have something to eat first. Just what time is it?"
"It's about eight in the morning. I haven't eaten yet, either. I'll cook us both breakfast. What do you want?"
He thought a moment. "Can you manage a chicken-fried steak?"
She smiled. "I haven't made that in years. How about eggs and hash browns on the side, with country gravy?"
"Sounds divine."
"Be back in a bit. Want coffee?"
He made a face. "Never touch the stuff."
"But you've been making coffee for breakfast every day."
"Just because I make it, that doesn't mean I drink it."
She laughed. "Back in a bit."
Warren and Elizabeth walked into what had been the kitchen the last time they had checked.
"What in the world..." Warren whispered.
Flour, eggshells, and cooking oil were strewn all over the room. Piles of diced potatoes and onions were lumped right next to the stove, where Rogue was frantically waving a spatula over a smoking pan.
"Who attacked?" Elizabeth asked.
Rogue glared at her. "Not... one... word."
"Is there anything we can do to help?" Warren asked.
Rogue fumed for a moment, then pulled a twenty dollar bill out of her pocket. "Two things. You know that truck stop down the highway?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Bring back two orders of chicken fried steak, with gravy, eggs, and hash browns, as fast as you can."
"Okay," Warren said, taking the money. "What's the second thing?"
"Never... ever... breathe a word of this to Archetype."
Two days later, Henry gave Archetype a clean bill of health, but cautioned him to "take it easy for at least a week."
"I'm fine, Doctor McCoy," was the reply.
"No, you're not," Henry said sternly. "You're still slightly malnourished, and your muscles, for all they've healed, are still pretty weak. If you just jump back into your normal routine, you'll land right back in that bed."
"In any case," Xavier added, "you need time to recover from the incident."
Archetype looked at him suspiciously. "What exactly do you mean?"
"You are being placed on a leave of absence until we feel that you are fit to return to duty."
Archetype groaned. "Oh, please, don't do that. I'll go crazy if all I have to do around here is sit around twiddling my thumbs."
"You don't have to stay here," Xavier informed him. "Look on this as a vacation. You have been working pretty hard lately."
"All right," Archetype replied glumly. "Are there any restrictions on traveling for me?"
Xavier and Henry looked at each other, then shook their heads. "No. Do you have anything in mind?"
"No. I'll just take the next international flight out of JFK and wing it from there."
"How soon would you leave?"
He shrugged. "I could be out of here in an hour and a half. Just give me a chance to pack and get some money together."
"Why not just use plastic?" Henry asked.
"I like to get lost when I travel. If I use plastic, then anybody who knows their way around a computer could trace my movements."
"How much do you carry with you at any one time?"
"Depends on the situation. I'll probably keep it down to about ten grand for this trip."
"Oh, gee, is that all?" Henry said dryly.
Archetype smiled thinly. "I like to pamper myself when I'm on vacation - I don't take one very often. I tend to take the four-star hotel circuit."
"Do you have a destination in mind?" Xavier asked.
"I usually just look at what flights are going to Europe and take the next available plane."
"All right," Xavier said, "you should get packing. I want you gone for at least two weeks."
Archetype's face became mournful. "And I thought you were starting to like me," he said in a mock-sorrowful voice.
Xavier glared at him. "Get going," he said in an even voice.
After Archetype had left the room, Xavier and Henry looked at each other. "Do you think he'll take it easy?" Henry asked.
"Given what we've seen of his personality so far, not a chance."
"Great. So how do we keep him out of trouble?"
Archetype came out of the elevator, carrying two large suitcases, a flight bag, and a suit bag, trying to recall whether he had forgotten anything.
"What took you so long?"
He looked up to find Rogue standing in the doorway, next to a stack of luggage. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked.
"I'm going with you," she replied.
"You most certainly are not!"
"Oh, yes, she is," Xavier said as he emerged from the ante room.
"I do not need a chaperone, Xavier," Archetype said between gritted teeth.
"To put it bluntly, Mister Riley, I don't think that you're going to follow doctor's orders. Rogue is going along to make sure that you actually get some rest."
"And how, pray tell," he asked, turning to Rogue, "are you planning to do that?"
Rogue took hold of his belt buckle and lifted him up about three feet. "Punching you out if you give me any grief comes to mind," she told him.
"So much for the Hippocratic Oath," Archetype muttered.
Bobby drove them to JFK, and Archetype walked straight to the arrivals and departures board. "See if you can find the next flight going to Europe," he told Rogue.
After scanning the board for a moment, she replied, "There's an Aer Lingus to Shannon in an hour and a half."
He nodded and went to the Aer Lingus booth in the reservations wing. "I would like two adjoining seats in business class for your flight to Shannon."
The clerk behind the counter tapped at his keyboard for a moment. "Yes, sir. How will you be paying?"
"That will be cash."
"Will this be round-trip, sir?"
Rogue saw Archetype think about it for a moment. "What's your time limit for claiming the return trip?"
"Thirty days, sir."
"All right, I'll take that, then."
After they had checked their luggage in, Archetype walked over to the airport shops. "I'm going to need a survival pack," he told Rogue.
"What's a survival pack?"
"Snacks, books, magazines... anything to keep me from going crazy from boredom. Do you want anything? You've got a blank check here, so take advantage of it."
"No problem," Rogue replied. Five minutes later, they each had a largish stack of books, magazines, and candies at the checkout counter.
"Anything else?" the cashier asked.
"I don't think I could fit anything else in my bag," Archetype replied. He looked at Rogue. "Care for a bite before we leave?"
"Sounds good to me," Rogue said. "How about there?" She pointed to a pizza booth across the airport lobby. Five minutes later, they were both munching on pizza and soda.
"Mind if I ask a question?" Archetype asked her. She shook her head. "Where do you find all your gloves? I must have seen you with twelve different pairs since I met you."
"I usually get them at Bloomingdales. Why are you always wearing gloves?"
"I have a few reasons," he replied evasively.
"You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"Not quite yet." He glanced at his watch. "We'd better start out for the gate." They polished off their food and left.
As they approached the gate, Rogue stopped suddenly, her eyes widening. "Oh, no," she wailed.
"What's wrong?" Archetype asked her.
"I just realized I forgot my passport!"
He frowned for a moment. "Come with me," he said sternly, moving back to the shops. He turned into a side hall suddenly, pulling her along by the elbow. Everything went dark for a moment, and she found herself back in the foyer of the mansion.
"Well," Archetype said impatiently, "hurry up and get the thing!"
"Right," she said quickly, and flew up to her room at breakneck speed. She grabbed her passport from her dresser and hurried out the door, nearly running into Ororo.
Ororo jumped back, startled. "I thought you were at the airport."
"Long story," Rogue gasped. "Gotta go!" She raced back down the stairs, where Archetype was nervously looking at his watch. "Got it!" she cried.
"Let's go, then." He grabbed her jacket again, and she found herself back at the airport. They went through the gate, gave their tickets to the clerk, and boarded the plane.
"Do you want the window or aisle seat?" he asked her.
"Mind if I take the window? The pilot in me likes to see what's below me when I fly."
"No problem." They belted themselves into their seats and waited for the cabin light to go off. Once it did, Archetype took his bag from the overhead compartment and selected a book. As he replaced the bag, he glanced at Rogue. "Do you want your bag yet?" he asked her.
She shook her head. "I think I'll just take a quick nap. Can you wake me up in a while?"
"Sure, but wait a minute before you do." He got up and walked towards the back of the business class section. When he came back, he was holding a pillow and blanket. "Here you go," he said, handing them to her.
"Why, thank you," she said, touched. She placed the pillow against the wall, wrapped herself in the blanket, and was asleep in a few seconds.
A few minutes later, it seemed to her, she was gently shaken awake. "Rogue," Archetype's voice said quietly, "time to eat."
She yawned, stretching. "How long was I out?"
"About four hours. Do you want the chicken-flavored cardboard or the beef-flavored cardboard?"
"Let's go with the chicken. I had beef-flavored cardboard with the pizza."
The meal, which was actually quite good, was served a few minutes later. "Where will we be stopping first?" she asked him.
"I think we'll go to Dublin first, wander around a while. Think you can handle driving an Irish car?"
"Let me guess. Wheel's on the right, drive on the left?"
"Just like in England," he confirmed.
They both turned their attention back to their books, and soon they heard the pilot announcing the landing. Forty minutes later, they had passed through customs and had rented a car.
"How long will it take us to get to Dublin?" Rogue asked as they drove off.
"Three to four hours, depending on traffic. Just take your time. We aren't on any sort of timetable here."
She nodded. "What's on the agenda once we get there?"
"Well, I'll have to stop at my bank first and exchange some of my cash. Then I suppose we'll find a good hotel."
She stared at him. "You mean you didn't make any reservations?"
"None of you gave me any time. Besides, I've never had any problem with getting a room when I need one."
"Why's that?"
He smiled that chill smile again. "Despite my age, Rogue, I'm an old-fashioned gentleman, which means that, when circumstances demand it, I'm the nastiest son of a bitch that you'll ever meet. I'll make them so miserable that they'll give us two rooms just to shut me up."
She smiled, then looked at him. "Why two rooms?"
Archetype looked startled for a moment, then became flustered. "Well, I... that is, I thought..."
Rogue laughed. "I'm just joking. What do you want to do about dinner?"
"Lunch, actually. We've lost a few hours, remember? We'll find a good restaurant after we check in." He yawned. "Then I'm going to crash for a few hours."
"Why didn't you sleep on the plane?"
"I can't sleep in a chair. Tomorrow I'll take care of some business in Dublin. I can show you the shopping district, if you like."
Rogue's face brightened at that. "I've got a feeling that I'm going to max out my Visa on this trip."
"It's all on me. Consider it compensation for playing baby-sitter," he told her, noting her look of surprise.
"I think I'm going to enjoy this," she said, smiling.
"We aim to please."
Archetype handed Rogue an envelope as he walked out of the bank. "Two thousand punts," he told her. "If you need more, just ask."
"Thanks," she said, slipping it inside her jacket. "Which way to the hotel?"
"Down six blocks then take a left."
Ten minutes later, they walked into the lobby of the Shelbourne Hotel. "Good morning," he said to the concierge, "we would like two adjoining suites, please."
The clerk looked them both up and down. "Perhaps, sir," he said in a haughty tone, "you might wish to try another establishment."
Archetype's face hardened, and Rogue was fairly certain that she felt the air crackle. "Perhaps, sir, you might wish to reevaluate that statement." He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and removed a credit card, which he showed to the clerk. Rogue watched with interest as the clerk's eyes widened and his face blanched.
"Let's start over, shall we?" Archetype said coldly. "We would like two adjoining suites, please."
"Y-Yes, sir."
"We will be paying on a daily basis. We will call if we require anything. Beyond that, we are not to be disturbed. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent. Get someone to see to our bags." Fifteen seconds later, a bellhop was loading their luggage onto a cart and leading them to the elevator.
"What kind of card was that one you showed him?" Rogue asked quietly as they ascended.
"Bank of Ireland Platinum Card," he replied. "Millionaires only."
She nodded. "Why'd you get so cold on him?"
"I didn't like his attitude."
As they entered their rooms, Archetype handed a fifty punt bill to the bellhop. "Thank you very much for your help," he told the young man. "Tell me, what's the best restaurant in this part of town?"
"That would be Coffees, sir."
"Would they be open right now?"
"Yes, sir."
He looked at Rogue. "Could you be ready to leave in forty-five minutes?"
"No problem." She entered her room and gasped. It was huge - easily three times the size of her room at the mansion. She quickly composed herself, undressed, and took a quick shower, deciding that, given the size of the tub, the suite was intended for two guests. She promised herself a nice, hot bath later that night.
Forty-five minutes later, she was putting on the last of her makeup when she heard a knock at the door which adjoined the two suites. She unlocked and opened the door, letting Archetype in.
"Ready?" he asked. He wore a tweed ensemble in various shades of grey.
"Just finished," she replied. "How do I look?"
"Enchanting," he assured her. She wore a white blouse with a kelly green jacket, white hose, and a green-and-white striped ankle-length pleated skirt. "Shall we get going? I got the address of the restaurant from the front desk. It's only a few minutes' walk from here."
"All right." She made sure that she had her keycard, and they left her suite and entered the elevator. "What exactly was that business with that guy at the front desk?" she asked as they descended.
"I had just decided what my role is going to be," he said.
"I don't get it."
"Well, we could have gone to another hotel pretty easily, but I just wasn't in the mood. So, as far as this hotel is concerned, I'm a rich bastard who wants everything done his way and done immediately." He frowned for a moment. "Remind me to make one or two calls to the desk and complain about something trivial."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Immensely." They stepped out of the elevator and crossed the lobby to the entrance. As they passed the front desk, Rogue noticed that Archetype fixed the clerk with a cold glare.
As they walked down the streets, Rogue noticed that most of the buildings that they were passing were older, and said so.
"This part of the city didn't see much fighting during the Rebellion," he replied. "The area we're going into is a bit more recent." He proved true to his word, as brownstones soon gave way to skyscrapers.
"There's the floozy," he said absently at one point.
"Excuse me?"
"Hm? Oh," he said, pointing to a nearby fountain, which housed a stylized statue of a nude woman. "That statue's known locally as 'The floozy in the Jaccuzi'. The Irish, as a general rule, aren't too fond of modern art."
Ten minutes later, they walked into Coffees. "Reservation for two under 'Riley', please," Archetype informed the maiter'd.
"Of course sir. If you'll please follow me?" He led them to a small booth in the corner, handed them their menus, and left them alone for a moment.
Rogue frowned as she looked at the menu. "I don't see any prices."
"This is the type of place where if you have to ask the price, you can't afford it."
"Oh." After studying the menu for a moment, she decided on chicken stuffed with wild rice, while Archetype chose the filet mignon. Rogue also requested the wine list, which surprised Archetype. "You just haven't struck me as a drinker," he said.
She shrugged. "I'm on vacation and feel like relaxing. Besides, my body burns alcohol out of my system pretty quickly. One glass of wine isn't going to do much to me. Why?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye. "Are you considering taking advantage of me if I get wasted?"
He drew himself up. "I am a gentleman, madam. Besides, you're stronger than I am."
She chuckled. "Where do you want to go after this?"
Archetype rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "How about getting some shopping done? I need to pick up a few things, and there are a few antique stores that I frequent in the area. After that, I'll show you where some of the boutiques are." He was interrupted by the waiter, who brought them their drinks, salads and a hot loaf of bread. "Dublin isn't exactly Paris, but there are a few fashionable places around here." He tore off a piece of the bread and buttered it. "Is there anything in particular that you want to see?" he asked as he sipped at his sparkling cider.
Rogue shook her head. "Not really. Any objection if we just wander around and window shop?"
"None. I like to window shop, actually. It gives me an opportunity to find things that I wouldn't intentionally seek out. You haven't seen my bric-a-brac collection yet. I keep all sorts of little treasures scattered all over the world. I'll warn you though: if we stop at a bookstore, we'll be there a while. I tend to grow roots when I'm in one."
"I'll make sure to throw you across the street if we pass one, then."
"Thanks," he said dryly.
"No charge."
Their first stop turned out to be a men's' clothing shop, where Archetype requested a fitting for a suit. Fortunately, it was a slow day, and the tailor had him on a stool within minutes, measuring him from every angle. Archetype requested that a vest be included with the suit, and offered the tailor a bonus if it could be ready within twenty-four hours. The deal having been struck, he and Rogue left and went to the nearest antique store, where he purchased a nineteenth-century Scottish dirk.
The next two hours were all Rogue's, as they were spent in one of the women's boutiques that Archetype had mentioned earlier. Rogue entertained herself by trying on a series of progressively more cutting-edge outfits. "Well, what do you think?" she said to Archetype as she posed in a black bustier with elbow-length gloves and a floor-length skirt slit up to waist level.
Archetype's face was impassive. "I'd advise against wearing it to a job interview."
Rogue stuck her tongue out at him.
Later, they spent an hour or so inside a used book store, where Archetype bought a largish stack of books. "Do you feel up to a black tie situation?" he asked Rogue as they left. "There's a charity function tonight, and it would be a good idea for me to show my face for a night. I haven't been seen in Dublin social circles for a while, and an appearance with a mysterious young woman will set tongues wagging. Besides, we get a good meal out of the deal." He looked at his watch. "It doesn't start until nine. Why don't we head back to the hotel and rest up before we go?"
"Okay," Rogue replied, "but I'll need to get in to see a hair stylist."
"There's a salon in the hotel," he informed her. Then he frowned. "Wait a minute. If you're invulnerable, how can you get your hair cut?"
"I have a power dampener in my suitcase."
"Oh," he said. "Next stupid question: if you have access to a power dampener, why not use it all the time? I've talked with Bobby, and I know how much grief your powers have given you."
Rogue was silent for quite some time. When she spoke again, her voice was much quieter, almost a whisper. "I've got lots of reasons, but two of them are the most important. First, being exposed to a dampening field for long periods of time can be dangerous. It's a lot like living next to a power line. It doesn't do much short term, but the long term effect is damage to the nervous system. I don't want to take that risk."
"I see," Archetype said feelingly. He looked at her closely. "You don't have to talk about this if you don't want to," he said gently.
"That's okay," she said, smiling slightly. "It's been a while since I've talked about it, and I need to get it out of my system once in a while. The second reason?" She looked up at him, defiance flashing through her tear-stained eyes. "The second reason is that I'm selfish. I will find a way to control my powers, and I'll do it without relying on some damn electronic crutch."
Archetype smiled gently, and slowly cupped her chin in his gloved hand. "There's a brave girl," he said affectionately. "Don't let them keep you down." He reached into his back pocket and handed her a handkerchief, which she used to dry her eyes.
Rogue looked at him gratefully for a moment, then, acting on impulse, wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. When she let him go, he straightened his clothes out and looked at her. "Shall we get ready for the party?"
"Let's."
Chapter 12
The King's Inns Club was one of Dublin's most prestigious social clubs, having been founded by many of the prominent leaders of post-revolutionary Ireland. It was housed in a seventeenth-century Georgian mansion which, thought Rogue, rivaled the school in size. The front entrance was busily receiving a long series of limousines and luxury cars, from which tuxedoed men and gowned ladies emerged.
"All set to dazzle the upper crust?" Archetype asked Rogue from the shadows of an alley near the club.
"Ready."
His mouth twitched in amusement. "Feel like having a bit of fun?"
She looked at him, eyes narrowed. "What are you planning?"
"I haven't been seen around here in a while, so people will probably think that I've been abroad. Can you exaggerate your accent a bit?"
Rogue's eyes widened. "Accent? Why, suh, Ah don't have a clue whut yow're talkin' abowt."
"Perfect. Now, here's the plan..."
"Well, suh, mah daddy, bein' in the oil business and all, was a mite curious abowt just whut my Willie was doin' here in Europe. So we just jumped on one of my daddy's planes and came over here, an' bein' here is just so much fun, although ya'll do talk a mite strange..."
"Uh, thank you, Miss..."
"O'Hara, suh. Elsie May O'Hara."
"...Miss O'Hara, I'm afraid that my wife is motioning for me to come over. It's been a pleasure speaking with you. Mister Riley, may I speak with you privately for a moment?"
"Certainly, Mister Boyle. Elsie May, why don't you get us some punch?"
"Shure, Willy. Ah'll be right bahk." Rogue made sure to exaggerate the sway of her hips as she walked away.
"Where did you find that girl, Riley?" Boyle said after Rogue had left. "She's absolutely gorgeous!"
Archetype could only agree with him there. In fact, when he had opened the door at her knock earlier that evening, he found that he could only gape at her. Her dress was a deep, dark red, with a rather low-cut bodice and a slit skirt that reached up to mid-thigh. Her green eye shadow blended perfectly with her eyes. She had somehow found a lipstick which perfectly matched the color of her dress, and had added a pair of elbow-length black gloves which she had packed with her. The effect was crowned by her hair, which flowed down one shoulder in a cascading wave.
"She's that all right," she agreed.
"But isn't she a little..." Boyle faltered.
"If you're trying to imply that she's 'dumb as dirt', as they say where she comes from, then you're right." He smiled thinly. "I don't keep her around for her intellect, though."
Boyle raised an eyebrow. "You mean she's your...?"
"Her father owed me quite a bit of money, so he and I made a deal. As long as she keeps me entertained, I won't collect on the debt." He chuckled evilly. "The great part about it is that she doesn't even know about the deal. As long as I give her a new toy to play with every once in a while, she's quiet as a lamb."
"Toy?"
"You know, a car, a necklace, an ocean cruise, that sort of thing. Ah, thank you, dear," he said as Rogue returned with two glasses of punch. "It's been wonderful talking with you, old boy, but I really should spread myself around a bit tonight. Say good-bye, dear."
"Bye, Mistuh Bile..."
"Boyle, dear, Boyle," Archetype said as they walked off. When they were out of Boyle's earshot, however, Archetype broke into a fit of giggles. "Oh, the con jobs I could pull with you, my dear! You almost had me fooled."
"Why, thank you, suh," Rogue replied, bowing slightly. "Actually, I'm having a lot of fun. I haven't gotten this much attention in a while."
"I think the dress might have something to do with that. I have told you that you look lovely, haven't I?"
"Only about six times tonight."
"Is that all? Oh, dear, I'm below my quota."
"Well, I'll let you get away with it, but just this once. Have we made enough of an impression for one night? My feet are starting to hurt."
"You should have said something," he said in a concerned voice. "We'll head back immediately."
As they wove their way through the crowd, Rogue, who was eyeing the snack plates for one last thing to nibble on, saw Archetype's head snap up suddenly, as if he had been startled by a loud noise. "What's wrong?" she asked him, worried.
"I just heard something," he said, his brow furrowed in concentration. She saw him sweep his gaze around the room, scanning the crowd. Noticing her look of confusion, he tapped the side of his head with a finger. "Up here."
"Oh," was all she could think to say. "Where's it coming from?"
He pointed to the fireplace at the front of the room. "There." He looked at her. "You may want to stay here. This is going to involve a walk down one of those darker paths that I've told you about."
"Thanks for the offer, but the X-Men are a team. We don't let our people face problems alone. I'll be right behind you."
"Suit yourself." They both strode directly to the fireplace, and turned around.
There were two overstuffed easy chairs in front of them. A woman sat on their left, a man on their right. It was instantly apparent that they were twins. They were both quite short and slender, with pale skin and black hair, and it was obvious that they were both older than they looked. They were dressed in clothes which were exactly the same deep shade of blue, and looked at them with eyes that were so dark as to be black.
"I believe that you two wanted to see me?" Archetype asked in an even voice.
"Why would you think that, good sir?" the woman asked in a low, musical voice. She had an accent which Rogue couldn't quite place.
"Don't play games with me!" Archetype snapped angrily, his Irish accent becoming much more pronounced in the process. "If you want something from me, then come right out and say it!"
"Very well," the man answered in a similarly musical voice. "We would speak with thee three nights hence at the mound near your home."
"And what interest would the Fair Folk have with me?"
"You will learn that when we speak."
"In three nights, then. Rogue," he said, striding towards the door, "we are leaving."
Rogue hurried to catch up with him. "Who the hell were those two? And why do you have to meet them in three days? Why..."
"Please, Rogue, no questions now," he said as they claimed their coats from the check area and left the club. "Give me a few moments to come down to earth." They left the club, turned a corner, and were back in front of the hotel. As they walked by the front desk, Rogue noticed that the staff cringed slightly, as if awaiting an imminent eruption.
As they entered their rooms, Archetype took a deep breath and exhaled. "All right," he said, "I'll explain over a meal. Are you still hungry? I didn't get a chance to eat much during the party."
"I could deal with a light snack. Do you want to go out again?"
"No, I think I'll just order from room service." He picked up a menu from the desk in the corner. "How does beef stroganoff sound?"
"Nice and filling."
"All right, then." He picked up the phone and dialed room service. A moment later, he was speaking with the kitchen. Rogue noticed that he slurred his words slightly. He glanced at the wine list for a moment, then added a bottle of champagne to the order. "And hurry up with it!" he bellowed into the phone receiver before slamming it into the cradle.
"That was part of the role, right?" Rogue asked.
"Right. Mister Rich Bastard just went to a party and came back drunk as a lord. As rude when he is when he's sober, he's impossible when he's smashed. The bottle is because he and his companion are going to drink themselves into insensibility."
"We are?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Nah," he said, waving dismissively. "I'll just pour a little bit into our glasses, swirl it around, and pour it and the bottle down the drain."
"Oh, don't do that," Rogue protested. "Why waste it?"
He shrugged. "If you want some, I'm certainly not going to stop you. Now, if you'll excuse me, he said as he loosened his tie, "I have to make myself look drunk." He undid the top button and rumpled his shirt, pulling out the tail and half of the front. He tousled his hair and set his glasses off-kilter. He then swayed on his feet slightly and looked at her with unfocused eyes. "How do I look?" he asked her in a slurred voice.
"The term wasted comes to mind."
"That was the effect I was hoping for. What are you going to do?"
"Well, that tub attracted my attention before. A bubble bath sounds real good right now."
"There's a bathrobe in the closet," he informed her.
"Thanks. Let me know when the food gets here," she said, closing the door behind her most of the way. She walked over to the closet, took out the robe, which she noticed was emblazoned with the name of the hotel, turned on the water to the tub, added some of the bubble bath from the small shelf which was next to the tub, then went back into the bedroom and, after taking a moment to make sure that Archetype wasn't peeking through the door, undressed and changed into the robe. She tied her hair back with a barrette, then sank into the tub with a contented sigh.
About fifteen heavenly minutes later, she heard a knock on the door to Archetype's room, then his voice saying "I'm comin', I'm comin'," unsteadily. The door opened, then a second voice announced room service.
"It's about time," she heard Archetype say. "How much'll that be?"
"The amount will be on your bill in the morning, sir."
"Fine, fine, fine. Here." There was a pause. "Can't figger out this damn foreign money. Here ya go."
"Um, sir, this is a hundred-punt note."
"Whatever. Have a good night, kid." The door shut, and Archetype chuckled softly. "That should erase any ill will among the staff," he said, his voice now normal. "Are you almost finished?" he asked, raising his voice slightly. "This stuff won't stay hot for long."
"Be out in a minute," she called. She reluctantly got out of the tub, toweled herself off, then put on the bathrobe and entered the bedroom, where she slipped into a T-shirt and cutoffs.
When she reentered Archetype's room, she found him wrestling with the champagne bottle. "I don't have to deal with these things that often," he apologized.
"Take your time," she replied. A moment later, the cork popped off, and Archetype poured a small amount into his glass. Glancing at Rogue for approval, he topped off her glass. "Thanks," she said, then, looking at the cart, noted that there was more food on the tray than had been ordered before. "You ordered a deli tray?" she asked.
"I felt like a sandwich," he replied. He took a plate from the cart and, choosing a roll from the pile, started stacking lunch meat into a moderately large heap. He added pickles and mayonnaise, and spooned a generous helping of the beef onto the side of the plate. He then took a can of Coke from the ice bucket. "Told them I was adding rum to it," he explained. He sat at the table by the window, while Rogue chose to simply sit cross-legged on the bed.
"Now," he said between mouthfuls of food, "your explanation. Those two people at the club were not what they appeared to be."
"I figured that part out," she replied as she dug into her own sandwich. "Just who were they? You called them the Fair Folk."
"That's one of the many names they have. They're also known as the Sidhe, the Tuatha de Danann, and the Faerie."
"Wait a minute. That term I recognize. Are you saying that those two were... I don't know... elves?"
He shook his head. "I'm not really sure what they are. They might be the remnants of the people who lived on the British Isles before the Celts came. They came to me while I was traveling through Ireland a few years ago, and offered their assistance to me when I needed it. I still haven't given my answer."
"Why?"
He was quiet for a moment, staring out the window. "It's another one of those shades of being that I've talked about before. The Sidhe view the world as a much darker and more cutthroat place than we do. They strike bargains where you lose far more than you gain, and where minor mistakes can have drastic consequences. They do have one saving grace: they will not lie. They'll twist the truth into a pretzel or bury it under various levels of metaphor, but they won't lie. So, if you're truthful, even-tempered, and very, very careful, you can deal with the Sidhe and come through unharmed."
"And you'll be dealing with them three nights from now," Rogue said as she polished off her second glass of champagne.
"Yes. Fortunately, I have a good idea of what to expect."
"And what will I be doing?"
"You'll be doing what's good for you and staying inside my house. If anything goes wrong, I want you out of the line of fire."
"Now, wait a minute..."
"This is not open for discussion," he said, cutting her off. Then his face softened. "Look, I know you want to help, and I do appreciate it, but I'm going to be dealing with forces that are far older than anything that you're used to. Pure strength won't be of much use against the Sidhe."
Rogue frowned. "I don't like it."
"I'm not too happy with the situation myself, but we're pretty short on alternatives. Well," he said, wiping his mouth with the napkin and standing up, "I'd like us to leave at around ten in the morning, if possible. Unless you have any objections."
"None here. Well," she said, leaning back into the pillows and stretching out on the bed, "good night. Make sure to close the door behind you when you leave."
Archetype raised one eyebrow. "Aren't you forgetting something? Your room's on that side." He hooked one thumb over his shoulder.
Rogue, however, had a total of five glasses of champagne in her, and was, at that moment, feeling no pain. She was also in a bit of a playful mood. She grabbed the sheets on either side of her tightly and made a mock-stern face. "I ain't movin'," she announced.
"Oh, really?" he asked. "We'll just have to see about that." He cracked his knuckles menacingly.
Rogue's eyes widened. "Remember about my powers. I don't want to..."
She never got a chance to finish the sentence, because Archetype bent down, grabbed the edge of the bedsheet, and flipped it over, covering Rogue completely. Before she had a chance to protest, he rolled her up in the sheet, threw her over his shoulder, and marched her back into her suite, where he dumped her onto her bed. "See you in the morning, beautiful," he said as he closed and locked the door.
Rogue lay there for a moment, not freeing herself, but simply remaining wrapped up in the sheet with a big, goofy smile in her face, one thought bouncing around in her fuddled brain:
He said I was beautiful.
Archetype shut and locked the door, then leaned against the wall and exhaled explosively.
"A cold shower is most definitely in order. Those legs shouldn't be let out alone at night..."
Chapter 13
"Would somebody please stop banging on the drums?" Rogue said in a whisper.
"Those aren't drums," Archetype told her. "It's the sound of blood flowing through your ears."
"Not so loud, please. How can Wolvie stand to do this to himself?"
"Doesn't his healing factor keep him from getting that drunk?"
"Yeah," she replied. "Remind me to hit him when we get back."
"Would a gallon or so of coffee help?"
"It might."
"Follow me. There's a coffeehouse down the street where the American tourists go. We'll put a few double espressos into you. Haven't you ever had that much to drink before?"
"Not all at once. God," she moaned, "It feels like Petey used my head for a basketball."
"All right, all right, stop whining. The coffeehouse is right over there."
Two hours later, Rogue felt fortified enough to face the world again. "I think I'm going to need some sunglasses, though."
"I'm way ahead of you," he said, fishing a pair of Ray-Bans out of his jacket pocket.
"Thanks," she said, putting them on. "All right, which way do we want to go?"
"Northwest once we get out of the city."
"Okay," she said, pulling out. "Will you be squeezing distance once we get out of the city?"
He frowned. "I could, if you like, but I think you'd enjoy the scenery. Besides, it's not like we're pressed for time."
"Good point."
About an hour and a half later, they had left the city behind. Archetype reached into his travel case and pulled out a book. "If you need any help with directions, tell me," he said.
"No problem. Do you want to make any stops?"
"I don't know yet. I'll let you know."
Rogue, who was used to the interstate highway system in the United States, found the twisting roads of the Irish countryside quite challenging. "Are all the roads around here like this?" she asked.
"Mostly. They just paved over the old dirt roads. Those roads were based on horse and game trails, and a horse tends to take the path of least resistance." His face suddenly became more intent. "Stop the car," he said shortly.
Rogue was about to protest, but seeing his expression made her think better of it. She pulled over to the narrow shoulder of the road and stopped.
Archetype stepped out of the car, seemingly listening for something. He swept his gaze in all directions, then fixed his eyes on a small grove of trees about two hundred meters away. Slowly but purposefully, he made his way across the fields towards the grove, hopping over the short stone walls. Rogue watched him for a moment, then hurried after him.
He entered the grove, then looked around, his head cocked slightly. He focused his attention on a small mound of ivy situated between two enormous oak trees. He got down on his knees and started stripping the ivy away from the mound.
"Archetype... Will, what are you doing?" Rogue asked quietly, worried.
He ignored her, continuing to tear the ivy away. In a few moments, he had exposed a small, moss-covered statue, made of granite, which appeared to represent a bearded man. Its eyes were large and opened wide, and the mouth was a simple O. Archetype glanced up at Rogue. "Please don't ask any questions until we're back in the car," he requested. Rogue could only nod in response.
"How's that?" he asked, speaking to the statue. He paused a moment, nodded, then looked at a large pile of brush directly behind him. He teleported it about a meter to the right, leaving the area open, and exposing the light of the sun, which shined on the statue. "Glad to help," he said as he stood up and brushed off his pants. "We can go now," he said to Rogue as he started back to the car.
Rogue stared at him, then at the statue, then back at him, then hurried to catch up.
"Okay," she asked him as they drove off, "just what was that all about?"
"That statue was a repository... a home, if you want to call it that... for some kind of old spirit. As near as I was able to tell, that statue's been there for about twenty-five hundred years."
Rogue whistled. "That would mean that it's been here before Christianity came to Ireland, right?"
"Right. It was worshipped as a god until the sixth or seventh century, when the area was Christianized. It was so well-hidden that it was missed by the priests and wasn't destroyed. It just sat there, neglected."
"Can't it leave?"
He shook his head. "No. It's bound to the statue, and, to a lesser degree, to the land. It felt me coming, and called to me."
"How?"
"How what? How did it feel me, or how did it call me?"
"Both."
"Well, I seem to act as some sort of beacon for this sort of thing. Powers that have lain dormant for long periods of time tend to wake up when I come by. As for how I felt it..." He paused, as if grasping for words. "I sometimes feel a sort of pull, sort of like a compass needle, towards a specific location. When I get there, I find that there's something that requires my attention."
"Like what?"
"Sometimes it's something really simple - like what I just did. The entity that was there hadn't seen the sunlight for over four hundred years. I got images of darkness and shadow, and followed them. When I had a good idea of what it wanted, I accommodated it. It didn't do me any harm, and maybe that entity will find some way to repay me one of these days. I like to get my good will wherever I can. It'll all help me on my next turn on the Wheel."
"The Wheel?"
"The Wheel of Life. It's a Buddhist view of reincarnation which fits in pretty well with the Celtic world view."
"You believe in reincarnation?"
"Well, if you look at it in a certain light, every time I heal from a traumatic injury, like I just did, I reincarnate. Maybe I'm meant to live a series of lifetimes with a common thread linking them."
"And I guess the other X-Men and I did the same thing when we fought the Adversary," Rogue mused, "and I did when I went through the Siege Perilous. Mind if we stop for lunch? I'm getting hungry."
"Do you always think about food when discussing spiritual matters?" he asked with a slight smile.
"Mutant metabolism, remember? Are there any places to eat around here?"
"To be honest, I'm not sure." He pulled out a road atlas and leafed through it. "Take the next right. We should hit a town within a few minutes."
About fifteen minutes later, they were in the town square. "And I thought that the towns in Mississippi were small," Rogue remarked.
"Most of the Irish lived on farms for centuries. Not many people could afford to live in a town."
Within the space of five minutes, they had located the local pub, called the Black Mare. They stepped inside to find a dim, darkly paneled bar table and a few tables built into the walls. A waiter, who seemed to be in his early fifties, was polishing the glasses. "Pub don't open till two," he told them.
"Actually, sir, we're here for a meal, if you serve lunch," Archetype informed him.
"Oh, of course sir," the waiter said, hastily putting down the glass he was working on. "I'm sorry, but we just chased out a few of our breakfast drinkers. They try to come in before we're ready for them. We're ready to serve meals, though."
"Excellent," Archetype replied as he and Rogue settled down into one of the tables set into the wall. "What do you recommend for today?"
"Well, sir, our specials today are beef stew, colcannon, and baked salmon."
"Colcannon?" she asked, looking at Archetype.
"A mixture of boiled potatoes and cabbage."
"I'll have the salmon," she told the waiter quickly.
"And I'll have the stew," Archetype added. "Do you serve Coke or Pepsi?"
"We have Coke, sir."
"One pitcher of that, please."
They were eating within fifteen minutes, and Rogue was looking at the restaurant. The walls were darkly paneled, and supported a number of old photographs and framed newspaper clippings. The area above the large fireplace was devoted to horses, with pictures, award ribbons, and jockey helmets on the mantle. "How's your stew?" she asked.
"Wonderful. Care for some?"
"Sure. Want some of mine?"
"Thanks, but no. I'm not that fond of fish."
The waiter came up to their table. "How is everything?"
"Wonderful," Archetype said approvingly. "Have you made any desserts yet, or is it too early?"
"I'm afraid it's a bit early, sir."
"That's quite all right. We'll take the check, please."
"Yes, sir." He tore off the receipt. Archetype scanned it for a moment, then pulled out some large bills. "Keep the change," he said as he handed them to the waiter. "Also, I would like to speak to the chef."
The waiter was startled, but nodded his and headed back toward the kitchen.
"What's wrong?" Rogue asked quietly. "That meal was fantastic!"
He just held up one hand. "Wait and see."
A moment later, a short woman in her mid-forties came out of the kitchen. Her cheeks were red from exposure to the heat of the stove, and her eyes were flinty. "And what was wrong with my cooking?" she said in a tone which implied that she was used to criticism.
Archetype stood up. "Ma'am, I simply wanted to pay my respects to a fellow chef. Your meal was exquisite, and I compliment your skill. It has been an honor to be served by you."
Her eyes softened instantly, and she smiled slowly. "Why... thank you," she said sweetly. "Would you like to take some with you?"
"One of the rules of customer service, Rogue: if you're a good customer, you get good service."
"I'll have to remember that stunt," Rogue said as she munched on the bread that had been pushed into their hands as they left the restaurant.
Archetype looked confused for a moment. "What stunt?" Then understanding showed on his face. "Oh. You thought I was buttering her up. I don't do that unless it's necessary to attain some sort of goal. I was just being nice to someone who needed a bit of support. I've worked enough grunt jobs myself to know that words of praise are few and far between."
Rogue looked at him steadily for a moment. "You're a complicated man, Mister Riley."
"I do try."
"Will we make it to your place by tonight?"
"No. I was thinking we'd crash early tonight. We'd leave at about eight-thirty tomorrow and get there around two P.M.. That should give me some time to prepare myself for the Sidhe."
"I'd almost forgotten about that."
"Believe me, I haven't." He pulled out the atlas again, looking closely at the local area. Then he smiled. "How does spending the night in a castle appeal to you?"
"Sounds intriguing. I take it there's one on the way?"
"About six hours from here. Stop the car, I'll get the cellular out of my bag." A minute later, he was making reservations. "No problem," he said, closing the phone. "Fortunately for us, this is the off season." He put the phone back in the trunk.
"Why not just carry it?" she asked.
"With the way I affect electronics? Given the way my powers have been working overtime here, the thing would be fried in an hour."
"Good point. By the way, I've been meaning to ask you something."
"What's that?"
"I'm not complaining, mind you, but why have I been doing all the driving?"
"Because I don't know how to."
She stared at him. "You're kidding."
He shook his head. "Nope. Remember the day we met, when I told Xavier that there were some answers that I just didn't have?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's because my memories of life before my accident are very incomplete. I think that some things got lost in translation during my recovery."
"And knowing how to drive was one of those things?"
"Right. Why do you think I teleport everywhere?" He seemed somewhat embarrassed.
"I hadn't thought about it," she admitted. She was silent for a moment, holding her breath. "When we get back," she said quietly, almost shyly, "would you like me to teach you?"
He regarded her for a moment, then shrugged. "Why not?" he said.
"Great," she replied.
They drove for the rest of the day. Archetype would often have her pull over, and he would explain the historical or mystical significance of the landmarks they saw. At around seven, they reached the castle.
"Wow," was all Rogue could think to say. The castle stood atop a peak, and was so massive as to seem a part of the mountain itself.
"It was built just after the Norman occupation," he told her. "The Tribes tried to take it for centuries, but never succeeded. It was turned into a bed-and-breakfast about thirty years ago. I'll warn you, though: these castles get pretty chilly at night. You might want to wear flannel or something like that to bed."
She frowned. "I didn't pack anything like that," she confessed. "I usually just sleep in a T-shirt."
"Maybe you can ask for some extra blankets. We'll think of something."
Their hosts, a friendly married couple in their mid-forties, made the two of them feel right at home in minutes. While Rogue settled into her room - a huge one, with a vaulted ceiling, a steadily burning peat fire, and stained glass windows - Archetype chatted with the wife about the history of the castle.
They were in luck that night, as a local historical society held their monthly medieval feast at the castle. Rogue and Archetype were invited to participate, and she was delighted by the music and pageantry, as well as intrigued by the novelty of eating with her fingers. She was busily chatting with the person next to her when she realized that Archetype had disappeared. She looked around the table for him, then decided that he had probably gone to the bathroom.
Then she heard the music.
He was sitting with the other musicians by the grand fireplace, his dress shirt and sweater providing a contrast to the medieval garb of the others. He was playing the harp, and his fingers moved over the strings faster than she could follow. He was joining with the band in what was apparently an old folk melody. His eyes were closed in concentration - or, perhaps, in rapture.
The song ended, and he stood up with the rest of the musicians to take a bow as the applause started. He shook the hands of the other players, then returned to the table.
"I didn't know you could play the harp," she said as he sat down.
"Until five minutes ago, neither did I," he replied in a whisper.
About two hours later, they were each firmly planted in easy chairs in front of the fireplace. The medieval troupe had gone home, and their hosts had gone to bed, with Archetype's promise that he would bank the fire before retiring.
Rogue stretched out her legs, laying her feet on the footrest in front of her. "Oh, this is nice," she purred. "I could stay here all night."
"I hate to break it to you, but the fire's going to burn down in an hour or so."
"Spoilsport. Brr," she shivered. "I'm not looking forward to having to warm up that bed."
"Maybe this will help." His eyes went distant for a moment, and a large box appeared in his lap. "I got it while you were playing runway model," he said as he stood up and handed it to her.
"I was not playing runway model," she pouted, but she took the box anyway. She opened it, and gasped when she pulled out the contents. "This is an Irish fisherman's sweater, isn't it?" she asked, wide-eyed.
"Straight from the Aran Islands," he confirmed. "They're all handmade, and no two are the same."
"I know. Kitty practically worships hers. Kitty Pryde," she explained, seeing his look of confusion. "She's with Excalibur in Scotland."
"Ah. See if it fits. I had to estimate your size."
She tried it on. "Oh, it's perfect!"
"Good. Do you like the cardigan, or would you prefer a pullover? I can exchange it easily enough."
"Oh no, this is great." She lay back in the chair, curling her legs under her, and hugged herself tightly. "You know," she said, "I just realized why the Professor sent me along with you. I needed a vacation just as much as you needed time to recover."
"A vacation from being an X-Man?" he asked quietly.
"More like a vacation from life in general over the past year or so."
"Rough year, huh?"
"Don't get me started. You know, I figured it out because I'm feeling something tonight that I haven't felt in a long time."
"What's that?"
"Safe."
As he started to break the fire up, he was silent for a moment. "I have to admit, I'm confused. You're invulnerable, super-strong, and can escape fairly easily if things get bad. What do you have to feel safe from?"
She was quiet for quite a while. "I did some things before joining the X-Men that I've been running from for a long time. Sometimes it feels like a lot of those things are catching up with me. The past year or so has rubbed a lot of my past in my face. To be honest, I just need a break."
"Well, you'll get that on this trip, at least," he said, as he finished breaking down the fire. "Well, I'm hitting the sack. You might want to do the same. We have to get going early tomorrow."
Rogue smiled a wicked little smile, and held out her hands. "Carry me," she told him.
Archetype blinked. Twice. "Ohhh-kay," he said. "Better stick your hands inside the sleeves." He bent down, supporting her behind the knees and below her shoulder blades. She put her arms around his shoulders for added support.
As they were ascending the staircase, Rogue lay her head against his shoulder. "This is nice," she murmured.
"I'm glad you approve." He opened the door to her room after a moment's fumbling, then walked her over to her bed and set her down gently. "Does my lady require anything else?" he asked, bowing slightly.
"That will be all," she said in a haughty voice. "You may leave me now." Then she smiled gently. "Seriously, though, thanks a lot. I needed that."
"Glad to help," he said gently. "Sweet dreams."
They left at eight the next morning, after a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, poached eggs, biscuits, and hash browns. "I am gaining so much weight on this trip," Rogue fretted as she got in the car.
"Don't worry about it. You'll burn it off in a few Danger Room sessions."
"It'll take about five hours to get there, right?"
"More or less. Just take your time. As long as we get there by dusk, we'll be fine."
They drove at a moderate but steady pace, stopping only once for gas. Eventually, Rogue caught the tang of salt in the air. "We're getting close to the shore," she remarked.
He nodded. "I'd like to stop in town first. I probably have a ton of mail."
The town was a moderately sized one, which somehow managed to convey the impression of being old without giving off the air of hidebound tradition which accompanied such places. They stopped at the post office, and Archetype came out a few minutes later with a large box full of letters and packages. "I'll be spending most of my vacation catching up on all of this," he grumbled. "We'd better pick up some food. I threw everything out of the refrigerator the day I moved into the mansion."
"Right. What's the shopping like here?"
"Not too bad. I can usually find the basics."
"The basics" turned out to be two Cornish hens, milk, stuffing, potatoes, and apple cider. "Let's see now," he said, looking at the spices, "parsley... sage... rosemary... thyme... Simon... Garfunkel..."
"Now you're being silly," Rogue told him.
They brought bread and pastries at the local bakery, then set out. Archetype's house was about thirty minutes from town, and the windmill tower near it was spinning rapidly. "What's that?" Rogue asked, pointing to a small hill near the house.
"That's the mound."
"Oh." She looked at him pointedly. "Just what is going to happen tonight?"
"I don't know," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Just remember that you promised to stay out of it."
"I know," she sighed. She stared at the front of the house as she stopped the car and got out. "What's that stuff by the door?"
"I ordered a load of peat. It gets cold here at night."
"Given that breeze, I'm not surprised," Rogue said, shivering. "Mind if I see the view from the cliff?"
"Go ahead. You might be better off if you fly. The edge is a little unstable."
She nodded and hovered over to the edge of the cliff. It was a nearly vertical drop, and the face was so sheer that the idea of climbing it was almost laughable. Rogue gave a long whistle and went back to the house. "I'm glad I'm not a sleepwalker," she confided.
They moved everything into the house, Archetype having pointed out the guest bedroom to Rogue, and then placed a protective tarp over the car. "If there's any saltwater damage when we return it, the repair bill comes out of my pocket," he explained.
"I can't argue with that logic."
A few minutes later, Archetype had opened the valves to the underground gas tank which served the kitchen. "I have to crank up the house generator," he explained as he lifted up a rug to reveal a trap door, which he opened. He descended the staircase beneath the door, and the lights came on a minute later. "Now to get started on dinner," he said when he reappeared.
"Need any help?"
He shook his head. "It won't take long. In fact..." He walked out the door again, bringing in a few of the blocks of peat. "No reason why I shouldn't warm up this place now." He set them up in a loose pile inside the fireplace, then pulled some small sticks from a box on top of the mantle, using them as kindling. He then stared at the pile for a moment, and soon it was aflame.
"How did you do that?" Rogue asked from behind him.
"There's a steel mill a few miles from here. I teleported a bit of molten steel from the smelter." He stood up. "Why don't you sit down and relax for a while? You've been driving for hours. Give your eyes a rest."
"Oh, okay, if you insist," she said in a mock pout as she sank into one of the easy chairs. She kicked off her shoes and curled her legs underneath herself, closing her eyes and feeling the warmth of the fire on her skin. A pleasant drowsiness came over her, and she curled up the collar of her sweater. "Wake me up when dinner's ready, then," she murmured as she dozed off.
A few minutes later, it seemed to her, she slowly awoke to find Archetype, who had apparently changed into a more comfortable outfit of black jeans and a white turtleneck while she was asleep, sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, and staring into it with half-lidded eyes. "Did you enjoy your nap?" he asked, not turning to look at her.
"Yeah," she said contentedly. "How long was I out?"
"Three hours or so. Dinner's in the oven. I'll eat after this is over."
"What time is it?"
"About nine-thirty." He stood up with a fluid grace that Rogue hadn't seen from him before. "I have some preparations to make before this meeting." He opened the trap door again, and started down the stairs again.
"Mind if I watch?"
He looked at her with an oddly abstracted expression for a moment. She noticed that the grey of his eyes was somewhat brighter than usual. "If you want," he said, "but I should warn you that you're going to see parts of me that you haven't before. I mean that in both a literal and a metaphysical sense."
"Now you've got me intrigued," she said as she stood up and slipped her shoes back on. She followed him down the staircase.
She quickly noticed two things: that the staircase was very long, and that he hadn't installed any lighting in the basement. "Um, you may be able to see in the dark, but I can't," she reminded him.
"Just one moment. Close your eyes." A few seconds later, she saw a faint glow through her eyelids. When she opened her eyes again, he was holding a lit lantern in his hand. "Here you go," he said, handing it to her.
"Thanks," she said, taking it. "What's involved with these preparations?"
He frowned a moment. "Before I answer that question, Rogue, I think we'd better talk." He sat down on a rock.
Suddenly, Rogue realized that she wasn't in a basement at all, but a massive cave. Stalactites and stalagmites were all around her, and she could hear the dripping of water in the darkness beyond the torchlight. "Wow," was all she found she could say. "Did you find this place?"
"Why do you think I built the house on top of it? I have to tell you a few things, Rogue, because they're going to have a bearing on what's going to happen tonight."
"Okay," she said as she sat down on another rock. "I'm listening."
He took a breath. "Before I begin, I think I should ask: what religious leanings do you have?"
She thought about it for a moment. "Well, I really can't say that I believe in any one religion. Mystique was an agnostic, as far as I know, and Destiny was more of a mystic than a religious person. I've just sort of pieced things together as I've gone along."
He nodded. "You haven't struck me as being a fundamentalist type, but I thought I should ask to be on the safe side. I, myself, am a Pagan - a Wiccan."
She blinked. "You mean you're a witch?"
He shrugged. "That's as good a name for it as any. I probably would have been burned as a witch a few hundred years ago. I follow what I believe were the beliefs of the societies which were here in Ireland before the advent of Christianity, before the Fair Folk were forced to flee into other realms. I try to keep myself in harmony with the cycles and rhythms of Mother Earth."
Rogue frowned a moment. "That sounds a lot like Ororo's belief in her Goddess."
He was startled. "Ororo serves the Goddess? I didn't know that. I'll have to have a long talk with her. In any case, what I'm going to be doing now is a way to make my bond with the earth stronger. Hopefully, it'll make things easier when I meet with the Sidhe."
She nodded. "Okay. What's involved with this?"
"The Wiccan faith believes that there are five elemental powers: Earth, Fire, Air, Water, and Spirit. My meditation earlier strengthened by bond with Fire."
"And now we're surrounded by Earth," she observed.
"Very good. Next is Water. Follow me." He took the torch back, and they walked towards the sound of the dripping that she had heard earlier. "Let me guess," she said. "Now you take a bath."
"It's a ritual purification," he said. "Here's the part where you get to see more of me."
She grinned. "You're kidding."
"Nope." They reached the source of the water, a hot spring, where a towel had been conveniently placed. "If you're embarrassed by this, you can go back. I don't need the torch."
She looked at him. "If you had a free chance to see me take a bath, would you go back to your room?"
He grinned back. "Not on your life." He stripped off his turtleneck and tossed it aside.
"Aren't you embarrassed?" she asked him.
He shrugged. "Not particularly. The nudity taboo is a predominantly Western phenomena, and there's enough influence in my head from the non-Western parts of the collective unconscious to wash out its effect. Besides, I've seen the files on your past experiences with the X-Men. Given the number of times enemies have fried your clothes off so far, all I have to do is be patient." As he said this, he stripped completely and stepped into the spring, wincing a bit as he did so. "It's a bit hotter than usual tonight," he observed.
"You've done this before?" she asked.
"Well, not under these circumstances." After a few moments, he seemed to become accustomed to the temperature. "That's a bit better," he sighed, as he let his head sink below the water for a few seconds. He climbed out a minute later, shivering and dripping, and dried himself with the towel. He glanced at her. "You're blushing, you know."
"I am not!" she protested.
"Why has the temperature of your face risen, then?" He chuckled and hung the towel over a nearby rock to dry. She noticed that his eyes reflected the light of the torch, but with a slightly greenish tint. "Now for the not so fun part," he said with a grimace.
"What's that?"
"Air." They continued through the tunnel, and she soon heard the howling of the wind outside. "We haven't reached the surface yet, have we?" she asked.
"No. The cave system has a branch that was carved out centuries ago. It goes out to the side of the cliff."
"So the breeze is coming from the ocean?"
"Yes. Here's where things get unpleasant for me." They walked a bit farther, turning a corner, and were suddenly blasted by a buffeting wind. "You go across first!" he yelled over the roar.
She nodded, and, taking a step or two back, flew across the open area in a split second, before the wind had a chance to affect her. Once she was clear of the opening, she turned around and looked at Archetype. "What about you?" she yelled.
He shrugged and walked calmly into the center of the maelstrom. Rogue's jaw dropped as she saw him brace himself against the impact of the wind, turning slowly around with his arms flung out.
A minute later, he staggered out of the tempest to join her, and leaned against the wall of the cave, panting slightly.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Yes. That should do it."
"What about Spirit?"
He looked at her with an amused expression. "Think about it, Rogue. My power puts me in contact with the collective soul of mankind. I am the element of Spirit for these purposes."
"That's it, then?"
"Almost. All that's left is my rebirth."
"I don't get it."
"We're in a cave, deep within the womb of Mother Earth. Leaving the cave is symbolic of the birth process." He grimaced again. "Actually, given how narrow the mouth of the cave is, it won't be too unlike the birth process."
"Won't you get scratched up?"
"Probably. There's not too much I can do about it. I'm taking the only precaution I can."
"What's that?" she asked, noticing that it was getting somewhat lighter.
"There are certain parts of my anatomy that I'd rather not get lacerated." He reached into a small recess in the side of the cave, and pulled out a small, folded bundle of cloth, which he shook out until it was about five feet long. He wrapped it around his waist and fastened it in place with a large copper pin. "Now you know what a man wears under his kilt," he told her with a wink. Then his face sobered. "Here's where you go back to the house and wait for me."
She nodded "Can I watch from the house?"
"I don't think they'd object. Move a chair over to the window. You may not hear much, though. We're quite a ways from the house. You'd better get going." He turned to an area of the cave which narrowed into a small crack, and started to enter it.
Rogue watched him for a moment, then quickly made her way back through the cave to the house. She took one of the chairs from in front of the fireplace and placed it by the window which faced the mound.
Night had fallen while she was asleep, and the stars provided the only illumination that evening. After several minutes, she saw him emerge from the earth in front of the mound. She decided that the cave led all the way to the mound.
He was scratched and bloody, and his kilt was about to fall off. He was bent over, and breathing heavily. He slowly stood up, looked down at himself, grimaced, and took the kilt off. Given the degree of the damage it had suffered in his climb out of the cave, it wasn't doing much good anyway.
Looking around the area, Rogue noticed that the mist that always seemed to settle on the ground late at night was thick enough to seem solid, and was rolling towards them from across the fields. Archetype faced the advancing mist, staring into it with eyes that were glowing once again.
Rogue realized with a start that the fog was not only getting closer, it was getting larger as well, thickening until it was as high as the roof of the house. The wall of fog flowed on, impenetrable and unstoppable. She watched it envelop Archetype, and was curiously unsurprised that it moved towards her. She held her breath and waited.
Then everything went grey.