“C’mon, take a break,” she encouraged, her tail churning the milk. “It’s been a long time since I had any stimulating company.”

“None of the Og get down here?”

She snorted derisively. “Yeah, right. Like they even acknowledge I exist.”

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I’ll try and get back when I have a chance. But you got all your orgy buds out front - what about them?”

She made a negative noise, sinking deeper into her milk bath while her tail twitched on its surface, making ripples and waves. “They’re just Sylphs. They’ll fuck anything as long as it’s warm.”

“Can be fun, if you’re in the mood for them.”

Ama just shrugged, acknowledging that in the slightest way possible. “They wear out their welcome fast. You really going?”

“For now, yes. I’ll be back, I promise.” It was something of an empty promise, since he wasn’t sure when that would be, but Ama was a friend, so he should really try, even if he had to explain sex was right out. Maybe by then she’d be over the idea. It wasn’t anything against her, but sex with gods was usually under whelming.

She nodded as if she knew he was only being kind. “Give my love to Bassie.”

Bastet: he knew her through Bast, in fact. “Will do. And good luck getting the Sylphs to clean up later.”

“Ha, those lazy bastards,” she said, and gave him a loose wave, with her hand and the tip of her tail.

Bob wondered how long Cammy was going to keep this up, and exactly what he thought he could trap him in.

11

As it turned out, the most embarrassing thing about having a vampire girlfriend was the need for someone to invite her inside the mansion.

He didn’t live here - not really - and somehow that made a difference. Luckily, Bobby was leaving the lounge at the time, and Logan grabbed him and asked him to invite Yasha in. He looked at him like he was completely insane, and asked why, and Logan had to promise he’d tell him later. (Somehow he thought telling him, “She’s a vampire,” wouldn‘t aid his cause at all.) Bobby did it, but he looked at them both like they were nuts.

Afterwards he had to introduce them, as Bobby wasn’t going away without some kind of answers, and he simply said she was Yasha, leaving out the Lady Blood (or the Mei Li part, which he was pretty sure only he knew). Bobby guessed her accent to be British too, and she corrected him, saying it was most likely a Hong Kong accent. “Hong Kong?” Bobby said, eyes growing wide. “Like where John Woo’s from? Cool.”

What a dubious fame.

He led her back to his room to escape the curious looks, and also so they could talk in privacy. As soon as he shut the door, she said, “I’m glad to see you, Logan, but just for the record, I don’t think I could ever have sex in a boarding school.”

“Neither could I,” he lied - well, there had been that time (times) with Helga, but the school was evacuated, so it seemed different. Besides, after what had happened between him and Jean - if it had been him and Jean - he felt funny about sleeping with anyone at this point. Would he be cheating Jean, or had he cheated on Yasha? He didn’t know which was worse, although he did wonder why he always got in these screwed up relationships. Since he was the only connecting link, it was obviously his fault.

“So who died?” She asked.

He gave her a curious look as he sat on the edge of his bed. “You know something I don’t?”

“Just reading the expression on your face. So what’s gone on?”

With a heavy sigh, he told her all about Leonie, Static, and that mess. He had to give her a brief synopsis about his history with the Organization, as he hadn’t told her all that much about it either. When he was finally done, she said, “They sound like demons. Are you sure they’re not?”

“For the most part, no. Humans can be as cruel as demons; often crueler.”

“True. So have you investigated the address or the names she gave you?” He looked up at her curiously. “Internet, baby, Google. I take it from the blank stare that’s a big old no.”

Logan rolled his eyes at himself, feeling like an idiot. “Shit. 'Guess I’m not very up to date, am I?”

“It’s okay. Point the way to the computers, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

He took her to the library, where most of the computers were in use, but one cleared out for him and Yasha to use. He wondered if the kids were doing something illegal, because his presence made so many of them nervous they logged off and left. Of course, he didn’t recognize most of them, and maybe it was just fear of the unknown.

With some help from Yasha, he was able to confirm there was a section of Toronto known as North Hill, but no Arkham Street. The closest thing to an Arkham Street was an Arkham Industries, a building complex twenty miles north of Toronto; he was unable to find any information on the business, which was suspicious.

They were able to find a Paul Mason - several, in fact - in the Toronto white pages, but no Paul with a Tammy, and no Tammy Mason listed on her own. Yasha volunteered to call the Pauls on the list, and ask if they had a daughter named Leonie. He stared up at her, flabbergasted. “Why?”

“Can you judge when someone’s lying to you over the phone?” She replied. “I don’t need to smell someone to know I’m being bullshitted. It’s a gift you acquire once you live past one hundred. Besides, don’t you have to clear our getting a jet or something with someone?”

“A jet?” Now he was really confused, but not for long. “Wanna go check it out?”

“Check what out?” Xavier asked, coming inside the library. Although his expression remained politely neutral, in his head, Logan heard Xavier all but shout, *You invited a vampire into the school?!*

He winced, then pretended to rub his eyes to cover it up. *She won’t hurt anyone - she’s not like that!* Out loud, he said, “Yasha, this is Professor Charles Xavier, the owner of this place. Chuck, Yasha.”

“Vampire,” she offered. “But since you’re a telepath, I’m sure you guessed.”

That made him arch an eyebrow. “Vampires are immune to telepathy?”

She nodded, her silky black hair falling in her face before she casually tucked it behind her ear. “I’m not sure of the mechanics behind it, but yes, we are.”

*Not to Bob,* he thought, for Xavier’s benefit. He hoped it would reassure him somewhat.

“You believe you can help us?” Xavier said to her, keeping any suspicion out of his voice.

She shrugged. “I am a demon, and if what Logan told me is correct, they’re never quite ready for us.”

“So what do you propose?”

“Logan and I can jet up to Toronto, see what’s going on at this Arkham Industries, and maybe have a chat with any Paul Mason who seems less than honest.”

Logan caught a sound out in the hall, and smelled her before she poked her head in. “I want to go too.”

Xavier sighed, and maneuvered his wheelchair back so he could look at her too. “Leonie,
I don’t know if that is such a good idea.”

“This is about me,” she insisted. “And if there’s somethin’ back there … I wanna know.” She shifted her hard, green glare to Yasha. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Yasha. You must be fucking Leonie,” she deadpanned. “You got your dad’s eyes.”

Not a good thing to say. (Did she really have his eyes?)  She glowered at Yasha, eyes narrowing to slits. “No I don’t.”

“Actually, I think it might be a good idea if she comes along,” Yasha said to Xavier, never missing a beat, or taking any shit from Leonie.

In fact, she’d be a good match for Leonie, since Yasha was so cool Leonie would frustrate herself trying to find some way to get to her. When she wanted to be, Yasha could be emotionally beyond anyone’s reach. It was an odd thing to find endearing, and yet he did; he sometimes he wished he could master that, be perfectly above the manipulations of others. “Sometimes familiar sights, sounds, and smells jar the memory. I know it’s worked for the Toshiro Mifune here.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Leonie exclaimed, confused and ticked off about it.

It even confused Logan for a moment, except then he remembered that was the name of a Japanese actor who was in a lot of Akira Kurosawa films, usually playing … a samurai. Oh, how funny, in a really annoying way.

Even Xavier looked briefly confused - not just by the Mifune reference either - but then he watched Xavier’s blue eyes glance at Yasha’s hand (currently resting on his shoulder), and something seemed to resolve there. Xavier knew then that Yasha’s offer to help was not a trick or a ruse; she wasn’t helping Leonie, or them. She was helping him alone. Logan still wished he knew exactly why. But that seemed to be good enough for Xavier, who accepted that with an almost imperceptible nod. “It could be dangerous, though.”

Leonie scoffed, like Xavier must have known she would do (Logan knew it was coming). “So fucking what? I can handle it.”

Xavier’s gaze settled on Logan, skidding off Leonie as if she was made of ice, but it was clear why - her reaction was a given. “It could very well be a trap. You could get in over your head.”

“We can handle it,” he assured him, aware of the dangers, and aware that he meant him and Yasha, not Leonie. She was skilled - obviously - but undisciplined, and an unknown quantity in a fight. She was a kid, and he had no idea if he could ever trust her.

“No kidding,” Leonie interjected disparagingly. “But what is it she can do?”

Yasha gave Leonie such a withering glare she actually seemed to rear back slightly: no being could give a death stare like a vampire. “I can kill things. What about you?”

Leonie couldn’t answer that; she didn’t dare.

Xavier looked uncomfortable, and Logan heard in his mind, *Can you handle her if things start to get out of control?*

He didn’t mean Leonie. It was hard not to shoot him an irritated look as he thought, *I don’t need to. Yasha can handle herself; she’s not an animal.*

*No, she’s a demon.*

*So’s Brendan - are you sending him away?* A complete cheap shot, and unfair to Brendan (who was only half demon anyways), but Xavier glanced away, almost chagrined.

So it was down to this - hunting down some kind of child-engineering Organization offshoot with an unstable teenager and a vampire.

Well, he’d done worse things.

***

As it turned out, things got worse, even before they left.

The attempts to call Paul Mason turned out to be a bust: two went straight to answering machines, another had his phone line disconnected, the fourth had moved and had his number co-opted by a doughnut shop, and the last was actually picked up by an elderly, widowed man who did have kids, but none were Leonie. Yasha felt he was telling the truth, and that the Paul Mason name Leonie gave them was a pseudonym, and Logan
was inclined to agree with her.

When Logan put his “X Men” jacket back on, still feeling silly about the whole thing, he thought the worst (explaining the jacket to Yasha) was over. But no, of course not.

They just reached the underground hangar when Leonie came storming up to him, already in full snit mode. “What the fuck are they doing here?” She demanded.

And that’s when Logan saw they had a full house.

Piotr was standing beside the jet, his hands in the pockets of his own X jacket. “The Professor thought you might need a co-pilot,” he said cheerily, unmoved by Leonie’s
snit. Maybe he figured “Your daughter, you deal with her”.

Off to the right, and closer to the door, was the group of miscreants known as Bobby, Brendan, and ringleader Rogue (all in similar jackets), and Rogue - as group spokesman - was instantly defensive. “You could use some help, and we can do that.”

He shook his head. “You’re not coming along, forget it.”

“Yes we are,” Rogue insisted, following him as he walked towards the jet gangway. “We look harmless. That gives us the element of surprise if nothing else.”

“I said no. It could be dangerous.”

“And it could be nothing.”

“And you could always use someone to guard the plane while you‘re gone,” Bobby interjected. “We could do that.”

Rogue gave him a very dirty look for that, as obviously she didn’t want to be stuck guarding the plane again, but Logan still didn’t like the idea. “Look, kids, this isn’t--”

“We’re not kids,” Rogue protested, aware she was lying. “We can handle ourselves.”

“Logan,” Yasha interjected, in perfect Cantonese. “Let them come.”

He looked at her sharply, and instantly jumped to Cantonese. “That’s insane. At best,
they'll just get in the way.”

“There’s never such a thing as too many people in a raiding party, hon.  Besides, they have powers, yes? They could be useful.”

There were confused looks bouncing around from everyone, as they were the only ones who could speak Cantonese (no shock there). Only Piotr looked like he really didn’t care. “If you’re gonna talk about us behind our backs, could you at least speak English?” Rogue asked.

“They’re hardly field tested; they’re a liability.” Technically, so was Piotr - had he ever gone out in the field? Well, at least he could turn steel; that pretty much protected him from the worst of the shit. (Unless they had adamantium bullets, then he was so fucked.)

“But isn’t it better to find that out now, while we’re around to save their asses? Next time they may not be that lucky. Besides, we can assign them to keep an eye on your daughter, and that will free us up, because you know that girl‘s going to be trouble.”

He stared into her black eyes, frowning, resenting her and admiring her at the same time. “You were once a Marine, weren’t you?”

At least that made her laugh. “No, I’m just a controlling bitch. Being a vampire just makes it worse.”

“Can I blame you if things go wrong?”

“You’re welcome to try.”

He couldn’t help but smirk, bothered anew that he could have so much in common with a vampire. But she wasn’t an ordinary one, as he told Xavier, so perhaps he could take some comfort in that.

In spite of what she said, he felt strange about it - he knew damn well he’d regret it. But
it would be nice if Leonie had someone else to bother for a while. With a heavy sigh, he turned towards Rogue, Bobby, and Brendan, and said in English, “Fine. But you can only come along if you do what I say when I say it - no lip, okay?”

There were nods, although Rogue chose a semi-sarcastic salute. “Okay, chief.”

“You can’t be serious,” Leonie complained, confirming it was a good idea.

“I didn’t know you spoke … Chinese?” Piotr commented, obviously guessing the language.

“Logan speaks a lot of languages,” Rogue said.  How’d she know that?

Piotr nodded, accepting it without question. “Cool.” Then he asked, in Russian, “Russian too?”

Logan nodded, and replied in the same language. “Of course.”

“Damn,” he said, reverting to English and smiling. “I guess I can’t curse without you knowing what I’m saying, huh?”

He shrugged. “I won’t tell. I curse all the time.”

“Loudly,” Bobby helpfully added. “In English.”

Logan pointed up the ramp. “Get moving before I change my mind.”

Piotr went up first, and Rogue, Bobby, and Brendan quickly followed, Bren giving Yasha
a strange glance. Did he know she was demon?  Oh, probably. He wondered how he’d handle the actual news of what she was.

Leonie got up in his face again, and snapped, “They can’t come along. They’re kids - they don’t know shit!”

Logan raised an eyebrow at her, ready to tell her she was a kid too, but Yasha told her coolly, “Then you’ll just have to make sure they don’t fuck up, now won’t you?”

If they got through this intact, Logan decided he just might marry her.

12

Although she felt sorry for Logan, having to deal with Leonie, Yasha wondered if she wasn’t getting a raw deal here too.

Piotr and Logan were flying the jet, but Leonie had decided she should keep an “eye” on them, so was annoying them (no, Logan - the Russian had decided to combat her with an almost aggressive cheerfulness), and she had retreated into the “back” with the rest of the kids, sealing the hatch so they didn’t catch Leonie’s eye. It wasn’t that she was horrible, it was just that she was so sour and combative she was about as nice to be around as a rabid, radioactive weasel with the mange.  But even so, Yasha did understand where she was coming from; she just found out that not only did she have a dad, but also that she was just an alternate-sexed clone of his with an extra feature. Not only was that a blow to your identity, it was a blow to your self-esteem.

Leonie had yet to endear herself to anyone either. The specter of “nicknames” came up, and once everyone fessed up to theirs (Rogue cheerfully pointing out Logan’s was Wolverine), Leonie snickered at them all and declared that the stupidest thing she’d ever heard.

That’s when they sealed the door, to keep her out.

“Mine’s Lady Blood,” she offered, if only to make them feel better.

Rogue tried to put on her best smile. “Really? That sounds kinda cool.”

Bobby shifted uncomfortably, and asked, “Why? I mean, your power doesn’t have something to do with blood, does it?  Uh, not that I’m squeamish or anything-”

Rogue gave him a small shrug. “Oh, you so are, liar.”

He gave her a small shove back, both grinning, the hormone level in the section rising a bit. Brendan, the boy who smelled vaguely like a Brachen demon, was sitting on the same bench as they were (she didn’t find it at all surprising she had a seat by herself) was sitting on the other end from the couple, who were sitting side by side (they were both wearing jackets, so the only exposed skin on Rogue was her neck and face). It was an interesting bit of body language psychology.

She met the boy’s ruby red eyes, and said, “Go on and ask. I know you’re dying to.”

He lifted his chin slightly, as if gearing up to jump into a fight, and said, “You’re a demon, aren’t you?”

She nodded, and Bobby and Rogue stopped their giggling and playful shoving. “Indeed I am.” She kept the knowledge that he was half Brachen to herself for now. Certainly it explained why he winced when Rogue gave his nickname as Demon.

He crossed his arms over his chest, looking even more defensive. “Yeah. What are you?”

She sat back against the bulkhead, feeling the thrum of the engines vibrate through her back (it was actually kind of pleasant), and said simply, “I’m a vampire.”

The smell of fear was suddenly so thick, she felt like coughing.

Rogue stared at her, wide eyed and clearly unsure if she was joking or not. “A vampire? Ya mean, something that sucks people’s blood?”

She nodded. “But don’t worry-I ate before I left.” Well, she had a big pint of blood at the Way Station; she didn’t know where you got decent blood in New York, unless you went to Central Park after dark and waited for some guy to try and rape you.  And even then, the blood was sub-par.

“And Logan knows this?” she asked in disbelief.  Bobby had actually slid a bit away from her, even though Yasha was not sitting directly across from him.

“The Bionic Nose?  Yes, of course he does.  But I’m not like most vamps, so don’t worry, I’m not going to bite any of you.”

“All vampires are evil,” Brendan sniped, but he was just sounding defensive.  She was picking up a vibe of self-loathing, like he hated being a demon. She supposed he couldn’t blame him, although, if you had to be a demon, Brachen was probably the best of the lot. He certainly had pretty eyes.

“Most are, I grant you. But some of us end up changed by circumstances.”

“What kind of circumstances?” Rogue asked suspiciously.

“I was cursed by Buddhists.”

For an entire minute they just stared at her.  Finally, Brendan asked, “Buddhists curse people?”

“They do if they have an ironic sense of humor. It wasn’t like they could kill me; demon or not, it goes against the basic tenets of their beliefs.”

“But you’re still a vampire?” Rogue was clearly trying to figure this all out. “You still drink blood and get burned by the sun and stuff?”

“The curse wasn’t meant to help me; it was meant to make me unhappy with my existence.”

“That’s it?” Bobby asked.

“It seems very … existential,” Brendan agreed.

She shrugged. “They were Zen Buddhists.”

They all ruminated on this, and there was much glancing at each other, scratching heads and shrugging shoulders.  Finally they accepted it, because really they had no choice. To cut off any further stupid questions (along the lines of “Can you turn into a bat?”), she looked at Brendan, and asked, “So, how’s the Brachen thing working out for you?”

He shrunk deeper into his leather jacket, looking slightly miserable. “You know, huh?”

“Demons can usually pick up on one another.”

“Like “gaydar”?” He replied, with bitter humor. “Do you know anything about Brachens at all?  Like why we’re spiky when the spikes don’t do anything?”

She didn’t want to tell him she always wondered about that herself, so she lied. “It’s just an adaptation of some sort.” Then she decided to be encouraging, if only so he wouldn’t sulk the entire flight; they had Leonie for that. “Brachens are pretty cool, you know. You’re like the hippies of the demon world.  In a good way, I mean.”

Rogue cocked her head curiously, looking between her and Brendan. “Yeah?  How so?”

“They’re very peace loving. They don’t like to hurt things, or get into that whole megalomania or domination thing that most demons fall into.  And they’re pretty tough to kill, which is always a bonus.”

“Hard to kill?” Brendan repeatedly dubiously. “Like Logan hard?  Er, to kill.” He blushed faintly, looking away, and Yasha couldn’t help but smile. She thought he had a crush on him; that confirmed it.  Not that she blamed him at all.

“Not quite to that level, but close.  In your spiky form, your muscular walls are generally tough enough to protect your bones and internal organs from damage.” Also, it was impossible to kill a Brachen by breaking its neck, but she wasn’t going to mention that,
as that was too much information, and she couldn’t see him finding that reassuring.

“Oh,” he finally said, a little confused as to how he should react to that information. “Well, that’s … good, I guess.”

“What he really wants to ask is if Logan looks as good naked as he does shirtless,” Rogue said, grinning, teasing Brendan.

“I do not!” he lied, giving her a scorching look.  If Brachen looks could have killed, the ceiling would have blown off.

Yasha smirked, and said, “Oh, you’d better believe it.  He’s like Michelangelo’s “David”, with hair and not … small.”

Bobby buried his face in his hands, mortified, while Rogue laughed, and Brendan just goggled at her, clearly imagining that.  “Um … huh,” he finally said, flushing slightly.

“I so didn’t need to know that,” Bobby groaned in horror.

If Logan found out what she’d told him, he’d be so pissed, but what could he do really? Besides, they had bigger problems than these three knowing he was packing a Howitizer as opposed to a snub nose.

Maybe it was just restlessness at being stuck with a bunch of kids - she really didn’t like kids, although this group didn’t seem so bad - but she was dying for a cigarette, and she hadn’t smoked in … well, a couple decades, at least. She didn’t really keep track. And she didn’t even like cigarettes; she just took it up to give her something to do with her hands.

After the embarrassment and awe had died down (and Leonie could be clearly heard complaining through the walls), Bobby asked, perhaps to distract himself, “Are you, like, really dead?  Vampires are supposed to be dead, right?”

“Yes, and yes, I am. You have to die to become a vampire.” She then added wryly, “I assume that’s not a problem?”

Poor kid.  He looked really discombobulated.

Rogue scrutinized her, her look more clinical than unfriendly, and said what all of them must have been thinking. “Have you killed people?”

“I’m a vampire. That kind of goes without saying.”

That should have been the end of that, but to the girl’s credit, she pressed on. “How many?”

“Too many.  I never kept count, and no, don’t even ask for an estimate. There are some things you really shouldn’t know.”

Rogue sat back, looking slightly peeved at her non-answer, but quickly decided on another tack. “How’d you meet Logan?  And why are you helping him?”  She was trying to protect not only them, but Logan as well.  How sweet.

“I met him in Japan.  And I’m helping him because he helped me, and frankly, I find him fascinating.  I haven’t found anyone fascinating for the longest time.  Come to think of it, ever.” And that was true.  Logan was so curiously very much like her - he was haunted by his past, and extremely good at killing, whether he liked it or not.  The only difference really (besides all the obvious) was that he couldn’t remember most of his past, which seemed to make the haunting even worse. They were both outcasts among the outcasts, pariahs among the rejected; a special kind of misfit.  She supposed they all had to stick together.

“How old are you?” Brendan wondered.

She smirked at that. “Never ask a woman her age, Bren.  But let’s just say “extremely”
and leave it at that.”

Yasha idly wondered if they would find any of those Organization fucks who sliced open Logan.  She really hoped they would.

She couldn’t wait to do the very same thing to them.  And she was pretty sure they’d never heal from it.