Chapter 1: Kurt

                "…For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, now and forever. Amen."

                Kurt Wagner rose from his knees after crossing himself and sighed, slightly irritated as he heard Rogue yelling down the hall. The brief moment of quiet he had taken advantage of to say his morning prayers was gone, lost in the noise and bustle of a mansion full of people getting up and going about their business.

                He opened the door to his room and started to walk out, only to withdraw quickly as Bobby, in full ice form, came pelting down the hallway. He sighed, started to walk out again, and then withdrew just as quickly as Rogue came pounding down the hall after Bobby. "Ah swear, Popsicle, Ah'll kill ya for this!" Rogue screamed furiously. Kurt withdrew hastily, again, as she passed him almost close enough to touch him, and waited a full two seconds before he opened the door and attempted to exit his room again. This time, he was foiled by the appearance of Remy, running past him after Rogue and Bobby. Remy gave him a brief nod and continued on, presumably to keep Rogue from killing the mansion's resident trickster.

                Kurt started to slam the door in irritation and annoyance, then composed himself enough to give the door a gentle shove to close it with a click. Forget about using the stairs today; with those three tearing around, you could also forget about finding any peace and quiet either. He donned his coat (it was the first of November, after all) and grabbed his diary. Tucking a pen between its pages, he tucked it inside his coat and teleported himself out of he mansion.

                He usually could find some peace and quiet on the rock by the lake, but when he got there, he found the rock occupied by Logan, slumped up against it with his cowboy hat pulled down over his face, catching some sleep. Beside him, like a brightly-colored butterfly temporarily at rest, was Jubilee, reading. "Lookin' for some peace, elf? Yer welcome ta join us." Logan's voice sounded gruff, but the smile he gave Kurt was unreservedly warm.

                Kurt thought about it, then felt the hardness of the diary under his coat, and shook his head. Writing in his diary was an intensely private thing for him, and he didn't want anyone to witness it. Besides, Jubilee was a girl. She might restrain her curiosity now, but sooner or later she would ask, and he was not going to lie. Better to not get into that position to begin with. "No, thank you," he told them politely. "I am taking a walk."

                The sound of crashing furniture wafted down to them on the still, cold air from the mansion, and Logan grinned as he pulled the hat down over his face again. "Sounds like Rogue caught Bobby," he grinned. "Probably better ta go take a walk. Scott's gonna be yellin' at 'em in a minute." Kurt nodded and resumed walking, heading for the next spot on the mansion's grounds, but he wasn't quite out of earshot before he heard a voice, unmistakably Scott's, begin an indistinct shouting at the two combatants. He was too far away to distinguish individual words, but the intent, and the tone, was clear.

                He shook his head and kept walking.

                The next place he hit was the little clearing in the middle of the small wooded copse on the edge of Xavier's property. Usually he could find some quiet there. However, that was not today. Betsy was performing her kata in the center of that clearing, her movements slow, controlled, and so fluid she looked like she was gliding through the moves. He steered around that clearing; she was a telepath, she would know he was there, but since she was out here in what Warren had once jokingly told her was the 'middle of nowhere' she was obviously looking for some privacy just as he was. He would not be the one to disturb her.

                He teleported away from the clearing in a random direction, and with some surprise he found himself close to the sharp bend in what was called at the mansion Devil's Road.  The road was a lonely, winding stretch of never-used winding road about a half-mile from the mansion. The only reason the X-Men used it was to practice their driving skills. Ororo and Scott, especially, since they were the ones who normally piloted the Blackbird. The rest of the time Logan, Bobby, Warren, and Remy drove down the road in varying stages of inebriation to see whose balls were bigger. It annoyed Kurt to no end. Life was too precious, too fragile, to risk it doing something stupid.

                He strolled down the road a short way. Really, it was pleasant. The morning fall light filtered gently down through the yellow maple and red horse chestnut tree leaves, dappling him in colored patterns that were quite restful and peaceful. He finally spotted a lump of weathered gray stone and sat down on it, taking out his diary. He opened it up to a fresh page, took up the pen, and started writing.

                Rogue and Bobby were going at it again this morning, he wrote. Scott is back there trying to straighten out the mess. I am not sure I want to know what Bobby did; with last night having been Halloween, I can only guess what he must have done to her to get her that angry.

                Maybe it's just me. I find it hard to get involved in Halloween. Dressing up in costumes and begging for sweets seems a terrible oversimplification of a night in which spirits were said to roam at will to torment the mortals living on this plane of existence. I usually use today, the Feast of All Saints, in which to celebrate the triumph of light over darkness, of God over the Devil. And here I am, on a road the others call 'Devil's Road', writing in my diary.

                Perhaps its because my faith has been so shaken lately that I am having a harder time than usual getting into the spirit of the holiday. Normally, though I dislike the holiday, I can join in the party the others throw (last night it was the guys' turn for table dancing; Scott, especially, once he got some of the punch Bobby secretly spiked into him, was quite enthusiastic in removing most of his clothing, to Jean's utter delight). Probably the reason why he was so quick to begin chiding Bobby this morning; he has to have a headache the size of Texas.

                But not last night. Last night I retreated to my room and spent the night in quiet solitude. It is not a bad thing…but Jubilee did knock on my door later, drop a candy bar in my lap, and tell me to 'lighten up'. Whatever that means. Dear God, please send me some sign that my time on this Earth is not wasted, that there is a purpose, a meaning to my life. As much as I try to believe that Charles' Dream is a good enough purpose, the thought that things would and have, progressed perfectly well without me is a sobering thought. I wish there is something that only I can do, something I could do that no one else could. Do, to make me feel like I have meaning, worth, a purpose…

                Kurt jumped a foot in the air, spinning on his rocky seat as he heard a soft voice float to him through the cool, still morning air. It was female, he identified after  moment, and it was annoyed.

                "I hate this," the voice was muttering. "How could those kids just…come here and…do this to your tombstone? I'm sorry, Mabel, I'll try to get the paint off. I don't know what will get this stuff off…oh, maybe I'll get a handful of sand from the stream and try to scrub the paint off."

                Kurt's curiosity got the better of him, and he turned. As silently as possible, he pushed through the foliage beside the road, stepped over the remains of a rotted wooden fence, and suddenly found himself in a grassy meadow. The grass was short but ragged, but there was enough of it to see the footprints in the frost-coated grass leading off to his right. He followed the footprints, and as he turned around a tall clump of brambles, he saw a slender figure on her knees beside a tombstone, rubbing at a bright, garish yellow streak sprayed across the weathered gray face of a tombstone.

                He stood for a moment just looking at her. She was about five foot two or three, he guessed, though her stooped position made it difficult to guess. She had short brown hair sitting in tumbled curls around her head, and her clothes were some sort of shapeless brown dress that left her arms bare. Those arms were pebbled with goose bumps, and he wondered where her coat was. Did she even have one? There was something about her that made him think perhaps she didn't.

                Then she pushed off the grass with a soft sigh, and turned, and he saw her fully. She also saw him. For long moments they stood there and stared at each other.

                She was young, he guessed. Probably in her late teens. She was about five foot five, he saw now that she was standing up. Her feet were bare inside their covering of some rough brown material that wasn't leather; it was tied around her feet with some rough, stained twine. The 'dress' was made of the same material, tied around her waist with the same twine. Her features were regular, unremarkable; except for her eyes. She had eyes like his, yellow irises, but with red pupils like Remy's. What shocked him was the scar tissue around them. Her eyelids were seamed with fine white scar lines. They didn't obstruct those yellow orbs, though. They flashed now as she looked him over, emitting a glowing yellow flame before her shoulders squared and the glow died.  It was so unexpected that Kurt just stood there staring as she said softly but firmly, "Get out."

                "What?" He wasn't used to being ordered like this.

                "I said, get out. This is a cemetery, it's holy ground, you can't intrude here. Get out."

                "You have it wrong." Kurt felt a little of the hopelessness he always felt when someone mistook him for the devil. "I'm not a demon, I'm a mutant. I won't hurt anything, and I won't hurt you."

                There was silence for a moment as the girl took that in. Then she looked at him again, with that peculiar flash of her eyes, and she said, only marginally friendlier, "All right. So you're not a demon from hell. But I still don't want you here. Get out."

                Kurt almost turned, but a little voice inside him said wait. He gestured to the ruins around him, spreading his arms wide, and said quietly, "Where are we?"

                The wariness in her eyes didn't change. "This is Angel Hill Cemetary."

                Well, she didn't try to attack him. Maybe that was a good sign. "Who are you?"

                Her shoulders stiffened even more, and her hands clenched at her sides. "Why do you want to know? Did THEY send you here to look for me?" He could almost hear the capitals in her words, and he could see the fear in her eyes even if she didn't let it show in her voice.

                "Who are 'They'?" he asked her.

                Puzzlement crossed her face. "You don't know?"

                He spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Enlighten me." When she hesitated, he said, "Please."

                "They're the Chosen Of God. I ran away from them." She didn't elaborate further.

                Well, that was informative. Kurt bit his lip, thought for a minute, and changed tacks. "I'm Kurt Wagner. Kurt to my friends." He held out a hand.

                She didn't take it. "Why are you being so nice?"

                Kurt thought for a moment, trying to think of an answer. In the end, he opted for the truth. "I was out here looking for a little peace and quiet. The house I live in is a little…crowded."

                "So go find your peace and quiet. Leave me be." She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, shivering slightly, even thought the air was warming a little with the rising sun. Kurt, moved by sudden pity, swung his coat off his shoulders and stepped forward to drape it over hers.

                She stepped away, and the wariness was in her eyes again. "No."

                "You're cold."

                "I don't want your pity! I want you to go."

                Kurt grinned at her, but it was a soft smile. "Not until I get your name."

                She stared at him for a moment, and she seemed about to say something when the sound of voices came to their ears. Kurt heard a harsh laugh, and then a voice said, "This way. The old tombstone's here, the one we sprayed yellow paint all over last night. I wanna see what it looks like up close."

                The girl was instantly on the alert. She looked around her frantically, but the tombstone was surrounded by thorny brambles, and there was no other way out but by the narrow path through the weeds. She turned and stepped into the thorny bushes, and Kurt winced as the thorns tore scratches into her bare skin. She crouched there, trying to hide, and not being successful. Her fear transmitted through her body language to Kurt, and he teleported himself a slight distance away. He was out of sight, but not out of earshot.

                The owner of the voice walked right by the clump of high grass Kurt was hiding in, followed by two other young men. They looked like the stereotypical young brainless college boys that normally chose places like graveyards to desecrate, and Kurt frowned.

                "Hey, here it is," came that voice again. "Look. Hey, ain't we glad we used that yellow paint? It's decorated the tombstone all nice now. Betcha the old woman who's buried here gone and turned over in her grave!" Raucous laughter followed that remark. There was the sound of grass swishing, and suddenly the guy yelped. "What the…hey, looky what we got here, boys, a little runaway tryin' to erase what we done last night!" Kurt heard the girl cry out as she was dragged from the thorn bush. "Whatcha doin' here, girlie?"

                "You're desecrating a cemetery," Kurt heard the girl say. "Get out."

                The boys ignored her words. Obviously they'd just seen her eyes. "Whoa, man, look at them eyes!" a different voice whistled. "Man, no wonder she's gone and run away. Whassa matter with them, huh girlie? Yer Pop and Mom didn't like them eyes and try ta cut 'em out, or something?"

                "Get out! Go away!" Kurt heard desperation in her voice now.

                "Hey, lookit this smelly rag she's wearin'," said the first voice. "Lessee what's under it, huh?" There was the sound of tearing cloth, and a despairing scream.

                Kurt couldn't listen to it anymore. He teleported himself back to the tombstone, perched atop it like a demon from hell. The smell of sulfur helped.

                The three boys froze. The girl was crouched at their feet, the shapeless garment she wore torn at the shoulder. She was clinging to the shreds, trying to cover the bare skin that shivered from the still-chilly air. Kurt saw it, and it made him angry. He leaned forward, right in the first boy's face, opened his golden eyes wide, and hissed.

                The boy stumbled backward, yelling in fright, and backed right into his fellows. "Let's get outta here!" he cried. "That's a demon, or somethin'!" The three boys took off running.

                Kurt sprang lightly down from the top of the tombstone and knelt next to the girl. "Are you all right?" He reached down to pull the tattered material up to cover her shoulder, and she flinched away from his touch. He backed off. "I'm sorry, fraulein," he said, holding his hands up. "I realize you don't want to be touched by a--" he didn't finish. The word hung in the air, unspoken.

                The girl held the tattered material closed over her shoulder as she stood, watching him warily. "Grace," she said finally.

                "What?" Kurt looked at her sharply.

                "Grace. My name is Grace," she said.

                A smile curved Kurt's lips. "Pleased to meet you," he said gently. "Did they hurt you?" He made a move, as if to step in, but she stepped back again, avoiding his touch. "I'll be fine," she said. "Please go."

                At least he'd gotten her name. That was something. He held up his hands. "I'm going," he said quietly. He picked up his jacket, turned, and walked away into the surrounding shrubbery.