VI.

While Pietro slept, Magneto worked his team harder than ever. He upped the daily training sessions from two to three, and no one was happy with that.

"He's gonna kill us," Remy gasped, "if he keeps this up."

"Tell me about it," said John.

Magneto was the only one still standing. "Are we having problems, ladies?"

"Boss, you can't do this!" Remy said to him.

"Oh? Why not? Last time I checked, I was still in charge here."

Peter was swearing under his breath in Russian.

"Something you want to share with us, Colossus?"

No answer.

"Perhaps I need a little . . . insurance."

Peter's head snapped up. "No! Please, God, no!"

"Can I count on you, then?"

The other two were looking at him curiously. What exactly was this "insurance"?

"Da." It was barely more than a whisper.

"Good. Come with me and we'll discuss it. The rest of you can take a break. But no more two-hour phone calls to New Orleans!"

"They were not two hours!" Remy protested.

"Haven't you ever heard of dialing collect?" Without waiting for an answer, he stalked off toward the elevator, Peter in his wake.

"What's his problem?" John asked.

Remy shrugged. "Who knows, with him? The homme be a strange one."

Pietro was in and out of sleep over the next few days. Most of his dreams, he couldn't remember afterwards, but one . . .

He was running through the city, pursued by giant carnivorous cockroaches. It was very important that he get somewhere before the roaches got him. He had to do something . . .

Someone was with him, but he couldn't make out who. Whoever it was slipped down the fire escape, and the roaches were all over him, like pirhanas skeletonizing a cow. It was too late, he had no time to get away, and now they were on him—

"AAAAAHHHH!" He jerked awake, slapping at the dream-insects, feeling like his whole body was on fire. It took a moment before he could calm down and remember where he was.

Then he heard voices.

" . . . told you not to call there anymore!"

"You said call collect! That's what I did! I just needed her to send me some stuff!"

"You gave out our address! I specifically told you not to—"

"No, you didn't."

"Do not talk," the first speaker, whom Pietro recognized as Magneto, said, "when I am talking. You will sit, and you will listen, until I am finished."

Boy, did that sound familiar. Pietro was just glad he wasn't on the receiving end of this lecture. The other voice, he could tell from the accent, was Remy.

Suddenly his legs couldn't hold him any longer, and Pietro landed on his butt with a thump. His head flew back and cracked against the wall, and for a moment he actually saw stars.

"Who's there?"

Pietro couldn't answer for a moment. Then his father's face swam into his field of vision. "H . . . Hi."

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"I heard voices. I just wanted to see what was going on."

Magneto sighed and said, "Our security has been breached."

"I told you, you can trust la Belle! She's like family!"

"You get back there and sit down!" Magneto shouted.

"What happened?" Pietro asked.

Magneto helped him up, and then over to the couch. Pietro lay on his side, his head resting on a throw pillow. "Someone deliberately ignored my instructions and gave out our address. I, of course, was unaware of this, until a package arrived this morning."

"I didn't—"

"Did I say it was your turn to talk?" Magneto was in full-on "angry parent" mode, and God help anyone who got in the way. "Effective immediately, all outgoing communications are suspended. Which means, Mr. LeBeau, that if you so much as breathe on that phone, you will be in unbelievable trouble. As soon as possible, we're moving to our backup location."

"Moving?" Pietro asked. "But we just got here!"

Magneto looked down as if noticing his son for the first time. "Let me help you back to your room," he said, "and I'll explain. As for you—" he turned to Remy—"start packing. I want as much as possible loaded up and ready to go by tonight."

"I think you crazy!" Remy shouted, his English deteriorating as it did when he was stressed. "So who see this package? You, me, Belle—"

"A few hundred people at the Post Office," Magneto finished. "Any one of whom could betray us at any time. We can't be here for them to find. When it's safe, we'll come back."

He looked down at Pietro. "Can you walk?"

The boy shook his head.

His father scooped him up and carried him in his arms to his bed, and tucked him back in. "I'll take care of everything," he said. "You just get some rest."

But I've been resting! Pietro thought, but nothing came out of his mouth. His head felt fuzzy, and his eyes hurt, but he wasn't really tired.

But he fell asleep anyway.

Sabretooth came back from his solo mission, only to find the house almost deserted. The only one home was Pietro, who was in bed sleeping. Kid didn't look too good, either. Whatever he'd caught, it looked like it was pretty nasty.

"Just don't die on me, Junior." He wasn't used to kids—if he had any, somewhere, he'd never stuck around to meet them—but this was the boss' kid, and he was stuck taking care of him until someone else came home.

Pietro coughed and then rolled over, but didn't wake up just yet. The cough didn't sound good. He laid a hand on the kid's forehead, and then jerked it away in surprise. Pietro was burning up.

"Wonderful." Sabretooth went to the main bathroom, wet a washcloth with cold water, wrung it out, then came back into the bedroom and laid it on the kid's forehead. That should help a bit. He couldn't do anything more until Pietro woke up. But he wasn't planning to stick around that long anyway.

His comings and goings might seem random, but in actuality, he had a job to do. And he wouldn't rest until he had found what he was looking for.

He heard a key in the front door and made a quick exit out the window.

Pietro awoke to voices a second time, but different voices. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but one was a girl.

Wanda? They found her?

His door opened, and he winced as the light hit his eyes. "Close the door! Close the door!"

"Sorry? Is something wrong?"

It was definitely a girl, but it wasn't Wanda, not unless she had acquired an accent while she was away. "Who are you?"

"Who are you?"

"You go first." Pietro was too groggy to think straight. He'd need a minute to remember his name.

"Illyana," she said, and stepped closer so he could get a look at her. She was a few years younger than he was, twelve or thirteen. "Piotr is my brother."

"Ah."

"You live here?"

"Yeah, for now. I guess we're moving or something." He tried to sit up, but couldn't manage to lift his head. Illyana came over and helped him. "Thanks."

"And you are . . .?"

"Pietro Maximoff. Also known as the boss' kid." It wasn't exactly violating Rule Two, was it? Besides, it wasn't like nobody knew.

"I didn't know he had a kid."

"Yeah. Two of us. I have a twin sister, Wanda. But she . . . we got separated, and . . ." He couldn't finish. It was too hard to know what to say.

"It is hard, being separated, no?" Illyana smiled at him, and something in that smile made him think of his mother, though the two looked nothing alike.

All of a sudden, he started coughing so hard he couldn't catch his breath. Illyana rushed to help him. "Here, drink some water."

"Thanks," he said, gulping it down in between coughs. It did the trick. "Sorry, I've been sick the last couple of days. Hope you don't get it."

She looked him over, listening to his chest, feeling his forehead, even looking down his throat. "Have you been taking anything?"

"I think so. I can't really remember."

"Let me make you one of my special home remedies. My grandmother's, really. She was a . . . how you say it . . . herbal doctor?"

Pietro nodded. "My great-aunt knew a lot about that stuff. She raised us after our mom died and before Dad showed up again. She was a lot of fun. Her favorite thing to do was talk back to the TV programs. Especially old movies. Kinda like 'MST3K', but in Ukrainian."

Illyana looked surprised at this. "She was from Ukraine?"

"I think so. Originally. She spoke English pretty good, though."

"Do you think I speak English pretty good?"

Is she flirting with me? She's flirting with me! Pietro didn't know whether to be flattered or afraid—how old was she? And how would her brother feel about her dating someone older? "Uh . . . yeah. Yeah, really good."

"Drink some more water. I'll be right back." She left him alone for a minute, thinking of all the associations that had cropped up in his mind.

Wanda. His father. Aunt Luisa, for God's sake—how long had it been since he had thought of her? And his mother, whom he barely remembered anymore. One moment she was there, the next she was . . . gone. That's all you understand when you're three. It had never occurred to him to ask where she had gone, or if she was coming back.

And why hadn't his father been there? "Abroad on business" was what Luisa had told them then. What business? Where did Magneto get his money? Investments? Inventions? A dot-com business on the side? It didn't make sense.

Illyana returned. "I have to go to the store," she said. "Some things I need are not here. You will be okay?"

"Oh, sure," he said, and then started coughing again. When he was able to speak again, he said, "Maybe you'd better hurry up with that medicine."

"I will," she said. She stuck her head out the door. "Piotr!"

"Da."

There followed an exchange in Russian that Pietro didn't even bother trying to follow. He lay back and tried in vain to breathe through his nose. Reaching for the tissue box, he found it strangely light. It was so light because it was empty. Rats.

When Illyana turned her attention back to him, Pietro said, "Can you find me a fresh box of Kleenex?"

"Is there one around?"

"There should be one in the living room. On the table next to the couch."

"Okay." She went and found it. "I'm going now. I should be back soon."

"Uh huh." He felt like he might fall asleep again. After using up half the box of Kleenex, and making sure his nose was sufficiently clear, he lay back down again and closed his eyes. He didn't even hear the door as his two roommates went out.

"Pietro?"

Someone was nudging him. It had to be Wanda; it was a female voice. "Go 'way. Cartoons aren't on yet."

"Pietro, wake up."

"Go . . ." He opened his eyes. At first he wondered why Wanda had dyed her hair blonde, then memory of the last few hours kicked in and he recognized her. "Oh, hi.You're back."

"I made you the medicine," Illyana said. "Drink it all. It tastes bad, but it works."

"Okay." He gave her a skeptical look, but drank it anyway. The moment he finished the last drop, his head began to clear up. "Wow! That's powerful stuff!"

"Three generations of healers know best. You should eat something, once your stomach settles."

"Eat?" When had he last eaten? What day was it? He'd lost so much time being asleep that he wasn't sure if two days or two weeks had gone by. The last meal he remembered was the night they had arrived. The last one that hadn't ended up in the toilet a few hours later, anyway. "Yeah, I'm hungry, I guess. Do we have any food?"

"There is soup. I will make you some."

Pietro nodded and watched her go again. Damn. If only she wasn't twelve years old . . .

Footsteps made him look up. Peter (Piotr?) was sitting in the chair next to the bed.

"You like her?"

How to answer a question like that? "She's wonderful. I mean . . . that medicine did more for me than three whole days of sleep. Do I want to know what's in it?"

Peter smiled. "Rosemary. Mostly. The rest you don't need to know." His expression turned grave. "Do not get to like her too much."

"Don't worry, I'll keep my hands off her. She's underage, right?"

"She is fifteen."

Pietro raised an eyebrow. "She looks younger. I thought she was twelve. It doesn't matter, I still won't mess around with her."

"That is not why." The Russian looked uncomfortable. "She is . . . my insurance policy."

"Insurance? What kind of insurance?"

"Ask your father."

"I would if I ever saw him for more than a few minutes at a time. Is he still here?" He had come in, when Illyana did; Pietro remembered hearing his voice. Had he gone out again?

"He is in his room. He gave orders not to be disturbed."

"I wish I knew what he was up to. I mean, we just got here a few days ago, and now he's moving us out again. I don't get it. I don't get him. He has some kind of hidden agenda—he always does—and I just wish I knew what it was!"

Illyana came in, carrying a tray with a bowl of what looked like vegetable soup. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," her brother said. He got up and left without another word.

"What is it?" she asked Pietro.

"Ah, take too long to explain. That looks good." And it was good, too, even if it was out of a can and heated up in the microwave.

There was a shadow in the doorway, and it was wearing a cape. Pietro groaned inwardly. Speak of the Devil . . .

"Have you seen Sabretooth?" Magneto demanded.

"He was here earlier," Pietro said. "Musta gone out again."

"He hasn't contacted me all day. I need progress reports, and I need them now!"

"Progress reports? What about?" Pietro looked his father in the eyes. "What's going on?"

Magneto was about to reply when there was a strange noise from outside. "What's that?" he asked, rushing to the window to look out.

But the window in Pietro's room didn't look out towards the front of the building. Frustrated, he ran to the living room to look out from there.

A motorcycle had pulled up into the "No Parking" area, with two people on it. The bigger and hairier one could only be Sabretooth, while the other one . . .

She took off her helmet and shook out short black hair. Then she looked up towards the window.

"Wanda," Magneto gasped.