Read Online X-Men: Dark Mirror by Marjorie M. Liu - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marjorie M. Liu
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Media Tie-In, Heroes, Superheroes, X-Men (Fictitious characters)
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are impostors. You and Renny and Crazy Jane and God knows who else. Impostors, illusion, wrapped up in shadows. You're all screwed."
"Are you a telepath?"
"That's too big a word for a girl like me," she said, sly. "Use smaller talk, Mister Mindy."
Scott went very still. "How do you know?"
She tapped her head. "I just do. Instinct, maybe. Or the cards." She pulled a stack of them from her pocket, a regular playing deck, well used and rough at the edges. "It took me a while with Crazy Jane, but when I figured her out, the rest of you were easy. I saw you ail talking. That shouldn't be, no matter what Dr. Maguire has been doing with you."
"Do you know anything about that?" Scott stepped close—too close, maybe, those eyes might be dangerous—but he needed to know, and if this woman had the answers—
"No," she said, and he could not tell if she was lying. "I never got a chance to talk to the doctor. Not many did. He came and started seeing only certain patients. And then lie narrowed those patients, and then again, again, until he had you five. You special dirty little five."
"Does that make you angry?" Kurt asked.
"Everything makes me angry, Renny. That's why I'm here. Partly, anyway. But you shouldn't be here. You shouldn't at all."
Scott studied her face, that smile, those cold eyes. "Are you offering to help us?"
"I'm offering something," she said. "I got a feeling I should. Crazy jane pulled a bad card and I been pulling more. Five of hearts, Five of diamonds, Five of spades and clubs. Five seems to be the magic number and after seeing you love children all together, all friendly when you've never been friends at all, I got my message loud and clear."
"Which is what?" Scott asked cautiously.
She picked her teeth with a fingernail. "To set you free, little red bird. I'm going to set you free."
Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters
6
After several hours of waiting in that dismal little room, with an equally foul-tempered Logan, Rogue was somewhat relieved when the nurses came to fetch her for a meeting with the administrator. They did not remove the straitjacket.
Mr. Beckett was a small man, with a shiny bald scalp surrounded by a thinning ring of brown hair that looked far more youthful than his wrinkled drooping face. He reminded her of a bored hound dog and he sounded like one when he talked, all slow vowels and questions that felt like proclamations.
"Are you a troublemaker?" he said, when she sat down. "I think you are a troublemaker."
"Okay," Rogue said. Mr. Beckett frowned, tapping the file in front of him with a pencil.
"Frankly, I expected more. You made remarkable progress with Dr. Maguire, but several incidents over the past month have demonstrated that your road to recovery is . . . challenged. This latest episode is a vile example of that"
"I was trying to defend that nurse."
"Several of my staff have said that. I was not there, so I cannot verify the veracity of their stories. Either way, it matters little. A patient is dead, which is a kind of permanence that I do not appreciate inside my hospital."
Rogue did not appreciate it, either. She mourned that death. Her heart hurt. Her hands felt dirty.
"But not that dirty," Logan had said, during their brief conversation. " Because your intentions were good. You were trying to help someone. Hell, darlin', that happens to me all the time. You want to see a screwup when it comes to keeping people alive, just take a good hard look at me. That's the picture they're using in the dictionary."
Which was enough to make her smile—a good sign— though as far as pep talks went, it was not enough to wash away the guilt. In Rogue's experience, not much could do that except for time.
"What was his name?" she asked, because she had to know, she had to remember this man's death in a personal way and not just as a face, an incident, a mystery.
It was the wrong question. Mr. Beckett snapped his pencil and threw the pieces down on his
"Are you a telepath?"
"That's too big a word for a girl like me," she said, sly. "Use smaller talk, Mister Mindy."
Scott went very still. "How do you know?"
She tapped her head. "I just do. Instinct, maybe. Or the cards." She pulled a stack of them from her pocket, a regular playing deck, well used and rough at the edges. "It took me a while with Crazy Jane, but when I figured her out, the rest of you were easy. I saw you ail talking. That shouldn't be, no matter what Dr. Maguire has been doing with you."
"Do you know anything about that?" Scott stepped close—too close, maybe, those eyes might be dangerous—but he needed to know, and if this woman had the answers—
"No," she said, and he could not tell if she was lying. "I never got a chance to talk to the doctor. Not many did. He came and started seeing only certain patients. And then lie narrowed those patients, and then again, again, until he had you five. You special dirty little five."
"Does that make you angry?" Kurt asked.
"Everything makes me angry, Renny. That's why I'm here. Partly, anyway. But you shouldn't be here. You shouldn't at all."
Scott studied her face, that smile, those cold eyes. "Are you offering to help us?"
"I'm offering something," she said. "I got a feeling I should. Crazy jane pulled a bad card and I been pulling more. Five of hearts, Five of diamonds, Five of spades and clubs. Five seems to be the magic number and after seeing you love children all together, all friendly when you've never been friends at all, I got my message loud and clear."
"Which is what?" Scott asked cautiously.
She picked her teeth with a fingernail. "To set you free, little red bird. I'm going to set you free."
Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters
6
After several hours of waiting in that dismal little room, with an equally foul-tempered Logan, Rogue was somewhat relieved when the nurses came to fetch her for a meeting with the administrator. They did not remove the straitjacket.
Mr. Beckett was a small man, with a shiny bald scalp surrounded by a thinning ring of brown hair that looked far more youthful than his wrinkled drooping face. He reminded her of a bored hound dog and he sounded like one when he talked, all slow vowels and questions that felt like proclamations.
"Are you a troublemaker?" he said, when she sat down. "I think you are a troublemaker."
"Okay," Rogue said. Mr. Beckett frowned, tapping the file in front of him with a pencil.
"Frankly, I expected more. You made remarkable progress with Dr. Maguire, but several incidents over the past month have demonstrated that your road to recovery is . . . challenged. This latest episode is a vile example of that"
"I was trying to defend that nurse."
"Several of my staff have said that. I was not there, so I cannot verify the veracity of their stories. Either way, it matters little. A patient is dead, which is a kind of permanence that I do not appreciate inside my hospital."
Rogue did not appreciate it, either. She mourned that death. Her heart hurt. Her hands felt dirty.
"But not that dirty," Logan had said, during their brief conversation. " Because your intentions were good. You were trying to help someone. Hell, darlin', that happens to me all the time. You want to see a screwup when it comes to keeping people alive, just take a good hard look at me. That's the picture they're using in the dictionary."
Which was enough to make her smile—a good sign— though as far as pep talks went, it was not enough to wash away the guilt. In Rogue's experience, not much could do that except for time.
"What was his name?" she asked, because she had to know, she had to remember this man's death in a personal way and not just as a face, an incident, a mystery.
It was the wrong question. Mr. Beckett snapped his pencil and threw the pieces down on his
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