Cassie and Rahne's supper was a nearly unqualified success. Falling back on Girl Scout tradition, Cassie managed to concoct a tasty slumgullion stew from the odds and ends of canned and frozen goods they rooted out of various cupboards and the large walk-in freezer. "My mom used to call this Clean Out the Refrigerator Soup," she explained gaily, bringing a half-amused and half-appalled look to Rahne's face. The biscuits Cassie attempted to bake in a cobbled together campfire- stove made of cookie sheets were somewhat uncooperative; the first few experimental batches resulted in various combinations of burnt on the outside and raw on the inside. But with perseverance, a reasonable number came out in an edible state, and Rahne philosophically observed that the island's birds would happily take care of the rejects. After the meal, which had been a most welcome surprise to the Excalibur team, a small group formed for the purpose of "catchin' up on this an' that," as Moira put it. Hank, Cassie, Kitty, Pete Wisdom and Kurt followed Moira through a series of complicated passageways to the former heart of the Muir Island dwelling. "Och, it's been a while since I've had any use for this old thing," Moira said, looking down, or rather into, the huge old fireplace that dominated the room. "But sit ye doon, we'll soon hae a blaze going." The room they were in, according to Moira, used to be the main dining room for the original house that had been built here centuries ago. As such it was large and spacious enough to hold a good twenty or thirty people for a feast, but still cozy enough for a warm night in front of the fireplace. A dozen or more dining chairs stood in loose clusters to one side of the room, as if speculating amongst themselves where their friend the table had vanished to. In front of the hearth, two lavishly upholstered armchairs and an elegant old settee kept their backs to the more mundane furniture. Out of habit, Hank headed towards the sturdiest looking chair, and eased himself down, testing for any suggestion of imminent destruction. Cassie started to sink to a place at his feet. But the chair felt remarkably solid to Hank--older furniture was often far better crafted than modern pieces--so he patted his lap, winking an invitation that she accepted happily. Pete smirked and glanced at Kitty, intending to share his reaction to such overt and gooey behavior. But she bore a wistful smile that touched off his masculine pride. He dropped into the other chair, grasped the back waistband of Kitty's slacks, and pulled her into an equally cozy embrace. The look she gave him was startled but pleased, and he barely kept himself from making a triumphant nod at the visiting American. Lockheed, who had improved enough to follow Kitty down to dinner, glared at this spectacle. Now unable to cuddle near his Kitty without touching his despised foe, he galumphed away to seat himself practically within the mouth of the fireplace, tail lashing in annoyance like a cat's. Hank looked past Moira into the dark gloom, noticing the thick piles of soot and ash heaped up at the bottom of the grating. "You say that fireplace is the oldest remaining part of the house?" He was asking for the sake of conversation only, because it certainly looked ancient. Not to mention that, judging by the state of the concrete and bricks around the grating, the fireplace had not been used for a good long while. He had a horrible suspicion it would need to be thoroughly cleaned before any self-respecting fire could be persuaded to take residence there. "Aye, tha's right," Moira replied, stoking up the ashes with a poker. "It disnae get used much at the moment, as we've nae had many guests over f'r a while. At least, guests who've nae wanted to blow the place up. Kurt?" She looked over to where Kurt was currently sitting--or rather crouching, as he was balancing deftly on the back of the sofa. "Could ye put some o' these logs on the grate, and we'll see if we c'n get this fire goin'?" "Of course, Moira." Cassie watched him, still amazed at the fluid gracefulness with which he moved. With a quiet leap that barely rocked the couch he was sitting on, Kurt flipped over towards the fireplace, looking for a heart-stopping moment as if he was going to crash into it. At the last minute he executed a superb mid-air twist that let him land easily on the mantelpiece above the fireplace, his feet holding him effortlessly in place on the three-inch ledge. He canted his head inquiringly at Cassie, and she suddenly realized she was staring. "Oh...I'm sorry," she said quietly, feeling instantly embarrassed at her apparent rudeness. "I didn't mean to stare, but...." "From a lady as beautiful as you, such attention is a compliment," Kurt replied, with a quick grin at Hank. "But if you liked that, then I think you might also enjoy...this!" His eyes twinkling as his natural showmanship came to the fore, he swung himself down, holding onto the ledge with his feet and hanging upside down before the fireplace. Then he reached out towards the chopped wood and in one quick maneuver grabbed hold of three pieces, two with his hands and one with his tail. "Drumroll, please!" he said, warning with his mock-dramatic tone that the grand finale was near. Almost faster than the eye could follow, he leapt off in a spinning dismount, lobbing all three pieces of wood into place on the grating before he flipped over to land standing, then finish with a sweeping bow. Cassie applauded with delight at his performance, her embarrassment forgotten. "A 10, a perfect 10!" she laughed. "Weel, if th' Olympic trials are over," Moira pretended to fuss, "let's see if this thing wants to light f'r us." She reached for the firelighters. Pete nudged Kitty over to the armrest, got up, and moved towards Moira, almost shuffling in unaccustomed politeness. "Um, shall I light it for you?" he asked, doing his best to seem sincere and not really succeeding. "Aye, ye kin gi'it a go," she replied. "But remember, I'm no' gonna even think about forgiving ye until yiv replaced tha' bottle a whisky ye stole." "Yeah, alright. I said I'd get you some more next time I went to London." "Tha's no ordinary whisky, I'll have ye ken." Moira thickened her accent as she spoke to him, knowing how it annoyed him. "Ye canna joost go an' buy it fr'm the offie, y'know." "Moira, this is London I'm talking about. You know? Big place? City? Lots of shops? Getting some old Scots whisky is hardly gonna be a problem." "Och, is tha' so?" Hank gave a quizzical look at Kitty while this conversation was going on, realizing he must have missed some important occurrence. She leaned forward to fill him in. "Pete stole a bottle of whisky from Moira," she explained quietly. "Well, not stole exactly, just borrowed it.... Anyway, apparently this whisky was a very old and very rare type that Moira has, so when she found out about it...well, let's just say it didn't improve the friendship between the two of them." "I didn't know you drank whisky," Hank said, somewhat surprised that Kitty would like the stuff. "Oh, it wasn't for us two," she replied. "A friend of Pete's from London came up to visit a couple of nights ago, and as both he and Pete are whisky drinkers Pete went and got hold of one of Moira's expensive bottles. Unfortunately he forgot to ask her first." "Ah," Hank nodded, understanding. He had heard that Moira and Pete weren't exactly close, and the scene before him merely confirmed his suspicion--Moira was the purebred Scot, and Pete was the Englishman brave enough to cross the border. Pete knelt down in front of the fire, eager to get the thing lit so he could go outside and have a cigarette. He'd been dying for a smoke ever since dinner, but given the current situation with Moira didn't dare light one up in the same room as her, in case she tried to put it out with the fire extinguisher or something equally daft. He was also getting slightly worried about the whisky. He'd known it was an unusual brand by the label on the bottle--it had been handwritten--but he was beginning to realize that getting a replacement bottle wouldn't be quite as easy as he thought. Pete looked at the logs on the fireplace and concentrated. 'Not too much,' he thought, 'just enough power to get the things lit without blowing a hole in the back of the firewall.' He stretched his hand out towards the logs and let loose a few of his mutant 'hot-knives'-- small blades of intense heat concentrated into a tiny area that were his particular mutant talent. Playing the knives carefully over and into the thick logs set them blazing into a instant mini-inferno. Using firelighters, it would have taken a lot of work to get the logs hot enough to sustain the fire, but the heat generated by his knives worked better than phosphor flares. Once the fire was going he stood up, feeling slightly smug at his demonstration of the control he had developed over his powers. With a quick "'Scuse me, all, I'm goin' for a fag," Pete left the room. Cassie's jaw dropped as her eyebrows arced upwards in astonishment. Seeing this, Kurt tried and failed to stifle an ungentlemanly chortle. Hank, also trying not to smile, merely said, "British expression, Cassie. Pete's going out to smoke." "Oh!" Now she smiled with the others at her misunderstanding. "Silly me, I knew that!" "So," said Kitty, kindly changing the subject as she stretched out in the armchair she had wholly appropriated, enjoying the warmth of the fire. "What do you think of our island? Or at least, what you've seen of it so far." "Oh, it's lovely!" Cassie replied enthusiastically. "It's so...open, and the air here smells so...ocean-like." Which was actually not bad, now that she was getting used to it. "It must be wonderful living here!" "Aye, 'tis a fine island." Moira allowed herself a small flush of pride at the praise of her home. "And this house, and the center--it's amazing! There's so much here!" "Yes, and your computer systems have developed considerably since my last visit," Hank added. "I may have to come here more often." "You see, Katzchen? Even the great Dr. Hank McCoy says your work on the computers is an improvement. Fine praise indeed!" said Kurt, beaming at Kitty. "Ye know," Moira said, leaning forward in her chair. "It's been a while since I've opened a bottle o' that whisky, and since we've got guests over why don't I go and bring a bottle doon?" At that moment the door opened and Pete walked back into the room, looking somewhat more relaxed and smelling slightly of smoke. On the hearth, Lockheed burbled a faint hissing growl. "Someone mention whisky?" "Oh, no, none for ye, Pete Wisdom. Y've helped yuirself to more than enough o' my whisky as it is!" "Oh, so you'll let your other guests have some of the bloody stuff, but when I grab a bottle you hit the roof?" he complained, squeezing in grumpily next to Kitty, who shifted back aboard his lap with ease, helped by her phasing powers. "You know perfectly well that I'd've been happy tae let any of my guests have a dram or two 'o whisky. At least most other people have the manners tae ask before helping themselves!" And with that she left the room, not giving Pete a chance to get the last word in. "God Almighty. Will that woman ever let it drop?!" Pete muttered, half to himself. "Oh, don't worry about it. We've got a shopping trip to London in a couple of days, and we can go and get her some more then. That and a better apology from you should calm her down." Kitty ran her hand through his hair, managing to not let him see the laughter on her face. "So, Hank" she said, resuming the previous conversation. "What do you think of what I've done to the communications suite?" Cassie sank further into Hank's arms, and the side of the chair, content to let the technical conversation wash over her for a while. For some reason, even with Pete and Moira bickering, and a dragon on the hearth, Muir Island seemed more friendly and homey, more...more normal, than the mansion presided over by Professor Xavier. It was encouraging to meet mutants like Kurt having fun with their powers; to see people like those who'd been outside, flying--actually flying though their work--and moving pieces of metal and rocks the size of a truck! A relief, in some strange way, to discover powers were good for more than fighting. Just then the quiet conversation was interrupted by a scream of rage coming towards the room. "Pete Wisdom, Ah'm gonae kill you!!" "Huh?!" As everyone looked round in surprise Moira burst into the room like a galleon in full sail, sheer fury emanating from her in a wave of physical force. She stormed up to the bewildered Pete and yelled into his face, "Ye went and did it agin! Not only d'ye steal from me once, ye went and did it agin! Ye...ye...ye englishmun!!" "What the bloody hell are you talking about, woman?" "Ye know perfectly well what I'm talking aboot, Wisdom! Ma whisky! Ma old, expensive, rare whisky! Ye've been at it again, helping yuirself to ma stuff!" "Again?! No, I didn't!" Pete tried to protest his innocence against the force of Scotland raging inches from his face. "Look, I only took the one bottle..." "Oh, ye think I'd believe ye? Ye've stolen from me once, ye'd do it again!" Moira was quieter now, exuding a calmer, more controlled fury. Pete didn't know if this was better or worse. "OK, I stole one bottle. I admitted that, alright? But I didn't take any more!" "Really? Prove it then!" "Huh? How d'you expect me--" Pete was spared the task of proving his innocence for the moment. There was a slight hiss from the fireplace, followed by the sound of a small, somewhat muffled explosion. The group turned as one to the fireplace, thus ensuring they all got caught full in the face by a cloud of thick soot that boiled out of the chimney. Lockheed, who had been sitting watching the argument with a smug look on his face, jumped up and flew from the room like a shot. "What was that?" "Gott in Himmel!" "Huh?" "Are we under attack?" "Moira, you haven't suddenly developed mutant powers, have you?" While the cloud of soot settled, everyone kept their eyes fixed--between blinking against the irritating stuff--on the fireplace, ready for another explosion. Hank was the first to investigate once the air had cleared somewhat, moving forward to rummage around in the ashes of the now-extinguished fire. "I believe this might be the answer to our conundrum," he proclaimed, holding something up to the light. "What is it?" Kitty asked, moving forward to get a better look. "A piece of glass?" "I think it is more a question of what the glass contained," he replied, wiping some of the soot off the shard. "Moira, do you recognize this?" He handed the piece to her, and she saw that it had a label on it, with some handwriting saying.... "Ma whisky! This is part o' a bottle o' ma whisky!" "Exactly. I would imagine that if you searched through the rest of the ashes you would find all the other parts of the bottle. The heat of the fire obviously caused the contents to expand rather rapidly, creating the explosion we have just witnessed." "Moira, if you wanted to hide the whisky from me, don't you think there were better places to put it than up the bloody chimney?" Pete asked, somewhat confused. "Wait a minute! I didnae put it there!" "Then how did it get there?" Kitty asked. "Wait, you said you hadn't used that fireplace for a while. Perhaps it could have been put there years ago for some reason?" "I donae think so, luv. The other bottle just went missin' today. It must be one o' mine." "Then the question remains as to who put it there." Hank pondered as he attempted, with little success, to dust off his hands. "Well, besides the fact that not many of us could reach up to put anything in there," Kitty pointed out, "why would anyone do it anyway?" "Perhaps," offered Kurt, "perhaps we have a poltergeist in the house?" "A poltergeist? Oh, come on, Kurt! I know we've seen some pretty strange things with the X-men, but isn't that a little ridiculous?" "Poltergeist? Oh, great, now the German's flipped as well." "There better no' be any poltergeists in ma house!" "Well, it would explain it, wouldn't it?" Cassie spoke up, while trying to unobtrusively clear the soot out of her hair. "I mean, how else could the bottle have gotten up there? And it's exactly the sort of thing a poltergeist would do, isn't it?" 'Plus,' she thought to herself, 'any house that has a real live dragon in it is sure to have a ghost or two around the place.' They all stood around for a moment, thinking to themselves. "Nah," Pete snorted. "'s all a load of rubbish, isn't it?" "Ja, you're correct." 'Although Kitty is right,' thought Kurt. 'We have seen a lot of strange things. So why not a poltergeist?' "Och, for once I'll agree with him. Anyway, what say we all move into the kitchen and we can have the whisky in there?" Moira began to move them all out. Pete was the last one out of the room, and just before he left he turned to glance again at the fireplace. 'Nah. Load of rubbish. Isn't it?' *** Cassie slowly surfaced out of what had been a sound sleep, muzzily wondering what was disturbing her. The room was absolutely black except for Hank's little battery-powered travel alarm, set to local time, which said 1:47 am. He was rumbling away next to her, not quite snoring, but definitely not awake. Vaguely annoyed, Cassie realized what had woken her up. No doubt due to the time difference, she needed a bathroom. And unfortunately, the makeshift guestroom they were using did not have an adjoining one. 'Moira said it was just down the hall, around the corner,' she remembered, sitting up quietly. Weighing the comfort of having Hank's presence as a guide and protector against her inclination to not be a bother, Cassie perched on the edge of the bed a moment. Then she stood up resolutely in the darkness, determined to make this small expedition on her own. She fumbled around and found her bathrobe where she had left it, over the back of the chair next to the nightstand. Now she wished they had chosen practicality over romance and taken the flashlight Moira had offered, rather than a few assorted candles. But Cassie found the matches right away, and striking one to light the largest taper didn't disturb Hank in the slightest. He slept on as she walked across the cold bare floor and out the door to the corridor. She left it open just a crack for ease of identification later and headed out. Comforting herself with Kurt's assurance that the power would definitely be back on tomorrow, Cassie padded down the hall. It looked different in the light of one candle than it had when Moira had shown them to their room with the bright battery-powered lantern. In fact, it looked completely unfamiliar from within her faint circle of light. Cassie realized soon that she was quite lost. The hallway had ended at a modern looking door. On the other side of it was an entirely different building--the public section of the research center. She remembered following Rahne through it briefly that afternoon, as a short cut to the leeward side of the complex. But if this was the public section, there should be...yes! Restrooms! The lights were even working in this area, Cassie found as she entered the door marked 'Ladies'--modern automated ones! But this realization gave birth to a new worry--if she wandered into the wrong part of the public section, would she trigger lights and alarms? Had she already? As quickly as she could, Cassie finished and returned to the older hallways for further candle-light explorations. At least now she had no need to hurry, she thought with wry relief. If need be, she could just trail around the place until dawn, or whenever someone got up.... As if in answer to her thoughts, Cassie heard a sound off to her left, like a door thudding open. She paused, then tiptoed hesitantly in that direction. No further noises followed, but bits of the territory she was traversing began to look familiar. Wasn't this the way to the kitchen? Just as she was thinking she should surely go back the other way, and never mind the first sound, she heard a stifled gasp. Cassie froze. 'Who was that?' she thought, mind racing. 'Should I say something? I should. But what?' Before she could answer her self-imposed questions, a dark shape leapt from the connecting hall to land and growl at her from the shadows where the candlelight did not reach. Although a frantic shriek burst within her mind, Cassie's throat spasmed, and only a strangled peep squeezed out. The candle in its holder wavered and almost fell from her grasp. Then an animal--a dog?--walked forward, questing for her scent. To Cassie's astonishment, it began to rise up and change shape as it came forward. "Cassie? Is that you?" "Rahne?" she managed to croak. It was indeed the Scots girl standing before her now, and she looked as shocked as Cassie felt, though almost certainly not for the same reason. "Did ye hear it too?" "Hear what? That thump a minute ago?" "That too." Rahne's brown eyes were huge. "But I heard somethin' strange before that. And I thought, what if it's the...." "The ghost?" Cassie swallowed hard. In daylight, she did not believe in ghosts. But that conviction was more difficult to cling to in the dark. From the same direction came another lighter thump and a clank. Rahne and Cassie instantly clutched at each other, almost losing the candle in the process. "It's comin' from the kitchen," Rahne whispered. "A haunted kitchen?" This abruptly struck Cassie as unlikely in the extreme. Feeling a bit like one of her own characters, she murmured, "You want to go check it out?" Rahne straightened her spine, visibly gathering her nerve. "Aye, let's." Together they crept towards the suspect room, from which new tinks and muffled clunks were now coming with an ominous regularity. Just outside the entrance, they paused to link gazes. "On three?" said Rahne, speaking as the professional of the duo. Cassie nodded. "One, two, three!" They dashed into the kitchen, and a hail of cooking utensils exploded in an ungodly clatter out of a floor-level cupboard, rattling around their ankles. Jumping in a panicky attempt to avoid God knew what, Cassie dropped the candlestick. The candle guttered out as it fell. The clank of the brass holder hitting a saucepan was the last of the noise. Silence deep as the darkness surrounded them now, broken only by Cassie and Rahne's rapid breathing. "Now what?" Cassie asked at last, truly hoping Rahne would have an answer. "We'd best go get Moira," Rahne said, with only a hint of a quaver in her voice. "And Hank." Cassie thrust a foot out blindly and kicked something that skittered across the floor at a distressing volume. "Might be easier said than done, though." "Dinnae worry, I'll just shift tae wolf form--I can get along quite well in the dark then. Hang on tae me, and I'll guide us." 'A Seeing Eye werewolf. Why ever not?' Cassie grinned to herself. It was simply amazing how quickly all this sort of thing was becoming handy but unremarkable. "Lead on, then." Not long afterward, a small group stood in the kitchen, looking over the mysterious visitor's mess by the brilliant glow of two heavy-duty lanterns. Moira, muttering, cleared a path through an unlikely assortment of mismatched cookware to peer deep into a floor level storage area. "As I thought, nearly empty. Thorough, our prankster." "Scattering pots and pans is traditional poltergeist activity," Hank said slowly, clearly resisting the absurd notion with all his might. "You girls saw nothing?" Moira demanded, although she had already heard their breathless account of the whole thing. "I dropped the candle almost right away," Cassie admitted. "But even before, it didn't shed enough light to show much of this big room." "Rahne, did ye see anythin' strange?" "Nooo...but, after I shifted...I smelled something." Moira looked expectant, but her hopes were dashed when Rahne's next word was, "Whisky." "Och, o'course ye did--we'd all had a nip in here afore bed. I'd hoped ye'd gotten a sniff of whoever played this foolish joke." Rahne looked dubious. "It seemed...fresher than that. Like it was spilled just then. Sharp enough, anyway, to keep me from pickin' up any other scents." She shared a nervous look with Cassie. "If there was anything to scent...." "Still--perhaps you should recount your bottles, just in case?" Hank suggested. Moira inhaled sharply, whirled and stormed from the room. In a few moments, there came the faint echo of an unearthly screech from upstairs. "Oh, dear," said Cassie. "That doesn't sound promising." By the time a seething, nearly speechless Moira returned to the kitchen, Hank and the ladies had gathered up all the loose cookware and secured it in the cupboard. "This cannae, and shall nae go on!" the furious Scots woman promised. "I'll nae be robbed in ma own house! I'll...I'll--" Words failed her. "Perhaps it would be wise to return to bed, and let our sleeping subconscious minds form a plan of attack, or rather, defense," Hank suggested. Seeing the logic of this, Moira managed to calm down enough to agree. "Aye, we can do nae more tonight. But tomorrow the thief had best beware!" *** Safe again in their room, with Cassie warming her freezing feet against Hank's furry legs, the couple waited for sleep to find them again. "What time did you say the alarm was set for?" Cassie asked. "Six AM, per your instructions, madame," Hank replied. "Since you feel you must shoulder the burden of feeding the troops." He thought he did a good job in managing to keep his lingering disapproval out of his voice. "I promised Rahne I would help her--she's so tickled by the idea of learning to cook over a campfire." Cassie yawned. "Guess she didn't get to be in Girl Scouts." "I believe it is Girl Guides, on this side of the pond, but no, probably not." He hesitated, then continued, "As long as this is something you want to do...?" "I'd feel awful just sitting around in the middle of this disaster, not doing anything to help," Cassie said, a little too quietly. She did grasp that he wasn't pleased by her assuming housekeeping duties as though it was all she was good for. "Especially now that I know I can...and after everyone has been so nice." "You feel more comfortable here, don't you?" Hank asked, changing the subject. Cassie understood he was referring to her continuing unease among the X-men. "Yes, well...it's different here." "How so?" he asked, stroking her thigh to reassure her. There was a pause while she searched for the right words. "We're both just guests here. All we have to do is follow the Good Guest rules, and we're fine." "Politely ignore all bickering, help track down poltergeists--" He was interrupted by Cassie's laugh and a light elbow dig in the ribs, exactly where he was most ticklish. "See, it's easy to fit in someplace temporarily," she continued. "But...back at the mansion, I'm...I guess...more than a guest, really. But not a member of the household." "Why do you think that's so?" It was surprisingly difficult to frame questions like this to sound non-judgmental, he thought in passing. "Because I'm just...there. I don't do anything, I don't contribute--" "You contribute to my well-being," Hank pointed out. "I don't consider that 'nothing'." "Well, no, I don't either. But...." Cassie trailed off, not sure how to put her instinct into words. "That makes an attachment between us--not with me and any of the others." She stopped to think again. "I don't have a role in the household, the group. Not like everyone else does." "So...it's not that you think the rest of the team doesn't like you?" Hank ventured, feeling he was on the verge of understanding something that had somehow thus far eluded him. "No, of course not." "Were you...upset to be left out of the meeting about Joseph?" "Oh, no. Not at all," Cassie assured him. "Actually, I was glad it worked out that you could go explain for me. Everyone was so...so on edge...I wouldn't have enjoyed being there much." Now they both lay in silence, contemplating the implications of each other's words. "I suppose you will just have to create, and grow into, your own role," Hank said at last. "Knowing I am setting a precedent for untold generations of X-girlfriends and boyfriends," she replied, expressing her fear of inadequacy as a joke. "That," Hank said, as he pulled her close for a kiss, "will be their problem, my dear; how to live up to your brilliant success." (end section B)