Kid Dynamo Chapter 4A: Stevie's Night Out by Connie Hirsch Stevie hadn't thought anything was out of the ordinary when Magnus asked her to step into his office after dance class. They often met informally to discuss students and school matters, and with the advent of a new, troubled student, it seemed logical that he would wish to talk. In fact, she was somewhat surprised that he hadn't asked her advice sooner. Magnus looked up from some school papers as she slipped into the room. "Stevie," he said, and her practiced ear detected the subtle note of warmth. The Master of Magnetism was a very reserved man but not an unfeeling one. "If you would take a seat," he said, indicating an easy chair drawn up before his desk. He waited until she was seated, his intense blue eyes following her as she sank gracefully into the seat. "Before we discuss school matters," he said in that polite, super-precise soft voice, "there is a personal... matter I wish to cover -- or rather, offer." Stevie blinked, nodded encouragingly, careful not to laugh or show amusement. Magnus was at his most endearing when he fumblingly tried to be sociable -- he was so bad at it. Not only that, he knew it and took offense if she showed she noticed. "It seem I rather unexpectedly have two tickets to the Alvin Ailey season premiere benefit tomorrow evening. My -- an acquaintance was forced to cancel. So, I thought perhaps you would have a use for the tickets." "Why, Magnus," she said. A streak of perversity made her pretend to misunderstand. "I'd love to. It would be fun to accompany you to the ballet." She couldn't believe she'd said it, and evidently neither could he. "I did not mean to sound as though I were asking you for a date," he said earnestly after a pause. "I thought you could ask a friend. Not that it wouldn't be an honor to escort you." "Well, if that's the case..." she said. "I don't know if I'll be able to rustle up an escort so suddenly, and they're your tickets anyway...." "I have a great deal of work to do," he said. "Unexpected interruptions during the week--" "When's the last time you gave yourself a night off?" she said. "Four weeks," he said without a beat. "You _are_ allowed to have fun now and then," she said. He sighed. "Thank you for granting me your permission, Stevie. I shall henceforth endeavor to order my life around the pursuit of pleasure." A slow smile appeared like the sun rising in the desert. "Well," she said. "Well?" he said. "'Stevie, would you accompany me to the ballet tomorrow night?'" she said to herself, managing a credible imitation of his faint accent. She switched to her own voice, "'Why, yes, Magnus, I'd be honored. Why don't you pick me up at seven?'" She looked at him and this time it was the Master of Magnetism who blinked. "All settled then," she said serenely. "What other problems do you need solved today?" Magnus stared at her a moment, then he shook his head in exasperation and reached for a folder marked "Jessica." "I want to ask your opinion on several matters pertaining to our newest student," he began. * * * Magneto frowned as he studied his reflection in the mirror. The lapels were too wide, he decided, and a mere flicker of his power made the metallic cloth ripple and flow into a more pleasing configuration. The trouble with being your own tailor was the endless possibilities of refining the result. It would be simpler to purchase conventional clothing, but there was always the distinct chance an old enemy might appear; it seemed inadvisable to compromise the identity of mysterious headmaster Michael Xavier. Besides, it allowed him to indulge his own considerable vanity in a harmless manner. He'd learned more about himself in the past four years than in the previous sixty. He had known himself to be a proud man, but so much of that pride had been hubris, which had exacted its own eventual punishment. His life had shattered; yet out of the wreckage had come a new life, and a new understanding of the world and his place in it. Along with that had come the realization that at heart he was quite vain. Well, and if he was vain, he would do his best to make sure vanity was justified. He smoothed the narrower lapel with his fingers, adjusted the bow tie and cummerbund and checked the fit of the jacket again in the large three-way mirrors of Charles's bathroom. Perhaps he was not the only vain one; after all it was Charles who had installed them in the first instance. He rarely entered or left the suite that had been Charles's without thinking of his friend. In the past few months he'd begun to rearrange the rooms to please himself, now that Charles seemed not likely to return to Earth soon. But still he felt like an impostor, stepping into the warm shoes of a man whose role he considered most likely beyond his capabilities. Casually using his power he switched off the lights and locked the door behind him. Samuel was passing through the corridor and raised an eyebrow at his headmaster's finery. "Ah hear you're going to the ballet, sir," said the lad --young man, Magneto corrected himself, better get into the habit of treating the boy as an adult. "Yes, Sam, I shall be gone until midnight or nearly," he said. Samuel was a pleasant young man, polite and responsible for the most part. A compliment would be in order. "I trust the school's safety to you and Dani tonight; I will be reachable via signal if any situation requiring my presence arises -- though we shall hope this does not come to pass." "Ah'll do my best, sir," said Sam. "Very well," said Magneto. No, that had sounded much too stiff. The lad would do a fine job -- as would all the other students and the staff -- else he would not leave them. At the garage a minor exertion of his magnetic power served to open the door and remove Charles's Rolls Royce. Magneto didn't fancy taking the school station wagon or borrowing Tom's pickup truck and the thought of taking Sam's car was ridiculous, so the Rolls it was. Perhaps he should purchase an automobile for his own use, a Mercedes or a Volvo sedan; the students could use it on a daily basis. The Rolls called too much attention to itself. Generating a cloaking field for the car -- invisible to radar and the naked eye -- he flew to Salem Center, setting down discreetly on a side street. He positively chafed at the restriction of having to actually drive places when flying was so much more efficient, but that was a part of playing headmaster at Xavier's school. He could doubtless argue Stevie into flying to Manhattan but he felt sure it would render her anxious and destroy her enjoyment of the evening, and that was too high a price to pay for convenience. He was comfortably early, so he parked in front of Stevie's studio to review roadmaps and monitor the all-news radio station's traffic report, deciding on the most advantageous route. That task completed he took out a pad and pencil from the glovebox and worked on notes for the next week's physics lesson. When the Rolls's electric clock showed 6:30 he went and rang Stevie's bell. * * * _Girl, what have you done and gotten yourself into?_ Stevie blotted her lips and checked her teeth for lipstick smears. There were none, but she checked again. _One crisis at a time_. At least she hadn't started panicking until relatively late. Whatever had possessed her to put him up to a date? The man was so stiff you could use his back as an ironing board and he probably would say two words the entire night while rewriting the laws of relativity or whatever in his head. He'd only acquiesced to be polite. She sighed and told herself to get a grip. Goddamn it, why did he have to be so attractive? _What a waste_, she thought, and then, _I could_ pretend _for just one night...._ The doorbell rang and she jumped, grabbed her wrap off the chair, and forced herself to walk slowly down the stairs. It wouldn't do to throw her knee out scampering to the door like a girl on her first date. She took three achingly slow breaths and opened the door, a poised, lifelike smile on her lips. Magnus stood in the doorway, tall, dignified, so European. He gave her a long look, really noticing her dress. "Stevie, you look lovely," he said, and she stood there, unable to think of a reply until he added, "We should be on our way, no?" He offered her his arm, formally, and Stevie allowed him to lead her to the car and get the door for her. Only a European man of his generation could make it seem so natural. He got in his side of the car and started the Rolls's quiet engine. "Seat belt, Stevie," he reminded her. His own snaked across his lap and clipped itself in place. She blinked -- she defied anyone not to be startled now and then around the Master of Magnetism! -- and saw to her own before he decided to "help" her. "I wonder why you bother?" she said aloud. "An elementary safety precaution," he said, pulling the car out into the slow moving Salem Center traffic. She'd been surprised to find what a good driver he was along with the myriad of his other talents. "I'm confident my power could protect us from harm in an auto accident, but one cannot become too complacent. And there might be situations where revealing my power would be inadvisable, no matter how much it would pain me to let Charles's car be damaged." He glanced over at her. "And the laws of New York State mandate the use of safety belts," he added. "Magnus, you've become a ... a _law-abider_ in your old age," she said with a grin. _Maybe tonight won't be so terrible_, she thought. He made a little noise that she realized was a chuckle. Well, that proved his face wouldn't crack. "Ah, no," he said. "'Michael Xavier' is a law-abiding citizen and I must play the role to the hilt. Therefore we will proceed to Manhattan at just above the posted speed limit, keeping with the flow of traffic, not attracting undue attention from officers of the law." "It _sounds_ like a good plan," she said. "I do my best," he replied. They were silent as Magnus guided the car onto the expressway to the city. "Danielle and Jessica had an appalling disagreement yesterday, after we spoke," he said, his eyes on the road. "They did? I thought they looked very chummy at practice this morning." "Evidently they have made up. To be truthful, I'm relieved. What physical damage Jessica can do with her power, Danielle can nearly equal with her spirit-forms," he said. "Jessica attacked Danielle with all the clothes in her room --" he stopped, looking over at Stevie who'd let out a laugh. "Sorry," she said to his frown. "I was just thinking of what that must have looked like. Talk about fitting punishments!" "Ah, yes. It is her room and her possessions, and how Danielle cares to arrange them should be her business. But that is besides the point: Jessica could easily have suffocated Danielle inadvertently." "I walked in as Danielle was casting a spirit-form to counterattack. Her power can be devastating enough when the opponent is prepared. Jessica has not yet felt the effects of one in practice, and she is still recovering emotionally from her imprisonment." "They seem to have patched it up, though," said Stevie. "A patch that might blow any time," said Magnus. "Perhaps I erred in assigning them to be study partners. I thought they would balance each other out. Instead they seem bent on tearing each other apart.' "I don't think it was a bad choice," said Stevie. "And good friendships can evolve once initial differences are ironed out." "One can hope," Said Magnus. "Give them credit for being intelligent, responsible young women," Stevie said. "They'll work out their differences in time." "Time is in short supply," he replied. "Jessica is only to stay the month. What if this disagreement is the factor that convinces her to leave?" "It's important to you that she stays, isn't it?" said Stevie. "I feel ...a responsibility to the child," he said. "Because of her mother?" said Stevie. "I've heard about her mother's death, but I haven't had a chance to find out what your side of the story is." "It is... complicated." He paused. "You see, when Noemi asked my help with her erratic powers, it was still years before I began serious experimentation in genetics. I treated Noemi with vitamin injections, leading her to believe otherwise -- for a placebo effect. And it worked, along with the yoga and biofeedback I taught her. I _never_ did anything to Noemi that could have affected her in an adverse way." "So you're_ innocent_," said Stevie. "Why don't you just tell Jessica that?" "There are several reasons, not the least of which is that I am not entirely blameless. I misled Noemi as to how she was treated; this may have meant her doctors searched down blind alleys for a clue to her condition. At the least, the truth would have ruled out several possibilities and focussed the doctor's attention on other avenues of inquiry." "Finally, Jessica would not likely believe me at this time, even had I proof. Most of my records were destroyed along with Asteroid M, and they could easily be faked. So telling Jessica is pointless, until such time as she trusts me or I have conclusive proof that what killed her mother cannot be blamed on my ministrations." "Do you think you can do that -- find what killed Noemi?" Stevie said. "I will not know unless I try," said Magnus. "I've begun inquiries; Moira was kind enough to gather Noemi's British medical record for me, something her American doctors did not have available. Several key advances in genetics research have been made since her death. Still, it may take years." "And Jessica might come to trust you in the meantime," said Stevie. "You think so?" Magnus said so intensely she blinked. "Anything's possible," she said defensively. "You're not such a bad guy when you get to know you," she added, and gave herself a mental kick for sounding so lame. He glanced at her and back to the road. For the second time that evening, he chuckled. "Perhaps I should have had you for a character witness at my second trial," he said. "I wasn't joking," she said. "Indeed, and if they had known of the strength of your character and the depth of your wisdom, they would have recognized the compliment for what it was." "Magnus, you could always take a job as a royal flatterer," she said. He fell silent for a while. "Perhaps we should spend an evening free of ...shop talk," he said thoughtfully. "I have spent much time brooding over the matter of Jessica and the other students, and a few carefree hours might serve to give me a fresh perspective on the situation." "You mean 'kick back and mellow out?'" Stevie couldn't quite manage a poker face. Magneto looked at her silently and for just a moment she thought she might have offended him. "Nothing so radical, Stevie," he said at last. "I assure you I have _never_ been 'laid back' and I harbor no intention of attaining that state. However, if a quiet evening of ballet and congenial company achieves that condition I shall not complain." _Whew_, she thought to herself. Aloud she said, "Have you ever been to California?" * * * Magneto handed the car keys to the bewigged valet at the Hellfire Club. At last his membership in that troublesome institution was of some use. Stevie waited patiently on the curb for him, trying not to look nervous. They had had a pleasant conversation about her dance background -- once talk about the school had been foregone he had sought a safe topic, and he knew little of Stevie's life before his advent at the school. But when they had driven up to the Club she had sat up straight in her seat, all relaxation forgotten. "What are we doing _here_?" she'd said, her coffee-colored gaze boring into his. Stevie was a woman with an undeniable amount of will. "Why, parking," he said. "I am, after all, the White King. We can take a cab to the Ailey Theater easily enough." "Oh," she said. "It's just that..." "This organization has a certain reputation, yes," he said. "However, you are under my protection. In fact to boldly parade you before the Inner Circle's gaze will remind them of it." "I have no desire to be 'paraded' in front of anyone," she said with a frown. She was taking offense, he realized. "A poor choice of words. I do not anticipate meeting any of the court tonight -- but news of your appearance here will reach them, and the effect shall be the same." "Well," she said. Inside the club door the concierge came up to him, all flustered. "Professor Xavier," the man said, and as always Magneto thought of Charles. "Sir, we did not expect you tonight --" "I should not expect you would," he searched his memory for a name to go with the face, "--George. If you'll be so kind as to fetch us a cab." "Yes, of course, sir," said George. "Is the Blue Study occupied?" he asked before the man could rush away. "Why, no, sir," he said. "Should I look for you there?" "I think so," Magneto said. He nodded curtly in dismissal and the concierge scampered off. How silly the Hellfire Club uniform looked on the employees. He led Stevie up the grand staircase to the second floor, restricted for the use of members. "One can never assume one is not being spied upon here," he told Stevie once they were inside the room. He gestured to release his power and sent it flooding through the study, an all but invisible tide to human eyes, searching out the 'bugs' he knew would be spread there. Seven -- one more than last time, he noted. Shaw was nothing if not tenacious. He pulled them out of their ingenious hiding places and held them in the air above his open palm to show Stevie. "Are those the, umm, items?" she said, a trifle wide-eyed. He was making her uncomfortable, he suspected. "They were." A small mental maneuver crumbled them into tiny balls of rapidly cooling slag. They floated over to a wastepaper basket and dropped in with distinct plinks. "Is it --safe?" Stevie said. Magneto stopped himself from replying, "It is never safe." True, but she was already nervous. "Safe enough," he replied. "Although if you have any secrets, now is not the time to blurt them out." She smiled. "I confess to a sudden urge to make up some outrageous lie and let them be fooled." "You'd tweak the whiskers of the lion in his own den, then," he said. "A practice I cannot recommend. I would advise letting the impulse pass." "Well, if you say so," Stevie smiled as she walked around the room, looking at the furnishings. The Blue Study was well-named, the walls were covered with an intricately patterned wallpaper that matched the blue upholstery on the authentic Chippendale furniture. Magneto watched her in silence. Perhaps he had underestimated Stevie; she seemed to have regained her equanimity. Aleytys, who had the courage of ten men, had never been comfortable with his power. It had been a factor in their eventual parting. Perhaps he was projecting Lee's feelings upon Stevie's reactions. It was a great deal easier to be Magneto, or to be Michael Xavier than it was to be Magnus, employer of, and friend to humans. Tom and Sharon and Stevie were especially fine people; Charles would have chosen to share his school's secret with no one less. There were times he found himself envying the free and easy relationship they enjoyed with the children. But as much as the students needed friendly role models, they needed also a leader, a taskmaster and a protector -- roles he could at least fill. It was duty, and if he could not manage to be friends with the fine adults who worked with him, at least he had duty as a comfort. There was a light tap on the door, and one of the Hellfire Club maids came in, teetering on the overly high heels and threatening to fall out of her ridiculous costume. "Yer cab's 'ere, guv'nor," she said in a pseudo-Cockney accent that had never been east of Long Island. "Thank you, we'll be down directly," he said. She stayed looking at him longer than necessary. Stevie's shoes made a small noise crossing an uncarpeted section of floor, and the maid gave her a look of pure venom and left the room. He was mystified for a minute, then recalled the maid was the same one who'd made him what he could only describe as an indecent proposal involving herself and another of the employees. He attributed it to Shaw's unsavory recruiting and auditioning practices. He gathered the Lords Cardinal were accustomed to take their sport among the employees. "I see you've broken another heart," said Stevie. He smiled down at her as she donned her wrap. Women _were_ amazingly intuitive sometimes. Stevie was a nonpareil of her sex. "Not my type," he said dryly and felt himself well rewarded by her smile. _What did she mean by "another heart?"_ he wondered suddenly. * * * Stevie was glad of a strong arm to clutch following the usher down the aisle at the theater. It wasn't that her knee was bothering her; it was the sudden recollection this was the first time she'd been to see ballet since the night she'd been abducted by the crazed villain called Arcade -- and the time before was prior to her accident seven years ago. _Okay, so I have been avoiding it._ She'd meant to get around to seeing live dance again any of a hundred times in the past few years, but something always seemed to come up. She'd thought she would get over that little bit of reluctance by accompanying Storm that one memorable time -- but Fate had stepped in unexpectedly. All right, so she was being a little phobic. The curtains _would_ rise, the dancers _would_ come out and she _wouldn't_ feel as though her heart had been ripped from her chest. She was quite reconciled to the end of her dancing career; this was merely the final step in admitting it. She'd made a very satisfying life, she thought -- indeed, it was a very interesting one. Exhibit A, her date for the evening: mutant terrorist, Master of Magnetism, supervillain and international _bon vivant_, Magneto. _"Tell me again about the time you destroyed Woomera Air Base?"_ she thought to herself and smiled a secret grin. Good thing Mr. Magnetism couldn't read minds. Magnus must have sensed something; he glanced to her and she realized she was gripping his arm rather tightly. He was so courtly sometimes it was easy to forget his fierce side. He was a conduit for unbelievable amounts of power; she had monitored enough training sessions to have a fair idea just how much. She realized with a small sense of wonder, despite this she had no fear of the man or what he could do. "Is everything all right?" he said. She nodded and they continued down the aisle. She couldn't believe it; they had front row seats, the best in the house. "You were going to give these tickets _away_?" she whispered once they were seated. He nodded diffidently; she thought in shock that a benefit opening night's tickets would have run in excess of a thousand dollars. Stevie found herself wondering just how much money Magneto was worth. Millions, at least. She'd been surprised to learn how much money Charles controlled and he'd presumably confined himself to gaining it by legal means. "Penny for your thoughts," he said gently. "Oh, just stuff," she said, blushing ever so slightly. She had to find something to say quick. "Have you ever seen the Ailey perform before?" "No, I have not," he said. "My life has not afforded me many opportunities for cultural pastimes. Now that I'm based near New York, I intend to make up for this deficiency." "I don't blame you," she said. "I only wish we could continue taking the students to the museums. "You know why that is not possible," he said, referring obliquely in public to the Marauders, "I only dare take them into situations I know will be relatively benign." "Like Hellfire Club parties," she said. "I wield a certain influence there," he said. "'Relatively benign' was the phrase." He paused, thoughtful. "In any case, we've slipped back into discussing school business, which we had eliminated from our program for the evening." "My goodness, we don't want that, do we?" Stevie said with a grin. They spent several minutes talking about the Ailey's approach to dance. Stevie was of course familiar with most of the numbers and she carefully explained how they differed from classical ballet. As always, Magnus asked questions of depth -- did he never do anything by half? However, he had merely thrown down a gauntlet that she was happy to pick up -- he might know a lot about physics, but Stevie Hunter was the secret Mistress of Choreography. Their discussion filled up the time till the curtain opened admirably. Stevie settled in to watch the dance with something like real pleasure -- there was nothing like seeing a production through new eyes to make it fresh again. She noted with amusement that Magnus was truly caught up in the dance. Few non-dancers could watch with such intensity, she thought. _What a strange man. Too bad he's not... normal. I could have really got hung up on him._ The only time Magnus's concentration was broken was when latecomers were noisily seated behind them. He went so far as to glare briefly behind him and Stevie felt pity for the luckless objects of his actinic glare. Enough to sour milk at twenty paces, she thought. Too soon the house lights were up for intermission. "Perhaps I could procure some refreshments for us?" Magnus said. Stevie was about to reply when hands from behind were clapped over her eyes. "Guess _who_, Stevie!" said an almost-familiar voice. "Young woman, what _do_ you think you're doing?" Magnus said beside her. Stevie reached out a hand and touched him on the bicep, hard as iron. _I'd better say something or he'll start zapping._ "It's all right, Michael," she said, and suddenly her assailant's Hoboken accent clicked. "Venezia -- is that you?" she said. "One and the same," said the woman, leaning towards them over the seats. She was somewhat round faced, with hair obviously dyed platinum blonde and a beauty mark penciled on her right cheek. She was dressed in a metallic red dress with fishnet stockings, a large amount of obviously fake costume jewelry and black Reeboks to complete her ensemble. "Haven't see you in an age and a half!" she said, snapping her bubblegum. She eyed Magnus. "Who's the outrageous hunk?" she added with a sly smile. Stevie couldn't resist glancing over at her escort. He looked as though he couldn't make up his mind between laughter or a withering retort. "_Michael_," she said to remind him of _who_ he was at the moment, "this is an old friend from my days with the company, Venezia Cippollone. Venezia, this is Michael Xavier, headmaster of the school where I teach now." "Charmed, I'm sure," said Venezia, holding out her hand to be kissed. Stevie noted with approval that Magnus did not automatically do it, he just took her hand and inclined his head slightly. "In case you're wondering, it's true. I'm _that_ Venezia," she added. "Oh?" said Magnus in a tone that suggested he thought Venezia had not merely lost her marbles but also the bag wherein they were kept. "Venezia's quite the star in movies and music these days," Stevie said. To her friend she added, "Michael's not up on popular culture." Venezia gave Magnus a smile. "Oh, an intellectual. I just die for intellectuals." She fluttered her eyes and then winked at Stevie. "Young woman--" said Magnus, as though he couldn't think of anything else to say. Venezia gave him a little cat smile. "Er, excuse me, Venezia," said a dapper little man sitting next to the singer. Stevie hadn't noticed him before, so gray and bland was he. "You haven't introduced _me_," he said peevishly. Venezia looked momentarily as though she smelled something bad. "Oh, yeah," she said, snapping her gum again. "Walter Sturgeon, Stevie Hunter and Michael, --uh?" "Xavier," said Magnus after a pause. "Yeah," she said happily. She reached into a tiny beaded purse and pulled out a 50 dollar bill. "Walter, be a perfect angel and go get us some champagne." she ordered. Walter looked as though he might rebel, but under Venezia's gaze he wilted and moved off. In the next few minutes the singer had convinced the couple to the right of Stevie to trade seats with her, promising them front row seats for their daughter and her friend at her next New York concert. "Well, _now_ we can get caught up properly," she said to Stevie, climbing over the seat. "I don't believe you sometimes," said Stevie softly. "More chutzpah than any three people put together." "I don't believe me either, sometimes," said Venezia. "The important thing is, _they_ do. And they'll score some big points with their daughter, so everything's fine." She smiled at Stevie and the dance teacher had to smile in response. Magnus excused himself and as he walked away up the aisle Venezia said, "What a body! What does your school teach, anyway -- bodybuilding?" "It's a private prep school in Westchester," said Stevie. "Michael's something of a physical fitness enthusiast." "I see," said Venezia. "So how long have you and he been an item?" Stevie blinked at her friend. "Pardon me?" she said. "You mean you're not?" said Venezia. "An item," she added, "You know, going out together, seeing each other, that sort of thing?" "No, not in the least," said Stevie. "I mean, it's not that he's not attractive or anything like that." "I just saw the way the two of you looked at each other -- you know, intimate -- and thought..." said the singer. "Well... in that case, he's ripe for the plucking." "You're welcome to try," said Stevie, "but I don't think he's your type." _Or species_, she added to herself. They had time to chat before the second half of the performance. Magnus came back and seemed content to watch them converse, Walter came back with glasses of champagne to Venezia's effusive thanks and subsequent indifference. The two women talked about what they'd done since they'd left the Ailey, in the same year for entirely different reasons. Venezia's life was a matter of public record, but the star seemed to place as much importance on events in Stevie's life. Stevie settled into watching the second half of the performance with a heavy heart. There was so much to tell Venezia -- but she couldn't talk freely about the school. It all came out sounding very general and bland. To Stevie's eternal gratitude, Venezia was respectfully quiet and attentive during the performance, save for the times she elbowed Stevie in the ribs to point out a mistake by one of the corps. When the last bow was taken and the curtain was down, Venezia sprang to her feet. "C'mon," she said to their little group, "I can get us in backstage." "Oh Vee, I really can't..." said Stevie, a bit of the old hesitancy showing. "'Oh Stevie,'" said the singer. "They'll be utterly thrilled to see you." "_Michael_," said Stevie. It was almost a plea for help. Magnus got to his feet, tall and regal. Venezia's head was on a level with his shoulders. "Stevie, if you wish to visit your friends, I have no objection. Besides, I have never been backstage at a theatrical production of any kind." He smiled down at Stevie and she realized he'd totally misunderstood her plea. "Oh, it's not as exciting as you think," said Venezia, trying unsuccessfully to insert her hand between his arm and his body. "But certainly _interesting_." Magnus smiled over at Stevie. _Well, she does_ amuse _him_, she thought. "If you'll be so kind as to lead," he said to Venezia, suavely offering his arm to Stevie. She took it with a private smile and followed the singer down the aisle, the hapless Walter trailing disconsolately in her wake. * * * _Charles, what have you done_, Magneto thought to himself, not for the first time. _Bad enough I end up chaperoning the students's dances and enduring their cacophonous music. But I draw the line at recognizing the dreadful stuff!_ But recognize it he did. It was that jangly song about a crustacean; where all the young people went "Down, down" onto their knees and backs. He'd been alarmed the first time it had happened, certain some mysterious force had struck down his students until he realized it was another adolescent American ritual in progress. Here in what he had been assured was one of the most chic discos in Manhattan the song was playing as well, and the outrageously dressed crowd seemed as wildly abandoned as any high school student dance. Stevie was out there somewhere along with one of her many friends from the ballet company "boogying" with the best of them. He was glad he'd encouraged her to visit backstage; she'd been treated like a prodigal daughter and practically ordered to accompany her friends to a post-performance party. Even if he did not particularly care for such activity he'd decided to go along with the programme; it seemed the only gracious thing he could do under the circumstances. Magneto redirected his concentration into observing the body electrical fields on the dance floor and picked out Stevie's trace: healthy, and he would assume, happy. Briefly he found himself envying the young man dancing with Stevie, but on reflection he concluded he couldn't look anything but ludicrous waving his arms and hips about. Better leave such "dancing" to those who'd grown up in the culture. Perhaps he could show Stevie how a gentleman waltzed later in the week at the Massachusetts Academy dance to which they'd be taking the students. _That would be most pleasant_, he thought and stopped from further consideration of that event. It was improper, and he had to admit, unfair to Stevie. A most excellent young woman who should have a husband, a family. He'd said as much to Stevie in their interview soon after the Marauders's disastrous attack on the Morlocks and the X-Men. He'd met with her and Tom and Sharon and suggested the human staff go into hiding rather than risk continued exposure by associating themselves with the school. He had expected some resistance, but had been stunned into silence by their adamant refusal. Then he'd compounded his mistake by appealing to Stevie's feminine nature, the result of which was a vow never to do so again. _She must sublimate much of her natural desire for children on the students_, he thought, and smiled ruefully. Of course, so did he; and life, or fate, had already provided him with children where he'd expected none. Troublesome though they were, one could not give up the joy they inadvertently brought. _Charles, if you ever thought you'd bring me to such a pass..._ he thought and Venezia's voice interrupted. "Care for some champagne?" she said over the cacophony of the music. She held up a bottle of Piper-Heidsick and two glasses. "We can sit in one of the booths," she shouted, "where it's quieter." Magneto hesitated but slightly. At this point he'd very much like to get away from the noise... and Venezia was certainly an interesting conversational partner. He followed her spritely progress over to the far side of the room where booths were set up for conversation and semi-privacy. He was surprised to note the area was noticeably quieter and said as much. "They're getting better at directing sound all the time," Venezia said. "You'd be surprised how quiet it is on the stage when I'm performing -- all the sound is going out to the audience. I'm a real fanatic about the amount of noise I tolerate, I don't want to be deaf in my old age." He supposed he should say something in reply to that, perhaps to commend her for her interest in her health, but that sounded far too schoolmasterish even to him. He'd been lecturing his students too often. So he concentrated on uncorking the champagne. If the metal armature around the cork came off more easily than normal, it was unnoticeable, and he did not botch removing the cork. Venezia watched with lowered eyelids as he poured for the both of them. She picked up her glass. She had a very attractive smile -- it would be called sexy, he supposed. "I'm fresh out of toasts," she said. "Any ideas?" "I've never believed in toasting," he said, and drank. He was disappointed; he'd hoped for a conversation and she wanted to stage a seduction. At another time it might have been amusing, but tonight it just wearied him. She was absurdly immature, Illyana might as well have tried to do it. Venezia sipped her champagne and put it down. In a subtle way her manner had changed. "Tell me," she said. "Do you like Stevie?" He considered his answer: he could say how much he respected her, how she was a valued employee, any number of dry statements and it would all boil down to one thing only. "Yes," he said firmly. "Would you ever hurt her?" said Venezia, if anything more serious than before. Perhaps she thinks I am romantically inclined towards Stevie, he thought. "No, I would not, and I would work to avoid hurting her," he said. "You wouldn't let something happen to her?" Venezia said. _There is something afoot here, but I haven't the faintest..._ Magneto leaned forward and spoke quietly, "Venezia, if there's some threat to Stevie that you know about, I'd appreciate enlightenment. I would not allow harm to come to her." Venezia sat back, staring at him, her face just a trifle pale. "I believe you," she said. After a pause she leaned forward, her hand clutching her champagne glass. "Does -- does she know who you are?" He blinked. No wonder she was nervous, he didn't blame her. Best to play dumb. "I don't understand," he said. "What do you mean?" "Sure you don't understand--" she said. "Listen, it's this way. I'm a big star, I have my picture on _bus stops_ and I did a goddamn commercial for Pepsi that was played at halftime at the Superbowl. But if I leave off the makeup and wear an old shirt and jeans down to the Seven-Eleven, not one in a hundred people will recognize me, because you don't expect to see somebody like me doing something ordinary..." "And I'm good at faces," she said, shakily pouring herself some more champagne. She leaned forward, "I've seen you on the news. I don't know what Stevie's gotten herself into -- a lot more than teaching dance, _I'd_ guess. And I don't care, that is to say, Stevie has more judgment than I'll have on my wisest day and she knows what she wants to do. But if you're fooling her, I have to do something." He gazed at her quietly, calculating how much to tell and how to do it. "I appreciate your concern on Stevie's behalf," he said. "I assure you she knows what is needful about my background." "I'm going to ask her," said Venezia. "I expect you would," he said. "The safety and well being of several people depends to a large extent on our discretion, and the discretion of our friends..." "I wouldn't do anything to hurt Stevie," said Venezia. "I find I believe you," he said, "else this conversation would not have taken this turn." She sat looking at him and he reflected it was hard to avoid sounding threatening. A small amount of fear might have its effect -- but he could imagine Stevie's reaction if he were to terrorize a friend. "Please feel free to question Stevie on this matter," he said. "I doubt she will feel at liberty to discuss certain areas, but she will reassure you that she ...associates herself with me of her own free will." Venezia was sipping her champagne, her composure somewhat regained. A most extraordinary young woman, he thought, to confront an infamous villain for the sake of a friend. "Okay for now," she said, and gave him a small smile. "So how do you enjoy running a school?" she said, teasing. Instead he answered her quite seriously. Magneto had intended to make it boring, to discourage her from further conversation. Despite himself, he found he was going on at length about the students and their curriculum. He was chagrined to find that he had so much to say on the subject, that he was so proud of the school and eager to boast of his students. As for Venezia, she did not seem too bored, cupping her chin in her hands and forgetting her champagne. "Go on, go on, " she said when he paused. "You've really gotten into this school thing, haven't you?" He was about to reply when he noticed Stevie limping towards them, supported by one of the young danseurs from the company. Magneto went to Stevie's side immediately, solicitously helping her to a chair. "It's just my knee," Stevie said, the quiver in her voice belying her composed demeanor. "It just gives out sometimes..." "Can I do anything?" Magneto said, kneeling so his head was at her seated eye level. "Perhaps fetch some ice?" "No, there's no swelling," she said. She sighed. "I guess the evening comes to a premature end, though." "Only if you wish it so, Stevie," he said automatically and found that he meant it. He glanced up and noticed Venezia looking down at them with a knowing smile. "Thank you for being so kind, Michael," she said. She shifted the affected leg ever so slightly and winced. He realized he'd never been present before when her knee had acted up. Perhaps she resented fussing. "Really, it was time to get going anyway -- it's a school night." "Oh, we haven't had a chance to talk!" Venezia said. Magneto judged her disappointment was unfeigned. "Listen, I'll give you my number and you give me yours." Numbers were quickly and discreetly exchanged and Venezia offered them a lift in her limousine -- "I'm just paying Stanley to sit and do his nails right now, anyway...." Magneto spoke up then. "No, that will not be necessary, a cab will be easy to obtain at this hour." Really, he didn't want her knowing their destination. If Venezia thought Stevie might be in trouble because of associating with him, what would she make of the Hellfire Club? "Well, it's been oodles of fun to meet you, let's do it again," she said to him in parting, holding out her hand. Magneto gave her a grave handshake and a slight bow. Stevie got a hug and a promise of a call. "And don't think I won't do it!" she called as they left the club. * * * "What a ...unique young woman," Magnus said, helping Stevie down the steps of the nightclub. "I used to think she was the most extraordinary person I'd ever meet," Stevie said, wincing despite her best efforts. "You're in pain," he said, putting both hands on her shoulders. "Stay right here, I'll fetch a cab." As he turned to go she caught his shoulder. Her strength was nothing compared to his but he stopped just the same. "It isn't that bad," she said. "In fact it will get better if I walk it off." She was sounding a good deal sharper than she wanted to -- frustration over her knee. _Oh Lord, why now?_ Magnus looked at her gravely. "If you think it is best," he said. "Stevie, I don't want you to be brave on my account." "I have more sense than that!" she said, and limped away down the sidewalk, gritting her teeth against the ache. He quickly caught up with her, walking by her side. "I detest being patronized!" she said. He stopped and she continued on for a few steps. "Stevie--" he said and in a more commanding voice, "Stevie." She stopped, hearing his soft footsteps come up to her side. She gave him an annoyed glare. "Consider how hard it is for me not to sound patronizing," he said. "I _am_ many times more powerful than human, and in this circumstance you are not able-bodied. Should I ignore that fact? Should I not offer to alleviate your pain to the best of my ability?" "It's just..." Stevie said in frustration. "Oh crud!" she said and sat down on the handy steps of a brownstone. _I will not cry_, she thought, and didn't. Magnus sat patiently beside her. At last she said, "It's just having my knee go out in front of my friends." "Frustrating," he said. "Reminds me of all that I can't have," she said. "The life I can't lead." "I understand," he said. "You are not the only one to be denied your heart's desire." She glanced over at him: it wasn't her imagination, he looked sad. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have yelled at you." "I hardly require an apology when it was I who offended," he said. "Our misunderstanding has been cleared up." He got to his feet, smoothing his jacket. "Would walking truly help your knee?" he said, offering her his arm. "Yes," she said, leaning on him to get up. "If I walk it off, it clears up much faster." "In that case, since we are already started in the proper direction, we could walk the remaining distance to the Hellfire Club -- it's less than a mile from here." "Oh?" she said. "Where are we, anyway?" She hadn't noticed their route on the way to the disco, too busy talking to her old friend. "The West Side," Magnus said. "We'll have to cut across Central Park," she said. "That's dangerous." Magnus smiled a slow grin. "It is?" "Well, you know," said Stevie. "People can get assaulted." "I shouldn't worry," said Magnus. "No doubt the hazard is overstated." He offered her his arm. "Perhaps you might lean on me the first few blocks." Stevie reached out for his arm and broke into a fit of giggles. "Never mind," she gasped, and they strolled off together. It was slightly after 1 AM, the streets of this residential section were somewhat deserted. Few cars passed by. "As I was saying," Magnus said, "Venezia is an extraordinary young woman." "Oh, did she put the moves on you?" Stevie asked. Leaning up against him, his warm strength and a whiff of unidentifiable cologne -- made her feel bolder than usual, not to mention the drink she'd had. "Moves?" Magnus said. "Oh -- did she try to seduce me? Certainly she flirted with me, let me know my attentions would not be unwelcome. But it was hardly a seduction -- I've been seduced; that was nothing close to it." "Who the hell ever seduced you?" Stevie said. "Many years ago -- the bravest woman I ever met," he said. "Or perhaps the most foolish. I've never been sure." Stevie gave her companion a long look. "Just how much champagne did you have?" she said. "Hardly enough to matter -- two glasses," he said. "No, wait, Venezia gave me a refill. Call it two and a half. Not much for a man who weighs 90 kilos." "But just enough to feel it," she said. "I assure you I am merely in good humor," he said. "I am -- mellow. That was the phrase you used?" "You should do it more often," Stevie said as they approached the park. "I rather like you this way." "I wish life afforded more opportunity for pleasure," he said. "But I have too much responsibility." Stevie gazed up at him. "Is it worth it?" Magnus was silent as they crossed the avenue into the Park. "Venezia deduced my identity," he said. At first Stevie only registered disapproval that he had changed the subject, then she realized what he'd said. "Good Lord!" she said. "What did she say?" Magnus gave a dry chuckle. "Not much. She was more concerned for your sake. I wonder if she suspects you are a mutant?" "Do you know," Stevie said. "I think Venezia really wouldn't care." "I expect so," said Magnus. "Else I would treat the fact of her revelation as a major breach of security. She was most insistent that she must be reassured of your complete knowledge of my identity." "I'll have to give her a call then..." "If she does not succeed in calling you first," he said. "Phones may always be tapped; I'd advise a face to face meeting to discuss sensitive matters." "I'll fit it in somehow," Stevie said. "Consider it school business and schedule it as you see fit," he said. Taken aback, she looked up at him. "Your contribution towards security," he added. "I begin to wonder if Venezia is a mutant." "You know her better than I," said Magnus. "Is she particularly gifted, exceptionally athletic?" "No, actually, she's quite an average athlete for a professional dancer. It was her spirit and artistry that earned her a place at the Ailey," Stevie said. "Not very likely then," he said. "Also, consider that the last thing a mutant who wants to keep her identity secret would do is bring herself to the attention of Magneto, known for pressing unwilling mutants into his service." "I think that if Venezia were a mutant," she said at last, "and if she had a useful power, she wouldn't keep it a secret. She'd be a superhero-- or supervillain." "She does have a predilection for the spotlight," he said, bemused. "A predilection!" Stevie said. She was about to say something more when a dark figure stepped onto the path before them, followed by a several others. They were deep into Central Park now, on a lonely path lit by occasional streetlights, well out of sight of the streets. "Okay, ladies and gentlemen, your money and your valuables," said the leader of the muggers. He was no more than 20, light brown skin, indeterminate race, with a classic New York accent. _Oh my God, we're getting mugged_, Stevie thought, and clutched Magnus's arm reflexively. * * * "What you think's so funny, man?" snapped the head mugger, and Magneto realized he was grinning broadly at the absurdity of a cliche come true: walk through Central Park and you're bound to get mugged. "Young man, I entreat you to reconsider the seriousness of your actions here," he said, using his power to discreetly check the ruffians for weapons. The leader carried a small caliber pistol; his henchmen, knives. Furthermore, there were no cars or passersby about. "The crime you seek to commit could have serious repercussions." "The only repercussion there gonna be is my fist in your face, asshole," said the leader, strutting forward. As the henchmen began to circle them, Magneto brought an invisible force field up around himself and Stevie, and smiled deeper. "What did you call me?" he said. "I called you an asshole, fuckface," said the young man. Magneto judged he was already somewhat intimidated by his chosen prey's refusal to show fear. That was what bullies of his ilk craved, after all. The punk raised the gun -- perhaps only to threaten, but Magneto judged matters had gone far enough. Best to reply in the language the youth knew best; so he reached out with his power and grasped the gun, lighting up the scene with a blue neon glow. "Holy Shit!" cried the ringleader, snatching his hand away from the rapidly heating gun, which continued to hang in the air, buoyed by "magnetic" power. The gun glowed cherry red, then white. Slag dripped down onto the concrete path. The would-be head mugger gave a hoarse scream and ran away, his cohorts at his heels. Magneto couldn't resist sending a lightning bolt after them to singe their heels and hurry them on their way. He turned and noticed one of the muggers still standing, eyes showing white all the way around, his mouth open. "And what do you have to say for yourself, young man?" Magneto said in the same quiet voice he'd used earlier. "I-- I-- I," stuttered the young man, "I am never going to do this again." "Very well," said Magneto. "Throw your knife down on the path." Fumbling at his side the young man did so. "Now, go!" the mutant Master of Magnetism commanded and the mugger scrambled away as though his very life depended on it. Magneto dropped his hands to his sides and watched the back of the retreating criminal. He placed no faith in the promise of reform the youth had made; but there would be some time before he tried to mug another innocent couple. He allowed himself a grim smile of satisfaction. "Stevie," he said, turning to his companion. She was standing, head buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. Dismay washed over Magneto like a bucket of cold water; he had terrified the poor woman. "Stevie--" he said again, using his power to move a cast iron park bench closer. "There's no need to be frightened. Our attackers have fled." Perhaps if he could get her to sit down she wouldn't emulate them. "Frightened?" she choked out as he guided her into a sitting position on the bench. He could feel her tremble beneath his hand like the quiver of a baby rabbit. She sat up straight, trying to control the expression on her face and failing. Tears were standing in her eyes. "F- - Frightened?" She began to giggle. "Did you see the look on their faces?" Giggles turned to guffaws and Magneto found he was automatically patting Stevie's back as she leaned against him. Out of excess suit material he produced a handkerchief and gravely handed it to her. In retrospect, he supposed the incident could be looked at as amusing. He waited until she was gasping for breath. "Are you quite done?" he said, breaking into a grin despite his best intentions. She laughed weakly again, but the attack lasted only moments. "I thought we were going to have French-fried mugger there," she said. "Did you really?" he said politely. Stevie had seen him employ his power before in the Danger Room and around the school, but he'd assumed she'd be frightened. Was that to be always his fear, that humans would be terrified of him when he revealed his true face, the power that he was? "You were terrific," she said with a grin. "I am glad you enjoyed the experience," he said. She gave him an owlish look. "You're embarrassed," she said. "Nonsense. I am, however, glad you refrained from laughing until our attackers had scattered. It would have ruined the effect." "Too bad you never wanted to be a superhero," she said. He stood and offered her his hand to help her up. "I thought I was," he said. Stevie let him pull her to her feet and stood holding his hand looking up at him. "Er, yes," she said, obviously embarrassed. Magneto decided not to press the issue. Besides, he felt too pleased to allow the evening to be spoiled. "I never have thought of myself as evil, or a supervillain," he said. "My goal was never self- aggrandizement. When I sought to rule, it was because I believed no one else was fit for the job." "I guess no one believes they're bad," said Stevie. She looked up at him, slightly abashed. "I didn't mean that to sound--" she added. "I do not mind," he said. "I have come to regret much of my past. My _purpose_ was not evil. That much at least I still take pride in." They walked along the path in silence, their footsteps quiet, only the sound of distant traffic and the wind in the trees breaking the spell. Magneto laid a hand atop Stevie's where it rested on his arm at a sudden movement on the path ahead. For only a moment he saw a lion- faced man whisk a young woman off the path and into the trees. She did not seem to be resisting. By the time they passed the spot there was no trace of the couple's passage. "Did you see?" said Stevie. "I wonder who they were?" "Perhaps some Morlocks survived the Massacre," he said, realizing he'd allowed his hand to find a spot at the far side of her waist. It was an altogether pleasant sensation to walk so with a woman, bodies moving together. Almost he might wish-- admit it, he did wish-- more would come of this evening together. Stevie, he suspected, had not too many "modern" ideas and would not entertain the thought of a one- night-stand; and as for himself, it was something he could not do; to share so much and never again. And starting a romance with Stevie was unthinkable; she deserved a young man, one free from the burdens of past mistakes and present responsibilities. However pleasant a relationship might be -- and he judged it would work well emotionally for the both of them-- the situation at the school precluded such an attachment. "We're almost there," Stevie said, taking her hand from where it had rested atop his. With a sense of loss, Magneto let her go from his embrace. It was for the best, he told himself and wondered how many times in his life he'd used that excuse. * * * Stevie was conscious that the magic of the evening had faded, though it had tried to linger a while in the quiet halls of the Hellfire Club and in the Rolls as they drove towards Salem Center. But Magnus had retreated into his shell and the conversation had longer and longer silences. _It is probably for the best_, she found herself thinking. She felt as though she'd stood on the brink of a great precipice, fighting the urge to throw herself over the edge, knowing she dare not. Magnus, she supposed, was ... merely drunk. On champagne, no less. The Master of Magnetism was feeling no pain; flirting with her. There'd be no way he could maintain a relationship on a day to day basis. But for just one night it had been nice to pretend. Magnus insisted on walking her up to the front door of her building, as though a twenty yard walk alone could be dangerous in downtown Salem Center. It was deserted at nearly two in the morning, save for the occasional car coming through on its way to somewhere else. "Well," she said, looking up at him. "It's been a pleasant evening," he said. He managed to look as though he weren't wondering what to do with his hands, damn him. "Savoir faire," was what it was called, she supposed. She wanted to invite him in for a nightcap, see if she could get the magic going again, even though she knew she shouldn't. Besides, he might take it as an invitation to something more -- more than she was prepared to offer just now. It would be bad for the both of them, she told herself firmly. The silence had stretched on further than she'd intended. "I'll see you in the morning," he said, as though she'd replied already. He nodded and took a few steps away. She watched him go and her heart leaped as he turned to regard her. "If you need any help with Venezia," he said, "feel free to ask." "Thank you. Good night, Magnus," she said, and fit her key in the lock, opened the door and resolutely shut it without a backward look. All the way up the stairs, through washing up, changing into her nightgown and climbing into her big empty bed, she cursed her sensibility and its results. It was a while before sleep came. We return to the regularly scheduled Kid Dynamo story in Chapter Five: Win, Lose or Draw This story (c) 1992 Connie Hirsch The New Mutants, Magneto, the Hellions, and all constituent characters (c) 1992 Marvel Comics Group. This story is not for sale and is not to be distributed without permission of the author.