And what he had was the flabby misused body of a twenty-something woman who looked far too cute for his taste, and who was pierced in several areas that should never know the touch of hard steel. Two of them were rubbing against his shirt.

Kid really was crazy. It had taken a legion of scientists to stick metal in Logan's body. He didn't understand anyone who would do it voluntarily.

They pa.s.sed only one other person during their walk, a bespectacled older man with a golden retriever, who smiled at them both, but made eyes only at Scott. Logan did not mind in the slightest. Scott give him a hard look and said, "Don't even think about it." "What?"

"You know very well what."

"Aw, h.e.l.l. You need to get in touch with your feminine side, Scott. Ain't no time like the present."

Scott grunted. "Doesn't it bother you at all that you're a woman?"

"Would bother me more if I was still in my own body and missing certain ... parts."

Which had been his first thought upon awakening in the hospital. A bad place to go, if you were a man. Very bad. Discovering his young perky b.r.e.a.s.t.s, seeing that unfamiliar face reflected in the gla.s.s of his window, had made him feel immensely better because this was clearly not his body. And if this was not his body, then somewhere out there hea"Logan, Wolverinea"was still a whole, healthy man.

"Okay," Scott said. "I see your point."

Logan grunted. "We're getting close."

"Thank G.o.d. My thighs are killing me."

"Don't complain too much. You want to stay toned, you know. Keep those legs smokin'."

"Logana""

"Why do you think Jean gets on that StairMaster every day?"

Scott sighed. "You are totally out of control."

"You say that so much it's practically habit. Gotta find a new line, Scooter."

"Right. Is it possible that becoming a woman has made you even more obnoxious?"

"That's just you. Must be PMS."

"Bad joke," Scott said, but Logan did not give him a chance to say more. He stopped walking, gazing from the numbers on a gray mailbox to the house behind it, perched like a fine diamond, one of many, in the crown of Old Victoria Hill.

Jonas Maguire's house was a large white Victorian set off the street and surrounded by trees. Perfect cover. Logan and Scott walked up the front sidewalk like they owned the place, which in his experience, was the best way to act when you were trying to set up a con. A little confidence went a long way, especially in the city, where no one paid much attention to the private lives of their neighbors, and odd comings and goings at night could be ascribed to some quirk of behavior, rather than any criminal wrongdoing.

"He must have a security system," Scott whispered, as they stepped on the wide front porch. Hanging pots bobbed with the outlines of geraniums and ferns. Rocking chairs sat at the very end of the porch, and over the antique mail slot was a wooden carving of a fat cow. It was all very innocuous and country.

"Yeah, this one's a real mad scientist," Logan said. "Wonder if he knits."

Scott peered around the edge of the porch. "The garage is detached, so no go through there. Do you think he has a house sitter?"

"I could knock and find out."

Scott actually seemed to think about that. "We could always say our car broke down."

"Forget it. I was joking. You do that and someone will be on the phone to the cops. We won't have time to do anything." Logan examined the lock. It was simple; looked like the original, even. "I need something to pick this with. Do you still have that wire?"

Silent, face devoid of expression, Scott reached into his pants. Logan stared. He began to ask, but Scott shook his head. Yeah, he was probably better off not knowinga" but it still wasn't easy touching that wire.

While Scott watched the street, Logan bent over to work. It was difficult to seea"he missed being a mutanta" but he slipped the wire in the lock and jimmied it around until he heard a very satisfying click.

"Security," Scott reminded him again.

"I know," Logan said, but without more time or the tools to do a proper examination of the property, they were going to have to wing it anyway. Alarms or not, that door was coming open.

And when it did, when Logan pushed his way into the house, he heard not a sound. He looked around for a security panel, some blinking red light that would give it away, but there was nothing.

"This Maguire is a real trusting guy," Logan said, stepping sideways so that Scott could enter.

"Maybe he has a reason to be."

"If he's a mutant, you mean."

"The evidence suggests that he is."

"But why us?" Logan sniffed the air; a reflex. He felt only slightly foolish. The house had no discernable odor; perhaps, only, a hint of some flower, perhaps a rose. He listened, and though he heard nothing, wondered if that was only his own weakness, whether there was something he was missing, something escaping his notice, all because he was human now, and weak.

Not weak. Not for one minute, don't you tell yourself that.

Because he was only as weak as his spirit, and he refused to let thisa"his new body, these circ.u.mstancesa" break him.

"I think this is his office," Scott said, peering into a room off the main entry. The woodwork was old, cla.s.sic, with fine carved flowers in the dark trim and shining hardwood floors that smelled like lemon. A large desk faced the sole window. Its surface was clean except for a computer, a thin sheaf of paper, and one framed picture of a dark-haired woman with a lovely smile and amazing cheekbones.

"Wife?" Logan asked.

"Could be," Scott said. He glanced around the room. "Check upstairs. I can handle this."

"Yes, ma'am." Logan flashed him a grin and ducked out of the office. He examined the kitchen first, a quick walk through, and then headed up the stairs on light feet, listening for any movement, any sign they were not alone. Everything was quiet. No life here. Nothing except for them.

All the doors stood open. Logan perused the rooms, taking in the complete lack of furniture or personal items. No paintings, no soft chairs; Maguire had a bed, but it was only a twin, covered in a threadbare quilt. One pillow. One closet half-full of dress shirts and suit jackets. One dresser, with only one drawer filled with underwear.

And one drawer for a teddy bear. Very soft, very worn, and missing both its eyes. It had been placed carefully inside the dresser, sitting in the center with its little mournful face turned up. Logan picked up the bear, holding it gingerly in his hands. He sniffed its fur. It smelled clean, like detergent.

He heard footsteps in the hall. Scott entered the room, stopping when he saw what Logan held.

"Does this mean anything to you?" Logan held up the bear.

"It's the only personal item I've seen in the house, other than the photograph downstairs."

"Which means it's important, because this guy doesn't have c.r.a.p. Looks like he moved into this house with a suitcase and set up shop."

"A temporary living s.p.a.ce? Something that gives the appearance of permanence?" Scott pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. "I found this on his desk."

Logan took the paper. "An e-ticket receipt for a flight to New York. The good doctor left last night. That's convenient."

"Very. I'd say the evidence against Maguire is getting stronger."

"I'd say you're right. I'd also say that our bodies went with him, but probably in our jet."

"That requires specialized knowledge to fly, Logan."

"Cyke, if the man really did do a mind switch on us, then he's probably strong enough to pull some information out of our heads while he's at it." Logan hesitated, staring at the teddy bear. "Here's what I don't get. This is a man who has no life. Or rather, the life he does have has been built around a specific purpose. My guess? To screw us. I wanna know why."

"You're a.s.suming a lot. We don't really know him. His goals might not be to hurt us, but to use us."

"Don't get technical on me, bub. Your wife is a man and the both of us have b.o.o.bs. I'm not feeling the love."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Fine, I agree that his intentions aren't exactly n.o.ble. In fact, I'll even go so far as to say he has it in for usa""

"a"thank youa""

"a"but that doesn't answer your question. Why?"

Logan gazed around the room. The teddy bear felt soft and warm in his hand; he was reluctant to put it down. "Did you find out who the woman in the photo is?"

"No," Scott said, "but she must have been special."

"Yeah. This isn't a man who owns a lot. Which makes me wonder why he would leave without the picture and the bear. They're easy to pack and they obviously mean something to him."

"He's traveling light."

"Not good enough."

"Because he thinks he's coming back?"

"Or because he knows he's not."

"As in what? He thinks he's going to die? He plans on committing suicide?"

"Maybe. It doesn't seem like he has much of a life, anyway."

Scott shook his head. "If I was going to kill myself, I would want my most precious mementos nearby."

"As a reminder of your misery?" Logan waved the teddy bear in Scott's face. "Does this really say why, G.o.d, why'?"

"Maybe to Maguire."

"Or maybe he's left the trappings of his life behind, so he can be free to do what needs to be done. He's going out as a man of resolve."

"That still doesn't explain why."

"I don't think we're gonna get that why' until we catch up with him, meaning we need to find some way of getting back to New York before he finishes what he started. Whatever that is."

"Infiltrating the X-Men?"

"As a start. He has something bigger in mind, that's for sure." Logan shook the teddy bear. Quiet, almost to himself, he murmured, "What the h.e.l.l is going on here?"

"That's what we're going to find out." Scott folded up the receipt and stuck it back in his pocket. "Come on, Logan. Let's get out of here."

Two things happened before they left Jonas Maguire's house.

The first was that Scott made a phone call. It was almost 8:30 in the morning on the East Coast. Plenty of time for everyone to be up and about and ready to answer phones.

The school had a 1-800 number for the students in case they ever needed to reach someone at the Mansion and did not have enough money for a pay phone. Just another safety precautiona"Jean's idea, evena"and Scott had never been happier for it.

He tried Storm's extension first, but that proved to be a dead end. Scott was not sure who else was at the Mansion. The day before he and his team left for Seattle, Bobby and Sam had dragged Piotr off to the woods for a camping trip. Gambit and Jubilee were supposed to be around, but they did not pick up their phones, either.

Scott gave up and called the main line. It rang five times before someone answered. The voice belonged to a girl, young and breathless; one of the students, though Scott did not recognize her.

"h.e.l.lo?" she said. "Um, Xavier's School for the-"

"Is Ororo there?" Scott interrupted. "Storm?"

"Uh, sorry. She went out early to go shopping. Can I take a message?" Polite, distant, the perfect voice for dealing with strange adults. But I am not a stranger, Scott wanted to say. You know me. I probably taught you geometry last week. Brat!

Scott grit his teeth. "What about any of the other senior teachers? Gambit? Is Sam or Bobby back?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but they're all gone for the day. It's the weekend, you know. If you give me your name ... ?"

He almost said "Scott," but stopped himself just in time. Without seeing him face-to-face, listening to everything he and the others had to say, it would be difficult to convince Storm or any of their friends that they were the real X-Men. They all knew secrets about each other that could not be faked, but just finding the chance to get them to listen was going to be an ordeal.

"My name is Mindy," he said carefully. "I'm a very close friend of Scott Summers and Jean Grey, and I have some important information about them for Ororo. Very important."

For a moment there was only silence on the other end of the line. Scott said, "h.e.l.lo?" and the girl made a small sound.

Quiet, tentative, she said, "Are they okay? They've been gone for a couple days."

Scott hesitated. There must have been something in his voice, or maybe the girl was just that perceptive.

"No, they're not okay," he finally said, striving to be calm, to not shout into the phone. "You need to get that message to Ororo as soon as possible. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," said the girl, and Scott felt a great deal of pride at the change in her voice, the seriousness of her commitment. Good kids, all of them. Maybe the X-Men weren't doing such a bad job of teaching the next generation.

"Do you have a number where she can reach you?'" asked the girl.

"No," Scott said. "Just tell her I'll call back again in a couple of hours."