Hearts of Fire: Part One

by Ascian

You cannot put a Fire out--
A Thing that can ignite
Can go, itself, without a Fan--
Upon the slowest Night--

~Emily Dickinson

The night was burning--in the street, against the humid slick walls, reflected in faces and dark eyes--the air was on fire. And no one seemed to feel it but her.

Marrow leaned back in her chair, and wiped sweat from her brow. She watched the gathered crowds milling for the street concert that had been publicly advertised for the past three days. Big name bands--Sirus, the Ripper Dogs--and smaller, more local groups. Jazz and metal, gathered for one night only. Soul and blood, on the street.

Her glass of ice tea dripped water on her leg as she took a drink, and she slowly drew the cool bead across her skin, spreading the chill as far as it would go. Hot--the air smothered her, invading her lungs until every breath felt wet and burdensome.

She wiped more sweat away, fingers rolling over the curving bones of her upper forehead. The bases of them itched. She felt the bulge of the image inducer belted to her waist, and she glanced down. Red light on, illusion still a go. Not that she cared. Oh, no. She was doing this for Gambit--who, admittedly, didn't care either. But this was work, another favor for his father ("Mon pere", Gambit had said. "Dis a vacation. Y'know de meanin' o' de word?"), and now was not the time to be noticed. Even she could agree with that. Although, she could think of better things to do.

Like eat dinner. In an air-conditioned restaurant.

Her stomach growled noisily, and Marrow sighed. The crowd before her pulsed, faces flashing in shadow and streetlight, skin glistening with sweat. Teeth bare, eyes glittering. So many people--too many.

She glanced at her watch. Eight o'clock. The concert would be starting any minute now. Marrow rose from her chair, and walked away from the little outdoor café she had been sitting at. She moved into the crowd, sliding effortlessly around and between people, careful not to touch. No telling what people might inadvertently feel beneath the illusion. Not that anyone was sober enough to care. Bodies and sweat filled her vision, and the bittersweet scent of alcohol invaded her nose.

She was near the stage when the Ripper Dogs began their set. The crowd surged forward, and Marrow let their momentum carry her. Another push--some squirming ("Take your hands off my ass, or die.")--the metallic, pulsing beat of the music vibrating in her chest--and she touched the barrier separating the stage from the street. She took a deep breath--some thoughtful person had turned on giant fans--and looked left.

A blond, bobbing head--and just behind, red eyes.

Bingo.

Marrow ignored the gyrating, screeching men on stage, and pulled herself along the barrier. Sweat ran into her eyes, and she blinked it away, keeping her focus on the blond woman watching the lead singer. The woman's mouth was moving to the lyrics--her body was wet with perspiration, and her flimsy dress clung to her curves. Closer now--close--there. Marrow turned her own eyes on the stage; she could smell the woman's light perfume, could feel the heat of her body right beside her own.

The song was coming to an end, and as the last note pounded to a long, thudding stop, the lights surrounding the stage went out completely, leaving everyone seeing nothing but black.

Marrow's elbow shot out, and the woman doubled over, gasping.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she murmured, placing her hands on the thinly clad shoulders. She quickly bent over the woman, and a sharp fist to the temple stunned her into unconsciousness.

"Here, let me help." A deeper, familiar voice said. It was dark, but Marrow felt his hands go around the slumping woman's waist, and she released her own hold. He lifted her up into his arms, and swiftly moved away from the stage. Marrow followed in his wake. The crowd parted for them ("Man, the heat must have gotten to her." "You kiddin'? De way de bar's been spicin' de drinks? Knock me out, too."), and finally they broke free of the crowd. There was a long black sedan parked nearby--on a dark street not blocked by concert-goers--and they headed for it. The doors opened as they approached--the woman was handed off to the men seated inside--the engine roared to life, and the car drove off. Smooth, fast. Very efficient.

"I'm hungry," Marrow commented, as they began to stroll down the sidewalk in the opposite direction the car had taken. The lights were back up around the stage--the music had begun again, and the rolling beat filled her.

"I know a nice lil' place," Gambit replied. "Not far from here. Went t'rough deir trash when I was a petite t'ing."

"The food good?"

Gambit grinned. "For you? Only de best."

***

After an unarguably delicious meal of seafood gumbo and a blackberry cheesecake so rich it curled her toes, Gambit suggested they stop by the Guild ("Just t'make sure everyt'ing's all right") before heading back to the hotel. Gambit led her through the various security check points--a human guard at the gate to the old downtown Guild mansion, a retinal scan, and a DNA test for both of them that required a tiny prick in the thumb and a five minute wait.

"'Course," he said glibly, as they passed the last barrier. "I could'a just climbed in mon pere's window, but dat makes security nervous."

He led Marrow through a series of now familiar hallways, up two flights of stairs, and down one particularly long corridor. There was a thick oak door at its very end, and Gambit knocked twice. They both heard a muffled response from inside the room, and Gambit swung open the door, revealing a lanky silver-haired man sitting behind a large expanse of desk. Marrow followed her friend, and shut the door behind them.

"Papa," Gambit bowed his head slightly. "Y'got our little gift?"

"Right on schedule, Remy. You an' Sarah have my t'anks."

"What are you gonna do with her?" Marrow asked. Jean-Luc smiled, and stood. He paced around his desk and sat on the corner of it, his palms braced against the polished wood.

"Not'ing bad. She's an innocent in all o' dis--not her fault some o' our enemies wan' t'use her 'gainst us. She might not even remember anyt'ing, since we're keepin' her sedated until de whole mess blows over. We got men out dere now, takin' care o' de problem."

The woman--she hadn't looked dangerous, Marrow thought. It was hard to imagine that her mutant power was so lethal.

"Anyone ever seen her do it?" she asked suddenly. "You know, set someone's heart on fire?"

Jean-Luc looked uncomfortable. "Once. Someone tried t'attack her--one o' our own was nearby, heard an' saw de whole t'ing. De man jus' started screamin', clutchin' at his chest. He burned from de inside out. We've watched her ever since, jus' in case."

Just in case. Just in case old enemies found her too, and decided to get creative. It had almost happened, according to Jean-Luc, although there was a part of her that was beginning to feel uncomfortable with her role in the kidnapping. She glanced at Gambit, and saw the same thoughts running through his face. But he had done what he thought needed doing--what his father had asked him to do. Loyalty to the Guild, even though he was no longer a part of it. And she had followed him because he was her friend.

"When you're done wit' her, let me know," Gambit said. "De X-Men might have a place f'her."

"Introduce her t'Angels, an' de Devil might have a harder time using her?" Jean-Luc smiled. "Might jus' work."

Gambit did not return his father's smile.

***

The woman was being kept in a small room--unfurnished except for a narrow bed. She lay flat on her back, blond hair spread around her head like a halo. She was blissfully unconscious, thanks to the IV hanging beside her. Marrow and Gambit stood several feet away, just watching.

"She's pretty," Marrow commented, a little wistfully.

Gambit glanced down at her. "So are you," he said. "Looks ain't everyt'ing, t'ough."

Marrow shrugged. "Do you think they'll really let her go?"

Gambit's jaw tightened. "Dey better. Mon pere gave his word."

But did everyone else? Marrow asked silently. Not only was Guild corruption possible, it was a reality. She had seen it first-hand in Taiwan, and if there, why not here?

"She's dangerous."

"So are we, Sarah."

Not like this, she thought. Not like this.

***

They took a cab back to the hotel. The vehicle's interior was air-conditioned--a nice, short break from the heat. She would take all she could get. They did not talk during the ride, nor as they took the elevator up to the room they were sharing. Too many eyes and ears. Only after Gambit shut the door behind them did Marrow begin to relax.

She turned off her image inducer, shook off her shoes, and padded into the bedroom she was using. There were two of them, each with its own private bathroom. She had staked out her part of the hotel suite on their first day in the city, and Gambit was more than willing to let her have her way. Marrow could see most of everything from her balcony, and in the mornings the sunlight streamed through the antique lace curtains like some sheer, crystal, waterfall of light. She thought it was the nicest place she had ever stayed in--much nicer than she had ever dreamed possible for herself, when she had bothered to dream at all.

She heard Gambit plop down on the soft couch just outside her room, and she joined him.

"Y'okay wit' what happened t'night?" Gambit asked.

Marrow stared at him. "Little late, aren't you?"

His eyes darkened, and Marrow patted him awkwardly on the knee. "Felt all right about it when we accepted the job, and even right after it was done, I didn't think much about it. But now…"

"Somet'ing stinks."

Marrow nodded, and sank deeper into the cushions. "She can burn a person's heart right up just by thinking about it--she doesn't even have to touch them. What kind of defense is there for that?"

"None dat I can t'ink of--not now, anyway."

"Yeah. You know," she paused, turning inward, letting memory fill her. Of the blood, the pain--forced to fight everyday for nothing, only a terrible, terrible dream created by an even worse man.

"Sarah." She felt Gambit's hand touch her shoulder, and then curl around her.

"She would have done real well," she told him, her voice suddenly hoarse. "Mikhail--"

"Sarah--"

"He--he would have let her live in the castle, with him. He would have made her *family*."

Gambit pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "You have a family, petite," he whispered, gently stroking her hair. His voice sounded hoarse, too. "No one's ever gonna hurt you again, Sarah. I *promise*."

She did not know why, but she believed him.

***

There were three messages on the telephone's answering service, when they finally got up to look. One from the X-Men--Hank, specifically. It was to ask how they were enjoying themselves, and to tell them that everyone was all right--although Marrow owed Cecilia and Kitty new slippers. Damndog had chewed them into shreds.

"Just like her owner did," she thought she heard someone say, in the background.

Funny.

The other message was from the front desk, alerting Gambit to a package that had been delivered--Marrow checked the clock on the wall--only five minutes previous to their return to the hotel. Gambit, a decidedly puzzled look on his face ("Who in de world sendin' me t'ings at dis time o' night?") went down to get it, and as the door closed behind him, Marrow played the last message.

Silence. She leaned closer, and caught the faint sound of breathing. Then, a click.

Marrow let the telephone fall back into its cradle, an uneasy feeling stirring in her stomach. Wrong number, she told herself. No one they knew would just breathe into an answering machine, would they? She erased the messages, and went back to the couch. It was very soft, the upholstery slightly nubbly and creamy. She stretched out on her side, and stared at the phone.

Gambit returned several minutes later, and when Marrow saw his face, she bolted upright. There was something very terrible in his eyes, and his mouth was twisted into a crooked, angry grimace. He held a small, battered box in both hands.

Silent, she rose to her feet and moved to him. He stood very still as she pulled back the floppy cardboard lid of the box. She looked in.

And saw a heart. It was very bloody, and--in her experienced opinion--very human.

She swallowed, and realized that yes, she was definitely getting soft.

"This doesn't belong to anyone we know, does it?" She looked at Gambit, not sure she wanted to hear his answer.

"Don' know," he said tightly. "Got some calls t'make."

She thought of the strange, silent message left on their answering machine, but did not mention it. No good now--probably a wrong number, anyway. Nothing to do with…this.

"Someone's got us pegged, Remy. That girl--"

"One t'ing at a time, Sarah. Pack your stuff up--we're leavin'. Now."

She went to pack her bag. As she entered her room, she heard Gambit mutter something.

"What was that?"

A pause, and then: "I said, 'dere's no rest for de wicked'."

No, she thought to herself. None at all.

***

They did not return to the Guild.

Marrow did not ask why, but then, she did not really need to. Someone knew they had kidnapped that woman--a still warm heart in a box was just too much of a coincidence, considering the blonde woman's mutant power. A fire starter who could only incinerate hearts. Marrow wondered if it was a mental block of some sort that kept the woman from burning anything else. Or perhaps it was a matter of choice.

'Doesn't matter', she told herself. She watched the darkened streets, her small suitcase slung over one shoulder. Her shirt was stuck to her back, and sweat rolled freely down her face and chest. It was nearly one in the morning, and she and Gambit had been walking for nearly forty minutes. He had thrown the box with the heart into a dumpster three blocks away from the hotel. The manager could not tell them who had delivered the package--only that it had suddenly appeared on the counter while no one was looking, Gambit's name written on top.

They had immediately checked out of the hotel, and started walking. Only Gambit knew where they were going, and he had not wanted to take a cab there. Better to go by foot, he had said. Easier to keep an eye on who's around us.

On who might want to give us a message, Marrow had silently added. On who might want us dead.

It could be someone in the Thieves Guild. That was the most logical choice. Only the Guild had known about the threat the blonde woman posed should one of their enemies get a hold of her. Break her spirit--force her to use her powers against others. Marrow knew that such a thing was easy to do. She had seen it done, firsthand.

But despite Jean-Luc's promises to the contrary, it made perfect sense to Marrow that someone in the Guild might also desire the kidnapped woman's powers for his or herself. In fact, that was the only thing that made any sense at all.

"Gambit," she said, glancing up at the tall figure striding beside her. "Someone in the Guild--"

"I know," he interrupted, not looking at her. "Trusted mon pere, and not m'brains. Should've seen dis comin', Sarah. *He* should've seen dis comin', too."

"Maybe he did," she murmured. Only why bother sending them a threat? Why not kill them outright?

Gambit shot her a sharp look. "D'ere ain't many t'ings I'm sure of in dis world, Sarah. But mon pere is one o' dem. He wouldn't betray us."

Marrow looked away, stung. "Then who?" she asked harshly. Dammit--she thought she was beyond getting her feelings hurt. She was getting soft. Soft, soft, soft.

"Don' know," Gambit said. He touched her elbow, and guided her into a dark alley that was dripping with moisture. The air seemed hotter here, and Marrow took a deep breath, stepping around piles of garbage and snoring, whimpering bodies. There was a stench that made her nose crinkle--it reminded her of the sewers, of ugliness and death.

The alley turned out to be the entrance to a collection of cobblestone paths that twisted and crossed, writhing inwards, away from the rest of the city. She tried to keep track of their movements--she wanted to be able to find her way out again, if she had to--but she soon gave up. This place was a maze, and only Gambit seemed to understand how to navigate it. He walked with complete confidence, indifferent to the darkness, heat, and stench.

He did not look twice at the people huddled against the slimy brick walls, men and women who sometimes touched Marrow's ankles as she passed them. Even among the Morlocks, she had never seen so many people who were in need--of food, shelter…love. Only with Mikhail, in that terrible wasteland beyond the castle…she had been one of these people, once. Only she had fought, with bone and blood. She had lost her mind in that place, trying to survive. To prove herself worthy. These people, it was like they had given up. Like they were waiting to die.

Gambit finally began to slow, and Marrow adjusted her own pace so that she would not step on his heels. He stopped in front of a small, unadorned door, and removed a set of lock picks from the back pocket of his jeans. Instead of working on the lock in the door, however, he inserted the picks into a tiny iron plate set into the brick just to the left of the door-frame. Marrow had not noticed its existence until then, and she watched with interest as the thief concentrated on a keyhole that was nearly invisible to her eyes. She waited for nearly five minutes while her friend silently worked.

'A tough lock', she thought to herself. A moment later, she heard a small snort of triumph and caught a glimpse of white teeth. Gambit's hand touched her shoulder.

"Watch dis," he murmured. He flipped the iron plate open and revealed a startling high tech panel that was internally lit. He bent slightly, placing his eyes directly across from it. A red beam shot out, and Marrow heard a loud, metallic click from behind the little wooden door. Gambit punched several buttons in the panel, and then drew Marrow up to it.

"Stare at de red beam," he instructed her. "An' hold very still."

She obeyed him, and tried not to blink when the flash of hot, red light covered her left eye. It was gone in a second, and as Marrow straightened, Gambit allowed the iron plate to fall back in place. He tested it with a sharp tug, and grunted in satisfaction when it did not budge.

"What was that all about?" Marrow asked.

"I just keyed you in t'security. If you ever need a safe house, come here and you'll be let in."

"I'll need a key," she muttered, thinking about how long it had taken Gambit to pick the lock to the iron plate covering the retinal scan. She knew nothing about breaking and entering. At least, not the subtle kind.

"Dat's no fun," Gambit replied, opening the little door. There was another barrier just behind it, this one made of solid steel. As Gambit approached, it slid open with a quiet hiss. He stepped through the darkened opening--Marrow close on his heels--and the door slid shut behind her, pitching them both into total darkness. "Besides," Gambit continued, as though there was nothing in the least bit alarming about their situation. "I'm giving you lock picks f'Christmas."

"Gee, thanks."

"Your welcome." And then the lights came on.

What surprised her the most was the unabashed lushness of the room she found herself in. The furniture was old, made of rich, dark woods that gleamed under the golden light of the tall brass lamps stationed throughout the room. Velvet, silk, golden brocade--such materials were everywhere, and while the furnishings and decorations edged close to being what others might call gaudy, in Marrow's admittedly inexperienced opinion, the room merely screamed wealth and lavish comfort. Something she had only recently begun to learn to appreciate.

"You sure know how to make yourself comfortable," Marrow commented, feeling too dirty and sweaty to touch anything. The air, however, was deliciously cool, and she took a deep breath.

"There's a bedroom and bathroom down de hall. Kitchen, too, if you're hungry. Settle in--I got t'make dose calls we talked 'bout."

Calls to the X-Men, and to others who might be at risk. Who might be dead. Gambit had not felt the line at the hotel was secure enough to make those kinds of inquiries. Obviously, his safe house did not have those limitations.

"You bring people here often?" Marrow asked over her shoulder, as she carried her small suitcase down the hall he had pointed to.

"Non," he replied absently, phone already cradled in his neck. "You de first."

She almost stopped right then and there, a vision of herself running back to give him a hug racing through her mind. Ridiculous, of course. She was not, nor would she ever be, a 'hugger'. Marrow forced herself to keep walking, and missed the small smile that crossed Gambit's lips.

***

Logan answered the phone; Gambit did not tell him the entire story, but then, Logan knew better than to ask.

"Everything's fine here," he told Gambit, after listening to a *very* edited recap of the night's events. "Ya need backup?"

"Not yet," Gambit replied.

"Well, shout if ya do. There's nothin' t'do around here, and Jubilee's yammering at me to take her to the *mall*."

"God forbid," Gambit smirked, and hung up the phone.

He called his father next, and held his breath until he heard the older man's sleepy voice on the other end of the line.

"You got a broken pipe, mon pere," Gambit said, not pausing to properly greet his father. "An' it's causin' *us* trouble. See if you can fix de problem on your end."

And then he hung up. Gambit knew his line was secure--he did not pay top dollar to the world's best security personnel to have it any other way--but he did not know if his father's line had been breached. Nor did he want to take the chance. It was a clumsy sort of code, but one he knew his father would understand immediately, even if Gambit had just woken him up.

He called a few other people after that--he never talked, just listened to their voices and hung up. His father was all right--that was what mattered. His friends and family were still alive, and not stretched out on the ground somewhere, missing a rather vital organ. Gambit leaned back into the soft, restored cushions of the 18th century armchair he had managed to procure from an art collector he had done a "favor" for, and closed his eyes.

The job had seemed so simple at the time--collect the girl, who was a temporary threat to the Guild, and then finish his vacation, with Sarah, without any further interruptions.

And he had believed, like a fool, that such a thing was possible. Not only had he put himself at risk, but Sarah, too. Sarah, and anyone else who knew him.

He just hoped that his stupidity would not be the death of him. Or more importantly, anyone else.

***

Marrow sighed, and sank deeper into the hot water. Bubbles, smelling faintly of lavender, pushed up against her neck and crackled softly as she shifted her body. She closed her eyes, and allowed her head to loll comfortably against the copper backrest of the old-fashioned bathtub she had been soaking in for the past half-hour. A small smile passed over her lips.

She loved baths. She loved being clean.

It was, she thought, perhaps her best-kept secret.

Keeping clean had never been a priority in her early life. Not in the sewers, and not in the other-worldly wasteland where Mikhail had ruled. Clean water, if you could find it, was used for drinking. Only a fool would waste such a precious resource for bathing.

But life was different now, and her first bath had seemed like such an act of unimaginable decadence and luxury that she had to be forced into the tub, screaming like a harpy while Rogue unceremoniously dumped her into the steaming water and held her there. Oh, she had kept protesting--it would not do at all for the others to suspect that she was actually enjoying something about their little Upworlder existence, but after those first few minutes surrounded by hot, hot water, something in her had snapped.

She took baths only late at night, when she thought the others were asleep. And when they were not and she just *had* to get into the water, she made sure everyone saw how much she 'hated' what she was doing, cursing and spitting all the way into the bathroom. If the X-Men ever wondered how a person who hated bathing as much as her still managed to smell like ivory soap and Suave shampoo everyday, they wisely never asked. Even Logan kept his mouth shut.

Her dirty, sweat soaked clothes lay in a heap by the bathroom door, and she had put her image inducer on the black marble counter beside a pile of thick, white towels. She was just beginning to reach for one of them (her fingers were getting wrinkled, and she disliked the sensation), when someone knocked on the door to the bathroom.

"You alive in dere, petite?"

"Gimme a minute," she replied. She shook out one of the towels, rapidly wiped the excess water and bubbles off of her body, and rubbed furiously at her hair and horns. Dripping only a little, she grabbed a thick robe hanging from a hook on the wall, and wrapped herself in it. Feeling a little self-conscious, she opened the door to the bathroom. Gambit stood there, and he smiled when he saw her.

"Leave any hot water for me?"

Marrow snorted, bending down to pick up her dirty clothes. She grabbed the image inducer, and slid past Gambit into the hall.

"Dere's a laundry room next to de kitchen. You can drop your t'ings in dere."

She nodded, and began to pad barefoot down the hall in the direction of the gourmet kitchen she had passed through while exploring. She did not know how he managed it, but there was fresh fruit in the refrigerator, and her mouth was watering for the grapes and plums she had seen.

"Sarah."

Marrow stopped, and turned around. Gambit was still standing where she had left him, and he was watching her intently.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For everyt'ing."

Marrow frowned, and took a step towards him. "Sorry?" she echoed blankly. "For what, Remy? You've been…so kind to me. Watched out for me. You never judged…"

She took a deep, steadying breath. 'What the hell', she thought, and before she could stop herself, she took several quick steps towards Gambit and threw her arms around his chest. She held him tightly, dirty clothes clutched in one hand, image inducer in the other. "You're one of my only friends," she told him, her voice suddenly hoarse. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

And then, before he could see the terrible blush staining her face, she turned and darted down the corridor, disappearing into the kitchen.

***

Marrow did not see Gambit again before she went to bed. He was still in the bathroom when she finished eating, and she decided to make herself comfortable in the large bedroom. The bed was wide and inviting, the covers soft, the mattress softer. She sank into the satin sheets with a contented sigh.

Sure, someone might want them dead. But then again, who didn't? Wasn't that part of the reason why she wore an image inducer every time she went into a public place?

'Forget it', she told herself, eyelids fluttering shut. 'Tonight, I'm not going to worry. I'm not.'

She was still telling herself that when she fell asleep.

Later, when she drifted up out of the darkness of her dreams into another sort of darkness, she lay in the large comfortable bed, and stared at the ceiling. She was not sure what had awoken her, but she was still tired, and this was Gambit's safehouse, and no one could hurt her here, right? And even if someone did come creeping in, she was Marrow. She was a killer ("pyscho-bitch-troll-from-hell", to quote a few) and she could take on anything or anyone.

'That's right', she told herself, beginning to drift off again. 'I'm a bad-ass.'

She was in that place between sleep and wakefulness when the part of her brain that put the 'bad' in 'ass' detected a breath of air on her cheek. Marrow's eyes snapped open, but the room was empty. There was nothing--no one--around her. The air felt different, though. Cold, frigid.

Marrow threw back the covers, and was just about to crawl out of bed when she felt a strange pressure over her heart, like a palm pressing downwards. She froze, and in that instant of stillness she sensed something else touch the skin beneath her T-shirt, cool fingers that traced the flesh above her breast.

She hollered as loud as she could, leaping backwards against the pillows. The pressure was still there, and it was building. Her fingers elongated, sharpened, and she swiped at the air in front of her. Her chest was beginning to hurt, and she yelled again, this time calling Gambit's name.

It was getting harder to breath, and her heart--oh, God--her heart felt like it was dying. Like she was dying. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She was dimly aware of the door to the bedroom slamming open, and an incoherent shout that seemed very far away. The pressure disappeared, and Marrow fell forward, gasping, clutching at her chest and cutting herself with fingers that were still razor sharp. The pain she caused herself was a distant thing compared to the pain in her heart, and as darkness filled her vision, she felt strong hands support her back.

And then there was nothing.

***

Marrow did not know how long she spent in unconsciousness, but when she awoke, she felt lips on her mouth and an overwhelming desire to vomit and breathe, both at the same time. She heaved upwards, gasping and choking on air and bile. It hurt to use her lungs, and she felt as though someone had been pounding on her chest.

"Shhh, petite. S'all right."

No, it was not all right. Someone had just tried to kill her, and she had had enough close encounters with death to know that her attacker had nearly succeeded.

"Remy," she croaked. Marrow felt a hand touch the small of her back, and then her shoulder. It was all she could do not to flop over, and she leaned into her friend's body, using him as support. Her muscles did not want to work, and it took much of her strength to lift her hand and touch the place above her heart. She could feel the movement of her heart beneath her fingers, the steady pulse and beat. The skin was tender, too--if she looked at it, Marrow was sure she would find cuts and bruises.

"I'm going to move you to de bed," Gambit whispered, and then his arms were under her legs and shoulders and she was being lifted into the dark, cool air. He set her gently on the covers, propping her head up with pillows. When he finished making her comfortable, he sat quietly beside her.

"Try t'rest," he said. "I'll stay here wit' you."

"I nearly croaked," she said, after a long moment.

"You gave me a scare, petite," he admitted, gently patting her hand. Marrow could not see his face, but she sensed a slight tremor in his body.

She took a deep breath, and felt it burn. "Did you see…what was attacking me?"

"Non."

"I didn't imagine it."

"I know, Sarah. Dere was somet'ing else in de room wit' us."

Only what, or who, was still a mystery.

***

Marrow slept fitfully throughout the night, but each time she opened her eyes, Gambit was there, his presence solid and comforting. By dawn, she felt well enough to get out of bed and move around. Her chest was still sore, but she was alive and her strength was returning.

"It's like we're being haunted, Remy," she commented, after being forced to eat some breakfast. She took a bite of toast, eyes fixed on Gambit's troubled expression.

"Don' believe in ghosts, Sarah," he replied grimly, hand clutching a tall mug of coffee. "'Cept those we make up in our minds."

Marrow chewed furiously and swallowed. "Who else knows about this place?"

Gambit shook his head. "No one. Only you."

"So we were followed."

"Mebbe," he said. He pushed back his chair and stood up, stretching as he did so. Marrow heard a few pops and cracks, and Gambit smiled wearily. "Stay here and finish up," he told her. "I'll be in de front room making some calls."

He left the kitchen, resisting the urge to look back at her over his shoulder. Last night had been close--her heart had stopped completely, and it had taken several very long minutes of CPR to bring her back. Losing Sarah was not something he ever wanted to contemplate again, but he also knew that he could not be her shadow for the entire day. He needed some sleep, and she would not appreciate the mother hen routine for long.

He slumped into a deeply cushioned chair and reached for the phone. No need for his cover now. It was officially blown. His father answered on the first ring.

"Allo?"

"Any news, mon pere?"

There was a long moment of silence. "You sound tired."

"Long night, longer story. De information 'bout de leak?"

"Dere *ain't* no leak. I checked ev'ryone, *ev'ryt'ing*. Dey all came away clean."

Gambit closed his eyes. "So it's someone outside de Guild causin' trouble for us."

"You need help?"

"Mebbe," he admitted. "You'll know soon 'nough. How's de woman?"

"Still sedated. Her heart rate jumped a little last night, 'round three in de mornin', but de doctors say she was prob'ly just dreamin'."

Gambit frowned. Marrow had been attacked just around that time. "Keep an eye on her for me, papa."

"'Course, Remy. You wanna tell me what dis is all 'bout?"

"Soon," he promised, and hung up the phone.

Very soon. Otherwise, he was afraid that someone was going to end up dead.

[next part]

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