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Charles Xavier was several things.
He was a genius, an heir to the Xavier Corp billions, winner of Heat magazine’s Most Eligible Bachelor award three times in a row, patron to several children’s charities, and hugely entertaining tabloid fodder, all rolled into one.
He was also, unbeknownst to the world, a very successful and highly accomplished cat burglar.
He hadn’t intended to become one; it had just sort of … happened. He had, some years ago, been introduced to one of his vile stepfather’s even viler friends, who just so happened to possess a number of very valuable – and very illegally obtained – items that he had insisted on showing off to Charles and several members of his hangers-on. It had taken Charles roughly two point five seconds to decide that the man did not deserve any of the art or relics that he possessed; it had taken him considerably longer to decide that he should be the one to liberate them.
Twenty-one days and seventeen hours later, the National Museum had found an astonishing number of lost relics dumped on its doorstep, with no word of who had put them there. The only clue as to the museum’s mysterious benefactor was the small gift tag tied loosely around the heel of a marble statue of Achilles, with one simple letter on it: X.
The papers, naturally, had gone wild for the story. ‘X Marks the Spot!’ was screamed in the headlines of more than one newspaper. The story had persisted for days. Coincidentally, several tabloids had also featured tantalising pictures of Charles Xavier – who had been spotted with a number of unknown women in the south of France – at the exact same time … though perhaps the scrupulous reader would have noticed that these pictures only arrived the day after the National Museum Hoard (as it was now called) was discovered.
It had now been some years since that first adventure, and the mysterious ‘X’ was now racking up quite a reputation: he was a modern-day Robin Hood in the eyes of the public, and a veritable artiste in the admiring eyes of the underworld.
It was, Charles reflected as he took a sip of his chai latte outside of very pretty little café in Rome, supremely satisfying.
He gazed down at the paper on his table and smiled. X-Traordinary Treasures Found! the headline shouted. Charles scanned the text, humming to himself. The report contained a number of errors – there had been no Ming vase in the hoard delivered to the Central Museum, that was certain; a priceless jade pendant and bejewelled goblet, yes, but no Ming vase – but otherwise the article was quite satisfactory. The final line about the police still being at a loss to discover X’s identity was, to his mind, particularly pleasing.
He was just setting his coffee cup down on the table, feeling pleased with himself, when a shadow crossed over him, darkening his view.
‘Pardon me,’ Charles said primly, glancing up in slight irritation – only to pause at the sight of the man in front of him.
The man was tall and handsome, and he smiled, revealing rows of sharp, pointy teeth. ‘What, I wonder, do you need to be pardoned for, Mr. Xavier?’ His voice was low and deep, but there was an undercurrent of amusement that ran through his words. His eyes – a very attractive grey in this light, matching the hue of his finely tailored suit – glinted in similarly amused way.
Charles eyed him for a moment before slowly removing his hands from the table. ‘You have me at a disadvantage,’ he said cautiously, cocking his head and leaning back in his chair. ‘I don’t think we have met before, Mr …’
The man smiled, revealing his teeth again. ‘Lehnsherr,’ he answered easily, pulling out the chair opposite Charles’s and, without asking, sliding effortlessly into the seat. ‘Erik Lehnsherr.’
‘Well then, Mr. Lehnsherr—’
‘Call me Erik, Charles.’
‘Certainly, Erik.’ Charles gave him a bland smile. ‘What can I do for you?’
But Erik was glancing at the newspaper on the table. ‘Did you read that?’ he asked, indicating the front page with his chin even as he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes.
Charles watched as Erik took out and lit a cigarette before offering one to him. ‘No thank you,’ Charles said coolly. ‘I don’t smoke. It’s a filthy habit.’
Erik smiled, once again revealing those long, sharp teeth. ‘Oh, I agree,’ he murmured. ‘Filthy.’ His eyes deliberately raked Charles from head to foot.
Charles, however, was not a man who embarrassed easily. ‘Is there a reason why you are ruining my morning here, Mr. Lehnsherr?’ he asked pleasantly. ‘I do hope you aren’t a stalker or a journo or anything like that. I would hate to have to start taking security with me everywhere I go. Terribly inconvenient, you see.’
‘Oh, yes, I completely understand,’ Erik agreed, drawing his cigarette away from his mouth and blowing out a curl of smoke. ‘And particularly for your line of work, I should think.’
Charles was momentarily wrong-footed, but he quickly recalled himself. ‘The paparazzi do prefer to snap pictures of socialites without a great hulking bodyguard in the way, it’s true,’ he agreed airily.
Erik seemed amused by this. He watched Charles, smiling to himself, cigarette still in hand. Then, catching Charles’s eye, he once again jerked his head towards the newspaper. ‘Well,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Did you read it?’
‘I did,’ Charles replied.
‘What did you think?’
Charles shrugged lazily. ‘I think the Central Museum’s curator is currently having a field day, but otherwise I don’t really think all that much about anything.’
Erik was still watching him with that wryly amused expression on his face. ‘No?’ he asked in mock-surprise. ‘You don’t have an interest in art?’
‘Not particularly,’ Charles said, smiling icily.
Erik’s smile widened. Then he abruptly leaned forward, his eyes trained on Charles’s. ‘And what about burglary, Mr. Xavier? Do you have an interest in that?’
Charles was strong-willed enough not to outwardly react. He forced himself to remain calm and, slowly, he raised a single condescending eyebrow at Erik.
‘I can’t say that I do,’ he said coolly, casually leaning back in his chair. ‘I was pickpocketed once in Prague, but that is the extent of my knowledge of that particular crime, I’m afraid. Why do you ask?’
But Erik only smiled, returning once again to that infuriatingly knowing smile that he had been wearing since the beginning of their encounter. ‘Oh, no reason,’ he murmured, even as his eyes devoured Charles almost hungrily. ‘No reason at all.’ He then said suddenly. ‘You were recently in Montenegro, I believe?’
Charles blinked, startled slightly, before he shrugged. ‘I was,’ he said carelessly. ‘It’s no secret. Particularly if you are an avid reader of Heat magazine. I believe they have a particularly fetching picture from that trip of me in my bathing suit. I’m sure you would enjoy it, Erik.’
‘I’m sure I would,’ Erik murmured, smiling sharply. ‘Unfortunately, that is not the reason that I bring it up.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ Erik sat back, eyeing Charles as he inhaled the smoke from his cigarette. ‘You see, I heard something strange about your time in Montenegro – I would be much obliged if you could confirm or deny something for me, Charles.’
‘I will do my best,’ Charles said, smiling thinly.
‘Excellent.’ Erik’s smile widened. ‘You see, it has come to my knowledge that you met a Mr. Garza during your time in Montenegro. Would that be correct?’
‘It would,’ Charles answered cautiously. ‘Only briefly, though. I can’t say I liked him very much. Or at all, in fact.’
‘No,’ Erik said thoughtfully. ‘No you wouldn’t. Not a pleasant man, Mr. Garza. Not a pleasant man at all. And quite dull, too, I would imagine.’ He glanced up suddenly, looking at Charles. ‘He’s quite the braggart, I hear,’ he said casually, taking a long drag from his cigarette. ‘Did you find that, Charles?’
‘Oh – rather,’ Charles said airily, taking a sip of his latte. ‘But as I said before – I didn’t stick around long enough to listen to much of what he said.’
‘Perhaps you heard this, however,’ Erik said calmly, coolly blowing a line of smoke out of his mouth. ‘He was heard to have said a great deal about a private collection that he owned. A private collection of art and relics and valuables that any museum would have paid through the nose to obtain.’
‘Is that so?’ Charles asked, looking bored. He glanced down at his watch pointedly.
‘Yes,’ Erik said, nodding, not seeming to catch on to Charles’s burgeoning irritation. ‘Mr. Garza was a very wealthy man, and someone who liked to pretend to possess great taste as well as great wealth.’ He gave Charles a sharp smile. ‘I’m sure you run into any number of those sort of people in your life, Mr. Xavier.’
Charles simply gave him a bland look.
‘The odd thing, though,’ Erik continued, tapping the ash away from his cigarette, unperturbed by Charles’s silence. ‘Is that Mr. Garza was heard talking about several specific items during his time in Montenegro – which was your time in Montenegro as well, wasn’t it, Charles?’ His eyes glinted. ‘Would you care to guess what sort of items he bragged about?’
‘I haven’t the faintest clue,’ Charles said, sounding bored.
At that, Erik smiled and nodded once again towards the newspaper on the table. ‘Why don’t you look at that?’ he advised. ‘You can see a list of the items right there.’
Charles clenched his jaw and looked down at the paper. ‘A Ming vase,’ he read coolly. ‘A jewelled cup. A jade pendant—’
‘Amulet,’ Erik said quietly. The smile was gone from his face and his eyes were now serious and focused wholly on Charles. ‘It was a jade amulet. And there was no Ming vase, Mr. Xavier. There was, however, a jewelled cup, as well as a number of other items that – coincidentally – Mr. Garza also claimed to have possessed when in Montenegro.’
Charles raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that so?’ he asked, affecting boredom. ‘Fascinating, I’m sure. You should get this published in a magazine. Heat would be a good option for you, I think.’
Erik’s smile was knife-sharp. ‘Oh I think I could do better,’ he said, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Charles.
Suddenly Charles was tired of games. ‘What is it that you want, Mr. Lehnsherr?’ he asked coldly, all traces of humour gone from his face. ‘What are you doing here?’
Erik watched him for a moment and then shrugged. ‘What do I want from you?’ he repeated. ‘Nothing. Well – nothing yet. I just wanted to sit down and get to know you, face to face. That’s all.’
‘Why?’ Charles asked, his tone ice-cold.
Erik smiled. ‘Oh,’ he said softly. ‘I think you know.’ He then took a long drag from his cigarette as Charles stared at him warily, before bringing it down to the ashtray on the table and stubbing it out. ‘Funny thing about Mr. Garza,’ he said, even as he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. ‘This morning he denied all knowledge of any such items and violently rebuked the idea that he might have had any such objects in his possession at any point in time.’ He paused. ‘Which is probably a smart thing, on his part, considering that these items could only have been obtained through the black market. Might have brought him some highly unwanted attention if he had admitted to owning anything like that.’
‘I don’t see what any of this has to do with me,’ Charles said haughtily, even as he turned this information over in his mind.
‘Of course not.’ Erik gave him a sardonic smile. ‘Nevertheless, I would probably avoid Montenegro in the near future, if I were you. Mr. Garza has, for some strange, inexplicable reason, hired a number of crack investigators to track down several missing goods that seem to have disappeared on the same night as the newly-named Central Museum Hoard. No connection between the two, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Charles agreed, scrutinising Erik. He cocked his head to the side. ‘And you, Mr. Lehnsherr?’ he asked carefully after a pause. ‘Are you one of these investigators that Mr. Garza hired?’
‘Me?’ Erik’s eyebrows rose slightly. ‘No, no. Not at all. My interest in Mr. Garza is … tangential. He is merely a figure of curiosity to me, no more.’
‘Oh?’ Charles’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then who exactly are you, Erik? And what do you want with me?’
Erik smiled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. ‘Here,’ he said, pushing the card across the table to Charles. ‘My number is on the back.’
And then, before Charles could say anything further, he turned and walked away.
Charles watched him leave, blinking slowly. ‘Curious,’ he murmured to himself. Then, slowly, he drew his eyes away and instead directed his attention down at the card lying on the table. He picked it up.
Erik M. Lehnsherr, it read. And beneath that, Consultant.
Charles frowned. Consultant. What on earth did that mean? Consultant at what, exactly?
Sighing, Charles turned the card around. Then he paused. On the back of the card was an eleven digit phone number written in ballpoint ink, each digit printed firmly and neatly in a careful hand. That was not what had caught Charles’s attention, however. What had caught his attention was the single letter standing beneath the phone number, provocative and daring in its undisputed challenge.
X.
Charles stared at the letter, holding himself completely still. A dozen questions, concerns, and an assortment of wild escape plans ran through his head, and he took a moment to calmly debate his options. He had always known that there was a good chance that he would one day be discovered, but somehow he had always imagined that it would take place a long time away in a distant future. This … this changed things. Considerably. And not in a good way.
Charles sighed. He looked down again at the business card, recalling the face of the man who had brought him so much trouble.
X, the card read tauntingly.
Charles hummed in the back of his throat. And then, inexplicably, he smiled.
‘Alright then, Mr. Lehnsherr,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s see how this plays out.’
And sitting back in his chair, he smiled and continued sipping his chai latte.