"Wow," Jon said, "those yellow eyes are gross. She needs some serious Visine."

"Wait a minute!" I cried. "That's Mystique!"

"What, you think she needs something stronger than Visine?"

"What?" I asked.

"I wasn't trying to make a diagnosis or anything," Jon said. "I was just saying that those eyes look pretty nasty and she could probably use some treatment."

"I don't understand what you're talking about."

"I said she looked like she needed some Visine. You said I made a mistake. I'm just trying to explain that-"

"No, no! Not mistake. Mystique!"

"Miss Who?"

"Mystique! She's a mutant with the power to transform. She ran with Mangeto for a long time. When he was killed by that female terminator he was, um, dating . . she disappeared. Until now. Apparently that's her in this photo. Sometimes her eyes will revert to yellow when she changes."

"Wow. Okay, well that's something. So who's the guy? And who are they working for?"

"We can find those things out when we find her. To Cerebro!"

"Jon, I'm glad you're here," I said to the Intergalactic Gladiator as he followed me into my office.

"So what's this big development? Did you find out who was behind that fake photograph?" he asked.

"Er, no. But I did confirm from Emma that it wasn't her in the photo. That means it was faked!"

"What? But of course it was faked!"

"Right, well, now I've confirmed that."

"But I already knew it wasn't real. I was never in bed with Emma!"

"Well of course you were going to say that to your wife and the press, but now it's confirmed. Emma wasn't even in town that night."

"I guess that's something," Jon said. "Do you have proof we can give to the media?"

"Proof? Not exactly. I probed her mind and found the truth. It's not really the kind of thing that would hold up in court or anything like that."

"Well that's just great. Do you at least have any ideas whose behind this?"

"Er, not really. One of your rivals? An old enemy maybe? Geraldo Rivera?"

"Professor, did you notice anything odd about Emma's eyes in the photo?"

"Her eyes? Let me get my magnifying glass."

"You wanted to see me, Charles?" Emma Frost said as she stepped into the doorway of my room. Her voice was practically a purr.


"Yes, Emma. I think you know why I asked you here."


"It's that silly picture with Jon, the Intergalactic Gladiator?"


"Why yes it is," I answered. "You must have read my mind."


"Now Charles, you know I'd never read anyone's mind without their permission."


"Of course not, Emma. Neither would I. It's just not ethical."


We both looked at each, managing to keep our faces straight for about 20 seconds before we roared with laughter.


After we had composed ourselves, I continued. "Emma, I'm going to need to mind meld with you. I have to know what happened with Jon."


Shrugging, she started to slip off her bodice. "Er, no," I said hastily. "I just need to read your mind."


"Oh?" she said, shrugging again. She stopped disrobing.



As I stared at her half-exposed body, I wrestled with my conscious. Then the insistant, angry voice of Jon's wife intruded on my thoughts. Better keep this professional, at least for the moment.


After I had probed Emma twice, I realized whoever was behind this scandel was more devious than I had thought. Emma was summoned by someone she thought was me out of Chicago the night the picture was taken. The Emma in that picture was a fake!

"No, I . . . of course not, Mrs. . . . now please, there's no call for that kind of . . . no . . . no . . . no . . . but that's not fair . . . I didn't . . . no . . . but . . . no . . . (sigh) . . . yes, I understand."

"Who was that?" Kitty asked, looking up from her place on the floor where she was polishing my shoes.




"Jon's wife. She's a bit put out by the pictures of her husband and Emma in the papers."


"I don't know what she's so suprised about," Kitty said as she rubbed my shoes with a cloth, "Emma sleeps with just about everybody."


"Yes well, not everyone is as broad minded as we are. And besides, Emma did not sleep with Jon."


Kitty looked up at me with an expression that said I was a total moron. I was about to chastize her when it occured to me . . could she be right? Did Emma actually sleep with Jon, either with or without his consent? It certainly would not be beyond her typical Hellfire antics.


"Get me Emma Frost!" I shouted. "I'm going to have to mind-meld with her."

I awoke this morning to Kitty Pryde, dressed in her French maid's outfit, delivering my breakfast. The omelet smelled heavenly and the sausages look delicious. Taking a sip of the freshly squeezed orange juice, I picked up the morning paper.

Flipping to the political section, I checked to see if there was any news about Jon's campaign. On the front page of that section, I saw this . .

. .



























Involuntarily, the orange juice sprayed out of my mouth in a wide arc. I immediately, after wiping my mouth off, of course, grabbed the phone and called Jon.

"What the hell have you been up to?!" I yelled into the receiver once he answered.

"Hunh? Professor? What time is it? I'm in the Central Zone, you know."

"Have you seen the morning papers?!" I demanded.

"You mean this morning? Hang on . . let me just . . the computer's warming up."

I waited, my impatience growing. How could this have happened? Damn that tramp Emma.

"Holy crap!" Jon yelled, loud enough to wake my whole school. "B-but this . . I never . . I'm married! I would never . . this is just some kind of, I don't know, photographic fakery or something. They must have Photoshopped it together! I couldn't do this!"

"Well it's in all the papers now," I told him. "Even if it is faked, the public is going to make assumptions."

"What are we going to do, Professor??" Jon asked, the desperation unmistakable in his voice.

"I'm thinking."