Even Angels have Scars -- Complete

[Saint Kurt]

"If any of you feel unable to keep your mind open for the duration of his stay, I would ask that you stay home and not return until he has returned to his."



Father Dietrich didn't usually do any entertaining in the rectory other than his yearly visits by Kurt and his family. This didn't exactly count as entertaining either though, since his guests were the entire staff and clergy of St. Stephen's. Besides the paid employees of the church, several of members from each of both the church's woman's auxiliary and the bible study group were there.

Though his plan to bring Kurt to the rectory for the summer seemed perfect at first, it wasn't an hour before he realized that it was fraught with problems. If he were living at the rectory totally alone, there would have been no difficulties. But he didn't live alone. The church was the core of a bustling and vital community all working together in service to God and for the good of society. Unless Kurt wanted to spend all of his days hiding in his room, which was hardly a therapeutic environment, he was going to have to get to know everyone and they him.

Father Dietrich had almost scrapped the plan for good; it was simply too much to ask. He had gone to bed one night deciding that it wasn't even worth mentioning the idea and woke up the next morning feeling horrible. If it had been Lars or Amanda or Wolfgang who had required his aid, Father Dietrich wouldn't have thought twice. And yet here he was prepared to deny Kurt the opportunity because he was too afraid to face the consequences that would come from admitting the acquaintance of a "demon". He'd never felt more ashamed in his life.

And so Father Dietrich steeled his resolve and once the necessary permissions were in place from Kurt's end, began to carefully cultivate the seeds of Kurt's introduction. He had done so cautiously, by beginning with a careful inventory of those who would be most likely to accept Kurt for whom he was. He wanted those who could look past the demonic exterior and see a young man whose love of God ran through the deepest core of him and know that they were looking into the eyes of a soul whose gentleness and kindness knew no bounds.

It was a tall order.

It was true that the Father had a slight advantage in that he had looked for these very traits in his staff, but still, Kurt was a lot to take in at once. He placed the most hope with Alexandra Fraser, the Parish's director of religious education. She was very young and Father Dietrich thought she would have made a wonderful priest had she not been female. Her mother was South African and had married a German geologist who had gone to the continent to study its wealth of precious gems, in particular a mine that was bursting with sapphires. She was the daughter of a mine foreman and they had fallen in love. It was like the stuff of storybooks, Romeo and Juliet with a happy ending, Father Dietrich had heard the story more times than he could count and it still warmed his heart. And so he named Alexandra, who herself had to contend with the triple obstacle of being black, African, and female in her struggle to fit into their primarily Caucasian male dominated pastoral staff, to the position of Kurt's ambassador.

Even before they were on the ferry to France, Father Dietrich had been in contact with Alex, setting the stage for their arrival. He wanted at least one person to know the whole story in detail before they arrived. Plus, he valued Alex's opinion and so he needed her to help him plan Kurt's introduction. Now, nearly two weeks later, Alex and her peers were all assembled in his small living room, a casual group sitting on the furniture but those who couldn't find seats reclined on the floor as well. He could hear them from the kitchen as they chatted amongst themselves.

"He didn't tell me exactly what was going on, but I think it has something to do with that boy in the pictures." He could hear Alex saying, being purposefully vague. He could pick out her voice anywhere, the German language made even harsher by the strong vowels of her native African accent.

"Kurt? The one from the circus?" Karl, his second deacon asked.

"That's the one." Alex said. "I heard he was injured recently and that's why the Father took that trip to England."

There were murmurs of ascension and understanding and so Father Dietrich took that moment to open the door from the kitchen. "Coffee's ready." He called down the hall. Conversation ceased and was replaced by the sound of footsteps. There were a few chaotic moments in the kitchen where everybody collected coffee along with rolls and croissants before they slowly trickled back into his living room. Father Dietrich knew that Kurt could hear all this from his room in the converted third floor attic. He could only imagine the thoughts going through Kurt's head.

Father Dietrich turned and faced the group how had retaken their seats and looked him expectantly. "Well, here goes." He thought and with a silent prayer that God would get him through this without screwing things up. He took a deep breath.

"Nearly ten years ago, a small circus rented the lot behind our church to park their trailers and use as their living quarters during a series of performances outside of Hamburg." He said. "They've parked there every year ever since." Father Dietrich tried to keep his voice natural, conversational, and not let it fall into the authoritative tone he used for sermons. He waited for a response, and when nobody spoke, he continued speaking.

"I went to their performance and they had the most extraordinary young performer. His name was Kurt Wagner and he wore a very elaborate costume, like a blue demon. And despite his young age he put on an impressive performance. I left the show thinking that 'the Incredible Nightcrawler', as he was called, might make for an interesting sermon topic, perhaps about not judging a book by its cover.

"Two days later he was standing in my church and I discovered that his costume wasn't a costume at all…"

"That's why you have these pictures." Karl interjected, finally understanding why Father Dietrich kept the pair of photographs, "He's this little boy." He held up the picture of Kurt in his confirmation clothes, grinning at the camera. This was going well, Father Dietrich thought, Kurt hardly looked menacing in that picture.

"That's right." Father Dietrich said. "And looks can be deceiving, because several days after our introduction, he asked me to baptize him. He was eight years old. Now he seventeen."

He went on for a few minutes, answering questions about Kurt and the circus, trying to keep it in a semblance of chronological order so not to be confusing. Meanwhile the photos of Kurt and his family were passed around. They spoke for nearly an hour before he reached the present.

"About a week ago he was attacked and left for dead in Brighton, England." Father Dietrich said. There was a collective gasp. Alexandra put her hand over her mouth. "He has a long recovery ahead of him, not just from his injuries, but from the shock of what happened to him. I don't think he totally understands it."

"Has it never happened before? I mean, the way he looks…" It was Roberto, the leader of the church's study group who also shared the responsibility for teaching catechism with Alexandra.

"As miraculous as this seems, no, it hasn't. The circus has protected him so meticulously from the outside world that though he has experienced prejudice since the day he was born, he has endured very little violence. It is my hope that we can provide for him here a place where he can both recover from his injuries and make his peace with God, hopefully to come to an understanding of what happened to him." Father Dietrich said.

Heads nodded in understanding of the situation, but no one spoke.

"Now we come to the most important part of why I brought you here," Father Dietrich said. "Kurt arrived yesterday and if any of you feel unable to keep your mind open for the duration of his stay, I would ask that you stay home and not return until he has returned to his. I will forgive you your intolerance in hopes that you use the time to reflect on the seriousness of your action."

His gazed circled the room, trying to judge the character of those he worked with and prayed with everyday, because the time for discussion was over. No one made a sound. No one looked away. It was time for Kurt to make his introduction.



The rectory was small house with many tiny rooms. The most spaciously laid out was the first floor, which mainly consisted of the living room, an anteroom, and the kitchen. The second floor had two bedrooms; Father Dietrich's own room and a comfortable but Spartan guest bedroom where visiting clergy could stay. Accessible by a narrow staircase was a third story that had once been the attic. It had been divided in half to provide a second smaller guest room and Father Dietrich's cluttered study. Dormer windows let in some light but the ceilings sloped sharply downward all the way to the floor.

The third floor guest room was where Kurt always stayed. He was used to sleeping in the top bunk where the ceiling wasn't more the a few feet from his nose. He could never relax sleeping in a regular bed on the floor. He felt oddly vulnerable with the ceiling so high above him and so Kurt always choose the cozy attic bedroom as his. Besides the comforting slope of the ceiling, Kurt liked the tattered old quilts on the bed and the chintzy flowered wallpaper. He was especially fond of a hand made stuffed toy, an ancient floppy dog that Father Dietrich's mother had made him out of blue calico when he was a boy that always lay across the foot of the bed.

Kurt was sitting on the bed cross-legged and barefoot when Father Dietrich arrived. His tail was draped over the side and onto the floor where it twitched to it's own rhythm. Long ago Father Dietrich noticed that whenever Kurt was under stress he tended to revert to animalistic behavior and postures such as pacing or twitching his tail like a cat. It was one of Kurt's many odd quirks and it made Father Dietrich wonder if there were more to him than his unusual appearance; that Kurt's differences were much deeper and more profound. Kurt was oblivious to all of this of course. He was praying the rosary, carefully maneuvering the well-worn beads through his sturdy fingers as he murmured to himself softly in German. He waited for Kurt to look up.

"Everyone's ready." Father Dietrich said when he had Kurt's attention. "Would you like to come down?"

Kurt didn't move.

"They're the ones I told you about, and I told them a little bit about you." Father Dietrich said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "They want to meet you."

Kurt remained silent, a series of conflicting emotions crossing over his face like it always did while he was making a difficult choice. It made Father Dietrich realize that over the years he had known Kurt, he had gone from seeming older than his years to younger. When he was eight he seemed overly serious, like a small adult, but now that he was seventeen he hardly seemed like someone who was only a year away from adulthood.

This was the downside of being raised in such a sheltered environment. Within the circus community Kurt was confident, outgoing, and a consummate professional, but out in the world he was lost, seemingly stuck in early adolescence. Father Dietrich had never worried about it, but now he wondered if perhaps he should have. Kurt was no longer a child who happened to look like a mischievous blue imp; his demonic features were much harder to forgive on an adult. He had gone from cute to scary in a world he hardly understood, something that had already proven itself to be a dangerous combination.

Kurt sighed and shook his head. "I can't," he said sadly. "I can't do it. I'm sorry."

Father Dietrich moved closer to him on the bed. "But why Kurt? You can't hide forever. There's no reason for you to hide now. Please, you have to trust me."

Kurt shook his head a second time. "I'm sorry Father," he said.

Father Dietrich was surprised to see Kurt trying to blink back tears. He sighed. He couldn't force him to come down; dragging Kurt into the room kicking and screaming wasn't exactly the type of impression he had hoped Kurt would make.

"All right." He said at last. "You can stay up here today, but you will meet everyone and next time I won't let you off so easy."

"Thank you." Kurt said gratefully.

"It's been a rough few weeks hasn't it?" Father Dietrich said.

Kurt nodded in silence.

"We all have them." He tousled Kurt's hair. "Everybody does. It just makes the good times seem even better right?" Father Dietrich stood up when Kurt didn't answer. "I need go back downstairs now." He said. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I'll be fine." Kurt said.

Father Dietrich nodded and got up. He left quietly, closing the door gently as Kurt resumed his praying.



Only a few minutes had gone by when there was a knock on the door. Kurt got up to answer it, his fingers still marking a place on his rosary. He was expecting Father Dietrich, but instead there was a woman standing there. Kurt froze; he wasn't expecting anyone but Father Dietrich. He had promised hadn't he? Then again, she was beautiful. Her dark skin was nearly the same shade as Kurt's only in a hue that was the color of coffee. She wore her hair in braids that were pulled back into a loose, but neat ponytail. But the most striking feature was her eyes, they were large and expressive with irises of such a deep brown that they were nearly black. The reflected light stood out on them in sharp contrast.

"Hello Kurt," she said, "May I come in?"

It took Kurt a moment to find his voice. He'd seen dark skinned people before. Kiwi and Amiri had skin that was nearly the same shade, but it was more than that. She had a regal bearing and those giant eyes appeared to be able to penetrate directly into his soul. And her voice; Kurt had never heard an accent like that. It was so strong and had such presence; like the mere sound of it could stop evil in it's tracks and leave it quaking in fear.

"Hello," he said at last.

Alex smiled. "I'm Alexandra Fraser," she said as she held out her hand. "But everyone calls me 'Alex'. I work with Father Dietrich here."

Kurt moved away to perch himself back onto the edge of the bed. "I don't mean to be rude, but Father Dietrich said I didn't have to meet anyone today." Kurt said.

Alex laughed. "I guess he did say that." She said, "But when he told us you weren't coming down I was so disappointed that I had to come up. I hope that's all right."

Kurt sighed. So far she hadn't run from the room screaming or tried to set him on fire so she couldn't be that bad. In fact, Maria had said almost the same thing when he refused to open the door for her and he liked Maria a lot. "It's all right," he said quietly.

She wandered around the room. Kurt had set some of his things out and hung up a few of Wolfgang's posters, ones that had escaped Wolfgang's doctoring of his hands ever since James had met him at the airport. "What's it like, the circus?" She asked stopping to give one a closer inspection.

Kurt stared at her. It was such a huge question. Did she mean what was performing like? Or did she want to know what it was like to grow up as a member of a traveling circus? Or maybe she wanted to know what the people in the circus were like. He wasn't sure. Alexandra turned around.

"You grew up with them right? Did you enjoy it?" She asked.

Kurt smiled. He did enjoy it. His childhood was probably the only time when he felt he was normal; back then he had no idea how his appearance would affect the course of his life, it was the only time when he was just Kurt, when he didn't have to become Nightcrawler every night. And as much as he loved to perform, he missed the simplicity of his earliest memories with the circus.

"It was the happiest time of my life." He said.

"What about now?" Alex asked.

Kurt was silent again. What could he say? He loved performing as much as ever, but it was the all or nothing nature of it that bothered him. "Things are just more complicated." He said.

Alex laughed. "Aren't they always." She said.

"Where are you from?" Kurt asked suddenly. "I've never heard anyone talk like you do."

"Kenya. That's where I grew up."

"That's in Africa" Kurt said, "That's a long way from here. Do you miss it?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah, I do," she said. "What about you? Do you miss your circus?"

Kurt looked around the room, at the posters he had put on the walls to make it feel like home, the silly wallpaper, and the fact that for the next two months the room wouldn't move and he wouldn't have to perform or even practice. They were the two main factors that had defined his life and it was hard to imagine them not happening. He thought about standing on the deck of the ferry and watching the painted trucks pulling onto the road without him. "Ever since I watched them leave without me." Kurt said.



Father Dietrich picked up the last of the plates and carried them into the kitchen.

"So, what's he like?" Karl asked Alexandra. She had been the only one to talk to Kurt; everyone else had stayed in the living room. He never did come down. Now they were the only two remaining.

Alex pulled on her coat, "He's like anyone who's had to hide who they really are their whole life. I can't even imagine it."

"Why did Father Dietrich bring him here?" Karl said.

Alex shrugged. "I don't think he had anywhere else to go. And Father Dietrich likes Kurt. He's always spoken of him very fondly."

"But why couldn't Kurt have stayed with the circus?"

Alex shrugged. "Other than the reasons the Father told us earlier?"

"Maybe something more happened, something he's not telling us." Karl said.

"You'll have to ask Father Dietrich if you want to know." Alex said. She opened the door. "But I think he did the right thing."

"But why is he hiding then?"

"Maybe you should take a closer look at those pictures." Alex said.

"But if it's nothing more than his appearance… What if it is something more?" Karl said, leaning close, almost whispering.

Alex frowned at him, but said nothing. "I have to go." She said after staring him down for nearly a minute with her stern dark eyes. The she dipped the tips of her fingers into the small Fount of holy water Father Dietrich kept at the door. She made the sign of the cross, the water flinging from her fingers harder than she meant it to. " I don't want to be late, and this conversation is pointless," she said and let the door shut behind her.

"What's going on?"

Karl turned around. Father Dietrich was standing in the living room, apparently finished with whatever needed doing in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, I should have been helping you." Karl said, quickly collecting his and Alexandra's cups and carrying them into the kitchen.

"What's going on?" Father Dietrich asked again, following him.

Karl put the cups and saucers into the sink and turned around. "I just don't think this is a good idea."

"What's not a good idea?" Father Dietrich said.

"You know what I'm talking about. Why wouldn't Kurt come down? What's he afraid of?"

"Attitudes like yours I expect," said Father Dietrich sitting down at the table.

Karl stared out the window over the sink; he could just see the edge of the garden where Alexandra had begun to overturn the dirt. They had a grounds keeper, but only she was allowed to tend to her small garden, which, every summer became the centerpiece of the church grounds.

"You're… Impractical" Karl said.

"I'm what?" Father Dietrich asked with a short laugh.

"Impractical. First you run off in the middle of the night to minister to a circus and now you've brought a circus freak to live with here."

Father Dietrich stood up so fast his chair knocked back into the wall. "Did I just hear you correctly?" He asked.

Karl looked immediately chastised. "I apologize. He's a talented performer. You said. But this is a church."

Father Dietrich looked around. "Actually, this is the rectory. It is also my home."

Karl closed his eyes. "I just don't think this was a good idea." He said. "What if the diocese finds out?"

"I'm sorry, did you not hear my little speech earlier? Because you still seem to be here." Father Dietrich said.

"I'm not going to tell anyone or do anything if that's what you're worried about. And if Kurt ever does come out of hiding, won't treat him poorly. I'll do as you asked." Karl said.

"I suppose I should be relieved." Father Dietrich said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"I'm just trying to be reasonable. You don't know how the diocese will react. And I'm trying to understand why you did this."

"He's a practicing catholic and a member of this church in good standing. I'm his priest and my purpose in bringing him here was to help him heal from wounds to both his body and soul, as a priest should." Father Dietrich emphasized the last part of the sentence. "And what's more, as a Christian, it is my obligation."

"Moral obligation?" Karl repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"When Kurt was baptized there was no Christian in good standing who was also a member of his circus. He needed a sponsor. So I am also his Godparent."

"You're what?" Karl asked in disbelief.

"You heard me," Father Dietrich said.

To his surprise, the expression of outrage on Karl's face softened and he give a rueful laugh. "I swear Father, sometimes I think God put your heart where your brain is supposed to be."

"Is that so bad?" Father Dietrich asked.

"No, it's not. It's why I was so honored when you picked me as Deacon here." Karl said and smiled.

Father Dietrich returned the gesture, finally understanding that Karl's intent was not to insult him or Kurt. Still, it paid to be cautious. He took Karl by the shoulder and steered him towards the front hallway. "If you want to take that two month sabbatical, you can feel free," he told him.

"Father, I'm just trying to warn you," Karl said. "I don't want you to make a mistake you may regret someday."

"I know," Father Dietrich said sadly and then leaving his Deacon by the door, he started towards the stairs. He turned his wrist to check his watch. "I think your sabbatical started about five minutes ago."

"Father…"

Father Dietrich turned around. "I know," he said. "Your message is loud and clear. Now, I've got work to do." He heard the door close as he reached the second floor and it made him wonder why the right choices were always the hardest to carry out





Author's note: The resemblance between Alexandra Fraser and Storm is entirely coincidental. She is entirely based upon one of the chaplains at the hospital where I stayed a few weeks ago. She made fairly regular visits to my room and we had some very interesting conversation about religion and her role as a woman and an African American in the clergy. But it's a convenient accident, no?


And one more: Bluefooted did this great drawing with Nightcrawler sleeping on a bed with a stuffed blue patchwork dog. I loved the image and shamelessly stole it. The scene she drew never actually appears in the story; I just liked the idea of there being a blue stuffed animal on his bed. Sort of an homage if you will…

[theindigojester]

No problem as far as catching that, I'm glad it wasn't a big problem for you to change. And I think you have done quite a good job in portraying the Catholic faith so far in this story.

As far as the lady you met in the hospital, she could have been from another denomination of Christianity. I believe, but am not entirely sure, that Episcopalians allow women to serve as Priests and Deacons. And I would not doubt that other denominations allow the same.

[Dezzy Dragon]

Karl is going to be trouble! He sounds like one of those nice people that seem really cool until go do something they do not like. Then they bug you or ridicule you tell you go back to what they see as right.

[Lurker-in-the-dark]

Answering a previous question Zam, I've been reading this since it's inception but have only registered today to tell you. I came across the same story on FanFiction.net and was ready to spit fire in your defence at someone stealing your work until I checked the website - oops that was you too! I've enjoyed watching your costume progress, as a fellow seamstress I can appreciate the difficulties although the cossies I make are for medievil re-enactments.
Remember when you are at college that you must have a form of creative relaxation and writing is so good for you...

[Saint Kurt]

Well, I'd been hoping to have this finished and posted before vet school started, but since that's next week, it's probably not going to happen. However, I do have this arc completely outlined and ready to go so I will definitely finish it. After that, I'll have to see if I want to complete the stories for the entire outline (which goes all the way up to Nightcrawler's capture by Stryker).

Thanks for reading as always!
-e

[Saint Kurt]

"Most people wouldn't call that a nightmare at all."



Mornings at the rectory were blissfully quiet compared to those at the circus. Before Brin, Kurt had been the circus' sole early morning riser. Now he shared his mornings with her and though he didn't mind it, he liked the rectory even better. His window faced east and so he woke with the sun most mornings, the room filled with orange light. Father Dietrich was a deep sleeper and on all days but Sunday, usually came down a few hours after Kurt had been up. He was something of a night owl and though Kurt himself was fairly nocturnal, he usually fell asleep to the sound of Father Dietrich in his study, the room across from his on the third floor.

The rectory had an old deep claw footed tub. It was the classic European tub; with a handheld sprayer that hung on a hook like a telephone. It was deep enough that Kurt could put his whole body including his head underwater if he wanted. Kurt was used to fairly limited bathing facilities so that even the plain cement shower building in Brighton had seemed like an incomparable luxury. He could only imagine the kind of jealousy he was engendering from Brin, getting a whole summer in a place with a bathtub.

It was a typical morning. Father Dietrich wasn't up yet; the house was utterly silent. Kurt filled the bath and got in. He'd only been soaking for a minute or two when he noticed that the water was turning blue. At first Kurt thought it was his reflection, but a second glance made it obvious that it wasn't, that the water was turning opaque. He wasn't sure what was doing it actually, but it was the same shade of blue he was. To test his theory Kurt used a washcloth and rubbed the skin on his arm, more blue came off making a stain on the once white cloth. It was rubbing off of him. Somehow, he was shedding. It was morbid curiosity that made Kurt try rubbing even harder and with soap this time. To his amazement, he could see what looked like pink flesh under the blue fur that had covered his body since he was born.

He turned his attention to his hand and started working on it. It was the hand with a cast on it and Kurt had forgotten to protect it with a plastic bag. Even though the doctor had said this new kind of cast could get wet, he had suggested covering it anyway. Unexpectedly, the cast peeled away though the minute Kurt put water on it, practically dissolving the moment the water touched it. He now had his entire right hand exposed for the first time in weeks. With the same curious drive as before, he set to work on it with the soap and the washcloth. As he expected, bits of blueness started to fade away. Then he felt something break loose and he was able to peel away a bit of blue furred skin from one of his fingers. Kurt's mouth opened in amazement. The bit that had fallen off revealed perfect normal pink skin underneath.

There was a loose edge now and he grabbed it, peeling off larger and larger bits. They fell into the water, floating on top of it like tiny icebergs. When Kurt had pulled enough bits off he held out his hand in astonishment. One of his fingers was its usual thick blue self but he had revealed the other to be two slender pink digits that had been hidden beneath his fur. All this time and he was perfectly normal.

Kurt could feel himself starting to shake. How could this be? Why hadn't anything like this happened before? Had he honestly spent his entire life hiding when he could have been normal? That all he had to do was take a bath and he could have avoided a lifetime of ridicule and prejudice.

He looked at his hand again, at the strange pink digits peeking out from what he knew to be him. This was wrong. This wasn't him inside and there was also the horrific realization that the bits of blue skin and fur floating around the tub were off for good. He could finish what he started, but he could never be himself ever again.

Kurt tried to scream but he couldn't, he couldn’t seem to inhale enough air to get any volume; he cries came out strangled and nearly silent. After several minutes of struggling he took a deep breath and cried out at the top of his lungs.



Father Dietrich was still half asleep but he was able to follow the cries that had woken him to Kurt's room on the floor above. He staggered up the stairs and turned on the light.

"Kurt! What's wrong?" He asked.

Kurt silenced himself mid-scream and looked around in confusion. He held his hands out and stared at them. "It was just a dream." He said.

"What?" Father Dietrich asked. "What was a dream?"

"I had a nightmare." Kurt said breathlessly. "I had a dream that I… That I wasn't me inside."

Father Dietrich sat on the edge of Kurt's bed. "What do you mean?" He asked.

"It was like I could peel myself away and see who I really was underneath." Kurt said, the details of the nightmare already fading from his mind.

"And who were you that it made you start screaming?" Father Dietrich asked.

Kurt shook his head in confusion. "I wasn't anyone," he said. "I was normal. I looked just like everyone else."

Father Dietrich looked quizzical. "Most people wouldn't call that a nightmare at all," he said.

"I guess. But it scared me anyway." Kurt rubbed his eyes. "But I'm okay now" he said.

"Are you sure?" Father Dietrich asked, resting his hand on Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt nodded his head. "Yeah. I'll be fine," he said.

Father Dietrich gave his shoulder a last squeeze and stood up. He went to the door. "Come get me if you need anything" he said.

"I will," Kurt said.

Father Dietrich shut out the light and Kurt listened to his footsteps as they retreated downstairs. He lay back in bed staring at the ceiling. There were only a few feelings and images remaining from the dream that had been so vivid in his mind only moments ago. What a strange dream it had been. And like Father Dietrich, he too wondered why it had been frightening to look like everyone else.




Author's note: When I started this project, I wanted to have a story about the kind of dreams Kurt had. At first I wanted him to have dreams that looked like 1940's horror movies with people coming after him with torches and pitchforks in grainy black and white. It was originally supposed to be funny. However, that changed when one of my Nightcrawler costume makeup experiments failed. I put too much sealant in and the blue makeup formed a kind of wrinkled skin that I could peel off. I looked in the mirror as it was happening and thought to myself if this isn't Nightcrawler's biggest nightmare, I don't know what is.

[Dezzy Dragon]

Gosh darn it Zam you had me scared there for a minuet! I have an overly vivid imagination and as I was picturing what you were writing I felt my skin crawl. Bad Zam for giving me such a fright.

[Saint Kurt]

Wow. Lots of views. Not a lot of comments.

I'm taking off for veterinary school today so I'm going to post now because the next few days I'll be without internet access at home (and probably very busy besides). When I get back I expect to see heaps of sparkling commentary.

And if you don't feel like commenting on my story then you can, ummm, tell me what you did last summer.

I'm serious. I'll start.

This past summer I planned on getting a job as a vet tech in a veterinary ER but I couldn't because I was in the hospital for a month due to migraine complications. Instead I worked from home as a seamstress designing costumes. I finished 2 full costumes as well as my own Nightcrawler costume which I then wore at a variety of events including San Diego Comic Con, Chicago Wizard World, and special events put on by Chicago's Museum of Science and Industry. This last Sat at Wizard World I had my photo taken so many times as Nightcrawler that the flashes gave me a seizure and had to go the ER dressed in my costume. Quel Embarrassing. And kind of scary....

[Saint Kurt]

"So why not? I mean, how many times can one say the rosary anyway?"



There was a knock on Kurt's door and he jumped. For a moment he was angry, but it faded quickly. In the circus closed doors meant the occupant was not to be disturbed. But this wasn't the circus; this was the real world where people knocked on closed doors.

"Come in." Kurt said.

He was expecting Father Dietrich, but it was his deacon, Alexandra who poked her head in the door. "Gardening" she said.

"Gardening?" Kurt asked, confused.

"Yes," Alex said, stepping in. She was wearing a large floppy straw hat and carried a small crate with a handle that was filled with tools and seed packets. "It's time to plant. Care to join me?"

"Where?" Kurt asked.

"Well, in the garden of course," she said.

"You mean outside?"

Alex smiled. "That's where the garden is," she said.

Kurt shook his head. The idea of sitting outside in the sun wearing his hooded coat sounded horrible. It was real summer weather outside, hot and even a bit humid in the sun. The cast on his arm only made it worse. "That's okay," he said.

"Have you ever planted a garden?" Alex asked.

"No, but…" Kurt trailed off. He actually did want to help her. He knew exactly the spot she was talking about. It was a small, protected area on the far side of the church where a statue of the Blessed Virgin stood over a small congregation of flowering plants and vegetables. He had always liked sitting there as a child. But how could he possibly go outside without being covered? So far he'd evaded Father Dietrich's attempts to introduce him to anyone but Alexandra. This meant that he was constantly dodging the church staff and as long as he could find a place where no one could see him to teleport from, he was fine.

But he couldn't do that if he was out in the garden with another person.

"You don't want anyone to see you," Alex said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah," Kurt said, nodding.

"What about tonight then?" She asked.

"Tonight?" Kurt looked confused again.

"Sure. We can plant the garden tonight. I don't exactly need to work on my tan, what about yours?"

Kurt stifled a laugh. "No, my tan's good," he said.

"So why not? I mean, how many times can one say the rosary anyway?"

Kurt looked down at the beads in his hand. She did have a point. He'd gotten in the habit of saying the rosary when there was nothing else to do. It was a good way to fill time and since he barely had any free time with the circus, he could usually say the whole thing over the course of a week. But here he had nothing but free time so his average was considerably higher.

"Okay," he said at last. "What time?"

"Tonight. After the sun has gone down. You don't have plans to be anywhere right?" Alex said.

Kurt smiled and shook his head. "I'll be here," he said.




As promised, Kurt met Alex in the garden that night. Together they took the flats of seedlings that she had started in the warmth of the small shed that sat next to the rectory and carefully placed them in the dirt. Alex had the garden all planned out, flowers radiating out from the statue of Mary with vegetables along the sides and at the corners.

For the first week nothing seemed to be happening, though the seedlings got taller and sturdier, there were no flowers or vegetables and the garden required little more than watering and a bit of weeding. It wasn't long though before the plants exploded into bloom, surrounding the Virgin with color and life.

By the time there were vegetables to pick, Kurt had been living at the rectory for over a month. He had the routine down and was never seen by anyone but Father Dietrich and Alexandra. Teleportation made this easy as long as he could find a shadowy spot. He kept the door to his room locked from the inside so that he had a safe place to retreat to at all times.

The only close call was when a contractor doing a painting estimate had caught him in the church. There was no way Kurt could teleport out of the church without the sound echoing everywhere and he certainly didn't want to be seen. Either way there would be questions. After dodging the contractor several times, he had finally resorted to teleporting around the church yelling at him in Latin, hoping to scare him away. It worked. The contractor thought the church was haunted and ran from the building. Kurt's last teleport was to his room and he vowed to be more careful after that.

Even with all the hiding, Kurt was surprised by how comfortable he'd gotten. He spent most evenings in the garden, the light from Father Dietrich's study casting a soft yellow glow over the whole yard. After he was done, he usually visited with Father Dietrich in his study, listening to the progress of that week's homily.

"We have peppers now." Kurt said, standing in the doorway of Father Dietrich's study. They were the slowest growing. They had had small green tomatoes on the vines within a few weeks, but it had taken most of the summer for the peppers to ripen to the point where they could be picked.

Father Dietrich swiveled his chair around. "Really? This is the best garden we've ever had I think."

"Alex says I have a green thumb, but I told her I thought my hands were colorful enough without that." Kurt said. He walked in and sat down in the chair next to the desk.

Father Dietrich shut the notebook he was writing in quickly. It was a red binder that Kurt had never seen before. And Father Dietrich usually typed his sermons out on the computer but that was sitting dormant off to the side.

"What is that?" Kurt asked.

Father Dietrich looked at the red notebook guiltily. "I'm procrastinating," he said glancing back at Kurt. "This isn't the sermon I'm supposed to be writing."

"What is it then?"

Father Dietrich's gaze returned to the book and he slowly opened it again. Kurt could see the Father's neat handwriting, the kind of handwriting he would never have. "They're stories; stories for children." Father Dietrich said. Kurt looked confused.

"It's an old project that I started while I was in seminary. When I was a kid I was the only one who listened during Sunday school and then when we got home, I'd tell my younger brothers all the stories from the bible that they hadn't been paying attention to. So, while I was in seminary, they said I should write them down like I used to tell them." Father Dietrich explained.

"What are you going to do with them?" Kurt asked. The binder had quite a bit of paper in it.

"They're written for children to read," Father Dietrich said, "I suppose one day I'll try and find an illustrator."

"Wolfgang!" Kurt shouted, "Wolfgang could do it. He's an amazing artist."

"Maybe." Father Dietrich said, smiling. "I don't think they're quite ready for that yet."

"Are they the ones you told me when I was little?" Kurt asked. One of his fondest memories was from when he was eight, sitting in Father Dietrich's church and listening to him telling him about Jesus' life. He knew first hand that Father Dietrich's brothers were correct; the priest was a really good storyteller.

"Some of them, and I've written some new ones." Father Dietrich said. "I'll let you read them someday."

"I'd like that," Kurt said. He watched sadly as Father Dietrich opened a drawer and put the notebook inside. As he was closing the drawer, Father Dietrich stopped.

"You're only going to be with us only two weeks longer aren't you?" He said.

Kurt nodded gloomily. "Ten days," he said.

Instead of shutting the drawer, Father Dietrich reached back in. He took the book and handed it to Kurt. "I suppose I could use another opinion, someone to do a bit of editing maybe" he said. "I trust your."

Kurt took the book in his hands, suddenly afraid that he might rip the pages. "Do you mean it?" he asked.

"Of course," Father Dietrich said.

Kurt beamed at him. "Thank you," he said. He had an urge to pull the older man into an embrace, but resisted it. "And thank you for everything.'"

"It's been my pleasure Kurt." Father Dietrich gave Kurt's unruly curls a quick tousle.

"I'm going to read them now," Kurt said.

Father Dietrich watched him leave and could see through his door across the hall when Kurt threw himself down on his stomach on the bed. Within a few minutes he was reading contentedly, his chin cupped in his palms and his tail twitching languidly. Father Dietrich could see the rosary that he'd given Kurt after his baptism, glinting in the light of the lamp from his bedside table. He noticed that Kurt kept it close at hand, usually wrapped around his wrist, most of the time.

He looked so perfectly at ease, like he was home. Father Dietrich just hopped that when the time came, Kurt would want to return to Circus Gehlhaar.

[NWKurt]

Well, lets see, last summer I...... NAH!

Zam, I know what you are doing this week, and you deserve all the time you can put forth doing it. So take a well deserved rest (if you can find the time to do it!) and get done what you need to.

I like the slower life Kurt has gotten used to at the rectory, too bad it sounds like it is comming to an end here shortly tho. With the exceptions of his reluctance to meet new people, people who WE know would accept him (except Karl perhaps), it looks as if he is comfortable there.

Well, we wait for a new one from ya, take it easy, dont stress out this weekend!

NWKurt

[ElfSpam]

Trust me, you don't want to hear about my summers. I may be slogging through the most boring existence in history, and last summer was no exception.
As for the story, each post just gets better and better. You've taken the scarred, religious movieverse Nightcrawler and written a dynamic, believeable history for him that makes him seem both more real and infinitely more likeable than the movie's version by himself.
I didn't really care for movieverse Nightcrawler before I read this story.

You're doing a fantastic job, and I can't wait to see how he got those scars!

[CurlyyHairGirl]

teleporting around the church yelling at him Will this become a habit?

I so Happy to see that Kurt has become more comfortable with his new living space and with Alexandra. It's really cute, but it will be rather sad when he does have to go back to the Circus. The Father seemed to be sad.

As for my summer, I spent most of the time catching up on sleep I didn't get during the school year, scraping layers of paint of my grandmothers fence under the hot sun, going for long walks, cleaning the pool, and last, going to my most favorite spot in the U.S., Las Vegas Nevada, where they had Star Trek convention and this cool Guy from Kentucky that was in full Trekie uniform the whole time he was there. But now I am back in school and lacking sleep:X

[Lurker-in-the-dark]

I spent my summer stomping around Normandy- landing beaches, Mont St Michel, Bayeaux tapestry (which is a GREAT comic strip) und so weiter. Preparing daughter no 1 for Uni ( Biology), making a reproduction Elizabethan costume ( the underwear is torturous) and enjoying the depth of character that you put into this fic. In some ways I'm disappointed that Kurt wasn't able to feel free to mix with more characters at the rectory but in retrospect he had just been assaulted. I keep reminding myself that he had lived in a closed community and the one time that he broke free (Brighton) he got jumped on. I can see how that would scar a personality.
I'm still chortling at the idea of Nightcrawler turning up in casualty - sorry, I'm sure it wasn't funny at the time - you didn't have a nosebleed, did you?
Enjoy Vet school.

[Saint Kurt]

I did not have a nosebleed but I was unconscious. I'm glad I had a friend with me actually because the paramedics immediately assumed the costume was the problem and were going to cut it off me, which would have been tragic.

Vet school is going to take up a lot of time. I had been hoping to finish this before it started and I would have if I hadn't decided to change the plot to account for the scars. But I'm going to keep working on it even if it's a little slower.

Elizabethan underwear is torture. If you so much as say "farthingale" to me I get the shakes.

-e

[Saint Kurt]

"No matter how you name it, you are uniquely suited to carry my mantle. Your voice, your appearance, and your natural flair for the dramatic, it is only a matter of time."




Outwardly, Kurt appeared happy. Or at least he hoped he did. And in some ways, he was. He loved being able to go to mass regularly. And he enjoyed the time he spent with Father Dietrich and with Alexandra. The only problem was nighttime. He had nightmares all the time, not as bad or bizarre as the one where his skin was coming off, but enough that he woke up every time.

They were about what happened on the beach and more specifically who had come to visit him there. He was sure it was Azazel now and that Azazel had tried to convince him to come to hell. At least that's what he his dreams were about. But there was no way he could be sure. He just couldn't remember. And so one night he decided that it was time for his questions to be answered, not just about the beach, but all of them.

He had no problem sneaking out of the rectory after dark, it sometimes seemed to Kurt that he had been created first for stealth and that his abilities as a circus performer had been an afterthought. It was easier now that Father Dietrich had taken him to a doctor to get that horrible cast removed. He hadn’t liked that saw the doctor had used one bit, but he was glad to be rid of it. It made climbing much easier and it was nice to be able to use his right hand again.

He went to the open stretch of field where the circus always camped when they visited Hamburg. Now it was vacant, just a flattened area with a few trees, the last of their fall leaves clinging to them. Kurt shivered; it was cold without a jacket. And despite his appearance, the soft blue fur that covered his body did nothing to keep him warm.

Kurt knelt down and pulled at the dried grass. The dead roots released easily from the soil and soon he had a sizable patch of bare earth. He smoothed this with the palms of his hands and stood. With the spade of his tail he carefully traced the lines of Azazel's sigil. When he finished a shiver that he wasn't sure was from the cold passed over his entire body. For so long people, those who didn't know him, had made so many incorrect assumptions about who he was and what he could do that now, now that he was actually living up to those expectations made him slightly queasy.

Kurt stood expectantly before the scratches in the earth before he realized that he was missing the key ingredient, his own blood. He had no knife and after a fruitless search for a sharp rock returned to the sigil and sank his teeth into the fleshy part of his palm beneath his thumb. This act too frightened him somewhat. Was this why his teeth were sharpened fangs rather than flat; so he could easily access his own blood to summon demons?

He closed his eyes and held his clenched fist out over Azazel's mark, feeling his blood falling to the ground in steady drops.

BAMF!

Azazel's arrival was so abrupt that Kurt wasn't prepared for it. He opened his eyes and backed away quickly, nearly tripping over his feet. At first, Azazel stared at him in utter shock, like he didn't know how it was possible. Then a smile slowly spread over his face. "At long last you learn to pick up the phone…in a manner of speaking. To what do I owe the honor?" Azazel asked.

"I have questions for you. Questions I need answered." Kurt demanded ignoring the expression of triumph on Azazel's face.

Azazel's posture changed and he gave a familiar sort of bored shrug. Kurt was surprised to realize that he had the exact same mannerism. "Name the first question then." Azazel said.

"You've never told me who my real mother is." Kurt said. "I wish to know. Who is she?"

"You're mother wasn't exactly the nurturing type. You're better off no knowing her. I don't know her name, nor what shape she keeps. Put her from your mind." Azazel said.

Kurt shook his head, his arms crossed over his chest.

Azazel sighed. "One day you may find a woman who looks at you through your eyes. Until that time, she will remain a mystery to both of us."

Kurt frowned. He was already tired of the way Azazel always responded in innuendo and riddles; how he had to fight for even the tiniest concrete fact. But even he could see he would never get anywhere with this one. He moved on.

"Why did you show up on the beach that day, but then refuse to help me?" Kurt asked.

"We'll be here all night with your questions" Azazel glanced at his watch. "Perhaps instead I simply tell you the whole story."

Kurt nodded and sat upon the crumbling stone fence.

"I feel comfortable leaving the manner of your birth out of it. I think you already know that side of the story quite well. And it is, as a matter of fact, inconsequential."

Kurt nodded. Agreeing that story should remain untold.

"And we've already been over the whole angels and demons thing so I don't have to go over that either right?"

Kurt nodded again.

"Okay, then. Let's start right in with the metaphysics shall we?

"You see, Demons, or angels depending on your preference, need minions on Earth. They do their bidding, keep watch on things. It is very strenuous to leave the metaphysical plane and come here unless you were actually born here. I had such high hopes for you, but I couldn't raise you, and I knew you're mother wouldn't bother, so I called out to the one person who I knew would."

"Margali?"

"Excellent. I swear I thought you were a complete buffoon when I met you, but you're shaping up quite well." Azazel seemed to be enjoying himself now, pacing back and forth before him like a minister in his pulpit. "The night before you were born I sent a message to Margali.

"I had no idea what form the message would take, but I knew she would hear me and that you would be picked up. And for the most part, things went exactly to plan."

"Why did you know she would hear you?" Kurt asked.

"Ah, finally you ask something truly consequential. Because Margali is bound to me and my kind by her blood, as is the rest of her family. You know of Margali's magic, her 'sorcery' as she calls it?"

"Yes."

"Well, magic that old hardly resembles the silly incantations and trickery that define the word today. Margali and her kin are part of a magical lineage that is so old that it is encoded into them at a genetic level. Her very existence is enough magic to keep certain forces in line."

"What forces? What are you talking about? Margali is a fortune teller."

"It's a nice ruse isn't it? Kind of like how you pretend to be an acrobat in a costume. She and her sisters are but stepping stones on a path of magic that has existed since before the history books." Azazel said.

"But what does that have to do with you? Or with me?" Kurt said.

Azazel smiled, circling around Kurt almost hungrily. "For those that speak, there must be those who hear. Margali and her kin are seers; they have heard the voices of the angels and spread their words for centuries. Without her family, I would be mute, as would all of my kind."

"So, you sent the message to Margali that I was coming, because you knew only she would hear?" Kurt said.

"Exactly. And come she did. She took a route never before traveled by your circus and arrived at the exact moment of your birth. All precisely to my plan." Azazel said.

Kurt was suddenly horrified. "Your plan?" He said.

"Exactly." Azazel smiled broadly.

"But, you lost track of me. When?"

Azazel suddenly looked serious. "Yes, I did. When you would have been in your eighth year I lost track of you, Margali, and Amanda. I thought you'd perished and I'd somehow missed it. After a while I stopped looking." Azazel smiled. "But then you kissed that girl and of course the next day you passed through my realm. You were once again marked in my sights. You seem to have a habit of disappearing."

"I was eight." Kurt repeated. The year he'd been baptized. Had that had something to do with it? What if he could be baptized again? Would he disappear a second time?

"Why is that so interesting to you?" Azazel said. "Is there something you know that would explain your disappearance?"

Kurt shook his head. "No idea." He said. Azazel didn't look convinced.

"So what is your plan for me anyway?" Kurt asked, suddenly understanding Azazel's the expression of surprise and triumph on Azazel's face. He'd had been baptized a second time, in a way, when Father Dietrich had administered last rites. But now he'd ruined it by letting Azazel know he was a alive.

"I need a voice. The bloodline of the seers who once served my kind grows thin – the winding way that was a great road is now but a narrow path, ill-used and uncared for. If I'm going to have any influence at all, I need one of my own to speak for me. My other children are hardly suited for the task; ill formed and barely in control of their gifts. That leaves you.

"And we all know how much you love to hear yourself speak in front of an audience. I couldn't have planned it better myself." Azazel said.

Kurt backed up a step. "That’s… that's not what I do." He said. "I entertain people."

"Call it what you will. No matter how you name it, you are uniquely suited to carry my mantle. Your voice, your appearance, and your natural flair for the dramatic, it is only a matter of time." Azazel said.

Kurt shook his head, still backing away. This was all wrong.

"I brought war and weapons to this Earth." Azazel continued. "I brought science and technology. All the things that the humans use to corrupt and pollute this planet of theirs was mine once. My gifts." Azazel took up a clod of earth and crushed it in his hand, letting the dirt run between his fingers. "I have more gifts, Kurt. These you will bring, as my son and servant.

"I came to collect you on the beach because it appeared to me that you would come willingly. You will come, whether it is willingly or not. I have been patient, but my patience will not last forever." Azazel said.

"Never." Kurt said. "I'm not who you think I am."

"Oh, yes. That silly book you carry around, and that man who lives up there on the hill. You think that makes you some how different?" Azazel said.

Kurt stiffened. It hadn't ever occurred to him that these conversations were between anyone but him and Azazel, or that Azazel had any real influence on anyone besides him.
"You leave him alone." He shouted.

Azazel looked up at the rectory, a single light shining from the upstairs window. "What's his name? Dietrich? Hans Dietrich? Should I be insulted that you call him 'father'? Perhaps it's time he learned who your real father is?"

"No!" Kurt screamed and without thinking, he leapt into the sigil he had drawn, scratching through it with his feet until it was nothing but churned up mud. He watched Azazel lose corporeal form and then fade completely. Kurt sank to his knees breathing hard, wondering exactly what had been set in motion and for how long he could hold it at bay.

[NWKurt]

**A little of my Background**

While I havent the knowledge of all of the XM's backgrounds (I have only known of them for less than a year), I have been able to follow many AU's at the same time when it comes to Kurt. This chapter, really shook that background knowledge to its roots for me at least.


NOOOOOOO!!!! Kurt cant do Azazel's work. No, that is not Kurt! How could he do any of that? He is a total 180 of Azazel, and blue nonetheless. Very interesting to have total opposites standing side by side having a conversation. I know (skipping ahead in many AU's that this will never happen) nothing bad will come to Kurts persona, but damn this is interesting for a newbie like me to have a wrench thrown in the gears of progress. Gosh, how will our Kurt protect himself and the ones he loves?? *mind wanders off... Zam did it to us again:eek

Like I said before, I REALLY dont know from here on out what is in store for Fuzzy till Stryker gets a hold of him. I can just see how Kurt must be torn between his father and what he knows is right.

Thanks Zam for another good chapter

Hey, if the posting slows down because of your responsibilities, I think you will still have a loyal following at whatever rate you post new chapters! You have a loyal reader here!

NWKurt

[Lurker-in-the-dark]

oo-er. so he ends up with the angelic scars to keep Azazel away? This will be interesting when he meets up with Margali and Amanda again...a question, does he disappear of Azazel radar scope immediatly after taking communion? If he disappeared after baptism (when made holy in the sight of God) then logically there should be a blip at that point - trusting there are of course no unconfessed sins.
Hope you are settling in a vet school,
oh and "fathingale" the bumroll is a laugh!

[CurlyyHairGirl]

I'm Lurking for now, too much school, but I have read this story, and it is relieving alot of pressure to do school projects. Thanks.

[Maelstrom]

Here's hoping that Vet School doesn't completely eat up your time, Zam. The fact you only have to sleep a few hours a night is going to come in sooooo handy there.

As for what I did during the summer, besides SDCC, I spent an inordinate chunk of time tyring to deal with my Father-In-Law, his slow but steady mental and physical decline, and his moving into a retirement center. I'm expecting a huge check in the mail next week to pay for the 11K loan I gave to keep things going, and then I'll be able to put all this stuff behind me (I hope....)

It really does look like Kurt's scars are going to have a deliberate mystical "barrier" effect. Neat. I'm wondering where he's going to learn the correct "grammar and syntax" of the Enochian runes, though... From Margali perhaps? Or Father Detrich? Or is it on some sort of instinctive level for him?

[Dezzy Dragon]

Ever since you introduced Kurt’s dad I have greatly disliked him. Heck I didn’t like him when Marvel introduced him. I so hope he goes into a church and get hit by lightning. Oh and all I have done for this summer is work, and get ready for school, and work. Life can be so boring once you get out of high school.

[kladyelf]

well hope RL doesn't get you down too much Zam, in the mean time there's always all of us online ... badgering you to write your next installment


BadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadger Mushroom Mushroom!BadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadger



http://www.badgerbadgerbadger.com/

[NWKurt]

Originally posted by kladyelf
BadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadgerBadger Mushroom Mushroom!

*SNICKER* Oh noooo!! Another Badger fan!!

Dija see the new one??

http://www.weebls-stuff.com/toons/35/

Hehehe, let it go too long the video still gets out of synch with the audio, but the football score increases, Neato!

Agghemmm! Back on topic here....

Ya know, I read the last story again and unfortunately, I wonder just how much of what Azazel is saying is truth and how much is lies. I can't imagine just how all the GOOD technology in the world could be of his creation and doing. Doesn't it seem that in the progression of the world, living standards have improved throughout time? And if this progression doesn't stop and is left to go on forever, wouldn't that put all that Azazel stood for on very shaky grounds? He'd be putting himself out of a job!

->This is what happens when you take too many Philosophy classes<-

NWKurt

[Rowena]

It really does look like Kurt's scars are going to have a deliberate mystical "barrier" effect. Neat. I'm wondering where he's going to learn the correct "grammar and syntax" of the Enochian runes, though... From Margali perhaps? Or Father Detrich? Or is it on some sort of instinctive level for him?

I'm wondering too. The Apocrypha is included in the Catholic Bible, so maybe Father Dietrich would be the one to tell him. He is re-writing some Bible stories for kids, after all. Maybe Enoch's story might be one of them? I really don't know much about all this, despite being a Catholic, but I've done some research since reading this chapter and I think it turned out that The Book of Enoch actually grew out of only three sentences in the Bible. I haven't been able to find and read the actual text yet, but I gathered that Enoch was transformed into a powerful being called Metatron. The Enochian alphabet, however, comes from John Dee's books on Enochian magick and he lived during the 15-1600s, so maybe Margali would be the one to tell him about that part. Whatever happens, it's all quite fascinating! What's neat about what I read about Enoch's story and transformation, though, is that it displayed an observable dualism that wasn't really all that present in earlier texts. Rather than human failings being responsible for evil things, it was demons who were at fault. In Job's story, for example, Satan was an adversary of human beings only. He worked for God as a sort of prosecuting attorney (I've been watching way too much Law and Order), testing humans to make sure they could tell which path was right and that they stayed on it. I always thought that was interesting. There wasn't really an 'evil Devil' per se in the Old Testament. That kind of Good vs. Evil with humans stuck in between was more Persian, really, coming out of Zoroastrianism more than the Hebrew Bible. It was during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance that European Christians really started getting scared about demons and demon possession--mainly because of all the wars and plagues going around at the time. Hence people like John Dee, I suppose. And Paradise Lost, which I have read. Did you know that Milton coined the term 'Pandemonium'? It's Satan's capital city.

Now my thoughts are just starting to babble. Please excuse my musings. This story is just so intriging, and those scars so confusing and disturbing, that I couldn't help it! I can't wait to read your explanation, Zam! Those scars just bug me. Awesome story. It's very thought-provoking, as you can probably tell!

[stocktonwood]

Hey! just wanted to check in and let you know that i love your story, I've been reading it since almost the beginning, its really addictive. I don't get to post very often, as school and work keep me away from my computer alot But as i have a bit of free time now, I thought i'd drop you a line and let you know that i absolutely adore this story and i really am looking forward to see how Kurt will deal with his less than savory father. Anywho, write on! Cheers!

[Saint Kurt]

The Metatron is another name for "the voice of God" and more specifically, he is an angel that speaks on behalf of God. Azazel is also an angel. So, you never know...

John Dee along with this guy named Edward Kelley (who was a necromancer) were said to be seers who could speak to angels. In particular he was said to be in contact with the angel Azazel, who gave him knowledge of an "angelic alphabet". Kelley was a psychic and it was he who did most of the communicating though. For about 10 years Dee translated texts channelled through Kelley who was said to be in contact with the archangels Gabriel, Micheal, Auriel, and Rapheal.

You guys are actually shockingly close to figuring it out... Nice.