From: P. Lacuesta (lacuesta@mnl.sequel.net)
Date: May 21, 1997 - Wednesday
Subject: NEW: "Elements" (part 1 of 2)

Title: "ELEMENTS"
Author: P. Lacuesta
Classification: X, R
Rating: PG-13
Keywords: Magic.
Summary: Scully and Mulder get called in to investigate the
mysterious deaths of two teenage girls in a posh private school
somewhere. 

DISCLAIMER: FBI Special Agents Dana Katherine Scully and Fox
Mulder belong to Chris Carter, executive producer of "The
X-Files" tv series, Twentieth-Century Fox Television,
Ten-Thirteen Productions, and everybody else who does own it
(which excludes me, unfortunately). I've used them here
without permission at all, but without the tiniest little bit of
negative intent. Just with love. Please don't anybody kill
or sue me; I don't have enough money to deal with either.
Long live FREE SPEECH!!!

WARNING: This story (posted in two parts) would probably get a
generous rating of PG-13. No sex (just very, very lightly
implied), a microscopic bit of violence, a couple of F-words and
a bunch of other, quite rude, expletives. Impressionable little
kids and people who had little patience for people like me had
best stay away from this. There's a big kissing scene, but I
hope I've succeeded in trying to make it as wonderful and
beautiful as can be.

I'm a firm advocate that no romance should happen between
Mulder and Scully on the tv series (Carter's right, it would ruin the
point of the whole show), but I am selfish enough to write it in
here. I hope everyone likes it, and please e-mail me, I'm awful
lonely down here. Comments and polite criticism are gratefully
accepted. I'm still trying to be a good writer. Please no rude e-mail
or swearing. I'm just a little girl....

People who've seen the third-season episode "Pusher" would
recognize a lot of the storyline. There's even a passing reference to
it in the second part of this story.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Thanks to Windows '95, and to
Windows Word Version 7. You've been a really great help to
poor struggling writer-wannabes like me. Thanks to TSR Inc.,
and to Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, and everyone else
concerned in the DragonLance Saga project, you have always been
my inspirations, really pushing me to start writing. I think
everybody should read your books!!! Thanks also to
everybody who was part of the movie "The Craft", it was
really an awesome movie and I'm afraid I've shamelessly stolen a big chunk of the plot here. I'm really sorry but, see, it
really shows just how good a movie it was!!!

DEDICATIONS: to my dad, who put the writing bug in my blood
in the very very first place, who is also probably tolerantly
laughing at me right now "up there" for even bothering to
try this and at the same time disappointed with me for writing
in English and not in my real mother tongue; to my brother Kite
who was the first one in the family to get hooked into "The
X-Files" series in the first place; to my other brother Sarge who
once flipped through one of my stories and gracefully pronounced
it "good shit"; to my mom who has been putting up with my
repeated Net-surfing and also paying for most of it, I think;
and to my other other brother Gabby for helping teach me how
to use a computer long, long ago; to all the Mulder-Scully
fanfic-writers who've been posting on the Net and who got me
into my new X-Phile phase, for which I am very grateful; to
everybody at the Gossamer archives who have posted this for
me; and, of course, to God and everybody else up there for
granting me this and letting me find out for myself what a truthfully awful writer I really am and all the other stuff that I never even deserved.

Okay, before this gets any longer, here goes, hope you all like it,
once again PLEASE e-mail me!!!!....



x x x

ELEMENTS
by P. Lacuesta

Bronson Alcott High School
Rochester, New York
8:16 pm

 "Aaaarrrgghh!!!"
 Penny Wallace rattled off curses as she flopped back in her
chair and kicked at the computer in front of her. She should have
known. The way things were going this week, she should have
known the computer would unexpectedly glitch and delete the
entire file she had been working on.
 For a frustated moment she glared around the empty,
darkened office. The report was due the next day. Damn, damn,
damn.
 "Hey, Miss Wallace, you better be finished in there, 'cause I
got to clean up!"
 Great. The janitor. Penny swore loudly and kicked at the
desk. A lonely, frustrated tear squeezed out and wandered down
her cheek as she finally turned off the computer and kicked vaguely
at it again. This was the fourth late submission she was going to
have to make that week. She was getting sick and tired of teacher's
surprised, disappointed expressions whenever she ran up to them
with late papers.
 She had almost never been like this in her entire life - often
late, with poor schoolwork and a perpetually cross disposition. She
had always been Miss Penny Amelia Wallace, straight-A student,
teachers' favorite, everyone's friend.
 Penny scowled. Well, sorry for disappointing everybody.
 Leaping to her feet, she grabbed her bookbag - toppling
over a can of pencils on the desk, knocking against a pile of books -
and stormed out of the office.
 It was early December, and snowing lightly, which did
nothing to improve Penny's black mood as she scurried from
building to building to keep out of the snow. Her jacket wasn't
exactly waterproof, and it clung unpleasantly damp and heavy. The
key near broke with the force before she managed to get the door
to her dorm unlocked.
 Kate Allagher looked up, startled, when her roommate
Penny burst into the room, muttering curses, jacket and hair wet
with snow, bookbag dangling from her arm. Her green eyes
widened at one of Penny's more unmentionable swearwords. Penny
never swore.
 "Are you okay, Penny?" she ventured cautiously. Penny had
been unusually cranky the past few days.
 "I'm fine" was all Penny said as she vanished into the
bathroom.
 Kate frowned. Still, she figured it was best to wait until
Penny was in a slightly more civil mood. She continued poring over
her book as she heard soft, muffled noises as Penny moved around
in the bathroom.
 After a minute, though, Kaitleen's patience ran out. Jumping
up from the bed, slamming the book shut, she went to the bathroom
door and knocked.
 "Yeah?" yelled a voice impatiently.
 "Can I come in?"
 There was a pause, then the click of the door unlocking.
Kate pushed it open to find Penny frowning at her in the mirror and
absently scratching at something underneath her blouse.
 "Itching again?" Kate asked innocently. "Must be an allergy,
Pen. You've had that for the past two weeks."
 Penny stared at her evenly. "So?"
 "Nothing," Kate said, startled and maybe just a little bit
irritated. "I was just, you know, worried."
 Penny snorted gracelessly and opened the medicine cabinet
behind the sink mirror, rummaging among the tubes and pots.
Probably for something to put on the rash, whatever it was.
 "Um, so." Kate hovered hesitantly in the doorway. "Why so
late at the office?"
 "Because I was typing that stupid report that's due
tomorrow and I was almost finished when the damn computer
glitched and deleted the whole fucking thing. You done with the
Twenty Questions?"
 Kaitleen's brow furrowed in anger and confusion. "Penny,
what's wrong with you? I was only--"
 "Asking? Do me a favor, Kate - get a life."
 Kaitleen's head snapped back as if the words had been a slap
in the face. Anger suddenly burned bright in her eyes. "God, Penny,
what is wrong with you? You're so rude to everybody, you haven't
been studying at all, you hand in late papers - this isn't like you!
What's wrong, Penny?"
 Her friend paused, unable to meet Kate's confused, angry
gaze, tube of itch lotion in hand. The other restlessly toyed with the
tap knobs.
 "Everyone's talking about it. You've changed a lot, Penny,
and it's so fast it's scary." Kate stopped, suddenly aware that her
voice was rapidly thickening with tears. She drew a deep breath to
calm herself. "I-I just want to know what's going on."
 Slowly, Penny turned. The red skin of her rash peeked
above the collar of her white blouse. She kept her eyes on the floor,
hair falling around her face in a dark curtain.
 Finally she raised her head and looked Kate straight in the
eye. Her own eyes glimmered with confused, perplexed tears.
 "I don't know," she whispered, frowning in puzzlement.
"Kate, have I - did I really do all those things?"
 Biting her lip, Kate nodded. "It's weird."
 For a moment all was silent. Then Penny suddenly drew
herself up to her full height and tossed her hair back. The tears were
gone. The eyes were cold and hard.
 "Get out."
 "What?" Kate gasped.
 "Get out, Kate."
 "But--"
 "I SAID GET OUT OF HERE!!! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!!!"
 Eyes wide with fear and astonishment, Kate scrambled for
the bathroom door and slammed it shut behind her. Seconds later
the slam of another door sounded, and hurried footsteps echoed in
the hall.
 Penny heard none of it. She leaned over the sink, breathing
heavily, one hand scratching feverishly at the swollen red skin on
her chest.

* * *

December 7
Bronson Alcott High School
10:13 am

 FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder hurried up the stairs, black
trenchcoat flapping wildly behind him like the wings of some great
bat. Emerging into the corridor and finding himself up against a
strip of yellow police tape, he flashed his i.d. and badge in the
police officer's face. He climbed over the tape.
 "I honestly don't know what could have happened here," a
tall woman with short brown hair was saying. Her voice was thin,
weary, and harassed. "We've canceled school for the day and the
teachers have been asking among the students, but they haven't
come up with anything."
 The petite woman she was talking to nodded calmly,
scribbling notes on a pad of paper. She looked up as Mulder walked
over.
 "Miss Emily Tanenbaum, this is Special Agent Fox Mulder.
Miss Tanenbaum is headmistress of the school."
 "Pleased to meet you." Offering a strained smile, Miss
Tanenbaum shook Mulder's hand, but her gaze was drawn to some
students who had begun to congregate at the police tape. "I'm
sorry, if you'll excuse me?" She hurried off.
 "What's gone on, Scully?"
 FBI Special Agent Dr. Dana Scully sighed and led Mulder
into the room. "This morning, around six-forty-five, one of the
students was brought into Miss Tanenbaum's office nearly
hysterical. Her roommate, Kate Allagher, was found dead in her
bed by school personnel. I placed death to be over seven hours ago,
around four o'clock."
 The body had been covered by a white cloth, but Scully
pulled back the sheet to reveal it for Mulder's benefit. "There's been
massive - extremely massive - internal hemorrhage, apparently
bleeding from the heart itself."
 Mulder frowned. "Then why are there no--"
 "External wounds? Exactly." Scully drew a deep breath and
expelled it with a sigh. "It's like in a cardiac aneurysm - as if the
heart simply burst. I've arranged for an autopsy for tomorrow
morning."
 Mulder bent and pointed something out. "Look at this,
Scully."
 "I know. It must have been a rash of some kind. The skin is
raw and swollen."
 Mulder closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. Scully
quietly drew the cloth back over the body, giving respectful way to
Mulder's need for silence, to let his brilliant mind do its work.
 Finally Mulder opened his eyes again. Scully had moved to
stand at the large bay window of the spacious dorm room, and the
late morning sunlight bathed her face in a bright glow, glinted in her
fiery hair, shone brightly on the slender golden cross at her throat.
 He saw this, realized that this was one of the uncomfortably
frequent moments when Scully looked... even more beautiful than
usual. It was an unsettling thought. It allowed all sorts of wild
fantasies to crowd into his mind - and he couldn't bear that. So he
cleared his throat and, with some difficulty, tore his admiring gaze
away from her.
 "I'd like to speak with Miss Tanenbaum."

 "Kate was a good student," Miss Tanenbaum said, glancing
up and down Kate Allagher's student file. She looked up at the two
agents sitting before her. "The occasional late report or unfinished
homework, but I suppose that's unavoidable. I have her recent
grading cards with me, and her work has been sterling ever since
she first came to the school, about - hmm - three years ago. Good
background, wealthy family, excellent schooling."
 "Was she having trouble fitting in with her classmates?"
Scully asked. "Any social problems?"
 "Oh no. As far as we can tell, everyone liked Kate. She was
pretty, popular, smart, friendly... She made friends everywhere she
went, including in the school swim team these past two years, and
in the chess club before that." Miss Tanenbaum sighed and closed
the file. "We're all going to miss her."
 Mulder and Scully exchanged looks. Mulder leaned
forward.
 "You said her roommate was brought in early this morning.
You were in your office by that time?"
 "Yes. I often come in a little early to do some advanced
paperwork."
 "Her roommate--?"
 "Penny Wallace." Miss Tanenbaum stood up and, opening a
nearby filing cabinet, riffled among the folders in one of the
drawers. "Aha." Plucking one fat folder out, she walked back to her
desk, one-inch heels clicking briskly on the floor, and sat down in
her chair. "Penny's well known among the teachers. We all like her.
Her schoolwork is first-rate, and everyone is her friend."
 She pushed the file across the desk at Scully, who accepted
it and began thumbing through the documents inside.
 "Penny first came to Alcott at the start of her high school
life - a little less than four years ago. She came from a background
every bit as good as Kate's. She's another great scholar - in fact,
we've been considering her for a scholarship since last year." Miss
Tanenbaum frowned. "At least, until last month."
 Scully and Mulder instantly looked up from the folder, eyes
flashing alertness. It was almost funny.
 Miss Tanenbaum leaned back in her swivelchair and tapped
her desk absently. "A sudden change came over Penny - the
teachers have been very worried about it. She started coming in
astonishingly late for her classes - if she came in at all. Late papers,
assignments barely even done at all..."
 Scully inclined her chin almost unconsciously, blue eyes
beginning to deepen into gray with intent attention. "Do you have
any idea what could have triggered this change? Is her family life all
right? Any social difficulties?"
 "None as far as I can see," Miss Tanenbaum replied,
perplexed. "Penny visits her home every two weeks - every week if
she can. She's an only child, and her parents love her dearly. And it
seems to be a happy enough marriage. As for her friends - well, I
don't make a point of prying into personal relationships among my
students, but everything seems all right. You'll have to ask the
students themselves, of course."
 Mulder nodded. "What was Penny saying when she was
brought in?"
 Miss Tanenbaum paused. "She was saying something about
Kate being dead, and some students who had killed her in a dream,
or some other strange notion." She waved her hand dismissively,
her tones almost scornful.
Scully could sense Mulder tensing involuntarily at Miss
Tanenbaum's obvious disdain. Mulder could be dangerous when he
was like this. She swiftly intervened. "Uh- students? I thought Kate
was everyone's friend."
 "Oh, yes." Miss Tanenbaum nodded. "Well, almost
everyone in the school. There are a few gangs - you know, those
usual cliques - who seem to think they're in their own world. You
understand what I mean?"
 Scully had to smile as she nodded. "I see."
 "But there's one group in particular. These girls have been a
problem from the beginning. I wouldn't say they were Wendy's
enemies, though - not in that particular way. In a sense, I suppose
they're everyone's enemies."
 "May we have their student records?"
 "Of course." Miss Tanenbaum went to the filing cabinet
again. Pulling open another drawer, she flipped through the files.
Scully cast a concerned gaze on her partner, who was busy forcing
down his initial angry reaction to Miss Tanenbaum's earlier
comments.
 "You okay?" she whispered.
 Mulder swallowed and nodded, his expression bitter. "Yeah.
I'm fine."
 "Here we are." Scully looked up as Miss Tanenbaum
walked back to her desk, carrying what looked like four thick files
in her arms. "I'll put them in an envelope so you won't have any
trouble."
 Scully's brow furrowed unconsciously as she tried to catch a
glimpse of the names on the files. "Those four?"
 "Yes. I'll include Penny's and Kate's records here, too."
 "Thank you." Scully sat back. "May we talk to Penny
Wallace? And to those four girls?"
 "Certainly. I'll have Miss Proll call them in for you. Would
the conference room do?"

 "It - it was all so fast. I - I didn't really believe she was d-
dead..."
 Penny Wallace sat on the edge of her chair, hands clasped in
her lap, eyes, though red-rimmed with recent tears, serious and
attentive upon the woman and man opposite her.
 Scully hesitated for a moment before continuing the
"interrogation," instinctively giving her partner an inquiring,
are-you-ready-now? glance. Mulder nodded briefly and went to the
window, staring out at the sunlit campus quad, one hand on his
waist as was his customary stance.
 Scully laid a calming hand on Penny's shoulder. "Penny,
calm down. We just need to ask you some questions, to try and
clear this whole thing up. Are you okay with this?"
 Even if she hadn't been told of Penny Wallace's famously
exemplary schoolwork and behavior, Scully would have guessed it
right away. Her deep gray eyes was focused studiously,
unwaveringly, on Scully, intent on capturing every nuance, every
little motion, making sure she didn't miss anything. Penny drew a
deep breath and nodded quietly.
 Scully drew a deep breath, too. "Okay. Let's start from
when you woke up this morning."
 Penny nodded, and her eyes drifted off into space as she
called the memories to mind.
 "I - I woke up from the strangest dream. It must have been
about six-forty or so. School doesn't start until eight-thirty, so I still
had lots of time. I wanted to go to sleep, so I turned over, facing
Kate, and I tried to go to sleep. I was just staring at her. And - and
then I noticed that she didn't seem to be moving at all."
 Scully nodded soothingly. Her gray-blue eyes flashed
toward where Mulder stood, near the window. Mulder saw her
glance and nodded in understanding.
 "So I got really scared, and I got up and I walked toward
her. And I - I kept calling her name. But she wasn't responding. So
I got up my courage and I leaned down and touched her arm and -
and I just screamed. She was so cold, so terribly cold. I think my
screaming must have woken the whole dorm." There was a brief,
faint flash of a smile. "Then I... I think I must have fainted for a
moment, because the next thing I knew I was in Miss Tanenbaum's
office, crying like crazy, and they were trying to calm me down."
 For a moment silence reigned in the airy little room, broken
only by Penny's choked weeping.
 "Just a few more questions, Penny. Are you okay with all
this?"
 Penny stared at Mulder for a second - he had been silent the
whole time until then - and then nodded, silently.
 "Can you remember what your dream was, that it woke you
up?"
 He could feel Scully's startled, exasperated look rake his
face over, but he ignored it. Penny also looked up, but in
bemusement, puzzlement, frowning as she tried to remember.
 "I-I think there were some of our classmates in it, but then
they turned into strange animals, and they jumped out and attacked
Kate in her bed. She - she was sleeping the whole time they were
killing her. She didn't even flinch. When they were finished, they
turned into girls again and disappeared."
 "Can you remember in particular who the girls were? You
said they were classmates of yours."
 Penny nodded. "Roberta Hack, Allison MacEnroe, Cynthia
Daley, and Amanda Robertson."
 "We have their files, Scully?" Mulder asked. Scully,
thumbing through the files Miss Tanenbaum had given them,
nodded.
 She looked up at Penny. "These four girls are friends?"
 "I guess you could say it that way. But it's really kind of a
club. They think they're witches," Penny said with sudden scorn.
"They read these weird occult books and wear black all the time
and sometimes they even do their silly ceremonies on the campus.
Can you believe the nerve of them? Right on the campus. I saw
them at it once. I think they had a photo or something and they
were chanting some of their weird stuff over it. It was pretty funny,
actually."
 Penny paused. "I was a little surprised when Mandy started
hanging out with them."
 "Amanda Robertson?"
 "Yes. We'd come to Alcott High at the same time, at the
start of our high school years. A bit less than four years ago. She
was in a lot of my classes. We got to talking together, and finally
we became friends."
 Suddenly it seemed Penny was eager to talk. She leaned
forward over the table, and her eyes grew wide and animated.
 "Cynthia Daley was in the same year. She was always a
loner, always the odd one out. Then again, I don't think she ever
tried to be anything else. We tried to be friends with her, but she
brushed both of us off, like she did everyone else. She had this kind
of attitude, you know? Like, stand off, don't touch me, you little
worms are way beneath me. I tried to make friends with her a few
times, but after a while I got the hint and pretty much avoided her.
 "Amanda was different. I have to admit I was a little amazed
when she seemed to totally accept Cynthia. She still tried to make
friends with her, always tried to make her feel more comfortable.
She said once she understood Cynthia. I guess in a way that was
true - Amanda's parents divorced when she was seven, and she used
to live with her dad before moving to Alcott; rumors had it that
Cynthia's parents were divorced, too, and that she was even abused
by her mother. I guess Amanda really saw through Cynthia's walls.
I have to admit, I didn't even want to try." Penny bowed her head
unconsciously, her words tainted with shame.
 "What really surprised me was when, all of a sudden,
Cynthia and Amanda were hanging out together. All of a sudden
they were best friends. I was a little hurt, but Amanda and I still
kept in touch a bit, talking together sometimes. But after a while
she and I drifted apart, and we only saw each other in class.
 "Then, in our sophomore year, I started hearing these
rumors that Amanda and Cynthia were, you know, doing magic. I
didn't believe so. Magic's just something you read in books," Penny
said, shrugging, "silly hocus-pocus that you pretend to do just to try
to feel important or something. Up till now, I still don't believe in
that stuff. But rumors are still flying."
She hesitated. "Amanda was always - I don't know - a little psychic,
I guess. I mean, she always knew where her things were, and she
always knew where I was, what I was wearing, little weird stuff like
that. I was really surprised when she got together with Cynthia
Daley and they formed this magic thing. Roberta and Allison joined
later."
 "Everything was okay, otherwise, and Amanda and I hardly
ever met, aside from saying hi in class and in the hall. Cynthia was
always pretty protective, always by her side, steering Mandy away
when we started to really talk. Like she was Amanda's bodyguard
or something. Sometimes it really made me mad - and I thought it
made Mandy mad too. I mean, Amanda Robertson, afraid of
another human being? It's not possible.
 "But it sure looked like that to me. Sometimes when
Cynthia was lording it over her again, she'd start to say something,
but then Cynthia would give her this really cold look, and then
Mandy would shut up and walk away. It was a real big change, and
I never thought it was for the better. We began to avoid each other
completely.
 "So I was really surprised one day when hey presto,
Amanda comes up to me after school and pulls me aside. For once,
Cynthia or any of the others isn't by her side. We sit down and we
talk. Mostly I say how surprised I am that she's actually talking to
me, but she starts telling me important stuff.
 "She says the rumors of the witch things are true. I laugh,
but she insists, and she looks serious so I keep quiet. Amanda says
she and Cynthia had always been kind of interested in occult and
other weird stuff, and had started the witchcraft thing just for fun.
But after Allison and Roberta joined, Cynthia started suggesting
they use their magic for more serious stuff, not just practical jokes
and snakes in the teacher's lounge. Amanda was pretty shocked by
Cynthia's suggestions, but then Roberta and Allie jumped in, started
to back Cynthia up. Amanda was about to back out of the group,
but Cynthia was starting to threaten her. It was a first time, I guess,
but Amanda was scared. She stayed with them, but only because
she's afraid of what Cynthia might do if she left."
 Penny sighed. "Amanda told me all this then, but I didn't
believe her. I told her to back out if she wants to and not to care
about Cynthia, one way or the other. It took a little work, but
finally Amanda said she was going to think about it. Then Cynthia
and Allison came up and gave me this look and practically dragged
Amanda away."
 For a long while silence filled the room. Scully sat, absently
nibbling on her lower lip. Mulder continued to stare out the
window.
 "Is that all, Penny?"
 Penny looked at Scully and nodded. "Yes, Agent Scully."
 Scully smiled and patted the girl's hand. "Thanks for the
information. You've given us a lot of help."
 "It's okay. I'll try to come up with more to tell you." Penny
pocketed the business cards that Mulder and Scully handed her. "I
hope you solve the case real soon." 
 "We'll try," Scully promised, smiling warmly. "And thanks
again."
 When the door had closed behind her, Scully stood up,
sighed, and turned to look at her partner. "I'll ask Miss Tanenbaum
to call in the girls."

 The two girls' reactions and replies were all the same. No,
they hadn't heard or seen anything. Yes, they'd been asleep the
whole night. Yes, Penny had been the witness to a little game they'd
played last week, but that was all. Mulder and Scully were both
getting tired of asking questions and getting the same calm answer,
the same cool look.
 Amanda Robertson was almost as bad. Her voice was clear,
calm, cold. She sat perfectly still in her chair as Mulder and Scully
took turns asking her questions. Mulder was just about filled to the
brink with frustration, but looking hard, he thought he could almost
see the furtive look of fear in the girl's dark eyes.
When Amanda Robertson was finally allowed to leave the room,
Cynthia Daley walked in. Mulder, leaning against the window,
gestured for her to sit down. Eyes cold and hard and black, focused
unwaveringly on Mulder, Cynthia silently pulled back a chair at the
table and sat down.
Scully walked into the room from the hall.
"Cynthia Daley?"
"Yeah."
"I'm Agent Scully and this is Agent Mulder. We're from the FBI.
We'd like you to answer a few questions for us."
Cynthia shrugged.
"You know about Kate Allagher's death?"
She nodded.
"Did you hear or see anything strange at all during last night?"
"No. I was asleep in my room."
"Where is your room located, in relation to Penny's?"
"Fifth door down the hall."
"Do you have a roommate?"
"Yeah."
"Who is she?" 
"Roberta Hack."
"What time did you go to sleep? What time did Roberta go to
sleep?"
"About ten-thirty. Roberta went to bed about nine."
 The words flew back and forth. Scully was obviously
getting frustrated by the girl's calm, cold answers, although she
managed to keep her voice low and even. Still, after the tenth
distant, monosyllabic reply, Mulder decided it was time to interrupt. 
 "Some people say you and your friends are witches."
 He could feel Scully's angry, exasperated look scorch his
face. Still, he kept his gaze even on Miss Daley's face. She sneered -
the only emotion he'd seen on her face since the interrogation
started - and her tones were laced with menace.
 "Penny's a spineless piece of blubber. She doesn't know
what she says."
 Suddenly Mulder felt an overwhelming sensation pass
through him, smother him. He almost gasped for air with the
impact. It was like falling from eighty feet high into a placid
swimming pool. It was all he could do to stay on his feet and grip
the table for support. The sudden, overwhelming feeling quickly
passed, although he could still feel it, hanging around, ready to
pounce on him again. He could feel the concern and surprise in
Scully's eyes.
 "She and Kate didn't use to be friends, you know. They used
to be deadly enemies."
Blinking, he looked back at Miss Daley. She was still cold and
calm, the black eyes like bullets, piercing his mind. There was a
very slight, almost imperceptible smile of cold danger about her thin
lips. 
Mulder was usually a tough guy to get to, but he shuddered.
"Not everybody knew it, but I did. Kate resented Penny because
she was so successful, so driven, so popular. Everybody was her
friend. Kate was practically a nobody next to her. She was a
member of the school swim team, too, you know; a teammate of
Penny's. She was pretty good, but not half as good as Penny, and
she knew it. She hated Penny. She really did."
Scully glanced swiftly from Mulder to Cynthia, and back again.
Mulder sure didn't look very good. And the smile on Cynthia's face
was downright unnerving.
Cynthia continued her startling story, her eyes cold and mirrorlike,
reflecting back all that she saw, allowing no one entrance to her
soul.
"Kate was so angry that even I was surprised when she and Penny
became friends. One day Kate so hated Penny that she tore up one
of Penny's reports that was supposed to be put in the Fielder and
passed in one of her own. That really clinched it for Penny. She
never much minded Kate's jealousy before, but Penny loved the
Fielder, and she also realized just how much Kate hated her. So
they were really just total enemies. Until finally they were
reassigned to their dorm room and they had to live together. Out of
necessity, I suppose, they became friends."
Cynthia shrugged.
"Or who really knows?"
She flashed that icy, dangerous smile at Scully again.
After a stunned moment Scully recovered her wits and leaped to the
rescue. She didn't know what the hell had happened to Mulder, nor
what the hell Cynthia had done to throw her off so much, but she
had to make sure they both were all right. Mulder's face was
decidedly pale, and his knuckles were white, he gripped the table so
hard.
"That'll be all, Miss Daley. Thank you for the information you
shared with us."
Silently, Cynthia Daley pushed her chair back, stood up, and
walked slowly toward the door, where she paused and looked back.
"Oh," she said quietly, "do you have a business card, or something?
Because I'm still in a little shock, so I might have forgotten some
important things."
Astonished with the sudden change in demeanor, it took Scully a
few moments to respond, but finally she drew her card out and
handed it over. After a moment, Mulder managed to walk over and
pull one of his own out and add it - with a piercing, almost haunted
look at Cynthia.
"Thanks, Agent Scully, Agent Mulder. I hope you solve the case
real soon."
A very shy smile, a flash of white teeth, and Cynthia Daley slipped
out the door.
Scully stood still for a moment, frowning, then a groan and the
creak of a chair made her remember. She turned hurriedly to see
Mulder sitting wearily in a chair, his head in his hands.
"Are you all right?" Scully asked in concern, hurrying over.
"I'm fine, Scully."
"You didn't look fine a minute ago. What happened, Mulder?"
For a moment all was silent, then Mulder looked at Scully.
"I - can't quite describe what happened, Scully. It was as if there
was this wall just hitting me in the face. It was really weird."
"You went pale. I actually thought for a moment there you might
have had a heart attack."
There was a small undercurrent of concern in Scully's cool,
professional voice. It would have given Mulder a sweet, warm
feeling, as it always did, but this time the fear and suspicion was too
much.
"Cynthia Daley's dangerous, Scully. I can feel it."
Scully sighed. "You're just tired, Mulder. I am, what from asking
questions and practically getting slaps in the face in reply."
"No, Scully, I'm serious. Cynthia Daley is more than what she
appears to be."
Scully stared at her partner. He seemed deadly serious. The yellow
sunlight from the window cast a warm light on his features,
glimmered soft fire in his hazel eyes, sifted through his hair to taint
it golden brown. He looked so beautiful, like an angel. Scully
swallowed and turned away abruptly.
"If you say so, Mulder. If you say so."

 Cynthia Daley fingered the heavy chain around her neck
absently as she stood in the hall. It was empty, thanks to the
cancellation of school that day. She waited.
A few minutes later the door to the conference room opened, and
the two FBI agents walked out. They stopped by the headmistress'
office for a few moments, then reappeared, walking down the hall.
The short woman agent was saying something to her partner. He
cracked a joke. She shot back a sly remark. They rounded a corner,
and was gone from Cynthia's sight.
 In her hand, she carried the two cards.
 Fox William Mulder.
 Dana Scully, M.D.
 Cynthia smiled - a cold, evil, ruthless smile. 
She was going to have some fun with them.


Scully's residence
8:07 pm

 Scully hummed busily as she lifted the lid of the pot. Hot,
fragrant steam billowed out, and she sniffed happily. The
minestrone smelled wonderful. If only she had someone other than
herself to admire it for her.
 She wondered why she'd even bothered to make her
mother's special minestrone. There was no one to eat it but herself,
anyway, no one to laugh at the funny dinosaur-shaped pasta, no one
to savor the rich, tomatoey soup, no one to say she was a great
cook.
 She sighed as she looked absently out the window. It was
beginning to snow again. Dainty white flakes fluttered down from
the sky, gathering on the windowsill. Snowy nights weren't
supposed to be spent alone. They were supposed to be spent by
two people, together, snuggling under warm blankets, laughing and
talking and eating hot soup.
Well, at least she got the soup part right.
 Scully started as the doorbell rang. Who on earth could it
be?
 It couldn't be Mulder, she mused as she wiped her hands on
a dishtowel and headed for the door. He was probably at home,
absorbed in his video collection - to put it lightly - and trying to get
some sleep. Judging from what had happened to him that afternoon
during the interrogation, he needed it.
 Scully peeked through the eyehole.
 It was Mulder, all right.
 She felt a sudden hotness flood up to her cheeks. For no
good reason. What on earth was wrong with her? Turning all
mushy, thinking all sorts of sappy thoughts... She shook her head
and opened the door.
 "Hi," she said, smiling. "I wasn't expecting you."
 "Yeah, me either." He stepped in and hung his mittens, cap,
and coat on the coat tree, and laid the envelope of folders that he
had brought on a chair, beating the snow off them. He sniffed the
air appreciatively as Scully vanished back into the kitchen. "What's
cooking?"
 "Minestrone. Mom's recipe."
 "Smells great. Guess I should've brought a bottle of wine."
He poked his head around the kitchen doorway. "Can I help?"
Scully hesitated. "You can set the table. You'll find everything you
need in those drawers over there - I hope. I haven't used most of
my utensils in months."
"I've gotten used to eating out of a can, too." He offered her a lazy
grin and began to rummage through the drawers she had indicated.
"Set for two?"
 "Well, I expect the food here would be a lot healthier than
the bread and Spam you've got waiting for you at home." Amused
blue eyes met keen hazel ones.
 "You know too much, Scully."
 Scully smiled. "So, what made you come over?"
 Mulder stopped, a fork in his hand. "I, uh - I wanted to talk
to you about the case."
 "What about it?"
 He clanged the forks and knives around busily, pretending
he hadn't heard her as he struggled for an answer. If he told her
now, he wouldn't have an excuse to linger later after eating.... By
the time Scully had repeated her question, raising her voice above
the din of clattering cutlery, he had finally managed to come up
with a fairly safe answer.
 "It can wait until after dinner."
 For a moment Scully stared at him. Then suddenly she
shrugged, smiled, and turned back to the soup. Mulder, watching
her with interest - and, perhaps, some unconscious affection -
breathed warm, aromatic steam deep into his lungs.
 That minestrone sure smelled good.
 Scully turned off the stove burner and brought the smoking
pot to the table. Without thinking, Mulder placed a melamine
coaster underneath to prevent it from scorching the wood. It was
often that way between the two of them - their minds seemed
strangely synchronous, working together, side by side. But then
again, they had had to. They were partners; it was essential for one
to be virtually in sync with the other. Very often, their lives
depended on such synchronicity.
 It wasn't until Scully suddenly looked up and began to blush
that Mulder realized he had been staring at her all this time. He
gave a sort of shy, baffled, embarrassed grin and went back to
laying out the plates. Hazel eyes roamed aimlessly around the
warm, steam-filled kitchen that was a welcome change from the
cold December evening outside.
 It felt so comfortable, so easy to be like this, Mulder mused
absently. To just be preparing dinner together. Although no one
said a word, the silence between them was a kind of cozy,
companionable silence. It just seemed so perfect, so natural that
they should be getting the meal ready, side by side, working
together as they always did.
 "Dinner's ready."
 Mulder started at the sound of her voice interrupting his
thoughts. Maybe it's just as well, Mulder thought wryly as he pulled
out a chair for Scully. His train of thought had been wandering
more and more off track. Onto more dangerous paths...
 Firmly setting his mind on the bowl of soup before him,
Mulder sat down. For an awkward, odd moment the two just sat
there, staring, not really doing anything. Then Scully broke the
silence with a short, embarrassed laugh. Mulder grinned.
 "Well, cheers," Scully said, smiling back and holding up her
glass of water. Her sea-blue eyes were warm with humor and
friendship.
 Mulder raised his glass, too. "Cheers."

 "Best meal I've had in months."
 "Thanks."
 Scully smiled at the compliment. Picking up the envelope of
folders Mulder had brought, she sat down on the couch and
replaced the little potted plant on the coffee table with the
envelope's contents. For a moment she simply forgot about them,
scattered on the table, as she stopped unconsciously to watch as
Mulder scraped together the charred chunks of firewood in the
fireplace and tried to start a fire. As the first dancing golden flame
crackled and spat into life, the warm yellow light flickered on
Mulder's lean, well-muscled form, kneeled in front of the hearth; it
sifted softly through his hair, giving it a warm, softly golden hue; as
he half-turned and grinned at her his characteristic wry half-grin, it
played happily in his hazel eyes.
 "Ta-daa! Instant fire. Just add Mulder."
 "You should go for the Guinness Book of World Records."
 "Don't worry, I'm thinking about it." He got to his feet and
picked up the first folder as Scully reached out and turned on the
living room lamp.
 Never taking his eyes off the first paper in the folder,
Mulder slowly walked over and sat beside Scully on the couch.
Under the pretense of studying another one of the folders, Scully
leaned back against the couch arm and a couple of well-placed
cushions and watched him with curious, fascinated eyes.
 Only a few minutes ago, as the two had finished their meal,
cleared the table, and loaded the dishwasher -- all with hardly a
word being said between them, all in the same comfortable,
companionable silence that had also dominated much of the actual
meal -- she had marveled at how they did the simple little tasks in
such complete, perfect harmony. She hadn't even had to tell him as
they cleared the table before he stood up and, with that little,
knowing, wry half-smile he so often used, pulled open the
dishwasher for her to put her plate and glass inside.
 And she had marveled that the very act that they should be
doing all this -- preparing dinner together, eating it together, then
finishing it and cleaning up together -- felt so inexplicably right. So
impossibly, perfectly right.
 And hardly a word being said by either of them.
 Oh, they had chatted a little, told a couple or so stories,
laughed at the jokes they cracked. But even as they had eaten, they
hadn't said much, aside from Mulder complimenting her somewhat
repeatedly on the excellent minestrone and Scully reminding him
that he'd said that already. Most of the whole time had been spent
simply staring at one another, watching, fascinated and friendly and
fond at the same time.
 Scully involuntarily blushed. Even under the simple white
kitchen light, Mulder had looked very, very cute.
 They'd taken turns sneaking furtive glances at each other.
 They'd taken turns accusing one another of staring.
 Scully felt the temperature in the room go up another notch.
She was grateful for the fire. The little flame Mulder had so easily
coaxed into being had now grown into a healthy, respectable fire.
 She liked fires. Ever since she was a little kid she'd liked
fires. She could spend hours just staring into one and watching the
bright flames lick at the firewood, watching what sap remained in
the wood bubbling to the surface and dripping down onto the
ground in large liquid drops. One of her favorite ways to relax was
to build a nice comfortable fire in the hearth, curl up with a mug of
creamy hot chocolate, and just think or watch tv... 
 Mmmmm. Hot chocolate...
 "Something wrong, Scully?"
 Scully's blue eyes flashed back to her partner. He was
peering at her curiously, intelligent hazel eyes alight with a deep,
strange inner fire of their own.
 "No," she said, smiling a little to cover her embarrassment.
"Um -- you want some hot chocolate? I can make some."
 Mulder looked at her in a questioning sort of way, that
familiar wry smile playing about his lips. "Sure, Scully. Thanks."
 "You're welcome, Mulder." Smiling, Scully laid aside the
folder and walked back into the kitchen to put a double boiler on,
filled the bottom pot with water and the top pot with some squares
of chocolate. She always used real milk chocolate to make it. It was
one of the few real luxuries she allowed herself, and she reveled in
it to the limit.
 Waiting for the water to boil and create steam for the
chocolate to melt in, she wandered back to the living room.
Seemingly sensing her purpose, Mulder stood up from the couch
and handed her the folder she had been "studying." He accepted her
somewhat bewildered thanks with a shrug and nod and followed her
back into the kitchen.
 "Looks like Cynthia Daley's been running up quite a record
at the school," Mulder remarked, pulling out a chair at the table for
Scully to sit, and pulling out another for himself. "Listen to this,
Scully: in the last two semesters she's been suspended five times,
once for an entire month. The first time, she forged her father's
signature on a school form allowing her to skip a few classes
because she supposedly had an operation that left her 'physically
limited' for an entire semester and 'unable to participate in any
strenuous activity demanding physical exertion.'"
 "Gym class?" Scully smiled.
 He grinned and nodded. "She got through three weeks
before the teacher saw her running to meet her boyfriend in a car.
Busted."
 Scully was still smiling as she glanced up and down the
paper with those serious, brilliant blue eyes of hers. "Quite a
difference from Penny Wallace's record. Completely clean. Straight
A's. I've got all her report cards from all four years she's spent in
Bronson Alcott, and the lowest she's ever gotten is a B-minus --
and only one." She stood up and checked on the melting chocolate,
turning off the heat and pouring half of the liquid molten chocolate
into two mugs. She mixed a tiny amount of hot water into the
deliciously fragrant, steamy chocolate and handed one of the mugs
to Mulder.
 "You make hot chocolate with flair, Scully," Mulder
commented appreciatively, breathing in the luxuriously sweet,
heavy steam.
 "Thanks." Scully smiled. "It may take a little longer, but it's
worth the wait."
 "Yeah. I don't know why I'm sticking it with Swiss Miss.
Can we move into the living room again? No offense, but I think
you should seriously consider another fireplace in the kitchen as
well. My toes are turning into ice cubes."
 Raising her eyebrows and smiling agreeably, Scully followed
Mulder out of the kitchen, back into the living room where they
resumed their seats on the now warm couch with satisfied sighs,
clutching their hot, steaming mugs.
 Scully absently tucked back a stray lock of red-gold hair and
flipped to another document in the folder. "Penny also won several
medals at an interscholastic sports intramurals in her second year, in
the swimming event. She turned journalistic the next year,
becoming a reporter for the Bronson Alcott Fielder. She became
assistant editor the year after that -- last year -- and was made
editor-in-chief midterm." With a slightly furrowed brow she took a
sip of her hot chocolate and flipped to another paper.
 Suddenly a low groan came to her ears.
 "Scully."
 It was Mulder. He'd never sounded so strange before in all
the years he had been her partner. His voice was tight, tense,
strained, and almost pleading. Almost fearing what she would see,
she looked up.
 "Oh my God," she breathed. Hastily she dropped to her
knees beside the couch where Mulder lay writhing, groaning, and
clutching his head. "Mulder..."
 "God, Scully, my head hurts." The words were forced
between gritted teeth.
 "You're not running a temperature," Scully murmured,
anxiously feeling his forehead and neck, "what could possib--"
 "They're in my head. Oh God. They're in my head and they -
they want something." Mulder moaned in agony. He started to beat
at his head with his hands until Scully caught hold of his fists. "Oh -
please - aah - no!!! Go away..." Tears ran down his face. Scully
struggled to keep her hold on his arms.
 "Mulder," she said desperately. "Mulder, whatever it is -
you've got to stop them. Listen to me! Fight them! Mulder...."


 No. Please. Aah!.. What are you doing??
 Memories flashed in his head, blinding him. He was a mere
infant, squalling in his mother's arms.
 Stop it! Please!!!
 Playing with his friends at the vineyard. They were running
around, laughing, and he tripped and fell down and got a cut on his
knee. Even then he'd cried few tears, and sat still as his mother put
medicine on it.
 What are you doing??? Oh, God, help me! Scully! Go
away!!
 Samantha was his pesky little baby sister again, tagging
along after him. He was getting on his bike to hang out with his
friends when she ran up to him, babbling her usual cheerful,
irritating baby talk. He was yelling at her. He'd been humiliated in
front of his friends, thanks to her. Sam began crying. Ignoring a
twinge of guilt, he left her alone on the lawn, sobbing miserably, a
stuffed rabbit clutched in one hand, while he pedaled off with his
pals.
 No. Sam.
 He was twelve years old now, Samantha eight. He was
awakened from a sound sleep by a bright, brilliant white light that
blinded him. He couldn't see for the light. He heard Samantha
crying, screaming, calling his name, hoping that her big, strong,
older brother would help her. He hadn't. He'd been too scared - by
the blinding light, by her wild cries for help, by the torturous guilt
that tore at him as her last screams faded away and the light with
them. That was the last he ever saw of his sister again.
 Scully, where are you?? Scully! I need your help!! Where
are you?
 Somehow, through the thick haze of pain and misery,
Mulder felt the forceful, unexpected intruder pause in the search
through his mind and memory. He groaned, praying blindly for the
pain to go away. Very, very dimly, he was aware of a tense,
desperate voice calling to him, calling his name; cool hands touched
his skin, but it seemed he and his skin were miles apart. He clutched
blindly at those hands, but they eluded him, and he sank back into
darkness and pain.
 No... Please... Stop...
 His teenage years flew by with dizzying speed. Apparently
the intruder wasn't interested in them. He paused again in Mulder's
mid-twenties. He was recruited into the FBI as a Special Agent
right after graduating from Oxford University with a Psychology
degree, thanks to his outstanding academic record. He had been an
excellent agent, busting case after case and bringing criminal after
criminal to justice. But although he received high praise and
commendations, something was still missing. Something was
incomplete.
 Aaaaarrggh......
 He was thirty years old. He asked to be transferred to the
department handling the cases that were classified as bizaare,
unexplained, inexplicable - what they called the X-files. His office
was moved down to the cold, unheated basement, to the very
bowels of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. He felt a little more
satisfied, but still something was missing. He was still looking for
Samantha, of course. That had been part of the reason he'd asked to
be transferred to the X-files. But other than feeling satisfied,
content, knowing he was doing something to help get back his
sister, he was still incomplete.
 Oh please. I can't...
 Then Special Agent Dana Scully had been assigned to him.
He knew the real reason behind that: she'd been sent to spy on him,
on his activities. Certain people in uncomfortably high positions had
begun to see him as a threat. They had underestimated him - now
they saw how well he worked, how hard and unflinchingly, how
fiercely devoted he was to finding the truth. Now they saw how
dangerous he had become. So they sent Scully.
 Please...
 But even in that, they underestimated him. Scully was
another excellent FBI agent - intelligent, perceptive, eager and
ambitious - and she had done her job well. Too well, as some of
Mulder's enemies muttered; she realized that this man wasn't the
eccentric idiot she'd been told he was. She realized there was honest
truth in his desperate search and came to admire his courage,
resolve, loyalty, and keen intelligence. She joined him in his search
for the truth. And so she became, in ironic truth, his partner.
 He still sought his sister, his pesky, tagalong, lovable little
sister, but now he didn't have to seek her alone. He had Scully. He
had her, his friend, the one he could count on, the one he could
trust. He was complete.
 And then suddenly, so suddenly it was almost painful, his
agonizing headache was gone.


 The pained creases in Mulder's face suddenly vanished. He
opened his bloodshot eyes and sat up on the couch, blinking in
confusion, his breathing harsh and ragged.
 "Mulder... are you all right?"
 Brow furrowed, completely puzzled, Mulder glanced at
Scully, who was crouched at the edge of the couch. Her blue eyes
were a watery gray-green now, illuminated by the light of the living
room lamp. They always became gray whenever she was tense or
nervous or concentrating.
 "Yeah," Mulder murmured, as an afterthought, "yeah, I'm
fine, Scully."
 Scully heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, that was strange. You
had me worried there."
 That's an understatement, he thought, watching her
carefully. He was often consumed by the urgent need to protect
her, to shield her from dangers that he couldn't even name. Now he
saw the fear and anxiety in the eyes that changed so expressively,
although she tried to turn her face away.
 He saw a tear shining on her cheek and knew it had been
born from her fear and worry for him. Slowly, he reached out to
wipe it away.
 Abruptly Scully stood up, trying to calm her agitated
breathing. Crossing her arms across her chest, she stepped nearer to
the warmth of the fire, keeping her face carefully hidden.
 "I was really worried," she repeated, more calmly now.
"You were in agony, Mulder, I - I didn't know what to do." She
heaved a shivering, shuddering sigh. "You kept talking about an
intruder, someone in your head."
 Mulder paused, frowning. "It sure felt that way," he
muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
 "How do you feel now?"
 "I'm perfectly fine. I - I'm okay." He exhaled. "It was
strange."
 "I'll say." Scully turned, her back to the fire now. "What did
you feel, Mulder?"
 He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, leaning back
against the couch. "I - I felt like... Like someone had entered my
mind, Scully. And he was searching for something in my memory. I
kept getting flashbacks - my childhood, Samantha being taken
away."
 Scully glanced at him. His voice had broken at his sister's
name.
 "Then it all stopped. The flashbacks, the memories. It was
as if the intruder had left."
 Silently, mulling over the incident, Scully began to pace in
front of the fire. Mulder looked over at his partner in concern. Half
in shadow and half in light, her face was drawn and pale with
weariness. Her freckles stood out against the pallor of her skin.
 "You look tired, Scully," he said softly.
 "I'm fine, Mulder."
 "You might as well make a recording of that, Scully, save
your energy."
 Scully shot a look at him. "Look who's talking recordings."
 He surrendered with a smile. "I better go." He stood up.
 She went to show Mulder to the door. He was already
putting his coat back on.
Suddenly Scully gave a startled cry and slumped onto the couch.
Her face twisted in pain.
 "Mulder..."
 "Scully!" Mulder hurried to her side. "It's your turn now.
They're in your head, aren't they?" His voice was grim.
 Scully swallowed hard, writhing against the cushions. "Oh...
God... aaaaah..."
 "Scully, don't fight it," Mulder whispered desperately.
"Scully, do you hear me? Don't fight it. Just let it through, okay?
Give in to it. Let your memories go. Can you hear me?"
 Tears were streaming down her face. "No, please, no..."
 "Can you hear me, Scully? Do you understand?"
 Scully gasped for breath, pounding her fists against her head
until Mulder grabbed hold of her wrists - just as she had done for
him only minutes ago. "Yes," Scully hissed, gritting her teeth.
"Mulder, help me... It's in my head--"
 "Just hang on, Scully. Just let it do its work, then it will
leave." Mulder almost lost hold of her hands.
 "Oh God..."
 Mulder glanced around desperately. He couldn't help her, he
didn't know how; all he could do was wait and pray that the
intruder who was now in Scully's mind would be quick. Meanwhile
Scully was moaning with the agony she was experiencing. He could
hear her forced, ragged breathing, her desperate pleas for help, her
thrashing around on the couch... He held her clenched fists firmly,
fearing she would do herself harm.
 He couldn't watch her pain. It hurt him, too, seeing her so
helpless, so tortured. He turned his face away.
 Just as he thought he couldn't stand one more second of
listening to Scully's pain, she went limp. The uncanny
"mindscanning" had gone as quickly and suddenly as it had come.
Mulder sighed with relief and released her hands as she tried to
catch her breath and regain her composure.
 "You okay?" he asked gently.
 "Yeah," she breathed, nodding, "I'm fine."
 Mulder said nothing, merely stared at her.
 "I'm fine, Mulder," she mumbled. "Just a little tired."
 "Try exhausted," he said, grinning his half-grin.
 "I'm okay now," Scully insisted. Standing up, she walked
back to the front door. "I'll see you tomorrow at work."
 "I'll leave the files here." Mulder picked up his cap and
mittens.
 "You sure you'll be okay driving home? It's awfully cold out
there, and you'll be driving a pretty long way."
 "I'll make it," Mulder said, shrugging. Then he smiled.
"Thanks for the hot chocolate. It was really something. And the
minestrone was great."
 "Thanks," Scully said, smiling back, "but you said that
already."
 "Did I?"
 Scully smiled. "Good night, Mulder."
 "See you tomorrow, Scully."


December 8
2:14 pm

 Scully frowned as she stepped out of the autopsy bay.
Peeling off her rubber gloves, she looked up as Mulder walked in.
 "Finished?" he asked.
 Scully nodded, taking off her mask. "It's very strange - that
I can tell you. I've got photos developing, but if you can't wait--"
 "Spill it."
 She shrugged. "Shocking internal injuries. Lacerations in the
pulmonary and aortic arteries, large rips in the muscle walls of the
heart itself - that's why there was the hemorrhage. Whoever - or
whatever - did it practically tore the entire heart out. But there are
no external lesions, no cuts or bruises - nothing at all." She exhaled.
"It's as if someone got inside Kate Allagher's body and ripped her
heart apart."
 "Love is cruel," Mulder said, nodding.
 She offered him an amused grin.
 "I took pictures of the rash on her chest, since you asked me
to," she continued, "and they should be coming in a few hours.
Want to join me for a late lunch?"

 Sliding the photos out of the manila envelope, Scully held
them up. "What do you think?"
 Mulder frowned. "That's one big rash. Are you sure this isn't
magnified?"
 "No, I made sure of that. I agree with you, though; it is
pretty big."
 "And that's a pretty unnatural shape, though. I've never seen
a rash that's so perfectly circular. Let's see if we can run it through
the computer and find anything."
 A few minutes of mouse-clicking and keyboard-typing and
the photo was magnified an additional twenty percent.
 Mulder's brow furrowed even further. "Hmm." His fingers
flew over the keyboard, bars scrolled down the screen, and the
color contrast was heightened. The pixels grouped together to form
thick, dark lines, to make an almost clear picture on the screen.
 For long minutes they were silent. Then Mulder said,
"That's one hell of a rash."
 Reduced to black and white, it was practically a drawing,
full of twisting, elaborate lines and curls. Staring hard, Scully could
make out the head of a lion among the fancy squiggles and whorls,
a bird's wing - fanciful, fantastical creatures. A large circle
contained four strange creatures, surrounded by twisting lines. One
creature combined a lion's head, four cloven-hooved feet, and a
thick lizardlike tail; another had massive clawed paws and a bird's
wings and head. A third had the head of a woman and a lion's body.
And the fourth combined a woman's body and the writhing
tentacles of an octopus.
 Mulder glanced at Scully. "You don't think that's a normal
rash, do you? Because if you do, I'll eat my socks."
 Scully shook her head. "You want ketchup with that?"




December 9
Bronson Alcott High School
7:05 am

 Amid the wailing of police sirens, a dark blue Ford Taurus
pulled smoothly into an empty space in the school parking lot. The
engine had hardly had time to shut down when the driver's door
opened, a slender, stockinged foot in a two-inch heel stepped
down, and FBI Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully, M.D., was
running across the parking lot.
 She found the main hall of the administrative building
bustling with sleepy, alarmed receptionists and teachers who kept
running around. A group of girls were crying noisily to one side
while a harried-looking janitress offered them water.
 FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder glanced up, startled, as
Scully burst into the headmistress' office, running into the secretary
who spilled a glassful of water on her. Apologizing repeatedly, the
secretary handed her a box of Kleenex and vanished back into the
bathroom.
 Brushing absently at the water stain on her trenchcoat,
Scully marched up to Mulder, just as he finished his call and stuffed
his cell phone back into his pocket.
 "I got your call," she said tersely. "What happened?"
 Mulder rubbed his nose and exhaled. "Penny Wallace."
 "DEAD?" Scully said, shocked.

 "Penny's been sharing a room with two other students since
Kate Allagher was killed." They hurried up the stairway, black
trenchcoats flapping behind them. "Her roommates woke up this
morning around ten minutes to seven to find Penny dead in her
bed."
 The corridor was filled with curious, sleepy students, milling
around in confusion. Mulder and Scully were greeted with
surprised, curious stares. That the two important-looking people
with the FBI id's entered Penny Wallace's room and shut and locked
the door behind them made the girls wonder all the more.
 Scully went to work, the intelligent, professional forensic
pathologist in her becoming apparent as she examined Penny's
body. Mulder stood by, unsure what to do, knowing that it was best
to leave Scully to do her own observing.
 Finally, Scully looked up and, after a moment's hesitation,
pulled the bedsheets over the body.
 "Same characteristics as of Kate Allagher's death. Massive
internal hemorrhage with no external wounds.... and the good ol'
enigmatic chest rash."
 Mulder folded his arms across his chest. "You still believe
it's a rash?"
 "For the last time, Mulder, it's extremely improbable that the
rash on Kate's chest is anything but just that."
 "You saw what I saw, Scully."
 "Okay, so the rash looks like an Oriental tapestry when
computer-enhanced. So? I've seen bruises that could have been
works of Leonardo da Vinci's. Besides, why on earth would
someone have a rash shaped like that? It's too much of a
coincidence, Mulder."
 "You tell me, Scully, you're the forensic pathologist."
Mulder stared at her stubbornly.
 Scully sighed. He was being unusually thick today. Had he
had coffee already? She knew she could be a bear without her
morning caffeine fix.
 "Oh, forget it. I suppose we'll have to interrogate the two
roommates. And have another autopsy done." She sighed. "Come
on, let's find Penny's roommates. They're probably busy spreading
the news all over the school."

 When the last student had walked out of the room, looking
relieved to have the ordeal over, Scully dropped into a chair and,
her head in her hands, sighed wearily.
 Mulder looked up at her from where he sat. "You okay,
Scully? You sound pretty worn out."
 "I'm fine," she said shortly.
 "There goes the ol' recording again," he murmured.
 Scully shot him a look. "What did you say?" Her voice was
sharp.
 "Whoa, Scully, take it easy," he said, startled. "You really
are tired, huh?"
 She sighed, shaking her head, sitting back and stretching to
ease the taut muscles in her shoulders. "I'm... sorry, Mulder. I don't
know what came over me. I really must be tired."
 He stared at her for a second. "Have you eaten breakfast?"
 "Bingo. That must be it." She smiled tiredly. "I got your
call, grabbed some coffee, and went right over here. I think I'm too
much of a workaholic."
 "Good to see I'm rubbing off on you. Maybe you should call
in sick today."
 Scully glared at him. "Stuff the Big Brother act, Mulder. I'm
not made out of glass, you know. You don't have to be so careful
with me."
 Mulder drew back and eyed her suspiciously. She must
really be hungry, he thought. I mean, I know I tick her off with the
overprotective thing, but even she doesn't always get this cranky.
 "Come on," he said briskly, getting to his feet and helping
her on with her coat and trenchcoat. "You'll feel even worse in the
unheated basement. We'll go out, get a big breakfast, go home and
stay home for the rest of the day."
 Scully rolled her eyes. It was another one of her trademark
actions. "Don't you think they pay me little enough already?"

 They ate at The Brothers D, a little diner down the road that
passed the Dana Scully test enough to be called "decent." Mulder
ordered meatpies, hamburgers, and sodas, whereupon Scully
jumped in and cleared her throat.
 "We'll have the pancakes and ham, two iced teas, and hash
browns."
 "Hey, no fair, Scully," Mulder protested. "I need my
cholesterol fix to start the day."
 "I'd think you already have enough LDL clogging up your
blood vessels for the next fifty years. Ditch the burgers, Mulder."
 "She'll get pancakes and ham, I'll get burgers," he said
calmly to the confused waitress.
 "If I pay you, Mister Begging-For-A-Heart-Attack, will you
go away?" Scully groaned.
 Mulder considered. "Okay. You have a twenty on you?"
 "Hmm," she said, eyebrows raised. "Bribery goes cheap
today."
 "So what'll it be?" the waitress asked in exasperation.
"Pancakes or burgers?"
 "Pancakes."
 "Burgers."
 Scully glared at Mulder. Mulder grinned sheepishly.
 "Pancakes, thanks. Ham, hash browns, and iced tea."
 The waitress nodded slowly, stared at them for another
moment as if to make sure they weren't changing their minds
another time, and walked away. Mulder's eyes inevitably lingered
on her checkered-cotton behind.
 "If your eyes fall out, I'm not picking them up."
 "Why not?" he asked, his gaze swiveling back to her.
 "Let Miss Buns-of-Steel pick it up for you." Scully
shrugged. "At least she gets paid for it."
 Mulder sighed. "You really are in a crappy mood today,
huh?"
 She smiled slightly. "Live with it, Mulder."
 As she eagerly attacked the pancakes, Mulder frowned at
the two on his plate and reluctantly picked up the knife and fork.
To take his mind off it (and off the tantalizing picture of nice fat
burgers and french fries in his mind) he decided to talk to her about
the case.
 "So what do you think?" he asked, lamely.
 Scully glanced up from where she was lathering butter and
syrup into a pancake. "About what?"
 "About, um, who might have killed Penny and Kate." He
was rubbing a two-inch-square piece of butter into the round
doughey thing. "And why."
 Scully raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "Well, there's not
much to go on. We do know that Penny had the motive to kill Kate
- most of the students seem to corroborate Cynthia Daley's story of
the two's earlier rivalry - but now Penny's been killed, I honestly
don't know why anyone would do it."
 "Maybe Cynthia and her friends did it."
 She gave him That Look again. "Mulder..."
 "Okay, okay." He gulped down a slice of pancake. Hmm,
not really all that bad, considering how little butter and how much
syrup he had topped it off with. He stared at the green checkered
tabletop. "But let's just consider it, Scully. Remember that X-File,
Fresh Bones? If voodoo works, why not witchcraft?"
 She groaned. "Mulder..."
 "It's still a possibility, Scully. What if--" He was getting
decidedly worked up on this. "What if Cynthia and her friends
worked their magic to kill both Penny and Kate?"
 Scully drew a deep breath. "Oooookay, Mulder. Let's
consider that a working theory, just for the sake of argument. Why
would Cynthia and her friends kill them?"
 "Maybe Cynthia and Penny and Kate were somehow old
enemies. You know, an old rivalry. Who knows, maybe Cynthia felt
really bad because she was just a troublemaking nothing compared
to Penny Wallace, straight-A student, Miss Popularity? Or maybe
Penny lied to us. Maybe Penny and Cynthia were actually old
friends, but then Kate sort of stole Penny away from Cynthia, and
Cynthia just decided to get back at her for it?"
 "I don't know about you, Mulder, but somehow I think
Penny was telling the truth when she said she tried to be friends
with Cynthia but was brushed off. Even I could sense Cynthia
doesn't welcome strangers into her world."
 "Then maybe it's some kind of past-life aggression. Maybe
in their past lives, Cynthia, Kate, and Penny were at odds."
 "Mulder, are we talking past lives here now?" Scully
interrupted, one slender eyebrow arched.
 Mulder leaned back and shrugged. "You know how I
believe in extreme possibilities, Scully."
 She sighed. "Are you going to finish your pancakes?"

 As they crossed the street en route to the school parking lot
two teenaged girls flashed by in hot pink string bikinis and
Rollerblades. Mulder involuntarily followed them with entranced
eyes, turning his head.
 "Hey Scully, how come you never dress like that?"
 She eyed the retreating figures with distaste.
 "I like to think people love me for my mind, Mulder. Why?"
 They returned to Mulder's car to find a piece of paper
inside, in the passenger's seat.
 "I don't know how it got in there," Mulder muttered,
frowning. "I'm sure I kept it locked tight."
 "Well, it's there, isn't it?" Scully said, rather testily. "Open
the car and we'll see what it is."
 Shrugging, Mulder unlocked the car door and picked up the
paper. He went to stand behind Scully and watched over her
shoulder as she read the words on the paper.
 After a long silence, Scully folded up the paper again and
handed it to Mulder. "Who do you think it is?"
 "Nelson Mandela?" he asked innocently.
 She rolled her eyes. He shrugged.
 "Are we going?"
 "Don't suppose we've got anything to lose."


Back of Grant Museum of Natural Science
Rochester, New York
2:23 am

 Scully watched absently as Mulder paced up and down the
cluttered alley, his hands deep in his pockets for warmth in the
frosty early morning. She sighed and checked her watch again. Two
minutes later than her previous check.
 "Will you stop walking around like that," she growled.
"You're making me nervous."
 He did stop, and looked at her strangely. Then he shrugged
and checked his own watch. "She said she'd be here by
two-twenty."
 "Maybe whoever it is overslept," Scully corrected sharply.
"Geez, it's freezing in here."
 He walked over, a look of concern on his face. "You cold?"
 She rolled her eyes. "No, just frozen over."
 "Here, take my coat, too." He slipped it off.
 "Mulder, you'll get pneumonia and die. Besides, I already
have mine."
 He shrugged. The man was clueless when it came to
personal health, Scully sighed mentally. She refused to let him pile
his own coat over hers.
 "Put it back on, Mulder, you'll die of frostbite."
 A sound, a strange sound, a scratching-shuffling kind of
sound sent the two agents sliding toward the nearest cover. Muffled
clicks filled the air as the safety catches on their guns were slid
back. And then there was silence.
 "It's me."
 The voice was steady, cool, but vibrated very, very slightly
with fear. It was clear and young; Mulder and Scully half-rose to
their feet in astonishment. The voice seemed familiar.
 At that moment the mists parted and a sliver of moonlight
fell upon frizzy dark hair, pale skin, green eyes. Amanda Robertson
stood in the middle of the alley, bundled up in a sweater, coat, and
scarf, looking very serious.
 "Miss Robertson?" Mulder called.
 "Yeah, it's me," Amanda said, stepping nearer. "Don't
worry, I'm not armed or anything. You can come out now. I don't
have much time."
 Scully stood up, gun still cocked and held high, at the ready.
"Were you the one--"
 "Who contacted you? Who put the note in Agent Mulder's
car? Yes." The moon slipped back behind its mask of clouds as
Amanda hurried forward, the coolness and professionalism now
gone, replaced by honest fear and desperation. "I - I came to warn
you. Or if that won't work... to help you, if I can."
 "Help us how?" Scully asked, her voice cutting through the
night clear and loud and cold.
 "Cynthia's on to you. She knows that all you're looking for
now is proof of her involvement. Oh, maybe Agent Scully isn't
conscious of this, but deep down - it's true. She's trying her best to
stop you, and with me and Allison and Roberta with her, she'll
probably win."
 Scully's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
 "You see, the four of us - Cynthia, Allie, Roberta, me - we
draw power from the elements: fire, air, water, earth. Each one of
us represents one element. All four elements combined yields great
power that can be dangerous in the wrong hands."
 "This is starting to sound like some kind of detective
movie," Scully observed dryly.
 Amanda ignored her, getting more earnest and frantic with
each word. "Everyone in the world has some of that elemental
magic in their hands, some a little bit more than others, although
most don't realize it at all. It's our responsibility to use that magic
for the greater good - strictly speaking, for the magic's good,
because if we don't use it for good purposes, the magic eventually
dwindles away to nothing."
 Scully rolled her eyes, but Mulder caught hold of her arm,
silencing her. "Go on."
 "Cynthia is sort of our leader - she represents air among us.
We used to use the magic to do little, simple things - you know, a
few jokes, a little good luck. But there's always been a kind of
darkness in her. I think, at first, the other three of us kept it in
check. But little by little, it's starting to come out, and we three
haven't been able to stop it anymore - only to slow it down. Cynthia
- with our help - has been using the magic to further her own ends.
To make it short, she - we - used it to kill Kate and Penny and
Peter."
 "Peter?"
 "Peter White. Not a lot of people know about this." She
shrugged. "It was our first time - we weren't really good at it yet.
Peter got hospitalized for a couple of days before he died. The
doctors said it was an aneurysm or something. I don't think even
Peter's mom knew." She gave a short, bitter laugh. "Cynthia had a
crush on Peter, but he'd always been a snob, he didn't think much of
us. One day he said something really mean to us and - well, he
didn't live to regret it for very long."
 Mulder swallowed. Amanda's voice was calm and
controlled, but sadness and bitter regret tinged it.
 "We used Penny to kill Kate, and then - when Penny wasn't
any use to us anymore - we killed her, too. And then you came into
the picture. Cynthia doesn't like that."
 "So you're saying we should drop the case." Scully's tones
were blunt.
 Amanda shifted from foot to foot. For a full minute there
was silence.
"Not really," she slowly said at last. "Just that you should take care
- and that you should watch out for Cynthia."
"If you're part of the group - if you're a friend of Cynthia's - then
why are you telling us this?"
"Cynthia's changed," Amanda said bitterly. "Or maybe we've
changed; I'm not sure. But I know this whole thing is getting out of
hand, and if we can't stop it - stop her... then we need you two to
stop her for us."
 "Wait a minute." Mulder's brow was furrowed. "You said
you used Penny to kill Kate Allagher. How? Did she know she was
being used?"
 "Not consciously, no. We've found a way that we can
manipulate someone's memory to either block out an entire event
or--" Her eyes grew wide. Furtively she glanced around, starting to
back out of the alley. "Um, I have to go. I can't stay here. I'll call
you if I can."
 "Wait!" Mulder shouted desperately, lunging forward as
Amanda's slender figure was rapidly swallowed up by the fog.
"Amanda! Tell us - damn!" He slid the safety catch back on and slid
the gun into its holster. Brooding darkly, he looked back at Scully,
still and calm near the back of the alley.
 "You don't honestly think she was telling the truth, do you,
Mulder?" She sounded startled and just a little bit amused.
 He shrugged, decided to ignore the annoyance that sprang
up in him at her sarcastic words. "Sounded pretty good to me."
 "Mulder, I don't believe for a second there's anything but a
logical explanation to everything in this case - and that excludes
witchcraft and magic."
 He placed his hands on his waist and leaned in close. "Well,
how does logic explain a heart that's been torn apart inside a body
that has no external injuries?"
 Scully refused to back down beneath his sly, direct gaze.
She met brown-gray eyes with icy blue ones. "I don't know. But I'm
certain we'll find one, if we look hard enough. And if all we're going
to do is chase after ghosts and elements, we won't have time left to
look for a real explanation."
 With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the
darkened alley, black Rockports making little noise on the cement,
the shifting fog drifting into her wake to create a misty gray curtain
that soon enveloped her in darkness.


December 12
Mulder's residence
4:17 pm

 He was too tired and lazy to make anything decent for
himself, so he ordered in pizza. It was only ten minutes after he'd
made the call to the pizza parlor that he realized he'd forgotten to
tell them to ditch the anchovies.
 Oh well, he sighed as he lay back on the couch with his
pizza, at least that's all I have to worry about with this.
 He mused about this as he picked the little salty fishlike
things out of the pizza. His partner had grown increasingly cranky
and hard to work with over the past two days - snapping at him,
studiously failing to rise to the bait when he cracked his jokes (I
mean, I know they're pretty dumb sometimes, but still....), and
grumbling about his insistence that witchcraft was at work.
Sometimes he even found himself severely devoid of patience -
which surprised him as much as anything.
 They hadn't made much progress in the case, either.
Amanda Robertson successfully kept up the pretense that she had
never even looked at them since after the interrogation, five days
ago. And even as he fully believed that Cynthia and Co. were
behind the killings, he couldn't very well go up to them and accuse
them of the two (or three) deaths without scientific proof.
 All this and a hundred other confusing things kept crowding
into his head, which had forced him to leave the office early (closely
followed by a cross, irritated gaze from the redhead at the other
desk) and go home to try and think.
 So here he lay, munching on slightly cold pizza that he knew
was going to take away his appetite for dinner, trying to interest
himself enough in "Jurassic Park" to be entertained by it. Or at least
to be lulled to sleep by it.
 Just as the raptor was clawing at the doorknob and the little
kid was cowering behind the metal desk, there came a dull, muffled
thud from his room. Instantly he grabbed the gun on the coffee
table and rose to his feet, straining to hear above the hushed
screams from the tv.
 He found no one in his bedroom, everything still covered by
the thin film of dust that had collected in the years he hadn't used
the bed. The window was still shut and locked securely from the
inside. But on the bedspread sat a small scrap of paper, with
nothing but a place and time written in red ink.
 A phone call to make, a mental note to keep a hold on his
temper, and he grabbed his coat, slid his gun into its holster, and
was out of his apartment.


Scully's residence
4:18 pm

 He'd left not very long after lunchtime, and after a couple
more hours his move started to make a little more sense, so she'd
left and gone home early, too. Besides, she had something of a
headache beating softly away at the back of her head, and she
wanted something to put on the weird itch on her chest.
 It had only started about the day before yesterday, the day
after Amanda Robertson had met them in the alley and made her
partner rave even more loudly about the involvement of magic and
witchcraft and other stupid things in the deaths. Truth be told, she'd
had a hard time fielding all his wild theories and trying to relieve the
rash on her chest at the same time.
 She wondered where she'd gotten it. She rarely wore
jewelry except for the gold cross, and it had never bothered her
before. Great. Why not open a second X-File on her, too.
 She sighed as she flopped down wearily in her bed, still fully
clothed in her pantsuit. The suit jacket and trenchcoat lay draped
over a chair. Taking out her gun and placing it on the bedside table,
more out of instinct than any real sense of danger, she lay back on
the cool pillows and sighed again.
 Boy, what she'd give for a gallon of Ben & Jerry's right
now.
 And a whole tube of hydrocortisone to put on the itch, of
course.
 What an awful two days it had been. She'd been cranky and
irritable, what with that stupid rash and PMS combined, and she
could tell her partner hadn't been too happy working with her. She
couldn't help it. She wasn't a robot. She had bad days, too, like
everyone else. Bad weeks, even.
 She couldn't help but swear loudly when her cellular phone
began to ring. For a moment she just lay on the bed, eyes closed,
wishing fervently that whoever was calling would just go away and
leave her alone.
 No such luck.
 Muttering unladylike curses that could only have come from
the mouth of a Catholic daughter of a Navy captain, she groped
blindly for the cell phone on the bedside table. "Scully," she said
dully.
 "Scully, it's me. ...Uh, are you okay? You don't sound too
good."
 "Mulder, what do you want this time?" she spat.
 There was a long, startled pause on the other end of the
line.
 "Well, if I've called at a bad time, I'll hang up now."
 "Mulder, your timing has never been worse. But since
you've already called, just tell me what the fuck you need to tell
me."
 He sighed. "If you can be bothered, meet me in the alley
behind the Grant Museum."
 "Oh great. Another mysterious appearance by the great
Amanda Robertson?" Scully rolled her eyes. "What powerful secret
is she going to spill now?"
 "Hey, if you don't want to come, Scully, don't."
 He sounded disgusted and out of patience. Scully raised her
eyebrows in mild surprise. Out of patience? That's a first for Mulder
the Magnificent.
 "Yeah, good. 'Cause I'm not coming. Go by yourself,
Mulder."
 She cut the line and put the phone back down with only a
trace of regret.

 He walked irritably up and down the alley, his breaths
coming in explosive puffs of white, thanks to the afternoon's nip.
He checked his watch. Where was she? Or had she gotten caught
trying to sneak out of school?
 He looked up as hurried footsteps crunched on gravel.
Amanda Robertson walked up to him with quick steps, her eyes
clear with fear that was kept barely in check.
 "Agent Scully didn't come?" she asked in desperate tones.
 Mulder shrugged. "Didn't want to. I could tell," he added
dryly.
 Amanda bit her lip. "She's under our control."
 Mulder was instantly alert. "What do you mean?"
 "I told you last time that we'd found a way to manipulate
people's memories," she said hurriedly, eyes darting to and fro in
fear. Mulder fell in step with her deeper into the alley, out of the
sight of passersby. "We always subject them to a kind of
mindscanning first - we project ourselves into their memories a-and
search for a past problem, a weakness, something we might be able
to use to try and break the person from the inside out. We scanned
yours and Agent Scully's memories several nights ago--"
 "I know."
 Amanda exhaled. "We found lots of things, and I was asking
the others to stop and think about it - I never was really
comfortable with the idea of getting into other people's private lives
and stuff. But Cynthia and Allison kept on with it. You would have
been a more plausible victim; your sister's abduction - I'm sorry -
made a big hole in your soul. It would have been relatively easy to
control you, working from that incident--"
 "Go on." Pain was clear in Mulder's face. Amanda sighed.
 "We decided to use Agent Scully instead."
 "Use her to what?" Mulder said sharply.
 "To kill you."
 Mulder drew a deep breath, licking his lips nervously in the
biting cold. "Is that what you did with Penny?"
 "Yes. We controlled her with our magic, to kill Kate."
 "Yeah but why? I still don't understand. Why kill Kate?"
Why kill me? he thought, but brushed that thought aside.
 Amanda licked her lips, too, and stared down at the ground,
refusing to meet Mulder's hard, direct gaze.
 "I guess Penny told you how she and I were once - well,
best friends."
 Mulder nodded silently.
 "She told you about that time, too, when I took her aside
and talked to her."
 "She said you told her how you were thinking of backing
out."
 "Yes. That was the first real conversation we'd had in a long
time, since we drifted apart and I hung out with Cynthia. I-it really
helped me. I felt a lot better when I told her - all that stuff. It had all
been weighing on me for a long time, and telling Penny seemed like
the best thing I'd done for ages - even when I knew that since I'd
told her, Cynthia wasn't going to let her over easy.
 "I found a few chances now and then to sneak over to her
and we got to talking. I-I think, somehow, Cynthia found out about
those times. She didn't really talk to me about it, but I - I knew, you
know? And since she realized Penny was encouraging me to back
out - well, she didn't like that. So she got all of us - even me, I was
too scared of her to refuse - to use Penny and kill Kate.
 "It wasn't that Cynthia had anything personal against Kate.
But she knew killing Kate was going to hurt Penny more than
almost anything, and she knew seeing Penny so hurt like that would
hurt me. I guess you could say it was kind of a warning."
 "Some warning," Mulder muttered.
 "I know." She gave a brief, bitter smile. "After that, she
killed Penny, and that - that really got to me. I was really scared
now, too scared to even think of backing out. Cynthia's plan had
worked."
 "So how do we come into the picture? What about me and
Agent Scully?"
 Amanda shrugged. "You're just getting in the way, I guess.
I can't really tell. But she knows it'll hurt you - both of you - by
doing it this way." A pause. "I told you she was dangerous."
 Mulder drew a deep breath, whistling between his clenched
teeth. "And the rash?"
 Amanda shrugged. "We hadn't foreseen that the first time,
with Peter. Later on, though, we decided it was useful - for drama."
She fingered the silver chain around her neck and drew out a
medallion.
 It had been hidden inside her shirt. Crafted from gleaming
silver, the fanciful whorls and twisting lines almost exactly
duplicated the computer-enhanced image of Penny's rash.
Fantastical creatures writhed within their confines of entwining
silver ivy, four mythological beasts that spoke of magic and
mysterious, unfathomable power.
 "Each creature represents one element," Amanda
murmured. "One of us - each one of our circle - has chosen one
element, and one magical being to do our bidding. And if we have
the power - if we master the magic within and without - we can
become the creature. Attain its strengths, its powers, its different
attributes. Within our circle, I represent fire. The magic of the
chimera is in my hands."
 "Mulder?" called out a voice.
 Mulder and Amanda both froze. "Oh my God," Mulder
murmured.
 A wild-eyed Dana Scully stepped into view. Her clothes, the
immaculate gray pantsuit, were rumpled, her hair disheveled. With
shaking hands she held her Smith and Wesson - pointed straight at
him. Even though he was about three meters away from him he
knew the bullet wouldn't have any trouble finding its way into his
heart. And her eyes...
Her eyes were wide, unfocused, frenzied. The clear cerulean blue
had deepened to a light, translucent gray. And as they turned on the
shocked man in the trenchcoat and black suit, they were filled with
fear.
Suddenly the half-crazed light in them dimmed, replaced by
confusion, puzzlement. "Mulder? Wh-what am I doing?" she
murmured quizzically. The gun lowered for an instant.
"Scully, calm down. Cynthia's been controlling you, just like she
controlled Penny--"
 "And what else has dear little Amanda been telling you, Mr.
Mulder?"
 Mulder couldn't help thinking that the girl certainly had a
flair for dramatics. She walked quickly, confidently, into view, the
ornate silver medallion in plain view on her black ribbed sweater.
Two other girls with the same gleaming silver medallions were
close behind her.
 "Traitor."
 The voice was pure icy venom. Involuntarily Amanda
flinched, then stepped forward, jaw set firmly. "Leave them out of
this, Cynthia. It's not going to make anything better."
 "But it is going to hurt you, Amanda," Cynthia said slowly,
smiling, "isn't it? And that's what I want."
 With a sudden jolt Scully's finger twisted on the trigger, just
as she let out a horrified scream, realizing what she had done. A
shot rang out. Mulder gasped as white-hot pain seared his arm.
 "Mulder!" she cried out, starting to run to him, but she
slammed up against an invisible barrier before her fearful eyes grew
cold and stony once again.
 "She's resisting your control," Amanda murmured in
amazement, even as Mulder tried to to stop the bleeding from his
arm.
 "Our control, Mandy. Yes, she's still fighting it off a little
bit. Cute, isn't it?" And Cynthia laughed.
 "How can she do that?" Amanda's voice was nothing but a
whisper. "The others couldn't--"
 "She loves him, you idiot," Cynthia said scornfully.
 Mulder looked up, startled.
 "Can't you see it? She should have been totally under our
influence by now. But she's strong" - even then, there was grudging
admiration in Cynthia's tones - "her will, her spirit. She doesn't give
in easily, and she's not giving in this time. Not to save the man she
loves."
 Mulder winced at the cold tones. "How can I get her out of
it?" he muttered to Amanda.
 "You can't," in a voice low and agonized. "Only we
ourselves can break the spell. You can't do anything to save her."
 Can't I? Mulder thought grimly. And with that, he rushed
toward Cynthia, no real plan of attack in his mind, just a grim
determination to do something, anything, to help Scully. Did she
think he didn't love her, too?
 "What are you going to do?" Cynthia mocked him. A
sudden, powerful gust of wind literally blew him back, causing him
to cry out in pain when he landed on his injured arm. "Arrest us?"
 Gritting his teeth against the pain, Mulder glanced up. The
formerly light, gray sky was now dark and murky with roiling
clouds. Lightning was starting to flash, little streaks dancing from
cloud to cloud. Thunder grumbled in the distance.
 "Leave them alone!" Amanda cried.
 And suddenly everything was spinning, streaking into a pool
of gray and brown and black, whirling in confusion. He thought he
heard fire crackling and spitting, and fear shot through every nerve
in his body. He had a fear of fire, always would have it. Dimly he
was aware of his own panicked cries as he tried to locate the source
of the fire and move away from it.
 Light and flame filled his vision as Something huge and
powerful rose into the sky. Dust swirled into his sight as a forceful
wind blasted him, and another beast flew on wide wings to do battle
with the other creature.
 As two other creatures shimmered into being and rose into
the sky, to help the others, to attack them, he couldn't tell, he raised
his dazed eyes and saw Scully, his partner, the one he trusted,
calmly raise her gun and take careful aim.
 Thought and caution left him. He lunged at her wildly just
as the gunshot resounded in his ears, managing to catch her around
the knees, and as she fell he slammed her wrist against the hard
winter ground. Her hand opened weakly, and the gun dropped out.
Rain began to fall in heavy drops. He felt the icy, chilling wetness
spot on his shirt, the trenchcoat and jacket now long forgotten.
 She nailed him with a knee to his gut and as he fell back,
gasping for breath, she lunged at him with bare hands, inadvertently
kicking the dropped gun farther away in the process. Stunned and
dazed with having the breath knocked out of him, he felt smooth,
supple hands - hands that he knew so well! - locking around his
neck, squeezing. For such slender hands, they had remarkable
strength, he thought dizzily, as he fought for air.
 Spots swam in his vision - otherwise filled with the four
strange-looking creatures whirling in a miasma of flame and wind
and dirt and water - and he fought desperately to breathe.
"Scully..." he gasped. How could she do this to him? Didn't she
realize who he was?
 Oh right. She was under Cynthia's control.
 As more stars began to appear in his sight, he felt a sudden,
unexpected surge of hot strength. Gritting his teeth, ignoring the
pulsing pain in his arm, ignoring the small, slick pool of blood that
was rapidly forming beneath him, he firmed himself and
concentrated on giving her the benefit of his best kick to the chin.
 Even as her head snapped back from the force and she lost
hold on his throat, stumbling backward, her pained cry mingled
with his own, mixed with his hoarse gasps for breath. Even if he
knew she was being controlled by an evil mind not her own, he
couldn't bear to see her suffer pain - especially not at his own
hands.
 He breathed a silent prayer, for strength, for willpower; and
then he was fumbling for his own gun, in his own holster at his
waist, and then oh God what was he doing and he was taking aim at
her and he could feel his finger tightening on the trigger and he
didn't know who was making him do this he turned his face away
God please I-
 Click.
 Click click click.
 He looked again, and saw that she wasn't hurt at all, just
lying dazed and pained on the cold ground. Gently he put his gun
down, trying to still his own trembling hands.
 Thank God for safety catches.
 And then, "You've abused your power. You've used it for
your own selfish goals, not for the greater good. And now because
of your selfishness the magic's gone. It's taken away from you."
 A dizzying flash of gray and fire and red blood and Mulder
found himself sitting up, gasping, against the cold wall of the alley,
with Amanda on her knees nearby, clearly exhausted, with long
bloody scratches on her arms. Roberta was unconscious against the
other wall; Allison bent over her in concern, having seemingly
suffered no injuries. Cynthia was curled up in fetal position in a
corner, moaning incoherently, sobs interrupting her unintelligible
words. And Scully lay stretched out on the ground, occasionally
groaning in pain.
 "Scully!" Mulder mumbled in fear. Ignoring the four girls,
ignoring the piercing wails of police sirens, ignoring everything, he
rushed to Scully's side and knelt down, cradling her head in his
hands.
 "Scully," he whispered gently. "Dana. Dana, can you hear
me?" Dear God, please don't let her be-
 She coughed and moaned, thrashing feebly in his arms until
he caught hold of her wrists. "Mulder..." she murmured faintly.
"Fox.... what have I... done?"
 "You haven't done anything, Dana," he said fervently,
brushing her tousled hair away from her pallid face. "You're okay.
You're okay. Can you still hear me?"
 "Y-yeah," she mumbled. "I'm so tired, Fox. I'm just so
tired..."
 "Dana, listen to me," he said fiercely. He shook her by the
shoulders, willing her to live. "Listen to me! Don't give in. Please..."
He heard himself falter, his voice fade away with fear and
desperation, then echo again, soft and pleading. "Please don't leave
me."
 "Excuse me, sir." The paramedic cleared his throat
apologetically. "If she's injured, the best thing would--"
 "She isn't hurt." His voice was soft. "Go see to the others."
 The man looked pained. "But, sir, I'm afraid I'll have to--"
 "Hey, Burt! Come on over here, we've got to get this girl to
the hospital!" called another paramedic.
 Burt looked up. "I'll ask the other guys to help you, sir,
especially with that gunshot wound."
 Oh, yeah. Mulder looked down. The blood streaming from
his arm, blending with the hard-pouring rain, was staining his torn
shirtsleeve bright red.
 "I'll be okay," he said, more firmly. "The others need more
serious medical help."
 Burt hesitated, gave the stubborn man before him a little,
uncertain nod, and hurried over to his comrade, who was trying to
lift an unconscious teenage girl into a stretcher.
 Mulder ignored it all. Instead, he held the woman closer,
watching with agony the white start to seep into her full lips.
 "Dana! Dana, listen to me! You can't do this to me. Don't
you dare! Don't leave me..."
 Hot, salty tears trickled down his cheeks. He closed his
eyes, gripping the slender body tighter, as if that alone would be
enough to coax her back to life. He whispered inane words,
half-spoken promises he wasn't even aware of. He'd take care of
her, he'd make sure she'd never ever be hurt anymore, not if he
could help it, he'd marry her, they'd have a happy little family, two
girls and two boys, with three Queequegs if she wanted them.
They'd go to Norway, like she'd always dreamed of going, and all
those other fun places if she liked.
 If only she wouldn't leave him.
 If only she'd stay.
 The silver-gray rain eased a little, pattering more softly
down in small, icy drops, mixing with the blood on the ground to
create swirls of dull, brownish red. The paramedics worked quickly,
quietly, avoiding the man and woman, although casting them
sympathetic glances. And the world was awash in red and blue from
the flickering lights of police cars.

 A raspy breath.
 Mulder looked up.
 Scully started coughing, swallowing the bitter tears that had
found their way into her mouth. Mulder could do nothing but
breathe a prayer of thanks and hold her even closer.
 "Dana," he said urgently. "Dana, you okay?"
 Her eyes fluttered open. "Fox?"
 "I'm here, Dana, I'm right here." Gently he held her in his
arms, rocking her, soothing her as she began shivering and crying
softly.
 "Mulder... what have I done? I'm so sorry." Tears mingled
with rainwater.
 "It's okay, Scully, it wasn't your fault. You were being
controlled by Cynthia and - well, just don't worry about it. It isn't
your fault."
 "Oh yeah?" she said, in a tiny tiny voice.
 "Yeah. Come on, you're really tired. Are you hurt?"
 She checked her tears, trying to pull herself together. But
there was a tremor in her voice she couldn't quite squelch. "N-no,"
she murmured faintly. "I don't think so. But you are."
 He glanced down in surprise. "Oh, right. I'd forgotten about
that. But it isn't much. I'm not going to die." He tried to stop her
from sitting up and actually seeing how bad the wound really was,
but it was too late. She gasped in horror at the blasted wound.
 "God, Mulder, you should have told the paramedics, this is
dangerous," she said, shocked. "You could get infected. Excuse
me!" she called. Mulder put a finger to her lips, glancing around
furtively, almost afraid anyone had heard.
 "Don't worry, I'll be okay. It's nothing a little antiseptic and
a box of Band-Aids couldn't handle."
 "No, Mulder, you listen to me now," she said fiercely. He
drew back in startlement and something of amusement. "You're
going to get that treated, because I don't want you to come into the
office one day with only one arm because you were too damn
pigheaded to get a simple gunshot wound properly treated."
 He grinned. Dana Scully was back all right. "Okay, okay.
But I refuse to get hospitalized. My sick leave's just about over."


Scully's residence
7:20 pm

 Fox Mulder unlocked the door and unceremoniously kicked
it open. Light from the hallway flooded into the darkened
apartment. Scully was a limp weight in his arms. Kicking the door
shut behind them, he switched on one of the living room lamps and,
staggering to the couch, gently laid Scully on it before slumping,
suddenly tired, in a chair.
 He watched her as he had watched so many times before,
with eyes full of exhaustion, sorrow, remorse and tenderness and -
yes, even love. Of course love.
 In sweet slumber, she looked quiet, serene, peaceful, despite
the dirty streaks of tears on her cheeks and the dark, haunted circles
beneath the thick lashes. Mulder remembered that dark time so long
ago in the hospital where she had so mysteriously turned up, deep
in that coma. He had come so close - so numbingly, terrifyingly
close - to losing her then. And he had been lost, too, in a way. Lost
and foundering in a roiling sea of doubt and regret and pain. Lost
and alone. Lost without Dana Scully.
 He realized, now, that he needed her; he needed her
steadiness, her intelligence, her rationalism, her good-hearted
nature.... everything. After all that the two of them had gone
through - all the troubles, the crises, the conspiracies - all that they
had survived, still together, still intact - he finally realized this.
 He remembered the last chilling moments when Amanda -
with Allison and Roberta at her side - had helped to take Cynthia's
perverted magic away from her. Scully had been free at last from
the mind-control. Shocked and nearly hysterical from the emotional
trauma, Scully had collapsed, crying bitterly, in his arms. He was
too startled by her sudden, unusual show of both trust and
vulnerability to do much of anything besides hold her close and try
to comfort her in his own clumsy way.
He recalled Amanda's last, softly-spoken, deeply sorrowful words
to him - and his own, vaguely hopeful, reply.
 "Tomorrow you will forget. This will be gone forever from
your minds."
 "But not from our hearts," he had answered.
 Amanda had smiled.
 After getting his bullet wound cleaned, antisepticked and
bandaged (luckily it hadn't yet been infected), Mulder had left the
police to deal with things and carried the exhausted, worn-out
Scully to the car, where she had fallen almost instantly into a deep,
cleansing sleep. Almost instantly.
 "Take me home, Fox," she had whispered.
 And now he had taken her home, and after Mulder had
mustered the last remnants of his strength and carried her from the
couch to the bed he now stood stiffly to one side, uncertain as to
what to do. After a moment, he reached out to pull up the blankets,
preparing to leave.
 A slender hand met his halfway, and he found himself
staring into a pair of deep, deep blue eyes.
 "Stay," she whispered. Her hand gripped his firmly. "Don't
leave."
 He managed a smile. "I won't," he promised. "Not if you
don't want me to."
 Nestled in the crook of his arm, her head on his shoulder,
Dana pulled the covers up around them more snugly. Smiling,
hearing his heart beat, strong and steady and soothing, she lay back
and drifted into a warm, comforting sleep.

 She awoke with a start, staring wildly around until she got
ahold of herself and saw the numbers glowing green on her digital
clock. 11:21. P.M., apparently; through the window she could see
the stars, diamonds twinkling on a bed of violet velvet.
 She started to sit up, to get up off the bed, then froze when
her hands came into contact with something warm and soft. She
was scrabbling for the gun in her bedside table drawer when she
realized "it" was Mulder.
 Wait a minute.
 Mulder???
 He seemed to realize she was gaping at him and awoke,
groaning with his cramped muscles. Scully sat up and crossed her
arms across her chest.
 "Good morning," she said wryly.
 He popped his sleep-encrusted hazel eyes open and yawned.
"Can't be. I can still see stars."
 "It's near midnight, actually."
 He sensed the cool, dry tone in her voice and immediately
tensed, his eyes darkening to gray with a sudden fear, suspicion,
and distrust that made her heart ache - he was looking, out of habit
more than anything else, for a sign that she was leaving him, was
betraying him. Just like everyone that he had loved before had
done.
 It hurt her.
 "Do you want me to leave?"
 "No," she said swiftly, barely even letting him finish. Her
voice quavered unexpectedly, and she bit her lip against the tears
that abruptly filled her eyes as memories, images of the earlier
evening came flooding back to her. She closed her eyes.
 "I'm sorry," she said, and her voice broke. Tears spilled
down her cheeks, making hot tracks on her skin. "I'm sorry." She
was trembling with the emotion, slumping suddenly down on the
bed. "I'm so, so, so sorry....."
 "Shhhhhh." His heart ached. Reaching out with trembling
hands, he pulled her close, one arm around her securely, the other
hand softly stroking the soft gleaming hair. He could feel her
slender body shaking with the rain of tears that made wet splotches
on his shirt. "It's okay, Scully. I understand. It's okay.... It's okay."
 "I completely messed up on the case," she mumbled against
his shoulder. "I was totally useless, Mulder, I... I didn't do
anything."
 "Dana, don't say that," he pleaded softly, holding her back,
carefully tracing the contours of her face with a finger. "Who's the
professional here? Who's been doing all the autopsies, analyzing all
the information, manhandling the paperwork? I'm the one who's
been running around with the wild ideas."
 "And I'm the one who's been pointing a gun at my partner,"
she pointed out morosely. "Now look what happened to your arm.
And if you hadn't tackled me the second time..." She closed her
eyes and shuddered.
 "Hey, I'm fine now. Don't worry. You weren't yourself
then." He had to smile. "Calls to mind a case of ours. Remember
the Pusher?" He shrugged. "Guess this just makes us quits."
 She grinned, a tiny, tiny grin, even as another tear
meandered down her face, sparkling in the moonlight flooding in
through the window. "You're only human, you know."
 "So are you, Dana," he said seriously. "So are you."
 She drew back, then, and looked at him, staring, searching.
His eyes were beautiful in the pale half-light, shining soft hazel
light, full of tender, gentle love - understood her, accepted her,
forgave her. He was looking at her, too. Reaching up, he tucked a
stray strand of fiery hair behind her ear, ran a finger along her firm,
delicate jawline, cupped her chin very, very gently in his hands,
sending a hot thrill of pleasure coursing down her spine.
 "Tomorrow this'll be gone, you know," she said softly. "It
won't even be a memory anymore."
 He nodded, once, and shrugged. "But we have tonight." 
 Her large eyes were blue, blue as the sea and deeper. They
grew even darker and deeper and larger as, ever so slowly,
hesitantly, he leaned in and touched her soft lips with his own.
 They kissed tentatively, almost warily, each one expecting
the other to draw back and away. Lightly he traced the inside of her
lower lip with his tongue, asking permission to enter, willing to wait
if she forbade him. Ever the gentleman. Without hesitation she let
him in, let his tongue and his passion explore the mouth that had
tempted him for so long, so much, lingering over everything in a
motion both tantalizing and arousing. She gave herself up to him,
just as he surrendered himself to her. Silence filled the moonlit
room but for their harsh, hungry breathing and blissful sighs - as if
this was something they had both been longing for for a very long
time, but had always been denied.


December 13
Mulder's residence
8:19 am

 He drifted awake from a rare pleasant dream to find the sun
shining into his apartment - a very weird thing to find on a winter
morning. Yawning, scratching his chest, he got up off the couch
and wandered over to the window. The city was quiet, asleep in its
cozy warm snow-packed houses and buildings.
 He caught himself thinking what a very nice dream he had
had. It was a very rare thing for him. Up 'til now he'd firmly
believed he had only one kind of dream: bad ones. Ones from which
he always woke screaming his head off.
 He shuffled to the kitchen for a cup of coffee to wake
himself up. What had happened last night? If he didn't have a
headache and roiling stomach he would have thought he was having
a hangover. Lost memory was often a result of that notorious
H-word.
 Oh right. After Scully had given him that rude call, he'd
dressed and gone out to keep the appointment anyway. He'd found
Scully waiting for him, apparently remorseful about being so crude.
They'd laughed and chalked it up to PMS. Amanda had met them in
the alley, only this time she'd brought Cynthia, who had confessed
to the killings. Scully and he had both been pretty surprised, but
they arrested her anyway. They'd work out the details of the field
report later.
 Then he and Scully had come home, celebrated the end of
the case with a bottle of old champagne he'd found lurking in the
back of his refrigerator (now how had that gotten there?), and then
gone home to bed. Humming brightly, clutching his cup of fragrant,
steaming coffee happily, Mulder went and checked in the trash can.
Hmm. Where had they put the bottle afterwards?
 Scully probably took it home with her, he reasoned after a
moment. Mulder thought he remembered getting a bit tipsy with the
champagne (sheesh, if he got drunk with a little champagne he must
really have a bad head for alcohol), so Scully had probably taken
the bottle home to avoid him getting into mischief with it.
 Good old Scully.
 A ring from the phone interrupted his thoughts. Setting
aside his coffee cup, he went and picked up the receiver. "Mulder,"
he said brightly.
 "Well, you're in a good mood today."
 He grinned like an idiot and sat back on the couch, flicking
on the tv. "Well, it's nothing; I've just had the best sleep I've had in
ages."
 "Congratulations. Listen, I just got a call from Miss
Tanenbaum; they want to see us over at the school as soon as
possible."
 "I'm thirty-four years old, Scully, I thought I was out of
school already."
 He could hear the smile in her voice. "After over ten years
medical school, Mulder, believe me, so do I."
 He grinned again and turned off the tv. "Be there in ten
minutes."

 Scully exhaled and closed her eyes. "Mulder, what am I
going to say in the field report?" she groaned.
 They were standing in the hall, just outside the headmistress'
office. Students and teachers milled around them, many casting
curious glances at the two agents.
 Mulder thought for a moment. "Just tell the truth: that
Cynthia confessed to the murders."
 "Oh, right. Skinner's really going to buy that one. What
about the heart? The autopsy findings?"
 Mulder shrugged. "Who ever said you were going to do the
report, anyway?"
 She turned to him then, an eyebrow arched, her eyes
twinkling with rare humor. "Does that mean what I desperately
hope it means?"
 He shrugged again and grinned.
 As they went on down to the parking lot, back to the car,
Mulder noticed a familiar figure beneath a tree. When he came to a
halt, Scully looked at him questioningly. "You go on to the car," he
said absently. "I think I'd like to talk to Amanda."
 She stared at him for a moment, glanced at the girl who was
now walking toward them, then "I'll drive this time," and was off
for the parking lot.
 Amanda walked up to Mulder. "Hi," she said.
 "'Morning," he said.
 "Does that close the case?"
 "Yeah, I guess so. You really helped by getting Cynthia to
confess."
 She said nothing, either to acknowledge his statement or
deny it. She squinted up at him in the bright morning light. "Is she
going to stand trial?"
 "Yes, but since she's a minor, she might not get such a
heavy sentence."
 She nodded simply and stared into space. Then, "The
magic's gone. It's like it never was. We all woke up this morning
and it was gone. Cynthia had been abusing it for a long time, but I
have to admit Roberta and Allie and I were kind of surprised." She
paused. "But I guess it's for the best, huh?"
 He gave his weird little shy half-smile. "I like to think we all
have a magic of our own, something that's uniquely ours, that we'll
always have. Maybe we can't turn into magical creatures or put a
chopped-up woman back together with it, but... it's there."
 She grinned. "Yeah. You're right. The magic might be gone
from our minds..."
 Mulder hesitated, brow suddenly furrowed. "But not from
our hearts?" he said slowly.
 Amanda smiled. There was a strangely knowing sparkle in
those green eyes. "No," she said, nodding, smiling. "Not from your
hearts."
 The piercing ringing of the school bell sliced through the
sudden silence, and Amanda glanced hurriedly back toward the
school. She hefted the bulky bookbag on her back. "Well, gotta go,
Agent Mulder," she said, "school's about to start. Thanks for
everything. Say hi and thank you to Agent Scully for me, too."
 "I will," he promised. Amanda grinned up at him again and
broke into a run, across the lawn toward the main hall doors.
 He stood still for a full minute, frowning to himself. Then he
looked up, startled, at a hand on his arm.
 Scully frowned up at him. "You okay?" she asked in
concern.
 He nodded automatically. "Yeah... I'm fine, Scully."
 "You've been standing around blinking and talking to
yourself for a whole minute," she said conversationally, as they
began to walk back to the car.
 He shook his head. "Scully, have you ever felt dej… vu?"