LA VERITE NOUS SAUVERA (The Truth Will Save Us) By Jacquie LaVa and Tess ************** Chapter Six San Diego, California Java Net Cafe Friday 2:18 PM Scully pushed the passenger door closed and walked around the car to join Mulder on the sidewalk. She squinted against the sun and surreptitiously rubbed her fingers against her forehead. "How's the headache?" he asked as they walked. She opened her mouth to brush off his concerns but stopped when he abruptly wrapped a bruising hand around her arm. "Ow! Mulder!" She looked up to see both panic and caution in his eyes. She blew out a frustrated breath. She couldn't think of any science to back up Mulder's theory that the telling of a lie was the trigger in the deaths, but she had promised him that she would be careful. Until today, she'd had no idea how many tiny, seemingly insignificant fibs or half-truths tripped off her tongue with ease every day. "I'll be happy to get back to our room and collapse into bed," she admitted. It wasn't really a direct answer to his question, but it wasn't a lie, either. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face in acknowledgment of her deft handling of his question. The faint smudges beneath her eyes were proof of her claim of tiredness as well as an answer to whether or not her headache had abated. His grip lightened and his hand slid down to clasp hers briefly before holding the door open for her to precede him into the Java Net Cafe. "In my day," Mulder leaned over Scully's shoulder and spoke directly into her ear, "the kids used to hang out in video arcades, playing Pac-Man and swilling sodas." Scully huffed out a quiet laugh and looked around the busy cafe. One end of the shop housed a coffee bar. Three clerks bustled behind the bar pouring exotically named coffees into paper and plastic cups bearing the green and yellow Java Net logo. The hissing of steaming milk warred with the whirring sounds made as a clerk ground fresh coffee beans for a waiting customer. Mouth-watering baked goods in gleaming glass display cases tempted all to abandon their diets. Overstuffed furniture was scattered about to create a cozy and inviting environment for customers who were engaged in quiet conversations or catching up on their reading. The other side of the cafe was an entirely different world. Dozens of computer monitors stood on gleaming metal workstations. Two pre-teen girls giggled as they swapped instant messages with unseen friends. Several college-aged students had apparently abandoned their dorms and personal computers, choosing instead to do their research in a more communal setting. A harried looking mother glanced at her watch, tapped her young son on his shoulder and held up three fingers to remind him that he only had a few minutes left to devote to the game he was playing. Scully watched two teenagers battling alien invaders for supremacy of the earth on a monitor near the windows that were tinted against the sun. When a blinding flash of light exploded on the screen, the two young men howled and threw themselves against the backs of their chairs, tossing down their game controls. Apparently round one went to the alien forces. Scully tilted her head back to look up at Mulder. "They're still playing video games," she murmured. Her eyes followed one of the teenagers as he worked his way across the store to the coffee bar for a refill. "They just prefer their caffeine without the carbonation." Mulder followed her gaze, briefly wondering how the kid's jeans riding so low on his hips managed to defy the laws of gravity and not plummet to the floor. He knew he sounded like an old man, but watching the teen saunter across the room with his boxers proudly on display to anyone who cared to look... "Takes the expression 'be sure to wear clean underwear' to a whole new level, huh?" Scully laughed again. "They're expensive, Mulder," she chided, eyeing the familiar logo of a high-end designer on the waistband of the youth's boxers. "You don't want to just cover them up." Mulder arched one brow. "In that case, I'm gonna run out tomorrow and buy you half a dozen designer bras." He aimed a discreet glance at Scully's breasts and heaved a lusty sigh. Scully stifled the retort that sprang to mind and settled for a classic eye roll. She tugged her lightweight jacket over her hips and followed the kid in the low-riders toward the counter. Mulder waited a beat or two before following her across the room, thoroughly enjoying the way the three-inch heels of her new boots lent a distinctive sway to her hips beneath the soft knit of her trousers. A slow smile curved his lips and he made a mental note to buy that designer lingerie, content with the knowledge that he would be the only one invited to the fashion show. By the time they reached the counter, he had schooled his features into the more serious and much practiced persona of a government agent. "What can I get you?" The freckle-faced blonde behind the counter looked up at them with an expectant smile on her face. "We'd like to speak with the manager," Scully requested politely. The girl shrugged and looked toward the far end of the counter. "That's him, there," she pointed. She raised her voice. "Warren, these people want to speak with you." The young black man working the cash register glanced up and nodded. "I'll be with you in a moment," he promised before turning back to the customers he was helping. He handed one woman several bills in change while her companion scribbled something into a book lying open on the counter. Warren signaled for one of the clerks to take over at the register and walked to meet Mulder and Scully. "What can I do for you folks?" His expansive smile dimmed when they discreetly laid their badges onto the countertop. "I'm Agent Fox Mulder. This is my partner, Agent Dana Scully of the FBI. Do you have an office or someplace we can speak privately?" Mulder asked in a low voice. Warren looked up and his brown eyes reflected the confusion and worry that even the most innocent of people feels when confronted with silver badges in faux leather wallets. Scully's smile was soft and encouraging. "Everything is okay," she assured him. "We just need to ask you a few questions." Warren warily beckoned them to follow as he led the way to a grouping of comfortable chairs tucked into an otherwise empty corner of the store. "We just received a delivery of supplies today," he explained. "The office is jammed with unpacked boxes. I hope this is okay." He waited until the two agents were settled into their chairs. "Can I get you anything? Coffee?" They shook their heads and Warren sank into his chair. "How can I help you?" Mulder pulled a photograph from the inside pocket of his jacket. "Do you recognize this woman?" Warren studied the photo carefully and nodded. "Yes. I've seen her here. Has she done something wrong?" Scully pulled several sheets of paper from her leather tote. "Her name is Brenda Jordan," she told the young manager. "We're investigating her death and the deaths of two other women." She consulted the papers in her hands. "We acquired copies of Mrs. Jordan's credit card records and found out that she had made several visits to this cafe in the days and weeks before her death." The confusion evident on his face, Warren shook his head. "You don't think someone here had anything to do with..." A look of horror widened his eyes. "No." Mulder leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. "It's routine. We're trying to piece together Mrs. Jordan's movements during the last days of her life. What can you tell us about her?" Warren relaxed and bent forward, unconsciously mimicking Mulder's pose. He glanced down at the photo again and shrugged. "Not much," he admitted. "She came in here four, maybe five nights while I was working. Usually got here after ten o'clock." He handed the photo back to Mulder and glanced towards the lively scene on the other side of the store. "The older folks like to get here after the kids have gone home and things quiet down." Mulder bit his lip and hurriedly glanced down; Scully pasted a polite and encouraging smile on her face while she struggled not to take offense. Brenda Jordan had only been a few years older than she. "She would get a small latte and pay for her computer time," Warren continued. "She was quiet. Spent a lot of time glancing around to be sure no one was watching what she was doing." "Did her behavior strike you as odd?" Mulder asked. Warren let out a jaded laugh "Nah. A lot of people come here because they don't want anyone at home to know what sites they're surfing. We get our fair share of twitchy, nervous types." "Is there any way we could trace Mrs. Jordan's activities while she was on-line?" Scully wondered. Warren's forehead creased. "Listen... I'm just the manager here. I don't know that I have the authority to give out that kind of information on our customers. Don't you need a warrant or something?" Scully stifled a sigh. "Mrs. Jordan's husband is cooperating with our investigation. He provided us with his wife's credit card statements, which led us to your store." She noted that Warren still looked worried. "Tell us what would make you more comfortable in helping us." Warren pushed himself to his feet. "Let me call my boss." Mulder and Scully exchanged long-suffering looks and watched the young man walk to his office. Ten minutes passed before Warren reappeared. "My boss - Mr. Janowski - is on his way. He should be here in about an hour," he explained. "Are you sure I can't get you anything while you wait? It's on the house." **************** Java Net Cafe Friday 3:32 PM They whiled away the time sipping their drinks and quietly reviewing the other transactions on Brenda Jordan's credit card statements which consisted of a dozen or so average purchases of gasoline, groceries and clothing. In comparing the last month's statement to several preceding, the only transactions that appeared out of the ordinary were those of her recent patronage of the Java Net cafe. "Agents?" A trio of shadows fell over them and they looked up to find Warren standing nearby with two other men. "Agents Mulder and Scully - this is the owner of the store, David Janowski." They stood and greeted the man with the friendly smile and worried eyes. "This is my attorney, Bob Dunn." He swept a hand toward the third man. Once the introductions and handshakes had been dispensed with, everyone sat down again. Scully noticed the subtle shifting of Mulder's legs which was an indication that he was growing impatient, but a quick glance at his face showed a mask of interested patience. "I asked Bob to accompany me because I want to make sure that my business and I are covered - legally speaking - before we release any information." He stretched his legs out and settled his hands comfortably over his stomach. Mulder and Scully dutifully turned their attention to the lawyer, explaining again that Marv Jordan was cooperating in their investigation and that no one at Java Net Cafe was under any scrutiny. "As we told Warren, we're simply trying to track Mrs. Jordan's movements in the time leading up to her death," Scully said pleasantly. "As a matter of routine, we review the credit card statements of a person whose death is suspicious," she explained. "Mrs. Jordan's credit card statements indicate that she only recently began to frequent your store." "We interview people who knew or interacted with the deceased," Mulder picked up the narrative. "Family, friends, co-workers. In Mrs. Jordan's case, we're looking to find out if she had established any relationships - business or personal - over the Internet." He shrugged and glanced at the three men seated across from him. "That's where you, hopefully, will be able to help us." Janowski glanced at his attorney with a questioning look. Bob Dunn pursed his lips and thought quietly for a moment about what he had just been told. "You don't sign any confidentiality agreements with your clientele," he mused aloud. "As a matter-of-fact, you don't enter into any contract with them at all." He nodded. "Of course, we want to cooperate with the FBI. What do you need?" "Thank you," Scully murmured. "We need access to the websites that Brenda Jordan visited when she was here." David Janowski looked at his employee. "Warren, is that something we can do?" The young man nodded. "We'll need to use the office. I can't access the server from any of the public terminals." *********** A few minutes later the five of them had picked their way through the boxes of supplies lining the hallway and office located behind the coffee bar. Warren was seated in the chair behind the desk. He booted up the computer and picked up the phone. "Lisa. Would you bring me the log books for the last two months?" He hung up the phone and glanced at the group surrounding him. "Our customers pre-pay for their computer time," he explained. "They sign in and out of a log book that we keep at the cash register." The door to the office opened and the blonde-haired girl from the coffee bar walked in with two books. "Here you go, Warren." She handed the books to him and looked curiously around the assembled group. "How are you, Mr. J?" Her boss smiled. "I'm well, Lisa. Thanks. Do me a favor?" "Sure." "Can you handle running things out front? Warren's going to be tied up with us for a little while." "No problem." "Thanks, Lisa." She pulled the door closed behind her and everyone returned their attention to Warren. "Tell me, Warren," Mulder asked. "How does this work? I assume that the history trail is wiped clean each time a customer ends their session and logs off the computer?" "Right. Each customer is assigned a user identification number. They use their ID number every time they log on, along with a password of their choosing. "But you can access the history from this computer?" Scully crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against a filing cabinet. "No. The server will only tell us when she logged in and what terminal she was working at on any given visit. Then we'll have to go out there," he jutted his chin toward the door, "and pull the information from the individual machines she was using." Warren entered his own user identification numbers and password into the computer. "The customers don't have access to the server, but we do from this computer." He flipped open one of the log books. "We do basic maintenance on the computers twice a month - you know, wipe the temporary Internet files and history, clear out the caches, defrag the hard drives, stuff like that," he explained. "If you can tell me what dates she was here, I can pinpoint what time she came and left." Mulder leaned over Scully's shoulder as they consulted the printouts of Brenda Jordan's credit card statements. "It looks like October 12th was the first time she came in," Mulder said. "She was back about a few days later on the 16th. Then she was here again on the 21st, 23rd and 24th." Warren grabbed a pen and scribbled the dates as Mulder read them aloud. Scully flipped to the next page of the statement. "That's it," she told them. "There are no other entries, so she either never came back, or she paid cash for her computer time." Warren ran a finger down the entries in the log for October 12th. "Ah, here she is." He tapped his finger on the page. "She signed in at 10:03 PM and then signed out at 11:18". He jotted the information down with one hand and rapidly turned the pages with the other. "October 16th... October 16th..." he muttered as he flipped through the pages. "Okay, here we go. In at 9:53 and out again at 10:45." He searched the log book until he had all of the log entries for the five dates in question and then flipped through a calendar on his desk. He spun back to the computer and the others waited quietly as his fingers flew over the keyboard and an inexplicable series of prompts and commands flashed on the monitor. "We lucked out that she used the same computer every time she stopped in," Warren pushed his chair away from the desk and stood. "Unfortunately, none of the information from her visit on the 12th will still be available." He jabbed a finger on the calendar. "We wiped the computers a couple of days after that. "Everything else should still be there. Let's go see if anyone is using that unit now." They drew curious looks from the customers as they trooped out of the office and gathered around one of the computers in the cafe. "Now what?" Bob Dunn asked. "Now we find out what she was doing." Mulder braced his hands on the edge of the Workstation and watched Warren use the mouse and keyboard to pull the information they were looking for. The cursor zoomed over the monitor. Warren's finger clicked madly on the mouse as he moved from one screen to the next. He jumped from the history folder to the temporary Internet file folder, highlighting various files, always moving on faster than any of the others could follow. Scully opened her mouth to ask him to slow down a bit. "Uh, Warren, could you maybe slow..." The young man lifted one hand from the keyboard to hold her off even while the other continued to masterfully manipulate the mouse. In less than twenty minutes time, Mulder and Scully held pages of information still warm from the printer. "Damn, he's good!" Bob Dunn exclaimed. Mulder looked up from the papers in his hands. "Kid deserves a raise!" He and Warren exchanged a grin. "Do you need anything else?" Warren asked. Scully shook her head. "Not at the moment, but if we need your expertise, may we give you a call?" Warren looked to his boss who nodded his approval. "Sure," he said. "I'd be happy to help." ************* San Diego, California Days Inn, Balboa Park Friday, 6:20 PM While Mulder was out getting their dinner, Scully was back in their hotel room going over the information they had brought back from the cafe. She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position as she sat at the small desk. She briefly considered settling onto the bed with her laptop, but she feared she would succumb to the lure of taking a nap. She pulled off her glasses and rubbed her fingers under her eyes. Arching her back against the uncomfortable chair, she raised her arms over her head, indulging in a long, satisfying stretch. She was tired. What she needed was a hot shower. Scully glanced toward the bathroom and considered taking a break before shaking herself back to reality. She peered at the papers spread over the desk and typed a URL into the browser window on her laptop. "www.customcurses.com," Scully murmured. It was true, she thought as she watched the page slowly load. You really could find absolutely anything on the Internet. Brenda Johnson had been visiting some very interesting web sites before her death. Mulder would love this, she thought. She glanced at her watch and noted that he would be returning with the food at any moment. She used her forefinger to toggle the cursor control on the keyboard and with great fascination began reading what appeared to be a menu of spells, hexes and curses to be had for a fee - spells for love and luck; for weight loss; to protect and bless a home; to bring good health; spells for prosperity and wealth. Black magick - hexes to be cast upon the rival for a lover or break up a marriage. Curses to inflict pain on an enemy or throw their lives into turmoil and chaos... Engrossed in the wealth of information artfully displayed on the web page, she was distracted by the faintly annoying sound of a computerized version of 'Take Me Out to the Ballgame' playing. She fumbled about with one hand and pulled Mulder's cell phone from beneath the papers scattered over the desk. "Scully," she said into the phone. "I'm sorry, I was trying to reach Fox." Scully felt her hackles - and her blood pressure - rise at the sound of the other woman's voice. "He's not here at the moment, Agent Fowley." Scully worked hard to match the older woman's falsely pleasant tone. "Is there something I can do to help you?" Her eyes fell back onto the computer screen and she idly clicked on something marked 'Curses for the Vain'. She bared her teeth in a feral smile as she imagined what the statuesque woman would look like if her hair fell out. Scully allowed herself a second or two to wallow in the pleasurable fantasy before turning her attention back to the voice in her ear. "No, thank you." Diana's saccharine-sweet voice might fool Mulder... "He asked me to do some research for the case you're working on and I wanted to... well, just tell him I called. He knows the number," she purred. Scully's eyes narrowed but before she could reply, the other woman had disconnected the call. Scully pushed her chair away from the desk and stood. Her hand clenched around the phone before she tossed it angrily onto one of the beds. She scrubbed her hand against her pant leg and growled softly under her breath. "Who was that on the phone?" Startled, she spun to find Mulder poised inside the open door of their room, a curious look on his face. He held two bottles of spring water in one hand and balanced a pizza box on the other. She had been so caught up in her reaction to Diana's call that she hadn't even heard him open the door. She didn't want to give him Diana's message; she didn't want to even speak the other woman's name. She and Mulder were in a good place - a wonderful place in their relationship. Their conflicting opinions on Agent Diana Fowley, however, were a continual sore spot between them. She opened her mouth to brush off his question, to tell him that it had been no one - a wrong number, when his earlier words of caution rang in her head. Instead, she told him the truth. "It was Agent Fowley." She took a deep breath and forced a note of studied calm into her voice. "She has the information that you apparently asked her to get." She could feel the angry flush stealing over her cheeks and she dropped back into her chair, studiously concentrating on the web page glowing softly on the laptop's screen. Despite her best efforts, ice frosted her words. "She said you had her number. I'm sure she's waiting for your call." Mulder set the pizza and the bottles of water down on top of the dresser. "I, um, asked her to do a little research." His voice was slightly conciliatory. "Yes, I know." Scully continued to feign interest in the display on her computer screen. "She didn't see fit to leave the information with me, however, so you'll have to call her back." "Didn't see fit to..." He frowned and shook his head. "Well, she probably felt that since I was the one who asked her in the first place, she'd need to talk to me personally. She knows I always answer my cell phone, and - what?" Mulder's brow knit in confusion as he observed her reaction. "You're looking at me strangely. What's wrong? You're not angry she called, are you?" Scully glanced up. "I was just surprised that you thought we needed help from an outsider. I wasn't expecting her call." Her words belied the casually disinterested look she had adopted. "Outsider?" Mulder sputtered. "Diana isn't an outsider. She's a good agent and could be a lot of help to us. I'm sorry I didn't mention I'd asked her for help, but then again, we don't exactly see eye to eye on Diana, do we?" he challenged. "I'm really not in the mood to get into this tonight, Mulder. Let's just eat the pizza before it gets cold so we can get back to work." She rose from her seat. Mulder stepped into her path. "No, I don't think so, Scully. I can tell Diana's call upset you, and I want to know why another agent collecting information that can only help us on this case, gives you this level of attitude." He planted his hands on his hips. "I think we need to talk about this. Now." She wished she had kept her mouth shut. "Can't we just let this go? I'm tired. This entire trip to San Diego has been exhausting." She lifted her hands before her to imply that she was conceding defeat. "God only knows how we managed to solve any cases before Agent Fowley came back," she said sarcastically, "but if you think we need her help, then by all means, let's take her help. Why not?" If he wasn't irritated before, he was now. "Jesus! You're just not willing to give Diana a break, are you?" He took a deep breath in an effort to dial down his temper. "Look, I know she rubbed you the wrong way right at the beginning, although I'm still not sure why. And I may be less than thrilled to see her teamed up with that pencil-neck Spender, but Diana is not the enemy. You don't know her the way I know her, Scully." She was sick to death of hearing about how well Mulder knew the other woman. "Well, Mulder, although it's not unusual for us to hold differing viewpoints on any number of things, I'm willing to concede that you have a much more... intimate knowledge of Agent Fowley's, uh... character." For a moment Mulder regarded her in bewilderment, then her words connected with him and he nodded knowingly. "Ahh. I see where this is going. You're resentful of Diana because I had a past association with her. Admit it. You're jealous." He was pushing. He had known from the moment the two women had laid eyes on each other that Scully had developed an instant disliking to Diana. But whenever the subject came up, she retreated behind the icy cool persona of Agent Scully. This was his chance to drag it out into the open and he was not going to let it slip away. He pushed down the niggling worry, that this wasn't the best of ideas, and added, "That's what this is. I could have asked another agent, an 'outsider', as you put it - I could have asked someone else to help out and you wouldn't have ruffled one feather, would you? But this is Diana Fowley, and so you can't see anything but green." Scully rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. She hasn't earned my trust yet. Can we just leave it at that?" She had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of knowing that she was jealous of the older woman. She could barely acknowledge the fact to herself. But Mulder wasn't going to back down. "No, we can't leave it at that. No fucking way!" He stepped closer. "I see this as yet another example of how you can't seem to handle any reference to Diana, any association. Jealousy, pure and simple. In this case, potentially damaging, because I think she could help us." His voice was chastising. "So, what do you want to do? Lose out on some vital information just because you don't like the fact that my ex-partner is hanging around enough to be of assistance?" Scully ducked her head, seething at his patronizing tone. "Ex-partner!" she muttered. She shoved her fingers through her hair. "I don't trust her. You taught me that, remember, Mulder? Trust no one. I learned at the feet of the master." She needed to get out of this room before she did something - said something - she would regret. Mulder moved back into her path, determined to clear the air. "You have no reason not to trust her, Scully. She has never done a thing to you. You chose to dislike and mistrust her from the first, based on nothing more than the fact of my past association with her. That's jealousy, with a capital "J"." He took a step back and lifted his hands in supplication. He could see the angry flush blooming over Scully's cheeks. The situation was getting out of control. He softened his voice and tried to get Scully to understand. "Look, I know Diana. I know her dedication and I know her loyalty. She means a lot... she has been there for me, in the past, before we met, back when I needed an anchor in my life." But his efforts fell on deaf ears. "I have every reason not to trust her, Mulder." Now Scully stepped into his space. "You were so ready to blame me. You were furious with me when I was unable to provide OPR with the science you needed to prove that the virus I was infected with last summer was extraterrestrial." She shot him an angry look when he tried to interrupt. "But you were very quick to forgive Agent Fowley when her report was less than supportive. You left me with Gibson to run off with her to the power plant. And even though you claim that you both saw an alien being, there was no mention of it in her report. And yet you continue to insist that she's protecting you, protecting the work." Scully's heart was pounding in her chest and she was having difficulty controlling her breathing. "You condemn me for not believing in something I didn't see, but you praise her when she lies in a report and hangs you out to dry. So, no. I don't trust her." She closed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "And I don't know you when she's around, Mulder." "That's bullshit, Scully!" He wrapped his fingers around her biceps and hauled her against him. "I'm the same person I've always been, the same person you've always known." He gave her a tiny shake. "As far as my 'reasons' for going with Diana to the power plant instead of with you... maybe right about then, after what we'd been through in that frozen hell-hole, what I needed most was a more open mind, regardless of the outcome." Mulder dropped his hands from her arms and paced away from her. Suddenly it was vital he make her understand something he himself wasn't completely sure of... "I've been as honest with you as I can be," he continued. "You know that. I'd like the same courtesy, Scully." He turned to her with a pleading look on his face. "I want this out in the open at last, so we can deal with it. If we have to keep it covered up, our relationship will never be solid." Scully was beyond hearing the beseeching tone of his voice or the look of pained love on his face. "As honest as you can be? Meaning what? Is there a certain point at which you feel that it is okay to be less than honest with me?" She stalked across the room and poked a finger into his chest to emphasize her every word. "You want honesty? Fine. You're right. Our relationship will never be solid until we get it all out. I don't like Agent Fowley. That doesn't surprise you." She stepped back. "Maybe this will. I don't like you when she's around because when she's around you're less than truthful." Mulder paled, clenching his hands into fists. "I'm less than truthful. Is that so? You don't know shit from shinola as far as what you think I might be, when someone from my past is in my life." Her words cut him, and he reacted to them, all emotion and little reasoning. He grated out, "All you can see is that a woman I used to be partnered with, someone I trusted the same way I trust you, has come back. Because I don't treat her with suspicion, treat her like shit, there's something wrong with me, that suddenly I'm less than worthy to be with you in any capacity." He exhaled harshly. "Jesus, Scully! Grow up! You think I'd act this way if someone from your professional past came back and you had some interaction with him? I'd like to think I'd handle myself with a modicum of maturity!" Scully stared at him in astonishment. "Professional past? You're going to stick with that?" She huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "Okay. Well, I guess you're being as honest with me as you can be." She narrowed her eyes and once again crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "Do you think I'm stupid? That I don't know? That I can't see the little looks between the two of you? That I didn't notice the nervousness you displayed when she and I first met? You and she share a bit more than a professional past, wouldn't you say?" Her expression challenged him to tell the truth. But Mulder had no intention of making it easy for her; for once Scully was revealing some deep-rooted feelings and emotions, and he wanted to see where they led. "What nervousness? What are you trying to say, Scully? Or, rather, trying to ferret out?" He was well aware of what she wanted to know, but she was going to have to come out and ask. He was tired of living in Scully's happy land of denial. "Why don't you for once just come out and ask what you think you need to know, so we can find a way to move on?" Her mouth gaped open. "Oh my God! Now who's being childish?" Her laugh was bitter. Ugly. "I wonder what Agent Fowley would think if she knew that you were so reluctant to admit that you had once been her lover? Was she that forgettable? Or was it so special, so memorable that you have to hoard your memories to yourself?" Oh, shit. He wasn't sure he was ready for this. And he was trying with little success to keep his anger in check, as he retorted, "What the FUCK does a past intimate relationship with a woman have to do with what you and I have, right now?" He didn't know how things had spun so far out of control, but there was no turning back now. "Do I ask you for details about your relationships? The past is just that - past." Fighting down his frustration, Mulder tried to make her understand. "Yeah, Diana and I were together, years ago. Yes, I cared for her, a great deal, as she cared for me. She wouldn't hurt me, Scully. Never." He pleaded with her to believe him, to trust his judgment. "We have a past between us and we've kept the friendship intact. If that's too much for you to handle - if you don't think your ego can handle it - if you think I am going to suddenly turn against Diana because my partner and lover is jealous and insecure... forget it!" The pleading in his tone suddenly twisted into something else, and he was powerless to keep it in; he could feel it bubbling up inside. He locked eyes with Scully's. "We work this out, and we get past it, or we forget it. Because I am fucking tired of having to explain my past, to anyone! Including you." As those words left his mouth, Mulder bit down the urge to take them back, to beg her to help them find their way out of the rapidly-escalating scene they both seemed bent on creating. Scully's breathing was as labored as if she had run for miles. She knew she was out of control and she didn't know how to get that control back. Didn't know if she wanted it back. "None of the men I had relationships with in the past have plopped down between us, nor are they likely to." Her expression was incredulous. "You're being untruthful again, right here and now. You haven't kept your friendship intact," she mocked. "In fact, I'm willing to bet that you hadn't heard a peep out of her from the day she left until the day she magically reappeared in Spender's meeting last year." She heard the strident sound of her own voice and struggling for a moment's dignity, she took a deep breath. "If I'm jealous and insecure it's because I've known from the moment I laid eyes on her that you were keeping something from me. Until that moment, I never thought you would lie to me, Mulder." Angry tears pooled in her eyes but she refused to let them fall. "If I'm jealous and insecure it's because I dislike the fact that you treat ME with suspicion when she is around." She hid shaking hands behind her back. "If I'm jealous and insecure it's because I dislike the implication that because Agent Fowley readily believes, she is more worthy of your trust than I." She gulped in a steadying breath, determined to get it all out. "I dislike being relegated to the backseat when she's around. I dislike being treated like the new kid on the block when I've been here for the last six years while she's been God only knows where," in spite of her efforts, she was ranting. "I dislike hearing about how she was your anchor when you needed one. I dislike hearing about her dedication and loyalty while you question mine." Her voice rose to a shout. "And I dislike the fact that you think I'm so petty that I would ask you to make a choice!" She spun away from him and blinked back tears. She'd be damned before she would let him see her cry. Mulder drew back in shock - at her tone, at her words, at her interpretation of things. How could she misunderstand this way? He was incredulous. "You ARE asking me to make a choice! Can't you goddamn see that, Scully?" He scrubbed his hands over his face in disbelief. "And not only are you acting jealous and insecure when you have no reason to, but you're also expecting me to just forget a time in my past when I was semi-happy, almost normal." He grabbed her by the arm and whirled her around to face him. "You wanna talk about fair? Yeah, let's talk fairness! Yes, I have memories of my time with Diana that I won't let go, because they meant something! The same as I have memories of you, that nobody can take away, or make me think are less than worthy." His face was mottled with anger. "You think if somebody came along and told me to forget what I have with you, that I'd just lie down and do it? I don't treat people that way, not the ones that in the past or present mean something to me!" He tightened his grip on her arm when she tried to pull away. She was going to hear what he had to say. "Remember, Scully. I'm the Poster Boy for family dysfunction! When something decent happens to me, I tend to hang onto it for a while! So don't ask me to drop it, Scully, I can't, any more than I could drop you. If you think I could... if you feel I care so little for you that I could drop you - then you don't know me, not at all." His expression was sorrowful, that she could know him so little. Scully's eyes narrowed. "I never asked you to give up your memories of your time with Agent Fowley. What I'll never understand is why you lied to me - YES!" she exclaimed when he shook his head in automatic denial. "You lied by omission," she accused. "Not only did you never mention to me once in the last six years that you had a partner when you discovered the X-Files, but you danced around your relationship with Agent Fowley when she reappeared. You and I weren't lovers then," she reminded him, "so why lie?" She drew a deep breath and yanked her arm free of his grasp. "When you hammer the point home over and over that she is a believer and I am not, I can't help but question where your trust lies. You trust her. Fine! I get that. I don't trust her. Do you get that? Why is it when it comes to her, you are automatically right and I'm automatically wrong?" she wondered. "Why is there no room on this topic for my point of view?" She walked away, putting distance between them, using the bed as a physical barrier. "I don't care to be compared to her as either your partner or your lover. It seems I don't measure up." Her glare was mocking. Contemptuous. "So no, I haven't asked you to make a choice. She glanced away and back, and this time the tears spilled over her lashes. "But sometimes... sometimes I could hate you for not making it on your own." He couldn't see her tears through the red haze that clouded his vision; couldn't hear the sob in her voice through the roaring in his ears. The woman he adored, was learning to worship, feeling something akin to hate? For him? Jesus! Unacceptable! Unbelievable... The pain her words caused him almost sent him physically reeling; it was all he could do to keep his feet and not double up with it. Every muscle in his body clenched as he faced off with Scully, across the width of the bed and with anger and tears etching her cheeks. His voice rushed out in a thick growl, "NO. You don't. You DON'T hate me. I will NOT accept you thinking you hate me. You love me. I love you. I fucking love you more than goddamn LIFE, Scully!" His eyes had started to burn and sting; his avowal of love sounding more like a declaration of war. His voice roughened with pain, he threw at her, "How many times have I proven my love to you? About the same number of times you've saved me? Remember that, 'Partner'? You save me and I save you. You own me. And I OWN you." He reached across the pitiful barrier of the bed and grasped at her, bringing her body onto the mattress, coming down next to her. Panic, worry, fear and anger, desperation tearing at him, he found himself shouting. "I'm NOT going to let you try to squeeze out of a commitment between us, using your jealousy of Diana, you got that?" He used his weight to pin her to the mattress and wrapped his hands around her wrists, restraining her flailing arms, "I'm not giving either of us some sort of an out from our relationship. I'm not letting you pick another fucking fight, hoping you'll piss me off enough to turn from you and hit the road." He held her wrists with one hand and curled the other around her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. "It's NOT gonna happen! Say it," he demanded. "Say you love me, you trust me, SAY IT! You need me, the same way I need you. SAY IT!" Her eyes spat at him with equal force as her words. "Fuck you. Get the hell off me, Mulder, before I do you some serious bodily damage." She squirmed beneath him, determined to ignore that need he expected her to admit to. And the more she squirmed, the more aroused she found herself... and suddenly Scully was tired of being the unflappable, sensible one. She was out of control, for the first time in many years - and she realized it felt good. Damn good. Something must have shown in her eyes, because Mulder gripped her tighter, for once not thinking about bruises. He dive-bombed her mouth, muttering against her lips, "I'm not letting you go. Not for something this goddamned unimportant." He took her mouth hard, deeply; in his frenzy to take he didn't realize she was kissing him back, just as hard. His tongue stabbed into her throat, his arms tightened, his legs twisted around hers. In the air the sound of their breathing grated, heavy and dense. With a raw groan, Mulder released her wrists and pulled at her loose sweater, yanking the neckline down over one creamy shoulder, exposing her bra. His fingers tangled in the strap and managed to work it off, tearing the delicate lace in the process. Scully bit out an angry, "You tore my favorite bra, damn you!" Her fury was blurred by the way her back arched up into his face when he covered one hard nipple with his teeth. She sucked in a gasp. "Jesus!" Her hand grasped his hair, nails digging into his scalp, holding his head so tightly against her breast that her skin mashed his nose. Mulder pushed at her, enough to afford him a few fortifying breaths, hazel eyes blazing down into hers. Her blue glare burned up at him, just as bright and hot. Mulder shoved a hand between their bodies and tugged at her jeans, opening them just enough to make room for the two fingers he used to pierce her. A sobbing moan escaped Scully's throat and her hips bucked up into his palm as he stroked her, deep inside where she was pulsing and wet. They'd made love in tenderness and in mounting passion, in a kind of compassion and with overwhelming love. This was their first time making it in anger, in any kind of desperation - and it was fiery and violent and fast. It was wrong and yet, strangely right. Sometimes the thing you think you'd never want is just the thing you need, most of all... She was shuddering under his hand, her stomach muscles rippling in reaction to the spear of his fingers. Eyes locked on each other, mouths open and gasping for air, they grasped and dove, bit and scraped at bared skin. Scully untangled a hand from Mulder's hair, pulling at his scalp, and raked it down his body until she could reach his swollen penis. When she wrapped her fingers around it in a greedy squeeze, he sucked in a cursing breath and pumped his hips on her palm. Her grip was too much, but there wasn't a way in Hell he'd make either of them stop, not now. Not ever. Mulder's anger had not diminished one bit during their passionate, silent exchange, and he knew hers hadn't, either. And he was afraid to speak, knowing that if he opened his mouth right now he might not be able to control what came out. Better to show her, better to feel the painful pleasure of her showing him. Scratch him, pull his hair, bite him, leave a mark on him... draw blood. It was better than the indifference she had strove to pile on him just a few minutes ago. He'd rather bear her inflicted wounds than her silent frost - for heat and pain meant she felt, for him. If she didn't love him she wouldn't touch him, bite and kiss him... wouldn't run the hard clutch of her hand up and down his aching flesh, until he thought he'd go mad with the need to erupt. Not this way, goddammit - he'd release it all, inside, where he could feel her hot, her wet, her need. Inside. He groaned it in her ear, "Inside, Jesus, now, Scully, right now..." Her nod against his throat was frantic; she released him with one last, hard tug, growling a breathless laugh when he hissed out a protest at the way she'd tweaked his sensitive skin. They both wriggled out of what was left of their clothes, and Mulder came down hard on her body, inanely glad when his weight whooshed all the air out of her lungs. His elation was short lived, however... for Scully easily slithered out from beneath him, pushed at him until he hit the mattress, face down - and clambered over his back. "Oh, Christ! -" Her mouth was everywhere at once, trailing wetly over his shoulders, nipping hard little bites straight down his spine, hands curling over his tight cheeks, tongue doing an eager dance in the wake of her relentless fingers. She bit him high on one hip and he groaned into the pillow; she spread her body atop his, wet center aligned precisely on the small of his back - and licked deep into one ear while her palms raced over any part of his body she could reach. She was killing him. With one final burst of strength, Mulder shook her off, wincing when her teeth caught the tender cartilage above his lobe. He grabbed two fistfuls, hands filling themselves with Dana Scully, jerking her under him again, this time twisting his limbs around hers, blindly aiming for her heat, another hiss forcing its way out of his lungs when his aim proved true and he thrust deep. So wet, God... so unbelievably wet and sunstroke hot. Tight. Pulsing. Trembling, all around him, so damn good it was just too fucking good... He rasped it into her mouth as he kissed her, as he drove into her. "Good, you feel so good, Scully, I love it, love you..." She pressed both hands down on his hips, forcing him deeper; her legs now a tight coil around his chest, and her reply shattered him. "Doesn't change a thing, God, Mulder, I'm dying here, I hate this, love you, love you -" Then words, however impassioned, became less than worthless, as they forged themselves together, pounding harder, moving faster, digging deeper. This was what mattered, at this moment the only clear truth. They might be at some kind of impasse, but they'd find a way around it. They might harbor resentment, buried deep for who knows how long... but they'd work it out, sometime later. It was their first full-blown fight and it had shaken them to their roots. Sex might not be the best answer, but for them it was the answer they needed. For Mulder the act of loving Scully this way had transcended the tender, had gone past supplication and jack-knifed all the way to primal. The animal in him was loving it, even as the more civilized human thought to cringe at his rough display. He shoved the human down and let the beast have full reign. For Scully the way her body responded to her lover's new approach was a revelation. She was hurt, pissed off, furious with him - and so madly in love that all of the above didn't seem to matter a good goddamn, although she knew once it was over those feelings would come screaming back and she'd have to deal with them. Right now she was more determined to not only match his hard passion, but make a mark or two of her own, all over him. She sank her teeth into his shoulder and grinned around the chunk of flesh she held captive, as he swore aloud and buried a hand in her hair, trying to pull her teeth out of his skin. She also noticed his protest didn't stop him from cramming more of himself into her writhing body... At this tenure and level of heat their coupling couldn't possibly last much longer, and when his muscles started to clench up, Mulder wasn't ready to stop or let go. Heart tripping madly inside his aching chest, he pressed his face to Scully's, harsh and uneven puffs of breath burning her ear. His fingers bruised the soft skin of her hips as he yanked her up higher, tighter; her answering scream of release clamped at him, tore at him - redeemed him. Mulder sent one more furious thrust her way, then the force of his own climax just about rendered him unconscious. He shuddered and pulsed, gasping, finally coming to rest in the arms of his woman, feeling those arms encircle him weakly, smiling into her hair when the feather of her lips caught his jawline. He wanted to tell her he loved her, endlessly. He wanted to whisper in her ear, moan to the heavens, of how much she meant to him, how he couldn't live without her, would die if this unsettlement between them lasted beyond the loving they'd just experienced. And he wanted to put his hands on her shoulders, and shake her until she admitted to him those exact same sentiments. Shake her until she admitted she loved him the same way, believed in him, had never for one second even doubted her trust in him. Then he wanted to do it all over again, kiss her until she melted, find himself hard, needy and ready, plunge inside, deep inside her heat, all over again... then come down from the amazing high, to rest in her arms, forever. But he kept silent, only turning to face her in the rumpled bed, snuggling her close, his arms gentle around her soft body and his breathing steady in her ear. Their feelings were still raw, as tender and aching as their bodies. The echo of the words they'd shouted at each other still floated in the air above their bed. A rough, passion-laden bout of sexual relief would not make it dissipate; they had to be realistic. Tomorrow the tension would be back. Tomorrow the doubts and worries would be back. Tomorrow Mulder would feel even more guilt - that he'd in some way forced those words from her because subconsciously he just had to know - and she couldn't lie to him, could she? She couldn't lie. And he was a bastard, for even thinking that way, considering it. Part and parcel of what they'd have to work out, though... Tomorrow they'd deal with it. Both of them. In his arms Scully was as silent as he - but her limbs rested against him, and her palm drifted over his chest in one tender sweep before it came to a stop, over his heart. Her breathing evened out to a solid slumber, and Mulder allowed himself to follow suit. Somehow they'd start fixing it, tomorrow. *************** Chapter Seven San Diego, California Days Inn, Balboa Park Saturday, 7:35 AM Morning crept in dim and watery through the draperies at the window. Face buried in the pillow, Mulder came awake slowly, feeling the ache brought on by sleeping tensed up. Usually it happened when he threw off the covers in his sleep, then couldn't awaken enough to wrap them back around his shivering frame. This time a sleepy remembrance of what had transpired the night before had him groaning under his breath as he gingerly moved his arms and legs, stretching as much as he could bear to, before he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. Behind him, wound up into most of the blankets and sheets, Scully slept like the dead. She'd probably snatched the covers from him in the middle of the night as usual - and because Mulder was sure they'd slept without touching, she'd managed to stay warm while he'd gotten chilled to his now-aching bones. Mulder stared at her with gritty eyes. Resisting the temptation to reach out a hand and run it under the bedsheets and over Scully's naked skin, he instead reached over his head and stretched again. There was a three-fingered scratch on his forearm. Red and angry-looking, it stood out as a vibrant reminder of the wild night they'd had. The scratch throbbed a little; he lowered his arms and got slowly to his feet, wincing when his balls swung into position. The left one was also throbbing, and not in a pleasant way. Mulder seemed to remember a moment just hours ago, when Scully's grip on his private parts waxed a bit too enthusiastic... Jesus. A movement behind him had Mulder glancing over his shoulder in time to see Scully turn over from her side to her back, the blankets slipping down far enough to afford him an unobstructed view of her neck - and three nice, splotchy bruises. Christ... how long had it been since he'd put a damn hickey on a woman's neck? He couldn't even recall that far back. Mulder shook his head wearily as he stumbled to the bathroom, refusing to feel guilt over the way he'd marked her. He winced as he relieved himself, finding more tender spots along the underside of his penis. And he remembered the death-grip Scully had kept on him last night, when their bedroom was hot and dark and wet with their passion and desperation. Moving to the shower and turning on a hot spray, Mulder thought about how their first real fight as a couple started over something inconsequential and very nearly destroyed what they'd built so carefully, so lovingly. Stepping under the steaming water, he stood and let it beat down on his sore body, smiling as the memory of how each ache and pain he now sported actually came to be. Anger had torn them up and anger had brought them together. Combined with a very real fear - that Scully would leave him, just walk out in a fit of denial - Mulder had been left with only one option: take. Hard. With both hands. Which was exactly what he'd done, leaving behind some bruises along with a large chunk of his aching heart. He'd taken, and given, and taken some more, then given again - and Scully had returned the favor with a strength borne of equal fury and desperation. Mulder rinsed off and stepped out, dripping all over the floor as he grabbed for the nearest towel. He buried his face in its fluffy softness, rubbing at his hair, his mind a determined blank, save the task at hand... to think about the day ahead; think about the leads needing to be tracked down. The minutes and hours ticking away without any sure knowledge of what was triggering the time bomb in something as innocuous as a birthday cake. That's what was important right now. Think about Scully, with that potential bomb in her body. And batter down the guilt of knowing what some of the questions thrown at her could have cost her, had she chosen to fib, even a little. He groaned into the bunched-up towel, then his head jerked up at the soft sound of her voice, in the doorway. "Mulder? Are you... all right?" Their eyes met over the expanse of the small bathroom. In his, traces of self-derision and blame, not only for the finger-shaped marks he could see on her soft, nude body, but the sure knowledge that he could have pushed her way too far last night, and lost more than her respect and love. He could have lost her forever, forfeited her life. That in his sudden need to hear the truth, her honesty, he pushed buttons better left untouched. She could have so easily lied, just to protect him... He let the guilt wash over him, hoping she wouldn't be able to see it. But Scully knew him too well; reflected in her eyes were worry and unease, that in reading him like a book she knew just how far his self-flagellation had already gone... not because of what they'd done last night, beyond the fighting. Because the loving had been fierce and glorious and yes, it had bruised her. His attitude had bruised her more deeply. Strangely enough, she wasn't thinking of the possibility that anything less that spoken truth could have had dire consequences. She was thinking of their impasse. They still had to deal with that, but now wasn't the time. They had more urgent matters to attend to. He twisted the towel between his fingers and drew in a deep breath. Scully stood quietly, waiting to take her cue from him. He gave a sharp shake of his head and released the air from his lungs in a long sigh. He wasn't ready to talk yet and truthfully, neither was she. Nerves had been rubbed raw and emotions still simmered too close to the surface. She feared what would happen if they tried to broach the topic again. She dipped her head, the tiny nod telegraphing her willingness to shelve the subject until another time. "I'm finished in here." He wound the towel around his hips and moved toward the doorway. "Why don't you grab a shower and I'll get us some coffee." Needing to touch him, Scully laid a hand on his arm as he squeezed past her in the tiny doorway. "Would you get me a bagel, please?" she asked. Mulder looked down at the hand curved over his forearm, delicate and pale against his darker skin. "Light cream cheese?" he asked expectantly. "Nah. Get me the real stuff. We have a lot of work to do today." She scraped her tangled hair away from her face with her free hand and peered up at him. The questioning look on her face asked whether they would be able to redirect their attention to solving the mysterious deaths of the three women. Mulder's arm slipped from her light grip as he stepped into the bedroom, but he briefly caught her fingers with his own. "I'll be back in a few minutes and then we'll get started," he promised. Scully nodded and pushed the door closed behind her as she entered the small bathroom. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and released a shaky breath. She closed her eyes and offered a quick prayer that they would find a way to resolve the tension between them. Breathing out a whispered 'amen', she rubbed a hand over her heart. Leaning over the tub, she spun the taps to start the shower. Over the hiss of water and the pounding of her own heart, she heard the door to their room open and then close. **************** The faint sounds of Scully's shower filtered through to the bedroom as Mulder sat at the small table by the window, booting up the laptop. Next to him was the list of web sites culled by Warren, the manager of Java Net. Tapping at the keys, Mulder waited impatiently for the rest of his login to process, then popped on Internet Explorer. He brought up Google and glancing over at the first site on the list, tapped in the site. A minute later he tapped in the next one, then the next, slowly working his way down the list in the order in which Brenda Jordan must have first brought them up. The first few sites yielded little more than amateur web pages filled with personal accounts of Satanism, spell-casting and what-not. Brenda hadn't been looking for that, Mulder was sure of it. Rubbing at his eyes in frustration, Mulder clicked in a few more sites. A few minutes later, catching a look at the eighth site, he thought it had serious possibilities, and started typing it in, then paused and thought about it. 'www.hoodoo.com' Hoodoo. Another term for voodoo. Spell-casting. Gris-gris bags and potions, hexes. Spell-casting... Hmmm. Maybe... Mulder's knowledge of voodoo and hoodoo was somewhat limited, but he knew spells and charms could be cast on all different kinds of things, animate and inanimate. Mulder ran his finger down the progression of sites on the page, thinking about how Brenda might have worked her way through them, discarding one, zeroing in on another. If she'd pulled up the hoodoo site, she'd have had to imagine a spell could be put on something... or someone. Her husband, perhaps? A spell, to make him fall in love with her again, and forget anyone he'd been boinking on the side? Or maybe... a spell on Mary, to sour her love, destroy her need for ole Marv... maybe even do away with the competition completely. Mulder read the last site, and on a hunch typed it in. 'www.power.com' He waited. And waited. And cursed aloud when the site came up 'Unavailable'. Whoever owned that site must have taken it down, for whatever reason. Hell... Opening the drawer of the nearest nightstand, Mulder pulled out a phone book and flipped open the Yellow Pages. Most big cities had everything from tattoo parlors to head shops, listed in their directories. San Diego shouldn't be any different. A few seconds later, he was on the phone, asking to speak to the owner of 'Born On The Bayou'. "This be Madame Bojeaulie. What can I do for you, chere?" The voice was low and rich. Mulder tugged on his shoes as he requested, "I need some information, please. I need to know if a voodoo charm can be placed on an object, such as food." The low voice chuckled in his ear. "Now, what you be wantin' to know that for, hmmm? You want to make some girl fall in love with you?" Mulder forced himself to chuckle back, fighting his impatience. "Yes, that's exactly what I want. She's gorgeous, and she won't even look my way. I thought if I sent her some chocolates, maybe... she loves chocolates. Maybe if some of them had a love charm on them..." He let his voice trickle off suggestively. Madame Bojeaulie chuckled again. "Right idea, chere - but wrong discipline. Voodoo, it don't want to work that way. Now, gris-gris bags, they work just fine. You put one of those around your lady's neck and I guarantee she'll be yours, forever. You come on down, see me. I'll fix you right up, promise." Mulder stifled another sigh of impatience. "Well, if voodoo isn't what I want, then what is? Can you recommend someone?" He childishly crossed his fingers, feeling intuitively that this woman knew exactly what he was really looking for. Madame Bojeaulie breathed heavily over the phone for a second, then replied in a regretful rasp, "Well, now... you sound like a mighty handsome man, chere. I'd like nothing better than to have you walk into my shop and brighten my day. But maybe I'm not what you be needing, eh? I think maybe you want to go see Louisa Dupree; she be the owner of 'Spell-Spinners'. She and me, we been friends since we both came here, twenty years ago, from N'Awleans. You tell her Bojie sent you; she'll take good care of you. Over on Baltic Square, bebe; you got a pen? I'll give you the address." Three minutes later, Mulder was out the door, leaving behind a hastily-scribbled note propped on the laptop screen. 'Scully: got a lead. Meet me at 14325 Baltic Square. Love you. Mulder...' ************** Scully reluctantly turned off the water. She had taken a longer than usual shower, but the hot water had felt so good on her aching muscles and - she had to admit - she was stalling for time before she had to go out and attempt to work with Mulder as though nothing monumental had happened the previous night. Wringing her hair out, she pushed the shower curtain back and reached for a towel from the metal rack mounted on the wall near the bathtub. Patting her skin dry, she stepped out of the tub and wrapped the towel around her damp hair. Still stalling, she moved through her morning ablutions slowly, brushing her teeth and smoothing a lightly scented body lotion over her throat, arms and legs. She wiped the steam away from the mirror and applied her makeup with a practiced hand. As she was getting ready for the day, she noted that there were no sounds coming from the other room. Mulder was taking his time bringing breakfast back, she thought. Perversely, she felt a little better knowing that she wasn't the only one who was feeling a bit awkward. She tried to quell the knot of anxiety that had settled in her stomach. All couples fight, she told herself. It's normal. We love each and everything will be fine. The important thing right now is to finish the job. Finished with her pep talk, she pulled the towel from her head and draped it over a hook on the back of the bathroom door. She combed her hair out, took a deep breath, opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom. Her eyes fell on the twin cups of coffee sitting side-by-side on the desk. "Mulder?" She looked around and immediately felt stupid for doing so. The room was too small for Mulder to be hidden from her sight. She picked up one of the paper cups of coffee. She took a small sip and grimaced. It was barely warm. Obviously, Mulder had brought the coffee back a while ago. A white paper bag held her bagel and cream cheese. A half-eaten sweet roll lay on a napkin nearby. "Where the hell is he?" she muttered as she walked to the closet to select something to wear. She pulled clean lingerie from her open suitcase and was fastening the hooks of the bra when she saw the note propped up against the laptop screen. She quelled an instinctive surge of annoyance. Read the note before you get angry, she silently cautioned herself. But despite her calming words, she knew what she would find. 'Scully: got a lead. Meet me at 14325 Baltic Square. Love you. Mulder...' She crumpled the note in her hand and tossed it onto the desk. She strode across the room and twitched back the curtains, peering out onto the parking lot. "Perfect," she snarled. He'd ditched her. Again. Despite repeated promises to the contrary, he had left her behind to chase after a lead. And he'd taken the car. "Got a lead," she mimicked as she rooted through her bag for her cell phone. "...love you." Any conciliatory thoughts that she had been entertaining during her shower had flown out the door the moment her eyes had landed on the note. How urgent could this lead be that he couldn't have taken the time to walk ten feet across the room to poke his head into the bathroom and let her know? How imperative was it that he couldn't wait for her to join him? In the wake of the prior evening, old resentments easily came to the surface. Damnit! This case was important to her. Each one of these women had died - literally in her hands - as she impotently tried to save them. And now, if Mulder was to be believed, her own life was on the line. Yet once again, he dismissed her, left her behind to hare off on his own, too impatient to wait and discuss the matter with her; expecting her to come running along behind him like a good little subordinate. Scully tossed herself into a chair and moodily pressed the speed dial on her phone to call Mulder. She'd be damned if she was going to call a cab. He could just turn around and come back to get her. She heard the phone ring - in stereo. In disbelief, she eyed the mound of bedcovers that had spilled onto the floor as she listened to the muffled ringing coming from beneath. Unbelievable! He had forgotten to take his phone. Forget it, she thought as she thumbed off her phone, effectively silencing his. She let her head fall against the back of the chair. If he wants to do this on his own, let him. She closed her eyes for a moment, determined not to chase after him this time. But a lifelong, highly honed sense of guilt, accompanied by the tiny niggling fear that always assailed her when Mulder went off on his own drove her back onto her feet. "This is my job," she mumbled to no one. Besides, she reminded herself, she couldn't kill him if she wasn't in the same room with him. Decision made, she stuffed both cell phones into her bag and finished getting dressed. She yanked open the drawers on the nightstands in search of the local telephone book. Spying the familiar bright yellow cover lying on the floor near the desk, she picked it up and flipped through it until she found the listing she was searching for. "Hello? Would you please send a cab to the Days Inn in Balboa Park..." ************ Spell Spinners Magick Shoppe 14325 Baltic Square San Diego, California From the outside, 'Spell-Spinners' looked like an upscale bookshop. In the window, soft indirect lighting shone down on featured hardcover publications, propped on small smoke colored satin-covered pedestals. A bouquet of waxy magnolia blossoms filled a squat bowl, next to a copy of 'Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil'. When Mulder opened the door he heard a tinkling of Far-Eastern chimes, instead of a customer buzz. Inside the scent of sandalwood incense mixed with flowers and candlewax hung pleasantly in the air. The shop was crammed with tables and bookshelves, all groaning with an eclectic assortment of books, candles, exotic-looking bricabrac and an impressive collection of crystals and other accouterments of magick. There was a cluttered counter with an ancient cash register, and standing in front of the cash register, cursing colorfully in French, was a woman with long gray-streaked wavy hair tumbling over her plump shoulders, a pair of fuchsia half-glasses shaped like stars slipping down her nose. She slapped both hands on the old register and swore at it in a low, fury-coated voice. "Morceau de merde! Fichu vieux morceau de merde antique!" She even went so far as to spit at the ancient piece of equipment. Mulder couldn't translate her rapid French, but he figured she had to be rather pissed off. He cleared his throat, and her head snapped up, large dark brown eyes narrowing behind the outrageous eyeglasses, before her expression brightened and she ran her now-admiring gaze over him in one sweep of pure female enjoyment. What a speciman beau du manhood...! Her frown rearranged itself into a melting smile in about one half-second flat, and she leaned on the counter, aiming that smile at Mulder. She purred out a sultry, "Well, now... what can I do for such a handsome man, this fine day, hmmm? You be wanting a charm? Maybe some incense? You name it, Louisa got it. That's me. And Spell-Spinners be the best in San D, mon ami." Mulder couldn't help but smile back at her, recognizing a still-lovely woman on the upper end of fifty who'd obviously never lost her ability to flirt. He let his gaze wander around, pretending to give off an air of helplessness. "I got your name from Bojie, over at 'Born on the Bayou'. I'm looking for a... love spell... and Bojie said you could help me." He managed to add an air of lovesick sadness to the helpless male routine, and watched Louisa Dupree melt in her shoes. She clucked her tongue at him, pressing a be-ringed hand, loaded down with bangle bracelets, on his arm and patting it. "Bojie, she know all about the broken heart, mon beau. She send you to the right place. I can fix you up, make your woman want you like she want no other. This I guarantee." Giving his arm another squeeze, Louisa pulled a key out of her pocket and moved toward a large cabinet in the corner of the shop, tossing over her shoulder, "You wait a bit, chere. I'll show you what I got." As she stuck her head into the open cabinet and rummaged around through books, files and what-not, Mulder inquired, "I was thinking about maybe a spell, on a box of chocolates. She loves chocolates. Can you do that? Put a love spell on food?" He watched her carefully. Louisa pulled her face out of the overstuffed cabinet and swung around to meet his guileless look. She frowned a bit. "You want a spell put on food? Oh, now, chere... that be a whole 'nother thing! Bojie tell you I'd spell food? Bebe, I only do that when all else fails! We try something tamer first, you see? Then if it don't work we can come on stronger, vous etes d'accord avec moi?" So saying, she stuck her head back in the cabinet, and Mulder fought back a frustrated groan, looking around the shop impatiently. A movement caught his peripheral and he turned toward a curtained doorway. An elderly woman stood there, dressed in unrelieved back from head to toe. Thin white hair straggled over the high collar of her long-sleeved dress, and her eyes were the same dark brown as Louisa's and gleamed at him from behind steel-gray frames. She crooked an arthritic finger, beckoning him. With a glance toward the muttering Louisa, Mulder moved over to her. The woman was tiny and bird-thin. She peered up at Mulder for a moment, then spoke in a thickly accented, quavering voice. "You want the woman, n'cest pas? You won't find it here, la reponse, mon ami. Ma fille, she go gentle, vous comprenez? You want le charme fort. Strong. Not here, comprenez? I know who." She grasped his arm, tugging him closer; obligingly Mulder bent over until her puckered mouth was up against his ear. He could smell coffee and peppermint on her breath, as she whispered into his ear. "There be sisters, mon ami. My grand-nieces. They know le charme fort, comprenez? But one, she have la magie plus foncee. Darker, you see? You need dark. For food, very dark. You go see Odette, she lives on Fourth. Nineteen Fourth. That be what you need. You tell her what you want. Allez, maintenant! Go!" She released his arm, nodded once at him, and melted back into the shadowed doorway, disappearing behind the heavy curtains. Mulder cast a swift glance over his shoulder, noting that Louisa had dragged out a large cloth-bound book and was flipping through the old and yellowed pages. He moved silently to the door and slipped out so carefully the overhead chimes alert never connected. A minute later he was on his way toward Nineteen Fourth, and a grand-niece named Odette. ************* In a townhouse on Fourth, in a dim back room, a woman with a mane of wild, dark curls cascading down the back of her blood-red dress stood at an ornate old mirror. Staring dreamily into her own dark eyes, she ran a pearl-encrusted boar's hair brush through her long tresses. They sprang around her face as if they had a life of their own. In a way, they did. She believed that everything had the capacity for life, that everything had the right to die. Human, inhuman, inanimate, didn't matter. It could be... tampered with. Brought to life and disposed of. Used, made better, rendered in whatever fashion she chose. With the right words, charms, power... anything was possible. She had always known this. She had always trusted. And she had never been afraid to challenge the forces, stretch the boundary and taunt the darkness. It served to make her strong and powerful at a young age. She liked it. Loved it. And she'd never go back, never stop. Setting the brush down on her walnut bureau, she picked up a small crystal decanter and lifted the stopper, trailing the heady contents of her favorite perfume over the curve of her neck and down between her breasts. As she inhaled its spice, she suddenly had the feeling that she was standing on a vital precipice, about to face the ultimate challenge. She could almost taste it. Something was coming. Or someone... When her doorbell tinkled softly, she let herself smile in satisfaction. Giving herself a final approving once-over, she walked out of the room, down the hallway, her movements all sinuous grace and swaying hips. She descended the stairs, her dark brown gaze locked on the tall, shadowy outline framed behind the frosted glass of her front door. With each step closer, fresh tingles erupted under her skin. She'd felt this way, before... years ago, on a hot night in a crowded Ponchatoula nightclub. Someone coming. Someone, already there. ************ Chapter Eight Spell Spinners Magick Shoppe 14325 Baltic Square San Diego, California "Here we are," the cab driver announced. Scully peered out of the taxi's window, unsurprised to find that 14325 Baltic Square housed a magick shop. She stepped out of the cab and took a quick look around. There was no sign of their rental car. She wondered if Mulder had already come and gone. "Would you mind waiting?" she asked as she pushed enough money to cover the current fare and tip through the open window. The cabbie glanced at the dashboard clock and shook his head. He quickly fanned the bills with an expert flick of his thumb and forefinger taking note of the generous tip she had given him. "Sorry, ma'am," he said, genuinely regretful to give up this fare. "I'm punching out. I gotta get home and take my kid to her soccer game." "No problem." Scully pushed away from the cab and stepped up onto the pavement. "I'll put another call in to your dispatcher. Thanks, anyway." He lifted the handset to the dispatch radio. "Want me to take care of it?" She shook her head. "I'm not sure how long I'll be," she told him. "It's easy enough for me to call again. Thanks for the offer though." She smiled her thanks and turned toward the store. The cabbie waited until she had disappeared into the shop before he pulled away, wondering as he drove toward home what such a pretty girl needed with a store like that. Scully was faintly aware of the melodious tinkling of chimes as she stepped into Spell Spinners. Her eyes tracked over the store, skimming over the collection of books and crystals and taking careful note of the herbs lining the shelves behind a counter. There was no sign of Mulder. As a matter-of-fact, there was no sign of anyone - not even the owner. "Hello?" she called out. She walked toward the counter, her fingers absently trailing over a glass bowl filled with small, colored stones. A woman poked her head out from behind a curtain that Scully imagined hid the storeroom from the rest of the shop. "Bonjour," the woman said. "I will be with you in just a moment." Scully nodded and leaned against the glass counter, studying the pretty crystals lying on a bed of deep purple velvet while she waited. "I'll be back in a little while, mama," she heard the woman say in a low voice. She stepped through the curtain and smiled brightly. "Je suis desole de vous continuer l'attente," she apologized for keeping Scully waiting. "You like the crytals, oui?" "They're very pretty," Scully acknowledged. She fished her identification from her pocket and opened the wallet to display her badge. "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully of the FBI." The woman frowned and pushed her graying hair over her shoulder with one hand as she reached for Scully's badge with the other. "I was supposed to meet my partner here," Scully told her. The woman peered at Scully's photo identification and then looked over the top of the wild fuchsia frames of her glasses to study the face of the woman standing so alertly on the other side of the counter. "I am Louisa Dupree," she said. "Is there un certain ennui?" She handed the wallet back to Scully. "Is there some trouble?" she clarified. Scully shook her head. "My partner told me to meet him here," she repeated. "Have you seen him?" "Non. I am sorry," Louisa said. "You are the first FBI Agent I have met." Louisa's cheeks dimpled with her charming smile. Scully tapped her nails against the glass display case. "He's tall," she said. "Dark hair, hazel eyes." The many rings on the woman's hand sparkled as she pressed her fist against her chest. "Mais oui," she acknowledged. "Such a man was here. Tres beau." She fanned her face with her fingers and flashed a wicked grin at Scully. "But he was not FBI." "What did he want?" Louisa planted her elbows onto the countertop and leaned forward. "He wanted un charme d'amour - a love charm," she said. "But he disappeared before I could get what he needed." She clapped her hands together once, jingling her bracelets and shrugged. Scully's brow creased as she frowned. "He just wanted a love charm?" "Oui. We have many such customers." She swept a hand out to point out the many features of her shop. "Most people are looking for l'amour, non?" Scully drew out the small picture of Mulder that she kept hidden behind her identification. "Was this the man who was here earlier?" She was confused as to why Mulder would ask her to meet him here and then not wait. "Oui," the woman said again. "But..." she hesitated and cast her eyes downward feeling suddenly awkward. "He wanted me to cast a spell on a box of chocolates." Her eyebrows arched over her glasses as she widened her eyes. "That is not my way," she continued. "But as I was-" "Louisa!" The woman lowered her head with a sigh at the querulous sound of her name being called. "Excuse moi," she apologized. "My mama..." A tiny and aged woman appeared from behind the curtain. "Vous recherchez votre amoureux," she rasped as she shuffled toward the counter. Louisa gasped and laid a restraining hand on her mother's arm. "Excusez-la," she murmured. "My mama, she suffers from Alzheimer's." She tapped a finger against her temple. "Her memory is not so good." "What did she say?" Scully asked curiously. "Your lover, he was here," the old lady repeated in English. She shrugged off her daughter's hand and stepped around the glass counter. Scully's face flamed at the old woman's words. "We're not..." She fought back the instinct to deny the personal aspect of her relationship with Mulder while working. "Did you speak with him?" she asked instead. "Oui. He wanted le charme fort... a strong love spell." She ran her gaze over the younger woman appraisingly. "Mebbe the charm was not for you, oui?" "Mama!" Louisa cried out in a scandalized voice. She laid a hand on her mother's shoulder and tried to draw her back. "You must not speak this way!" "Soyez silencieux!" The old woman silenced her daughter with a sharp command. "Je ne suis pa fou!" she snarled. "I am not crazy," she repeated in English for Scully's benefit. She stepped closer and caught Scully's chin in her gnarled hand. "Your young man, he come looking for le charme fort," she said with an emphatic nod. "He asks mebbe ma fille can make magick on a boite de chocolats to make a woman fall in love with him. I told him ma fille not make that magick and I send him where he can get what he wanted." She studied the flush that rose in Scully's cheeks and saw something spark in the blue eyes that held her own gaze. The man needed no charm to make this girl fall in love with him, she noted. So, the charm must have been intended for another woman, she decided. The old lady let her hand fall away from Scully's chin as she took a step back. This girl was the police - she didn't want to be on the wrong side of the law, but neither did she want to interfere in things if the young man was looking to find love elsewhere. A little misdirection from a confused old woman wouldn't hurt... She let her shoulders slump. "My grand-nieces, they own a shop - Jour et Nuit," she said in a tired voice. Scully glanced toward Louisa in confusion. "Day and Night," the other woman translated. "It's on Poplar Street - about twenty minutes from here. My nieces, Chantal and Odette, they own the store." "Is it a magick shop as well?" Louisa nodded. "Oui. La magick." She wrapped a sturdy arm around her mother's waist. "S'il vous plait," she murmured as she looked at her mother's slumping form. "It is time for mama's nap." Scully nodded and thanked Louisa for her time. She watched the two women disappear behind the curtain. She tugged open the door, sending the chimes overhead into a tinkling dance and yanked her cell phone from her pocket. Intent on placing another call to the cab company, she was unaware of the old woman's appraising gaze as she peered through the curtains. ************** 19 Fourth Street San Diego, California Her hand reached for the glass doorknob, slender ruby-tipped fingers grasping and turning, pulling at the heavy mahogany, opening it, swinging it wide, staring up, and up... Mon Dieu. So tall, so wide-shouldered. Such dark hair, such clear eyes, such a full, sensuous mouth. So much like... Her lips were actually forming the word 'Guy', when the handsome male in front of her smiled and inquired in a low, sexy rasp, "Are you Odette? Your great-aunt sent me. I'd like to talk to you about having a spell cast." Odette's eyes began to glow... and she extended her hand, let his fingers engulf hers, allowing herself that first amazing moment of shivering awareness. When she tugged at his hand, backing into the room, he followed. The interior of Odette's house was dim and cool, smelled faintly of jasmine, or honeysuckle - he always got those two scents confused with each other. Mulder looked around as much as he could without seeming too obvious. There wasn't all that much to see that could constitute strange, or prove potentially dangerous. The rooms were charmingly old-fashioned and seemed to boast a decent collection of antiques. She still retained hold of his hand, and was pulling him toward what appeared to be a small, ornately-decorated parlor. He sank down into a velvet-covered wing chair and stared up at the dark-haired woman who regarded him intently. She was delicate but curvaceous. Thick, almost-black hair hung in fat curls down her back; wispy waves set themselves around her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were huge, as dark as her hair, framed with long eyelashes. Her lips were wide and generous, painted the same ruby red as her dress and her tapered fingernails. Those nails were currently drifting up and down his sleeve in a manner designed to intrigue and flirt. She was a beautiful woman - and she left him dead cold. Mulder knew that regardless of the presence of Scully in his life, even if he'd met this woman under any circumstances she would have the same effect on him. There was something here, he could feel it. Something... wrong. Ugly. If she was in any way responsible for the deaths of three women - and the cause of putting the woman he loved in danger - he'd bring her down. But first, he had to gain as much of her confidence, as he could. Odette couldn't take her eyes from this handsome man. Dieu, he was so perfect. Her eyes roamed over the wide shoulders, encased in a well-tailored suit jacket. The pale blue of his dress shirt brought out interesting glints in his eyes; the curve of his full lips held a promise of sensual delight. Oh, yes, she could feel it. Sensual, from head to toe. Sitting in front of her, those eyes of his, looking into hers... he was magnifique. She'd once known a man such as this, years ago. She'd lost him. She was a firm believer in the way Fate could play a hand. She'd always celebrated the way she could manipulate it, bend it to her will. She'd honed her powers these past few years and it had at last paid off... because it was so clear to her that she'd been given another chance to have the man she'd always considered her soul-mate. Odette knew men. She knew their thoughts, what was important to them... what made them strong as well as what rendered them weak. Her Guy had been weak, even as his strength had held her captive. But she knew men - and she accepted they were sometimes weak. Around other women, they would show it, the side of them that made them men. They couldn't help it... She'd been robbed of the opportunity to show Guy how much of a woman she could be, for him. Before she'd had a chance with him, her sister had interfered. Of course this beau homme was not Guy. But there was something... she could sense it. Feel it, in her heart. He'd come back to her, somehow he'd found his way. She would not lose him again. She licked her lips, noting the way his eyes followed the movement of her tongue as it slicked over her lipstick. Her voice came out in a low purr. "So, ma chere. You want a spell. Tell me, how did you hear of my... talents?" She watched him, charmed when he ducked his head and gazed up at her from beneath his lashes. Ah, a shy one. She notched up her smile from sexy to smoldering, and aimed it right at him. It was taking all of Mulder's focus to keep from reacting to her patent seduction with something other than a sarcastic roll of his eyes. He'd never encountered anyone so obvious, and that was saying something. After all, he'd known Phoebe Green, and you sure couldn't get much more obvious than that. He'd endure anything to get at the truth. He forced himself to smile back at her, still giving her a lowered-lashes gaze. "Your great-aunt gave me your name and told me how to find you. I told her I was looking for a very special spell. She said you were the one." He purposely allowed his tone to warm up into a low husk, and saw the way she visibly preened at his words. Her index finger trailed idly down his cheek, enjoying the shiver of reaction she felt under his skin. "Tante Nanette told you that, eh? She's wise, my dear Tante. For you, I'm the one. So," she leaned in closer, let the heady fragrance of her perfume weave through his senses, "You need a spell. What kind of spell, chere? Tell me how I may assist you. Tell me all about it." Mulder fought the urge to grind his teeth in disgust. Jesus, whatever the hell she called perfume, it was about to gag him. He took a shallow breath, figuring she'd think he was panting. "I need a love spell. There's a woman... she doesn't know I'm alive, not in a romantic way. Yet. I need to put a spell on her, make her fall in love with me." He gave her a suitably pleading look. Odette could feel her heart beating faster. He was talking about her, she just knew it. She was seldom wrong about such things. Tante Nanette called it 'la deuxieme vue'... 'the second sight'. Odette used to think it was a true nuisance, but now she was very glad to have the ability. Every hair on her head was tingling. Oh, such a feeling; she never dreamed she'd experience it again, not in this lifetime. She wanted to throw herself into his strong arms, absorb his scent, wrap him all around her, swallow him whole. She wanted to press so close to him that she'd see out of his eyes. She wanted to possess his soul, the way he'd owned hers, for five long years. But first... she wanted to play the game. Half the excitement of getting there was the journey, n'cest pas? She stroked a finger down his cheek again, loving the rough-satin of his skin. "A love spell. My specialty, mon bebe. It would be my pleasure to bring your lady to heel, so to speak. Why don't you tell me about her? Describe her to me. Close your eyes," she brushed her hand over his face, feeling the flutter of his lashes as he did as she bid him, "Close them, chere, and tell me about her. Let your heart be your eyes." Oh, brother... hell, he didn't have time for this! And yet, if he didn't play her goddamned game, he might never find anything out. And he had a feeling that she was the one responsible. He couldn't explain it, he just sensed it. Obediently, Mulder kept his eyes shut and began conjuring up a visual of Scully; engaged - for the first time since entering this house - in something completely enjoyable. "She's the most beautiful woman in the world. Her skin is like silk and her lips are full and ripe. I just know they'd taste as sweet as they look. She's so perfect. Her eyes - her body. Her smile... it drives me crazy when she smiles at me." Mulder's voice took on a husky, dreamy quality, as he described Scully. Hearing the timbre of that honeyed rasp, Odette felt a shiver vibrate up her spine. To hear him speak of her this way, at last... it was a dream come true. He HAD wanted her, years ago! He had pined for her, dreamed of her; it was in his voice and written all over him, in the flush that stained his cheeks. She ached to slip into his arms, where she knew she belonged. But the anticipation was so delicious... she wanted to prolong it just a little more. "She sounds like quite the belle dame, chere. So, tell me... what's her name? It would help greatly with my spell, if I knew her name." Odette could feel herself actually tremble with the need to hear her name pass his lips. Mulder opened his eyes and stared at her, vaguely noting the odd thickness in her tone and seeing the hectic blush on her face. For one small second he forgot the potential danger this woman presented, instead registering somebody who seemed interested in hearing a little about the woman he adored. The soft smile on his face matched the words he spoke. "Dana. Her name is Dana..." *********** Jour et Nuit 5936 Poplar Street San Diego, California After exiting another cab, Scully's heels tapped along the brick path that led to the door of Jour et Nuit which was tucked into the first floor of a stately old brick home on the tree-lined street. Pushing open the door, she stepped into the shop and took a curious look around. While Jour et Nuit obviously carried many of the same products as Spell Spinners, the clutter and disarray of the other shop was missing here. The store was bright and airy. A bouquet of hothouse bred sunflowers stood in a tall vase on a table near the door and Scully trailed her fingers over the silky petals of the happy-faced flowers. Neatly arranged shelves behind the counter displayed the various herbs, oils and incenses for sale. Crystals cut and faceted into teardrops, ovals, squares and circles artfully hung from nearly invisible wires in the bay window that fronted the store. The late morning sun poured through the windows and touched the crystals, sending wild prisms of rainbow colors dancing over the walls of the store. A glass display case housed earrings, bracelets and necklaces - some almost fairy-like in their delicacy, others heavy, ornate and medieval. Debussy's 'Clair de Lune' - and not the New Age music that Scully admittedly expected - played softly from hidden speakers. Behind the counter, a woman a year or two younger than Scully looked up from the computer that was sitting on one corner of an antique rosewood desk. She tapped a quick command onto the keyboard and pushed her chair away from the desk. "Bonjour," she said in a lightly accented voice. "May I help you?" "I hope so," Scully replied. "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully of the FBI." Once again, she flipped open the wallet encasing her badge and photo identification. "Louisa Dupree sent me to see you." The younger woman looked up from her study of Scully's badge, alarm flashing in her blue eyes. "Tante Louisa? Is something wrong with her? Is it Tante Nanette?" "No, no," Scully hastened to soothe the other woman. "They're fine," she assured her. Scully took a moment to study the woman behind the counter. Her hair was a short, shining cap of blonde that framed her face and she wore a simple white blouse tucked into a pair of tailored gray slacks. A cross of silver filigree hung around her neck and tiny silver hoops dangled from her pierced ears. Like her shop, she was completely different from her more flamboyant aunt. "Nanette is your great-aunt?" Scully queried. "Yes." The woman frowned and looked back down at Scully's badge. "I don't understand. Why would Tante Louisa send you to see me?" Scully tucked the wallet back into her pocket. "Are you Chantal or Odette?" "Forgive me." A light flush of embarrassment stained her cheeks. "I am Chantal Thibodeaux. My sister, Odette, works in the evenings." She pointed to a framed photograph hanging on the wall behind the counter of the two sisters, which had obviously been taken outside of the shop at its grand opening. Scully took a moment to study the picture closely. In the photo, Chantal's arm was wrapped around her sister's waist. Though a gentle smile curved her lips, there was a sadness to her expression. Odette's head was tipped toward her sister's, her dark tresses tangling with Chantal's blonde hair. "Jour et Nuit, hmm?" Scully asked shrewdly, as she glanced away from the photograph. Chantal grinned. "Oui. Our papa always said we were as different as day and night, so..." She swept her hands out to her sides. "It seemed a fitting name." "Is there a large Cajun community in San Diego?" Scully asked. "Non," Chantal replied. "Odette and I left Louisiana about five years ago and moved to San Diego to be near family." "You had no family in Louisiana? No one to leave behind?" The sadness that Scully had noted in the photograph once again dulled Chantal's blue eyes. "Non. There was no one left." Chantal rubbed agitated fingers over the counter, smoothing away an imagined smudge from the spotless glass of the display case. "You never said why Tante Louisa sent you here." "My partner asked me to meet him at your aunt's shop," Scully said. "But when I arrived, he had already been there and gone." Scully tamped down the irritation and the niggling worry that threatened to distract her. "Your great-aunt told me that he had been asking for a spell. She said that he specifically asked about having a love spell put on a box of chocolates." She watched the other woman closely and saw a flash of fear cross her face. A second later her expression had smoothed out again. "I don't understand. Why is the FBI interested in love spells?" Scully hesitated before answering. Although Mulder had taken off earlier that morning before they had a chance to discuss the case any further, she had learned over the last six years to follow his thought processes. They had agreed that the common denominator in each death had been the consumption of Mary Luden's birthday cake. Given Mulder's penchant for things out of the ordinary and the wild goose chase he was leading her on as she trailed after him from one magick shop to another, it wasn't terribly difficult to figure out that he believed that a spell of some sort had been cast over the cake. Judging from the old woman's tale of his visit, it was obvious to Scully that he was posing as a lovesick man looking for help to sway the object of his affections to return his love. As she had at Spell Spinners, she pulled out the photograph of Mulder and laid it on the counter. "This is my partner, Agent Fox Mulder," she said. Once again, she watched Chantal's face closely for any sign of recognition. "Your great-aunt told me that she had sent him here. She told him that one of her great-nieces would be able to help him with the spell he was seeking." Chantal looked up from the picture with a guarded expression. Her eyes flicked quickly toward the photograph of she and Odette and back again. "I'm sorry," she said, coolly. "I can't help you." She pushed the picture back toward Scully. "Your partner has not been here." She stepped away from the counter. "You are, of course, welcome to wait for him," she offered cordially. "However, I have work that I must attend." "Chantal," Scully's senses were telling her that something wasn't right. Mulder should have been here by now. She didn't know if Chantal was involved in this case or not, but her instincts were telling her that she was not. "Please. You may be of more help than you know." ************* 19 Fourth Street San Diego, California Every pore in her body radiated it. Each hair on her head pulsed with it. Her heart - pounding with it. Her eyes - blazing, her throat filling up with bile because of it. Hatred. And jealousy, far beyond anything she'd ever felt in her life. For a woman she'd never met, a woman she'd gladly tear apart with her bare hands. Outwardly she remained calm, a secretive smile pursing her full lips, a sensual promise in her eyes as she listened to this man - HER man - wax poetic about the woman he desired. A woman who wasn't her, could never be her. The look in his beautiful eyes tore at her as he described the woman; as he painted a vivid picture of the way she appeared, to him. "She's petite and slender, but perfectly formed. Thick hair, a gorgeous shade of red. And her eyes... big and bright blue. She's everything I have ever wanted, in my life. Her love... it's all I think about. It's all I need. To have her love..." The soft voice was full of longing, the dreamy faraway gleam of his gaze focused inward on the woman Dana. To have her, he needed un charme d'amour, a love spell. That he would come to Odette, the woman who'd pined for him five long years, who'd never forgotten him... and ask for a charme to woo and win another woman. Bitterness washed over her like a flood. She lowered her lashes to hide the pure fury spilling from her dark eyes, and forced herself to listen to his words; allowing his rasp-honey voice to penetrate her numbed consciousness. "She's intelligent and has this incredible soft side to her personality. She cares about the things I care about; family, duty, loyalty. She's brave. Dedicated. And passionate... so passionate." His words trailed off a bit and he flashed a small grin at her, shrugged a bit. "Anyhow, that's Dana. She's worth any amount of cost, if a spell could be created to make her fall in love with me. Can you help me, Odette?" His upturned face revealed need and want, a touch of the vulnerable little boy combined with the sexiness of an adult male in the prime of his life. He was her destiny, this Odette knew. She'd never dreamed he'd find a way back into this world, but he had. And to keep him, she'd do what was necessary, even if it meant she'd cause him pain. This she also knew, and accepted. She would not lose him again, not this time. Her pour toujours amoureux... her forever lover. Odette traced the curve of his cheek and smiled at him, keeping her tone smoky and her words reassuring. "Of course I can help you. It would be my... privilege... to help. You need a charme and I have the means to give you what you want." She brushed a thumb over his full bottom lip, then slipped her hand to his shoulder and pressed him back in his chair. "Rest yourself, bebe. I will need a moment to ready myself. Tell me," she forced her tone to remain level, "it may be asking the impossible, but do you have anything of hers? Something personal. Something she has touched. Do you?" Mulder shook his head regretfully. "No, I don't. I'm sorry. I do have a photo of her, would that help? I took it secretly, a few weeks ago," the lie slipped smoothly out. He reached into his pocket for his wallet; dug through it until he found the small snapshot of Scully that he'd carried with him for almost a year. It was a little worn around the edges from spending months and months in his wallet, with his ass sitting on it for extended periods of time... but it was such a perfectly Scully-ish image of the woman he adored. Her smile was enigmatic as only she could achieve, her eyes glancing to the side as if something amused her just out of the frame of the photo. Wearing her black trench coat, hair blowing a bit in the breeze, she stood in front of a rented Taurus, one hand on her hip and one propped on the car. Rosy cheeks and mouth glossed lightly with lipstick, here was Dana Scully at her most beguiling - beauty and intelligence shining out, a combination potently sexy and wholly appealing to him. He handed the photo to Odette and watched for her reaction. It took every ounce of self-control not to crush the photo in her fist. Mon Dieu, this was the woman who caused such an exquisite man to fall to his knees in adoration? She was short. With short hair. Dressed in the most boring-looking coat, barely a speck of makeup on her boring little face. No jewelry, nothing to make herself alluring for a man. And blue eyes, so common. Odette wanted to scream aloud. Instead she made herself smile and nod in complete understanding. "Oui, I can see what you mean. Well, this will be enough, I think. I do have a spell that works with things such as photographs and images. We will simply adjust a little, hmm? You relax, mon bebe; I have a few preparations to make. I will return in a moment." Leaning in, Odette gave in to the temptation to touch him; she brushed a small kiss over his temple, ignoring the painful tug on her heart when he startled and flinched, just the tiniest bit. Gripping the photo, she moved into a far corner of the room and vanished behind a sliding glass door. Mulder let out a breath of relief and sank back into the wing chair. His nerves were on full alert. The feeling he had, that she hadn't bought a word of it... so strong. He couldn't fathom why; she'd given no outward indication that she was anything more or less than what she professed to be. But he'd dealt with spell-casters before, and he knew how unpredictable anyone could be if their personalities were tinged with madness, however slight. If this woman was the one they were looking for, she was definitely dangerous - and crafty enough to hide it well. Insanity and power combined was a frightening combination; this he also knew. Mulder quickly talked himself into remaining calm and unruffled. In a narrow room off the parlor, Odette stood in front of her altar, both hands clenched into fists. There was a silver-framed mirror hanging on the wall next to the altar; for once she avoided looking at her reflection, knowing very well how she'd look in her current frame of mind. And for once she didn't care about the way anger and fury could cut lines into her perfect face. At the moment she was far past caring. He needed to be punished for his betrayal. Once again he'd deserted her for someone else, someone inferior in every way. Five years ago his betrayal had involved her sister Chantal, and although Odette tried to forgive, it had been almost impossible for her to pretend as though she still cared for her sister, once Guy was gone. And yet, she'd never forgotten that if only she'd been wise enough to stake her claim first, Guy would have never been tempted by Chantal. Most of all, Odette blamed herself for her naive stupidity. Never again, she decided, as she set about inserting candles in their holders and placed them in a five-point star pattern on the altar. Four white, and one black positioned in the east. With steady hands she lit each one, again refusing to look in the mirror. Usually she adored staring at herself in candlelight... another reason to hate this woman Dana; because of her Odette was too despondent to enjoy her normal self-admiration. But not for long. There was a spell that could be cast. Odette knew of it, although she'd never tried it out before. If only she'd read about this spell five years ago, things might have been so very different. But at least the Powers had seen fit to give her another chance. She'd been offered an opportunity that she wasn't about to waste. Odette picked up the photo she'd been given of the red-haired woman named Dana. Her enemy. The woman who'd somehow found a way to bewitch her Guy. It didn't matter to her that this woman most likely hadn't a clue the beautiful man sitting in her parlor was already taken - had been claimed so very long ago. Women had a sense of ownership, didn't they? Deep inside their hearts they could feel if there was another woman who had a claim. Her own sister should have felt it - as this boring little twit should. No excuses. Holding the photo on her palm, face-up, Odette slowly closed her fingers over it, as she stared into the flames. In a firm voice that vibrated against the walls of the tiny room, she set the spell; as she spoke she slowly crushed the image of the bitch Dana in her hand: 'I command the minions of night to banish this woman from his sight. As I hold her image in my hand and crush it, send forth to her man, A pain cut deep into his heart whene'er her face to him imparts - Jagged spears will split his head with knives of fire like molten lead. Each time he sees her pain will grow; her name will thrash him to and fro - His only peace my loving arms, his only respite from all harm. Let her face be his agony... as I will, so mote it be.' She could feel the power of the spell thunder through her veins and she fought the urge to scream out loud. It had worked! She knew. Such power, such a talent she had! Always a source of pride, now Odette felt invincible, majestically omnipotent. She stared into the mirror, seeing for herself the way the five luminaries reflected her inner magick, the way the flickering flames shadowed her face into a darkly exquisite work of art. She smiled the most ferocious smile... Taking a deep breath, she pinched out the candles with her fingers one by one, saving the black one for last. This one she put out, and then rubbed the oily charred remains of the wick on her inner wrist, welcoming the stinging burn. Delicately she licked at her skin, cleaning off the blackened residue; then she turned and walked out of her tiny sanctuary, the crumpled photo still in her fist. *********** Jour et Nuit 5936 Poplar Street San Diego, California "I don't see how I can be of any help to you," Chantal protested quietly. "The spell your partner seeks - it is very dark. What is his interest in it?" Scully noted Chantal's fingers nervously playing with the silver cross hanging around her neck. "That's a lovely necklace," she commented. Chantal's face showed her bewilderment with the sudden change of topic. "It does seem a bit at odds with all of this," Scully said as she looked around the shop. A hint of temper showed in the twin spots of color that appeared on Chantal's cheeks. "You are very narrow-minded in your views," she shot back, pleased to see the federal officer's lips thin in her own suppressed display of anger. "I was raised a Catholic," Chantal explained, "and although I seek peace and comfort and salvation in God, I do not discount those powers embedded in His very creations. I believe that we can draw on Nature and her powers, from the earth, from fire and water and wind." Scully arched one brow, hearing in Chantal's voice the same passion, insistence and challenge that so often rang in Mulder's. "I was raised a Catholic," she countered, fingers touching the tiny gold cross that rested in the hollow of her own throat, "and although I too find my peace and salvation in God, I take my earthly comfort in science and the tangible proofs it offers me." The two women faced off from opposite sides of the counter and with silent nods, acknowledged that while their faiths were rooted in the same beliefs, they looked at the world through different eyes. "My partner would find in you a kindred spirit," Scully murmured. She waged a brief internal debate about how much information to offer and then decided to go with her instincts. "We're investigating a series of suspicious deaths," she explained. "My partner - who is admittedly more open to... extreme possibilities than I, apparently believes that there is some link between the practice of magick and these deaths." Her stomach knotted with a fear that she would not give name to, Chantal listened quietly as Scully described the events that had taken place since that fateful morning at the Value-Save car rental office. "... and so I came here directly from your aunt's shop, hoping to catch up with my partner." Scully's voice trailed off as she wrapped up her recitation of the events which had lead her to this moment at Jour et Nuit and she waited expectantly for the other woman to comment, only to be met with silence. "Chantal?" The blonde startled at the sound of her name being called. "I... I'm sorry. I was just processing what you've told me," she said. "It sounds more like a movie plot than something that could actually have happened." Scully huffed out a tired laugh. Welcome to my life, she thought. Instead she nodded knowingly. "Many of the cases we investigate do seem unbelievable," she agreed. "Chantal," she began again. "Your great-aunt sent my partner here for a reason," she said. "My great-aunt is old and sometimes forgetful," Chantal countered. "Your partner has not been here. It seems likely that Tante Nanette became confused and gave you misinformation, oui?" Scully shook her head. "No. I don't think so." She leaned into the counter, aware, despite Chantal's efforts at maintaining a placid expression, that she was nervous about something. She continued to press for the information she wanted. "Your great-aunt said that she told my partner that one of her grandnieces had the power to assist him in the spell he was seeking. Was she right?" Scully paused for a moment allowing that to sink in. "You ate some of the cake too!" Chantal exclaimed, with sudden insight. Scully blinked, startled by the sudden change in the direction of the conversation. "That is why you and your partner are so desperate to find the person who cast the spell, non? You fear for your life." Scully met the other woman's gaze. "Yes. Look, the only link between the deaths is the fact that all three women ate the same cake." She drew in a deep breath. "My partner obviously believes that magick played a part in the deaths of these women and that anyone who ate the cake is also at risk." "But you do not believe. You doubt. You discount the powers of Nature?" The residual anger from her fight with Mulder and his subsequent disappearing act, the mounting worry as to his whereabouts, her fears for her own life along with the resentment she felt at hearing the faintly condescending tone of Chantal's voice all combined to send Scully's temper soaring. She slapped her hands onto the counter and leaned across it, pushing her face close to the other woman's. Her aggressive body language was contradicted by the coolly professional tone of voice she adopted and any efforts towards maintaining a friendly and relaxed conversation were dropped. While Scully's instincts continued to tell her that Chantal was not involved in the murders, those same instincts were screaming that the other woman knew more than she was admitting. "Ms. Thibodeaux, you indicated to me that the spell my partner was seeking is very dark. Your great-aunt seemed quite confident that he would be able to find what he was looking for here. If you are not familiar with that type of magick, then perhaps you know someone else who can help me." Scully pushed away from the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. "Jour et Nuit," she mused aloud. "Light and dark." Her gaze strayed from Chantal to land speculatively on the picture of the two sisters hanging on the wall. "Perhaps your sister can help me." Scully looked away from the picture and back at Chantal who was obviously afraid. Her face was pale and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Chantal," Scully said gently. "Please. If you know anything..." She walked around the counter and led the other woman back to the desk, urging her to sit down. "Chantal," she began again. "I understand the bond between sisters." As always, her throat tightened as the image of Missy - laughing and free-spirited - sprang to her mind's eye. "But please. Three women are dead and I think you can help them." Chantal's chin wobbled and she snatched a tissue from the box on the edge of the desk, dabbing at her eyes. "Odette... is hot-tempered and fiery. Full of life. Always curious... about everything." "Even the dark side of magick?" "Maybe," Chantal shook her head. "A little." She raised troubled eyes to Scully. "She does not fear it as I do," she admitted. "But non. I cannot believe she would... murder. Non! You are wrong." Scully leaned a hip on the edge of the desk and stared down at the other woman. Her voice was soft, but implacable as she continued to press. "You said she's curious about the darker side of magick. Your great-aunt told me that one of her nieces could cast the spell my partner was seeking. You told me that spell is dark... if your great-aunt was not speaking of you, then she must have been speaking of Odette." She paused for a moment before continuing. "I need you to be honest with yourself and with me. Is Odette capable of casting this spell?" Chantal shuddered and dropped her face into her hands. Her mind whirled with thoughts of her younger sister. The beautiful, sultry, laughing girl who had been always looking for a good time and ready to fall in love at a moment's notice had changed. The Odette of their youth was gone and in her place was a woman that Chantal was forced to admit she did not know. There was a coldness that lurked behind her dark eyes. In her blood red dresses, with nails lacquered to match, she played the role of dark-haired, beguiling witch to the hilt. The laughter and brightness that Chantal had always associated with her younger sister had been replaced over the years with a bitter darkness. Forced by the confrontation with the federal agent patiently awaiting her answer, Chantal finally acknowledged the reason why she spent as little time with her sister as she did. There was an evil... a wickedness lurking in her sister's heart that frightened Chantal to her very core. "Chantal," Scully's voice gently prodded her for an answer. "Is Odette capable of using her magick to hurt someone?" Chantal mopped her face with the tissue clutched in her fist. She lifted her head and nodded jerkily. Once. "Oui." Scully's heart tripped behind her breastbone and icy waves of fear swept through her. "Mulder!" ************** Chapter Nine 19 Fourth Street San Diego, California She'd been gone just long enough to make him very suspicious. Mulder made himself sit quietly and not fidget, choosing to distract his nerves by taking in the rest of Odette's parlor. It was a curious mixture of traditional Victoriana and more modern New Age, with scattered collections ranging from ancient Druid to futuristic dragons. One corner held an altar draped in red silk, covered with varying candleholders and an assortment of ornamental daggers. Incense curled upward in a thin, spicy plume; a Haitian death mask glared through the fragrant smoke. It was just about what he'd expected to see in a spell-caster's domain - a little bit of flash and show, a bit of the real and unreal. Mulder drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair and wondered what in hell was taking Odette so long to 'prepare' for whatever spell she'd decided would make the woman of his dreams fall in love with him. She wasn't sane. Mulder could tell that much just by watching her, the way she fought to maintain a sultry expression throughout his rhapsody of Scully. He'd seen the way her slender fingers had tightened, struggling to remain loose instead of curling into fists. There had been a flare of her nostrils, a narrowing of her dark eyes, a tensing all over her frame. Tiny things, but they gave her away easily. She'd been furious. And yet, when he'd first walked through her door, settled into her pretty little antique chair... she'd been sensuously welcoming, her body language and entire demeanor that of a seductress. Maybe it had been the photo of Scully that had set her off, Mulder decided. Odette was probably the kind of woman who disliked other women and was male-oriented. He'd seen it before... and for the second time in several days an unbidden and unwelcome image of Phoebe Green crossed his mind. Mulder impatiently shook it off. He glanced around quickly, forcing a smile to his face, when a soft rustle behind him indicated Odette had re-entered the room. Her smile was in place, sultry as ever; her walk oozed sexuality and her eyes held smoky promise. But beneath the smolder, there was something else; Mulder could sense it. His guard, already up and running, heightened and locked in. Odette moved to his side, her hand outstretched. "Forgive me, mon bebe. It seems I crinkled your photograph a bit in preparation." She handed him the photo; Mulder's fingers closed over it, studiously avoiding her skin but still brushing over her palm. He repressed a shudder, missing the way her eyes narrowed at his reaction. "Thanks. It's the only one I have of her, and it means a lot to me." He smoothed out the worst of the wrinkles and re-pocketed the photograph. When he looked up, Odette was regarding him carefully. "Why don't you relax, chere... and I'll explain the charme to you. I'd like you to understand what I do, so you feel confident your Dana will soon be yours." And she stared at him. Hard. Mulder nodded, unsure how to respond. "All right... See, I'm relaxed." He leaned back in the chair, feeling his muscles start to clench up and willing them to ease. The look on her face... as if she was confused. Puzzled. The front door suddenly rattled, a chime pealing out... and they both turned as a tall, blonde woman entered the room. Beside him, Odette drew in a sharp breath - and Mulder smiled uncertainly as the woman locked blue eyes on him, her expression somber and a little worried. But before she could utter a word to either of them, his gaze caught at the petite woman who slipped through the archway and stepped into the parlor - Scully. Even as he parted his lips to greet her, white-hot pain shot through his head and Mulder cried out, hands clutching at his hair, additional spears of agony lancing into his chest, legs, arms. He fell out of the chair sideways, rolling to the floor, curling into a tight ball as the pain radiated through him. What the fuck -! Dimly he heard her frantic, "MULDER!" He groaned, unable to speak or move, unable to do anything but let the torture eat into him. *********** Scully raced across the room and dropped to her knees beside Mulder. Her heart was beating frantically and her hands trembled as she reached out to touch him. His face contorting in an agonized grimace, he rolled away from her searching fingers. "Mulder?" She was faintly aware of Chantal crouching on the floor behind her. And she frowned when Odette sank to the floor beside Mulder in a swirl of red skirts and black hair. Her eyes narrowed as the other woman gathered Mulder into her arms and her breath caught when she saw his features relax at Odette's touch. "Mulder, please," she crawled across the floor on her hands and knees to reach him. "What's wrong?" Mulder could barely hear Scully through the roaring in his ears, the frantic tone of her voice barely registering. He dragged open heavy-lidded eyes to find her concerned face close to his own. Fresh pain washed through him and he slammed his eyes shut, instinctively turning away from her and burrowing into the comfort and relief found in the arms surrounding him. "Shhh, mon coeur," Odette cooed. She ran her red-tipped fingers through his hair. "Everything will be well." Her eyes clashed with her sister's shocked gaze, and Odette lifted her pointed little chin challengingly. "Oh no." Chantal's voice came out in a rasp of panic and she shook her head despairingly. "Odette, what have you done?" Odette's gaze was locked onto the face of the man in her arms. "I have taken back what is mine," she murmured. "You stole him from me once," she whispered to her sister, as she trailed her knuckles over his warm cheek, "and he died because of your betrayal." A triumphant smile curved her lips at the sound of the pained gasp that escaped Chantal's mouth. She glared at Chantal, enjoying the hurt she'd inflicted on her older sibling. "Your love killed him," she said accusingly. Her lips pursed in a false moue of sympathy as she watched a tear trickle over her sister's pale cheek. "Poor, silly bebe, you never knew, did you? That he was mine. Tres stupide, n'cest pas? But he has returned to me and this time he will know there is no other woman for him but me." She leaned down and brushed her mouth over Mulder's. And her next impassioned murmur sent fresh shock through the two women who knelt on the expensive oriental carpet and watched the surreal tableau play out before them. "Je t'aime, Guy." Those words may have been spoken in French, but Scully knew their meaning... and her hands clenched into tights fists, her entire body going on protective alert for her partner. It was obvious this 'Guy' was a dead lover - and just as obvious that he'd belonged to Chantal, not her crazy sister, for beside her Chantal moaned tearfully and buried her face in her hands. ***************** Mulder's senses swam as he was enveloped in the cloying scent of Odette's perfume and he weakly turned his face away from hers. He struggled to focus and for a moment he was caught on the knife's edge of the fierce emotions that radiated from the three women surrounding him. Those emotions were a kaleidoscope of colors hammering at his battered senses - the gray of Chantal's aching sadness, the black of Odette's insanity. The red of Scully's fury. He wanted to break away from the grip of this dangerously unstable woman, wanted nothing more than to cling to his partner, his lover. He also knew Odette had charmed him somehow, turning him against Scully in the most agonizing way possible. He couldn't even look at her, attempt to reassure her; the stabbing pain all through his body bore testament to the power of Odette's magick. Mulder's peripheral glance caught the rustle of Scully's jacket as she moved suddenly, her voice a low snarl of anger. "Get your hands off him!" She rose to her feet and stood threateningly over Odette. The other woman laughed mockingly and once again tightened her arms around Mulder, who was too weakened by pain to push her away. "You do not listen well," Odette smirked. "He was never yours. Always he was mine, five years ago he was mine! Death could not keep him from my side... YOU cannot keep him, either!" She looked back down at the face pressed against her generous breasts, then sidled a mocking glance up at her adversary. "He cannot even bear to look at you," she laughed. "Can you not see? The sight of your face makes him sick!" Once again she ran her fingers over his face, cupped his jaw possessively and lowered her mouth to his. That gesture of greed was the last straw, and a low growl of rage rumbled in Scully's chest. Knowing she was taking a chance on causing Mulder more pain, still she couldn't stand to see this murderous bitch touching him any longer. Bracing her feet, Scully swung at Odette. Her backhanded slap caught the other woman across the face and sent her sprawling to the floor. Scully took advantage of the moment and hurriedly moved between Odette and Mulder. She was reaching for the gun nestled in the holster at the small of her back when Odette's foot swept through the air and knocked her to the ground. Scully's gun clattered to the floor and spun out of her reach. Odette kicked out again and her foot caught her opponent sharply on the temple, leaving her dazed. Odette spun and ran into her private sanctuary. Scully shook her head to clear it and saw Odette's red skirts disappear into another room. What happened next took place in a lightning quick passage of seconds. Staggering to her feet, Scully glanced wildly around the room looking for her gun. She found it in a corner near a small table and rushed to pick it up. Scully wrapped her fingers around the gun, for a moment taking comfort in the cool familiarity of the grip in her hand. She heard Odette's crazed shriek of laughter a second before she sensed the other woman slip up behind her. Scully straightened, her finger curled around the trigger. As she brought her arm up to fire she felt a burning pain across her bicep and the gun fell from suddenly nerveless fingers. Blood ran in crimson rivulets down her arm and she swayed dizzily, her stomach heaving with pain and the sickening scent of her own blood. Scully cursed herself for the momentary loss of control that had caused her to strike out at the woman first and reach for her gun second. Dazed and numb, her eyes focused on the blood dripping from the ritual knife in her adversary's hand. Odette raised her arm over her head for the killing blow and Scully turned her face toward Mulder for one last despairing look, understanding for certain just how helpless her position truly was. She'd never reach her gun... her shooting arm was incapacitated. And Mulder was barely conscious. Then suddenly it was as if time itself had stopped. Everyone caught their breath as the light in the room faded. Shadows rushed down the walls and across the floor, dark and malevolent. Three gray, threatening specters, they coalesced in the center of the room and hovered over the polished wood floor, their murky outlines rising up and forming a trio of misshapen entities. Odette's knife slipped from her fingers and she stared at the spectres, eyes wide with terror. As Scully watched in disbelief, it seemed the younger woman shrank almost into herself. Odette's arms came up around her head in a protective gesture and her voice was reedy with fright and despair. "I did nothing wrong! Sejour loin de moi! STAY AWAY!" She slid to the floor on her knees and tried to crawl away, but the shadows followed relentlessly, homing in on their prey. Odette managed to scuttle halfway across the floor but her heel caught on the edge of a wool carpet runner. She fell to her side and rolled over onto her back, both hands stretched out in front of her, the defensive gesture as ineffectual as her attempted escape had been. There was no escape this time, not from the deeds she'd perpetrated and from the lives she'd so arrogantly taken. With silent purpose the shadows descended upon her, forcing an agonized scream from her bloodless lips. In a blinding flash of light they engulfed her, lifting her up and then flinging her across the room. Odette's body hit the wall with a dull thud and she slid to the floor. A tiny gasp slipped from her throat and one word materialized as her breath hitched for the last time. "Guy..." And she was gone. Her eyes stared sightlessly toward Mulder; on the floor where it had fallen the ritual knife glowed brightly for a moment before fading to a dull gleam. Chantal cried out, "ODETTE!" Rushing to her side, the grieving woman scooped the body of her baby sister into her arms and wept against her tangled black hair. Mulder groaned and shook his head, residual stings of pain lancing through the muscles of his arms and legs, before draining out and leaving him weak but coherent. He sat up gingerly, scrubbing his hands against his face to clear his vision and saw Scully collapsing to the floor, bright blood coating her arm. "Scully!" Ignoring his lingering aches, he scrambled across the carpet and gathered her close. She moaned and her head lolled wearily against his shoulder. "Mulder, are you okay?" she whispered. He nodded and laid her gently on the carpet. "There's no more pain. I'm all right," he told his partner. "You're the one who's bleeding." He laid gentle fingers on her arm. "Let me see how bad it is." She braced herself as he tore open the sleeve of her shirt to inspect the wound. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, her face pale from the loss of blood but she couldn't stop staring at him. "It's deep," he fretted. Picking up the now-dull ritual knife from the floor, he cut the sleeve completely away from her shirt and pressed the fabric against the wound. "Maybe some muscle damage." Mulder reached into his pocket for his cellphone and came up empty. He slapped his free hand against his clothing, wildly searching for his phone. "In my bag." Scully raised her head from the floor and weakly pointed in the general direction of the leather tote that had fallen to the floor. "You left your phone back in the hotel room," she rasped. Milder hurriedly grabbed her bag and dragged it back to where she lay. He yanked a phone - his phone, her phone, he had no idea whose - from the tote and placed a call for emergency aid with trembling fingers. "This is Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI," he stated as he clamped the fingers of his other hand over the makeshift bandage. "I need you to send an ambulance and the police to 19 Fourth Street. I have an agent down and," he glanced across the room to where Chantal was holding her sister's body, "our suspect is dead at the scene." He listened for another moment as the operator confirmed the address, then ended the call. "They're on their way," he whispered. He gently eased his arms around her again, lifting her from the floor. She sighed softly as his warmth surrounded her. "It's going to be okay," she reassured him. Her good arm curled around his neck and his breath broke over her face in a shaky sigh of agreement when he brushed his mouth over hers. Rocking her in his embrace, he listened, as the wail of sirens grew steadily closer. ************* San Diego Central Division Police Balboa Park Saturday, 9:10 PM "I had no idea, Mon Dieu. You must believe me. I didn't know Odette could be conjuring such dark charmes." Chantal Thibodeaux sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair and gripped a paper cup of coffee between trembling fingers. Across from her on an equally-uncomfortable sofa, Mulder held Scully's hand in both his own. Her head rested on his shoulder and she had finally given in to the load of painkillers she'd been ordered to swallow; she was asleep, cradled in his arms. Mulder had tried talking her into staying overnight at the hospital; she'd refused. With an arm bound in a tight ace bandage and immobilized in a sling, twenty neat stitches holding the knife wound closed, Scully knew she'd be in a lot of pain but she was determined to remain locked to Mulder's side. He sure wasn't complaining about that. He held her gently and let her sleep, leaning back on the sofa and meeting Chantal's sad eyes with his usual steady regard. It was late and all he wanted to do was take Scully back to their room at the Days Inn, roll them both into the bed-sheets and sleep for several days. But Chantal needed to talk and as long as Scully was safe in his arms, Mulder was more than willing to listen. But first, he had a few questions of his own. "I think you must have suspected something, am I right? She was your sister. You must have known for a while that she was troubled, not herself. After all, you worked together closely, every day." Mulder stroked a careful hand over Scully's back, soothing himself as much as her, as he spoke. Chantal started to protest, then shook her head and offered a helpless shrug. "Oui. I won't lie to myself any longer. Yes, I knew something was wrong, had been wrong for some time. After Guy... passed away," she tried not to choke on the upsetting words, "after he was gone my world was in shambles. The morning it happened I'd been sewing my wedding gown; I was so happy. His grandmere's betrothal ring was on my finger. And Odette... she had been so quiet about the wedding plans, but I thought she was just feeling emotional, you comprenez? Happy for me, but full of emotion. She always felt everything so deeply, it was her way." She took a shaky breath and wiped at her eyes. "We moved to San Diego at the invitation of my Tante Louisa. She had a shop and was expanding, she needed help. I was still in mourning, and Odette was becoming withdrawn. I didn't know why but I was too miserable to say much to her. There was nothing left for us in New Orleans, so we moved. We stayed with Louisa and Tante Nanette until we could start a shop of our own and find a place to live. But Odette wanted to live by herself; at the time I never questioned why. I just let her go. I needed to mourn alone; I suppose I pushed my sister away from me. But I never imagined - I never thought..." Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes as she stared pleadingly at Mulder, "I didn't know she had loved Guy! She never said a thing to me. If I'd only known..." Mulder tried to reassure her. "Chantal, you were in love with a man who loved you back. From the sound of it, he probably didn't even know Odette existed in any capacity other than your younger sister. This isn't your fault; first and foremost you have to understand that. Your sister harbored an unhealthy obsession for a man she could never have, and she somehow found a way to destroy the future you'd just begun to build together. I've no doubt she was responsible for his death. And I think you understand better now, just what she was capable of." The bustling entrance of Rosa Damarco interrupted their conversation. Even late into the evening the rotund detective was as colorful and wild-haired as ever, dressed in a lime-green suit, her wiry curls spilling out of a haphazard bun pinned atop her head. She plopped down in the nearest chair and regarded Scully with a jerk of her chin. "How's she doing? Can't believe she's not in a hospital, Dios! You should have insisted. What kind of boyfriend are you, anyway?" Not giving a sheepish-faced Mulder the chance to reply, Rosa barreled on. "Okay, we got the data from Odette Thibodeaux's computer, remind me to send thanks to that Warren kid for staying late. A real whiz-bang, that boy, I should be so lucky to have someone that sharp working for me. Anyhow," she pulled a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and slapped a pair of fuchsia reading glasses on her nose, "according to the kid, Thibodeaux operated a 'dark charme' web site under the name 'Hexagon'. Brenda Jordan somehow found the site while surfing over at the Java Net, and the rest you already know. Guess this Odette liked her spells nasty." At a pained gasp from Chantal, Rosa angled her a glance of brief sympathy. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I know she was your baby sister, but she was also a killer. For whatever reason, your sissy chose her life path. It's nothing to do with you, got that? Don't you go heaping even a teaspoon of guilt on your shoulders." She reached out a pudgy hand and squeezed Chantal's arm gently, then surged to her feet and trotted over to the door, adding, "You're all free to go." At the twin looks of surprise on the faces of Mulder and Chantal, Rosa snorted. "You forget, I'm from Mexico. San Duartes, to be exact. I know all about Brujas - witches," she clarified. "I was born into a family of traditional Mexacali Catholics: spell-casters, tarot cards, and a lot of mysticism. You name it. My mama was a medium and talked to the dead all the damn day long. Even our stupid dog could send you the evil eye and give you the creeps. Believe me, I have no problem at all swallowing this kind of thing." Rosa winked at Chantal, her kind smile enveloping the distraught woman in sudden warmth; then she looked Mulder up and down appreciatively. "Agent Mulder, you take care of your pretty lady, you hear? Or else I'll have to come to DC and kick your ass. Don't think I won't do it, hell, I'd probably enjoy it! Now get some sleep; you all look like something my cat wouldn't even drag in from the front yard." The door of the interrogation room slammed behind her, the noise awakening Scully who sat up and pushed tangled hair out of her eyes. Mulder pressed his lips to her forehead, in affection as much as an attempt to check her temperature. "Hey. How're you feeling?" He kept a supportive arm around her and Scully sighed and stretched carefully. "I feel as though a Mack truck ran over me backwards, then dumped a case of swords on my arm. Hopefully, that's not how I look, as well." Mulder gave her a tender once-over; she was pale and there were dark smudges under her eyes; her hair stuck out all over and her chin was bruised. She looked gorgeous and he told her so, watching with interest as her cheeks flushed pink. She pushed at him with her uninjured arm. "You're not capable of making a fair judgment, Mulder. I seem to remember you telling me once how cute I looked with mumps." She smiled at him, recalling the way he'd gone into detailed rhapsody over her ten-year old chipmunk cheeks, as they'd sat side by side one evening in her apartment and had flipped through an old photo album. Mulder kissed her nose. "Well, you were damned adorable with those puffy eyes and puffier cheeks, Scully. I knew there and then I was in love," he added, ignoring her muttered, "Oh, brother." He looked up when Chantal cleared her throat softly, and smiled at her, wishing there was something he could do to ease the pain and disillusionment he knew she had to be feeling. And he hated like hell to have to ask her anything more, but there were still a lot of unanswered questions. He played with Scully's fingers as he queried, "Chantal, there are some things we need to talk about. I'm sure you can guess what we need to ask you." Chantal nodded, wiping at her eyes with a wrinkled handkerchief. "You wish to know if the charme Odette used to taint that cake has been lifted by her death. Yes, I would say it has. The rule of 'three times three' is very definitive, and it's a power not to be fooled with." At Scully's look of confusion, Chantal hastened to explain. "Our magick is governed by strict rules. We are to use our powers for good, not evil or even personal gain. It's a positive force meant to assist in making the universe a more balanced place. However, there are those who would misuse their power. I am saddened to know my own sister was one such person." She struggled for a moment with her emotions, fighting to get them under control, then continued. "When a spell-caster casts dark or negative charmes, their power is in turn charged negatively. There is a rule called 'three times three'. It means that whatever you do to someone else will in turn revisit you, three-fold. Odette not only forced negative power upon the world; she also drew blood with her ritual knife, when she cut you. Such an act of violence is forbidden. We cannot use the knife to harm any living creature; retribution is swift and fatal, as you yourself could see." Mulder nodded, reliving again the moment when those three frightening shadows of deep gray slid over Odette's body and threw her back against the wall. He shuddered, feeling Scully shiver as well. He gathered her closer. "So when the 'three times three' rule ended Odette's life, it also negated whatever charmes she'd set that were still active." Chantal nodded, "Yes, certainment. The one she'd set over Mademoiselle Scully, and the one she used to poison the birthday cake. You should have no further trouble with either." Scully slanted a look up at Mulder. "You think we should test it out, Mulder? I could tell a whopping lie, and see what happens." Mulder visibly paled. "I don't think that's a good idea, Scully. We can't take a chance like that -" She interrupted him with a hand to his mouth. "Mulder... I'm a reasonably truthful person but everyone fibs and everyone lies now and then. It's human nature. I can't go through life trying to second-guess myself twenty-four hours a day, and I can't just blurt out my thoughts with little regard for someone's feelings. I'd go insane and so would you." She curled her hand around his neck and pulled him down until she could reach his lips; kissed him softly. Mulder clutched her tightly, staring over her bright head at Chantal Thibodeaux. The blonde woman returned his pleading expression with as much reassurance as she could muster. After a long moment Mulder swallowed hard and nodded. He caught Scully closer, burying his face in her soft hair. He whispered, "Okay. Go ahead. Give it your best shot, baby." Scully took a deep breath, unable to quell the queasiness in her stomach at the thought of testing Chantal's theory. It had to be done, though... She straightened her shoulders and looked Mulder square in the eyes, then declared firmly, "Mulder, I don't love you." Mulder's arms tightened convulsively and he groaned under his breath... but nothing happened. Scully remained in his embrace, warm and alive. He managed to croak out a weak, "You wanna rephrase that, Partner?" Her relieved chuckle was music to his ears. "Certainly, Partner. I love you." She curled herself close to his heart, her arms ringing his neck, and repeated it into his parted lips. "I love you, Mulder." The smile on his face was as bright as a sunrise. "Ditto, Scully." Her voice dripped affront. "Ditto? That's all you have to say to me?" He snickered, "Oh, not by a long shot. You just wait until I get you alone, Chipmunk Cheeks." ************ EPILOGUE San Diego, California Days Inn, Balboa Park Monday, 10:42AM Scully glanced over her shoulder and reaffirmed that Mulder was in the bathroom, packing his shaving kit, before stepping out of his view and furtively easing her arm from the sling. She dropped her chin toward her chest and then rolled her head back toward her shoulders, enjoying for a moment a respite from having the weight of her arm supported by the sling around her neck. Across the room, Mulder's cellphone chirped. "I'll get it," she called as she walked around the bed. She instinctively reached for the phone with her right hand and bit back a gasp as an arrow of pain lanced down her arm. Wincing, she wrapped her injured arm around her waist and lifted the phone to her ear with her other hand. "Scully." She listened to the caller for a moment and the dull throbbing in her arm was not the sole cause for the grimace on her face. "Just a moment." She skirted the bed and almost collided with Mulder as he stepped out of the bathroom. "It's for you." She slapped the phone into Mulder's hand with unnecessary force. He frowned at both the tone of her voice and her unsupported arm. 'Put your arm back into the sling,' he mouthed as he raised the phone to his ear. The mystery of Scully's suddenly icy demeanor was quickly solved as Diana's husky voice came through the phone. Mulder groaned under his breath but dutifully listened to the mostly one-sided conversation, dividing his attention between brief responses to Diana's inquiries and watching his partner shove clothing into her suitcase with jerky motions. After another moment or two, he ended the call and stuffed the phone into his pocket. "Let me." He laid a hand over Scully's as she struggled to knead the tension from her neck using her uninjured arm. She reluctantly dropped her hand and waited docilely as he unfastened the sling. He rested his warm hand on her neck and let his thumb glide over her collarbone in a gentle massage. "She's got the X-Files, Scully. That's the reality of it." His voice rumbled from above her head and she lifted her gaze to meet his in the mirror mounted over the low bureau on the other side of the room. "And she can keep us in the loop." He dipped his fingers beneath the collar of her shirt, tenderly kneading the tightness from her shoulders. "More than that," he continued, "she's a friend." Scully closed her eyes. His tone was implacable, but his touch pleaded with her for understanding. She turned around and lifted her face to his. "I don't trust her," she reaffirmed her earlier position with quiet emphasis. "And it's my job to watch your back." They regarded each other with grave eyes, silently acknowledging the other's viewpoint. Understanding that neither would relent in their opinion, but instead would strive to work around it much the same as with any other dissension in their professional and personal relationship. It was too important to them, not to remain focused on what was most vital... Their future. Together. Mulder helped ease Scully's arm back into the sling and refastened it behind her neck. When she would have moved away he caught her around the waist and bent to her, his expression soft and adoring. "I love you," he vowed softly. Scully stroked her fingers over his jaw in a gentle caress before she stepped back and lifted her black tote from the bed. Her murmur of, "I love you right back," made him smile from ear to ear. She slung the tote strap over her uninjured arm and moved to the door. Over her shoulder she sent him a mock-impatient glance. "Come on, Mulder. I seem to recall that you owe me a dinner at Milano's." She tugged open the door and stepped out into the sunlight. Mulder grabbed their suitcases and hurried after her. He quickly tossed the bags into the trunk of the car and then circled it to open the passenger door for her. When she was settled into her seat, he leaned down to fasten her seatbelt. His murmur in her ear was suggestive. "I'm pretty sure we agreed to getting takeout and bringing it back to my place..." Scully raised her eyebrows and a tiny smile graced her lips. "Let's go home, Mulder." End