LA VERITE NOUS SAUVERA (The Truth Will Save Us)
By Jacquie LaVa and Tess


Category:  Casefile, MSR
Rating:  R to NC-17

Disclaimer:  Not ours, instead belonging to that surfer dude with the blonde hair.  
However, once in a while we borrow them, make them do fun/naughty/dangerous things, 
then we return them, relatively unharmed (but smiling.  A LOT)...

Spoilers:  Early Season Six, after "The Beginning" and before "Two Fathers/One Son" 
-
 
NOTE:  Because of the subject matter of this story, reader discretion is advised. 
Contains references to alternative religious beliefs, which some readers may find 
objectionable.  

Please note that in attempting to insert storyline that has been translated into 
French, necessary accent marks over certain vowels have had to be removed so that 
posting to Ephemeral is not compromised.  In other words, we really do know how to 
spell these words!!  Honest!

THANKS:  To Avalon, Wylfcynne, Ravenwald and Foxsong for their expert advice and 
guidance concerning spells, curses and all things magick!  Special thanks to Toniann 
for her expertise in leading us through the confusing world of computer servers, 
networks and the like.  Hey, just because we type on them doesn't mean we know them 
intimately! 

Thanks to our wonderful betas, Carol and Sallie.  Without them we'd have been lost!

And thanks as always, to Aly for maintaining Tess's wonderful web site.

Additional notes at the end -


SUMMARY:  Three women are the victims of black magick and Scully may be next. This 
time the truth really will save her, because even the smallest white lie could end 
her life. Now she and Mulder race to unravel the mystery and break the spell before 
it's too late - 


PROLOGUE

Ponchatoula, Louisiana


She first saw him in a crowded club.  The room was dimly-lit, but his features were 
illuminated by the amber glow of the lights behind the bar against which he was 
leaning, sipping beer from a bottle and laughing with friends. The air was alive 
with the wail of a saxophone as the band switched from a lively Cajun reel to slow 
and plaintive jazz.  

Odette Thibodeaux had fancied herself in love many times in her twenty-five years 
but the moment she laid eyes on him, she knew that this time would be the last time.  
That this was the man with whom she would share her life.  She didn't know his name, 
but she had seen him in her dreams many times before.  His dark hair fell over his 
brow and even as he shoved impatient fingers through it, she saw his green eyes sparkle 
with laughter at something one of his companions had said.

"Dieu!  Zoe, who is that?"  She leaned across the small table she was sharing and 
directed her friend's attention toward the young man near the bar.

"Who?"  Zoe shifted and followed Odette's gaze across the room.  A knowing smile 
curved her lips.  "Ah.  That's Guy Beaumont," she murmured.  "You have good taste, 
chere."

Odette turned a quizzical gaze on her friend.  "What do you know about him?"

Zoe took a sip of her drink and propped her chin in her palm.  "His family owns the 
Beaumont Hotel."  She nodded at Odette's wide-eyed gaze.  The Beaumont was a four-star 
hotel noted for its luxurious accommodations and world-class spa.  

"The Beaumonts were one of the original families to settle in the Ponchatoula area.  
Back in the days of the War, the property was one of the largest and richest cotton 
plantations in the area."  Zoe selected a salted peanut from the bowl of bar mix 
on their table and continued.  "Like most people, the family fell on hard times after 
the War, but they managed to hold onto the house and several acres of the land.  In 
the early 1900's Guy's great-grand-pere decided to turn the house into a hotel."  
She picked through the bowl again and nibbled on another peanut.  

"It was a fairly modest hotel in the beginning - more like a bed and breakfast than 
hotel," she explained.  "But as tourism in the area grew, so did their business.  
Guy's grandparents were the ones who built it into a luxury hotel and Guy's mama 
was the one who suggested adding the spa."  

Odette leaned against the back of her chair and contemplated the handsome man standing 
on the other side of the room.  Like many people in the area, she was of Cajun descent.  
She and her older sister, Chantal, had been raised in a belief system that found 
them in Catholic Mass each Sunday morning, and learning about magick and the casting 
of spells from their maternal grandmother.  Her eyes narrowed and she briefly 
considered casting a spell to make Guy fall madly in love with her, but quickly 
discarded the idea.  She'd win him the old-fashioned way.

"Do you know him well enough to introduce us?" she asked with a hopeful smile.

"Non." Zoe grinned when her friend's face fell.  "But I went to college with one 
of the guys he's talking with."  She tossed back the rest of her drink and stood.  
"Come on."

Odette fished a compact from her tiny purse and discreetly checked her makeup, shaking 
her head so that her mass of dark curls artfully fell over her shoulders and down 
her back.  She adopted a reserved expression and her manner was soft and hesitant 
when she was introduced to Guy.  Her reticent ways were calculated to make a man 
want to find out more about the woman behind the shy smile and they worked like a... 
well, like a charm.  Sometimes, she thought, a spell was overkill.  Never 
underestimate the powers of good, old-fashioned womanly guiles.  

****************** 

Odette saw Guy often after that.  She and Zoe would meet him and his friends every 
Saturday night at the club or for drinks after work in the middle of the week.  Twice, 
she had managed to arrange things so that she and Guy were alone.  He hadn't yet 
asked her out on an official date, but he was always courteous and attentive to her.  
She didn't want to push things.  Her wise grand-mère had always told her and Chantal 
that the best romances often got their start in friendships and she was content to 
wait.

She was racing around the apartment that she shared with Chantal one Saturday evening, 
hurrying to get ready to go out.  Claiming car trouble, she had called Guy to ask 
for a ride to the club.  She had long ago given up on asking Chantal to join her 
and her girlfriends for a night out.  In many ways, the two sisters were as different 
as night and day.  Odette's dark-haired, dark-eyed sultriness contrasted with 
Chantal's cool blonde, blue-eyed beauty.  Odette's idea of a good time was an evening 
of dancing and drinks with friends, while her older sister preferred sharing 
conversation over a glass of wine in a quiet restaurant.  

"Bebe," Chantal drawled from the doorway to Odette's room.  "Where's the fire?  You're 
running around like a crazy person."

Odette whirled to face her sister.  "Oh, Chantal!  Could you help me fasten this?"  
She held out a thin gold chain bracelet to her sister.  Chantal was bent over the 
tiny clasp when the doorbell rang.  Odette's whole body twitched at the sound causing 
her sister to lose hold of the clasp.

"Depeche-toi!" Odette urged her sister.  "Hurry!"

Chantal succeeded in latching the bracelet.  "Fix your lipstick, 'tite soeur.  I'll 
get the door."

Odette took a deep breath and pulled out a tube of lipstick.  She took a moment to 
fuss with her hair and dab perfume on her pulse points.  She was of the firm belief 
that it never hurt to keep a guy waiting.

A few moments later, she found out that she was wrong.


************* 

Odette had spent the rest of that summer struggling to mask the jealousy that consumed 
her every time she saw the man she loved with her sister.  Guy had been instantly 
transfixed by Chantal's grace and beauty and had invited her to join them at the 
club that fateful evening.  Chantal demurred at first, claiming that she wasn't 
dressed for an evening out, but Guy was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted.

And he wanted Chantal.

"Come, ma belle," he entreated. "You look perfect."  He tugged on her hand, pulling 
her closer to the door.  "Please, I want to get to know you better."  

Staring into his laughing, green eyes, Chantal's resolve melted.  "I'd like that, 
too."  

From that moment on, Guy and Chantal had eyes only for each other.  On the day they 
announced their engagement, something inside Odette snapped.  Guy was hers!  They 
were meant to be together.  Chantal had bewitched him.  There could be no other 
explanation.

Envy and rage ate away at her.  At night she was plagued by dreams of her beloved 
in the arms of her sister; by day she plotted and discarded one scheme after another 
to get him back.  Each Sunday, she lit candles and offered fervent prayers to the 
saintly images cast in marble on the altars.  "Please," she begged each week, "bring 
him back to me."

But there was never an answer.  Finally, Odette decided to take matters into her 
own hands.

**************** 

Carrying a small cloth bag, Odette crept to the bayou. Mindful of the hazards that 
could befall the unwary, she stayed just inside the tree line.  A storm blowing in 
obscured the moon from sight.  The night was alive with the croaking sounds made 
by the bullfrogs, the distant rumble of an alligator and the chirping of cicadas.  
As the storm moved closer, a flash of lightning illuminated the Spanish moss dripping 
from the trees around her.

Odette cast her dark robe onto the ground.  The cooling breeze stirred up by the 
approaching storm caressed her naked flesh.  From her bag, she drew forth four 
candles, representative of North, South, East and West. She drove then into the ground 
and lit them; three black candles to summon the darkness and one purple candle for 
power.  She cast a circle on the ground, using her ritual knife to connect the four 
candles.  She pulled a photograph from the bag and tossed the empty pouch onto the 
ground.  Her fingers tightened around the photograph as she stared down into the 
smiling and love struck images of Chantal and Guy.

Stretching her arms over her head, she raised her face to the sky and in a low voice 
began to chant,

"This happy twosome that I see 
Their love is naught but a betrayal of me 
Separating them is the only way 
Let love forsake them from this day 
With this spell I'll see them part 
With my power I'll win his heart 
Thou love is cursed I promise thee 
By my will, so mote it be!"

Odette used her knife to slice the photograph in two and dropping to her knees, she 
burned the two pieces in the flames of the black candles.  The air around her crackled 
with energy.  No rain fell, but bolts of lightning streaked through the sky and a 
peal of thunder boomed overhead, silencing the natural sounds of the bayou's 
inhabitants.  Rather than being frightened, she was energized by the power 
surrounding her.  Arms spread wide, she absorbed that energy, breathing it in until 
it permeated her very soul.  Finally exhausted, she wrapped her cloak around her 
and sank to the ground within the circle she had cast.  And as the storm moved away, 
she slept.

***************** 

The next morning, Odette wiggled into the clothes she had left discarded in her car 
the previous evening and left the bayou.  She drove to Guy's home, confident of the 
power of her spell.   She glanced up and down the street happy to see that Chantal's 
car was nowhere to be found.  Today she would put into motion her plan to win Guy 
back.  The plan was simple, she thought, as she parked.  She would offer him a 
sympathetic shoulder and a loving embrace.  Pulling down the sun visor, she flipped 
open the vanity mirror and practiced a series of compassionate and caring faces.

Smoothing her skirt over her hips, Odette climbed the steps that led to Guy's front 
door.  The unlatched door fell open easily beneath the knocking hand she had raised.  
Curious, she pushed the door open and stepped into the foyer.

"Guy?"  She closed the door behind her and moved down the hallway.  She glanced into 
the living room and kitchen, but there was no sign of him.

"Guy?" she called again.  A deep sense of foreboding rose in her throat as she laid 
a trembling hand on the bedroom door.  Something was wrong...

Odette pushed open the bedroom door and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of 
Guy curled up in bed alone.  The sheets were pooled around his waist, exposing his 
strong back to her gaze; his dark hair spilled over the white pillows.  She crawled 
onto the bed and laid a hand on his shoulder.  His skin was so cold.  Once again, 
the fear rose in her chest.  Her hand trembled as she tugged on his shoulder.

Odette fell back, a silent scream welling in her throat as his body rolled toward 
her unresistingly.  His eyes stared up at her, open and lifeless.  The gold crucifix 
that had hung around his neck - a gift from Chantal upon their engagement - lay broken 
on his throat.

"No," she moaned.  In his eyes, she was sure she read an accusation.  "It's not my 
fault!" she wept.  "This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen!"

********* 

Five years later
San Diego, California
Java Net Cafe
11:40 PM

The cafe was mostly deserted this late at night, and in the main terminal area only 
a few spots of lighting could be seen.  A handful of people sat in front of the odd 
assortment of Dells, Macs and IBMs, finishing up their online minutes, mindful of 
the clock ticking on the wall.  The café would close in twenty minutes.

Next to her, a young woman typed with flying fingers, determined to use up every 
last second of the allotted sixty-minute quota.  It hadn't been her intention to 
peek at the young woman's fevered chat - but she was nosy by nature; besides, she 
couldn't finish up her own session until this involuntary computer-mate was gone, 
now could she?  Some things were better left private...

With a few last staccato-like jabs of slender fingers, the young woman finished and 
shut down with only seconds to spare.  She flipped her long blonde hair over her 
shoulder, rose gracefully from her chair and walked away, lugging a heavy-looking 
backpack.  Likewise an older man wearing a business suit finished up at the end of 
the row, and left.

Thankfully, alone at last... she glanced around, noticing there were fewer lights 
scattered around than before.  She didn't have much time, but then, she really didn't 
need much, did she?  It was almost a done deal.  All that was left to do was make 
the payment, and she was using PayAnyWay online for that.  She stifled a nervous 
butterfly twinge in her stomach and got online, downloading the desired link and 
logging into an email account that she'd set up specifically for this purpose.   She 
checked her messages, knowing there shouldn't be any but feeling the need to be 
cautious, just the same - and seeing a clear inbox, she set herself to work.  

A minute later she was in a chat room:

[InNeedOf:  Are you there?]

[Hexagon:   Yes.  Have you made up your mind?]

[InNeedOf:  Yes, I want to do it.  You never told me how much it would cost.]

[Hexagon:   Because I doubted you'd follow through.  What you ask isn't going to 
be easy for you to live with, you know. I assume you can handle it?]

[InNeedOf:  YES!  I want this.  I need to do this.  I have to.  Now, what's it going 
to cost me?]

[Hexagon:   Probably more than you can afford.  What I do, I don't take lightly.  
And I set great value on my talent.] 

[InNeedOf:  I understand.  I'll pay whatever you ask.  I want to know how you're 
going to do it.]

[Hexagon:   It's better that you don't know.  You will receive a confirming email, 
when the task has been completed.  Now, tell me again the crime, as you understand 
it.]

[InNeedOf:  There's nothing TO understand.  She lied to me.  She lied to my face, 
the adulterous bitch.  That's all I care to know, other than the fact that she's 
been fucking my husband.  I asked her if she knew who it was and she lied to me.]

[Hexagon:   Then shouldn't your husband also partake in the punishment?]

[InNeedOf:  NO!  I told you I don't want him hurt!  What he did, I just know happened 
against his will.  He's a weak man.  She threw herself in his face.  
How could he resist?  I don't blame him; I have forgiven his weak moment.  If she's 
out of the picture I know he'll come back to me.]

[Hexagon:   If that's what you wish to tell yourself then far be it for me to try 
dissuading you.  So, an eye for an eye, right?  That's what you want?]

[InNeedOf:  Yes.  I told you that the first time I contacted you.  "Do onto others" 
- that's what I want.]

[Hexagon:   All right.  I'll take care of it.  Don't ask me again what I do, is that 
understood?  Just know that your liar will get her just desserts.  
Now, let's talk money.]

As the lights in the cafe winked out one by one, and the minutes drained from her 
pre-set limit, she swallowed a lump of panic and guilt all rolled up into one, squashed 
the horror of having to fork over an exorbitant amount of money, and repeated to 
herself several times that it would soon be over - and she'd have her Marv back.  

She'd have him back - one way or another.

****************


Chapter One
San Diego, California
Value-Save Rent-a-Car 
Montgomery Field
Sunday, 11:30 a.m.

Dana Scully stood in line and used one foot to nudge her suitcase forward as the 
person at the front of the line stepped up to one of the two Value-Save counter clerks.  
Waiting patiently, she indulged in a moment of sheer feminine pleasure as she admired 
the tips of the glossy black boots peeking out from beneath the cuffs of her jeans.  
Outrageously expensive, made of buttery-soft leather and lending a generous three 
inches to her height, they were at distinct odds with the well-worn jeans that encased 
her slim legs.  Their purchase had, sadly, been one of the high points of her trip.

The funeral of Captain Thomas Quinn, retired from the Navy for fifteen years and 
an old Scully-family friend from the days when their father had been stationed at 
NAS Miramar, had been combined with a family visit.  Two days into the visit and 
Scully had begun counting the moments until it was time to fly back home again.  Bill's 
less than subtle digs at the apparently stagnant state of her career and marital 
status had been countered with Tara's relentlessly cheerful remarks on how wonderful 
her sister-in-law looked since their last visit a year prior.  

On the other hand, one-year-old Matthew had been a delight.  Toddling around the 
house on unsteady legs, he had charmed his way into his aunt's heart within seconds 
of the first wet and generous kiss he had pressed to her mouth.  She had spent much 
of her visit on the receiving end of his flirtatious gap-toothed smiles and 
sticky-handed hugs, and he was the reason she would make a more concerted effort 
to visit her brother and his family in the future.

Scully swung a black leather tote from her shoulder and popped open the center snap.  
She dug out her cellphone as she inched closer to the counter, dialed and pressed 
it between her ear and shoulder.  She listened distractedly to the ringing of the 
phone as she continued to dig through the oversized purse for her car rental contract 
and a slow smile spread over her face when a sleep-roughened voice greeted her.

"Did I catch you napping?"  In her mind's eye, his long length was sprawled over 
his sofa, a gray T-shirt stretched across his muscled chest and strong, bare feet 
emerging from the frayed cuffs of his favorite jeans.  

"S'okay."  Mulder's sleepy response was accompanied by the squeaking of leather as 
he made himself more comfortable.  "Where are you?"

She nudged her luggage forward another step.  "I'm at the airport - returning my 
car."   

Both clerks became free within seconds of each other as two customers stepped away 
from the counter and headed toward the doors and the shuttle van waiting to drive 
them to their terminals at the nearby airport.  The woman ahead of Scully walked 
to the closest clerk and Scully carried her bag to the other.  The clerk, whose nametag 
identified her as Brenda, held up one finger and leaned away from the counter to 
replace the toner cartridge in the printer between the two workstations.

"My flight is scheduled to leave on time," Scully said into the phone.  A contented 
smile flirted with the corners of her mouth as she listened to him describe the myriad 
of ways he had planned to celebrate her return home.  The smiled widened into a full 
grin when she realized that most of his plans revolved around divesting her of her 
clothes at the first possible moment.

Six years together as partners, the last three months of which had been spent in 
the blissful throes of a blossoming romance.  God, she had missed this man!

Her cheeks flushed and her heart pounded when Mulder lowered his voice to whisper 
a particularly inventive suggestion into her ear.  She choked back a moan and felt 
her cheeks heat again as the other customer and clerk both glanced her way with knowing 
smiles on their faces.  Scully stammered a hasty goodbye into the phone and dropped 
it back into her bag.  She let her hair swing forward to hide her face as she pretended 
to rifle through her purse for something.  She watched Brenda kneel on the floor 
to wrestle with the printer and idly listened to the other clerk and customer exchange 
pleasantries.

"Our computers are terribly slow today, ma'am," the clerk apologized to the other 
customer.  "Perhaps, you would like a piece of cake while you're waiting?"  She nodded 
toward a gaily-frosted pound cake sitting on the counter.  
"It's my birthday," the clerk continued to chatter as she entered the woman's credit 
card data into the recalcitrant computer for a second time.  

"Happy Birthday... Mary," the customer said with a discreet glance at the clerk's 
name tag.  "Is the cake a gift from your co-workers?" she asked.

A self-satisfied smile crossed Mary's face and she lowered her voice.  "There was 
no card," she said confidentially, "but I'm pretty sure that my boyfriend sent it."  
She nudged the cake closer to her customer.  "Go on, take a small piece.  You can't 
say no, it's my birthday!"  Her grin widened to include Scully in the offer.  Several 
pieces of cake were already missing, undoubtedly pressed upon Mary's customers 
throughout the morning.

"What a considerate man he must be," the other woman said.  She handed a small piece 
of cake to Scully on a paper napkin and took a bite of her own slice.  Brenda cursed 
softly under her breath and slapped a vicious hand against the printer, which 
immediately sprang to life.  

Scully's phone rang and she popped a morsel of cake in her mouth as she fumbled for 
the phone.  She grimaced as the cake melted over her taste buds and saw a similar 
expression cross the face of the other customer.  There was an unpleasant, slightly 
bitter taste to the cake.

Mulder's voice filled her ear.  "Hey, Scully, you hung up before I could ask if you 
wanted to go out to dinner tonight.  I can make reservations for Milano's," he 
suggested the name of a casual neighborhood restaurant, "or we can just order in 
when we get home."  Scully sidled toward the nearest trashcan to discreetly dispose 
of the rest of the cake while she mulled over Mulder's dinner plans.  

"I love Milano's, but getting take out has a certain appeal of its own," she said.  
Mulder's husky laugh echoed hers.  Ordering out would give them about thirty minutes 
to work up an appetite...

Mary set the invoice on the counter.  "What do you think of the cake?" she asked 
as she handed the other woman a pen.  "I just know he made it himself.  It's been 
so busy around here that I've only been able to grab a bite here and a bite there!" 
The customer gamely made a show of taking another bite.  She swallowed hard and wished 
for a cool glass of water to wash the taste of the cake from her mouth.

"It's delicious," she lied with a polite smile.  The words were barely out of her 
mouth when she began to cough and gag.  Her hands clawed at her throat and Scully 
turned her attention from Mulder to the commotion taking place a few feet from her 
as Mary let out a shrill scream.

"Mulder, I've got to go!" she said urgently.  She was dimly aware of his shouted, 
"Scully!" as she disconnected the call and rushed to the woman's aid.  She wrapped 
her arms around the woman and pulled her back against her body, locking her hands 
over the other woman's midsection to apply the Heimlich maneuver, but to no avail.  
The woman sagged unconscious in Scully's arms, and she lowered her to the floor.  

"Call 911!" she shouted to Mary while she pried the woman's jaw open and swept her 
fingers into her mouth to clear it of any food before beginning mouth-to-mouth 
resuscitation.  Scully was dimly aware of the frightened murmurs from the staff and 
customers who stood impotently over the two women.  She lifted her head, panting, 
and shook her head in frustration.  It wasn't working.  She tried tilting the woman's 
head back further to clear the airway.  She leaned down again, and ran her fingers 
over the woman's swelling throat, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt the pulse 
growing fainter beneath the skin.

Scully looked up at the small crowd of people surrounding them. "Does anyone know 
CPR?"  A young man nodded and she yanked him down onto the floor next to her.  

"Her heart isn't beating," She settled his hands over the woman's chest.  "You start 
compressions and I'll keep up the mouth-to-mouth.  Okay?"  He nodded again, locking 
frightened eyes on hers.

"Go!"

She waited as the young man counted under his breath with each chest compression.

"One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and-five..."  Scully took a deep breath and tried 
to force the air from her lungs into the dying woman's.  After what felt like hours, 
she heard the wail of a siren and was shouldered aside to allow room for the EMTs 
to work.  Scully sat down heavily on the floor, and watched in exhaustion as the 
medical technicians frantically tried to save the woman's life.

Long moments passed and Scully knew that they were wasting their time.  Grim-faced, 
they finally acknowledged what she already knew to be true.  

"She's gone."

A piercing shriek rent the air and Scully spun around to find Brenda staring in horror 
at the dead woman.  Tears streamed down her face and her mouth worked soundlessly.  
Wildly, her gaze darted over the dead woman and the clutter of paper napkins on the 
counter.  Confused, Scully watched Brenda whirl about and race toward the doors.  
She tripped over a piece of medical equipment and went sprawling across the floor.  
She scrambled to her feet just as a beefy-looking security guard ran over and moved 
to assist her; at the touch of his hand on her arm Brenda screamed and jerked away, 
bringing her loafer-shod foot up between his legs and catching him square in his 
crotch.  The guard grunted in surprised pain and sank to his knees, clutching at 
himself.  Brenda kicked at him again, this time connecting with his upper shoulder 
and forcing a groan of pain from the guard as he slipped to the floor.

Shaking, Brenda curled into a ball and wrapped her arms over her head.  "It's not 
my fault!" she sobbed piteously.  "This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen!"

Dimly, Scully became aware of the shrill ringing of her cell phone.  She fumbled 
in her bag and pulled out the phone.  Without looking at the display, she thumbed 
it on.

"Mulder... I'm not going to make my flight."

*****************

Chapter Two

San Diego, California
Days Inn
Balboa Park 
Monday, 5:36 AM

Fox Mulder parked the rental car across two spaces, killed the engine and rubbed 
stiff fingers over his burning eyes.  He was wiped out.  Usually he could sleep on 
red eye flights, but not last night.  Not on a damned twelve-hour airplane milk run 
he swore had hit every major airport from DC to Los Angeles, with a few po-dunk local 
runways in between.  He'd changed planes at least three times.  Well, that's what 
he got for trying to save the government a few bucks...

He leaned his head wearily against the back of his seat for a moment.  He'd been 
tense the entire flight, worried as hell about Scully.  Though he knew she was fine 
- she'd called him back and had explained as much as she knew of what had happened 
at the San Diego airport - the tone of her voice was enough to set him on edge.  He 
hadn't been able to relax a bit.  There had been something in her voice he couldn't 
readily decipher, and that nagged at him.  After almost six years together, Mulder 
knew all of his partner's vocal inflections.  That knowledge had only intensified 
since they'd become lovers.

He'd wasted no time in assuring her he was on his way.  He'd contacted Skinner first, 
knowing their former AD would have little or no influence over AD Kersch in persuading 
him to allow them access to this case - but nevertheless hoping he might.  He knew 
Kersch would likely dismiss the case as nothing the Feds should involve themselves 
with.  But Mulder was getting - for want of a better word - vibes.  As soon as he'd 
heard Scully's voice on the phone, he'd felt it.  When he explained his gut feeling 
to Skinner, his old boss had merely nodded, as if that Mulder-ish awareness was 
nothing new to him.  Which indeed, it wasn't.  And Mulder never did find out precisely 
what Skinner said to Kersch; he was too busy whipping himself into action as soon 
as Skinner had called him.

"You're on, Mulder - and you'd better play this one by the book... you and Agent 
Scully."

So Mulder had lost no time getting a bag packed and high-tailing it over to Dulles.  
Unfortunately for him, the decent flights were packed and he was forced to take the 
damned red eye.

Mulder pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes again, released a huge yawn and 
opened his door, unfolding long legs clad in faded, worn jeans.  He stretched as 
he walked to the trunk, popping it open and retrieving his bag.  Scully had told 
him she was on the third floor; Mulder trudged over to the outside stairway and dragged 
himself up two flights.  Knowing he'd be awakening Scully, maybe crawling into bed 
with her for a couple of hours before they had to take off for the Balboa Park police 
station, was the one thing that kept him climbing those stairs. 

A few minutes later the partner of his dreams was opening the door to him, yawning 
in his face and offering a sleepy smile as Mulder dropped his bag and scooped her 
up into his arms, snuggling her close.  He buried his nose in her neck; she smelled 
so good, like lotion and sleep and sweet skin.  Her thin nightshirt was wrinkled 
with sleep and her hair stuck up on end; she had a dried smear of saliva on her cheek 
and she looked gorgeous.  His partner.  Now his lover...

Mulder kicked the door shut with a booted foot and carried her across the room, gently 
depositing her atop the rumpled sheets.  Scully relaxed against a mound of pillows 
and watched with sleepy eyes as Mulder began shedding his clothes.

They hadn't exchanged more than a tired, "Hey, Baby," and a "Morning, Mulder."  They'd 
talk later, he thought.  Right now he wanted only to cuddle her under the covers 
- or on top of them, didn't matter - maybe kiss a little, catch an hour or so of 
sleep.

She moved over a little as he crawled in and pulled her to him, spooning against 
her, both sighing at the comforting feel of each other.  Mulder kissed the back of 
her neck and his mumble stirred the fine hairs of her nape.

"How long have we got?"  

Scully nestled back against him and sighed again as he nuzzled along her shoulder. 
"Two hours, less if you insist on taking a shower.  Police station's only about a 
mile away."  She let him get in one more nuzzle, then turned in his arms until she 
faced him, staring into his eyes in the dim light of the room.  Mulder brushed a 
lock of hair out of her eyes and placed a kiss on her cheek, then ran a series of 
small kisses over her chin, reaching her mouth and lingering there.  She tasted as 
good as she smelled.  He could feel himself becoming quite un-tired, in a hurry.  

They'd been apart for over a week and he'd missed her terribly, though they'd spoken 
every night.  He'd had a hell of a time sleeping in their bed without her and he 
was beyond exhausted from a week's lack of rest and now a long, crowded flight.  But 
in his arms she felt like heaven and her soft, warm body was awakening him like nothing 
else.  Mulder tamped it down firmly.  Even in the dim room he could see the shadows 
under her blue eyes.  Scully needed sleep as much as he did.

"I vote for sleep, Scully.  You can fill me in later - and screw the showers.  We'll 
just reek together."  

She chuckled through another yawn, then pushed her face into his neck and managed 
to wind one leg around his thigh, anchoring him to her body.  Mulder pulled the covers 
over their shoulders and they slept, falling asleep within seconds of each other.


San Diego 
Central Division Police
Balboa Park
Monday, 8:10 AM

At eight in the morning, Central Division was surprisingly busy.  Uniformed cops 
and plain-clothes officers bustled up and down the main corridors and the front 
reception area was swarming with activity.  Mulder guided Scully through a gaggle 
of what appeared to be family members of assorted age, all berating the hapless 
officer who'd apparently had the audacity to arrest one of their relatives.  They 
were all screeching in Spanish.  Mulder grinned as he caught at least one 'Pendejo!', 
and a particularly nasty 'Mayate!' from an old woman who looked like somebody's sweet 
old grandmother.

Finally reaching the front reception, Mulder gave their names to a harried-looking 
middle-aged woman who nodded them toward a set of double doors across the corridor.  
It took them three tries before they could step out into it without getting trampled; 
joining the swarm migrating through the doors, they walked swiftly to a small office 
belonging to a Detective Damarco.  

Knocking on the door, Mulder duly noted the stacks of untidy files littering the 
Sergeant's desk, finally turning his attention to the tiny woman who'd bellowed out 
a rasping "Come IN, already!", to his knock.

Detective Rosa Damarco was about four and a half feet tall and probably just as wide, 
looked to be in her mid-fifties and was dressed in a bright red suit that fit her 
squat little frame like a sausage casing.  Her hair was a wild mass of gray-streaked 
black frizz, tumbling in her eyes from an untidy knot atop her head.  At least three 
pencils and what appeared to be a coffee stirrer stuck out of what was left of the 
knot; with some amusement Mulder noted the stirrer was a dead-on color match with 
her suit.  

Her face was smooth and round, thick eyebrows frowning at them over a pair of 
square-cut hot pink eyeglasses.  Her lipstick was a shade of orange that clashed 
horribly with everything else on her person, and when she spoke again her voice took 
on the quality of grinding, broken glass.

"Who the hell are YOU two?  You got an appointment?" 

Mulder shook himself out of the instant and utter fascination this woman was holding 
for him and stuck out his hand, reaching for his badge with the other.  "Special 
Agents Dana Scully and Fox Mulder, FBI, Ma'am.  We're here to talk with Brenda Jordan."

Detective Damarco examined their badges silently, then her dark eyes snapped up into 
Mulder's face, her head moving way back to see his face.  She pointed to a couple 
of metal chairs in front of her desk, grumbling, "Oh, por Dios... sit down!  You 
give me the neck pain, in case you didn't know, you're damned tall!"

Scully smothered a chuckle behind her hand as Mulder obediently sat, muttering, "So 
I've been told, Detective Damarco."

The minuscule detective grunted out an irate, "Call me Rosa, I don't answer to 
Damarco; it was my rotten ex-husband's name.  I only keep it for the children.  Now," 
she leaned against the desk and crossed her arms over her ample chest, "You taking 
this Brenda Jordan out of here?  That woman belongs in a hospital under observation.  
Only reason she ended up here is because she did a real job on Mendoza, the guard 
she assaulted at the airport.  Nobody hurts my officers like that and gets away with 
it, I don't care how screwed up they are.  She also kept the guards up all night 
with her screaming and carrying-on."  

Rosa straightened and gestured toward the door, adding, "Might as well go down and 
see her; maybe she'll scream some more and keep my day crew awake."  She bustled 
toward the door and Mulder and Scully looked at each other in confusion, then shrugged 
and got to their feet, following the tiny red-suited Rosa.

One floor down the main jail and holding areas were interspersed with small 
interrogation rooms.  Rosa unlocked a door and snapped on the light in one of the 
rooms.  Inside there was a long table with several chairs, a fluorescent fixture 
overhead and a one-way mirror on the far wall.  Rosa picked up a wall phone and punched 
a number, then barked into the receiver, "Bring the Jordan woman to Room two.  Jordan, 
yes!  The screamer, that one.  Thanks."  She hung up the phone and sat down in a 
vacant chair closest to Scully.  While they waited, Rosa filled them in on Brenda 
Jordan's night in jail.

"I have never heard anyone scream like that, never.  A real set of lungs on such 
a skinny woman.  I bet she hasn't got a voice left.  You the one that witnessed the 
deal at the airport?"  She regarded Scully curiously and Scully nodded slowly.

"Yes, I was there.  A woman customer choked to death, apparently on a piece of cake.  
I am scheduled to conduct an autopsy on her later on today - I'm a forensic pathologist 
as well as a Federal agent - and hopefully determine what killed her."  

Rosa nodded.  "Mendoza at the airport said as much.  Said this woman choked and fell 
over, then the Jordan woman went ape-shit on everybody and tried to run.  Oh, here 
she comes."  Rosa met the guard at the door and took Brenda Jordan's other arm; they 
guided her to a chair across from Mulder and Scully, and sat her down.  Mulder stared 
at her curiously.

Brenda appeared to be in her late thirties, slender, with mousy brown hair twisted 
into a sloppy ponytail and small, red-rimmed brown eyes. Her skin was white-pale 
and her thin fingers twisted nervously; she looked down and refused to meet anyone's 
stare.

Mulder nodded to Scully, and she cleared her throat.  "Ms. Jordan, I'm Special Agent 
Dana Scully; I was at the airport yesterday.  Do you recall seeing me there?  Ms. 
Jordan?"

Brenda nodded jerkily, still refusing to meet their eyes.  She opened cracked, dry 
lips and her voice was a mere thread of a rasp.  "I saw you.  You tried to help that 
woman."  She suddenly raised her head and her eyes filled with fresh tears as she 
begged hoarsely, "I'm sorry!  I swear I am!  It wasn't supposed to happen!"  She 
buried her face in her hands and her shoulders shook violently with sobs.  

Mulder reached out a careful hand and touched her arm, feeling the wild tremors under 
her skin.  "What are you sorry about, Brenda?  Please, let us help you.  Please tell 
us why you think any of this could be your fault."  He kept his voice reassuring 
and calm, hoping to gain enough of Brenda Jordan's trust that she'd open up to him... 
but Brenda didn't seem able to control her emotions long enough to answer coherently.  

She raised her head and thick tears poured down her pale cheeks.  "I can't - I didn't 
- I don't want to talk anymore, please don't make me talk anymore!"  With each word 
she uttered her panic grew and her voice increased in decibel level, until she was 
screaming again.  

Scully resisted the urge to clap her hands over her ears, but Rosa Damarco wasn't 
so polite.  She covered her ears and her bellow of impatience was amply discernible 
over the screeching.  "All right, ENOUGH ALREADY!  Knock it off or I swear I'm gonna 
cold-cock you!"  Something in her voice must have gotten through to Brenda, because 
her screams bubbled down into harsh sobs, her face again falling into her trembling 
hands.

As the distraught woman choked and shook, Rosa looked over at Mulder and Scully and 
shrugged, "I doubt you'll get anything out of her, Agents.  Sorry.  I'll have her 
taken back to her cell, and she'll stay there until I know whether or not Mendoza 
is gonna press charges."  Rosa got to her feet and with a jerk of her chin indicated 
to the guard at the door to unlock it.  Before she could approach Brenda however, 
Mulder put out a hand to stay her, rising to his feet as well and moving around the 
table, closer to Brenda's huddled frame.

It was a hunch, a feeling - but Mulder was a firm believer in hunches.  "Brenda, 
listen to me, okay?  I want you to answer one simple question, and we'll leave you 
be, for now."  He paused and stared at Brenda Jordan, until she looked up into Mulder's 
eyes, her own red-rimmed and swollen with crying. There was a sheen of utter 
hopelessness in them.

Mulder held her gaze and kept his voice soft and unassuming.  "Brenda, I need to 
ask you about what you meant when you said it wasn't supposed to happen."  Brenda's 
already pale cheeks whitened even more, and she tried to look away, but Mulder 
wouldn't let her.  Somehow it was of utmost importance that she not break eye contact 
with him.

Brenda's mouth started to tremble and a look of complete panic and fear crossed her 
features. Mulder's question should not be creating such a violent reaction; Scully, 
as well as Mulder, was stunned when her head snapped back and forth so violently 
that her hair came undone from its untidy ponytail.  The whimper in her throat 
escalated to yet another screech and she jumped to her feet, tangling them in the 
legs of the chair as her shouts of denial echoed in the small room.

"NO! I don't know anything.  Nothing, I don't know WHY that woman died!"  As the 
last shrill word left her throat, Brenda Jordan stiffened and began to choke, her 
cheeks turning an alarming shade of red.  Scully leapt to her feet and caught her 
as she collapsed, easing her down to the floor, yelling to Rosa to call 911.  Mulder 
dropped to his knees beside Brenda's prone body, working with Scully as she started 
CPR, his strong hands beginning heart massage... 

Their eyes met briefly as they worked to save Brenda Jordan, both of them knowing 
it was just as hopeless... both acknowledging silently that they were facing another 
mysterious and inexplicable death.  

********************

San Diego, California
Days Inn
Balboa Park 
Monday, 6:51 PM

Mulder closed the door behind him and threw the deadbolt, then fastened the safety 
chain.  Ahead of him Scully had already toed off her heels and fallen face-first 
onto the bed.  He shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it on the nearest chair, 
then moved to the bed and sat beside her, one hand rubbing gently over her neck and 
shoulders.  He smiled at the huge sigh she released; when she suddenly flipped over 
onto her back his hand found itself stroking one soft breast.  She sighed again and 
Mulder leaned in to press a nibbling kiss to her bottom lip.

Against her mouth he murmured, "Before I ask you just how tired you really are, 
Scully... I suppose we should talk over how we're going to handle this case."  He 
delivered one final nibble, then swung his body up onto the bed until he was prone, 
slipped his mouth to her neck and felt her snuggle in closer.  

Scully was quiet for a moment, trailing a slow index finger over his chest; her voice 
was decisive when she replied, "Well, I see a couple of autopsies in my immediate 
future, that's for sure.  It's only been a little over twenty-four hours between 
deaths, so hopefully I'll find something interesting and helpful.  My 
'coincidence-o-meter' can't quite swallow this one, not completely."  

Mulder nodded against her hair and ran a warm palm over her back, pressing her closer.  
"Well, I want to go back over to that rental place - what was it called, 'Value-Save', 
right? - and talk to anyone I can find who was working there on Sunday.  While you're 
slicin' and dicin', I'll be probin' and profilin'..."  He dropped a kiss on her temple 
and shifted her body around so that they lay face to face.  Noting the shadows 
underneath her eyes had hung around all day, nevertheless he was determined to get 
their minds off work and on to more important matters... such as getting started 
on their overdue reunion.

Bringing a hand around to the front of her blouse, Mulder busied himself with 
unbuttoning the silky fabric, brushing it back to expose her lacy bra, eyes drinking 
in the soft skin that swelled against each cup.  He buried his nose between them 
and inhaled her, loving the way she felt, the scent she carried there - the pureness 
of her, the utter good she always brought to him.  He'd missed her like crazy; it 
had been a hell of a long and lonely week without her.  And as Mulder eased her bra 
away and then slid an eager tongue along each tight peak he'd uncovered, as she purred 
deep in her throat and arched like a contented cat against his mouth... Mulder could 
only hope they'd get this damned case figured out, solved and be on their way back 
home, very quickly.  

Between mouthfuls of her he mumbled, "You okay with this, baby?  Not too tired?"  
Even as he gave her a handy out, Mulder was already working his way down her bared 
stomach, unsnapping the side fastening of her skirt, pushing at the material, baring 
more of her to his eager touch.

Above his head Scully chuckled weakly, fisted a hand in his hair and maneuvered his 
head until it was exactly where he knew she liked it best. Her answer started on 
that chuckle and ended on the high side of a raspy moan.  "Oh, I'm more than okay, 
Mulder... not to mention truly awake as well, ohhh, Godddd..."

*****************

Chapter Three
San Diego, California
County Coroner's Office
Tuesday, 1:55 PM


Scully made the last two neat stitches that would close the ghastly wound of the 
trademark Y-incision used to examine the dead.  Stripping the latex gloves from her 
hands, she dropped them onto the tray of soiled instruments near the examination 
table and pressed her fists against the small of her back in a futile effort to 
alleviate the strain of several hours bent over Brenda Jordan's body.  The County 
Coroner's Office had been able to supply an autopsy bay and equipment, but 
understaffing had left Scully to perform these autopsies without assistance.  She 
drew the sheet up to cover Brenda Jordan's nude body and a rueful smile briefly crossed 
her lips with the knowledge that it is the living who worry about things like modesty; 
the dead are beyond caring.

She crossed the room to the telephone mounted on the wall near the door.  She consulted 
the laminated telephone directory tacked up next to the phone and punched in the 
appropriate numbers to request that a staff member come to collect the body and to 
notify the funeral home that the body of Brenda Jordan would soon be released into 
their care.  A second telephone call revealed to her that lawful consent for an autopsy 
had been given by the next-of-kin of the first victim and that the body would be 
delivered to the examination room in short order.

Scully pushed open the doors of the autopsy bay and wound her way through the halls 
until she came upon the lounge for female personnel.  From her pocket, she dug out 
the key to the locker assigned to her for the day.  Grabbing her wallet, she wandered 
over to the vending machines located outside of the locker room.  Leaning against 
the machine, she contemplated her choices.  Breakfast had been a hurried and miserly 
affair of yogurt and coffee.  They had overslept and only had time for a quick stop 
at a convenience store.  She had gulped down the small container of strawberry yogurt 
in the car before Mulder had dropped her off at the coroner's office with a quick 
kiss and a promise to check in with her throughout the day.

She was out of change and searched her wallet for a couple of crisp dollar bills 
as the machine adamantly refused to accept anything other than freshly minted 
currency.  She ignored her normal choice of diet soda, instead going for the much 
needed sugar rush to be found in a 16-ounce bottle of Coke and a package of Oreos.  
Scully took her lunch back to the autopsy bay and settled into the chair behind the 
small desk in one corner.  She briefly considered playing back the tape of the notes 
she made during the autopsy, but rejected the idea for a few moments devoted to the 
peaceful ingestion of empty calories.  Munching on a cookie, she idly studied the 
plaque mounted on the wall next to the desk that proclaimed 'Hic locos est ubi mors 
gaudet succurrere vitae'. 

"This is the place where death rejoices to teach those who live."  She had seen the 
phrase hung in countless autopsy bays and coroner's offices throughout her career.  
Scully popped the last cookie into her mouth and drained the soda bottle as the 
distinctive squeak of the rolling wheels of a gurney drew ever closer.  She was 
scrubbing her hands at the sink when the doors burst open to admit an orderly pushing 
a gurney bearing the covered body of Victoria Durkin, the woman who had died at the 
car rental office.

Scully initialed the form on the clipboard proffered by the orderly to accept custody 
of Victoria Durkin's body and scribbled her initials on a second form to release 
Brenda Johnson's body.  She winced at the screeching sound made by the casters of 
the gurney as the orderly spun it sharply toward the doors before disappearing into 
the hallway.  With a sigh, she popped a blank tape into the recorder.

Scully began her dictation by giving the date and time of the autopsy as she slipped 
her hands into a fresh pair of surgical gloves and tore open a package of sterilized 
instruments.

"Victim is Victoria Durkin, a forty-seven-year-old African American female."  Scully 
took out a measuring tape.  "Sixty-five and one half inches in height," she consulted 
the chart left behind by the orderly, "weighing one hundred and forty-two pounds.  
Next-of-kin reports no known diseases or recent illnesses, but I will contact the 
primary care physician for verification."  

She began to walk around the table, examining the outside of the body.  "Slight 
discoloration to the nail beds of the fingers..." She walked to the other end of 
the table to examine the victim's feet.  "Same bruising beneath the nails of the 
toes on the right foot; not as noticeable on the left."  Scully continued the external 
exam and noted no other abnormalities.  She pried apart the dead woman's jaws and 
shone a small penlight into the mouth, making note of a slight swelling and redness 
to the tongue and gums.

Finished with the external exam, she chose a scalpel from the tray.

"I'll begin with the Y-incision."  She continued the autopsy, removing the internal 
organs, weighing and measuring them, making notes on the visible health of each organ 
and taking small samples of each to be sent to the lab.  She used a large bore 
hypodermic needle to collect blood from the heart and took a urine sample.  She 
collected a small measure of fluid from the eyes to be sent to the lab as well and 
noted several burst blood vessels in the eyes.  She continued to work, dictating 
the contents of the victim's last meal, taking a sample of the bile found in the 
stomach and forcing herself to merely dictate the evidence as presented to her without 
attempting to analyze.  That would come later, when she was sitting in a quiet place, 
reviewing and typing her notes.  For now, her job was to gather the data and document 
her findings so that she could eventually fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

******** 

San Diego, California
Value-Save Rent-a-Car
Montgomery Field
Tuesday, 2:01 PM


The first rush of afternoon rental customers had tapered off by the time Mulder walked 
up to the counter.  It suited him just fine; he wanted some form of privacy.  

Behind the counter a woman in her early forties had her ear pressed into a phone 
propped against her shoulder, leaving her hands free to flip through rental 
contracts.  Mulder noted her name tag declared her to be Susan Moore.  A discreet 
glance around verified she was the only Value-Save clerk on duty.  Good - he didn't 
want to talk to Mary, the clerk who'd been on duty the day Victoria Durkin had died.  
At least, not yet.

Susan looked up from her call, noticing Mulder and sending him a harried little smile.  
It was obvious she was trying to get through her phone conversation quickly.  Susan 
kept one eye on the handsome man in the dark suit standing quietly at her counter, 
mouthing affirmatives into the receiver and hoping her live customer wouldn't become 
tired of waiting and leave; it wasn't often she got to wait on such a good-looking 
man.

At last she managed to end the call, and set her phone down.  She sent Mulder a 
brilliant smile, and stepped closer to the counter.  "Good afternoon!  Sorry for 
the delay.  What can I do for you?  Are you picking up or dropping off?"  Goodness, 
what incredible hazel eyes...

Mulder smiled at her, the sudden glamour of it causing her own brown eyes to widen 
appreciatively.  He fished out his badge and flipped it open, keeping his smile easy 
yet professional.  "Actually, I'd like to ask you some questions.  Agent Fox Mulder, 
FBI.  I'm investigating the death of Victoria Durkin."  He watched the smile slip 
from Susan's lips and her eyes dull a little as she realized she was to be questioned.  
He added quickly, "Were you here on Sunday, around eleven-thirty in the morning, 
when Ms. Durkin collapsed?"

Susan shook her head.  "No, it was my day off.  I have seniority and don't work the 
weekends unless someone's sick.  Mary and Brenda were working that day.  In fact, 
Mary was supposed to work this morning but she called in sick.  Again."  The irritation 
in Susan's voice was noticeable, and on a hunch Mulder took that irritation and ran 
with it.

"Mary.  She was the one who had a birthday on Sunday, right?  Is she often unreliable; 
calls in sick a lot?"  He watched Susan carefully as he spoke.  And saw another flash 
of irritation in her expression.

"Oh, often enough.  Mary skips out early, comes in late.  Calls in sick about once 
a week, in fact.  Usually she's only gone half a day, but this is a small office.  
There's only the four of us - well, three of us, now that Brenda's gone.  When someone 
doesn't show up it's a real hassle."  

The phone rang just then, and with a muttered, "Excuse me", Susan turned to pick 
it up.  While she was occupied Mulder leaned over the counter as unobtrusively as 
possible and glanced around, seeing nothing out of the ordinary as far as he could 
tell.  Stacks of rental agreements on a large desk that held several coffee mugs 
of varying colors and sizes.  A sweater hanging off the desk chair, another hooked 
over the top of a coat tree.  A pair of sneakers on the floor.  It was obvious that 
more than one person used the area and the desk.

Susan finished the call and turned back to the counter.  "I'm sorry for the 
interruption.  It's going to start getting busy around here; usually does this time 
of day.  Is there anything else you need to know?"  There was impatience in her 
demeanor.  Mulder eyed the desk again, then nodded decisively.  

"Yes, in fact there is something more.  I need to check out this desk, and its 
contents."  He gestured with his hand and Susan frowned briefly at the odd request, 
then shrugged and unlocked the counter hinge, flipping it up and over so Mulder could 
walk through.  Murmuring his thanks, Mulder walked around to the front of the desk 
and sat down in the chair.

An investigation of the center drawer yielded the usual collection of pencils and 
pens, rubber bands, metal clips and a metal-edged ruler.  Mulder closed that drawer 
and was reaching for one of the side drawers when he noticed that each of them was 
labeled with the names of what had to be Value-Save staff:  'Susan'.  'Brenda'.  
'Lucinda'. 'Mary.'

Bingo...  He pulled open Mary's drawer and sorted through the contents.

A can of Hershey's hot cocoa mix.  Several packages of Top Ramen soup and a rather 
grungy-looking water bottle with the word "Curves" emblazoned across it.  A handful 
of quarters in a little ceramic dish that was decorated with a fat Garfield, face 
buried in a pan of lasagna.  Some files.  Some envelopes.  A few cards, some without 
envelopes and one in an envelope, the top slit open, its contents thicker than the 
average card.  Hmmmm...  Mulder picked it up and pulled the card out, flipping it 
open.  And a handful of photos fell into his hands.

A-ha.  This must be Mary... Young and cute, no more than maybe twenty-five.  Short 
blonde hair and green eyes, slim - and wrapped in the arms of a dark-haired man at 
least fifteen years her senior.  Mulder was guessing this wasn't her daddy, either.  
He barely glanced at the card itself, recognizing it by its overload of pink and 
red hearts to be a Valentine's Day offering.  The photos were much more interesting.  
Three in all, two of Mary and her fellow, and one of him all by himself, mugging 
into the camera, standing in the sun with his hands on his hips.  Smiling.  Mulder 
turned the photo over and read the words written in a masculine scrawl.  'Babe - 
love you.  Need you. Just you!'

No name.  Interesting... Mulder held the photo closer, noticing the wedding band 
on the guy's finger.  Her husband?

He looked up and caught Susan's eye, standing at the counter watching him.  "Um, 
Susan?  Is your co-worker Mary married?"   

Susan shook her head.  "Nope.  Never been married as far as I know, but she's seeing 
someone; I don't know who he is.  He's never been around here, at least not when 
I'm working.  She gets flowers from him sometimes."  

Mulder slipped the photos into the card and the card back into the envelope, taking 
care to place it back exactly where he'd found it.  He had one more question for 
Susan.  "When is Mary scheduled to work again, Susan?  And what's her last name, 
please?"

Susan's reply came out on a rather miffed-sounding snort.  "Well, like I said, she 
was supposed work all day today, but I suspect I won't be seeing her until tomorrow.  
She's due in at eight.  And her last name is Luden."

Mulder nodded and thanked her, letting himself out of the back area of the rental 
area.  He walked slowly out the side door and across the parking lot to his car, 
thinking about Mary and her married boyfriend.  Tomorrow's interview should be 
intriguing... 

Then he remembered that Brenda Jordan's funeral was tomorrow, in the morning, and 
he and Scully had already decided to go to it, hoping to pick up some kind of clue.

Okay, then.  Mary could wait - until after the funeral.

**************

San Diego, California
Days Inn
Balboa Park 
Tuesday, 10:25 PM


Scully absently lifted a now-tepid can of Coke to her lips, draining the last of 
the soda from the container.  She had showered and changed into a pair of mint-green 
cotton pajama bottoms and a white tank top. Now, with her back propped up against 
a stack of pillows and her laptop resting on her legs, she sifted through the stack 
of scribbled notes she had written while waiting for Mulder to pick her up from the 
coroner's office earlier that evening.  She had a set of headphones plugged into 
the handheld tape recorder as she listened to the playback of the dictation of the 
autopsies she had performed on the two victims.

Across the room, Mulder was sprawled in the armchair near the window, comfortably 
clad in a lightweight pair of sweatpants. In the short pauses from the sound of her 
own voice through the headphones, she could hear him humming softly as he poured 
over the scrawled notations of his own day's work.  His head bobbed, keeping time 
with the song he was humming, pausing only long enough to scoop a handful of sunflower 
seeds from the opened bag lying on a nearby table.  Scully watched him pop a seed 
into his mouth, intently studying the way his cheeks hollowed as he sucked the salt 
from the shell before working the tiny seed free with his teeth.  He must have sensed 
her stare, because he lifted his head and sent an absent grin her way.  Scully returned 
his smile before lowering her gaze back to her work.  She instantly realized the 
distraction had caused her to miss several moments of dictation and she held down 
the rewind button on the tape player for a few seconds, listening to the high-pitched 
sound of the tape spinning backwards.  Hitting the 'play' button again, she refocused 
her attention on her work and her fingers once again began to dance over the keyboard 
as she returned to the task of transcribing her audio notes into a typewritten report.

"Slight discoloration to the nail beds of the fingers..." came the tinny sound of 
her voice through the inexpensive headphones.  "Same bruising beneath the nails of 
the toes on the right foot; not as noticeable on the left."  She highlighted the 
text to indicate that the same traits had been found on both victims.  

For the next twenty minutes, she continued typing, making notes of her observations 
throughout the autopsies including the weight and appearance of each of the victims' 
vital organs.  She was nearing the end of the tape when she was startled from her 
task by the bouncing weight of Mulder as he settled onto the bed next to her.

"Find anything interesting to connect our two victims?"  He stretched out onto his 
side and propped his head on one hand, craning his neck in an effort to see the screen 
of the laptop.  Scully hit the 'stop' button on the tape player and dragged the 
headphones from her ears to rest around her neck.  Over dinner, he had given her 
a brief preview of his own findings from the day, but she had chosen, as always, 
to wait until she'd had the time to briefly analyze the data she had collected before 
putting any of her thoughts into words.

"Quite a few things, actually."  She quickly scrolled through her report, eyes 
searching for the highlighted text that indicated similar findings from both 
examinations.  "I'm waiting for a number of reports back from the lab," she told 
him.

"Such as?" 

She began ticking off the various reports she was waiting for. "Pathology reports 
on the tissue samples from the vital organs, as well as blood and urine tests."

"What do you expect - or rather - what are you hoping these tests will reveal?"

She shrugged.  "Some kind of tangible, scientific link connecting the cause of death."  
She reached out and yanked some papers from beneath his hip, absently smoothing out 
the creases as she spoke.

"If I had to offer a hypothesis right now, I'd say that both women were poisoned."  
She tapped one of the arrow keys on the laptop to move through the document.  "Blood 
and urine tests will tell us whether the victims were exposed to any foreign toxins, 
but just from my visual examination alone, I'd say that there is certainly enough 
evidence to support the theory."

"Like what?"  Mulder scooted closer and tugged one of the pillows from behind her 
back, settling more comfortably onto the bed.  His voice was alert and the look he 
gave her was filled with curiosity, even though his eyelids drooped sleepily.

She mentioned the discoloration beneath the nails on the hands and feet of both women, 
as well as the swelling and unnatural redness found in their gums and tongues.  

Scully saved and closed the file, shut down the laptop and set it onto the bedside 
table along with the tape player and her collection of handwritten notes.  She 
stretched out one arm to turn off the lamp and slid down in bed to rest her cheek 
on Mulder's shoulder.  She absently traced her fingers over his collarbone as she 
continued.

"The brains of both victims showed some minor contusions which could be an indication 
of sudden inter-cranial pressure," she told him.  "There was some evidence of 
inflammation and swelling in their throats and an examination of the stomach contents 
indicated that they had both..."

Her voice trailed off and she stiffened against him.  Mulder stroked his hand through 
her hair and let it glide down her back.

"What is it, Scully?"  He lifted his head and squinted, trying to make out her face 
in the darkened room.  He jostled her slightly, trying to draw her attention back 
to him.

"An examination of the stomach contents indicated that they both... what?" he 
prodded.

"Oh!"  She was jarred back to the present when he tugged lightly on her hair.  She 
blinked in the darkness.  "I'm sorry.  They both had eaten yellow pound cake shortly 
before dying."

Scully burrowed her face into Mulder's neck.  "I'll know more when the tests are 
back from the lab," she said.  She forced herself to regulate her breathing and allowed 
Mulder's warmth to seep into her suddenly cold limbs, relaxing her.  She dismissed 
the unexpected clutch of fear as silly and unfounded.

But she fell asleep with the unpleasant and bitter taste of cake in her mouth.

*********** 

San Diego, California
Balboa Memorial Center
Wednesday, 11:05 AM

Mulder shifted restlessly on the padded folding chair.  He and Scully had slipped 
into the Center's spacious 'Memory Sanctuary' and had snagged a couple of chairs 
in the last row, wishing to remain as unobtrusive as possible.  The first three rows 
of seating actually consisted of small, comfortable wing chairs and sofas, meant 
to encourage family members and friends to gather in small clumps and presumably 
chat about the deceased.  Since any kind of funeral home gave him the creeps, Mulder 
was wishing he could be anywhere but here.  He took a deep breath and expelled it 
slowly, sending a grateful smile Scully's way when she laced her fingers through 
his and gave them a squeeze.  She knew how much he hated this kind of atmosphere.

The sanctuary was about two-thirds full, most of the attendees seated in the comfy 
wing chairs and sofas.  An elderly woman with thin white hair scraped back in a bun 
was keening loudly, rocking back and forth in the chair nearest to the open casket.  
An equally-elderly man awkwardly patted her shoulder and wiped at his own streaming 
eyes.  Grandparents, obviously.  The first row chairs and sofas were crowded with 
people in various stages of whispering, crying and the occasional giggle.  Another 
side effect of grief; it made some people laugh.  Yet another reason for Mulder to 
hate the whole memorial process.

Next to him Scully craned her neck to see past the heads directly in front of them.  
Since they'd first walked in they'd both looked to see if any of the staff from 
Value-Save would show up.  So far she hadn't recognized anyone, and Susan, the woman 
Mulder had spoken to, had yet to make an appearance.  

A small commotion near one of the side doors in front of the sanctuary drew their 
attention, and they both watched as a somber-faced man in his late thirties walked 
in, leaning on the supporting arm of...

"Mary, Mary... is that her?  Because that's definitely the 'boyfriend' I saw in the 
photos I found in the desk at Value-Save."  Mulder noted the way the petite blonde 
physically bolstered the grieving widower, leading him to the sofa directly in front 
of the casket.  He sank down and she followed, sitting close to him and keeping her 
eyes locked on his profile. 

Scully nodded, rising up a little from her chair to get a better look.  "Yes, that's 
her.  Quite solicitous, isn't she?"  They both observed how close Mary sat to the 
man who had to be Marvin Jordan, how intently she watched him.  "You're sure this 
is the guy you saw in those photos in her desk?"

Mulder nodded, his eyes locked on both of them.  "Oh, yeah.  It's him.  Plenty of 
snuggling going on in those two photos.  Romantic snuggling; our Marvin had his hands 
all over Mary's ass, in one of them.  So," he turned to Scully and grinned, albeit 
grimly, "We have an adulterous situation, and we have a dead wife. We have, according 
to your early autopsy findings, a possibility of poisoning.  We have Brenda Jordan 
sobbing in jail that 'it wasn't supposed to happen.'  Now all we have to figure out, 
is..."  He paused dramatically, holding his words until Scully frowned and pushed 
at his shoulder.  Mulder chuckled and finished, "All we have to figure out, is the 
rest of it."  Scully sighed loudly and he smirked at her.

A grumble under her breath had him chuckling anew.  "You are an idiot.  Now shut 
up and let's listen to this damned service."

The service itself was predictably somber and lengthy; the eulogy given by a tall, 
scrawny man Mulder presumed was the Center director.  He was dressed in unrelenting 
black, and with his pale skin, hair and eyes looked like a cross between an anemic 
vampire and an albino.  His voice was sonorous and his address delivered in a monotone 
that drove Mulder nuts.  He could feel himself fidgeting and knew he must look like 
a typical, bored child.  He forced himself to sit still.

At one point in the service, a long-winded description of Brenda Jordan's devotion 
to the ladies in her grandmother's canasta club brought forth not only a grief-laden 
wail from the elderly woman in the wing chair, but also an accompanying screech of 
pain from Marvin Jordan.  As they watched in disbelief, he laid his head on Mary's 
conveniently handy shoulder, and bawled loudly and copiously.  Scully snorted a soft 
and disgusted, "Oh, brother," and sat back in her uncomfortable chair, no doubt 
longing for their motel room as much as Mulder was.

He nodded and murmured softly, "Getting awfully thick in here.  I may have to roll 
up my pants just to wade out.  I say we pull Mary aside as soon as the service is 
over, before she can make her escape with ole Marvin."

"I agree."

The service finally over, the agents remained seated and kept an eye on the front 
of the sanctuary, waiting patiently for the stream of mourners who filed past the 
casket, peeked inside and then turned to shake Marvin Jordan's hand or give him a 
hug.  He stood next to the casket, pale and sad-faced, outwardly the perfect example 
of a grief-stricken husband.  Mulder thought the pose was ruined somewhat by the 
clinging, young blonde-haired woman at his side who had a death grip on his arm.  
Mary was probably afraid one of the other female funeral attendees would make a play 
for him, right in front of his embalmed wife.

Shaking off the morbid humor, Mulder nudged Scully and stood quickly when it became 
apparent Mary and the Widower Jordan were about to exit out a side door.  Scully 
scooped up her purse and hurried after Mulder who was already halfway up the aisle.

"Miss Luden, a moment of your time, please."  Mulder caught up with Mary before she 
could slip out the door.  The blonde woman turned and stared up at him, impatience 
etched in her expression.  Mulder flipped out his badge and identified himself; she 
visibly stiffened at the sight of it in his hand.  She let go of Jordan's arm and 
he looked back in confusion, his eyes settling briefly on both agents, then glancing 
down at the badge Mulder still held out.  Frowning, he faced them and spoke before 
Mary could say anything.

"You're an FBI agent?  What's this about?  We're having a private family gathering, 
here, for God's sake.  My wife..."  His voice broke off on a choking sob and Mary 
immediately caught hold of his arm, supporting him again.  She turned to Mulder and 
Scully and her eyes glittered with suppressed tears.

"Please... this isn't a good time.  I have no idea why you need to talk to me, but 
we have to meet up with the rest of the family."  She started to lead Marvin Jordan 
out the door as if he were an invalid, but her progress was halted by the hand Mulder 
slapped against the open frame.

His voice was polite yet firm.  "I'm sorry for your loss.  Both of you.  But my partner 
and I need to speak with you, Ms. Luden.  It's important.  I am sure Mr. Jordan 
understands, and has other family members who can comfort him while we speak."  His 
arm held fast across the door frame and his tone brooked no argument.  

Marvin Jordan nodded jerkily and offered Mary a sad smile.  "It's all right, Mary.  
Brenda's grandparents are in rough shape and I really need to be with them.  I've 
been so wrapped up in my own misery..." He gestured with his free hand and she 
reluctantly let go of him.  Mulder dropped his arm from the door frame as Jordan 
squeezed her shoulder and walked out to catch up to his family, waiting in the parking 
lot.

Mulder and Scully ushered Mary Luden into a small conference room that held a table, 
some chairs and a sofa.  Leading her to the table, he seated her politely and asked 
if she wanted a glass of water.  Mary shook her head, but accepted a tissue from 
the box Scully found on a side table.  She dabbed at her eyes while the agents settled 
themselves in chairs across from her.

Scully folded her hands on the table and addressed Mary first.  "Miss Luden, my name 
is Dana Scully and I'm Agent Mulder's partner.  I was at the airport the day Victoria 
Durkin collapsed.  Do you remember me?  I was returning a rental car."

Mary nodded as she blew her nose.  "Yes, I remember you.  You were the one who tried 
to help her.  You and another customer." 

Scully smiled reassuringly at the distraught woman.  "That's right.  Agent Mulder 
and I want to do everything we can to help the local authorities piece together what 
happened, both to Ms. Durkin and now Brenda Jordan.  We'd like to ask you a few 
questions.  It won't take long."  Her voice was calm and Mary visibly relaxed, leaning 
back in her chair and wiping at her eyes.

"Okay.  I'll do the best I can."

Mulder smiled at her.  "Good.  Just a few initial things we need to establish... 
you and Brenda Jordan worked together at Value-Save.  How long had you known her?"

Mary thought for a moment.  "Oh, about two years, I guess.  I got the job right out 
of college.  I wanted to get into teaching but my final grade point average wasn't 
good enough.  I had a real hard time with college and almost dropped out a couple 
of times.  But I stuck it out and got my degree."  There was pride in her voice and 
Mulder nodded encouragingly.  Mary blushed a little and continued, "Anyhow, Brenda 
was the one who trained me, and we were friends right from the beginning.  We were 
all really good friends.  Brenda and Marvin have been so good to me."  Tears re-formed 
in her eyes and Mary bravely blinked them away.

Mulder did his level best to make appropriate sympathetic noises, but it was really 
tough to do when all he wanted was to grasp her narrow shoulders, shake her until 
her teeth rattled, and call her a hypocrite to her face.  He restrained himself, 
however, and was grateful when Scully somehow sensed his anger and took up the 
questioning.

"Mary, do you know if Brenda was sick?  Did she have any health problems?  Did she 
miss a lot of work because of taking sick leave?"  

Mary shook her head firmly.  "No, not at all!  Brenda was always at work.  Even when 
she got a cold she worked.  Once she came to work with a high fever.  She was very 
dedicated to her job."

Okay, the woman was a paragon in the work force.  There had to be a reason Marvin 
strayed in the first place, other than the fact of Mary's youthful beauty versus 
Brenda's relatively plain-Jane appearance.  Mulder tried again.  "Mary, do you know 
whether or not Brenda was happily married?"  Blunt and to the point.  Scully shot 
a swift glance his way but didn't say anything.

Mary's jaw dropped a little.  "Happily... how would I know?  I don't know... yes, 
of course she was happy with Marvin!  God, who wouldn't be?  He's a wonderful man!"  
She twisted her tissue into little shreds.  "She loved him, and he loved her!  Why 
would you think Brenda wouldn't be happily married?"  

Mulder eyed her carefully and decided to let her have it, hoping it might shake 
something loose.  "Because Marvin Jordan was having an affair with someone.  We have 
proof."  As he uttered those words, Mulder watched Mary's face carefully, and saw 
the color drain right out of her pretty face, saw the way her eyes got huge with 
shock.  Or was that guilt?  He was about to find out.  

"Wha... are you... how... proof?" Mary's voice was thin and high.  Mulder reckoned 
it could be shock mixed with guilt. He and Scully both watched as Mary's fair 
complexion went from pasty to bright pink.  Her fingers were mangling what tissue 
shreds she had left, and her pointed little chin wobbled a bit.  Her eyes dropped 
to the table and she refused to raise them even when Scully addressed her directly.

"Mary, listen to me.  Agent Mulder and I have a job to do here.  We have two women 
who have died under inexplicable circumstances.  We have been assigned to solve a 
puzzle, and we have to go at it from all angles.  If you can tell us anything at 
all about the woman that Marvin Jordan was seeing, we'd really appreciate the help."  
She eyed Mary Luden closely, carefully.

And Mary flushed pink again; her forehead actually broke out in a light sweat.  She 
gave the appearance of a woman caught in a maelstrom of guilt - and her reply was 
predictable and given without looking either agent in the eye.

"I don't know anything about Marvin having an affair.  I don't know anything!"

Three seconds later Mary Luden was on the floor, gasping and choking while her throat 
swelled - and Scully and Mulder were trying again to save a life they both knew in 
their hearts was beyond their saving.  And once again, as they worked over Mary Luden's 
prone and unresponsive frame, their eyes met - and in Scully's Mulder could detect 
something besides helpless frustration.

He could detect fear.

******************

Chapter Four
San Diego, California
County Coroner's Office
Thursday, 3:36 PM


For the second time in two days, Scully stripped a pair of soiled latex gloves from 
her hands and tossed them onto the tray of instruments used during her examination 
of the victim's body.  She took her time while washing her hands and splashed cold 
water on her face, beating down the niggling fear growing in her mind.  Blotting 
her face with a paper towel, she took a deep breath and tried to school her features 
into placid lines.  She balled her fingers around the paper towel and turned to face 
her partner.

Mulder was sitting at the small desk in the corner of the room.  His feet were propped 
on top of the desk and his attention was focused on the file in his hands.  Scully 
leaned one hip against the side of the desk and cleared her throat to gain his 
attention.

Mulder waved the file in his hands.  "I have no idea what I'm reading," he confessed, 
"but at least it gave me something to look at while you were doing your thing over 
there."  He tilted his head toward the sheet-covered body of Mary Luden. 

Scully took the proffered folder from his hands and flipped it open.  She scanned 
the contents of the three page typewritten report inside.  "Well, the tests do not 
indicate the presence of any known toxins," she said.  Her brow wrinkled in 
frustration.  "Although the creatinine levels are elevated."

"Creatinine levels?" The perplexed look on Mulder's face prompted her to explain 
and she unconsciously fell into the kind of lecture mode she had used as an instructor 
at Quantico.

"Basically, it's a chemical waste that is generated from muscle metabolism.  It's 
produced from creatine, which is a molecule used for the production of energy in 
muscles.  Roughly two percent of a body's creatine is converted into creatinine every 
day.  It's carried by the bloodstream to the kidneys where most of it is filtered 
out and disposed of in the urine."

"And how does that relate to what's going on here?" Mulder unscrewed the cap from 
a plastic bottle of water and chugged several mouthfuls.

Scully tapped the folder against her palm and continued her lecture.  "The normal 
level of creatinine in the blood of an adult female is 0.5 to 1.1 milligrams per 
deciliter.  Obviously, adults with a larger muscle mass can have higher levels."  

"And in Brenda Jordan and Victoria Durkin...?"

Scully referred back to the report.  "I would not describe either of them as being 
muscular, yet the creatinine levels for both were close to 4.5 milligrams."

"Is that high enough to cause these violent deaths?"

Scully shook her head.  "No.  As a diagnostic tool, an elevated creatinine level 
is indicative of poor kidney function.  If the kidneys are impaired and are not 
filtering out the creatinine, then the levels will rise." Scully set the folder onto 
the desk and reached out a hand for the water bottle.  

"But even then, an adult would have to have a creatinine level of close to 10.0 
milligrams to even warrant the possible need for dialysis to help remove wastes from 
the blood.  Some drugs can sometimes cause the creatinine levels to rise, but as 
I said, these test results do not indicate the presence of any known toxins. Certainly 
an elevated creatinine level would not cause a person to collapse and die they way 
these women did."

Mulder gnawed on his bottom lip and considered everything she had just told him.  
"What about Mary?" he asked.  "Did you find any similarities to your examinations 
of Victoria and Brenda?"

Scully boosted herself onto the desk and unscrewed the cap from the bottle of water.  
"Same swelling of the tongue and abnormal redness to the gums.  Inflamed and swollen 
throat; discoloration beneath the nails.  Examination of the brain showed similar 
contusions to those found in my examinations of the other women."

"Well, I know that too much time has passed for you to find traces of the pound cake 
that the other women ate, but since you told me that the cake was there for Mary's 
birthday, I'd have to say that chances are very high that she would have eaten some 
of the cake as well."

Scully took a quick drink from the water bottle in a futile attempt to wash away 
the gnawing taste of fear.  

"I heard her tell Victoria Durkin that she had been nibbling on the cake throughout 
the morning."

Mulder planted his shoes on the edge of the desk and pushed the chair back, its wheels 
squealing loudly in protest.  He leapt to his feet and began pacing around the room.

"Well, then that's got to be it," he murmured.  "The cake is the one thing that ties 
all three women together.  Did you notice how many pieces of cake were missing?"

"I... uh.  Mulder..."

"Whaddya think?  More than half of the cake?  Less?"  He glanced her direction as 
he began a second circuit around the desk.  

"Less than half.  Listen, Mulder, I-"

Mulder nodded.  "Okay.  I'm pretty sure that the lab tests from Mary's autopsy will 
show results to the others-"

"Mulder..."

"While we're waiting for the lab reports, we can head back to Value-Save.  We need 
to pull the records of everyone who was in the office that morning.  Employees, 
customers... God!  She might have offered some of that cake to the clerks from the 
other car rental counters in the airport."  

"Mulder!"

He stopped pacing and turned to face her.  Scully dropped her eyes and began peeling 
the label from the plastic bottle in her hands - a nervous habit of hers that he 
had become acquainted with early in their partnership.

"Scully?"  He felt a hard ball of worry forming in his stomach as he took a step 
closer to her.  When she looked up with a frightened expression, he was sure he could 
actually feel the blood drain from his face.  She hadn't said a word since sharply 
calling out his name, but he knew.  And when she finally did speak, her words struck 
him with the force of a bullet.

"Mulder... I ate some of that cake too."

************** 

San Diego, California
Days Inn
Balboa Park 
Thursday, 7:18 PM

The heavy drapes familiar to every hotel room across the country were drawn closed.  
A lamp turned to its lowest setting gilded the couple entwined on the bed with an 
amber glow.

The bedspread had been tossed to the floor to join the pile of their clothes.  Mulder 
was stretched out over Scully, trapping her between the crisp coolness of cotton 
sheets and the hot heaviness of his body.  

No words passed between them.  Instead, serrated sighs and muffled moans stood proxy 
for declarations of love.  Propped on his forearms, Mulder tunneled his fingers into 
the crimson hair spilled over the white pillowcase.  She raised her face to meet 
his descending mouth; his lips tugged at hers with a desperate passion that belied 
the unhurried movements of their hips.

Scully bound him to her with legs loosely coiled around his waist.  With every languid 
thrust of his body into hers, her fingertips skated up the sweat-dampened hollow 
of his spine and with every reluctant retreat, skimmed back down the same path to 
dip into the matching dimples at the small of his back.  

They joined their bodies in a frantic bid to keep their fears at bay, mating in an 
ageless reaffirmation of life and love.  And when their passions had been spent, 
Mulder wrapped strong arms around Scully as she buried her lips against the pulse 
beating steadily in his throat.  And resting in their protective embrace on this 
night, their sleep was relatively untroubled.

*********** 

Watery early-morning sunlight was leaking in through the slatted blinds when Mulder 
stirred awake.  Face buried in his pillow, he first registered the sound of birdsong 
outside their hotel window, then slowly came to awareness. Flopping over on his back, 
he stretched and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, then glanced over 
at Scully's side of the bed, ready to smile and kiss her awake.

She wasn't there.

Frowning, Mulder sat up, looking around.  He'd risen a few hours ago to get a glass 
of water, and she'd still been in bed, sound asleep.  At least, she'd seemed that 
way to him.  He'd slipped back under the covers and cuddled her close, falling asleep 
almost instantly.  

He got out of bed, figuring he'd find her in the bathroom, since the door was partially 
open.  Naked, he approached the door and rapped his knuckles lightly.

"Scully?  You in there?"

A muffled "Yeah", floated back to him.  Mulder pushed the door open all the way and 
walked in, his eyes focusing with difficulty in the dim little room.

She was sitting on the bath rug, her back resting against the tub.  Cross-legged, 
wearing the wrinkled shirt he had on yesterday, her hair in tangles and her chin 
propped in her palm.  Mulder sat down on the toilet seat and she glanced up at him 
with a small smile on her face.  He reached out a hand to stroke her hair and Scully 
leaned into it like a small cat.

"Whatcha doing?"  Even in the dimness Mulder could see the smudges under her eyes.  
She hadn't slept well at all.  She shrugged and rubbed her cheek on the back of his 
hand as it curved over her shoulder.

"Nothing much.  Sitting.  Thinking.  I couldn't sleep very well."

Mulder nodded, then opened his arms to her.  Scully slowly got to her feet and moved 
closer, swinging a leg on either side of the seat and straddling his lap, face to 
face.  Their eyes met, unsmiling and intent, both tired, both needing far more sleep 
than they'd gotten.

Mulder kissed her neck and felt tiny goosebumps form under her skin.   "Thinking 
about recent developments and revelations?  It's pretty much what kept me from getting 
into that deep REM."  

She nodded and laid her cheek on his shoulder and her breath stirred the fine hairs 
behind his ear.   "Yeah.  It's hard not to.  I woke up right after you came back 
to bed, and everything flooded my mind at once.  I couldn't fall asleep again, so 
I came in here with the idea of taking a bath, and ended up on the rug, thinking."  
She hitched herself closer and Mulder stroked soothing hands up and down her back 
as she added, "Trying to piece all of this together has actually given me a headache.  
I took four aspirin and they're just now taking effect."

Mulder pressed his lips to her forehead.  "Poor baby.  It's frustrating.  We need 
answers, and soon.  We also need a plan.  Is there anything else you remember about 
that day, something you haven't mentioned?  Did you see anyone besides Victoria Durkin 
eating the cake? How much of it did you actually swallow, Scully?"

She thought for a moment.  "I never saw anyone else eating it while I was standing 
there - other than Durkin.  There were at least three pieces missing before she handed 
me a slice.  And she gave the cake to me before she took any for herself.  As I mentioned 
earlier, I heard Mary say she'd been nibbling here and there, so I assume she'd pulled 
a slice of the cake aside, probably first thing when she opened it up.  I never saw 
Brenda eating, so she must have had a slice of it before I got up to the counter.  
That leaves one other slice unaccounted for."  She frowned a little, forcing herself 
to recall minute details.  "I ate one decent-sized bite.  The cake tasted bitter 
- left an odd taste in my mouth.  I swallowed it, Mulder - the entire bite I'd taken 
- and I dumped the rest of it in the nearest trash-can. I don't think anyone saw 
me do it.  And just a few seconds after I threw it away, Victoria Durkin began choking."

Mulder nodded, relieved as hell that she'd only eaten a bite.  Though Scully hadn't 
found evidence of any toxins, if they were dealing with some form of poison, 
thankfully she wouldn't have ingested much.  

He sifted gentle fingers through Scully's tangled hair as she rested her head on 
his shoulder.  In the silence of the small bathroom, a steady drip of the tub faucet 
blended with the chirp of a noisy lark in the tree outside their window.  Sunlight 
slowly lightened the dim interior and without checking the watch he'd forgotten to 
remove last night, Mulder knew they had to get moving.  They had a lot to do that 
day.

But he was loathe to move, didn't want to let go of the soft woman in his arms.  He 
faced the knowledge that despite his efforts to remain calm, an insidious fear was 
escalating within him.  His arms tightened around Scully's body and she cuddled even 
closer, her mouth now buried against his neck.  Underneath his shirt she was bare 
and warm, her legs dangling on either side of his hips.  His own body had responded 
to her damp warmth as soon as she'd sat in his lap - and for the time being he'd 
been content to feel her rubbing into his erection, the friction a comfort as well 
as an arousal.

But now... it seemed as if a potential time-bomb had found its way into their lives.  
It was just too incredible, the thought that a piece of cake could kill.  No apparent 
cause, no trace of toxins.  Elevated levels of chemical imbalance in the human body 
that could actually be the result of anything other than what each of these women 
ate prior to their deaths.  It was easy to rationalize, that was true.  

Easy... until it involved the woman he loved, adored, lived for.  Easy - until the 
moment he admitted to himself that he was scared shitless.  

She'd eaten a bite of cake, chewed and swallowed it.  One bite.  Maybe it wasn't 
enough to hurt her - and maybe it was.  How the fuck could they know for sure?  Three 
people were dead, and each of them had apparently eaten different amounts of the 
cake.  Each had died at different times after ingestion.  

It didn't add up.  

And he was worried - hell, beyond worried.  Scared shitless.  It had to be repeated.  
He couldn't remember being this frightened even when Scully had been taken from him, 
even when he'd raced against time into that frozen Antarctic hell to save her from 
a fate he still struggled to comprehend.  Time bomb. 

Jesus...

His arms gripped her hard, panic and worry blending into an urgent and desperate 
need to connect with her, to feel her life force all around him.  Mulder shoved one 
hand into Scully's hair and pulled back her head, barely registering her muffled 
squeak as he covered her mouth with his and kissed her, deeply.  Demandingly.  He 
stood up with her still in his arms, mouth locked to her lips, and carried her back 
to their bed. He deposited her on the twisted bed sheets, tugging off the shirt she 
still wore, following her down, draping his body over hers, their kisses now frantic 
as the force of his desire caught her alight.  

She didn't ask why; she knew.  Scully's arms and legs twined around him tightly; 
she met kiss for kiss and touch for touch.  Mulder was marking her as his, as surely 
as any male animal marked his mate.  She understood, he knew it... for she gasped 
as he pushed between her legs, pressed himself into her wet center, slipped inside 
and drove himself home.  Her nails dug into his back, her teeth latched onto his 
bottom lip in a nipping kiss and she bit him as his hard thrusts raced them both 
to the edge.

And as they fell from that great height, for one perfect moment each were able to 
forget that anything at all threatened their love, and their world.

******************

Chapter Five
San Diego, California
Value-Save Rent-a-Car
Montgomery Field
Friday, 8:15 AM

When Susan Moore arrived at the satellite office to open up for the day, Mulder and 
Scully were waiting for her, standing next to Mulder's rental car.  Both wore dark 
suits and somber, albeit polite expressions.  Both were also exhausted, having never 
fallen back asleep after the second contact with their bed.  They'd held each other 
close, silent, deeply into their respective thoughts, resting for another hour before 
finally rising and facing the day.  By mutual agreement their first stop would be 
to the Value-Save, to scoop up anything they could find.  Then they had a 'date' 
with Marvin Jordan... he just didn't know it yet.

Susan smiled at them as she approached their car, her gaze lingering appreciatively 
on Mulder.  The smile slipped a bit when she noticed the way he seemed to be leaning 
into the personal space of the small, slender red-haired woman at his side - who 
sure didn't seem to mind.  Susan sighed; some women had all the luck.  She kept her 
smile in place as she reached their sides.

"Good morning.  Back again, I see.  What can I do for you, Agent... I'm sorry, I 
can't remember your name."  It was a partial truth; she remembered his first name.  
God, who could forget a name like Fox?  Especially when the man more than lived up 
to that name -

Mulder smiled easily, offering his hand.  "It's Agent Fox Mulder.  This is my partner, 
Agent Dana Scully.  If you don't mind, we have just a few more questions concerning 
Mary Luden and Brenda Jordan."   

Susan looked confused for a moment, then shrugged and unlocked the door, holding 
it open for them.  She switched on the lights and pressed a small button below the 
window, illuminating an 'Open' sign.  Mulder and Scully waited until she'd booted 
up her computer and performed a half-dozen other office tasks.  While the coffeemaker 
sputtered and dripped, Susan pulled up a few extra chairs behind the counter and 
they all sat.

"I'm not sure what more I can tell you, Agent Mulder, but I'll be glad to help out 
in any way I can."  Mulder smiled gratefully at her, and she blinked in reaction 
to the full force of it.  Lord, the man was lethal...

"Ms. Moore," Scully addressed her and Susan's attention shifted reluctantly, "I was 
here at the rental counter last Sunday when the customer Victoria Durkin died.  Agent 
Mulder and I are trying to piece together not only what happened to her, but also 
to Brenda Jordan and to Mary Luden.  We know you weren't working that day, but if 
you can think of anything that might help us..." She broke off, eyeing the woman 
closely.  Susan Moore may not have been at work, but she might have heard something 
from another employee and filed it away in her memory. 

Susan shook her head sadly.  "No, I'm sorry.  I haven't really heard anything other 
than normal shock.  I mean, two co-workers, dead!  I really liked Brenda.  She was 
a sweetie.  Mary, well - she was nice, too.  But I knew Brenda better.  I worked 
with her the longest."  

The coffeemaker chose that moment to shut off and Susan jumped up to grab a cup, 
asking the agents if they wanted any.  Both refused, and Susan busied herself with 
pouring a cup and adding a large spoonful of sugar before sitting back down again.  
She gulped half the cup before she continued talking.
"I wanted to go to Brenda's funeral, but I just couldn't.  I'm really bad with death, 
and funerals give me nightmares.  Now I wish I'd gone."  

Mulder watched her drain the cup, noticing the slight shake of her hand.  Deliberately 
using her first name, he inquired, "Susan - the day that Brenda and Victoria Durkin 
died, there was a cake sitting on the counter.  It was Mary's birthday that day, 
and she'd cut some of the cake and had given pieces of it to several people.  We 
know that Brenda had a piece, and Mary ate some of it off and on throughout the morning.  
Do you know what happened to the cake after Sunday?"

Susan thought for a moment.  "Well, I remember tossing the cake in the garbage on 
Monday morning when I came in.  It was all dried out.  Nobody had thought to cover 
it, I guess."  

Mulder smiled encouragingly at her.  "Can you remember how many pieces were missing 
from the cake you threw away?"

If Susan thought the question odd, she hid it well.  "Not really.  I mean, there 
were pieces gone, there were crumbs on the desk we all use.  I just tossed it."  She 
was very curious now, and it showed as she asked, "Why do you ask?  Is there something 
about the cake that - "  Her eyes widened as she put the deaths alongside the fact 
both her co-workers had eaten the cake; she exclaimed, "You think the cake made them 
sick, or something? You think the cake hurt them?"

Mulder and Scully locked eyes momentarily; Mulder gave her a tiny nod.  Scully turned 
to Susan Moore and asked, "Ms. Moore... you didn't eat any of that cake, did you?"

"No, I didn't - oh, my God!  I could have eaten it!  I mean, I don't like cake but 
I crave sugar something terrible, especially with my morning coffee!  And I sure 
eyed it a bit; it had lots of icing and looked pretty good to me even though I usually 
never eat the stuff.  Oh, God... I could have eaten it!  Please... did that cake 
kill Brenda and Mary?  Was it... poisoned?"  Susan was white-faced with panic.  

Scully put on her most reassuring smile.  "No, Ms. Moore.  We don't think the cake 
contained poison.  But there is a possibility it was tainted in some way.  That's 
part of our investigation.  We have to trace back to anyone besides Brenda and Mary 
- and Ms. Durkin - who may have eaten some of the cake.  That's why we're asking 
you if you'd be willing to turn over your customer files to us - the ones from last 
Sunday.  If we could pinpoint your Sunday customers, it would help a great deal."

Susan nodded, still shaky.  "Sure.  You can take them, as long as I have them back 
by the end of the week so I can Fed Ex them to the main office.  We have to do it 
every Saturday, close of business.  Well," she rubbed her fingers across her eyes, 
"I guess I should say 'I', not 'we'... seeing as I seem to be the only Value-Save 
employee left in the office since Lucinda quit and the others - well, since they... 
left..."  Her voice broke a little.  She rubbed at her face again, then rose and 
walked over to a beat-up lateral file, opening it up and pulling out a thick folder.  
"Here's everything from that Sunday.  It looks like a lot but it really isn't.  We 
staple all the contracts and assorted paperwork together so we don't lose anything."  

She handed the folder to Mulder, who murmured his thanks.  "We'll make sure to get 
this back to you in plenty of time for sending out. Now I think we should get out 
of your hair so you can start your day.  Oh, one other thing - would you mind if 
we looked through the desk one last time?  I know I went through Mary's drawer, but 
now I'm thinking we might want to also look through Brenda's as well - just in case 
something was missed."

Susan waved her hand toward the desk.  "Be my guest."

While Scully flipped through the contents of the folder, Mulder searched through 
Brenda Jordan's drawer.  It yielded even less than Mary Luden's had.  A few dog-eared 
paperback novels.  A purple coffee mug heavily stained on the inside, with the words, 
'Who Loves Ya, Baby!' emblazoned on each side in neon pink.  A hairbrush.  A handful 
of cough drops and an unopened package of 'Thank You' cards.  

Nothing.  Mulder sighed in frustration, closed the drawer and then once more opened 
Mary's, determined to find something he overlooked before.  

He flipped through the items again, carefully, this time opening the files he'd 
bypassed the first time, when he'd been more zeroed in on the photos he'd found. 
One file appeared to be nothing more than the usual employee-type items: health care 
reimbursement forms, compensation forms, paycheck stubs.  

The second file appeared to be a little more personal; a few letters addressed to 
Mary from a 'Lydia Luden' - mother, or possibly sister?  Mulder set them aside and 
kept looking. 

A few seconds later, he found it... a receipt from a company called 'The Delivery 
Guys', for delivery of "One Cake, addressed to Mary Luden, care of Value-Save Rental 
Satellite Office, Montgomery Field".  

Bingo.

The receipt had an address imprinted for the delivery company.  Mulder pocketed the 
receipt plus the letters he'd found, then turned to Scully, catching her eye.  She 
nodded and tucked the folder under her arm.  Together they thanked Susan Moore for 
her help and assured her they'd bring the folder back to her on Saturday morning. 
They left the rental car office.

Out in the sunshine Scully glanced up at Mulder, squinting against the brightness 
of the day.  "Okay.  Now what?  I saw you stuff something in your pocket.  What did 
you find, Mulder?"

He pulled out the receipt and waved it under her nose.  "Delivery receipt.  For the 
cake.  Paydirt, Scully - I hope.  I say we go there first, then pay Marvin Jordan 
a little visit.  He's lost two women in just a few days; I'd bet he's probably feeling 
really down.  Maybe he'll talk.  And if not, maybe we can... persuade... him to talk."

Scully sighed as she opened the passenger side door and slipped into her seat.  "I 
have a feeling this is going to be one damned long day."

*************
San Diego, California
Crowder and Jordan CPA Offices
Friday 9:45 AM

Mulder swung into the parking lot and nabbed the last spot he could find and killed 
the engine. Leaning back in his seat, he rubbed his fingers into his dry, gritty 
eyes.  

The delivery place had been a waste of time; it was only open on the weekend, just 
a small struggling business.  They'd have to come back on Saturday.  He rubbed at 
his eyes again, and without a word, Scully rummaged through her bag, coming up with 
a bottle of Natural Tears.  She handed it to Mulder, who smiled his thanks to her 
and tipped his head back, shooting several drops into both eyes.  He gave the bottle 
back to her, wiped the excess from underneath his eyes, and commented, "I must be 
drying up from the inside, or something.  I can't keep any moisture under my lids."

Scully patted his shoulder in mock-sympathy.  "I'll peel an onion and wave it around 
in your face, Mulder.  That ought to be good for a few crocodile tears."  She flipped 
a grin his way, then opened her door, Mulder copying her movements.  He sent her 
a rude look across the top of the car.

"Smart-ass.  Okay, let's see if ole Marv is home."

They walked up flagstone steps, entering the office through thick glass double doors 
that opened into a spacious lobby tastefully decorated in muted shades of gray and 
soft blue.  Low, soothing canned music was meant to please, as was the bubbling 
fountain in one corner of the waiting area. The low sofas and glossy magazines 
scattered over polished tables invited the visitor to relax - and perhaps forget 
they were about to head into an accountant's office and maybe hear something 
distressing about their finances.  

The overall effect of Crowder and Jordan was understated, elegant - and 
expensive-looking.  It was obvious Marvin Jordan was doing quite well in the 
accounting business.

They gave their names to an efficient-looking woman in her late fifties sitting at 
a wide, neat-as-a-pin reception desk; her nameplate identified her as 'Mavis Flynn'.   
She looked down her nose at them from behind a pair of steel-rimmed half-glasses; 
she barely glanced at their proffered badges.

"Mr. Jordan is unavailable."  Low voice, cold as the North wind and just as blunt.  
Great, Mulder thought; a barracuda.  Truly the last thing they needed right about 
now.

He tried a smile.  It dried up in the desert chill of Mavis Flynn's polite glare.  
"I know we don't have an appointment.  But it's very important that we speak with 
Mr. Jordan.  Now."  Mulder's smile stayed steady but his voice was firm, brooking 
no argument.

Mavis Flynn was not swayed in the least.  "And I repeat: Mr. Jordan is not available."  
She leaned forward in her seat, her eyes gaining another inch of frost to match the 
icicles dripping from her tongue.  Idly, Mulder wondered if she'd ever gotten herself 
laid.  Her panties were probably three sizes too tight... 

He shook off the grossly unprofessional and vaguely disturbing thought and leaned 
forward as well, stating, "Madam, I suggest you make him available.  We're here on 
official FBI business.  And our time is every bit as valuable as Mr. Jordan's -"

The unflappable Flynn interrupted him quite rudely.  "Somehow I doubt that.  However, 
I would be happy to reserve approximately seven minutes of Mr. Jordan's time, for 
your usage.  I believe I can fit you in at four-forty-two, on Monday."  With that, 
she opened her appointment book, chose with great care a black lacquered fountain 
pen, and poised her writing hand over Monday's page.  One gray eyebrow ascended in 
their direction as she awaited their decision.

Mulder stared at her for several seconds, then turned to Scully, meeting her own 
raised eyebrows and silent exasperation.  Wordlessly, he stepped back from the 
reception desk, glanced in three different directions - and suddenly made a beeline 
for a closed door at one end of the spacious room.  Scully grinned and followed; 
Ms. Flynn squawked aloud, sputtering, "Here, now!  You cannot go bursting in on Mr. 
Jordan!"

Mulder tossed back a cheery, "Sure I can, Ms. Flynn - Marv and I are old 
memorial-service buddies." He and Scully reached the door, Mulder jerked it open 
and they stepped inside, almost slamming it on Mavis Flynn's pointed, stuck-up nose.

Inside an office even more luxurious than the main reception area, Marvin Jordan 
looked up in shock from the high gleam of his polished desk, and exclaimed, "How 
the hell did you get - oh, it's you.  The FBI agents from the other day.  Listen, 
this is a hell of a time to be trying to talk to me.  Jesus, haven't you people got 
any empathy?  I've just lost my wife, and now my best friend..."  The man's face 
was pale and his eyes were rimmed in dark circles.  Obviously he'd been grieving 
- but for whom?  The million-dollar question, Mulder thought.

He and Scully flipped out their badges again, as per regulation, then Scully spoke 
first, keeping her voice even and low.  "Mr. Jordan, Agent Mulder and I understand 
you've been through some difficult days, lately.  And as we said before, we're sorry 
for your loss of Brenda and your friend Mary.  But you have to understand that we're 
conducting an investigation.  We need your cooperation and your help.  It can't wait, 
so we request that you bear with us and allow us to ask you the questions we deem 
necessary."

Jordan stared hard at both agents, before shrugging and leaning back in his chair, 
the picture of abject misery.  "Go ahead, but please keep it brief.  My head is pounding 
and this is the last thing my blood pressure needs."

Mulder nodded.  "We'll keep it as brief as possible.  Now, Mr. Jordan... please, 
tell us: how well did you know Mary Luden?  Was your association with her through 
your wife or had you known her before she started her job at Value-Save?"

"Well, I didn't meet Mary until a Christmas party at the rental office.  I suppose 
she'd been working for them maybe four months.  Brenda had taken Mary under her wing, 
like a mentor, I guess.  Mary was like a little sister to me."  Marvin looked 
appropriately misty-eyed.  Scully choked back a silent gag, and Mulder had to bite 
the inside of his cheek hard to keep himself from saying something he'd surely later 
regret.

"Okay.  So you and Brenda befriended Mary.  Do you know of anyone who might have 
wanted to hurt her?  Did she have any enemies?  Anyone who might have been jealous 
of her?"  Mulder watched the other man's eyes very closely.

Jordan looked bewildered.  "Enemies?  Mary?  God, no!  She was sweet and kind, full 
of life.  She loved everybody.  Who'd ever want to harm Mary?  And, jealous? You 
mean, other women?  Hell, I don't know - I don't think so.  She was a pretty little 
thing but just as nice as can be.  No, Mary didn't have any enemies that I'd know 
of."

Mulder nodded, "Okay.  Were you aware, Mr. Jordan, that Mary Luden was having an 
affair with a married man?  And would it have been possible that the wife of that 
married man might have gotten in the way of their combined happiness, as scorned 
wives sometimes do?"  He waited for the explosion of denial...

He didn't have to wait long.  "WHAT?  Mary, having an affair?  I don't believe... 
NO!  She wasn't like that!  She wouldn't do that!"

The shock in his voice and in his demeanor was very convincing, Mulder had to admit.  
And he was lying through his teeth, as well.  Interesting and frustrating... Mulder 
chose to let that line of questioning rest for a bit, glancing over at Scully as 
he nodded to her.

Reaching into the pocket of her suit coat, Scully brought out the pictures of Mary 
and Marvin, snuggling together; silently she handed them to the distraught 
accountant.  "Mr. Jordan, would you care to take a stab at explaining these photos?  
We found them in Mary's desk at work."

The color drained from Marvin Jordan's face as he looked down at the photos Scully 
had thrust into his hands, staring in disbelief at the sight of him and Mary cuddled 
in a loverlike spooning pose.  His mouth opened a few times but nothing came out.  
Finally, clearing his throat, he attempted a feeble, "Well... I think I know when 
this one was taken.  We had a dinner at our house and you know, we were all such 
great friends... I think Brenda took this photo - and you see, Mary and I were just 
goofing around..."

Silently, Scully reached out and flipped the photo over, allowing him to read the 
back inscription, which proclaimed:  'Me and My Marvy at the cabin'. 

If possible, Jordan's face paled even more upon reading the words written there, 
in the childishly round script of a young woman who'd foolishly thought herself in 
love with a man years older than her - and married, as well.  

In the silence of Jordan's now-visible panic, Scully took the photos from his hands 
and shuffled through them until she found the shot of him standing alone in the sun.  
She showed it to him, then turned it over so he could read the inscription, 'Babe 
- love you.  Need you. Just you!'  Written in a masculine hand, it didn't take a 
genius to see that the bold scrawl on the photo matched the handwriting visible on 
a yellow legal pad that lay on Jordan's desk.

Mulder coughed softly.  "Mr. Jordan, Agent Scully and I have had a very long week. 
Between the two of us, we have witnessed the deaths of three women.  And if we have 
to take up residence in San Diego, we're going to get to the bottom of their deaths.  
Now, I suggest we just cut to the chase.  I strongly recommend you quit lying to 
us and tell the truth, for once in your life.  Were you having an affair with Mary 
Luden?"

Jordan heaved a great sigh, hanging his head.  His arms hung limply at his sides 
and his hands trembled as he finally nodded.  When he raised his face his eyes 
glittered with tears.  "Yes.  Okay?  Yes, goddamn it!  Mary and I were in love.  I 
was going to ask Brenda for a divorce.  I had every intention of marrying Mary!  
Jesus... I adored her.  We wanted children!  Brenda... she hated kids.  She never 
wanted any with me, and when I found out how she really felt about babies, it was 
the beginning of the end, for us.  Our marriage was really shaky long before I met 
Mary.  I swear it."  

The tears overflowed down his face and he swiped at them impatiently.  "Brenda... 
she never wanted to go anywhere, do anything.  I worked my ass off every day and 
all she wanted to do when I got home was watch television.  For hours.  Or, she'd 
be on the damned computer all fucking night.  It wasn't a marriage.  Not for a long 
time."  His eyes swam with more tears as he pleaded for their understanding.  "Brenda 
and I shouldn't have gotten married, I see that now.  We never wanted the same things.  
And when Mary came along, it was as if everything in the world I ever desired was 
right there in one sweet woman."

The agents had heard this line of defense before, in the six years they'd been 
partnered together.  Mulder was immune to the whole 'crime of passion' routine - 
and he knew Scully was, as well.  "Look, Mr. Jordan... personally it matters nothing 
to me whether or not you found yourself stuck in a loveless marriage.  If you were 
unhappy and went elsewhere for that happiness, it's also no skin off my big toe.  
But if you in any way combined that unhappiness with the thought of doing away with 
one woman, in order to have the other, free and clear..."  He purposely let his words 
dangle.  And watched the other man's face very carefully.

Utter shock wreathed Marvin Jordan's face.  "You think I killed my wife?  I don't... 
you think I KILLED Brenda so I could have Mary!  Jesus Christ!"  The shock was too 
real.  Mulder could see it for himself.  Marvin Jordan was actually rather lousy 
at concealing the truth - and it was obvious he was in deep distress about Mary Luden.  

Scully caught his eye briefly, and Mulder nodded slightly. She placed the photos 
on the corner of Jordan's desk, and faced the pale and trembling accountant.  "Mr. 
Jordan, it's our belief that Brenda's and Mary's deaths are highly suspicious.  You've 
already more or less figured that out for yourself, otherwise you wouldn't have 
reacted so strongly to Agent Mulder's remark.  We still need your help.  Is there 
anything you can remember about that Sunday; Mary's birthday?  Anything at all?  Did 
you buy her a present, or flowers, have anything sent to her at work?  Did you buy 
her a birthday cake?"

Jordan wiped at his eyes and stared at Scully in confusion.  "A cake?  No... in fact, 
I suck the big one when it comes to birthdays.  I never remember them until the day 
after.  It used to piss Brenda off all the time.  I could remember every other special 
day, except a birthday.  I had forgotten about Mary's, until the next morning.  She 
called me and told me about that woman who collapsed at the counter; poor baby was 
so shook up about it.  I remember she gave me grief about forgetting her birthday 
card, but thanking me..."  Jordan broke off, eyes widening a little as he pulled 
from his memory.  "Now that you mention it, Mary did say something about cake.  She 
thanked me for sending her a cake.  But I never did that; personally, I don't eat 
sweets at all.  I'd never think about giving anyone a birthday cake."

They had known that, of course.  The receipt for the delivery of the cake had been 
found in Brenda Jordan's desk drawer.  Her husband's genuine confusion sealed the 
deal.  Mulder planted his hands on the edge of Jordan's desk.  "We're going to need 
copies of your wife's credit card bills."

************

"Okay.  This is what we know so far." Mulder was counting down, as he and Scully 
sat in the idling car outside Crowder and Jordan's offices.  Inside, an upset, no 
doubt grieving Marvin Jordan had been told not to leave town and to call them 
immediately if he thought of anything else.  Now, it was left to the agents to string 
together what they'd learned.

"Three women die within a variable time frame, all having eaten cake that may or 
may not be toxic in some way.  It may or may not be murder.  It may or may not be 
anything more than an accident.  Mary Luden thought her boyfriend sent her the cake, 
and a receipt from the delivery place - found in Brenda Jordan's desk - shows us 
nothing except Luden's name as the recipient of the cake.  Mary Luden was having 
an affair with Brenda Jordan's husband, and Brenda herself may or may not have known 
about it.  For that matter, she might not have understood the trouble her own marriage 
was in.  Right so far?"  He glanced over at Scully and she nodded, busy jotting down 
notes on a pad of paper.

"Yes, so far.  And we have more or less established the three deaths as being a result 
of consuming the cake.  What we need to figure out is how, and why.  I think how 
would be the more important of the mysteries."  

Mulder curled a palm over her free hand, twining their fingers together.  He squeezed 
her hand gently and she returned the squeeze, then continued, "We need to find the 
trigger.  For every action there is a reaction, right?  Basic physics.  Something 
about that cake has got to be toxic; I just haven't discovered it yet.  That doesn't 
mean it's not there."

Mulder nodded, suddenly drained to the bone and fighting back feelings of 
helplessness.  "It's there, Scully.  Probably as obvious as hell.  Hiding right out 
in the open.  We just need to let it find us."  He gave her hand another squeeze.  
"I know you probably already told me... but humor me, okay?  Tell me the very last 
thing you remember hearing Victoria Durkin say, right before she died."

Scully pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead, thinking.  "Well, let's see.  
She was eating the cake.  I remember thinking mine tasted really bad, surprised 
because it looked so professionally decorated.  Durkin ate all of her piece, I'm 
sure; I didn't see her toss any of it away.  Mary asked her how the cake was, and 
Durkin said it was delicious.  Then she started choking."  

Mulder nodded encouragingly.  "Good.  Now, Brenda Jordan.  She was upset, frightened.  
She'd been screaming most of the night, according to that Detective, Rosa Damarco.  
I asked her what she'd meant when she'd yelled about 'not supposed to happen that 
way'... remember?  She got even more hysterical, said she didn't know why Durkin 
died.  Then she started choking."

Scully picked up the narrative from there.  "Right.  And then, Mary Luden.  She was 
nervous, had difficulty looking us in the eye.  Guilty as hell, that's for sure... 
but about having an affair, although she disavowed it, as I recall.  Loudly.  Then 
she choked, and collapsed."

As she spoke those last words, Scully's eyes locked with Mulder's - both of them 
acknowledging the same epiphany - that three women had all choked to death immediately 
after answering a question.

A question... there had to be some kind of connection, Mulder was thinking.  Question 
- response.  Death.  

What the fuck could it be?

And then he heard it all again, in his mind; let it flow through him again, like 
a rerun:

'How's the cake?  Delicious...'

'What did you mean?  Nothing, I don't know why she died...'

'An affair.  I don't know anything about it...'

And there it was, all of a sudden.  Right there, so plain and so simple it could 
have easily passed him over.  Simple answers often were the most deceiving.  Simple.  
Deadly simple, apparently...

A lie.  They'd all told a lie.  Right before death, each of them had lied.  It hit 
him, rolled over him and lodged inside him, icy-hot and stabbing, a bolt of certainty 
that sank in his gut and bit him hard.  Mulder grabbed at Scully's arms and held 
on like a lifeline.  He could feel the heat actually drain out of his body.

"Scully, they lied.  All three of them lied, seconds before they died.  I don't know 
how in hell it could have happened that way, but somehow that cake killed them because 
they ate it and then told a lie." 
 
*******************

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