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La Vérité Nous Sauvera (The Truth Will Save Us) By Char Chaffin and Tess Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Epilogue Text Only 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 crystals, 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. Très 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 boîte 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- nièces, 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 chère. 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, chère? 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 deuxième 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, chère, 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, chère. 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 toher 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." "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... bout 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 answe. "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!" Continue to Chapter 9 |
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