Part V
The insistent beeping of a cell phone wound its way
into Mulder's consciousness. After a moment of languid indifference, he recalled
that he was required to do something about it.
Orienting himself, he found that he was lying on something warm, solid and
breathing. The quiet thrum of contentment and rightness radiating outwards from
where the other's bare skin lay against Mulder's immediately identified him as
Alex.
Mulder lifted his head and looked down at the man sprawled beneath him. He
was awake and regarding him with an indecipherable expression.
"You going to get the phone?" Alex asked after a moment, his voice
dark with sleep.
The wary look in his eyes surprised Mulder only briefly. It was all but
inevitable, really-Alex had to think that Mulder had been overwhelmed by purely
physical desire, and considering the blind rage and uncontrolled violence he'd
subjected Alex to so often, it was no wonder the man was apprehensive. There
were a bundle of comparatively minor factors that were likely to be contributing
to Alex's wariness, as well. For example, it had become obvious last night that
Alex was uneasy because he didn't understand what Mulder wanted from him-and
knowing what others wanted from you was, Mulder deduced, imperative for
survival. Mulder had to be sure to let Alex know as soon as he'd figured it out
himself.
The main problem was that the events of the previous day had torn down Alex's
defenses and left him vulnerable to the resurgence of traumatic memories and
deep-seated insecurities such as the conviction that no one who knew him as
himself, not a created persona, would want him. What's the matter, afraid you
won't respect yourself in the morning? Mulder was certain Alex had been
unaware of the flash of pain that had passed over his face as it closed down to
flinty, slightly angry immobility. He was usually too controlled for such a
telling emotion to escape him.
"Mulder."
The phone. Right.
Another moment of thought provided the information that he'd left the phone
within easy reach by the side of the bed, lying on top of his briefcase. Mulder
slid sideways a bit to reach down over the bed's frame, closing his fingers
around the phone without relinquishing his position on top of Alex.
He propped himself up on one elbow so he could watch the other man while he
spoke. "Mulder."
"Agent Mulder, this is Arthur Lowborough." The mayor's voice was
heavy with import. The expectant pause he made after announcing his name
proclaimed that he was waiting for a reaction.
"Yes?" Mulder prompted.
The heavy silence was allowed to weigh down a bit longer before Lowborough
spoke again. "It has been brought to my attention that you accompanied my
son Frederick to the library yesterday and that a confrontation between my son
Frederick and Emma Lawrence took place there. In your presence, Agent
Mulder."
Of course, it was this call. Mulder had been expecting this call. He
must have gotten distracted. "That is correct, Mayor Lowborough,"
Mulder said calmly.
Alex didn't move or tense in any obvious way, but Mulder could feel his
attention turn swiftly and completely to a new focus. Green eyes narrowed and
Mulder studied the other man's expression while the mayor indulged in another
portentous pause. It was plain to see Mulder wasn't working this case alone
anymore. Perhaps he hadn't been from the beginning.
The man really had the most amazing eyes. Lashes like a courtesan, pert nose,
sensual mouth, strong but strangely delicate features, a body long-legged,
slim-hipped and broad-shouldered... all powerful, lethal grace. The voice, of
course. The voice didn't help. That kind of voice automatically made you wonder
what he would sound like when he came. Too pretty for his own good. A disaster
waiting to happen. There were entirely too many people out there who would not
be able to pass up an invitation like this if their lives depended on it. Which
it very likely did, if they but knew it.
Max, for one, hadn't suspected until it was too late.... Max. Mulder didn't
want the autopsy on the witch to be done by a Weimarian. Scully could do it,
that stupid seminar was just a diversion anyway. Of course, Scully would not be
happy to find Alex here. The likelihood that she would believe he'd been an
alien gift-one that Mulder, in all politeness, could hardly have refused-was
exceedingly small. The likelihood that she would be thrilled Mulder had stopped
beating Alex up and was now sleeping with him was even smaller. No.... Scully
was not an option, she'd be certain to hear too much about Kevin Alexander even
if Mulder could keep Alex out of her sight.
Perhaps it would be better to let Max stay missing for now. The situation in
Weimar was volatile and Mulder could not be certain how a murdered witch would
impact on it. How typically Max. The man had been a plague on anything he
touched in life and was managing to be a nuisance even in death.
Mulder's memory threw out the image of the tall, handsome witch leaning in
with his hand on Alex's chin, mouth curved into a lazy, cruel, proprietary
smile. Nice. And such spirit, too. No wonder you have to beat him....
He didn't feel his face change, but he saw the reflection of the change
in the expression of the man watching him. Only the briefest flicker of emotion
crossed the younger man's features; Alex's eyes widened fractionally in what
might have been surprise or apprehension, immediately chilling into hard
impassivity.
Mulder forced himself to choke back the impotent fury directed almost equally
at the dead witch and himself. It was over. The damage was done. It was too late
now-too late to spare Alex yet another violation. Too late to prevent another
dark and violent memory from joining those that haunted Alex's nights and woke
him fighting phantoms.
Reaching out very slowly, Mulder smoothed a gentle hand over the warm, golden
chest of the man lying completely still beneath him. He wasn't certain whether
he was trying to reassure himself or Alex. Both, probably.
"Agent Mulder. My son Frederick is very young and very confused. I can
hardly credit that you would allow him to expose himself to such a danger as
that of Emma Lawrence when you were completely aware of their prior history and
the risk that she would attempt to regain her power over him! My son Frederick
is an impressionable individual, Agent Mulder, he-"
"Your son Frederick is young, but by no means confused or
impressionable," Mulder interrupted, stroking Alex's chest soothingly.
"Tell me, Mayor Lowborough, have you ever considered calling him
Rick?"
"I beg your pardon? I think you have failed to understand that
I-"
"I understand that you are worried and that the fact you are unable to
protect your son from this particular threat makes you feel helpless,
inadequate, and guilty. That is not my fault, Mayor Lowborough. Rick is safe
from Emma and it is my belief that yesterday's encounter will have a very
positive effect on his processing of the incident."
Mulder's fingertips brushed a nipple and the body underneath him tensed.
"Nice" was completely inadequate. Stunning... enthralling.
Magnificent.
"You knowingly exposed my son Frederick to immense danger, Agent
Mulder."
"The likelihood that Emma was no longer able to act on her wish to claim
Rick was high, and as you yourself indicated earlier, your son chose to expose
himself to the danger. His confrontation with Emma was inevitable-I merely
allowed him to choose the moment." Mulder ran a slow hand down Alex's side.
"Every citizen of Weimar is exposed to the danger of the Lawrences every
day of their life, Mayor Lowborough. By raising your son here, you have brought
him into contact with danger-you must allow him to learn how to handle it. Rick
did very well yesterday. He displays an amazing amount of strength and good
sense."
The mayor was silent. Mulder's hand brushed his own thigh where it lay
against Alex's hip and he shifted to the side, out of the way.
"Agent-"
Without warning, Alex exploded into motion. Mulder was spilled to his back
and had a prime view of the display of restrained power and deadly grace Alex
gave as he rolled off the edge of the bed. He landed in a feline crouch and
straightened and pivoted in the same controlled movement, heading for the
bathroom with a crossbow and a knife held casually in one hand.
Oh no, not that again. If Mulder was going to have to go through this kind of
thing every time he got Alex into bed....
"Agent Mulder?"
"Sorry, dropped the phone. You were saying?"
He was saying nothing with a great many words and Mulder let him ramble on,
listening with half an ear. Alex was afraid-not of Mulder himself, but of
something connected to having sex with Mulder. Was he afraid because it was
dangerous to want anyone too much, to care for anyone too much-because he
screamed in Russian and couldn't remember what he'd said-because he was
terrified of losing control?
If Mulder asked Alex for the reasons behind his fear, he would have to
answer. He'd produce a lot of irrelevant and misleading static, of course, but
eventually, he would answer. Alex was already scared, though, and he hated
revealing anything about himself. For him, it was synonymous with making himself
vulnerable. His life had taught him that any chink in the armor was a mortal
threat-he'd only survived because he'd learned that lesson so well. Mulder did
not want Alex to feel threatened.
One of the words flowing past his ear snagged his attention and wrenched
Mulder back to Mayor Lowborough's impromptu little speech. "...responsibility to this town. My father, and my
father's father-"
"Hold on a moment," he interrupted the mayor, straining for the
idea beginning to take recognizable shape. He rewound the thread of sound
quickly and found the relevant section. "...though as an outsider, of
course it may seem so to you. Allow me to make absolutely clear then, Agent
Mulder, spell it out, so to speak, that to me, to all of us who have been born
and bred here...."
"It's obvious," Mulder said as the realization finally
crystallized. "I have been operating under preconceived notions of
improbability."
Mayor Lowborough sounded puzzled and faintly suspicious, apparently preparing
to be offended should the need arise. "I beg your pardon?"
"The treaty is not a treaty. It's a spell."
It was impressive how the mayor managed to imbue silence with such meaning.
He was almost as good at the disbelief-proclaiming non-comment as Scully.
"Treaties must be enforced. What better way to make certain that the
Lawrences do not intimidate the Weimarians so much that it is impossible to
enforce the treaty? Simply turn the treaty itself into an imperative. Not an
absolute one, Emma is proof of that, but if it weren't a spell binding the
Lawrences and the Weimarians, the witches would have no reason not to break
those terms that have passed from public remembrance. I thought it might be a
third power, but it's simpler this way."
"Agent Mulder, I don't quite grasp the significance of-"
"It even explains the guns."
"The guns?" Lowborough sounded completely lost now.
"Simultaneously controlling three automatic weapons by means of
telekinesis while exerting psychic control over one individual, carrying on a
conversation, and engaging in a physical confrontation-not to mention exerting a
brief, definitely telekinetic force in addition to the afore-mentioned
activities-would be completely outside the bounds of any telekinetic talent ever
recorded, only excepting such incidents that should properly be attributed to
different causes. However, the ability to cast spells-constructions that require
no further attention once they have been put into effect-can account for the
phenomenon very well. By casting a spell stipulating that no automatic weapons
shall function within a certain radius, it is entirely possible to-"
"Agent Mulder, I don't think-"
Evidently not. "I'll call you back."
Mulder briefly stared into space while the data he had accumulated, the
questions it had raised, and the conjectures and partial theories he had formed
sorted and arranged themselves in his brain. He couldn't sit still with the new
knowledge expanding in his mind. Jumping up and pacing didn't help either, so
Mulder burst into the bathroom, hardly noticing the crossbow leveled at his
chest. He had to impart this unfolding, complete, and beautiful truth to someone
who would be able to see it.
"They use spells, Alex. A system of ritualized signs and symbols with
the purpose of controlling and channeling energies commonly referred to as
magic, whether entirely internal in origin or partially external-perhaps in the
form of magnetic fields or karmic energy, or perhaps a general haze of
life-force exhuded by all living creatures, psychic or otherwise, which is a
concept quite often found in popular modern culture. Most probably, only the
higher sentiences channel into the local pool of power, namely the people of
Weimar. Which explains why the Weimarians are harder to control even when the
treaty has been broken-by treaty, I refer to the terms stipulated by and bound
into the spell. It's because they are themselves bound into the source of the
Lawrences' power. Many cultures theorize that being born in a particular place
links a person to the natural power of that particular location."
"You think the pact is a spell?" Alex's hair was damp; he was
wearing a towel and his face was covered in foam. Mulder absently noted that he
had either contracted an insidious alien virus or been in the middle of
shaving.
"The Lawrence family and the other settlers reached an agreement to
build a community together and negotiated a mutually beneficial list of terms.
The witches cast the spell working together with the Weimarians, binding them
into the fabric of the casting. No party could be allowed the ability to set and
define, influence, or alter the spell without the other. As for the terms, the
Weimarians were to protect the Lawrences from outsiders-from discovery and death
at the hands of witch-hunters and frightened ignorants. The Lawrences agreed to
use their talents for the town's benefit in some way. The treaty doesn't protect
the Weimarians, it protects the Lawrences-the humans aren't the ones in danger,
they're in the majority and they can call in outside help. I assume the
Lawrences have to be called upon to fulfill their duties, and since no one knows
to ask anymore, they are effectively freeloading. As for the entire business of
taking away slaves, or pets, that is clearly a distortion of the original
terms."
Alex stared at Mulder for a long moment before he put the crossbow down on
the lowered toilet seat and fished the razor out of the sink.
"Okay." Alex inspected his face in the cracked mirror. "So now
you think you have an idea of what the original terms were like-how it all came
about and how it was supposed to work. How it did work before the Lawrences
twisted the treaty to suit themselves. It sounds good." He scraped a
swathe of foam and stubble off one cheek. "Two things. One, do you have any
evidence at all to support this theory?"
Mulder shook his head once, dismissively. "I don't need evidence. It's
the only logical explanation."
"Yeah, that's what I thought." Another stripe of rosy skin was
exposed along the side of Alex's face. "Two. As far as I can tell, the only
reason you have for supposing that the treaty is something in the nature of a
spell is that it's the only thing you can think of to explain why the Lawrences
still keep to terms the Weimarians don't know anymore. I agree that they do
appear to be afraid of a reprisal. Very afraid, to keep a bastard like Max in
line. However, you did say Emma Lawrence broke the treaty, and nothing at all
happened to her."
"I'm working on that." Mulder stared at Alex's reflection, trying
to find a sign of derision or ridicule. Nothing showed, but then the man was a
first-rate actor and liar even when his face wasn't half obscured by shaving
cream.
At least Alex hadn't given Mulder one of the looks Scully and the other sane,
rational folk liked to reserve for the strange one. He'd never enjoyed being
regarded as though he were a cross between a medical curiosity-quite fascinating
actually, if your tastes ran to the morbid-and an incipient threat to the
public. Better watch him, people, one of these days he's going to come in to
work with a meat cleaver.
The silence was unbroken by anything but the minute rasp of razor-blade
against stubble. Alex leaned forward a bit to scrape along his upper lip and all
of a sudden, Mulder realized that he was standing mother-naked next to Alex
Krycek, watching him shave.
The moment burst on Mulder with brutal force, abruptly dropping him out of
his own life to see it as something unfamiliar and incomprehensible,
transfiguring it into a harsh parody constructed of strange, threatening
settings and actions.
Mulder's stomach lurched and a wave of disorientation rolled over him. He
couldn't grasp the logic in the chain of events that had led up to this moment,
to Mulder standing here, to Mulder feeling that it was a natural and appropriate
action to walk in on a towel-clad Krycek and blather about spells and witches.
He knew that it had seemed to make sense a moment ago, but he could no longer
see it. He was too disconnected from the scene in front of him to be able to
understand what would now be appropriate-what he should do to spin out the
incomprehensible thread of events he found himself trapped in-
"Okay," Alex said again, rinsing the razor carefully.
"Wouldn't make sense to build in a delayed reaction. How's this. Additional
conditions have to be fulfilled. Graham Lawrence also broke the treaty, and
Terence made him give the girl back because he was afraid something might happen
to Graham. If it's a ritual thing, the spell may have to be invoked. People
don't know about it anymore, but maybe it could happen by accident. Through a
curse, maybe. You know, 'you bastard, you took my daughter, may you suffer
eternal damnation.'"
The moment snapped back into focus with a brief twist of vertigo and Mulder
sagged against the towel rack, catching an odd sideways glance from Alex. Mulder
didn't care-his reality was the familiar one again, and he wasn't going to think
beyond that. Alex understood after all.
Relief quickly gave way to elated triumph. "That's possible. A ritual
declaration. Max's words to Dahl did have something of that quality-you have
robbed me of mine, you have broken the treaty...." Mulder paused. "But
I told Emma that she had broken the treaty. I'm not entitled to draw on the
power invested in the spell, but she had no way of knowing that."
"How did she react?"
"She wasn't worried in the least."
"Maybe she wasn't aware of the danger."
"She knew about the terms. More likely, invoking the prescribed
punishment requires the participation of more than one person. It makes sense to
build in a safeguard when the punishment that will be administered is severe and
irreversible." Mulder caught a glimpse of his reflection and noticed that
he was grinning like an idiot. This was the best gift he'd ever gotten-nice to
look at, useful, incredible in bed.... "Tell me who you're working for
these days and I'll write you a commendation."
Alex didn't react in any way, but Mulder knew he'd made a mistake the moment
the words left his mouth. Hell. Bloody Stupid Mulder strikes again-leave it to
him to instinctively and unerringly seek out the most certain way to ruin the
moment.
"I'll give myself a raise." His voice was flat and unemotional as
he blotted the remaining shaving cream from his face and met Mulder's eyes in
the shattered mirror. "What about Max?"
What the hell had he been doing in Berlin? Why hadn't Mulder asked earlier?
He couldn't possibly ask now; Alex was too vulnerable. He'd close up completely
and retreat so far behind his masks that Mulder would be treated to the
exclusive company of the emotionless killer until hell froze over. Completely
unacceptable-Mulder couldn't imagine the killer would make those delightful
little growling noises in bed.
The coolly questioning look directed his way recalled Mulder to the
conversation. Max-right. "This is a bad time for a dead Lawrence to
surface, but we'll have to risk it. I want to know what he's made of."
The acknowledging nod was no more than a minute dip of the chin.
Mulder wanted to explain that he'd meant to pay Alex a compliment-to show his
appreciation for his open-mindedness and swiftness of thought-but he didn't dare
open his mouth for fear of putting his foot in it even further. Physical
overtures would probably go over even worse. Talk about high maintenance....
He'd have bought Alex flowers, but he doubted that would help. A nice, new
.45 Heckler and Koch P9S would be far more likely to cut some ice. Taking an
assassin as your lover was not one of the most intelligent things you have ever
done, Spooky old boy....
Lover? Hardly that. Sleeping with someone twice did not make them your
lover, not unless there was some kind of relationship building. True, Mulder did
want to repeat the experience, but that was just because of the way Alex
was, because it felt right-extremely good-to touch him. That didn't
mean-
Out in the bedroom, the cell phone beeped.
Thank God.
"Agent Mulder? Agent Annabella Wilmot, calling from Washington. You
requested a trace on one Clara Lawrence, last known residence in Weimar,
Pennsylvania, which she left with the presumed destination of Harvard."
Annabella Wilmot. A quick rifle through Mulder's mental files failed to
provide a face-or any other data-to go with the name. Of course, that was not
suspicious in itself. Mulder didn't know all of the agents in Washington. It was
by no means surprising to be called by one he'd never heard of. Besides, if the
Consortium was behind this call, Wilmot would be genuine-a genuine FBI
mole like Alex had been.
"Did you find her?" Of course they had found her, there was no
other reason for Wilmot to call. Why was she making him ask? Hoping for further
information?
"Yes." The unknown agent shuffled some paper. "She did study
law, going on to hold several positions of rather brief duration in established
law firms in the greater New York area."
Alex had emerged from the bathroom and crossed over to the closet, where he
proceeded to shed his towel and shrug into his clothes with an assured economy
of motion that made it seem as though he were taking all the time in the world.
Mulder was not deceived.
"Two years ago, she founded a firm of her own, together with three
acquaintances-one friend from university days, and two colleagues from her last
place of employment. The firm is based in Manhattan, where Clara Lawrence
presently resides. I have the full file in front of me-would you like me to fax
it to the Weimar police department?"
"No." Mulder could imagine Warren's opinion on invading a
Lawrence's privacy, even an emigrated Lawrence's. "I'll send someone down
to hotel reception to find out the fax number and stand over the machine while
you send the file. What's your extension?"
Already fully dressed except for his jacket and tie, Alex turned, giving
Mulder an unfamiliar, politely attentive look. Smooth and sleek and every inch
the distinguished lawyer.... The difference between Alex, nude and stubbly and
well-nigh irresistible, and groomed, spit-and-polish Kevin Alexander, every bit
as irresistible, was astounding. If the talent ran in the family, it might make
Alex's little sister rather easy to find. Mulder would have the Gunmen run a
check on up-and-coming young Russian actresses and compare their family
background with Alex's.
Wilmot recited a number and Mulder repeated it aloud, holding the inquiring
green gaze with his. A brief look of surprise flitted across the other man's
face, followed by-
Agent Wilmot's voice was still sounding in his ear, but registered as nothing
more than meaningless noise as Mulder stared at the soft, almost shy little
smile Alex was giving him. That was Agent Krycek's smile. What the hell was it
doing here?
The smile was still warming Kevin's eyes when he gave Mulder a sober, serious
nod and vanished out the door. He even moved differently, Mulder noted-the
strangely sensual, perfectly controlled glide of trained muscles was transmuted
into the slightly hard-edged, though confident and energetic, movements of a
much less physical man.
"I didn't have anyone contact her, of course. The file I was given
failed to specify whether you wanted someone to interview her and if-"
"No!" Mulder's tone was too sharp and he caught himself short.
"I'll do that myself." God only knew what damage someone who didn't
know what the hell they were dealing with would do-they probably wouldn't even
believe the facts of the case, let alone grasp what was important in talking to
Clara Lawrence.
Mulder was weighing the near-impossibility of absenting himself from Weimar
at this point against the complete impossibility of sending anyone else to the
newly found witch, a list of the disadvantages of interviews conducted over the
phone running by in the back of his head, when Agent Wilmot spoke again.
"Agent Mulder, I have taken a closer look at some of the cases Ms. Lawrence
and her partners have taken on in the last year and it's really quite amazing.
She's a criminal defense lawyer and her strategies.... Her success rate is
extremely high; she wins cases everyone else has given up on."
It did not require any encouragement on Mulder's part to make Wilmot launch
into a detailed account of several things that had struck her as peculiar. While
it was entirely possible Clara Lawrence utilized her powers to render witnesses
more cooperative or even manipulate the evidence, at the moment Mulder was more
interested to note that the details Wilmot had picked out would only have seemed
remarkable to someone specifically looking for something out of kilter.
"Now I'm no expert," Wilmot finished at last, "But it seems to
me that using such methods.... Stipulating a connection to organized crime seems
farfetched for most of the clients in question."
Perhaps this case had not been a diversion after all. Perhaps this was some
kind of test, or a show-and-tell of something the Consortium wanted him to know
for some twisted reason of their own. Perhaps Alex had been right and this was
their way to dispose of the bothersome agent once and for all, possibly even
without killing him.
"May I ask what Clara Lawrence's connection is to the case you are
working?"
"This is an ongoing investigation, Agent Wilmot," Mulder snapped.
The woman was almost too clumsy to be a Consortium agent. Mulder could hardly
believe they'd consider him gullible enough to fall for this untalented clod,
especially when he'd rated Alex before. Quite a come-down. But maybe that was
the trick. Make him think that she couldn't be working for them, not as stupid
and clumsy as she appeared to be. He was going to have to take a good look at
her file as soon as he got back to DC. Let the Gunmen do some digging on her, as
well.
"I was aware of that, Agent Mulder," the clod informed him in
frosty tones. "It was certainly not my intention to compromise your
investigation."
A telephone was ringing at Wilmot's side of the connection. "Wilmot.
Yes, please go ahead-yes, I've got it. I'll send it out right away. Thank you,
Miss Schneider. Agent Mulder? I'm sending the file now. Was there anything
else?"
The impression he'd left with Wilmot the possible Consortium agent was
obviously not entirely favorable. He wouldn't be losing sleep over it.
"No."
Miss Schneider was the receptionist with the tendency towards compulsive
order. Alex must have persuaded her to call and give Agent Wilmot the hotel's
fax number because he'd thought his voice might be recognized, either by Wilmot
herself or by someone listening in on the conversation. It pleased Mulder that
Alex was being so careful. A reasonable amount of paranoia was an excellent
survival trait.
You going to finish that?"
Mulder glanced up from his second perusal of Clara Lawrence's file.
"Didn't you read it before you brought it to me?"
Alex grinned. "Sure I did. Aren't you going to ask me what I did with
the missing pages?"
"No," Mulder said absently, returning his attention to a brief
biographical outline of Clara's partners. Whatever Annabella Wilmot was, she had
done good work on this file.
"Mulder?"
Something in the tone of Alex's voice caught Mulder's attention and he looked
up again. Alex was wearing an earnest, slightly uncertain frown that, strangely
enough, reminded Mulder of Agent Krycek's puppy-dog smile.
"You-aren't going to finish that, are you?" Definitely not what
he'd set out to say. Alex was too easy to read this morning... he still wasn't
feeling very well. Small wonder.
Recalling his mind to the conversation, Mulder followed the other man's
gesture down to the plate of waffles sitting next to the fax sheets. "You
want them?"
"I could order a helping of my own, but since you're going to be paying
for everything anyway, I thought I'd give you the chance to keep the price
down."
Mulder pushed the plate across the table, holding on to the rim when Alex
reached out for it. Inquiring green eyes lifted to his.
"You're an expensive man to keep, Alexander." The remark fell from
his lips as though it were the most natural thing in the world to indulge in
lightly suggestive banter with Alex over breakfast. The inappropriateness of
what Mulder was saying hit home in the same instant the other man lifted his
eyebrows slightly, evidently uncertain of how to react.
Damn it, Mulder knew that he had to handle Alex carefully if he wanted to get
him into bed again; the man was discomfited by some aspect of having sex with
Mulder, which meant that any kind of teasing that touched on the matter was a
bad idea. And worse-what had possessed Mulder to use the name Alexander? He
hadn't yet come to a conclusion concerning the exact significance of the fact
that Alex had given him his real name, but he knew that it was not a casual
matter-even for people who didn't spend most of their lives pretending to be
someone else, names were important. If Alex hadn't been completely distraught,
he would never voluntarily have surrendered his true name. Mulder would be lucky
if he didn't freeze up again over this.
Luck was with Mulder for once. An unreadable, though decidedly dark
expression crossed Alex's features, but he did not retreat behind the killer
persona; instead, he shook off his first reaction and quirked his mouth into an
only slightly sardonic smile. "Well, you know what they say, Mulder.
Quality has its price."
"Of course. Perhaps you'd like to go shopping after breakfast?" It
slipped out before Mulder could stop himself. What the hell was this-he
knew how liable Alex was to spook! And how had he ended up trying to flirt with
the man, anyway? This was simply too much. Mulder had to draw a line somewhere,
and he was not going to start flirting with murderers, not even when he was
sleeping with them.
Instead of replying, Alex glanced to the side, ostensibly checking whether
anyone was listening in on the conversation. No one was, of course. The table
Alex had steered Mulder towards was in the corner of the breakfast room furthest
from the window, tucked in next to the linen cabinet and right in front of the
short corridor leading to the fire escape. Not surprisingly, no one else had
shown a predilection for this particular spot.
The silence lengthened while Alex ate one of Mulder's waffles. "So,
Mulder. What's today's plan of action?" he asked finally.
"I'll give Clara a call," Mulder said, gathering her file together
absently. "But first, I'm going to have a look at the Lawrence
place."
A bite of waffle halted in mid-air. Alex's face closed down in a way that
reminded Mulder of vaults slamming shut. "You're going to have a look at
the Lawrence place."
"That's right." Mulder felt inexplicably defensive. "I have to
go before I call Clara in case she's on better terms with her family than
Lowborough thinks. If she tells them that I contacted her, they'll be likely to
be more alert." Why was he justifying himself? "You will stay here, of
course. You can find Riley and see that she doesn't do-"
"Like hell, Mulder. I'm not a baby-sitter and she's convinced Kevin
wouldn't be able to find his ass with both hands." Alex put down the fork
and leaned back in his chair, still staring at Mulder. "Tell me something.
Why is it that whenever your personal safety is involved, you act as though you
had the IQ of a particularly dense ameba?"
"I don't-"
"Oh no, Mulder, you would never do something as idiotic and suicidal as
climbing on top of a tram car without bothering to put on a safety harness. You
would never go haring off to Siberia to break into a top-secret military
installation. Why don't you just shoot yourself if you hate life that much? Do
you honestly expect to drive up to the Lawrence residence without being stopped
on the way? And do you really think you'll ever come back?"
Mulder bit back the sharp retort that rose to his tongue. To Alex, who had
such an overwhelming desire to live, Mulder must seem like a completely alien
creature. A complete wreck, to be precise... a real silver blade.
"Alex," he began, uncertain of what he was going to say. How could
he explain away tendencies that were all too real and that Alex had watched him
indulge on more than one occasion? "This is not like-"
"We have a deal, Mulder. You're going to keep those alien bastards away
from me. How do you think you're going to do that if you're shackled to some
Lawrence's bed?"
He hated discussions like this-it was difficult to win an argument when every
rational consideration supported your opponent's side. The best thing to do in
such a situation was not to argue at all. "I'm going to have a look at the
Lawrence place. Any further questions?"
The other man's lip curled in what Mulder took to be disgust. "How about
this one. You ever heard of aerial surveillance? I know this is a small town,
but there's bound to be a helicopter around somewhere. You could have one
brought in if there isn't."
"So that the Lawrences can stop the motor?"
"But they wouldn't do that, would they? Not unless they were certain
there were no Weimarians inside. They'll stop a car, sure, but they can't stop a
chopper without breaking the treaty. Unless they really do use broomsticks, they
probably won't be able to get to the people inside, either. Or do you think they
can teleport into a small moving space? Seems a bit risky to me."
It was a good idea. In fact, it was an excellent idea. Mulder began to gather
the fax sheets on Clara Lawrence. "Okay. I'll take a chopper.
Happy?"
"How about you let someone else take the chopper. There are such things
as cameras."
"No."
"Mulder-"
"No. I can't ask anyone to take a risk that I won't take
myself."
Alex sighed. "That's the whole definition of command hierarchy,
Mulder."
"You would think that." Mulder shook his head and stood up.
"All right, I'm going to talk to the sheriff. You either go bother Riley or
hang around the Dahl house, just as long as you have an eye on the
self-proclaimed witch hunters and keep them out of trouble."
Without further ado, Alex rose, tugged his jacket into place and gave Mulder
a polite nod before leaving.
Working together with Alex had never been difficult, even back when he'd
pretended to exaggerated respect for regulations and committed the occasional
minor blunder in order to lend Agent Krycek credibility. It had been
surprisingly easy for Mulder to adjust to Alex as his partner then, and he found
that working with him now was even easier to get used to. The man was good. He
was open-minded, sharp, resourceful-and he knew when to stop arguing and follow
orders.
Mulder had cause to revise the last part of his
analysis of Alex's character when he arrived at the police station to find Alex
already there, reclining on one of the molded plastic chairs for visitors.
"What are you doing here?" Mulder hissed, pausing as a policeman
walked by carrying a large fern. He caught himself wondering whether the plant
was evidence of some kind or whether the man was merely trying to upgrade his
working environment and nipped the inconsequential thought in the bud, his
irritation increasing. "I told you to watch Riley for me."
"I am watching Riley. She's in with the sheriff, he wanted to
have a private word with her."
"You had no time to find out she was here. You headed here right
away."
Alex gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look.
Sheriff Warren emerged from his office before Mulder could give Alex a proper
dressing-down, Riley following a step behind her superior. She was in uniform
again, Mulder noted; he was not at all certain whether that was to be regarded
as a positive development.
"Agent Mulder." Warren walked over and shook his hand. "I
think you may be interested in hearing that... there's been a rather unexpected
turn of events."
Looking over the sheriff's shoulder, Mulder met Riley's eyes. The air of
rigidly locked-down rage that had been seething around her yesterday had faded,
making way for a subtle but definite glint of satisfaction.
"We received a phone call half an hour ago," Warren went on,
speaking slowly. He glanced towards Alex and pulled Mulder deeper into the room,
lowering his voice so the civilian wouldn't overhear. "The witness now
giving his statement in room two-a teacher of excellent repute-habitually takes
morning runs along the Ilm on weekends. Today, he found a body washed up against
one of the supporting pillars of the south bridge. The crime scene team isn't
finished yet, but I've been down myself to have a look. It's Maximilian
Lawrence, and it was not an accident."
Mulder's surprise was genuine, even if the reason behind it was not the one
the sheriff and Riley would read into his reaction. Alex must have brought Max
away after taking the fax from DC-Mulder wouldn't have thought he'd had enough
time before he'd met him in the breakfast room. The man had certainly moved
quickly... much too quickly for Mulder's peace of mind. The thought that
disposing of bodies was such a routine operation for Alex was not a pleasant
one. "He was murdered?"
The sheriff scowled. "Definitely, and the whole thing just doesn't scan.
First, he's a Lawrence. This is the first time a Lawrence has ever been killed,
to our knowledge, that is. Hell, it's the first time any dead Lawrence has ever
been seen."
He stopped, his scowl deepening, and hooked his thumbs into his belt, pushing
his chest and gut forward. Mulder was rather surprised that Warren had said as
much as he had; the facts of the case couldn't very well have been kept from
Mulder permanently, but Warren had not only volunteered the information, but
even gone on to add personal impressions. After his earlier behavior, Mulder
would have thought him more likely to hold the knowledge of the murder back as
long as possible and impede any attempt on Mulder's part to involve himself in
the investigation.
After a long hesitation, the sheriff took a deep breath and blew it out in
disgust. "This is very bad news, Agent Mulder. Very bad news
indeed."
So that was it. Warren was afraid of the consequences Max's death would have
for Weimar and had decided that he needed allies. Max was not completely
useless, after all.
"There's no telling what the other witches will do," Mulder agreed,
reminding the sheriff that he was already well aware of the Lawrences' nature.
Talking to Mulder about things he already knew would probably not count as a
breach of the treaty. "I take it you haven't notified the Lawrence family
yet?"
The sheriff bristled slightly. "We have no means of contacting the
Lawrences, Agent Mulder. As soon as one of them is seen in town, we will inform
them of Maximilian's demise, but until then.... I can hardly ask any of my
people to drive out to the Lawrence estate for such a reason."
"Of course not," Mulder agreed quickly. "It's probably better
this way, in any event. Do you know how he was killed yet? Is there an estimate
of the time of death?"
"Must have been dead several hours, probably happened some time last
night, but we have to wait for the autopsy." Warren looked decidedly
uncomfortable at the idea, but he had apparently decided to stick to the usual
routine of a murder investigation for now. "He wasn't in the water for any
length of time. Now, cause of death is the other thing that doesn't feel right.
At this point, assumed cause of death is a spinal injury caused by a blade. A
blade in the neck. Now I don't want to give you the wrong impression, Agent
Mulder. We don't get many professional hits in Weimar. None, actually. Still,
even if I don't have experience in the field-if he'd been shot or strangled, if
his neck had been broken, yes, then I'd say it was pretty obvious.
But this? It wasn't a lucky stab, that much is for sure, he sure as hell wasn't
killed in anger or self-defense, but it doesn't really look professional,
either. The whole thing is off."
"A ritual killing?" Mulder mused, trying for the sort of thing he
usually said at this point. "Maybe the witches did it themselves? But would
they leave him to be found?" He was deliberately trying to mislead the
police on a murder investigation. He had no choice and Max had certainly
deserved to die, but it was a very bad feeling all the same.
"Definitely not." The sheriff shifted and narrowed his eyes to give
Riley a long, penetrating stare. She looked back at him calmly, waiting for
something.
After a second penetrating stare, this one directed at Mulder, Warren folded
his arms in front of his broad chest and frowned. "Deputy Riley tells me
you want to do some flying over the Lawrence estate."
Mulder glanced over his shoulder at Alex, who was watching them. "Yes, I
do."
"All things considered, Agent Mulder, I believe you will find the
helicopter we employ to monitor the traffic well suited for your needs. Deputy
Riley will accompany you."
Look at that. A little scare and suddenly the man was all cooperation and
helpfulness.
"Thank you, sheriff," Mulder said. "I'd like to leave as soon
as possible. Taking the latest developments into account-"
"Yes," Warren interrupted brusquely, obviously not very happy with
what he was doing. "Riley can bring you to the landing field. I'll give
Wilpert a call, he'll be ready to go by the time you arrive."
Mulder nodded and turned to Riley. "Let's go."
Alex intercepted Mulder and Riley on their way to the door and followed them
outside, sliding into the back seat of Riley's patrol car as though it were the
most natural thing in the world. Mulder got into the passenger seat and turned
to stare at him, receiving a bland look in return that gave absolutely nothing
away.
"I know I shouldn't say this, but if ever anyone deserved such an end,
that bastard did," Riley said as she got in on the driver's side.
"Wonder who got to him. There's certainly enough people with
motive."
Mulder ignored her, still looking at Alex. "You don't want to
come."
"Oh? I think I do."
"Very well. You will not come. Get out of the car."
"My brother is somewhere in there, Agent Mulder." He gave
the title a very subtle edge, just enough to lend the remark the feel of an old
and sore topic. He was deliberately making Mulder sound like an overprotective
lover.
"I'll find him. Now get out."
Supercilious haughtiness was not a good expression on Alex. It made Mulder
want to hit him. "I believe this is my decision."
"Actually-"
"Agent Mulder," Riley said softly, "I think you should let him
come along."
"Not a chance," Mulder growled.
Coming up on a building now," Wilpert's filtered
voice announced needlessly in Mulder's ear.
"I see it," Mulder replied equally needlessly. He'd learned within
minutes of meeting their pilot that unless the man received an acknowledgment of
everything he said, no matter how trivial, he would assume he hadn't been
understood properly and repeat the remark until he did get some response.
Riley crowded closer from the left, apparently trying to crawl into the
largest of the monitors set against one side of the chopper. Much of the space
in the helicopter was taken up by bulkheads concealing the computers, cables,
and who knew what else necessary to control the cameras that were at this moment
feeding six different high-resolution views of the Lawrence estate into the
small wall of monitors. The crowded and uncomfortable ambiance reminded Mulder
forcibly of electronic surveillance vans. It seemed there was a rule that
surveillance of any kind, even aerial traffic control, was to be done by cramped
and ill-tempered people.
"Okay, I'm zooming in on it," Hoffmann announced glumly, the
undertone of doom swinging in the words clearly audible even over the headset.
Wilpert's partner had one of the most expressive voices Mulder had ever heard-he
hadn't said anything but "I see" when Mulder had explained what he
wanted to do, but he'd made it completely clear that he meant "I see that
you are an idiot who has no idea of what the hell he's getting us
into."
"You're recording all of this," Mulder stated, not turning to look
at the man seated at a bank of instruments directly behind him. On the central
monitor, the Lawrence family home-still concealed behind a fringe of trees-grew
dramatically larger, remaining in perfect focus.
"Of course," Hoffmann replied, sounding deeply offended. "You
said you wanted everything from all cameras recorded and that's what you're
getting." The tone of his voice added that Hoffmann knew his duty and was
perfectly prepared to do what the FBI agent told him in spite of the fact that
he knew it to be not only dangerous, but utter nonsense.
The building was a large villa that reminded Mulder of Weimar's public
library. It was surrounded by a large, well-tended garden and looked like the
home of a wealthy, but otherwise completely ordinary, family.
"There's a satellite dish in the garden," Alex said softly.
Mulder flicked his gaze to a monitor disclosing an overview of the park-like
grounds and located the dish, discreetly tucked into a remote corner.
"Modern witches," Riley muttered. "At least in some ways. No
garage, no cars, it seems."
"I need a close-up of the dish," Mulder commanded. From the corner
of his eye, he caught Riley giving him a curious glance.
The dish expanded to fill the smaller monitor, every detail crystal clear.
This equipment was extremely high quality. Weimar was a remarkably prosperous
town, and Mulder did not believe it was a coincidence.
"Looks like an ordinary television model to me." Mulder glanced
over at Alex and received a very small shrug to indicate that the other man had
no further information to offer. "That doesn't necessarily mean anything,
of course."
Riley turned to him and began to ask something, but changed her mind, shaking
her head minutely and returning her attention to the pictures of the house and
grounds being transmitted. "Seems they're not eager to be seen. You know,
it always makes me suspicious when people hide in their houses when they hear
someone coming."
"There's some other buildings further north," Wilpert's voice broke
in from the cockpit.
"Then take us there," Mulder replied as patiently as possible.
The floor of the cabin tilted ever so slightly as the Lawrence villa blinked
out of the main monitor, reappearing in the upper left-hand one in place of a
view of the park. The largest screen now depicted a rapid sweep over well-tended
flower-beds, trimmed shrubbery, and tastefully arranged groups of trees and
stretches of lawn.
"Somehow I have trouble imagining Max's family working in the
garden," Riley growled.
Mulder agreed-garden work, cleaning, and maintenance were likely to be tasks
the witch's victims were forced to carry out. No more than the use of a
conveniently available source of labor, though. This wasn't the main function of
the people taken away. The main function was bound up with the idea that
voluntarily having sex with a witch made someone eligible for the role, that
witches were forbidden from taking someone involved in a serious
relationship.
Beyond a brook lined by trees and spanned by several elegantly arched
bridges, a small cluster of houses came into sight. Seven single-family-sized
buildings in the usual Weimarian style were scattered loosely in the vicinity of
a circular, cobbled space shadowed by birches and lined by benches. There was a
well in the middle of it, complete with an old-fashioned cranking rig. The
village square, obviously.
"They've got antennas on the rooftops," Riley muttered. "They
must have plumbing. That well's just scenery."
The small village was probably intended for the Lawrences' victims. There was
no sign of life here, either.
Cobbled paths connected the individual houses with the square and wound back
to the bridges leading to the Lawrence villa. A large rectangular space
surrounded by hedges was set midway between the small village and the brook
separating it from the main estate.
Mulder suspected what this was even before Wilpert brought them closer and
Hoffmann zoomed in close enough for the viewers in the helicopter to be able to
make out benches, a sandbox, an elaborate arrangement of climbing frames and
ropes, a large slide, swings, see-saws, and assorted other features. They were
looking at an extremely spacious and very superior playground.
"So much for the genealogical listing of Weimarian legend," Mulder
said.
Riley gave him a narrow stare. "Perhaps you could be a little
more-"
The door of one of the houses opened and Hoffmann immediately threw the
relevant picture on the main screen, zooming in on the blond man who stepped
outside and looked up, straight into the camera.
Riley made a quiet sound of mingled disappointment and anger as the
magnification reached a level where the man's frown could be made out as clearly
as the fact that he was a Lawrence. If his face had been less narrow, his mouth
and nose a little different, and the set of his eyes just an idea farther apart,
he would have been a dead ringer for Max.
Mulder was relieved it wasn't Dahl. There was no telling what it would have
done to Riley to see her partner now, to be so close and yet unable to pull off
an immediate rescue. The strain was obvious in her features even as it was.
"We're out of here," Wilpert announced decisively, for once not
waiting to be acknowledged before swinging the helicopter around and heading
back to Weimar at high speed.
"Hybrids."
"What?" Some of the suppressed rage had seeped back into Riley's
form and was lending a sharp edge of irritation to her voice.
Alex cleared his throat. "Agent Mulder, when do you think-"
"Hybrids are often completely sterile," Mulder explained, ignoring
Alex's diversionary tactic. "Those hybrids that are able to produce
offspring can seldom do so among themselves. More often it is only possible for
them to successfully breed with a member of one of the original species. Highly
dominant genes would ensure the prevention of a gradual return of the hybrid
breed to the original species it chooses as breeding partners. Alternating
between the two original species would be ideal, of course. However, since the
hybrids have been around for quite a number of centuries and have been forced to
live under much less than ideal circumstances for most of that time, it seems
likely that the second parent species has either never taken an interest in the
hybrids or lost their original interest long ago. Quite probably, they are no
longer even in the vicinity."
Sheer astonishment overcame the stony immobility Riley's features had begun
to assume. The look of horrified amazement and disbelief she directed at Mulder
was very familiar and he almost sighed as she gathered herself for the
inevitable response. "Are you trying to tell me that-you don't honestly
expect me to believe-what exactly are you expecting me to believe? Who is
the second parent species?"
Well, at least she was quick on the uptake. She'd run through all the
requisite stages of incredulity in one. "The most likely candidate would be
an extraterrestrial life-form."
By now, her eyes were taking up most of her face. "You have got to be
kidding me."
Mulder suppressed a sigh. "It's hardly logical to assume that in a
virtually infinite space holding a finite but incalculably high number of
planets, the conditions for the evolution of intelligent life should only have
been given on a single one."
She turned to Alex almost desperately, looking for support in the attempt to
preserve a semblance of the familiar order of her world. It never ceased to
amaze and irritate Mulder how tenaciously most people held onto their beliefs
even when they had already proven to be far too limited. "He is
kidding, isn't he."
Alex regarded Mulder soberly for a moment and then gave Riley an open,
slightly rueful smile. "I am not quite certain," he lied. "To be
frank, Deputy, at this point I am no longer prepared to discard any theory that
accounts for the existence of the Lawrence witches. That parallel evolution or
random genetic mutation should have produced such an unlikely end product seems
barely plausible.... Though of course I do not mean to imply that I believe in
extraterrestrial life. I merely meant to express my conviction that in this
situation, we should not be hasty in discounting any thesis, no matter how
unusual, without further evidence."
The policewoman gave Kevin Alexander a vaguely disgusted look and turned back
to the monitors, shooting Mulder a sideways glance that accused him of bullying
his wimpy lover into supporting his ridiculous theories.
They were now passing over a larger river that separated carefully tended
parkland from the dense, multi-colored trees of the Weimar forest.
"We've reached the Ilm," Wilpert announced. "It forms the
border of the Lawrence estate according to my map."
"Take us back the long way," Mulder instructed. "There's no
need to provoke them more than necessary."
The chopper swept into a leisurely arc, treetops in varying shades of green,
gold, and copper meshing into a blur of autumn hues on the monitors.
"You know," Mulder said to no one in particular, "the origin
of the hybrid breed may well lie so far in the past of our world that the
circumstances surrounding it can be considered the basis for a number of
religions-the deities of the classical Greek pantheon, for example, were beings
with incomprehensible powers who were physically compatible with humans and took
a strong sexual interest in their subjects, producing offspring with powers that
far surpassed the capacities of normal humans. Possible traces are also to be
found in Christian legend. Genesis 6:1 and following state: And it came to pass,
when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born
unto them, that the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair;
and they took them wives of all which they chose. 6:4 goes on to claim: There
were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of
God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them, the same
became mighty men which were of old men of renown. It seems that-"
"Agent Mulder-"
"What's that?" Riley interrupted both Mulder and Alex, leaning
towards a monitor on the lower left-hand side. "Hoffmann, magnify number
5."
Hoffmann obligingly magnified the view in question and put it on the main
monitor. It gave a view of the receding stretch of woods they'd flown over and
showed nothing out of the ordinary as far as Mulder could tell.
"Wilpert, bring us back a bit."
The helicopter went into a tight semi-circle, barely-if at all-reducing speed
and making Mulder fall against Alex, his stomach lurching. Riley was glued to
the monitors and didn't seem to notice the cavalier flying style Wilpert had
suddenly adopted. It appeared their pilot wanted to get back home as quickly and
possible and was protesting the delay.
"There!"
A wildly waving figure was scrambling over rocks at the riverside, obviously
trying to get their attention. As soon as the unidentified man realized that the
chopper was coming back, he stopped running and redoubled his efforts at waving
his arms in the air.
"That's my partner," Riley said even before Hoffmann had zoomed in
to reveal a severely disheveled and widely grinning Gerrit Dahl. "He got
away!"
"We can't land anywhere around here," Wilpert commented.
"We'll have to do this the hard way."
Everyone in the cabin had to buckle up-Mulder caught a meaningful look from
Alex that he chose to ignore-and Wilpert maneuvered the helicopter down over the
river. Hoffmann opened the door and had an automated cable winch let a harness
down to Dahl. The monitors offered an excellent view of the young policeman as
he leaned out too far in his attempt to reach the harness, fell into the Ilm,
drifted several yards downstream, and splashed about in the shallows a bit
before managing to snag the line and strap himself in to be pulled up.
When he was finally pulled into the cabin by Hoffmann and Riley, Gerrit Dahl
was wearing a smile so bright that it completely eclipsed his appearance, making
him look like a conquering hero returning to claim his prize. The black jeans
and sweater he wore were torn, soaking wet, and adorned with streaks of mud and
something green and slimy that Mulder sincerely hoped was moss or algae; he was
visibly exhausted, pallid, red-eyed, and stubbly, but he laughed up at Riley as
though he'd just single-handedly saved the town from ruin.
The instant Hoffmann had closed the door, the chopper gained altitude
drastically and shot off towards Weimar. Riley dragged her partner to his feet
and crushed him in a bear-hug that looked almost painful.
"Hey," Dahl protested breathlessly.
"You idiot!" Riley shouted, pushing him away with enough force to
make him fall back against the bank of instruments behind him. "What the
hell did you think you were doing! What did that bastard do to you? Are you
hurt? We thought we were never going to see you again!"
"Hi, Riley. Nice to see you, too."
Hoffmann clapped a friendly hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Gave us
quite a scare, Ger. Now put this on and stop dripping on the zoom levers, why
don't you."
Dahl laughed and took the offered head-set, turning to nod at Mulder as he
complied. "Agent Mulder... Mr. Alexander. How did you-"
"You're the one who needs to answer some questions," Riley growled,
somehow managing to loom over her partner in spite of the fact that he was
taller than her. "What happened? How did you get away?"
Her fierce expression hadn't daunted Dahl in the least, but his wide smile
faded at the questions, leaving only exhaustion and remembered fear. Riley
immediately grabbed his arm and made him sit down, taking a blanket Hoffmann had
produced from somewhere to wrap her partner into it briskly, completely ignoring
his half-hearted protest.
"Jeez, Riley, you act like my mother or something. I'm not cold, I've
been running for a while. What happened.... Well, actually I'm not sure. Max
brought me to a house back there-this is the Lawrence estate, right? The
thing is, I don't actually remember how.... We walked the last bit, that much I
do know." Dahl looked down. "For a while there I thought-that guy...
he scared the hell out of me, just for the heck of it. I really thought.... He
didn't hurt me, he just-played, made me put on about fifty different sets of
clothes, asked me all kinds of stuff, made me show him how to handle a gun...
and whenever he thought I wasn't terrified enough he turned menacing. He's very
good at that."
He paused for a moment, collecting himself, before lifting his head to speak
on in a firmer voice. "Max left after a while, said he had a date. Had a
real nasty smirk on his face. I tried to get out then, but I couldn't-I
just stood there in front of the door or the window and couldn't even try to
open it. I didn't know what to do, so I just kept trying. I fell asleep for a
bit and when I woke up I tried again first thing and suddenly it worked-I could
open the door and walk out. I did, I got out of there as fast as I could. I know
I should have taken the others with me-there were some other houses there-I
tried, but the doors wouldn't open and I didn't dare make a racket or hang
around too long.... At first I was sure it was only a game, anyway, and Max
would catch up with me and laugh himself sick any second. He didn't, though. I
found the river and swam across and followed it back in the direction of Weimar
for a time. And then you turned up."
"Death breaks all bonds," Mulder remarked.
Gerrit blinked at him. "Sorry?"
Riley filled her partner in on Max's murder and then scolded him all the way
back to Weimar. He stopped listening almost immediately, watching her with a
soft, happy smile.
Mulder remembered what it had felt like to be the recipient of a similarly
glowing smile. It still hurt to remember how real Alex had made it look,
certainly no less real than Dahl's admiration for Riley.... Mulder had been
suspicious, but he'd wanted-needed-to believe that it was not merely empty
flattery. For all of his consciously maintained paranoia, Mulder had been an
easy mark.
With a small start of surprise, it suddenly came to Mulder that he'd missed
something terribly obvious-once again, he'd been looking at the Krycek problem
from the wrong side. Alex had known how defenseless Mulder would be against
admiration; he'd set out to use Mulder's weaknesses against him ruthlessly,
without remorse or pity. The open admiration Agent Krycek had shown Mulder had
been pure deception, true, but Alex had paid Mulder a much higher and
completely genuine compliment. Alex had decided that Mulder was worth deceiving
his masters for.
Hoffmann was intent on his instruments, Riley completely focused on venting
her relief at Dahl's safe recovery in tirades about his foolishness, and Dahl
was oblivious to anyone but Riley. It wasn't necessary to think about it; Mulder
casually put out a hand and laid it on Alex's thigh, brushing over smooth wool
and hard muscle and squeezing gently before letting go.
Alex directed a narrow stare at him and Mulder caught himself calling up the
memory of green eyes glazed with desire, the elegant line of throat exposed when
Alex arched his neck, lips parting ever so slightly....
Mulder could feel his body begin to respond to the tempting images crowding
his mind and hastily turned away from the other man. How was this possible? He'd
been entirely focused on the case just a minute ago! How had thoughts of making
love to Alex slipped in like that?
The problem was that Mulder had gone without sex for too long-that, and that
Alex was more passionate and more skilled than any of Mulder's previous
bed-partners. This was a temporary condition. It would pass once the sheer
intensity of sensation lost its novelty. Yes, that made sense.
The case, Mulder, he reminded himself grimly. You are thinking
about the case!
Amazingly enough, Mulder hadn't been doing too badly so far, even if Alex's
proximity had had him riding a constant hormone high. The only one who had been
killed had more than deserved his fate, the citizens of Weimar had been growing
increasingly cooperative, and the latest kidnapping victim had been recovered,
apparently none the worse for wear. Mulder knew what the witches were and what
their proper role in the town's community should be; he even had hopes of
salvaging the lost symbiosis between the Lawrences and the other Weimarians.
If he could stop lusting after Alex for long enough, he might actually stand
a chance of pulling this off.
Lawrence." She spoke very briskly, sounding
assured and slightly preoccupied. Mulder could hear the clatter of a computer
keyboard in the background.
"Special Agent Fox Mulder, Federal Bureau of Investigation."
The typing stopped. The preoccupation was gone from Clara Lawrence's voice
when she spoke again, but the confident assurance was unshaken. "How may I
help you, Agent Mulder?"
She was careful to avoid making false assumptions-she was handling a case
Violent Crimes was involved in, but she did not jump to the conclusion that
Mulder's call was connected to it.
"Ms. Lawrence, have you been in contact with any member of your family
during the last eight years?"
Her hesitation was barely noticeable, but it was there. "May I ask what
purpose your inquiry serves, Agent Mulder?" A slight accentuation of the
title and name conveyed doubt that he was who he claimed to be. Without seeing
her, Mulder could not be certain whether Clara was truly suspicious or whether
she only meant to put him at a disadvantage. This was exactly why he disliked
conducting this kind of interview over the phone.
"Perhaps you would prefer to call me back after assuring yourself of my
identity."
A longer pause followed this suggestion. "That won't be necessary, Agent
Mulder. I would, however, like to be informed of the reason for your call before
I consider answering any questions."
Possibly she had means of ascertaining he was a genuine FBI agent that did
not involve data bases, phone calls to DC, or any conventional identity
check.... Perhaps there was a spell for this kind of thing.
Of course there was also the possibility that she was simply not as cautious
as Mulder would have been in her place. "I am presently investigating the
disappearance of Margaret Ritter in Weimar, Ms. Lawrence."
"Indeed," the black sheep of the Lawrence family remarked in cool
tones. She said nothing further, waiting for Mulder to get to the point.
"Have you returned to Weimar at any time since your departure eight
years ago?"
"Agent Mulder, am I a suspect in this case?"
"Margaret Ritter disappeared before your birth, Ms. Lawrence." As
you are fully aware. "No, you are not a suspect. However, at least two
members of your family have demonstrably made themselves guilty of related
transgressions."
"I see. In that case, allow me to inform you that not only have I not
returned to the city of my birth at any time since my departure eight years ago,
but that I have not been in contact of any kind with any member of my family
since that day."
"You do not seem surprised that several of your relatives are suspected
of having committed serious crimes."
She still did not ask for the names of the offenders. Consciously maintained
detachment or the attempt to give away as little as possible? Damn this-Mulder
wished someone would hurry up and bring vidphones on the market.
Time to get to the point. "Perhaps it will surprise you that at
least one of your relatives has gone so far as to break the treaty."
It did. The betraying pause was not long and Clara's voice was still calm
when she spoke again, but the hint of tension in her now carefully measured
voice was unmistakable. "Are you from Weimar?"
"I am aware of the agreement between the Lawrence family and the town of
Weimar."
"So it would appear. Which brings me back to my original question. How
may I help you?"
"Would you?"
"I make it a rule never to fill out blank checks, Agent
Mulder."
Excellent... it seemed she would help, given the right inducement. "You
are aware of the conditions the people of your town have been forced to live
under through the willful distortion of an originally mutually beneficial
agreement. By all accounts, you are a very good lawyer, Ms. Lawrence-beyond
that, I have formed the impression that the high percentage of difficult and
unprofitable cases you take on reveals a personal interest in upholding what you
consider equity."
"Thank you for a flattering analysis of my character, Agent Mulder. Dare
I ask what your point is?"
"I believe you know exactly what my point is. Disengaging from a tightly
knit, closely allied group that regards everything outside of the community as
inimical takes considerable strength and courage, Ms. Lawrence. At the time, it
was impossible for you to do more than leave. Now, that has changed."
For the first time, the silence stretched. Mulder hoped that this was a sign
he had hit reasonably close to the mark.
"You are asking me to betray my family."
This was going much more smoothly than Mulder had dared hope. She had not
denied knowledge of the abductions, the treaty, or the conditions in Weimar, and
she had acknowledged that she was at odds with her family and disagreed with
their policy. She wanted to be convinced. "No, that is not at all what I am
asking. The present state of affairs is as harmful to your relatives as it is to
the Weimarians, maybe more so. Ms. Lawrence, do you recall Maximilian?"
Clara made a peculiar, choked sound that was probably intended as a snort.
"If you have met him you must know the answer to that question, Agent
Mulder. I cannot believe he has changed that much."
"Consider what he might have been like under different circumstances.
Intelligent, talented, handsome, charming, enthusiastic-"
"He's an unbalanced blackguard," Clara hissed, openly revealing
emotion for the first time. Mulder had to admire her elegant phrasing of sick
bastard.
"My point exactly," he agreed. "He is the product of his
environment. Would it be betrayal on your part to assist in bringing about a
renewed equality between the Lawrences and the Weimarians, forcing them to
re-integrate themselves into the community? Do you remember Emma?"
Clara was silent for a long moment. "You're good at this, Agent
Mulder."
"Thank you," he said, waiting.
"I'm afraid you misunderstand the situation, though. I don't know what
you hope to achieve, but whatever it is, there is nothing I could do to help you
even if I were willing to do so. I am nowhere near as talented as Max. In
fact, I was barely stronger than little Emma when I left, and she was not even
into puberty yet."
Mulder reminded himself to keep his voice neutral. She hadn't yet realized
she'd made up her mind-if he pushed her too hard now, she might still shy away.
"I would not ask you to take direct action against your family, Ms.
Lawrence. It is my intention to bring about a fair agreement that will
ultimately benefit everyone, and I am confident I will be able to achieve this
without resorting to violence."
Clara Lawrence snorted. "You are an optimist, Agent Mulder."
"I am someone who understands the workings of the treaty better than
your relatives might wish." It wasn't even a lie, only a slight
exaggeration.
Another lengthy pause followed. Mulder could practically hear the rogue witch
thinking. "What kind of agreement would be a fair one in your
estimation?"
"One which your family and the citizens of Weimar can both agree to. The
details will have to be worked out by the parties involved-I am merely a
mediator in this conflict, Ms. Lawrence. You, on the other hand, might play a
more active role to ensure everyone's interests are served."
"Indeed?"
"The town of Weimar would benefit greatly from your services in the
capacity of advisor and liaison to the Lawrences. There is no doubt that Mayor
Lowborough will offer you a more than acceptable recompense." More
importantly for her, though, the position would enable her to work towards
righting the wrongs that had driven her from Weimar. She would at last have a
chance to gain the place she'd longed for among the people of her home town-and
maybe, in time, she would be able to regain at least part of her family.
"If you hope to use me as a source of inside information, you will be
sorely disappointed." Clara's voice had become very hard. This was the last
condition to her surrender, and it was clearly one on which she was not prepared
to compromise. "I will not reveal any information pertaining to my family's
more unusual characteristics. None at all. If that is not agreeable to you, then
I suggest you find another advisor for the mayor."
"That won't be necessary, Ms. Lawrence. There is only one piece of
information that I require, and I don't think that will be a problem."
This was taking too long. When he'd gotten Mulder to
agree to their deal, he hadn't really thought it would take the aliens this long
to get back to their prospective business partner. After all, they were after
the Consortium-at the very least they were attempting to use the Consortium's
knowledge or resources for their own ends-and you never knew what previously
unsuspected rabbit that bunch would suddenly pull out of their hat. Alex knew
that the aliens were aware of the importance of moving swiftly where the
Consortium was concerned-they'd spent long enough going through everything he
knew about it. They'd even put some possibilities to him, made him come up with
conjectures of likely reactions on the part of certain people... in the case
of... given that-
Fortunately, Mulder was looking at the street for a change, which gave Alex
the chance to turn what began as a gasp for breath into a more or less
controlled intake of oxygen. All right, so you can't remember. What did you
expect, that they'd leave you a ten-point manifesto? Big deal, Alex. Get over
it, it's not as though it's the first time your memory's been dabbled with.
He firmly steered himself away from the topic, preferring to muse on the
question of whether anything the Consortium did could actually pose a threat to
the alien bastards. Perhaps not, but it would certainly throw a bothersome
wrench into their plans if their interest was noted and the Consortium put
damage control measures into effect. Alex had been part of the odd clean-up
operation in his time and was willing to bet that not even the most advanced
technology would be able to extract information from a former Consortium
employee or facility that had been terminated for security reasons.
What the hell did those sons of bitches want, anyway? Information about the
oily aliens? It was possible they were enemies and were going to slug it out on
neutral ground. If that was the case, the best strategy would be to just lie low
until it became apparent who the victor would be and then help them. Maybe they
were only sizing up the competition at this stage, though-or maybe they were
after something else entirely. Control of the planet? The knowledge necessary to
take over the Consortium and step comfortably into an existing power
network?
Well, there was no use speculating about it. Alex wasn't going to hit upon
the answer by brooding-he needed further information.
At this moment, though, what he truly needed was to get out of this town, get
rid of Kevin Alexander, and get the hell away from Mulder. Every second that
passed with Alex still in Weimar was one second too many. Every second that
passed with him still walking around as a lawyer looking for his brother, still
trailing around after Mulder like a well-trained dog, still falling into the
man's bed whenever he crooked a finger... and Mulder hadn't even had to crook a
finger the second time.
Alex was taking an insupportable number of risks-the situation was bound to
explode in his face. It was a miracle it hadn't done so already. The risk that
his cover would crumble completely was bad enough, coupled as it was with the
risk that the Consortium would find him. Add to that the risk that Mulder would
realize Alex had handed him the chance to take over where the Consortium left
off....
That was the risk that worried Alex the most. He knew that he was no longer
able to do anything in order to stay alive. He hadn't been able to for a while
now, and he'd thought he'd gotten used to it; he'd even tried to tell himself
that as long as Mulder was on the other side of the earth and no one knew of
Alex's weakness-least of all Mulder himself-it didn't matter that much. He'd
never been able to make himself believe it, though. Alex was a miserable liar
when it came to lying to himself. Self-deception was too dangerous; hidden
motivations and subconscious desires were liable to trip you up at the worst
possible moment.
And yet, even fully aware of what was happening, Alex had been unable to stop
himself from ensnaring himself deeper and deeper in his insane infatuation.
Every touch Mulder bestowed on him made it worse. Every look... every time
Mulder said something to him about the case, acting as though it were the most
natural thing in the world to have Alex working it together with him, an ally,
not an enemy. Every time Mulder acted as though he was worried about Alex's
well-being for no other reason than that he didn't want him to be hurt.
The sound of the car's door slamming recalled Alex to the present. He shook
himself from his thoughts to find that Mulder had parked in a clearly marked
no-parking zone and was purposefully striding towards the front door of a
stately house, to all appearances oblivious to the fact that Alex was not
following.
Alex hastened to get out of the car and caught up with Mulder just as he rang
the bell. Mulder stared at the door, ignoring Alex, his brow creased in
thought.
It was not the icy disregard allotted to enemies or the casual cold shoulder
given to anyone who rubbed Mulder the wrong way. This was the comfortable
inattention he slipped into when he was working together with someone. He was
acting as though they were still partners.
Apparently Alex had discovered the quickest and easiest method of gaining
Mulder's trust. It was a good thing that the man led such a monkish life if
anyone who got into his pants got past his defenses. Alex wouldn't have thought
Mulder would be foolish enough to equate sex with trust... it was a very
dangerous tendency, one that Alex had often exploited in others.
Someone wasn't as comfortable around him as they should be? If he gave them a
sufficiently good time in bed, the only thing that bothered them about having
him around when they made phone calls was that his presence distracted them.
They didn't really like him all that much? If they liked what he made them feel
well enough, they would change their minds. They didn't want to talk about their
work, didn't want to do some little thing for him? That's okay, it's completely
unimportant, here, let me show you what a good lay I am and then we'll snuggle a
little and I'll tell you some pleasant lies and in the morning you will be eager
to show me how much you appreciate me....
"You might want to put Kevin on," Mulder said, still not looking at
Alex. "I'm certain the Lowboroughs will prefer him to the hardened
criminal."
Alex's head snapped around before he could stop himself. Even while he was
raising a sardonic brow for the other man's benefit, he cursed himself in half a
dozen languages for letting such a telling reaction escape. Where had this
sudden perceptiveness on Mulder's part come from? He sounded so certain that
he'd gained some kind of significant insight into Alex's character-and very
possibly, he had. Shit, Alex had to do something to trip him up, confuse him,
throw him off the scent....
Before Alex could think of something suitably misleading, the door opened,
revealing a very small woman with short dark hair that was beginning to turn
silver at the temples. She looked up at them with a polite smile and he
automatically smiled back, burying the cold wash of fear Mulder's remark had
triggered beneath Kevin Alexander's self-confident stance.
"I'm here to talk to the mayor," Mulder informed her, holding out
his hand. He had to stoop slightly so she could take it without reaching up.
"Agent Mulder, FBI."
The woman's dark eyes narrowed, her lips thinning in obvious disapproval.
"Mayor Lowborough is expecting you," she said frostily, stepping
aside.
Mulder seemed unsurprised at her sudden hostility, though it was always
possible that he simply didn't care. Alex followed him and the unnamed woman
down a hall into a large, airy study filled with exceedingly expensive and
relatively tasteful furniture in dark wood and leather. Much like Lowborough's
office, this room seemed to have been furnished with the sole thought of what a
mayor's study ought to look like.
Mayor Lowborough rose from behind his desk and came forward to shake their
hands, smiling a polite welcome. Not many people could occupy a room like this
without seeming out of place, but he carried it off quite well. "Agent
Mulder. Mr. Alexander. Thank you, Anita."
Anita slipped out, shutting the door rather more firmly than necessary. Alex
smiled and shook the mayor's hand, noting that his grip was perfectly calculated
to be decisively firm, but not crushing-much like Kevin's, in fact. Alex
suspected that the effect was as much a result of deliberation on Lowborough's
part as on his own.
"Please, have a seat." The mayor made an expansive gesture towards
the chairs pulled up in front of his desk. "Before we get down to business,
perhaps you will allow me to offer you a drink? Mr. Alexander, I am certain that
you would appreciate my personal favorite-a French brandy I discovered some
years back that is without equal in my experience."
Alex accepted the offer graciously and sank into a burgundy leather chair
that, except for its color, was identical with the one he had occupied in the
mayor's office. He exchanged several inconsequential remarks about trivialities
with the mayor while the man made his way to a small table by the window and
poured out three drinks.
Mulder was being suspiciously quiet. When Alex glanced over at him, he found
himself being subjected to an analytical, speculative stare that he didn't care
for at all. He deflected it safely with a look of mild inquiry and a bland
smile.
At least he'd thought he'd deflected it safely, but the brief, minute curving
of Mulder's lips made him uneasy. Why was Mulder smirking as though he knew
something Alex didn't? It was just Kevin. Mulder could analyze Kevin until the
cows came home and not be any wiser. More than that, the man would be history as
soon as Alex got out of this town. Kevin Alexander was going to suffer a fatal
accident sooner than soon-he had grown much too dangerous.
Much too dangerous, in fact, to be sitting here in Lowborough's study with
Fox Mulder, of all people-a man who was to aliens, witches, freaks, lunatics of
all descriptions, and, most pertinently, assorted Consortium rabble like a
magnet to iron filings. If this dragged on much longer, Alex was going to have
to reconsider. Being presented to Mulder again by the aliens when they felt like
continuing their little chat might not be a pleasant prospect, but at least he'd
probably survive the experience. Maybe they wouldn't even come for him-maybe
Mulder was expected to hang on to his gift on his own and they wouldn't be
rounding him up at all. It wasn't a risk Alex wanted to take, but there was not
much choice. Too much more of hanging around Mulder, and the wrong people were
bound to take notice.
Too much more of hanging around Mulder, and Mulder himself would inevitably
come to see too deeply into Alex's soul. He saw too deeply even now, and every
minute Alex spent in his company gave the FBI's former star profiler more
material to add to his store of knowledge.
No... there was no choice at all. Staying any longer was simply too
dangerous.
Alex purposefully wrapped himself in Kevin, refusing to acknowledge the
memories and the first, all too familiar stirrings of cold dread that had begun
to rise in him. This is getting real old, Alex. You're going to have to do
something about this idiotic phobia or whatever the hell it is. It will get you
killed if you go on like this.
The mayor's return provided a welcome distraction; Alex took the
proffered glass gratefully, uttering the required polite phrase
automatically.
"Thank you," Mulder said, accepting his own glass with an
almost-smile. At least someone was in a good mood. "Mayor Lowborough, we
have traced Clara Lawrence and she has agreed to enter the town's employ in the
capacity of an advisor and liaison to her family. Considering how little
reliable data on the Lawrences is available, her assistance will prove
invaluable. She has also informed me of the best method of contacting the
current head of the Lawrence clan in order to initiate the negotiations for a
new treaty."
What was it with the man? It wouldn't have been difficult to present
Lowborough with the opportunity of acquiring an allied witch instead of
informing him of the fact that he now had one. Mulder was perfectly aware that
by padding the basic facts with some polite phrasing, he could have avoided
throwing the fact that he had bypassed the mayor's authority into the older
man's face. His stubborn refusal to make use of his assets was not only
pointless, but damaging-if there had been more time, Alex would have been
tempted to set up a little scenario that would make Mulder realize what an idiot
he was being.
Fortunately, Lowborough did not seem offended. He did draw his brows
together, but the gesture was obviously due more to disbelief than
disgruntlement. "Do I understand correctly that you mean to attempt to
contact the Lawrence family directly in order to propose an alteration in the
terms of the treaty?"
"That is precisely what I mean to do," Mulder agreed, ignoring the
skepticism written in the mayor's features.
"Agent Mulder." Weimar's mayor leaned back in his chair and took a
moment to inspect the ceiling, rubbing his temples with one hand.
Mulder did not wait for Lowborough to come out with his objections, going
ahead to unfold his theory of the nature and history of the pact instead.
Thankfully, he did not go into his theory regarding the nature and history of
the Lawrences themselves, restricting himself to a cursory mention of the
witches' need to find human sexual partners. Telling the mayor that his town had
been subjugated by a bunch of alien hybrids seeking to procreate would have been
a bit much, regardless of whether or not it was true. Alex hadn't bothered to
form an opinion on the likelihood of this particular aspect of Mulder's theory.
The witches were here now; where they had come from was completely secondary.
The important question was how they could be dealt with.
The mayor listened to Mulder enthuse on the terms of the pact, natural
forces, electromagnetic fields, spells, rituals and shamanic traditions without
interrupting him once. The faint light of calculation that had awakened in his
eyes was kindling into open speculation. It seemed that Mulder had found another
believer... a considerably more pragmatic one, though, if Alex was any judge.
The man had the look of someone sensing a golden opportunity for personal
gain.
"I fail to comprehend why the Lawrences would be willing to negotiate
when they are in an undeniable position of superior power," Lowborough said
when Mulder had wound down, not wasting time with expressions of incredulity.
"They are unlikely to wish for changes in the present
arrangement."
This was Mulder's town. After generations of living in close proximity with
Max and his no doubt equally obtrusive and un-endearing forebears and relatives,
the Weimarians were probably about as open to extreme possibilities as it was
possible for any sane person to get. Which did not make them a match for Mulder,
of course.
Mulder dismissed the mayor's concern with an impatient wave of a hand.
"They have no choice. They have been breaking terms and showing malicious
intent for decades-you have enough grounds for dissolving the agreement
altogether, which, while it might be unpleasant for the inhabitants of Weimar,
would certainly be even less pleasant for the Lawrences."
Alex sipped at his brandy, watching the mayor think through the consequences
of a sudden absence of the pact. Fear, hate, and the desire for revenge made for
an explosive and unpredictable emotional cocktail, and the sudden tightening of
Lowborough's expression announced that he could imagine the consequences Mulder
had alluded to and didn't much care for the picture.
"Would you happen to have Clara Lawrence's number with you?"
Lowborough asked after a long pause.
Mulder pulled a folded square of paper from his pocket and handed it over
without comment. The mayor took a moment to unfold it and inspect the address
and telephone number, finally putting the note down and taking up his snifter to
idly swirl the amber liquid around the bowl.
"I believe I will call her and offer her a position on my personal
staff," he said at last. They all knew that Mulder had already done so, of
course, but Lowborough seemed willing to let the matter rest with this small
reminder of just who was in charge of Weimar.
There was a brief pause while the mayor inspected his imported brandy as
though it would provide him with all the answers if he stared at it hard enough.
Finally, he leaned forward, shifting his earnest gaze to Alex. "Mr.
Alexander, I hope you will not take it amiss if I ask to speak to Agent Mulder
in private for a moment."
"Of course not," Alex said smoothly, rising to his feet. "I
quite understand, Mayor Lowborough."
The mayor escorted him to the door to point him towards a room across the
corridor. "If you could step into the library for a minute-it will only be
a moment. It is a private matter; I'm certain you understand."
Alex once again assured Lowborough that he comprehended perfectly and left
him and Mulder to their private discussion. The mayor probably wanted to squeeze
Mulder for details about his son's confrontation with Emma Lawrence and
considered the subject of his offspring's misjudgments and disobedience too
embarrassing to let anyone listen in.
Like the study, the library was furnished in dark wood and burgundy leather
in a slightly too contrived manner. After wandering aimlessly through the room
and looking out of both windows, Alex took a closer look at some of the mayor's
bookcases and tried to decide which books had been bought for show and which had
actually been read. Making accurate judgments on peoples' reading matter was
often more difficult than it seemed, but Alex was relatively certain that the
mayor did not care for eighteenth-century French drama. The leather-bound set
went nicely with the overall theme of country club, though.
Glancing over the titles of the books distracted him only briefly, and he was
too edgy to even attempt reading. He hated to be left waiting while others
conferred in a different room. He knew that Mulder and Lowborough were not
talking about him, but his nerves were shot to hell and the situation was
calling up unfortunate associations. Many people Alex had worked for had liked
playing these games. Hunt had had a particular penchant for them-so much so that
they'd become predictable. The fact that the smoking bastard had stopped playing
elaborate mind-games with Alex had been one of the signals that Alex's time was
running out.
Alex was quite good at playing power games. The problem was that Mulder was,
as well.
It seemed his thoughts were continually revolving around Mulder now... around
Mulder and the threat he posed, wittingly or not. It was entirely possible that
Mulder was not as oblivious as he pretended to be, that he knew perfectly well
what he was doing when he treated Alex like an ally, when he talked to
him-teased him, even-without wielding his words like weapons. When he looked at
him at odd moments with something like rapt fascination in his eyes... when he
slept with him. It was the oldest trick in the book.
Alex had tried to make himself suspect this before, but he hadn't been able
to make himself believe it. He didn't believe it now. It was possible,
though. Mulder might be using the weapon Alex had handed him-gentling him to his
touch and accustoming him to his command. Mulder could be extremely subtle and
devious if he chose, and he might have decided that Alex would be a useful tool
in his fight for truth, justice, and the Fox Mulder way. Of course he would not
be likely to ask Alex to take out his enemies, but he could squeeze him for
information, employ him to gather new data, have him cover his back... and on a
more personal level, he would have someone who wouldn't dismiss his theories out
of hand, someone who would be happy to roll over for him, and maybe even someone
to gaze adoringly at him.
Alex would have liked to believe it would never get that far, but he could
hardly deny that the danger was there-not when he'd spent half the night lying
awake in order to hug a sleeping Mulder and stare at his shadowy features. He
had spent the better part of an hour doing nothing but burning the small,
self-satisfied smirk Fox had been wearing into his memory. Once the faint smile
had faded, Alex had concentrated on studying the unfamiliar openness that Fox's
features assumed when sleep and satiation mellowed the tight lines of suspicion
and pain. The way his breath rasped in his throat every once in a while as
though he were about to begin snoring... the way his eyelids jumped and his brow
creased when he began to dream, and the way he relaxed into peaceful quiescence
again when Alex murmured his name and stroked a light hand along his back.
To say that things were looking very grim indeed would have been an
understatement of criminal proportions. Alex had to get away right now, he
couldn't let this happen-if he stayed here, if he stayed anywhere close to
Mulder, he would never be in control of his own destiny again, never-
There was a quiet sound from the door. Alex stepped quickly to the side,
leaning against a bookcase with one of the ever-present leather-upholstered
chairs in front of him and one elbow propped on the shelf behind him. It
probably looked like a studied pose, but it couldn't be helped-that was the
problem with carrying a weapon at the small of your back.
The opening door blocked this part of the room from the sight of anyone
entering, which gave Alex a crucial split-second advantage. The teenager who
breezed in had obviously never dwelled on the matter, though; he kicked the door
shut without so much as looking around the library first. Even so, his attempt
to look surprised when he caught sight of Alex was less than successful.
"Oh, sorry," the intruder said, shifting the stack of books he
carried into one arm. "I didn't know my father had visitors."
Right.
"The mayor is talking with Agent Mulder at the moment," Alex said
obligingly, taking the unsubtly offered bait. The kid needed a lot of practice.
"I'm Kevin Alexander. And you are?"
"Rick Lowborough." After taking a moment to balance the books
cradled in the crook of his left arm, the younger Lowborough crossed over to
Alex and extended his free hand. He did somber politeness much better than
surprised innocence. In fact, considering that he was hampered by a faded black
tee-shirt, washed-out black jeans, and a ponytail that fell halfway down his
back, he did somber politeness amazingly well.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Alexander." Rick's grip was no less
decisive than his father's.
Alex smiled politely. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Lowborough."
"Rick," the kid corrected automatically. "I was going to look
something up. You know Agent Mulder?"
"I do."
When no further information was forthcoming, Rick fidgeted slightly,
obviously wondering how best to broach the subject of what exactly his father
and the FBI agent were talking about. After a moment, he decided to buy some
time and turned to walk to a table beneath one of the windows, giving Alex a
quick, apologetic glance over one shoulder. "I'll just-put these down and,
well, if you don't mind I'll just-look something up. Won't take long."
Alex inclined his head and watched the boy carefully transfer the books from
his arm to the table, busying himself with the task for as long as he could
before turning to the bookcase between the windows. The encyclopedia was on the
top shelves; Rick stretched up to look for the volume he wanted, wearing a
minute frown.
The light from outside slanted over the planes and angles of his features,
momentarily obscuring the details of youth to leave only the essential bone
structure and an expression of earnest concentration. A jolt of recognition
raced through Alex. That partial profile was familiar-the strongly defined
features, the high cheekbones and stubborn, slightly cleft chin, the large,
hooked nose-even the long, wavy hair tied at his nape.
For the bare fraction of a second, Alex knew that he had seen this man
before. Then the moment was gone.
Alex blinked and watched the mayor's son take down a volume of the
encyclopedia and leaf through to the entry he was looking for, the small frown
still on his face. He'd seemed much older for a moment-older and stunningly
familiar-but now, he was back to being a teenager Alex had never seen before in
his life.
Great, Alex, that's all you need. Start having weird flashes of deja-vu on
top of everything else....
"Did you know that people used to think that certain areas of
witches' bodies were insensitive to pain and didn't bleed?" Rick asked
suddenly, looking up.
Recalling himself to Kevin Alexander, Alex raised his brows slightly,
regarding the teenager with an expression of polite disinterest.
"Oh?"
"Yeah." The kid clapped the encyclopedia shut and balanced it on
top of the other books on the table next to him. "They had these trick
retractable pins and knives that they would stick into suspects, and even if
they were smart enough to pretend to feel pain, of course they wouldn't bleed,
so they'd be proven to be witches. Then they'd be arrested and all of their
property would go to the church, and the witch finder would be paid a
fee."
After a moment of silence, Alex unbent slightly. "I gather that method
produced a rather large number of witches."
"Have you ever met a witch?" Rick Lowborough's interrogation
technique definitely needed work. He'd begun speaking before Alex had quite
finished his comment, and his eyes were practically glued to Alex's face.
"I've met Maximilian Lawrence," Alex allowed, his cool tone not
inviting further inquiry.
The discouragement passed Rick by completely. "Really? What's he
like?"
Alex allowed a hint of disapproval at being questioned like this to enter his
expression. "Have you ever met a witch?"
The boy's face tightened. "Yeah," he said after a brief pause.
"Emma Lawrence. But of course you know that already."
"What makes you say that?"
Rick laughed without humor. "Hey, everyone knows. Gossip like that is
better than television. Besides, Nita told me you arrived with Agent Mulder, and
he even talked to Emma. You're with him, he must have told you."
It was a measure of how much the entire situation was getting to Alex that
for a moment he actually wondered whether the kid was implying that he knew Alex
was sleeping with Mulder. Or maybe it was just an indication of what Alex's
subconscious was dwelling on.
"I am not a member of the FBI," Alex explained loftily. "I am
a partner in the law firm of Cheldon and Alexander. My brother appears to have
been abducted by an as yet unidentified member of the Lawrence family, which is
why Agent Mulder is allowing me to witness and take part in his investigation
into the doings of the same. However, as I am not directly involved in the
investigation, he does not feel the need to report every detail of the case or
his progress to me."
Rick looked disappointed. "So you don't-I thought-uhm, do you think
Agent Mulder and my father will be talking much longer? I was hoping to speak to
him myself. To Agent Mulder, I mean."
"No, I do not know what Agent Mulder and your father are talking
about," Alex said.
The teenager's eyes widened slightly. "Hey, I was only-"
"Going to look something up."
"Yeah, right."
After several seconds of inspecting the older man in silence, Rick came to a
decision and straightened slightly, his features firming into determination.
"Well, in case you really don't know, Emma Lawrence was my girlfriend and
she tried to take me away, the way whoever it was took your brother. I have a
right to be involved in this Lawrence thing. I just want-if Agent Mulder does
something, if he goes to see them or something like that, I want to be there. I
want to go along, to know what happens. I'm part of it, after all. I'll be part
of it until it's over."
"Rick, I was under the impression that I had already made it clear I
have no influence over the course of the-"
"But you're here!" Rick burst out. "I'm here
because this happens to be where I live, but you're here because you're
being told at least part of what's going on. I'm already involved, and I
probably know as much about the witches, or at least one witch, as anyone. If
you think I should just be grateful I don't have to have anything more to do
with the whole Lawrence thing, then you don't understand how this works. It's
not over yet, and I can't just leave it. It's too late for that, I'm part of it!
So I'm younger than you, but that's no reason why I shouldn't be allowed to tag
along the way you're doing. If I were ten years older, no one would think about
trying to keep me locked up and in the dark!"
"Locked up and in the dark?" Alex looked at him pointedly. "I
believe that's something of an-"
"Just tell him, okay?"
He shook his head in exasperation. "I understand that you are anxious to
take part in this, and I will tell Agent Mulder how strongly you feel,
but-"
"That's all I want. Okay? Just tell him. He'll understand. I just want
to know what happens. I have to know."
Mulder would understand, all right.
Before Alex could reply, the door opened and Mayor Lowborough stepped in. To
judge by the careful neutrality his expression assumed as soon as his eyes fell
on Rick, he was displeased, but not surprised, to find his son conversing with
his guest. He wasn't about to give vent to his displeasure in front of Alex,
though. With such a speaking look in his eye, there was no real need.
The sight of his parent made Rick draw himself up to his full height, eyes
narrowing and chin firming.
"Frederick!" Mayor Lowborough stepped into the room and gave Alex
an apologetic smile before bestowing a glance composed in equal parts of
exasperation and sorely tried patience on his progeny. "What are you doing
here? Your mother has been looking for you."
"I came down to look something up," Rick announced in a rebellious
tone of voice. "Mr. Alexander was alone and seemed glad of the
company."
Lowborough's lips thinned noticeably as he turned back to Alex; it was clear
the implication he'd been neglecting a guest had not missed its mark. "Mr.
Alexander, I must apologize if my son has been imposing on your
patience."
"Not in the least," Alex assured the older Lowborough. "It was
a pleasure talking to him."
"Frederick, if you would?"
A long moment passed while Rick glared at the mayor and the mayor returned
his son's regard calmly and steadily, only the faintest hint of steel showing in
his eyes. It had the feel of an old, familiar scene; it was evidently understood
by both of them that the delay before the teenager reacted to his father's order
was no more than a symbolic show of defiance.
The scene played itself out and Rick turned on the heel of one scuffed
sneaker, heading for the door without further protest. No verbal protest, at any
rate, although Alex had never before seen anyone pull off such a successful
slouch while in motion. The junior Lowborough's entire body had turned into a
single signal of sullen protest; he didn't actually drag his feet, but it looked
as though it was a very close thing.
Just before he left the room, Rick froze in his tracks and stood framed in
the doorway for a moment, standing motionless for an instant before
straightening. The slouch dropped from him like a discarded cloak; in the space
of a second, his entire posture changed. By the time he turned back to face Alex
and his father, calm assurance had settled over him, transforming his features
completely.
With a small shock of complete, stunned certainty, Alex remembered when he
had seen that particular face before. He'd had to wait for the man he was
meeting for two hours that day, and he'd spent a good portion of that time
pretending to take a picture of the statue in front of the largest theater in
Weimar, a statue depicting two of the greatest poets of classic German
literature.
The kid standing in front of him now bore a striking resemblance to Friedrich
Schiller.
"Good day, Mr. Alexander," Frederick Lowborough said loftily. It
did not sound incongruous in the least to hear him use such a lofty phrase.
So what, Alex. It's a coincidence-how many different arrangements of human
facial features can there be, after all? Nature is bound to repeat itself from
time to time. So what if the kid is the spitting image of a long-dead
playwright-hell, maybe they're related. So what if they both live, or lived, in
a town called Weimar... and if their first names are essentially the
same....
This was clearly yet another sign that Alex had been around Mulder for
far too long. Extreme possibilities were beginning to pop out of the woodwork
whichever way Alex turned... and the worst thing was that that was the least of
his problems.
Enough was enough. Alex had to leave, aliens or no aliens, come witches,
Consortium, or sullen teenage copies of dead poets. He'd stay just long enough
to make sure Mulder didn't get himself killed, but as soon as this witch
business showed the first signs of winding to a close, Alex was out of here. It
exposed him to the risk of the aliens again, but that couldn't be helped. He had
to get away from Mulder while his sanity was still more or less intact.
The Gift of an Enemy
by Sylvia
