Agent Mulder."

As people who'd grown up in a place where witches were a more or less normal part of the townscape, the Weimarians were being fairly reasonable about this. Deputy Riley, however, was quite another story.

"Yes, Deputy?" Mulder asked patiently, not pausing in his circuit around the perimeter of the outer circle he had drawn on the marble floor of the municipal building's entrance hall. It was fortunate that the town was so prosperous-it would have been much harder to achieve a closed and unbroken line on a less mirror-smooth surface. The prescribed mixture of chalk dust, ochre, salt and lemon juice did not really lend itself to its purpose very well.

"Are you aware that we are in the process of forever disowning every last shred of a claim to sanity?"

Of course, the town's prosperity was very likely part of the treaty, and it was possible the extremely spacious entrance hall of this building had been designed with this particular purpose in mind.

Riley fidgeted and he realized she wanted to be reassured in some way.

"We are proceeding along perfectly logical premises," Mulder said absently. "Refusing to accept proven facts because of previously established habits of thought is hardly proof of superior mental stability."

Riley subsided into silence. None of the Weimarians Mulder had asked for help had seemed to consider him deranged-the problem hadn't been convincing them that this was neither a practical joke nor simply ludicrous, but persuading them that it was not a suicidally stupid thing to do. Even Sheriff Warren's adamant objections had not touched upon the fact that staging a magic ritual was ridiculous. That privilege had been relegated solely to Deputy Riley.

Warren had given in very quickly once the mayor made it clear that he wanted to go through with the summoning. It was an unusual feeling to be backed by a prominent, distinguished and reasonable man like the mayor. Lowborough had allowed himself to be persuaded to confront the Lawrences with remarkable celerity; it was clear that he had immediately seen the possibilities success would open for Weimar. An asset like the Lawrences, properly under control, was priceless. If this worked out, the witches' days of lazy debauchery were over.

As he concluded the last check of the lines and stood back to regard his handiwork, Mulder reflected that while this measure made perfect sense considering the context, it was inevitable that someone like Riley would be distressed by the paraphernalia. He'd tried to explain why they were necessary, but she had appeared unable to accept that even if the symbols were powerless in themselves, their representative value gave them import. They were elements within an established system of ritualistic code and, as such, had to be observed in the prescribed form, no matter how archaic and superstitious their use might appear.

Personally, Mulder found the sight of the pentagram centered in a double circle rather appealing. The mere action of tracing out the design in the presence of a mayor, a sheriff, and assorted other upstanding members of the community had induced a rare feeling of elation in him. He felt almost giddy.

The citizens of this town would make a fascinating subject for a psychological study. Would Weimarians adapt to any given situation more rapidly-would they be more inclined to believe in other unusual phenomena such as aliens? Though strictly speaking, of course, aliens were not truly a different phenomenon at all....

Mulder swept a quick, assessing glance over the other participants in the summoning. Katja Dahl and Wynne Erlental stood together beyond the lower left-hand corner of the pentagram, Katja looking almost deliriously happy in spite of her red and swollen eyes. The mayor and the sheriff were standing a bit to the side, conferring in lowered voices, and Helen Markham was not far off, watching Mulder closely. Alex and Rick were prowling the hall, the former doing an only marginally better job of concealing his nervous tension than the latter. Mulder wasn't certain how much of it was an act in Alex's case, but at least some of it had to be real.

"You know, they had this other ritual in England a couple years ago, I read up on it just the other day," Rick announced, interrupting his restless wandering not far from Mulder and beginning to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet. "It was a big event. They enacted a summoning of the devil. They got a goat, you know, it was much weirder than this, they needed a lot of strange and disgusting stuff, some dirt from a cemetery and the blood of a virgin and a needle that had been used to sew shut a body bag and-"

"Body bags aren't sewn shut," Riley snapped. Having failed to pretend she was here by mere coincidence, she seemed thankful for the chance to assert and uphold the natural order of things, even if only on the point of the proper procedure for securing a particular type of evidence.

"They used to be," retorted Rick with the air of an expert. "The old-fashioned ones. Shrouds. Maybe if it had been a modern ritual they'd have had to use a zipper. I guess they made an exception to get the needle. Anyway, they also needed grass that had grown under a gallows tree-they must have found an old one, I really doubt they'd have gotten permission to hang someone specially. And they got a murderer's hair and fingernail clippings and other things like that, too. And then they waited for the new moon and dressed up a Latin scholar in robes with runes and things embroidered on it in real gold and silver and drew up circles and pentagrams a little like this and burned lots of incense with lots of other stuff and chanted and sacrificed the goat and drew some more runes and circles and pentagrams with the blood-"

"And I used to think we lived in civilized times." Riley sounded disgusted.

Rick leveled an even stare at her. "Oh, we do. They were doing it to prove that nothing would happen. They were reasonable and rational people who knew better than to believe in things like the devil and magic and witches and other such nonsense."

The deputy's glare did not faze the mayor's son in the slightest; he grinned and sauntered off, shooting a quick glance at his father. Checking to see whether his parent was annoyed with him yet or whether further misbehavior was required.

Alex walked up, raising his eyebrows in inquiry at Mulder's smile.

"Just wondering what they would have done if they'd been successful," Mulder explained.

A corner of Alex's mouth quirked up. "Why, Agent Mulder, you seem so certain that he didn't show."

"I consider it highly unlikely that the personal appearance in England of the Judeo-Christian personification of death and destruction wouldn't have made the evening news."

"Must have been covered up."

Riley drew nearer and Mulder swallowed the comeback that had sprung to the tip of his tongue. He surveyed the set-up one last time, frowning slightly at a smeared bit of the outer circle. Still, as long as the line wasn't broken, it didn't matter.

"We're all set." Mulder waved the other participants into position. "Mayor Lowborough, Sheriff Warren, you have to come inside the inner circle with me. Mrs. Dahl, you , Ms. Erlental and Mrs. Markham step over into the space between the circles, and Deputy Riley, Rick, and Mr. Alexander will stay outside."

Mulder stepped across two curves to stand between the tips of the pentagram, suppressing a grin at the incongruous sight of Sheriff Warren carefully tiptoeing across the pinkish lines. The mayor, the sheriff and the person in charge of the summoning in the center, representatives of three of the founding families of Weimar in the perimeter, and three involved witnesses beyond the outer circle... the lines were unbroken. Everyone was looking at Mulder with various degrees of determination, worry and doubt written in their expressions. The stage was set.

Fortunately the ritual didn't require any ridiculous pontification-it was a free-style summoning. As long as everyone announced their presence and Mulder stated the reason they were there, they were in business. "The purpose of this gathering is to summon the head of the Lawrence family to this location immediately. I am not a member of the treaty, but I will lead the talks with the Lawrence family at this time. Do you all agree to this and request the presence of the person I have named?"

"I am the mayor of Weimar, Arthur Lowborough," the mayor declared in a rich, carrying voice that echoed slightly through the hall. He did not seem embarrassed in the least-in fact, it appeared he was enjoying himself. "I agree and request the presence of the head of the Lawrence family."

"I am the sheriff of Weimar, Harold Warren," Warren said, speaking clearly but with considerably less enthusiasm than his predecessor. "I do, too."

Mulder stared at him. When Lowborough did, as well, the sheriff scowled and surrendered. "I agree and request the presence of the head of the Lawrence family."

The women in the outer circle announced their names-Helen Markham using her maiden name of Kramer-and declared their wish to talk with the responsible Lawrence witch. Then they waited.

And waited some more. Mayor Lowborough was staring at the pentagram so hard that his eyeballs would become seriously dehydrated unless the witch made an appearance fairly soon.

Riley had been shifting about restlessly for some time when there was a faint sound from the direction of the front entrance. Weimar's municipal building boasted a two-winged portal carved from dark oak that fit the grandeur of the hall; the wood was too sturdy to let whoever was outside rattle at the door, but after a brief pause, they found the bronze dragon-head knocker that Mulder had taken to be purely ornamental and proved it to be very much functional.

"It's Sunday," the mayor said in annoyed tones, his words almost drowned out by the racket. "Really, what hours do these people expect us to work?"

The deputy had launched into motion at the first sound and opened one side of the portal, allowing a woman with short, greying blond hair that curled softly around a sharp-boned face to peer into the hall. Her face creased in annoyance as she surveyed the group inside over the rims of her reading glasses; after a prolonged inspection of every individual present, she stepped in, brushing past Riley as though the younger woman didn't exist.

The new arrival walked up to the pentagram and circles and regarded the scene in silence for a moment, taking off the reading glasses to tuck them into a pocket of her neat, navy-blue linen dress. Her features were too sharp to give her a claim to the kind of beauty the other Lawrences Mulder had met owned, but she was nevertheless a striking woman, and the family resemblance-while not marked-was there.

"Mayor Lowborough." Her voice was deep, almost sultry, and completely at odds with her appearance. "Perhaps you would like to explain the meaning of this?"

Mulder faced her without leaving the circle. No use spurning tradition, even if the summoned witch had refused to conform by appearing in the pentagram in a flash of light, preferably accompanied by the smell of combustive chemicals. "I am Special Agent Fox Mulder of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I presume I am talking with the head of the Lawrence family?"

She raised both eyebrows and took a long moment to look him up and down, her manner faintly reminiscent of Max. "Agent Mulder-I have heard of you. I am Miranda Lawrence. I dare say I would be pleased to make your acquaintance if our meeting were not taking place under these circumstances."

Mulder nodded at her. "Mrs. Lawrence. You are here in the matter of the long-standing abuse of the rights granted to your family by the treaty with the citizens of Weimar."

Miranda's lips curved into a completely humorless smile while her eyes slid to the side and fixed on the mayor. Mayor Lowborough became very still and then gathered himself, drawing up to his full height and meeting the witch's gaze steadily.

"Mayor," Miranda said very quietly. "How is it this outsider knows of the treaty?"

The mayor drew breath to speak, but Mulder waved him into silence. "I may be an outsider, but I have been affirmed in my position by all present. I am the one who has called you."

"Very well, then." Her attention returned to Mulder. "Who has told you so much of-"

"Max did," Mulder cut in impatiently, causing her eyes to widen in astonishment. "I was present when Maximilian abducted Gerrit Dahl in the place of Deputy Riley. We had quite an interesting conversation, with the result that I know as much as I need to about what generations of Lawrences have been doing. The treaty has been broken outright by several members of your family, and all Lawrences have conspired to obscure the original terms and purpose of said treaty."

The blood had drained from her face, making her eyes look almost black by contrast. As Mulder had hoped, she knew Max well enough to realize that it was entirely possible he would betray his family if he thought it would be good for some quality entertainment.

"The abductions and assorted other transgressions against the citizens of Weimar must stop," Mulder went on. "Every victim, Weimarian or not, must be returned unharmed. The original terms of the pact will be reinstated. It will also be necessary to make some alterations, if only to prevent further abuse of the kind your family has been practicing."

By the time Mulder finished speaking, Miranda had regained color. In fact, she had passed the point where her face was only lightly pink some time ago and was now heading for a very unhealthy-looking shade of puce. "You are insane." Her voice was still quiet, but the throaty tones had gained a definite touch of venom.

Mulder preferred not to speculate on that particular topic in public. "In the event that the Lawrence family finds itself unwilling to accept the terms I have stated-"

"You have stated nothing but complete and utter drivel!" Miranda broke in scornfully. "Your prattle of abuse of the treaty and transgressions against the citizens of Weimar is-drivel! Victims? There are no victims! No one is forced to enter into a bond! This entire thing is completely laughable."

Riley had left her place by the door to advance on the witch. There was a dark, predatory gleam in her eye as she stalked closer, her lips compressed into a white line; the rage that had hung about her so palpably yesterday was settling around her again, rendering her movements stiff with barely contained violence. The deputy was oblivious to anything except the Lawrence in front of her-she never even glanced in Mulder's direction.

If Riley succumbed to her rage now, the results would almost certainly be disastrous. Without thinking, Mulder searched out Alex's gaze and commandingly jerked his head towards the deputy. He would have preferred to handle this himself, but he didn't want to leave his place in the summoning diagram-it was supposed to grant every participant in the ritual a measure of protection as long as they stayed put.

"I saw Margaret Ritter when she had escaped from you and wandered into this town, completely traumatized," Riley said, almost on top of Miranda. The witch cast a brief, derisive look at the other woman over one shoulder, but did not deign to turn around completely.

"I heard Rick Lowborough when he was screaming in agony because of one of you." The deputy's voice was very quiet, but she made no attempt to conceal the fury fueling her words. "I watched my partner being abducted by one of you! If you expect me-if you expect us-to stand aside and watch while you use human beings as playthings and breeding machines, then let me tell you that you are very much mistaken. Lying won't help you now, but go right ahead-blow the chance you've been given. This world will be a better place without you and your family in it."

Miranda was looking at Mulder again, ignoring Riley completely. It would have been difficult to find a more effective means of adding fuel to the flames of the deputy's already blazing anger. Mulder suspected that it was deliberately done-perhaps the witch was provoking the policewoman into attacking and giving up her immunity. None of the Lawrences had shown an instinctive knowledge of who was and who wasn't a Weimarian.

"No matter what you call it, Mrs. Lawrence, you have been practicing seizure and imprisonment," Mulder said sharply, reclaiming the leading role in the conversation with Miranda as much for Riley's benefit as for the witch's. Out of the corner of an eye, he could see the deputy glaring at him, but he didn't release the witch's gaze. He didn't think Riley would attack someone who wasn't looking at her, no matter how enraged she was.

"Even those of you who seduced your victims according to the word of the treaty trespassed against its spirit," he went on. "The so-called bonds have been based on deceit ever since the knowledge of what becoming involved with a Lawrence truly means was eradicated by your ancestors. Furthermore, you have deliberately misinterpreted the fact that the pact only encompasses the natives of Weimar-a fact that was never meant to imply you are entitled to do whatever you please with anyone from out of town."

From the periphery of his vision, Mulder watched Alex reach Riley and murmur something to her. The searing look she gave him should have struck him dead where he stood, but after a moment of hesitation, she gathered herself and drew back a little, casting an unreadable glance first at Mulder, then to Mulder's left, where the sheriff had no doubt been glaring an order to cease and desist at her ever since she first interfered.

She hesitated only very briefly before retreating reluctantly, every move still rigid with rage.

Relieved, Mulder returned his full attention to the witch, who was staring at him narrowly. "There is no question at all that things must change. If you refuse to re-negotiate the treaty, the town of Weimar will dissolve it altogether."

Miranda laughed. "If you are trying to threaten me, you have missed a very pertinent fact, Agent Mulder. The treaty is a gesture of our good will towards the people of this town, nothing more."

"If that is so, Mrs. Lawrence, we have nothing more to talk about," Mulder told her evenly. "We shall see how well your family does when the people of Weimar no longer feel the protection of the treaty. What do you think their reaction will be when there is nothing to stand between them and the threat you have proven yourself to be?"

"I think the people of Weimar are wiser than you assume." Her eyes flashed with challenge. "Do you truly believe powerless people can pose any kind of a threat to us? We have nothing to fear from you."

Mulder waited, watching her. She knew her assertion was not true, and Mulder had already made it clear that the Weimarians were no longer ready to play the role of docile underlings. If she had any sense at all, Miranda would realize that her family's predicament was serious and inescapable. It was always best to allow people to reach such conclusions themselves.

"Mrs. Lawrence," Warren said into the silence. "I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news." He did not sound sorry in the least-in fact, the edge to his words was pronounced enough to make Miranda look at him with open surprise.

The sheriff paused briefly before going on, assuming the impersonally sympathetic expression every policeman donned in moments such as this one. "I regret to inform you that we have this day retrieved the body of Maximilian Harold Lawrence from the Ilm."

The witch was the only one for whom this was news, but the silence that followed the announcement was complete. For a long moment, Miranda looked completely blank; then stunned disbelief swept over her features. "The body? What do you mean?"

Warren lifted heavy brows. "I mean that he is dead and we fished him out of the river, Mrs. Lawrence. A jogger running along the promenade saw something he suspected might be a body pressed against the support column of the south bridge by the current. We retrieved it and identified it as Maximilian Lawrence. Death through natural causes, accident, or misadventure can be ruled out."

Miranda stared at the sheriff, shock rendering her face devoid of any expression. "This can't be-there must be some mistake. You've confused someone else for Max. You must know how ridiculous what you're saying is. How would anyone kill Max?"

Both Clara's and Miranda's comments had indicated that Max had been a particularly powerful witch. Mulder filed that fact away together with the unsurprising revelation that it didn't even occur to Miranda to question why someone would kill her younger relative.

"At this point in the investigation, that information must be kept strictly confidential," Warren was telling the witch. "However, there is no doubt of identity. If you wish, one of my people can bring you to the morgue to view the body."

"Later," Mulder cut in. "First, we will finish this conversation. Mrs. Lawrence, you have not-"

"And I will not!" The witch was quickly losing ground in the struggle to preserve a calm demeanor; her voice was rising in both pitch and volume. "Your accusations are preposterous, your conditions unacceptable. You say that we have broken the treaty, but it is clearly only a meaningless phrase. You-"

"Allow me to substantiate my accusations. We will call Emma."

Miranda's eyes grew wide. "Emma? What does she have to do with this?"

"She broke the treaty."

The laugh the witch gave was scoffing, but she was visibly flustered and clearly on the defensive. She obviously had no idea of how she had lost control over the situation, let alone how to regain it.

Mulder was just turning to the others to begin repeating the summoning for Emma when Miranda whirled, facing Riley, who had taken up a position squarely in front of the portal with her arms crossed over her chest, not even pretending to be doing anything but blocking the exit.

"You," the witch commanded. "Open the door."

There was a long, ugly moment in which Riley narrowed her eyes and stared at Miranda stonily.

"Deputy Riley," Mulder said quietly. "Please open the door. I don't think Mrs. Lawrence wishes to leave at this time-if she does, we can always call her back."

Riley flashed an extremely unpleasant smile and obligingly opened the portal. It seemed she'd expanded her horizons far enough to decide that a method that got results could be allowed to get away with a pentagram or two.

"Emma!" the witch bellowed in the direction of the now-open door.

Nothing happened.

"Emma, I know you're out there. Did you think I wouldn't notice you following me? I advise you to come in right now, young lady!"

After the briefest of delays, Emma shuffled in, her eyes glued to the floor. She looked pale and subdued, her formal and conservative grey power suit making her look even younger than she was. Her gaze darted to Rick as soon as she came in; when he returned the regard with cool indifference, she flinched away, resuming her inspection of the polished marble beneath her feet with dull spots of red forming high on her cheeks.

A tall, slender man with silver hair appeared in the doorway just as Riley was about to close it again. It was difficult to say exactly how old he was, although he was definitely past his seventies. His face had been pared down by the decades, crinkled skin stretching taut over strong facial bones that still showed the typical Lawrence beauty. Unlike the eyes of the other Lawrences Mulder had seen, this man's eyes were not dark-instead, they gleamed in a bright, almost silvery shade of blue-grey.

He walked into the hall lightly, his motions completely unburdened by age. Standing next to Emma in jeans and a loose sweater, he made it look as though nature had made a mistake and attached old age to the wrong person.

The first thought that flashed through Mulder's mind was that this man was dangerous. Glancing to the side, he found Alex shifting slightly and searching out Mulder's gaze in order to relay a subtle warning. Damn.

"Graham." Mulder's attention snapped back to Miranda, who looked wary and furious in almost equal measures. "What are you doing here?"

"Miranda, m'dear." The old man nodded gallantly. "Noticed you were in trouble. Glad to help."

It was obvious that Miranda was not in the least glad to be helped. How interesting... rivalries among the witches. Mulder's supposition that the Lawrence family dynamics very likely bore the hallmarks of a classic pack mentality was being substantiated.

The witches couldn't produce offspring together, but all of the legends agreed that they formed stable pairs-most of the Lawrences were accorded a marriage partner in local lore, and after a certain age, the child of a witch and an abducted human would doubtless be raised by the witch parent and their partner. Miranda was being challenged, and her partner Ferdinand was not at her side... which either meant that he was in the opposing camp or that he was in no camp at all any longer, that his absence was, in fact, the reason for this infighting. The remaining alpha witches were scrambling to fill the power vacuum.

"Ferdinand is dead," Mulder said aloud, instantly regaining everyone's attention. "That is how Margaret Ritter escaped. She was Ferdinand's victim and his death released her. No one thought about her in the-"

"You are Fox Mulder, I take it," Graham broke in smoothly, striding forward to the edge of the outer circle and extending his hand. Mulder made no move to surrender his position in the inner circle, giving the witch a brisk nod instead of a handshake. If this was the Graham who had taken away a girl engaged to be married to someone else, it opened up a multitude of fascinating possibilities.

A smile tugged at the corners of the old man's blade-thin lips. "The circle is nonsense, you know. It does not afford any protection, it is merely a prop, like a stage magician's wand."

"Then it would be a pity not to use it to best effect," Mulder returned.

"Indeed. And may I ask how you have hit upon this method of gaining poor Miranda's attention? It seems like something that went out of fashion long before your time, young man."

Mulder raised his brows slightly. "The pursuit of ritualistic magic has never gone out of fashion. We were discussing the fact that the people of Weimar will no longer allow your family to prey upon them. The treaty will have to be either re-negotiated or dissolved."

He laughed easily. "Nonsense, Fox. The people of Weimar know that-"

"Don't call me that," Mulder snarled with more than the usual measure of venom, deriving a small spark of vicious satisfaction from the startled widening of Graham's silver-blue eyes. For a moment there, the man had sounded just like his rapist bastard of a relative.

Arching one silvery eyebrow, Graham laughed again. His eyes had hardened, but he still sounded genuinely amused. "As I was saying: Nonsense. The people of Weimar are aware that maintaining the covenant is in their best interest. It is meant to protect them, after all."

"The treaty is meant to protect the witches," Mulder corrected sharply. Everything about this man was rubbing him the wrong way. "You have been exploiting the good will these people's ancestors showed yours for far too long. As I have already stated, the entire treaty must be made common knowledge once more and changed to fit the times and prevent any further abuse of the system. All victims of past transgressions of your family will be released."

Graham's smile was frosty. "How droll. Your enthusiasm is charming, Agent Mulder, but you quite obviously have no idea of what you are talking about. I fear you are sadly out of your depths, my boy."

His voice had lowered to the point where it was soft as velvet, sounding almost like a purr. The contrast with the chill eyes and arctic smile was disturbing and completely deliberate. Mulder returned the coldly threatening regard levelly, not bothering to conceal his dislike of the man. "I have a very good idea of what I am talking about. The Lawrences were never granted the right to treat the citizens of Weimar as subjects, let alone turn them into slaves or pets. They were granted a place in the community and safety from persecution, in return being forbidden to harm citizens of Weimar in any way, and expected to render a number of public services and further the town's prosperity. To enable them to continue their line, they were granted the opportunity to court citizens of Weimar with no prior attachments. If the attraction was mutual, the Weimarian could agree to enter a bond with the Lawrence and produce offspring."

The old witch had assumed an air of mocking attentiveness while Mulder spoke; Miranda, who seemed surprisingly willing to let Graham take the lead, was tapping one suede pump against the marble floor, concealing whatever else she might have been feeling behind the deliberate show of impatient temper. Emma had not been paying much attention at all, being entirely occupied with surreptitiously watching Rick.

"The bond was never meant to be an unequal one," Mulder continued, certainty firming his tone. "I do not even believe it was necessarily permanent, and it did not require the Weimarian in question to leave friends, family and the life they had known behind."

Graham's face remained frozen in derision. "And I suppose we are meant to understand that you are an authority on covenants such as the one between Weimar and my family?"

"As a matter of fact, my good man, he is."

The completely unexpected interjection caught both Mulder and the witch off guard, though the latter recovered instantly to cast a hard glance at Alex, who was stepping closer. The sheer unlikelihood of Alex deliberately bringing himself to the attention of a Lawrence stunned Mulder. What the hell did he think he was doing?

Ignoring Mulder's glare, Alex raised both eyebrows at the Lawrence witch, a world of condescension suffusing the gesture. "In better circles, Special Agent Mulder is quite well known for his expertise in regard to paranormal phenomena of all kinds. He is too modest to put himself forward, and as you can hardly be expected to have heard of him, you will have to accept my word for it."

Graham's lip curled; without a word, he took a step sideways, turning his back on Alex. Contemptuous dismissal seemed to be a typical Lawrence reaction.

Comprehension brought a slight chill to Mulder. By making himself look like a pretentious ass, Alex had gotten closer to the witch without seeming like a threat-he had even caused the old man to turn away from him. This was not a display of competence Mulder had wanted to see... and the most disturbing thing about it was that he could not deny the sight of Alex standing behind the old witch, looking annoyed and ineffectual, actually caused an easing of the tension in Mulder's gut. Not only was Mulder sleeping with a felon and misleading the police to prevent them from solving a case of murder, but he was actively profiting from the professional skills of an assassin. This was not a good trend.

"Far be it from me to belittle your grasp of the state of affairs, Agent Mulder," Graham drawled sarcastically, entirely ignorant of the fact that he had just presented his back to the most dangerous creature in the room. "You are to be applauded for the effort, at least. I understand we are here because some particulars of the agreement have fallen into obscurity among the town community. That is regrettable, but I fail to see how you can claim that it is due to deliberate actions on the part of any of my relatives, alive or dead. We have always observed the pact scrupulously-"

"That is a lie," Mulder cut in sharply. It was time to stop fooling around-if he could manage to put a good scare into this arrogant old witch in the process, then so much the better. "More than one witch has broken the treaty in the last decades."

Graham began to glance over at Miranda, who was watching the exchange in silence, but checked himself immediately.

Oh yes, this was indeed the Graham who had taken away an engaged woman. Mulder smiled, allowing an edge to enter his voice. "I think that on reflection, you will agree that the terms I have stated earlier are more than reasonable and will work to everyone's benefit in the long run."

Something glacial flashed in the silvery depths of old eyes. For a moment, Graham's true age showed in the complexity of emotion layered in his gaze-cynical amusement, cold calculation, and detached assessment stood beside a multitude of shades of wariness and anger, all of these temporary sentiments flowing easily over the bedrock of an unconditional awareness of being the only thing of true value or importance in the universe, simply because everything else was not Graham.

A chill ran up Mulder's spine and the reasons for his instant antipathy towards the old witch suddenly became clearer. This was exactly what Max Lawrence's eyes would have expressed, had he lived to acquire the subtlety and polish Graham could boast. Refined style was all that separated this genteel old witch from his vicious relative.

"How interesting that you should make such an assumption." Graham's expression was hard and implacable. He had understood the threat behind Mulder's words, but it failed to do more than spark his anger. A different person might have been worn down by decades of living with the fear of discovery, but getting away with a flagrant violation of the treaty had only reinforced Graham's knowledge that he had no equal-that nothing and no one could vanquish him. Intellectually, he knew that he was not invulnerable, but he had forgotten the taste of fear.

"I am tired of this idiocy." Miranda stepped forward abruptly, obviously intending to shove Graham aside bodily. Since Graham didn't budge, the result was that the two witches ended up shoulder to shoulder, both of them facing Mulder across the lines of the summoning pentagram.

After a brief but hostile glare at Graham, the female witch spoke on, her voice slowly rising in volume. "You have been making accusations for which you have no proof whatsoever, and you cannot possibly expect us to agree with your ridiculous and uninformed notions of what the idea behind the covenant was. I refuse to listen to any more of your unfounded-"

"Very well," Mulder interrupted tersely. "I trust that proof my accusations are anything but unfounded will increase your willingness to cooperate?"

"Nonsense." Graham's tone was cool and faintly derisive, his confidence still untouched. "You have absolutely no proof for-"

"I said that already, Graham," Miranda snapped. "Don't be tiresome! You don't even know what Agent Mulder is talking about. Of course he has no proof to support his ridiculous allegation that little Emma has stepped off the straight and narrow."

Little Emma's head whipped around faster than it should have been able to, her attention fully caught by something other than Rick for the first time since she'd come in.

Graham raised a disbelieving eyebrow at Mulder. "And what horrible deed could our sensible Emma have committed, I pray?"

"She tried to take away a young man she had not informed of the fact that she was a Lawrence," he said, locking his gaze with Graham's.

Both of the elder witches turned to Emma, who had shrunk in on herself and was radiating guilt and terror like a beacon; both of them traced the girl's desperate, pleading gaze to Rick. Graham's spine stiffened in unmistakable shock. Mulder couldn't see his face, but Miranda, who could, pivoted back to take another, more thorough look at the object of the young witch's affections. Almost immediately, startled recognition flashed across her features, quickly giving way to appalled comprehension.

"My God," she breathed. "Emma. Tell me this is not the young man you have been mooning over."

"That's Rick," Emma said in a very subdued voice.

Up to now, Rick had been returning the witches' regard nervously, shooting occasional glances at Mulder and his father. At Emma's mention of his name, he gathered himself, took a deep breath and straightened, lifting his chin in defiance. His face settled into sternly ascetic lines as he met the Lawrences' scrutiny with almost cold-blooded poise, nostrils flaring derisively.

"Emma Lawrence," Graham said, his tone cutting. "Can it be that you are truly so stupid? Don't you have the slightest bit of sense, girl! You cannot possibly have failed to notice-"

"Mr. Lawrence, I will not have you insulting my son," Mayor Lowborough boomed, almost drowning out the sharp "Graham!" that Miranda rapped out.

Ignoring his fellow witch, Graham turned and frowned at the mayor. "I am not insulting your son, Mayor Lowborough. Nothing of the kind. In fact," he turned to face Rick, "I would like to apologize. Please pardon my descendant's actions against you. She is young and foolish and I assure you that we will do what we can to-"

There was a loud crack as Miranda slapped Emma with such force that the girl's head snapped back and she almost lost her balance. With a squeal of surprise and outrage, the younger witch retreated several steps. "Mother!"

"I have never been so ashamed in my life. How any daughter of mine can show such appalling judgment-"

"He's mine!" Emma screamed, goaded beyond shame. "He should be mine! I want him! He's special!"

"Get out before I lose my temper!" Miranda screamed back at full volume. "Special! I don't believe this! You little idiot, what the hell were you thinking? You never even stood a chance of keeping him, and the risk-I warn you, Emma Christine, get out right now or I will turn you around and march you out myself!"

"Emma will stay a while yet," Mulder said flatly. The young witch looked from her mother to Graham, from Graham to Mulder, from Mulder to Rick, and finally back to her mother. Her mouth opened, but she said nothing. By the time Mulder spoke on, the entire atmosphere in the hall had changed; the tension was almost thick enough to slice. "Emma Lawrence, you did not tell Frederick Lowborough your name, but you tried to put him under the influence of your power. You have broken the treaty."

Terror widened the girl's eyes even further. Miranda and Graham stepped back from her as though she had contracted a contagious disease, turning in near complete tandem to stare at the people gathered inside the circle.

They were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Mulder's earlier supposition had been correct-more than one person was needed to call the spell into action against a Lawrence guilty of breach of contract.

Mulder's searching gaze caught and held Helen Markham's. Understanding flared in the woman's eyes and she whirled to point at Emma like a vengeful Goddess. "Emma Christine Lawrence, you have broken the treaty."

As Mulder had suspected, three ritual declarations were necessary to invoke the spell. Even though he'd been able to take part in the summoning, Mulder was evidently not entitled to participate in this ritual; nothing happened until both Erlental and Katja Dahl had added their accusation to Helen's. Once three Weimarians had spoken, however, the spell took immediately, beginning to manifest itself before Katja had even closed her mouth.

It started out in a very unspectacular manner. The slight haze of mist that coalesced in the air around Emma was barely noticeable, making the reaction it got from the two other Lawrences seem completely out of proportion. Graham whirled and streaked for the far side of the hall as though the Spanish inquisition were hot on his heels, moving too fast to be visible as anything but a smudged blur of motion; Miranda hesitated for only the briefest of moments before following his example.

"That was locked," Mayor Lowborough muttered as Graham slammed into a room leading off the hall, the door falling shut behind Miranda an instant later.

"Agent Mulder...."

Mulder didn't even glance at Alex, entirely focused on what was happening in front of him. He was only peripherally aware that the Weimarians were drawing back from the young witch uneasily, alarmed by the older Lawrences' obvious fear.

Emma was white as a sheet, her eyes wide and staring blankly into space. Her entire body was stiff with terror.

The mist heightened in density, though it remained translucent. It shimmered into luminescence, wavering a little and casting a dim, opalescent glow over the young witch occupying its center. Slowly, almost lazily, it swirled outwards, twisting and unfurling tendrils until the haze extended about two yards outwards to every side. The spiraling motion halted suddenly, leaving shadowy, pearly tendrils of fog hanging immobile in the air. For a long moment of unnatural quiet, nothing happened. Then, Emma gasped.

As though the small, strangled sound had been the signal the spell had been waiting for, the insubstantial tendrils solidified into almost material strands of milky white and billowed outwards, forming into an intricate, closely woven web centered on Emma. The net shimmered as it flexed in mid-air and snapped back in to close tightly around the young witch.

The instant the strands came into contact with the girl's body, a brilliant ivory flare flashed through the hall. Emma stiffened convulsively; the web was absorbed into her body and faded to leave her standing in plain sight, nothing appearing out of the ordinary except the expression on her face.

"Mulder!"

The explosion was completely silent. It ripped outwards from Emma's immobile form in a wave that swept through the hall like a hurricane, tearing Mulder off his feet. The flashes of light began when he was tumbling head over heels across smooth marble that impacted painfully with random parts of his anatomy; he caught flashes of flailing limbs and confused angles of walls and floor and ceiling, the visual impressions too disjointed and fragmented to allow him to note more than the fact that the light came in irregular intervals and at differing intensities. There even seemed to be different hues to the blindingly bright flares.

To Mulder's frustration, he couldn't get himself sorted out sufficiently to be able to form a better impression, let alone stop his uncontrolled tumbling in order to get a good look at what was happening. He didn't even know which way was up anymore. He just hoped he'd fetch up against a wall before he missed the entire phenomenon.

A searing blaze of reddish white exploded painfully against Mulder's corneas and he scrambled for a surface he'd impacted with, hoping it was a wall. He was torn about, his side crashing into something flat and solid occupying the space that he'd been positive was up. This was the point at which he realized that he heard nothing. Not only was there no howling or rushing of wind, but there was no sound at all as he-and a couple of others he'd caught random glimpses of-tumbled about the room like leaves scattered before an autumn gale. Not a single exclamation of pain was to be heard, not even a grunt.

Mulder tested his observation unintentionally when his elbow impacted painfully with something very solid. He was certain he yelped at the sudden pain, but he heard nothing.

A flash of blue-green brilliance, a headlong tangle of confused arms and legs, and Mulder came up hard against a plane that drove what little breath he'd been able to force into his lungs out of him. There was a moment filled with the numb certainty of imminent death as Mulder suddenly found himself squashed between two surfaces; the roof must have collapsed and he was going to be crushed in the next micro-second-

Mulder had time to reflect that being flattened by falling masonry was a humiliatingly mundane kind of death and he would have much preferred to be crushed by a landing UFO before something slammed into his chin. Couldn't be the roof, though, because he was still alive enough to note that the back of his head hurt. It felt as though someone were quite viciously pulling his hair.

In the greyish afterimages of a pure white blaze of incandescence, Mulder caught a brief glimpse of short dark hair and wild green eyes.

He went limp with relief and realized a moment later that he was lying spread-eagled on the floor, his left cheek pressed to the cold marble and Alex sprawled next to and partially on top of him, forcing him to lie as flat as a flounder. Well, yes, of course-that was the intelligent thing to do.

He lay still for a while and waited for his senses to come back on-line and tell him that yes, the surface in front of his body was, indeed, the floor-that is, down-and that the space behind him must therefore be up. Another moment of concentration revealed that in spite of innumerable small aches and pains, nothing seemed seriously hurt.

The soundless storm was still raging and Mulder's head was pressed to the marble, facing the wrong way. He could see absolutely nothing of what was happening. He needed to turn around in order to catch a view of Emma. If he slid sideways he should be able to-

His wrist was crushed in a painful grip and the hand at the back of his head was trying to tear all of his hair out at the roots. Mulder yelled Alex's name indignantly, banging his cheekbone against the floor in the process, but no sound was to be heard.

Mulder had just rejected the idea of trying to break free of Alex's hold-he really didn't need any more bruises than he had already-when the magical storm ended as abruptly as it had begun, one final flare of blue-tinged light illuminating the hall to painful brilliance before fading away.

The silence lifted to the sound of crying. The hold on Mulder's wrist and hair was released and he managed to get his arms and legs sorted out, sitting up to watch Alex clamber to his feet. Once Alex had shot a quick glance around the hall and surreptitiously checked that his gun was still there-covering the motion with the nervous little grooming tuck at the jacket-he offered Mulder a hand up.

"Wow," Rick said rather weakly from where he lay sprawled a few steps to the side.

That did seem to sum it up.

Emma Lawrence sat hunched over in the middle of the floor, shaking with the force of the huge, gulping sobs wracking her body. The storm appeared to have passed her by completely.

In fact, the storm appeared to have passed by most of the others-even though all of the Weimarians were obviously rattled, only Rick, Riley and Erlental were shaken and bedraggled enough to have been subjected to the kind of tossing Mulder had endured. Erlental was clutching her arm to her side in pain, but like Mulder, the other two seemed to have come through the spell with nothing more serious than minor cuts, bruises, and abrasions.

"I'd estimate the radius was about five yards," Alex said, his voice very cold. Mulder ignored him.

A pink smear on the front of Rick's black sweatshirt made Mulder check the floor. Sure enough, the summoning pentagram was completely smudged.

The door to the room the older witches had taken refuge in opened cautiously, admitting Miranda and Graham back into the hall.

"I'd say that was rather convincing," Mulder told the elder Lawrences calmly, straightening his suit. "I consider this ample evidence of the fact that Emma is guilty as charged."

Even though at first glance, the young witch seemed to have gotten off more lightly than the other people caught in the storm, there was definitely something very wrong-she was crying as though her world had come to an end. It wasn't pain, contrition, or even fear... it was sheer, hopeless heartbreak.

"She lost her power," Mulder said aloud. It was the only thing that made sense, and the expression on the older Lawrences' faces was confirmation enough. Neither of them was giving much away, but the dazed look in their eyes could not be hidden completely-Mulder had seen that look too often not to recognize it, no matter how toned down by conscious control. It was the unmistakable, haunted stare of someone who had come face-to-face with their worst nightmare and found it to be very much a reality.

Graham's confidence was gone. There was no trace of either ice or steel left in his eyes; his expression was almost completely blank, but the crinkled skin stretched tautly across the bones of his face and the tight, tense line of his mouth gave him away. The arrogance born of a lifetime of effortless dominance had cracked. Graham Lawrence knew fear.

Mulder had just opened his mouth to follow up his advantage when the portal opened and an older version of Emma stepped inside, wearing an expensive sky-blue suit and carrying a laptop and briefcase.

"Excuse my tardiness," the newcomer said in cultured tones, looking nervous.

"Clara!" Emma wailed, scrambling off the floor and throwing herself into her older copy's arms. "C-Clara, I m-missed you, everyone h-hates me, take me with you, please...."

"You!" Miranda rapped out harshly. "What are you doing here?"

"I believe I can answer that question, Mrs. Lawrence." Mayor Lowborough stepped forward and extended a hand to the newcomer, who switched laptop, briefcase, and hysterically weeping sister to her left arm to grasp it firmly. "Allow me to introduce you to Clara Lawrence, my advisor and aide in the upcoming negotiations. Ms. Lawrence, welcome home."

"Now you return?" Miranda hissed. "For this you return? To betray your family?"

"No," Clara said softly, hugging her sister closer. "I'm not betraying you, mother, I'm helping you-us-out of the hole we have dug for ourselves in this town."

Miranda's nostrils flared and she vented a scoffing laugh. "How kind of you. What a pity you did not see fit to come to honor your father's memory when he died. How sad that you have arrived too late to prevent the girl clinging to you from throwing away her heritage. How very unfortunate that you were not there for your cousin as you should have been-with a woman to exert a moderating influence over him, Max might never have-"

Firmly setting Emma aside and her luggage down, Clara raised her chin and looked her mother in the eye. "You know perfectly well how ridiculous that is. No one can exert influence over Max-if you think he needs a woman's touch, I suggest you try administering it yourself. And how can you say something so cruel about Emma! She always tried to be the perfect daughter for you and you repay her by-"

"She lost her power!" Miranda screamed, the echoes of her voice reverberating through the hall like a tangible extension of her rage. "She can no longer be my daughter-she is no longer one of us! And it is only her own foolishness that is at fault!"

Clara's eyes had become round with shock and she spun to stare at Emma, who was cowering against the wall.

"I'm s-sorry," the girl choked miserably. "I just-he's special. I thought he might not want to be my boyfriend if I told him-"

"Oh, Emma.... Don't worry, Emmie, you'll be fine." Clara pulled her sister into another hug. "I'll take you to New York with me when this is all over. You can live with me, it's-"

"Oh no, girl," Miranda interrupted, stepping closer to her daughters. "Emma can go where she pleases, but you, my dear, are staying here. Three of us have been lost to the family in far too short a space of time. You may be weak yourself, but that doesn't mean your children won't be strong."

Mulder hurriedly interposed himself between Miranda and her daughters. "Clara is under the protection of the community, Mrs. Lawrence," he said sharply. "Harming her in any way would be an infraction of the treaty."

"It would not. There is no such clause." Miranda was facing him, but it was as though she were quite literally seeing through him; when she spoke again, the dark drag of compulsion woven through her voice threaded into Mulder's mind and made the hair at the back of his neck rise. "Clara. Daughter, little girl, I know you. I have always known that in your heart, you want to be a dutiful child. You do, you know it, too-"

For an endless moment, Mulder was overwhelmed by the intense desire to gain Miranda Lawrence's approval by surrendering everything to her idea of what he ought to do with his life. Then the diffuse longing for maternal approbation sharpened focus; he could feel the witch's power sift through him, searching for something that wasn't there, and suddenly, he was released. The sudden absence of emotion made him stagger slightly. Memories of his mother crowded into his mind with shocking suddenness and he lost another moment grappling them into submission. That was all he needed, being forced to deal with his own messed-up psyche in the middle of a duel between witches....

Not much of a duel, though. Even while stuffing the recollections of all of the times he had bitterly disappointed his mother back into the mental drawer they'd escaped from, Mulder whirled to face the real target of Miranda's attack. One glance was enough to show that Clara was no match for her parent-the losing struggle was clearly reflected in her grey-tinged features, distorting them into a grimace of pain... or perhaps guilt.

Mulder looked around the hall wildly and caught sight of Graham, who was watching the uneven struggle from a short distance away. He launched into motion without the need for a conscious decision, turning his fear and the all-too-familiar anguished failure Miranda had awoken outwards in the shape of a pure white blaze of rage. "If Clara comes to harm because she has agreed to help the cause of Weimar, there will be no more peace for the rest of you," he snarled at the aged witch, hardly recognizing his own voice. "If it means nothing that she has been granted the town's protection, there is no chance of recovering a rapport between the Lawrences and the people of Weimar. You realize how important a satisfactory resolution of this situation is for you personally, don't you, Mr. Lawrence?"

Ice-blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Can it be that you are threatening me, Agent Mulder?"

"Leave her alone!" Emma shrieked in the background.

"Damn straight," Mulder snapped. Graham had had several moments to compose himself and regain a semblance of his earlier confidence, but it was only a pale imitation of the real thing and Mulder knew it for what it was-a hollow shell that he could pierce without even trying. "Your people have found more safety and acceptance in Weimar than you can hope to find anywhere else-more than your ancestors ever had before the advent of the treaty. If you really want to go back to being hunted like animals, then do it. It's your choice. Just bear in mind that when I'm through with you, Graham Lawrence, you will be a whole lot easier to catch than the rest of your family."

Graham's expression was inscrutable, but Mulder knew what he was feeling. This man had spent a lifetime walking the world in the knowledge that he had a right to everything he saw by virtue of his power to take it. His power was the essence of who he was-its loss would be the ultimate loss of self. Death would be far more merciful.

Mulder took one more step, closing up the remaining distance between them and ending up nose to nose with the taller man. "How did it feel to witness Emma's power being ripped from her?" he grated, his voice harsh. "You couldn't hear it, of course, but you must have felt it. I imagine she felt it, too. Right until she was ripped apart. She won't ever feel anything that way again. Never again."

He could see the heavy shadow that fear cast over Graham's face and felt a tight, cruel smile tug at his own lips in response. "Your choice. I'd prefer Clara's safety and a new treaty, but don't think I won't enjoy watching the show if you choose to put pride before common sense. I would."

The old witch stared at him for long seconds, unreadable emotions swirling behind his light eyes. Mulder was not surprised when Graham yielded, giving a curt nod of assent. He was surprised at what accompanied the surrender, though-he'd expected anger, hatred, perhaps oaths of vengeance, but what he got was vaguely mocking amusement, underlaid by a definite glint of something different. "How fierce you are, little Fox... so passionate. I think I am beginning to like you. Ah, that I were a younger man-"

Graham's laugh was deep and resonant and flashed quite a number of teeth. He nodded again and spun around abruptly, bringing himself very suddenly face-to-face with Alex.

Both of them froze briefly, looking startled; then Alex started in on an apology that Graham cut off with a commanding wave of one hand. Alex immediately fell silent and took a step to the side, getting out of the old man's way.

Instead of walking past, Graham turned to face him. "How long have you been standing behind me, boy?"

Mulder's fury abated, stifled by the unease that tightened his stomach at the sight of the sudden impassivity sliding over Alex's face, shutting it down into unreadable hardness. Alex was not ready for this... all it took was one look from a witch and Kevin fell away. Why hadn't the idiot stayed out of Graham's way?

"I am not a boy," Alex said, his tone too flat. "I am a partner in a very prestigious law firm and I find your overbearing attitude highly offensive. I very distinctly heard Agent Mulder tell you not to call him by his first name."

The tension did not leave Graham's body, but part of the suspicion in his expression drained away. After the witch had stared at the younger man for a moment longer, he turned to head for Miranda, throwing Mulder a cool glance as he went. "Train your pup or put him on a leash, Fox. He's a nuisance-someone will take the trouble to kick him one of these days."

Pup? The man was a full-grown wolf... kick him and you'd be missing a foot.

Mulder directed a warning glower at Alex in passing, wordlessly commanding him to stay back. He got no reaction at all and could only hope the man would show sense enough to keep out of the witches' line of fire from now on. This was too early for him to even be thinking of taking on another Lawrence. And what if Graham or Miranda took a liking to him? It didn't bear thinking of-

"Miranda, m'dear," Graham drawled, stepping directly in front of his fellow witch, Max's lazily amused smile curving his lips. "I think you'd better leave the mayor's new advisor alone. It seems that we are left with the choice between striving for a more cordial relationship with the people of Weimar or the lifting of the covenant. I understand that Emma's fate has upset you, especially when it was so closely followed by the sudden appearance of your previous failure, but you must try to keep your head."

Clara's rigid form relaxed suddenly; she sagged heavily onto her sister's supportive shoulder as Miranda turned her attention to the older witch.

"Graham." Miranda's rich voice was low, but by no means soft. "I believe you arrived too late to hear that Max was murdered last night."

The old witch froze completely, all motion bleeding from his lean form to leave him standing as still and lifeless as a statue. The moment of shocked paralysis stretched until it seemed as though the old witch's stillness had taken tangible shape, creeping outwards from his motionless body to shroud the hall in a cold, numbing pall of nothingness.

"By whom?" Graham's harsh voice ripped through the deadened atmosphere with grating force, tearing and dispelling it. Mulder gulped down a lungful of air and glanced around at the others, who looked as shaken as he felt.

The memory of a covetous hand reaching for Alex burned through Mulder's mind... of dark eyes flashing with cruelty, lust, and anticipation. The fact that the man was dead did nothing to alleviate the consuming fury that rose in Mulder. He could not sympathize with Graham's apparent grief-as far as he was concerned, the only thing that stood to be regretted about Max's death was that his end hadn't arrived sooner, before the bastard had ever dreamed of getting his hands and mind on Alex.

Miranda tipped her head slightly to one side, the girlish gesture incongruous in the context. "I don't think they will be able to find the murderer," she said, still speaking in the same low tone. "Knowing Max, it could have been almost anyone. He was undisciplined. He was wild and heedless and addicted to dark pleasures... a wolf, Graham. There is one in every generation, even if Max is the first to pay for his viciousness with his life."

Something Mulder couldn't define shifted in the tableau in front of him. Miranda drew her shoulders back and lifted her chin; Graham took a deep breath and straightened. Within seconds, the unnatural stiffness that had invaded the older witch's lean frame dissolved, giving way to his previous self-confident poise and the vibrant energy belying his advanced age.

"Do you know, Graham, I find I am actually rather grateful for this little event." The powerful subharmonics of Miranda's voice flowed into Mulder's perception, insinuating themselves deeply to grate against his consciousness. On the other side of the two witches, Lowborough and Katja Dahl had clapped their hands to their ears; knowing that it would do no good, Mulder resisted the impulse.

"This summoning has settled one thing. You followed me, Graham. I was called."

"You do not seem to realize that we are experiencing a transitional period, as such characterized by vacillating and volatile public opinion and instability of government. There are no certainties in such times, girl." Graham's eyes were heating to a metallic, silvery blue, the challenge they held unmistakable. His voice, however, was just a voice.

Miranda smiled a predatory smile and had just begun to open her mouth when presence unfolded outwards from the older witch, an unnaturally intense personal magnetism settling around him. From one instant to the next, he transformed from man to elemental power-the sheer incarnation of authority, charisma, and dominance.

Stunned silence fell over the hall. Ensnared by Graham's inhuman pull, Mulder could not bring himself to tear his eyes from the old man for long enough to cast even the most cursory glance at Miranda. It was almost as though the rest of the world had ceased to matter-or, more accurately, as though it had slipped into a lesser plane of existence, leaving Graham as the only thing of true substance, irresistibly compelling in a setting of pale and inconsequential drabness.

"Change has become inevitable." The voice was still an ordinary voice, but combined with the newly gained force of the witch's charisma, it held its listeners in absolute thrall. Mulder found himself holding his breath until Graham finished speaking so as not to miss one nuance of his words. "You are too inexperienced to lead the family safely through such an important transition."

Time passed. Mulder did not know how much, or what happened other than that Graham did not move. By now, he lacked not only the power of will, but the actual capacity to perceive anything but the witch. It could have been a second, a minute, even an hour-there was nothing in Mulder's world anymore that could mark the passing of time, or the lack of it. There was only an increasingly blurred smudge of grey, a backdrop of irrelevant perception that melted before the reality of Graham.

There was pain, but that, too, faded into the background.

"You are hurting them, Graham." The words cut through even the pall of irrelevance, throbbing with power... tasting of victory.

And with a jolt, reality returned. The sound of harsh, unsteady breathing, a loud rushing ebbing and waning... the scent and taste of blood. Pain... in the head, the knees, the hands. Mulder was on his hands and knees.

Because he could not see anything, Mulder closed his eyes and took a deep, trembling breath, opening them to the sight of Graham, who was standing exactly where he'd been standing before-whenever that had been. Now, though, he was once again merely an old Lawrence witch with hard eyes.

The younger witch facing him was glowing with triumph. The fierce exultation on Miranda's face was daunting to behold; it was the look of a warrior standing over a vanquished foe with her sword at his throat. "You are the wolf of your generation, Graham. You are no leader. There is no difference between you and your son. He is dead, and so shall you be before I will allow my family to follow you. It is over. Follow me or walk alone."

Fury burned in Graham's ice-blue eyes, drawing the skin over his aristocratic skull so tight that it resembled a death's head. "I don't-we must re-negotiate the treaty!"

"No, Graham. I must re-negotiate the treaty. Will you follow?"

The rush of blood in Mulder's ears had faded, and the sharp, stabbing pain in his temples had mellowed to an almost unnoticeable ache that melted away even as he focused on it. By the time Graham answered, only the state of Mulder's knees remained to remind him of the toll the witch's spell-or whatever the hell that stunt he'd pulled had been-had taken on him.

"I will follow," Graham Lawrence grated. His words were raw with disbelief, helpless, horrible rage, and an emotion very close to grief.

The old witch's bid for power was over. He had broken the treaty again-now his only hope to avoid sharing Emma's fate would be that the Weimarians who'd witnessed his transgression either did not realize what he had done or were content to let the matter rest.

Mulder was among the first to pick themselves up; watching the others get to their feet, he decided that no one had taken serious harm. In fact, Warren and Helen Markham did not even seem to have fallen down-Mulder made a mental note to find some time to have everyone describe their exact experiences during Graham's ill-judged little display.

He threw a quick glance at Alex over one shoulder, started, and turned around fully to take a better look. Alex looked like hell. He was almost grey and breathing far too shallowly... he looked as though he'd keel over if someone blew on him. Mulder had known something like this would happen, he'd just known it! But had Alex listened? No, he'd had to come along and prove to himself that he could face down witches by the dozen and not break a sweat. What kind of a survival characteristic was that?

Mulder grasped the other man's arm and began to steer him towards the exit. The bloody-minded fool promptly resisted.

"Come on, Alex," Mulder coaxed. "It's not far. You need to go outside. Come on!"

"No!" Alex snapped aggressively, breaking free. "I'm staying. I'll be fine in a moment."

This was untypical behavior. Wasn't it? To think that Mulder hadn't gotten a proper handle on the man even now.... "You're sure?"

A hard green glare bored into him. "Don't be an idiot. Just do your job so we can get the hell out of here."

Alex did seem to be regaining some color, and his breathing was settling into a more unforced pattern. Briefly, Mulder considered trying to drag him out against his will, but since it seemed likely the only thing that would achieve was to earn him some additional bruises, he refrained from the attempt. He watched Alex a second longer instead and then spun to walk back to where the two Lawrences were standing, careful to stay between the other man and the witches.

Graham did not look at Mulder. He did not appear to be looking at anything; unless he was watching something mere human senses were unable to perceive, he was staring holes in the air above Miranda's head. Shock, perhaps?

Determined to keep this as brief as possible, Mulder turned to the newly confirmed head of the Lawrence family. "I hope that I have correctly interpreted your remark just now to mean that you agree to the conditions I stated earlier?"

"It seems unavoidable," Miranda agreed, giving Mulder a slightly sour glance. The victory over her rival had apparently taken most of the sting from the concession, though. "It is not as though we don't appreciate Weimar, after all. I am certain we can all be reasonable about this."

Without saying a word, Graham turned and walked towards the exit. He glanced neither right or left; his back was ramrod straight, but his form and movements lacked a large part of the energy that had lent him the appearance of youth. It appeared his loss of hope for supreme power had hit him considerably harder than news of his son's death. Of course it was always possible this was a delayed reaction, but somehow, Mulder doubted it.

Silence reigned until the portal fell shut behind the departing witch, the sound echoing loudly in the stillness. Then, as though it had been a signal, the Weimarians exploded into action. Several voices started up at the same time, the mayor's resonant boom lifting effortlessly above the rest; it seemed as though everyone set into motion at once, several people converging on Miranda Lawrence, who watched their approach with a careful indifference that was completely unable to conceal her unease.

Mulder had only made it halfway back to Alex when he was waylaid by Rick. "What was that-you know, the storm thing? Do you think the light and wind was the form her power took when it was siphoned off? How do you think that works? And what did you tell the old guy? I didn't think anything would-"

Emma arrived from the opposite direction and would have bumped into Mulder if he hadn't moved aside in time. Her grab for her ex-boyfriend's sleeve was as uncoordinated as her approach; it looked as though she were unaccustomed to the way her body moved. In all likelihood, that was exactly what the problem was. "Rick!"

The accosted teenager jumped and jerked his arm away violently before recollecting himself, drawing himself up, and bestowing a glare of stern rebuke on the distressed girl.

"Rick, I can't feel you anymore, it's horrible." Her face contorted, fresh tears springing into already reddened eyes. "I don't know what to do! Clara says I can go with her but.... I can't live like this! How can you live like this? It's awful! I don't want to-I can't!"

Rick's expression wavered briefly at the misery written in his former girlfriend's face, but when she tried to throw herself into his arms, he dodged her and stepped back to fold his arms tightly across his chest. "Give it time-I'm sure you'll adjust to being a lower order of being," he said coldly. "As long as you stay away from witches who want to trick you and take you away so they can own you like some object, you'll be fine."

The hectic color receded from Emma's features, leaving her deathly pale. "I'm s-sorry, Rick, I just-I wanted... I wanted to be with you! I still do. I love you, you can't just-"

"You wanted to own me," Rick corrected evenly, already turning away. "You still do."

"You can't just walk away from me! You said you loved me!"

Mulder reached out and held the girl back, preventing her from following Rick. "It's not the right time, Emma. Not for either of you."

"But I want-"

He put both hands on her shoulders and gave her a small shake to get her attention. "Listen to me, Emma. Go to New York with your sister. In a couple of years, when you have adjusted to your new circumstances, come back here, find Rick, and try again-if you still want to. In case you do, I'd advise you to get into the habit of thinking about what he wants from time to time."

Emma stared at him for a moment, anger and misery struggling for dominance in her expression. When she finally broke away, Rick had just slipped outside; after briefly staring at the portal in indecision, the girl spotted Clara and Lowborough heading in the direction of the mayor's office and set off after them at an awkward run. Perhaps Clara would be able to effect a transformation for the better in her sister. Having been irrevocably separated from her family, her previous life, and even part of herself, Emma would inevitably go through radical changes; hopefully, at least some of them would be for the better.

"All right," Mulder told Alex sternly. "Here's what we'll do. I make certain the mayor gets off to the right start with Miranda. You ask after your brother. Then we're out of here. Got it?"

Alex smiled. He still looked pale, and Mulder decided to hurry Lowborough and the witch along as much as possible. "Yeah, I got it. We need to talk, Mulder."

Well. That sounded ominous.

As he set out across the hall to join Warren in his attempt at conversing civilly with the witch, Mulder decided that once he'd gotten Alex back to the hotel, he'd make sure they never got around to talking.

It was a sunny autumn Sunday in a beautiful town. The natives were friendly and willing to stand in pentagrams and speak after Mulder, the local witches, otherwise known as stranded alien hybrids, were willing to re-negotiate the spell binding them to the community to everyone's benefit, and the remaining witch abductees were to be returned later in the day.

The last thought dampened Mulder's mood somewhat. Returning to any kind of a normal life would be difficult, if not impossible, for by far the larger part of the witch victims. Dahl would be fine, of course, and very likely, the two people who hadn't been missing longer than several months would be, as well. The long-term abductees, though.... Most of them even had children that were witches, binding them even more inextricably to the family that had stolen their life from them.

Mulder found himself shying away from the thought of how Margaret Ritter and her parents would cope with the altered situation and deliberately forced himself to think it through. He was responsible, after all-he was the one who had brought this soon-to-take-place reunion about. What if it only made things worse for them? Maybe Margaret was no longer capable of maintaining higher cerebral functions without the support of a Lawrence. It was conceivable that long-term exposure caused permanent brain damage, and she certainly hadn't been in good shape after Ferdinand's death... what if she was unable to form even an emotional bond to her parents? Maybe he'd done the Ritters no favor at all-maybe the daughter that returned to them would not even recognize them, maybe she would spend her life crying, unable to understand what had happened and why she was so terribly alone inside her own mind.

Perhaps it would have been kinder to leave Margaret Ritter and the other abductees who'd been living with the Lawrences for the larger part of their lives in the care of the witches... but that wasn't a tolerable solution, either.

But maybe... maybe Mulder could make sure that after a certain stretch of time had passed, Margaret and the others were asked whether they would prefer to return to the Lawrences, voluntarily this time. The Weimarians could start up a program that arranged meetings between witches who wanted to become caretakers and the families of the former abductees, for example between Margaret's son Gabriel Lawrence and his grandparents-they could work out some kind of supervised custodial arrangement-go on joint vacations, things like that....

The idea pleased Mulder; his mood lifted again as he planned out the details and made a mental note to call the mayor or Clara as soon as possible.

Yes, it was a lovely day in a beautiful town filled with people well accustomed to weirdness who failed to look askance at Mulder when he unfolded his theories. The trouble with witches was on its way to being solved permanently, leaving a unique and fascinating interactive community that merited further study. And Mulder was sitting in a car with an assassin and former triple agent who was not only intelligent, attractive, and intriguing, but who screamed in Russian at all the right moments.

Only one question remained. How could Mulder get said assassin into bed and keep him there for the rest of the day with a minimum of fuss?

"What did you say the mayor's son's full name is?"

The off-topic question merited a dark frown from Mulder that entirely failed to impress Alex. "Frederick Johann Cristoph Lowborough. Not your type, Alex."

No answer. Brows drew together in thought. Mulder stepped on the gas to squeeze through an intersection on a yellow light-very dark orange, actually-and Alex said nothing.

Must be something serious. "All right, out with it."

There was a brief pause.

"Didn't you think it was very odd-the way the witches reacted to him?"

As a matter of fact, Mulder had thought so-he still did. He'd briefly considered the possibility Rick was a member of the Lawrence family, but had discounted the thought with reference to the character of Mrs. Lowborough, who would never risk her position over a fling with a witch and would not carry the child of a rape to term. Of course it was not inconceivable that the Lawrence responsible had made her forget about their sexual encounter, but Mulder didn't think so. That scenario failed to fit Graham's and Miranda's reaction.

Politeness, almost deference. No chance of keeping him, Miranda had scolded her foolhardy daughter. And the risk....

"It was kind of odd, wasn't it," he said neutrally, curious which way Alex would take this.

Alex snorted. "Yeah, like you didn't notice. You don't fool me, Mulder. You'll stand in the middle of an exploding spell like someone glued your feet to the floor and wired a vidcam to your eyeballs and never notice that it might be a fucking stupid thing to do, but you would never miss slightly odd behavior on the part of a witch."

"You trying to tell me something, Alex?"

"Hell no, Mulder. It's not like you could be expected to keep a safe distance or something. You keep on being fascinated out of your mind in the middle of combat zones. See how long you live."

"I don't seem to be missing any pertinent parts so far."

"You mean except for your common sense?"

"Now whatever would I do with one of those?"

That earned Mulder a small quirk of the mouth. "Good point. You wouldn't know common sense if it bit you in the ass."

Mulder considered inviting Alex to play common sense for him, but decided that sexual innuendo would be too risky at this point. Considering the man's tendency to work himself into a state of nervous self-denial if given half a chance, Mulder decided he had better get him closer to a convenient horizontal or vertical surface before signaling his intentions quite so loudly.

"Doesn't he look familiar to you?"

Mulder frowned again. "Who?"

Alex blew out a breath in exasperation. "The man with the machine gun running out of the bank we just passed. Christ, Mulder, who the hell do you think? Frederick Johann Cristoph."

"Sure he does. He didn't when I first met him, though."

Alex stared out at the passing townscape. "That's really a very distinctive nose he's got."

"I'm sure he'll grow into it. Besides, representative surveys have shown that many people of both sexes find large noses extremely attractive." Mulder paused, but Alex wasn't playing. After a moment, he sighed and gave up. "What are you driving at, that he's a Consortium spy?"

"If he were, they'd have gotten rid of that nose first thing."

Mulder inspected Alex's nose from the side.

"Mine's nature's version. As far as I know." Alex still wasn't looking at him. "Tell me, Mulder, what's the latest word on reincarnation?"

"Reincarnation?"

This traffic light was red, but since there was no traffic, there was really no reason for Alex to clutch at the dashboard like that. He probably did it just to annoy Mulder.

"Jesus! Stop the car, Mulder! I'd rather walk!"

"No you wouldn't. You'd rather tell me about the reason for your sudden interest in being born again. Are you planning your comeback?"

"I'm planning on not dying for a very long time yet." Another silence. "You ever been in Weimar?"

Mulder wrinkled his brow and pretended to concentrate fiercely. "Well, let me think. I believe it must have been shortly after I left Washington on Thursday. Now that I think of it-"

"It's just that Rick reminds me of someone."

Alex's remarks finally clicked together in Mulder's mind. "He reminds you of someone who's dead, so you think he's been reincarnated?"

Incredulity was heavy in Mulder's tone, causing the younger man to shoot him a disgusted look. "No, Mulder, he does not remind me of someone. He looks exactly like him. And his first name... names. They're the same, too. Plus they both lived in a town named Weimar. That's one hell of a coincidence."

"Most hypothesises concerning reincarnation assume that the essence of a person-the soul, if you will-is reborn in a new form, a different body.... A change of gender is practically obligatory with many of the new age believers. And of course, taking into account the astounding instances of multiple and parallel reincarnation that are to be found in the cases of Napoleon and Cleopatra, to name only two of the more popular recurrent souls, it seems that particularly interesting souls are even liable to split into-"

"Look, Mulder, it was just a thought, okay? Forget I said anything." Alex shook his head and stared out of the window, the stiff set of his shoulders and jaw betraying tension. "At least now you know how people feel when you hit them with one of your weird theories."

"My theories are completely reasonable," Mulder muttered. "Who is this person Rick reminds you of?"

To all appearances, the younger man was engrossed in the picturesque, but far from riveting, view of Weimarian streets on a Sunday afternoon; when he answered, his voice sounded casual, almost disinterested. "Friedrich Schiller, a dead playwright and poet. It's probably just a coincidence."

Could it be he was actually embarrassed by having voiced a silly theory?

Mulder suppressed a smile as he turned Alex's discovery over in his mind, wondering whether it would fit into one of his own theories on the subject of the witch's peculiar reaction to the mayor's son. Earlier, he'd considered and rejected the possibilities that Rick was an alien-perhaps a full-blood member of the missing second parent species of the witch hybrid-possessed by an alien, a pusher, a natural telepath, a clone, or a Consortium plant. None of these theories had seemed satisfactory before, but perhaps now, with this new bit of data to add to the equation....

Alex had turned back from the window, raising one eyebrow into a sardonic arch. "Well, then, Mulder-let's hear your oh-so-reasonable theory."

"Maybe the witches were just trying to irritate us by their behavior towards Rick in order to distract us from something else."

"That's your definition of reasonable? Anyway, I know better than to think you believe that."

"I don't," Mulder admitted. "Okay.... We never established exactly where the Lawrences came from originally. They were with the original settlers who founded and named this town. It's possible the entire group of settlers, including the witches, came from the original Weimar-alternatively, it's possible only the Lawrences did. Either way, our Frederick could be descended from Friedrich. In itself that shouldn't make him of particular interest to the Lawrences, but perhaps the man was a Lawrence himself. Or perhaps he was an alien masquerading as human." Possibly the second parent species hadn't lost interest in the hybrids, after all.... "It might be interesting to look into the Lawrences' genealogy and the possible historical connections between the two Weimars."

Alex grinned crookedly. "Somehow I have a hard time imagining an alien masquerading as a human writing poetry."

"I see you've never heard of cultural exchange programs."

This crack was not dignified with an answer.

They were pulling into the hotel's parking garage now, and Alex straightened slightly in his seat, glancing sideways at Mulder. "So, Mulder. What happens next?"

Mulder pulled into his rented space and killed the motor, turning to Alex with his best innocent expression. "What do you mean?"

Suspicion glinted in lucent green eyes. "What do you think? The second you hand in your report, Max's corpse is going to vanish mysteriously, along with the odd living witch or three. I'd rather not accompany them, if you don't mind."

The notion caught Mulder off guard, which immediately made him feel extremely stupid. He should have seen this-how could he not have seen this! Alex was right, it was inevitable, of course the Consortium would want the whole story on the witches-they'd want to know what made them different, how they could be controlled, used, exploited.... They'd probably stick half of the next generation of Lawrences in the training course they'd made Alex go through and cut most of the other half into very small pieces, together with everyone too old for reproduction....

What had he done? How could he stop this from happening, this was his responsibility, his fault-

"Mulder?"

"Alex, we have to tell them to clear out right away. They'll have to start over somewhere else. With Miranda's original family, she has to have come from somewhere...."

He looked over just in time to see Alex smooth the remains of an unidentifiable emotion from his face. "It's not that bad, Mulder. All you have to do is falsify your report. Edit out the witch part and tell the Lawrences to take care of the Consortium operative they'll send in after you. With warning, they'll be able to smell him a mile against the wind, and they have the whole town on their side-they can watch him from a distance and revise his memories if he finds out anything. You know, the way old Terence did with Graham's girl."

Falsify his report? Edit out the witch part? "Alex, there is nothing to report except the witch part!"

Alex's thoughts had already moved on, his expression darkening. He looked up with an almost distracted frown. "You're smart, you'll think of something. Use your imagination."

"But I can't just-" Mulder broke off as Alex's earlier remark made it through to his conscious mind. "So they do send someone after me wherever I go. I knew that."

"Sure you did, Mulder."

"Just one?"

"You sound insulted. Yeah, just one-one's enough. They'll send someone good. Still, the Lawrences will be able to deal with it-just make sure they send him or her back with a report that fits your edited version." His tone was too flat, his face too hard. "On the other hand, if the clean-up squad turns up, the witches had better lie low. Shouldn't be a problem, though. Those guys don't look at the scenery much."

"The clean-up squad. Looking for you?"

"I'm kind of popular in some parts, Mulder. Which brings me back to my original question. This hasn't exactly been a low-profile operation. If I'd had the chance to build up a good cover for this it wouldn't have been a problem, but Kevin didn't fit the situation too well-he's acquired holes you can fly a broomstick through."

He was saying he couldn't afford to stay in Weimar any longer. That wasn't a problem in itself-Mulder would have liked to stay and keep an eye on the negotiations, but he also wanted to get back to DC and find out why he'd been sent away in the first place. However, Kevin had been established as Mulder's personal friend in Weimar. As far as Mulder knew, Riley was the only one who suspected them of being lovers, and she wasn't the kind to spread rumors, but any association between the two of them would make the Consortium hunt for Alex in Mulder's vicinity. Not to mention that sticking close to Mulder would not be a good idea for Alex under any circumstances-Mulder was always being watched.

But he couldn't go. Mulder wanted to keep him, to learn everything of his truth.

The thought of being without Alex chilled Mulder to the core. "Alex," he said. When he tried to go on, he discovered that he'd only wanted to say his name.

Alex was sweeping a careful, practiced gaze across empty lots and parked cars, his set face cast into unnatural colors and angles by the dim, yellow lighting of the underground garage.

Desire hit Mulder with the impact of a brick wall, stunning him, annihilating him. He went up like tinder, barely able to hear his own gasp of surprise over the roaring of the blood in his ears. His pants were too tight, his sudden erection chafing against the constricting fabric. Alex couldn't leave. Mulder needed to keep him. He needed to have him, now, always, now, right now-

"Come up to the room with me," Mulder rasped, incapable of greater subtlety with the ravening need to possess Alex consuming his reason.

Alex's head snapped around at the unveiled proposition, his eyes wide with a multitude of emotions, first among them a fear he was too late in masking.

"Yes." His voice was low and very husky, almost raw. Before Mulder could process the fact that Alex was not running, the younger man had launched himself from the car, slammed the door so hard Mulder thought the window might break, and was sprinting across the concrete floor towards the elevator.

Mulder didn't think he slammed the door-he didn't recall closing it at all. He didn't recall opening it, for that matter, but he must have, because when Alex reached the call button and slammed it down with the heel of his hand, Mulder was right behind him, catching him and whirling him around to crush him against the wall.

He didn't know how long it took for the elevator to arrive. When the doors opened, Mulder and Alex made it inside without relinquishing so much as an inch of body contact; Alex unwound an arm from around Mulder to push the button for their floor, displaying an amount of unimpaired intellect and coordinated movement that Mulder could only admire.

"Fox," Alex husked into his ear, panting with need. "I-Fox, oh God, Fox-"

The elevator doors slid aside and they nearly fell out into the corridor when Mulder tripped over Alex's leg. Alex caught at the frame of the door and they stumbled into a potted plant, groping each other with the unchecked urgency of randy teenagers.

Mulder was laughing against Alex's throat and gathering himself for the dash to their room when every muscle in Alex's body went rigid. The hardness that had been pressing into Mulder's thigh shrank, and when Mulder pushed back a little to look into the other man's face, he noticed that there was a gun in Alex's hand. Mulder hadn't even seen him move-hell, he hadn't felt him move, and he was all but wrapped around him.

"Special Agent Fox William Mulder," an unfamiliar voice behind him said calmly.

He could feel his face begin to flame even as he whipped around. Being caught engaging in public foreplay with a wanted criminal-a wanted male criminal, not to mention professional assassin and nominal KGB agent-hell, there were enough grounds there for the dismissal of an entire task force, let alone a single agent.

The man standing in front of Mulder's hotel room was considerably below average in stature, his thin shoulders and lean build combining with his lack of height to give him an incongruously youthful form that failed to be seconded by his features and the receding line of his medium-blond hair. He wore baggy jeans, a plain grey sweatshirt, and a scuffed leather jacket. The mustache hiding his upper lip failed to make him look more respectable, although it did lend him a notable resemblance to a walrus; his overall appearance was scruffy, faintly disreputable, and anything but trustworthy.

Mulder carefully positioned himself between the scrawny man and Alex, not bothering to conceal his readiness to draw his weapon. The elevator was behind him, as were the stairs-if this deceptively harmless-looking man was the Consortium's clean-up detail, Mulder could stop him long enough to let Alex get away.

But Alex was making no move to attack or flee. Mulder didn't want to take his eyes off the mustachioed man long enough to look around, but he could tell that Alex wasn't budging from the spot.

Whoever the small guy was, prime blackmail material had just been handed to him on a silver platter. Mulder would have expected at least a smirk, perhaps even a leer-alternatively disgust, moral outrage, embarrassment, or polite obliviousness.

Nothing except calm patience showed in this man's features. He stood very straight and completely still... unnaturally still.

"My God," Mulder breathed, forgetting all about the Bureau's unofficial policy on sexual orientation and the Consortium's hired thugs. His body's frustrated throbbing receded from his awareness as his brain kicked into high gear, bringing the familiar fascination and clarity of thought. "It's you."

"The area is secure," the alien announced.

"What happened to the girl?"

"Information pertaining to my people's nature, requirements, and preferred behavioral patterns can, within limits, be made subject to future trade."

They certainly knew which buttons to push. It couldn't be a coincidence that they'd picked Mulder as a likely business partner, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist, and then handled him just right, dangling tantalizing knowledge in front of his nose to coax him along step by step. They had to have a very comprehensive grasp of human psychology on an individual level.

"You're the same-person I spoke with before." Even while he spoke, Mulder realized he was taking too much for granted. He was assuming these aliens had singular identities like humans when they might equally well be a group consciousness, comparable to the hive communities of many species of insect....

The blond man's head bobbed in the same stiff, awkward imitation of a nod hat the alien had already employed in its previous incarnation as a girl.

It had previously indicated that it had a designation of some kind, though one that could not be expressed in sound, but a designation was not necessarily a name-it could be a functional identifier, a collective descriptive identifier, a term identifying a particular conglomerate of autonomous identities, a number or caste identifier, or any number of other possibilities too alien for Mulder to conceive of. Still, in his first conversation with the alien, Mulder had formed the distinct impression that it had an awareness of individual identity....

"Was this body unoccupied, as well?"

The alien regarded him in silence for a moment, the familiar serene expression sitting even more strangely on its present host's sharp, thin face than it had on the too-young features of the girl. "Affirmative. This one experienced the simultaneous collapse of all cardiovascular functions, induced by self-administered toxins. I wish to carry on the previously initiated negotiations on the limited agreement of trade I have proposed. Please confirm you are free of immediately pressing engagements at this time."

"Yes," Mulder confirmed absently. Self-administered toxins... the alien had apparently been able to cleanse the host's system of drugs before the body died. Was it maintaining damaged organs artificially, like an animate life-support system? Whatever it was doing, it was doing an excellent job-the man was scruffy, but he seemed to be in remarkable health. Mulder would never have suspected him of being a drug addict. Perhaps it had been suicide?

"Are you alone? How many of you can occupy one body at the same time?" Was there a reason why this body was small, as well? Perhaps it was easier to control a body not only when the original inhabitant was not present, but also when the body itself was lighter. That way, a smaller amount of muscle tissue had to be controlled, and there would be a lower volume of blood if the alien had to make changes in a host's blood chemistry in order to be comfortable....

"As previously indicated, such information will not be revealed without an adequate return in trade. Should further proof of our good will be required, we are willing to expand upon our earlier gift prior to the resumption of negotiations. Since this area will not remain secure above fifteen minutes forward from the immediate present, a relocation is necessary."

They were willing to expand on their earlier gift-

Oh no.

He whirled just in time to beat Alex's hand to one side; the raised gun slipped from his grasp and fell to the carpeted floor. Mulder had never seen Alex drop a weapon before. He doubted the alien had been in real danger-it seemed unlikely Alex would have been able to pull the trigger.

"Alex, it's okay. Breathe, Alex, come on, I'm not going to let them hurt you. You're okay, Alex. Everything's going to be fine."

Mulder wasn't certain Alex heard him. He was slumped against the wall limply, gulping air in rapid, far-too-shallow gasps without making a sound. His pupils were so dilated that the panic-dazed eyes looked shockingly black in the paper-white face. It was obvious that Alex saw nothing of what was in front of him-if he saw anything at all, it would be horrors his subconscious conjured up out of the recesses of his past, memories and fears he had hidden away from himself because he could neither face nor forget them.

He was going to lose consciousness any second. In fact, it was surprising he hadn't done so already.

Grabbing Alex's shoulders, Mulder slammed the other man back against the wall. "Breathe, damn you!"

"Fox." The hint of sound was too low to be called a whisper. Mulder thought he'd only imagined it until he realized that the irregular rhythm of Alex's breathing had changed and he was trying to focus on Mulder's face.

"That's right, it's me, I'm here, it's okay, no one's going to hurt you. Alex, you need to breathe deeply, slowly and deeply, come on, concentrate, I know you can do it...."

Mulder realized that he was leaning so close he was practically nuzzling Alex's cheek and made himself draw back, carefully keeping the fear out of his voice as he murmured reassurances and watched Alex fight for control.

If Mulder hadn't been too focused on the alien to notice that Alex was breaking down within touching distance, he would never have had to go through this. This reaction had been inevitable. It should have been the first thought on Mulder's mind.

"I'm so sorry, Alex," he murmured. "I'm here now. No one's going to hurt you. I'm here."

Alex was rising out of the panic by sheer strength of will, his eyes now fixed firmly on Mulder's face. His breathing was evening out rapidly, still fast and unsteady, but controlled. To come back this quickly when he'd been lost so deeply within the most intense terrors his mind could conceive of... so much courage, so much strength-such determination, such power of purpose....

"You're amazing," Mulder whispered, feeling something very much like awe thread through the fierce protectiveness in his heart. "You're-" No, don't tell him he's beautiful, not now! How stupid can you get.... "I-Alex, I think I-"

"Please clarify the cause of the excessive level of your agitation," the alien said calmly from behind Mulder. "The temporary loss of consciousness due to hysteria is not permanently damaging."

"That's not the reason," Mulder said, fighting to keep the rage from his voice. "He needs to be in control." And I can't bear to see him like this.

"Fuck," Alex rasped very distinctly. "Tell them about it, why don't you."

Relief flooded Mulder with blinding force. "It's okay," he said softly, "I'll keep you safe. They won't hurt you."

"Christ, Fox." Alex's voice was not much above a rough whisper and he was still unnaturally sallow, but he was there with Mulder again, aware and in command of himself. "You're such an idiot sometimes."

Which was when Mulder noticed that his fingertips had crept up to stroke Alex's cheek.

"Among my people, it is considered an indicator of a high likelihood that a mutually beneficent business agreement will be reached when the token given to the approached party meets with particular approval," the alien commented. "Therefore, I am gratified to find that our gift has proven pleasurable as well as useful."

Mulder snatched his hand away and turned back to the scruffy blond alien, looking over his shoulder to make sure Alex wasn't going to have a relapse in the immediate future. "We must clarify something. The fact that you have gifted me with this man means that you have acknowledged that I am entitled to decide what is to happen to him. Please affirm."

"Affirmed," the alien agreed.

"Then take note. I do not want you, any other member of your species, or anyone affiliated with you or any other member of your species to harm him or interfere with his control over himself again in any way, however minor or temporary. You have given me the right to determine this."

There was a small pause. Then the corners of the blade-sharp lips of the man currently holding the alien moved upwards in a stiff grimace that was obviously modeled on a smile. The being hadn't attempted copying human facial expressions before-its previous host, the girl, had shrugged and nodded, but there had been no attempt at smiling. The alien had been practicing.

These beings were highly intelligent and able to adapt rapidly to an alien environment, mentality, and society. They were acquiring knowledge of human behavior as an active behavioral repertoire. Mulder wondered whether they were motivated by politeness and business acumen-trying to show respect for their human associates by demonstrating respect for local customs-or whether they were simply attempting to promote their business dealings through an understanding of the culture of their partners. Of course, they might also be working towards being able to pass as human for far less benevolent reasons.

"Confirmed, Special Agent Fox William Mulder."

Perceptive and very quick on the uptake. Very well informed-knowledgeable about human physiology and psychology, body language, sexual behavior....

Alex straightened away from the wall determinedly, stepping forward to pick up his gun with somewhat less than his usual grace. He was careful not to look at the alien as he tucked the weapon back into his waistband and straightened his jacket, but every line of his body was stiff with tension, betraying his intense awareness of the being's closeness. "Mulder-"

"Wait out here," Mulder interrupted. "I'm not certain how long...."

His voice trailed off as he realized what he'd been about to demand. Mulder didn't want to let Alex go, but how could he justify forcing him to delay his departure when every minute he spent here increased the risk he would be hunted down and killed-when the only real reason Mulder had for making him stay was that he desperately needed to have him again?

He couldn't. It was that simple.

"If you-the things you bought don't fit me," Mulder blurted out quickly, trying not to think about what he was saying. "I can bring them out if you think you have to leave."

"We had a deal, Mulder. You trying to back out of the fucking deal?"

It took several seconds for the meaning of the words to penetrate. Mulder stared at Alex in disbelief, noting the angry glitter in cold green eyes as well as the extremely careful breathing, the flared nostrils and thinned lips, the pallid hue of skin that should be golden....

"Alex, I'm not letting those-no one is going to-do that to you again, not if I have-"

"Yeah, right," Alex bit out. "Today you're getting a kick out of feeling noble and heroic, but I know you, Mulder. Tomorrow it'll be a different story. Sometime next week you'll have a crisis of conscience and decide that everything I ever told you was one big lie and that I was working for the enemy of your choice all along. Well, fuck that. We're going through with this the way we planned it. You're not going to get away with giving me any more shit on how I never told you the truth."

Astonishment silenced Mulder for a long moment, his brain scrambling in vain for something reasonably intelligent to say.

"There's no reason for you to go through this," he tried at last, settling for stating the obvious. "I know you've been telling me the truth, Alex, I don't want-"

Alex punched him in the stomach, hard enough to make the breath whoosh from Mulder's lungs in surprise, but not hard enough to hurt.

"Ow," he said reproachfully, trying to look as though he were in pain. He could tell Alex wasn't buying it. "What was that for?"

"I've never given you any reason to trust me," Alex gritted. "You're nothing but a damn idiot. Don't ever trust people like me."

Mulder stared at him while an idea so strange and frightening and wonderful began to form in his mind that he was unable to speak for a long moment. Memories crowded together and sorted themselves out. Memories of Alex's voice.

"Tell me the truth," Mulder said at last, speaking very softly. "Would you hurt me?"

"Yes," Alex said coldly, without thinking. "Make no mistakes about me, Mulder. I know you want me to be someone you can fuck without guilt-"

"Let me rephrase. Would you hurt me or allow me to be hurt for any reason other than to ensure your own survival or to protect me from coming to worse harm?"

Alex's gaze was steady. He didn't hesitate. "Wouldn't be cheap," he said evenly. "For the right offer? Yes."

He was lying.

Mulder smiled. "Alex, you would never have said that if it were true."

The smile he got in return was slow and dangerous. "Maybe not. Or maybe I'm simply more devious than you suspected, Mulder. Have you considered that? You will, you know. Oh, you certainly will."

That did it. Mulder's patience snapped. "Alex, you are not doing this!" he shouted. "There is no way in hell that you are doing this, and that is the last word on the subject!"

"We had a deal, Mulder!"

It was grotesque-Alex insisting on being subjected to his worst nightmare certainly hadn't featured on the list of things Mulder had considered likely to happen. But then, it was becoming clear that alien possession was not truly his worst nightmare. There was something worse. Mulder believing that Alex had never told him the truth. Mulder hating him.

It was a good thing the alien wouldn't agree to this now that Mulder had made his opinion on the subject clear. Mulder never wanted to see Alex in that state again. The mere memory of the look of terror and hate and blinding, helpless, hopeless rage in his eyes was enough to make Mulder's blood run cold.

Alex straightened and squared his shoulders, his chin coming up a notch, his breathing deepening. He walked past before Mulder could catch more than a glimpse of the look on his face, but that brief look was enough to make Mulder's marrow freeze in his bones. Glacial, adamantine ruthlessness.

No, God no-

Mulder fumbled his weapon from his holster and then stood there with the gun in his hand, not knowing what the hell to do with it. Shoot Alex, shoot the alien, both, neither, what the fuck was going on here anyway-

The mustachioed alien tranquilly watched Alex walk up to it, waiting in inhuman motionlessness. Alex stopped within touching distance of it, his back to Mulder, his entire body screaming tension. "You heard," he said, his tone flat and impassive. "There is a prior agreement that touches upon his dealings with you between him and me. We both agreed to the terms. He can't go back on it now. His word must stand."

Jesus. "Alex!"

"Affirmative," the alien acknowledged, the lack of inflection in its tone matching Alex's. "Elaborate the nature of the existing prior agreement."

"I agreed to tell him the truth from the time of the agreement forward until you returned, whenever that might be. He agreed to ask you to expand your gift in a certain way." Alex paused for a couple of seconds, and Mulder could hear the breath rasp in his lungs. When he spoke on, his voice was still completely expressionless. "To ascertain that I had been telling him the truth. By checking. And immediately leaving. Without-looking at anything else or losing any time in leaving."

The blond head bobbed in the characteristic alien nod. "Special Agent Fox William Mulder's motivation in attempting to void his agreement to the stated terms is purely emotional and contractually inconsequential. Accompany me into the room allotted to you."

And Alex did.

It was worse than a nightmare. Mulder burst through the-unlocked-door in the wake of the alien and the damned idiot and froze just inside the room, still helplessly clutching the gun.

"Close the door, Mulder," Alex said tightly.

Mulder closed the door, swallowing back bile. He felt as though he were about to witness a rape-and he was, he was letting it happen. Worse, he was watching it happen as a direct result of his own actions. He was the one responsible for this. He was the one subjecting Alex to this torture, and he could think of absolutely no way of preventing it from taking place.

"Please," he whispered. "Alex, please."

"Knock it off," Alex said, not looking at him. "If you're going to have one of your guilt trips over this I swear I'll throw up."

He couldn't shoot Alex. It probably wasn't possible to harm the alien with a bullet-it hadn't seemed solid enough for that, Mulder would only hit the mustachioed man, and that would make everything even worse, because then the alien would need a new host.

Alex sat in a chair and stared up at the alien, eyes narrowed and jaw set. The alien walked over to stand in front of him and bent forward slightly, staring into his face searchingly just as it had the last time.

Mulder made himself watch as the alien put the scrawny man's hands on Alex's shoulders and leaned down, touching foreheads.

In the instant before the bright flash of light dazzled Mulder, he saw the muscles in Alex's jaw jump. Alex's body jerked once in a small convulsive motion that settled into a subliminal tremor exactly like a minor epileptic seizure. The first alien held Alex down until the tremor passed, only then releasing his shoulders to step back. Mulder wondered whether these beings always traveled in groups or whether they'd come prepared for another interrogation of their gift.

"Hurry up," Mulder snarled. "What are you waiting for! Just tell me he's been telling the truth and get the hell out!"

Alex's eyes were glazed, his pupils distended, but he didn't look nearly as bad as he had the last time this had happened. Of course, the other possession had lasted much longer-the color was draining from his skin even now, his body slumping back against the chair in unnatural limpness.

"Motor control has been established," the alien occupying the mustachioed man said evenly. "Memory access is not yet sufficiently advanced to allow for unrestricted analysis of the stored data."

How could it tell? Were they in constant communication even when housed in different hosts or was there some kind of physical indication of how far possession had progressed about Alex-something Mulder's human senses were unable to perceive?

Mulder tasted blood and realized he'd bitten through the inside of his lip. How could he be wondering about such things now....

"It is resisting access," Alex's voice announced flatly.

The standing alien regarded Mulder calmly. "Please confirm. Am I correct in concluding that the resistance my associate is encountering is to be accounted for by the entity's imperative necessity for control and the circumstance that said necessity overrides its conscious volition?"

"His name is Alex." Mulder had meant the remark to be a snarl, but his throat was too tight and it came out as no more than an aggressive whisper. "Just get it over with."

"Full memory access has been established," the alien in Alex's body announced. "Alex is uncertain whether an inaccurate statement regarding his state of being is to be regarded a lie."

"What?"

"Within the time frame specified by the agreement, there were several instances of inaccurate statements concerning his state of being. Foremost in his recollection is the statement 'I'm fine' in response to your query 'Alex, are you all right.'"

"That's not-" Mulder cut himself off quickly, clamping his teeth onto his bleeding lip. He didn't want to prolong this ordeal.

"Furthermore, while attempting to rouse you from a temporary catatonic state he claimed Bill Mulder was your father and that he had killed your father. Both of these assertions are untrue. He claimed that everything would be fine, which was likewise untrue. Other than that, Alex believes that within the time frame as set, he has been adequately successful in misleading and diverting you while keeping to the letter of the agreement, avoiding outright untruths."

Avoiding outright untruths. Misleading and diverting....

Just one question.... One would be enough. If Mulder knew what Alex felt for him, why he was afraid.... Whether he had been lying just now, whether there was a price that would make Alex hurt Mulder and what it was.

The coppery tang of blood clogged Mulder's sinuses, the biting sweetness of its taste filled his mouth. He swallowed and breathed deeply, trying without success to rid himself of the smell. The stench of blood. Betrayal. Death. Alex.

Alex had gained his trust, won his affection, made Mulder want him-and then he had betrayed him. Now, he had regained a grudging measure of the trust Mulder had thought irrevocably shattered, redeemed an affection that had turned to agonized hate in Mulder's heart, made Mulder desire him beyond thought or reason.

There was part of Mulder that knew the only result of this could be another betrayal, more severe than the first. The part of Mulder that would always know Alexander, called Alex, as Alex Krycek the liar, traitor, and murderer knew that the only possible outcome of any involvement with him was pain. More pain than Mulder could bear.

Mulder wanted to believe, but he would not be able to survive another betrayal. If he let himself believe in Alex again only to find that he had been deceived, again.... It had been agony the first time, when Mulder had not really known him, had never really touched him, hadn't felt this mad craving to possess him, all of him....

One question, and Mulder would know.

But Alex-if he existed-was every bit as afraid as Mulder. He needed to be in control, needed it so badly that he was helpless to prevent himself from fighting a hopeless struggle against an alien he had invited into his body and mind himself. He dared not show the truth of himself because he knew with absolute certainty that it would be used against him. His life had taught him lessons even harsher than those Mulder had had to learn. Alex could not allow himself to trust Mulder, even if he wanted to.

If Mulder could not trust Alex, he could ask the alien. He could have certainty. But by asking, he would forfeit any chance he might have had of gaining Alex's trust. Forever.

And Mulder knew, didn't he... even if he couldn't allow himself to believe, Mulder knew.

Alex had killed an armed Consortium courier while cuffed half-frozen to a balcony, had killed Max while under the witch's strongest coercion-had overcome four armed thugs while no more than a boy. And yet, Alex had never truly fought back when Mulder had beaten him up. Alex, who was capable of rising from a full-fledged panic attack through the force of his will and then walking up to the reason for the attack and demanding to be subjected to his worst fear-Alex had repeatedly run from Mulder.

Pragmatic Alex had called Mulder a silver blade, had told him he burned his soul, had held him and talked until he was too exhausted to know what he was saying. Alex who knew only survival had shielded him with his body in Riley's study, had attacked a witch for no apparent reason, had come through the spell-storm to hold Mulder down. Controlled Alex had screamed when his body arched into Mulder's.

"Get out," Mulder snarled at the alien. "Get out. Right now. Now!"

The mustachioed alien moved with precisely the same smooth, inhuman economy of motion as before, but it felt as though it was taking it forever to walk back to Alex. The second alien lifted Alex's head and the two stared at each other briefly before repeating the transfer. Mulder looked to the side when the scrawny body the aliens had arrived in bent down; he didn't want to look into the flash of transfer and lose the seconds it would take his vision to recover.

The instant the brilliant flare of light that whitened the edge of his vision passed, Mulder jumped forward. The small man's body moved aside barely in time to prevent Mulder from shoving it out of the way. "Alex?"

He looked as though he had fallen asleep, sprawled back over the chair bonelessly, eyes closed, breathing even. Pale, yes, a faint shimmer of sweat on the forehead, but other than that.... He didn't look anything like the waxy, breathing corpse he'd been when he'd been handed over to Mulder. It seemed the relative brevity of this possession had spared him at least physically.

Mulder touched a hesitant hand to the side of Alex's neck, trying to reassure himself by the steady pulse and the warmth of the skin. He should be waking up by now. Mulder couldn't remember that it had taken him this long the last time. What if there was some kind of cumulative effect to this kind of alien's possession-what if-

He cut off the thought in mid-notion and leaned down to gather Alex's limp body into a firm embrace. "Come on, Alex," he murmured into his ear. "Wake up, you have to wake up-"

The sudden spasm stiffened the slack body, whipped the spine into a taut arch and hardened every previously relaxed muscle into granite rigidity. It would have toppled over the chair and sent both Alex and Mulder to the floor if Mulder hadn't watched this happen once before; as it was he had been prepared for this and held the rigid body down, tightening his grip as abrupt relaxation gave way to convulsive shivering.

An ache of agony and helpless, undirected rage constricted Mulder's throat and he had to swallow twice before he could speak. "Don't ever do that again."

The shaking was considerably less severe than it had been the first time; Mulder felt the shudders lessen almost immediately. "Just... a habit," Alex gasped out, sounding weak and breathless. "Can stop... any time I want."

Mulder laughed, his voice almost as shaky as Alex's. "Yeah, that's what they all say."

"Exposure of this duration will result only in temporary and minor impairment of voluntary muscular control. Please signal your readiness to proceed to the negotiation of the terms of our prospective agreement of trade."

Mulder did no such thing. He was too busy burying his nose in soft dark hair and breathing in his lover's scent. Alex tried to push him away, but there was no urgency or fear to his movements and Mulder didn't let him go.

Alex was still weak and gave up after a moment, relaxing into Mulder's arms. He didn't return the embrace, but Mulder could feel him leaning into the contact, and he was almost certain that the soft puff of breath that caressed his neck, making him shiver in tandem with the younger man, was the product of deliberate calculation.

"How temporary?" Alex asked finally, his voice almost back to normal.

There was a pause before the alien answered. "No longer than ten minutes."

Mulder wondered whether the delay had been due to the need to convert whatever scale of temporal measurement it used into the earth standard or whether it had been considering if this particular creature merited a response.

"Mulder," Alex growled. "I'm fine, okay? Let me go, I have to get my things together."

The thought that they were back to inaccurate statements concerning Alex's state of being momentarily prevented the second remark from penetrating. When it finally did, Mulder released Alex and stepped back quickly, trying for a neutral expression. "Yes, of course."

Alex sat up and stretched carefully. The shivering was no more than a barely noticeable tremor now, but it had not been the physical damage Mulder had been most worried about, anyway.

"Alex, it would be better if you stayed. I swear I won't touch you. Stay until tomorrow morning-you'll feel better then and-"

"I feel fine now," Alex said impassively, looking down at his hands and flexing his fingers like a pianist preparing for a concert. His sable lashes looked very dark against skin still far from its accustomed golden hue.

"Right. That's why you're breathing so carefully."

"Shut up, Mulder."

Mulder shut up. Briefly. "Don't be stupid, Alex. I'll get another room. If the Consortium's people find you while you're like this-"

"No. Now that your friends have arrived, there's no need for me to stay any longer, and I need every bit of head start I can get." He stood up, the motion smooth and effortless as always as far as Mulder could tell. The last remaining tremors had vanished; Alex turned his back to the alien, who was standing completely immobile not far away, and went into several of the liquid, unbearably sensual dips and stretches he liked to do-dips and stretches that Mulder knew perfectly well were meant to loosen stiff muscles, not to entice him.

The knowledge didn't do much to dispel the images of that body moving against Mulder's, though.... Back arching, yes, just like that-dipping into Mulder's touch, stretching under his caresses, growling, rising from the sheets with just this kind of powerful grace, rising against Mulder, into Mulder....

Alex's eyes burned into Mulder's, clear and deep and green as the sea. "You know, I'd really like to postpone my departure for an hour or two," he said, his voice dark enough to make Mulder's mouth go dry. "I sincerely doubt your buddies over there have that high a tolerance for the biological quirks of solid species, though."

Actually, the aliens' demonstrably voluminous store of knowledge on human behavior and their obvious interest in the factors governing it made Mulder suspect they might not have been at all averse to a demonstration of one or the other biological quirk. Alex would feel better not knowing that, though.

"It's been real, Mulder. Got any cash on you?"

Mulder told himself that it was just as well he was leaving-he doubted he could have afforded Alex on a regular basis. Luxurious hotels, expensive clothes, food by the ton, weapons by the closet-full, representative cars... escape money....

His wallet held exactly forty-six dollars and fifteen cents.

Alex pocketed the money with a put-upon sigh. "Oh well. I suppose I can always hold up a store on my way out of town."

"I wasn't really expecting to finance your getaway," Mulder said defensively. "Give me some notice next time."

He didn't realize what he'd implied until he saw Alex's face change, and he wasn't certain just what he'd seen before the impassive mask of the assassin came up at full force.

"What about him?" Alex said, jerking his head towards the alien without taking his eyes off Mulder.

Mulder raised his brows. "The alien?"

"The small guy with the furry lip. He looks as though he's still wearing the original outfit. Either he's got about two dimes and a quarter, or six gold watches and a wad of bills an inch thick. Assuming he didn't blow his entire day's take on whatever it was that made him bite the bullet, of course."

Mulder stared at the alien's host. "What makes you think he's a thief?"

"Instinct." Alex shrugged and grinned. "Think about it, Mulder. If you need some cash quick, what's the best way to get it?"

"You steal it?" Mulder guessed, feeling transported into a different dimension. Welcome to the world of the ruthless survivor. Please check your scruples at the entrance, and take note that we can't guarantee your safety if you have morals to weigh you down.

"Close. Why take risks when you can let someone else do it for you, though? You find a thief, Mulder. A good one at the end of a long and successful working day."

"Of course," Mulder said numbly. "Might have thought of that."

"I propose a limited agreement of trade, Alexander," the suspected thief's voice announced.

No last name, Mulder noted. It called Mulder by title and complete name, but Alex got only the first name. A matter of courtesy-not revealing what Alex regarded classified information? Or an indication that it considered Alex to be of inferior status? But then, Alex didn't have a last name. Of course he knew his parents' name-from the files, if nothing else-but he wouldn't think of himself as part of the family that had betrayed him and cast him out of their midst as a sacrifice to keep the others safe.

"Elaborate," Alex said, his voice every bit as flat as the alien's. He didn't turn around.

"I propose a trade of pertinent information on your motivation in leading the conversation in the demonstrated manner in return for the four hundred and fifty-four dollars that were in possession of this one and are now in mine."

The alien was actively studying human psychology. Mulder also noted that it spoke in the singular, indicating that one alien was very clearly in charge, the other or others merely along for the ride.

"Not acceptable."

Stunned, Mulder stared at Alex. Alex quirked his eyebrows at him before heading for the closet, pulling the duffel out from underneath boxes of crossbow bolts and assorted other weaponry.

Not acceptable? It had sounded like an excellent deal to Mulder. "Alex-"

He tossed the jeans and tee-shirt he'd bought and never worn on the bed and began packing the rest of his clothes with quick efficiency. "They've dug around in my psyche enough, thanks."

That was understandable... but there was something more. Mulder would think about it later; right now, there were other things on his mind.

Mulder wanted Alex to stay, but he was right-the sooner he left, the farther he was from Mulder when the Consortium began to wonder about Kevin Alexander, the better his chances were. Not to mention that Mulder had no idea of how the alien situation would develop, and making Alex stay in the same general vicinity with them would be more than cruel.

The thought of letting Alex walk out of this room and out of Mulder's life was unbearable, but there was no viable alternative. Mulder knew it. He hated it, but he knew it.

He watched Alex with complete concentration, studying the lines of the body beneath the well-cut suit, the perfect angle of his jaw, the dark curve of eyebrow, the way his lashes swept down when he sorted through a small collection of knives, apparently looking for one in particular. The lithe movements, not betraying aftereffects of alien possession anymore. The delicate upwards tilt of the nose that was only visible in profile.

The memories of four days could not possibly be enough to last a lifetime, but it seemed Mulder was not going to be given the choice. He would have to make the most of the time that remained.

Alex grabbed the clothes from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Mulder experienced a bitter pang of regret that he would lose these memories because Alex didn't want to change in front of the alien. Maybe if he followed him, Alex would let him watch.... Maybe he'd let him touch, as well, let Mulder store up some more memories of emerald eyes smoldering with passion, the feel of Alex against him....

Then again, maybe it wasn't the alien that Alex didn't want to see him change.

Mulder turned around aimlessly and his eyes fell on the thief standing in the corner in unnatural motionlessness, his body holding at least two aliens patiently waiting to do business.

"I'll pay you back," Mulder burst out, the idea flashing into his mind full-fledged. "If you give me your-his-the host's money, I'll pay you five hundred dollars even tomorrow." They were unlikely to need money, of course, but the fact that these aliens were very business-oriented might lead them to appreciate a good offer even if they had no actual use for what was being bartered.

The alien considered briefly before bobbing its head in the affirmative. It didn't look down as it slid the scruffy man's hand into an inside pocket of the leather jacket and extracted a packet of bills; not a single muscle except those of the arm executing the motion moved. It was the most inhuman action Mulder had seen the alien perform so far, in this or the previous body. It obviously hadn't practiced this motion.

Mulder accepted the money and walked over to where Alex's duffel waited on the bed, beginning to tuck the bills on top of an expensive cream-colored shirt. A tightly rolled tie stuffed into an edge of the bag shifted, revealing a familiar pattern.

Staring at the bright yellow and green pattern of his favorite tie, Mulder knew that he was once again attempting the impossible. He could not let Alex go. It was inconceivable.

"Mulder?"

"Here." Mulder turned and thrust the alien's money at the man who'd come up behind him without making a sound. "I can't have you ruining the local economy by robbing stores."

Alex's gaze darted towards the duffel and back to Mulder, a wary look passing over his features. Brushing past Mulder briskly, he stowed the shirt and suit pants he'd been wearing on top of his other clothes and shrugged back into the jacket to conceal the gun in his waistband and the knives strapped to his forearms. He'd doubtless have taken a crossbow if he could have figured out how to carry one concealed.

"Thanks," he said then, taking the money.

He was still wearing the bandages. It was conspicuous, but it couldn't be avoided-revealing half-healed wounds that looked precisely like what they were, namely injuries caused by sharp-edged restraints, would be sure to attract even more attention. Alex would have to pass the injury off as a sports accident again, or maybe attempted suicide....

"So. Who's the new persona?"

"This one?" Alex looked down at himself. "He's no one. An anonymous traveler."

Mulder nodded, cleared his throat, and said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"Christ, Mulder, quit acting like your hamster died," Alex snapped. "You've got a steady income you're not afraid to spend, nice taste in clothes, good instincts.... You don't exactly crack mirrors, either, except when you smash them manually. Get over yourself, it won't be that hard to find some other pretty boy to bend over for you."

"Alex."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. Well, find someone with a high tolerance for pain and send them to a foreign language course. You'll see, as soon as you get them in handcuffs and shove them around a little you'll be all set."

He was trying to push Mulder away again. It was a good sign-if Alex needed to push Mulder away, it meant that he'd gotten close in some way. "You're asking me to go to a lot of trouble, Alex. I think I'll just keep you, you're already broken in."

A brief flash of mingled pain and anger passed across the younger man's features. He pressed his lips together and looked to the side, fighting for impassivity.

He felt something. He might not want to, but he felt this connection, too, and that was why he had been running. He had been fleeing his own reaction to Mulder.

Determination surged through Mulder, bringing a familiar clarity of purpose. He straightened unconsciously, narrowing his eyes. Moping wasn't what this situation called for. Mulder had staked his claim on Alex-now it was time to follow through. Alex had to be kept as safe as possible, but he could not be allowed to get away. He had to be given some line, allowed to exert control, feel secure.... But he could not be allowed to get away. Not ever again.

"All right," he said, quiet danger swinging in his tone. "This is what you'll do. You'll leave now. You'll make sure those bastards can't find you. And when you get where you're going, you'll let me know you're still breathing. Got it?"

"Sure, Mulder. Why don't I send you my forwarding address so you can pass it on to all your friends and relatives."

Mulder resolutely pushed the thoughts invading his mind and threatening to distract him aside. There would be a time for this, as well, but it was not now. This was the time to concentrate solely on the man in front of him.

In reference to the man in front of him, the remark was telling. Alex had tried to conceal this truth from Mulder-or rather, what he believed to be the truth in this particular instance. Left to himself, he had never before alluded to Mulder's parentage in any way. It was a topic he avoided scrupulously. He had to be feeling extremely pressured in order to use it to gain an advantage over Mulder.

"It's not open for discussion, Alexander." A strange expression flitted over Alex's face at the use of the long form of his name. Mulder filed it away for later consideration. "I don't care how you do it. I want to know. You're going to let me know you're all right or I will have to look for you myself, and chances are if I find you-when I find you-there are going to be a lot of other people right behind me. Your choice."

"Jesus, sex really messes with your brain chemistry, doesn't it?"

Mulder ignored the sneer curling Alex's lip; it was only another mask he was trying to hide behind. "As soon as it's safe, I want to see you."

Green eyes widened in unfeigned astonishment. "The head witch was right, you are insane."

"That's my favorite tie you've got in your luggage. If you think I'm going to let you keep it indefinitely, you're in for a rude awakening."

Alex was much too close to the end of his rope-it made his emotions almost easy to read. Shock. Anger. Fear... and a trace of something that Mulder decided to believe was longing.

After a long moment, Alex's gaze slid sideways, brushing past the alien quickly. When he looked back to Mulder, a small, ironic twist turned up the corners of his mouth; his voice was strangely tired, almost defeated. "You ever been to the other Weimar, Fox?"

Mulder shook his head thoughtfully. "Nice place?"

"Yeah." He smiled, a shadow of his ironic grin with a hint of warmth showing in the eyes. It was a good try-a very good try-but it was wasted on Mulder. Mulder knew that Alex was lying through his teeth. "Maybe you'd like to see it sometime.... See the sights, do some research on poets and cultural exchange programs, things like that. You know, it really is scandalous how lax the airlines are about customer confidentiality these days-I bet anyone could hack in and look for distinctive names on the passenger lists."

"Alex." Mulder searched his expression carefully. "I don't want to do this if it's going to get you killed. If I am followed everywhere by the Consortium-"

"Oh, that.... No, Fox. No problem." This smile was slow and dangerous. "Believe me. No problem."

This part was no lie, and seeing the dark glitter in Alex's eyes made Mulder extremely uneasy. What had Alex been up to before the aliens had snatched him? No good, that much was certain.... The idea of Alex engaged in legal and unobjectionable activities was contradictory in itself.

Still, Mulder had known exactly what he was getting into. This time, he'd known what Alex was when he'd decided he wanted him. There was darkness there-ruthlessness and violence, expert lies, and purposefully deployed viciousness. There was no moral code, no higher aim, no belief in truth or justice. No conscience. No scruples. He did what had to be done, and he never looked back.

But that was not all there was. There was also courage, strength, and passion, gentleness, protectiveness, vulnerability... innumerable qualities that Mulder would probably never truly understand. He understood enough, though. Mulder no longer regretted the fact that Alex was not the man he might have been. He did not want a hypothetical Alex, a smooth and comfortable fiction with all of the scars, darkness and violence removed and all of the power and spirit, all of the things that made him Alex, remaining. Such a thing was not even conceivable-the qualities that attracted Mulder had been forged in the same furnace that had brought forth the darkness. No, Mulder wanted the Alex he knew, damaged, dangerous and incomprehensible as he was.

Mulder never stopped to ponder rationality or calculate risks when he knew that what he was doing was right. Nothing had ever felt as right as Alex.

Alex broke eye contact and looked down, seeming almost surprised to find that he was holding over four hundred dollars in small, used bills. He tucked the money into an inside pocket of Kevin's jacket and smoothed a hand through his short hair from back to front, making it stand on end. The slightly ruffled look, the impish little grin he suddenly wore and the energetic, enthusiastic bounce in his step as he went to the bed and snatched up the duffel, draping it over his shoulder negligently, made him look about ten years younger. Cute, in an utterly harmless kind of way. Just a kid going to see a little of the world before marrying his girlfriend and settling down into a nice, respectable job and a nice, respectable life.

The decision had been made. This man was Mulder's. He was not getting away-no way in hell. He thought he was walking out of the door and out of Mulder's life, but he was sorely mistaken. It was too late for that. He was never getting away.

"Bye, Fox," the teen breathed close to Mulder's mouth, leaf-green eyes sparkling mischievously.

Mulder caught him by the nape of the neck and pulled him close to brush his lips with his own, holding him near long enough to smell the scent of his skin. He flicked the tip of his tongue over Alex's mouth once, tasting him.

He'd find him again. He was Mulder's.

For a moment, Mulder thought Alex would lean forward the last fraction of an inch and kiss him. Long lashes swept down as Alex's gaze darted to Mulder's mouth, came up again to reveal a new tone of green, an almost aqua shade Mulder immediately stored away with the other memories of Alex that he planned to take out and look at in the nights that would pass before he caught his elusive lover again.

The moment broke. Alex pulled back, collected himself briefly, and then disappeared, slipping from sight behind the face of a jaunty, carefree, and easygoing boy who knew that life was good because experience had shown that all of the cheerleaders and a good many members of the football team would be only too glad to go out with him.

"Have fun," the beautiful stranger admonished Mulder with a cocky, unfamiliar grin, giving the alien a wide berth without seeming to do so as he bounded to the door. It was the first time Mulder had ever known Alex to slam a door.

Mulder only hoped Alex knew what he was doing. For his part, he didn't think there was any chance of anyone forgetting this so-called anonymous traveler. The kid would be propositioned every time he turned around.

"You may be interested to note that among my people, the gift of a mate is considered to be of superior value to the gift of an enemy," the alien commented inflectionlessly.

Mulder would no doubt be very interested in this as soon as he could bring himself to stop worrying that Alex was in no shape to attempt slipping through the Consortium's fingers right now, that he was too close to the edge, too tired, too vulnerable.

"Tell me something." Mulder turned to study the alien narrowly. "Can a being whose genetic pattern is on file be located without alerting anyone, including himself, to the fact?"

Washed-out blue eyes blinked owlishly; the alien considered the question for a moment and then bobbed its head, turning the thief's thin lips up at the corners. "The procedure you suggest is feasible."

Whatever the outcome of Mulder's negotiations with the aliens would be, one thing was certain. Mulder was keeping the introductory gift.