TITLE: "Ensorcelled"
AUTHOR: stormlantern (Hester Dougan)
E-MAIL: stormlantern@my-deja.com
RATING: PG
KEYWORDS: MSR, UST
SPOILERS: "Anasazi", "Biogenesis"
ARCHIVE: I would be honored, by all means do, but let me know where
SUMMARY: Wherein Scully learns that a kiss is not, necessarily, just a kiss
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully, Albert Hosteen, CSM, etc. all belong to Chris 
Carter, Twentieth Century Fox and 1013 Productions. I mean no infringement.
NOTES: I have been advised by that good friend and wonderful writer, Char 
Chaffin, that although this fic draws from previous stories in what I call 
"The Haunted Realm Series", it should be termed a stand-alone since it veers 
off into a totally different direction than did the others. With a nod to 
her wisdom, I think I'll leave this matter for the reader to decide.

By the way, do you believe in fairies?

Georgetown Hospital
9:45 pm
Psychiatric Ward

Fox Mulder, FBI agent, profiler, investigator of the paranormal and, at the 
moment, mental patient, stretched out comfortably on his hospital bed and 
closed his eyes.
Time to die.
But just a little.
Just enough to indulge in a little astral projection.
Just enough to set his spirit free.
Just enough to escape his ailing body and enter the spirit world, where, 
however temporarily, he would be well and whole once more.
Just enough to meet his partner in that world in a secret rendezvous far 
away from the notice and clutches of their enemies.
They had a date tonight.
He marvelled at her, his partner. These "little deaths", as his teacher, 
Indian shaman Albert Hosteen called them, were Mulder's salvation - and she 
knew it, knew that they allowed him respite from the psychic illness he'd 
contracted from an extraterrestrial meteorite, an illness that would have 
buckled his mind and body by now  were it not for an escape such as this.
Good doctor that she was, she knew an effective treatment when she saw one. 
And never in the history of their partnership had she done less than her 
best for him, or allowed him to face peril alone. This circumstance was no 
exception. He marvelled again at her devotion, a devotion so strong that it 
had overcome her skepticism and sent her spirit, under the watchful eye of 
Albert Hosteen, to join with his as together they strode across worlds.
True, that devotion had not yet extended itself to an acceptance of his 
notion that the perfect location to consummate their long-thwarted desire 
was within the spiritual plane itself.
For while Fox Mulder's flesh was, at the moment, weak, his spirit was 
willing indeed.
Dana Scully's, it seemed, was less so.
But she'd come around. Fox Mulder believed this with all of his pent-up 
heart.
Believed it was worth taking this chance.
Worth dying for.
Just a little.

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

The orderly watched the monitor carefully. The patient, a tall, lanky man in 
his forties, was stretched out on his bed, silent, still, his eyes closed. 
It was not the repose of normal sleep, as the patient's readouts indicated 
on a console next to the monitor screen; and the information there sent the 
orderly reaching for a telephone and dialing a certain number.
"Agent Mulder just slipped away, sir," the man said in a low voice. He 
paused, listening. "It's what I told you, sir - like - like he's comatose, 
for minutes, for hours at a time - but afterward he always returns to 
consciousness, alert, rested, no brain damage - no, sir, the doctors have no 
explanation. But he's improved, improved a lot, and they think he may be 
practicing some sort of self-healing -" He paused. "No, sir, not a word. He 
won't tell them anything." Another pause. "No, sir, Agent Scully is nowhere 
in the vicinity. Thank you, sir. I'll keep in touch."
He hung up the phone and swivelled in his chair, his eyes resting once more 
on the monitor. The patient hadn't moved, which suited him fine. Less work 
for him. He liked easy work and even easier money. That phone call had 
netted him two hundred and fifty bucks. Drop a little info, and the check 
was in the mail. Not a bad deal, especially given his crummy salary.
Chewing his gum contentedly, he leaned back and put his feet up on the 
table. Mission accomplished, patient zonked, money in the bank. Might as 
well relax. He settled in his chair and drifted into his usual 
graveyard-shift stupor.

Red Roof Inn
Room 16
10:00 p.m.

"You are tense," said Albert Hosteen, his voice gently chiding. "Remember, 
in order to Spirit Walk successfully, you must put all cares aside. One by 
one they must all fall away, until even your mortal body is left behind and 
your spirit walks free."
His unlikeliest pupil, Dana Scully, shifted uneasily upon the hotel-issue 
kingsize bed and brushed an errant lock of hair away from her forehead. 
"I've just left the Gunmen's," she said without preamble, and sighed. "Byers 
called me and asked me to come to their little hideout. He and the others 
were nearly scared out of their minds. Albert, have you ever heard of 
telekenesis?"
  He grunted. "The ability to move inanimate objects through the power of 
the mind. The kind of ability white men seek." He chuckled at her 
expression, and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "The white man would 
move the stars about if he could," he told her. "This I know."
Scully smiled softly. "Well, and you know Mulder," she said. "It seems he's 
come up with a new...ability, and of course he's been using it."
Hosteen blinked. "Don't tell me -"
"Doors opening and closing, lights turning off and on - but it was the Ouija 
board that did it," Scully related calmly. "The Gunmen were sitting around 
it, asking it..obscene...questions, when its pointer started to move around 
by itself - the way it's supposed to in theory, but never has in practice." 
She cleared her throat. "When it spelled out 'Your Kung Fu is the best' - 
well, that's when they started freaking out."
Hosteen merely stared at her, nonplussed.
"It's sort of a catch phrase with them," she explained wryly. "Anyway, then 
their computers started crashing - Mulder told me that he was trying for a 
more sophisticated mode of communication, but he messed up somehow. That's 
when the Gunmen called me. They thought they had a poltergiest in their 
lair."
Hosteen chuckled. "Amazing. How on earth does he do this?"
"Believe me, I asked him," said Scully. "His first response was "Twarn't 
nuthin'-" She rolled her eyes. "Then when I pressed him, he said he's guided 
by people's minds and given clues by their thoughts as to their location - 
and then there's that memory of his. He's been in the Gunmen's any number of 
times, and since they seldom move anything - or clean, for that matter - he 
was pretty sure where that Ouija board was. After that, he said it was just 
a matter of 'pushing, with finesse'." She threw up her hands. "All the 
explanation I am likely to get, I'm afraid."
Hosteen chuckled again. Scully gave him a wry look and continued. "Well, it 
turns out there IS method to this particular case of Mulder madness - it 
seems he feels that since I'm the only one he's able to communicate with 
telepathically, that we need to find another way to use his...ability...to 
contact our allies in case we need help." She blew out a breath. "And for 
what it's worth, I concur. However, I would have LIKED to have been informed 
of this beforehand, before I had to go to the Gunmen's and encounter a Ouija 
board that spelled out "MARRY ME" and have to explain everything to three 
panicky and incredulous computer geeks." She snorted. "Although it does at 
least explain why, every time I've gone into my bathroom of late, my toilet 
seat's been up. Mulder says it's his way of proposing." She rolled her eyes 
again.
  Hosteen barked out a laugh, then, at her sour look, shook his head. "That 
is indeed what I would call a stressful afternoon. And I understand your 
agitation. Perhaps we should postpone tonight's session? As I said, Agent 
Scully...if you wish to Spirit Walk tonight, you must relax. Do you think 
you can do that?"
Scully was silent for a moment. Then she asked abruptly. "Albert, 
that...Place Mulder and I go to when we...Walk. What is it?"
"I cannot tell you that exactly," was the reply. "None of my teachers knew 
that answer. Perhaps the denizens of the Plane it exists in - what my people 
call the ghost world, or the Haunted Realm - created it. Or perhaps it is 
simply one of the Things That Are. I wish I could answer that question. But 
my knowledge in that area is as limited as my teachers', I'm afraid."
Scully nodded slightly, and stared intently up at the ceiling."WHY does it 
exist?" she demanded.
Hosteen chuckled. "Now I know how your partner feels."
Scully grimaced, then felt a stirring in her mind. Suddenly Mulder's 
thought-voice rumbled pleasantly between her ears. *Tact, thy name is 
Albert.*
"Very funny," was her reply, speaking aloud as was her wont when talking 
with her partner telepathically. She turned to the old shaman where he sat 
in the chair beside the bed. "It's just that I want some answers now, 
Albert. So far I've been doing this all on faith -"
"But faith is why it works," Hosteen said gently. "Faith is your greatest 
gift, Agent Scully."
He was rewarded with a wan smile. "But...I feel...like I'm out of my depth 
here, like..." She looked away and said flatly, "I feel like a character in 
a fairy tale, Albert. Like Alice. I'm out of my depth here, completely out 
of my depth."
*You weren't meant for the shallow end, Scully.*
She smiled, and Hosteen grinned."I can always tell when your partner speaks 
to you," he remarked. "All I can say is that my people tell tales of couples 
like yourselves...'soulmates', we call them. And their lives are never 
typical or easy, and their bond is sometimes difficult to deal with, because 
of its strength. I think if you apply your faith to what you are really 
fearing, that which you will not tell me, then you will find things with 
your partner not so difficult."
Scully frowned. How did this conversation suddenly get so personal? She 
waited for Mulder to make some sort of snide crack, but he was silent, which 
made her even more uncomfortable.
"Hmph," she said at length.
"But those are only tales, and I am only a shaman," Albert finished 
tactfully. "And it grows late. Would you like to try again?"
Scully paused. "Yes," she said finally, softly. "I think it'll be okay now."
Hosteen nodded and lit the incense burner by the bed. The sage incense soon 
filled the tiny hotel room with its soporific fragrance, and Scully felt the 
familiar - pleasant - disorientation as she relaxed into the meditative 
state necessary for her Walk.
"Now," said Hosteen's voice, from very far away, "think of entering that 
Safe Place - a serene, fragrant meadow - and of your partner entering it 
with you. Visualize him now - he will be able to inhabit that visualization 
and manipulate it, as you will be able to manipulate his vision of you. You 
will seem to each other as you know each other, your spirits embodied by 
memories."
Scully's breathing deepened as her spirit stirred within her, anxious to be 
free. Hosteen's spirit stirred also, ready to guide her. He would escort her 
down that mystic Path to the Safe Place, as he had successfully done three 
times before, never completely leaving his body, acting as an anchor for her 
spirit between the worlds.
He could see her now, her spirit walking down the Path, its length shining 
in the Darkness -
-saw her spirit gutter like a candle -
-and go out.
His shamanic instincts sent him hurtling after her, stretching himself 
dangerously thin, reaching, searching -
Nothing.
And Albert Hosteen returned to his body with incredible force and opened 
horrified eyes to his pupil, Dana Scully.
Who still lay on the bed, softly breathing -
He took her pulse, very much alive -
But spiritless.
Her soul lost in the void. Something had happened, something dire -
He grasped the amulet around his neck and began to pray. Prayed that the 
spirits would come and aid her -
And prayed that Agent Mulder, whatever happened, would be there beside her.


The Haunted Realm
Immediately afterward

"Mulder," she tried to say, but she had no voice, no visualized body to push 
the sound outward from a nonexistent throat.
*Scully!*
She had never been able to project her thoughts directly into his 
psychically-enhanced mind - not without speaking aloud -
*Scully. Focus.*
Something shone beside her, a burst of light -
*Scully, I'm right beside you. Focus!*
Scully turned her gaze - or rather, her awareness - toward that brightness.
It was if a lunar eclipse was happening right beside her - a dazzling light 
surrounding a dark, circular core. She gathered up her wits, focused on that 
core and concentrated; thought of her partner, whom she'd worked with for 
six years now, who she saw more of than her own family. A man she knew 
almost as intimately as a lover, who charmed her as thoroughly as he 
exasperated her. Her fellow warrior. Her defender. Her best friend. She 
watched as the core began to change, stretch and become man-shaped, tall and 
lanky, and out of long habit she found herself looking up at where his face 
would be. And suddenly that bright light seemed to lick all over the 
shadow-man, and Fox Mulder stood before her, breathtakingly familiar, the 
light receding into a glimmering aura that surrounded and illuminated him, 
tinged with an anxious, electric blue that matched the diagonal stripes on 
his tie.
His hazel eyes gazed intently at her, and suddenly she was aware of herself, 
of weight and bone, of soft hair brushing against her forehead. She looked 
down at herself to see the dark jacket and skirt she usually wore, high 
heels, her cross necklace -
"Mulder!" she said suddenly, sharply.
"Oh. Sorry," he said in an all-too-casual tone. "Did I forget something?"
She was wearing the Victoria's Secret black lace bra he'd once seen her pull 
out of a suitcase - that and nothing else, beneath the black wool jacket. 
She glowered at him, although she supposed she should be grateful -
- he'd also seen her naked.
"Mulder," she said warningly.
He shrugged and glanced away, and she looked down again at herself. Ah, much 
better. She now wore that pink silk blouse he'd once said he liked.
Although it was more low-cut than she remembered -
"You could always get even, Scully," Mulder said, and she looked up to see 
him flipping his brows at her. "Red Speedos."
She let out a breath. "Mulder..." She looked away from him, into Stygian 
blackness -
- and became forcefully aware of the fact that they stood in an alternate 
universe, in spirit-form, in a nameless, endless void.
"This isn't the meadow," she said flatly.
Mulder shrugged. His nonchalance surprised her. "Of course it isn't," he 
said, his hand closing over hers. "It's the Path that leads to it. Haven't 
you seen it before?"
"No," said Scully. "I've always just sort of awakened in the meadow."
She stared at the Path, shining like silver ribbon, stretching ahead of her 
into immeasurable darkness.
Then she gasped as something suddenly glimmered off to her left - a gossamer 
thread that brightened and lengthened, then ran like a mercurial stream, 
branching off the Path into another direction altogether.
"Is that...another Path?" she asked, awestruck.
Mulder stared at it. "Yeah..." he replied, his voice low and incredulous. 
"Someone - someone just established it. But how -" He broke off as suddenly, 
he stumbled forward.
Scully stared at him in astonishment, then gasped as she, too, was nearly 
jerked off her feet.
"Mulder!" she cried out.
He recovered himself and reached for her - only to stumble forward again.
"We're being - pulled," he grunted as he steadied himself. "Pulled - that 
way."
Scully braced herself against the strange gravity that tugged on her skin, 
her backbone - trying to force her down the new Path. After a moment she 
stumbled and fell to her knees.
"It - felt as if I were being turned inside out," she gasped as her partner 
lifted her to her feet. Disoriented, she clung to him for a moment. He 
paused, made an agonizing decision, and then began to walk forward down the 
new Path, his arm bracing his parner.
"Mulder - what are we doing?" she cried.
"Following it," he said bleakly. "Following it to wherever it leads. It's no 
use, Scully. We're being Summoned."
"What - what do you mean?"
"Someone with occult powers is calling us," he said grimly, and gazed 
quietly into her startled blue eyes. "Ever been to a seance?"
"Not - not recently."
"Well, I know you don't believe in it, Scully, but it's my only explanation 
for what's happening here." He cleared his throat. "I just can't figure out 
who...and why us? I've never heard of this being done to the spirits of the 
living before...unless it's true what they say about doppelgangers..."
  "So we have no choice in the matter?" Scully interjected softly.
  "Apparently not," he replied and gave a hollow chuckle. "I guess now we 
know how a genie feels."
Scully had no reply to this. They kept walking, the eldritch tide tugging at 
them unmercifully -
-until they seemed to turn a corner - the Path twisting beneath their feet -
"Mulder!" Scully clutched at her partner's arm.
The Path had come to an end.
And at that end -
A door.
An ordinary, wooden door.
They stared at it in astonishment as they approached unwillingly, still 
caught in the mystic undertow, that pulled them to that door-
- and through it -
Scully caught the scent of wood polish -
- then incense and tobacco -
- and she and her partner felt their ensorcelled feet slowing and finally 
coming to an abrupt halt, so abrupt that they swayed and clutched each other 
for balance.
The darkness around them was now less dense, with a sense of enclosure 
instead of endless, measureless space. An odd, dancing light shown before 
them, some distance away; at length, Scully was able to ascertain it as a 
fireplace, its flames dancing merrily. Her feet tingled, and she glanced 
downward.
"What's that?" she whispered.
"Containment circle," Mulder replied, gazing in turn down at the simple 
chalk outline. "We're caught."
"Well and truly," came a voice, low, husky and female, from the shadows 
surrounding the fireplace. "And there you shall remain, until I give you 
leave to depart."
The firelight brightened slowly until the owner of the voice was revealed. A 
woman, sitting in a plush chair, her features pale, her hands spread as if 
welcoming them. A soft light glowed from those hands and flickered in her 
eyes, which glittered like candles in the dimness. The room brightened 
further, until it was revealed to be a study, well-appointed and opulent, 
filled with bookshelves and expensive chairs.
And in one of those chairs on the other side of the fireplace -
Scully caught her breath in a stricken gasp.
Mulder cursed softly.
"Good evening, children," said CGB Spender, and took a deep draw of his 
cigarette.
**************************************************continued in part 2

From: Char Chaffin <fncbc@aurora.alaska.edu>
Date: Thu, 04 Nov 1999 14:41:56 -0900
Subject: xfc: NEW, "Ensorcelled", By Stormlantern, (2/5), MSR, PG
Source: xfc

From: Char Chaffin <fncbc@aurora.alaska.edu>

Please send feedback to:
stormlantern@my-deja.com


"Ensorcelled" Part Two - disclaimers in Part One
**********************************************************************

"How could you know?" hissed Mulder, his aura deepening to a sullen red. 
"How could you possibly know?"
"I have my sources, Mulder," said Spender easily, his cigarette glowing in 
the dim light. "And my contacts - many of whom are not available to most 
men." He nodded graciously to the woman on his left. "May I introduce to you 
Madame Titania, one of the world's few true mediums?"
The agents gazed uneasily as the woman, whose snow-white hair gleamed in the 
firelight. Despite her hair color her face seemed - not young, but cold and 
timeless as stone. She gazed at her prey, her hands still open, palms 
upward; slowly, she clenched them into fists. Scully felt cold fingers close 
around her throat -
"Just a warning, little ones," said the woman in a throaty whisper. She 
opened her hands, and Scully found she could breathe again. A trick of the 
mind, apparently, for she was incorporeal, and a spirit needed no oxygen; 
but an effective trick nonetheless. Beside her, she heard Mulder clear his 
throat.
"Does it surprise you, Mulder, that I dabble in the occult?" remarked 
Spender. "Many of the greats have, you know. Houdini. Sir Arthur Conan 
Doyle. Some of our American presidents and their spouses -"
"Hitler," added Mulder snidely.
Spender gazed at his nemesis, his eyes narrowed. Then, abruptly, he snuffed 
out his cigarette. "I regret this, Mulder, I truly do," he said, and rose 
from his chair. Then he hesitated. "Madame, if I could somehow change your 
mind about letting me observe -"
"You will honor our agreement, or I will release them at once," said the 
woman. "I hold my secrets as closely as you hold yours."
Spender nodded. "As you wish," he said brusquely. He glanced at the agents 
and then made his way toward a door at the rear of the study.
"Why?" Mulder flung at him. "Why kill us now?"
Spender paused at the door. "You've been under my control far more than you 
realize, Mulder," he said. "When you finally found a way to leave my sphere 
of influence...that I could not risk." He glanced at the medium. "Madame, 
may they serve you as well as they've served me."
Without another word, he left.
Mulder and Scully, trapped within the containment circle, watched as their 
captor rose from her chair and began to walk slowly around the study, 
drawing chalk diagrams of red, blue, yellow and white on the highly polished 
floor and scattering herbs and powders over her workings.
"What's she muttering - that mumbo-jumbo?" Scully whispered - and gasped as 
motes of light sprang from the woman's fingertips and danced above one of 
her drawings. Mulder tightened his arm around his partner.
"What happens if we step outside this circle?" Scully whispered.
"Don't," Mulder replied. "Just - don't, Scully. Just stay still."
Scully glanced at him. He was gazing intently at the medium and nibbling on 
his lower lip. She turned her gaze to the woman as well - and then noticed 
something odd as the medium knelt to add detail to a drawing: something 
shimmered beneath the woman's bright shawl - some sort of trim or fringe 
perhaps?
Scully felt her partner suddenly stiffen, heard an intake of breath. Then 
his arm pressed her tighter against his side.
"Mulder?" she whispered softly. He did not reply, but turned his head and 
brushed his lips against her forehead.
Scully stared up at him, astonished by his action. He had always been 
tactile, but this hardly seemed the occasion for it. Her mystification 
deepened when he began to rub her back slowly, then squeeze her shoulder, 
then touch her hair.
His actions seemed to interest Madame Titania as well - she kept glancing 
shrewdly in their direction as she worked on her diagrams and chanted 
cantrips, a speculative gleam in her silver-gray eyes.
Suddenly Mulder ran a finger along Scully's jaw, hooked it under her chin, 
tilted her head up -
- and kissed her.
Full on the lips.
Scully gasped.
The medium's cool voice roused her from her shock. "I would hardly call that 
professional behavior, Agent Mulder."
Scully tore her gaze away from her partner and glanced at Madame Titania. 
The medium had reseated herself in one of the chairs by the fireplace and 
was dusting the chalk off her hands. "You are more than partners then?" she 
asked dryly, raising an aristocratic eyebrow.
"Unfortunately, no," said Mulder, his eyes still locked on Scully, his hand 
smoothing her cheek - taking no apparent notice of his partner's poleaxed 
expression.
"No?" asked the medium. "Why, then, do you kiss her?"
"I'm kissing what might have been," Mulder said softly. His face bent closer 
to Scully's, shadows filling its melancholy hollows. "I'm kissing her 
goodbye."
Madame Titania leaned back in the chair and cocked her head, her heavy 
earrings jangling. "In love and yet not lovers," she mused. "Interesting. 
The moon is not yet in position, Mr. Mulder. We have some time yet, if you 
care to purchase it." She paused, then waved a languid hand in their 
direction. "Speak."
And Mulder did.
He told the medium everything, as his partner listened in stunned silence.
Everything.
He told her about his sister's abduction. He told her about the resultant 
destruction of his family. He told her about his lack of purpose in college, 
his lack of passion for life. His recruitment into the FBI.
He told her about Pheobe Green.
About Diana Fowley.
His partnership with Dana Scully.
He oulined their cases, their wins and losses, their enemies, the 
conspiracies lined up against them.
He told about Scully's abductions - both of them. The near-kiss in his 
apartment building hallway. His desperate rescue from an alien ship in the 
depths of Antarctica. Their trials and tribulations since then.
He even told the medium about the theft of Scully's ova - tightening his arm 
around his partner when she stiffened.
Finally he finished, his tale told, his voice spent. Scully stared at her 
partner as perceptions shifted within her. Mulder had told this - stranger - 
things he hadn't even told her.
Why?
"An intriguing tale," pronounced Madame Titania thoughtfully. "The fates 
have indeed been most unkind to two of destiny's children. Ah, well." She 
sat up a little straighter and peered at the study's window. "The moon is 
now in position. Well, Agent Mulder -" She arose and tossed a handful of 
bright powder into the fire. A sweet yet bitter scent began to fill the 
room. "Now you have told your tale and -" she smiled briefly "- had your 
goodbye kiss." She reseated herself in her chair and regarded her captives 
with a cold, proprietory air. "It is time to enact your fates."
Scully couldn't suppress a shiver, and a glance at her partner revealed that 
he, too, was chilled by the medium's merciless tone.
He swallowed and asked quietly, "And what would you have those fates be?"
The medium seem surprised at his question. "I?" She flashed a mirthless 
smile. "I must fulfill my contract with my employer."
"Must you?" said Mulder, his voice even softer.
Madame Titania gazed at him frostily. "We waste time." She waved a hand at 
Scully. "And since my Work with her will require even more time, be even 
more difficult, I shall deal with you first."
"What would you gain by our deaths?" demanded Scully. Much of the previous 
conversation had been an enigma to her, but now she felt she stood on firmer 
ground: she knew how to talk to a would-be murderer.
"Much." The smile bared very white teeth. "To my...people...you are but 
cattle, to be used wisely and effectively. I have great plans for you in 
particular, my dear."
Scully gazed levelly at the medium, while her partner's soft-spoken demeanor 
gave way to anger. "What plans?" he demanded, bristling.
"Have you ever heard of a 'Perfect Vessel', Agent Mulder?"
Scully heard his breath catch again, felt him stiffen. "No," he said softly, 
"you can't -"
"Oh, I can and will. Long have I waited for such as she. The burst of Power 
released from a mortal's demise is always useful - but such from a woman 
who's cheated Death?" A dry chuckle. "I'm afraid it is simply too tempting 
for me to resist."
Scully stared at her, thunderstruck.
"Cheated -"
- what?
"No," said Mulder again. His aura flared like a sunburst. "I'll fight you."
The medium chuckled again. "You do have remarkable talents, Agent Mulder - 
but talents unseasoned and untrained. I don't believe," she added, her voice 
suddenly thoughtful, "that even my employer knew of your true potential. 
This may alter things -"
"I'll fight you," Mulder repeated, taking a step forward. "With everything I 
have."
"Foolish child, I could snuff you out like a candle," said the medium 
dismissively. "But to do so, admittedly, would be in voilation of my 
contract with my employer, who delineated the form of your demise quite 
specifically. I sense you wish to bargain. What do you propose?"
"I'll surrender if you let her go."
"Mulder!" Scully said sharply.
"Done." Madame Titania clapped her hands. The sound seemed to lock Scully's 
jaws together, and her protests died in her throat. "I can waste no more 
time." She clapped her hands again, and the diagrams on the floor began to 
glow. "Now. Be aware, Agent Mulder, that my employer, Mr. Spender, is not 
without...mercy." A corner of the dour mouth turned upward. "He did not 
particularly wish you dead."
Mulder gazed at her quietly.
"No, not dead," the medium continued. "But out of the way. Less troublesome. 
In short, he wanted you immobolized, and we thought of a particularly 
creative way to do it. Are you aware that he has an extensive private art 
collection? He is especially fond of statuary. Step into the circle, if you 
please, Agent Mulder."
She pointed to a chalk circle on the floor to Mulder's left, a circle that 
suddenly flared with light.
As the meaning of the medium's words sank in, Scully saw a tremor run 
through her partner's body. Her own mind began to gibber with panic and 
disbelief - no - she can't - no-one can do that - But she was gripped with a 
terrible fear.
Actual occult powers, telepathy, telekenesis, astral projection - was 
anything impossible anymore?
Mulder cast a forlorn glance at his partner, then glared at the medium, his 
fists clenching and unclenching.
"Come, child. The spell's potency is at its zenith. The more potent it is, 
the more quickly it will work, and the less you will suffer."
Scully felt a stirring in her mind.
*Escape if you can. Don't endanger yourself.*
Her panic overcame whatever spell was upon her, and she cried out -
"MULDER!"
- as he stepped into the circle.
"NO!"
Scully lunged and hit an invisible barrier, hot, searing - but after a 
flinch she hit it again, hard, her arm outstretched toward him - it hurt 
like hell, it didn't matter -
"Scully, STOP!" Mulder turned toward her. "You're only hurting yourself -"
Then he doubled over as the transformation hit.
Madame Titania closed her eyes and reached for the energies needed to 
complete her task. She had used the inexorable gravitational pull of the 
moon to draw her victims here; now she used the very bones of the earth 
itself to transmutate her subject from incorporeal spirit to living flesh -
- fetching his body from that hospital room, for incorporeal spirit was an 
element opposite from earth, where flesh was not -
- rebinding spirit to flesh, then turning flesh to solid earth, to stone, 
the petrification beginning at the victim's feet and moving upward.
"Other subjects of this spell have troubled to pose themselves, Mr. Mulder," 
she informed the victim, her voice disapproving. "This is for posterity, 
after all, as well as for punishment."
Mulder straightened and hurled an epithet at his tormentor -
- then fell silent.
The transformation was complete, and the medium rose wearily from her chair 
and approached the subject to examine her work.
"Famous last words," she remarked dryly, and touched the cheek of the 
melancholy sculpture.
Still warm, the texture was nonetheless solid and unyielding, all color 
leached away, the resultant hue the pallor of moonlight. The medium spared a 
glance at the victim's partner, who had fallen to her knees within the 
containment circle.
"There's no cause to take on so, Agent Scully," she responded coolly to the 
woman's cries. "He is not dead. Far from it."
"Then undo what you've done."
She ignored the furious whisper and began to circle the statue, examining 
it, pleased to note that every hair, every crease of clothing, was perfectly 
rendered. No crude marker this. "It is an old, old spell," she murmured, as 
if to herself. "Commissioned by kings who wished for more from their 
conquered foes than their lands and thrones. Their pride. To be conquered 
was misery enough; to be forced to serve as ornamentation, as a trophy, in 
the palace of one's conqueror was a humiliation too exquisite to bear. Yet 
in this form, bear it they must. You might keep this in mind, Agent Scully, 
if ever again you see ancient sculptures in some dusty museum. There may be 
more there than meets the eye." She finished her examination and knelt by 
the statue's feet. Pulling a stick of chalk from a voluminous pocket, she 
began to draw the bare bones of a charm on the polished hardwood floor.
"What are you doing?" demanded Scully, her voice rising in anger.
"There's been a change in plans," came the calm reply.
Scully watched, raging at her helplessness as the woman continued drawing. 
She stared at the stark, still figure that had once been her partner, 
ice-gray, silent and beautiful, and fought down the frightened sob that rose 
in her throat.
At length the medium arose and dusted off her hands. She stepped back, 
careful not to trod on her workings, and reached into another pocket. 
Whatever she pulled out of it glistened like salt crystals; she tossed it 
over the workings and they glowed immediately with phosphorescent light.
"Locked within that stone is a powerful consciousness," remarked the medium, 
again as if to herself. "Perhaps, after letting it age and cure a bit, 
another mage might crack the figure open and make use of what was left." She 
circled the statue again, tossing more powders over the drawings. "But I 
have not the time for that. Indeed, my patience is entirely at an end."
She turned to the young woman in the containment circle, meeting her 
panicked grief with an icy calm. "Now I have a question for you, Agent 
Scully:
"Have you ever heard of the Great Dragon, He that is mentioned in your Book 
of Revelations?"
Keep her talking, Scully thought. "Yes...I've heard of it."
"The Dragon features largely in several world tales of doom, actually; he 
heralds the end of the world as he falls from the sky. A portent, an omen, 
or a vehicle of destruction, what have you; even in the stories of MY people 
he is a figure of demise, an avatar of evil unless slain by one of equal 
good. Oh, do not look so skeptical, Agent Scully. Long ago dragons did 
indeed exist, although they were not quite as tales have made them. They 
were never creatures made up out of whole cloth, but conjured." The medium 
cocked her head at the young woman. "You realize, of course, that evil does 
not actually exist as a separate power, a separate entity, despite your 
Church's teachings? Evil is good perverted, converted, good gone bad. Simple 
as that. In other words - Satan does not in fact exist. Yet." She touched 
the statue.
Scully watched in horror as the stony facade cracked, splintered and 
crumbled into shards that clattered at her feet. She looked in stunned  
dismay at what crouched within the remains of what had been her partner.
"Have you ever seen an unfettered demon, Agent Scully?" The cold voice had 
an amused edge to it. "Behold the potential of all men, once the soul, God's 
shackle, is removed."
The thing squatted in its shattered nest, black and glittering. Scully drew 
away, disbelieving -
- but she knew, she knew -
- even as it grew, taller, wider -
- wings flaring as they dried.
"I tire of the human race." She barely heard the medium's voice through the 
roaring of panic in her ears. "I tire of the violence, the waste - did you 
know your Mr. Spender told me he was going to save the world? I have meant 
many such 'saviors' through the centuries, Miss Scully. None, and 
particularly Mr. Spender, is the force of good, the prince, needed to slay 
this Dragon. And so it goes nowadays. All is greed and power. Let it end, 
let me make an end. Let the Dragon fall, and war begin."
Scully watched, shaking, as the study door opened - she saw blue sky and 
pale cloud through that opening, saw the thing turn toward it -
no, it's not him, I have faith, I have faith in him -
The medium turned to her. "You will note that I have not broken my promise. 
I shall not hurt you."
She turned to the Dragon. "Devour her."
The creature snatched the woman up in its talons.
Madame Titania watched detachedly as the creature mumbled over its repast. 
The stage was set, the players cast - they would play their roles as they 
willed, according to their true nature. The Dragon would take flight through 
the Door and into mayhem, once it got its first taste of innocent blood, the 
miasma of spells around it igniting like sparks on tinder once fang meant 
flesh.
For a flickering instant, like lightning on cloud, Madame Titiana saw 
monster and woman disappear -
- saw a tall, lanky man cradling a tiny woman in his arms -
- then saw him become a monster again.
A monster who uttered a gutteral phrase at her and then leaped through the 
Door and vanished.
Taking the Perfect Vessel with it.
Titania stood staring at the empty Door, the empty room and the remains of 
Agent Mulder's statue, the Dragon's roar still ringing in her ears.
She was not yet sure what had happened, but she knew one thing quite well.
The words "Up yours, lady," appeared nowhere in the Book of Revelations.

***************************************************continued in part 3

From: Char Chaffin <fncbc@aurora.alaska.edu>
Date: Thu, 04 Nov 1999 14:46:34 -0900
Subject: xfc: NEW, "Ensorcelled", By Stormlantern, (3/5), MSR, PG
Source: xfc

From: Char Chaffin <fncbc@aurora.alaska.edu>

Please send feedback to:  
stormlantern@my-deja.com


"Ensorcelled" Part 3 - disclaimers in Part 1
**********************************************************************
Washington, D.C.
5:30 a.m.

The black dragon flew slowly over an unsuspecting earth and ruminated on the 
vagaries of Fate.
Shit.
This could only happen to him.
Well, that wasn't necessarily true - he'd encountered other people, during 
the course of his work, who could turn into things: werewolves, aliens, 
shapechangers, demons -
But this was different, he thought disgruntledly. An entirely different 
matter.
Hell, not only had he been magically transformed into some sort of 
apocalyptic demon-creature, but here he was flying -
FLYING.
Scared shitless and flying.
Which proved, if anything, that thinking happy thoughts had little to do 
with successful aviation.
Mary Martin he wasn't - he was Fox Mulder, reluctant dragon, and visions of 
ice cream, candy and Christmas weren't exactly what was keeping him buoyant 
here.
Fear was. That, and not-so-happy thoughts of John Denver, Patsy Cline and 
the Hindenberg.
Screw you, Peter Pan.
A feathered missile suddenly came at him out of nowhere, fasting than a 
speeding bullet -
He dodged it cursing.
Christ, he'd already killed three birds that got in his way.
And he'd thought bugs on the windshield were bad.
He'd had no idea, really, when he leaped through that conjured doorway, 
where he was going and what he was doing - beyond trying to escape, any way 
he could.
Which figured.
Hell, he'd sucked as a human being, it figured he sucked as a dragon too.
Could have been worse though - he'd actually BE a dragon, inside and out, 
the Great Dragon, if it weren't for the precious burden he now clutched 
gently in his talons -
- his human credential.
Who was being awfully quiet, come to think of it -
"Scully!" he cried in sudden fear. "Scully, talk to me!"
Then he gagged as the wind shoved his words right back down his throat. 
Damn!
He coughed, then switched to telepathy. *Scully! Are you all right?*
"I'm okay," came her muffled voice from underneath him someplace.
Whew. What a goddamn relief.
He could feel her, lying snugly in his cupped talons, pressed lightly 
against his belly.
He was tempted to crane his now-considerable neck down, to take a peek at 
her.
He tried - and immediately began to wobble.
Oops. Eyes on the road, Mulder.
Both hands on the wheel.
He ducked and swerved as yet another bird came at him, missing him by 
inches. Scully squeaked. Then another came -
Jesus, that was close.
Get outta here, you goddamn geese.
Go back to Canada, where you belong.
He tried to calm himself by thinking of Scully, pressed up against him down 
there.
Ahh, now THERE was a happy thought...
She felt warm there, so warm...
Soft...
Feminine...
The thoughts brought a thrill twitching over his hide and, to his 
astonishment, a puff of smoke from his nostrils.
The warmth continued to spread over him, flickering across his belly - uh, 
oh - something was happening -
- oh, god -
- OH, NO -
>From underneath him came Scully's awed voice: "Oh, my God, Mulder."
He began to laugh, helplessly.
"That's really going to cut into your wind resistance."
Oh, God, Scully, no - He began to laugh harder. This was too much, even for 
him. This was just too fucking unbelievable.
What a time to get aroused.
Shit.
They were both laughing now, nearly hysterical, probably certifiable. The 
way he looked at it, they were both just a little too scared, a little too 
tired, and just a little too stressed from trying to survive the impossible.
Finally Scully spoke again. "I'm not saying I'm not impressed, Mulder, but 
I'd be a lot happier if it were landing gear."
Mulder stopped laughing.
Landing - ?
Damn.
He hadn't THOUGHT of that.
But trust his partner to catch what he missed. "Mulder...?"
He tried to think of something to say, something reassuring.
And failed.
"Mulder...if you don't know how to land, how are you flying?"
*Scully - have you ever heard the story about the centipede?*
"Centipede?"
*About how someone asks this centipede how he manages to walk with all those 
legs, and he thinks about it, and never moves again?*
"...oh."
Silence.
"...sorry."
*I'm just flying on instinct here, Scully. Just letting this bod do its 
thing.*
She didn't reply, and Mulder, despite his warning to her, immediately began 
to think about landing.
He couldn't help it.
It was like trying NOT to think about a white elephant.
He thought about the nature films he'd seen on TV - eagles, hawks, vultures, 
big birds, landing gracefully on branches, rocks, whatever.
But then there were other birds.
Seagulls.
Albatrosses.
Gliding in at breakneck speed and landing, not-so-gracefully, smack on their 
bellies and, likely as not, crashing into various inanimate objects.
He'd laughed his head off when he'd seen that - birds crashing into each 
other, flipping over onto their backs, skidding across the landscape on 
their faces, etc.
Not so funny now, was it, smartass?
Well, be that as it may, he was going to have to do something - find a way 
to land, try to get help, if help was possible for his condition -
- no, it HAD to be possible, if spells could be cast, they could be broken, 
right?
"Mulder, where are we?"
Hmm. Good question. He glanced down an the landscape WAAYYY down there.
After a moment he sent: *Scully, I swear to God, it looks like we're flying 
over D.C.*
Huh. Well, it figured - if one was going to trigger the Apocalypse, then the 
capitol of the United States was the logical place to do it.
Oh, crap - here came another goose -
Which, to his surprise, veered off, turned, and began to circle just ahead 
of him.
"Hank, hank," it said.
Wasn't that supposed to be "honk"?
"Hank, hank," it said again, and he swore to God it was looking at him.
Thoughtfully, he banked and turned, following the goose as it spiraled 
downward.
Then it began circling again, and Mulder looked down into the circle of air 
it was forming.
Lot of people down there -
Scattered trees, little buildings, bright colors.
Smells.
Smells of food, liquor, greasepaint and sweat mixed with unusual fabrics - 
sweaty velvet, sweaty silk, sweaty satin -
Sounds of hammered dulcimers -
*Hey, Scully, ever been to a Renaissance Festival?*


Red Roof Inn
Room 16
6:30 a.m.

Albert Hosteen released the mind of the goose and sagged back into his 
chair.
He'd felt badly about pulling the bird away from its migratorial course with 
winter so near, but he'd had little recourse.
He Watched it as it made its way successfully back to its flock, then  
reached for a Kleenex to mop his forehead.
He glanced at the empty hotel bed beside him.
Agent Scully's body had disappeared from it two hours ago, right before his 
disbelieving eyes.
Magic that could do THAT -
He'd tossed his amulet onto the indentation her body had left on the 
mattress, and that had enabled him to follow her spirit enough to sense its 
location -
- to sense the transformation happening to Mulder -
- to feel them leaving the ghost world and re-entering this one.
Thankfully, Mulder had responded to his guidance as enacted by the goose, 
and would be landing in a relatively safe area. Once where his - appearance 
- would cause relatively little outcry.
Except, maybe, from delighted children.
Even more importantly, Hosteen had an old friend working at that Festival, 
one better acquainted with the type of magic that had affected so incredible 
a transformation.
Hosteen suspected he knew what type of magic it was - but felt ill-equipped 
to deal with it. It was very old and very foreign compared to the Power he 
used -
The phone rang, and the shaman stared at it. After some hesitancy, he picked 
up the receiver.
"Mr. Hosteen? This is John Byers. Is - Is Scully there?"
"She is...indisposed," said Hosteen carefully.
Byers hesitated. "Um...well, we...we think we're supposed to meet Mulder and 
her someplace."
"You think?"
"Yes."
Hosteen thought for a moment. "Where?"
"At the Renaissance Festival. Are you acquainted with -"
"Yes. And how do you know -"
"We think...we think Mulder's...um...did Scully tell you about 
Mulder's...new method of communication?"
"...yes."
"Well, we think he's drawn us a map." Byers cleared his throat. "See, we 
have this Etch-A-Sketch..."


Renaissance Festival
King's Glade Section
7:30 a.m.

Byron Elsfelder believed in fairies.
And elves.
And trolls.
And of course, dwarves.
He was adamant and fervent in his beliefs, even for a "Rennie".
Not all employees of Renfests believed in such things. Many were simply 
intent on eking out a living from their unconventional occupations.
But Byron believed in the Renfests as a lifestyle. In the chivalric code as 
a mode of model behavior. In the myths and magic as a substitute for the 
more mundane, more commonly accepted religions.
Oh, and he also believed in dragons.
Until he actually saw one - and felt his belief evaporate like spit on a hot 
sidewalk.
That couldn't POSSIBLY be real.
He ducked behind a tree and stared at the creature inhabiting that part of 
the Festival grounds known as "The King's Glade".
It was black, with glittering scales - black all over, except for odd  white 
patches at the wrists and base of the neck. It was maybe forty feet long - 
the tail taking up quite a bit of that length. It had ridges and frills and 
horns and crests. Its head was a cross between a horse's and a crocodile's - 
long-snouted, with a rather full lower lip.
Its eyes glowed with an amber light.
And it had wings - which it seemed to be having some difficulty with, as 
they didn't seem to fold properly. As the creature fumbled with them, an 
impression came to Byron's mind of a flustered man trying unsuccessfully to 
close two big, black, blown-out bumbershoots.
He then saw a petite, redheaded woman step out from behind the dragon and 
reach for one of the wings.
"Here," she said, and with much tucking, folding and bending of the proper 
joints she managed to help close one of the wings.
Byron peered closely at her as she worked on the other wing. To his 
disappointment, her ears were rounded, not pointed.
Then she began to pace back and forth in front of the creature, talking to 
it. Byron couldn't catch everything, but she seemed to be saying the word 
"impossible" a lot.
Well, a lot of people talked to their pets, Byron thought, a little numbly. 
He'd pretty much decided that the dragon was real. No way it could be a 
hologram - not after that woman touched it. No way it could be animatronic - 
no cables. And it couldn't be a Muppet - the mouth didn't flap enough.
Then the woman did an unexpected thing. She turned to the dragon, wrapped 
her arms around its neck as best she could, and buried her face in its 
chest.
Even at that distance, Byron could tell that she was crying.
As for the dragon, it, too, was acting unexpectedly. It was making low, 
rumbling noises that sounded suspiciously like - talk? Words?
It hadn't occured to Byron that it could talk, that such a creature was 
capable of human speech. But apparently it was, for he caught a name being 
repeated by the creature, over and over - "Sally?" "Callie?" It wasn't 
clear. And then the creature would reach out with a wing, then withdraw it, 
then a foreleg, then withdraw it - wanting to comfort, it seemed, but 
perhaps afraid of inflicting injury.
"I want you back the way you were," the woman was saying through her sobs. 
"I want you *back*."
Byron strained forward to hear the dragon's replies more clearly, and then 
he did it.
Just like on "Scooby Doo".
He stepped on a twig.
CRACK.
Instantly, he darted back behind the tree, losing sight of woman and 
monster, hoping that if he couldn't see them, then he, too, would remain 
unnoticed.
Silence.
"We know you're there. He can smell you." The woman's voice was utterly 
devoid of tears. "You're a young man, early twenties, you're sweating quite 
a bit, and you had a Scotch Egg for lunch."
Byron swallowed.
"And beer. Lots of beer."
Byron wished he had some now.
"If you don't show yourself, he'll come looking for you."
Byron cringed, gathered up his courage, and stepped around the tree in plain 
sight.
The redhead gazed at him calmly, her eyes dry. The dragon glowered at him, 
clenching and unclenching its foretalons.
Byron got the idea that the dragon didn't trust him.
The woman continued to gaze at him coolly. Then she glanced up at the 
dragon, who turned its amber eyes on her.
"He won't hurt you," said the woman abruptly. She returned her gaze to 
Byron. "And we need your help."


Renaissance Festival
The Bramblewood
8:00 a.m.

Byron led his two new friends along a circuitous path to their agreed-upon 
destination. It was the long way around, but also more hidden than the usual 
route, through forest and underbrush. That was important, under the 
circumstances.
They'd told him quite a story. Wow. FBI agents. Investigating the 
paranormal. Cool.
Wait'll Esme saw them. The dragon had asked him if there was anybody here at 
the Fest who could do magic. Byron hadn't known what to say. There were 
plenty of magicians -
"Let's put it this way," the dragon had said mildly. "Is there anyone here 
whom you *suspect* can do magic? REAL magic?"
Oh, that. Well. That's when he told them about Esme, or rather, Lady 
Esmerelda Rainboldt, Soothsayer and HerbWitch. She told fortunes and sold 
potions in the north end of the Fell Forest section of the Festival grounds. 
She was very popular - and very accurate in her predictions. One of her 
potions had cured Byron of bronchitis in one day. Nothing he'd ever bought 
at the drugstore had done that.
The woman - Scully - had looked skeptical, but the dragon, after thinking a 
moment, had said: "What the hell. Lead on, Byron."
And so he did.
As they walked, the woman and the dragon chatted to each other - quite a 
bit. Byron was content to listen to them as they followed behind them, and 
made no attempt to join in the conversation. Being talked to by something 
that big and with those teeth - well, once had been enough, really, thank 
you very much.
As they strode through the Bramblewood, Byron heard:
"Shit. Wait up a moment, Scully. That damn tail keeps catching on things."
Then as they walked around the midden:
"Scully? Am I...hideous?"
"No, Mulder." A tolerant sigh. "You're a very handsome dragon."
"Oh, yes? You think so?" The dragon's voice grew playful. "You into leather, 
Scully?"
"No." Flatly. "And you?"
"Didn't use to be. Right now, actually, I'm looking to get out of it."
"Ha ha."
Then, as they pushed through some underbrush to pass into the Lord Duke's 
Fairway:
"Mulder, what are you thinking about?"
"Not what YOU'RE thinking I'm thinking about."
"Oh, my God...Mulder..."
"What? What's the matter?"
"It's just that...you've always had this incredible leer... but NOW..."
"Oh, then the six-inch fangs do add a little something?"
"...rather. Seriously, what are you thinking about?"
"Oh, I'm just worrying. Worrying that I won't get changed back, that I'll 
have to stay this way...worrying that I might step on you - so what else is 
new..."
"If you're going to make short jokes, Mulder, I'm out of here."
"Don't say that even in jest, Scully."
"Who's jesting?"
Then, as they cut across the Shire and headed toward the Fell Forest:
"You know, Scully, this has possibilities."
A sigh. "What, Mulder?"
"I could really get even with ol' Cancerman now."
A snort. "What are you wanting to do, Mulder? Eat him?"
"Oh, gag me. What a revolting suggestion."
"Sorry."
"I can't even watch you do an autopsy."
"Sorry." Another sigh. "What *did* you have in mind?"
"I could make like Godzilla." Byron heard the dragon thump the ground; the 
vibration made him stumble. "You know. Stomp him. Squash him. Flatten ol' 
Smokey into a nicotine patch."
"Forget it, Mulder."
"C'mon, Scully, it could work out. You could tell the cops that I'm an 
abused circus animal. Maybe we'd get on 'When Animals Attack'."
"Mulder, you'd probably end up in a lab someplace getting experimented on."
"Oops, forget it then. Been there, done that."
Byron cleared his throat. "Ummm...we're here...guys."

**************************************************Continued in Part 4

From: Char Chaffin <fncbc@aurora.alaska.edu>
Date: Thu, 04 Nov 1999 14:49:54 -0900
Subject: xfc: NEW, "Ensorcelled", By Stormlantern, (4/5), MSR, PG
Source: xfc

From: Char Chaffin <fncbc@aurora.alaska.edu>

Please send feedback to:
stormlantern@my-deja.com


"Ensorcelled" Part 4 - disclaimer in Part 1

**********************************************************************
They  halted outside a tiny, Tudorish hut. It was painted in white, red and
china 
blue. A sign reading "Lady Esmerelda, Soothsayer and HerbWitch - Good For 
What Ails You" hung above the door.
It was still early morning; the Festival had not yet opened. But smoke came 
out of the hut's tiny chimney, and lantern-light flickered through its 
windows.
Byron turned to the woman and the dragon. "I'd...better talk to her first."
The woman and the dragon nodded.
Byron entered the hut. Several minutes passed.
Then Byron reappeared leading a tiny, old woman dressed in a brightly 
patched dress and a cloak with a hood. She clutched a big leather book in 
her arms.
Scully felt Mulder tense as the woman stopped in her tracks and looked up at 
him.
Then she circled him, examining him closely. Byron watched her anxiously 
and, at length, spoke up.
"Is - is it real, Esme?"
"Of course it's real, Byron," said the woman condescendingly. She eyed 
Scully for a moment, then put down the book, placed her hands on her hips 
and looked up at Mulder. "Can you speak?" she demanded.
"Woof," said the dragon, mildly.
The woman was unfazed, much to Scully's surprise - although she did crack a 
grin. "Hmph," she said. "Thought so." She picked up the book and began to 
flip through its pages. "Let's see now..."
The dragon turned its head away. "We've got company," it said.
Scully heard a voice filter through a nearby clump of trees. "Damn it, 
Frohicke, you keep jiggling that thing and it'll erase itself!"
The Lone Gunmen - and Albert Hosteen - stepped into the clearing, bickering. 
Frohicke was holding an Etch-A-Sketch carefully - not carefully enough for 
Byers, apparently, as he kept scolding him about it, and trying to steady it 
with his own hands. Hosteen was arguing with Langley, and Scully caught a 
fragment of the conversation - "I keep telling you, Langley, that I will 
not. Spirit-Walking is not a thrill ride -"
Then the group halted and fell silent as they spotted Scully.
And Mulder.
"Holy shit," said Frohicke. "I need a drink."
"Hi, guys," said the dragon weakly.
It took Scully several minutes to bring the group up to speed - and she was 
relieved to find that Hosteen had done his best to brief the Gunmen 
beforehand. Explaining Mulder's telepathic gift to the trio had been 
difficult enough...
"So...now what?" asked Langley, looking up at the dragon uneasily. 
"How...how do we change him back?"
"With a kiss," said Esme calmly. "That's how."
The others look dumbfounded. Langley looked stricken.
"Oh, from her, boy!" Esme scolded him impatiently, and gestured at Scully. 
"From her, of course!"
"What?" exclaimed Scully. "What are you talking about?"
The old lady shrugged. "That's how such a spell was always broken - back in 
the old days." She patted the pages of her book. "Says so right here."
"A book of fairy tales?" said Scully.
"A book of true tales, young woman," said Esme sternly, and inclined her 
head at the dragon. "That's a classic spell, that is, and there's only one 
way to render it ineffective. It worked for the Frog Prince. For the Swan 
Princess. For the Beast. Why wouldn't it work for him?"
Byron, the Gunmen and Hosteen looked thoughtful at this, and then began 
casting surreptitious glances at Scully. Her jaw dropped, then she closed 
it, thrust out her chin and folded her arms across her chest. "This is the 
twentieth century. This is reality. 'The Frog Prince' indeed!"
"Medicine is often difficult to swallow, dearie," was the placid reply. "But 
that's my prescription; take it or not."
"She cured my bronchitis," Byron piped up.
Scully glowered at him.
The dragon rumbled, "I don't know, Scully, she -"
"Mulder, for heaven's sake, this is nonsense!" Scully snapped. "Those - She 
gestured at the book the woman held. "Those are nursery tales! Bedtime 
stories!"
"Bedtime stories?" Esme laughed. "Tales full of blood and killing and 
amputations and devourings? Do you really think, my dear, that people made 
up such things to tell their babies while tucking them in at night? Ignorant 
they were, back in those days - but no more sadistic or cruel than the 
parents of today. Those tales are the way they are because they're true, and 
them that wrote them down - those Grimm boys - learned 'em from the 
descendants of those that saw those stories happen. In the old days - the 
ancient days -" Esme shook the book for emphasis - " the days when magic 
ruled."
"Albert, what do you say?" asked the dragon.
"Esme is an old colleague of mine," said Hosteen slowly. "She is as much a 
master of Power in her way as I am in mine. I would not discount her advice. 
In my experience, it is seldom so freely offered."
"Got THAT right." Esme slapped her leg. "A woman's got to make a living." 
She glanced at Hosteen. "Doesn't it kill you, Albert - it's the fake ones 
that make all the money."
Hosteen chuckled. "Too true."
"This is ridiculous," Scully said again.
"What have you got to lose?" said Byron, and shrugged when she glowered at 
him again.
Then she relented. "Well..." She gazed up at the impossible creature before 
her. It looked down at her morosely.
"Not the way I wanted it either," it muttered. "But...if there's a chance 
it'll work..."
"Okay," sighed Scully. "Okay."
The creature lowered its head, and before Scully could stop herself, she 
blurted it out.
"No tongues," she said firmly.
The dragon paused. Then it grinned.
Scully stared. Those teeth -
- oh, god -
She looked away.
"Sorry," said an all-too-familiar, puppydog voice, and Scully sighed again.
She tried not to look too closely at the muzzle in front of her face, tried 
to imagine Mulder as a man, as himself, her partner, her friend, who got her 
into these impossible situations -
- who had once said he loved her.
A rush of sudden emotion quickened her heartbeat, and tears filled her eyes 
-
- she had to believe that this would work, she had to have faith, it HAD to 
work -
She felt warm, hard skin against her lips, and then a fearful shattering -
Felt something collapse around her -
Then something fell on top of her -
She opened her eyes and saw him, a shadow against the light -
She was on the ground, with a man atop her, and she looked up into his face 
- Mulder's face -
- his human face.
A surge of astonishment and joy shot through her -
- then sudden dismay as she looked into his eyes.
Something fiery and not quite human burned in those eyes.
And he wasn't stopping.
He was pulling at her shirt, and had it halfway off in a trice. She gasped 
as he tugged at her bra.
She heard Esme shout, "You men! Pull him off her! Quick! Quick!"
"Mulder!" she gasped - and watched as the fire faded from his eyes, and they 
became human again.
"Scully -" he murmured, and yanked his hands back in dismay. Then the Gunmen 
and Hosteen were on him, and they pulled him off her and away.
Esme gave Scully a hand up, then gazed shrewdly at the distress in the young 
woman's eyes. She glanced at Hosteen and nodded significantly.
"Come dear," she said to Scully, and nudged her. "You and I should talk. In 
here."
Still half-stunned, Scully let herself be led into Esme's hut. Out of the 
corner of her eye she saw Hosteen lead Mulder away, and saw her partner look 
back at her with worried eyes.
The inside of the hut was warmly lit and very clean. Bottles and jars filled 
the shelves along the walls, and a sweet herbal fragrance filled the air.
"Tea, dear?" asked Esme as she waved her guest to a chair. "It's chamomile."
Scully sat down heavily. "Please." She felt exhausted.
Esme served the tea in ceramic cups and then sat in a chair across from her 
guest. She took a deep draught of her own tea and eyed the young woman 
kindly.
"It's not as it seemed, you know."
Scully waved a hand and swallowed her tea. "He - wasn't himself," she said 
vaguely. "And...he-he likes me." She flushed.
"He wasn't acting out of body-hunger alone," the old woman said gently. "He 
was instinctively trying to complete the transformation."
Scully stared at her. "But..but he's...he's human again, he's..." She 
faltered and stopped.
"You saw his eyes. So did I," said the soothsayer. "It's still there. Still 
in him. Underneath. Lurking. It will always be there, to some degree, I'm 
afraid."
"Oh my God," Scully whispered, her knuckles whitening as her hands gripped 
the teacup. "What - What can we do?"
"I...think you know, dear."
Scully blinked at the old woman. "What..?"
"A kiss...is only the beginning of the breaking of such spells, you see," 
the old woman smoothed her dress thoughtfully. "To completely change a 
person, my dear, takes a lifetime."
Scully gaped at her. Then she swallowed and whispered, "What are you 
saying?"
"I'm saying...that a kiss did indeed make your friend human again. But it 
will take many more such kisses, for the rest of his life, to keep him that 
way." The old woman folded her hands and rested them on her lap. "Otherwise 
the spell will relapse."
"No...that can't be..." Scully gulped and put her teacup down shakily on a 
small table nearby. Then she put her head in her hands.
"Why do you think those tales always ended in marriage?" The herbwitch 
shrugged. "It was the only acceptable way, in those days, that the necessary 
kisses could continue. You do have an advantage over the girls in the tales, 
you know. They barely knew their husbands. You've known your friend for some 
years, have you not?"
Scully nodded, her face still covered.
"Well, and does the young man love you?"
"...yes." Very small voice.
"And do you accept his love?"
Scully lifted her head and stared down at her spread hands. An eternity 
seemed to pass...and then she clenched them. "Yes," she murmured. "But -" 
She looked at the soothsayer. "But Christ, Esme - it's not that simple!"
"Yes, times have changed," Esme sighed. She poured them both more tea. "The 
girls in those tales did what they did out of a sense of duty more than 
anything else: that's the way things were then. At least you have the option 
of NOT marrying him, even if you agree to my ...prescription."
Scully sighed again. As resignation softened her features, she was too 
absorbed to notice the shadow that fell behind the soothsayer's door, or the 
eyes that watched her face so carefully.
"I supposed..." she said at last, her voice filled with weariness, "I 
suppose...I must. That it's...MY duty, too."
"Like hell." Mulder burst through the door, startling both women.
Scully got to her feet as her partner confronted her, his eyes flashing, his 
fists clenched. "I don't want 'duty' from you," he said, breathing rapidly. 
"Maybe I don't want anything from you."
"Mulder, it's -" Scully gulped. "It's not that I don't-"
"Hey, don't sweat it, Scully. Hell, maybe you'll come up with an antidote, 
and then you'd never have to kiss me again."
"Mulder - I -" Scully stammered, red as a beet. "It's not that I don't WANT 
to -"
"But you're not crazy about the idea, am I right?" Mulder glowered as she 
faltered into silence. Then he turned abruptly and strode out of the hut.
"Mulder!"
"When it comes to sexual healing, doc, you have a lousy bedside manner," he 
flung at her, and ducked into another shack and slammed the door.
Scully sagged and leaned against the doorframe. She ignored Albert Hosteen 
as, tentatively, he entered the soothsayer's shack. He looked at Esme, who 
raised her eyebrows at him.
The old shaman shook his head. "This has been a long time in coming," he 
said quietly, and nodded at the still-oblivious Scully.
Esme sighed, and picked up a basket. "I'd better get packing then," she 
said. "And we'd better alert the Lord High Mayor - Quentin Sparks to you - 
to clear the Festival grounds. I have a bad feeling about this."

***************************************************Continued in Part 5

From: Char Chaffin <fncbc@aurora.alaska.edu>
Date: Thu, 04 Nov 1999 14:53:00 -0900
Subject: xfc: NEW, "Ensorcelled", By Stormlantern, (5/5), MSR, PG
Source: xfc

From: Char Chaffin <fncbc@aurora.alaska.edu>

Please send feedback to:
stormlantern@my-deja.com


"Ensorcelled" Part 5 - disclaimer in Part 1

**********************************************************************
Mulder stumbled into the shack and collapsed into a rickety chair.
He could feel it happening already -
Gasping a little, he loosened his tie and opened his collar.
Then pressed back into the chair as a glimmering light suddenly appeared in 
the chair across from him.
- coalescing, solidifying -
- oh, no -
"Well, Agent Mulder."
- Madame Titania sat in the chair across from him, her expression serenely 
baleful.
She smiled. "It looks as if you will be mine after all."
Don't panic, he thought. Hold yourself together. He straightened up and 
gazed at the medium calmly. "How do you figure that?"
She blinked in mock surprise. "Why, surely you know that love is your soul's 
salvation?"
He folded his hands in his lap - folded them to conceal their trembling - 
and gazed at her nonchalantly. "Agnostic though I am, I must concede that in 
this case at least, that is true." He shrugged. "But who needs a soul?"
"You do. Or you will change again. And from this change there will be no 
return." She cocked her head thoughtfully. "We saw what happened when your 
soul was removed. Remarkable. A truly fearsome creature. But a soulless man 
with a broken heart...what will emerge from that, I wonder?"
Mulder felt himself begin to shake. He spread his collar open even further 
and kept his eyes fixed on the medium. "I'm not going to change again."
"No? But your lady love has spurned you. She loves you not."
"She loves me," he said weakly. He had to believe that, it was all he had, 
all that was keeping him human -
"But did I not hear aright, that she has refused to - service - you 
willingly?"
A pang of despair - and Mulder pressed back into the chair as sudden pain 
blossomed along his skeletal structure.
"Ah. It begins again."
Mulder shuddered.
"Exquisite, is it not?"
Mulder writhed, gripped the chair arms, clamping his jaw shut as the pain 
spread.
"Your body is changing...you feel it...surrender to it...it is no use 
struggling..."
Mulder felt unbearable heat burst within his vitals, spread through his 
bones.
"Who will save you now?"
He opened his mouth and began to pant, since his sweat glands no longer 
seemed to be working...
"Let it go, Agent Mulder, let it go..."
- felt a hand grab his chin, push his jaw shut, tilt his head up and back -
Softness on his lips.
Softness filling him, muffling the pain, quelling the miniature earthquake 
trying to crack him apart.
His body reforming, resettling, remembering.
His lips parted from hers with a plaintive gasp. Sudden release, dose 
administered, cure affected. Mulder dropped his head against a soft, soft 
chest, felt soft arms encircle it. His body tingled from near-transformation 
as his nether regions let him know that this was indeed a woman holding him, 
that he was indeed human again -
"Hey, doc," he said muzzily. "Do you make house calls?"
Scully did not reply, but glared at his tormentor. "Get out," she hissed. 
"Get out, or I'll call my priest and have you exorcised."
A burst of sudden laughter. "Is that what you think!" The silver eyes 
twinkled in genuine amusement. "No need to separate a Shepherd from his 
Flock, Agent Scully. My work here is done." The medium's form began to thin, 
like dissipating cloud, and her voice faded into the indistinctiveness of an 
echo. "While yours, my dear, has just begun..."
The medium, or whatever she was, was gone. Scully let out a breath and 
relaxed her grip on her partner. For his part, he continued to rest his head 
against her chest and did not stir, seemingly exhausted. Hopefully unharmed. 
Perhaps in need of comfort...
Dutifully, Scully pressed her fingers into his hair. Hair. She closed her 
eyes. Hair, not horn, not scale, but hair, lush and soft and strokable. She 
yielded to the temptation, relief at its humanity palpable in her heart. Her 
other hand, she noticed, rested against his skin - human skin, not cold 
stone, not dragonhide, but Mulderhide, stretched so marvelously taut over 
his leanly muscled frame...
Scully bit her lip as she felt changes happening to her own body, not 
changes magical, but natural.
She stepped back, poked at his shoulder. "Come on," she said huskily. "Let's 
get out of here."
His hand clamped over her wrist with a grip of iron. "Hold it."
Startled, she glanced at him - then found that she could not quite meet his 
eyes, and looked away.
"Am I mistaken, Agent Scully, or were you a little turned on just then?"
She did not reply.
"Wow. I just witnessed this incredible transformation." The voice was dry as 
dust. "One minute you're my partner. The next, presto! You're this...woman." 
She flinched as he pressed the back of her hand to his lips. "Hmm. A 
very...sensual woman. Moreoever, judging by the flushed skin" - he examined 
her hand minutely - "increased respiration, and heady, pheromonic scent, I'd 
say you were downright hot." He nipped lightly at her knuckles. "Whatever 
could generate all this heat? Repressed feelings? A fever? Spontaneous human 
affection?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Mulder," she muttered, tugging feebly against his 
grip.
"Maybe it's magic." He blew softly on the back of her hand, delighting in 
the resultant appearnance of goosebumps. He was toying with her now, like a 
cat playing with a mouse before the inevitable consumption. "Maybe the kiss 
that made a man out of me is making a woman out of you."
"Mulder, that is just the sheerest -"
"But on the other hand, I've seen you do this before." Mulder's voice was 
softer now, less playful. He gazed thoughtfully at the opposite wall and 
idly pressed her hand against his cheek. "Prest-o, change-o. Partner, woman. 
That's quite a trick you do. But it never lasts. The spell is always broken. 
Maybe this -" His lips burned her flesh again, and she shivered. "Maybe this 
is what's been missing. The missing part of the spell." He looked up at her 
pensively. "Maybe you need Esme's...prescription...as much as I do."
She opened her mouth to protest - only to feel her jaw drop at his next 
statement.
"You're afraid, aren't you?"
"Wha-What?" she gasped.
"You're afraid of changing." He examined her captive hand again, tracing its 
delicate bones with a finger. "You're afraid of...what you might change 
into. What that change might cost you."
He looked up at her. "Take it from someone who knows, Scully. 
Sometimes...it's worth the price."
Her eyes filled, and she blinked back the tears and turned away, pulling her 
hand free. Mulder rose to his feet and towered over her, watching her 
carefully.
"You are a brave woman, Dana Katherine Scully," he said at last. "You want 
to face your fears," and he reached out and pulled her to him, quickly, 
before she could escape, his trench coat enveloping her like a wizard's 
cloak.
"Only you can do the magic, Scully," he whispered to her in the darkness. 
"Your faith changed me. Let it change you. Please."
She struggled feebly once or twice, but he held on.
When the transformation was complete, he opened his arms slightly and peered 
down at her. A woman's eyes looked up at him, a woman's arms encircled him, 
a woman's lips touched his throat, a woman's tears burned his skin -
And as he clasped her to him, he looked away and struggled with his own 
tears and his breathing, for he still had something to say. He'd said words 
of the sort before, but she had not believed them - he needed to find the 
proper phrasing, the right incantation...j
"Scully? Remember that time in the hospital - our first psychic connection? 
And I told you that you felt good inside my head?"
A mute nod.
"You've always felt good inside my heart."


Dana Scully's Apt.
10:03 p.m.

Earl Gray. Not his favorite, but it beat all that herbal crap.
Fox Mulder was in too good a mood to let a limited choice of caffeine bother 
him. He sat on his partner's couch while its owner showered in the next 
room. He could smell the scent of her shampoo from here, and it smelled 
already like home.
The consummation he had longed for would never take place in the Haunted 
Realm, as he'd hoped; it seemed their Safe Place was safe no longer. Albert 
Hosteen had advised against their Spirit-Walking until they received further 
training; and reluctantly, they had concurred with his assertion. That 
relief from his psychic illness was no longer available to him; he would 
have to cope somehow without it. Tomorrow he would return to the hospital. 
But Scully had pledged to her partner that she would find the cure, and he 
had no doubt she would. Nothing would faze his Scully when she set her mind 
on something - and her courage as well. Mulder knew that she perhaps was not 
ready to take that final step into intimacy tonight - but an understanding 
had been reached, a truth accepted. Their relationship was no longer at a 
standstill, but at a new beginning, with a journey toward completion lying 
before them.
Mulder couldn't wait to get started.
Besides, in the meantime, there were all those "dosages" of Esme's 
prescription to look forward to...
Mulder froze as sudden light glimmered in the upholstered chair across from 
him. He paused for a moment, contemplating it; then he placidly reached for 
the teapot and poured himself a cup.
The light solidified.
"Well, Agent Mulder."
"Good evening, Your Majesty," he said politely.
The medium raised an eyebrow. "And why do you address me by that title?"
"Because you're not just named after Titiana, Queen of Faerie" Mulder said 
affably. "You ARE Titiana."
The woman gazed at him for a moment in silence.
Then she stood up and threw off her shawl, and spread her wings from her 
shoulders - wings ribbed and webbed like the dragon's, but with silver and 
rainbow instead of bone and leather. More majestic than any crown, their 
delicate veining glimmered like traces of frost on a windowpane - and 
mimicked the cold sparkle in the Queen's moonlit eyes.
"And here I thought to reveal myself, and instead find myself already 
guessed," she said, her voice low and amused. "How did you know?"
"Your contempt for the human race rang a little too true. You seemed to 
regard it as something genuinely...alien." His mouth quirked. "You might say 
I have a knack for spotting things of that sort." He cleared his throat. 
"Plus I saw your wings under your shawl."
"Ah. Then you know that I affected your transformation to provide you with a 
chance to win your heart's desire. And like the Frog, Swan and Beast before 
you, you were indeed saved by love's first kiss." The Queen's serenity was 
suddenly belied by an agitated flutter of her wings. "Yet I too, was 
transformed, it seems - transformed by you, human - from enemy to 
benefactor." The cool voice dropped by several degrees. "I would know how 
you accomplished this."
Much abashed by the legendary creature, Mulder cleared his throat again. "I 
knew what you were. And I figured that, if given the chance to bring about a 
happy ending, you'd go for it. It's your nature."
"Hm." The silver eyes glowed for a moment. "Which prompted your tale of 
starcrossed love in your quest for your lady. Boast not of your own 
cleverness, human - it was the truth of the tale that moved me, not its 
telling."
"I put great stock in the truth myself," said Mulder quietly.
"And with that you won me over."
"It was all I had," was the humble reply.
"That and the ancient instinct of my race to aid yours." The Queen folded 
her wings and reseated herself. "Well played, human."
"Thank you. Now, by your leave, Your Majesty, I have a question to ask."
She nodded graciously.
"Did it have to hurt so damned much?" The Queen blinked at Mulder's change 
of demeanor. "Christ, Your Majesty - being turned into stone was no picnic, 
but that dragon stuff - it hurt like hell, pardon my French."
"No need to beg pardon," she replied. "You speak it very well."
Mulder flashed a surprised grin at the Fey's unexpected humor. Then he 
sobered. "But when my heart broke..." He faltered and stopped, overcome.
The Queen nodded slowly. "Yes. But remember that there was never a hero ever 
aided by the Fey who suffered less, Mr. Mulder. I can assure you of that. 
Our favors are not easily won. One of the greatest lies humanity has told 
itself is that love comes at little cost. In truth, it must be paid for, and 
that constantly." Her voice softened. "As your lady has also discovered."
"I..was just thinking that I'm glad you didn't think she needed to pay a 
similar price," Mulder said quietly. But there was a warning in his eyes.
"We deemed she had paid already," said the Queen. "I confess it was her loss 
of fertility that moved us most. We are not a fecund race. But I suppose you 
know the reason she has sacrificed so much for this...quest...of yours."
Mulder sensed a trap in her words, but answered without fear. "Because of 
me," he said, staring down at the cold tea in his cup. "I've...known it for 
some time now. Even if she didn't. Was afraid to admit to it. She did it for 
love of me."
"And can there be a better reason? She believed in you when she didn't 
believe your ideas. She believed in you when you didn't believe in her. Oh, 
no, Mr. Mulder, she has paid her price. Have no fear of that."
He nodded, unable to speak.
"As for your soul - it will regenerate, since it was taken rather than 
given. Souls are stubborn things when rooted in fallow soil. And love 
nurtures such growth," the fairy said softly. "Especially human love - a 
thing of great power. This is why my kind cherishes it so, why we are so in 
awe of it. Why we have always striven to to mine it in its purest form, from 
humans like yourselves who bear it embedded like veins of gold in milky 
quartz. Yours was perhaps closer to the surface, while hers lay a bit 
deeper. Tell me, human - was it worth all the pains it cost?"
Mulder glanced at the back of the apartment, where the sounds of showering 
continued. She was going to have a HECK of a surprise when she came out. 
"Yes," he said softly. "Yes." He fingered the teacup idly and fixed his gaze 
on his ethereal visitor. "And I still don't think I've paid nearly as much 
as she has - for having the misfortune of loving a sorry son of a bitch like 
me." He brooded for a moment, his eyes misting - then, abruptly, he thumped 
his cup down on the coffee table, leaned back in his chair and smiled at the 
creature across from him. "SO! Can I get you some Earl Gray, Your Majesty?" 
he asked, his voice slightly bantering. "Crumpets, perhaps - whatever the 
hell they are?"
The Queen of Faerie smiled. "Ah, you mistake, human. You owe me a boon for 
aiding you in winning your heart's desire - one which no mere offer of 
refreshment can satisfy."
Mulder stared at her, then gave an elaborate wince. "Uh, oh," he muttered. 
He sighed, spread his hands and contemplated them. "Let's see - you stole my 
soul, caused my heart to break - what's next, a burst appendix?"
"Nothing so dire as that." Queen Titiana settled herself more comfortably in 
her chair and regarded him with a regal calm. "I WILL take some tea, by the 
way - but as to your boon - " A frown appeared on the ageless brow. "Tell me 
of these...'extraterrestrials'," she pronounced the word with difficulty. 
"They are a tale new to me."
This time Mulder granted her a full-fledged grin. He took a cup from the tea 
tray, set it before the Queen, and poured Earl Gray into it with a flourish. 
"Your wish is my command, Your Majesty," he said, and leaned back into his 
chair. "Once upon a time..."

**********************************************************************
finis.


Hope you liked it - it's a bit different. Let me know, and thanks - you've 
been a great audience.

Thank you and goodnight.

stormlantern@my-deja.com