:: Les dames de la Vieux Carré ::Chapter One Cass O’Malley stood at the window of the FBI’s Field Office, located on 15th floor of one of the Central Business District’s newer high-rise office buildings on Canal Street. The height afforded an incredible view of the French Quarter to the north and the tourist shopping district to the east. She allowed Scully’s droning voice to lull her into reverie. She knew the story by heart. March in New Orleans was as close to a lull in the action as you got down here. Mardi Gras was a memory and the Jazz Fest wasn’t for another month. It was Lent. Old timers paid serious attention to their Catholic roots and at least put on an appearance of piety that meant daddy only beat momma after she had REALLY pissed him off and mamma only got drunk AFTER the kids had come home from school. Cass sighed. At least that was the way it was in her home all those years ago. She watched the shadows lengthen as the day people hastily prepared to give up Vieux Carré to the night folks. Elegant salons, antique stores, and rare book dealers shuttered their shops as the neon signs of the bars on Bourbon Street and elsewhere began to outshine the daytime veneer of old world elegance. Strolling tourists picked up their pace, hurrying to make it back to their hotels to prepare for their incredible, outrageously priced meals at Commander’s Palace and Antoine’s. Glancing up as the shadows disappeared into grey twilight, she didn’t need to check her watch. It had been humid enough during the day to ensure the nightly shower, which would come in quick, dump its moisture back onto the city and leave with the speed of a hustler selling a nickel bag in Jackson Square. She sighed again. At least it was March and the weather was merely annoying. April would be muggy, June and the first of July outright hot and humid. By the time August hit, right before the hurricane season started, it would be like living in the mouth of a dog. Cass hated New Orleans with a passion that far outweighed whatever sense of longing she had for her hometown when she was away. She had left town on her 26th birthday and every time she had returned she had experienced nothing but pain. This trip was already worse than any of her previous visits. "Agent O’Malley, would you care to add anything, perhaps something a little more grounded in reality?" Cass turned at hearing the gentle southern drawl of SAC Robins. What she had to add would be less welcome than Scully’s outrageous but studied hypothesis. The newer generation – softer, better-educated, more money-hungry folk of the city, the ones who carefully enunciated "New Orleans" -- were trying desperately to clean up their image. They were hoping to attract the gambling crowd, a group more interested in making a hard eight than in slowly getting drunk listening to cool Jazz or raucous Zydeco. The old timers knew that Nawlins would always be wild and unfettered. The import of "the man who cleaned up New York City" helped to put a rose colored gloss over the city. But those who knew where to look found the same pleasures and pain that they had always found. People came from all over the world to experience those pleasures. Sailors from the huge Naval Base of Pensacola, Florida and the smaller base at Pascagoula, Mississippi spent many a three-day pass sampling the wares of hookers and hustlers, their plastic towers of hurricane glasses a testament to their drinking prowess. They could get into plenty of trouble in the more grounded perversions of the city without ever seeing the more esoteric underground that feasted on the edges of the tourist trade. "SAC Robins, before he disappeared, Agent Mulder had complied an impressive profile and we cannot simply dismiss the implications of the voodoo paraphernalia found at the crime scene. Agent Scully’s analysis of the bodies of the victims clearly shows signs of drugs used in voodoo ceremonies. Nor can we dismiss the ranting of Lieutenant Roberts." She paused and asked softly, "Have you heard anything more on the lawyer’s prognosis, sir?" Robins, pale, tall and rail thin, snorted. "Voodoo dolls, chicken feet and gris-gris, indeed." Daniel Philip Robins was born and raised in Mobile, Alabama, of good Baptist parents who had scraped what little extra money they had been able to save and sent their oldest son to a decent state school. His stint in the Army had funded his law school degree and his acceptance into the FBI had secured his future. He was a diligent and determined man though his imagination was limited to coming up with ideas of where to take the family for vacation. It had taken him nearly 30 years to reach what he knew to be the pinnacle of his career with the Bureau. He’d be damned if was going to buy into an explanation of zombies and ancient religious rites. "I’m not saying that what happened wasn’t horrible, but surely there is a more rational explanation for THAT than voodoo!" Cass turned back to the vista below her. But, instead of rain washed streets, horrible images invaded her thoughts. It WAS frightening and disgusting. She couldn’t remember viewing crime scene photos that had so sickened her. In fifteen years with the Feds, she had never turned away from a crime scene but after seeing the graphic pictures, she was grateful to have been spared the first hand knowledge. She forced the images from her mind. Night had fallen and the rain had stopped. Even from 15 floors above, she could see steam rising from the sun-warmed asphalt and brick below. Her cell phone shattered her reverie. She grimaced as the William Tell Overture shrilled from her pocket. She glared at the offending appliance and realized that it hadn’t rung since Mulder had disappeared. Robins’ shocked face was a striking contrast to Scully’s concerned, but still somewhat amused look. Cass sighed the sigh of the truly put upon. The case last November that had cost her partner, Ted Andrews, his life and gotten Scully promoted to "Special Assistant to the Director" had also resulted in Mulder nearly loosing the use of his right leg. His enforced convalescence had brought out a streak of practical joking that had surprised his former partner, pissed off AD Skinner, and was wearing so thin on Cass that she had been afraid that she would snap, which she knew was the reaction Mulder was striving for. She just wished he were here to yell at. "O’Malley…Yes, AD Skinner." She saw Scully tense. "Yes, sir. Actually, she’s sitting right here. … No, she just came from the coroner’s office. … No, sir. No word yet. … Really!" Cass looked first at SAC Robins and the over at Scully. "Yes, sir. I’m sure that the Director is right. … No, sir. I know you do. Frankly, I welcome the help… Sir, do you want to talk to Agent Scully?…Very good, sir." Cass saw Scully’s eyes open wide, a pink blush suffusing her cheeks, as she walked over and handed her the phone. She grinned as the redhead turned away, seeking a little privacy. Cass wasn’t sure what was going on. As silly with his pranks as he could be, Mulder wasn’t a gossip. She and the rest of the JEH had been shocked into stunned silence when the Director had promoted Scully into the spot as his personal eyes and ears. Gossip was rampant but word filtered down that he had wanted someone to check out cases for him personally; to report directly to him without all the filtering that normally occurred. Scully had only held the spot since early December, but Richards had already sent her on several assignments as his representative and Cass had heard that Scully handled herself quite well. People who knew her from her X-File days were surprised by her change in demeanor. Cass still occasionally heard the epitaph Ice Queen applied to the diminutive agent, but never paid that much attention. At first she thought, like many others in the Bureau, that Scully and Mulder were an item. Scully had certainly been at Mulder’s place at odd times during the past four months. But, Cass came to realize that she misinterpreted the relationship. What they had was a deep and committed friendship. However, Cass wondered how many other people in the Hoover had figured out just how close the AD in charge of the X-files was to the Special Assistant to the Director. It wasn’t like they tried to hide it. She had run into them, shopping together in Georgetown a month ago, but at Headquarters they were always completely professional and seldom even lunched together. She saw Scully turn back to the table and heard her as she rang off. "See you tomorrow morning, sir. I should have some test results by then." Scully handed the phone back to Cass, who quickly ran through the settings and returned the ring option to the more sedate professional chirp. She looked up and found that Scully had watched this ritual with the same sad amusement as before. Robins cleared his throat and both agents gave him their attention. "Do I understand that the Assistant Director is coming down?" He didn’t bother to conceal how upset he was. Scully allowed O’Malley to handle the man. She had come down at the Director’s behest, before Mulder had…had what? Disappeared? Been abducted by voodoo zombies? Or simply ditched his new partner like had done to her so many times? Cass spoke to the city below her, weary of the SAC’s naiveté. "What did you expect, Robins? First five sailors turn up missing, then the brother of one of the sailors comes down from Washington to look for him and is found beaten in an alleyway off Chartres." Still in a near catatonic state, Bud Roberts’ only verbalization had been a gradually escalating scream. Making eye contact with Dana through the reflection of the now black window, Cass asked, "Agent Scully, have they determined what drugs were in his system?" Dana shrugged. "A real cocktail. They found several needle marks and bruises. Whoever stuck him wasn’t gentle. We figure by the time we get the tox reports back and come up with the proper antidotes, all but the most potent will have cleared his system." Dana closed her eyes remembering the frantic young blond trying so hard to keep her composure while holding her husband’s hand, soothing his brow and trying to understand why the only relief available to him was exhaustion. The doctors had been too afraid to give him anything to knock him out. Cass turned back and faced the flustered SAC. "A commander with the Navy’s Judge Advocate General’s office comes down with a "vacationing" agent from the FBI and they promptly disappear. What the hell did you think would happen? I came down as soon as I realized what they were up to. I’ve looked for two days for them. Nobody is saying anything." Cass was pissed and warming to her subject. Robins was a little weasel who would never go anywhere, but she wasn’t really that mad at him. Mulder, now… Mulder would be sorry when she got her hands on him. She had thought that they would work well as a team. Hell, she and Frohike had even worked out some of the Internet clues. Why the hell hadn’t he asked her to come with them? Cass smiled bitterly. "Frankly, Skinner is the least of your worries. I’ve met the JAG and believe me, he is very protective of his people." Robins turned three shades of red. "This wouldn’t have happened if Lieutenant Roberts hadn’t stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong. Hell, his brother wasn’t even one of the dead sailors. He turned up two days after we found the bodies. Now I hear he the kid wants to come back down to be with his brother! Why the hell can’t…" Scully sighed loudly. Richards had sent her down with O’Malley as soon as they got the word that Mulder, who was supposed to be still recovering from his wounds sustained during the "Pumpkin Patch Case" last Halloween, had left D.C. with Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. The two had met on a case several years before, but Dana hadn’t thought that they had gotten along at all. But evidently, when young Lieutenant Roberts had been found in such strange circumstances, Rabb had called on the one person he thought odd enough to be able to help him shed some light on the problem. Of course, the day they arrived the five missing sailors had been found in a small warehouse house just off Tchoupitoulas, near the river. Mulder and Rabb had both visited the crime scene, Mulder under his FBI ID and Rabb…well they weren’t really sure how Rabb had bullied his way past the locals. The Navy certainly had no jurisdiction, but they were Naval personnel so he had been able to talk his way in. Scully hoped that Rabb had gotten a stomach full of it. After all her years with the X-Files, she had pretty much seen every horror imaginable, but these bodies. She shuddered and turned her full attention to SAC Robins. "It doesn’t matter, sir. AD Skinner just informed me that Seaman Mike Roberts has been confined to base. Unfortunately, Agent O’Malley is right. Admiral Chegwidden has to testify before Congress all day tomorrow and perhaps the following morning, but once that obligation is over, he will be on the next plane down. I suggest that we gather as much information as we can before then. I’ve faced Admiral Chegwidden’s wrath and have no desire to repeat the performance." With that Scully gracefully rose from her chair and looked at Cass O’Malley. "Share a cab back to the hotel, Agent O’Malley?" Robins sputtered. "But we have to stay and make plans. Plan our investigation. The locals have thrown the whole thing into our lap. They want nothing to do with it." Scully felt the older woman tense and strove to head off a fistfight. "Mr. Robins, AD Skinner will be down on the earliest flight he can get out tomorrow morning. He will head the investigation. I suggest that you get a good night’s sleep, because it will probably be the last that you or any of the field agents in this office get for a while." She smiled faintly. "Trust me. I know the way he operates." Scully and O’Malley strode out the building and Scully went immediately to the curb to hail a cab. O’Malley tapped her on the arm. "Come on Scully, we’re only 5 or 6 blocks from the hotel. Let’s walk and I’ll point out some of the sights. I have to walk off some of this tension. Besides, it will be quicker." Scully nodded. They had gotten in to New Orleans early yesterday and took a cab directly from the airport to the morgue. Leaving Scully to deal with the New Orleans pathologist, Cass checked in with Robins and spent the entire day going over the preliminary reports. She had spent the late afternoon touring the crime scene and managed to interview the man who had called 911. It had been after midnight when Cass returned to the morgue and insisted that Scully finish up the autopsies the following day. This morning they had met downstairs and shared a cab to the morgue. Cass had stopped in briefly to find out just how far along Scully and Dr. Patrick Ball were. Cass discovered that Ball was something of a voodoo-phile and he excitedly pointed out the symbolism of the incisions and the deeply carved symbols. Scully had listened with detached amusement as Ball showed O’Malley the list of drugs that he wanted the lab at Quantico to screen for when the blood and body fluids were sent to them for testing. While Scully had finished up the autopsies and tried to make some sense out of the notes and preliminary profile that they had found in Mulder’s hotel room, she had been out tracking down every old ‘friend’ she could lay her hands on. She could find no one on the street willing to talk about the heinous crime or the missing men. As they walked through the Quarter, Cass pointed out hidden interesting spots and warned her away from others. Scully smiled in delight at the wild mix of stores and restaurants. Voodoo shops next to fine art galleries. And music, even this early, began to fill the air. As they climbed the stairs to their rooms in a lovely old hotel on St. Anne Street, not far from the Cathedral, Cass suggested, "Why don’t we shower, take a nap and meet downstairs in say, two hours? We’ll grab a bite to eat at a little place I know then we’ll go and check out the place that Frohike found. Okay?" Scully nodded as she unlocked her room. She wanted to get a feel on how O’Malley was handling Mulder anyway. "Sure. I’ll meet you downstairs at 8:00." As O’Malley turned away, Scully reached out and grabbed her arm. "Hey, Cass. Don’t beat yourself up about this okay. I can’t tell you how many times he ditched me." Cass’ smile was bitter. "Yeah, but then you always found him alive. My track record isn’t as good."
:: Chapter 2 ::Cass flung off her sweat-stained suit. She turned on the shower to a cool spray, stepped in and let the water cascade over her body. She moved her hands down her sides and looked down at her nakedness. Not a bad body for 43. Of course, she never had any kids -- not that she and Frank hadn’t tried. Hell, the trying was what had kept them in the huge mistake that was their marriage. She had met the 25 year-old free-lance photographer and son of Chaz O’Malley the summer before she turned 18, when she was working for the photo lab that developed his commercial film. Where her family lived in genteel poverty in a crumbling Garden District "mansion", Frank’s family had more money and less taste than they knew what to do with. Frank’s father was senior partner at O’Malley, Crawford, and Danks, a law firm that specialized in keeping the low-lifes of Nawlins out of jail. The courtship was whirlwind, the wedding in Vegas, but Muffy O’Malley, bless her drunken heart, had tried hard to fit her new daughter-in-law into their Lake Pontchartrain social world. Instead, Cass had insisted upon working her way through college and then law school, while their son pursued his love of photography. They had lived in a small, cramped apartment in the Quarter where everyone was loud and no one paid attention as their fights escalated with each passing year. She stepped out and dried off with the adequate towel the small hotel provided. The hotel was nothing plush, but it was clean and really rather pretty with its eclectic blend of early 20th century furnishings. Naked, she padded over to the window overlooking the courtyard and looked through the sheer drapes. Outside, spotlights illuminated one magnificent magnolia tree. The early spring flowers, yellow jasmine, azalea, and silver bell nestled amid the deep green shrubs. The soft glow barely lit the room and she went and lay down on the comfortable old antique bed. She tried to sleep, but instead kicked herself for her self-pitying remark to Scully. She knew that Andrews’ death in that hospital corridor wasn’t her fault. Anymore than Frank’s death in that plan crash nearly 18 years ago had been. It was just that she had never had an easy peace with the men in her life. Their last fight has been over her refusal to join Chaz O’Malley’s law firm. Instead, she had accepted a position with the FBI right out of law school. Frank had died never knowing that she couldn’t bring herself to work with a man who had tried to rape her while his son was away on his first big assignment for Time Magazine. When Frank had died a year later, she had attended the funeral and never spoke to her in-laws again. She took the first posting outside of the New Orleans field office that came up and worked for nearly 5 years in New Mexico. Down the hall, Dana Scully, clad in her bra and panties, lay back against the pillows on her old iron bedstead. She had showered and was trying to relax but old worries died hard. She had been glad in some ways to leave the day-to-day grind with Mulder, but he was still her best friend. He still could make her laugh and it hurt that he might be in danger. But after 7 long years of his ditching her at the drop of a hat, she refused to allow the worry to overwhelm her anymore. She tried to take a short nap, but thoughts of Mulder gave way to thoughts of Skinner and she groaned at his absence. Working directly for Richards should had paved the way for their relationship to flourish, but the new job kept her on the go. They had as little time together now as they ever had. The last weekend they spent any time at all together was two weeks ago and that had been cut short when Richards had paged her and insisted that she go out to Seattle. He needed her check out a bank robbery gone bad that had taken the life of an agent and a cop. She muttered to the ceiling. "Well, at least he will be here tomorrow. Not that he’ll spend any time with me." While they didn’t hide their relationship, really, they didn’t flaunt it and during an investigation, he would treat her with the cool professionalism that was expected of him. She wouldn’t have it any other way. At 8:00 sharp, Cass and Dana met in the hotel lobby, both dressed in jeans and T-shirts with light blazers covering their holstered guns at their waists. Cass led the way up St. Anne toward the noise of Bourbon Street. However, just before reaching the crowds, Cass guided Dana to a small doorway and pushed it open. A long narrow flight of stairs greeted their upward gaze. Scully looked over at the older woman, her eyebrow raised in question. O’Malley paused and returned the look. "While you were finishing the autopsies today, I visited a bunch of my old haunts and renewed some old ‘acquaintances.’ But, if any of them know anything, they aren’t telling the Feds." She looked back up the dimly lit stairs. "I guess I saved the best for last. If Maurice knows anything, he’ll tell us." She forced herself to look quietly at Scully. "Look, Dana, I know you are pretty inured to, let’s say, extreme possibilities. The X-Files is probably as good a training ground for the underbelly of New Orleans as you can get, but really weird shit goes on down here. And, you are about to meet the weirdest shit we have." At Scully’s snort of amusement O’Malley glared hard at her. "Listen to me. Follow my lead and if you feel funny or anything, just for God sakes ignore it. We’ll talk about it later. Okay? Promise me." Dana Scully stared in amazement. I’ll be damned. Mulder may very well have met his match. "Look Cass, give me a hint. What the hell…" Cass shook her head. "No. It doesn’t always happen. It never worked on me, never has. But I’ve seen it happen enough to know it is real. Believe me, I’ve checked him out and …Oh hell, just don’t touch anything, including him?" "What?!" "Just don’t, okay? Shit. Maybe you ought to meet me at the restaurant around…Hey! Dana, damn it, wait up." Cass ran up the steps and just as the door at the top open to them, she caught up to the now completely ticked off Scully. They nearly ran into the bouncer who was blocking their entrance. "Sorry ladies, this is a private club." The deep bass voice went well with the tall, very dark black man. Scully started to reach for her ID, but Cass grabbed her arm. "Tell Maurice that Cassilda Devereaux is in the bar, wanting to speak to him." With that she pushed past the man, dragging a startled Agent Scully behind her. As they walked through the still sparsely populated bar, Scully realized just how private a club this was. The room was as dark as the stairs had been. The lighting was about three degrees below moody. The furniture consisted of dark red leather chairs placed around tiny round tables each holding a small oil lamp. Except for the occasional can-light, which cast more shadows than light, the oil lamps provided the only illumination. The muted jukebox was playing Billy Holiday’s "My Man" which caused Scully some amusement, as it appeared that the membership consisted solely of men. Even though many of them were dressed in very feminine attire, they weren’t really transvestites. Hell, most of the transsexuals that Scully had interviewed over the years were a hell of a lot prettier than these guys. No. These were men dressed in skimpy outfits that accentuated their hairy chests, bulging muscles and very masculine legs. She kept herself from staring and followed Cass to the old oak bar that lined one wall, the mirror behind catching images that both fascinated and repulsed her. They sat down and Cass ordered for them. "Two Dixies, in the bottle. Bring the opener with you." The bartender glared at her, but she glared right back and he shortly returned with their order. Cass popped both caps off and handed one to Scully. "In places like this, it’s best to drink from the bottle." Scully was experiencing déjà vu. Hell, it’s just like old times with Mulder. The two of them are going to cause Skinner so much trouble. Her giggle jerked Cass’ attention to her. "Jeez, Cass. You going to let me in on the secret?" Before Cass could respond and high squeal broke the quite atmosphere. "Cassilda! Sweetie! What y’all doin’ down here in Nawlins again?" Scully turned at the sound and saw a tall, thin, immaculately dressed, southern gentleman approach them. Minced toward them was a better description. His pale grey hair was done in a high pompadour, his tropical white suit accessorized by a long flowing blood red scarf. He stopped his approached just short and studied Cass with a critical eye. He sighed. "Child, I expect better from you. You look like a tourist." He looked over at Scully and reached out his hand. Before he made contact though, Cass pulled Scully back and purred. "Why don’t we find a more private table, Maurice?" Scully noticed the speculative look that Maurice gave Cass and started to introduce herself when it hit her. The feeling was so fast and hard that she nearly doubled over. Her sharp intact of breath drew Cass’ concerned and exasperated look. "Now, Maurice. Over there in the corner will do just fine." Maurice gave a mean little smile and walked over to the booth in the corner. Cass grabbed Scully by the arm and hissed. "Damn it. Just stay here and drink your beer, I’ll be right…Shit!" Scully broke free from her grasp and walked over to the table staring at the man who had suddenly, violently captured her attention. Cass caught up to her and motioned for Maurice to sit at the far end of the booth. She sat Scully down as far away from him as she could and placed herself so she could keep an eye on the front door and on Maurice. Maurice never took his gaze off of the pretty little redhead. He could have such fun with her, but he knew it wasn’t worth Cassilda Devereaux’s anger. He sighed and asked. "What can I help you lovely ladies with tonight? You don’t look like…" "Can it, Maurice. Look at these and tell me if you’ve seen them?" Cass placed two pictures, one of Mulder and one of Commander Rabb, in front of the club owner and waited. She felt Scully start to sway, a light hum coming from her and sighed. Shit! Shit! Shit! Hang on kid, I’ll get you out of here soon. Please God, let it wear off quick. "Well?" "Oh, cher. I can’t see a thing in this light, without my glasses. Lemme take them on into the back room where there’s more light. Perhaps, Red here would be kind enough to accompany me." Scully giggled and started to rise, but Cass pushed her down. "Maurice, so help me I’ll rip your nuts off. No, I’ll do one better. I know her boyfriend. Trust me, he’s not your type. Big, bald, and mean as they come. And Maurice, he’s due in town tomorrow." Maurice shuddered. His club catered to some of the more perverted men in town, men that even queers shunned, but Maurice liked his women and hated altercations and he knew that Cass could ‘altercate’ with the best of them. He huffed. "Fine. Lemme see them." He pulled out a small pair of granny glasses and set them on the tip of his nose. He studied the pictures for a long time, moving them about under the dim light. He then stood and studied them under one of the can lights. "No, dearie. Not here. Though they look like a sweet couple." He replaced the glasses in his coat pocket and flopped back down, no longer bothering to spare any attention to the besotted redhead. He sighed. It was just too easy. He should have been a gigolo. "Anything else?" Scully was sitting there trying hard to figure out what the hell was happening. It was like she was two people. The urge to go with this strange man one of the most compelling that she had ever had since that case all those years ago. In fact, she realized, it was exactly like that feeling. Part of her understood what was going on, but the other part didn’t care. If Cass hadn’t been with her… Cass broke into her reverie. "Yeah, Maurice. Sure. What do you know about the sailors that got killed over in the warehouse district?" He answered too fast. "Nothing. They hadn’t been in here either. You know I don’t cotton to sailors." Cass knew she had to get Scully out of here fast. She gritted out. "I didn’t ask you if they had been here. I asked you what you knew about the murders." She paused and grinned evilly. "Tell me Maurice, does Jezz know about your new digs?" The shot had the desired effect and Maurice got even paler, his lips a stark gash across his ashen face. "Fuck you, Devereaux." He didn’t like being threatened. Not with Jezz Morris anyway. "Fine. I don’t know anything. But I hear Lady Soul does. Go bother her for awhile." Cass narrowed her eyes. "Who?" But her heart was racing. She had heard or seen that name before. Maurice cackled, nearly falling out of the booth. "You have been gone a long time, darlin’. She opened it up about a year ago. Does pretty well for herself too. The club’s called Lyrical Soulz. It’s on Dauphine between St. Louis and Toulouse. Give her my love." He stood then and bent over the table and whispered to Scully. "Sweet Red, you get tired of that brute of a boyfriend, you come back and see ol’ Maurice. I’ll explain it all to…oof." He grabbed his stomach and doubled over. Cass shook her hand. Maurice might look soft but his gut was firm and her fist hurt from the impact. "Thanks, Maurice. Come on, let’s get out of here." She pulled Scully through the room and down the steps. Dana kept looking back over her shoulder and nearly tripped twice. Finally they reached the street and O’Malley pushed her against the brick wall. "Look at me, Scully. Take deep breaths." Dana did as she was told, the feeling already started to dissipate somewhat, but she remembered its intensity, her damp underwear a testament. She shook her head trying to clear it. "What the hell, Cass?" Cass grabbed her arm and led her around the corner into the cacophony that is Bourbon Street. She walked her down three blocks and then turned down St. Peter. Four doors down they entered a small eatery with a see-through counter and six Formica covered tables, the lights here as bright as Maurice’s had been dark. Cass sat Scully down and went to place their order of crawfish po’ boys, sweet potato fries and a plastic pitcher of sweet tea. Dana glared at Cass over her sandwich, her anger causing her face to redden to a near perfect match of her hair. She hissed out. "What just happened?" Cass stretched her neck, working the kinks out and playing for a little time. She focused on the street scene through the large plate glass window, just over Scully’s shoulder. "I don’t know what to tell you. I do know that Maurice has had this…" she stumbled over her words, "…I don’t know -- effect? -- on women for as long as I can remember. The weird thing is, it doesn’t work on all woman and he swore to me once that he didn’t know what caused it or that he had any control over it." Her smile was harsh. "I’m pretty sure he was telling the truth since I had a .357 Magnum shoved into his balls at the time. He took advantage of a friend of mine." Her sigh brought her focus back to Scully. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken you there. I…" Dana snapped. "Cut the mom act, Cass. I’m a big girl. Hell, you’re what, 7 years older?" She grinned ruefully, shaking her head. "I can’t believe it happened twice." It was Cass’ turn to be surprised. "Twice? What are you talking about?" Dana took a deep gulp of tea. "When we get back, I’ll show you the file on The Kindred. I’ll fill in the parts I left out of the report." She laughed, "I guess exposure isn’t a vaccination." She popped the last of her po’ boy into her mouth, licking the sauce off her fingers. "So what’s up with this Devereaux stuff? That a cover name or something?" Cass leaned into the back of the retro red vinyl covered chair. Her long legs stretched out in front of her. "No, that’s my maiden name." She suddenly straightened and stood. "Come on, let’s get down to this Lyrical Soulz." They walked together past the revelers, their glares keeping several young men at bay. They finally turned down Dauphine and Scully pointed out a bright neon sign hanging vertically, its bright orange letters fitted into the outline of a saxophone proclaiming the establishment. Just as she approached the small crowd milling about the entrance Cass stopped short and slapped her head. "Damn, I’m getting old." Dana waited patiently for Cass to continue. "You remember about a week, maybe 10 days ago you stopped by with Chinese and Frohike was on line in that weird chat room?" Dana shook her head. "Frohike spends most of his time in weird chat rooms. I stopped paying attention years ago." Cass put her hand on her hips and studied the dark sky above her, no stars or clouds visible in the bright French Quarter lights. "Frohike and Mulder had been lurking in a couple of E-mail groups devoted to vampirism, the occult, and voodoo. Mulder wouldn’t say why or who had turned them on to the groups. But he did say that near the end of November last year messages had picked up and talk began to focus on a new cult growing down here. Frohike said that most of the stuff was BS but they had been able to follow a few threads that mentioned a small jazz club just off of Bourbon by the name of Lyrical Soulz." They reached the front of the club and stepped up to the bouncer. "Ten dollar cover." Cass raised her eyebrow. Cover charges in New Orleans were unheard of. The competition was just too great. She snorted, "Al Hirt’s dead, man. Why would I pay to drink here?" The bouncer looked her up and down and then over at Scully. He spoke into a small radio and then put it to his ear. He jerked his head toward the bar. "Lady Soul says to have a seat." The two agents look at each other and shrugged as they walked to the bar. Cass stage whispered, "Guess Maurice called ahead." The bartender replaced a telephone receiver just as they inched toward the bar. He said something to two men who started to protest but got up and gave Scully and O’Malley their stools. Both women nodded their heads in surprised thanks and sat down. The bartender brought over a bottle of Jack Daniels and poured a healthy measure over ice and placed it in front of the started O’Malley. He then looked over at Scully. "What’ll be, miss?" Scully just nodded and the man poured the same for her. Skinner drank the stuff and frankly, the way the night was going, she felt she could use a stiff shot. She looked over at O’Malley who was staring at the drink as if it was Marley’s Ghost. "Cass, you okay?" Before Cass could reply, a cymbal crash quieted the packed club. A spotlight illuminated the stage and a small quartet came out and picked up or sat behind various instruments. There was a drum kit, a keyboard, a saxophone and a base. They tuned up for a few minutes and then went into their set. They played for nearly twenty minutes, all of the tunes jazz favorites, all of them smooth and mellow. Scully let the music lull her and paid little attention to the fact that her glass was never empty. She watched the crowd, but mostly she watched Cass. While Scully enjoyed the music, Cass was enraptured. After a moody rendition of "Brown Sugar," the leader stepped to the microphone and announced. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Lady Soul." The two agents watched as a curtain near the side of the small stage was pushed aside and a tall, buxom woman, the color of café au lait, dressed in a slinky sequined white dress, with off the shoulder sleeves floated out to the microphone. The room hushed and Scully made out the sharp intake of breath from Cass. "I’ll be fucked. She always said she would do it." The woman seemed to zero in on the two agents. In a breathy voice that seemed to cling to each and every person in the room she announced, "This song is for all of you who don’t know when it’s time to come home." The quartet started out slow and the singer’s words seem to entwine themselves around the audience.
As the song continued, Cass closed her eyes to the flood of memories. The steep, creaky flight of stairs leading to the apartment she shared with Frank. The small balcony overlooking the garbage cluttered courtyard below. Two impossibly young women sharing dreams and glasses of their one extravagance, Jack Daniels, while Frank was off on some photo shoot or just out with his old college buddies. Cass had been in her final year at UNO and had just been accepted into Tulane’s Law School. They had lived in the same building for nearly two years before Cass had figured out that Tina Marie made her living "entertaining" gentlemen. It had been another two years after that she realized that the friend who had gotten her the job as a bartender on Bourbon Street, was only 18 at the time and worldlier then than Cass would be in another 20 years. Tina Marie’s one dream was to someday own a really classy jazz club, "And not on Bourbon Street either; on one of the side streets, where you have to know where it is. And I’m going to charge money to get in." As the last strains died away, a waiter approached them, "Lady Soul says you should come to her private table." Scully raised her eyebrow in question and glanced at O’Malley who appeared to be having a problem focusing. She nudged the older woman and started to get up off the barstool and was surprised to find herself suddenly dizzy. She glared at the nearly full glass on the bar and then at the bartender. She shook her head and realized what a mistake that was. Suddenly she felt Cass’ strong hand close around her arm. "Come on partner. Coffee for us from here on out." Cass approached the table with trepidation. She hadn’t seen Tina Marie in over 10 years. Not since her old man’s funeral. Tina had told her at the wake that she was getting out of town for a while. When Cass had returned six months later for the final sale of the house and furnishings on Prytania she had been unable to find her, the apartment on St. Phillip occupied by a gay couple that knew nothing of the former tenant. The singer watched as the two women approached her corner table. The redhead definitely still under the influence of that little creep Maurice and not a little drunk. Cass, however… Cass still looked completely in control except for the shock of seeing her old friend again. Lady Soul let out a long deep sigh and grandly reached out her hand. "Cassilda, sweetie. It’s been a long time." Cass stopped and stared down at the woman who had meant so much to her at one time. "Tina." Cass saw a pained expression cut across the woman’s face. "Lady Soul, Cass. I changed it legally nearly five years ago. In Jackson." The singer stood and held out her arms and the two women embraced tentatively. Cass pulled back from the embrace and gestured to Scully. "Ti...Lady Soul, this is Agent Scully." Dana reached out and shook hands and gingerly sat down on the chair that O’Malley held for her. Her head was slightly spinning and her stomach clinched in protest at the hodge-podge of sensations it was being forced to endure. Cass sat across from her old friend and near enough to Scully to help her if she started to get sick. Lady Soul regally snapped her fingers and a waiter immediately stopped taking the order of a customer and rushed to his boss’ side. "Coffee, Billy. Black and strong." Billy nodded his understanding and ran off. Two minutes later, Scully was grasping a large white ceramic mug of steaming back chicory and inhaling the heady aroma. She slowly sipped the bracing liquid, willing it to work so she could return to her normal stoic façade. While Scully was striving to gain control, Cass studied her old friend silently. It was an old game that they played. Who would break first? But now, Cass had nothing to offer. Her life had taken a mundane routine that she had always strived for. Finally, the singer sighed. "Well? What do you think of the place, Cassilda?" Cass gazed at the deep dark paneling. The tables were small but the chairs were comfortable. The stage, where the band was now playing smooth fusion jazz, was a good size. The acoustics were decent and the clientele upscale. "Looks like you’ve done well for yourself…sorry, I can’t keep calling you Lady Soul. I looked for you the last couple of times I was down. Where did you go?" The singer shrugged. "Doesn’t matter. I wasn’t in jail or anything. Believe me I would have called you if I had been. So…you gonna show me the pictures you’ve been showing all over town?" Cass shook her head. "Nah. You would have told me by now. Why the game, Tina?" "No game, Cass. I knew you would find me. Hell, if Maurice, the little perv, hadn’t have steered you my way tonight, I would have come and seen you tomorrow." She sighed and picked up her coffee cup and drank. "And, before you ask about the murders, all I know is that it is major bad mojo. Sister Clarice has disappeared and rumor has it, that she was the one that supplied the gris-gris for the ceremony. This isn’t voodoo, Cass. It’s something weirder, sicker -- some kind of strange mix of stuff. Hell, it always has been down here." She leaned forward and Cass and Scully both moved closer to hear. "Check for missing snakes." Cass sat back in her chair with a thud. "Excuse, me? Missing snakes? Shit." Scully stared at the two women. "As in snake worship? That’s absurd. I don’t profess to know much about voodoo, but snakes aren’t a part of their ritual." Cass smiled and sat back, waiting. Her old friend stared around her club before answering. "You’re right of course, Agent Scully. In most of the world snake worship has nothing to do with voodoo. But, New Orleans isn’t most of the world and the nuts in this town will pervert damn near anything including already perverted religious beliefs." Proving she had her sources everywhere, just like in the old days she asked. "So, tell me. You’re the one doing the autopsies. Find any snake venom?" Scully started and stared at the haughty woman across from her. She thought, Hell, two can play this game. "Gee, I don’t know, you tell me." The singer threw back her head and roared in laughter. Several patrons from nearby tables turned to stare openly. Lady Soul calmed and looked back at the feisty redhead. "Well played, Agent. Well played, indeed." She waited while a waiter refilled the coffee cups. She whispered something in his ear and he placed the carafe in the center of the table. "I have no idea. I only know the players and what they are saying and to whom." She caught O’Malley’s eye. "Like that officious little twit, Robins." Scully and O’Malley exchanged glances and waited. "I hear he’s been on the phone all afternoon, calling in whatever small favors he has been able to amass over the past three years – which aren’t many – trying to figure out where the two poster children for GQ were their last day here." Cass smirked. "Been there. Asked the questions. He isn’t going to find out anything more than I did. Which, by the way, was zilch." She sighed. "The last place anybody could place them was at Café du Monde, eating beignets and drinking coffee at 3:00 AM the morning after the bodies were discovered. The funny thing is, we are having a hellava time trying to trace their movements before then. We think they were in the Garden District; we found one maid that remembers Rabb and Mulder asking questions about a party across the street, but when we checked with those people, they swear they had been out of town for nearly three weeks." The singer stared into her coffee, drank the last bit and seemed to come to a hard decision. "Have you talked to Jezz?" Scully was amazed at the changed that came over O’Malley. Her jaw clinched and her eyes, even in the dim light of the alcove seemed to harden into black nuggets of coal. "No." The word was chipped from stone. Suddenly all professional, O’Malley stood and stared down at her old friend. She hissed the warning with such venom that the last traces of fog left Scully’s mind. "Nothing, Tina. Not one word of this conversation gets back to her." Cass spun on her heal and left the bar, leaving Scully staring after her in shock. Scully looked over and saw a mean little smile on the singer’s face slowly fade and replaced by a look of regret. "You gonna let me in on the secret here?" Lady Soul pulled her gaze back to Scully. "She’ll tell you. Someday." Scully was getting pissed. She didn’t like being kept out of the loop, not when Mulder’s life was in danger. "Look, I may not know what the hell is going on down here, like you two OLD timers, but you DO NOT want to piss me off. What do I need to know about this Jezz person? It’s the second time tonight I’ve heard the name and both times it has not evoked warm fuzzies." Soul stared at angry woman. A small half-smile twisted her lips. "No, Agent Scully, Detective Morris does not evoke warm fuzzies, ever." With that enigmatic remark she stood and walked back to the stage. Scully sat for a moment while the quartet went into a moody rendition of "Stormy Weather" and sighed to no one in particular. "Oh, brother." She rose from her chair surprised that she did so with no effort and stalked out into the crowded streets. She glanced at her watch as was surprised to see that it was nearly 1:30. She looked around but couldn’t see Cass anywhere. Well Dana, you keep telling everyone you’re a big girl. Think you can find your way back to the hotel? Thirty minutes later, after taking only one wrong turn and having to tell only one rather drunken businessman ‘no, I’m not looking for a good time’ Dana Scully arrived at her hotel. She glanced over but didn’t stop at the desk and climbed the beautiful stairway up to her room. She closed the door and secured the chain lock. She shed her blazer and placed her gun in the nightstand drawer. She turned back to go into the bathroom when she saw him. The feeling gripped her stomach with the intensity she felt earlier that evening in the dark and seedy bar. She gasped out. "How did you get in here?" lHis dark eyes raked over her trembling form. A small smile quirked his lips and he glanced toward open connecting door to the next room. Her breathing turned ragged and she was having a hard time forming coherent thoughts. She gulped and managed, "What are you going to do?" A look of surprise crossed his features, his smile increasing. "What do you think I’m going to do?" In two long strides he was on her, his hand fisted into her hair, pulling her roughly to him. His mouth was brutal on hers, kissing, biting her lower lip and then smoothing it with his tongue. Finally his tongue forced her lips open and invaded her. The sensations were too much and she pushed him away. Panting she stared at him. "Please, don’t hurt me." His eyes widened. His breath matched hers. "Hurt you? Oh, Red, by the time I’m through with you, you’ll be thanking me for making it all better." His growl nearly pushed her over the edge right then. She couldn’t believe how wanton she felt. She slowly brought her hands up to the hem of her T-shirt, but he reached out and grabbed the collar of the shirt and yanked it till it ripped from her. She shed the tatters and waited. He hissed. "Take off the bra." She gulped but reached behind her and released the clasp. Before she could shed it he reached out and pulled it from her and stared for a moment at her chest. He sat on the bed and yanked her to him and buried his face into the valley between her perfect orbs. He began nipping along the insides of her breasts, teasing them with his lips and finally bringing his hands up to play with them, pinching them into hardened peaks. His tongue flicked at them. The sensations were too much. It had been too long. She brought her hand to play in his hair, holding him close to her, arching her back in rapture. His tongue trailed a fiery path down her belly, his fingers working at the button and zipper on her jeans. He grasped the waistband and yanked down jeans and silk underwear in one motion. He pushed her away then, trying to regain control of his breathing, the sight of her almost more than he could bear. She smiled wickedly at him and toed off her tennis shoes and socks and stepped out of the clothes bunched at her feet. She touched herself, teasing him, trailing her hand along her breast, down her stomach, into the matted thatch of hair. He groaned and stood, grabbing her upper arm roughly. "You’re a tease aren’t you? You want to see what I do to women that tease me?" He was nearly out of control now. He yanked down the spread, pushed her roughly to the bed and hissed, "Lay down." Scully gulped and wondered what the hell she was doing? Where had this compulsion come from? She had never entertained any rape fantasies, but this feeling was almost overpowering. She nodded and lay back and watched as he unbuckled his belt and snapped it through the loops. He dragged the leather along her parted legs, teased her mound and brought it up to where it was resting against her lips. "Grab the headboard," he commanded. Realizing what he intended her mouth went ashen. She shook her head. "No. Please." She had never liked to be tied down. She reached toward him, but he laughed, almost evilly. "Do it." He stood above her and waited, his face a stony countenance. She saw that he would have his way and reached and grabbed the rails of the old iron bedstead. He tightly looped the belt around her wrists and watched as she tugged and writhed on the bed. He stepped back and slowly began to unbutton his shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his linen slacks. She heard him kick his shoes away and watched as he bent down to remove his socks. He stood and stared down into her lust-filled eyes and finally opened his trousers, letting them fall to the ground. She watched in fascination as his huge erection strained against his briefs. Her eyes fluttered as he slowly freed his shaft from its confinement. He straddled her waist, his weight pinning her deep into the mattress. Slowly he began to caress her face, trailing his hands down her neck and teasing her breasts, pinching and extending her nipples until she cried out in passion and pain. He began rocking his cock along her belly and slowly moved down until he was poised at her opening. She licked her lips as he stilled his black eyes blazing in passion. "Ask me." She shook her head and he brought his hand down and began teasing her folds now so wet with desire that she was embarrassed by her reaction. "Ask me." Again she denied her needs and he plunged two fingers deep within her, causing her to arch her back trying hard to make him touch her where she most needed him. He growled, "Beg me, Red." And before she could respond he began circling her engorged clit with his thumb, barely touch it, the sensations torturous now. The sweat shined on her forehead, her head thrashed and she pulled against her bonds and finally she began. "Please, please, please," a chant ever increasing in volume. He took pity on her finally, and grabbing her hips he impaled his shaft deep within her, the angle just right that she went soaring over the edge in climax her shout loud in the early morning quiet. Her vaginal walls clutching him so tightly that he barely pulled out and thrust in again before he roared his own release. He fell to her side and still trying desperately to catch his breath reached out and managed to unhook the belt. Once she was free he brought her wrists to his lips and kissed them. "Christ, did I hurt you?" She rolled into his large furry chest and clutched at him, her tremors still shuttering through her. "No-o-o, you…didn’t…Jesus…that was the most intense…the most…incredible…" She looked into his deep brown eyes. "What the hell are you doing here a day early?" Walter Skinner looked in the impossibly blue eyes of the woman he had been in love with for all these years and said with amusement. "Why? You have a problem with me coming down to see you before the shit hits the fan?" Dana lay back on the pillow and smiled over at her lover and reached up to caress his sweat soaked chest. "No. No problem. I just didn’t think you could get a flight out this early." Skinner captured her fingers and pulled them to his lips. Kissing each finger he watched as she finally calmed completely. He knew she wouldn’t be awake much longer. "Actually, I didn’t. Chegwidden snagged a military transport for us. We got in around 10:30. We checked in. I managed to book the room next door…" She laughed. "Well that explains why the neighbors aren’t complaining about the noise. I knew there was a reason why I liked having the room at the end of the hall." She yawned, but continued. "I thought that Chegwidden had to testify before Congress tomorrow." Skinner shook his head and sat up, he feet on the floor. "No, the chairman of the committee had to leave town, evidently his daughter was involved in a bad car wreck and he had to get to California. Chegwidden said they are postponing his testimony until next week." He rose and ambled to the bathroom. Dana heard the water running and stretched and waited her turn. When he returned she scooted out of the bed and went in to clean up. When she returned, he had straightened out the bedding and was propped against all of the pillows, watching the late, late, late news on CNN. As she approached him, he flicked off the TV and held out his arms to her. She allowed him to pull her down and over him. He pulled out a pillow for her and she pulled him down into a deep, tender kiss. "I love you Walter Skinner." She sighed just before she drifted off into sleep. Home :: cross-overs Index :: e-mail |