Beware What You Wish

by Diana G. Gallagher

  “Completely perfect.” Piper brushed her long, brown hair behind her ear. “Except that we’re three women on a picnic with no men.”

  Phoebe sighed, exasperated. “But if Leo were here —”

  “He’s not.” Piper tilted her head slightly and set her jaw. Her dark eyes clouded.

  Phoebe didn’t need a body language dictionary to figure out what that meant. Leo had been assigned to protect all the Halliwell sisters when they had discovered their powers, but he had won Piper’s heart. However, Leo hadn’t been around much lately, and she didn’t blame Piper for not wanting to talk about playing second fiddle to White Lighter business all the time.

  Correction, Phoebe reminded herself. Piper didn’t dare complain out loud. Since she had fallen for a man who had died during World War II and had then been enlisted as an agent of good by the big guys in heaven, she had to accept the consequences. As luck would have it, romance between White Lighters and the witches they protected was high up on the White Lighter no-no list. However, when Piper’s broken heart had threatened to weaken the Power of Three, Leo’s bosses had relented — with one condition. Piper and Leo could pursue their forbidden love as long as it didn’t interfere with helping a single innocent.

  And helping the innocent was a full-time job for all of them, Phoebe mused. Except unlike Leo, she and her sisters never had to orb out to metaphysical planes unknown to hold up their end of the deal.

  “And you and I have no prospects, Phoebe,” Prue added.

  “Huh?” Phoebe blinked. “Romantic prospects?” Prue clarified. “Strictly a temporary situation, I’m sure,” Phoebe countered. There was a Mr. Right for her out there somewhere, she assured herself. Better to be patient than to fall for the wrong guy and be sorry forever.

  “More temporary than you realize, apparently,” Piper said. “Especially if you like tall, tan blond guys.”

  “Been looking into your crystal ball?” Phoebe asked.

  “No, just behind the bar at P3.” Piper grinned. “Rick Foreman, the new part-time bartender, couldn’t take his eyes off you the other night.”

  Phoebe frowned, thinking back. She had gone to Piper’s club to take a break from the books for a couple of hours last Friday, but she didn’t recall a new bartender. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Because last weekend you were focused on your exams and didn’t need a distraction,” Piper explained.

  “Right,” Phoebe agreed. “I would have been lousy company. Besides, maybe there won’t be any sparks when this Rick and I actually meet.”

  “Sparks would be good.” Prue sighed.

  “No instant chemistry between you and the wealthy, passably handsome Mr. Tremaine, Prue?” Piper asked as she removed plastic plates and a thermos of lemonade from the basket.

  “Not really.” Frowning, Prue set out silverware wrapped in napkins like those Piper used at P3.

  “Does that mean you’re not quite sure?” Phoebe snapped the lid off a container of cold roast chicken, grabbed a leg, and set the container down.

  “No, I’m sure.” Prue swung her legs under the table and poured lemonade as Piper and Phoebe sat down. “Stephen Tremaine was actually quite pleasant, which isn’t unusual for a politician who wants to win an election, except that I don’t agree with any of his positions.”

  “For business and against the environment among other things,” Phoebe said. There was no way she’d ever vote for a millionaire entrepreneur who thought corporations could and should police themselves regarding pollution.

  Piper nodded. “But a lot of my customers agree with Tremaine on those issues.”

  “Apparently, a lot of people agree with your customers, but the real turnoff for me was his —” Prue interrupted herself to take a drink.

  “What?” Phoebe paused with a spoonful of potato salad poised in midair. “Bad breath? He cracks his knuckles? Smacks his lips when he eats?”

  “Creepy collection.” Prue shuddered. Piper reacted with a start. “Collection of what? Skewered dead bugs? Shrunken heads?”

  “Stamps?” Phoebe offered.

  “No stamps, but I’d be willing to bet my new cashmere sweater he’s got a bug or a head somewhere.” Prue smiled. “He’s got one of the most impressive collections of artifacts I’ve ever seen, most of it related to war.”

  “Are you saying Tremaine is whacko?” Phoebe’s eyes narrowed in thought as she nibbled a carrot stick. “That would explain why he’s running for Congress. With all his money, he’d have to be nuts to go into politics.”

  “Not necessarily,” Prue said.

  “Well, I doubt Stephen Tremaine is motivated by a burning desire to contribute to the common good,” Piper said. “The only other reason anyone goes into politics is power.”

  “That fits Tremaine’s personality profile.” Prue dropped a chicken bone on her plate and wiped her fingers on a napkin.

  Piper’s brow furrowed in puzzled contemplation. “I just can’t imagine why anyone would want to vote for him.”

  “He’s got a great handshake and a winning smile.” Prue shrugged. “That’s enough for some people.”

  “But he’s also running a brilliant PR campaign.” Phoebe didn’t pay much attention to politics as a rule, but Tremaine’s hard-hitting message was impossible to ignore. His TV and billboard ads pushing the concept of environmentally friendly industry dominated the airwaves and roadsides. Too many voters couldn’t see past the short-term economic gains to consider the long-term potential for environmental disaster. Phoebe didn’t think it was worth the risk.

  ”Well, Tremaine must be a little worried, too,” Prue said. “Yesterday I actually heard him wish he wasn’t running against Noel Jefferson.”

  “Now, there’s a hunk.” Piper grinned. “Not to mention that he’s one of the good guys.”

  Jefferson, the other wannabe congressman, was a blondish, brown-eyed, athletic thirty-something and a dynamic defender of the underprivileged and unjustly accused. Both candidates were single.

  “Mr. Jefferson does have a certain appeal — for a poor man with principles.” Flustered, Phoebe quickly qualified her observation. “Not that I’m interested.”

  “Of course not, but I might be.” Prue reached for the salt and knocked over her glass of lemonade.

  Piper’s hand shot out to freeze the tipping glass and the stream of yellow liquid pouring out.

  “Piper!” Prue scolded as she set the glass up right.

  “Sorry.” Piper winced and unfroze the stream of lemonade.

  Prue grabbed a bunch of paper napkins to wipe up the spill.

  That was a dramatic three seconds, Phoebe thought, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. No one had. The grade-school kids playing kick ball several yards away were focused on their game, as were their parents. The birthday party people at the pavilion were busy convincing eager little pony riders to wait their turn.

  “Just my rotten luck 415 sent me to photograph Tremaine.” Prue sighed. “At least if I met Noel Jefferson, I could honestly say I intended to vote for him.”

  “Maybe you’ll get your chance next Saturday.” Piper set down her fork and patted her stomach. “I’m full.”

  “What’s happening next Saturday?” Phoebe picked up another carrot stick. Piper shot her a scowling glance as she bit off the end. “Am I in trouble?”

  “You are if you’ve forgotten you volunteered to help me with the P3 booth at the Celebrity Charity Bazaar,” Piper said.

  “Is that this coming Saturday?” Phoebe’s big brown eyes widened. She hadn’t forgotten her promise. She had just lost track of time because of school.

  Piper planned to set up the booth to represent the ambience of P3 with stools, a table or two, non-alcoholic drinks, hot and cold hors d’oeuvres, pictures of the club’s interior, and recorded music by the different groups that performed on the P3 stage. The event was being held at the Boardwalk Beach and picnic grounds adjacent to the Gold Coast Amusement Park. Phoebe was looking fo
rward to helping out, especially since a lot of national and local celebrities planned to attend. Who knew where the love of her life might be lurking, waiting to meet a perky witch? Maybe even behind the bar at P3, she thought with a subtle smile.

  “You’re not going to let me down, are you?” Piper asked.

  “My word is my bond.” Phoebe solemnly raised her free hand, then popped the rest of the carrot stick into her mouth.

  “What does the Celebrity Charity whatever have to do with Noel Jefferson?” Prue wadded up the paper napkins. Lemonade dripped through her fingers as she heaved the wad toward a litter container ten feet away. The soggy paper ball hit the rim of the wire-mesh container and started to fall toward the ground.

  “Hey!” Phoebe’s eyes flashed a warning when Prue raised her hand to telekinetically flip it inside the container. “If you and Piper don’t stop with the power plays, the fact that we’re witches is going to be breaking news.”

  “Sorry.” Prue slid off the bench to pick up the soggy napkins.

  Piper’s gaze flicked skyward before she looked at Phoebe and shrugged. “When a power becomes second nature, you don’t always stop to think before using it.”

  Phoebe understood that on an intellectual level but not in practice. Eventually, she’d have to remember that using her powers frivolously was against the rules, too. She couldn’t control her ability to see the future or past, and she hadn’t mastered the art of levitation to use it on reflex yet. Still, the day might come when she’d have to be careful not to take off for the wild blue yonder to rescue a cat stuck in a tree or something.

  “Anybody want dessert?” Changing the subject, Phoebe stood and pulled a German chocolate cake from the picnic basket.

  Prue leaned toward Piper when she sat down again. “Is Noel Jefferson going to be at the big event next Saturday?”

  “Yep.” Piper handed Phoebe a knife. “He and Stephen Tremaine are both giving speeches. Kind of a get-outthe-vote-and-while-you’re-at-it-vote-for-me deal.”

  “Cool. Maybe I can get a couple of good shots of Jefferson for 415. Just in case Gil needs them.” Prue shrugged, but her casual attitude was as transparent as clean glass to Phoebe. Her elder sister wasn’t batting a thousand in the game of love lately, either.

  “Look out!” Piper shouted.

  Phoebe dropped the knife as a black-and-white soccer ball fell out of the sky and bombed the cake. She jumped back, but not before her shirt was splattered by icing and sticky, shredded coconut. She cast a questioning glance at Piper and hissed, “Why didn’t you freeze it?”

  “Smashed cake does not qualify as a magical intervention emergency,” Piper whispered back. Her gaze narrowed as a young girl about nine or ten years old ran up to the table.

  The child’s T-shirt and shorts were rumpled and damp with sweat. Her knees sported grass stains, and her face was smudged with dirt. She shuffled her feet and looked a little scared.

  “Is this yours?” Smiling to put the girl at ease, Phoebe pulled the ball out of the crushed dessert. Chocolate icing and bits of chocolate cake stuck to the underside.

  “Yeah. Sorry about your cake.” The girl reached for the ball.

  “That’s okay —” When the child’s hands touched the ball, Phoebe was rocked by a heart-stopping vision. Her muscles knotted, and she reeled as the images of imminent disaster played through her mind.

  . . . the little girl smashed to the ground, trampled by a shaggy beast, her scream cut short in a tangle of human and furry brown legs . . .

  “Thanks!” The girl turned and ran away.

  Disoriented by the physical impact of the premonition, Phoebe lost precious seconds recovering. She struggled to regain her voice as Piper and Prue rushed to her side. “Wait!”

  “What is it?” Prue asked as the child stopped and looked back.

  “I’m not sure. Some kind of furry demon thing —” Phoebe glanced toward the pavilion where the birthday party was being held. Aman in a cowboy hat was leading the pony toward a horse trailer parked in a nearby lot.

  “What demon thing?” Piper pressed.

  “The pony?” Phoebe hesitated uncertainly and shifted her gaze back to the girl, who tucked the ball under her arm and stared wistfully at the horse trailer.

  “I wish I had a pony.” The child’s head suddenly rolled back. She swayed and sank to her grass-stained knees as her legs buckled.

  Alarmed, Phoebe started toward her just as a loud squeal shattered the quiet afternoon. Her heart stopped when the pony balked at the trailer ramp, broke free of the handler, and galloped across the grass toward the stricken girl.

  “Piper!” Phoebe screeched and broke into a run, determined to pull the girl out of harm’s way. There were too many witnesses for Piper or Prue to use their powers safely.

  And she wasn’t going to make it in time.

  It took only a second for Piper to realize what was happening and conclude that she couldn’t freeze the pony without someone noticing. And there were too many people watching to freeze everything. The dozen adults and three dozen kids at the birthday party had all eyes glued on the runaway animal. The girl’s teammates were unaware of the impending catastrophe until a hysterical man and woman started running to the rescue. Piper’s power had grown stronger as time had passed, but it wasn’t strong enough to handle this. Still, breaking news aside, she had to do something.

  Prue’s blue eyes widened as Piper’s hands shot out.

  “Move the kid!” Piper urged her older sister as the pony froze with one hoof on the ground.

  Prue’s eyes narrowed in concentration as she pulled the child toward Phoebe with a snap of her hand.

  Piper unfroze the pony the instant the girl was clear.

  The pony charged past Phoebe as she drew the stunned child into the protection of her arms. Phoebe glanced back and mouthed a thank-you.

  Collapsing on the picnic table bench, Piper exhaled with relief and apprehension. The last thing she needed was a headline the next morning proclaiming the “miraculous pony rescue.” “Are we toast?”

  “Don’t think so.” Prue discreetly turned her telekinetic power on the pony, slowing his wild run with a staying hand so the frantic cowboy could catch him.

  Phoebe released her hold on the girl when the child’s parents dropped down beside them. The girl started to sob as her mother cradled and rocked her. Her father, his face pale and drawn, mumbled something Piper couldn’t hear as Phoebe stood and moved away.

  A few of the other young soccer players were watching the pony with wide, wondering eyes. That didn’t worry Piper too much. Kids were often prone to exaggeration and telling tall tales, which their parents weren’t prone to believe. Near the pavilion, however, a few huddled adults were engaged in heated discussion and casting furtive glances in her direction.

  Resigned to weather whatever came next, Piper surveyed the scene with a strange detachment. If there was a price to be paid because someone had noticed the real life stop-action pony, she’d figure something out. The one price she wasn’t willing to pay was losing Leo because she had failed to act when an innocent was in trouble.

  She shivered with a sudden chill.

  Enraged, he swept past the more-than-human women and through the throng of people gathered by the large hut, spreading a dread more intense than he had evoked when his spirit walked. He had been robbed of his demonic body in the distant past, but the vile female magic that had bound his essence had not stolen his power. Released into this strange land as a cohesive wisp of wind, he could still twist inconsequential human desire into cataclysmic harm.

  And, as he had suspected when he’d fled the stone, the female shamans could still stop him.

  He seethed because the child’s frail form had not been battered, bloodied, and broken under the iron hooves of the rampaging beast.

  He fumed because the lives the child touched would not be plunged into despair and destroyed by a horror they could never forget.

  He whipped through the
high branches of unfamiliar trees stripping them of leaves, maddened because the beast had failed and escaped uninjured.

  He keened as he raced through the sky, infuriated because the witches had prevented the chaos set in motion by the child’s desire. Their magic threatened the cascade of destruction triggered by the primary wish and his tenuous existence, but his resolve was greater than their power. He would have vengeance for all he had lost.

  This time he would vanquish the witches.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Phoebe settled into the sofa cushions and propped her fuzzy slippers on the coffee table. With her exams over and no classes until the following week, she was looking forward to a relaxing morning of doing nothing but catching up on the news and reading a racy gothic romance. She blew on a hot cup of coffee and hit the TV remote. Her aesthetic senses were immediately assaulted by a commercial that featured animated singing sausages.

  “Too early for torture by low-budget marketing.” Phoebe pushed the mute button, took a sip of coffee, and set the mug down. She picked up the paperback novel she had bought for a dollar at a used bookstore off campus. Dark Passions at Midnight was a poor substitute for muscled, manly arms, but it sure beat stuffing her head with the principles of thermodynamics.

  Although she was interested in psychology and other studies about the human condition, which would help her understand the people in need of Charmed assistance, a working knowledge of the sciences might come in handy someday, too. Eventually, she’d have to decide on a paying career, and it couldn’t hurt to be prepared for anything.

  Right now she was content to share the heated but ill-fated love between Agatha Cross and Trevor Holcombe. According to the copy on the back of the book, Agatha was a poor but beautiful commoner who served as a nurse to Trevor’s ailing father in Holcombe Manor. Agatha was also unaware that all the Holcombe women had succumbed to strange, premature deaths.

  “Warm fuzzies and spine-chilling mystery. Perfect.” As Phoebe flipped the book open to the prologue, the delicious aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls filled her nostrils. She looked up as Piper set a plate on the coffee table. “German chocolate cake yesterday and cinnamon rolls today. Are you deliberately trying to rot my teeth?”