Phoebe staggered and clawed at Prue with grasping fingers as the vision hit.
. . . scalding coffee pouring over her hand, white skin turning red and erupting with blisters . . .
Phoebe’s head began to pound, and her stomach churned as the impression faded. Breathless, she pointed Prue toward the redhead, who handed the man at the desk the paper, then moved toward a table set up for coffee. “Coffee,” Phoebe rasped.
Prue eased Phoebe into a space between a pile of cardboard boxes and the edge of the desk. “Don’t move!”
“Don’t worry.” Phoebe concentrated on slowing her racing pulse and kept an eye on Prue, who intercepted the woman just as she reached the restaurant-style coffee machine and picked up a cup. The redhead pointed down a hall as they exchanged a few words. Prue casually placed another cup under the spigot.
“Jenny!”
The young woman jerked her head up and looked back at a man racing down the hall with a clipboard. “What’s up, Charlie?”
Charlie ripped a sheet off the clipboard and handed it to her. “Channel Seven needs a Jefferson spokesperson for the late news. You’re elected.”
Phoebe stepped back as Jenny barreled past and out the door. She felt good in spite of her throbbing temples and shaky knees. Both the young woman and Mr. Jefferson would have missed a golden PR opportunity if Prue hadn’t prevented the young woman from burning her hand.
“Phoebe!” Prue waved for Phoebe to join her in the hallway.
Checking both ways for frenzied campaign workers, Phoebe scurried past the desk. The man sitting behind it was shouting into the phone and didn’t notice her. The lack of security was disturbing given that Mr. Jefferson was in dire danger from sources they hadn’t discovered yet.
“We’re in luck,” Prue said. “Jefferson has an office at the end of this hall, and the candidate is in.”
“Let’s do it.” Phoebe forced a smile and tried to muster some enthusiasm. However, any hope she had of getting a direct line to Jefferson’s future through personal contact was dashed when she saw two large men sitting outside his door.
“This could be a problem,” Phoebe whispered. The two men had stood up and snapped to alert attention when she and Prue had entered the hall.
“I know.” Prue spoke softly through a fixed smile. “If I fling them out of the way, someone will call the cops, and it’s too late to call Piper.”
“So much for hindsight.” Phoebe donned her brightest smile as she and Prue drew closer. She doubted the two men really considered two women a threat they couldn’t handle. “Hey, guys! What’s happening?”
“That’s what I was about to ask you.” The tall man on the left had a bushy mustache and was built like a linebacker. He clasped his hands in front of him and rocked back on his heels.
“We know you don’t have an appointment.” The man on the right was leaner with a steely gray stare that dispelled any illusion of weakness. He was all business all the time.
“You’re right, we don’t,” Prue said. “But we really do need to see Mr. Jefferson on a matter of huge importance. It won’t take more than a few minutes.”
“Not a chance.” Mr. Gray Eyes set his jaw with a stubborn determination that eerily resembled Prue when she dug in her heels. “Mr. Jefferson is in conference with his campaign manager, and he doesn’t want to be disturbed. No arguments, no exceptions.”
Phoebe waited to take her cues from Prue.
“I see.” Prue sighed and sagged. “Well, you’re just doing your jobs.” She looked up suddenly, cocking her head and smiling with a coquettish twinkle in her eye. “Do you guard over Mr. Jefferson all the time?”
Tease, Phoebe thought, wondering what Prue was trying to accomplish. The lean, mean security machine was not her type.
“Twenty-four hours a day,” the mustache said. “Where he goes, we go.”
“No time off at all?” Prue asked.
Both men stared at her, immune to the bait.
Prue nudged Phoebe and extended her hand to the man on the right. “Well, it’s been very nice meeting you.” She nudged Phoebe again and shot her an exasperated glance. “Hasn’t it?”
“Huh?” Slow on the uptake, Phoebe suddenly realized that Prue wanted her to connect with the guards. If they were always with Jefferson, then they would be right in the middle of anything bad that happened to their boss. “It sure has!”
Bracing herself, Phoebe grabbed the burly, mustached man by the hand. She fully expected to be bludgeoned by a vision of such incredible violence she would blow a mental fuse. She got absolutely nothing. The security guard did not have so much as a hangnail in his immediate future.
On the chance that the two men took alternate days off, Phoebe turned to the other guard and touched his arm. Again, nothing. “Nice coat.”
Prue just stared at Phoebe a moment, stunned because she was still standing and not stricken by a vision of Jefferson’s death and destruction.
“Well, guess we’ll be going.” Phoebe shook Prue’s arm. “We’ll just make an appointment on our way out.”
“Don’t bother trying the window,” the mustache said. “There isn’t one.”
“Right.” Prue didn’t need any urging to beat a fast retreat.
They did not stop to discuss the unexpected out-come of the encounters until they were back in the car.
“You didn’t see anything?” Prue asked as she turned the ignition key.
“Nope.” Phoebe threw up her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “The iron men are not in danger from anything worse than a pillow fight.”
“So what does that mean?” Prue put the car in gear but applied the brakes instead of pulling out.
“I don’t know.” Phoebe shrugged, stymied. “Maybe they aren’t with Jefferson at ground zero.”
“I didn’t get the feeling they were joking about being on duty twenty-four seven,” Prue said.
“Neither did I,” Phoebe agreed, her mind racing to come up with a plausible explanation. “The election is still weeks away. I suppose it’s possible that whatever’s going to happen doesn’t happen soon.”
Prue considered that a moment. “Possibly. Athulak granted your wish and the little girl’s wish right away. It’s been over two days since Tremaine made his.”
“A wish with cataclysmic consequences would probably take longer to develop and implement.” As she spoke, Phoebe had the unsettling feeling they were still missing a piece of the puzzle. She just couldn’t figure out what. “I am pretty sure there’s nothing to worry about tonight. So, since we have to rise and shine early tomorrow to help Piper, we might as well go home and get some sleep.”
Prue frowned. “How early?”
“Before the birds if you want coffee and time to read the morning paper.” Phoebe grinned as Prue rolled her eyes and drove toward the street.
Leaning back, Phoebe closed her eyes and quietly slipped back into the grip of despair. The dull ache in her head wouldn’t let her forget that Noel Jefferson wasn’t the only target of Athulak’s lethal wrath.
She pulled Piper’s protection charm out of her pocket and held it in a tight fist, remembering the severed flagpole. She might not be sure about Noel Jefferson’s ultimate fate, but one thing was quite clear.
Athulak hated witches.
CHAPTER
11
Piper removed a batch of blueberry muffins from the oven and set them on the stove to cool. It was going to be a long day and she wanted to make sure both her sisters were fueled and ready to go the distance. The participation of local and national celebrities at the charity bazaar meant the event would be swarming with reporters. One picture of Brad Pitt stopping by her booth in the newspapers and P3 would leap into prominence as one of the hottest clubs in the state.
She paused to stare wistfully into space, imagining herself sitting beside Brad in a front-page photo, wondering if his appearance today was confirmed or just a rumor. Three weeks ago Leo had crossed-his-heart promised her that he wou
ld be at the bazaar, and she hadn’t seen or heard from him since.
“I can’t take Brad being a no-show, too!” Piper yanked the refrigerator door open to siphon off her frustration. If the big bosses on high thought she couldn’t handle being apart from Leo, he would be yanked from her life for good.
Phoebe ambled in, yawning and rubbing her eyes as Piper set a bowl of sliced fresh fruit on the table.
“Morning!” Piper singsonged with a bright smile, hiding her dismay because Phoebe was still in her nightshirt and fuzzy slippers. She hadn’t even combed her hair, which was flat against her head on one side and tangled on the other. Piper didn’t want to jump-start the day with an argument, but she couldn’t help wondering what Phoebe had been doing for the thirty minutes since her alarm had gone off.
Phoebe grunted and yawned.
“Coffee’s brewing and there’s fresh muffins,” Piper said.
Nodding, Phoebe stared at the coffee maker as though she could will the machine to drip faster. After a few seconds, she got a mug from the cupboard and pulled the half-full pot out from under the drip basket. Two or three drops of hot liquid sizzled on the burner before the automatic shutoff kicked in.
“That’s still a little strong.” Piper grimaced and gingerly took the hot muffins out of the tins and put them on a plate.
“Good.” Shoving the pot back into the machine, Phoebe grabbed the milk from the fridge, snatched the morning newspaper off the counter, and sat down at the table.
Somebody was cranky this morning, Piper thought, annoyed. She set the muffins on the table, next to the fruit.
Phoebe was too engrossed in the newspaper to notice. Her coffee sat untouched as she ran her finger down the page, then flipped the paper open and continued her intense search while nibbling her lower lip.
What was Phoebe’s problem this morning? Piper wondered, blowing a wisp of hair off her forehead. According to her and Prue’s report last night, Phoebe had gotten off easy with one minor vision and two blanks.
“Is Prue up yet?” Piper stood with her arms folded staring at Phoebe, who remained oblivious to everything but the morning news. “Did I tell you I’m going to live with Leo on the higher plane?”
“Uh-huh.” Picking up her mug, Phoebe sipped and turned another page.
“I can’t believe I’m up and it’s still dark outside.” Fresh from the shower, Prue waltzed in. Her black hair gleamed from vigorous brushing. A smoky blue scoop-neck top with three-quarter sleeves and tailored black pants emphasized the dazzle in her blue eyes. Prue looked like the after to Phoebe’s before.
“Coffee’s ready.” Piper poured two cups and handed one to Prue. “Refill, Phoebe?”
“Sure.” Phoebe set down her mug, tossed the front section of the paper on the floor, and moved on to the metro section.
Piper moved to the table, refilled the mug, then stood with her hand on one hip hitched to the side in a classic annoyed waitress pose. “Okay. What’s the matter?”
Prue walked over and stared at Phoebe, too.
Seconds passed before Phoebe realized she was the focus of their intense scrutiny. She looked up slowly, her expression questioning. “Uh — problem?”
“You tell us.” Piper left to put the coffeepot back on the warmer, then dropped into a chair beside Prue.
“We’re listening,” Prue said.
“Right.” Piper nodded emphatically. “How come you aren’t dressed? I had everything planned so we’d have plenty of time to enjoy breakfast before we have to leave for the park. So what gives?”
“I, uh, can’t go.” Phoebe’s lip trembled, and she inhaled sharply on the verge of bursting into tears. “Too many people.”
Piper’s pique disintegrated in an emotional collision with sympathy for her sister and self-reproach. She had been so wrapped up with her own anxieties and excitement about the bazaar, she had dismissed the difficulties Phoebe was having with the extra visions. Worse, she realized. The additional strain had apparently taken a bigger toll than Phoebe had let on.
“How bad is it?” Piper’s voice cracked and she cleared her throat.
“Pretty bad.” Phoebe’s hands shook when she picked up her mug.
“You seemed okay last night,” Prue said.
“Yes and no.” Taking a long swallow of coffee, Phoebe paused to massage her forehead.
Piper and Prue both waited patiently until she was ready to continue.
“The other day when the cashier cut her finger, the vision was like” — Phoebe paused, searching for the right words — “a whisper, but the physical effects are getting progressively more painful. And exhausting. The coffee burn Jenny didn’t have because we stopped it was serious, but the effect the vision had on me was three times worse than it should have been. Understand?”
Prue nodded and gripped Phoebe’s arm.
“Yeah.” Ashamed, Piper averted her gaze and saw the newspaper on the floor. She picked it up, folded it, and set it on the table. “What were you looking for, Phoebe?” she asked gently.
Phoebe hung her head and sighed. “An article about Noel Jefferson’s untimely demise.”
“What?” Prue sat back, stricken. “But I thought — ”
Phoebe held up a hand. “I didn’t get anything from the two tough guys guarding the door. But after I went to bed, I kept thinking, what if they aren’t right there with him when Athulak’s catastrophe hits?”
“But they said —”
Phoebe interrupted Prue again. “I know. Twenty-four seven, but they are not with him every minute of every day and night. They were outside Jefferson’s office last night, and he was inside — out of sight.”
Prue’s face went white. “You don’t think Athulak paid him a visit, do you?”
Phoebe shook her head. “The disasters Athulak causes always relate to the actual wish, like the stampeding pony. He doesn’t do his own dirty work.”
“He certainly tried hard enough in the parking lot yesterday.” Prue made a slashing motion across her throat.
Phoebe nodded. “But I’m guessing that he just hates witches. Wouldn’t you want revenge if someone trapped you in a rock for three thousand years?”
“I might.” Prue reached for a muffin and paused. “Should we call Darryl to see if Jefferson is all right?”
“No.” Phoebe wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “There’s nothing in the paper, and I watched the news on TV when I got up.”
Piper sensed Phoebe’s misery and her dilemma. Because the visions had become so painful, she was questioning her motives for not trying harder to connect with Jefferson.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Phoebe,” Piper said. “You wouldn’t have come home if you honestly thought something was going to happen to Jefferson last night.”
“Yeah?” Phoebe tossed her head back with a short, derisive laugh. “If I really believed that, I would have gotten some sleep.” She took several deep breaths to bring herself back from the brink of hysteria. “The thing is, what good is having my power if I’m so intimidated by headaches and nausea that keep getting worse that I won’t use it.”
Prue sat bolt upright. “Ohmigod! That’s it!”
“What?” Startled, Piper almost choked on her coffee.
“Athulak’s hidden agenda.” Excited, Prue leaned forward. “Yesterday we couldn’t figure out his motive for granting Phoebe’s wish because her increased sensitivity was preventing disaster, not creating chaos.”
“I’m with you so far,” Piper said, “but I don’t understand where you’re going.”
“You talk, I’ll eat.” Phoebe pulled the muffin plate toward her and leaned over to get a fork from the drawer.
“Okay. This is going to sound complicated, but it’s not,” Prue explained. “Not when you put it all together in context.”
Piper made a hurry-up motion and unwrapped a muffin.
Prue took a sip of coffee and cleared her throat. “We have to start with Tremaine’s wish, which had two eleme
nts. First, it freed Athulak from the stone. Second, when the wish is fulfilled it will have cataclysmic repercussions.”
“Agreed.” Piper pointed to the silverware drawer.
Phoebe pulled out two more forks. She handed one to Piper and placed the other by Prue.
“Now, since Tremaine’s wish is taking longer to grant than the others — the pony and Phoebe’s power,” Prue clarified, “it could be that the first wish is a lot more important to Athulak than just bumping off a few humans or making them miserable.”
“Important how?” Phoebe frowned. She looked as confused as Piper felt.
“Maybe it’s do or die for Athulak.” Prue paused, weighing her words. “What if his ultimate destiny depends on the first wish?”
“If something goes wrong and Tremaine’s wish isn’t granted, Athulak is history?” Phoebe asked for clarification.
“I love the theory,” Piper said, “but it’s really just a good guess, isn’t it?”
“Not really.” Prue stood up and went to the counter to get the coffeepot.
“It definitely falls into the category of wishful thinking for me, but I’m more than willing to be convinced.” Phoebe jabbed an orange slice with her fork.
Prue topped off everyone’s cup with coffee as she explained. “The key to the whole scenario is Noel Jefferson, the target of Tremaine’s wish.” Prue sat down and set the pot aside. “If Phoebe connects with Jefferson, we’ll know how Tremaine’s wish will be fulfilled.”
“And if we know, we might be able to stop whatever happens from happening,” Piper added.
Phoebe stopped chewing to stare at her sisters. “Right, but how did Athulak figure that out?”
As the clues sank in, Piper suddenly found that all the pieces did fall neatly into place. Athulak had seen Prue use her powers in Tremaine’s library and had followed her to the park. He had been imprisoned by a witch and was worried that a modern witch might interfere with his plans.
“Athulak was at the park when Phoebe sounded the alert about the runaway pony before it bolted.” Piper sat back, stunned. “We even talked about meeting Noel Jefferson at the charity bazaar today.”
Beware What You Wish Page 10