Beware What You Wish

by Diana G. Gallagher

  “That’s how I see it,” Prue said. “When Athulak discovered that Phoebe could see the future, he realized she might see the catastrophe in Jefferson’s future.”

  “So when Phoebe made her wish,” Piper said, “Athulak enhanced her power to render her powerless.”

  “That is so disgustingly diabolical,” Phoebe fumed.

  “That’s why they call them demons,” Piper said.

  Prue smiled at Phoebe. “But there was one crucial factor he didn’t take into account: your devotion to doing the right thing even though it might hurt you.”

  Phoebe, however, was not easily appeased. “I appreciate that, Prue, but I didn’t follow through. We didn’t get close enough to Noel Jefferson for me to have a vision.”

  “But you intended to,” Prue reminded Phoebe. “Where were we going when he attacked us?”

  Phoebe blinked.”To see Noel Jefferson.”

  “Yep.” Prue picked up her muffin and peeled off the paper cup. “I rest my case.”

  “I’ll buy the theory, but I still haven’t completed the mission.” Phoebe set her fork down, her expression pained. “We have no idea how Athulak plans to get Noel Jefferson out of the election.”

  “It’s not too late to find out,” Piper said. “Jefferson is still scheduled to give a speech at the bazaar this morning. Around eleven, I think.”

  “I’ll go get dressed.” Phoebe rushed out of the room.

  “Well, I guess we’d better not waste any time.” Piper carried the muffin plate and the fruit bowl to the counter.

  “We’re going to need at least another hour.” Prue picked up the coffeepot and put it back in the machine. “I don’t know about you, but I’ll feel a lot better having a fresh protection charm on me today.”

  Piper handed Prue a roll of cellophane wrap. “You clean up. I’ll cook.”

  Piper’s nerves were on edge as she gathered the ingredients and unfolded the directions for the protection potion. The wind spirit apparently had the ability to manipulate his form into a deadly molecular blade. He could also wield it with enough force to slice through a steel pole. Three flesh-and-bone necks would be a snap by comparison. He had tried to kill once to keep Phoebe from touching Noel Jefferson. It would be foolish to think he wouldn’t try again.

  The charms were their only defense. Maybe, Piper thought as she retrieved a plastic container of raw chicken hearts from the fridge. There was another, ominous possibility no one had considered. Since Phoebe had been locked in the rest room when Jefferson had left the municipal building, Athulak may have simply followed him. He would have known Prue and Phoebe couldn’t get past the security men at his campaign headquarters and may have even tailed them home to be sure.

  Piper stared at the falcon feathers sealed in a zippered plastic bag with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. The spell she had gotten from The Book of Shadows had been written to repel tornadoes and hurricanes. She had adjusted it to include a sentient evil that had taken form as air.

  She had absolutely no proof that the protection charms worked.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Even though the Celebrity Charity Bazaar did not open officially until nine, the grounds were bustling with activity when Prue pulled into the parking lot at eight.

  “Do we know where your booth is?” Prue asked Piper as the sisters got out of the car. While some vendors had come with their own setups, complete with generators, Piper had rented a booth with access to electricity from the organizers. Most of those were located near the pavilions on the far side of the picnic area.

  “Not exactly.” Piper looked up from a diagram of the booth layout the organizers had sent her and held her hand above her eyes to survey the park. She glanced at the diagram again, then pointed to a pavilion shaded by tall palms and hardwoods to their left. “I think we’re over there.”

  Shouldering her camera bag, Prue locked the car doors. Although another bag of extra gear was stuffed under the seat, she didn’t want to take any chances.

  Phoebe leaned against the hood with her arms folded close to her chest, a stance that drove home just how loath she was to touch anyone. Above all, Prue thought, renewing the vow she and Piper had made when Phoebe had left the kitchen to change, Phoebe had to be protected from physical contact with anyone except Noel Jefferson. Saving the future congressman and the world was imperative.

  “I hope Jimmy and the gang arrived on time to take our deliveries.” Piper exhaled nervously.

  “I wonder if Rick showed up,” Prue said.

  “Don’t know, but I’m off to find out. I’ll see you as soon as I know everything is under control.” Gripping the strap of her shoulder bag, Piper left to find her booth.

  Prue glanced at Phoebe, but her teasing reference to Rick had gone unheard. Her sister’s somber gaze was trained on the silent amusement park located at the northern end of the picnic grounds. Dominated by the towering Ferris wheel, a huge, ornate carousel, and a roller coaster that was tame by contemporary standards, the Gold Coast Amusement Park had sprawled across the landscape like a slow-growing amoeba since it had first opened decades before. However, over the past several months there had been talk of closing the old attraction down.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Prue said.

  Phoebe’s gaze darted to Prue, then back to the amusement park. “I’ve never been here when Gold Coast was closed. It’s kind of spooky, as if it died when the lights and the rides were turned off and the screams and the circus music faded into” — she paused, her eyes misting — “echoes of more innocent, happier times, maybe. When we were kids.”

  “That’s awfully profound for so early in the day.” Prue tried to offset Phoebe’s melancholy, but she knew that Phoebe would find a way to over-come this personal crisis, too. A code of no surrender had been bred into the Halliwell bloodline for centuries.

  “Okay.” Straightening up, Phoebe flashed Prue a smile. “I’ve indulged in all the doom and gloom I can stand for one day. Let’s take care of business so we can have some fun.”

  “I’m ready.” Prue glanced in the direction Piper had gone. “Do you want to help Piper or go with me to check out the stage where Tremaine and Jefferson will be speaking?”

  Phoebe’s internal struggle was evident on her face.

  “I’ll understand if you’d rather hang out with Rick,” Prue added.

  The light that shone from Phoebe’s eyes at the mention of Rick faded almost immediately. “Work first. Play later.”

  “Let’s go then.” Prue led the way toward a large wooden pavilion. A large blue-and-white canvas canopy had been erected just beyond it. Inside the pavilion, crews were securing risers that formed a stage, setting up folding chairs for the audience, and running cables for the sound system. Singing groups from local schools, aspiring bands, and the celebrities would share the program with the politicians.

  Phoebe stuck close to Prue’s side as they made their way up a wide jogging path. Except for people carting in supplies and products, the path was clear of traffic, and Phoebe began to relax. Most of the vendors were off to the side, furiously working on their booths.

  “Oh, look at those rag dolls!” Phoebe exclaimed. The woman unpacking the antique-style cloth dolls outfitted in calico dresses and off-white eyelet pinafores with matching caps held one out for Phoebe’s inspection. Phoebe shook her head. “Maybe later.”

  “What do you want with a rag doll?” Prue asked, delighted that Phoebe was taking an interest in something besides their unpleasant mission.

  “They’re adorable!” Phoebe shrugged with a sheepish smile. “She’d look darling on my bed.”

  A darling reminder of bygone days and more innocent times, Prue noted with a smile. As she looked around, she realized that the whole bazaar had been designed to promote a sense of community and goodwill.

  The wares displayed in the booths ranged from handcrafted jewelry and wooden toys, foreign food and hot dogs, to hot tubs and exercise equipment. Other
booths were devoted to organizations: citizen activist and political groups, education and health care programs, businesses like P3, and sponsors of team sports and other family recreational activities. Prue was impressed with the diversity, ingenuity, and enthusiasm of the participants. She wondered if the other vendors had driven their families crazy making preparations for the big event. Piper had obviously known what she was doing when she had signed on, though. Judging from the displays, everyone was expecting a huge crowd.

  “I smell coffee.” Phoebe paused to inhale the enticing aroma wafting from the tent. “I could use another cup or two.”

  “Ditto that,” Prue said as she calculated her next move.

  Two sides under the canopy were open but roped off to discourage entry. A wall of blue-and-white striped canvas closed off the rearside. The side facing the pavilion was partially roped off to form an entrance. Tables and chairs were arranged in the center under the canopy. Two women were filling trays with Danish and doughnuts on tables along the back wall. The tables also contained two large, banquet-style coffee machines, creamer, sugar, and several varieties of tea, a water cooler, and tubs of iced soft drinks. A sign over the entrance read, Press and Official Guests Only.

  “I don’t suppose we qualify as official guests, huh?” Phoebe frowned, annoyed.

  “No, but we might qualify as official press.” Prue fished her 415 press pass out of her leather shoulder bag and handed the camera bag to Phoebe. “You just got hired to assist.”

  “You are so bad.” Phoebe grinned.

  “I know.” Prue cut her laugh short as she walked toward the tent with the air of someone who knew exactly who she was and where she was going.

  An attractive young woman seated at a small table by the entrance blinked as Prue walked in without giving her a glance. “Wait a minute! Miss!”

  Prue stopped, motioned Phoebe to continue on, then turned to the woman with a puzzled frown. “Yes?”

  “Uh — this tent isn’t open to the public.” The woman, Louise according to her nametag, seemed genuinely apologetic when she pointed up toward the sign. “Press and guests only, I’m afraid.”

  Prue stepped up to the table and held out her press pass. “Prue Halliwell, photographer from 415.” She glanced at Phoebe. “And my assistant.”

  Louise squinted at the pass. “Oh, cool!” She smiled. “Help yourself to whatever and make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thanks,” Prue said, smiling back. “My editor told me to capture the local flavor of the bazaar. Would you mind if I took a shot of you for the magazine?”

  “Me?” Flustered, Louise smoothed her short dark hair. “Uh — no. I mean, that would be great.”

  “Excellent!” Prue started to leave, then stepped back. “Do you know when Mr. Jefferson is speaking? I left my schedule in the car.”

  “Eleven o’clock. I just spoke to him, and he’ll be here about a quarter of.” Louise held up her cell phone as proof and leaned over to speak confidentially. “I talked to Whoopi this morning, too. She’s going to be late.”

  “Well, at least she’s coming. Thanks again. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Confident that she and Phoebe would have access to the tent all day, Prue got herself a coffee and joined Phoebe at a table in the back corner.

  “Are we cool?” Phoebe cast a doubtful glance at Louise.

  “Totally.” Prue removed her camera from the bag and set it on the table. “If anyone asks, just mention my name and the magazine and say you’re my assistant. Louise over there will back you up.”

  “I can do that.” Phoebe tensed when two women and a man with clipboards and briefcases seated themselves at the next table over. However, they were intent on their own business and paid no attention to Phoebe and Prue.

  “So what’s the plan?” Phoebe lowered her voice. “Do we have a plan?”

  “We do now.” Prue leaned toward her. “But first the good news. Louise just spoke to Jefferson. No mishaps in the middle of the night.”

  Phoebe’s hand flew to her chest in a gesture of relief. “Thank goodness. What do we do next?”

  “You’re going to sit right here and wait while I go check in with Piper,” Prue said. “It might get a little crowded, but better to hobnob with the celebs than take a chance in the crowds out there.”

  Phoebe nodded, smiling. “We’ve had worse plans. Bruce Willis isn’t on the guest list, is he?”

  “Bruce Willis?” Prue eyed Phoebe askance. “Since when is Bruce Willis at the top of your famous-movie-stars-I’d-like-to-meet list?”

  “He’s sexy and cute,” Phoebe said, “for an old guy. Like Mel Gibson and Harrison Ford.”

  “It’s your fantasy.” Prue stood and picked up the camera. “I think I’d better wander around and play photographer for appearances’ sake. I don’t want Louise to get suspicious and throw us out.”

  “Not with five dozen doughnuts to choose from,” Phoebe quipped.

  “Jefferson won’t be here for a couple more hours, but I’ll be back before then. With luck you can make contact right here in the tent before he delivers his speech.” Prue noticed a subtle shift in Phoebe’s cheerful demeanor. “Are you sure you’ll be okay waiting here alone?”

  “Are you kidding?” Perking up again, Phoebe spread her arms to encompass the VIP domain. “I’ve got plenty of coffee and an in with the in crowd. What more could I ask?”

  Priming the camera, Prue left to snap a few shots and seal the deal with Louise.

  “You guys are doing great!” Piper pulled off the ponytail holder and shook out her hair. For the first time in a week, she felt as though she had made a sound decision to invest her limited PR money in the booth.

  Jimmy, Rick, and two of Jimmy’s friends had finished getting the tables, stools and chairs, the refrigerator, and other equipment in place with amazing speed and efficiency. They even had the electrical cables ready for Hard Crackers when the band arrived to set up right after noon. Until then Jimmy’s taped collection of easy rock would set the right mood.

  Sandy and Monica, Piper’s two waitresses for the event, bopped to the sounds of an old Cars song as they topped off the tables with red- and white-checkered cloths and pots of red geraniums. Napkin holders doubled as paperweights to keep stacks of P3 flyers from drifting away on a light breeze.

  The Celebrity Charity Bazaar promised to be a huge success, as long as Athulak didn’t sweep down from the sky bent on revenge. Piper touched the charm in her pocket and rubbed a kink in her neck. Her sudden decapitation would probably get Leo’s attention, wherever he was, but she seriously doubted his healing powers could put her back together again.

  “Wow! This looks fantastic!” Prue came up from behind Piper, folded her arms and nodded as she surveyed the nearly completed booth.

  Piper beamed in spite of her distressing thoughts. “You don’t think it’s too much? I mean, we don’t have flowers on the tables at P3.”

  “No, it’s perfect. I love what you did with the photos.” Prue walked over to the easel Piper had set to the left of the booth. The pictures of P3 in action were tacked to a bulletin board resting on the wooden stand. “These came out pretty well, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Piper caught herself holding her neck and jammed her hands in her pockets. “Any word on the Mr. Jefferson situation?”

  “I found out that he’s definitely alive and well this morning. He’s expected to arrive for his speech about a quarter to eleven.”

  Piper pulled a folded schedule from her pocket. “Tremaine is speaking right after him at eleven forty-five.”

  Prue frowned. “I wonder if that works into Athulak’s plan. We’ll know if Phoebe can get a read on Jefferson before he speaks.” Prue took a quick look around for curious ears. “I know we can’t use our you-know-what in this crowd, but you should probably be there just in case.”

  “Moral support if nothing else.” Piper knew they’d use their powers if they had to, but only as a last resort. She glanced back toward the
stage pavilion. “Where is Phoebe?”

  “In the VIP tent, hoping to run into Bruce Willis.” Prue set her camera on the counter that ran the length of the booth, then slid onto a stool. She jumped when Rick popped up on the far side holding a wrench.

  “Phoebe knows Bruce Willis?” Rick’s brow furrowed under a shock of unruly blondish hair.

  “That’s news to me, too.” Piper perched on the stool beside her. “Although I’m glad you brought your camera. When Brad Pitt stops by, there probably won’t be a reporter in sight.”

  Rick’s mouth fell open. “You know Brad Pitt?”

  “We’re just friends.” Piper burst out laughing. “Not.”

  “Don’t worry, Rick,” Prue said. “I happen to know Phoebe likes tall guys with sandy blond hair. Bruce is short and practically bald.”

  Rick’s obvious interest in Phoebe seemed to have short-circuited his sense of humor, Piper realized. He obviously didn’t get the joke.

  “Phoebe doesn’t know any movie stars,” Piper added.

  Phoebe stared at the gray-haired man sitting across the table from her, fascinated. He wasn’t Bruce Willis, but she had seen him in dozens of movies and television cop shows over the years. His name, however, completely escaped her.

  “The best part was when he bent over and split the back seam of his pants,” the old actor chuckled. “He made them destroy the film.”

  “Had to protect the old he-man image, huh?” Phoebe smiled.

  “He-man with a glass jaw.” The old actor looked up, a twinkle in his eye. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “I’m really good at keeping secrets,” Phoebe said.

  “Well, I’m still getting bit parts here and there. Nobody’s seen him on the big screen in ten years. Not on the little screen, either.” The man’s glee was infectious and Phoebe laughed.

  After Prue had left her, she had spent an hour reading the gothic paperback novel she had stuck in her bag. She had passed the next thirty minutes gawking at the local television news personalities and numerous character actors she recognized. They drifted in and out of the tent, taking breaks from mingling with the crowd, or used it as a green room before speaking or performing to encourage donations to the charity fund. Most of the minor celebrities had ignored her. A few had smiled or nodded or said hello in passing, which was just as well because she didn’t know any of their names, either.