by Paul Ruditis
She was in Salem, Massachusetts, at the tourist trap officially known as the Salem Witch House. It was not her first time there. During her time after she came back to Earth but before she’d reconnected with her sisters, she’d taken a job at the Witch House in an attempt to create a new life for herself. She’d gone by the name Patience back then. Somewhere along the way, they’d stopped calling her that and she became Prue again.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise that the demon was sending people to attack witches here. That’s what had drawn Prue to the Witch House in the first place. Not only did it give her the chance to repair some of the centuries of damage done to the reputation of witches, but it also allowed her the opportunity to meet fledgling practitioners just learning the craft. The place seemed to attract them.
That’s part of the reason it hurt so much to see this particular witch trapped under the spell of the Book of Light a woman with crazed eyes held in her arms.
The witch was named Sarah. Prue had helped the girl cope with her new powers. That they had lost touch in the meantime was only one of the regrets Prue had about her new prison at the Nexus.
Prue reached out to pull the woman away from Sarah, but her arms went right through her without even ruffling her clothes or causing a breeze to blow her hair. Prue screamed, but no one in the room heard the sound, not even herself. She wasn’t really there at all. The images only played in her mind, placing her on the scene.
She could only watch as Sarah fell to the floor, her power to move things with her mind gone like all the others.
Gone from Sarah, but not gone into nothingness. The magic was being pulled from her unconscious body, drained from her, by the book. As the pages absorbed the last tendrils of magic, the book slammed shut and the woman with the crazy eyes made her way out.
Only then did Prue come out of the vision.
Her eyes opened to see Cole leaning over the bed. He was saying something to her, but she couldn’t make out the words. All she could tell was that her sisters were gone.
Phoebe ran to the master bathroom to search for a washcloth. If Prue had to be confined to the Nexus, she was in the most luxurious prison Phoebe could imagine. Her bathroom featured a huge whirlpool tub and a separate shower with multiple massaging showerheads. The floor was marble and Phoebe could feel heat radiating from it to keep Prue’s toes warm on those cold desert mornings in the middle of nowhere. The counter around the sink was large enough to hold every one of Phoebe’s beauty products and still have room to double as a baby-changing station in case of emergency. There was even a bidet. It was the bathroom Phoebe had always dreamed of and never imagined Prue would want.
Prue had always been the responsible one. Phoebe was the dreamer. She was the one who longed for the castle in the sky. And yet, here was Prue with the ability to make her home into whatever she wanted and so far, it wasn’t how Phoebe would have imagined it. As morbid as it was when the place looked like the Halliwell Manor, at least that made sense to Phoebe. Prue had always loved their family home. It obviously had to change because it was keeping her rooted in the past, but is this really what Prue wanted? Or did her design have another motivation? Was she really longing for Phoebe to visit more?
Phoebe found the washcloths in a cabinet to the right of the sink. While she held one under the cold water to get it nice and cool for her sister she gave herself a good hard look in the mirror. She had been avoiding this place, but was it just because of Cole? That would be the easiest answer.
A part of Phoebe still felt odd to have Prue back. She’d mourned her sister and moved—if not on, then at least forward. Having Prue back in her life made her feel like a child again, even though she had two children of her own. Even when Grams had been alive, Prue had always acted as Phoebe’s mother. It was strange to feel like she was taking a step back, no matter how genuinely thrilled she was to have Prue in her life again.
And then there was Cole.
That was even more complicated.
She wasn’t in love with him anymore. That wasn’t in doubt. And yet there would always be something between them. But how would they negotiate being in one another’s lives now that they were kind of stuck together as long as he was tied to Prue? One thing was certain: she couldn’t avoid her sister simply because she didn’t want to deal with the hard questions about Cole. She didn’t need to come up with a solution today, but she had to stop punishing Prue for it.
“You okay in there, Phoebe?” Cole called from the other room.
“Coming!” Phoebe realized her hands were nearly ice as she pulled them from the sink. She wrung the cloth, squeezing out the excess water, and hurried back to her sister’s side.
“Sorry,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Had some trouble finding the washcloths.”
Phoebe pressed the cool cloth to her sister’s forehead. Prue’s eyes were closed and she looked at peace for the first time since they’d arrived. “How’s she doing?” Phoebe whispered to Cole.
“She had another episode while you were in the bathroom,” Cole whispered back. “Another witch had her power stolen from her.”
“I’m so sorry,” Prue said.
Phoebe furrowed her brow. “For what?”
“Can’t stop it,” Prue said. She was straining to speak. “Only see it . . . as happens. Can . . . only send you . . . too late.”
“Shhhh.” Phoebe gently stroked Prue’s forehead with the wet cloth. “It’s okay, Prue. You’ve told us enough. You’ve told us where to go. We’ve gathered some information. We’ll figure the rest out.”
“I saw something . . .” Prue said. “Important.”
“What did you see?” Phoebe asked.
“I . . . don’t remember.” Prue closed her eyes. Her breathing was steady. She looked so peaceful at last that Phoebe was reluctant to bother her, no matter how much she needed to know.
“Got it!” Alysha came running across the room. She showed them two sketches: one that was the demon’s full body and another that was a close-up of his face.
Phoebe took the drawings. “Yep, that’s him. At least from the glimpse I got. Big and gruesome.” She handed the pages to Cole.
“I don’t recognize him,” Cole said. “So I doubt he’s an upper-level demon. I know most of them.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Phoebe said. “Power has been shifting down there while you were gone. He could have risen to a new position.”
“Yeah, but even then, he would have had to start somewhere,” Cole said. “This plan is too big for a lower level. I’d say he’s midlevel: someone with a taste for power and the ability to get more. One of my contacts down there should know him. Care to join me again?” He held out a hand to Phoebe.
She considered the offer. “You planning on visiting Eleazar again?”
Cole’s hand dropped. “He’d be the most logical first stop.”
“Think I’ll pass,” Phoebe said. “You should be fine down there on your own. I trust you.”
“Thank you,” Cole said. It was only two words, but they were loaded with so much meaning.
“Just don’t go promising a private party at Halliwell’s in exchange for the information,” Phoebe said. “Piper will kill me.”
“You’re going to have to tell her about his complimentary dinner soon,” Cole said. “Before he shows up at the door.”
“Don’t remind me,” Phoebe said.
Cole folded the pages in half and slipped them into his jacket pocket. “I’ll go see what I can find.”
As Cole dematerialized, Piper and Paige came into the room.
“Where’s he going?” Piper asked.
“Underworld,” Phoebe replied.
Her sisters gave her a look that asked more than their words could say.
“It’s okay,” Phoebe replied to the look. “I trust him.”
Paige shrugge
d and joined her sisters on the bed. “Well, if you trust him, I trust him.”
Phoebe nearly fell off the edge of the mattress. “You weren’t like that before.”
“It’s been a long time,” Paige said. “I’ve put the past in the past.”
“We figured out what’s in the ink,” Piper said, breaking the moment and sliding in between Phoebe and Prue. “It is blood. Specifically, it’s the blood of a warlock.”
“That’s how this demon is taking magic from witches,” Paige explained. “He’s not partnered with warlocks. He’s using them. A lot of them, by my estimate.”
Alysha gasped. “Austin? Is he a warlock? Is this demon going to kill him?”
“We’ve got time,” Piper said. “The ink isn’t just blood. It’s more of a potion mixed with blood. As far as we can tell, it takes time to . . . to bleed the warlock for this particular magic.”
“Oh my Goddess,” Alysha said.
Phoebe pulled Paige aside. “Do we even know that Austin’s not a willing partner?”
“I looked up the magic necessary to do this,” Paige said. “Trust me. It’s not something anyone would agree to.”
“But what’s the endgame?” Phoebe asked. “What happens to the magic? Is it bound? Does the demon take it? Where does it go?”
“Magic!” Prue shouted suddenly. “It’s the magic!”
Piper was at her side, taking the washcloth from Phoebe. “Yes, Prue. It’s the magic. We have to figure out where it goes.”
“Into the books,” Prue said. “The magic is absorbed in the books.”
“So it still exists!” Paige said. “There might be a way to return the powers to their rightful witches. All we have to do is find the books.”
“And how do we do that?” Phoebe asked. “I tried to get a premonition from the page, but I didn’t see anything.”
Prue’s scream broke through the conversation. She thrashed about the bed for a moment and then was out.
“Prue!” Piper screamed, shaking her sister.
Prue’s head lolled to the side. Her breathing was rushed, but steady. It took some time, but her eyes opened again. “It happened again.”
“Quick,” Paige said. “Tell us where. I’ll orb us there right away. Maybe we can get one of the demon’s minions and force him to take us to his leader.”
“Too late,” Prue said. “Gone.”
“There has to be a way to find out about these visions while we still have time to do anything,” Piper said. “We can’t keep showing up after the fact.”
Phoebe took a sudden deep breath. She had the beginnings of an idea. It was crazy, but then half the schemes they’d had over the years had been insane. And most of those had worked. “You know what?” she said. “There just might be a way.”
Chapter 18
It wasn’t Cole’s first trip to the Underworld on his own since he returned to the land of the semi-living, but he wasn’t about to mention that to Phoebe or her sisters. It was nice to feel their trust again. He’d held that trust on and off so many times in the past—mostly off—that he was afraid to lose it now.
No, not afraid. Something else. Something deeper. He’d felt fear before. Not often. Not for himself, usually. But he knew fear. This was something more intimate. He didn’t want to disappoint them. That was an unusual feeling. Even when his relationship with Phoebe was at its most intense in the past, he’d never worried about disappointing her. Not really. He may have said that at times, might have even acted like it. But he never really believed it. Not back when he still held on to the demon of his past. This was different. He was different.
Existing in a demonic void, neither alive nor dead, for years that seemed endless could change a person. It had changed Cole.
But now he had a chance at redemption. The Elders had told him that his soul could be saved. The demon he once was no longer existed. He only had his human self to account for now, and he was going to earn his place in the universe. If he couldn’t be by Phoebe’s side—and it was pretty clear that would not be happening—he would at least be a friend. He would help the Charmed Ones and Prue and he would find fulfillment in that.
It would be so much easier if remnants of his old life didn’t continue to haunt him.
Cole pushed that last thought from his mind as he reached Eleazar’s door. This was his second unannounced visit in as many days, but he had come prepared. A quick stop at Halliwell’s on his way to the Underworld had given him reason to show up on the sorcerer’s doorstep. Hopefully, it was enough to avoid another request for a favor.
Eleazar opened the door in a different smoking jacket than he’d worn the day before, but it was generally the same look. “Cole,” he said with a scolding tone in his voice. “I see you haven’t learned any new manners since your last unannounced visit.”
“My apologies, Eleazar. But I brought you a menu from Halliwell’s so you can take a look at what it features in anticipation of your visit.”
“You do know we get the Internet down here, Cole?” Eleazar still stood in the doorway, not welcoming Cole across the threshold. It was a stunning breach of etiquette from the sorcerer, which was a message all its own. “I can look that up online.”
Cole held out the menu. “Not this one. It’s the new seasonal menu. Hot off the presses. You’re the first person outside the restaurant to see it.”
Eleazar’s beady little eyes went wide as he snatched the menu out of Cole’s hand and ushered him inside.
“If I see that menu leaked on the Internet before it debuts at the restaurant . . .” Cole warned, leaving the actual threat unspoken. Implied threats were the way to go for the new and improved Cole. No reason to mention anything he didn’t plan to follow through on. In this case, it was more than enough.
Eleazar acted horror struck, clutching the menu to his chest as if Cole had just insulted his entire lineage. “Perish the thought! Do you think I am so naive that I do not understand the difference between gossip and inside information? This is a precious sneak preview. I would not spoil it by sharing with the unwashed masses.”
Cole sat on the plastic-covered couch. “I was hoping you’d feel that way.”
Eleazar reluctantly placed the menu on a side table as he sat in his antique chair. “Ah, here comes the pro quo for your quid.”
“What?”
Eleazar shook his head in resignation. “What is it you want to know now, Cole?”
Cole took the sketches out of his jacket and unfolded them slowly. Building anticipation was all part of the game with Eleazar. The sorcerer was leaning so far forward he was about to fall off his chair, until Cole finally handed him the pages. “I’m looking for a name.”
Eleazar studied the pages intently, starting with the close-up, which was on top when Cole handed them to him. The sorcerer shifted between the pages, back and forth. He paused to consider the likeness, then resumed shuffling between the two. This was as much a part of the show as when Cole had slowly handed him the sketches. For a brief moment, Cole longed for the time when he had just reached out and choked the information he needed from someone. But again, that was a different time and this was a different Cole. The demon was gone, and so was the darkness.
Eleazar sat back in his chair, raising his eyes to the sky as if he were thinking. The show continued. If he didn’t know the identity of the demon in the sketch, he wouldn’t have drawn it out. He wouldn’t make Cole wait for no information. If that were the case, Eleazar would already be making arrangements for a favor in exchange for finding out what Cole wanted to know.
“You recognize him?” Cole asked, hoping to move things along.
“Possibly,” Eleazar replied. “The horns have a familiar look to them.”
“More telling than fingerprints,” Cole said.
“And equally as unique,” Eleazar agreed. He pretended to think just a bit longer
before returning the sketches to Cole. “His name is Izax. Midlevel demon. He can only teleport and throw fireballs, but he makes up for what he lacks with impressive schemes. He’s one of the rare demons that can think several steps ahead and endlessly plot before putting their plans into action. Never accept a challenge from him for a game of chess. You’ll lose, but it will likely take a decade to do so. The downside is that sometimes his plans are too complicated for his own good. He relies on others to do the dirty work when it would be more direct to just do it himself, and once the plan is in motion all that patience quickly runs dry.”
“That sounds like our demon.” Cole began to rise. “Thank you, Eleazar.”
The sorcerer held up a finger, wagging it at Cole. “Ah, ah, ah. That’s not all that I know of this demon.”
Cole quickly resumed his seat. “I do apologize. It’s just—time is of the essence.”
“Isn’t it always?” Eleazar said. “Still no excuse for poor manners.”
“Consider me properly chastised,” Cole said, dipping his head as if he felt shame.
Eleazar tented his fingers together, drawing out his response again. “There have been rumors—nothing substantiated, mind you, but rumors all the same. Over the past few years, warlocks have gone missing. Many, many warlocks. No one knows for sure, but Izax’s name has come up as the possible cause. Some think he might be making a move. Attempting to become an upper-level.” Eleazar leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile. The performance was over.
Cole waited an appropriate beat before speaking. “That is useful information, Eleazar. I appreciate it.”
The sorcerer picked up the menu again. “Tut-tut. It was a fair trade. I’m just glad I could meet my end of the exchange.”
Cole put the sketches in his pocket. One performance was over. It was time for a new act. “Speaking of exchanges.”
Eleazar smiled over the menu. “I was wondering if you would bring that up. Don’t think I didn’t notice you failing to mention it when your former paramour was here.”