Part One – Philip
"Hey, buddy, here we are. That'll be thirty bucks."
Philip Halliwell peered at the large Victorian manor through the cab's rain-slicked window. His heart pounded in his chest. For twenty-two years it had been home, but not anymore. After months away, he felt like a stranger. Unfortunately, he had no where else to go. He'd lost both his job and his apartment in New York.
Would his older brothers be glad to see him? He wasn't worried about Parker, the one closest to his age. Family was always the most important thing to Parker, and he had been the one to tell him to come home, anyway. It was his oldest brother Paul he was worried about. They hadn't parted on the best of terms.
He gripped the door handle.
"Kid, you gonna get out or what?" the cab driver said.
Philip blinked. "Yeah, yeah, I am." He pushed open the door and climbed out. Fat drops of rain hit his skin, leaving a cold trail in their wake. He grabbed his duffel bag, throwing it onto his shoulder. Closing the cab door, he stared at the house once more. He took a shaky step forward.
"Hey! Thirty bucks, kid!"
"Oh, right." Philip turned back to the cabbie and smiled. "Let me get inside, and I'll get you the money. Wait right here."
No more stalling now. He sighed and dashed up the stairs. Once under the porch, he pushed his wet, dark hair out of his eyes and searched. He grinned when his fingers found the hide-a-key sitting under a dead potted plant. He couldn't blame Paul for predictability. He put the key in the lock, twisted, and opened the door.
The house hadn't changed since the day he moved out. The brown and tan patterned rug ran along the hardwood floor leading toward the dining room. The living room entrance was on the right while the stairs leading to the upper floors were on the left.
His brothers stood in the hallway under the broken chandelier. Both sets of eyes – one brown like his and the other green – fixed on him. Parker's face broke into a grin. Paul's face remained impassive. The two stood facing each other, and Philip felt like he had walked into the middle of an argument. Philip forced a bright smile.
"I'm home!" he called as he stepped through the doorway. "Miss me?"
Parker, the shorter one with the matching set of eyes, was the first one to move. "Philip, you made it." He reached his younger brother in three strides and pulled him into a one-armed hug. "How was your trip, man?" Philip returned the hug, but his eyes didn't move from the other man standing under the chandelier. In true Paul fashion, he hadn't forgiven and forgotten.
"You didn't tell Paul I was coming home, did you?" Philip asked Parker.
Parker stepped back, some of the over cheerfulness gone from his eyes. "If I had, he would have changed the locks."
The cab outside beeped its horn, breaking the tension. Philip wrenched his gaze away from Paul's and glanced at the door.
"Crap! I forgot about the cab," he muttered.
"No sweat. I'll get it." Parker grabbed a wallet off the side table by the door and walked outside.
"Parker, that's my wallet!" Philip turned back to see Paul's eyes blazing green. Yeah, this wasn't going to go well at all. With Parker out of the room, the tension grew so thick Philip could cut it with a knife.
Paul sighed and placed his hands in his pockets. He strode toward his youngest brother. It didn't matter Philip could now look him in the eye, he still felt like Paul could tower over him. Paul's hands never left his pockets, and his eyes kept their hard look.
"We're not selling Gramp's house," he said, leaving the unspoken threat hanging. i You can screw up all you want, but you're not screwing up this. /i
Philip's fingers curled into tight fists as he tried to match the strength his brother exuded. "Is that why you think I came back?"
Paul's gaze was pure steel. "The only reason Parker and I gave up our apartments and moved back in is because this house has been in our family for generations."
Philip stepped back, raising his hands palms out. "Dude, no history lesson needed. I grew up here, too." Deep down, Philip suspected the house wasn't the root of Paul's anger. They hadn't parted on the best of terms simply because a woman spread a few lies. Philip needed to know the truth so he waited a beat, weighing his chances of getting away if Paul started throwing punches. "You still mad at me about Rhonda?"
"Excuse me?" Paul's jaw twitched. Apparently Philip's guess had been correct.
Philip refused to fold. "I don't know what that bitch told you, but I never touched her."
He heard the door creak open behind him as Parker returned to the house. He didn't look away from Paul, though. It was survival of the fittest; the weakest would look away first. Parker's shoes squeaked on the floor, and within minutes, his lean frame stepped in between them. He ran a hand through his dark hair, shaking the rain from it.
"You know, I could start some dinner. Who wants to eat?" he piped up.
Paul moved first, heading for the living room. "I'm not hungry."
Philip adjusted his bag and met Parker's eyes. "I ate on the bus." He then climbed the stairs to his room.
Setting his bag on the bed, Philip took in the room surrounding him. It resembled a hotel room, sterile in its appearance. The walls still had the brown wallpaper on the walls, but none of the posters he had left behind. He wasn't surprised. Paul probably decided to throw all of his things away the minute he left. Philip ran a hand over the headboard of the brass bed and smiled. Regardless, it was good to be home.
When he had taken off for New York after his grandfather's death, Philip didn't have a clue what he wanted to do. He was twenty-two years old and hadn't worked a day in his life. Within the span of a month, he'd slaved away as a retail clerk, a dog walker, and anything else the temp agency could find him. He didn't land something permanent until he became a Central Park carriage driver. He had been good at it. Then a strange guy spooked his horse and he lost his temper. All of a sudden, he was unemployed and headed back to San Francisco.
He shook his head. All of that was in the past. Now it was time to start making a new life for himself. He wasn't going to worry about the changes in his room or the mistakes he had made. Philip was a new person, and he was determined to show his brothers he was no longer the screw-up they thought he was.
Thirty minutes later, the heavenly smell of food floated in through Philip's open bedroom door. His stomach grumbled in response. Smiling, he stood up and pulled on a white T-shirt. Leave it to Parker to know he was lying about eating earlier. He quietly crept down the stairs, keeping an eye out for any sign of Paul. He stopped in the kitchen doorway, breathing in the scent.
"Is that fried chicken I smell?" Philip asked.
Parker leaned against the sink, grinning. "You always could tell when someone was cooking. Have at it, man. You know me; I always make too much."
Philip didn't have to be asked twice. He grabbed a plate and loaded it with three pieces. Collecting a drink to go with it, he carried his spoils to the living room and flipped on the television. He plopped in a chair, listening to a news reporter drone on about a murder which happened earlier in the evening. Parker came around the corner and joined him. Philip noticed his eyes light up when he saw the reporter.
"Hey, that's my girl," Parker grinned.
Philip raised an eyebrow. "That's Jenny?"
"Yeah, that's Jenny."
Philip studied the gorgeous brunette with the wispy hair and the round breasts. "Score! How did you pick up a chick like that?"
Parker took a bite out of a chicken leg. "Actually, she picked me up. We met while Gramps was in the hospital. She offered to buy me a cup of coffee and we started talking."
"Well done."
The two men ate as Philip found the remote and started flipping through channels. He finally settled on something when lightening flashed through the windows and snow filled the TV screen.
"Damn," Philip muttered as he tossed the remote onto the coffee table.
Bored, he let his eyes wander around the room until they landed on the wooden board sitting on a side table by the window. He set his plate down, stood up, and made his way over to it.
"Hey, Park, is this Dad's old spirit board?" he asked.
"Yeah, I found it in the basement the other day."
Philip moved the pointer and flipped the board over. "To my boys," he read. "May this give you the light to see in the dark. The Power of Three will set you free. Love, Dad." He turned to Parker. "We never did find out what the inscription meant."
"No, or why Dad even had it."
Still carrying the board, Philip headed back to his seat. "Why don't we play with it for old time's sake?"
Parker set his plate on the coffee table. "You're kidding, right?"
"No way. It could be fun." Philip set the board in the middle of the table. He put the pointer on the board and placed his fingertips on it. "Come on, Park, ask it a question." Outside, lightening lit up the sky followed by a loud clap of thunder.
Parker wiped his hands on his dark pajama pants. "I feel so stupid." He placed his fingertips on the pointer. "Will Paul have sex with someone other than himself this year?"
"That's disgusting, and I don't think I really want to know the answer to that." Philip gave the pointer a little push toward the "No".
"Ah, man, you're pushing the pointer again," Parker grumbled. He let go and picked up his empty plate.
"I am not," Philip protested.
Parker headed for the kitchen, calling back, "Dude, you always pushed the pointer."
Philip let go of it and sat back. "Did not," he mumbled.
At that moment, the pointer shot to the "A", then slid to the "T" before moving back to the middle all by itself. Philip jumped out of his seat. "Parker! Get in here!"
"What?"
Philip turned and met Parker's eyes. "It moved."
"That's because you moved it, Phil." Paul emerged from the dark foyer and stood behind Parker. "You always pushed the pointer."
Philip held his hands up. "I didn't touch it, I swear! It moved on its own."
Paul rolled his eyes and walked away. Parker crossed the room, heading for his seat. Philip turned back to the spirit board. As before, the pointer slid from its position, but this time it landed on the "T" again. Philip looked at his brother, who was standing with his eyes as big as saucers.
"Tell me you saw that," Philip demanded.
"Hey, Paul, get in here!" Parker called.
Philip heard Paul's heavy footfalls echo across the hardwood floor of the hallway as he searched the room for a piece of paper and a pen. He smiled when he found some by the phone. Practical Paul. He grabbed them and trained his eyes on the spirit board.
"Park, he's playing a joke on us," Paul replied with a sigh.
"No way, man. Philip can do many things, but moving a spirit board pointer without touching is not one of them."
Before Paul could respond, the spirit board pointer sprang to life again, sailing to the "I" and settling on the "C". It then surfed back to its beginning position. Philip scribbled down all the letters. Setting the pen down, he held the piece of paper up to his brothers.
"Attic. It wants us to go to the attic," he announced, his voice growing excited.
A flash of lightening illuminated the room followed by a heavy clap of thunder. Then all the lights went out.
"Great! First, the chandelier doesn't work, then, Philip comes home, and now this!" Paul yelled.
Philip threw down the sheet of paper. "You want a piece of me? Let's go. Right here. Right now." He couldn't see a damn thing, but he heard Paul's shoes step around the coffee table.
"If I could see, I'd kick your ass." Paul's voice was closer and full of menace.
"Guys, we need to get the lights back on." Parker's calm voice broke the stand off. "Philip, I need you to hold the flashlight while I fix the generator."
Philip felt his way around the coffee table. "Get Paul to do it. I'm going to check out the attic." He felt his way down the hall, knocking into a side table. Hissing against the pain, he found the kitchen and fished out a flashlight. He flipped it on and followed the small circle of light back to the stairs. He pointed the light at his brothers.
"You guys coming?" he asked.
"Phil, we haven't been able to get the attic door open for months. What makes you think you can?" Paul glared at him.
Philip gestured at the living room. "Ask the spirit board." Without waiting for a response, he stomped up the stairs.
He slowed when he reached the second floor. The stairs to the attic loomed at the end of the carpeted hall. Doubt crept into his gut. What was waiting for him up there? Was anything up there? As far back as he could remember, his grandfather wouldn't let any of them go near the attic. "A lot of dangerous things are up there," he had said. It was enough to keep Philip away.
But now, curiosity had the best of him. He had to know why the spirit board had spelled out "ATTIC." Taking a deep breath, he started down the hall. He placed a hand on the railing and climbed the creaky stairs to the third floor. The wooden door to the attic greeted him at the top. Reaching the door, he took the knob with a shaky hand. He closed his fingers around the cold brass, turning it. Nothing happened. The knob wouldn't budge. Frustrated, Philip hit the door with all of his weight. Nothing.
His shoulders slumped. All that build-up for nothing? Hell. He turned away, his head hanging down. Maybe the spirit board had been his imagination? But his brothers had seen it move, too. What was going on?
No sooner had he taken a step than he heard a loud creak behind him. Philip turned to see the attic door swing open all by itself. He trained his light on it and froze.
"What the hell?" he muttered.
He gingerly stepped into the attic. Old toys, furniture, and other broken things surrounded the vast room. A large bay window dominated the wall across from the door. Philip turned a full circle, taking in his surroundings. He then heard another creak. He whirled around to see an old trunk sitting wide open. He walked to it and crouched down. He peered inside. A large, dusty book with a three oblong shapes linked together drawn on it sat inside of it. Enthralled, Philip set down the flashlight and pulled out the book. He blew the dust off it.
"The Book of Shadows?" he whispered.
He sat down, placing the large book on his lap. Taking up his flashlight, he opened the book. Beautiful, ornate writing decorated the yellowing page. He flipped a couple of pages, his eyes scanning the words, taking note of the mentions of "midnight," "the full moon," and "magic." He eventually landed on something resembling a poem. He swallowed, nerves dancing in his stomach.
"Hear now the words of the witches," he read, his voice echoing in the empty attic. "The secrets we hid in the night, the oldest of Gods are invoked here, the great work of magic is sought. In this night and in this hour, I'll call upon the ancient power, bring your powers to we brothers three, we want the power, give us the power."
A breeze swirled around him, ruffling the pages. It lasted for a moment, then died down. Philip waited for a beat. Nothing. He scanned the attic. It didn't look different. He looked down at himself. He didn't feel different. Did anything happen?
"What are you doing?" Paul's sharp voice echoed off the walls.
Philip jumped to his feet, nearly dropping the book. He recovered it as he looked at his brothers. "Uh, reading an incantation." He held up the book. "It was in this Book of Shadows." He pointed at the trunk. "I found it in there."
Parker came into the room behind Paul. "How did you get in here?"
"The door opened." Philip shrugged.
Parker eyes widened as he moved in between his brothers. "It just...opened?"
Paul didn't give Philip a chance to respond. "Wait a minute. An incantation? What incantation?" He ripped the large book out of his youngest brother's hands and glared at the cover.
Philip couldn't stop the excitement in his voice. He told his brothers everything, from entering the room to reading the spell. What if the book was real? What if the three of them had powers they didn't even know they had. If so, it meant he wouldn't be a nobody anymore. He could do something important, something to finally earn Paul's respect. "If there was a ever a time to do this, it would be now," he finished.
"Do what?" Parker asked slowly.
A smile split across Philip's face. "Receive our powers."
Parker and Paul stared at him with matching bewildered expressions, neither of them blinking. Philip's excitement withered and died in the pit of his stomach. Both of his older brothers must have thought he was crazy.
Parker was the first to break the silence. "Powers? What powers? You included me in this?"
"He included all of us." Paul flipped open the book and peered at the spell. "'Bring your powers to we brothers three.'" He slammed it shut, his eyes blazing. "This is a book of witchcraft."
Confusion crossed Parker's face. "What would Gramps be doing with a book of witchcraft?"
Paul glared at Philip. "Because it wasn't his." He shoved the book into Philip's stomach. Philip doubled over, dropping the book to the floor. "Don't you get it? This is some elaborate joke Phil cooked up."
Philip's head snapped up. "Oh, yeah, I had time to rig something to make the pointer move, then put together this book. Oh, and don't forget the conversation I had with the storm outside." He balled his fist and pounded it into Paul's jaw. Paul reeled back, taken off balance by the blow.
Parker forced his way between them. "Guys, you want to pound each other into the ground, fine, but not up here." He set his jaw. "Phil, maybe you should stay out of Paul's way for a while." He then rounded on Paul. "And maybe you should get over this grudge you have with Philip." He looked from one to the other. "Besides, nothing happened, right, Phil?"
Philip narrowed his eyes. "My head spun around and I vomited split-pea soup. How should I know?" Parker's jaw twitched. Philip sighed. "Nothing happened."
"Good." Parker headed for the door. "Let's get out of here so you guys can beat each other up where you won't break anything."
Still clutching his jaw, Paul stalked out of the room, followed by Parker.
Philip winced and stood up straight. He picked up the book and opened it. He didn't care what his brothers thought. He hadn't planted the book or pushed the pointer on the spirit board. Something freaky was going on, and he intended to find out. Holding the book with both hands, he walked out of the attic and downstairs.
No one believed him. The next morning, Philip tried to talk to both of his brothers. Paul barely looked at him as he rushed out the door to work. Parker listened as he packed his jeep with the things he needed for his restaurant job interview, but Philip could tell he didn't believe a word of it. Frustrated, Philip gave up and turned his attention to other matters.
After a quick shower, he sauntered out to the garage, hoping the object of his affections would still be there. Much to his surprise, she sat right where he'd left her – his beloved motorcycle. She hadn't run in two years, but Philip didn't care. Working on her always gave him time to think, and he had plenty of thoughts he needed to sort out.
He pulled out into the drive way, the sun warm on his back. He propped the motorcycle, and then grabbed a tool box from the shelf in the back of the garage. Settling down on the pavement, he went to work.
His homecoming hadn't worked out like he planned. He hadn't expected Paul to welcome him back with open arms, but he hoped his brother's ire had lessened over the past year. Paul, however, was as mad as he had ever been. Whatever Rhonda had done or said, it was enough to keep him permanently pissed off.
Then there was the stuff with the spirit board, the attic, and the book of witchcraft. Why did his grandfather have a book of witchcraft in the attic anyway? As far back as he could remember, Gramps was a conservative old grump. He had been strict and tough, but Philip never remembered seeing him do any magic. Philip couldn't remember his father. He had drowned when Philip was only three.
Philip's thoughts circled around to the things he read the night before. Unable to sleep, he had crept into the living room and read the entire book from cover to cover. Not only did it contain spells on its torn, yellowed pages, but it had family history and drawings of monsters and demons.
The book mentioned an ancestor named Warren Halliwell, who had died during the Salem witchcraft trials. He had three abilities – the power to move things with his mind, the power to freeze time, and the ability to see the future. Variations of these powers supposedly ran through the male line of the Halliwell family, but it didn't say who had what. Warren's last words before he was hanged were that each generation of his family would grow stronger until three brothers arrived. These three would be called the Charmed Ones and would be the greatest power for good on Earth.
Philip chuckled as he worked. The Charmed Ones. The greatest power for good. He loved the idea of it. Maybe he, Paul, and Parker were these Charmed Ones? It would give his life some meaning. He shook his head. While the family tree he found proved he and his brothers descended from this Warren Halliwell, it didn't prove they had these powers. In fact, nothing magical had happened to him all day.
He sat up and wiped his brow. Hearing voices, he glanced down the street and saw a group of kids skateboarding towards him. He smiled, remembering how he used to tear up the asphalt with his board. As he returned his attention to the motorcycle, one of the skateboards hit him on the knee.
"Hey, mister, sorry about that!" one of the kids called.
"Not a problem!" Philip replied.
He set down his tools and picked up the board. At that moment, he couldn't see the board, the boys, or his motorcycle anymore. Instead he saw the boys riding their boards down the street. One of them wasn't paying attention. When he turned to do a trick, a car crested the hill and hit the boy. The vision vanished as quickly as it had come and Philip could see the board in his hands once more.
"Mister? You all right?" The kid was staring at him expectantly.
Philip shook his head, trying to clear it. He handed the skateboard to the kid. "Yeah, yeah, sorry."
The kid shrugged it off and ran back to his buddies. Philip refused to let the kid out of his sight. He stood and watched the little group run to the top of the hill. All of them hopped onto their skateboards and started doing the tricks he had seen. Philip's heart jumped into his throat and he took off after them.
"Wait! Hey, guys!"
The car cruised over the hill, exactly as he had seen it. The kid started into the road, not paying a bit of attention. Philip flew into the road and shoved the kid out of harm's way. He wasn't fast enough. The car plowed into him, sending him sprawling onto the pavement. Then it all went black.