Title: Shadows At Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter takes place a little under a year after the last one. I know Adam hasn't really shown up much in the story so far, but he will eventually. For now, he is just too young to really have much of a role.

Piper and Leo's sons:

Wyatt-19

Chris-17

Phoebe and Jason's daughter

Prue-12

Paige and Richard's children:

Ria-11

Adam-8

Chapter Five: Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?

Wyatt spun around and threw an energy ball, watching in satisfaction as it slammed into the demon who had tried to sneak up on him. The demon burst into flames with a shriek of rage, then his body faded away into a swirl of ash that whipped around in the wind for a moment before settling on the sidewalk.

The Twice Blessed gave himself a satisfied smirk and turned to walk away. He had been out hunting demons, as usual, and tonight this hunt had lead him to a clan of lower level demons. There had been maybe ten or fifteen of them hiding out in their Underworld lair, but Wyatt had ignored the odds and effectively wiped them out. A few had escaped, and apparently one had followed him back up to the human world, intent on attacking him here.

Obviously, that plan had not worked out for the demon.

It was dark. Only a few stars twinkled in the night sky, and the moon was partially obscured by puffs of clouds. The streetlamp's unnatural yellow light fell over the gravel sidewalk, illuminating Wyatt's triumphant features just before he orbed away.

For a moment, the street was empty and silent. Then the sharp echo of footsteps on pavement indicated the presence of someone else. A man stepped out of the shadows and stared at the spot where Wyatt had stood only moments before. Confusion filled his cold brown eyes, but a moment later that confusion was replaced by a shrewdly calculating gaze.

Then he too walked away, and the street was silent once more.

Jason glanced up at the sound of a knock on the penthouse door. He looked over at Prue, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, chewing thoughtfully on the end of her pencil as she attempted her math homework. But Prue didn't seem interested in who was at the door, so Jason got up from the sofa and went to answer it.

It swung open to reveal a face that Jason knew only too well. Nathaniel Pratt, the mayor of San Francisco, and a man deemed to have no morals by almost everyone who knew him. He was well dressed in a crisp navy blue suit, and his face was arranged into a gentle smile. Despite his reputation for being both ruthless and slimy, he had the advantage of being attractive, intelligent, and incredibly charismatic. He was a born leader, and perhaps that was what made him a great politician.

But Jason wasn't thinking any of this as he stared at the man in front of him. He was thinking about a phone call he had received earlier that day, he was thinking about his dead wife and her obsession that magic always be protected from exposure, he was thinking about his twelve-year-old daughter camped on the ground behind him, and his niece and youngest nephew who were currently over at the Manor, visiting their other two cousins.

"Prue, go to your room," Jason ordered in a tone that left no room for argument.

Prue didn't even look at who was at the door. She gathered her belongings and disappeared down the hallway towards her room without a backward glance.

"Pretty child," Pratt commented with a wholly untrustworthy smile. "She doesn't look much like you though… she must take after her mother's side of the family?" There was a hidden meaning in his comment, and Jason flinched.

"What do you want, Pratt?" Jason spat. He knew he should be polite, he knew he should address the man as Mr. Mayor, or Mayor Pratt, or some other title of respect, but he couldn't bring himself to be civil to the man who had just made a veiled threat on his daughter.

"Well, now, I would have thought that was obvious from our conversation this afternoon," Pratt remarked with a raised eyebrow.

"Refresh my memory," Jason snarled.

Pratt smiled and gave a nod. "As you wish," he replied, stepping past Jason and entering the penthouse. "And let me say, Mr. Dean, that this is quite the apartment."

"I don't want your compliments," Jason snapped. "Get to the point."

"The point…? Hmm, well, that is an interesting question, now, isn't it?" Pratt mused as he took a seat in one of the armchairs and stared up at Jason with a pleased grin. "What is the point?" He seemed to be enjoying this game of cat and mouse, but the anger in Jason's eyes made him sigh and continue, "Two days ago, I witnessed a rather interesting event."

"Oh…?" Jason prompted, forcing himself to remain calm. Pratt had already relayed this event to Jason over the phone that afternoon, and the newspaper owner knew it would not be a good idea to lose his temper until he found out just how many cards Pratt had in his hand.

"You see, I was out late at night, when I heard this scream. A rather horrible, inhuman scream. Of course, concerned about the safety and health of the person screaming, I quickly hurried towards the source of the noise. And do you know what I saw?" Pratt paused dramatically, waiting for Jason to answer.

"A cat stuck in a tree?" Jason ground out.

Pratt gave a slight laugh and shook his head. "Not quite, Mr. Dean. I saw a man… well, really he looked more like a boy… watching as another man was consumed with flames. Then I saw this man-boy walk away… and disappear as if by magic."

"Were you drinking?" Jason suggested.

Pratt laughed again, but the laughter did not reach his eyes. "Now, imagine my surprise at what I had witnessed. However, it was nothing compared to the surprise I felt when I discovered just who this man-boy had been. Your nephew…"

"I have three," Jason replied in a tone of forced calm. "Which of them are you implicating with this ridiculous story?"

"Wyatt Matthew Halliwell," Pratt replied, leaning back in the chair and studying Jason's wary face. "You know, it came as quite a surprise to me to find out just how many people related to Mr. Halliwell have died. His mother, his aunts, his uncle… Rather a strange coincidence, don't you think?"

"If you are in any way implying that Wyatt was responsible for those deaths…" Jason began heatedly, appalled at the very notion that anyone could suspect Wyatt of having killed his family.

"I'm not," Pratt cut in, waving a hand to disregard the accusation. "I am merely pointing out the… strangeness… of the situation."

Jason sighed and rubbed the back of his head absently, averting his gaze from the man who had invaded his home. He knew that Pratt wanted something from them, he would never have come here otherwise. But he didn't know what Pratt wanted, until he figured that out, he wouldn't know how to proceed.

But whatever he did, he knew he had to do it carefully. Pratt was a dangerous man to cross.

"Is there something specific you wanted from me?" Jason asked at last. Better to just bring everything out into the open than to wait and play guessing games where the stakes were his family's lives.

"I want what every politician wants. The White House."

Jason raised an eyebrow. Whatever he had expected Pratt to say, it wasn't that. But he supposed he should have seen it coming, the mayor was an ambitious man.

"I'm not entirely sure I can give that to you," Jason drawled with a thin smile.

"But perhaps your nephew can…?" Pratt stood up abruptly, and said coldly, "I want the White House, and I intend to get it. But I am a reasonable man, and I would be willing to start with just a spot in the Senate. The California senator is up for election next year, and I expect to win it."

"I don't know what you think we can do for you, Pratt, but if you are here to try to threaten me, you are making a very serious mistake," Jason replied, his voice just as cold.

"I could put surveillance around your house, Victor Bennet's house, your daughter's school… Trust me, Mr. Dean, sooner or later I can find proof of what you people are. And I can take that proof public, and watch the city burn you all at the stake if need be," Pratt warned, his tone now positively glacial. "Or… you can help me win this electoral race, and I can forget what I saw." He walked towards the door, glancing over his shoulder to say, "It's your choice."

And then he was gone, and the door swung shut behind him. Jason slammed his fist angrily into the wall and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. He needed to talk to Leo, although that made him wonder if the Elder would actually even answer anyone's calls. Maybe he should talk to Chris instead? He knew instinctively not to bring this up with Wyatt, or the Twice Blessed might take things into his own hands, and Jason shuddered to think what would happen to Pratt then.

He wasn't blind, although apparently everyone else in the family was. No, he saw perfectly clearly what was happening to Wyatt, and that was one of the many reasons he was glad he had gotten his daughter out of the Manor while there was still time. He didn't want her oldest cousin's influence to rub off on her, she would have enough trouble coping with her magic powers as it was.

So if Wyatt was ruled out, and Leo probably wouldn't answer anyone's calls, then it really only left Chris as the person who could do anything about this. Maybe right a spell to erase Pratt's memories? He certainly didn't like the idea of dragging the seventeen-year-old into this, but did he have any other choice? Pratt would make good on his threat, Jason knew that.

Which meant they had to stop him before he stopped them.

Jason massaged his temples wearily. He needed time to think.

Prue watched as her father set the table. They had ordered pizza, which was rare. Usually Jason preferred to eat high class food, and they often ordered from some classy deli or restaurant. The fact that they were having pizza meant that something had happened to distract her father, and she had a fairly good idea what it was.

Only a few hours ago, that strange man had come to talk to her father. She thought she recognized him, maybe from television or a movie, but she wasn't sure. What she did know was that her father had ordered her to leave the room, a sure sign that something serious had happened.

She wondered vaguely what it was.

The one thing the twelve-year-old knew for certain was that, if someone had gotten injured or died, her father would have told her right away. Which meant that whatever was going on, her family was still safe.

For now.

"Wash your hands, Prue," Jason called over his shoulder.

Prue nodded and walked towards the bathroom. It was just her and her father tonight, Ria and Adam were staying at the Manor for dinner. She was glad that they were gone, it gave her the chance to be with her father without having to share him with anyone else. She knew the thoughts were slightly selfish on her part, but she couldn't help it; she had lost her mother, she didn't like having to share her father with her two cousins.

Even if they had lost both their parents.

She stared at her pale face in the mirror for a moment, then sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Standing on her tip-toes, she was able to just barely reach the faucet. Turning the water on, she let the cold stream pour down over her hands.

She twisted slightly, reaching with one hand towards the hand towel that was draped over the side of the sink. As she did so, her fingers brushed against Ria's hairbrush which had been casually discarded by the witch-lighter earlier that day.

And then it happened.

It had happened in the past, enough that she was slightly used to the sudden rush of power and the way the world would spin around her before her eyes forced themselves to snap shut. But it still always slightly unnerved her, and she hated the way it left her with a throbbing headache and a strange dizziness.

Behind her closed eyelids, she saw the flash of lights. Shapes and colors spun around as a picture presented itself to her. She could feel heat burning up and down her arms, and smelled the acrid smell of smoke. Cries echoed in her ears sending waves of pain rushing through her.

She opened her eyes and found herself sitting on the floor of the bathroom. The water was still running, and she pulled herself wearily to her feet and turned it off. She bit her lip for a moment, wondering if she should tell her father what she had seen. Then she sighed and shook her head. He wasn't a witch, there was nothing he would be able to do about it.

No, she decided resolutely, she would tell Wyatt or Chris tonight. For right now, she would pretend that everything was fine.

"Prue?" her father called her name from the other room.

"Coming, Daddy," she called back, then left the bathroom, turning out the light and shutting the door behind her.

"Close your eyes and focus on what you saw," Wyatt instructed quietly.

Prue nodded, a slight frown appearing on the skin between her eyebrows. She concentrated on the premonition, pulling the haunting memory to the front of her mind and replaying it behind closed eyelids.

It was late, and her father and cousins had already gone to bed. Dinner had been a silent affair, her father had been too preoccupied with his own thoughts to pay much attention to her. Ria and Adam had returned to the penthouse a little after eight, having been orbed there by Chris. Prue had pretty much ignored their presence and finished her homework, watched some television, then gone to bed. A few hours later, once the penthouse was completely silent, she had called for Wyatt, and explained about the premonition that she had seen earlier than evening.

Wyatt reached out and placed both his hands gently on top of hers. After a moment, she could feel the tingle of his power as it seeped slowly into her skin, and the soft brushing of his mind against hers as he tried to pick up the vision.

They had done this before, passing the memory between each other. Wyatt was always so careful to be gentle for fear of doing her mind any damage. His power was raw and intense, and it grated against hers if he wasn't cautious.

She replayed the premonition, and she could tell by the stiffening of Wyatt's hands and the sudden tension in the air between them that he had received the vision.

"Do you see…?"

Wyatt opened his eyes and nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "I saw," he replied, his voice cold.

Prue flinched, surprised at his tone. Although, she reasoned, given what they had seen in that premonition, it made sense that her cousin would be upset.

She thought back to the fire and smoke that had danced in front of her closed eyes, and sighed. The premonition had been disturbing to say the least, and she was glad that she could share it with Wyatt. She didn't want to dwell too much on what it meant, it was too painful to think about. Besides, now that she had received this vision, they would have an opportunity to stop it.

Right?

Wyatt stood up. "Get some sleep, kiddo," he said, lowering his voice and smiling sympathetically at the younger girl. "I'll take care of it."

"Promise?"

"I promise," Wyatt said solemnly.

Prue looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. If he said he would take care of it, she trusted that he would. After all, he was Wyatt, the Twice Blessed, and her oldest cousin. He could do anything.

She crawled back under the covers of her bed and closed her eyes.

Wyatt stared at her for a moment, then walked out of her bedroom. He glanced at the closed door of his uncle's room, and for a moment seriously considered waking him up and telling him about the premonition. But he rejected the idea because it wasn't as though his uncle would actually be able to help with anything, and Wyatt was plenty powerful enough to take care of the threat on his own.

Instead, he turned and walked towards the other door in the hallway, which lead to the third bedroom. He pushed the door open, careful not to let the hinges squeak, and slipped unobtrusively over the plush white carpet towards the two beds lined up against the far wall.

Ria and Adam both slept soundly in their beds.

Wyatt smiled to himself, remembering an argument Jason had had with Prue a few weeks ago. The mortal had informed his daughter that soon she would have to share her room with Ria, and give Adam the room to himself. Prue hadn't understood why she would be forced to give up space in her room when it was Ria and Adam who were encroaching on what she saw as rightfully her space. Jason had attempted to explain that Adam was a boy, and both Ria and Prue were girls, and since the three were maturing and reaching their teenage years, it made sense that the girls would be the ones who would have to share a room. This was, unfortunately, not a distinction that the twelve-year-old witch really understood, and she had been absolutely livid at what her father was suggesting.

Wyatt almost laughed out loud at the recollection, but refrained because he didn't want to wake his youngest cousins. Instead, he murmured a protection spell under his breath, adding a few more layers of magical defense to the already well-fortified room.

If Prue's premonition came true…

Well, his family would need all the help they could get.

Satisfied that he had managed the spell properly, Wyatt slipped back out of the room, closed the door firmly, and orbed back to the Manor, his mind on Prue's premonition.

Ria was screaming.

Her hands were tied behind her, inhibiting her ability to access her from accessing her powers. Something was preventing her from orbing.

The fire burned, the flames racing up the stake she was strapped to and eating away at her flesh. The air was heavy with smoke. She was choking.

A man was standing behind her, laughing.

The crowd had gathered. They were pushing closer to her, screaming and chanting the slogan over and over until the words rose in a crescendo that pounded with fervor and passion.

"BURN, WITCH, BURN!"

"Wyatt! Wyatt, don't walk away from me!"

"Why not, Dad? You walked away from us!"

"I did not walk away from you. I still answer your calls every time, and I come to see you…"

"When you have the chance, I know. You tell us that all the time. You love us and you wish you could spend more time with us. Well, guess what Dad, wishes don't mean much to me anymore."

"Wyatt, I may not be the best father, but I am your father and I still love you. And I am worried about you. What you did to Anya Lakin…"

"What about it? I kept Chris out of foster care, I kept the family together. Which is more than you've ever done."

"You erased her memory. You cast a spell on her!"

"So?"

"Don't you see that what you did was wrong?"

"Oh, stuff it, Dad."

"Wyatt! Wyatt, don't orb away from me when we are in the middle of… Wyatt! Wyatt!"

That conversation had occured only a few weeks ago, and it left Wyatt so angry he had actually contemplated blowing up his father. How dare Leo judge him? He was keeping his family together, which was exactly what his mother and aunts would have wanted.

Speaking of which...

He still had to worry about Pratt.

Wyatt shivered and glanced around the waiting room. He kept thinking back to Prue's premonition, not quite able to forget Ria's panicked screams. It was the evening after he had seen what Prue had seen, and he had spent the entire day trying to think up a solution to the problem.

The clock on the wall chimed six times.

Six o'clock.

He had told Chris he was going to the library to do some work. He was a freshman at UC San Francisco, and although he still spent most of his time in the Manor, he did actually have to study for his classes every now and then so that he would not fail them.

It was a joke, really, going to these classes. He had no desire to do anything not related to magic. That was his life, not these stupid subjects filled with random facts that would never actually help him. He was the Twice Blessed, not some stuffy academic who studied old laws and the systems of the bodies and the political and social changes that had occurred in random countries throughout the past few centuries.

But his grandfather refused, point blank, to let him skip college, and so he was forced to attend class and pretend to be interested in world history and English and politics.

But he had told Chris he was going to the library, and that he would be home by five-thirty.

He was late.

Chris grabbed the pot from the stove, yanking it away from the heat just as it managed to boil over and spill a trail of pale yellow liquid over his fingers and onto the floor. "Damn it!" He set the pot down on the counter and rubbed the back of his slightly burned fingers idly as he walked over to the sink. Grabbing a dish towel, he knelt down on the floor and mopped up the puddle of chicken soup.

Chris stood slowly and glanced over at the clock on the wall. It was six o'clock, Wyatt was supposed to have returned half-an-hour ago.

Finally, the receptionist looked up at Wyatt and gave him a cheerful smile. "The Mayor will see you know, Mr. Halliwell," she announced.

Half-an-hour prior, the nineteen-year-old had walked into the office and announced that he wanted to speak to the Mayor. He hadn't had an appointment, so the receptionist had not been inclined to allow him access to one of the most important men in San Francisco. But, as was custom, she checked with the Mayor first, and he had been intrigued to discover that Wyatt Halliwell was here to see him. He had ordered her to tell the boy to wait, and she had complied.

So the blonde teenager had been waiting for half-an-hour, and he looked impatient.

He stood up quickly and smiled at the receptionist, but there was something about his eyes that made her flinch and look away.

Chris set three places on the table. Ria and Adam were eating at the penthouse with Prue and Jason tonight, so it was only Wyatt, Chris, and Victor for dinner.

The timer began to buzz, indicating that the lasagna was done. Chris turned and hurried over to the oven. Carefully slipping his hand into one of the oven gloves, he opened the door and pulled out the main dish. He set it on the counter and glanced at the clock again.

It was unlike Wyatt to be this late.

Wyatt strode into the mayor's inner office, his pose filled with confidence. His blue eyes were dark, darkened to a deep midnight, as he struggled to keep his rage in check.

He remembered the premonition.

He remembered the man laughing as his cousin was burned at the stake.

He had recognized that man.

Nathaniel Pratt was sitting behind his desk, staring at Wyatt with a mixture of curiosity and supreme smugness on his face.

If he had known just how dangerous Wyatt was, he might not have looked so confidant.

Chris rummaged around in the refrigerator for a moment, looking for some vegetables to cut up and use in a salad.

His mother had always insisted on a vegetable at every meal, and he had never quite been able to forget her rule, even though she was no longer their to enforce it.

Victor was upstairs, probably sitting in his room and reading a magazine or the newspaper. He had been getting weaker lately, and although he insisted that it was just the flu, and that he would get better soon, Chris was starting to wonder.

Sometimes Jason would look at Victor with an expression on his face… an accusation almost, as though Victor knew something that he wasn't telling anyone else.

He said it was just a cold.

Chris wanted to believe that, but he wasn't sure he could.

He also wasn't sure he could deal with losing someone else that he loved.

He pulled out some lettuce, cucumber, red peppers, tomatoes, and carrots, then walked over to the silverware drawer to grab a knife. He glanced at the clock for the third time and sighed.

Where was Wyatt?

"Did your uncle send you?" Pratt asked casually, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Wyatt.

The blonde raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, surprised. Did Jason know something that he hadn't shared with the rest of the family? The idea angered him, how could his uncle keep something as serious as this a secret?

Of course, he wasn't exactly sure what it was Jason and Pratt had talked about, but he knew it somehow had to be related to what Prue had seen in her premonition.

Pratt, seeming to realize that he had misplayed his first card, backtracked and said quickly, "Nothing, Mr. Halliwell. What can I do for you?"

Wyatt blinked, suddenly unsure. He hadn't really thought past meeting the Mayor. He didn't know what he was going to do now, what his next step should be. He had to make sure what he saw never came true, he had to protect Ria, but it occurred to him that he had no idea why Pratt would be burning Ria at the stake, or even how he knew that Ria was a witch in the first place.

"You could start by telling me why you decided to speak to my uncle?" Wyatt informed the other man. It was better not to show the cards in his hand before he was sure what Pratt had up his sleeve.

"Surely you know the answer to that?" Pratt retorted, shaking his head.

"Remind me," Wyatt spat.

"Do you really think playing dumb is going to help your cause?" Pratt mocked. "I saw you, Mr. Halliwell. I saw what you did. I know. I know who and what you are…witch."

Wyatt had blocked his signal.

Chris pondered this as he cut the peppers into strips. Why would Wyatt want to hide where he was? Had he gone to the Underworld? Was he meeting some girl that he didn't want anyone to know about? Was he out drinking?

It didn't make any sense. Even when Wyatt blocked his signal from everyone else, he rarely blocked it from Chris. He had always told Chris that he never saw a reason for hiding his whereabouts from him. They were brothers, they didn't need to have secrets.

So what was Wyatt hiding now?

Wyatt frowned, realizing that whatever Pratt was talking about, he was actually a serious threat. Had he seen someone using magic? Had he seen Wyatt using magic?

"You don't have proof," Wyatt countered. "No one would believe you."

"I'll get proof," Pratt replied with a cocky smile. "Trust me, I will get proof from you." He looked away, swiveling in his chair so that he was staring at the window behind him. The city sprawled out far below, giving him an amazing view. It was once of the benefits of having an office in one of the tallest high rises in the city.

"And what will you do with that proof?" Wyatt asked, struggling to keep his voice calm as his hands clenched into fists.

Ria, screaming…

"Well, I suppose that depends on whether or not you help me," Pratt answered smoothly, glancing back over his shoulder at Wyatt.

"Help you?" Wyatt echoed. His eyebrows came together in confusion. Help with what?

Chris tossed the salad and set it on the table, placing two bottles of dressing next to it. He looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes to seven o'clock.

Wyatt was forty-five minutes late.

Where was he?

"Your uncle knows the terms of the deal, Mr. Halliwell. I think it is a very generous one on my part," Pratt informed the witch. "After all, I am willing to overlook who you are and what you did, just as long as you help me." He folded his hands in his lap. "Really, winning a senate race is not too much to ask from you, is it? Just use your… magic… and we'll forget everything I saw."

Wyatt's eyes narrowed. "A race? You're willing to get my family killed just so that you can win an election?" he hissed.

"You killed a man," Pratt shot back, his own eyes narrowing into thin slits as well. "And I find it quite interesting that most of your family has passed away as well…" His tone left little doubt as to what he was implying.

"Leave them out of this," Wyatt snarled, his face twisted with fury. Power crackled in his hands, and he was forced to clench his fists tightly to keep an energy ball from appearing. His fingernails bit into the skin of his palm.

"Why do you care?" Pratt asked, standing up. "They're dead, and my guess is, you had something to do with those deaths. Just like you did with that man I saw."

Wyatt's face flushed crimson with rage and pain.

"How did they die, Mr. Halliwell? Did they burst into flames also? I think that would be a fitting end for you as well. Poetic justice…"

"How dare you?" Wyatt exploded.

Ria, flames burning her skin…

Pratt laughing…

"How dare I?" Pratt mocked. "How dare I? You're the one who is killing people, Mr. Halliwell. Now, I am giving you a choice. You can help me, and I can forget everything I know about you. Or you can refuse to help me, and I can tell the world who you are. Your choice."

Interesting set of morals. He was quite willing to overlook what he presumed were a series of murders Wyatt had committed if it helped him win his electoral race.

But Wyatt was too preoccupied with protecting his family to care about Pratt's morals, or lack thereof.

"Did it ever occur to you," Wyatt asked in a dangerously low voice, "that if I've killed other people, I might have no problem killing you?"

Chris stared around the kitchen. Everything was ready. The soup and lasagna were on the counter, the salad was on the table. Each of the glasses was filled with orange juice, the napkins were carefully folded and set next to the plates, and the forks and knives were placed on top of the napkins.

It was a nicely set table, and staring at it, Chris suddenly felt a burning behind his eyes and a lump form in his throat. He struggled to keep the tears at bay, but he couldn't help but think that his mother would have been proud of his cooking abilities.

Of course, Wyatt was a walking disaster in the kitchen, and Victor could barely tell the difference between the sugar and the salt, so if Chris didn't do the cooking, they would all starve.

The burning sensation faded and he was able to blink the tears away. He forcefully shoved his thoughts away from his mother, he couldn't deal with that right now.

He sighed and slowly stretched his arms, feeling his tense muscles strain at the movement. An uneasy feeling was growing in his stomach as he looked at the clock one last time. Was Wyatt in some form of trouble? Was that why he was so late? Did he need help? Should Chris be scrying for him now?

But if Wyatt was in trouble, he wouldn't have blocked his signal, right? He would have left it open so that someone could find him. Even if he was in the Underworld, Chris should have been able to locate him. They were brothers, their bond superseded the blocking powers of the Underworld.

So Wyatt couldn't be in trouble. He was just off doing something that he didn't want anyone to know about.

Somehow, that didn't reassure Chris in the least.

"Are you threatening me?"

"You're threatening me," Wyatt retorted.

"You're… inhuman," Pratt snarled. "You've killed. You're a… freak. You don't deserve life, you deserve to pay for your crimes."

"And one day, you will have to pay for your crimes as well,' Wyatt replied with an icy smirk.

Pratt crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you refusing to help me?"

"Yes."

"Then I will see you burned at the stake. You and every other unnatural freak in this city," Pratt declared. "And when the people of California realize who you are, and see that I am trying to protect them, they will elect me as their senator anyway. I will win this, Mr. Halliwell. I will win."

Ria, screaming….

"Don't you dare threaten my family!" Wyatt bit back the urge to throttle the man in front of him, and fought against the sudden swelling of power within him.

"You made your choice. You'll have to live with the consequences," Pratt replied smugly.

Nothing is going to happen to you or Grandpa, I won't let it. We're a family, Chris. And family members protect each other. Always.

"You don't want me as an enemy, Mayor," Wyatt warned dangerously. His eyes were slowly turning black.

"And you don't want me as your enemy, Mr. Halliwell," Pratt shot back, his smile turning into a sneer. "You may have magic, but there are other forms of power, and I have those."

Why do I have to train, Daddy? I don't even like Excalibur!

You need to practice so that you can protect innocents. So that you can protect your family. One day, you might have to look after Chris. You might have to keep him safe.

"You think your power can protect you from me?" Wyatt almost laughed at the comment. He was the one with the power, so much more than Pratt could possibly realize. He was the Twice Blessed. He was unstoppable.

"It's about power, Mr. Halliwell. Perhaps you haven't learned this yet, but life is all about power. I will win, and I will see you burn at the stake. You and any other witch in your family."

Wyatt, you're a big boy, and sometimes you are going to have to look out for your little brother or your cousins. Can you do that for me? Can you promise me you will always protect them?

Yes, Mommy. I promise. Always.

"Stay away from them. This is your last warning," Wyatt growled, his vision turning red as fire burst against his skin, trying to force itself from his clenched firsts.

Pratt smirked. "Make me."

Wyatt wasn't sure how it happened. One moment he was staring at Pratt, struggling to keep his temper in check as the man threatened his family, and the next moment…

The next moment the energy burst from his open palm…

Fury, rage, raw, unadulterated power…

Uncontrollable…

Fueled by emotions, by fear and passion…

Wyatt stared in horror at the place where Pratt had stood only moments before. But the mayor was gone now, and there was nothing left but a pile of gray ashes that settled on the polished floor.

"Oh, God…"

What have I done?

Chris walked towards the stairs to call his grandfather. Dinner was ready, and the lasagna would get cold if they waited much longer. He didn't want to eat without Wyatt, but he was hungry. And Wyatt was late.

Unbidden, he remembered a conversation he had had with his father…no, he mentally corrected himself, with Leo… several months ago.

Leo was sure Wyatt was changing.

Chris thought about that for a moment, then pushed the idea out of his head.

He knew Wyatt. Wyatt was his brother.

Whatever Wyatt was hiding now…

Whatever it was, Chris decided, it couldn't be that serious. Wyatt wouldn't lie to him about something important. Wyatt wouldn't keep secrets from him.

Right?

Go to sleep, kiddo. I'll take care of it.

Promise?

I promise.

Wyatt hesitated for a moment, then waved his hand and orbed the pile of ash away. He turned and walked to the door, stepping out into the waiting area. The receptionist looked at him expectantly, and he felt a wave of sickness sweep through him. Forcing himself to remain calm and poised, he said quietly, "The Mayor doesn't want to be disturbed. He says you are free to go, and he'll lock up on his way out."

The receptionist nodded, and Wyatt walked past her and towards the elevator. He pressed the down button and waited.

He had killed a man.

Pratt had been a threat to his family. Ria would have been burned at the stake.

He had killed a man.

His heart beat frantically in his chest. The guilt ate away at him, a darkness growing inside of him, twisting and wrapping itself tightly around his heart.

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside, then pressed the button for the lobby.

In the silence of the empty elevator, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cool metal walls.

He had killed a man.

And yet…

If he had had that entire conversation to redo, if he could go back in time and change what he had done…

He still would have killed him.

He would watch the Mayor burn a thousand times before letting anyone hurt his family.

Because Pratt had been right about one thing.

It was all about power.