Author notes: A big 'thank you' to Barb for a wonderful beta!
Although I feel that I could leave the Chronicles at this, (since it's reached the point in time where Season 3 of Charmed picks up Belthazor's story), I will probably write one more installments. It'll be interesting to retell the events from the first six or seven episodes from Belthazor's point of view. I'm not making any promises, though! :)
THE BELTHAZOR CHRONICLES
Soul Assignment
Weeks, months, decades strung together until a hundred years passed. History raced forward at a breakneck speed. Belthazor's first centennial, also the last century of the second millennium, witnessed some of mankind's greatest achievements as well as its worst atrocities. It was the bloodiest century in the annals of man, and the creatures of the Underworld never idled.
In 1911, the unsinkable Titanic went down and took 1,513 of its passengers to a cold, wet grave.
On June 28, 1914, the assassination of Archduke Francis Ferdinand and his wife in Sarajevo led to World War I. 8.5 Million soldiers died before peace came in 1918.
In 1922, Howard Carter discovered the tomb of Tutankhamen in Egypt.
On February 17, 1924, a fire broke out in a San Francisco speakeasy. When the flames died down, one woman was found dead. The cause of death was determined to be strangulation. Her name was P. Russell.
In 1925 and later in '27 and July '28, the remains of young women were found in cities all over the United States. The victims were incinerated by means unknown, and burned beyond recognition. Nobody had the means to connect these murders to one perpetrator. The murderer has never been found.
In 1933, Adolf Hitler established the Third Reich in Germany while in the United States Franklin Delano Roosevelt accepted the office of President.
Vivien Leigh played Scarlet O'Hara opposite Clark Gable in 1939's 'Gone with the Wind'.
On August 6, 1945, the 'Enola Gay' dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan.
In 1948, a creature described as a fiery red giant slaughtered an entire village in Eastern Africa. Authorities called the tale a myth and the slaughter a matter of intertribal warfare. The case was quickly closed.
In 1955, American audiences watched 'Gunsmoke' and 'I Love Lucy' on television.
Yury Alekseyevich Gagarin became the world's first astronaut in 1961.
On August 28, 1963, Martin Luther King had a dream in Washington, DC, and on July 27, 1968, Julian Dana William McMahon was born in Sydney, Australia.
In 1969, Neil Alden Armstrong took that one small step for man onto the moon.
In 1972, two spinster sisters were brutally stabbed in their family home in Nantucket. Nothing was taken from the premises, except for a golden pendant, an heirloom that dated back to the 16th century. The murderer is still at large.
IBM introduced its personal computer in 1981; in 1983 Microsoft launched the Windows operating system, an event that would give rise to bouts of technology related anger until deep into the 21st century.
Television audiences in 1985 were watching the 'Cosby Show' and 'Cheers'.
In 1988, Belthazor, assuming his alias Cole Turner, enrolled into Harvard Law School. He graduated several years later with flying colors. None of his fellow students thought him anything but a dedicated scholar intent upon a career in law.
The Berlin Wall, keeping East Germans captive for nearly 30 years, fell in 1989.
In 1998 and 1999, people nervously prepared for the approaching turn of the millennium. Imminent computer failures were believed to lead to communications breakdowns, chaos, and the final apocalypse. It was the day before Christmas, when Belthazor returned to the Underworld after a mission well done.
CHRISTMAS EVE 1999, UNDERWORLD
"Plea bargains are deserving of serious respect and consideration by the court," Belthazor murmured, reading out loud. He lounged in his human form on an easy chair, its leather old and cracked, a heavy book in his hands. Numerous candles and torches illuminated his chambers, chasing off the dark shadows of the Underworld and casting a bright glow. "The sentencing judge should not reject a joint submission without first--" he turned the page and continued, "--advising counsel of his or her concerns and giving counsel an opportunity to explain the foundation for their position."
"Excuse me?"
Belthazor looked up at the unexpected voice. Tarkin strolled into the chamber and took a seat on the chair at the desk.
"What's that tedious drivel you're reading?" He leaned forward to catch the title of the tome in Belthazor's hands. It was printed in bold, white lettering upon the spine. "'Crimes and Punishment: Cases, Materials, and Readings in Criminal Law'... Sounds terribly interesting - not."
Tarkin turned to the desk to study the books piled high upon its surface. "'The Winning Brief: 100 Tips for Persuasive Briefing in Trial and Appellate Court'. Nice." He feigned enthusiasm. "Oh, and I see you got 'Philosophy and the Criminal Law: Principle and Critique' too! That's a real page-turner, isn't it? Belthazor, what's gotten into you? You're barely ever here, and when you are, you stuff your nose in these books. Please don't tell me your human half is growing a conscience after all these years?"
Belthazor sighed and shut the book in his hands. "No, Tarkin, it's not. I need to brush up on these matters for my deep cover to be effective. If I don't have a clue as to what I'm doing, I'll blow it before I even get the chance to put it to good use."
"Ah, yes, I heard. You're San Francisco's newest Assistant District Attorney. Congratulations, my Brother. Why don't you come with me and we can celebrate your successes in the world of men? I happen to know this club where we can meet some nice ladies. C'mon, what do you say? You need to go out more!"
Belthazor chuckled at the cocky grin his friend offered him. "You never stop, do you?" he asked. "Don't you grow weary of that game?"
"Weary? Never!" Tarkin tilted his head and contemplated Belthazor's words. "Are you saying you are bored, Brother?"
Belthazor shrugged. "A little," he admitted. He leaned forward to pick up another book from the desk. "True romance went out of style with women's lib in the sixties. The art of seduction is not as much fun as it used to be. And my work for the Brotherhood? It's making me damn tired, how it never lets up. It's damn simple, too. Witches these days are so clueless, it poses no challenge whatsoever to take them out. And down here, the politics never change; everyone is always scheming for more power, attempting to get into the upper levels' good graces, trying to stab each other in the back at every corner. Yes, Brother, you could say I'm bored with this life. I find it dull and dreary."
"So you read law books." Tarkin frowned. "You just got back from an assignment yesterday, didn't you?" he said. "Get the witch?"
Belthazor nodded. "Of course. One little energy ball, and she was history. Easy as pie."
"Well, that was exciting, wasn't it?" Tarkin asked. "To have all that power run through your veins, the thrill of the kill, the final scream, the scent of burned flesh?"
Belthazor shook his head. "Nah. Shimmer in, hit 'em with a bolt, shimmer out, job done. Where's the challenge, the glory?"
Tarkin opened his mouth to protest when another demon appeared in the door opening and forestalled any further conversation.
"Vornac!" Belthazor greeted the newcomer. "What brings you here? I thought you were still in southern China?"
"Got called back yesterday," Vornac said. He turned to Tarkin and stated quickly, "Please, Brother, I need to speak with Belthazor alone."
"But--" Tarkin began. Vornac gave him a glare, and Tarkin got the message. "Sure," he sighed. He looked at Belthazor, catching the demon's eye. "Think about what I said. The offer's always good."
"Thanks." Belthazor gave a half-smile while Tarkin disappeared in a shimmer of air. He turned back to Vornac.
"What can I do for you? The witch in Chicago is taken care of, I finished that job yesterday."
"I know," Vornac said, sitting himself down upon the chair that Tarkin vacated. "That's not why I'm here. I have another task for you."
"What?" Belthazor exclaimed. "Oh no, I just got back. You can't send me out again so soon. I've been working non-stop since 1983. You promised me a break. I deserve a break! And I need to prepare for this long-term cover. Ask Tarkin to do it. He's growing restless, he could use a good kill."
Vornac sighed. "I apologize. I know we've been working you hard. And you've proven yourself a worthy member of the Brotherhood. I wouldn't ask, except--This one comes straight from the top."
"The Source?" Belthazor asked, incredulous. It had been years since he heard from the Source. The last time was in -he wracked his brain for a moment- 1964, when he had demanded that the ruler finally hand over his father's soul -- and nearly found himself beheaded for his insolence. Afterwards, Raynor or his right-hand man Vornac took care of briefing and debriefing Belthazor.
Vornac gave a curt nod. "Yes. He specifically asked for you. He says you're the best assassin to do the job."
Belthazor's shoulders slumped. It was impossible to ignore orders coming directly from the Source. He put the legal volumes back on the desk and leaned forward. "So, what do I have to do?"
Vornac pulled a manila folder from his robes. "It's all in here. You need to take out a coven in Oakland. Four witches in all. And it needs to be done fast. They have to be dealt with before the turn of the millennium. This is an important job, Belthazor. Do it well, and I'm sure the Source will reward you generously."
"Will he give me my father's soul?" Belthazor asked.
Vornac gave a shrug. "I don't know. You'll have to ask him when you're finished."
Belthazor accepted the file and opened it. Several resumes of men and women were folded inside, each with a photo stapled onto the page. He pulled out the first sheaf of paper and began to read.
NEW YEAR'S EVE 1999, OAKLAND
"Let me fix that for you," Emma said. She reached up to straighten the bow tie around her fiancé's neck. "There, that's better." She took a step back to admire him.
The black of the rented tuxedo contrasted starkly with the searing white of the shirt. With his well-toned body, complemented by a chiseled face, Andrew made a dashing figure in the formal wear. Yes, he was definitely the handsomest man she had ever seen, Emma decided, while he leaned forward to gently kiss her lips.
"Thank you, my love," he murmured.
Butterflies danced in Emma's stomach. He always made her feel pleasantly faint. They had been engaged for a month and half, and she still couldn't believe her luck. Andrew was not just handsome, he was also the kindest man she had ever met. Ever willing to help out a neighbor, volunteering his Saturday afternoons at the local youth center to help kids with needs, and always, always perceptive of her desires. She loved him very much.
The shrill ring of the phone interrupted her reverie. At the sound, a dark shadow wiped the smile from Andrew's face and the butterflies in Emma's stomach disappeared; cold spidery legs of anxiety replaced them. Since Christmas, the sound of the phone had grown ominous. Every call seemed to bring tidings of disaster instead of happiness. Tonight was New Year's Eve and they were set to go out to celebrate the third millennium with a couple of close friends. Emma hoped that a bit of merriment would take Andrew's mind off of the loss of friends that he had suffered so very recently. She fiercely hoped that it was a wrong number.
"Hello," Andrew said into the mouthpiece.
Emma watched his face intently. "Oh no," she murmured when Andrew closed his eyes and a pained expression contorted his handsome features.
She waited breathlessly until he hung up the phone. When he turned around to face her, there were tears in his eyes. Emma gulped, trying to find her voice yet scared to ask what the news was. "Who--" she croaked. She didn't need to finish the sentence.
"Kimberly," Andrew whispered. "They found her in her apartment, a few hours ago. Same as the others: a single knife wound to the stomach."
"Who could be doing such things?" Emma demanded to know, grief making her voice sound harsh. "Kimmy was the sweetest girl! Why did she have to die?" Tears had begun to well in her eyes and stream down her face. They left streaks of mascara on her cheeks but Emma didn't care. Who could celebrate when a psychopathic serial killer was loose in the city, striking down their friends?
"Emma--" Andrew gathered her in his arms, pulling her close to his chest and stroking her hair for a few moments before he led her to the bed. He sat her down on the edge before taking a seat beside her. He took her right hand between his and held it.
"Emma... There's something I need to tell you. Something I can no longer keep from you."
Emma used her left hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "What is it?" she asked cautiously. She was startled to find there were still secrets between them. "We are going to get married next month," she added. "You can tell me anything. For better or for worse, that's the vow we will take, remember?"
For an instant, the corners of his mouth curled into a sad smile. "I know," he said. "This is a secret not lightly divulged, even to a future wife. The knowledge can be dangerous."
"You're scaring me," Emma said, fighting down nausea.
"I'm sorry," Andrew said. "I'm trying to gather up my courage... Emma... I'm not an ordinary man. I'm a witch."
"What?" Emma cried out, believing she must have misunderstood. "If this is your idea of trying to make me feel better--"
He raised his face so his eyes met hers. He shook his head. "It's not," he said quietly. "I am a witch."
"Oh." Emma didn't know what else to say. She didn't even know what it meant, exactly. "You mean, you fly on a broom stick?" she ventured.
Again the sad smile made a fleeting appearance. "No, nothing like that. We help people. We aid them in making tough choices in their lives, finding the answers to difficult questions. Sometimes, I can catch glimpses of the future..."
"That is good, right?" Emma asked. "Why didn't you tell me before? Why would it be dangerous to know that you do this?"
"Because there is another world beside ours," Andrew said. "A world of evil. Filled with demons and warlocks and practitioners of black magic. I think someone from that world murdered Kim and Megan and Evan. They were not merely my friends; they were members of my coven. A witches' circle," he explained quickly.
"Oh," Emma said again. "Is that why the police can't find the killer?"
Andrew nodded.
Emma's eyes widened. "But... But that means that..."
Andrew nodded again. "Yes. I'm in danger. I'm the last of our coven. I fear that, for whatever reason he is hunting us, he won't rest until he's killed us all."
"No!" Emma cried. "I won't let him!" She flung her arms around her fiancé's neck and sobbed against his shoulder. "You have to do something! I can't lose you. Can't you stop being a witch? Maybe then he'll leave you alone."
Andrew allowed her to cry and calm down before he pulled away. He placed a finger beneath her chin to lift up her face. "No," he said, his gaze boring deep into her eyes. "I can't stop being a witch any more than I can stop being a man. It's who I am."
"But--" Emma opened her mouth to protest when Andrew held up a warning hand.
"Shh," he urged. "I heard something."
Emma's ears pricked up while a cold, clammy hand wrapped around her heart. Then she heard it too. Heavy footfalls on the stairs, one after another, moving up.
"We have to hurry!" Emma whispered harshly, pulling Andrew to the window. "We can climb out."
Andrew shook his head. "It's useless to run," he said. "He'll find me soon enough. I better have it out right now with whomever they sent." He looked around quickly. "There," he pointed at the tall closet that held their clothes. "Hide in there."
Emma protested that she wasn't going to leave his side, when Andrew shoved her inside the closet without further ado. "Stay there," he told her. "No matter what happens; no matter what you hear. Promise me, Emma. Promise!"
"I promise," she whispered in a tear-filled voice. "I love you."
"I love you, too." Andrew shut the door.
Emma waited in the darkness. Ignorant of what went on outside her small enclosure she strained her ears, and heard nothing. After a few seconds she cautiously pushed the door open a tiny crack so she could see into the room. She had promised Andrew she'd stay put, and that's what she'd do, but she needed to see.
Andrew was digging through his chest of drawers beside the bed. He pulled out a few sprays of some plant or other. Lavender, Emma noted, when she recognized the tiny flowers.
Emma jumped when the door slammed open, crashing into the wall. In barged the ugliest creature she had ever seen. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to scream at the sight. He was tall; easily six foot four and broad-shouldered. However, neither his height nor girth terrified her. The pointed ears, the glaring red and black markings, and the row of tiny sharp teeth bared in an evil grin did.
Andrew held the bunch of twigs in front of him and began to chant.
"Evil is approaching;
Let Darkness be withstood;
Blanket me with your defense;
Protect me with the power of Good."
The creature -Emma couldn't think of it as a man- howled as if in pain and took a lumbering step toward Andrew. Her fiancé kept chanting, his voice growing louder and more desperate as the creature advanced.
A knife, the blade long and undulating, gleamed in the monster's claw. He didn't speak, merely growled and grunted. Time slowed down to a near halt and events happened in a sluggish motion. Emma's eyes grew so wide they nearly fell out of their sockets while she watched with growing horror as the scene played out.
The creature's fist moving forward. The long knife sparkling in the lamplight. Steel point entering Andrew's stomach. Red flower blooming on the white shirt. Blade disappearing deeper and deeper into Andrew. His mouth opening in a silent scream. Sprig of lavender dropping from strengthless hands to fall on the floor at his feet. His knees buckling. Andrew sagging into a crumpled heap on the floor.
Emma couldn't help the sob of anguish that escaped her throat when she witnessed this terrible creature murder her fiancé before her eyes.
The large, red head swiveled slowly in her direction. Her breath hitched and the sob cut short. Black eyes penetrated the gloom of the closet, settling on her with terrifying clarity.
When the creature's gaze met hers, Emma knew her life was forfeit. She was going to follow her fiancé into death within the next few seconds.
Too frightened to watch and see it coming, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.
Nothing happened.
It was at least five minutes later that Emma dared peek through her lashes. The room appeared deserted; there was no sign of the giant anywhere. Cautiously, she pushed the door of the closet open wider and peered out. She was alone.
Andrew's lifeless body, resting in a pool of blood, formed the only evidence that it had not been a bad dream.
Nobody would believe her story, Emma realized. What crazy tale could she tell them? That Andrew was a witch and that a red-and-black creature was sent up from hell to kill him? If she gave them that explanation, they'd think that grief made her insane and lock her up instead of the killer.
That would never do.
Her eye caught sight of the knife, discarded beside her fiancé's body. It was her only link to the killer. She stooped and picked it up to hide it in a drawer before she dialed 9-1-1.
NEW YEAR'S DAY 2000, UNDERWORLD
"Belthazor," Vornac greeted him when the demon returned to his Underworld chambers.
Belthazor gave a start at the unexpected presence but he quickly recovered. "The witches are dead," he reported. "All of them. The Source should be happy."
"He wants to see you."
Tiny alarm bells went off in Belthazor's head. "See me?" he asked. "Why? I did as I was ordered."
"You better come right away," Vornac said. He sounded grave.
Anxious, Belthazor donned his robe, pulled up the hood as was customary when demons visited the Source, and followed Vornac to the inner chambers of the Underworld.
They stopped outside the doorway. "Go ahead," Vornac said. The guards stepped aside at a wave of his hand. "He's waiting for you."
Belthazor hesitated a moment more, then he pulled the cowl of his robe a little further down his face and entered.
"Belthazor!" the Source bellowed so the walls shook. Belthazor inclined his head even further.
"You killed the witches?"
"Yes, as you commanded," Belthazor replied meekly. He still wasn't sure whether the Source's summons was a good or a bad sign.
"However, you left a witness ALIVE!" The walls shook even harder and Belthazor cringed before the sheer power of the Source's anger. "WHY?"
Belthazor shrugged. "The creature in the closet? She was a mere human. I was sent to assassinate the witches. Nobody told me I should kill her too."
The Source roared. "Don't smart mouth me, half-breed! The woman saw you."
Belthazor protested. "She's as insignificant as a bug to us. She can do no harm. Nobody will believe her if she ever tells her story."
"Loose ends have a way of finding you when you least expect it," the Source growled. "Mark my words. You are growing sloppy, Belthazor. I have neither need nor tolerance for slipshod demons."
Belthazor looked up. Was this his final hour? Was the Source going to execute him?
"However, you have served me well over the years," the ruler of the Underworld continued. "Vornac convinced me that your flippant attitude the result of boredom. Therefore, I have a further assignment for you. An undertaking that even you will find challenging. And the reward will be to your liking, too, I believe." One of his hands disappeared within his heavy robes, and when it reappeared, he was holding a small, glowing orb in his long fingers. "Remember this?"
Belthazor's eyes narrowed. "My father's soul. You promised to give it back to me, some day."
"You remember well," the Source commented. "I have ordered the Triad to kill a couple of witches and steal their Book. It turns out they find it not as simple as it would seem. I assign you to aid them in their quest. You will answer directly to them, and they will see to your reward. Do your job well, and the soul is yours."
"No problem," Belthazor asked. "So, who are the witches we're up against?"
"Three witches," the Source said. "The prophesized sisters. The Charmed Ones."
--END FOR NOW--
Disclaimer: Story based on the Spelling Television/WB Television Network series 'Charmed'. All characters belong to their original owners. The story is meant for entertainment purposes only and no copyright infringement was intended.
Although I feel that I could leave the Chronicles at this, (since it's reached the point in time where Season 3 of Charmed picks up Belthazor's story), I will probably write one more installments. It'll be interesting to retell the events from the first six or seven episodes from Belthazor's point of view. I'm not making any promises, though! :)
THE BELTHAZOR CHRONICLES
Soul Assignment
Weeks, months, decades strung together until a hundred years passed. History raced forward at a breakneck speed. Belthazor's first centennial, also the last century of the second millennium, witnessed some of mankind's greatest achievements as well as its worst atrocities. It was the bloodiest century in the annals of man, and the creatures of the Underworld never idled.
In 1911, the unsinkable Titanic went down and took 1,513 of its passengers to a cold, wet grave.
On June 28, 1914, the assassination of Archduke Francis Ferdinand and his wife in Sarajevo led to World War I. 8.5 Million soldiers died before peace came in 1918.
In 1922, Howard Carter discovered the tomb of Tutankhamen in Egypt.
On February 17, 1924, a fire broke out in a San Francisco speakeasy. When the flames died down, one woman was found dead. The cause of death was determined to be strangulation. Her name was P. Russell.
In 1925 and later in '27 and July '28, the remains of young women were found in cities all over the United States. The victims were incinerated by means unknown, and burned beyond recognition. Nobody had the means to connect these murders to one perpetrator. The murderer has never been found.
In 1933, Adolf Hitler established the Third Reich in Germany while in the United States Franklin Delano Roosevelt accepted the office of President.
Vivien Leigh played Scarlet O'Hara opposite Clark Gable in 1939's 'Gone with the Wind'.
On August 6, 1945, the 'Enola Gay' dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan.
In 1948, a creature described as a fiery red giant slaughtered an entire village in Eastern Africa. Authorities called the tale a myth and the slaughter a matter of intertribal warfare. The case was quickly closed.
In 1955, American audiences watched 'Gunsmoke' and 'I Love Lucy' on television.
Yury Alekseyevich Gagarin became the world's first astronaut in 1961.
On August 28, 1963, Martin Luther King had a dream in Washington, DC, and on July 27, 1968, Julian Dana William McMahon was born in Sydney, Australia.
In 1969, Neil Alden Armstrong took that one small step for man onto the moon.
In 1972, two spinster sisters were brutally stabbed in their family home in Nantucket. Nothing was taken from the premises, except for a golden pendant, an heirloom that dated back to the 16th century. The murderer is still at large.
IBM introduced its personal computer in 1981; in 1983 Microsoft launched the Windows operating system, an event that would give rise to bouts of technology related anger until deep into the 21st century.
Television audiences in 1985 were watching the 'Cosby Show' and 'Cheers'.
In 1988, Belthazor, assuming his alias Cole Turner, enrolled into Harvard Law School. He graduated several years later with flying colors. None of his fellow students thought him anything but a dedicated scholar intent upon a career in law.
The Berlin Wall, keeping East Germans captive for nearly 30 years, fell in 1989.
In 1998 and 1999, people nervously prepared for the approaching turn of the millennium. Imminent computer failures were believed to lead to communications breakdowns, chaos, and the final apocalypse. It was the day before Christmas, when Belthazor returned to the Underworld after a mission well done.
CHRISTMAS EVE 1999, UNDERWORLD
"Plea bargains are deserving of serious respect and consideration by the court," Belthazor murmured, reading out loud. He lounged in his human form on an easy chair, its leather old and cracked, a heavy book in his hands. Numerous candles and torches illuminated his chambers, chasing off the dark shadows of the Underworld and casting a bright glow. "The sentencing judge should not reject a joint submission without first--" he turned the page and continued, "--advising counsel of his or her concerns and giving counsel an opportunity to explain the foundation for their position."
"Excuse me?"
Belthazor looked up at the unexpected voice. Tarkin strolled into the chamber and took a seat on the chair at the desk.
"What's that tedious drivel you're reading?" He leaned forward to catch the title of the tome in Belthazor's hands. It was printed in bold, white lettering upon the spine. "'Crimes and Punishment: Cases, Materials, and Readings in Criminal Law'... Sounds terribly interesting - not."
Tarkin turned to the desk to study the books piled high upon its surface. "'The Winning Brief: 100 Tips for Persuasive Briefing in Trial and Appellate Court'. Nice." He feigned enthusiasm. "Oh, and I see you got 'Philosophy and the Criminal Law: Principle and Critique' too! That's a real page-turner, isn't it? Belthazor, what's gotten into you? You're barely ever here, and when you are, you stuff your nose in these books. Please don't tell me your human half is growing a conscience after all these years?"
Belthazor sighed and shut the book in his hands. "No, Tarkin, it's not. I need to brush up on these matters for my deep cover to be effective. If I don't have a clue as to what I'm doing, I'll blow it before I even get the chance to put it to good use."
"Ah, yes, I heard. You're San Francisco's newest Assistant District Attorney. Congratulations, my Brother. Why don't you come with me and we can celebrate your successes in the world of men? I happen to know this club where we can meet some nice ladies. C'mon, what do you say? You need to go out more!"
Belthazor chuckled at the cocky grin his friend offered him. "You never stop, do you?" he asked. "Don't you grow weary of that game?"
"Weary? Never!" Tarkin tilted his head and contemplated Belthazor's words. "Are you saying you are bored, Brother?"
Belthazor shrugged. "A little," he admitted. He leaned forward to pick up another book from the desk. "True romance went out of style with women's lib in the sixties. The art of seduction is not as much fun as it used to be. And my work for the Brotherhood? It's making me damn tired, how it never lets up. It's damn simple, too. Witches these days are so clueless, it poses no challenge whatsoever to take them out. And down here, the politics never change; everyone is always scheming for more power, attempting to get into the upper levels' good graces, trying to stab each other in the back at every corner. Yes, Brother, you could say I'm bored with this life. I find it dull and dreary."
"So you read law books." Tarkin frowned. "You just got back from an assignment yesterday, didn't you?" he said. "Get the witch?"
Belthazor nodded. "Of course. One little energy ball, and she was history. Easy as pie."
"Well, that was exciting, wasn't it?" Tarkin asked. "To have all that power run through your veins, the thrill of the kill, the final scream, the scent of burned flesh?"
Belthazor shook his head. "Nah. Shimmer in, hit 'em with a bolt, shimmer out, job done. Where's the challenge, the glory?"
Tarkin opened his mouth to protest when another demon appeared in the door opening and forestalled any further conversation.
"Vornac!" Belthazor greeted the newcomer. "What brings you here? I thought you were still in southern China?"
"Got called back yesterday," Vornac said. He turned to Tarkin and stated quickly, "Please, Brother, I need to speak with Belthazor alone."
"But--" Tarkin began. Vornac gave him a glare, and Tarkin got the message. "Sure," he sighed. He looked at Belthazor, catching the demon's eye. "Think about what I said. The offer's always good."
"Thanks." Belthazor gave a half-smile while Tarkin disappeared in a shimmer of air. He turned back to Vornac.
"What can I do for you? The witch in Chicago is taken care of, I finished that job yesterday."
"I know," Vornac said, sitting himself down upon the chair that Tarkin vacated. "That's not why I'm here. I have another task for you."
"What?" Belthazor exclaimed. "Oh no, I just got back. You can't send me out again so soon. I've been working non-stop since 1983. You promised me a break. I deserve a break! And I need to prepare for this long-term cover. Ask Tarkin to do it. He's growing restless, he could use a good kill."
Vornac sighed. "I apologize. I know we've been working you hard. And you've proven yourself a worthy member of the Brotherhood. I wouldn't ask, except--This one comes straight from the top."
"The Source?" Belthazor asked, incredulous. It had been years since he heard from the Source. The last time was in -he wracked his brain for a moment- 1964, when he had demanded that the ruler finally hand over his father's soul -- and nearly found himself beheaded for his insolence. Afterwards, Raynor or his right-hand man Vornac took care of briefing and debriefing Belthazor.
Vornac gave a curt nod. "Yes. He specifically asked for you. He says you're the best assassin to do the job."
Belthazor's shoulders slumped. It was impossible to ignore orders coming directly from the Source. He put the legal volumes back on the desk and leaned forward. "So, what do I have to do?"
Vornac pulled a manila folder from his robes. "It's all in here. You need to take out a coven in Oakland. Four witches in all. And it needs to be done fast. They have to be dealt with before the turn of the millennium. This is an important job, Belthazor. Do it well, and I'm sure the Source will reward you generously."
"Will he give me my father's soul?" Belthazor asked.
Vornac gave a shrug. "I don't know. You'll have to ask him when you're finished."
Belthazor accepted the file and opened it. Several resumes of men and women were folded inside, each with a photo stapled onto the page. He pulled out the first sheaf of paper and began to read.
NEW YEAR'S EVE 1999, OAKLAND
"Let me fix that for you," Emma said. She reached up to straighten the bow tie around her fiancé's neck. "There, that's better." She took a step back to admire him.
The black of the rented tuxedo contrasted starkly with the searing white of the shirt. With his well-toned body, complemented by a chiseled face, Andrew made a dashing figure in the formal wear. Yes, he was definitely the handsomest man she had ever seen, Emma decided, while he leaned forward to gently kiss her lips.
"Thank you, my love," he murmured.
Butterflies danced in Emma's stomach. He always made her feel pleasantly faint. They had been engaged for a month and half, and she still couldn't believe her luck. Andrew was not just handsome, he was also the kindest man she had ever met. Ever willing to help out a neighbor, volunteering his Saturday afternoons at the local youth center to help kids with needs, and always, always perceptive of her desires. She loved him very much.
The shrill ring of the phone interrupted her reverie. At the sound, a dark shadow wiped the smile from Andrew's face and the butterflies in Emma's stomach disappeared; cold spidery legs of anxiety replaced them. Since Christmas, the sound of the phone had grown ominous. Every call seemed to bring tidings of disaster instead of happiness. Tonight was New Year's Eve and they were set to go out to celebrate the third millennium with a couple of close friends. Emma hoped that a bit of merriment would take Andrew's mind off of the loss of friends that he had suffered so very recently. She fiercely hoped that it was a wrong number.
"Hello," Andrew said into the mouthpiece.
Emma watched his face intently. "Oh no," she murmured when Andrew closed his eyes and a pained expression contorted his handsome features.
She waited breathlessly until he hung up the phone. When he turned around to face her, there were tears in his eyes. Emma gulped, trying to find her voice yet scared to ask what the news was. "Who--" she croaked. She didn't need to finish the sentence.
"Kimberly," Andrew whispered. "They found her in her apartment, a few hours ago. Same as the others: a single knife wound to the stomach."
"Who could be doing such things?" Emma demanded to know, grief making her voice sound harsh. "Kimmy was the sweetest girl! Why did she have to die?" Tears had begun to well in her eyes and stream down her face. They left streaks of mascara on her cheeks but Emma didn't care. Who could celebrate when a psychopathic serial killer was loose in the city, striking down their friends?
"Emma--" Andrew gathered her in his arms, pulling her close to his chest and stroking her hair for a few moments before he led her to the bed. He sat her down on the edge before taking a seat beside her. He took her right hand between his and held it.
"Emma... There's something I need to tell you. Something I can no longer keep from you."
Emma used her left hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "What is it?" she asked cautiously. She was startled to find there were still secrets between them. "We are going to get married next month," she added. "You can tell me anything. For better or for worse, that's the vow we will take, remember?"
For an instant, the corners of his mouth curled into a sad smile. "I know," he said. "This is a secret not lightly divulged, even to a future wife. The knowledge can be dangerous."
"You're scaring me," Emma said, fighting down nausea.
"I'm sorry," Andrew said. "I'm trying to gather up my courage... Emma... I'm not an ordinary man. I'm a witch."
"What?" Emma cried out, believing she must have misunderstood. "If this is your idea of trying to make me feel better--"
He raised his face so his eyes met hers. He shook his head. "It's not," he said quietly. "I am a witch."
"Oh." Emma didn't know what else to say. She didn't even know what it meant, exactly. "You mean, you fly on a broom stick?" she ventured.
Again the sad smile made a fleeting appearance. "No, nothing like that. We help people. We aid them in making tough choices in their lives, finding the answers to difficult questions. Sometimes, I can catch glimpses of the future..."
"That is good, right?" Emma asked. "Why didn't you tell me before? Why would it be dangerous to know that you do this?"
"Because there is another world beside ours," Andrew said. "A world of evil. Filled with demons and warlocks and practitioners of black magic. I think someone from that world murdered Kim and Megan and Evan. They were not merely my friends; they were members of my coven. A witches' circle," he explained quickly.
"Oh," Emma said again. "Is that why the police can't find the killer?"
Andrew nodded.
Emma's eyes widened. "But... But that means that..."
Andrew nodded again. "Yes. I'm in danger. I'm the last of our coven. I fear that, for whatever reason he is hunting us, he won't rest until he's killed us all."
"No!" Emma cried. "I won't let him!" She flung her arms around her fiancé's neck and sobbed against his shoulder. "You have to do something! I can't lose you. Can't you stop being a witch? Maybe then he'll leave you alone."
Andrew allowed her to cry and calm down before he pulled away. He placed a finger beneath her chin to lift up her face. "No," he said, his gaze boring deep into her eyes. "I can't stop being a witch any more than I can stop being a man. It's who I am."
"But--" Emma opened her mouth to protest when Andrew held up a warning hand.
"Shh," he urged. "I heard something."
Emma's ears pricked up while a cold, clammy hand wrapped around her heart. Then she heard it too. Heavy footfalls on the stairs, one after another, moving up.
"We have to hurry!" Emma whispered harshly, pulling Andrew to the window. "We can climb out."
Andrew shook his head. "It's useless to run," he said. "He'll find me soon enough. I better have it out right now with whomever they sent." He looked around quickly. "There," he pointed at the tall closet that held their clothes. "Hide in there."
Emma protested that she wasn't going to leave his side, when Andrew shoved her inside the closet without further ado. "Stay there," he told her. "No matter what happens; no matter what you hear. Promise me, Emma. Promise!"
"I promise," she whispered in a tear-filled voice. "I love you."
"I love you, too." Andrew shut the door.
Emma waited in the darkness. Ignorant of what went on outside her small enclosure she strained her ears, and heard nothing. After a few seconds she cautiously pushed the door open a tiny crack so she could see into the room. She had promised Andrew she'd stay put, and that's what she'd do, but she needed to see.
Andrew was digging through his chest of drawers beside the bed. He pulled out a few sprays of some plant or other. Lavender, Emma noted, when she recognized the tiny flowers.
Emma jumped when the door slammed open, crashing into the wall. In barged the ugliest creature she had ever seen. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to scream at the sight. He was tall; easily six foot four and broad-shouldered. However, neither his height nor girth terrified her. The pointed ears, the glaring red and black markings, and the row of tiny sharp teeth bared in an evil grin did.
Andrew held the bunch of twigs in front of him and began to chant.
"Evil is approaching;
Let Darkness be withstood;
Blanket me with your defense;
Protect me with the power of Good."
The creature -Emma couldn't think of it as a man- howled as if in pain and took a lumbering step toward Andrew. Her fiancé kept chanting, his voice growing louder and more desperate as the creature advanced.
A knife, the blade long and undulating, gleamed in the monster's claw. He didn't speak, merely growled and grunted. Time slowed down to a near halt and events happened in a sluggish motion. Emma's eyes grew so wide they nearly fell out of their sockets while she watched with growing horror as the scene played out.
The creature's fist moving forward. The long knife sparkling in the lamplight. Steel point entering Andrew's stomach. Red flower blooming on the white shirt. Blade disappearing deeper and deeper into Andrew. His mouth opening in a silent scream. Sprig of lavender dropping from strengthless hands to fall on the floor at his feet. His knees buckling. Andrew sagging into a crumpled heap on the floor.
Emma couldn't help the sob of anguish that escaped her throat when she witnessed this terrible creature murder her fiancé before her eyes.
The large, red head swiveled slowly in her direction. Her breath hitched and the sob cut short. Black eyes penetrated the gloom of the closet, settling on her with terrifying clarity.
When the creature's gaze met hers, Emma knew her life was forfeit. She was going to follow her fiancé into death within the next few seconds.
Too frightened to watch and see it coming, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.
Nothing happened.
It was at least five minutes later that Emma dared peek through her lashes. The room appeared deserted; there was no sign of the giant anywhere. Cautiously, she pushed the door of the closet open wider and peered out. She was alone.
Andrew's lifeless body, resting in a pool of blood, formed the only evidence that it had not been a bad dream.
Nobody would believe her story, Emma realized. What crazy tale could she tell them? That Andrew was a witch and that a red-and-black creature was sent up from hell to kill him? If she gave them that explanation, they'd think that grief made her insane and lock her up instead of the killer.
That would never do.
Her eye caught sight of the knife, discarded beside her fiancé's body. It was her only link to the killer. She stooped and picked it up to hide it in a drawer before she dialed 9-1-1.
NEW YEAR'S DAY 2000, UNDERWORLD
"Belthazor," Vornac greeted him when the demon returned to his Underworld chambers.
Belthazor gave a start at the unexpected presence but he quickly recovered. "The witches are dead," he reported. "All of them. The Source should be happy."
"He wants to see you."
Tiny alarm bells went off in Belthazor's head. "See me?" he asked. "Why? I did as I was ordered."
"You better come right away," Vornac said. He sounded grave.
Anxious, Belthazor donned his robe, pulled up the hood as was customary when demons visited the Source, and followed Vornac to the inner chambers of the Underworld.
They stopped outside the doorway. "Go ahead," Vornac said. The guards stepped aside at a wave of his hand. "He's waiting for you."
Belthazor hesitated a moment more, then he pulled the cowl of his robe a little further down his face and entered.
"Belthazor!" the Source bellowed so the walls shook. Belthazor inclined his head even further.
"You killed the witches?"
"Yes, as you commanded," Belthazor replied meekly. He still wasn't sure whether the Source's summons was a good or a bad sign.
"However, you left a witness ALIVE!" The walls shook even harder and Belthazor cringed before the sheer power of the Source's anger. "WHY?"
Belthazor shrugged. "The creature in the closet? She was a mere human. I was sent to assassinate the witches. Nobody told me I should kill her too."
The Source roared. "Don't smart mouth me, half-breed! The woman saw you."
Belthazor protested. "She's as insignificant as a bug to us. She can do no harm. Nobody will believe her if she ever tells her story."
"Loose ends have a way of finding you when you least expect it," the Source growled. "Mark my words. You are growing sloppy, Belthazor. I have neither need nor tolerance for slipshod demons."
Belthazor looked up. Was this his final hour? Was the Source going to execute him?
"However, you have served me well over the years," the ruler of the Underworld continued. "Vornac convinced me that your flippant attitude the result of boredom. Therefore, I have a further assignment for you. An undertaking that even you will find challenging. And the reward will be to your liking, too, I believe." One of his hands disappeared within his heavy robes, and when it reappeared, he was holding a small, glowing orb in his long fingers. "Remember this?"
Belthazor's eyes narrowed. "My father's soul. You promised to give it back to me, some day."
"You remember well," the Source commented. "I have ordered the Triad to kill a couple of witches and steal their Book. It turns out they find it not as simple as it would seem. I assign you to aid them in their quest. You will answer directly to them, and they will see to your reward. Do your job well, and the soul is yours."
"No problem," Belthazor asked. "So, who are the witches we're up against?"
"Three witches," the Source said. "The prophesized sisters. The Charmed Ones."
--END FOR NOW--
Disclaimer: Story based on the Spelling Television/WB Television Network series 'Charmed'. All characters belong to their original owners. The story is meant for entertainment purposes only and no copyright infringement was intended.