"Cassandra is mentioned briefly in the Iliad of Homer where we learn that she is the child of King Priam of Troy. Unfortunately this epic does not dictate her gifts in prophetic power, so it is left for other ancient works of Greek literature to tell her story," informed the teacher at the front of the classroom.

Paris looked up from her notebook as Mr Slater wrote notes across the blackboard, the small piece of chalk squeaking between his lean fingers as he drilled it into the board to make another bullet point. She rubbed the back of her neck and stared blankly at the white squiggles he had made. Mr Slater's handwriting was barely readable, and it was hard to listen to him as he droned on and on about various names, dates and facts. Paris wrote down what she could read, knowing that everybody would be collaborating after class to piece together various parts of the lesson. Sometimes she just had to wonder if it wouldn't be better if Mr Slater taught them all one on one, five minutes at a time, where they could be free to roam about the halls for the rest of the lesson and do whatever they pleased, still achieving the same result when they collaborated at the end of the period.

Her attention was distracted by a sound outside her classroom, a familiar sound of wind racing through a hollow pipe and distant chimes. She looked to the door. Chris was outside, his eyes set and determined, waving for her to come out to him. She glared back at him, shaking her head quickly, and then turned her attention back to the teacher.

"A legendary god depicted in many works of art, by the name of Apollo, was so taken with Cassandra's beauty that he offered to instruct the mortal woman in the art of prophecy in the hopes of winning her affections. Cassandra was a willing student, but not a willing lover. Feeling insulted, Apollo cursed the woman so that every time she forecast the future people would be convinced that she was instead spreading lies," Mr Slater continued.

Paris looked back to the doorway. Chris was still there, this time silently pleading for her to come out. Paris mouthed her refusal to him this time, and dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

"Is everything okay, Paris?" Mr Slater asked.

Paris' attention snapped back to her teacher, bringing her hand back to the join the other on the desk in front of her. Mr Slater stood with his hand resting on his desk, his eyes full of questions and his expression stern.

"Ah, just… bugs. Flies. Hate them." Paris shuddered.

"Well I'm sure they're long gone. You might want to start concentrating on what we're talking about here," he said. She nodded, slyly glancing back to the door. Chris was gone.

The bell rang not long afterwards. Paris packed all her books together, and threw her bag over her shoulder. Other students stopped just outside the doorway, pulling apart their notebooks and exchanging notes. Paris, knowing her next class was all the way on the other side of the school, brushed past them and hurried down the hallway. She was stopped mid-stride, a hand grabbing her arm and pulling her into a small alcove away from the other students.

"Hey! What…. Chris?" she cried in surprise.

He placed a hand gently over her lips, and then drew back to rest a finger on his so she knew to keep quiet.

"It's okay. It's me," he said.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"I need your help."

"You need my help. On a school day."

"Look, I'm not talking about something trivial here. It's Wyatt. I think he's going to become a threat again."

Paris smirked. "You wanted me to leave class so you could tell me that Wyatt's turning to the dark side. How Luke Skywalker of you."

Chris looked away in annoyance, and then turned his eyes back to her. "I had someone visit me to tell me about the underworld re-opening. It's complicated, but someone I know… well, used to know, she did a reading for me. She said I needed to find the woman with the power of premonition, which would be you."

"How do you know it's me?"

"Well, it has to be. You helped me once before."

"It might not be me, it could be my mom."

"She doesn't have her powers anymore," Chris argued.

"Well neither do I!" Paris shouted back. Chris stopped, surprised, and then pulled her closer to the wall.

"What do you mean you don't have your powers?" he enquired softly.

"It might all be very well and good for you to return home with your powers," Paris began, "but when I got back my life went back to normal. So there was no going to the manor, no breaking locks with my hands, no book premonitions, no time travelling, nothing. It's as if none of it ever happened. We never went to see you, Chris. And I never had any power whatsoever."

Chris shook his head. "This is not right. She told me… are you sure?"

"Yes! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get to class. You've already made me late."

She briefly looked into the hallway as if checking for traffic, and then moved away from Chris and onto her next class. Chris stayed behind only a moment, confused and uncertain, before orbing out as the school hallway quickly vacated.

Chris entered San Francisco Memorial Hospital in search of his brother, and found him standing by the nurses' station. He didn't appear to have changed – he was still the mild-mannered, good-natured, short-haired young intern that Chris had just begun to get to know after returning home. He turned at the sound of Chris' footsteps and smiled warmly.

"Chris! How are you? It's good to see some family drop by." He looked back to the nurse behind the counter and winked. "He's my younger brother. He's single you know."

"Wyatt," Chris said seriously. "We need to talk."

Wyatt took Chris' elbow and steered him off to a semi-quiet corridor. "You look troubled. What's the problem?"

"You wouldn't happen to have spoken to a blonde woman on the weekend, would you?"

"There are many blonde women, Chris. You'd have to narrow it down a little for me."

"Well how about a singer? Of a band called Picasso View?"

"Never heard of them."

"So you're telling me you've never heard of a woman named Melaina."

"No. What's this all about, Chris? I'm starting to feel a little interrogated here."

"Apparently the underworld is reopening."

"Really?"

"Don't act so interested, Wyatt. You can't go anywhere near it."

"Are you trying to be my father now? You have to remember that I am older than you. I can do what I please."

"Trust me. It's not going to do you any good, even if you only associate with the characters that live down there."

"And what makes you the expert?"

"I've lived it before."

"Oh, that's right. My little brother, the time travel expert," Wyatt said snidely. "At least I'm responsible enough not to go jumping into portals."

"At least I don't let power go to my head," Chris returned. Wyatt studied Chris' expression, trying to determine the meaning behind what he said. His beeper sounded, interrupting his train of thought, and he held it up to Chris.

"If you'll excuse me, I've got more important business to attend to," he said conceitedly. Chris moved to follow him, but a flick from Wyatt's hand behind his back moved a gurney away from the wall, blocking Chris' path. Frustrated, he pushed the trolley out of his way, and stormed back out of the hospital. It seemed his mother was right, he'd have to turn to the Book of Shadows for help now, and the only thing he had to go on was the memory of Melaina's stone and the little amount of information she had told him.

"Hey, Paris, thank god I found you."

Paris turned, her fingers still planted in her hair as she pulled the long brown strands back into a ponytail. There was a girl coming towards her with sunburnt orange hair and a worried expression on her face.

"Why, Trisha, what's wrong?"

"It's Ryan. Something's wrong with him."

Paris' hands dropped to her hips. "What did he do this time?"

"That's the thing, I don't know. He's just been really moody lately. He'll be really sweet one day, and the next he won't return my calls. I don't know what's up with him."

Paris could see tears beginning to build in her eyes and reached out a supportive hand to touch her arm.

"Trisha, it's okay." She stopped as an image of Trisha's boyfriend, Ryan, kissing another girl popped into her head. Over Trisha's shoulder she saw Ryan entering the oval between the bleachers, chatting and laughing with that same girl – the head cheerleader. The girl tugged playfully on his letterman jacket. Paris looked back to Trisha. "Break up with him."

"What?" she shrieked.

"Paris, come on. We're about to start!" the track coach called from the starting line.

Paris looked back to Trisha as she headed towards the track. "Trust me, you'll be better off."

She jogged the remaining distance and took the last position between two other girls.

"About time," one of them grumbled.

Paris lowered her head and pushed her foot against the metal start block. She heard the gun go off and launched to her feet, racing down her laneway. The sky darkened, and suddenly everything felt as if it was crowding around her. The trees, the bushes, the misty air, all of it was closing in. Leaves rustled and crunched behind her, and the foul breath of the creature chasing her began to drift up to her nose. Her heart thudded in her chest as she pushed herself to run faster. Her foot caught on something and she tumbled to the ground, her hands sliding across the loose dirt.

"Paris, are you okay?"

"What?" She blinked her eyes, squinting up at her coach. The sun seemed all too bright now.

"You fell," he said, offering her a hand and helping her to her feet. She looked up ahead and saw the other girls were across the finish line trying to catch their breath. She had only made it halfway up the track.

"Fell?" she repeated, her voice sounding like a distant echo in her own mind.

"You must have tripped over your own feet or something," the coach said. He looked her over again. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Paris said nodding eagerly, trying to shake her head clear at the same time.

"Why don't you go get yourself cleaned up? We'll try again tomorrow; see if we can't fix the feet problem."

Paris agreed and headed back to the change rooms, looking over her hands to see if she grazed them. Once she was back in her regular clothes, she walked over to the sink and stared in the mirror. Her reflection looked fine; she didn't seem to have changed. She turned the faucet on and scooped her hands underneath the water to splash her face. Out of nowhere, she felt a palm flatten against the small of her back, and another hand wrap around her left arm, pulling her back. Everything began to lighten and Paris wondered if she was about to faint again. The colours darkened into wooden walls, and now Paris had turned enough to see it was her cousin who had hold of her and that they were standing in the middle of the attic at the manor.

"Chris!" she yelled, slapping his chest with her right hand. Surprised, he let her go and took a step back. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You can't just orb me out of class!"

"I had to show you," he began, turning away from her and rounding the dais to the open Book Of Shadows. "This is the cause of all this."

"The cause of all what?" she responded in an annoyed tone. "I swear going back to the past has made you more paranoid. The world's not coming to an end."

"Just look, will you," he said.

She let out an aggravated sigh, and then joined him to look at the book. The old crumpled pages were neatly spread open, and Chris' index finger lay over a green stone on the right hand page. The picture was hand drawn and the stone appeared to have an antique style edging around its border.

"Nice pendant," Paris commented. The look she received from Chris urged her to take it more seriously. Paris squinted to read the text, pencilled out in an Old English style font.

"This was never in the book before," Chris said.

"So what is it exactly?"

"It's a key. The Elders put a barrier in place between here and the underworld after we left the past. This stone is the key to re-opening it."

"You want to re-open the underworld?" Paris asked. She didn't wait for him to respond. "Are you serious?"

"No, I don't want to re-open the underworld," Chris argued. "There's someone else. Someone killed Melaina, the guardian of the key, and I think they've already opened it."

"How do you know?"

"Have you had any premonitions lately?"

Paris paused, remembering the vision of the creature chasing her. She looked away from him quickly and began to walk away from him. "No, I told you, I don't have my powers anymore."

"Have you even tried?"

"What do you mean 'have I tried'? You want me to go around trying to cheat on my exams or something?"

"I wasn't suggesting that."

"Well I honestly don't know what you want from me, Chris. I don't have active powers like you. I can't just turn them on and off."

"You sound like your mother." Chris smirked.

"Well maybe you should get her to help you instead," Paris said, her attention drifting away to the chest by her leg. Curiosity took over and she bent down to open it. Thankfully it wasn't locked, so it was easy for her to peel the lid back and look inside. The chest was filled with weapons. She glanced back at Chris but he had turned his attention back to the book. She pulled out a small dagger, almost identical to the one that Gideon had tried to stab Chris with, only this one had the initials W.W. carved into the handle. She looked it over. "What's this from?"

Chris looked up. "What are you doing with that?"

"It was in the chest."

"Put it down."

"Why?"

"It's dangerous."

"It's a dagger, Chris. I'm not going to stab you with it."

Chris seemed to draw away a little, as if he was expecting her to rush forward and attack him with it. He gathered his thoughts together, repressing old memories, and glanced back to her. "It's an athame. From the Witch Wars. Can you put it back in the chest?"

"Sorry," Paris said, rolling her eyes. She put the athame down.

Chris went back to looking through the book. "There has to be something else in here."

Paris folded her arms and watched him, but her attention kept drifting back to the open chest. There were an awful lot of weapons in there. She felt compelled to pull them all out and inspect them one by one. She eyed Chris again. He was concentrating solely on reading through the pages of the book. She bent down to get a closer look on what was inside. Nicely stocked in a corner was a dark coloured crossbow, the kind you would probably use in those old vampire movies. Paris pulled it out and saw there were a few stray bolts underneath. She pulled one out, feeling the length of the varnished surface, and positioned it in the groove of the crossbow, careful not to catch the two fletches at the end as she loaded it. She stood up again, holding the crossbow in front of her with two hands and closing an eye, wondering how clear a shot she could get of something. She turned herself slowly in a circle.

"Chris, are you up here?" Piper asked appearing in the doorway. She saw Paris standing with crossbow in hand, and Chris not paying any attention at all. "Paris, no!"

"Huh?" Paris said, dropping her arms and turning back towards Piper. Her finger slipped on the trigger and the bolt sailed out of the crossbow. Piper shook her hands in the air, freezing the room. Chris looked up to see the bolt just inches from his face. He stumbled backwards in his rush to get away from it. Piper stormed up to the dais, snatching the bolt out of the air and giving Paris a stern look.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" she shouted.

"Uh, I… I was just…" Paris looked back at the chest and then at her aunt. She didn't know how she could explain nearly shooting Chris.

"You know what this is?" Piper continued, waving the bolt in front of her face. "It's a darklighter arrow. This could have killed him."

Paris hung her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, Aunty Piper."

Piper pulled the crossbow from her hand and placed them both back in the chest, pushing the lid down so that it was securely closed. She turned back to Chris.

"And what is she doing here, Chris? She's meant to be in school."

"You didn't freeze," Chris said, ignoring his mother and staring at Paris.

"What?" Paris returned.

"What? Chris…" Piper began, frustrated that he was ignoring her. She stopped, realisation dawning on her, and turned back to look at Paris. "Oh."

Chris moved forward, halting in front of Paris. "You do have your powers! Why did you say that you didn't?"

"Okay I just have to say, in my defence, that they weren't working until about five minutes before you kidnapped me."

"Chris," Piper scolded.

"Mom, you're missing the point. She has her powers, and she told me she didn't. She's the one that has to help me with this."

"With what?" Piper asked.

"Some key thing," Paris said with a wave of her hand. "Not important."

"It is important!" Chris protested.

"Is this the thing with the girl from the club?" Piper questioned.

"Yes!" Chris cried, frustrated.

"Oh so some girl talked him into this," Paris said to Piper. Piper nodded.

"People, please, back to reality here. I'm talking about a serious threat to our livelihood," Chris said.

"If there was a problem, I'm sure Leo would know about it," Piper said calmly. "Where is your father, anyway? Leo!"

Paris followed her gaze upward. Chris gave an aggravated sigh and went back to the book. Piper looked doubtfully back to the other two.

"That better not be a bad sign," she said. "Chris, keep calling for your father. I'm going to take Paris downstairs, and we're going to call her mother and tell her exactly where she is and what she's been up to."

"Aunty Piper, no," Paris pleaded. "Please, I don't want her to know. If she knew I had powers she'd be twice as worried about me. She wouldn't even let me out of the house!"

"I understand that, Paris, but she is going to wonder why you didn't come home from school, and why you're halfway across the country. We can't just pretend that you're not here," Piper said.

"Why not?" Paris followed.

"Because," Piper said. Paris stared at her, waiting for some kind of motherly explanation. "Well, just because. Now come downstairs so I can use the phone."

Chris listened as they left the attic, flicking over another page in the book. He didn't look up, but he did do what his mother had told him.

"Dad!" he called again. This time Leo appeared, materialising and folding his arms.

"Yeah, Chris. What's up?" he asked.

Chris leant forward, his forearms resting on the book and his hands clasped. He lowered his voice. "Any word on Melaina?"

"The Elders say she's missing."

"I already know that," Chris huffed. "Anything else?"

"No," Leo answered. Chris went back to leafing through the book, this time more fervently. Leo's eyes followed as Chris hastily flipped through the pages. "What are you looking for?"

"Something that could be her killer," Chris replied without looking up.

"How do you know she's dead, Chris? There's no body."

Chris looked up and glared at Leo. "There was a body, okay? I saw it. It's just not there anymore."

"Well maybe we should check that out," Leo said, getting annoyed at his youngest son's tone of voice.

"Don't worry, I already tried," Chris said. "And mom wants you anyway."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. We just… have a situation."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Paris is downstairs. I kidnapped her."

"You did what?" Leo cried.

"Ratana told me she has to help me with this. So I orbed her out of school."

"Chris, you know she doesn't know about magic! Why are you using magic around her?"

"She does know, dad, she's got her own powers."

"She has her own powers? Already? Why didn't I hear about this before? Why hasn't Piper or Phoebe told me?"

"Because they didn't know; and because Paris only got her powers five minutes before I brought her here."

"Well she needs a whitelighter then. I'll have to see the Elders," Leo said, orbing back out.

"Dad, wait!" Chris called. Leo disappeared, leaving him to speak the last few words to the thin air. "She doesn't want Phoebe to know."

Piper cradled the phone on her shoulder as she began chopping up the vegetables for dinner. Paris stood sulking by the doorway. Piper glanced up at her as the phone continued to ring on the other end.

"Paris, honey, can you check the chicken for me? Just pull it out and see if it's done."

Paris nodded, opening the oven door and using one of the oven mitts to pull out the tray. She placed it on the bench. It didn't look anywhere near done. She put her hands on the side to feel if it was warm.

Piper put the receiver back in its cradle. "Well, looks like your mom's not home yet. We'll…" She stopped short, turning just as the chicken went up in flames. Paris stepped back in surprise. Piper grabbed a tea towel and threw it over the chicken, patting it with her hands trying to extinguish the flames.

"Aunty Piper?" Paris said, reaching out to help.

"Uh, uh, uh. Hands down," Piper scolded, taking hold of Paris' wrists and bringing her hands down to her sides. "We can't have you destroying the whole kitchen. Just stay like that and I'll get Chris to look after you. Chris!"

"Yeah, mom," he answered, appearing at the foot of the stairs and looking in through the doorway.

"Can you take your cousin out of here, please? Take her to P3 or something." She looked down at the burnt chicken. "Dinner's going to be awhile."

Chris took Paris' arm orbed to the main room inside P3. Paris backed up, taking a seat in front of the bar.

"Now what?" she asked.

"What did you do?" Chris returned.

"Burnt a chicken," Paris said. Chris' expression showed he still didn't understand. "Well, flamed it actually."

Chris took her hands and turned them over. There was nothing wrong with them, not like last time. And Paris had only melted an athame previously, not set it alight. He looked back up at her.

"New power?"

"No power," Paris said, shaking her head and pulling her hands away.

"Paris, you're going to have to deal with it one of these days."

"I don't burn things, Chris. It must have just combusted by itself."

Chris looked at her disbelievingly. "Alright, but if it happens again…" he said with a knowing smile. "Just wait here; I'll go check the messages in the back room. I might as well get something out of the way since we're here."

Paris sat on the stool, swinging her legs in boredom as she waited for Chris to come back. There was a low rumbling coming from the shadows. It almost sounded like something was growling. Paris stopped swinging her legs. The noise stopped. She was about to start again when soft footsteps padded across the floor. A grey wolf emerged into the light. It looked towards her, ears up, mouth open slightly like a friendly dog waiting to play ball. Paris froze and stared back at it. It was a wolf, after all. Wild animals were dangerous, and what was one doing in the middle of the club anyway?

"Chris!" she called out, her voice barely making it out of her throat in a mangled cry for help. She tried again and managed to get a bit more volume this time. "Chris!"

The wolf began pacing in a circle. Paris was too afraid to take her eyes off of it. Chris walked out of the back room onto the main floor, and Paris chanced taking her eyes off the animal to look at Chris with a certain kind of desperation.

"Chris, stop!" Paris cried.

"What?" he asked, slightly annoyed but still stopping anyway.

"There's a wolf in the club," she explained.

"Where?" Chris followed, looking around.

"Right there," Paris said pointing in front of her. The wolf was gone. "Or, maybe, in the shadows?"

Chris looked away with an aggravated sigh then headed over to where she had pointed; to where the shadows hung like dark fingers reaching out to the bar. There was nothing there. He stopped, turning around to look at her.

"There's nothing here, Paris," he said.

Suddenly the shadow took on a form of its own, rising and engulfing him like an oil slick, pulling him down into the ground.

"Chris!" Paris screamed.

In a matter of seconds he was gone. She pushed herself off the stool, rushing over to the spot where Chris had been. She dropped to her knees, patting the floor. It was solid. There was no way he could have been dragged into it.

"Uncle Leo!" she yelled. She didn't know if it would work. She'd never tried calling a whitelighter before.

After a moment with no response, Paris realised she was going to have to find a way back to the house. She couldn't orb, she couldn't drive, and she couldn't stay here with a wolf running around the club. She had a general idea where the club was in relation to the manor. Just down a few streets, through a park, down a few more streets and you're there. It wouldn't be that far to walk.

Making sure the door was locked behind her, she made her way over to the park. The wind picked up as she followed the path, skittering a collection of leaves and litter over and around her feet. One rather large piece of paper that had been torn from a sketch pad wrapped around her leg. She stopped and shook it off, letting it tumble face up on the ground. It was a drawing, a very good one at that, of some kind of bony alien creature that had an odd resemblance to Predator. She shivered and continued along her way.

There was a sound of something rushing up behind her. At first she thought it was the wind, but once the foul stench reached her nose, she realised exactly what it was. It wasn't the wind; it was the monster from her vision. She lifted her heels and ran, running as fast as she could, leaping over branches and rocks, dodging the trees and the bushes. She was running blindly, not knowing where she was going, but knowing that she had to get away. She chanced a glance over her shoulder as she found the pathway again. The monster, the one that was chasing her, it was the wolf. Only now it didn't look like an innocent playful puppy, but something much more terrible and grotesque. She felt her foot catch on something, and suddenly she was falling, falling down into the dirt. Her arm scratched the rocky surface and she knew there would be a graze there. She looked up frantically as the wolf gained on her, its mouth opening wide ready to attack as it launched off the ground and sailed towards her. Paris screamed, holding up her hands and closing her eyes as the figure's dark shadow came over her. Her hands tingled and grew warm. She heard a howling cry and opened her eyes to see the flaming wolf dropping down on her. She covered her head with her arms, whimpering herself at what was to become her untimely fate. After a moment with no impact she opened her eyes and looked around, lowering her arms from her head. The wind raced over her body. She began to wonder if she'd just imagined it all, but the ash that stained her clothes told her otherwise. She laid her head back down on the ground, tears springing to her eyes. She was alive. She didn't understand how or why, but she was still in one piece.