The Wish - chapter 1
by KatiKat
When Chris crossed the barrier between the human world and the demon realm, his skin prickled with unease and the close proximity of the hordes of demons. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. But he needed help, and there was no place in the human world where he could get it.
Steeling himself, he hunched his shoulders and pulled the dark cloak lower over his eyes and up over his mouth. The Halliwells were rather well known in this part of the world. No need to attract unwanted attention. With his resolve firmed, he entered the labyrinth of narrow streets and alleys of the demon city.
He wasn't exactly sure about where he was heading. The troll could give him only a rough description where to find the old witch and if he hadn't threatened to tell Wyatt about the troll's secret stash of winnera root that the blond Halliwell had forbidden the demons to use because of its narcotic-like effect on the non-humans, he wouldn't have found out even that much.
Chris lowered his head and pulled his black cloak closer when a couple of Wyatt's demon guards passed by, then quickly slipped into a narrow alley. He had never been so deep in the demon city. Even for the brother of Wyatt Halliwell, it was dangerous here. But he had to do it. He just had to.
Because he wanted his brother back. This Wyatt, this blond monster that ruled over the human and demon world equally, was not his sibling. Not the boy he grew up with, with who he used to play in the garden and do homework and sneak Mum's cookies out of the kitchen in the middle of the night. This was not the Wyatt who taught him to drive and to shave, and who gave him the birds and bees talk because their father was never there.
He had done everything to turn Wyatt back, to pull him out of the lure of the black magic and shadows. But brotherly persuasion wasn't enough and just earned him a set of ugly scars that marred his skin under the black cloak.
And so he reached for the last desperate chance to save the person he felt closest to.
His heart hammered wildly and air was pushed out of his lungs in short breaths as he stopped in front of the run down hovel, plastered against the high wall that surrounded the city. The shack didn't look remarkable in any way, it was just one hovel out of many. But he knew he reached his destination. He could feel the dark power fairly seep through the the walls.
Taking a deep breath and looking around carefully, he lifted his hand and knocked on the rotten wood of the door. For a moment, nothing happened, then the door creaked open a little, one yellow eye appearing in the narrow gap.
"What do you want?" a grating voice snapped at him.
He wrung his hands for a second and looking around once more, he whispered through the barrier of his black cloak. "I came to buy a wish."
The yellow eye regarded him suspiciously for a moment, then the door squeaked open. There in the doorway, an old hag stood. Her face a mass of wrinkles, the skin like an old parchment that lay too long in the sun. Eyes yellow, mouth full of rotten teeth. The ugly face was framed with long wisps of greasy grey hair. The torn, dirty garb that might have been yellow or maybe beige before he was born, hung from her slumped shoulders. The odd figure in the door didn't even reach his chin.
"A wish, huh?" she croaked out and looked him over from head to toe. "The wish can be related to a person only. No things. If you want to find yourself a treasure, go to the dwarfs in the mines," she barked out and spat on the ground.
"I'm aware of that," he said softly.
She looked at him for a moment longer, then rubbed her dirty chin. "You know the price?"
He nodded.
"And you're prepared to pay?"
He swallowed. "Yes, I am."
She opened the door wider, inviting him in. "Then come in, come in, lad. I'm always happy to see new customers."
He stepped into the small hovel, thankful for the cloak covering his nose and mouth and protecting him from the stale smell. It was dark inside, only a small fire in the clay fireplace illuminating the single room. There stood a wobbly table in the middle of the shack, two chairs, a simple rack and an iron-bound chest the only furniture in the room. Piles of rags and shards and pots and pans lay everywhere. Herbs hung from the low ceiling, making Chris bend low.
The old hag closed the door. "Here, here, lad." She ushered him to the table, then limped over to the chest and pulled a rolled parchment from it. After spitting on the ground again and rubbing her nose, she spread the scroll on the table and pulled a dusty quill pen out of the folds of her garb. "Sign here." She pointed at the empty space at the end of the scroll. "A little business contract, you see? Experience taught me that what isn't written down doesn't count."
With a shaking hand, he took the quill from her. "With what...?"
The witch cackled, showing her yellow teeth. "Your blood, lad, your blood."
When Chris hesitated, she snatched his left hand and produced a small knife out of her robes. With a quick, efficient move, she cut across his palm, then cackled again when he hissed and flinched.
He swallowed. This was it. Now was the last chance to let it be, to pull out. He could return home now and nobody would be the wiser. But then a picture of the smiling, laughing Wyatt appeared in his mind and he knew that the time for hesitation was over. With a quick move, he dipped the point of the quill into the pool of blood that gathered in his palm and scribbled his signature on the parchment. For a second, the words lit up bright, then faded to dark lines.
Reading the signature, the hag laughed again, croaking. "A Halliwell himself. Never had a customer of such importance."
Chris threw the quill on the table, then pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to tie it around his palm. "Now what?" he asked. Suddenly, after the decision was made and there was no way back, he felt tired to the bone.
The witch rolled up the parchment and before he could step away, she laid her right hand over his heart. A dark red glow flashed from under her crooked fingers. He felt a searing pain in his chest as if somebody branded him with a hot iron there. His knees buckled, but he managed to catch himself on the back of the wobbly chair.
"Now the wish is yours. For three days. Just say the words 'I wish' aloud and it'll come true. But it doesn't matter if you consume it or not. The payment'll be the same," she warned him, limping over to the chest again and hid the parchment in it. "Now go. I can't spend the whole day babbling with you." She ushered him out, cackling again. "We will see each other soon enough."
When the door slammed shut behind Chris, he closed his eyes for a moment. He raised his hand and rubbed the still aching spot over his heart. He bought a wish, a wish that if used properly, would save Wyatt and the world. That was what he wanted... a new beginning, a new world for his brother…
And as he stepped into the maze of streets again, the waning sunlight of the late afternoon illuminating his way, he realized that no matter the price, he had no regrets. Except for one... That he wouldn't be there to share it with him...
TBC