Disclaimer: The usual ones named in the previous chapter, but with a new one too: Mark appears by kind permission of Bluley, who made him up for the terrific story "The Trials of Being Twice Blessed." I had to rework Mark's life story a bit to accommodate him, but he did insist on being included! (He's like that, Bluley will tell you.) I hope I do him justice.

Part One: Below the Light

Chapter Two

Wyatt wondered if it was such a good idea to go ahead with his plans for the day. Unfortunately, when he took a moment to sense the whereabouts of the friend he was meeting, he could tell Mark was already there waiting. Wyatt wasn't worried about the danger — he could take all comers, and would welcome them — but he wasn't going to give Mark the chance to get in harm's way.

So when Wyatt found him at the mall outside a music store, leaning back on a bench, watching the crowds go by, Wyatt said without preamble: "I'm showing up here just to tell you that I can't hang out today."

"Your family?"

"No. Turns out I've got someone out to kill me, and I'm going to find out who."

Despite his half-demon heritage, Mark had grown up rather sheltered from any kind of life in which death threats even existed, let alone were regarded with such careless confidence. But he had now been around Wyatt long enough that he had ceased to be surprised by it. So he skipped the expressions of shock to ask only, "How can I help?"

"You don't get to," Wyatt said.

"Says who?"

"Me."

"I want to help. And I have powers."

"No offense, but you're not really in control of them."

"And how am I supposed to learn? It's not like my dad can teach me. They won't let me in Magic School. If you won't let me take a chance …"

Even though Mark had remained amicable throughout this dispute, he did know which nerve to strike. It had outraged Wyatt when he had learned from Mark that the headmaster of Magic School had excluded him because he was half-demon.

"Comparing me to that asshole Gideon," Wyatt said, "that's low."

"I didn't say anything about Gideon," Mark said innocently.

"You didn't have to."

For as long as Wyatt could remember, the headmaster had filled him with an unexplainable seething anger, and as he hit his teenage years, it had more than once threatened to turn into all-out war. After Wyatt had befriended Mark, and learned of the half-Manticore kid's ban from Magic School, it had just provided one more reason to despise Gideon.

And then Gideon had hired Merlin, a wizard who was reputed to be half-demon himself. Merlin's heritage made no difference to Wyatt, but it did prove that Gideon was a fucking hypocrite. And a coward, too — Wyatt suspected the elder was more than a little afraid of Merlin. For that reason alone, Wyatt liked his tutor, even if he couldn't help but show his appreciation by being an intractable, rebellious pupil. Merlin seemed to take it in stride.

Meanwhile, the friendship with Mark gave Wyatt some satisfaction with the thought that he was thumbing his nose at Gideon's prejudices. It would have been more effective, of course, had Gideon actually known about it, but Mark insisted it be kept a secret. He worried that Wyatt would get into that much more trouble. If Mark had personal reasons beyond that, he kept them to himself, although Wyatt knew Mark's human father had become averse to his son's involvement in the magical world since Gideon's rejection.

The irony was that if Mark constituted the "wrong crowd," the kind of friend you don't let your parents meet — and the Halliwell family had never met him either — Wyatt couldn't have found a more well-behaved, respectful kid. Between the two of them, Wyatt was the disreputable one, the thorn in everyone's side. But despite their different temperaments, they had formed a bond over a shared sense of being a freak: Wyatt with the heavy expectations placed on him because of his unusual powers and destiny; Mark who imperfectly "passed" in the mortal world and could not find a place in the magical one.

And today of all days, Mark now wanted to tag along to get a glimpse of the darker side of his heritage. He looked as though he would insist on it.

"So, what are you going to do?" Mark asked.

"All right," Wyatt relented. "I'm going below. To the Underworld. See who I see, what I come across. You think you can handle that?"

"Hey, my ancestral home – sort of. And if anyone tries to mess with me, I can do the claw thing." Grinning, Mark curled his human fingers to approximate the Manticore claws they could transform into. "Maybe I'll pass. I could pretend you're my prisoner."

"Yeah, right. I'll keep that in mind as a back-up plan."

Mark didn't seem to resent the touch of derision in his friend's voice. Wyatt was certain he needed no help defending himself in the Underworld. But Mark was right about needing to learn how to use his demon powers, so all the better if Wyatt was along to look out for him.

Having come to an agreement, they headed off through the mall to look for a side hallway to make a magical exit out of view.

In the dark world below, Wyatt was unfailingly vigilant. But perhaps it was more difficult to see in the brightness above. Whatever the cause, as he and Mark made their way past shops, Wyatt had missed the figure that kept pace behind them. And when the two boys found an empty hallway to orb and shimmer away, respectively, they were witnessed. Wyatt's pursuer paused a moment, held out a round, dark blue and slightly glowing object, and muttered something low. The object brightened almost imperceptibly, but it seemed to provide an answer. With a look of fierce determination, the figure shimmered out as well.

In the alley behind P3, Chris recited his grandmother's spell to summon Penka: "Creature low, vile and base, come right now to this place."

"That's it?" Vincenta asked, but she had scarcely spoken when a short, scrawny man — at least, he was mostly human-looking — half-shimmered, half-blew in. He made a few disoriented turns, his battered satchel flopping around him, before he noticed the two 13-year-olds.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" he spat out. "Go home, kids. Leave me alone and stick to playing with Ouija boards."

"We're not playing," Chris said. "We're friends of Merlin's."

Penka made a scornful noise. "I really doubt that."

"Okay. Try this. You knew my grandmother. Penny Halliwell."

That name gave the demon pause. With a little less assurance, he said, "You're not her," and made to walk off.

He was impeded by the flight of several trash cans that came hurtling into him, knocking him to the ground. He looked up to see the boy smiling slightly, his hand still poised in midair.

"No, I'm not her. But I inherited her power."

Penka strugged to his feet, eyeing the boy warily. "All right. What do you want?"

"Merlin said you told him that someone was after my brother. I want to know everything you know."

"Wyatt Halliwell? Wyatt is your brother? Huh. Well, pleased to meet someone else who got the short end of the stick, powers-wise."

The boy who just a moment before had been preening over being the heir of Penny Halliwell looked crestfallen at Penka's words, but the demon did not notice.

"I mean," he nattered on, "look at me, I'm a demon; my raison d'être is to make humans miserable, right? How am I supposed to do that when my only power is to read the minds of other demons?"

"Is that how you found out that someone is after Wyatt?" Vincenta broke in.

It took a second for Penka to come back to the point of this encounter. "Yes," he said. "But I don't know much. I just 'heard' that some demon has hired an assassin."

"And you don't know who that demon is?" Chris asked.

"No. No, really, I don't," he insisted. "I would've told Merlin if I did."

"Well, whose mind did you read then?"

"Just another lower-level demon who had heard a rumor about the job. But I owe her, so I wasn't about to hang around to learn more."

"You don't know anything, do you?"

"I know," Penka said smugly, "that your brother is in the Underworld as we speak. I came across him before you called, but I got away quick. Although, it's weird: He was actually in the company of a demon. I got a look into his mind — the demon's, that is. They seemed quite chummy."

Chris stared, open-mouthed, then found his voice. "Do you know where Wyatt is down there?"

"No. But if I was in the Underworld, I could probably pick up on that demon he was with."

"Can you get me there?"

Vincenta had been following the conversation as if she were observing a tennis match, but her eyes widened at Chris's question. Penka, meanwhile, looked unhappy at the prospect, but asked, "Then I can go?"

"Once we find Wyatt, sure."

"All right. Hang on."

He put his hand on Chris's shoulder, and just before they shimmered out, Vincenta yelped, "Wait!" She grabbed Penka's arm just in time, and the three disappeared from the alley.

The first thing Chris noticed about the Underworld was the smell, like rotting garbage with a faint whiff of burning chemicals that stung his eyes and nostrils. It was not overwhelming so much as insidious, seeping into his very skin.

Vincenta looked slightly sickened herself, and Penka seemed to notice. "I know," he said. "I try to be down here as little as I can."

Chris ignored him and said to his friend, who started peering curiously around the dark cavern in which they found themselves, "Just to be safe, maybe you should …"

"Right," she said. She squeezed her eyes shut and promptly vanished.

"Hey!" Penka said, startled. "Is she still there?"

They heard Vincenta's voice reply: "Yes."

"That's a neat trick."

"It would be neater," Chris said, "if she could vanish other people along with her. Like I can do with orbing."

Vincenta had heard this argument before, and said disinterestedly, "That's not part of the power." From the sound, she was already wandering several paces away from them.

"Hold on," Chris said. "We don't know where we're going yet."

But their guide's attention had evidently jumped to other matters again. "You know," Penka said, "I was just thinking. I can read Merlin."

"Huh? So?" Chris responded. "And … how?"

"Well, he's half-demon."

Chris didn't know quite what to think of this. Did anyone else know? Or was Penka lying? "Okay … he's half-demon. What's your point?"

"My point is, wouldn't you love to know what's going on in his mind, let me tell you."

"What do you know?"

"I meant 'Let me tell you' as a figure of speech. I'm not actually telling you without some compensation." He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

"Money? I don't have any money."

"But your family does, don't they?"

"But … money? You're a demon!"

"A demon who finds money useful. What, do you think I want your stupid book? Even if your family would trade that, or anything of magical worth, which they wouldn't, I don't care. My ambitions are small to nonexistent. But somehow I've managed to create trouble for myself, and I want out of this city. And it occurs to me your family could help me that way."

"And why would we believe anything you told us?"

"You have no idea how Merlin is playing you. Or what's in store for you. He can read the future, and I can read his mind."

"But he's only half-demon. Doesn't that mean you can only half read him?"

"I know enough."

"So you're helping me right now because you owe Merlin, but you're willing to betray him for money."

"I'm evil. At least, I aspire to be. On a modest level."

"Fine," Chris sighed. "Forget that for now. Where's Wyatt?"

Chris's expression was dubious as Penka scrunched his face in apparent concentration.

"What are you doing?" he asked the demon.

"Shush. You're asking me to pick one mind out of thousands …" Suddenly, his eyes widened, his mouth gaped, and he scrambled in his bag and produced a small glass container that looked almost like a salt shaker. Just then, a voice came from behind:

"Penka, you cheating weasel. I've been looking for you."

Chris and Penka whirled around to see an alarmingly burly demon stomping in their direction. Then a rock came flying out of nowhere, barely grazing the demon's head. Vincenta had missed, but the distraction gave Penka time to make a move. He shook the glass container in a complicated series of movements that scattered its dusty contents in a cloud around himself and Chris. The newcomer's menacing expression vanished, replaced by one of confusion. Shaking his head as he rubbed the spot where the rock had made contact, he turned and wandered away.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Penka returned the shaker to his satchel.

"What was that?" Chris demanded. "Are we invisible now, too?"

"I can still see you," Vincenta volunteered.

"It's something Merlin gave me to protect me from my enemies," Penka said. "It's more like a mind wipe thing … don't ask me, I don't how it works. Now, what were we doing?"

"You were trying to read and locate the demon who's with my brother."

"Right. Oh. That's a problem."

"What problem?"

"Merlin's little gift here is kind of a two-way street. It blocks demons from detecting me but it also blocks me from detecting them — mentally, that is."

Chris gave a cry of frustration. "You can't help me?"

"Relax. It wears off."

"In how long?"

"About an hour or so."

"Terrific. Just terrific. Well, guess what. You're going to help us look for him, physically, until the pixie dust, or whatever it was, wears off."

"Now that you're here, can't you sense him or something? Aren't you part Whitelighter?"

"I don't have that power yet, okay? Besides, who knows if I could even do that down here. So were you able to read anything before you — got distracted?"

Penka looked uncertain. "Anywhere within an hour's walk from here."

"In which direction?"

"Maybe …" Penka turned in a few circles and finally stopped and pointed. "That way."

Chris rolled his eyes, but decided to accept it. "Let's get walking."