Part One: Below the Light

Chapter Three

Wyatt and Mark's wanderings were unimpeded by any trace of an assassin, to Wyatt's frustration. Mark, on the other hand, was perfectly content to encounter no one, save for the occasional rustle that came from a hollow or a shadow yards in front of them. Wyatt would tense, alert, then would relax again, shaking his head as though he had been able to see, or sense, that the phantom was not worth the trouble. Mark wondered how Wyatt knew. Was it some kind of Whitelighter power? A sense that belonged to Wyatt alone? Whatever the case, it seemed to guide him true — never once did the phantoms do anything but scurry away before them. There seemed to be no danger in this place at all.

Not in the company of Wyatt, anyway. And as Mark watched his friend expertly navigate the corridors — a few times warning of some precipitous drop or other obstacle ahead before it was in view — a question preyed on his mind, a question he finally voiced:

"How often do you come down here?"

"Hold it," Wyatt said, putting out a restraining hand in Mark's path. He orbed a near-boulder-sized stone into an archway in front of them, and it was immediately charred by a burst of flame. "Booby trap," Wyatt said. "It's clear now."

"How do you know?"

But Wyatt was already stepping over the rock, to no ill effects, and so Mark followed, and tried to ask again, "I was wondering, you know your way around so well…"

"I come here once or twice a month."

"Your mom and dad let you?"

"They don't know."

"And why —"

"Why do you think? Because they'd freak."

"No, I mean, why do you come here?"

Wyatt stopped walking. The question had thrown him.

"Because my family vanquishes demons. Why not find them where they're at? But Dad and Mom think I can't handle myself. They're scared. It's stupid, because I've been more powerful than any of them since I was an infant."

"But why go after the demons here? I mean, here, they're not causing any trouble for humans, not until they go above ground, right?"

"And why wait until they're above ground to make them understand who has the power here? Not the demons. Me."

He hardly recognized the anger in his voice until he saw how disconcerted his friend looked.

"I don't mean you, obviously," Wyatt said.

"That wasn't what I was thinking. Though," Mark added with a wan smile, "that's good to know."

"Then what?"

"It's only …" Mark struggled to find the words. "Just because you have all this power, it doesn't make it all on your shoulders. You can't protect everyone. And no one protects you and …" He threw up his hands. "I'm not making any sense."

"Not really. But don't worry about it. I can take care of myself, no matter what you may think. Trust me. I've done it all my life."

Wyatt resumed walking, and he heard Mark sigh and follow after.

He couldn't understand, Wyatt thought. But how could he, when Wyatt couldn't really understand it himself?

He had first found a way here when he was twelve. It was a venture born of curiosity, rebellion, restlessness. What he found there had been unexpected, and profoundly unsettling.

It was familiar.

He had been here before, he knew it, and he had prowled its gloomy depths. He was implacable, easily vanquishing every demon he encountered until he no longer encountered more. Word of his presence must have spread, and all the dwelling creatures had cleared out before his path. The terror within him had been appeased.

A few days later, word had reached his family of a "rampage" through the Underworld, with numerous demons wiped out. It had been treated as a curiosity, no more, but Wyatt had realized he had to be less obvious if he wanted to go back. He needed to go back.

And he had, whenever he thought he could get away with it, when his family's attentions were elsewhere. That was not as often as he felt the instinct to go below, drawing him down, out of the light, until his knowledge of its corridors was conscious. He would kill one or two demons each visit, and silence his soul's clamor for unnamed retribution. Until the next time, and the next irresistible call to return, to conquer it once again.

"Hey, everybody!" Phoebe called as she entered the Manor. "I'm here!"

"In the kitchen," she heard a voice call.

She found Piper there, cooking. "Sorry I'm late," she told her sister.

"And yet," Piper said, "you're the first one here. Where's Penelope?"

"Uh … she had an invitation to spend the night at a friend's house, and I let her go. You know, if we're going to be talking over demons, threats to Excalibur, whatever, she'd just be bored anyway, right?"

Phoebe could feel herself babbling. Piper just looked at her skeptically and said, "Right."

They both knew the truth: Phoebe's daughter, Penelope, was avoiding family gatherings that included Wyatt. Although Phoebe had for the most part dragged Penelope along anyway, in some way she could hardly blame her. It stemmed back to a few months ago, an incident at school. It had been an accident, but Wyatt had gotten angry, and in the course of venting that anger, bystander Penelope had been hurt – a broken wrist. Leo had healed it in no time, of course, but Penelope would complain it still hurt, and she would not forgive her cousin. For her part, Phoebe was trying. Her nephew had apologized. But he had hurt her baby, accident or not.

Today she had not felt like insisting that Penelope join them, especially when the girl had somewhere else to spend the evening.

Piper looked poised to argue about it, when fortuitously, Paige orbed in.

"Hey, sorry I'm late" – to which Piper just rolled her eyes and went back to the stove – "but I got caught by the school librarian. She always has something new to complain about, and for some reason, I'm her favorite confidante."

"You were at the library?" Piper asked. "Did you see Chris there?"

"Nope."

"He was supposed to be there with Vincenta. Some big project for Max's class."

"I didn't see either of them."

Piper looked at the clock. Both boys should be here by now; Chris was not where he was supposed to be …

"Leo!" she called and, after turning a burner on the stove to low, she charged out of the kitchen to the living room.

Paige laughed as they followed her. "Leo the Teenager Detector," Paige said. "God, I am so grateful neither of my parents could find me this easily when I was that age."

"You're telling me," agreed Phoebe.

Leo was sitting in the living room, flipping through the Book of Shadows.

"It's time to get your sons home," Piper told him. "Chris is not, in fact, at the library with Vincenta. And Wyatt's … Wyatt's just not here."

"Piper, I don't like to …"

"Forget that. You said someone seems to be after Excalibur, which means that someone may be after Wyatt, too. Where are they?"

Leo closed his eyes briefly, then frowned. "I can't sense them."

"What?" Piper exclaimed.

"Well, to be honest …" Leo said reluctantly, "more and more lately I can't sense Wyatt's location. I'm not sure why; maybe he's learned to block me. But Chris – I've never had a problem before now. Of course, it hasn't come up as much, trying to find him."

"What about Vincenta?" Paige asked.

After a moment, Leo shook his head, but he said thoughtfully, "When I saw Chris in the attic earlier today, he was looking through the Book – a spell to summon a demon. He said it was for his school project."

"That's doubtful," Paige said. "He told me yesterday his paper for Max was on goblins. I guess it depends on what demon the spell was for …"

Leo was already flipping through the pages, trying to find the page Chris had left open.

"Here," he said finally. "This was it."

"It's a start," Piper said, reading what Grams had written there. "I guess we're inviting a demon to dinner."

Meanwhile, in their corner of the Underworld, Chris and Vincenta walked aimlessly with Penka, never coming upon Wyatt, or indeed, any living thing. It was becoming increasingly clear that the demon had no idea where he was leading them.

"This isn't working," Chris finally said in frustration. "Is that stuff wearing off yet?"

"It should have by now," Penka answered. "Maybe I used too much."

"Maybe," Vincenta said, "we need to give up for now and go above again."

Penka looked relieved at the suggestion. "I think your friend is —" Then he interrupted himself with a startled cry: "Whoa!" The air seemed to be disturbed around him, and he began to flicker from their sight. "Oh, sh—" he said, before the same whirling breeze that had brought him to them sucked him away, leaving Chris and Vincenta behind, alone in the Underworld.