Chapter 4

"—it!" Penka finished, before adding an inarticulate cry of disgust as he took in the three witches who had just summoned him, and the crystal cage that immediately sprung up around him. "Oh, not again. This is getting ridiculous!"

"Again?" Piper asked with asperity. "Has someone else summoned you recently?"

Penka's eyes darted around the room. He recognized the Manor, back from his acquaintance with Penny Halliwell. This must be the kid's mother, he thought. And, yeah, the Charmed Ones. Well, I am not going to be taken advantage of anymore today.

"As a matter of fact, yes," he said, affecting nonchalance. "A boy, about thirteen, brown hair, about so high, and a girl, black hair, a little shorter … ringing any bells?"

"Where are they?" Piper demanded.

"I'm sorry, it's a little fuzzy. Or, maybe it's a little fuzzy because I have no idea why you think I'd help you."

"Because you'll be vanquished if you don't."

"Not likely, as long as I know where the kids are and you don't. And the other one too – Wyatt, right?"

"What do you want?" Leo stepped forward to ask.

"Payment. In cash. And I want to see Merlin first. I want a guarantee I won't be vanquished as soon as I open my mouth. I want to talk to Merlin." He folded his arms, stared at the ceiling, and hoped he looked convincingly stubborn.

"Merlin," Piper echoed, looking at Phoebe with annoyance. It had been Phoebe, after Penelope's injury, who had called upon the wizard in the first place, with the thought that Wyatt needed some guidance from an old expert on heirs of Excalibur. She had not consulted Wyatt's parents about this beforehand. Piper had only grudgingly allowed it, but she did not completely trust her son's tutor, and a demon calling upon Merlin for help – that was not inspiring confidence.

"Okay," Phoebe said placatingly. "We need to go to the school, get Merlin, and we'll sort this out. If Chris and Vincenta are with Wyatt, they're safer than they would be alone, wherever they are. Piper, go turn off the stove in the kitchen; we don't want to burn the house down. Leo, can we get this demon into Magic School?"

"I think I can bring him along."

"Great," Phoebe said, waving her arms in an attempt to herd them all on their way. "Let's go."

There had been a moment of echoing silence after Penka had disappeared, as Chris and Vincenta stood speechless at their predicament.

Vincenta spoke first. "Uh, can you orb us out of here?"

"I can try." Chris held out a hand in the direction from which his friend's voice had come. After he felt her grab it, he orbed them both up — and seemingly hit a mystical ceiling. They were knocked right back down again, a disorienting sensation to say the least.

"Okay," said Vincenta, her voice shaking a little, "we have to find Wyatt."

It made sense that moving back and forth between the Underworld and above would have been nothing anyone would have taught Chris at his age, but he found himself fervently wishing his dad had given him some instruction on sensing someone's location. Wyatt seemed to learn everything without being taught, including, of course, the Whitelighter stuff. Chris supposed that Leo assumed his younger son could do the same, and he could, mostly … eventually. And if help wasn't offered, Chris refused to ask. Just now, he was regretting that.

"It's no good here," Vincenta was saying. "It's completely deserted. Let's head back where we came from and —"

"Hang on," Chris said. "I'm going to try to sense him."

"I thought you couldn't do that."

"Well, this seems like a good time to learn."

Chris figured the best chance was to imitate his father and see what happened. As he closed his eyes, he took a deep breath, exhaled, and tried to feel peaceful, which he sort of assumed was Dad's state of mind when he did this. Chris thought of Wyatt, pictured his brother in his mind and … nothing.

It was hard to be peaceful. He could feel a lump rising in his throat and he berated himself for not knowing how to do this, not learning, never asking …

His eyes were now squeezed shut to stop the tears.

"Chris, it's okay; we can find another way," Vincenta awkwardly comforted him. "Or," she added, changing her tone, "you can do this. You can sense him."

"I can't," Chris said, opening his eyes, giving in to the futility.

"Yes, you can. You just need to … well, I don't know how you do it, because I'm not part Whitelighter, but you are, so you can do it because you just can. You were born with it, just like orbing, or telekinesis, or, heck, breathing or sneezing, or rolling your eyes and complaining a lot — these are all things you can do!"

"Your pep talks suck, you know that?" Chris said, smiling in spite of himself.

"Where's Wyatt?"

Chris made a determined effort not to roll his eyes before he closed them again. He almost immediately reopened them with astonishment.

"Oh my God, I found him!" After a second more of that sensation, he added with new alarm, "And I think he's in trouble."

The "trouble" had begun for Wyatt and Mark as they were walking along a narrow path overlooking yet another dark pit below. Mark had been following behind when he passed a dark hollow in the cliff wall to his left – and he felt a brush against his arm.

He gasped and turned sharply, a movement that caused him to lose his footing. As he slipped off the ledge, he wildly grabbed for whatever he could — and it was someone's arm. An unknown voice yelped in pain and surprise, and the arm was jerked away, but it was too late: They were both tumbling into the depths as Mark could hear Wyatt yell his name from above.

"Oof!" Mark exclaimed as he hit the ground a few seconds later, followed by a rueful, barely articulated, "Ow." That was an understatement. Mark was pretty sure his leg was broken.

The stranger, on the other hand, seemed unscathed, at least enough to roll with the landing and disappear into the darkness just as Wyatt orbed down next to Mark.

"Are you okay?"

"No. My leg, but … Wyatt, there's someone else here. Someone fell with me."

Wyatt stayed crouched on the ground as he looked around them. "All right," he said. "It's time to show yourself. It's what you want anyway, right?"

There was a silence, and Wyatt muttered, "Mark, get out of here."

"I'm not sure I can —"

He stopped. Wyatt's pursuer was coming forward. She was a girl, attempting a confident swagger rather offset by an injured arm: In the fear and shock of the moment, Mark's hands had taken the form of Manticore claws, and he had slashed at what he had tried to grab to stop his fall.

Even Mark was more perplexed than alarmed by her appearance, and Wyatt frankly burst out laughing.

"You're it?" he said. "The assassin?"

Wyatt was aware that appearances could be deceiving, but still, this girl — possibly a witch, but only a witch — could barely be three years older than him. And he knew that look in her eyes: She thought she was tough — no, she hoped she was tough, and she was wrong. And that, she knew at heart was true. She was inexperienced, and she was terrified.

She came at him fighting all the same.

The girl was better than Wyatt initially gave her credit for, despite her injured arm. If Mark had been fully Manticore, she would probably be dead by now, but the venom of Manticore claws was either weakened or made slower-acting by Mark's human half, or perhaps it was nonexistent. She was bleeding, but not incapacitated.

But soon Wyatt could read her moves and counteract them, and the one moment she got the upper hand, she gave herself away completely. She plunged her hand toward Wyatt's chest; he dodged her, but now he knew that whatever her power was, it would come through that method of attack. And knowing that, Wyatt could easily thwart her as she tried to get close enough to try again. As a result, he finally landed a kick on her that sent her flying into a wall, where she fell, apparently unconscious.

Wyatt turned back to Mark, and held his hands over the broken leg. The healing light glowed, but Wyatt could tell it wasn't completely working.

"It feels a little better," Mark offered, though still wincing.

Wyatt answered, frustrated, "I can't totally concentrate when she might come to at any moment."

"Or it could be the demon half —"

"No! Damn it, that shouldn't matter with you!"

He put the girl from his mind and fiercely told himself, his powers, and the universe and its stupid rules that he would simply will it to work.

"Hey," Mark said as he started to move his leg, "I think it's fixed! Oh — we've got company."

Wyatt looked up to see two figures forming in a swirl of blue lights. One materialized into nothing: The lights dissipated, and no one appeared. The other materialized into …

"Chris?!"

Thus distracted, Wyatt didn't see the girl rising to her feet. But Chris did, and he asked, "Who's that?" just as the girl got a gleam in her eye of someone who had just seen the battle turn in her favor. An athame shimmered into her hand, and she expertly hurled it at the younger boy.

When Chris would look back on this moment later, in his imagination it would seem to last forever — the split second in which he did absolutely nothing but stare in shock as the weapon flew toward him. Inches away from his chest, it was orbed out of the air by Wyatt, who sent it instead spinning at the girl. She shimmered out of its way, and it hit the wall and fell to the ground with a clatter.

"What the hell — she can shimmer?" Wyatt said.

They waited, tense, for her to reappear, but she did not. Although he seemed satisfied that she was gone, Wyatt was still vigilant, barely glancing at his younger brother as he hurled words that Chris had already been thinking:

"Do you have telekinesis or not? Why are you down here if you can't fucking take care of yourself?"

Behind Wyatt, Mark had brought himself to his feet, and he contemplated his claws transform into human hands. He looked up to see Chris, still visibly shaken, stare aghast.

Mark said to Wyatt, voice subdued, "I gotta go."

"Your leg's better?"

"Yeah. Thanks. I'd hate to have to come up with some story to explain a broken leg to Dad. I'll see you." And he shimmered out.

Wyatt turned his attention back to his brother. "I can't believe you. I told you not to follow me —"

"I was trying to help."

"I don't need your help. Or Vincenta's either, and yeah, I know she's here; the extra orb lights made that pretty obvious. So just make yourself visible again, and I'll get you out of here."

Vincenta reappeared, arms crossed, looking at Wyatt coolly. "I have to go back to the library. My mom's picking me up there."

"Fine." Wyatt took each of them by the arm, and the three orbed out on his power.

They arrived in the middle of the library, drawing some attention from the few students scattered around. All three of them were looking well-worn and dirty, and Wyatt now noticed that he had blood on his hands and clothing from his fight with the wounded girl.

Chris and Wyatt left Vincenta behind with the books she had stashed away in a corner when Chris had come to get her to summon Penka. The brothers walked out into the hallway unspeaking.

Wyatt finally broke the silence. "We probably shouldn't tell Mom and Dad about all this."

"Probably not," Chris replied. Then he added tentatively, "Wyatt?"

"Yeah."

"Who was that you were with?"

"A friend. I don't want to hear about it, Chris. You won't tell anyone about him either."

Chris did not look convinced that his brother having a demon friend was such a good idea, but all he said was, "No, I won't. I promise."

"Thanks."

They had barely noticed a small gathering of adults at the end of the hall, outside Merlin's office. But they certainly noticed when their mother broke away from the group, charging in their direction, her voice, both angry and relieved, echoing down the hall:

"Where have you two been?!?"