Change of Heart
Chapter 8: Reality Twists
by Lilian
lilian413 at yahoo dot com
Author's Notes: Whew, this has been quite the eventful week for me. So many things happened all at once – I got my official acceptance for the graduate program at Chicago University, I got my undergraduate degree in Biology at my University – that giving this chapter to you guys is like keeping up the magic of these past few days.I'd also like to thank Snoopy and mimi, both of whom have given me the sweetest, most wonderful reviews I've ever gotten. It's your thoughts and comments that kept me writing, especially during that stressful week of final exams. So, this chapter is just for you:-)
Also, Maricole? I might have a small surprise for you next week....
"Piper, let go of me."
Cole's voice was tired. Tired of spending the past twenty minutes trying to dislodge Piper from his arm, where she had promptly attached herself in an effort to keep him in the manor and away from the Underworld.
Piper said nothing, and instead curled her fingers tighter around his bicep. Cole cast a glance to his right, where Paige looked as if she was seriously considering mimicking her older sister's idea with his remaining free arm, and sighed. As if one Halliwell clinging to him as if the world was coming to an end wasn't enough, what on Earth would he do with two?
"Piper, please", he tried again, "I don't want to hurt you."
The tiniest of growls made its way into his voice, and he realized with a start that in trying to get Piper to release him, he had forgotten to control his demonic self. Belthazor had been howling and trashing inside of him ever since they learned the dreadful news of Phoebe's soul – and even now, as his human mind replayed the events of the past hour and a half – he could feel his skin heating up, the first stirrings of the change threatening to burst through.
His arm convulsed once, twice, and Piper must have mistaken the motion for an attempt at shimmering away, because she pressed herself tighter against him, her left hand moving up to brush against his neck. "You listen to me, Cole, and listen right: you are not going anywhere. Not right now, at least."
Cole was not used to people telling him what to do. So it was a strange feeling to have this slip of a woman – really, Piper was anemically thin. She wasn't eating right, that much he could tell just by the brush of her body against his – ordering him around, and what was most surprising, that he was actually listening to her.
He thought back a few years, hell, a few months, and realized that not so long ago, he would have had no problems with pushing Piper away from him. One little move and she would be flat on the floor and Cole would be free to do as he pleased. But he had missed his chance about fifteen minutes ago, when Piper moved in for the kill and now he would have to resort to drastic measures to remove her.
And the very thought of hurting her made his heart lurch in his chest.
It was unsettling to realize he had come to care for this woman so much… that he would put her and Phoebe at the same level, that the safety of one was not more important than the safety of the other. When had this happened? When had Piper – and Paige, and Leo as well, he noted with a start – crawled under his thick skin and managed to make him care for them?
The mercenary in him, still alive despite years of ignoring him, rebelled against the thought. To care about people, about mortals no less, meant weakness. He was offering himself up to his old brothers, giving them carte blanche to strike him if they so pleased. All they had to do was hurt one of these people, and he would be done…
He shook his head. Things were so much simpler when there were no relationships to speak of. But then Phoebe had come up, and she had worked his way into his heart, flinging the door wide open for her family to step through as well. And now it was already too late… they were a part of him, and that same love that made him want to shimmer into the Underworld and release her soul from eternal torment was the one that kept him stranded in the Halliwell's attic.
"I have to save her."
The words slipped past his suddenly parched lips before he could stop them. What was he doing? Why was he baring his heart and soul to them?
Because you love them, you old fool, whispered a voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Phoebe's. This time, it was the demon that roared in anger; refusing to let such human, parasitic emotions contaminate him. But the damage was already done, and something in Cole snapped into place, some latch he had kept half-opened as some dark, evil part of him still refused to be completely consumed.
The wave of emotions washed over him and was enough to make him stumble back. Piper was clinging to him so hard she fell back too, and as his arms came around to hold her up, Cole realized that indeed, there was nowhere else he could be right now.
Desperation made Piper incredibly strong, and he could hear the frantic beating of her heart as she grappled with him to assert a stronger hold on him. She still feared for his safety, feared that he would let his feelings for Phoebe overcome his own well-being.
She need not worry anymore.
He had been incredibly selfish, he thought as he held Piper's hands in his own with exquisite tenderness, brushing his thumbs against her knuckles until the motion cut through the haze of anguish that had grabbed hold of the witch and she looked up at him. Incredibly selfish, he thought again, putting his own needs above hers. Above theirs, he amended, because they were a family.
"Piper", he said, and her name came out like a prayer, reverent and feverish, "relax."
It was as if that one word was what Piper had been waiting for, because her body relaxed almost instantly, tension rolling off of her shoulder like a heavy cloak. A deep breath fell from her lips and the tears fell, tears Cole hadn't even realized were there.
"Please", was all Piper could say before her legs gave out from under her and she fell against him. He cradled her against him, holding her tight, saying all the things he couldn't say out loud with that simple pressing of their bodies together.
She was rocked by hard, desperate sobs and her fingers clutched at his shirt like talons. If her fingernails had been but a hairsbreadth longer they would've cut across the cloth and into his skin, and that more than anything was what prompted him to speak: "I'm not going anywhere."
He truly meant it. He would not leave Piper and Paige behind to save Phoebe… going into the Underworld now, with a magical conflux wreaking havoc in the demon world, would mean certain death. And what would the Halliwells do if he were gone? With the Power of Three out of
commission, who would defend them against the swarms of demons that would come for them? It wasn't pride that made him feel like their proverbial knight—it was the certainty that they needed him. It was a simple fact of life: right now, with the emotional turmoil rampaging their psyches, Cole was their best chance at survival.
And as much as it pained him to even think about his dear Phoebe's soul trapped by the Source's dark magic, he would not go in blind and risk failing all three of the Halliwells. He would wait, form a plan, and kill that bastard as slowly and as painfully as he could make it. Just not right now.
Someone shifted beside him and he looked up to find himself gazing into Paige's chocolate eyes. She was kneeling to his left; her full lips just scant inches from his own. For a moment there, he thought she was going to kiss him; the feeling soon passed as she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder and cried. Suddenly with two weeping women coming to him for comfort, Cole was struck by a sudden burst of discomfort: surely there were other people better suited for dealing with grief!
As if summoned by his thoughts, Leo appeared to his right and both men locked eyes above the two witches, and for some reason unknown, Cole couldn't help himself: "If you break down on me, I swear to God I'll scream."
His attempt at dry humor dispelled some of the anguish in the air, and when Paige rose to her knees again, there was a quivering smile on those full lips. "You're just that good of a handkerchief, Cole."
Her voice shook and the tears still fell, but he knew progress when he saw it. Even Piper managed a small smile, and as Cole transferred her from his lap and towards Leo, the older witch cast a sad glance at his chest: "Sorry about that… I'll wash it for you."
Cole was about to tell her there was no need to when a strange feeling settled upon him. His senses flared to life and he had but one moment to shout a warning to Leo before he grabbed Paige and rolled her under him. The air above them shimmered, intense heat burning the air and then the fireball was upon them.
Paige screamed, deafening him, but she was safe: trapped under his bigger, heavier body, the scalding heat of the fireball didn't touch her as it flew past them and right into the Book of Shadows. The explosion that followed rocked the entire house and Cole scanned the room frantically, searching for the fireball's origin.
For a moment there, Cole caught something. The faint traces of anguish lingered in the air, almost like expensive perfume will remain long after the user has left. But was it related to tonight's events? It was hard to tell. So many evils had come and gone through this house, leftover emotions were bound to be present. Still, something called to him and he tried to grasp that feeling but it fled through his fingers like water. He caught a final whiff of sadness and a half-whispered 'I'm sorry' and then the connection broke.
There was nothing.
He was doing a second sweep of the manor, expanding his powers to sense any intruders, when Piper's screech called his attention back to the attic.
"The Book!"
The first thing Cole saw was pages. Dozens of them, floating down towards the rug. Several of them were still burning, he thought distantly with dawning horror as he realized that whatever it was, this new threat had damaged the Book of Shadows. And judging by the amount of parchment-like pages slowly descending towards the floor, the damage was severe.
The second thing he saw, was that the Book had been knocked down from its perch and now lay open on the floor. There were faint trails of smoke rising from it, the final confirmation Cole needed to know that the otherwise sentient Book had been unable to escape the fireball that had nearly burned them all.
The third thing he saw was what made him stop in mid crouch, halfway standing and halfway down. There was a baby lying by the Book, tiny limbs flaying about. And then sound came roaring back and the shrill noise of the baby's cries pierced his ears.
Beside him, Paige rolled on her stomach, instincts making her remain on the floor. A small target was less of a target; Cole had taught her that all those months ago, when he had incorporated her into his training sessions with Phoebe.
A few feet to his left, Piper and Leo were rising up as well, and Cole saw that Leo was favoring his left leg. He caught the sweet, vaguely nauseating scent of burnt human flesh and made a mental note to make sure Paige healed him later.
Right now, their priority was that—that baby. He tried sensing it, but all his magic probes bounced back and as he helped Paige up, he wondered just what the hell was going on. Before he could warn them, though, Piper moved closer to the tiny girl. By the time Cole had said her name, the witch was already kneeling by the burnt remains of the Book of Shadows, a strange look in her face.
After making sure Paige was all right – and despite her still looking a little green around the edges, she seemed to be just fine – Cole went to stand beside Piper, resisting the urge to kneel down as well. All along, the baby cried, her tiny face scrunched with effort as she bawled her lungs out.
Cole had never really been this close to babies—not while they had been alive, anyway. He pushed back the bitter memory of some of his less stellar assignments back in the day; almost fifty years ago, it had been a common practice to murder entire families of witches. Men, women and children— especially the children. The Source did not want teens bent on revenge coming after him years later, so Belthazor's electric bolts had struck many innocents on their time.
But now, watching the tiny bundle of sheets cry as if the world was coming to an end, something in Cole's heart reached out to her, something he hadn't even known was there. He caught himself about to reach down and stroke a tiny cheek, and that's when he realized he had yet to find the origin of the fireball.
He drew back; afraid… what was it about this baby that made his mind wander? He should know better than to let himself be distracted like that! What if the demon responsible for the almost-destruction of the Book was still around? What if this baby was just a ploy to make them lower their defenses, attack them while they all lay besotted with the strange child?
Shaking his head, he fought against the new instincts flowing through his very veins.
Pick her up, his mind was saying, pick her up and the crying will stop.
How did he know such things? How did he, a demon born and bred in the Underworld, understand that all the baby wanted was to be held? And how could he, the great Belthazor, possibly feel such things towards a small girl he had never even met?
He was so focused on his own inner struggle that he never even noticed Piper leaning down and picking the baby up. Just as he had known it would, the crying slowed down as Piper began rocking the small body back and forth, and then stopped entirely as the first strings of a lullaby fell from her lips.
"Piper, maybe we shouldn't—"
Leo's face and tone were worried. Cole could relate. But before either he or Leo could finish voicing their concerns, Piper rose, taking the baby with her, and balancing her in her arms asked them: "Leo, look at her. How can something so beautiful be evil?"
A thousand cautionary tales sprung to mind, but Paige beat Cole to the punch: "Piper, hello! Snake? Apple? Hot but unsanitary grapevine loincloths?" But despite her words, Paige's voice was uncertain. There was nothing evil about this baby, Cole thought, and she was one of the most beautiful babies he had ever seen…
The small child made a sound and before he knew it, Cole was picking up his jacket and handing it to Piper to cover the baby with. As he moved, the baby seemed to notice him for the first time, and Cole found himself the target of piercing blue eyes.
She reminds me of someone, he mused, feeling the pull of those cobalt depths. They weren't baby eyes, that much he knew: there was a world of knowledge in them, and he suddenly wanted to know everything she knew. It was as if this baby held a secret, a secret Cole would kill to learn… The feeling passed, but the certainty remained: this was no ordinary girl.
"Cole, are you all right?"
He looked up to find both Piper and the small girl staring at him. Both had mirror-questioning looks, so much so that he was suddenly struck by the similarity between them. Was it like this with all children, he asked himself, do they mimic everything the adults do?
As if listening to her thoughts, the baby's tiny hands grabbed hold of a lock of Piper's long hair and began sucking on it, and just like that Piper and Paige began talking about baby bottles and diapers and God knows what else. So when Cole answered, his words were nearly drowned out by the Halliwell's prater: "Yeah, I—I just—I feel like I should know her."
Everyone fell silent. Just like that, everyone was reminded that this was a baby that had literally appeared out of thin air. That alone was enough to tell them she was not human… but what she did next erased the last of their doubts.
The baby looked at Cole, her bright blue eyes like beacons in the darkness, and she stretched out a tiny hand towards Cole. He jumped back as if struck, as a sudden wave of power seemed to pour from the baby and towards him. He gasped at the sheer intensity of the magic and three other quick breaths soon echoed him as Leo and the girls felt it too.
"Oh my Goddess."
He didn't know who said it—the voice was too throaty and low for him to properly identify it. But it pretty much summed up his reaction: this baby was powerful, incredibly powerful.
Perhaps even more so than the Source himself, whispered a treacherous voice in the back of his mind, and it sounded like Belthazor. And he made the connection. Was this what Penny Halliwell had warned them all about? Was this what she meant by the 'commotion of magical forces'? A child?
But… there were so many buts. So many questions. Who were her parents? What was her heritage? She had to come from a line of incredibly powerful beings to possess such power. Even now, barely a few hours old – and again, Cole wondered how he knew such things– her magic was strong enough to intoxicate all four of them. Who knew what level of power she would reach as she grew up!
Mind reeling with the implications of it, Cole panicked. If they had felt it, then so had those in the Underworld— what if the Source was coming for her?
Again sensing his thoughts, the baby gurgled and suddenly the power faded out. Like a switch turned off the power vanished from whence it came, and there were no trails to follow it home. Could the baby call on her magic at will? And if so, how did she seem to understand how (and when) to do it?
Apparently tired of his scrutiny, the baby's face wrinkled and she began crying again, extending tiny arms towards him. "Aww, isn't that sweet?" Piper said while bouncing the baby up and down to try and soothe her, "She wants you to hold her."
She offered the baby to Cole but he just shook his head. "No, Piper. I don't think I can."
There was fear in Cole's eyes. But it wasn't fear of the baby herself—it was something else.
As Belthazor, he had cut a bloody swath through many generations of humans: murder and destruction at the tip of his fingers, he had ended more lives that he dared to remember. Now Piper was offering him the epitome of innocence just like that… a newborn baby on his bloodstained hands. It just wasn't right.
Piper approached him, baby in hand. Cole wanted to step back, step away from them both. How could Piper expect him to accept it? She didn't know about his past, she didn't know about the people he had slaughtered, the families he had killed! He sought Piper's eyes, beseeched her to stop it, to take the baby as far away from him as she could—but then he saw something in those chocolate depths that he had not expected.
Understanding.
Piper knew. She knew about all of it. Cole was brought back to a day long ago, when Piper's own grief had brought her into the hands of the Furies and then his blood had called her vengeance back to the manor. Piper had looked into his heart that day, looked into the darkest, deepest places of him just so she could take the most evil of his doings and force him to relive them… she remembered all of it? All this time, she had known about it? And knowing about it, she had welcomed him into her home?
Unparalleled gratefulness spread through him and he looked at the young witch with newfound respect. Piper said nothing, just offered him a small smile of complicity and the tiny girl in her arms.
Perhaps it was the way the baby cried, all wrinkled and desperate. Or perhaps it was the expectation on Piper's face, that encouraging glow that made Cole receive the baby. Maybe it was a combination of both, and the certainty that he could never deny anything to a Halliwell woman. Whatever the case, as his strong, big hands wrapped around the tiny body something in his heart began to melt, some shell that up until then had prevented him from really healing.
The tall demon and the small baby locked eyes and time seemed to stop. She stopped crying and Cole stopped breathing and the world faded away as they stood in the attic of the Halliwell manor. Some sort of link snapped into place with an almost audible sound and Cole came back to his body gasping for breath. Seemingly satisfied with what she had seen, the baby girl burrowed comfortably in Cole's arms and promptly fell asleep.
It was a strange picture. Cole was a tall man by human standards... his frame of 6'2'' towered above the girls and even Leo. And now, with such a small bundle in his arms—one thought made its way into Paige, Piper's and Leo's minds.
Picture perfect.
"She fell asleep", Cole whispered and there was awe in his voice. As if he couldn't possibly fathom that someone would feel safe enough in his presence to fall asleep while in his arms. The baby breathed softly against his chest, and the sound of her tiny heart was like heaven's bells to his ears.
"What do you think her name is?"
Leo moved closer to Cole, watching with curious eyes as the baby slept, uncaring of the happenings going on around her. He didn't comment on the tears brimming Cole's eyes, honoring some ancient unspoken male-to-male bond.
"Prue."
The name fell from his lips before he even had time to process it. Again, that sense that he knew everything about this child tickled at the edge of his mind, fluttering gaily like a butterfly in spring. It fled soon after, but somehow the certainty that her name was exactly that remained.
"She reminds me of Prue", he repeated, somehow needing to explain himself.
At the sound of his voice the baby stirred a bit, as if acknowledging her own name.
Nobody said anything. What could they say? What could they possibly say that would make sense? So instead they just nodded in acquiescence, because giving this magical, perfect baby the name of their older sister was an honor they all felt she deserved.
Prue it was, then.
And that was how the latest addition to the Halliwell family came into their lives.
.
She was huddled in a corner of the dark chamber, away from the few flickering candles, as much into the dark as she could get. Hidden from sight, because for the life of her she could not show her face to the world.
Not after what she had done.
She rocked back and forth silently, her eyes closed, her lips tight, trying to become invisible, forgotten—it was useless. Everyone she looked at, everywhere she turned there were a hundred accusing faces, a hundred accusing voices. Murderer, they shouted, murderer!
There was a welcomed numbness slowly spreading through her, the kind of detachment that comes after your mind can no longer take the weight of your acts. She felt herself becoming distant, disconnected from her own body and she let herself go. And then, as if called forth by her own tears, her baby's laugh echoed around the chamber, a vivid memory of the seconds before the fireball had struck.
Ashes, ashes and dust on the floor—that was all that remained of her baby, she wailed, ashes and blood.
Something in her was taking pleasure in making sure she did not pass out. Some sadistic part of her – probably the Source's blood, she thought – was making sure she remained conscious. It kept her awake so she could replay the scene over and over again in her head, watch herself kill her own daughter.
Prue, she thought, and the name brought a thousand memories of a sister long gone. They forced a small sound from her throat. It was a pained sob, a vocalization of the agony eating her from the inside.
Prue had died because of her—because she had been too weak, too slow, and too stupid to save her.
It didn't take her long to notice she did not know who she was thinking about: her dead sister or her dead daughter. Did it matter, really? One way or the other, she was the reason they were dead, wasn't she? If she hadn't remained in the Underworld with Cole she would've been there to chant the spell against Shax. If she hadn't let Sykes kidnap her, she would've given birth to Prue on the surface. If she hadn't made so many foolish decisions, her family would still be alive!
A high, piteous sound fell from her lips. Like a wounded animal she curled tighter against the wall, and that was when the Source flamed in.
The room grew cold, that cold that seeps into your bones and freezes your breath, the cold that makes your teeth chatter and your knees wobble—the cold that only fear can bring. He was angry—no, he was furious, shadows lashing about like whips as his magic slipped from his tightly controlled mind in his wrath.
Good.
She wanted him angry. Wanted him furious: wanted him to rage and snarl, temper flaring until he could no longer tell up from down. Maybe if she got him mad enough he would kill her, and death seemed like a nice respite. The oblivion it brought, the quiet shadow of death, was something she coveted right now, but she needed him for that. He had made sure his blood would not let her die by her own means. Even that choice he had taken from her.
"What did you do?"
His voice fell over her like heavy rain, drizzling up and down her skin like a swarm of insects. She shivered in response and fear rose like a howling beast, erasing all thought and logic from her mind. She struggled to find the words, forced them past her lips: "I killed her."
The Source said nothing for a long while, and she wondered if she had pushed him too far. Could one break the ultimate evil? A giggle echoed around the room, sharp and hard and insane, and she realized that maybe she was the one broken… after all, those who are crazy are the last to realize they are mad, aren't they?
She dared to look up, to gaze into the darkened hood that hid the Source's face, and it was as if that simple motion unlocked the gates of his anger. His power slammed into her like a freight train, throwing her body back and forcing a scream from her lips.
"How dare you, witch!"
She did not fight him. There was nothing left for her to fight for, and truth to be told, there was really nothing she could have done. So she just stood there, drawn up by the Source's power, and allowed him to crush her with his magic. Her vision swam, and a strange smile danced across her face as she realized that Jhiera was finally getting her wish. She was going to die now, and join Prue in the afterlife…
Something registered across the worlds of pain. Something sharp and painful, cutting across her brain—mind probes, she realized, and this time the screams turned into high shrieks as the Source's power ran her mind over. She struggled, fought for breath, panic rising within her until she could no longer stop herself. Why was she so adamant that the Source did not read her thoughts? What was hiding there that he could not ever see?
She never found out, because it was at that point that her entire body shut down.
She was unconscious before she hit the floor. She never heard the Source laughing.
Which, when one thought about it, was much scarier than when he was not laughing. At his feet, Phoebe's form still twitched occasionally as the aftereffects of the mind-rape struggled to make their way out of her body. Such a fragile thing, humans were, the Source thought, barely casting a glance at the female body. So easy to break—the witch would never know how careful he had been with her. Even in his anger, in his need to destroy and kill her; he had held his power back lest he truly and completely vanquished her from this world.
Reading her mind was surprisingly easy: he was uncertain whether it was a result of the blood-link or simply the fact that the witch was in no condition to fight him. As it was, it didn't really matter: her thoughts were displayed to him like the pages of an open book, ready and primed for the taking. He went through her memories slowly, leisurely, confident that in her plight she could not stop him.
He saw the birth of her daughter, watched as she cried and screamed, trying to keep quiet for her daughter's sake. Watched as she almost bled herself to death, and smiled when his power began healing her wounds. If he hadn't bonded with her, she would be dead now. And he would have lost two great warriors.
He cried out in anger as he watched the witch put the baby down and then blast her with a fireball. But he saw something else… just moments before the fireball hit her, the baby did something… the air around her wavered like a desert mirage, quivered as power mounted and then she—the child had shimmered away!
Shocked, the Source retreated from the witch's mind, letting her rest. She made a small sound, a cross between a whimper and a groan, and the Source threw his head back and laughed. Oh, the magic of this child was amazing! The things he could do with her, the heights he could reach with them both by his side… it was almost enough to drive him insane with glee.
And the sweetest thing of all was his witch knew nothing of this last event. For her, her daughter was well and truly dead… hmm, the possibilities were interesting. With the disappearance of the child, Phoebe had lost the very last of her bonds to the human world. This opened a new world of options for him: now, she really had no reason whatsoever to try and remain good.
He didn't bother trying to track the brat's shimmer. Something told him the child could easily cover her tracks, and truth to be told, was there ever any doubt as to where she went? To her father's side, of course, and those witches as well: in the end, everything turned to them, didn't it? So, his little experiment had fled from his grasp… he would just have to get it back, then. But now, to make sure Phoebe would never forget what had transpired today.
He approached her limp form and took delight in the shiver than ran down her spine. Even while unconscious her body rebelled against his—what a delicious combination she made, he thought as he began prodding at her mind once more, with a blackened soul and such beautiful skin.
His voice hissed around the room like a thousand snakes, a language that resembled English and yet wasn't. Magic always worked better when the spells were spoken in the ancient languages, he knew, and that was why he let his words fall on her slowly, his poison dripping into her every crevice and nook.
"It's their fault", he began, his long fingers brushing a strand of hair away from her face. It was a tender gesture, but his fingers left bloody trails upon her cheek. Always blood between them, wasn't it?
The witch stirred, fighting her way back from slumber. He let her.
She blinked, slowly, lazily and her right hand flew to her face, cupping her injured cheek. She said nothing about the blood, and even if she had, the Source wouldn't have bothered to answer her. All she needed to know was what he wanted her to know: so he continued, unheeding of her shallow breathing and wide eyes.
"They put you through this. They sent you here."
She was confused, he could tell. His power had nearly crushed the life out of her; his outburst was bound to have consequences. It didn't matter: he was speaking to her heart, not to her ears. She would listen to him because that was what he wanted her to do. No matter how confused, how lost she may be, she would listen to his voice and believe.
"They didn't rescue you."
She shook her head. The Source just smiled. She still had fire in her, didn't she? Good. He liked his toys with a little spark—if he wanted mindless minions, there were millions of them living in the dark shadows of the Underworld. No, he didn't want servants: he wanted warriors.
"If they had not forgotten about you, your daughter would still be alive."
She raised her eyes to him as if struck. Eyes no longer vacant but full of angst and everything that was the Source delighted in her plight. He could see the changes going on behind her eyes, could see the storms brewing inside those depths. The Source was a master at manipulation: strange that with just the truth he could do much more damage that any lie he could ever concoct.
Even before she was aware of what was going on, the Source knew what she was thinking. Humans were all alike—always looking up for something to believe in. Always looking for faith in even the strangest of places, and Phoebe was no different. She was looking at him with liquid, limpid eyes, with that hope that higher powers will make the troubles go away.
The Source fought back the laughter that threatened to come forth. He had been called many things, but this was the first time anyone – or anything – had given him such a look. Save me, the witch was saying, and he marveled at the twists and turns of the mortal minds. For someone to think of him as his or her savior was ludicrous! That the witch would place such utter trust in him spoke volumes of his control over her and he landed the final blow with surgical precision.
"Remember who your enemies are, Phoebe."
She shook her head again, her long, brown hair hiding her face. The torches flickered as something was called to life, some ancient power that grew within her, feeding on their link. The Source took a step back, not in fear but in awe as she rose, unseen wind flicking her hair back and forth.
She should have looked weak: blood had dried on her thighs and her cheek, and her nightgown was torn in several places. She should have been broken, a shell of a human being. Instead, she rose with power born of hatred, strength she had never experienced before coursing through her limbs.
The Source drank in her power, folding it around him like a cloak. Yes, yes! This was what he had glimpsed in her that very first time they had met, all those months ago! This was what he had been working so hard to achieve… this enormous fountain of power was finally his!
She opened her eyes, and in the flickering candlelight, they shone black. Pitch black, like bottomless pits, sucking the light from the air around them.
"My name is Phax."
She murmured something under her breath and her clothing shifted, vanished and finally changed. Dressed entirely in black she looked like a fallen angel, the Source thought, a vengeance demon to do as he pleased.
He nodded, satisfied with her response. And she kneeled at his feet, presenting her respects: what an alluring picture she made, with her newfound strength granting her poise she had lacked before. She even looked—beautiful.
Shaking his head to rid it from such thoughts, the Source thrust his last stab home. And with every word he spoke, Phax's lips hardened into a thin line and black fire burned in her black eyes.
"Indeed. You are now Phax, my personal assassin. You have taken your rightful place by my side, as you were meant to do. Soon you shall enjoy your revenge, my dear: soon your family will pay."
As Phax rose, the Source began laughing, years of cunning plans finally culminating in the warrior now standing before him. You see, when Phax had had her premonition, right after Prue had been born, there had been one thing she had overlooked. She was so sure Prue would be turned, so convinced she would become a monster; she never really took a good look at the face of the woman in her premonition. She had just assumed it had been Prue, because in her mind, who else could it be?
Maybe if she had taken a closer look, the chain of events she had unleashed could've been prevented. Because the woman in her premonition was no other than herself.
.
Tbc...
