Change of Heart

Chapter 9: Healing and Hurting

by Lilian

lilian413 at yahoo dot com

Author's Notes: Thank you everyone who took the time to congratulate me on my acceptance: I am now officially a graduate student! And with that in mind, I give you today's chapter, along with a small gift that should arrive right on the heels of this one!

To all my readers, your reviews make the happiest girl on earth: I'm glad you're enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it!


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Piper loved the way Prue smelled. It was that baby-smell, of powder and lilacs and innocence, and as she buried her face in the small baby's neck, she thought she had never smelled something quite like it before.

It was a scent that brought back memories of a childhood long past, of days spent with her own mother, as few and scarce as they were. That's why she loved spending time with the small girl; they had become quite the picture, the two of them, moving around the house as if joined at the hip.

While Piper folded towels and tops and the like, Prue sat upon her and Leo's bed, clapping her hands to a silent song.

"My, aren't we happy today?" Piper asked her, putting the blouse she had been folding on Paige's pile and moving on to the next item in the basket, "something you want to share with me?"

Prue shook her head – or so Piper liked to believe: many of the things Prue did couldn't really be explained, but at times, it seemed she really did understand everything they said – and smiled a toothless grin. Wearing nothing but a pink pair of diapers, she was the epitome of what a baby was supposed to look like… but, Piper thought, catching a glimpse of the scorch mark in the wall behind her, there were things about the small girl that were anything but normal.

Setting the pair of black jeans to the side, she picked up a light blue towel and began stretching it out on the bed.

"Da!" Prue squealed, tiny, chubby finger pointing at the towel the way a child will point to her new favorite toy. Piper smiled at her, shook her head, and kept on folding: "No Prue, not dad. Cole. This is Cole's towel."

'Da', for some reason, had become Prue's favorite way to address Cole, and no matter how hard they tried, she was set on calling him that. It was amazing how even after it had gone through the washing machine, Prue was able to identify exactly what items from the laundry basket belonged to Cole. But, thinking about it, it wasn't really amazing—it was just another reflection of the connection between Prue and Cole, something that had surprised all of them time and time again.

After Prue had first arrived at the Halliwell manor, it had been decided that she would sleep in Piper and Leo's room. It was only natural, of course, for the only married couple in the premises to keep watch over the young girl. Prue had other plans, though. After the fourth morning they woke to find Prue gone, only to find her deeply asleep upon Cole's chest afterwards, they realized that no matter what they did, Prue was more comfortable sharing a room with the half-demon that she was with them.

So the crib was moved, and Cole didn't get any more morning surprises. It had taken a while before Cole had gotten used to it – he had been alone for so long, and had very strict nocturnal habits, Piper knew – but things were smoothing down now, falling back into that place that was neither complete disaster not total peace.

Piper liked it there. Her life would be very boring if it was completely peaceful, she mused, but it was also nice to have a respite from the never-ending apocalypse events that occurred in the San Francisco magical world. That thought brought a question forth: was San Francisco the New York to all things magical because of their presence there, or was it the other way around? Had her family been brought to the City by the Bay because of the magical forces operating there or were they responsible for them?

Prue cooed, breaking her train of thought. She was waving a pacifier around, tiny fingers curled with surprising strength around the handle. Watching her move the tiny toy about, Piper was struck with a sudden bout of sadness. Already an orphan, at such a young age… Piper knew Prue's parents were dead. Why hadn't they come for her, if they weren't?

Prue wasn't her daughter, Piper knew – although sometimes, she couldn't help but search her pudgy face for traces of Melinda, the daughter she had met in the future all those years ago – but Piper could not bear the thought of leaving her. That was why she was certain the baby's true parents were long gone, torn from the baby's side by forces stronger than they could fight: if she, a total stranger to the girl's life, had already fallen in love with her, how had her parents felt, caring for her for nine months or so?

Cole had told them at least one of Prue's parents had to be demonic. It had been an easy thing to spot, and even if Cole had not said anything, they were all beginning to suspect the truth. How could the tiny girl shimmer, unless there was demonic ancestry in her heritage? And that fireball—Piper shuddered. The night Prue had come into their lives had been a chaotic one. They had learned Phoebe's soul was still within the Source's clutches, that the Elders had lied to them about it and that a conflux of magical forces was about to go off in the Underworld.

And then, just when the shock of the horrific revelations had begun wearing out, Prue had arrived, riding on the back of a burning fireball that had struck the Book of Shadows and almost destroyed it. The fact that the Book had been unable – or unwilling... Piper didn't know which option upset her more: that the Book hadn't been able to defend itself or that it hadn't wanted to – to protect itself from the blast didn't worry Piper as much as the idea that there was a power out there that was strong enough to harm the Book. That meant they were dealing with a new kind of enemy, the likes of which they had never faced before.

To top it all, they now had a new innocent to protect.

As if listening to her thoughts, Prue stopped playing with the teething ring she was currently sucking on and looked at her with questioning eyes. For a few heartbeats, Piper looked back at her and seemed to loose herself in the baby's eyes. There was a secret lurking there, she knew, a secret the baby knew and was happy to keep concealed. And at times like these, Piper got the strong feeling it was a secret she wanted, no, that she needed to know. But, like always, Prue smiled a big, toothless grin at her and broke the connection before Piper was able to find out anything else.

Watching the child get back to her antics, Piper let her hands grip the edge of the laundry basket. Yes, they had Prue to protect now. How many demons had come for her already? Piper had stopped counting after the ninth attempt. She still remembered the first time, thought: it was burnt into her mind with fire and pain.

Her left hand flew to her side, where the skin of her newly healed ribcage still ached now and then. The demon had gotten her fair and square, she knew: she had reacted a second too late, too busy making sure Prue was out of the way of incoming fire… that had been the day they had found out Prue could shimmer, Piper mused, remembering the surprise as she had watched the baby's form dissolve and reappear inside Paige's arms, just an instant before the electric bolt hit her. She didn't remember anything else after that, just that she woke to find a very concerned Leo hovering above her as his magical hands did the trick.

But she did remember the fear, the soul searing fear that they had almost gotten Prue. It had been strange for her to realize that it wasn't the fact that the Source would get his scaly hands on a fountain of endless power that terrified her, but the thought of little baby Prue in the Underworld that froze her heart in her chest.

Strange how priorities change, isn't it? Said a voice inside her head, and it sounded like Prue's. The original Prue that is, her sister… her beautiful, brave sister. Piper let the ache of her loss come: she had learned long ago that it was better to ride out the pain than to let it fester inside like a bleeding wound. But somehow, watching Prue roll around the bed like a baby much older than she really was, made the pain hurt a little less.

Come to think of it, there were many similarities between both Prue's. Aside from the physical likeness – both had startling cobalt-blue eyes, although if Piper remembered correctly, her sister's pupils would shine green every now and then; and raven black hair – there was just something about the baby that strongly reminded Piper of her sister. Maybe it was the way they both seemed to look at you with eyes that said 'I know something that you don't', or perhaps it was simply the way they both seemed to attract the attention of everyone they met. Whatever it was, they both had it, and Piper was thankful for it. It felt like having a little part of Prue back again, remote a thing as it might be.

She felt rather than saw the air to her left quiver, and her hands flew up in automatic response. Prue, however, simply pointed at the flickering space by the mirror and gurgled: "Da!" Piper smiled, lowering her hands just as Cole's tall, handsome self shimmered in.

"You've got to stop doing that, you know?"

Cole had the grace to look sheepish, something that made him look younger than he really was. He shrugged, broad shoulders rising and falling with ease: "Sorry. Old habit."

They'd had this discussion a hundred times before. And they probably would have it a hundred times more in the future, judging by Cole's lack of real regret at doing it. So, Piper decided, maybe it was time to pull out the big guns.

"What if I was in here changing?"

She continued folding clothing while she spoke, waiting to hear the splutter of disbelief followed by a stammering apology that never came. After a few seconds of silence, interrupted only by Prue's continuous coos and gurgles, she looked up to find Cole looking at her with strange eyes. And then a small smile broke across his face, and a twinkle lit in his pupils: "Well, then I'd really have something to make Leo jealous with."

Piper's jaw fell open at that. Cole's grin just turned a little wider before he bent down and poked Prue in the nose. The baby laughed in response, her tiny hands batting at his finger.

Looking at them and her mind still reeling with what had just happened, Piper let the shirt she had been trying to fold fall from her hands and instead watched the two. For a man who claimed to never have had any contact with children, Cole really knew how to handle them. Or handle Prue, at least, since Piper had never really seen him around other babies. He seemed to know exactly what to do to make Prue smile—it was as if he really understood what Prue needed, as if he spoke the same language she did.

Some small, bitter part of her asked if Cole was entitled to be smiling when Phoebe was still trapped in the Underworld. The thought brought back darker, worse memories and dampened her mood some—indeed, what right did they have to be enjoying themselves when Phoebe still suffered at the hands of the Source? Why was she even wasting her time in needless, mundane tasks such as folding the laundry when there were demons to be vanquished and deaths to be avenged?

Because if you don't, you'll drive yourself crazy, said the same voice from before, and this time Piper could swear she heard Prue huff in frustration. Such vivid recollections were not unusual for her – she thought it had something to do with her dead relatives not being completely dead, in the human, prosaic sort of way – but they were coming more and more often lately. And they were working: the explanation chased the edge of the anguish away.

Indeed, it had been agreed upon that with Prue in the house, they could not spare man (or woman) power to release Phoebe—not if it meant leaving Prue unprotected and at the mercy of the bounty hunters that were coming from out of the woodwork these days. That, as much as it pained them to do so, meant Phoebe would have to wait until the worst of it was over, until they had found a way to ensure Prue's safety – a way that didn't mean the four of them had to be around her twenty-four/seven, that is – before they could rescue her.

They had done something, though. With the help of Penny, they had cast a spell upon Phoebe's soul: one to make sure that even if the Source still held her captive, he could not harm her in any way. They had tried teleporting Phoebe's soul from the Underworld, but all of their attempts had bounced back, powerless against the Source's trappings. So, instead, they worked around it: the Source had certainly cast his own dark magic to protect Phoebe's soul from them. They just took that and ran with it, re-enforcing the Source's own magic with their own until not even he could touch it. It had been quite entertaining to use the evil overlord's own powers to keep him from what he wanted the most, and Piper truly thought the irony had not been lost to the bastard.

So, for now, Phoebe – or more accurately, Phoebe's soul – remained in the Underworld. But at least she was safe, and Piper didn't have as many nightmares now, thinking about what might be going on down there. She at least had the comfort that her sister, dead but still somehow living, was in no imminent danger.

Their main goal now, was to keep Prue away from the Source. Perhaps it had been the spell they had cast, or perhaps the evil son of a bitch just wanted Prue that bad: whatever it was, demons were coming for the baby as if their very lives depended on it. And the baby, for some reason or other, seemed to recognize this as a threat and had the wonderful ability to shimmer away from her potential kidnappers and into safety. Piper shivered: despite all of this, the demons were getting smarter. The last one – or trio of ones, she corrected, remembering there had been three of them this time – had managed to find a way to thwart Prue's shimmering, forcing her to remain helpless in her crib while they approached. Only Cole's timely firebolt had managed to save her, vanquishing the demon closest to her before he could reach down and grab the baby. Piper had blown up the other two, her heart beating so hard in her chest she could've sworn it was ready to come out. She could still hear Prue's desperate cries as she picked her up from the crib, and as she had tried to calm the hysterical baby down, bouncing her up and down in her arms, she had caught sight of Cole's distraught face.

They all knew what it would mean if the Source got a hold of Prue. The baby had power, so much power—and, as Leo had once told them, these powers were neither good nor evil. Just because the girl had a demonic parent did not mean she was necessarily evil: properly raised, she could be a great addition to the forces of good. And even if it pained Piper to think that this lovely, sweet young girl would grow up to live a life of war between Good and Evil, she knew there was no other way it could be. That was her destiny, as much as it was her family's… providence – or perhaps other, bigger forces – had brought the child to them. That meant they were supposed to guide her, train her, teach her… Prue was the next generation of warriors in this battle, and even now, her incredible power was saying so.

Shaking her head, Piper forced the gloomy thoughts away. Cole turned to look at her, his index finger trapped within Prue's tiny fists as she attempted to suck on it and failed miserably. There were many things she wanted to say to Cole, many things she wanted to share with him, but found any words she could come up with lacking. So instead she just stared at him, letting her eyes speak what her mouth could not. And Cole looked back at her, deep-blue eyes like an ocean of emotions, cresting and crashing with every heartbeat he took.

In the end, Prue accepted defeat and released Cole's finger. Attention back to the tiny girl in the bed, Cole bent down and kissed the top of her head. It was such an intimate gesture, such a tender thing to do it tugged at Piper's heart: they really did look like father and daughter, these two… they even had the same eyes…

"Hmm", Cole said, sniffing the air and breaking her concentration, making that last thought flee into the back of Piper's mind, "it smells like someone needs a change."

Piper blinked. And then smiled a wicked grin. Such a good, wonderful opportunity to get back at him for his last innuendo… moving to the side of the bed, she rummaged inside a bag sitting there for this purpose alone and rose back up with a bottle of talcum powder and a fresh diaper in hand.

"Wonderful. It was about time you learned how to do this."

Before Cole could even open his mouth to protest – after all, his allegations that 'the almighty Belthazor does not change diapers' had won him this argument before – Piper raised a hand (the one with the powder, actually) and stopped him: "Nuh uh. No chickening out this time, mister. You are doing this even if I have to summon your sorry butt back here to do it."

When Leo came in about ten minutes later, it was to find a flabbergasted Cole, holding a diaper in one hand and wearing about half of the talcum on his nice black clothes. Prue was giggling like crazy, and Piper was laughing so hard she was clutching the bed's railing for support.

"Need a hand, man?" he asked him, trying very hard not to break into a grin and failing. Cole just looked at him with wide, surprised eyes, still unsure of how the white powder had gotten all over him. He shook his head slowly, then muttered something about devilish women and shook himself like a big black cat.

He didn't complain about changing diapers ever again. Although he did try to avoid doing it while Piper was in the room. Paige never really understood why.


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She licked her lips slowly, tasting the coppery taste of her own blood. She grimaced as the wound itched with her saliva, but she welcomed it. One of the first things she had learnt since her true training had began, was to embrace the pain. She now channeled it into her strength, adding it like fuel to a fire. A fire that burned high, as she stared at the demon in front of her.

"Bitch."

Jhiera only smiled at the mild taunt, and brushed some strands of blue-black hair aside.

"Is that all you've got, witch?"

Jhiera would never let go of the fact that Phax wasn't a demon. It seemed like a personal crusade, to constantly remind Phax that no matter how hard she tried, how hard she trained, she would never be able to shed the husk of her humanity. And lately, there had been many opportunities for the purple-eyes demon to do just that.

When the Source found out about their little bitching contests – although, truth to be told, Phax was pretty sure the Source had known all along: he had just chosen this particular moment to tell her – he had bestowed Jhiera with the responsibility of teaching Phax the proper ways of the demon world.

And Jhiera took that dubious honor to heart.

Hence, they were now once again face to face, Jhiera enjoying the bouts a little too much for Phax's taste.

"Bring it on."

Phax concentrated as Jhiera moved in on her. Watching Jhiera fight was an impressive sight—it was not often a female demon made it this high in the Underworld ranks, and Jhiera had the moves to attest to her success. She moved swiftly, efficiently- she was a killing machine, and both women knew it. She wasn't pulling any of her punches, either.

Thankful that she had taken kickboxing lessons back in the day, Phax tried to duck out of the way of Jhiera's incoming hits, and failed miserably. A kick to the knee dislocated the joint, and while she was going down, a perfectly executed uppercut sent her flying into the wall behind her. Strangely, the pain of her suffering body did not hurt as much as the one from her wounded pride.

Spitting out a glob of blood that had pooled in her mouth, she rose on shaky legs, using the rocky-wall for support. Steadying herself, she put all of her weight on her injured leg and set the bone straight. Her pained shout was short and sharp, but as it echoed around the training chamber, she saw Jhiera's fangs gleaming in the darkness.

"Such a screamer, Phax. I wonder if you screamed like this when you were in Belthazor's bed."

The younger woman seethed. Teeth grinding and hands fisting, she forced the healing magic forth, hurrying it until she could stand on her own two legs again. "Shut. Up", she managed to say in between heavy breaths, but Jhiera's grin just turned wider.

"Aaah, you did? How wonderful—" Her voice died down and almost turned into a yelp as a fireball whizzed past her, missing her left ear by inches. Phax's hand was still stretched out towards when Jhiera turned back to look at her, something akin to surprise dancing in her features.

"My, my", Jhiera recovered quickly, but Phax could see a tiny spark of fear in her eyes, and it gave her an immense sense of accomplishment to see it, "someone's touchy tonight."

Phax did not answer. Her hand fell slowly to her side, but the fingers continued to twitch every now and then, a testament to the power that lived in her veins. It seemed that with every fireball she called forth, the next one came a little easier—soon, she wouldn't need Jhiera's goading to fire them at all. Soon, she would be able to call them at will.

Both women faced each other across the training chamber, the flickering torches adding shadows to their faces in what seemed to be an endless dance. For a long while neither of them said a word, and only their labored breaths broke the eerie silence of the room. And then, as if Jhiera had found what she was looking for, the female demon threw her head back and laughed. A loud, sudden laugh that made goose bumps break out upon Phax's skin but also enticed a chuckle of her own.

As their voices died down, the silence that remained was loaded with tension, but noticeable lighter than it had been before. It occurred to Phax that maybe they had reached some sort of agreement, a sorority of sorts in the male-dominated Underworld. After all, she had been in this place for almost a year and she had yet to see another female upper class demon—

Almost as if answering Phax's unspoken question, Jhiera undid her hair – which she had kept up in a ponytail during their sparring match – and asked: "Do you know why I hate you?"

Phax paused, whatever clever remark she had ready dying at her lips. What as she supposed to say? Recovering from the shock of Jhiera's sudden mood swing, Phax shrugged. "Because you're a psychotic, spiteful crone?" The insult felt good, it felt right—for a moment, it looked as if Jhiera's temper was about to get the best of her, but in the end, the she-devil shook herself like a big black cat and smiled sweetly: "It takes one to know one, I guess."

This time, it was Phax's turn to grin. Her hat was off to Jhiera: she sure knew how to handle herself in a verbal match just as well as she did in the sparring ground. Producing a knife out of thin air, Jhiera traced the edge of the blade with her fingers, playing with the handle as she did so. "Do you, then?"

Curiosity piqued, Phax shook her head. Truth to be told, she had always wondered if there was something else behind Jhiera's utter antagonism for her… surely her continuous anger towards her could not be the result of simple jealousy! And if Jhiera was offering her a chance to understand, well, who was she to pass it up?

The athame looked dangerous, glinting in the torchlights as the demoness twisted it this way and that. The movement seemed almost—hypnotic, and it was soon that Phax found herself mesmerized by the gleaming blade, her hands falling down her sides and her stance relaxing despite the warnings going off in her head. Sure enough, a few heartbeats before she would have lowered her head, Jhiera threw her hand back and the athame sliced through the air, cutting Phax's right arm in the process.

The younger woman hissed in pain as her skin parted, red blood gushing forth. Her left hand flew to her wounds, but not before she had shimmered a few steps away.

Still a little nauseated from the teleportation – it was something she still had trouble adjusting to, specially if she was the one doing it – she stumbled a little and hissed again as her fingers graced the open gashes upon her forearm.

"That is why", said Jhiera, watching with strange eyes how the blood welled upon Phax's forearm and oozed down her wrist. "You are not kin, and you never will be. You are mortal, witch, and you bleed red. Real demons, true sons and daughters of the Creator, bleed black." They stared at each other for a long while, the anger within Jhiera's eyes burning higher and higher until it rivaled the fires burning all around them.

"No mortal witch will take my place in the Underworld. Not if I can help it!" When the she-demon spoke, her voice quivered with barely controlled rage, but before she could do anything else, Phax summoned a fireball to her left hand. The blood flow had already stopped, but it was quite an impressive sight all the same—orange-blue flames licking at her bloodied fingers like hungry puppies – and it was enough to make Jhiera back off.

"You will live, Phax, at least for today. He wants you alive", the black-haired demon spat, bile riding upon every word, "but one day he won't need you anymore. Watch your back, dear: daddy won't save you next time!"

And with those final words, Jhiera was gone, shimmering away with a laugh.

With an exhausted sigh, Phax let the fireball disappear to whence it came. Despite of what it may look like, summoning those things was draining, and when she had to maintain them for long periods of time, she got tired rather quickly. Had Jhiera remained around for a few more minutes, she would've witnessed the sad, pathetic sight of Phax's fireball snuffing out by itself.

Seething with anger at her own weakness, Phax stared at her crimson stained hand. This was the reason Jhiera had made her life miserable? Because she bled red instead of black? Raising her arm, she watched with narrowed eyes as tiny sparks of electricity went off just above her skin; the Source's magic working at its best, healing her wounds at a dizzying pace. But then her gaze landed on the one scar magic would not heal: the one upon her right palm, the one that marked her blood-link with the Source. The blood from Jhiera's athame wound had pooled there, seeped into the crevice of the slash, and it took Phax a while to realize why she thought it so intriguing.

True demons bleed black, Jhiera had said. Black. Not red, but black.

Slowly, she curled her right hand into a fist, feeling the scar tissue upon her palm. That's how she and the Source had become blood-bound, by sharing new blood through their hands. And it had been red

The Source, leader and lord of the Underworld, had human ancestry? He was not a pureblood demon… he had mortal ancestors! What did this discovery mean?

Uncertain of what to do, Phax shook her head. Certainly someone had realized such a thing in the course of the long years the Source had lived—surely someone knew! But—but if they knew, how had they allowed him to continue leading them? How had the demon world, known for its prejudices, allowed a tainted demon to rule them? Unless they didn't know… Phax could certainly believe that the Source had managed to hide his past from the rest of the demons… wasn't he the king of deception, after all? Wasn't he an expert at hiding the truth?

He is like Belthazor, she thought, the sudden thought surprising her in its vehemence. Just like Cole, he bleeds red just like Cole. Pushing aside the anger and hurt that blossomed whenever his name came up, Phax contemplated the possibilities. Did this mean the Source, like Cole, had a human form as well? She shook her head. No, that couldn't be… wouldn't he have used it after all this time? Wouldn't he have played with her using a human face?

Unless… unless he had tried so hard to suppress that human side of him that he no longer remember how to access it. But how had a half-demon acquired that much power? How did he come to rule the Underworld?

Because he is smart, my dear, very, very smart. That voice was unlike any she had ever heard before, but it didn't surprise her—hanging around an insane, murdering bastard was bound to contagious after a while.

A wicked smile curled Phax's lips. If the Source had managed to do it, then she could do it as well: she would succeed in her quest to conquer the respect of other demons, and she would rise upon the ranks of the Underworld. It didn't matter that she had been human once; it didn't matter that her blood ran red. All that mattered was that she had the guts – and the hate – to make it happen.

Head still reeling with this new information, Phax shimmered away to her quarters. She had a lot to think about.


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Paige sighed. It was useless. She had been doing this for almost a week now, and truth to be told, she was beginning to think it was all pointless.

Setting the last of the fried pages aside, she fingered the burned edges of the cover of the Book and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. So much information, lost… countless of pages had been burned to a crisp, and dozens of others had been rendered useless. The pages of the Book were parchment, and it caught fire as if they were wood chips. The fireball had hit with mind-numbing accuracy—Paige shivered at the thought of facing whatever demon had been powerful enough to inflict this kind of damage upon the Book.

The Book protects itself, Piper had told her once. Hearing her sister's voice brought back a load of memories, like the time when she had snuck the Book out of the house – by throwing it out of the window, no less – and the ensuing disaster that followed. She remembered clearly how she had tried to photocopy some of its pages, and how every single one of her attempts had ended up with a blank page in her hands.

Yes, in her time as a witch, Paige had come to consider the Book a sort of sentient entity. No, it didn't think for itself, but sometimes, just sometimes, Paige could sense some sort of consciousness coming from it. Indeed, if it could sense evil and protect itself from it, then that spoke of at least some level of awareness… why hadn't it been able to deflect this particular attack, then?

What had been different about this fireball that had not sent up the Books warning signals? Paige tried to recall the vivid scene, but she kept getting strong flashes of Cole's hard, strong body atop of hers, protecting her from the blast. A flush crept up her cheeks and she shook her head. No, now was not the time to be considering such things. Forcing herself to concentrate, Paige closed her eyes and relived that hellish night.

It had all happened so suddenly—too many things, all piled up on top of the other. As if the universe was trying to make sure they sat up and paid attention, it sent them enough curveballs to throw them off balance completely. Phoebe's fate, the Source's plans, that 'magical commotion', Prue, the attack on the Book… it was enough to make her head spin. Running her fingers across the burnt cover of the Book, the green leather now black around the edges, Paige's eyes landed on the broken triquetra, and she couldn't help the small sound of pain that fell from her lips.

Yes, that was the worst of all… that they had left Phoebe behind, tried to re-build their lives while she remained a prisoner of the Underworld, tortured by the Source and who knew how many others! Paige had never been to the Underworld, so there really was no way for her to relate, but she had been near the Source, had felt his shadow fall upon her and she still had nightmares about that. Shane wouldn't even come near her after what happened, she mused, and with good reason. He had been a vessel for that most evil of evils, and that left scars whether you remembered it or not. Leo's magical dust had erased it from his mind, but nothing could erase such a taint from his soul.

And to think Phoebe was still within that creep's hold—it made the hairs on her arms stand on end. It made her want to kill things, but most of all, it made her sick. But, worst of all, there was also this tiny part of her that was secretly relieved… not at Phoebe's fate, dear Goddess, never that, but a small part of her was glad that it hadn't been her. Because it could have been her, it was supposed to be her! The Source had wanted to turn her, she knew, ever since he had learned of her existence. And that whole thing with Shane and Mr. Grisanti had all been a ploy to use her window of opportunity, to sway her to the dark side.

A strange giggle came from the back of her throat as the all too familiar term reminded her of an all too familiar movie. Well, Mr. Lucas knew what he was talking about when he wrote that damn thing—he just never wrote about what it meant to fight it every single day of your life. Yes, every day, every waking hour spent fighting the good fight, struggling to keep their heads above water… a battle they were never going to win.

That was the most discouraging thing of all. The certainty that they would never win. There was no way to win—canceling one of the sides of the scale always canceled the other. But it seemed that lately, all they did was lose… when was it the bad guys' time to get some of their butts kicked? When were they going to be ones licking their wounds, tail between their legs, doing the 'running for their lives' type of thing?

At least things seemed to be looking up: Prue had been a new addition to their side. Yes, the little baby had come to them at their most desperate hour, hadn't she? And if she turned out to be half as powerful as her already nascent powers heralded her to be, then she would be a magnificent warrior for Good. Perhaps she was the one to even out the scales. Perhaps she was the answer…

"How is it coming?"

Piper's voice startled her out her reverie, so much so that as she jumped a little, the Book slid from her lap and fell to the floor with a low 'thud'. Smiling sheepishly, Paige bent down to pick it up while saying: "Not so good."

The older woman paused in the middle of the attic, taking in the assorted piles of pages arranged in not-so-neat groups all around. Answering her unspoken question, Paige pointed to the pile nearest to her and began explaining: "Total loss. Scorched but readable. Half missing", her finger moved from one pile to the next as spoke, and when she reached the last pile, she shrugged helplessly: "Don't even know where to start with those."

Something akin to pain flashed across Piper's features, and it struck Paige as incredibly endearing. She sometimes forgot Piper had almost four years on her on this witch thing—that she had shared things with the Book Paige had never dreamed of. And that as much as it hurt her, Paige, to see her heritage destroyed, it hurt Piper even more.

Piper knelt by the last pile, the one that Paige hadn't known what to do with, and picked the first of the pages up. Her hand trembled a little as she brought the page up, and a sad smile curled her lips. "Prue wrote this", she said, and it took Paige a moment or two to realize she was talking about her sister, not the baby. Piper chuckled, and it was somewhat choked, as if she was fighting back the tears. Looking at her eyes, Paige decided she was.

Putting the Book aside, she approached Piper and took the page from her hands. It had escaped the worst of the fire, it seemed—why had she put it in the 'Will Deal with It Later' pile? Casting a glance at the words written in it, she instantly knew why. The title was 'To Vanquish Libris', and scribbled underneath, in a lettering that was both elegant and hurried at the same time, a simple spell:

Demon hide your evil face,
Libris, die and leave no trace.

Upon finding it, Paige had at first thought it a joke. It was such a simple spell, straight and to the point, devoid of any flowery arrangements whatsoever… it looked almost—bland, when compared to some of the wordiest spells found in the Book. But then again, wasn't this how magic worked best? When directed straight at the target, without any embellishments to distract it on the way? After all, that was usually the way magic backfired: when the witch wasn't experienced or focused enough to realize that there was room for double interpretation and that magic worked anyway it wanted to.

Piper rose next to her, eyes bright and wearing small smile. "She wasn't very good at writing spells", she began, brushing her eyes and forcing the tears back, "We always had Phoebe write them for us."

Paige didn't know what surprised her more: that Prue, the perfect, shinning Prue she had never met but had competed against anyway, was actually not good at something or that Piper had brought both dead sisters into the conversation and was still holding it together.

"But it worked. Saved Phoebe's life, nonetheless… I think that's the only reason we were able to convince her to write it into the Book in the first place."

The younger witch looked back at the Book, sitting on the chair she had just vacated. Yes, she had encountered pages written by her sisters' before—it was easy to tell. There were no beautiful, hand-carved drawings on those pages, and the words were written in ink. And well, there was the most obvious page of all… the one depicting Cole's human form, and his likes and dislikes. As a matter of fact, those pages, the ones with Belthazor's information, had been among those burned beyond recognition. Either that or someone had stolen them, because as far as she could remember, they were not among the pages she had recovered. But she did remember a set of photos that had been there, of Phoebe and Cole, and she suddenly wished she had recovered at least that much, just so she had something to give to Cole. Alas, the fire had not been selective when it had burned, and along with the Belthazor summoning spell and the Belthazor vanquishing potion, the pictures were now nothing more than ashes in the wind.

"We can salvage it, Piper. It just needs a little cutting upon the edges, but it's still readable—"

Piper shook her head. "No. It's—Libris has been long dead, and I doubt he's ever coming back. Prue was good like that… couldn't rhyme to save her life, but her power always struck true."

Before Paige could say anything else, Piper took the burnt page from her and picked at the charred edges. They disintegrated easily, most of it already ash, but the center of the page remained. "You keep it, then", Paige whispered, reaching behind her and grabbing one of yellow, faded envelopes she had been using to store the pages she thought could be saved. Handing it to Piper, she continued: "It will be a nice thing to remember her by."

The older witch nodded slowly, staring at the envelope in her hand as if she had never seen one before. And then, without giving Paige time to even yelp, hugged her as if her very life depended on it. Taken by surprise, Paige just stood there for a few heartbeats, unsure of what to do—and then she did what came most naturally, and allowed her hands to embrace Piper as well. Wrapping her arms around her, holding her close… it was the closest thing to being a family they had done ever since Phoebe's death, and it felt good.

It wasn't a shock to either of them to realize both of them had gleaming eyes when they parted. Paige sniffed, the sudden intimacy striking a chord deep within her chest, and Piper once again brushed her eyes to chase away the tears.

"I love you, you know that, right?"

Blinking rapidly to avoid the tears from falling, Paige nodded. She wasn't one for big demonstrations of affection, what with her parents having died so soon and all, but standing there, in her family's attic, with the pages from the Book scattered around them like big, old snowflakes, well, it felt like the best thing in the world.

"Right back at ya, big sis."

The both chuckled at that. Tension vanquished, they walked out of the attic hand in hand, Paige's voice echoing in the attic: "Say, sis, what's for dinner?"

Behind them, still reclining on its chair, they never saw how the broken triquetra shone once, twice, and then died again.


.

TBC…