Love's Intervention
Chapter Twenty One: White Magic
White.
That was all he saw, all that he had seen since that fateful day of his second vanquishing. Or was it his third vanquishing? That is, if the vanquish of Belthazor was to be considered to be one of his vanquishes. Sure, all of him did not die, but Belthazor was inevitably a part of him. Half of him, actually. Two and a half vanquishings then?
Who was he? He was Cole Turner. Ex-demon Belthazor, former Source of All Evil, former possessor of invincible demonic powers, ex-husband of Phoebe Halliwell. He was many things, but yet the thing that mattered to him most was that last item on the list. Ex-husband of Phoebe Halliwell. Even now, trapped in an expanse of white, he loved her, even after knowing that she was the one who had vanquished him. Twice.
Though that last vanquishing…his last vanquishing, instead of sending him on a one-way trip to eternal damnation, as he expected, he was sent here, to this—place. Cole didn't even know what it was. He was pretty sure it wasn't purgatory, unless he was to repent of his sins by being left in a neutral, not exactly uncomfortable world with only his thoughts. Still, hell could hardly be like this, be described as boring. The closest he could come up with was limbo, yet that theory just didn't seem right to him.
Cole thought back to the events that brought him to this world of white. As always, he cringed at the memory of the disastrous alternate universe that he had conjured up with the help of the Avatars, remembered how alternate Phoebe had thrown the potion, the pain—the Angel of Death.
He had seen the Angel of Death once before, during his first vanquishing. As he had exploded in the magical cage that Phoebe had completed, and as he had felt the Source being ripped from his soul, the Angel of Death had appeared before him even as Cole had writhed in pain. It was a strange meeting. The Angel of Death had hovered in front of him, cocking his head and grasping his chin while observing Cole with a scrutinizing look. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he waved his hand and had disappeared just as Cole landed in the Wasteland.
Cole had not thought much about his encounter with the angel afterwards; his mind was mostly on other things, from getting out of the Wasteland to getting Phoebe back. The memory, however, came back when Cole saw him again at his second vanquishing.
As the potion had made contact with his body, he had known the truth—that this time, his descent would be permanent. Even as the sight of Phoebe had faded from his eyes, he had felt the pull, only this time it was accompanied by a sense of inevitability. And yet, while he was falling, he had sensed something different, but not something entirely new. Before he could put his finger on what it was, however, he felt the presence grab him firmly by the arm and yank him sideways.
And with a thud, he had landed in the world of white, with the Angel of Death standing in front of him. The Angel had made an impatient sound when Cole looked around wildly and slapped his arms and legs to find them solid.
"Oh, please," the Angel had uttered in his bored British accent. "Don't look so surprised. Or at least, don't waste my time with the questions that you're bound to ask." The Angel gave Cole a look that made him collect himself and sit up. "You're not dead."
Cole grabbed his own hands together and felt them; his knuckles, the wound where Paige sliced off a piece of his flesh. "Am I alive?" he had managed out.
The Angel had smiled, and though there was no emotion behind his lips, there was a slightly amused spark in his eyes. "You're a smart man. You can figure it out." The Angel's smile widened. "After all, not many can say that they've escaped my clutches not only once, but twice."
Cole stirred at this, and the Angel shot him an even look. "I highly encourage you not to despair in this turn of your luck. Suffice to say that this was meant to happen—just like other turns of luck in your life."
"But—" Cole had started, the anguish clear in every crevice of his body.
"Some things are just not meant to be," the Angel said clearly. The Angel of Death watched carefully as Cole looked away, his eyes desperate and far away. "But then again," the Angel had added, almost as an afterthought, "some things are."
This caused Cole to look back at him. The Angel smiled neutrally, as if he had not notice the torrent of emotions the man was expressing in front of him. The Angel turned away, glancing at the white surroundings of Cole, which contrasted so sharply with his and Cole's black garments. "Make yourself at home, Cole," the Angel had said, then vanished from sight.
And so the Angel of Death left Cole Turner alone, despondent and utterly bewildered, leaving him only with the knowledge that Cole had failed at all the options that he had tried.
And as Cole had slowly gotten up on his feet, had gingerly touched the wound on his hand, he had screamed. His scream, as wretched and heart-wrenching as any banshee's, lasted until his ears became numb from the sound and until he collapsed on his knees, exhausted. Still, that did not stop the images that flashed before his closed eyes—Phoebe panting as she squirmed under another's man's touch in the alternate world; Julie's breath in his ear as she offered to be his Queen and carry his child; Phoebe, laughing, as she fed him a pastry in a small café in France; the Avatar's somber promises of a world beyond good and evil; the look on Phoebe's face as she ran away from him the day she found out that he was the Source.
He had tried everything, everything, to get her back, to right the wrong, to bring it back to the way it used to be. To the times when he would wake up to find her small, warm body pressed up against his, her face the picture of peace and serenity, to times when her eyes were full of love and when her touches were gentle. All he ever wanted was to turn back the clock and start things afresh, anew, but by the time he had the ability to, he had messed that up too.
Cole sighed and looked at his hands. He had spent most of his time here thinking about Phoebe—how long had he been in this place, anyways? Too long, too much time to think, to know that he could never have her again; in fact, the longer he was there, the more certain he was that this wasn't right. He didn't know if it was just his incredible stubbornness at not letting Phoebe go, or if there was something more to it. After all, Death wouldn't have left him here, literally in his own little world, if he didn't have a purpose, would he?
Cole sighed again and got up from his seat on the white leather couch. At least in this world, he had one more thing to do other than think about Phoebe. Cole worked on honing his new powers. In this white world, Cole was able not to absorb powers, as he did in the Wasteland, but to create and nurture them.
He had discovered the ability of this world quite accidentally, closer to the beginning of his stay right in the middle of his initial madman rant and fury of not being able to seek the peace he craved. During his rage, which was as expected mainly over Phoebe, he had gone from angrily denouncing her and hating what she had done to him to suddenly needing her touch, needing to see her, to love her. And right when he felt as though his heart would burst from emotion, he had felt something cold and hard in his clutched fist.
Slowly he had opened his fist to see a small little picture frame. It didn't take Cole any time at all to recognize the frame, the contours of the edges, even though the one he knew what several times larger. It was the picture frame that had the picture of Phoebe in her light blue knit hat looking lovingly up at him. However, this frame was hardly larger than a thimble, was completely white, and held no picture inside.
Still, Cole had realized what he had just done and the potential that laid in his action. He knew he was completely powerless coming into the white world, as the powers he gathered from the Wasteland were void in the alternate universe he created, and Belthazor had, once again, been peeled away from him as he was vanquished. He began testing his abilities and created inanimate objects; a small papier-mâché chair, also white, was his first major try. This particular power had advanced with his efforts and with his unlimited amount of time, so that now he had a couch set, a fluffy bed with soft linen, a nightstand, a wardrobe with clothes inside, and a coffee table. He had no need for anything else; he didn't need to eat and he seemed to keep forever clean and clean-shaven—in fact, he didn't need all of this, but he wanted it. Besides, even if he did want to shower, he still didn't quite get the creation of an endless flow of water yet. All of his furniture was white, even the clothes that he had desperately tried to make black, except for his glass coffee table, which looked suspiciously like the one he had at his penthouse.
With this power of generation, Cole had also built up three more powers; shimmering, energy balls, and morphing. A nice mix of my Belthazor powers with my Wasteland ones, Cole had thought to himself wryly more than once. Still, he knew that these powers were different. He wasn't born with them, he certainly didn't take them; they were all his, Cole Turner's, and with these powers, he almost felt whole again. Almost. Not quite. But good enough.
He wandered over to his nightstand and picked up the thimble-sized photo frame, which was standing next to the same but larger photo frame. Try as he might, he couldn't create a replica of the picture that he had left in the penthouse. He knew that it would be a big thing to create, especially since it contained color, but it still discouraged him. Cole rolled the small frame between his two fingers, his mind going back to the strange dreams he was having lately.
Cole knew that he probably didn't have to sleep either, but the bed had soothed him somewhat, and was comfortable besides. He never had many good sleeps; most of the time he laid on the bed under the warm covers in his white pajama pants and stared at the white sky. Still, he did sleep, though fitfully. Lately, however, he had been having the strangest dreams, of him and Phoebe together. They were very creative dreams, too, and very vivid as well, some parts deliciously more than others. Dreams of him and a blonde-streaked Phoebe, sharing a sunset, dancing slowly in the private booth of P3, having a tickle fest under the covers. Cole gave a lopsided smile. Too bad they would just be dreams, dreams that had no chance of ever coming true ever again.
With that thought, Cole slid off his shirt, slid on his pajama pants, and got into bed, hoping to dream of Phoebe once again.
Piper paced furiously in the attic as Chris warily watched her. Paige had orbed to Magic School a few minutes ago to see if she could find anything after the two sisters had looked through all the magical materials they had.
Paige's teacher manual had only gone as far to explain what a parallel world was, but it said nothing about bringing a person back from the world. They had searched the Book of Shadows, but it had produced nothing but a description vaguer than the one that the textbook provided—apparently, none of their ancestors had experienced anything like it. They had also looked through the book for any demon that may have had the power to send Phoebe to the alternate world, but in that department they had come across no descriptions of the sort. They had tried to scry for Phoebe, but except for feeling a weak pull toward the Manor's spot on the map, nothing else had helped.
Piper stopped pacing and twirled around to face Chris, who was manning a spot on the couch. "You," she said. "Future boy."
"Piper, you know I can't tell you anything."
"Like hell you can't," Piper hissed. "Look, we already know Wyatt turns evil in your future, so now you can tell me; do I lose another sister?"
"That's not the way to look at it, Piper," Chris replied exasperatedly. "You're the Charmed Ones. You'll always pull through, you always have. And yes, I know about Prue," he continued when Piper opened her mouth to retort. "But you can't have that attitude if you expect to find her."
"Do I lose a sister like this or not?" Piper asked him again, unmoved by his pep talk.
Chris sighed as he tried to formulate a non-committal answer to the question. Phoebe did not die in the future he belonged to, so it must have meant that she survived this adventure of Charmed life. Still, he did not remember this particular story; and as a child, he would've thought he would have remembered it, since stories involving other worlds and universes always appealed to him. Maybe Piper never told him this one?—but it was impossible. No, Chris decided, it must be the arrival of me that spurned this change of events.
Chris felt a pang in his heart as he watched Piper continue her pace around the attic. He hated to see his mother like this, but he couldn't tell her anymore; Phoebe had figured out his big bad secret, after all—he couldn't afford to let any other information leak out, not until it was absolutely necessary. Besides, Paige was still at Magic School with a ton of resources at hand, surely she would find something…
Even as he thought this, a shower of blue-and-white orbs appeared in front of him to form Paige's slim figure. "Useless!" the youngest Halliwell exclaimed in frustration. "I mean, you would think—but no, there isn't. At least, not anything I could find. I tried to find Gideon to help us, but he wasn't there."
"Maybe we should call upon another Elder for help," Chris said nonchalantly, casting a side glance at Piper. According to his calculations, his time of conception was in about two weeks, and he needed his parents to be together if he wanted to get born. Piper, on the other hand, looked shocked.
"Are you kidding me? Besides, I thought you didn't like Leo," Piper replied, as if that settled it.
"We have had our differences," Chris admitted, "but our relationship is getting better. Besides, Phoebe is out there, isn't she, perhaps in danger?"
Piper stared at him for a second then looked away, resigned. "Go get him," she said, beginning to turn away.
"Don't bother," a new voice sounded from directly behind them. The girls and Chris spun around to face the intruder, Piper's hands already ready to blow some demon guts when she recognized the person, causing her to jump in surprise and accidentally blow up a throw pillow behind him. The visitor flinched and let out a yelp.
"Cupid?" Piper sounded incredulously. "What's going on?"
"Cupid?" echoed Paige, glaring suspiciously at the newcomer. "Where are your bows and arrows?"
Cupid rubbed his face with his hands. "Like sister, like sister," he sighed. He turned to Piper for assistance only to find the oldest Halliwell giving him an apprehensive look as well.
"Where's your ring?" she asked warily, bringing her hands up in front of her again. She didn't know if this was some demon's trick, but she was better safe than sorry.
Cupid sighed again and turned to Paige as if to answer her question first. "Michael the boy next door, Andrew, Mike the pothead, Glenn, Pierre, Shaun, Dave, Richard," he recited. "And of course, Ethan from sophomore year in college."
Piper raised her eyebrows as Paige slightly flushed at the mention of the last name. She relaxed her fingers, but still kept her hands in front of her as a warning. Cupid turned to her. "And I don't have a ring because I've been promoted."
Piper's eyebrows inched even further up her forehead. "Promoted? How so?"
"To the very highest position available in my field. I am now Head Cupid. Leader of the Cupids. Super-Cupid." He rubbed his slightly bleary eyes. "I don't need a ring to channel any of my powers now; they are imbedded within me unless I retire or they get taken away because I've misused them."
"Wow," Paige said interested. "You really are Cupid?"
He nodded. "One of many. We work all around the world—"
"Yeah, we've heard this before," Piper said tensely as she remembered that her sister was missing. "Cupid, if you need help, we'll be happy to, except that—"
"Actually," Cupid said with a little nervous laugh. "I do need your help, but uh, it kind of involves Phoebe. You see, I know what happened to her. Because I kind of put her there. Not only her, but Leo. And a couple of demons as well into a non-magical world."
"What?!" shrieked Piper. Paige looked confused and passively shocked, but reacted when she processed all the information.
"But doesn't that mean that they all don't have powers as well?" she asked slowly.
"You would know best, Paige," Cupid nodded. "Parallel worlds exist alongside the Main world and have exactly one characteristic different than the Main world, but other than that they are the same as alternate universes. Look," he continued explaining as he saw Piper's expression. "In order to make his alternate universe, Cole went back in time and changed one event, killed Paige when she should have lived. That event, from that point in time, changed the course of history, no? In parallel worlds, things are different. That one difference between the Main world and parallel world—the presence of magic—cannot be changed by simply moving back in time. It's just how the two worlds were created; one with magic, one without. That enables parallel worlds exist right alongside the Main world, as two separate entities. Do you see?"
"Yeah, I see that both Phoebe and Leo are screwed over," Piper muttered, shooting Cupid a dark look. "You bring nothing but trouble, Cupid."
Cupid gave Piper a sympathetic look and was about to speak when Paige, oblivious to the insults that Piper had paid to their visitor, spoke. "I understand the differences," she said. "But…you said you put them there…why? Why those two? I mean, you're supposed to promote love and all that, right? And love's not evil. So why demons as well? I mean, you're not out to kill Phoebe and Leo, are you?"
"No!" Cupid replied, horrified. "Never! The demons weren't supposed to be there—and neither was Leo! I just—I'm new to this position, see, and I'm kind of unfamiliar with all my new, more powerful powers. I don't know what I did wrong, but the Elders—" he made a face at the word "—think that Leo and the demons were in the midst of transporting—you know, orbing, shimmering, all that—right when I transferred Phoebe into the parallel world."
"Okay, then, so why did you put Phoebe into the parallel world, then?" Paige further inquired, an eyebrow raised. "Some sort of Cupid business thing gone awry?"
Cupid reminded himself to give the Cupid that had taken over his position a bonus for pairing Paige and Richard together. At least one Halliwell sister still believes in love, Cupid thought gloomily as Piper crossed her arms across her chest and stared at him, demanding answers. Paige, the only remaining Halliwell that had not been especially burned by romance, was also looking curious and concerned, but not spiteful.
Still, he knew that this goodwill on Paige's part may just be thrown out the window when they hear why he put her in the parallel world. She was not only curious as to know what life would be like for her in a place without magic—she had wondered about her and Cole. And if they realized that that was the reason why he had inadvertently created this mess, well—
He had heard that Piper's offensive power was especially painful.
A/N: For those who follow Twice Cursed - I know I haven't updated in a while, no worries,I'm currently working on it. A combination of writer's block and life's obstacles have been getting in the way. I hope that my stories are still interesting you, and I hope that you all can still spend a small amount of time to reviews; as I've said before, they are all very important to me and I appreciate them. Until next time