2019
"Hey, look who's here!"
Bianca looked up from the book she was reading, smiling as she saw Greg pull up a seat across the table from her and then turning her attention back to the open volume on the table.
"Hi Greg."
"Haven't seen you around here in a while," Greg commented, turning off the mp3 player inside the face of his watch and closing the cover. She shrugged.
"Busy," she explained.
"You seen today's paper?" he asked, leaning back in his chair until it was balancing on two legs and grasping the newspaper from the wooden counter behind him.
"No, why?" she asked, looking up as he slapped the paper down onto the table, the front headline of The Bay Mirror blazing about a new election in brassy bold type.
"They just announced it this morning. Elections are big business for us."
"Good. I hope you get it then. I don't need the extra workload."
Glancing down at her book again, she pushed it aside and reached for the paper, leafing through the first few pages, not particularly reading anything just looking. Finding nothing of interest halfway through, she closed it again and pushed it back.
"Well that's a change," Greg commented as the paper slid towards him.
"What?"
"You didn't look at the obits."
"Why? Why would I look at those?" she questioned, puzzled. He shrugged.
"Every Phoenix I know likes to look at them and keep a record of their kills. It's a game, a sport to most people."
"I'm not most people."
"No I know. You're special, or at least that's what Michael tells me."
She gave him a brief smile then returned to her book. It didn't interest her anymore. With Greg still watching her intently she started to think that maybe he did want her to read them. More than just a mere suggestion, maybe there was something she should know. With an exaggerated sigh she reached back out for the paper, flicking through the back pages until she hit the classifieds. Scanning down them she didn't find a single name she knew. Her eyes following down in the 'In Memoriam' section a small advertisement emblazoned with a picture caught her eye. She tilted her head, staring at the woman's photo. She recognised her, but she couldn't remember from where. Seeking extra information she read the inscription that followed beneath it:
IN LOVING MEMORY
OF PIPER HALLIWELL
Sweet is the sleep that ends all pain,
We would not wake you to suffer again.
Remembering is easy and happens everyday,
It is the heartbreak without you that never goes away.
A year has passed since you left our side,
Your body has gone, but the memories never died.
Blessed be, from your loving family.
"I know this woman," Bianca said, tapping the photo. "She looks familiar. She must be a witch, if you read the last line it gives it away."
Tilting his head to the side trying to read upside down, Greg finally reached out and spun the paper towards him.
"Yeah, you probably would know her. She's one of the Charmed Ones. They were a pretty powerful force for a decade or two."
"I have to find out more about her. I need to know where I know her from," Bianca insisted. "You have books on everything here. Is there one on them?"
"At least," Greg answered.
Standing, he quickly headed straight for the shelf he knew it would be located on, Bianca hurriedly pushing herself out of her chair and racing after him as he disappeared down the aisle. Stopping beside him, he pulled out a few thick books, placing them in her arms. She glanced down at the titles. They were all family names, probably volumes on the different witch covens. None of them said Halliwell.
"I don't see…" Bianca started.
"Here," Greg pulled out a thick, leather-bound red book. Holding it up towards her, he lowered his body slightly and slipped his arm between hers under the books. "Switch. Give me those."
Lifting her shoulder, Bianca tilted her arm and let the books slide down her palm as she grabbed the chunky book from his hand. Laying it flat on her palm she dusted the cover, running her fingers along the edges before she pried it open, flicking over to the first page.
"Derivatives of the Warren witch line, beginning with Melinda Warren, originating in the eighteen hundreds where she was burned at the stake vowing that every generation thereafter would grow stronger and stronger, culminating in the arrival of three sisters centuries later who would hold the ultimate power never before seen in the wiccan world. They would be the chosen ones, the Charmed Ones. The Halliwell lineage producing Prue, Piper and Phoebe brought forth the realisation of that prophecy, their reign holding stronger for more than a decade. The addition of a fourth sister at the loss of one only proved to heighten that power, undefeated for a great amount of time," Bianca read aloud. Flicking the page over, she saw that it went further into detail about their battles & conquests. The entire book was filled with small print and would take a while to read. She looked to Greg. "This is overly detailed, isn't it?"
"Well, as much as it can be, I guess. It's not like whoever wrote it was in their lives every minute of the day."
Closing the book, Bianca combed her hair behind her ear as she smiled at him gratefully. "Do you mind if I borrow this? I just want to read up on them; find out what it is that I can't seem to remember at the moment."
"Sure, just take it up to the front desk and they'll sort you out."
Bianca sat on the bed, opening up the book and leafing through it slowly. She took in every detail on the pages, every occurrence. They had not been fighting for many years when the eldest sister died. It was proving to be a short reign but the appearance of an unknown half-sister reunited the force once again. Bianca didn't recognise her until she came across some pictures dated 2003. The flaming red hair, she could remember red. Red, alongside the woman she so vividly remembered. But she couldn't spring to mind a thought from that image. All she remembered was seeing them in her apartment, but that couldn't be right. She hadn't lived in the apartment for long that year and the book stated that Paige Matthews had been killed by the Titans preceding that time. Or, at least that's what the faded scripture said. Peering at it closely she felt her hand begin to rise, as if the book was growing bigger. The words glowed slightly, lettering appearing across the page. Reaching the last corner, Bianca looked at it curiously. Turning the page cautiously, she found that there were more stories now, stories including Paige. Flicking back a page she saw the Titan tale had changed, been altered somehow so it didn't seem like it was such a drastic event for the Charmed Ones after all. Paige had survived. Confused, Bianca leafed further through the book.
Passing through the pages she saw that they had all died a number of times, but amazingly continued to survive each event. She was almost surprised to read that Piper had died, had not been saved or reborn from those dark depths, and that they were struggling to survive as the Power of Two – relying on a witch who could fight but had very little physical power, whose journalism career had become highly demanding due to her popularity; and a half witch-half whitelighter who was having trouble keeping her halves in sync between her charges, her students, and her family.
"I see you made it home," Michael's voice suddenly emanated throughout the room.
"Well somehow I doubt the library is the most dangerous place to be," she responded without looking up. "I've yet to see a demon in there."
"Yes, wouldn't want to see you panic," he said.
She felt the bed depress behind her as he sat down, her eyes lifting from the book, biting back angry words as he pulled her hair back behind her shoulder. His lips falling on her neck, she jerked her head away.
"I thought you wanted me to learn this?" she questioned.
"Depends what you're learning," he replied. Lifting his body slightly, leaning more into her, he peered over her shoulder, chuckling at what he saw in front of her. "The Charmed Ones? You're considering going after them? Why that's just plain suicide. I thought you knew better."
"Well… why couldn't I? They're weaker now with only two."
"I admire your tenacity, Bianca, but that's an impossible task," he said, lightly trailing his fingers down her back. She closed her eyes, moving her head a little as she tried to focus on what he was saying over what he was doing. He reached around her body, closing the book in front of her. "You don't need to waste your time on such meagre tasks."
Sighing, she turned her head towards her shoulder. His face still inches from hers; she could feel his breath blanketing her shoulder.
"What do you want?" she asked, slightly annoyed.
"I want you, Bianca," he said, turning her to face him. She frowned, her eyes lowering until he lifted her chin so she would look back again. She could see the seriousness reflected in his eyes. "I want you."
Closing her eyes she leant forward and kissed him, his hands already working to remove her clothes. She hated herself for not saying no, hated the way she would just give in so easily like he was a weakness to her system, like all this was an addiction she just could not kick. But the truth was she needed him just as much as he needed her, if not more. She needed to feel wanted, needed, loved, even though she knew there was no love in this union, only a release as he had told her all those years ago.
The book clattered to the floor, kicked by a stray foot, buried underneath discarded clothes. She quickly forgot about what she was looking for, the knowledge seeping to the back of her memory about the real identity of Piper Halliwell.
"Welcome to United Airlines, how can I help you?" the girl behind the desk called.
"She's awfully perky for this hour of the morning," Michael quipped, moving up to the front of the queue with Bianca.
Bianca ignored him, instead looking around, taking in the surroundings of San Francisco's international airport – the high roof, the pristine glass, the mass amount of people.
"Domestic or international?" the girl asked.
"Domestic," Michael answered.
"And where are we heading to today, sir?"
"Elko, Nevada."
"EKO," she said as she typed in the airport code. "Passenger name?"
"McGee. Andy and Charlie McGee."
Typing in and searching for the name, she moved the mouse and clicked on the correct selection. She looked up, her eyes shifting over to Bianca.
"Could you please put your luggage on the belt," she instructed.
Bianca, still holding onto the strap of the backpack over her shoulder, didn't hear her, her attention still directed elsewhere. Michael sighed irritably, noticing Bianca hadn't made a move to shift any of their belongings.
"Miss?" the girl behind the desk urged.
Watching the flights flick over on the small screens, the families rushing their way up to the other counters trying to hush screaming children, small groups of friends giggling their way through conversations in other line-ups, Bianca wondered if that was the normal life – the kind of life she could never have. Her reverie snapped as Michael turned back, grabbing her arm roughly and yanking her forward.
"Ow!" Bianca cried, looking up at Michael as he turned back to the girl behind the desk and smiled sweetly.
"Sorry, she can be a bit problematic on occasion," he apologised.
As if he had intended to do so all along, Michael reached down and lifted the larger suitcase onto the belt. It wasn't awfully big, they were only going to be gone a few hours at best, but just in case things didn't go as planned they had to be prepared. Next he looped his hand inside the same strap Bianca was holding onto and pulled hard; forcing her to let it go so he could throw the backpack onto the belt also.
"Thank you," the woman said, fumbling behind the desk and producing some papers. "So here are your tickets - two one way passes from San Francisco International to JC Harris with a changeover at Salt Lake City International. You'll be boarding Delta flight four-one-one-nine at three fifteen pm. Please show your boarding passes at the gate, and enjoy your flight."
Bianca followed Michael into the security area which cleared them instantly. They carried no hand luggage, and had no weapons. Another advantage to hiring a Phoenix – they could always conjure instead of carry whatever was needed.
"Is there a specific reason why we're flying this time?" Bianca asked as they walked into the waiting area. "I thought it would be cheaper and easier to shimmer."
"And risk losing track of the target?" Michael shrieked. "I don't think so. He was booked on this flight. It has a changeover. Who knows if he's going to get off in Nevada or Utah? He's tricky, and he's only human. So we act the same, got it?"
"Got it," Bianca repeated, rolling her eyes as she lowered her sunglasses to cover them.
Around them people were dozing in hard plastic chairs, reading books or last minute notes, letting their kids run rings around the various seats as they stared blankly up at the small television playing free-to-air programs with no sound. She glanced out the window; saw the plane already docked, and small vehicles carrying tiny men speeding their way towards the rear to load food and luggage into it.
Bianca sat down in a row of available seats facing the window. Michael sat next to her. She glanced at him, pushing herself back to her feet and walking over to the glass. Minutes later she could feel him standing right behind her.
"What are you doing?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes scanning the room to ensure no-one was watching.
"Looking at the plane," she answered.
"Not what I meant."
She turned to face him, crossing her arms as she looked at him judiciously. "Why are you following me?"
"How else am I going to keep an eye on you?" he retorted.
"You're counting on me to screw up?" she cried, trying not to be too loud as to alert attention to them.
"Not if I'm here you won't."
Angrily turning her head to the side she watched the last few passengers trailing into the waiting area as the flight was called for boarding. Happy honeymooners passed by and Bianca wondered how they could look so blissful when all she felt was miserable. She had never known that kind of love, never felt that kind of peace, and probably never would. Slipping out from between Michael and the glass window she barely gave him a glance as she strode towards the flight attendant waiting at the door.
"Ticket?" the woman requested.
Bianca lifted her hands, staring at them as if she was surprised they were empty, nervously brushing them on her thighs. Michael reached around her, his hand on her back as he smiled at the woman and handed over the boarding passes. He tapped her a little too harshly and she jolted forward.
"She's always losing things," he said. "Just a little too eager to get where we're going, I think. She forgot I had the tickets."
"If you'll just make your way up the walkway, sir," the attendant said, handing him back the passes after she scanned them.
Michael gave Bianca a slight push forward. Quickening her pace, she managed to stay two steps in front of him until they got on the plane, squeezing their way through the crowds of people standing in the aisles as they threw their onboard luggage into the overhead compartments. Sliding past another man, Bianca took a seat by the window, Michael slipping into the seat next to her, looking over the belt as he fastened it with such caution that someone would have thought he manufactured the device. Bianca rested her head back against the seat, closing her eyes and listening to the on-board announcements. She knew she should be watching the safety demonstration, but she didn't particularly care. They always had an extra way out. A number of ways out. More advantages to being Phoenix.
As the engines started to rumble she looked out the window, watching the tarmac roll by as the plane eased out onto the surface, heading away from the airport building and towards the greenery and water that was the landing and takeoff strip. Closing her eyes again as the sound of the engines picked up, she sank back into the chair as the plane took off, feeling nothing of the pressure pressing against her as they became airborne. She watched the clouds pass by the window outside, thin wisps of white that wrapped around the wings and finally became little patches down below, looking like large fluffy masses you could sit on and look down at the world. How she wanted to be outside, sit there alone and just observe what was happening to everyone else, not having to take part in any of the action herself. The sun now well out of sight, she lifted the sunglasses back onto the top of her head, reaching out to the back of the chair in front of her and pulling out the magazine from inside it. Sitting back again, she casually leafed through it, looking for something to kill the time. She could feel Michael staring at her, watching her. Shrugging uncomfortably, she continued to ignore him and flipped to the next page.
"You don't have to pretend I'm a stranger," he said quietly. Bianca glanced up to him.
"Why? You want to have an actual conversation? I thought you weren't into that," she retorted.
"That doesn't mean you have to ignore me completely. A bit of acknowledgement would be nice, and yes even a casual word coming from your mouth would also be a pleasure."
"What would you like to talk about?" Bianca questioned, her eyes shifting back to the magazine in front of her. "Because I don't think knives and killing people are great topics of discussion on terrorist conscious airlines."
Michael scoffed, shaking his head as he looked back to the seat in front of him. "Have it your way."
Bianca smiled. It was nothing major, but she'd had a little victory over him. Just one. For the first time he didn't have an evasive or derogatory remark to come back at her with. He wasn't trying to push the blame onto her. He'd let it slide. She wondered how many more of these she could come up with, how many little moments she could accumulate before he'd trust her enough to do what she wanted, to do what he thought she could not. He was encroaching on her freedom. Everywhere she went, he went, and so did the snide little comments, the constant down putting, and his obsessive need for control – over the situation at hand, over the target, and even over her. At first it was inspiring, even cute, but now it was just annoying.
Flipping over to the next page in the magazine she saw it was an article spread on San Francisco. The largest picture in the corner was one displaying the Golden Gate Bridge in all its fine glory. She had never seen it in person, at least not that she could remember. Maybe shadowing in the distance, but she'd never had a chance to be close to it, to drive across it. It felt wrong to have lived in one city her whole life and not seen its biggest drawcard. Closing the magazine quickly, she stuffed it into the pocket in front of her, not wanting to be reminded of the freedom she'd never had.