2022 cont.
Opening the piece of paper she read the address for the fourth time, again folding it in half as she stared up at the building. This wasn't the kind of place she thought a young, almighty conqueror would be living. It looked too… normal. Making her way to his front door, she looked at the brass numbers embedded into it as if they would give a clue to his true identity, but again she found no meaning. Knocking lightly, she supposed she had the wrong address until she saw the very same face open up the door, much more vivid and brightly lit than the previous night as the light pouring in through the double set windows behind him framed his features.
"See, I knew you were a smart girl," he commented.
Stepping back, he indicated for her to come inside. Hesitating, she looked him over twice before she did so. Light streamed into the room from every single pane, almost blinding in its intensity. She could see the man had a taste for old style antiques – everything was wooden, polished up, intricately carved in styles of long ago, from the light bone coloured cabinets with glass doors and what must be thousands of books, to the darker edged coffee table and coat rack.
"Not what you expected?" he questioned, making his way to the kitchen bench that divided the rooms.
"I don't know," Bianca said, thinking it over as she studied the room. "If you were a money hungry beast I'd expect a lot more Midas, unless you're the Robin Hood type, but then you'd be living in a tree."
Amused, he returned to the doorway, folding his arms as he leant on the frame and looked in on her, interested in her view of his living area.
"How about the type looking for a little justice in this world?" he asked.
"Then I'd ask where your superhero costume is," she said with a nod, her eyes trailing down his body.
"Dry-cleaning," he suggested, his tone serious enough that for a second she almost believed him, enough to throw her off her guard. Quickly she turned her head.
"So what does this job require?" she asked, speedily returning to business matters. "What do I get for it?"
"I'm not promising you overly-exaggerated funds," he started.
Hearing a knock at the door, his eyes flicked towards it. Pushing himself away from the door frame and past her he said: "Excuse me."
Raising an eyebrow, she turned cautiously and watched him, ensuring this just wasn't some kind of mild distraction and that she'd actually walked into a trap.
"I don't understand why you insist upon searching my apartment," Wyatt said, allowing the man to step inside. "I doubt you'll find anything of interest to yourself."
"We heard you were with a woman last night. Brought her home."
"Oh really?" Wyatt questioned, lifting his brow. "That's a curious little tale. Who provided you with the knowledge? I can assure you there's no truth in it."
"Jackman," the man answered.
Bianca craned her neck to see outside the doorway, spotting a somewhat familiar looking man talking to Wyatt in the hallway. As they headed towards her, she saw the new arrival running a hand through his greasy hair, his shirt riding up to reveal the edge of the birthmark on his forearm. She froze.
"Ah, little Jackman," Wyatt said mockingly. "Lacking the height and the favour of the women. I don't suppose he was acting out of jealousy, do you?"
The Phoenix didn't answer, instead looking around, his eyes falling on Bianca. She felt trapped, played and caught out. She waited for the change on his face, for the shock or the glee at seeing her stand there, but his expression was unchanging. She had no idea whether that was a facet that came with being an assassin, she had started taking on that kind of expression herself. She didn't care about anyone because nobody cared about her. Everyone was just in it for themselves.
"So where is she?" he asked.
Startled and confused, Bianca looked between him and Wyatt. He was staring straight at her, how could he not see her?
"Where is whom?"
"The girl. The Phoenix."
Walking around him, Wyatt looked about the room as if he'd only just come home and found something looked out of place, acting mystified that he couldn't find anything wrong. Bianca became concerned, worried that she'd become invisible until she caught him winking at her.
"Not here, obviously," Wyatt said.
"I kind of figured that one out myself," the Phoenix retorted.
"This may come as a surprise to you, but I don't keep women as prizes. You can search high and low but you won't find evidence to support your theory. If you're that desperate to find a woman, I think you'll find the ones you prefer are three blocks down in The Palace." Reaching into his back pocket, Wyatt pulled out a few stray coins, dropping them into the man's hand. "Here's a donation to your licentious efforts. Enjoy yourself."
Watching as the man stuffed the money into his pocket, Wyatt held his hand out towards the front door, giving the Phoenix no choice but to leave. Bianca waited for the door to close behind him before she moved or spoke, afraid she would break whatever kind of magic he'd cast to make her visible only to him. Taking a step forward as Wyatt re-entered the room, she looked at him quizzically.
"How did you do that?" she asked.
"Do what?" Wyatt returned.
"Make him not see me."
"Simple whitelighter trick. I just cloaked you."
"You're a whitelighter?"
"Amongst other things. I also make a mean cocktail. Care to try one?"
Slowly she shook her head, turning again to face the bookcase as she analysed what had just happened in her head. Even though she was still wary and suspicious of him, this guy seemed genuine; of the good variety if he really was a whitelighter as he said, and there was always the added bonus that he would keep her invisible from the Phoenix. Looking back towards him she wondered if it was plausible that he could help her fake her own death and never have trouble with them again.
"So what do I have to do?" she asked finally. "What do you need me for?"
"I don't require you for anything, only added ammunition," Wyatt said, taking a seat in one of the armchairs and lazily sitting back with glass in hand.
"Ammunition?" Bianca repeated questioningly. "From what you were telling me, I thought you were the most powerful being on this planet."
Smiling, Wyatt placed his glass down on the end table next to the chairs, his eyes turning back to her full of consideration.
"Maybe so; but my power bears no control." Clasping his hands together, he leant forwards towards her. "Control, in this day and age, belongs to those conniving fat men dressed in Armani suits who hide away in their boardrooms. The accumulation of their corporations joining together to form a conglomerate empire has brought the poor to their knees and only the rich can survive. Aren't you tired of the way the world works now? Do you not hate having to bow to the demands of the greedy just to get by?"
Bianca bit her lip, instantly thinking of the events across the past week, and the injuries sustained from it. He was right. Why was she forcing herself to live this way? And here he was, somehow able to read her thoughts and feelings, in total agreement with them, and offering her a way out.
"What do we do first?" she asked.
"First we get you settled. Have you got somewhere to stay?"
Quickly she looked away, her mind instantly concluding that he was implying she stay there. Every bad thought and memory rushed to the surface as her inner voice screamed at her that this was Michael all over again, that she was forever going to be caught in the same vicious circle with no end. Putting on a brave face, trying to ignore her thoughts, she looked back to him.
"I've got temporary accommodation, but it won't be for much longer."
"Would you like something a little more permanent?"
Moving her head as her thoughts began to echo louder, she swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat. She couldn't do all this again, she wouldn't. Wyatt cocked his head as he studied her; pondering over the difficulty she was having answering such simple questions.
"Depends where it is," Bianca finally answered.
"South Beach. I can show you if you like."
He watched her for a few minutes waiting for an answer; one Bianca could not bring herself to give. Holding his hand out towards her as added incentive, he noted she simply kept an eye on his movements, nothing more. Turning his outstretched hand, he quickly waved it backwards, orbing the both of them to another apartment – this one in a classic Art Deco style.
"Something I acquired from previous conquests," he explained as Bianca looked around. "Has a spectacular view of the bridge just over there."
Bianca looked back to him, watching as he nodded his head towards the window. Taking a step or two towards it, she cautiously glanced back at him but he remained unmoving. The glass was clean, the apartment high, and as she peeked out the window, her hands on the sill, she saw the Bay Bridge standing in all its glory only a short stretch from where they were. She couldn't believe how close she was to the bridge, it almost looked as if she were right on top of it. She'd spent her whole life in this town and never once had she had a chance to be so near to the very road that could carry her out of here. The corner of her lips curving slightly into a smile, her main sense switched from sight to sound as she heard Wyatt coming up behind her.
"I trust you're pleased," Wyatt said.
Trying to contain how impressed she was with the whole situation, the splendour of the view and how exquisite the apartment itself was, she forced herself back into her stony composure and looked over her shoulder at him.
"I've seen better, but I can make do with this," she said, thinking the only place she'd ever been that could anywhere near match this was Michael's, and his was right in the centre of the city, nowhere near the bridge.
"Good. Wouldn't want you staying at my place," Wyatt said conceitedly, making his way back through the living room. Bianca spun around, entirely confused, watching as he casually picked up the book laying on the end table and leafed through it. "I wouldn't want you to feel like you're imposing. It's a much fairer idea to give you your own space, your own time to work out your personal issues whilst we get down to the business at hand." Lifting his head, he looked towards her. "You and me, Bianca. We can be a united force against the evils of this world. What do you say?"
"I'd say treat me with a little respect and I might concede."
"A little respect?" Wyatt scoffed. "I have the utmost respect for you, Bianca, or did you not understand what I just did?" Bianca tilted her head, nodding slightly that she did as Wyatt continued, placing the book back where he'd retrieved it from. "To walk away from everything that you have ever known, to continue on at your own peril without falling apart, that requires courage. Courage and strength, of which you have both. Only that kind of bravery is strong enough to do this."
She tried not to appear impressed with the compliment. The words seemed to come so smoothly, so effortlessly with him. He was incredibly convincing. It was hard not to believe every word he was saying.
"Then I will help you," she said simply. Glancing around she realised that the place was fully furnished; everything she could ever need was already here. Her gaze turned back to him. "You want me to stay here from now?"
"If you'd prefer here over your current accommodation, I don't have any problems with that," Wyatt said. Bianca nodded. Moving forward he held his fist out towards her. In a smooth magician-like move, he opened his hand finger by finger, the keys dropping from his palm to hang from his fingers over her open palm. Gently he lowered the keys into her hand. "Would you like some assistance moving your belongings?"
She gave him a look that read he had offended her. Even if it was only a friendly gesture, she had become so acquainted to Michael's double-meanings and his berating that if it was at all possible to interpret a comment in a negative way her mind instantly did so.
"I think I can handle it," she said sarcastically.
Wyatt smirked in response, not at all how she had expected him to react. He wasn't threatened by her, not by anyone seemingly.
"Okay," he said, bowing his head slightly in farewell. "Perhaps I will see you again by the end of the week. If you need anything, just call."
Bianca waited a moment, looking at him questioningly when he made no move to write down any contact details or inform her where they were if he had done so previously.
"A number?" she urged.
"Just my name will do," Wyatt said. Again she looked at him with confusion. "Call it aloud. I will come."
Before she could respond any further, she watched as his figure dematerialised in front of her, the orbs rising up through the air and drifting away. Giving herself her own guided tour of the apartment, she sighed with relief when she saw the plush queen sized bed in the bedroom. Crawling onto it, she laid her head in the pillows, pulling one up to her chest and holding it tightly. The bed was just as comfortable as it looked. Certainly better than anything she'd slept in for a very long time. Rolling onto her back, she turned her head to the side and looked out the window. Even from here she could see the silver outline of the bridge. She closed her eyes and breathed in the freshness of the air, flooding her lungs with aromas of pine and lavender scents, the muskiness and general foul smells she had become accustomed to not even rating on the radar. Opening her eyes again she realised that she still had to collect her few belongings from the motel room before she fell asleep here and forgot about them entirely. She also wondered if perhaps they would refund her part of the money since she wasn't going to stay there anymore. Wyatt had been kind enough to give her an apartment, but she didn't think he would be so forthcoming when it came to food and other supplies she would need.
"Just what we need," Wyatt announced, stopping in front of the museum building.
"What?" Bianca followed.
"Weaponry."
His eyes were alight with desire as he looked at the plain stone building. Racing like an excited child up the stairs, Bianca hurried after him until he stopped by the door, turning quickly towards her and placing a finger over his lips.
"We must be quiet," he warned in a low voice.
Bianca stared at him, baffled, he was the one behaving like a child and yet he acted as if his behaviour easily carried over to her as well.
"Are we walking in or breaking in?" Bianca whispered quickly.
"What does it look like?" Wyatt asked, casually waving his hand towards the darkening sky. "I have yet to meet someone stupid enough to attack a public venue in broad daylight."
"It was just a question," Bianca said defensively.
"Go. You first," Wyatt instructed.
Sighing, Bianca shimmered through to the other side of the closed door, walking into the main foyer. There was still someone working by the desk. Looking up, he shook his head.
"Joe, you left the front door open again!" he shouted out the back. Turning back to Bianca he gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry ma'am, but you'll have to leave. The museum is closing. You can come back tomorrow if you like - we're open from nine am."
Bianca looked him over slowly, realising she'd put herself in an odd predicament, and that she should have been more cautious instead of blatantly following Wyatt's orders. He wasn't a Phoenix. He approached things in a different way, ways that didn't include days of researching, stalking and careful planning. He was a lot more spontaneous, and of course overconfident in his own abilities. Glancing back towards the door she saw that he had disappeared completely. He wasn't in the same room with her, maybe he had taken off. Or she was serving as a distraction.
"Honestly, I'm not quite sure why I ended up here," she said. Walking towards the counter, she placed her hands on the edge and lent forward as if she was keenly interested. "What's your latest exhibit?"
"Myths and Legends. It'll cost you a little more to see, but it's well worth it."
Bianca smiled gratefully, turning and walking away from him back towards the door. She wondered if that was where Wyatt had been aiming to go. Passing by the small café she saw to her left the entryway to the new exhibit. As if he knew she was looking for him, Wyatt stepped from behind the wall and waved for her to come over to him. Shaking her head, she signalled that there were still people behind her. Smirking, he bravely stepped out from where he was, softly pushing aside the chairs as he passed through the café, grabbing her arm and pulling her back with him. Safely back in his original hiding spot, he let her go and turned to face her.
"What are you doing?" she hissed. "They're going to follow us."
"Not if they can't see us. You keep forgetting I have the power to do that."
Bianca rolled her eyes away, sighing with annoyance as she set her jaw. Did he have to be so egotistical about it? She'd only known him for a few days and yet he expected her to know him completely. A few days was only enough to track movements and routines, not to discover the dealings of the entire person.
"So what are we doing here exactly?" she asked.
"Reclaiming something that is rightfully mine."
Perplexed, she looked back towards him. "Yours? Unless you were a few hundred years old, I don't expect they'd have anything that belonged to you."
"It does. And it's very important. Follow me," he instructed, indicating with his fingers for her to tag along. Stepping forward until she was meeting his stride, she glanced over to him as he steadfastly headed towards the new exhibit. "There's something I haven't told you yet. Part of the reason I'm doing this is my past."
"You're going to tell me you're older than you look?"
"No," he retorted. The seriousness in his voice instantly caught Bianca's attention, but it was more than that. It was the hurt and the anger that resided underneath it. She saw him swallow hard, looking up to the ceiling as he slowed his pace, as if revealing this now was a burdening weight he could not lift. "Four years ago I had everything taken from me. My family, my possessions –"
"Your mother," Bianca interjected softly. Now she remembered - she remembered the poem from the classifieds, she remembered how it had spurred her on to read about the Charmed Ones. Wyatt looked at her curiously, closing his eyes and turning his head away as the memory came flooding back to him.
Wyatt sat with his head bowed and hands clasped in his lap, listening to the sobbing of the people around him. Lifting his eyes again to the wooden box sitting before him, he saw another two elderly ladies placing a bouquet of red and white flowers on the lid, one comforting the other as she burst into tears at the placement. His gaze following them back to their seats, he turned his attention back to the coffin, hurriedly closing his eyes and lowering his head again. He couldn't bear to look at the object, to be reminded of what he had not and could not do. Without looking at anyone, he pushed himself up from the pew, making his way down the aisle and towards the exit.
"Wyatt, where are you going?"
Looking at the hand securely pressed against his arm, preventing him from walking any further, his eyes followed the length until he reached the face before him.
"I have free will. I can leave if I like," he sourly replied.
"You're not leaving," Leo said sternly, his eyes fixed on his eldest son's stolid composure.
"Well I'm certainly not staying for two hours to stare at defeat."
Leo studied him for a moment, his gaze drifting to the coffin at the end of the aisle before returning to his son. Something told him he was talking about more than just Piper.
"We lost someone very important to this world. I would think you would have enough decency to stay and see this through, or do you just not care at all, Wyatt?"
Wyatt looked away quickly, tears burning behind his eyes. He didn't want to cry, didn't want to be another face in the crowd who grieved for a day and then forgot all about it. No, this was going to stay with him, to remind him every single day for the rest of his life that this was his fault. Braving a look back towards his father, he spoke aloud the only questions sitting in his mind, the ones that would not go away, and although he did not expect an answer he knew they still had to be voiced.
"Why couldn't I fix this? Why wouldn't she let me heal her? I did it before. Why did she pass over without even saying goodbye?"
"Wyatt," Leo said gently, "she… we didn't want to traumatise you."
"And you think this is a solution?" he cried angrily, waving his hand back towards the coffin. "How is that any more traumatising than this? How is that considered worse than watching the person you loved more than anyone else in the world lying breathless and unmoving before you?"
"Wy—" Leo started, but Wyatt cut him off, throwing up his hands.
"No! I don't want to hear anymore of your 'it's all for your protection' bullshit! What about her? Where was her protection? I couldn't even be there to help her. I was all she had and I wasn't there."
"Son, it's not your fault," Leo said softly. "It was just her time to go."
The tears finally falling down Wyatt's face, Leo held out his arms and pulled his son in towards him, Wyatt gripping onto his father tightly as he dropped his chin to his shoulder, closing his eyes as he tried to fight away the tears that wouldn't stop, the ones he was almost afraid would wash away the memories of everything that had happened if he let them loose.
"Yes, my mother," Wyatt answered, opening his eyes to find that they had both stopped in the hallway. The fleeting look of sympathy and familiarity left Bianca's face. She bit her lip, stepping out of his way and again back in the direction they had been heading. "These empires that have been constructed, it's longer than either you or I have been around. It has been a process slowly decaying the world for decades. When they set their sights on San Francisco, I spent most of my life watching the world as I knew it disappearing before me. People became distant, hostile. Small businesses closed down, their homely shops flattened to make way for skyscrapers and shoebox size apartments. Everyone turned against their own kind in favour of the larger companies whose names were plastered everywhere. When the Hilton's decided to open up their own massively popular chain of nightclubs, starting firstly in our beloved city, my mother's business began to suffer. It was the only income we had in our family, my father unable to return to the occupation he had retired from many years ago. So trying to keep the club open, to keep food on the table and her children both happy and healthy, my mother was forced to mortgage the house to cover the debts her business was incurring. With her death, everything came to an untimely end. They took the club, the house, repossessed everything they could get their hands on inside. And while my father pleaded they at least leave the attic alone, I removed the one thing that could expose us all, the one thing that was rightfully mine and the only connection to everything I knew and my family's history in itself. I keep that under lock and key, but now I have the power I want everything back, I want what was mine and my family's."
"So we're starting here," Bianca said absently. "You're turning me into a thief."
"It's not thieving if it was already yours," Wyatt insisted. "Besides, I'm sure you've done worse."
Swallowing, Bianca knew he was right. "What are we taking?"
"That," Wyatt said, pointing to a tall glass box in the centre of the room. Inside was a giant stone covered in parts with green moss, the handle of a sword and part of its blade jutting from the side.
"You have to be kidding me," Bianca said, staring at it, reading the inscription on the stand nearby as she moved towards it. Peering around the glass at Wyatt who was examining the case on the other side she continued: "You really have lost your mind. You're not King Arthur. I sure as hell am not Lancelot."
"Shh," Wyatt said harshly, annoyed with her sudden rambling. "Step out of the way."
Giving him one last look, Bianca headed away from the case and began to look around at the other exhibits. Wyatt took a few steps back, his eyes locked on the case, raising his hand as he generated an energy ball and threw it forwards. It stopped in the air, halfway between him and the case. Glancing up he saw a security guard had suddenly appeared, his hands raised in the air. Cautiously Wyatt lifted his arms, one palm flat facing the security guard on his right, the other facing Bianca on his left. She understood instantly that he didn't want her to move, and acted as if she'd been frozen. Once Wyatt was certain she had got the message, he rotated his arm around to join the other, his thumbs brushing against each other as he inspected the guard.
"I'm not here to hurt you. I just came to take back what belongs to me."
"Everything in this room belongs to the museum," the guard said.
"You're a witch. You know that's a lie. There are certain items in this room that have been stolen from various magical creatures. This sword over here is mine. Give it to me and I'll leave quietly."
"I'm not giving anything to you. I'd lose my job!" the guard protested.
"Well then I'll just have to take it," Wyatt suggested, a twinkle in his eye.
"No you won't," the guard challenged, stepping forward. "I've already stopped any attempt you've made."
Lowering his hands, Wyatt tilted his head to the side. His eyes switching from the sword to the guard, giving a secondary glance back to Bianca to make sure she hadn't moved yet, he decided he'd try to rationalise with him.
"You know the power that these items contain. Wouldn't you like to possess one of them? Or even all of them? Blame me for taking them if you like; I have no problem dealing with the powers that be. I don't hate authority, authority hates me."
"I don't know," the guard said, seemingly giving it some consideration.
"Think about it. All of this, all of this could be yours," Wyatt coaxed. He saw the guard's expression harden and knew it wasn't working; the man valued his job more than his life. He lifted a hand towards Bianca. "Just give me what I want and no-one gets hurt. You don't want to be responsible for that innocent girl losing her life, do you?"
As he saw the guard lower his head and begin to charge him, Wyatt flicked his fingers and blew Bianca up. To the guard it appeared he had killed her. He stopped short, staring open-mouthed at Wyatt, not seeing the small particles of ash drift from the room to the hallway where Bianca reformed.
"Dammit, I hate when someone does that to me without warning," Bianca grumbled, brushing her hand down her arm as she looked back out to the two men.
"Now unlock the case," Wyatt said calmly, turning the guard towards the case, gripping his shoulder firmly as he circled the energy ball and stepped in-between it and the glass case.
The guard ran the holographic key over the lock, Wyatt's eyes lighting up once again as he watched the case unfold and lower itself into the floor. Stepping to the side, he positioned himself behind the sword, brushing his hand affectionately over the handle. He lifted his head to look at the frightened guard again.
"Thanks," he said.
Within seconds the room unfroze, the energy ball ploughing into the back of the guard's head, his whole body illuminating before disappearing completely. As if he was either oblivious or had expected such to happen, Wyatt ignored what was happening on his left as he placed his foot against the rock, gripping the handle into his hands and yanking it from the stone.
"Don't you have any morals?" Bianca yelled as she re-entered the room, witnessing everything that had just happened. "You just killed an innocent man, and me."
"He wasn't 'just' a man, Bianca. He was a witch." Turning the sword in his hand, his gaze travelled up and down the blade before moving over to hers. "And he was in my way. Besides, do you really think I would have known five minutes ago when I threw that thing that he would just 'happen' to be standing in front of it? No. And don't attempt to quarrel with me about killing you, I only blew you up. You're a Phoenix, I knew you'd reform. That's what you do."
"So I'm bait now?"
"I'm not stopping you from doing what you do best. It was just a handy way to convince him to help me."
"Well next time you want to try that would you give me a little warning first?"
"Sure. But don't be surprised if someone really does kill you in the meantime." He held his hand out towards her. "I suggest we go before the alarm gives us away."
Reaching out to him she grasped his hand into hers roughly, feeling herself piece apart in a slightly different fashion as he orbed them both back to his apartment, Excalibur firmly clasped in his other hand.