2026 cont.

Bianca felt her senses heighten, her heart racing as she remembered the conversation she'd had with Chris. Michael was not a prize for her; she was a prize for him. Wyatt was going to hand her over just as Chris had said. She didn't think to shimmer out, but if she had she probably would have presumed it an impossibility between Michael and Wyatt's magic.

At the moment she thought he was going to move towards her and grab her, he instead fell to his knees. Still, Bianca instinctively took a fearful step back, glancing at Wyatt before inspecting the man before her again. Lowered to this position, the silvery glint of moonlight crossed his face and it was then revealed he was not in the condition she first thought him to be. His alabaster skin was covered in cuts and bruises. His lip was split and still bleeding, the left side of his face inflated with injury. As the demons roughly grasped his arms and tried to haul him back to his feet, Bianca also noted his knuckles were raw and scratches lined the backs of his hands.

"Leave him!" Wyatt ordered. "Allow him to wallow on the ground with his fellow vermin."

Instantly the demons dropped him, letting him fall to the floor again. Like a cat, Michael pushed himself back to sit on his heels. Tossing his head back, Michael's steel-cold gaze fell on Bianca.

"Nice to see you left seclusion with me for this magical monstrosity," Michael said wryly.

Bianca's gaze flickered between Michael and Wyatt as one of the demons forcefully hit the male Phoenix over the back of the head.

"Did you do this to him?" Bianca questioned Wyatt. He shrugged indifferently.

"I might have mellowed him out a little."

Wyatt looked to Michael, watching as the Phoenix defensively tried to knock the attacking demon from his feet. Three more leapt at him, securing him back into the same position. To Bianca he looked like a wild animal that had been caged and tortured.

"I thought you'd be pleased to see him like this," Wyatt commented. "Suffering as you suffered, restrained… quilibet vir faber fortunae suae est, isn't that right Michael? Abuse of magic comes back threefold."

"If that's the case, then you're definitely going to burn in all nine rings of hell," Michael retorted.

"Touché," Wyatt responded. "But let's keep the conversation on you, shall we? Care to tell Bianca what you've been up to all these years?"

"Fuck you," he replied.

"Don't be obstinate, Michael. You're in no position to negotiate your fate. Bianca's making all the choices here. Plead your case to her," Wyatt said. For the first time Bianca saw some emotion in the man, Michael's façade slipping as jealous hatred seared from his eyes upon his gaze sliding back to her. "Tell her how you've been following her for years. Tell her how she's lucky she didn't put a foot wrong or she would be dead by now. Tell her how you used her; how you took credit for everything that she did to elevate your own status, how easy it was to screw with the mind of an innocent young girl."

Each sentence Wyatt spoke drove deeper and deeper into Bianca, each revelation hurting her enough to release those old emotions – the anger, the despair, the hatred. Her heart began to pound furiously in her chest as she stared at the Phoenix witch, getting more and more worked up.

"Don't trust him, Bianca," Michael warned.

"I love it when they proclaim innocence," Wyatt said with mild amusement walking towards Bianca.

"You never felt guilty, did you?" she accused.

"About what?" Michael returned.

"You were the last two people I could trust," she replied, her breath hitching at the emotion expressed in it.

"I suspected it was you," Michael said, remembering the slam of the door. "It's not like we didn't speak about it. You were just too ignorant to notice."

"No, I just believed everything you said was true."

"Hurts doesn't it," Wyatt whispered to her softly, his back turned to Michael. She'd barely realised how close he'd come during her spar with her ex-lover. "The lies, the betrayal…"

"I didn't lie about everything, Bianca. I cared for you, I still do. I wouldn't listen to what this half-wit tells you to do."

She closed her eyes as the tears broke free, streaming down over her cheeks in small rivulets. Opening them and lifting her head defiantly, she glared down at Michael.

"You may care about me, but you don't respect me, and you don't love me. You never did."

"No-one could love trash like you. All you're good for was to be used, abused and thrown away. You would have been more apt to stay as my own private whore than running around destroying all you could have had."

Bianca looked away, sheltering her face behind Wyatt's shoulder as she tried to compose herself, but it was too hard a task when Michael was still trying to bring her down with every second that passed. He hadn't changed at all.

"It's your choice what you do, Bianca," Wyatt urged softly. "I won't stop you."

She conjured an athame into her hand, keeping it well hidden behind her sleeve and Wyatt's body. Her fingers brushed over the cold steel, feeling the ridges where the magical symbols had been engraved. In a way she found it was comforting – to hold a sharp object in her hand, to know what she could do with it. Her eyes hardened, the tears receding as that old familiar coldness began to seep in. Glancing up she methodically began to approach him; her voice taking on a lighter, meeker tone.

"So that's the way the deal works, is it? I go back to you; we do the odd job for him. I get to lick your wounds and make you feel better."

With her left hand she tenderly touched his face, brushing her thumb over his bottom lip. He flinched as she touched the split.

"It was foolish to try and live a normal life. I was wasting energy on pretending. It was always going to be owned by others, never myself. And you do know how to make a woman very happy," she said with a promising smile. Sliding her hand down his neck and partway down his chest, she rested it there for a moment, inching her lips closer towards his. With only a sliver of air between them, she turned her head to the side, her gaze crossing to Wyatt. "Wyatt, may I?"

Seeing her hand clench and unclench as she reinforced the grip on the athame hidden behind her, Wyatt raised his eyebrows interestedly, giving a genial nod of his head.

"You may," he permitted.

Looking back to Michael, the temptable expression gave way to an ugly hatred as she forced her hand into his chest. Crying out in pain, Michael tried to grab at her but she effectively dodged his grasp.

"I don't play by your rules anymore," she informed him. "But at least you taught me well."

"I'm going to kill you," Michael threatened through gritted teeth.

Bianca shook her head. "You can't touch me anymore."

Although she knew she despised him and everything he stood for, part of her found she still loved him – her first love, even if it was unrequited. It deterred her from damaging him to the level she could. Stripping his power was not going to stop him though, it was not going to take away his sharp tongue, it would not debilitate him nor would it eradicate him. With that thought in mind she withdrew her hand from his body. There'd be one more wound to add to the others now.

Doubling over in pain, he glanced up, seething as he forced himself to straight again. Conjuring a fire ball he cast it forward, watching with surprise as it redirected sideways like it was caught in a large gust of wind. He knew Bianca had no power to do that.

"Tut tut," Wyatt scolded, wagging a finger. Michael's gaze shifted to the tall man. It had to have been him. "You don't get to do anything remember?"

"I'm a Phoenix. There's no amount of physical torture you can impose on me to make me break. I can withstand it all."

"You're only going to hurt yourself," Bianca reminded him. "You know what I did to you. The second you try anything it's going to wear you down more."

"Then fix me," Michael demanded. "You owe me, Bianca."

"I don't owe you anything. But you do owe me. You owe me an apology for everything you did to me and for everything you took. Now say you're sorry."

Michael fixed her with a cold, steely gaze. "No."

"Say it!" Bianca demanded. She shifted from foot to foot agitatedly. She hated this, hated how he affected her. Even though she'd put her best defence up he could still get under her skin. She could feel herself starting to break. "You can't give me back anything. The least you can do is say this."

"You're looking shaky," Michael observed. "You don't know who to trust anymore, do you? Who's the one dealing with duplicity? Are you the victim or the instigator?"

Bianca felt the athame slip in her grasp. Quickly she gripped it before it left her hand completely, the sharp ridges digging into her palm, the pain the only thing keeping her away from the adverse thoughts that threatened to plague her once more. Her hand was sweaty now. She was scared. She knew that's why she'd almost dropped the athame. The more time she was giving him the worse he made it for her.

"When this is over, you remember the mess you made of me," she said to him. It was almost an affectionate gesture as she ran her hand through his hair one last time, one that became painful as she clenched her hand and knotted his hair in her fist, pulling his head back enough to expose all areas of his skin. She brought the athame around to the front of her body, placing the blade against his neck with a trembling hand. She fought to keep herself steady, to replace fear with anger. "Say your prayers, Michael. God won't let you in."

Pressing her hand firmly against the hilt, she drew the blade across his throat, quickly letting go of him as he convulsed slightly and slipped to the floor. So much blood, and yet she still couldn't be satisfied he was gone. Flipping the blade's direction in her hand, she drove it downwards into his body, thrusting with such force that upon straightening the athame was lost from her grasp. Breathing heavily, she looked down at the body and snatched the dagger back up. She watched as the blood pooled around his body. She felt nothing. She was numb. It was only as her eyes focused back on herself, on the spray that covered her, on his blood soaking the blade of the athame that she let it fall from her hand. She was shaking now, realising what she'd done.

"Thank you, Bianca. You just handed me the rights to the Phoenix," Wyatt said, passing her by. "Welcome back to the fold."

She lifted her eyes towards him. She didn't understand. She could barely comprehend anything after what had just happened. Wyatt waved his hands urgently at the other demons that stood by them.

"Go tell the others. Their leader is dead, I'm taking over." He turned back to Bianca. "How are you feeling? Must be nice to have a blade back in your hand. What better way to start than ridding this world of a malevolently tainted soul."

"I feel sick," Bianca confessed.

"Bathroom's down the hall if you want to wash up. Just remember to leave it pristine. We can't have the tourists leaving because the authenticity of real blood was too much to handle."

Bianca stumbled the block back to Wyatt's apartment, limping for no reason she could account for as she clutched the wound in her upper abdomen. Although it was bleeding, she knew it was shallow enough to heal itself, but it still hurt like hell. She stopped outside the building, looking up the scale of the height to Wyatt's window. The light was on. He was home.

"As he damn well should be," she thought. "After all he's put me through."

She couldn't believe how easy it had been to fall into her old life, how simple it seemed to kill. She knew the world wasn't going to change; she just needed to survive it. She pushed open the door with concerted effort, making her way up to his floor. Lifting her free hand she rapped on the door with the backs of her knuckles. Wyatt opened the door, looking somewhat surprised to see her there.

"Oh, you're knocking now? How civilised," he mocked.

Bianca pushed past him, collapsing onto the couch and letting her hand fall away from the wound. She was too tired to go anywhere let alone put up with his nonchalant attitude.

"Try not to bleed all over the couch. It's new," Wyatt said.

"Well you should have got it in red then," Bianca retaliated snidely.

"I'm guessing you had some trouble."

"No, I just think bleeding's a fun way to pass the time."

"And you're cranky."

"You think?"

Wyatt sighed. "What do you want from me, Bianca?"

"A washcloth might be nice."

With dramatic flair he orbed a cloth to him, rinsing it under the cold water in the kitchen sink before bringing it out to her and placing it over the wound. She pushed his hands away, placing her own firmly over it, wincing at the change of temperature against her body.

"I can manage. Thanks," she said doggedly. "So what has the Imperial Prince been doing in my absence?"

"Writing, delegating, deciding, the usual," he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

"That's not very detailed."

"You didn't ask me to be in depth."

"I didn't ask for the cliff notes version either," she pointed out. She lifted the cloth away slightly to inspect the damage then pressed it firmly back down again. "C'mon, humour me. It's not like I can go anywhere for a while."

"Alright," Wyatt said, taking a seat across from her and leaning forward. "What do you know about time travel?"

"HG Wells wrote a book on it."

Wyatt chuckled abruptly. "I thought I was the one meant to be doing the humouring?"

"I wasn't trying to be funny," Bianca said.

"No, you were trying to be evasive. How about we try this again without the time machines?"

"I think you're looking in the wrong place if you expect me to be proficient in Quantum Physics."

"I want your opinion," Wyatt said. "From a wiccan point of view."

"You know it's possible," she muttered. She knew where this conversation was heading.

"And the stretch of time… how long do you think?"

"I don't know," Bianca snapped. "The spell's not specific."

Sighing, Wyatt dropped wearily back into the chair, his eyes studiously focused on the Phoenix. "You must know something about Chris' venture into the unknown, Bianca. You helped him."

"I told you all I know," she said, her eyes purposefully directed away from his. Shifting her gaze to him, she asked: "Why are you so eager to get him back, anyway?"

"I want him home for Christmas," Wyatt said dryly. It was a vague excuse, a bad joke, and he knew she wouldn't buy it. "He can do more here than he can back there. They have enough power between them. I imagine he'd be spending more time socialising and eating mom out of house and home than being of any real use to any of them."

"You're jealous, aren't you?" Bianca questioned astutely. "The spell didn't work for you."

"Why would I want to mess up the natural progression of time? I'm not going to take back what we achieved. I want my family here!" he insisted, pushing himself out of the chair and heading towards the kitchen. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he added: "Don't think I'm incapable of doing a simple spell. I'm writing one that's going to work both ways."

"Challenging."

"Yes." He turned back towards her, narrowing his eyes. "You could try to help me."

"Why would I?"

"Because you want Chris back just as much as I do."

She was silent for a moment. He had indicated to her many times across the passing weeks how pointless it was to have Chris in the past. As of yet things hadn't noticeably changed, so either he was still infiltrating the group or just having a jolly good time as Wyatt suggested.

"I'm going to need someone stealthy who can get away with things unnoticed," Wyatt stated. "There's quite an array of talent in your coven. It's going to be a difficult decision who to choose. Of course I'd prefer to send you being as he trusts you enough to follow you back, but I'm not certain I can rely on you to keep from betraying me."

"So the fact I'm sitting here bleeding on your couch after embarking on one of your ambiguous missions doesn't mean a damn thing?"

"And that attitude tells me you're reluctant to do anything for me."

"I'm not bringing Chris back so you can enforce a replay of Michael."

"I won't hurt him."

"You use every opportunity you can to hurt him. At least he's safe."

"Don't count on it," Wyatt said. She glared at him. "You don't know what he's doing back there. My family couldn't survive it, what makes you think he can?"

It was that minor comment that reminded Bianca that Chris had vowed to destroy every last demon who'd gone after his family. Wyatt was right, he probably was in trouble. She decided to give him a little more time and wait for a sign of change, something to tell her that Chris was trying to make an impact back then. He needed time to make a difference. But Wyatt's opinion was beginning to override hers. She was starting to be scared by the knowledge that this could very well be it – her life was never going to improve. It wasn't meant to.

Looking up she locked eyes with Wyatt. The moment he finished that spell she was going to have to make a grave decision. But right now she couldn't choose.

A/N: Another Latin translation "quilibet vir faber fortunae suae est" means "every man is the artisan of their own fortune". Thanks to my lil bud Leo for that one