The television show "Charmed," including the characters of Piper and Phoebe Halliwell, Paige Matthews, Leo Wyatt, Darryl Morris, and Cole Turner, is copyrighted by Spelling Television, Inc., a subsidiary of Spelling Entertainment Group, Inc.

Phoebe was in the kitchen at the Manor, cutting the thorns off of a white rose on a cutting board. A small cauldron sat on the counter nearby, its contents slowly churning for no visible reason. She had the cell phone clamped between her ear and her shoulder as she worked. "Well, I'm glad we've still got a lead, but isn't it hard to follow the track of the soul in a car?"

"Uh – not really," Piper said. She was on the cell phone in the car, Paige was driving; the track of Jimmy Haines' soul stretched down the street ahead of them and flowed through the car as they followed it, between the two of them, just above seat level.

"What if the collector shimmers somewhere?"

"Then we're screwed," Piper said, "but so far he seems to like conventional transportation."

"Taxi, is my guess," said Paige.

"OK, so you know the plan if we find him?" Piper asked.

"You freeze him, Paige orbs him here, I hit him with the potion. Tinker to Evers to Chance."

"How's the potion coming?"

Phoebe whisked the thorns off the cutting board into her hand and tossed them in the potion. With the sound of a small explosion, a cloud of smoke and a tongue of flame leaped out of the cauldron. "Dinner is served."

"Great. You know we may not be able to phone you first if we catch up to him, so be prepared for us to orb in any time."

"I'll take a vial to the bathroom if I have to." Phoebe grinned and disconnected.

There was a knock on the door.

Phoebe looked up. There was no reason why the collector should be here. Still, preparedness doesn't hurt. She grabbed the first container she saw, a coffee mug, dipped it into the cauldron for a splash of the potion, and went down the hall with it.

She peered through the glass panel to see who was there. The man who had stormed out of Clara's office that morning looked back at her, and they recognized each other at the same time.

Phoebe put a fake smile on her face, shifted the mug to her left hand, and reached for the door handle with her right.

Before she could touch it, the door slammed open with supernatural force, hitting Phoebe in the face and knocking her against the wall and down.

Anders stepped into the hall, closed the door behind him. Phoebe reached for the mug that had been knocked out of her hand; there might still be a few drops in it, and a few drops might be enough. But Anders saw what she was doing, and the mug went flying down the hall, smashing against the wall. "Nasty stuff," said the soul collector.

"Wait a minute," Piper said. "This looks familiar."

"Sure, this is a great neighborhood. The lady who taught me to read tarot cards used to live around here."

"No, I mean like from this afternoon," Piper said as they passed Jingle's Original Jewelry. "Paige, find a place to park. He's headed for Clara's office."

Of course that's never easy when you need it to be, and rush hour made it even harder. But eventually Paige squeezed into a quasi-legal space and they hit the sidewalk, going as fast as Piper could in her ridiculous shoes.

The door to Clara's office was ajar, just as the blonde girl's had been. Again, they pushed the door open silently and crept in, keeping a wary eye out. Again, there was no soul collector present – just Clara's property and the glowing orange zig-zag floating through the air to both doors in the back wall.

Piper checked the bathroom. Paige looked out the back door, which led to a street where cars were parked. Jimmy's zig-zag flowed down that street.

"No sign of him," she told Piper, who was standing by the soul track in the bathroom, "but the track goes out that way."

Piper was looking down at a little three-shelved stand next to the sink. The top shelf held a box of Kleenex and a comb and brush.

"How much of a head start do you suppose he has on us?"

Paige shrugged. "Five minutes, half an hour. Why?"

Piper pointed to a circlet of hair next to the brush. "Even if this hair wasn't on Clara's head at the time, could he put his magical goop on it and track Clara's soul?"

"I don't know, but if he could, he'd be headed – "

" – straight for the Manor," said Piper.

A levitating kick, and Phoebe made crunching contact with Anders' face. He fell, dropping something that looked like a small lantern, and she sailed through the air toward the kitchen door. An etagere rammed into her path and she and it knocked each other down in a hail of knick-knacks and books. Anders grabbed Phoebe's arm and she came up punching, a direct shot to his gut.

He doubled over and she scrambled to her feet, headed for the kitchen again. The air shimmered and he was in front of her, pushing her back into the hall. She staggered away from him and regained her footing in the parlor doorway, raising her hands in a self-defense stance.

Anders looked at two of the books on the hallway floor. They leaped into the air and each closed around one of Phoebe's wrists, pulling her to the parlor wall and pinning her there like manacles. With a look of disbelief, she threw herself forward, using her full weight and strength, but the books may as well have been iron embedded in the wall.

Looking put out, Anders adjusted his cuffs, straightened his tie, and picked up the object he'd dropped in the hall. Only then did he bother to look more closely at Phoebe, and he smiled when he did. "I've been trying to remember all day why you seemed familiar this morning. I should have known. Belthazor's whore."

"Ex-whore," she said dryly. "What, did you get tired of picking on pathetic junkies?"

"So you and your sisters were responsible for Jimmy's arrest? I have to tell you, not the Charmed Ones' most impressive achievement. No, dear. I'm here tracking Clara's soul."

She could not see what he saw; the sky-blue, wave-like track of Clara's soul flowing through the parlor door, over the chair where she'd sat, back near the door where she'd gone to shake Cole's hand, dead-ending near there in a large blue arch.

"How did you ever get such a good little lady to disappear in a demonic shimmer? Not that it matters. I can track a shimmer." He grinned and stepped under the arch, and she could see his body beginning to go translucent.

"Stop!" she said. "I want to make a deal."

He re-solidified, looking like a man who's heard words he can't resist even if he doesn't believe them. He stood in front of her. "You know there's only one kind of deal I'm interested in. Well – " looking her over – "with you, maybe two."

"How about door number three? I have information you need."

He looked baffled for a moment; then, "Oh, I see. Stalling in hopes that one of the others will get here." He laughed and turned toward the same spot again. "No, sweet cheeks, I'm not – "

Then he stopped himself, and when he turned back to Phoebe his face was intrigued. "Is that Belthazor's shimmer?"

– What will keep him here longer, she thought, yes or no? "What do you think?"

"I didn't realize you two were back together."

"We're not."

"Would you like to be?"

For a moment she was genuinely startled, and looked it. Then she deliberately assumed a questioning look. "Could you – You couldn't arrange that."

"Yes. I could. It wouldn't even be that difficult. It's widely known that Belthazor adores you beyond reason. It's also known that your own scruples keep you from letting yourself be with him."

"What would you do? Get rid of my scruples?"

He pulled up a chair, sat down, looked up into her eyes. Quietly he asked, "What good are they to you?"

"They – they keep me in harmony with my sisters. They keep me aligned with the universe. They let me sleep at night."

The soul collector leaned forward and held up his index finger. "If your sisters' love is so conditional that it depends on your following a code of conduct they lay down, it's not really love, is it? How do you know what they'll ask you to give up to them next week – your independence? Your personality? They need to love you for yourself, not for what you sacrifice to them." His fingers were a V. "Haven't you learned yet – after all you've been through – that the universe doesn't give a damn about what you do? Be a saint or a sinner, love a saint or a sinner, human nature remains the same, the world keeps turning." His fingers were a trident. "And I would bet that the best night's sleep you ever got was in your lover's arms. You could have that again."

"Only by giving up my family."

He looked at her blankly for a moment. Then he leaned back, his expression concerned and thoughtful. "Like any demon with brains and a wish to survive, I've learned a lot about the Charmed Ones. Tell me if I have my facts right.

"Your mother was a witch with a great wish to do good in the world. She was killed by a demon when you were two. Your father wanted your magical powers removed so his daughters wouldn't be at risk, but your grandmother's wish to do good was stronger than his will; he left the family when you were young. Your sister Prue was a witch with a great wish to do good in the world; she was killed by a demon two years ago.

"Do you really think that doing good in the world lets you keep your family?"

Phoebe's weight sagged a little in the book-manacles.

"And it's not like you haven't done your part. You've fought the fight, vanquished demons, saved the innocent. You've done everything that anyone could ask. And what do you have to show for it? You're tired. You're grief-stricken. You've driven away the love of your life. All for the forces of good. And in exchange, they've given you –

"Well, what, exactly?"

Phoebe stared at him numbly for a moment. With an effort she roused herself and said, "Love. Belonging."

"Love!" Anders leaned forward. "You killed Belthazor and he still loves you. What more love can anyone show than that? And belonging? Your Majesty, demons desperately need the leadership of you and your husband. There's a place in the cosmos waiting and ready for you, all you have to do is drop into it. The man you love at your side, not having to stifle and struggle with his natural instincts anymore, putting the world at your feet. The richest fabrics, the sweetest foods, the finest homes, supreme power. The most brilliant and exciting beings in the world as your slaves, your confidants, your family. That's where you belong, Your Majesty. Not in this – " he looked around – "chilly empty place, constantly being judged by others."

Phoebe sighed profoundly. Anders stood and stepped in front of her.

"Let me understand." She was whispering so low that his head almost touched hers as he bent to hear her. "If I give you my soul, you take away my conscience."

"And give you the world. For a daytime toy. And long warm hours in your husband's bed at night."

Her eyes wide, she studied his face.

"What other choice do you have?" he murmured.