Hey ally-all. Just thought I'd better upd8 this ficcie, 4 2 reasons: a) I haven't upd8d in yonks; and b) Missy (my friend in Florida…Hi Missy!) makes her debut in my story in this chapter (and she'd kill me if I didn't put her in a fic soon…)!

Okay, now, 2 answer ur reviews…


Simone1 – YAY! (does a happy dance) sum1 gave me an idea! I'm so happy! I like ur idea…it will definitely come in2 it…hee hee I'm stoked! Glad u like it, and hope I don't disappoint!

me – glad u like it so far…(stresses) hope u like this chappie and I don't spoil it 4 u!

chattypandagurl – yeah, I thought about that 2…but if that happened, there'd b no story! In the Note to Readers section (just below here) I've given a little explanation as 2 how the Charmed Ones couldn't scry or summon Chris b4…hope it makes sense/sounds plausible!

SJSASA-16 – that's okay…I'm just really annoyed bcoz I didn't intend 2 like this story or get reviews…I just had writer's block 1 day! But now I like it, and other ppl like it, so I have 2 write it…(sighs)…but yeah, glad u like it!

melissa-p – I'm freaking retarded! Dude, ur freaking retarded! and u r a lazyass…lol…newayz, happy b'day…hope u like this chappie…u and chris r in this 1!

Good Witch – thankin' u muchly (bows)…chris was about…um…hang on…(checks past chapter)…he was about seven in that chappie, so he's seventeen in this 1. seven may seem a bit young 2 b on the streets, but wen u think about it, it isn't really…
so yeah, 10 years have passed since the last chappie, and fifteen years since chappie 1.

kina24 – thanx…but I don't kno whether 2 b insulted or not! Although, it's not really insultion if it's true, I spose…I'll t2ul8r, chicky…bye!


Note(s) to Readers:

Because Rebecca was a Witch, she used a spell to hide Chris from his family's sight, both magickal and physical (so scrying wouldn't work, and if they saw him in the street, they wouldn't recognise him). However, certain spells wear off after a while…blocking spells being one of them, particularly if a strong magickal force tries to break through them one time too often…

Nioxphe is pronounced Neeohfee, with the ee and oh being short. Try saying it like coffee, but with a short Nee instead of c and an accent on the fee…there you go!


newayz, happy reading...hope u all like it...(esp. missy...)


2021

Chris Perry walked along the main road, his dark green eyes flicking unceasingly over the scene before him as he went. He blew out his breath in a slow, steady stream, watching as a puff of mist materialised in front of him. He saw a police cruiser turn into the street he was on, and he tensed slightly, relaxing as it drove past him without stopping and turned off onto the main road. He rolled his shoulders slightly beneath his leather jacket, trying to work out the tension.

Nobody told me being a thief would be this stressful, he thought ironically, turning onto another road and heading towards the tall spire he could now see in the distance. Constantly looking over my shoulder, always on the run, having to break out of damn prison cells…

He dodged a street vendor selling pewter and silver trinkets, letting his left hand slide casually over the surface of the wooden cart and scoop up a handful of the shiny charms without breaking his stride. He buried his hands in his pockets, letting the stolen merchandise fall into the small tear in the jacket lining.

I mean, it's not as if my life sucks enough, he thought, kicking lightly at the pavement as he walked. What with the whole "I'm an orphan and I live on the streets" thing. But thanks to my chosen career path, I've got cops, social workers and god knows what else after my ass, all trying to lock me up. He dodged past a tall, greying, forty-something man in an Armani suit worth several hundred dollars, picking the man's pockets as he did so. He waited until he was a block away from the man before examining the contents.

Three hundred dollars, six credit cards, three cash cards and a library card in the wallet…he thought, flicking through the well-made, Italian leather wallet, A check book…a set of car keys…ooh, Ferrari…and a pen. George. Who the hell is named 'George' any more, huh?

He dropped the pen down a convenient storm-water drain – he couldn't fence anything with names, the cops would be all over it, even if it was a pen – and pocketed the rest of the loot. The cash cards he could pass on to any number of people willing to take their chances and withdraw their rent from someone else's account, likewise with the credit cards and check book. The wallet and car keys he could fence for a couple of bucks…enough for him to live on for a couple of weeks, maybe.

Twenty minutes later, Chris stood outside the North San Francisco Catholic Church…the church where he had been left – Abandoned, he thought – when he was two-years-old. His eyes flicked over the structure, taking it in. Before him were the large grey stone steps that connected the church to the street and the rest of San Francisco. At the top of the stairs were the large oak-and-iron doors that led into the church. He walked slowly, almost reluctantly, up the stairs.

He didn't know why, but every year since he had left the orphanage he had made the annual trek from his 'patch' on Perry Street to see the priest who lived here. It wasn't like he cared…he'd been abandoned, clear and simple. His own family hadn't wanted him, so they'd gotten rid of him. But still…he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, somehow, his family hadn't abandoned him.

Hell, maybe I was kidnapped by some hired gun and dumped here because the kidnapper couldn't kill me, he thought, then rolled his eyes at himself. The Matron had always said Chris had an overactive imagination, and sometimes Chris was inclined to agree with her.

As Chris got to the top of the stairs, one of the doors opened with a creak of unoiled hinges. An old man with tiny beetle-black eyes and light grey hair and beard peered out from behind the door.

"Come in, lad, you'll catch your death in the cold!" Father Hal Michaels called, a faint Scottish brogue evident in his speech. Chris shot him a wry grin and walked slowly over. Father Michaels glared at him. "Hurry up, hurry up…" As Chris passed over the threshold, the priest added, "You're late, you know…five minutes. Get held up?" Chris shrugged slightly.

"Got into some trouble with the cops…had to dodge my good ol' buddy Detective Morris today. Apparently he's looking for someone in connection with a string of robberies along Alexandra Street." He had named a road in a particularly wealthy area of San Francisco, about three miles north of Perry Street. He snorted. "Apparently someone matching my description was seen at the scene of no less than three of the marks. I suppose it's never occurred to the cops that there are quite a few thieves on the street that match my description."

He saw the look the priest sent him and held up his hands defensively. "It wasn't me, Father, swear. I was picking pockets on…" Father Michaels covered his ears with his hands.

"I don't want to hear it, Chris. Not only is this a house of the Lord…" He glanced up at the image of Jesus on the cross at the end of the church and crossed himself quickly, "…but if you 'good ol' buddy' Detective Morris turns up I won't have to lie to him." Chris shrugged slightly and headed for the priest's meagre living-quarters at the back of the church. Father Michaels sighed and followed him, preparing himself mentally for the barrage of questions Chris would level at him concerning his parentage.

Fifteen minutes later…

Chris arched an eyebrow at the Father. "So you don't know anything?" He asked him incredulously, his seemingly emotionless bright green eyes fixed on the priest. Hal sighed.

"How many times must I tell you, Chris? There were no kidnappings that I heard of in the news around the time you were taken…no 'Lost Child' posters were tacked up on lamp-posts…"

"Can you tell me anything about my mom, or…or my dad?" Chris asked desperately, his eyes showing a flash of emotion for the first time since he had entered the church. Father Michaels shook his head regretfully.

"Chris, I've already told you, I never saw who left you here. I close up the church for the night, there's nothing out of the ordinary…next day, I open the doors, there's a two-year-old boy sitting on my doorstep, wrapped in a leather jacket, his name pinned on the door with a God-damned…" Here he crossed himself quickly, "…dagger! There was nothing else…no name in the jacket, no address, no telephone number…"

Chris vaulted to his feet in a boil of motion and began to pace. "So there was no-one in your congregation who'd had a two-year-old son who suddenly stopped coming to service?" he asked. Father Michaels sighed. He'd heard these questions before…every time Chris came here, he asked them, and every time he had to give the same answer.

"No, Chris. I'm sorry. Everyone who'd been in my congregation before you were left here continued to come after you were left here…no exceptions. And no, no new people joined for at least two years after you were left here," he added, pre-empting the question that Chris was about to ask. The young man closed his mouth with a muted click. Father Michaels watched him pace sympathetically. Chris tried to pretend it didn't matter to him, but the priest knew that it killed him not knowing who his family was, or why they'd left him at the church. He sighed.

"Come on," he said gently, standing up and heading for the kitchen. "I'll fix you some dinner and you can spend the night here." Cutting off Chris' protests with one up-raised hand, he continued. "At least you'll get a decent meal and a warm bed for once this year." He shot the younger man a stern look. "And that's that." Chris rolled his eyes, and the Father knew he'd won. He bustled into the kitchen and began preparing the meal. Chris stood on the far side of the room for a moment longer, still resisting, then he gave a long-suffering sigh.

"So, what's for dinner?" he asked, following the priest into the kitchen.


Piper Halliwell sat on the sofa in the living room of the Manor, looking through an old photo album. In it was pictures of her children…nineteen-year-old Wyatt, thirteen-year-old Melinda…and Chris. Chris, who had never even made it past the age of two…who had been kidnapped and murdered by a Phoenix on his second birthday. He'd be seventeen now, Piper thought sadly, looking through the pictures. There were many…her husband had been a trigger-happy camera maniac when their sons were little.

There were pictures of Chris with her, his dad, his two aunties, Paige and Phoebe, his uncles, Jason and Kyle…pictures of him with his grandfather, and with his brother. Despite the sibling rivalry that had plagued the first twelve months of Chris' life in the Halliwell household, Wyatt had eventually warmed to his younger brother, and had become extremely protective. He'd been devastated when Chris had been kidnapped, becoming withdrawn and moody. His temperament had lightened somewhat with the arrival of his younger sister, but he had never truly gotten over losing his younger brother.

Piper closed the photo album, then stood with a soft sigh and headed for the attic. As she moved through the house she noticed the unusual quiet. Both Melinda and Wyatt were at friend's places; Phoebe, Jason, and their children were in some far-off land like Zimbabwe; Paige (along with Kyle and their two kids) was at the Chinese branch of Magick School for a conference regarding the teaching of young part demons; and her husband, Leo, was out breaking in some new Whitelighter.

Piper hated the house being quiet. It reminded her too much of the days after Chris had been taken. After the initial rush of scrying and potion making and summoning and vanquishing any demon or Phoenix that remotely resembled the blonde-haired Phoenix who had stolen her son, everyone had been lost in their grief, and the usually bustling house had come to a standstill.

After a few minutes, Piper found herself in front of her family's Book of Shadows. The ancient tome was full of spells, potions, charms and rites…but none had found her baby. In those first few days after Chris had been taken, Piper had been assured that the magick contained within the Book would help bring her son back, and when all the hopes she had placed in the Book had been dashed, she had lost faith. Oh, she continued to fight the good fight, vanquishing demons to save Innocents, but her heart was no longer in it. If magick couldn't keep her family safe, couldn't return those she loved to her, then what good was it to her?

Piper leafed through the Book, smiling slightly at the colour-coded tags still adorning some of the pages, a reminder of when her younger sister Paige had first come into their lives. She skimmed the pages, remembering demons long-vanquished, Innocents saved, and magickal creatures encountered.

After almost half an hour, Piper's fingers stilled. Her dark brown eyes flicked slowly over the page she had stopped at, and unwittingly they filled with tears. She sniffed and swiped them away, then traced the title of the page with gentle fingers.

To Summon a Lost Son, the title read.

It was a spell she had written in her darkest hour…all other avenues had been exhausted. Scrying hadn't worked, her husband's sensing hadn't worked, no other summoning spells had worked…this was the last. And it hadn't even worked. But still…

Although Piper knew her son was dead, she couldn't quite believe it…after all, they never had found his body. For fourteen years she had wondered…was her baby boy – improbably, miraculously – still alive?

Slowly, her voice full of emotion, she recited the words she had written in a time of pure desperation, almost fifteen years ago…

"Blood to blood I summon thee,
Blood to blood return to me
Come back to me,
Return to me,
Lost child of the Halliwell line
Restore to me my peace of mind."


Outside the Manor, the wind stirred. The pale silver wisps of magick – visible only to magickal eyes, and then only if they were extremely well trained – that were the essence of Piper's summoning spell twisted and turned through the air, speeding throught the city of San Francisco…searching for the one the spell had commanded…the Lost child of the Halliwell line…

Eventually, the spell found its target…but, for some reason, it was blocked. The magick was frustrated…it wanted to complete its task! The silver wisps wrapped around the…barrier…it had encountered, and, like a boa constrictor, squeezed.

The fifteen-year-old magick that was a blocking spell flared into life, attacking the summoning spell…but its power was waning. It had resisted all other spells that it had come into contact with, and then had remained firm for another fifteen years after its casting…but this last, potent spell was too much. It struggled against the summoning spell for a few defiant moments, then it flared so brightly as to be a supernova – if someone with magickal sight had been around to see it – then fragmented and faded away…leaving its carrier exposed to the magickal community for the first time in fifteen years.

Smugly, the summoning spell settled itself into its target, snugging itself closer than the young mans bones, deeper than his soul…it sank itself into his very essence.

And waited for the right conditions to come along so it could guide him back to his family.


"I can't believe we took this stupid commission," Melissa Nioxphe grumbled, glancing at her older sister, Bianca. Bianca glared at her.

"This is not a stupid commission, Melissa"

Melissa rolled her eyes. "It is stupid," she told her. She paused for a moment, then…"We're never gonna be able to get anywhere near the Book, y'know." Bianca sighed.

"Of course we'll be able to, Melissa, we're witches."

"So?" The younger girl fired back. "The Book can protect itself from bad witches."

"We're not bad witches," Bianca said, the phrase their mother had always said rolling off her tongue automatically. Melissa shot her a disbelieving look.

"What Universe are you from?" she asked, her tone incredulous. Bianca sighed again.

"Just because we hunt down witches for bounties doesn't mean…"

"…we're bad witches, I know, I know…so what are we then?" Melissa grinned at the annoyed look on Bianca's face. "Look, personally, sis, being bad I've got no issues with. Being good is so over-rated…bad is better. Wins hands down. I mean, seriously, if bad wasn't a good thing, why is there so much of it in the world? And why is the word used so often to describe good things? 'It's so good it's bad…' and all that jazz." Bianca shrugged slightly.

"I don't know, Melissa…but I do know that, if we don't collect this bounty, we don't get paid, and if we don't get paid, we don't eat this week, so I suggest you get your big green eyes and focus them on that house over there…see if you can't find us a way in."

Melissa sighed. "Let me guess…" she replied, looking out the window of the BMW they had stolen towards the old red Victorian manor, before glancing back at her sister, "…we're not gonna shimmer in?"

"Not if we can help it. They're witches, for god's sake, they're gonna have anti-shimmer spells on their house by now…or at the very least alarm spells."

Melissa winced.

"Ah, the good old alarm spells…I feel what little enthusiasm I have draining from me as we speak…" she muttered, looking back out the window. Bianca shot her a murderous look.

"One more word, Melissa…" she growled, her hands curling slowly into fists. Melissa let her lips curve into a small smile, then she held her hand out in front of her and concentrated. A silver and ebony handled athame formed in a shimmer of electric blue light. She turned with lightning speed, grabbed the older girl by the throat, and angled the athame towards her jugular.

"And what?" she purred, her dark eyes glinting dangerously. Bianca's eyes narrowed at her.

"Not bad," she said calmly. Melissa pulled back and settled into her seat, letting the athame unform as she did so.

"I know." She looked back at the house, and sighed. "Unless we slim-jimmy our way in through a window, I don't see how we're gonna get in without shimmering. We could pick the lock, of course, but, as you said, alarm spells…"

"I don't want to leave behind any evidence," Bianca told her, "not a hair, not a finger print, nothing. We can't leave any way for the Charmed Ones to track us."

"Or we're dead."

"As a door nail."

Melissa shot her a look. "What lovely imagery you use, sister dear…" She glanced back at the Manor once more, then shook her head. "I know you're not gonna want to hear this, but…"

Bianca sighed. "All right…shimmering it is. We'll have to do it later, though. Tonight. Midnight." Melissa snorted and rolled her eyes.

"How cliché," she murmured, examining her nails. Bianca shrugged and glanced over her shoulder down the street.

"I don't care if it's cliché or not, so long as we can get in and get what we're supposed to…" She glanced up the street again, narrowing her eyes slightly as something caught her attention, then turned and smirked at Melissa. "Let's vamonos."

A moment later, when the police patrol car pulled to a stop beside the stolen BMW, it was completely empty.


Well…that's that. Hope u all like…

Next Chapter: Chris meets a demon we all love to Fear…Melissa and Bianca attempt to collect their bounty…Piper finds out her spell may have, finally, worked…

Bid-a-bee-a-bee-a-bee, that's all, folks! (My impression of Porky Pig on a computer…oh, the shame…)

Luv Yiz All,

ShaedowCat