27 TSoT/MMW: Pomegranate Valspar & A Prophecy

"Now I see fire, inside the mountain/I see fire, burning the trees/And I see fire, hollowing souls/And I see fire, blood in the breeze/And I hope that you'll remember me…" -Jasmine Ying Thompson (cover), Ed Sheeran, song "I See Fire"

10 am Azores/6 am EST, Two Weeks Later, January 2046, Matilda's Bedroom, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23

The sheets spread across her, the feathery pages aflutter in a torrential, lashing hurricane as she attempted in vain to take a single piece of parchment and decipher the puzzling calligraphy. A gargantuan Dal segno notation emerged from the hurricane's eye and flew toward her head, knocking her out instantaneously in one unceremonious swoop.

And darkness fell.

She awoke in an amphitheater hall, completely empty and made entirely of marble, her assignment being to match music theory notations to various shades of the color orange. The recitation began. Marigold Vesper. Marigold Sheen. Tangerine. Lion. Peach sorbet. Pomegranate Valspar. Pumpkin. Wort Rose.

The next set of swatches appeared as the earlier was set aside in a shuffled pile across from her.

Mandarin Pittsburgh. Marmalade. Hortensia Rose. Morning dusk. Jasmine. Medallion. Alstroemeria. Wandflower. Mustard. Honey. She hurriedly recited the nomenclature from memory. Only ten minutes, then five, then two, then one minute until the end. An evil force crept up behind her—she knew it to be so—as the man roared and uttered a lethal curse. She felt a warm shielding sensation; the reverberating force of the curse knocking her down. Rather than panic, she slackened her weight and remained prostrate on the hard flooring, as she was under orders—telepathic orders—to pretend to have fainted.

Matilda groggily sat up in bed; on a whim, she reached for her phone and typed in all the color swatches off the top of her memory. Perhaps they'd come in useful today.

11 am Azores/7 am EST, Epicenter Pico No. 23 to Purgatory Corporation

Landing in a darkened corridor of the Gateway Subway Station, Matilda dusted herself off and proceeded to the exit, as she noticed a lapis lazuli figure approach once more from the lingering shadows. "I require your service," Parker the Portender's voice began. Sheesh, not again—

However, Matilda was not alone this time; Wyatt accompanied her from a distance. "Have you reconsidered my offer?" the blue man drew closer as she hastened up the stairs and onto the adjoining sidewalk. She whirled around. "What part of no don't you understand?" she loosened an earring and sent a spurt of flame shooting squarely onto Parker's left shoulder as he bellowed in agony.

"You'll pay for this, witch!" He snarled, as he beat the flame out and vanished.

11:05 am Azores/7:05 am EST, Epicenter Pico No. 23 to Purgatory Corporation

Wyatt caught up with Matilda. "Are you ok?" he panted, stooping over to catch his breath. Matilda nodded. After the past weekend with Leo, Wyatt, and her parents, Wyatt had agreed to accompany Matilda to work for her own safety, until the Portender threat was gone. Matilda thought she could handle it on her own, but acquiesced for her father Harry's sake.

"Yes," she managed. "This isn't over though."

They silently walked past Gateway Park, cutting across Stanwix, and orbed directly from a hidden alley to the 88th floor alcove.

9:09 am, Wyatt's Office, 88th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

He heard a knock at the door and opened it. Seeing no one, he was about to close the door again when he felt something touch his feet.

An envelope.

Curious, Wyatt picked it up, looked around, and closed the door behind him, opening the letter in his office, breaking the pomegranate-shaped crimson wax seal.

Please attend the mandatory 10 am advertisement tutorial held today at the Conference Room.

-Persephone

Advertisement? But he worked in conflagration—unless—would Matilda be there? And what, exactly, were Persephone's motives? Why did she care so much?

10 am, Conference Room, 88th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Where was everyone? Matilda wondered, as she lay out the pieces of paper on the long mahogany conference room table. Then she remembered. Nelson's emergency conflagration meeting. She sighed. All that preparation for nothing, she thought to herself as she made to pack away her art supplies scattered around her.

"Going so soon, Val?" A familiar masculine voice rang out as Matilda shot a glance toward the entryway. Wyatt.

10:20 am, Conference Room, 88th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

As more people trickled in, Matilda's anxiety heightened, but Wyatt's reassuring smile soothed her nerves somewhat as she called the meeting to order. "For those of you who don't know, my name is Matilda Valensi, and I am a consultant for the advertisement division. We're going to be generating ideas for an outreach campaign centered on the theme of togetherness, entitled "Take My Hand" as we discussed two sessions ago."

A woman wearing a polka-dotted dress raised her hand. "How did you get the idea?"

This was easy enough, Matilda thought to herself. "From talking to my bicoastal family scattered between the Azores, New York, Vermont, and Seattle. The advent of modern technology has been an amazing boon to society with instantaneous communication internationally, but we can do more. On the ground, I mean," she clarified. "According to recent Purgatorial studies, 70% of incoming residents regret not taking the time to call a loved one, bring a casserole dish over, drawing a picture, or holding a simple face-to-face conversation with a friend before their own untimely demise. And I think it's time we did something about it." Matilda saw a sea of nodding heads.

"We'll start at the micro-level, working within our own organization," she continued. "Each week, I want you to do a civic task described on this calendar," Matilda brought out a large piece of poster board from behind her. "Not a heavy lift, but we've all got to start somewhere. Along with that, we'll learn about color symbology with the swatches I've provided below to jump-start conversation amongst yourselves." Matilda reached for another placard, which generated a few hearty chuckles around the room, entitled "Thirty Shades of Tangerine," which depicted creative names for various shades of orange, including "cantaloupe, sunset boulevard, and flamingo peach."

"These micro-level efforts will help us rebrand Purgatory and change people's lives at the outset, before they are in need of our help in the Afterlife," she continued. "90% of incoming Purgatory residents associate the color grey with our establishment, and that needs to change. Orange is the perfect branding color—it combines the passion of red with the happiness of heaven-like yellow—the best of both combinations, in my opinion. Purgatory isn't all about 'waiting'—it's about strength, encouragement, determination, and creativity."

Matilda paused and began the next part of her talk. "Everyone, take a minute to walk around the table and examine the swatches. Which one's your favorite and why? Discuss it with someone who's not in your division. Consider the artistic mediums too—watercolor texture, canvas, Instagram filters, et cetera. Go wild."

11:30 am, Conference Room, 88th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

The meeting had been a success, by all counts, Matilda surmised as she saw the crowd pour out of the room and onto the hallway, talking eagerly amongst themselves. She packed up her color swatches and posters and felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Matilda you did great!" Wyatt began as she turned to her, auburn curls and all, Princess Merida-like. "Will you…"

"Will I…?" Matilda raised an eyebrow as she slung her materials into a duffel bag.

"Will you…do me the honor of pyro practice? Basement, after work? And maybe dinner after?"

Matilda grinned. "Thought you'd never ask."

5 pm, 88th Floor Alcove, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Matilda felt her pocket buzz and retrieved her phone.

Where are you? -Mom

She bit her lip, trying to think up her response.

Working overtime. Grabbing dinner with a coworker. Eat without me. Getting home late. -Tilly

6:40 pm, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

The Rise crystal decanter sat atop the Dutch Shunan iron coffee table. Matilda generated eight miniature flames rotating several feet off the ground, sending them shooting to the wall, followed by shooting a flame straight onto the mouth of the decanter. No wonky flames this time, thought Matilda with satisfaction, as Wyatt gaped.

"W-Wow," he breathed. "How did you—"

Matilda smiled enigmatically. "Practice makes perfect, right?"

"Yeah, just, you're really good—" Wyatt quickly added, "not that you weren't before, I mean—" he cleared his throat. "Anyways. I think we're about done for today. As for dinner—" he offered his arm and Matilda took it as they orbed off into the night.

7:50 pm, Burn by Rocky Patel, 346 N Shore Dr., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

The convivial atmosphere, with its ambient dance music and overhead paper lanterns shaped like the rose quartz Matilda was raised around, entranced her as the pair sat at their canopy birdcage-shaped seats finishing up a shared meal of scrumptious meatballs and sliders on islander bread. The flooring was a diamond-like pattern of grey, black, and ivory hues, with art deco-style royal blue couches, cream-colored seating, and reupholstered antique furniture in desert ambiance colors of dusky rose, flame, and cobalt.

"So, Val," remarked Wyatt. "How did you get so good? Last time we trained, you were shooting that flame through the hoop back and forth like you wanted to—"

She laughed, her stray curls bobbing this way and that. "My bedroom has a fire-proof balcony; I've been working on my moves every night."

"Cool," Wyatt said, reaching for Matilda's hand. "That's really awesome your parents are so supportive of your powers."

"Technically, I should be thanking my Azorian ancestors," mused Matilda. "They cast a spell that created extra bedrooms to encourage future generations to live at Epicenter Pico. According to Valensi lore, my mom was pregnant with me and Henry and a door popped out of nowhere, which led to a spiral staircase, then a rec room, and three bedrooms—"

"One for you, your sister, and Henry?" Matilda nodded.

"My sister got the bigger of the three and decorated it with floral prints. My brother had the middle bedroom with a huge window for daydreaming—makes perfect sense, he's a philosopher now, always ruminating on Sophocles, and I have the bedroom with the fireproof balcony."

"Because of your fire powers?"

"Yup. It's like the house knew…knew that we were coming along, powers or whatever, before we were born. Crazy, right?" Matilda's emerald eyes fixed upon Wyatt's own.

"Not really," remarked Wyatt, who, much to Matilda's surprise, didn't seem especially weirded out. "Halliwell Manor is like that too, I mean, it has a personality. Plus protection wards, like Vera Manor, though there was that one time it got wonky and kicked my grandma and great-aunts out. That was rough…"

"Yeah, sounds like that one time my mom tried to reenter Vera Manor during her first Christmas there. Except it wasn't her, and the real her was tied up in the toolshed," Matilda thought aloud. "I mean she's obviously fine now, but man…sorry, I'm totally digressing." Matilda took a sip of her drink. "My parents've always been supportive of my powers, even though they don't always understand what I do. I know my mom freaked out in the beginning—I mean, who gets pregnant expecting a pyro kid, amirite? But it worked out in the end."

"It usually does," Wyatt said softly. "My parents expected my Whitelighter powers, and that's what happened. They didn't expect the mild dyslexia though, which threw them for a loop."

"Oh jeez," Matilda's brow furrowed. "How bad was your childhood?"

"Not terrible—I scraped by. It was mild. Kept reversing my "b's," "d's," and didn't learn to read until I was six. I kept wondering why I was so slow. Grandma Piper blamed video games, she used to ground me all the time when my parents were away doing vanquishings. Little did she know," he laughed ruefully, as Matilda had a sudden urge to wrap her arms around him, imagining him as a scared and confused youngster.

"That sucks," Matilda stated. "She shouldn't have—it wasn't your fault—you were only six—"

"Yeah, hindsight is 20/20. But once I got diagnosed in middle school, Grams read up on all the scholarly literature, and literally moved heaven and earth to find me the best speech-language pathologist, Deirdre, a retired Elder. Grams drilled me on my vocabulary using 'top-down' strategies when I struggled with my Arthurian literature class. I owe her a lot. And I guess," Wyatt paused to stab a stray meatball with his fork, "it fed into my prophecy too."

8:15 pm, Burn by Rocky Patel, 346 N Shore Dr., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

"Prophecy?" Matilda echoed. "What do you mean?"

"Deirdre entered a trance during one of my therapy sessions and predicted I'd become mentor to an extraordinarily special pupil."

"What else did she say?" inquired Matilda. Wyatt stared at his glass and hesitated. Matilda couldn't help but feel disappointed at the letdown, unless…"Is that how you ended up at Camp Wanaka?" she asked. Wyatt nodded.

"I've always excelled at outdoorsy stuff. And tutoring," he continued. "But mainly, I wanted to prepare myself for the student."

"Did you find him?" Matilda couldn't help but ask, as instrumental music played in the background.

"Yes, I found her."

"Who is she?" Matilda asked, thoroughly intrigued. She didn't recall seeing any female student pass by their office at Purgatory Corporation, nor did she remember him doing any one-on-one activities with other camp-goers.

"Well…" Wyatt pulled at his shirt collar nervously. "It turned out to be…you."

8:20 pm, Burn by Rocky Patel, 346 N Shore Dr., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

"Wait, what?" exclaimed Matilda. How was this even possible? Her parents never mentioned anything about a prophecy, and her own mother was a Charmed One! "But—" she stammered, "that's not possible. It could be anyone from Camp Wanaka—there's a ton of special pupils—"

"Yeah, about that…" he trailed off. "Deirdre said the pupil would have fiery hair. She talked in allegories. It's definitely you." Matilda's younger self would have broken away from him and fled into the abyss, but something in his eyes made her stay to hear him out.

"How long have you known?" she muttered, glancing around, hoping nobody was eavesdropping.

"I suspected the moment I was assigned to you at Wanaka, but as my dad always says, prophecies are an 'inexact science.' Just because someone makes a prediction doesn't mean it'll come true. Humans have free will, right? They can choose to be a part of the prophecy—or not."

"Ok…," replied Matilda slowly. Several more moments passed by as she stared at the cutlery in front of her, finally looking back up at Wyatt. "So, uh, who else knows?"

"Just me, Deirdre, my dad (for safety reasons), and, now, you. I don't believe in spilling secrets. Plus, there are rules. If I said anything before it came true, it would cause a disturbance in the atmosphere, a Lorenz theory "butterfly effect" gone wrong."

"Right—thanks," Matilda spoke once more. "I guess…" she paused to collect her thoughts. "It's just that I've lived my entire life thinking that all I did was vandalize buildings and bar crawls by accident. I think it's insane that a divine entity singled me out. Why me? I mean, it should've been Maya, she got a 4.0 medical school GPA at Columbia and orbs to her modelling auditions, they should've made the prophecy about her—"

Wyatt laughed. "But they didn' deities made their pick, and they chose you. You've got many special qualities that nobody else has, that nobody ever will."

"Like what?" scoffed Matilda, though she wore a softer expression. "Fire?"

He shook his head. "Your ability to keep calm under pressure, your ability to channel one of the most dangerous raw substances known to humankind, and…the ability to look absolutely gorgeous while doing so," he finished, barely above a whisper.

8:30 pm, Burn by Rocky Patel, 346 N Shore Dr., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

On a whim (was it the alcohol?), Matilda strode to the nearby dance floor, hearing the beginning beats of Jasmine Ying Thompson's cover rendition of Ed Sheeran's "I See Fire."

She turned to face him. "Wyatt Halliwell Jr., will you get your ass over here and dance with me?" His face tilted in an inscrutable expression. "Please?"

Upon hearing those words, Wyatt subtly smiled, as he rose from his seat and walked toward the lovely lady that had beckoned him forward, who had finally claimed his heart for her own.