Disclaimer: I don't own Charmed.

Author's Note: See, I kept my word and am updating the story at the end of the week. Yes, it's coming to a close, but the adventures of Wyatt, Chris, and Cassie don't have to. Let me know if you'd like to read more! Reviews and feedback will be an incentive to start writing the next story. ::hint, hint::

Chapter Six

The dining room table had been cleared and the boys and Cassie were in the kitchen on 'dish duty.' Cassie stood at the sink, passing the dishes to Chris to dry once they were clean. He, in turn, passed them to Wyatt to put away. They worked in silence for a few minutes, until Cassie summoned the nerve to speak. "You ever . . . use magic . . . for things like this?" she asked, clearly referring to the pile of dishes on the counter, waiting to be cleaned.

Wyatt added another clean dish to the stack and walked over to stand next to Cassie. "Well . . . I'd like to say we never do, but that wouldn't be true." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the counter. "We slip occasionally; we wouldn't be human if we didn't. But as a rule, no, we don't. To use our powers like that, for personal gain, goes against the most basic of Wiccan rules."

"And what happens," Cassie asked, handing a dish to Chris to dry then turning off the water, abandoning the task, "if you break that rule?" She turned to Wyatt, her Whitelighter, with her interest piqued and looking for guidance. Still overwhelmed by everything that had happened over the last few days, she wondered why she hadn't thought to ask if there were any rules before.

"All kinds of things," Chris said, abandoning his task as well. He dropped the dishtowel on the counter and walked over to stand next to his brother. "Spells can backfire, not work the way you expect or want them to."

"Or, if a pattern of behavior continues," Wyatt interrupted, "you can lose your powers. Like our Aunt Phoebe did."

"Your aunt lost her powers?" Cassie asked in disbelief, jaw dropping.

"Just temporarily," Wyatt went on to explain. "She took advantage of them, used them to serve her own personal needs instead of saving innocents. So the Elders suspended her powers. She was still a witch and could cast spells, but she didn't have use of her active powers." He started to put away the backlog of dishes on the counter, but stopped when he saw Cassie standing as still as a statue, her jaw slightly slack, surprised at the information she just received. "She eventually got them back, though," he quickly added, noting the overwhelmed expression on his charge's face.

Cassie turned to face the sink again, hoping the task of washing dishes would help her digest all this information. "So many rules, conditions . . . I don't know how I'm going to keep it all straight." The young witch closed her eyes, trying to find some equilibrium between her old life -- her normal life -- and the powers and witchcraft that were suddenly fighting for a place in it.

"You'll learn," Wyatt said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, a gesture meant to reassure his charge.

Without a word Cassie resumed her chore, and the boys, taking their cue from her, followed suit. They continued to work, quickly and quietly, until her voice cut through the silence. "I just . . . I wish my mom was here to explain this all to me. Teach me the rules, to use my power. Heck, I'd settle for an explanation as to why she bound them to begin with. I'm just so in the dark with all this Wicca crap." She threw the sponge into the sink filled with soapy water in frustration, suds rising up to escape and some landing in her hair. How could her mother have raised her, heck, even looked at her every single day, and not once mention being a witch?

"Hey, this isn't crap; it's your destiny," said Wyatt, his tone firm as he stopped what he was doing to face his charge. The serious expression on his face softened, though, when he saw her shoulders slumped, her head hanging dejectedly. "But I understand how you feel."

"Do you?" Cassie asked, her voice sharp. What did these two young men know anyway? They had both their parents. They grew up with powers and witchcraft. No matter what they said or claimed, they couldn't possibly know or understand what she was going through.

"Well, no," Wyatt admitted. "But I can imagine." When Cassie refused to meet his gaze, standing in silence in response, he turned to his brother, wondering if he was thinking along the same lines. Chris made eye contact, nodding his assent.

"Come on," Wyatt said, taking Cassie's hand. "There's something we need to show you," he explained, leading her out of the kitchen towards the stairs, with Chris bringing up the rear.

"But, the dishes . . . " Cassie started to protest, taken aback by this sudden shift in direction.

"It can wait," Chris replied. "This is more important."

(Background Song: "Now Comes the Night," Rob Thomas)

"I'll get the candles, you find the spell," Wyatt said, taking charge. He walked over to an old trunk and removed four white pillar candles. He placed them in a circle in the center of the room and lit each one.

Chris took Cassie's hand, and led her over to the podium the Book of Shadows called home. He opened it and began to quickly thumb through it, searching for one spell in particular. "Got it," he said, calling Wyatt over. "Stand right here," he instructed Cassie, steering her to the center of the podium by her shoulders, "and close your eyes. Give us your hands."

She took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves, and closed her eyes. She held out a hand to each of the boys, Chris on her left and Wyatt on her right. Their hands felt warm compared to her cold, clammy ones. They shook slightly with nerves, and Wyatt gave her a reassuring squeeze. They stood in silence for a moment, and then the brothers began to speak.

Hear these words,
Hear my cry,
Spirit from the other side,
Come to me, I summon thee
Cross now the great divide.

A swirl of white lights appeared in the center of the circle. When they settled, the ghost of Catherine Cole appeared. "Blessed be," she said.

At the sound of her mother's voice, Cassie's eyes flew open. "Mom?" The young woman was hopeful, but how could it be? There was no mistaking the disbelief in her voice.

"Oh, Cassie," Catherine said. She knew why she was summoned, and while she was happy to see her daughter again, these were not the circumstances she would have chosen for a reunion. "How are you?"

"How am I?" The young woman's jaw went slack with surprise. "Mom, are you for real? How am I? You're dead! How do you think I am?" She abandoned her post behind the podium between the Halliwell brothers to pace the space of attic floor in front on her mother.

"I . . . I . . . " the older woman stammered, at a loss for words. Of course now it seemed silly to ask her daughter how she was, and she offered a simple "Sorry." She floated in her candlelit circle watching her daughter pace for a minute before speaking again. "The service was lovely," she said softly.

"Mom!" Cassie admonished.

"Well, it was." Catherine sighed. "I'm sorry, Cassie. I don't really know what to say. I wasn't expecting to be seeing you so soon. There are rules, you know, about summoning loved ones. You shouldn't have been able to summon me."

"I didn't," the young woman said. She ceased pacing and turned to face her mother. "Wyatt and Chris did."

"Boys," Catherine scolded.

"Don't, Mom. Don't lecture them, because I'm glad they summoned you. You mention these rules, but why didn't you tell me about them?" she asked, her voice filled with hurt. "You should have told me I'm a . . . a . . . "

"A witch? Oh, I wanted to, Baby. I really wanted to. I knew I had to. But . . . it was a secret I kept for a long time. How was I to tell you, after all those years? I bound your powers when you were an infant, to protect you." She clasped her hands and looked down at them, gathering her thoughts. "I tried to tell you that day in the hospital . . . "

"When? When did you try?" Cassie asked, her voice sharper than she intended, but her emotions were getting the best of her. "When you were feeding me that line about having someone watch out for me when you're gone?"

"Well, actually, yes. And it looks like I was right, too." Catherine sighed. "Which one is your Whitelighter?"

"I am," Wyatt spoke up, taking a step forward. "I'm Wyatt, and this is my brother, Chris," he continued, pointing to his brother.

"Chris?" The woman tilted her head to the side, studying the young man. "The physics study partner?"

"Yes, ma'am." Chris looked down at his sneakers before raising his gaze to meet Cassie's mother, and offered her a small smile.

Catherine smiled in return. "Please don't call me ma'am. My mother was a ma'am." She directed her attention back to Wyatt. "Take care of my little girl for me, please. I'll be watching over her, but she'll need guidance."

"Of course," Wyatt replied.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not in the room," Cassie said to her mother. "Mom . . . I need you," she said softly.

"My time has passed, Cassie, Dear. And now it's your time, to accept your new role and continue the family's legacy. The boys will help you," she said, nodding in the direction of the Halliwell brothers. "You can do this, Cassie," she encouraged her daughter. She offered her one last smile before disappearing. "Blessed be," she said, the candles flickering for a moment before extinguishing.

"Mom! Wait!" Cassie called out. But it was too late; her mother was gone. Again. Her arms dropped to her side, defeated. "I didn't even get to ask my questions," she mumbled.

Wyatt took a step closer to his charge. "Because you don't need her to answer them. You already have the answers, and you'll realize it in time," he explained. "It'll be okay," he reassured her. "You'll be okay."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Cassie sighed. "So, what do we do now?" she asked.

"Now," Wyatt said, placing his arm around his charge's shoulder, "we have dessert." He steered her out of the attic and down the stairs.

Chris watched their retreating forms, smiling to himself. His brother really was a Whitelighter. Sure, he had a charge, but he had a lot of doubts over the last week, too. But he was going to be okay. Cassie, too. Like all things, it would take some time, but that was the Halliwell way. He closed the Book of Shadows, then gathered the candles and returned them to the trunk. Then he walked out of the attic. He was on the top of the stairs when he turned around, waved his hand, and closed the attic door.

The End

Author's Note: We'll, that's it. Please submit a review to let me know what you thought of the story, and if it's worth expanding into a series.