Hope everyone had a gorgeous xmas and is looking forward to an equally gorgeous new year!
Also hope you like this chapter and can forgive me for taking ages to update even thoughI promised to update quicker last time!
Please review! I can't remember if I replied to the reviews from the last chapter, tell me if I didn't and then I'll do that asap. Thank you to evryone who has reviewed.
Chapter 8: An Unnatural Disaster
Chris and Prue's blue-white orbs spiralled into the police station, briefly lighting up the unusual gloominess of Darryl's office.
"What's going on?" Prue gasped, staring out of the splintered door, hanging drunkenly on its hinges, and out into the main area.
Desks were toppled over, broken and smashed and other debris littered the floor. It looked as though a hurricane had wreaked total devastation on the station.
"I don't think anything's going on anymore." replied Chris grimly, worry clearly evident on his face.
Prue hopped over the fallen chair and cast her gaze around the room. "There's no-one here either." she told Chris, "But look," she noticed, with a feeling of increasing dread, "Scorch marks."
Chris looked wildly around Darryl's office; no scorch marks there. A brief feeling of relief, calmed his worries for Darryl, but there was still the possibility that he was…
Prue voiced Chris's thoughts, "Do you think Darryl's ok?" she asked in a small voice.
Chris forced himself to give a reassuring grin, "I'm sure he is. There aren't any scorch marks in here. And anyway, I mean, Wyatt, we know he's planning something, I mean, if he did this, well, he knows Darryl, he wouldn't hurt him."
"You think?" Prue looked slightly sceptical, "I don't think we know him anymore. The Wyatt I knew couldn't have ordered this."
Chris shook his head fiercely, "Wyatt wouldn't allow anyone to hurt Darryl." 'I hope' he added silently.
"So are all the officers…dead then?"
Chris could only shake his head, "I don't know. But I don't see any other possibility…"
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This was more like it.
Wyatt tilted his head back and let out a giddy laugh in exhilaration. He stood in the ornately decorated office formerly belonging to the mayor on San Francisco. Now it belonged to him.
He surveyed the city out of the window, the cracked pane distorting the rippling fire leaping up from a few of the buildings. Soon the city would be his; the people either dead or too scared to fight back.
The Elder's had thought he had withdrawn, retreated to regroup. They had no idea about the size of his forces, the resources he had at his command.
A sharp knock disrupted Wyatt's thoughts. "Come in." he instructed, making his way to sit in the throne-like wooden chair, behind the Mayor's desk.
A demon entered, his clothes stained with blood. "We have brought the police officer, my Lord, as you commanded."
"He is unharmed?" Wyatt asked calmly.
There was the briefest of hesitations before the demon spoke again, "He tried to fright back. We were forced to restrain him."
Wyatt remained silent, his gaze boring into the demon.
The demon swallowed nervously, "We had to defend ourselves, my Lord." he justified, "There is no serious harm done to the human."
"Bring him in." ordered Wyatt, deciding to make no further mention of the demon's conduct at the moment. That could come later, after the attack had concluded.
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Sheila's brown eyes tearfully searched Chris's in disbelief and horror. "But Darryl…" she gasped wildly, "He's not…He's…Is he…?"
Chris could only shrug his shoulders helplessly.
Sheila collapsed into a nearby chair, her shaking hand over her eyes. Prue hurried to her side and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "I can't see Wyatt hurting him. Darryl's like an uncle to him, to all of us." Prue told her, trying to inject her voice with some conviction. She didn't know what to believe anymore, but Chris had faith so she could hope too.
"I'll start scrying." Chris announced decisively, "And I'll try to sense him…whatever will work."
Sheila sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "But you can't go outside!" she exclaimed, "Haven't you seen…I called you down to see it…you must have been at the office…You can't go outside, you'll be killed!"
Chris and Prue exchanged mystified glances, "Sheila, what…?" Chris asked.
"The news." Sheila clarified, "What's going on in the city outside. It's…It's horrible. Demons are attacking…magic had been exposed. Look on the T.V.!"
With an increasing sense of dread Chris reached for the remote and clicked on the T.V. Sheila had been right. Every channel was filled with the news that San Francisco was under attack. And the attackers were not human.
Wide-eyed interviewees were shouting different perpetrators, "Aliens!", "Government conspiracy!", "Terrorists!". But some were defiantly getting close to the mark with cries of 'Witchcraft!' and 'Demons!'.
The camera cut back to the slightly breathless reporter standing just outside the city, with pillars of smoke in the backdrop. "Government forced are being sent here as I speak," she informed the world, "But the extent and severity of this attack is not to be underestimated. These…things…are blocking every road in and out of the city with some kind of invisible barriers. Any information we have is limited and it is unlikely that we shall know any more about this than the attackers wish us to." She paused, a look of solemnity falling on her features, "Our hopes and prayers are with the people of San Francisco today."
Almost as in a dream, Chris's shaking fingers found the red 'off' switch on the remote and the T.V. screen tumbled into blackness.
"What has he done?" whispered Prue, grasping the back of the sofa. Her fingers flared white as they pressed deep into the soft fabric. "How can he have done this?"
"Wyatt?" Chris asked hoarsely.
Prue nodded. "This is what he was planning, isn't it? The other attacks were just preliminary, to eliminate the main threats."
Chris could only agree. "It looks that way."
"What are we going to do?" Prue asked, still staring blankly at the empty screen.
"You and Sheila are going to stay here and protect the house. Put up every defensive spell you can think of, crystals, the lot." Chris instructed them.
"But what are you going to do?" Even though she asked the question, both Sheila and Prue could tell what was on Chris's mind.
"If you're going to fight out there, then so am I." declared Prue, folding her arms in defiance.
"No." Chris shook his head. "It's too dangerous."
"But…"
"No buts." Chris interrupted almost angrily, "Someone needs to look after Sheila; If Darryl was a target then she will likely be one too."
Prue pouted, but didn't protest anymore, unable to ignore the sense in what Chris was saying.
"I'm going to see what I can find out," Chris stated grimly, "and so much the worse for any demons I happen to come across."
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The corridor was streaked with grime and blood, footprinted in the once lush carpet. The edges of Darryl's vision was blurry and fading but he could make out lifeless bodies slumped in adjoining offices, triumphant leers of the guarding demons.
Darryl stumbled as his leg gave way, the demons flanking him increasing their grasps on his arms in response. He blinked blood out of his eyes and forced him self to carry on walking.
He didn't know where they were taking him. He just forced himself to keep on placing one foot in front of the other, and stop his thoughts dwelling on the massacre at his office.
Suddenly the demons stopped, forcing Darryl to an abrupt halt. He staggered, then regained his balance, raising his aching head to see the heavy wooden door, with a familiar patterned engraving.
Darryl's face flickered into a frown. Where was he?
The sharp rap on the door, given by one of the demons, reverberated around his brain and made pain explode behind his eyes. 'The mayor's office.' Darryl realised dimly, 'Is he involved in this?'
However when the door swung open and he was thrust into the room, it wasn't the mayor he came face to face with.
It was Wyatt.