Chapter Twenty-Six: Death and All His Friends
David studied the map Anne had spread out on the table. It was a typical street map of Los Angeles, well worn in places and torn along one of the edges. Anne had dug it out of an overcrowded drawer in her tiny kitchenette, and now she was wrapping a string around a piece of crystal with an intent expression on her features.
"What are you doing?" David asked curiously.
"Oh, it's really more what you will be doing," Anne answered, glancing up at him with a smile. He gave her a nonplussed look, and her smile faltered for a moment, her usual insecurity coming out. "I mean… if you want."
She held out the crystal, and David took it and turned it over in his hand. It was an opaque violet – amethyst, probably – with rough edges. It felt heavy in his palm, but it didn't look like anything special.
He frowned. "What is it for?"
"All witches have three basic powers," Anne explained. "Spell casting, potion making, and scrying. That," she gestured to the crystal, "is for scrying."
"Scrying," David repeated, trying out the word. He'd hoped that it would sound familiar somehow, that it would connect with something buried deep in his subconscious. But it didn't. It felt strange on his tongue, sounded strange to his ears.
Anne didn't seem to notice his disappointment. She'd turned her attention to the map. "I thought maybe we could see if you could do magic," she continued, shrugging.
David swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Do magic?" he repeated uncomfortably, his fingers curling around the amethyst. It was one thing to witness magic, or even to let someone else do magic to him, but to actually use magic himself? He felt a prickle along his spine, a sense of unease.
Anne caught the uncertainty in his voice and slanted a look at him. Straightening, she said worriedly, "Well… only if you want." She chewed her lip, one hand coming up to fiddle with a strand of hair. "Or, I mean… well, obviously you don't have to…" She shrugged, looking unsure. Her words rushed together as she tried to clarify, "I just thought that maybe if you did magic, that it would…" She trailed off and shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe it would trigger something? But if you think it's a bad idea…"
David forced himself to relax. His fear of doing magic was understandable, but given the situation, he really had no other choice but to ignore his own discomfort. If this could trigger a memory, he'd be a fool not try it.
He gave a strained smile. "I think it is a great idea," he said with a bit too much bravado. "What is scrying, and how does it work?"
"Scrying is kind of like a… a locator," Anne said. "You hold the crystal over the map, and it will… um… it will land on the map wherever the person you want to find is." She flushed slightly. "I mean… oh, I'm not explaining this well." She gave David a sheepish smile. "I've never taught anyone magic before."
She was quiet for a moment, and David didn't need to ask to know she was thinking about Talia.
Something tightened in his chest. It took him a moment to realize it was jealousy. He wanted to be able to miss someone the way she missed Talia. He wanted to remember that he had people to miss, that he had people he had lost. He just wanted to remember, even if all he was remembering was pain.
And wasn't that just screwed up?
"So who am I trying to find?" David asked, gesturing to the map.
Anne blinked, and then said, "Us. You and me. See if you can get the crystal to land on the map where my apartment is."
"Right. Okay." David looked at the map for a moment, then stared at the crystal in his hand. It seemed so simple – all he had to do was swing the crystal over the map, think about Anne and himself, and magic would happen. Wouldn't it?
As if sensing his hesitation, Anne reached out and took his hand. Wrapping her fingers around his closed fist, she guided his hand over the map and said, "Just hold the string here."
David nodded, letting the crystal drop, and watched as it hovered over the map.
"Now, concentrate on us," Anne continued, "and swing the string in circles." David complied, her hand still on his, guiding him. "When the crystal gets close to my apartment, you'll feel a pull, like it's trying to reach the map."
Anne dropped his hand and stepped back, and David continued to swing the crystal over the map. He waited for the tug on the string, waited for the crystal to pinpoint their location, waited for something to happen. But the crystal simply continued to swing in large circles, and he felt his frustration mounting.
Anne furrowed her brow.
In a sudden fit of annoyance, David dropped the crystal onto the map and turned away from the table. Another dead end, like every other one. Would he ever get anywhere, or would he be consigned to this purgatory forever, never knowing who he was?
But almost as soon as the pessimistic thought entered his head, he forced it away. He had to stay optimistic. He had to believe that he would eventually find his way home because no other option was acceptable. He would not give up, and he would not let his continual failure crush his spirits.
"I'm sorry," Anne murmured from behind him.
He turned to face her, saw the disappointment etched on her features. She was trying to help him, and was evidently upset that it wasn't working.
"It probably just takes some more practice," David answered. He paused a moment, then said wryly, "It's not like I really have any idea what I'm doing." He picked up the crystal again. "How long did it take you to master scrying?"
Anne laughed softly. "A while. I was pretty terrible at it. Magic doesn't come that easily to me."
"Oh, I don't know," David countered. "You didn't have any trouble with that screaming thing."
She sat down on one of the chairs and rested her elbows on the table. "That was instinct," she replied with a sigh. "I didn't know I was going to do it until… well, until it happened. I've never been able to control it…" her eyes glittered wetly, "even with Talia's guidance." She blinked rapidly and drew a deep breath. Then she tapped her fingers on the map and said, "Scrying isn't instinct. It's a conscious decision to find someone. It takes patience and determination. It's using magic, instead of the magic just happening." She leaned back in the chair and met David's gaze. "I'm sorry I haven't been any help to you."
David had accepted most of what she'd said with a silent nod, but the last statement made him pause. If the last few days had proven anything to him, it was that underneath her skittish behavior, Anne had a good heart. Her life had been thrown into chaos and her guardian angel was missing, probably dead, but she was still trying to help him.
He wanted to be able to scry on the off-chance that it would help him find answers for himself, but more than that, he wanted to succeed at this to make Anne feel better. He couldn't explain it, but he had a sudden overwhelming desire to make her start believing in herself.
"I've learned more about myself since I met you than I had in all the time before that," David replied firmly. "You've been a help, Anne."
And it wasn't just learning about magic, learning that he was a witch. While that had offered some insight into his past, it had mostly raised more questions, questions no one could answer. But being around Anne had shown him how much – how bizarrely, probably not normally, much – he wanted to be able to help people.
Well, he wanted to help her at any rate, but he could only assume that the desire would translate into helping other people as well. He'd wanted to help the young pregnant girl at the hospital after all, and the harried woman at the library, and he'd felt so overwhelmingly guilty that he hadn't been able to save the woman murdered in the parking lot…
Being around Anne had put it all into sharp focus – this was what he wanted to do with his life. Help people.
"Maybe I'm just bad at scrying," David suggested after a moment. "You said witches can cast spells and make potions, too, right? Maybe we should try one of those? I bet I could make a potion."
He had no idea whatsoever if that was true, but it seemed like the safest bet. Making a potion had to be just like cooking, or maybe chemistry. As long as they had the right ingredients, how could he screw it up?
Anne brightened. "That's a good idea," she agreed. "We can make something simple." She looked over her shoulder at the kitchenette. "I don't have much in the way of ingredients here, so we'll have to buy some stuff."
David glanced at the clock on the wall. "Can we try it tomorrow? I have to get to work," he said regretfully. He didn't like having to take his attention away from reclaiming his identity, but he didn't know how long he would be stuck in this life, and he needed that paycheck.
Anne nodded. "We can go to Chinatown before making the potion," she proposed. "That's where I get most of the ingredients."
David nodded gratefully. "Sounds like a plan."
Piper woke to excruciating pain. She gasped sharply, causing a spasm to rip through her torso, and it took her a moment to remember where she was and what had happened.
She inhaled and exhaled slowly. As she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and breathing in a deliberate, steady rhythm, the pain began to recede until it was little more than a dull ache. She must have tossed and turned in her sleep, the movement pulling at her stomach and chest, making the pain worse.
She rested her fingertips lightly on her stomach for a moment, then pushed herself into a sitting position and disentangled the sheets wrapped around her legs. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she rose to her feet and took a few unsteady steps away from the bed, shuffling across the floor.
"Piper?" Phoebe stuck her head around the door, peering into the bedroom. "Oh, good, you're awake."
Piper offered her sister a wan smile. "How are you feeling?" she asked.
Phoebe grimaced. "I'll live," she murmured tiredly. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. "How about you?"
"I miss Leo," Piper said simply.
It was an artless statement, but it encompassed everything she felt. She missed him – for his healing powers, for his gentle encouragement, for his belief in them, and because she loved him. Because, despite everything they'd been through in the past several months, she'd never stopped loving him.
Phoebe nodded in agreement.
"But I was thinking," Piper continued, shaking off thoughts of Leo and focusing on the family she still had, "that if we're going to stay here, not go back to the Underworld, there's no reason to leave Wyatt with Daryl and Shelia."
Phoebe hesitated, a slight frown marring her features. "Are you sure?" she asked cautiously. "We're still targets, and up here we are even more exposed."
Piper nodded in agreement with Phoebe's assessment, but said, "It's for the best." She'd already given a lot of thought to the idea. She and her sisters were injured and barely able to fight, but they still had their powers, which meant they could protect Wyatt better than Daryl or Shelia could. And although the fairy dust at Daryl and Shelia's would keep Wyatt off everyone's magical radar, it still didn't mean he was safe there. It wasn't exactly a secret that the Charmed Ones were friendly with Daryl, and eventually some magical being, good or evil, might decide to look for Wyatt there.
Besides, she wanted her son back.
"It's your call," Phoebe said, still frowning. But she swallowed the rest of her disagreement and added, "I'll pull out the crystals. We can set them up for protection and as a warning system." She shrugged slightly, wincing at the movement, and finished, "I was going to start thinking about defenses around the house anyway."
"Thank you," Piper said, already reaching for the phone. "I'll call Shelia and let her know we will be coming over to get Wyatt soon."
Phoebe slipped out of the room as Piper dialed the familiar number and waited for the phone to ring. She expected Daryl to be at work, but Shelia would be home.
A moment later, Shelia answered, "Hello?"
"It's Piper," Piper started, but Shelia cut her off before she could continue.
"Piper, oh thank God," Shelia breathed, relief evident in her tone. But she sounded confused as well, and Piper thought she heard a hint of accusation as Shelia continued, "Are you all right? But where have you been? Daryl's been trying to reach you forever."
"What? Why?" Piper immediately panicked, a million different scenarios rushing through her mind. "Did something happen to Wyatt?"
"Hm? Oh, no, Wyatt's fine," Shelia replied. There was a moment of silence from the other end of the line, then the sound of a chair scraping across the floor and Shelia sitting down. "But have you seen the news?"
"No – we've been a little busy," Piper answered, now bewildered. Surely Shelia knew that with everything going on, none of the sisters would have a chance to read a newspaper or watch television. Maybe they should have been paying better attention. Magical fights often had a way of spilling into the mortal world, and Piper didn't want to think about how many witches were probably dead now, murdered by triumphant agents of Evil.
But they'd been in the Underworld. It wasn't like Paige could just orb away to grab a newspaper. They'd been fighting for their lives.
Shelia sighed. "Yeah, well… so has Daryl. And whatever is going on, he thinks it is related to… you know… magic," Shelia replied, and Piper could hear the quite censure in her voice. She knew that Daryl had gotten used to being able to ask the sisters for help if something about his crime scene seemed unnatural – and to having the sisters simply barge in and insist that magic was involved. Daryl must have wondered why he couldn't get the sisters to talk to him now.
Piper felt a moment of sympathy – but only a moment. It was hardly her fault that they had been hiding in the Underworld unable to help anyone. And she was doing the best that she could.
Trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice, she asked, "What happened?"
"Daryl's been working late every single night. There have been several murders of women – not just here, but in other parts of California as well," Shelia explained, "and there was an attack on a Romani temple…"
"Romani?" Piper interjected, feeling sick. The room was starting to spin. She reached out to press her free hand against the wall in a futile effort to steady herself. Romani. Had something happened to Ava?
"Yes. Like gypsies."
Piper closed her eyes. They knew that Lucifer hated gypsies. They knew that Ava and her clan would be a target. Why hadn't they done more to protect her? If anything had happened to Ava…
"But you all have been safe, right?" Piper asked finally. She took a few faltering steps back towards the bed and sank onto the mattress. "No one has attacked you?"
"We've been fine," Shelia assured her. "Just worried. Daryl really needs to talk to you."
"We'll come by tonight to talk to him and pick up Wyatt," Piper promised, and after exchanging a few more words with Shelia, she hung up the phone and started towards the door, intent on finding Paige.
They needed to check on Ava.
Paige was getting tired of being the peacekeeper.
She understood why everything had played out the way it had, why she had been forced into this role. Piper was carrying far too much baggage, still reeling from losing Leo, and her desperation to protect Chris made her willfully blind to the fact that she was pushing him away. Phoebe hadn't really been able to keep the peace since she'd gotten her empathetic powers, and with emotions running high and tension lacing every single conversation, even the empathy-blocking potions they'd all taken didn't protect her from the onslaught of their emotions.
So that left Paige.
Chris was staring out the kitchen window, lost in his own thoughts. Paige leaned against the doorframe and watched him for a moment. Underneath the determination, the stubbornness, the neurotic inflexibility, he looked so very young and so very tired.
But she knew better than to point that out to him.
Without turning, Chris said, "How is Piper?"
Paige didn't answer right away. She knew Chris was asking how Piper had fared after the intense conversation the two of them had had, and in the past she would have answered. In the past she would have tried to convince Chris that Piper was only trying to protect him, not smother him, and she would have tried to convince Piper that they had to trust Chris to make his own decisions.
But she didn't want to do that. She wanted to tell Chris that if he wanted the answer to that question, he should go talk to Piper himself.
Still, she remembered that look in his eyes, the one that had convinced her that he believed he was at fault for everything, and that it was his responsibility to sacrifice himself for the world, and she bit back the sharp retort.
"Exhausted and in pain, but sleeping," Paige said at last, a compromise between the two possible answers. "Or she was, anyway. We'll see how long that lasts. None of us have gotten much sleep since…" She trailed off and didn't finish the thought.
Chris shook his head. "If I could heal…" he muttered, his words laced with guilt.
Paige laughed darkly. "You're not the only half white-lighter in the room, Chris," she said pointedly. "You're not the only one who desperately wants that ability."
Chris turned to face her, leaning back against the sink. "Yeah," he sighed.
They were all badly injured, and they needed to sleep in order to heal. But sleeping left them vulnerable, and took precious time away from what they really needed to be doing – repairing the magical world before things got worse. But they were in absolutely no condition to fight, and without some decent rest, they would be sloppy, would make stupid mistakes, would get even more injured…
It was a relentless cycle, and without a healer, Paige didn't see a way out of it.
"I don't want to go back," Chris said suddenly, an edge to his voice. He ran a hand through his hair. "To Lucifer. I don't want… it's not like I want to sacrifice my soul."
"No one said you did," Paige murmured softly.
Chris' lips thinned into a flat line. "Really?" he said disbelievingly. "You told them. You repeated our conversation to Piper and Phoebe."
Paige shrugged off the accusation. She wasn't going to apologize for sharing her concerns about Chris' self-sacrificing ways with her sisters. It wasn't like she'd ever promised to keep that conversation with Chris a secret - wasn't like Chris had even asked her to.
Instead, she said, "We know you don't want to do this, Chris. But I am concerned about the fact that you think you have to."
"Don't you think this hard enough already, without you making it worse?" Chris ground out through clenched teeth. He shook his head in sharp, angry movements, and looked away from Paige. He hadn't addressed her comment, hadn't even bothered trying to deny that he did truly believe he had to give up everything – that it was always his responsibility.
Paige hesitated, unsure how to respond. She didn't have to be an empath to sense his fear and fury. And that was something that she had missed before, something that had slipped away unnoticed in their last conversation.
Chris was afraid.
Of hell?
Before Paige could formulate the question, however, Chris said softly, "Lucifer wanted my loyalty. He wanted me to work for him."
"What?" Paige demanded, confused.
Chris licked his lips, then turned green eyes to Paige. "I didn't even think of it before, but it just… it came to me while I was talking to Piper. It was the deal Lucifer tried to make." Paige was still frowning, and Chris elaborated, "Leo's soul for my loyalty. I said no and we… negotiated… changed the deal so that it was Leo's soul for us not telling the world that we'd convinced Lola to betray him…"
Paige winced. They'd thought they'd won, and that had been a massively foolish belief. Everything had fallen apart, and, in the aftermath, Chris hadn't had a chance to tell them of his conversation with the devil. They hadn't even thought to ask, because they'd assumed it didn't matter. They'd thought everything had gone according to plan.
Well, it had all gone according to plan – Lucifer's plans.
Pushing away those dismal thoughts, Paige focused on what else Chris had said. "Do you think he can do that?" she asked after a moment. "If he takes your soul, I mean? Can he force it to work for him?"
"I honestly don't know," Chris replied. He gave Paige a weary, broken smile. "I don't know what a soul can do. I don't really even know what a soul is."
Paige opened her mouth to ask a question, then snapped it shut. It had been there, lingering on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be asked – do the Elders know what a soul is? But the Elders wouldn't give them answers right now, and the fact that Paige's first instinct was to ask them for answers only emphasized how much they'd always relied on the Elders' knowledge.
She did know that Lucifer was capable of creating different types of hell, and that it was entirely possible that he could, with enough time, twist Chris' soul into something dark, something evil, something completely unrecognizable. But then what? Could souls become corporeal and do Lucifer's bidding? Did they even have a shape or form? She was pretty sure she remembered Piper telling her a story of rescuing a soul from some demon using the seven deadly sins, and hadn't that been a crystal of some sort? But then they'd taken Daryl's soul when they needed to rescue Leo from Valhalla, and that had been entirely different…
She rubbed at her eyes and reflected, not for the first time, how much they truly did not know about Lucifer.
"I don't want that," Chris said resolutely. "Believe me, the last thing I want is to turn evil. But if it hurts Lucifer…"
"How will it?" Paige interrupted. Chris glowered at her, but she refused to back down. "You can't tell us that sacrificing your soul will hurt Lucifer and then not explain your plan," she snapped, feeling the beginnings of a headache form behind her eyes. She shouldn't have to do this, shouldn't have to pry information out of her stubborn and obsessive nephew. And she shouldn't have to do it alone, without Piper or Phoebe to help her.
Chris exhaled sharply, air hissing out from between his teeth. Then he turned and walked over to the kitchen table. Sinking into one of the chairs, he said, "I need the Elders to trust us again. I need the magical community to side with us again. This is the best way to do it."
Paige crossed the kitchen and took the seat opposite him. "But the war isn't about us anymore," she argued patiently. "It's not about the deal you made with Lucifer. It's bigger than that, so what makes you think you can stop it?"
Everyone had told Chris that revealing the truth wouldn't necessarily stop the war – Piper the most vehemently, but Phoebe and Paige had echoed the opinion, and even Lola, and Paige had a feeling Darius would agree as well…
Chris laughed hollowly. As if reading her thoughts, he said, "I know you all disagree. But you are all wrong."
Paige raised her eyebrows at Chris' dismissive words.
"Paige, think about it," Chris said earnestly. "Lucifer knew he could use the Charmed Ones to start a war because you could inspire loyalty, because you could rebel against all the rules and still be proven right. Darius himself said it – the magical beings that are fighting on your side, the leprechauns, the Valkyries, the fairies, some witches and white-lighters, none of them would have even dreamt of fighting against the Elders if it was anyone other than the three of you who had asked. This war is about us. It always has been. It just took me a while to realize that."
Paige didn't know how to respond. It made sense, she supposed. The civil war was about so many things – about trust and freedom, about the basic survival of Good, about the strict rule imposed by the Elders. But perhaps it really was that simple; perhaps at the heart of it, the war had always been about the Halliwells.
Or, at least, what the Halliwells' represented.
But if the war was about that, about a different way of doing things, about freedom from the millennia of tradition and policies that guided the actions of the Elders, did it really make a difference? Could they stop it?
"Fine," Paige said, trying to follow Chris' train of thought. "So you think revealing the truth about what you did will stop the war?"
"Yes. Well, sort of." Chris leaned forward eagerly, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze grew determined, fierce. "All these beings were willing to go to war for you. Don't you think they'd be willing to seek peace for you, too?"
"I don't follow."
"Halliwells inspire loyalty. People believe you, believe in you. So we tell them what happened, tell them everything, including what the future was like…"
It clicked. "And they will see how far you were willing to go to save the world," Paige finished quietly. "Not just to stop Wyatt, but to prevent him from ever hurting anyone. To keep him on the side of Good, a strong protector of our world."
"The strongest protector," Chris murmured. And Paige had to smile, because it was a reminder that, despite everything, they had saved Wyatt.
Chris had saved Wyatt.
"And by letting me tell the truth, the world will also see what you three are willing to sacrifice to protect them," Chris added, although Paige did not miss the shiver that ran through his body at the thought. "The Elders might protest at first, but if enough magical beings start calling for peace, they'll give in. Particularly if I can convince Darius to help us. And the beings that support the Elders will follow their lead."
Paige nodded hesitantly. She could see this potentially working, but they were still taking an awful lot on faith…
"Things are bad now," Chris continued, "but they were worse under Wyatt. Chaotic evil is bad, but organized evil…" He shook his head with a scowl, momentarily sidetracked by thoughts of the future he had prevented. Then he snapped his attention back to Paige and said, "Lucifer shouldn't have helped me. If what he wants is to hurt Good, he should have let Wyatt turn evil. By helping me, he was able to start a civil war, but if we can stop the civil war before it spins even further out of control, the future we create will still be better than the one I came from."
Paige furrowed her brow. "So… the devil will have helped us?"
"At a cost. An astronomical one," Chris said. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "But he spent a few millennia trying to figure out how to start another civil war because Michael stopped it the first time around. It didn't matter that the war had nearly destroyed Good, didn't matter that it had plunged the magical world into a darkness that lasted for centuries. The war could have done more damage and Michael stopped it. And that was a blow to Lucifer's reputation."
"But you said Lucifer was done with us," Paige protested. "You said he didn't care how the war played out at this point, because he'd already won."
"And he thinks he has," Chris replied. "So let's prove him wrong. Let's end this now… and then take everyone we have on our side and attack the Underworld."
"Wait, what?" Paige sputtered.
Chris was talking quickly, pouring out all his thoughts, and Paige had managed to follow it all… right up until that statement. While she was never against fighting Evil, she hesitated at the idea of an all-out attack on the Underworld. Even a coordinated one could have a disastrously high body count, and hadn't they already lost enough people?
"Not a long, drawn-out thing," Chris explained hurriedly, seeing the look of disbelief etched clearly onto Paige's face. "I don't want…" He paused, collected his thoughts, then said, "We can't afford that kind of fight right now. But Evil has knocked us down, and we have to push back. They think we're easy targets so they're getting complacent. If we show them that we can fight back… they'll never see it coming, not until it is too late."
Paige summed up his proposal, "So we will have stopped the war, shown the magical world that Lucifer actually made things better for Good by preventing Wyatt from turning evil, and successfully attacked the Underworld?"
Chris nodded. "All blows to Lucifer's reputation, and he cares about that more than anything."
Paige leaned back in her seat, contemplating Chris' proposal. It could work. It probably would work. At the very least, they wouldn't give Lucifer a total victory, and that had to count for something.
But… Lucifer had cared enough about Michael's actions to spend an eternity planning his next attack, and with that thought in mind, Paige asked, "And what happens a few millennia from now when Lucifer starts his next civil war?"
Chris shrugged. "Michael stopped the first one, we will stop the second. So I guess we just have to believe that there will be someone in the future, someone alive a few millennia from now, who will be able to stop the next one."
Paige had seen glimpses of the strategist, the leader, in Chris, but she'd never fully appreciated just how adept he had become at fighting a war. This was what the future had given him, besides the nightmares and trauma; the ability to pull a last minute victory out of certain defeat, and win against all odds.
But at what cost?
"It could work," Paige admitted slowly, "but we still lose you. Piper won't agree to it, Chris."
Chris bristled. "I don't need her permission," he snapped.
"No," Paige agreed quietly, "but for this plan to work you need her cooperation." Chris faltered, thrown by Paige's assessment, and the youngest Charmed One pressed, "You need to talk to her. And to Phoebe. Tell them the plan, explain it like you did for me, and maybe the four of us together can come up with an alternate version. One that doesn't involve you handing your soul over to Lucifer."
Chris scowled.
As if on cue, a tired voice called from somewhere by the stairs, "Paige? Where are you?"
Paige and Chris both started and turned towards the doorway of the kitchen. They could hear the sound of footsteps shuffling slowly across the floor as Piper made her way towards them.
"In the kitchen, Piper," Paige called back.
Chris pushed his chair back and stood up abruptly. "I need to check on some things," he said vaguely, waving his hands about. There were cracks in his would-be calm façade, and Paige could see clearly how desperately he did not want to confront the Eldest Charmed one. So it did not surprise her when he said, "Can you tell Piper the plan?" and without a response, disappeared in a swirl of orbs.
Paige groaned, and rested her head in her hands.
"Tell her yourself, Chris," she muttered in vain to the empty room.
Everything happened in a blur. One moment, David was standing next to a display of taro root in a small Chinese herb store, watching as Anne browsed the items, and the next he was flying through the air and slamming into a wall. His vision darkened at the edges, and pain reverberated in his head. He crashed to the floor in a heap.
A man stood in the doorway to the shop.
He looked perfectly normal. Nondescript, average height, ordinary build.
Except that he had one hand extended in front of him, his fingers closed into a fist, and he seemed to be telekinetically lifting Anne off the floor and choking her. The young witch was gasping for breath, her fingers clawing at her throat as though they could somehow remove the invisible bind that was strangling her. Her legs swung uselessly back and forth, her feet dangling above the floor.
"Anne!" David shouted, surging to his feet. He was momentarily overcome by a wave of dizziness, but he pushed it aside and lurched towards their attacker. The man disappeared, leaving David to skid to a sudden halt and twist around frantically, searching for the assailant.
Anne collapsed on the floor, wheezing.
David hurried to her side, ignoring the pain that rushed up and down his spine with every jarring step. She was pale, her streaked hair falling over her face. She batted at it, looking up at David with terrified eyes.
The proprietor of the shop had disappeared almost as soon as the attack began, rushing out a back entrance and leaving Anne and David to fend for themselves. They were alone in the sudden stillness, and David looked around warily as he helped Anne to her feet.
"He's not gone," Anne whispered, her voice a mere croak. "They don't just leave…"
And sure enough, no sooner had she said the words then the man reappeared, blinking into existence before David's very eyes. Anne whimpered in fear, but behind the terror David could see the determination in her gaze.
She opened her mouth to scream.
Her assailant was faster, and before Anne could make a sound, he had shoved a thin, ornately decorated knife towards her chest. David lunged forward as the man attacked, knocking Anne sideways, causing the knife to bury itself in her shoulder rather than her heart. She screamed – a normal, human scream, full of pain – and fell to the floor. Blood spread out across her shirt, staining the fabric a dark red, as she sank to her knees.
Their attacker laughed.
David punched him in the face.
It took both of them by surprise. The assailant stumbled back a step, raising a hand to his split lip. David just gaped, momentarily stunned by what he had done. He hadn't been thinking, his instinct to protect Anne from this… this monster overtaking common sense.
The monster bared his teeth.
David grabbed the nearest item that could pass as a weapon – a large jar of pickled ginger – and swung it like a club. The assailant simply blinked away again, and David knelt by Anne's side.
"We need to get out of here," David said urgently.
Anne nodded slowly, her face screwed up in pain. Her skin had drained of all color, leaving her more pale than usual. Even her lips had lost their color. She was pressing one hand to the wound on her shoulder, but blood seeped from between her fingers.
"Hey, you can do this," David whispered encouragingly, wrapping an arm around her and helping her to her feet. She leaned heavily against him, her shoulders pressing into his chest, blood spreading onto his clothes. He ignored the wet feel as the red soaked his shirt, and said softly, "Just hold on. I'll get you to a hospital."
Then a hand gripped his shoulder with inhuman strength, yanking him away from Anne. He hit the floor hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. He heard Anne's cry cut off as she collapsed beside him, unable to stand on her own. David rolled onto his side towards her, saw the naked panic in her eyes.
"Scream," he managed to gasp out, even as he crawled to his hands and knees to face the returned assailant. But Anne had frozen in fear, and appeared to be completely unaware of his presence. Her gaze was turned upwards, towards the man attacking, and her lips had opened into a soundless circle.
Again, the assailant laughed.
"Such a pretty little witch," he hissed, his voice low and cold. The knife in his hand was stained red with Anne's blood, and tiny droplets formed along the sharp edge. He loomed over them, but made no move to attack. His lips had curled into a smirk, and he seemed to be enjoying himself, enjoying playing with his victims before he killed them.
David inhaled sharply. The man wasn't content to simply kill them; he wanted to terrorize them first.
"Anne, you need to scream," David said again, this time more urgently. When Anne didn't respond, he tore his gaze away from the monster standing over them and focused on the scared witch. "You can do this. You can stop him. I've seen you do it, I know you can."
Anne blinked once, the fear dissipating from her expression, and opened her mouth. At the same moment, the assailant leaned over and drove his knife towards Anne.
David dove forward, throwing himself between the two, and the knife slid into his back just as Anne's scream erupted in the shop.