Nine candles. Tall, wide, and pearled with wax. Overhead, incense burners. White smoke curling into the air. Dried herbs and flowers scattered on the altar cloth. An athame awaiting its instructions.
The witch knelt before her altar. She took a centering breath before lighting the first candle - with nothing more than a tap of her finger against the hardened wax. She lit each candle, bathing her workspace in flickering light. She bowed her head against pressed hands and began her chant.
" … I shield you in my Wiccan way, here in my circle round. Asking you protect this space and offer your sun-force down."
The witch hummed in meditation, like the purr of a cat. She should be feeling peaceful, but suddenly her heart leapt, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Her eyes flew open, and she whipped around.
She breathed out, smiled. "You asshole. You scared me. What are you-"
Too late, she realized something was wrong. He wasn't smiling. His eyes were cold and hard. She felt the knife before she saw it. It happened too quick, death.
Phoebe Halliwell touched down in San Francisco at half-past seven. She was starving, having had nothing but peanuts - hers and the gentleman's who sat next to her on the flight. She had not a cent on her, though, to buy something from the vending machine, so she'd have to wait until she got home to the manor. Home. It hadn't been home in two years, but, for better or worse, it would be now.
Outside, Phoebe hailed a taxi. It smelled of rain, sweat, and wet vinyl.
"Where ya headed?"
She gave the address. She tried to settle in for the drive, but she was on pins and needles. In her head, she played out the inevitable argument between her and Prue.
Piper had been lying to Prue for weeks. And since Piper hated lying, she had mostly been avoiding her older sister, sleeping in past when Prue left for work and staying late at her boyfriend Jeremy's past when Prue went to bed.
But she couldn't avoid the truth any longer. It would be waltzing into their apartment any moment now.
"Prue," Piper called, locking the front door behind her. "What are you doing in there?"
"I'm trying to fix the chandelier," she called back, amidst crashes.
The lights flickered.
"Maybe you shouldn't do that when we're having electrical issues?"
Prue appeared in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. "When else should I fix the lights? When the electricity is perfectly fine?"
After setting her purse on the entryway table, Piper sighed, swiping her hand through the air in exasperation. "No, I mean with the storm. And, anyway- We should call someone."
Prue rolled her eyes as she leaned against the doorframe to the sitting room. "In case you haven't noticed, we're not currently made of money. Or have you gotten a six-figure job you haven't told me about?"
Piper grumbled. "Still unemployed. Thanks for reminding me."
Prue asked, "What about the interview today? Pepe Le Pew didn't hire you on the spot?"
"No, but this might get me the job," she said, spotting the package in the sitting room. "It's from Jeremy." She pulled the bottle out of the gift bag.
"Jeremy got you port?"
"The ultimate ingredient for my recipe. I have to create an audition dish on Saturday."
Prue nodded, bemusedly. "Well, hey," she said. "Whatever happens, maybe we could rent out a room for some extra income."
"You know," said Piper, clasping her hands together. "You know, I don't think that's the best idea."
"And why not?" Prue said, leaving the room.
Piper followed her into the dining room. "Well, because - Hey! The old spirit board!"
Piper swept her fingers over the smooth wood. She pulled out a chair and sat before it. "It's been years since I've seen this." She rested her hands on the pointer, closing her eyes like she was hearing from the Great Beyond.
Prue laughed. "I found it in the basement while I was looking for the circuit board."
Piper turned over the board and read the inscription on the back, "'To my three beautiful girls. May this give you the light to find the shadows. The power of three will set you free. Love, Mom.'" Piper smiled. "We never did figure out what that inscription meant. I wish we would have gotten the chance to ask her."
"Yeah, well. Maybe if we figure out how to use this thing, we can," Prue joked, her already perfectly arched eyebrows rising even more.
"Hm. Well, Phoebe always was the best with this thing."
"Right," said Prue. "The best at pushing the pointer and making shit up."
"I don't know. There was that time at her slumber party when -"
"Oh please. She was yanking your chain."
Piper sighed.
"Mm!" Prue lifted a finger to her lips, then pointed it in the air. "On second thought, maybe we should send this to Phoebe. That girl is so in the dark, she could use a little guidance."
"Prue," said Piper, beseechingly. "You're always so hard on her."
She harrumphed. "Maybe if Grams had been harder on her, she wouldn't be where she is now. She has no goals, no sense of the future. She quits everything she starts. She's-"
"Here! I'm here!"
Prue and Piper whipped around as someone entered the manor.
"Surprise." Phoebe's smiling face came around the corner. "I found the hide-a-key." She wiggled it back and forth in front of her face.
"Phoebe!" Piper grinned, standing up to hug her. "Prue, look it's Phoebe."
Prue stared, stone-faced.
"Oh god," said Phoebe. "Please tell me you told her."
"No," Prue answered. "Piper most certainly did not tell me you were visiting."
"Visiting," Phoebe repeated, staring pointedly.
Piper laughed uncomfortable, backing away, holding her hands in front of her. "Look, I was going to tell you." She looked back and forth between her two sisters, for whom she had been playing referee for her entire life. "I was going to tell her. But-"
Phoebe stepped in. "I'm not visiting. I'm coming to stay. I'm moving back home."
Phoebe watched as several emotions played out on her sister's face. Finally, a seething calm settled over her features. She sucked her teeth, rapped the spirit board with her fingertips, and pushed herself away from the table before grabbing her keys and walking out the door.
Piper and Phoebe looked at each other. "It could have been worse," said Piper quietly.
Prue could not get out of the house fast enough. She turned her windshield wipers on the highest setting and backed out of the driveway. She wasn't going anywhere, she was just blowing off steam. Ever since Prue got her first set of wheels when she was seventeen, she loved going on drives, alone. This was her therapy. This was where she processed all of her emotions. In her car, dreams for the future were planned, imaginary arguments with Grams were fought, and breakup speeches for boyfriends were written. All Prue needed in order to center herself and find her inner voice was her radio, her four-wheel drive, and the seemingly endless stretch of highway. Maybe someday she'd find a more carbon footprint-friendly coping strategy. Today was not that day.
She hadn't felt this angry since - Well, she didn't remember when. There was a small, secret part of Prue that was thankful for this emotional impetus. In fact, Prue had felt hardly anything in Grams died, it was like Prue had been plunged underwater. If she felt anything at all, it was muted, the way sounds are muffled in the water.
After Grams died, the end of Prue's last relationship was hardly a blip on her emotional radar. It was the easiest breakup she'd ever had. Ironic, considering it was the only time she'd been engaged.
But now, after Prue had found out her two sisters had been lying to her and sneaking around her back - Prue was pissed. Royally and rightfully pissed.
It felt good.
Prue relished in listing off in her mind all the reasons she was angry. She was mad that Phoebe couldn't manage her own life in New York, that she had to come and bring all her chaos to Prue's doorstep. She was mad that Piper didn't have the balls to tell her what Phoebe was coming. Add to that, that Piper didn't have the balls to tell Phoebe no in the first place.
She was mad that Phoebe was the reason she broke it off with her ex-fiance, Roger. Yes, Roger had told her all the disgusting details about how Phoebe had used Grams's death to play the sympathy card with Roger. How Roger had offered her a shoulder to cry on, and Phoebe turned that into a little kiss. Which turned into a bigger kiss. On the night Prue was being the responsible older sister, planning their grandmother's funeral.
And now Phoebe just saunters back into their lives, nary an apology or even a consideration of whether Prue would want her there.
Prue had been almost ready to circle back to the manor - but she found a whole new layer of pissed she needed to drive off.
"There you are, Trudeau. I've been waiting for forty minutes."
"Sorry," the inspector said.
"Well, come on. We've got to process the scene. You know time is of the essence with these kinds of murders."
The two inspectors, Darryl Morris and Andrea Trudeau, started up the staircase to the murdered woman's apartment.
"Seriously, Andy," Inspector Morris said. "I paged you numerous times. No response. What could you have been doing that was more important than this?"
She replied, "I had to come all the way from uptown."
"That didn't answer my question."
Inspector Morris and Inspector Trudeau had been partners for less than six months. As Trudeau was the only openly lesbian member on the force, and as Morris was one of the only black officers to make inspector, the pair were shoved together mostly because no one else wanted to work with them.
"I was following leads at occult shops, okay?" Trudeau said.
The inspectors reached the landing. "Again with the witch stuff."
Trudeau pushed past the crime scene tape. "Yeah," she said, turning to stare Darryl in the eye. "The witch stuff." She gestured pointedly at the scene before them.
A woman lay face down in front of an altar. Her blue, flowy dress was seeped with blood, which flowed under her from a wound in the abdomen. Her blond hair covered her face except for a single, piercing blue eye.
"Well, this is certainly the nicest-smelling crime scene I've ever worked," said Trudeau, gesturing to the still-burning incense.
Morris glared at her.
"What?" said Trudeau defensively.
Morris asked one of the passing CSI's, "Have they already taken the crime scene photos?"
He nodded.
Morris crouched down by the body, pulling on latex gloves. He used one finger to lift the pendant hanging from the victim's neck. He peered at it. "Do you think this symbol's significant?"
Trudeau crouched down next to him. "Yeah, actually. The last two vics had it on their person. It's a triquetra, a popular occult symbol."
Trudeau called back, "Have you already bagged the murder weapon?"
One of the CSI's nodded and gestured for them to come over. She handed over a bag containing an ornate knife.
"Woo. Bet that cost a pretty penny," said Morris.
"It might have belonged to the victim."
"The knife?"
"It's an athame, a ceremonial knife. Witches use it to direct energy."
Inspector Morris and the CSI exchanged a look.
"Look, I know you're looking at me sideways because I'm bringing up witchcraft. But I'm not talking about witches like in a fairytale or a scary movie. I'm talking about real people who believe they're witches."
"Mmhm," said Morris.
"Let me ask you something, Morris. Do you believe in UFO's?"
"Of course not."
"Neither do I," she said, gesturing placatingly. "But do you believe that there are people out there who do believe in UFO's?"
"Yes - but I think they're crazy."
"Believe whatever you want about these victims. But they do believe they're witches, and there is someone killing them."
"That part's undeniable," Morris agreed.
"And we would be fools to ignore the victimology."
Eee-rrrower. A white Siamese cat leapt onto the kitchen island, next to which the inspectors were standing.
"Oof," said Trudeau. "Hey kitty-kitty."
"I'd stay away from that cat, Trudeau," said Morris. "It's been scratching people all evening."
"Aw, this kitty?" she said, scratching the side of its neck. "Huh." She turned the collar toward her. The pendant didn't have a name. Just another one of those occult symbols - a triquetra.
"This is all you brought?" asked Piper, unpacking Phoebe's bag on her childhood bed.
"It's all I own."
"Phoebe…"
"That and a bike."
"Where did it all go...?"
"Sold some of it. Left most of it at the old boyfriend's place when I left him. He was the, uh, violent type. Better to make a clean break."
"Oh Phoebe."
"Okay, I don't need the judgement. Or the sympathy," she said, sliding her clothes onto hangers.
"Okay. Fine. Fine, I just-"
"Just don't want to hear it," Phoebe interrupted, giving her a warning look.
Piper backed off. "You know, Prue will come around. She'll get over it."
"She has to. Grams left this place to all three of us."
"I wouldn't lead with that."
Phoebe shrugged. "Well, honestly, the ball's in her court. How many times can I say that I didn't come on to Roger?"
Piper was silent.
"Great. You don't believe me either."
"It's not that. I just don't know what to think."
"Hmm. Well one side is coming from your sister. And one is coming from an arrogant prick. Which do you think is the truth?"
"Phoebe, I just-"
"You know what. I think I'd rather settle in alone."
Piper set down the shirt she had been refolding. "Okay."
She shut the door behind her. Feeling useless, she went downstairs to practice the dish she'd make for the audition in just two days' time.
In fairness, Phoebe never had told the full truth about what happened that night with Roger. It was a night she wanted to forget. As she stood in the shower, though, letting the hot water work her sore shoulders, her mind's eye started to drift to that night.
The girls had just lost Grams. Phoebe hadn't even gotten to see her before she passed. It had been two weeks earlier that they had spoken on the phone. There just hadn't been time between Phoebe hearing of Grams's heart attack and her flight landing in San Francisco before Grams passed away in the hospital. Piper and Prue hadn't gotten to speak to her, but they at least got to hold her hand while she was still warm.
Roger hadn't left the manor yet. Phoebe was the only one still up. Phoebe was too emotionally strung-out to think it odd he was still there. He made her a cup of tea and sat with her on the couch in the living room. She cried, thinking of the last time she had spoken to Grams, of how Grams begged her to move back to San Francisco. But Phoebe had told her how much she loved her then-boyfriend, how she wouldn't be able to stand being away from him. Horrible timing, as it was only a couple days later that he showed his true colors.
Roger offered her a shoulder to cry on. Phoebe didn't even feel present in her body. Too late, she realized that Roger was holding her too intimately. His hand was on her ass. Hoping he didn't mean anything by it, she pulled away. But he wouldn't let her go. "Hey, hey. It's okay," he murmured in her ear.
He kissed her forehead. "Do you want me to get you to bed?"
"No," she said. "I'm fine-"
"Of course you're not, you poor thing. Here, let me-"
"No."
She broke free, but he pushed her down into the couch.
In the shower, Phoebe grasped the shower bar tightly. Her legs felt weak, the way they had that night.
His knee was in her crotch. His mouth was on her face.
"What the hell?" Prue's voice.
Phoebe gasped for breath as Roger's weight on her lessened. She looked over at Prue. Phoebe was both thankful and utterly humiliated.
"Baby." It was Roger. His voice was so different from how it had been only seconds before.
Finally, Phoebe was free as his body lifted off hers. She watched dumbly as Roger chased Prue into the other room.
Phoebe had talked to no one that night. She went to her room and stared at the ceiling until her consciousness left her. The next day, the sisters talked only of the funeral. It wasn't until after the event was finished that Prue addressed what happened.
"I broke off the engagement," said Prue obliquely, as soon as the girls were the only ones in the house.
"What?" said Piper, aghast.
Phoebe knew why.
"You can get out now," said Prue, staring Phoebe dead in the eyes.
"I didn't- Prue, I didn't mean to-"
"Oh," Piper whispered. "You and Roger-"
"Prue, I swear- I don't know what he told you, but I didn't mean for that to happen."
"There's a bus leaving at 5. I'd get packing or you'll have to catch the one in the morning. And you're not sleeping here tonight." Prue marched upstairs and slammed her bedroom door.
Phoebe sat down in the shower. The tears had finally come. She wrapped her arms around her knees. She finally realized what she should have said. Not I didn't mean. I didn't want. She should have said she hadn't wanted it.
Phoebe cried. Maybe Piper would believe her, now that she had the words to explain the truth.
"Can I try some?" said Phoebe, walking meekly into the kitchen. She was in pajamas and slippers, her hair wrapped up in a towel.
"Yeah," said Piper. "Yeah, of course." She forked a slice of the tenderloin onto a small plate and dripped it with the sauce. She handed it to her sister. "It's the first time I'm trying it with the Port that Jeremy sent me."
"Jeremy. The boyfriend."
Piper smiled. "Six months on the seventh."
"How did you two meet?" she asked, swirling a forkful of pork in the sauce on her plate.
Piper had a comforting charm to her when she spoke. Her voice was warm. When she spoke, you could see the tiny gaps between her incisors and her canines. "We met in the hospital cafeteria the day Grams was admitted. He was covering a story and I was bawling over a bagel. So, he handed me a napkin."
"How romantic," she deadpanned.
"As a matter of fact it was. The napkin had his phone number on it."
Phoebe took another bite and signaled two thumbs up. The girls were silent for a moment, then Phoebe asked, "Is Prue back yet?"
"Not yet."
"Listen. There's something I haven't told you about that night with Roger."
Piper looked down at the pot she was stirring.
"It's not just that I didn't come on to him. It's- it's not just that he didn't come onto me. He made me. He forced me down. He tried to - I didn't have a choice. I tried to get away."
Piper's eyes darted up. Her eyes were fearful. "So, he-"
"He kissed me," said Phoebe with visible disdain. "It didn't go further. Thank God Prue walked in. But she thinks she saw something very different."
"I'll talk to her." Piper noticed Phoebe's look. "I'll actually talk to her this time. I promise."
"Thank you," she said quietly. She had the last bite of the pork roast. "It was so tender."
"And the sauce?"
Phoebe raised her eyebrows, smiling. She lifted the plate to her face and licked it.
"Phoebe!"
She wiped her mouth with hand, laughing.
"I'm interviewing for a fine dining establishment."
"Those hoity motherfuckers won't keep their manners for too long if you keep cooking like this."
"I don't even have the job yet."
"You will."
Piper physically cringed. "You're doing that thing! I hate when you do that thing."
"What thing?"
"You know! That thing. Where you look all knowing. Like you think know the future."
She shrugged. "Sometimes I just know things."
Piper went to take Phoebe's plate. Phoebe smacked her hand away with her fork. "Hey! Not done with that. Give me another slice."