Joining the Underworld requires Piper and Leo to change their names, and they go on to give their children names that fit into the Underworld. That being said, here's a quick rundown of who these characters correspond to in the main canon.
Piper - Zepir
Leo - Saleos
Wyatt - Zagan
Chris - Crokel
Melinda - Malphas
Marchosa and Tyleos also correspond with characters from the show, but the narrative will eventually reveal who they are.
Chapter One2024
Saleos shimmered to his family's fortress. Made of an abandoned church in a secluded wood, his home was unplottable on mortal maps. Dark magic protected the spot from being found by intruders, but the veils and warding charms that his wife Zepir had cast over the home allowed their family to slip in and out unharmed.
The walls were made of a dark, heavy stone. Long white tapers in sconces on the wall were the only source of light. The few windows were stained glass. At one time they had depicted Biblical stories. Some spellwork from Zepir had created new scenes: robed demons casting spells, sacrificing goats– or humans. The magically renovated glass fit the… what was the stupid mortal word that Saleos's daughter Malphas had used? The "vibe" of the fortress.
As Saleos turned the corner towards the altar room, he heard screams. It sounded like his wife was teaching someone a valuable lesson.
Inside the altar room, a warlock named Seerek was pinned to the wall. His hands and feet were frozen in patches of ice that kept him clinging to the stone. Seerek had made an alliance with Zepir several years ago. She stood across the room with just a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
Zepir hadn't aged a day in over twenty years. Dark magic kept her body preserved from the day she gave up her humanity. She wore the heavy velvet robes of the priestly class, with a belted pouch at her waist. A thin circlet of black beads decorated across her forehead, and multiple silver rings adorned her fingers. Her eyes were rimmed with kohl, and her lips were dark as ripe plums. Standing beside her was sixteen-year-old Malphas, who took after her mother in looks with her dark hair and eyes.
"Priestess Zepir," said Seerek, panting and groaning in pain, "it was never my intention to not live up to our bargain."
"Yet here we are," said Zepir. "I veiled that hole in the ground you call a lair. In return, you were supposed to bring me a witch from the Coven of the Black Crow."
"The witches were more powerful than I expected," said Seerek. "Have some mercy, priestess."
Malphas's mouth curled into a smile. "Mercy?" repeated Zepir, raising an eyebrow. She clutched her right hand into a fist and released it.
Seerek shrieked as his chest expanded, the muscles of his heart bursting forth. Zepir didn't blow up the organ, but used her powers to twist it into miniscule pieces. Squeezing her hands shut, his chest returned to normal, but it took another moment for the warlock to stop screaming. "Believe me, Seerek," said Zepir, "I have no interest in mercy."
Malphas looked over at the altar, where an athame lay. "Mother?"
"Go ahead," said Zepir. She looked at Seerek with no expression. "The matter is settled."
Malphas waved her hand. The athame flew from the altar into Seerek's heart, and he died in a burst of flames. The ice pinning him to the wall melted in a flash.
Saleos clapped his hands, causing the women to turn towards him. "Very good, Malphas," he said. "You take after your mother."
His daughter beamed, pleased. A sly smile crawled onto Zepir's face as she moved towards her husband. "Welcome home," she said, kissing his cheek. "Have you seen the boys?"
"Zagan and Crokel are on assignment," said Saleos. "Tracking down an innocent."
"I wanted to go, too," said Malphas, crossing her arms.
"Soon enough," said Zepir, gripping her daughter's shoulder. "Not every demon is meant to hunt innocents." Her voice dropped slightly. "Your brother Crokel, for example…"
"He has a head for spells and charms," said Saleos. "He could always take the Dark Vow and become a priest, like his beautiful mother."
Zepir smiled back, but the look in her eyes was distant. "I suppose," she said. "What day is it?"
"In mortal time?" Saleos cocked his head, thinking. "July 10. Why?"
"Just curious," said Zepir. "Check on the boys, will you? The ritual for Tyleos is tonight. I don't want them to be late."
"Of course," Saleos said, and shimmered away.
Zepir was shocked by the passage of time. July 10, already? How could she and her husband have already spent over two decades in service of the Source?
When Phoebe's alarm went off that morning and she laid in bed, her empathic powers awoke before she did. She sensed Cole in the shower down the hall, anxious about an ongoing court case. Her youngest child, sixteen-year-old Petra, was in her room, half-asleep and uninterested in getting up for school (which unfortunately for her ran year-round). Eighteen-year-old Ben, who had graduated earlier that summer, was in the kitchen, blending up a smoothie following his morning run. High on endorphins, Phoebe would've bet money that Ben was running through a detailed to-do list in his head.
One family member was missing: Phoebe's eldest daughter, Melinda, had stayed on campus for the summer session. Despite living only twenty minutes away from Gold State University, she didn't come home often. Phoebe bit back a wry smile when she remembered what Grams had said when Melinda was born: "We're given the children we're meant to raise, not the ones we want to raise."
It made sense that Phoebe– rebel extraordinaire, master of sneaking out of the house and raising minor hell– had been given a daughter who reminded her strongly of herself. If Phoebe really wanted to, she could use her powers to try and hone in on Melinda, see how she was feeling that morning… but she knew her daughter wouldn't appreciate that.
Phoebe got dressed in her usual uniform, a combination she considered to be "middle-aged therapist chic": button-down shirt, cardigan, slacks and loafers. Her thick horn-rimmed glasses had been a constant for a decade now. She grabbed a handful of hair– light brown, collarbone-length, thick and threaded with gray– and put it up in a jaw clip. But when Phoebe stared at her reflection, it changed before her eyes: she saw not a woman closing in on fifty, but the younger version she'd been twenty-three years ago. She remembered those torn pajamas, the bruises on her hands, her reddened and tear-stained face.
Could it be that day again, already?
Phoebe walked into her office, an addition built off of the master bedroom. The calendar above her desk was clear: today was July 10. Phoebe's body went cold. How could Phoebe have survived yet another year without Prue and Piper?
A sob clenched in her throat; tears stung her eyes. It wasn't the full-bodied crying Phoebe had engaged in for many years on the anniversary of Prue's death and Piper's… departure from the family. This was the first time that Phoebe had woken up that morning without dreading the day. No, Phoebe's pain wasn't so raw after all these years. Her life had gone on: she had gotten married, started a family, (finally) got her career together. There had been joy in that time that Phoebe wouldn't give up for anything. At least, she believed so.
Phoebe gave herself some grace before she blew her nose, wiped her eyes, and tried to make the day as normal as possible. She reviewed her schedule for the day: a few meetings with patients, and a call with her publisher about the reprint of her book. Next year, Phoebe was due to mark fifteen years since publishing How to Heal What Cannot Be Mended: A Story of Loss and Love. A memoir featuring much of her PhD research on how the brain processes grief, Phoebe's "inspirational" story about "persevering through the loss of multiple family members, while discovering a long-lost sister and finding love" had brought her dozens of clients over the years, as well as quite a bit of money for her and Cole's retirement.
Now her publisher wanted an epilogue: Phoebe's reflections on marriage and children, and how she managed her grief all these years later. Part of Phoebe felt like she'd said all she wanted to about the subject of grieving. She looked up and caught a glimpse of the bags under her eyes, the deepening lines around her mouth.
It's a privilege to get older, she reminded herself.
In the dining room, Ben was balancing a book while drinking his smoothie. A sleepy Petra texted with her friends as Cole read the newspaper. "You're the only parent I know who still gets a real newspaper every day," said Ben.
"I'm also the only parent you know that was born in the nineteenth century," said Cole.
"Not the flex you think it is, Dad," said Petra.
"When's the last time anyone talked to Mel?" asked Phoebe as she came downstairs. "Is she coming to dinner tonight?"
Ben's eyes widened. "Uh, I'm going to campus to have lunch with her," he said. "I'll ask."
Phoebe looked at Cole. "Melinda hates family dinners. Actually, what she really hates is spending time with me."
"Well," said Cole, setting aside the national news section and picking up the local news, "the problem with you and Mel is that you're exactly alike, and like forces repel one another. Right? Ben, is that r–"
"Right," said Ben, without looking up from his book.
"I know we're alike," Phoebe said impatiently. "I just don't want us to be alike in all of the ways. I want to help her avoid my mistakes… and maybe some of her own."
Cole rolled his eyes. "Phoebe–"
"I'm just kidding."
"Phoebe." Cole repeated her name, but with enough urgency that the kids looked up from what they were doing. "Look at this."
"What?" Phoebe looked over Cole's shoulder. On page three was an article about a local doctor voted Pediatrician of the Year. Her heart got caught in her throat. That man may have been a doctor once, but that was a long time ago…
2001
Phoebe and Piper waited outside of the Transamerica Building for the woman Phoebe had seen in her premonition, while Leo orbed over to Paige's office. Dozens of people streamed in and out of the front doors. It was twelve forty-five, peak lunch hour.
Piper held a newspaper in her hands, pretending to read it. "Have you seen her yet?"
Phoebe squinted at the passersby. "No… she was wearing really big glasses. She also has an invisibility power she can't seem to control yet, so… hopefully we won't miss her."
"Great," mumbled Piper. She set the newspaper aside. "You and Cole were out late last night."
"Sorry, Mom," said Phoebe in a cutesy voice. "Were we out past curfew?"
"No," said Piper, "I just thought we had agreed we were going to give Paige some basic combat training, which you are obviously the expert in, but your 'quick bite to eat' ended up being three hours."
"It wasn't intentional," said Phoebe, looking down at her watch. "Besides, it gave you and Paige some bonding time."
Piper rolled her eyes. "I don't need to bond, I need her to be up to snuff to fight the Source! And I need you to help me."
"What do you want from me, Piper? I'm trying to live life to the fullest. It's a lot shorter than we realize."
"Don't you think I know that just as well as you do?"
Just then, Paige and Leo rounded the corner of the building and headed towards the sisters. "What's the situation?" said Paige.
"Classic 'warlock wants to kill a witch and steal her power'," said Piper. "I've got a vanquishing spell in my pocket."
"There," Phoebe said suddenly, subtly gesturing towards a woman with thick black-framed glasses. She was making her way through the throng outside of the office building with a briefcase in one hand and cellphone in the other, looking distracted. The sisters and Leo followed her, staying about half a block behind, until they saw the witch head towards an alleyway.
Piper broke into a sprint, as did Phoebe and Paige. "Why do they always have to take the alley?" said Piper exasperatedly.
She heard the witch scream; Piper picked up the pace. The warlock had cornered the witch in the alley. She cowered behind her hands, flickering in and out of invisibility.
"Stupid witch," the warlock snarled. "Your power is mine."
"Hey, who are you calling a stupid witch?" said Piper, causing both the witch and warlock to turn her way. Annoyed, the warlock waved his hand, telekinetically hurling a garbage can towards Piper.
Piper had meant to freeze the garbage can, but instead blew it up. Trash went flying; Piper ducked and the witch screamed, disappearing entirely for a moment. "I don't have time for this!" the warlock shouted, before blinking away.
The witch reappeared steps from Piper, just as Phoebe, Paige and Leo caught up. "Is he gone?" she asked Piper.
"I don't k-" The words had barely left Piper's mouth when the warlock blinked behind the witch, covered her mouth with one hand, and with the other, stabbed her in the stomach with an athame.
"Son of a bitch!" screamed Piper, throwing out her hands. Instead of blowing up the warlock, she blew up a large crate in the end of the alley. Shards of wood went everywhere, and the sisters were lifted off their feet.
Piper slammed into the ground a few feet away. While she lay there, back aching, she saw the cool white essence of the witch's power flow out of her corpse and into the warlock. He smiled and closed his eyes like he'd just taken a hit of something delicious and potent.
The warlock looked down at Piper. "Thanks for your help," he said, before blinking away. Leo rushed over to the witch, golden light emanating from his hands. Piper pushed herself off the ground. Beside her, Phoebe helped Paige to her feet.
Leo looked at Piper, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "She's dead."
In a way that shocked everyone, including herself, Piper began to weep.
Back at the Manor, Leo healed Paige's sprained wrist on the couch, while Piper went for Phoebe's jugular. "What kind of Charmed Ones are we?" she shouted. "Three witches who can't even vanquish a lower-level warlock?"
"Well, one of those witches has out-of-control powers and blows things up at random," Phoebe reminded her. "You're the most powerful out of all of us now, Piper, but we have no idea whether you'll freeze something or blow it up. We can't count on you!"
Piper stiffened. "Can't count on me? Wow, that is rich coming from you, the girl who jumps ship at the slightest bump. The one who moves to New York on a whim–"
"I don't think this is helpful," Paige said quietly, but not quietly enough to escape Piper's wrath.
"No one asked you!" said Piper. She stormed up to her bedroom, slamming the door like she was a teenager. Piper was petulant and full of rage, and why not? Didn't she deserve to be?
When Prue died, Piper's world fell apart. In their three years as witches, fighting the good fight, she had sacrificed so much: her free time, her friends, her career– and for what? To lose the person she loved most in the world?
Piper still had Phoebe, but she and Prue were the only sisters who remembered their mother. The ones who had taken care of Grams before she died. They'd bonded over toys as children, boys as teenagers, magic as adults. Piper had hoped that Prue's death would bring her closer to Phoebe, but instead she felt even more distant.
Discovering Paige felt like a betrayal. Their mother and grandmother had lied to Piper and her sisters for their entire lives. How could it be that they had another sister, that some woman just stepped into the family as if Prue had never existed? A half-witch and half-Whitelighter, here to fulfill a grand magical destiny? Piper tried to welcome Paige, while attempting to fill the role of Matriarch and Big Sister, but she wasn't sure she had room in her heart for anyone new at this moment in her life.
Who had time to bond with their long-lost siblings when there were demons breaking down their doors, and witches being murdered right in front of their eyes? Piper closed her eyes as she realized that Phoebe was right: with her powers out of control, she was a liability.
"Piper?" The door to the bedroom opened. Leo stepped inside. "Do you want to talk?"
"Sure," she said. "Why is it that evil gets the best powers?"
Leo frowned as he shut the door behind him. "What are you talking about?"
"I mean, we're the freaking Charmed Ones, Leo, the most powerful witches of all time, supposedly. And what can we do? Freeze time, see the future, move things in clusters of orbs? I'm not saying that's not great," Piper said, as he opened his mouth to interject. "But really, why can every evil being teleport themselves? Why do I have to defend myself against demons throwing fireballs with potions and synchronized sisterly rhyming?"
Leo sighed and took Piper's hands into his own. "I know you're upset about the innocent. I am, too. Phoebe's scrying to track down the warlock–"
"Who cares about the warlock? That witch is dead, and she's not coming back!" She yanked her hands away. "Evil is getting more powerful, Leo, and I feel like a sitting duck."
"They're powerful, but you and your sisters are more powerful," said Leo. "You vanquished Shax, remember? You avenged Prue."
They had; the demon that had murdered her sister had been torn apart by their spell. Just like Piper wanted. "You're right," she said softly, her rage quickly becoming replaced by exhaustion, and the need to hide under the covers. "It just doesn't feel fair sometimes."
Leo wrapped his arms around Piper, while she pressed her head against his shoulder. "I know."
2024
"This is bullshit," said Melinda Turner, crossing her arms. "This is religious discrimination."
Despite the confidence of her words, Melinda fiddled nervously with the silver dollar-sized large pentagram around her neck. "No, Melinda," said Professor Rice, the head of Residential Life at Gold State University. "It might have been, then you turned it into an act of vandalism."
Tess stifled a giggle behind her hands; Melinda shot her a look. Melinda felt out of place in these settings. Tess wore a quilted jacket and matching skirt, while Professor Rice had on a sheath dress and blazer. Melinda wore a drapey lace top, full peasant skirt and Birkenstocks straight out of Stevie Nicks' closet, and there were faded purple streaks throughout her curly brown hair.
At least her pentagram was dainty and tasteful, compared to the fist-sized, blinged-out cross dangling from Tess's neck. Then again, Tess's necklace was about half the size of the pentagram Melinda had spray painted on the girl's door.
"Vandalism is a crime against property," said Professor Rice. "But the last thing we want at Gold State is for students to feel afraid of one another. What you did, Melinda, made Tess feel unsafe."
Tess was the president of Gold State's "triple C" club, the nickname for Campus Crusaders for Christ. Melinda held the same position for the university's Wiccan/Neopagan Collective. "I think she hexed me," said Tess, lifting her nose.
"Do you even know what that means?" said Melinda.
"Let's keep this conversation to the relevant facts, please," said Professor Rice, trying not to roll her eyes.
Two weeks prior, Campus Crusaders for Christ had made an official complaint to Gold State administration after the Wiccan/Neopagan Collective had claimed the student lounge for a gathering (Melinda argued she didn't have "dibs", but merely had submitted her application on time). There had been some back-and-forth on social media between Melinda, Tess, and a few members of both groups. Melinda didn't start the fight, but in the end, she finished it, with a can of lime green spray paint.
"Come on, Professor," said Melinda. "Their group is like three times the size of ours. How could we make anyone feel unsafe?"
Professor Rice shook her head. "The student handbook is clear: Melinda, you're to withdraw from your courses and vacate your dorm by the end of the day. You're prohibited from living on campus for a year, and you're suspended from your role as President for the same amount of time."
"What?" cried Melinda. "You can't do that!" She could feel her body temperature start to rise. If only Tess and Professor Rice knew what she was really capable of.
"I certainly can," said Professor Rice, raising an eyebrow.
Cut it out, Melinda told herself, forcing herself to calm down as the back of her neck got hot. "Please don't send me home. Put me to work instead! I can– sort garbage in the campus recycling center, or shelve books in the library. Isn't there something I can do to make up for this?"
Professor Rice pursed her lips, thinking. "I have an idea," she said. "We're starting a campus beautification project, and there's nothing we need more than to start beautifying spaces on our campus that are visually unappealing. Like graffiti. If you actively participate through the end of the summer session, we'll allow you to appeal your punishment in the fall."
"Agreed!" said Melinda.
"Professor," said Tess, distraught, "what kind of a 'slap on the wrist' punishment is–"
"Tess," said the professor, "please leave the role of discipline to me."
Melinda left the meeting hazily. "Couldn't you have just gotten some cleaner and called it a day?" she asked Tess in the elevator. "I would've helped you clean it up."
Tess barely looked her in the eye, typing frantically on her phone. "And miss you getting the boot from campus that you so richly deserve?" Her eyes snapped up from her phone to meet Melinda's with a horrible grin. "Not a chance."
Lost in thought, Melinda barely recognized the cheering crowd waiting for her outside of the administrative building: her brother Ben, and her boyfriend Stefano. "I've been suspended for the rest of the summer session," she told them. "I have to move out and turn my keys into Res Life by the end of the day."
"Mom's going to be pissed," said Ben. Ben was due to start at Gold State in the fall, but was on campus participating in an accelerated summer session. Like his sister, Ben had inherited their father's thick, curly dark hair, which he wore short and close to his head. "I mean, Dad will be upset, too, but Mom–"
"Tell me something I don't know," said Melinda.
"This is unjust," said Stefano. Like his girlfriend, he wore his Wiccan ways on his sleeve, literally; he had a penchant for purple hair as well, along with all-black clothes and lots of silver jewelry. "This is religious persecution."
"No, it's really not," said Ben, rolling his eyes. "You're not allowed to defame public property for religious purposes." He gave Melinda a particularly withering look. "I went and looked at it. It's a terrible pentagram. You could never cast a spell with that thing. It's inverted, for one."
"It wasn't meant for casting," said Melinda, "it was meant for scaring uptight assholes!"
"Who are these people in power to tell us what our religion is and isn't?" Stefano mused aloud. "It's not like those Christians care. All they see is something outside of their realm of knowledge, and they freak out."
Ben shot his sister another pointed look. Stefano was a witch practitioner, with no power of his own. He had no experience with the kind of magic Melinda had been exposed to since childhood. There was something holding Melinda back from telling Stefano that she was a true witch. After all, they'd only been dating for a month.
"We can worry about the infringement of your religious liberties later," said Ben, ignoring him. He looked at Melinda. "We should start packing up your room."
Crokel sat in a coffee shop, drinking a latte and holding a book that he wasn't reading. His brother Zagan sat alongside him: they were dressed inconspicuously, clad in jeans, sweatshirts, sneakers and baseball caps. Zagan kept his long blonde hair tucked into a ponytail, while Crokel wore his dark hair shaggy, dipping into his eyes.
They were joined at their table by another demon, Marchosa. She appeared to be about the same age as the boys, but she was at least a few decades older. Marchosa wore a stylish black matching set: bra top, leggings, and cropped hooded sweatshirt. The sunglasses covering her eyes were impenetrably black, but if Crokel looked closely, he could see the scarring from when Marchosa's eyes had been removed. Her evisceration had come by order of the Source, who had hoped to increase her telepathic powers. Marchosa leaned a cane against the table, but it was more of a prop than anything.
While Crokel pretended to read, Zagan typed on a laptop, and Marchosa quietly sipped a cappuccino, they observed their prey.
Robert Tobey was a high school tennis coach, a part-time firefighter and father of three sons. The last part was most important: the Seer had foreseen that Robert's sons, all powerful witches, were destined to head down dark paths after the death of their father. "Future soldiers for the Source" was how she had described the Tobey boys. Crokel was sure he and his siblings had been given the same distinction before they were even born.
He was seated at a table a few feet from the demons. Marchosa was reading Robert's mind, learning every secret about his sons: information that ultimately could be helpful in turning them to evil. As soon as she finished, Zagan and Crokel would kill Mr. Tobey and start his sons down their dark path.
Crokel took a sip of his coffee. As much as he hated being on assignment, he enjoyed spending time in the mortal world. He liked coffee, and wearing jeans, and listening to the jazzy music that played in the background of places like cafes. Crokel enjoyed people watching, wondering about the lives of the mortals who came and went.
Zagan was as bored as Crokel was intrigued. "How long can a person sit reading a book in public?" he wondered. He looked towards Marchosa. "We don't have all day."
"I'm almost done," she said.
"What if he gets up before you're done?" said Zagan.
"Then you'll hold him down," Marchosa said coolly.
"Sounds like that might cause a scene," said Zagan. "Don't worry, we'll describe it to you."
"Not necessary, but thanks for offering."
"You need to learn some patience," said Crokel.
"Mind your business, Chris," sneered Zagan, dropping the name for his brother they used in the mortal world. "I'm just eager to get the job done. I don't get the same joy out of ground bean juice that you do."
"And I'm eager to get away from this brotherly bickering," said Marchosa. She leaned back and cracked her knuckles. "I've gleaned everything from his mind that I can."
"Anything useful?" said Crokel.
Marchosa smiled smugly. "That man remembers every bruised knee and split lip his sons have ever had. It'll be easy to break them." She finished her cappuccino, crushed the cup with her fist, and threw it into the closest garbage can. At least one person raised their eyebrows at Marchosa's highly accurate aim. Marchosa grabbed her cane and stood to leave. "Good luck."
"Thanks," said Zagan.
"Good timing," said Crokel, nudging him.
Robert Tobey stood up at the same time, throwing away his paper goods, and headed for the door. Zagan and Crokel did the same. They followed him at a half-block distance.
Crokel kept his eyes on the streets. It was mid-afternoon, and the business district was quiet. "Let's get this over with," he whispered.
"Fine," said Zagan. "He'll stop if one of his boys calls." He narrowed his eyes, and gave the subtlest wave of his hand.
Robert Tobey stopped, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out his ringing phone. Zagan's power of protection was so expansive, Crokel often wondered why he needed to join his brother on assignment. Crokel's main power was ice manipulation, but as valued as that ability was, it had nothing compared to the effectiveness of convincing people to see whatever Zagan wanted them to.
Robert turned onto a side street. Zagan and Crokel followed. "Jake?" they heard him say. "Jake, it's Dad, can you hear me? Hello?"
Zagan looked to Crokel. "Take him out."
"You can do it," said Crokel.
Zagan rolled his eyes. With a careless wave of his hand, Robert Tobey was lifted off his feet and forced flat against the nearest wall. "What's going on?" he exclaimed.
"This is the moment you become a footnote in history," said Zagan. "Freeze him, Crokel."
With a glare at his brother, Crokel flexed his fingers. Ice wrapped around Robert, entombing him; Zagan finished him with an energy ball. Nothing but a scorch mark remained. "See, was that so hard?" said Zagan, rolling his eyes. He clasped Crokel's shoulder. "Come on, cheer up. Another notch towards joining the Brotherhood of the Thorn. Can't you smile about that?"
Crokel gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Let's take care of the remaining innocent before Tyleos's ceremony."
"That's the spirit!" said Zagan. He shimmered away; his brother followed close behind.
2001
Phoebe woke up and couldn't fall back asleep around one in the morning: her new normal, since Prue died. Instead of tossing and turning, she decided to make a cup of tea. She was surprised to find the light already on in the kitchen, and Piper sitting at the table with a newspaper. "Why are you still up?"
"Did you know Tracey Bell graduated top of her class from Princeton? She double majored in Business and English."
Phoebe filled the kettle with hot water and put it on the stove. "Who's Tracey Bell?"
"The witch we lost yesterday." Piper threw down the newspaper. An obituary, with a small photo, told the story of Tracey. "Her birthday was October 29th, the day after Prue's."
Phoebe studied Piper. All of the muscles in her face were tense, as if she was trying not to cry– or scream. "Honey, do you want to talk about it?"
"What's to talk about?" said Piper. "That girl needed us, and we failed her. Just like we failed Prue."
Phoebe took a deep breath, trying not to dissolve into rage. She sat down beside her sister. "You know there was nothing we could have done to save Prue, Piper."
Piper gripped the edge of the kitchen table so tightly, Phoebe thought she might break through the wood. "If you had never gone to the Underworld to save Cole," she said, "Leo wouldn't have had to go and rescue you. He would have been there to heal her."
Phoebe placed her palms flat on the table. "Good. You finally said it. I knew you blamed me."
"You abandoned us for your demon boyfriend!"
"I was trying to save him from a spell he was under! You were willing to give up our powers and entire destiny when the Elders wouldn't let you marry Leo!"
"It's not the same, Phoebe. Leo isn't evil!"
"And neither is Cole, anymore!"
"Well, good, because he better be a goddamn saint to be worth letting your sister die!"
Piper and Phoebe stared one another down. Piper's rage seemed to hit its pique, and was falling; but the anger in Phoebe's eyes only grew.
Piper lowered her head, unwilling to meet her sister's gaze. "That was–"
"Save it for someone who cares," she snapped. Phoebe left the kitchen.
Piper turned off the stove. Alone in the kitchen, surrounded by all of the thoughts she wanted to avoid, she felt like crying. Sobbing, really. But instead she went to the attic.
Since they had awoken their magic, Piper had let Prue and Phoebe become the Wiccan Wonders. She was content to run behind them, freezing on command. Piper never wanted to be a witch; but resenting her birthright was not only a waste of her time, it was putting people in danger. She knew it was time to toughen up and become the witch she knew she could be.
Piper took three empty potion bottles and lined them up in a row along an old table. She threw out her hands one, two, three times. The bottles didn't break the first time, but froze instead. She broke a vase on the second. But on her third try, the three bottles broke in unison.
She smiled, allowing herself to feel proud. This would take time and practice, Piper realized. But it would be worth it.