2024

Paige stood at the front of the classroom, holding out her hand: she'd slit her palm with a knife, and blood was threatening to spill on the floor. Her student Julian– a man in his forties who had recently died in a car accident– looked panicked.

"It's okay," she told him.

"No, it's not," he said sourly. "What kind of healer can't stand the sight of blood?"

She gave him a lopsided smile. "A healer who will work on it until he's not controlled by his fear." Paige turned to the rest of the class. The students were of all ages, races, and sexes; the only thing they had in common is that they were recently inducted Whitelighters. "In a crisis situation, powers might be flying, emotions running high– but Whitelighters need to remain calm for their charges."

"But I haven't figured out how to heal yet," one student said, raising her hand.

"It takes time," said Paige. "But to paraphrase Huey Lewis and the News, it's all about the power of love." She looked back at Julian. "Focus on that. Even if you're not healing someone you personally love, think about the people from your past lives. Those emotions will trigger your gift."

She held her hand out to him again. Hesitantly Julian held his hands over Paige's. He closed his eyes. The moments that passed were long, but eventually golden light emanated from Julian's palms. Paige's bloody slash healed without a trace.

Julian opened his eyes and sighed with relief. "Good job," said Paige. Chimes rang out, signaling the end of class. "Next time, we'll focus on sensing and honing in on charges," she told the students as they gathered their things. "Bring good questions!"

Paige navigated her way through the long hallways of Magic School. She had started teaching here when her daughter Peggy entered kindergarten, although Phoebe and Paige's family had been a part of the Magic School community since Melinda and Peggy were in their day care.

The reality of raising magical children without the benefit of being Charmed had forced Phoebe and Paige to confront a harsh truth: spaces like ordinary schools weren't right for their families. Not only did they want to keep their children safe, but the sisters didn't want their kids to suffer as they had by learning witchcraft late in life.

As time went on, Paige realized that as much as she had loved being a social worker, Peggy's birth forced her to reexamine what she really wanted. Paige wanted to be close to her children, and she found many aspects of what she loved about social work– and some of the things she didn't like– present in teaching.

Making a beeline for her down the hallway were two of the reasons that Paige loved her job: her twelve-year-olds Samantha and Laura. The twins giggled as they rushed towards their mom.

Samantha flicked her hands quickly. The not-so-secret emergency candy bar that Paige kept stashed in her Magic School robes flew out and into Samantha's hand. Laura broke off a piece and took a bite.

"I need a new hiding spot for my stash," said Paige, rolling her eyes. "Don't spoil your appetite, Aunt Phoebe's serving pizza, salad and gelato tonight."

"Okay!" the girls squealed as they hurried to their next class.

Paige made her way towards the teachers' lounge, where a sandwich and seltzer awaited her. However, mentally she'd already skipped ahead to dinner. It was an unofficial, unspoken tradition for Paige to spend July 10 with Phoebe, no matter what she wanted to do. In years past, that meant a combination of watching home movies, crying, taking very long walks and drinking (which Paige didn't partake in, but watched and held Phoebe's hair back the next day). As their children grew older, Phoebe's grief ritual had mellowed out significantly; in fact, Phoebe had only called Paige that morning to tell her what she wanted most was a quiet dinner, with the entire family under one roof.

When Paige got to the teacher's lounge, she found the Headmaster eating lunch. "What's the soup of the day?" she asked as she settled down across from him.

"Chicken noodle," said Gideon. "How was class?"

"I think we had a breakthrough or two." said Paige. "Whitelighter Skills is my favorite class to teach."

"Well, we're always glad to have your practical expertise in the classroom." Gideon smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Just beside the lunch table, a Whitelighter's orbs streamed into the room. "Hey, kid," said Sam. "Do you have a moment to talk?" He looked over at Gideon. "You should hear this, too."

"Hey, Dad," said Paige. "Sure. What's going on?"

"Before I start, I'm telling you that I'm just the messenger," said Sam.

Paige rolled her eyes. "If this is about the Elders' offer of a new charge again, tell them I'm up to my ears in work. Throw in a few four-letter words, of your choice, so they know I'm serious."

Sam grimaced. "It's not about that. It's about Peggy and Jasmine."

Paige sighed. "What about her?" She looked at Gideon. "You've really got to stop punishing her for something that's not really wrong."

"I don't speak for the Elders anymore than you speak for all witches, Paige." Gideon slurped the rest of his soup. "But we do have rules in place for a reason."

"But she wasn't even really a Whitelighter when they started dating, she was a Whitelighter-in-Training," said Paige. "Jasmine had only dated guys before, it was kind of a surprise for both of them…" She sighed. "I hope they overcome this stupid ban, date a few more years, get married, have cute babies, and that Jasmine eventually teaches me how to make her mother's soup dumplings."

Sam's eyes lifted to the ceiling, as if silently pleading. "I like Jasmine just as much as you do, Paige. Do you think I like seeing my granddaughter unhappy? But I've spoken to a few Elders, and there are some that are ready to strip Peggy's Whitelighter powers from her if she texts Jasmine."

Paige crossed her arms and looked at Gideon. "Could you speak for any Elders and confirm this?"

"Paige, I don't think you understand the consequences of Whitelighters and witches together," said Gideon. "Yes, I supported Piper and Leo's union. Not many Elders did. But such a union did not prevent them from falling to evil, and as such that they were a package deal for the Source, losing them has been… nothing short of devastating in certain areas."

"I get that," said Paige, shaking her head. "But I don't really think the two are connected. What happened to Piper and Leo was… a lot of different factors converging."

"So you won't speak to the other Elders on Peggy's behalf?" said Sam.

Gideon sighed. "Peggy was one of our brightest students." He tapped his spoon on the rim of his soup bowl as he thought. "I'd like to speak to her first, but depending on what she says… well. I don't want to promise anything." He waved his hand; the spoon and bowl both vanished. Gideon rose to his feet. "Tell her my door is always open if she wishes to stop by." He orbed out of the teachers' lounge.

"Peggy was really looking forward to getting a charge," sighed Paige. "She was so excited to follow in our footsteps."

"Yeah, I know," said Sam. "I just didn't think she'd be so literal on my part."

They both chuckled; Paige quickly regained herself. "Don't the Elders consider all I've done for them over the years? Guiding of future witches and Whitelighters, including my own daughters? Not to mention all of the innocents Phoebe and I have saved." She shook her head. "So why not let my daughter date her girlfriend?"

"It's not so much about Peggy as it is Jasmine," Sam said carefully. "Her power is precious. It's not something we want evil to get its hands on."

"I understand that," Paige said slowly, "but there's something you're not telling me."

Sam sighed. "There's nothing to tell. Nothing you don't already know or haven't seen with your own eyes. We're fighting a cutthroat battle with evil, and our side is winning, for now… but not by much, and there are so many ways the balance could realign in their favor. That's why you have to tell Peggy to stay away from Jasmine. At least, for now. If we can get through this period unscathed, we might be able to appeal this and convince some Elders to side with us."

Paige shook her head. "I hate this."

"Hey, I don't like the Elders anymore than you do," Sam said sourly. "You know what I do like? Spending time with my granddaughters. Jazz on the radio in the morning. A really good steak with a really old bourbon. And all of those things will just be memories of a better time if evil gets the foothold that they're looking for. We all have a part to play in making sure that doesn't happen. Unfortunately, Paige, this is yours."

Paige took a deep breath and sighed. "I need to think about what I want to do next," she said. "Is that okay?"

"Not with the Elders, but it is with me," said Sam. He gave Paige a hug. "Give the girls a squeeze for me later."

"You got it," she said as he orbed away.

Peggy tried to play it cool in the coffee shop. She twirled her dark brown hair around her index finger, feeling overdressed in her sundress, cardigan and sneakers, but ultimately glad she'd worn that outfit. Even if this meeting was supposed to be unintentional, it was as close to a date as Peggy could get.

"Iced oat matcha latte for Peggy?"

She picked up her drink and looked for a seat. Two guys about her age got up from their table at just the right time. Peggy slid into one of the seats, just as–

"Is this seat taken?" Jasmine smiled at Peggy.

"No, please, help yourself," she said.

Clutching a hazelnut milk latte, Jasmine sat down. The Chinese girl was Peggy's age, just shy of twenty-one. She wore her dark hair in a shiny Anna Wintour-esque bob, and was too cute in her mini skirt, baby tee, and oversized blazer for the fashion ghost town that was San Francisco. "We got lucky," said Jasmine.

"I think that every day," said Peggy.

Jasmine blushed. She moved as if to extend her hand towards Peggy– then thought better of it, grabbing her coffee instead. "How's your job?"

"Good. Tutoring's good money, looks good on a resume, and it fills the time," said Peggy.

"That's how I feel about my internship," said Jasmine. "It's not like I don't care about my future, but right now I just need something that stops me from thinking about you all the time."

Now it was Peggy's turn to blush. "Thanks." She took a sip of her drink. "How's your new… electrician?"

Electrician was the code word they used in public for Whitelighter. Jasmine made a face. "Fine. They assigned me someone older. Do you know Martin?"

Peggy shook her head, fighting a smile. "No. There's more people on their roster than you know."

"He's Simone's Whitelighter, and he's like twenty-five. Yeah, I know," said Jasmine when Peggy opened her mouth, "I didn't think they were setting up opposite-sex straights around the same age, but Martin's one of those… what do they call them again?"

Peggy grimaced. She knew exactly what Jasmine was referring to. "They have an official name, but we call them 'Whitewatchers', because one of their official jobs is to snitch on people. I guess the Elders think those Whitelighters are immune from falling in love with their charges."

"Maybe they should just turn Whitelighters into Barbie dolls with no genitalia, and that will prevent the whole issue," said Jasmine, making them both giggle. Once they settled down, Jasmine's smile turned awkward. "Did they… assign you someone new?"

"No," said Peggy. She started playing with the plastic straw in her drink. "I think I'm being sent to remedial electrician school."

"That's such bullshit," said Jasmine, shaking her head. "All of this is."

"They're just trying to prevent what happened to my aunt and uncle from happening to anyone else."

"Being in love doesn't mean we're going to go to the dark side," said Jasmine.

Peggy nodded, swallowing back the lump in her throat. "I know. But no one wants to take a risk where your power is concerned."

Jasmine had the power of deflection, known as a once-in-a-generation power. The last witch with deflection was murdered for it before Peggy's mother had started practicing the Craft. Peggy had not been let in on the finer details, but it was clear that the Elders had an interest in protecting one of their greatest assets. "I don't care," said Jasmine.

"They care. The folks in charge."

Jasmine reached out for Peggy's hand and this time she didn't stop herself. "They're not more powerful than this."

Her hand was warm and soft. It reminded Peggy of the last time she and Jasmine had felt safe enough to be alone and undressed. Damn, she wanted her girlfriend back. "You're right," said Peggy, her voice cracking. "Screw it. Let's go to your place and make out."

Jasmine smiled, her whole body relaxing. They stood to leave, when Jasmine stopped suddenly. "Oh no."

"What?" Peggy turned around, following Jasmine's gaze. On the sidewalk stood Simone: Jasmine's older sister, fellow witch, and a major stickler for the rules. She stared into the coffee shop with narrowed eyes and crossed arms. "Crap."

"This was a bad idea," Jasmine said. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"Please don't," said Peggy.

But Jasmine shook her head. "I need to defuse this bomb," she said, nodding towards her sister. "I'm so sorry. I love you." Peggy watched her leave.

Saleos inspected the crying infant, only a few days old. Her anxious, sleep-deprived mother held her baby close. "She's very healthy," he told her; she sighed in relief. "Just a few shots, and she'll be ready to go. Nurse?"

The nurse brought over a tray of syringes. Saleos gave the mother a lopsided smile. "This is going to hurt you much more than her," he said. The mother laughed.

Saleos gave the baby girl her recommended vaccinations, plus one. The last syringe held a potion that Zepir had been working on for nearly two decades now. The potion worked slowly but built up over time, conditioning the child to lean into their darker traits– selfishness, hatred, cruelty– as well as increasing their aggression.

Every few years, Saleos would check up on his patients. The results improved annually: many had entered the juvenile justice system, and a number of them had been recruited for the Demonic Academy. A few were even full-fledged demons by this point, not unlike his former ward Tyleos.

Saleos smiled. It had taken him years to gain any sort of foothold in the Underworld. His background as a Whitelighter made others distrust him. But he took delight in the fact that the medical skills he'd obtained as a human were precisely what the Source needed to fulfill his ultimate goals.

"There you go," Saleos said to the infant, as he injected her with Zepir's potion. "You're going to grow up big and strong."

Saleos bid the mother and her baby farewell. He headed to the bathroom, where he could covertly shimmer to the Underworld. Saleos moved quickly, well-aware that he was late to meet with the Brotherhood of the Thorn.

Unfortunately, a voice he recognized from years before called out for him. "Doctor Deacon?"

Saleos turned to find Phoebe staring him down. It had been a long time since they were face-to-face. He forced a pleasant smile on. "May I help you?"

She shook her head. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Seeing patients, ma'am. How can I help you?" Saleos smirked as Phoebe grew more frustrated.

"I saw your picture in the paper," she said. "'Pediatrician of the Year'? You're disgusting."

"If you're looking for a prescription for those crows' feet, I can recommend a dermatologist," said Saleos.

Phoebe narrowed her eyes on him. "I don't know what you're up to, but my family and I will stop you."

"I wish you the best of luck," said Saleos. "Have a great day."

Phoebe turned on her heel and left.

2001

Cole shimmered into Phoebe's bedroom. He was surprised to find her awake at two in the morning, sitting in bed with her laptop and a few accounting books stacked beside her. "Helping Piper cook the books?"

Phoebe didn't even look up, let alone laugh. "P3 is behind on property taxes, one of the bartenders hasn't been paid in a month, and the health department is coming for a visit next week," she said. "So I'm just trying to make sure this family's only source of income doesn't go totally kaput."

Cole sat down beside her. Phoebe kept her eyes focused on the laptop, but she softened slightly when he kissed her cheek. "Isn't this Piper's job?"

"Yes, but for some reason, the phone ringing off the hook with people who want money doesn't bother her, so I'm taking care of it."

Cole hesitated; he didn't know the finer points of sibling relationships, so he knew that he occasionally asked questions with obvious answers. "Can you… talk to her about it?"

By the way Phoebe slammed her laptop shut, Cole knew he'd asked one of those questions. "I've tried! She doesn't listen to me, and she avoids Paige at all costs. Last night, Piper was teaching her Potions 101 but when Paige didn't get it exactly right the first time, she flipped out and went back to the attic to work on her own potions."

"What kind of potions?"

"I don't know. I think she's trying to fill Prue's shoes as Super Witch, especially after we lost that witch a few weeks ago." Phoebe shook her head and closed her laptop. "You know what? If Piper wants to act like she's dead inside, she can go ahead."

"Phoebe, you don't mean–"

She put her laptop on the night table and turned off the light.

Leo opened the attic door. "Piper?"

A cauldron bubbled away on the table on a hot plate. Piper tossed a handful of some herb into the pot; it hissed like a petulant snake. "Hi, honey," she greeted him without looking up from the Book of Shadows.

I wonder why she's brewing a potion up here, thought Leo. It was much more convenient to work in the kitchen– unless Piper was brewing something she didn't want Phoebe to know about.

"Is there a demon? Are you brewing a vanquishing potion?"

Piper shook her head, stirring the cauldron with a large wooden spoon. "Nope. What we have here is a potion that scorches flesh, which should be done in just a few minutes."

Leo moved to the table and picked up several smaller bottles, reading the labels on each one. "Mind Control, Fire Breath, Torment… Torment?"

She smiled and nodded, looking pleased with herself. "If you throw that at a demon, he'll be in pain until you throw the antidote at him. It could be good when we need to get information out of them." Piper must've been unhappy with the shocked look on Leo's face, because she said, "What? I've already made the antidote."

"Piper, did you find these spells in the Book?"

"No, I wrote them myself. You know," she said wryly, "after culinary school and a few years of being a witch, I think I've finally gotten this potion thing down."

"Piper…" Leo paused. "These aren't the kind of potions that good witches make."

"Why? Do we have to make lame potions to go along with our lame powers?" But she looked less pleased with herself. "I just want to be prepared. We need a little extra firepower."

"You vanquish demons, Piper, to save innocents. You don't torture them!"

"Well, maybe they deserve pain, Leo, have you ever considered that?" Piper said, her voice cracking. "We vanquished Shax, but if I could go back in time, I would put that demon through every kind of torture I can imagine."

Leo was lost for words. He knew his wife would never completely get over Prue's death; but he was hard-pressed to say that he wouldn't torture Shax himself if he got the chance. Especially if it had been Piper who died that day.

"Piper," he said, "I know you feel bad about what happened to Tracey Bell. But that wasn't your fault. You didn't know the warlock was coming back, you still don't have full control of your exploding power yet–"

Her face lit up. "Oh, but I do now," said Piper. She turned to the dollhouse in the corner and flicked her wrists. The wooden dollhouse exploded, sending shards of wood and glass flying, but another flick of the wrists froze them in place. She whirled around to look at Leo. "Impressed?" The pieces of wood and glass fell harmlessly to the floor with a final wave of her hands.

"I am," he said, stunned. Piper had come a long way in only a few weeks. Not just magically; for the first time since Prue's death, she was present and talkative and, well, alive. Leo missed his wife.

Piper walked over to her husband, throwing her arms around his neck. Leo wrapped his arms around her waist, savoring her touch. Since Prue died, the last thing Piper had wanted was for Leo to touch her. He inhaled the flowery scent of her hair, his hands tracing the curves of her hips.

"You don't need to worry about me. I know what I need to do. I need to start being the big sister. Prue was the most powerful out of all of us. And now… I am." She smiled. "I know how you hate being so passive. We could give you an active power to defend yourself when you need to. You would like that, wouldn't you?" Piper's lips kissed down his neck, electrifying every sense.

When Leo had been training to be a Whitelighter, he had been trained to identify warning signs that his charges might turn evil. Some of the signs included spending more time than usual practicing magic; becoming interested in ways to gain more power; or devising spells and potions that walked the line of personal gain.

Yet everything Piper said was true. Her sisters struggled against powerful demons, and they were easily at their weakest in years. Piper was right about Leo, too: he hated how easily a demon could knock him unconscious, or how he had to be afraid of nothing more than an arrow dipped in poison. Leo took pride in the fact his wife was a powerful witch; he wasn't jealous of her. But at a minimum, he wanted to be able to defend himself.

Part of Leo knew that this was wrong. He could see the warning signs in Piper, and worse, he wondered if he felt Piper's desire for power within his own veins. But right now, the feel of her body on his was incredible; Leo could give a damn about power. Right now, he only wanted Piper.

Leo scooped Piper up in his arms. She giggled as he pulled her into a long kiss and carried her back to their bedroom. Later, when he thought back at that time, he realized that that moment was the first indicator of her turn to evil– and by not saying a word, his first indicator that he'd follow in her footsteps.

2001

The Source's chambers were dark, save the light of a few torches. In a glimmer of light, before him appeared the Seer. "My liege," she greeted him. "I have had a vision I think you will find intriguing."

"Leave me, Seer," the Source said. "My patience is thinning with the unpredictability of the Oracle's visions. I suggest you don't add yourself to that list."

"I understand that things have not gone as expected," she said delicately. "But what I saw concerns the Charmed Ones."

"Yes, the ever-sharpening thorn in my side." He waved her off. "They have reconstituted their power. I should have taken the opportunity of killing the other two before Prue's funeral."

"That is where my vision comes into play," she said. "I believe we may be able to turn the eldest Charmed One to our side."

Even beneath his hood, it was obvious that the Source was skeptical. "Piper? Of all of the sisters?"

"I have foreseen it," said the Seer. "She is experimenting with dark magic, my liege. And she is seducing her husband down her path."

The Source of All Evil considered this. During Paige's window of opportunity, he had preyed on her compassion for her clients. What vulnerability of Piper's could he use to his advantage?

"When did she begin using dark magic?" he asked.

"Three weeks ago," said the Seer, "when she and her sisters lost a witch to a warlock named Phenex."

The Source smiled as he prepared to summon Phenex.

2024

The Source had asked Zepir to perform the ritual to consecrate Tyleos as the Source's Hand, a bodyguard who would be mystically linked to him and the entire Underworld. Vessax, the Supreme Priest of the Underworld, asked to meet with her beforehand.

She faded into his chambers. To the average mortal, he was unassuming: middle-aged, on the shorter side, gray-haired and balding. But when he lifted his gaze from his Grimoire to look at Zepir, his dark, beady eyes betrayed how deep his power ran.

"Supreme Priest," she said, bowing at the waist.

"Greetings, Priestess Zepir," he said. "I am eager to hear of your progress."

Dark Priestesses were known for their ability to convert witches to evil by marrying them to warlocks. That was how Zepir had first become aware of them. The ritual to transform the witches to warlocks was effective, but lengthy; Vessax had asked her to work on creating a new, shorter ritual.

"Yes, your Excellence," she said. She drew a thinly-rolled piece of parchment from the pouch hanging from her belt. On it, Zepir had sketched different overlapping pentagrams. "The ritual draws magic from the moon, but also from the witch themself. They are fed a potion that amplifies their base desires and strengthens the witch's powers, just long enough to give into those desires and make a choice that leads them down our path."

"And what if the witch's desire is to cleanse the world of evil, starting with the being casting the spell?"

"That's what the outer wards are for," said Zepir. "The red crystals can distinguish and separate dark magic from light. They're able to prevent certain enchantments from being cast, including vanquishing spells. If that was the witch's intent, the spell would never get beyond the outer wards."

"And how long does it take?"

"There's preparation time required for the potion and preparing the wards. But once the witch consumes the potion and the ritual begins?" Zepir smiled. "No more than fifteen minutes, I estimate, but we'll have to test it to be certain."

"Which we will do soon," said Vessax, nodding. "I commend you for your diligent work, Priestess. You have become quite adept in your role during your service to the Source. I shall be sure to tell him as much."

She gave him a small, dutiful smile. "Thank you, your Excellence. Was there anything else you wished to discuss?"

"No, but please join me. The Source wishes to speak with me about a matter, and I thought you might have something to add to the conversation."

Before Zepir could move or say anything, Vessax grabbed her wrist, and they faded into the Source's chambers. A long table of black stone had been positioned in the throne room, with the Source at the head of the table. To the sides were the other members of his Council, along with Vessax: the Seer; Merrill, representative of the last of the wizards; and his student Cronyn, a demonic sorcerer.

Also gathered in the room was the Brotherhood of the Thorn, the Source's elite group of demonic assassins and mercenaries tasked to infiltrate the human world. Jassa was a dark-haired man who appeared to be about fifty, even though he was easily over a hundred, and served as Chief of Staff to the mayor of San Francisco. Formeos, a short and broadly-built Latino man, had taken on the identity of a partner at one of the city's biggest law firms. Selatri, an ethereally pale woman with scarlet red hair, had recently become the leader of San Francisco's Chamber of Commerce. Klea, a tall Asian woman, wrote fiery political editorials for The Bay Mirror, and was a frequent commentator on local and national news. Then, of course, there was Saleos, Pediatrician of the Year.

There was a sixth member joining the Brotherhood: standing in the center of a chalk circle, wearing velvet robes, empty eye sockets exposed, was Marchosa. Tall, lithe, and blonde, her unthreatening appearance and combination of powers– telepathy, invisibility, and pyrokinesis– made her one of the Source's most valuable spies. Now she would be honored by joining the Brotherhood.

Cronyn took notice of Zepir and Vessax. He lifted a finger to his lips, nodding towards Jassa.

Jassa, dressed in ritual robes, pulled an athame from his sleeve, while Klea held a silver bowl. "Formeos," said Jassa, "the sacrifice."

Formeos nodded, giving a casual wave of the hand. In the center of the circle with Marchosa appeared a young woman, bound at the wrists, ankles and mouth. She let out a hoarse scream through her bonds. Marchosa looked straight ahead, but the corners of her mouth ticked up when she heard the innocent scream.

Jassa grabbed the sacrifice by her long hair, drawing the athame. "Pro nequam mei morieris," he recited, and slit her throat. Klea moved to catch the gushing blood in her bowl.

Across the room, Saleos locked eyes with Zepir. She remembered her husband's initiation into the Brotherhood of the Thorn. The Source had been testing his and Zepir's resolve after their transition, to make sure they wouldn't return to his wife's family of origin. When Saleos was initiated, he had been forced to kill one of his charges from his days as a Whitelighter. The first innocent Zepir sacrificed was her former neighbor, a girl named Kate.

Jassa nodded his approval as he dropped the sacrifice's body. He slit his own wrist over Klea's silver bowl. As his blood dripped, he chanted: "Receperint advena, dignissimi mortiferna. Ordines nostros, nostrae potestatis."

Jassa passed the bowl to Klea, who did the same, adding her blood to the bowl while chanting. The other demons did so as well. Saleos was the last to contribute his blood, before passing the bowl to Marchosa.

She took the bowl with a closed, thin-lipped smile. "Da potestatem tuam, et dona mea conferam," Marchosa said, before drinking the blood mixture. The candles marking the sacred circle flared brightly, before dimming again.

"Welcome, Marchosa, to the Brotherhood of the Thorn," said Jassa, smiling. "We look forward to continuing the celebration later this evening, when Saleos's wife consecrates the Source's Hand."

"Congratulations," said Vessax, before turning to the Source. "My lord, you wished to speak with me?"

"Yes. Welcome, Supreme Priest, and Priestess Zepir," said the Source. "Take a seat."

Vessax moved towards his high-backed chair; the Source conjured one for Zepir and she sat down. The Brotherhood approached the table and stood behind the Council.

"Your convocation troubles me," the Source told Vessax.

"The priests and priestesses?" said Vessax, doing his best to keep any defensiveness out of his tone. "What do you suspect them of, my lord?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Supreme Priest. Seer, tell them what you've seen."

The Seer's eyes flared a brilliant white; she had Zepir and Saleos to thank for a significant upgrade to her precognitive abilities nearly two decades ago. "The priests and priestesses are strong, my liege, strong enough to interfere with my visions. But I foresaw one of your Unholy servants serving another force, trading secrets to an outsider in an attempt to usurp your throne."

Vessax's eyes widened. "I assure you, my lord, I have no idea who would betray you in such a way," he said.

"There have been murmurings," said Merrill, "of an uprising. Lower-level demons speak of one who would give them more power under a new Source."

"Who is this demon?" said the Seer.

"We have no idea," said Cronyn, shrugging. "Everytime we track down someone who's seen them, an Unspeakable Spell does them in. None of them can say his name."

"That's a complex ritual," said Vessax. "To bind a word from someone's speech indefinitely… the demon in question must be well-versed in the ways of spellworking."

"Or perhaps this demon has already gained the loyalty of another with such abilities," said Cronyn.

Zepir did her best to keep her face emotionless, but it was difficult. Across the room she locked eyes with Saleos. Judging by the look on his face, he felt the same way Zepir did: they did not want to see a power struggle in the Underworld. That would require her picking sides, making allegiances, and lots of warfare. She had no desire to fight alongside her children.

The Seer clasped her hands together, looking uneasy. "My liege," she said to the Source, "have you considered the possibility that it might be… our old friend?"

"No," he replied. "He wouldn't dare enter my territory while I sit on the throne."

Zepir had no idea who the Source and the Seer were talking about, but she was intrigued. The Source's hood swung towards Vessax. "Supreme Priest, make it known that when I find the one– or ones– who betrayed me, not even the flames of Hell will burn hotter than my vengeance!"

"Yes, my lord," said Vessax. "We shall expose those who dare to defy you, and show them no mercy."

Paige orbed into the offices of Montana, Turner & Associates; specifically, the office of her husband Steve. He sat at his desk on the phone. Upon seeing Paige, he gave her the "please wait" hand sign. "Yes, you can show her in. Thank you."

"Do you have a meeting?" said Paige as he hung up. "I'm sorry, I thought you usually take lunch now."

"I do," said Steve. "That was the receptionist; my mother's in the lobby. Unexpectedly."

Paige raised an eyebrow. "And you're letting her up?"

"I'd rather her visit us here than at home. Right?"

Paige couldn't argue with that. "What do you think she wants?"

"Could be any number of things," said Steve. Paige watched his gaze fall on the row of photos on his desk. One of them was of a younger Steve with his parents and his brother, Richard. "But I can't just send the woman away without seeing her."

She stepped over to his desk and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. "I'll let you take the lead," said Paige. "But if she steps over the line at any point, say the word and I'll orb her ass home."

Rosaline Montana stepped into Steve's office a moment later. Paige was still unused to seeing her alone; Steve's father Benjamin died of a heart attack only four years prior. Rosaline was in her seventies now, but she still dyed her hair shiny dark brown. She had started walking with a cane in the last few years; it was topped with a silver raven's head.

"Steve… and Paige. What a surprise," said Rosaline, narrowing her eyes in a way that implied that Paige's presence was not a fun surprise. She closed the door behind her. "Well, I suppose it's good that you're both here now; saves you from having to ask permission from your wife later."

Paige gritted her teeth, but Steve patted her hand. "Sit down, Mom."

Rosaline settled into the chair opposite the desk. "Let's not bother with small talk, shall we? I'm looking to downsize. I know we haven't always been on good terms, but I'd like to leave you the compound."

"We already own a beautiful home," said Steve.

"But it's not the home you grew up in," said Rosaline. "With room for your family to grow. Peggy could live in the guest house while she's in school, or even after. Wouldn't it be nice to have everyone on the same piece of property?"

"We tried that with Phoebe early in our marriage," Paige said dryly. "It has its advantages, and severe disadvantages."

"Alright, but you don't have a library, a potion repository, an armory,–"

"For good reason!" said Paige.

"Mom," Steve said warily, "the family accumulated some nasty items during the feud with the Callaways. Don't make me responsible for cleaning out your closet when you pass on."

Rosaline shook his head. "You're lying if you say you wouldn't do anything to save your family. You can't judge the decisions I made, or your father, or his father. And I sure as hell won't be judging your decisions when it comes to your girls!"

"So you understand, then, why we have to turn down your offer," said Steve. "Leave it to a distant cousin. Better yet: sell the good stuff, discreetly get rid of or destroy the bad stuff, and then just burn the place to the ground. It's San Francisco, you'll get a great deal on the land."

Rosaline stood up. "This is the last time I'm offering anything to you. And that's along with any inheritance you may have thought you were receiving."

"Don't worry," said Steve, standing up as well. "I've actually gone out of my way to minimize what I've inherited from you. So this isn't a change."

Rosaline shot Paige a long, angry glare, before storming out of the office. "See?" said Steve. He was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I told you I could handle her. Handled her right out of my office."

"I'm sorry," said Paige. She pulled her husband into a hug. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "I guess July 10 isn't a good day for anyone in this family."

2001

Paige placed a photo of her parents– James and Laura Matthews– on her bedside table. She looked around her new bedroom. Apparently this had been Piper's room growing up, until she married Leo and swapped with Prue. Even if this hadn't been Prue's room for long, Paige felt funny living in the bedroom where her sister had slept the night before she died.

Yet she smiled to herself. Judging by her vibrantly-colored decor, the multiple photos of her parents and extended family, and the box of old-timey knick knacks that Paige had collected from the room and stuck in a box labeled "Attic", she had done her best to set herself apart as the room's newest denizen.

"Looking good," she heard Phoebe say. Her sister gave her a wave from the doorway. "You've really made it your own."

"Is that a good thing?"

Across the hall, Piper stepped out of her bedroom, followed closely by Leo. Piper's hair was mussed, and the sleeve of her nightshirt dipped off her shoulder; Leo's face was flushed as he tugged on his bathrobe. "Good morning," said Phoebe with the forced cheer of a preschool teacher. "Almost good afternoon, really."

"Sorry, Mom," said Piper. "Didn't realize you were monitoring when I woke up and went to bed."

"I wasn't," said Phoebe. "I only noticed because the explosions coming from the attic woke Cole and me at three in the morning."

"Better explosions than bounty hunters," said Leo. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would," said Piper. She tilted her head as something caught her eye, over Paige's shoulder. "What the hell is that?" She marched over to the "Attic" box, and pulled out a botanical print of a rose, framed in gilded wood. "Why are you getting rid of this? This was one of Prue's favorite paintings."

"I'm not getting rid of it," Paige said quickly. "It's not really my taste. I was going to put it in the attic. Do– do you want it to hang it in your room?"

Piper just shook her head, and looked at Phoebe. "I told you. It's like she's erasing Prue."

"No, she's not!" said Phoebe. "We talked about this. This is Paige's room now."

"Sure. Okay," said Piper with a shrug. There was no emotion in her voice as she looked Paige dead in the eye. "We asked you to move in because we were sick of driving across town every time we needed to vanquish a demon. Don't pretend like there was any other reason."

Phoebe's jaw dropped open. "Piper!"

"I… definitely wasn't pretending that, don't worry," said Paige, tears filling her eyes.

Piper shot daggers at her sisters as she left for the attic with Leo. Paige sat down on the bed. Phoebe sat beside her, looping an arm around Paige's shoulder. "You belong here. No matter what she says."

Paige just nodded and cried.

That night, Cole and Phoebe met in the darkened conservatory, away from the rest of the family. Cole came with a ring; Phoebe came with a bottle. "No way," said Cole.

Phoebe set the Power Stripping Potion down. "Why not?"

"Phoebe, when I asked you to marry me, I didn't think there would be conditions that went along with it." Cole had proposed to her the night before, after a particularly treacherous bounty hunter attack. They had told no one, yet; life in the manor was tense enough these days without the possibility of a witch-demon marriage.

"But if you strip your powers," Phoebe said, "then the bounty hunters won't constantly be on your back. You'll be off the Source's radar, we can have a normal life."

Cole laughed dryly, irking Phoebe. "A normal life? As long as you're a Charmed One, we'll never live a normal life. At least as a demon, I can help you and your sisters; I can protect you from other demons-"

"Demons you lure here, because they sense your powers!" said Phoebe, trying not to raise her voice. "Instead of thinking about how you'd be weaker without your powers, think about how much easier it would be on me, and this family, if we didn't have to worry about bounty hunters bursting in! I can't worry about you all the time, Cole! I need to train Paige, and take care of the club, and hopefully find a real job, and save innocents in between."

"All of that shouldn't be on you. Why can't you talk to your damn sister?"

Phoebe sighed. "She's not interested in talking to me about anything. Piper went from Super Witch to, like, Witch Monk up in the attic. The only time she leaves the house is to buy potion supplies. And I can't talk to Leo, either, because he's holed up there with her, avoiding everyone."

Cole nodded; he also had noticed Piper and Leo's withdrawal from the family at large. If Piper spoke to him, it was either a biting comment… or a strangely particular question about dark magic. Phoebe's Whitelighter had a barely passing interest in anything that wasn't his wife.

Phoebe bit her lip. "God, sometimes it feels like I lost two sisters…" Her eyes, heavy with tears, finally spilled over. "I can't take care of everything by myself, I just can't, it's too hard…"

Cole grabbed Phoebe and wrapped his arms around her tightly. Her body shook, her tears creating damp spots on his shirt. "Phoebe, it's–"

"Please, don't say it's going to be alright," she begged him, looking up into his eyes. "You don't know that. You don't."

He couldn't argue with that. So Cole said nothing, and just held her while she cried.

It was three in the morning: the time where the thoughts Piper couldn't escape during the day caught up with her. The time of night when, lately, she peeled herself (and Leo) out of bed for a trip to the attic. Writing spells, brewing potions, practicing her powers all felt like a better use of her time than feeling sorry for herself.

Leo held out his hand. It crackled with lime green sparks and miniature lightning bolts. He smiled as the warmth of this new power spread throughout his body.

"Like it?" asked Piper.

He whirled around and jolted his arm out with a flourish of his fingers. Five electric bolts emerged from his fingers and thumb, zapping the dressmaker's dummy in the corner, scorching the fabric and wood.

Neither of them worried about the commotion they made. After Phoebe's comment that afternoon, Piper had cast a spell to mute the sounds of the attic beyond its walls.

"I love it," said Leo. She grinned, giving him a long kiss. "I'll never have to worry about Darklighters again."

The look on Piper's suggested that she disagreed. "It's only temporary, I can't figure out how to make it stick," she said. Piper went back to the Book, flipping the page with a frown. "I don't understand. The herbs that I used–"

Leo stopped her suddenly on one page. "What's this spell?" he asked slowly. "To Acquire Another's Power? 'What's mine is mine, what's yours is mine, I call for your power across the line…' Piper…"

"It's not what it sounds like," she said quickly, guiltily. "It's for borrowing powers… from other witches. But it's only temporary, like the To Exchange Power spell."

He said nothing for a moment. "Stealing powers from other witches… that's what warlocks do."

"Warlocks don't fight evil. We do," Piper snapped back. "Warlocks kill witches for their powers. This spell doesn't require anyone to die, and like I said, it's only temporary. Imagine if I could have all of our powers for some reason. Do you think any demon would come out of that situation alive?" She smirked. "Shax would've begged me for mercy by the end of that fight."

The familiar Whitelighter jingle filled the attic. "I'm being summoned," said Leo.

"Ignore it." Piper tucked her thumbs in the loops of Leo's jeans and pulled him closer. She buried her face into his neck, wrapping her hands around his waist, caressing Leo's back. He gently pushed her away, looking interested but preoccupied.

"This isn't a charge, this is an Elder. I ignored the last call, remember? I don't want to get in trouble."

Piper sighed. "Fine, fine. Go. I'll see you later." Leo gave her a kiss before he orbed away. She went back to flipping through the Book.

Then there was a new voice that she didn't recognize. "Hello, Piper."

Piper looked up from the Book. A tall column of flames filled the attic and disappeared as suddenly as they appeared. The Source stood before her. "It's nice to finally chat with you."