Dangerous Desires
  "Fires and floods, muggings and lost kids."
Phoebe shuddered. She had awakened in a great
mood, but the news reports in the paper and on
TV had demolished it. Natural disaster and
human malevolence waged a relentless war against the
helpless. At least the Charmed Ones could fight the
demonic evil they encountered.
  "Are you okay?" Concerned, Piper rested a hand
on Phoebe's knee.
  "Yeah, it's just that-I wish my visions weren't so
selective because then we could keep more of this awful
stuff from happening."
  Phoebe's stomach suddenly heaved with nausea,
and a rush of dizziness made her head spin. Her
coffee mug slipped from her hand as she gasped and
doubled over.
  "Phoebe!" Piper threw her arms around her
stricken sister and let the mug land on the carpet.
  "What is it?" Prue jumped from her chair and
knelt down by the sofa. "A vision?"
--------------------------------------i
  Charmed[*reg]
  The Power of Three Kiss of Darkness The
Crimson Spell Whispers from the Past Voodoo
Moon Haunted by Desire
  The Gypsy Enchantment The Legacy of Merlin
Soul of the Bride Beware What You Wish Charmed
Again Spirit of the Wolf
  Published by Simon and Schuster
--------------------------------------ii
  you wish
  An original novel by Diana G. Gallagher
  Based on the hit TV series created by
  Constance M. Burge
  SIMON PULSE
  New York London Toronto Sydney
Singapore
------------------------------------comiii
  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should
be aware that this book is stolen property. It was
reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher
and neither the author nor the publisher has received any
payment for this "stripped book."
  This book is a work of fiction. Any references
to historical events, real people, or real locales
are used fictitiously. Other names, characters,
places, and incidents are the product of the
author's imagination and any resemblance to actual
events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.
  First Simon Pulse edition May 2002
  [*reg] and [*copy] 2001 Spelling
Television Inc. All Rights Reserved.
  SIMON PULSE
  An imprint of Simon and Schuster Children's
Publishing Division 1230 Avenue of the
Americas New York, NY 10020
  All rights reserved, including the right of
reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
  Printed in the United States of America
  10 9 8 7 6
  ISBN 0-7434-1238-9
--------------------------------------iv
  With affection for Theresa D'Andrea
--------------------------------------v
--------------------------------------vi
  B6WAR6 WHAT VOV WISH
------------------------------------comvii

  lingr (lark eVeSo caught Prue Halliwell
off guard as she stepped through heavy wooden doors
into a foyer lit by flickering wall sconces. This was
not what she had expected when Stephen Tremaine's
housekeeper had directed her into the library
to wait.
  Her sister Piper's warning over breakfast that
morning rushed to mind. "Be careful, Prue.
I've heard that guy is tougher than a stale
cookie and incredibly vain."
  "Vain with good reason," Phoebe, the youngest of the
three sisters, had added. "According to the gossip
columnists Mr. Tremaine is the most sought after
bachelor in town."
  "Being one of the richest bachelors in the state may
have something to do with that." Piper had

  patted Prue's shoulder with sympathy. "Vain
is the operative word, Prue. Better make darn
sure you get the lighting right."
  Now Prue's hand tightened on her camera strap
as she watched artificial torchlight play across the
primitive visage before her. Set in parched,
brown hide and ringed in white, the lifeless eye
sockets stared back with a defiance untouched by time.
  The primitive mask was a unique reminder
to all that Stephen Tremaine was in complete control,
Prue realized uneasily.
  "Make sure you get the lighting perfect,"
Phoebe had added earlier that morning. "Tremaine
has a business reputation as a shark."
  Prue did not take her sisters' warnings
lightly. The wealthy entrepreneur she had been
sent to photograph was rumored to have an ego that
matched his bulging Wall Street portfolio.
If Tremaine found her work less than flattering
and complained to the editor of 415 magazine, the
consequences could put a serious dent in her
puny-by-comparison bank account.
  "Do you find it disturbing?" a man asked from behind
her.
  "Not particularly, no." Prue glanced back as
Stephen Tremaine closed the library door.
  Forty-three, with closely cropped
salt-and-pepper hair that emphasized the severity of
his angular face, Tremaine had a more commanding
presence than Prue had anticipated. Casual
gray slacks and a blue blazer worn over a
white turtle-neck softened his austere expression
without dilut-

  ing his confident demeanor. As Phoebe had
observed, he was attractive if you liked brainy
GI Joe types.
  And driven by ambition, Prue reminded herself.
Twenty years ago Tremaine had created and sold
computer gaming software from an efficiency apartment in
Oakland. As his company had grown into an industry
giant, he had expanded into military simulations and
applications. Last year he had sold Tremaine
Enterprises for millions.
  Now Tremaine was running for Congress, which was why
she had been assigned to photograph him. The
photo would be published along with an interview in
425.
  "An intriguing response." Tremaine
hesitated, looking surprised, then smiled as he
moved toward Prue. "Most women find my
collection repulsive."
  "Do they?" Caught off guard by the intensity of
Tremaine's gray gaze, Prue turned back
to the mask.
  Perched on a pedestal, the artifact dominated the
library foyer. The oval mask was fringed in partially
beaded strands of coarse, black hair. Colorful
pigments crisscrossed the face, separating the
eyes from a gaping mouth inlaid with discolored, broken
teeth. Human teeth, if Prue wasn't
mistaken.
  "West African, isn't it?" Prue asked with
that slight, self-satisfied smile Piper called
her gotcha grin.
  Tremaine cocked an eyebrow, taken aback
again. Apparently, none of the women he knew were
familiar with cultural antiquities. "Yes, a
spirit mask from the Congo Basin."

  ChApDo
  Prue extended her hand and introduced herself.
  "I'm more delighted than you can imagine, Ms.
Halliwell." Tremaine gripped Prue's hand
in both of his. "It's not often I meet someone who
appreciates the ancient crafts."
  More appreciative of the ancient Craft than
you'll ever know, Prue thought. She and her two
sisters were the Charmed Ones, witches endowed with
supernatural powers and an unquestioned obligation
to defend the innocent against evil. Since they had
all moved back to the Victorian house they had
inherited from their grandmother and discovered The Book of
Shadows, their powers and the bond between them had grown
stronger.
  "Especially someone so beautiful." Tremaine
held Prue's wary gaze as he released her hand.
When she didn't respond immediately, he cleared his
throat and self-consciously averted his eyes.
  Prue couldn't tell if the candidate was being
sincere or simply angling for her vote. She
didn't agree with his politics, which was bad if he
wanted a date, but irrelevant regarding her
job. She smiled to smooth over the awkward moment
and raised her camera. "Shall we?"
  "First, let me show you some of my other prized
pieces." Tremaine put his hand on Prue's
back and gently urged her toward the expansive
library beyond the foyer.
  Prue's indignation at Tremaine's
possessive manner was forgotten as she stepped
into his magnificent library. Thousands of books,
many of them leather-bound editions, lined
floor-to-ceiling shelv-

  ing on three walls. Three tall arched windows
and French doors leading into a garden were set into the
fourth wall. A variety of masks, tapestries,
leather shields, and Native American dream
catchers hung on mahogany-paneled wall
space between the bookshelves. Other cases with
glass doors contained carved totems, pottery,
jewelry, tools, and idols fashioned from metal
bar stone, and wood.
  The stunning sight took Prue's breath away.
  "You're impressed," Tremaine said, smiling.
  "Yes, I am," Prue answered honestly,
disarmed by the man's almost boyish delight with her
reaction. She nodded as her educated gaze swept
over the room. Many of the artifacts had easily
recognizable origins-intricate Chinese carvings
in jade, Egyptian mosaics, and Aztec sun
stones-while others eluded her expertise. She
bent forward to study an oil pot etched with the figure
of Zeus, wondering how such an exquisite
ancient piece had ended up in Tremaine's
private collection instead of a museum.
  "Care to guess?" Tremaine asked.
  "Greek. Fourth or fifth century B.c."
Prue straightened, being careful not to let on that she
was disturbed. She had done business with every major art
and antiquity collector in San Francisco
when she had worked at Buckland's auction
house-except for Stephen Tremaine. Exactly
how had he acquired so many priceless artifacts?
  "Fifth," Tremaine said. "It was found in a
dig I financed five years ago near the site of
ancient Delphi."

  Prue didn't ask if he had used theft or
bribery to remove an oil-burning urn from
Greece. It was highly unlikely the Greek
government had willingly let such a rare, almost
perfectly preserved artifact leave the country.
  "There's no other quite like it in the entire world."
Tremaine stared into the case as he spoke.
  Prue wasn't sure if the candidate was
overcome with awe for the history behind the piece and
respect for the hands that had created it or simply
consumed by pride and the thrill of possessing the
unique. Or elements of both, she thought. A man
with Tremaine's abilities and aspirations would be more
complex than his public profile. She had
expected him to be arrogant and demanding. Instead,
he had been gracious and charming. She had no idea
which persona defined the real Stephen Tremaine.
Playing it safe, she shifted gears before she said
something she'd regret.
  "I need to get these shots while the light is
right, Mr. Tremaine." Prue glanced at the
sunlight streaming through the windows, which would give her
sufficient back lighting. One of the filtered lenses
in her bag would soften the hard lines of his face.
She hoped the marvels of modern technology would
create the illusion of youthful dignity that Mr.
Tremaine required.
  "Of course." Tremaine nodded curtly, then
turned and strode across the room. He sighed as he
leaned against his desk. "I suppose you want the
usual head shot."
  "Actually, I was thinking of something a little more
creative," Prue said. Actually, she was think-

  ing on her feet. In the event Tremaine
managed to get elected, it couldn't hurt to have a
congressman as a happy customer. "A shot that
says something about the man behind the public persona."
  "Such as?" Tremaine asked.
  Prue dropped her bag on the sofa and talked as
she fished for the filtered lens. "Upper body shot in
front of a display case holding one of these
fabulous pieces. You pick."
  "Excellent idea." Suddenly enthused,
Tremaine withdrew a key from his jacket pocket and
unlocked the nearest display case. "Will there be a
caption under the picture?"
  "Most likely." Prue smiled her gotcha
smile. Diplomacy when properly applied
packed a powerful punch. Tremaine may or may
not have been playing her for a fool with his compliments, but
she was in complete control now.
  "What is that?" Prue asked as Tremaine
pulled a crudely carved stone statue from the case.
Egg-shaped and roughly eight inches tall with barely
discernible facial and body features, it seemed an
odd choice compared to Tremaine's more elaborate
treasures.
  "My experts believe it's a spirit stone."
Tremaine cupped the statue in both hands, his gaze
trained on it with unguarded admiration.
  "Go on." Prue snapped off a series of
shots from slightly different angles.
  "The evidence suggests if s from an obscure
tribe that inhabited the central Amazon regions
of South America roughly three thousand years
ago," Tremaine continued.

  Prue captured his satisfied grin on film and
kept shooting. "Fascinating."
  "Yes, quite." Tremaine's face clouded.
"However, my knowledge and appreciation of ancient
cultures won't help me defeat my
opponent."
  "Probably not," Prue agreed. Noel
Jefferson was the other contender for a recently vacated
congressional seat in San Francisco. Younger and
better looking, the idealistic public defender was
leading in the polls in spite of Tremaine's
political connections and money. Dedicated
to fighting injustice, Jefferson had already sewn up
the Halliwell vote. However, with several weeks
to go before the election, Tremaine had a
better-than-even chance of catching up with his
promises of less government interference and more
corporate responsibility. The upwardly
mobile, business-oriented half of the electorate
loved the successful, no-nonsense rich
  guy-
  Prue continued to shoot as Tremaine's jaw
flexed and his grip tightened on the ancient stone.
  "You have no idea how much I wish I wasn't
running against Noel Jefferson. The man's
record is-was Tremaine's eyes closed, and he
swayed on his feet as though suddenly overcome with
dizziness.
  Prue lowered the camera and instinctively reached
out. "Are you all right?"
  "I'm fine." Tremaine brushed away her hand
and her concern. Obviously shaken, he put the
primitive stone back in the case with a trembling
hand and stammered an excuse. "My schedule's been
so full I've skipped one too many meals."

  Although it escaped Tremaine's notice, Prue
saw that he had set the statue down on the rounded
edge of its base. As the wobbling stone started
to fall, she concentrated and flicked her finger to move
it onto its flattened bottom, saving the glass
shelf from cracking. Having turned away,
Tremaine didn't notice that, either.
  "Are we finished?" Composing himself, Tremaine
settled into the leather chair behind his desk and flipped
open a laptop.
  "Yes." Prue realized the candidate was upset
because she had witnessed a vulnerable moment. Since he
had already made his medical records public, she
knew he wasn't hiding a serious condition. Still, a
reporter with less integrity than she had might
use the incident for political or professional
gain. "I'm sure one of these shots will-was
  "Then if you don't mind, I've got work to do."
Tremaine averted his gaze and turned on the
computer.
  Annoyed by the rude dismissal, Prue grabbed
her camera bag and headed for the door. On closer
inspection of the display cases, she realized that, although
Tremaine owned some distinctive pieces from the
classic ancient cultures, his collection was
predominantly comprised of weapons and other
artifacts of war and intimidation from warrior
societies.
  The connection hit Prue as she turned into the
foyer. War and intimidation were an appropriate
reflection of Tremaine's methods in business and,
perhaps, even in politics. Anyone who wanted to

  hold elected office had to appear to be
gracious and charming even if he wasn't.
  She cast a quick glance into the dark eyes of the mask
on the pedestal and shuddered as she let herself out. Like
anyone whose existence was defined exclusively
by money and power, maybe Tre-maine's life was just
as empty as those ancient, lifeless orbs.

  Phoebe grinned as she opened her grandmother's old
wicker picnic basket and pulled out a flowered
print tablecloth. Her sisters exchanged a glance,
as if she had suddenly gone daft.
  Wearing a plain cotton T-shirt and a long,
casual skirt with sandals, Piper folded her
arms, her expression puzzled. "Did you just say
"romantic"?"
  "I distinctly heard her say "romantic" was
Prue, looking chic in hip-hugging jeans and a red
halter top, set her camera bag on the picnic
table bench and grabbed one end of the tablecloth. Blue
eyes framed by shining, shoulder-length black hair
twinkled with amusement as she looked pointedly at
Piper. "I told you Phoebe wasn't getting out
enough."

  "True." Piper fought back a smile. "I just
never realized weeks of cramming for exams could
cause delusions of romance in the romantically
deprived."
  "Deprived, definitely. Delusional . . .
not," Phoebe admitted. The hem of her
V-neck blue top rode up as she threw out her
arms, exposing a flat stomach as tan as her long,
trim legs. "I mean, look at this place!"
  Phoebe's gaze swept the expansive city
park. The picnic table they had chosen sat atop a
grassy rise under the branches of a large oak.
Ducks and swans swam in a sun-drenched pond that
sparkled in the midst of meadow green below. Elderly
people sat on park benches, enjoying the warm afternoon sun
or strolled with small dogs. Runners and
teenagers on in-line skates and skateboards
raced along paths that meandered through thick stands of
hardwoods and evergreen trees. Children shouted and
laughed in a playground area equipped with wooden
climbing scaffolds, slides, and swings. A
birthday party, complete with rented pony, overflowed
a covered picnic pavilion a hundred yards behind
them.
  Phoebe breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly.
Fresh air and the tranquility of ordinary people engaged
in ordinary activities was a soothing respite from
the constant battle she and her not-so-ordinary sisters
waged against evil. Today she intended to enjoy every
demon-free moment of their impromptu family
outing, including the affectionate teasing.
  Piper glanced around the park and shrugged as she
looked back at Phoebe. "I don't get it."
  "You don't think this is the perfect setting for a


  romantic, lazy afternoon picnic?" Phoebe was
astounded. Of the three of them, Piper was the most
down-to-earth, but she was also the only Halliwell
sister who was in love.
  "Completely perfect." Piper brushed her
long, brown hair behind her ear. "Except that
we're three women on a picnic with no men."
  Phoebe sighed, exasperated. "But if Leo were
here-was
  "He's not." Piper tilted her head slightly
and set her jaw. Her dark eyes clouded.
  Phoebe didn't need a body language
dictionary
  to figure out what that assigned to protect all the
  meant. Leo had been Halliwell sisters when
they had discovered their powers, but he had won
Piper's heart. However, Leo hadn't been around
much lately, and she didn't blame Piper for not
wanting to talk about playing second fiddle to White
Lighter business all the time.
  Correction, Phoebe reminded herself. Piper
didn't dare complain out loud. Since she had
fallen for a man who had died during World War II
and had then been enlisted as an agent of good by the big
guys in heaven, she had to accept the consequences. As
luck would have it, romance between White Lighters and the
witches they protected was high up on the White
Lighter no-no list. However, when Piper's
broken heart had threatened to weaken the Power of
Three, Leo's bosses had relented-with one
condition. Piper and Leo could pursue their forbidden
love as long as it didn't interfere with helping a
single innocent.

  And helping the innocent was a full-time job for
all of them, Phoebe mused. Except unlike
Leo, she and her sisters never had to orb out
to metaphysical planes unknown to hold up their
end of the deal.
  "And you and I have no prospects, Phoebe,"
Prue added.
  "Huh?" Phoebe blinked.
  "Romantic prospects?" Prue clarified.
  "Strictly a temporary situation, I'm
sure," Phoebe countered. There was a Mr. Right for
her out there somewhere, she assured herself. Better to be
patient than to fall for the wrong guy and be sorry
forever.
  "More temporary than you realize, apparently,"
Piper said. "Especially if you like tall, tan
blond guys."
  "Been looking into your crystal ball?" Phoebe
asked.
  "No, just behind the bar at P3." Piper grinned.
"Rick Foreman, the new part-time bartender, couldn't
take his eyes off you the other night."
  Phoebe frowned, thinking back. She had gone
to Piper's club to take a break from the books for a
couple of hours last Friday, but she didn't
recall a new bartender. "Why didn't you say
something?"
  "Because last weekend you were focused on your exams
and didn't need a distraction," Piper explained.
  "Right," Phoebe agreed. "I would have been
lousy company. Besides, maybe there won't be any
sparks when this Rick and I actually meet."
  "Sparks would be good." Prue sighed.


  "No instant chemistry between you and the wealthy,
passably handsome Mr. Tremaine, Prue?"
Piper asked as she removed plastic plates and a
thermos of lemonade from the basket.
  "Not really." Frowning, Prue set out
silverware wrapped in napkins like those Piper used
at P3.
  "Does that mean you're not quite sure?" Phoebe
snapped the lid off a container of cold roast
chicken, grabbed a leg, and set the container down.
  "No, I'm sure." Prue swung her legs
under the table and poured lemonade as Piper and
Phoebe sat down. "Stephen Tremaine was
actually quite pleasant, which isn't unusual for a
politician who wants to win an election,
except that I don't agree with any of his
positions."
  "For business and against the environment among other
things," Phoebe said. There was no way she'd ever
vote for a millionaire entrepreneur who thought
corporations could and should police themselves regarding
pollution.
  Piper nodded. "But a lot of my customers
agree with Tremaine on those issues."
  "Apparently, a lot of people agree with your
customers, but the real turnoff for me was his-was
Prue interrupted herself to take a drink.
  "What?" Phoebe paused with a spoonful of
potato salad poised in midair. "Bad breath?
He cracks his knuckles? Smacks his lips when
he eats?"
  "Creepy collection." Prue shuddered.
  Piper reacted with a start. "Collection of what?
Skewered dead bugs? Shrunken heads?"
  "Stamps?" Phoebe offered.

  "No stamps, but I'd be willing to bet my new
cashmere sweater he's got a bug or a head
somewhere." Prue smiled. "He's got one of the most
impressive collections of artifacts I've ever
seen, most of it related to war."
  "Are you saying Tremaine is whacko?"
Phoebe's eyes narrowed in thought as she nibbled a
carrot stick. "That would explain why he's running
for Congress. With all his money, he'd have to be
nuts to go into politics."
  "Not necessarily," Prue said.
  "Well, I doubt Stephen Tremaine is
motivated by a burning desire to contribute to the
common good," Piper said. "The only other reason
anyone goes into politics is power."
  "That fits Tremaine's personality
profile." Prue dropped a chicken bone on her
plate and wiped her fingers on a napkin.
  Piper's brow furrowed in puzzled contemplation.
"I just can't imagine why anyone would want to vote
for him."
  "He's got a great handshake and a winning
smile." Prue shrugged. "That's enough for some people."
  "But he's also running a brilliant PR
campaign." Phoebe didn't pay much attention
to politics as a rule, but Tremaine's
hard-hitting message was8im-possible to ignore.
His TV and billboard ads pushing the concept of
environmentally friendly industry dominated the
airwaves and roadsides. Too many voters
couldn't see past the short-term economic gains
to consider the long-term potential for envi-


  ronmental disaster. Phoebe didn't think it was
worth the risk.
  "Well, Tremaine must be a little worried,
too," Prue said. "Yesterday I actually heard
him wish he. wasn't running against Noel
Jefferson."
  "Now, there's a hunk." Piper grinned. "Not
to mention that he's one of the good guys."
  Jefferson, the other wannabe congressman, was a
blondish, brown-eyed, athletic thirty-something and a
dynamic defender of the underprivileged and unjustly
accused. Both candidates were single.
  "Mr. Jefferson does have a certain appeal-for a
poor man with principles." Flustered, Phoebe
quickly qualified her observation. "Not that I'm
interested."
  "Of course not, but I might be." Prue reached
for the salt and knocked over her glass of
lemonade.
  Piper's hand shot out to freeze the tipping glass
and the stream of yellow liquid pouring out.
  "Piper!" Prue scolded as she set the glass
up right.
  "Sorry." Piper winced and unfroze the stream
of lemonade.
  Prue grabbed a bunch of paper napkins to wipe
up the spill.
  That was a dramatic three seconds, Phoebe
thought, looking around to see if anyone had noticed.
No one had. The grade-school kids playing
kick ball several yards away were focused on their
game, as were their parents. The birthday party people at the
pavilion were busy convincing eager little pony riders
to wait their turn.

  "Just my rotten luck 415 sent me
to photograph Tremaine." Prue sighed. "At
least if I met Noel Jefferson, I could
honestly say I intended to vote for him."
  "Maybe you'll get your chance next
Saturday." Piper set down her fork and patted
her stomach. "I'm full."
  "What's happening next Saturday?" Phoebe
picked up another carrot stick. Piper shot her
a scowling glance as she bit off the end. "Am I in
trouble?"
  "You are if you've forgotten you volunteered
to help me with the P3 booth at the Celebrity
Charity Bazaar," Piper said.
  "Is that this coming Saturday?" Phoebe's big
brown eyes widened. She hadn't forgotten her
promise. She had just lost track of time because of
school.
  Piper planned to set up the booth to represent
the ambience of P3 with stools, a table or two,
nonalcoholic drinks, hot and cold hors
d'oeuvres, pictures of the club's interior, and
recorded music by the different groups that performed on
the P3 stage. The event was being held at the
Boardwalk Beach and picnic grounds adjacent to the
Gold Coast Amusement Park. Phoebe was
looking forward to helping out, especially since a lot
of national and local celebrities planned
to attend. Who knew where the love of her life
might be lurking, waiting to meet a perky witch?
Maybe even behind the bar at P3, she thought with a
subtle smile.
  "You're not going to let me down, are you?" Piper
asked.


  "My word is my bond." Phoebe solemnly
raised her free hand, then popped the rest of the
carrot stick into her mouth.
  "What does the Celebrity Charity whatever have
to do with Noel Jefferson?" Prue wadded up the
paper napkins. Lemonade dripped through her fingers
as she heaved the wad toward a litter container ten
feet away. The soggy paper ball hit the rim
of the wire-mesh container and started to fall toward the
ground.
  "Hey!" Phoebe's eyes flashed a warning when
Prue raised her hand to telekinetically flip it
inside the container. "If you and Piper don't stop
with the power plays, the fact that we're witches is
going to be breaking news." j
  "Sorry." Prue slid off the bench to pick up
the soggy napkins.
  Piper's gaze flicked skyward before she looked
at Phoebe and shrugged. "When a power becomes
second nature, you don't always stop to think before
using it."
  Phoebe understood that on an intellectual
level but not in practice. Eventually, she'd have
to remember that using her powers frivolously was against
the rules, too. She couldn't control her ability
to see the future or past, and she hadn't mastered the
art of levitation to use it on reflex yet. Still, the
day might come when she'd have to be careful not to take
off for the wild blue yonder to rescue a cat stuck
in a tree or something.
  "Anybody want dessert?" Changing the
subject, Phoebe stood and pulled a German
chocolate cake from the picnic basket.

  Prue leaned toward Piper when she sat down
again. "Is Noel Jefferson going to be at the big
event next Saturday?"
  "Yep." Piper handed Phoebe a knife.
"He and Stephen Tremaine are both giving
speeches. Kind of a
get-out-the-vote-and-while-you're-at-it-vote-for-me
deal."
  "Cool. Maybe I can get a couple of good
shots of Jefferson for 415. Just in case Gil
needs them." Prue shrugged, but her casual
attitude was as transparent as clean glass
to Phoebe. Her elder sister wasn't batting a
thousand in the game of love lately, either.
  "Look out!" Piper shouted.
  Phoebe dropped the knife as a
black-and-white soccer ball fell out of the sky and
bombed the cake. She jumped back, but not before her
shirt was splattered by icing and sticky, shredded
coconut. She cast a questioning glance at Piper and
hissed, "Why didn't you freeze it?"
  "Smashed cake does not qualify as a
magical intervention emergency," Piper whispered
back. Her gaze narrowed as a young girl about nine
or ten years old ran up to the table.
  The child's T-shirt and shorts were rumpled and
damp with sweat. Her knees sported grass
stains, and her face was smudged with dirt. She
shuffled her feet and looked a little scared.
  "Is this yours?" Smiling to put the girl at
ease, Phoebe pulled the ball out of the crushed
dessert. Chocolate icing and bits of chocolate
cake stuck to the underside.
  "Yeah. Sorry about your cake." The girl
reached for the ball.

  n
  "That's okay-was When the child's hands touched the
ball, Phoebe was rocked by a heart-stopping
vision. Her muscles knotted, and she reeled as the
images of imminent disaster played through her mind.
  ... the little girl smashed to the ground, trampled
by a shaggy beast, her scream cut short in a
tangle of human and furry brown legs ...
  "Thanks!" The girl turned and ran away.
  Disoriented by the physical impact of the
premonition, Phoebe lost precious seconds
recovering. She struggled to regain her voice as
Piper and Prue rushed to her side. "Wait!"
  "What is it?" Prue asked as the child stopped and
looked back.
  "I'm not sure. Some kind of furry demon
thing-was Phoebe glanced toward the pavilion where the
birthday party was being held. A man in a cowboy
hat was leading the pony toward a horse trailer
parked in a nearby lot.
  "What demon thing?" Piper pressed.
  "The pony?" Phoebe hesitated uncertainly
and shifted her gaze back to the girl, who tucked the
ball under her arm and stared wistfully at the horse
trailer.
  "I wish I had a pony." The child's head
suddenly rolled back. She swayed and sank to her
grass-stained knees as her legs buckled.
  Alarmed, Phoebe started toward her just as a loud
squeal shattered the quiet afternoon. Her heart stopped
when the pony balked at the trailer ramp, broke
free of the handler, and galloped across the grass toward
the stricken girl.

  "Piper!" Phoebe screeched and broke into a
run, determined to pull the girl out of harm's way.
There were too many witnesses for Piper or Prue
to use their powers safely.
  And she wasn't going to make it in time.
  It took only a second for Piper to realize
what was happening and conclude that she couldn't freeze
the pony without someone noticing. And there were too many people
watching to freeze everything. The dozen adults and
three dozen kids at the birthday party had all
eyes glued on the runaway animal. The girl's
teammates were unaware of the impending catastrophe
until a hysterical man and woman started running
to the rescue. Piper's power had grown stronger as
time had passed, but it wasn't strong enough to handle this.
Still, breaking news aside, she had to do something.
  Prue's blue eyes widened as Piper's hands
shot out.
  "Move the kid!" Piper urged her older sister
as the pony froze with one hoof on the ground.
  Prue's eyes narrowed in concentration as she
pulled the child toward Phoebe with a snap of her hand.
  Piper unfroze the pony the instant the girl was
clear.
  The pony charged past Phoebe as she drew the
stunned child into the protection of her arms. Phoebe
glanced back and mouthed a thank-you.
  Collapsing on the picnic table bench, Piper
exhaled with relief and apprehension. The last thing


  she needed was a headline the next morning
proclaiming the "miraculous pony rescue."
"Are we toast?"
  "Don't think so." Prue discreetly turned
her tele-kinetic power on the pony, slowing his
wild run with a staying hand so the frantic cowboy could
catch him.
  Phoebe released her hold on the girl when the
child's parents dropped down beside them. The girl started
to sob as her mother cradled and rocked her. Her father,
his face pale and drawn, mumbled something Piper
couldn't hear as Phoebe stood and moved away.
  A few of the other young soccer players were watching the
pony with wide, wondering eyes. That didn't
worry Piper too much. Kids were often prone
to exaggeration and telling tall tales, which their parents
weren't prone to believe. Near the pavilion,
however, a few huddled adults were engaged in heated
discussion and casting furtive glances in her
direction.
  Resigned to weather whatever came next, Piper
surveyed the scene with a strange detachment. If there
was a price to be paid because someone had noticed the real
life stop-action pony, she'd figure something out.
The one price she wasn't willing to pay was losing
Leo because she had failed to act when an innocent was
in trouble.
  She shivered with a sudden chill.
  Enraged, he swept past the more-than-human
women and through the throng of people gathered

  by the large hut, spreading a dread more intense than
he had evoked when his spirit walked. He had been
robbed of his demonic body in the distant past, but the
vile female magic that had bound his essence had not
stolen his power. Released into this strange land as a
cohesive wisp of wind, he could still twist
inconsequential human desire into cataclysmic
harm.
  And, as he had suspected when he'd fled the
stone, the female shamans could still stop him.
  He seethed because the child's frail form had not been
battered, bloodied, and broken under the iron
hooves of the rampaging beast.
  He fumed because the lives the child touched would not be
plunged into despair and destroyed by a horror they
could never forget.
  He whipped through the high branches of unfamiliar
trees stripping them of leaves, maddened because the beast
had failed and escaped uninjured.
  He keened as he raced through the sky, infuriated
because the witches had prevented the chaos set in motion
by the child's desire. Their magic threatened the
cascade of destruction triggered by the primary wish
and his tenuous existence, but his resolve was greater than
their power. He would have vengeance for all he had lost.
  This time he would vanquish the witches.

  into the sofa cushions and propped her fuzzy
slippers on the coffee table. With her exams over
and no classes until the following week, she was
looking forward to a relaxing morning of doing nothing but
catching up on the news and reading a racy gothic
romance. She blew on a hot cup of coffee and
hit the TV remote. Her aesthetic senses were
immediately assaulted by a commercial that featured
animated singing sausages.
  "Too early for torture by low-budget
marketing." Phoebe pushed the mute button,
took a sip of coffee, and set the mug down. She
picked up the paperback novel she had bought for a
dollar at a used bookstore off campus. Dark
Passions at Midnight was a poor substitute for
muscled, manly

  arms, but it sure beat stuffing her head with the
principles of thermodynamics.
  Although she was interested in psychology and other
studies about the human condition, which would help her
understand the people in need of Charmed assistance, a working knowledge
of the sciences might come in handy someday, too.
Eventually, she'd have to decide on a paying career,
and it couldn't hurt to be prepared for anything.
  Right now she was content to share the heated but
ill-fated love between Agatha Cross and Trevor
Holcombe. According to the copy on the back of the
book, Agatha was a poor but beautiful commoner who
served as a nurse to Trevor's ailing father in
Holcombe Manor. Agatha was also unaware that
all the Holcombe women had succumbed to strange,
premature deaths.
  "Warm fuzzies and spine-chilling mystery.
Perfect." As Phoebe flipped the book open
to the prologue, the delicious aroma of freshly
baked cinnamon rolls filled her nostrils. She
looked up as Piper set a plate on the coffee
table. "German chocolate cake yesterday and
cinnamon rolls today. Are you deliberately trying
to rot my teeth?"
  Piper moved Phoebe's book to look at the
cover. "No more than you're trying to rot your
brain."
  "My brain needs a break." Phoebe turned
the paperback upside down on the arm of the sofa and
lifted her cup. She looked longingly at the hot
rolls and decided to pass. Working off the extra
calories didn't fit into her plans to spend the
day being lazy.
  "How about we compromise with a little news."


  Piper picked up the remote and turned the sound
back on. Coffee cup in hand, she sat down beside
Phoebe and tucked her long legs underneath her.
"No classes today?"
  "Nope. I've got five glorious days
off." Phoebe raised her mug and grinned.
  "Super." Piper gently hit Phoebe's mug
with her own. "Then you can help me do the grocery
shopping."
  "Okay. Sure." Normally, Phoebe loved
to shop-for anything. Today she would much rather stay home,
pretending to be a woman of leisure, but she
couldn't refuse to pitch in.
  "Not terribly exciting, I know, but necessary,"
Piper said, noting Phoebe's disappointed frown.
"Did I tell you Hard Crackers is going
to play live at the Celebrity Charity Bazaar
on Saturday?"
  "Really? That's awesome!" Phoebe brightened. The
local band was growing in popularity, in part because of the
exposure they had gotten at Piper's club.
Live music was bound to attract a crowd. "How
much is that setting you back?"
  "Not a dime." Piper beamed with satisfaction.
"All they can eat and drink and a chance that one of the big
time celebs will notice them."
  "Cool." Shifting position, Phoebe frowned
as Prue zipped down the hall and opened the front
door. Phoebe stiffened at the sound of a siren, then
realized it was a news clip on TV.
  "dis . . two gang members and a man sitting in
his living room were killed when the drive-by shooters
opened fire," an announcer intoned. "The police
are

  following leads supplied by eyewitnesses, but no
arrests have been made."
  Phoebe muted the sound again as the front door
slammed closed. "Sorry, Piper, but I can't do
murder and mayhem until after I finish my first
cup of coffee."
  "Ditto that." Piper sighed.
  The reported incident wasn't anything to joke
about, but sometimes humor was the only thing that kept
Phoebe and her sisters sane. They faced more evil
in a week than most people even knew existed.
  "Did we make the front page?" Piper
asked as Prue wandered in with the morning newspaper and
perched on a chair.
  Phoebe sat forward as Prue unfolded the
paper, anxious to know if the runaway pony at the
park yesterday had made news. She noted that
Prue was still in her sleeping togs, too.
Apparently, she didn't have any pressing
engagements today, either. Phoebe's tension grew as
her sister's blue eyes slowly scanned the front
page. "Well?"
  "Not a word." Smiling, Prue turned the paper
so Phoebe and Piper could see.
  Phoebe fell back against the cushions, but
Piper wasn't as easily reassured.
  "Flip!" Piper rigorously waved her hand at
the paper. "Check every page."
  "Yeah. Probably a good idea." Prue
folded the front page back and creased it. "Would
you mind getting me a cup of coffee?"
  "I'll make an exception this morning," Piper
teased. "I could use a warm-up anyway.
Phoebe?"


  "Sure, thanks." Phoebe handed Piper her
cup, then turned a wary eye on Prue. She
sat silently for a few minutes before impatience
got the best of her. "Anything?"
  "Just the usual so far, but I'm only on page
four." Prue turned the paper over. "A mugging
on Pacific Street, miscellaneous
burglaries, some guy shot his girlfriend then killed
himself and ..."
  "And?" Phoebe winced.
  "A kid drowned in a community center pool."
Prue cleared her throat. "But no mention of a
pony suspended in midair."
  "Good!" Gripping the handles of three full
mugs in one hand, a serving trick Phoebe had
yet to master, Piper handed one to each of her sisters
and flopped back down on the sofa. "Last night
I dreamed I was chased by a mob of angry parents
and kids for freezing and unfreezing a merry-go-round
over and over again."
  Phoebe's smile faded as her gaze wandered to the
muted TV. Coughing, soot-covered people in robes and
pajamas were being rushed out of a burning apartment
building. The camera panned across the street where
dazed men and women clung to wide-eyed children and
watched as their homes and possessions went up in
flames.
  "Only the truly good-hearted can have nightmares
about carousels," Prue quipped.
  "I guess the horror does lose something in the
telling," Piper said, joking. "Just remind me not
to go near the merry-go-round on Saturday."
  "They're bringing in a merry-go-round?" Prue

  turned over another page and snapped the paper
to flatten it.
  "The charity bazaar is being held at Boardwalk
Beach right next to the Gold Coast Amusement
Park." Piper paused, laughing softly. "Grams
never liked taking us there, but I always loved it,
especially the carousel."
  "One of her, three of us." Prue smiled,
remembering. "We were a little hard to keep track of,
even for an accomplished witch."
  Still focused on the TV screen, Phoebe
listened to the banter with half an ear. The news team
had segued from the apartment fire to a flood in the
Midwest. Instead of almost being incinerated, people cast
adrift on makeshift rafts and small boats
paddled past houses filled with water. When the
picture of a small boy, who had been missing in
a national park for three days, flashed on the
screen, she picked up the remote and turned the
set off.
  "Oh, no!" Prue scowled at the paper.
  "What?" Phoebe and Piper asked
simultaneously. Phoebe's coffee sloshed when
she jerked to attention, spilling several drops on
her long T-shirt.
  "My favorite boutique is having a sale,
and my card is maxed," Prue said. "I could really
use a pair of new boots."
  "Don't scare me like that." Phoebe sagged.
"I've had about all the bad news I can take for
one morning."
  "What bad news?" Prue looked bewildered as
she folded the paper and dropped it on the floor.


  "All of it!" Gripping her cup, Phoebe
shook her head.
  "I obviously missed something," Piper said.
  "Fires and floods, muggings and lost kids."
Phoebe shuddered. She had awakened in a great
mood, but the news reports in the paper and on
TV had demolished it. Natural disaster and
human malevolence waged a relentless war against the
helpless. At least the Charmed Ones could fight the
demonic evil they encountered.
  Phoebe caught her lip in her teeth to keep it
from trembling. Sometimes the depressing reality was more
than she could stand, made worse because she so often
experienced scjmeone else's pain and terror in her
own mind. She was glad she could help the people her power
touched, but the ability to see the future was as much a
curse as it was a blessing.
  "Are you okay?" Concerned, Piper rested a hand
on Phoebe's knee.
  "Yeah, it's just that-was Phoebe sighed, thinking about
the little girl they had saved from the stampeding pony because
her power had given them a warning. Without that lead time,
the girl would have been maimed or worse under the
pony's shod hooves. "I wish my visions
weren't so selective because then we could keep more of this
awful stuff from happening."
  Phoebe's stomach suddenly heaved with nausea,
and a rush of dizziness made her head spin. Her
coffee mug slipped from her hand as she gasped and
doubled over.

  "Phoebe!" Piper threw her arms around her
stricken sister and let the mug land, unfrozen, on
the carpet.
  "What is it?" Prue jumped from her chair and
knelt down by the sofa. "A vision?"
  "Sick," Phoebe muttered. That was an
understatement, she thought. The wretched feeling had hit
her so fast and with such force that she felt as if someone
had blsided her with a triple whammy spell.
  "Maybe we'd better call the doctor."
Prue dashed to the phone.
  "Wait." Phoebe held up a hand to stop
Prue from dialing when the sickening sensations began
to fade. She took a couple of deep breaths and
sat up slowly. "It's going away."
  "I need specifics, Phoebe," Piper said,
probably a little more sharply than she intended. She
did that when she was really worried. "What's going
away?"
  "Super queasy stomach, dizzy." Phoebe
wiped a fine sheen of sweat from her brow and took
another deep breath as her head cleared.
"Weird."
  "Too weird." Prue sat on the coffee table
and picked the mug up from the floor. "One minute
you're fine and the next you're in agony? I don't
like it."
  "Agony is a little extreme." Phoebe
looked at the damp coffee stain on the carpet.
"And maybe it's not that weird, now that I think about
it."
  "I'm listening." Piper folded her arms and
fixed Phoebe with a skeptical gaze.


  "I've been really pushing it lately, studying for
my exams and not getting enough sleep, and everything,"
Phoebe explained. "The strain must have finally
caught up with me."
  "You're always pushing it, Phoebe," Prue
pointed out. "Between your school assignments, hanging
out at the club-was
  "Which she doesn't have to do," Piper interjected.
  "I like going to P3," Phoebe countered. "A
girl's gotta have some fun."
  "Yes, but most girls aren't vanquishing
demons on a regular basis, either." Prue eyed
Phoebe with unguarded concern. "You hardly ever get
enough sleep."
  "Okay," Phoebe admitted, "but I haven't
eaten since our picnic yesterday, either. It's
obviously an open-and-shut case of too much
coffee on an empty stomach." To make her
point, she grabbed a cinnamon roll and took a
bite.
  Prue frowned at Piper. "Do you buy that?"
  "I don't know." Piper raised an eyebrow as
Phoebe devoured the roll. "I'd like to believe
it. Sick is much easier to deal with than the
alternatives, if you get my drift."
  "I don't think it was magic. I've been
nauseous and dizzy from hunger before." When Prue and
Piper frowned, Phoebe quickly clarified. "I
wasn't exactly rolling in money in New
York, remember?"
  Piper went rigid. "I didn't know you were
starv-
  ing!
  "Not starving," Phoebe said. She didn't want
to

  CHARMED
  open old wounds, especially since her sisters
had bailed her out financially more than once before she
had returned to San Francisco. "Just hungry
enough to get light-headed with an upset stomach every once
in a while."
  "Are you sure?" Prue asked.
  "Positive." Phoebe nodded and chewed as her
stomach settled. She was still a little shaky, but she was
certain the sudden attack was nothing more than her body
reacting to the physical and emotional stress of
cramming for exams the past two weeks. Compounded
by some really nasty demon fighting, she added mentally.
"I'm fine. Really."
  Athulak, as he had been known long ago,
resented the loss of his physical being. He had
stalked the dank forests near the great river for
centuries, a demon in human form, immune to the
weapons wielded by his savage subjects,
sustained by the fear and terror he created from their
passions. He would not have adapted so easily as a
man walking among them now. Human weaknesses had
not changed, but me world people lived in had been altered
beyond recognition.
  Humans, who had once struggled to sustain their
fragile existence against the more powerful elements, had
taken control. They no longer depended on the hunt
or the river or cultivating patches of land for
food. They did not cower in mud huts, fearful of
storms, nor were they confined by the limits of human
speed and endurance. They lived in sturdy
structures large and small, and com-


  manded mighty machines that labored and carried them
over vast distances, faster than the wind he had
become.
  But for all their miraculous achievements, they were
still human, and his power to disrupt and affect human
destiny had not been diminished.
  The witch, however, was human and more, Athulak
realized as he hung near the ceiling of the room she
occupied with the others. If he still inhabited the body
of a man, the strange objects the three female
shamans possessed might have captured his interest,
but the box full of shadow forms and the artifacts were of
no use to him. The absence of material distraction was
an advantage he was just beginning to appreciate as
he watched and waited.
  "Maybe you should rest, Phoebe." The woman
who could stop time gathered the drinking bowls and stood
up. "I can handle the grocery shopping."
  "Maybe, but I'm not in the mood for lying around the
house anymore." The seer turned to the third
woman. "How about you, Prue? Feel like going out?"
  "I'm not sure the supermarket qualifies as
"going oust was Piper said.
  The blue-eyed woman picked up a heavy pack
lying by the entrance. "Actually, I'd love to, but
I've still got to develop the Tremaine film.
Gil wants the proofs tomorrow."
  "That's too bad." The seer smiled.
  "Isn't it?" Piper glanced at Prue as she
picked up the platter of bread. "Will the pictures
of P3 be ready for Saturday?"

  "Absolutely." Slinging the pack over her
shoulder, the woman who moved things with her mind headed
toward the door. "And if you don't like them, we can
always take more tonight or tomorrow."
  "I hate it when you cut things so close,"
Piper said as she followed Prue out.
  Athulak drifted closer when the seer known as
Phoebe threw her head back and closed her
eyes. He shimmered, anxious for a sign that the
cascade had begun, but there was none.
  Impatient and annoyed, he whipped past her and
through the slits of a metal covering on the wall. As
he sped through the dusty metal tunnel that led
to another vent and the outside, he reminded himself that she
was a witch. She would be consumed and destroyed, but it
would take time.

  Set her ba
  p g in the child's seat of the grocery
  cart as she and Phoebe walked through the
automatic doors into the store. She pulled out her
shopping list and gave it a quick once-over to refresh
her memory.
  "What's with all the goodies?" Phoebe glanced
at the list, then stepped back to follow as Piper
turned right and headed toward the bakery. "Are we
having a party?"
  "No, we're not having a party," Piper said.
"I'm either going to be lonely for Leo with all my
favorite things in the world to eat or I'm going
to stuff Leo with all my favorite things in the world
to eat when he shows up."
  "Cool! Either way, I win." Phoebe
grinned. "I love all that stuff, too."

  "Guess we'd better double everything, then."
Piper caught an edge of irritation creeping into her
voice and realized she was being unfair. Phoebe
wasn't trying to belittle her longing for Leo. She
really did love all of Grams's recipes.
  "Triple," Phoebe said. "We can't binge on
ham rolls and black bread with cream cheese without
Prue."
  "Wouldn't think of it." Piper softened her tone and
steered the conversation into less sensitive territory.
"Would you remind me to call my wholesaler later?
I special ordered some fancy finger foods for the
bazaar and I want to make sure there're no
mix-ups."
  "What kind of finger foods?" Phoebe asked.
  "Canapes, cheeses, summer sausages,
breads with some seasoned specialty spreads-was
  "Whoa!" Phoebe held up a hand. "Wouldn't
chips and dips be easier? And cheaper?"
  "Easier, cheaper, and totally tacky," Piper
said, annoyed.
  "Yes, but P3 is a club," Phoebe
pressed. "Cool crowd, great bands, dancing.
Nobody goes there to eat."
  "Most of the people at the charity bazaar won't know
P3 is a great dance club unless we can get them
to our booth." Piper rolled her eyes and handed
Phoebe the list over her shoulder without looking
back. "So we've got to have cool food."
  "Okay, you're the boss." Phoebe didn't
sound convinced as she took the paper and followed
Piper toward the bakery counter straight ahead.
  "Let's get some of those blueberry mini-


  muffins-was Piper stopped in her tracks when
Phoebe grabbed the back of her blouse.
  "Hold it!" Phoebe's fingers tightened when
Piper tried to pull away.
  "What are you-was Piper's question was cut short when
a speeding grocery cart cut in front of her from a
side aisle. The reckless shopper, an unkempt
man wearing torn jeans and a dirty T-shirt,
didn't look her way. He grabbed a bag of
rolls without slowing down and just kept going.
  Incensed, Piper checked an impulse to freeze
the guy before he plowed into something or someone and did some
serious damage. Another realization kicked in that
seemed more important.
  If Phoebe hadn't stopped her, the
supermarket maniac would have rammed his cart right
into her.
  Piper looked back at her sister. "You
knew?"
  "Yeah. I got a flash when you gave me this."
Phoebe held up Piper's grocery list.
"Major impact with that bozo's cart. Wham! Right
into the coffee cakes on that counter. Instant broken
wrist."
  "He hit me that hard?" Piper shivered. The
grocery store was one of the few places that had always
seemed like a haven from the violence that plagued their
lives. She had given up longing for the days when she
had been just an ordinary young woman who wanted
to fall in love, get married, and have a couple of
kids. She tried to live as though nothing had changed
as much as being a witch with a mission and a supernatural
husband allowed. Still, she resented the intrusion of
danger into her safe space.

  "Almost hit you that hard," Phoebe corrected.
  "Right. Thanks." Piper decided not to let the
incident ruin her day. The man was a jerk, but he
wasn't some despicable evil that required the
Charmed Ones" undivided attention. Between missing
Leo and making preparations for the P3 booth at the
Celebrity Charity Bazaar, she really wasn't in
the mood to drop everything to battle a demon.
  "Are you okay?" Phoebe asked, frowning. "You
look mad. Not that I'd blame you."
  "No, I'm fine. Just a little anxious because there's
so much to do before Saturday." Piper smiled.
"Let's get this done and get out of here."
  "I won't argue with that." Phoebe checked both
ways to make sure the cross aisle was clear, then
motioned Piper to move on.
  As they wove their way up and down the aisles,
Piper's mind kept wandering back to the near
collision that hadn't happened because Phoebe had had
a vision. This wasn't the first time Phoebe's power
of premonition had saved her or Prue and it
wouldn't be the last, but Piper was reminded of just how
abnormal their lives really were. When it got right
down to it, no matter how much she wanted to be
"normal," it wasn't possible. She couldn't even
plan a cozy dinner for two with Leo because she never
knew when he was going to orb in-or orb out again.
  "Want to pick up some of these for Leo?"
Phoebe dropped two boxes of oatmeal raisin
granola bars into the cart.
  "Have you expanded into mind reading?" Piper asked,
amused. "I was just thinking about Leo."


  "You're always thinking about Leo," Phoebe
teased. She dropped a third box of granola
bars into the cart. "I hate it when I get a
granola craving and we don't have any."
  Piper winced. Leo had a habit of helping
himself to anything in the Halliwell pantry, which
seemed only fair since he was their gjiardian
White Lighter and Piper's husband. However, she
made a mental note to stock up on his favorite
snacks in the future. She and her sisters had enough
problems without bickering over the availability of
granola bars.
  "You really miss him, don't you?" Phoebe
asked.
  The question caught Piper off guard. She and her
sisters were close, but she dildn't always tell them
what was bothering her untilj circumstances forced it out
of her. Phoebe and Prae had accepted their powers
and the enormous responsibility that went with them a
lot more readily than she had. She felt a little
guilty because she had had more trouble reconciling her
personal life with their higher calling. She wasn't
proud of it, but she couldn't ignore it, either. Even
so, the cereal aisle of the grocery store wasn't the
right place for a serious discussion of her personal
failings.
  "Yes, but I also know he'll be back as soon
as he can." Piper pointed down the aisle. "I
think the canned black bread is down there."
  "Let's stock up," Phoebe said. "My mouth
is already watering."
  "Not a problem." Piper, like Phoebe and
Prue, loved the moist black bread and cream
cheese snack sandwiches Grams had made for them
when they

  were kids. Piper had always appreciated her
grandmother's domestic, no-magic streak, but the
simple recipes satisfied something much deeper
than a culinary craving. They helped bridge the
gap between this world and the next, now that Grams had
passed on.
  Phoebe patted her flat stomach. "I'm going
to have to spend all next week working out."
  "You could skip the snacks," Piper suggested.
  "Don't think so," Phoebe said without
hesitation. "Life is way too short not
to indulge once in a while."
  Piper couldn't argue with that. Her mind wandered right
back to Leo as she followed Phoebe up and down
the aisles. She did miss him-a lot-and sometimes
she wondered if he realized how hard the separations
were on her. Until she had orbed out to the White
Lighter headquarters "up there," she hadn't known that
time passed much more slowly there than it did in the
mortal world. She hadn't seen Leo in two
weeks, but less than a day had passed for him.
Unless he's on another assignment here, she
reminded herself.
  "All we need are some fresh vegetables and
we're done." Phoebe put pen to paper and
scratched two pounds of thinly sliced deli ham
off the list.
  "Great!" Piper abandoned her momentary lapse
into self-pity. The separations were hard, but she was
grateful the powers-that-be had given her and Leo a
chance to work things out. She smiled at Phoebe.
"Then we can go home and do the fun part."
  "The eating part." Phoebe held up a fresh
bundle


  of broccoli for Piper's approval. "With a little
ranch dressing?"
  "Perfect." Piper gave a thumbs-up on the
broccoli, then pointed to a stock boy who was
restocking behind Phoebe. "Grab a couple of those
scallion bunches, will you?"
  "You got it." Phoebe handed the broccoli
to Piper and sidled up to the teenager. "Can I have
two of those before you stuff them behind the old ones?"
  "Sure." Obviously flustered by Phoebe's
good nature and good looks, the boy fumbled with a
plastic bag, counted out two bunches of
scallions, and shoved the bag toward Phoebe.
"Here you go."
  Piper looked away. The boy was embarrassed enough
without adding to hifc discomfort by gawking. After a few
seconds, when Phoebe didn't bounce up with the
scallions, she looked back as the boy pushed through
the stockroom doors with the produce cart.
  The bag of scallions was on the floor.
  Phoebe was clinging to the edge of the counter, her
knuckles white with strain. Her eyes were closed,
and her breath came in short, ragged gasps.
  Alarmed by the effects of another vision, Piper
sprang toward her sister.
  "What is it, Phoebe?"
  Phoebe barely heard Piper through the images that
had flooded her mind when she brushed the stock
boy's hand. The vision had hit her like a physical
blow and held her mind in a viselike grip that was
augmented by the panic inherent in a sense of
helplessness.

  CHARMED
  No scream escaped the ambushed boy as bone and
muscle were pulverized between massive, moving
walls.
  Beads of sweat dampened Phoebe's face as the
image blinked out. The onslaught of a second
vision following so close to the first left her more shaken
than usual. Head throbbing, she tightened her aching
fingers on the counter, which kept her upright as her
knees began to buckle.
  Piper grabbed Phoebe's arms to steady her.
"What's happening?"
  As the effects dissipated, Phoebe struggled
to collect herself and looked around. "Where'd he go?"
  "The stock boy?" Piper asked. "Back there."
  "Come on. He's going to get squashed if we
don't stop it." Phoebe staggered for the doors.
She didn't have time to go into detail. If they were
too late to avert the whole calamity, Piper's
ability to freeze was the teenager's only hope.
  "Stop what?" Piper was on Phoebe's heels
as she burst into the large warehouse area of the store.
  "T." Phoebe stared at the huge black semi
backing up to the loading dock. The docking bay was
about thirty feet wide, and the driver had positioned
the truck in the middle. The day before, disaster had
ridden on the back of one runaway pony. Today it
was packed into hundreds of tons of horsepower under the
hood of a sleek rig called Thunder and Stone.
  Phoebe shifted her attention to the stock boy,
who was standing on the edge of the raised loading


  platform with a man in rolled-up shirtsleeves
and a tie. A manager, she surmised as her eye
darted to another man sitting in an idling forklift
nearby. She hesitated, realizing something about the
scene wasn't right. In her vision, the boy had been
on the ground in the bay and the truck had pinned him to the
dock.
  As though on cue, the manager glanced down over
the edge of the loading platform. "Get that crate out of
there, Barry."
  "Okay." As Barry jumped into the bay, the
manager turned toward the forklift.
  "No!" Phoebe shouted. "Get him out of there!"
  Barry looked up, totally forgetting about the
truck that was still backing toward the dock.
  "Sorry, ladies!" the manager called out.
"You can't be back here. Authorized-was
  "Piper!" Phoebe turned frantic eyes on
her sister. Freezing a tractor-trailer truck
and four people was a little more than Piper was usually called
on to handle. Okay, a lot more, Phoebe thought, but
they had no choice. If they didn't act, Barry
would be crushed. "Now, please!"
  "Right." Piper grimaced as she threw up her
hands.
  Phoebe was already running toward Barry when the
whole scene came to a stop.
  "We've got to hurry," Piper said as they
reached the edge of the dock. "This was a pretty big
stop order, and I don't know how long it will
hold."
  "Let's just hope it's long enough." Phoebe
knelt down and lowered herself to the drive, wishing

  Prue had come along. Barry probably would have
suffered some painful bumps and bruises after Prue
yanked him clear with a power pull, but that was better
than being flattened by a truck. And now, Phoebe
thought as she clamped onto the boy's arm, she was in
the crash zone, too.
  Piper jumped down and grabbed Barry's other
arm. "Come on, big boy."
  Piper and Phoebe pulled just as the truck's
engine roared to life.
  "What? Where?" The manager sputtered when
Piper and Phoebe seemed to disappear before his eyes.
Most of the time they tried to get back into position before
anyone unfroze, but it wasn't always possible.
  Not our biggest problem, Phoebe realized as
Barry stumbled backward. She and Piper went down
with him as he fell.
  The truck brakes squealed as the driver brought
the rig to a halt against the dock.
  Buried under the stunned stock boy, Phoebe
whispered to Piper. "Encore."
  Piper nodded, raised her hands and froze everyone
again. She got to her feet and blew a stray strand of
hair off her forehead. "Now what?"
  Grunting, Phoebe struggled out from under Barry and
stood up. She had an idea with about a
million-in-one chance of working, but she couldn't think
of anything else. "Run."
  Piper didn't argue as Phoebe urged her up
the ladder at the end of the bay. They hit the platform
running, barreling past the immobile workers and


  through the doors back into the produce department.
They slowed to a fast walk as the doors swung
closed behind them and hurried back to their grocery
cart.
  "The sooner we get out of here the better,"
Piper said as she grabbed the cart.
  "What about the veggies?" Phoebe glanced back
as Piper headed up the dish and laundry detergent
aisle.
  "We'll swing by Sam's vegetable store on the
way home," Piper called back over her
shoulder.
  When the doors into the warehouse started to swing open,
Phoebe ducked into the aisle out of sight. With any
kind of luck, Barry, the manager, and the forklift
driver would assume their strange vanishing act had
never actually happened. That particular quirk of
human nature often worked to the Halliwells'
benefit when they couldn't totally cover their magical
tracks. However, she didn't want to tempt
fate by sticking around to find out if it was going to work this
time. Phoebe dashed after Piper, who was already
halfway down the aisle.
  To hurry things along at the checkout counter,
Phoebe unloaded the cart while Piper helped
an elderly man bag. By the time she put the last
few cans of black bread on the conveyor, she
relaxed. The warehouse manager's attention had
probably been diverted by Barry's close call
with the back of the truck. On-the-job accidents,
workers' comp, and insurance rates were a higher
priority than mysterious, disappearing customers.

  "Good. You're done. We need that." Piper
pulled the cart forward to be loaded with bagged
groceries.
  "Except for this!" Phoebe handed the last can of
black bread to the cashier. As their fingertips touched,
she was seized with another premonition. She swayed
slightly as her head swam with an image that flashed
by so fast she wasn't quite sure what she had seen.
  ... blood seeping from a wound ...
  "You okay, miss?" the cashier asked.
  Piper's head snapped around. Her eyes
narrowed.
  "Fine." Phoebe recovered quickly from the
temporary disorientation. All her visions were
disturbing, but there was no sense of real urgency
associated with the mini version she had just experienced.
She smiled at the matronly cashier as Piper paid
the bill. "Don't touch anything sharp, okay?"
  "Okay." The woman looked at her askance and
handed Piper her change.
  Piper frowned. "Ready?"
  "More than." Rolling her eyes, Phoebe waved
Piper to move out. She looked back as the
automatic doors opened.
  The cashier started to straighten a stack of sale
flyers on the counter. She yelped and shook her finger
as blood seeped out of a paper cut.
  Prue loved the tranquility of the darkroom.
With the exception of the occasional evil intruder or
life-or-death interruption, her professional
domain was isolated from whatever was going on outside.
Even


  her sisters, who had no compunction about barging into the
bathroom or into her bedroom to borrow her clothes,
followed the darkroom do-not-enter rule. It wasn't
just a question of spoiled photos and lost time if light
got in at an inopportune moment. They
respected her space-unless there was a crisis.
  She was incredibly lucky, Prue thought as her
gaze flicked to the proofs of Stephen Tremaine
hanging above the solution pans. After years of working
for someone else, she had taken the risky plunge
to freelance. Photography had always been a
passion, and the career move was exhilarating,
challenging, and very scary.
  "As though I didn't have enough scary in my life,"
Prue muttered as she began processing the last
few shots she had snapped of the congressional
candidate. The uncertainty and fear she faced every day
because she was a witch probably wouldn't change, but the
uncertainty and fear presented by her new profession
lessened with every assignment she completed to the
magazine's satisfaction. The transition from steady
paycheck to being paid by the job, when there was a job,
hadn't been easy. Getting into the good graces of the
editor at 425 had helped, though, and the Tremaine
assignment was crucial to staying in the game.
  Gil and Tremaine will both love these shots,
Prue thought as she hung up another picture
to dry. The lighting and angles softened Tremaine's
austere bone structure and smoothed the rough
texture of his aging skin, which should appeal to his
vanity. In the photo she had just processed, she
had managed

  to capture him in a moment of admiration for the
primitive stone figure. The expression
produced a desirable quality of human awe he
didn't display in person. If she didn't know
anything about the man or his corporate-driven
agenda, the photo might have convinced her to vote for
him.
  "Unfortunately, Mr. Stephen Tremaine,
you're a no-go on every level." Prue sighed as she
addressed the man's picture. "No vote, no
chemistry, too bad."
  Prue frowned as she stared at the photo. The
light gray speck on the crude eye carved into the
stone was so minuscule that she hadn't noticed it at
first glance. Now that it was apparent, the tiny flaw
leaped off the paper. Concerned, she quickly finished
processing the remaining three photos. Her impish
mood evaporated as the speck enlarged with each
successive shot. In the last one, the flaw looked
like a faint plume of smoke.
  A defect in the film? Prue wondered as she
studied the shots that finished up the roll. She had
never had a problem with the professional grade film
before, but that didn't mean a problem wasn't
possible.
  Just as something more sinister wasn't impossible, she
thought on closer inspection.
  Tremaine had been talking about his campaign
against Noel Jefferson when she had finished the
session, and the pictures had caught several emotions
during the course of the short conversation. He had
segued from pride in the rare stone statue to a
variety of expressions regarding his campaign:
concern, determination, anger, and pensive thought.


  No, not pensive, Prue realized remembering
back. Tremaine had zoned out for a second on her
last shot. He had dismissed the fleeting event as
nothing, but in the past she had been blsided by too many
nothings that had turned into dangerous somethings to ignore
it.
  Troubled, Prue examined each photo again, but this
time she concentrated on the flaw. The expanding gray
shadow was positioned in the same section of each
photo, which did not eliminate faulty film as the
cause. On the other hand, that didn't prove the
film was responsible.
  Planting her hands on her hips, Prue
exhaled with frustration. A problem with the film was the
most logical explanation and the easiest to accept, but
she wasn't quite ready to buy it. Maybe her lens
had failed. And of course, the specter of a
supernatural source always hovered as a
possibility.
  "Supernatural based on what?" Prue asked
herself aloud. She felt a little foolish for imagining
the worst, but she'd rather know one way or the other. She
was more suspicious than her sisters, a trait that had
proven to be valuable too often. "And this leopard
can't change its spots now."
  Intrigued, Prue pulled a magnifying glass
out of a drawer and used it to study the defect in each
shot. She didn't identify the one similarity
all the photos shared until she was halfway through a
second, more intense scrutiny of the series.
Tremaine's head and upper body, his arm, hand, and the
primitive statue were positioned about the same in
all four pictures with only slight variations. His
head

  CHARMED
  was tilted back more in one, and his arm was lower in
another. The smoky flaw, however, began and
elongated from the same point in the statue's rounded
eye.
  Puzzled, Prue put the magnifying glass
away and removed her apron. She didn't
believe in freak coincidence, but she had
absolutely no reason to believe it wasn't the
cause of the problems with the photos. Still, for
safety's sake, it couldn't hurt to try to figure
it out.
  Anxious to get busy, Prue stopped in the
kitchen to put a kettle on for tea, then headed for the
living room to get her camera bag. She had
purchased several rolls of film at the same time
and quickly loaded her camera. The test wouldn't be
conclusive if the flaw didn't show up in the new
shots, but she could definitely find out if the lens was
to blame.
  With her tea made and camera in hand, Prue
pulled the shades on the front windows in the living
room to re-create the lighting in Tremaine's
library the day before. Then she began snapping shots
of the Halliwell furniture.

  i iper parked in front
  of the small produce market, turned off the
engine, and clamped down on Phoebe's arm as she
moved to open the door. "Not so fast."
  "What?" Phoebe blinked, bewildered. "Is
something wrong?"
  "You tell me." Crossing her arms, Piper
fixed Phoebe with a piercing stare. Her effervescent
younger sister, who usually drove her to distraction with
nonstop babbling, had said hardly a word since they'd
left the supermarket.
  "Tell you what?" Phoebe frowned. "And turn
off the Grams stare. It makes me feel like I'm
five years old again."
  "Sorry." Piper moved one hand up to cup her
chin and tried to soften her stern expression. She

  had never liked their grandmother's all-knowing stare,
either. As a child, she had been certain Grams was
tuned in to some mysterious force that spied and reported
on their every move. It wasn't until she had grown
up that she realized their own guilty behavior had
usually given them away.
  "Like that time Grams told me not to wear my new
patent leather shoes outside to play." A wistful
smile dawned on Phoebe's face. "I cleaned
the mud off the shiny black part with a towel and didn't
figure out until years later that the towel and the mud
on the soles had tipped her off."
  "I remember," Piper said.
  "I thought she really did have eyes in the back of
her head." Phoebe laughed.
  "And changing the subject won't help you with me
any more than it helped with Grams back then."
Piper leveled Phoebe with another pointed stare.
  "What does that mean?" Phoebe looked
genuinely confused.
  "Until your trip down memory lane, you've
been awfully quiet," Piper said. "One thing that
hasn't changed in the past twenty years is that you
only stop talking when you've got something heavy on
your mind."
  "That obvious, huh?" Phoebe glanced out the
side window, sighed, then looked at Piper and
shrugged. "It's probably nothing."
  "Phoebe!" Piper raised her voice in
exasperation. "We're not budging until you talk,
even if the sour cream curdles before we get
home."
  "Threats will get you nowhere," Phoebe


  quipped. Her grin faded when Piper didn't
laugh. "Okay, it's the visions. Too many, too
close together, and too totally weird."
  Piper stiffened. Anything unusual regarding their
powers was cause for concern. "How many and how
weird?"
  "Three at the supermarket," Phoebe
explained, "ranging from a paper cut to a crushed
stock boy."
  "Almost crushed stock boy and a close call with
getting caught stopping time. Not to mention an almost
broken wrist for me." Not fun, Piper thought, but
she didn't understand why that was bothering her sister.
Normally, Phoebe took living dangerously in
stride. "I don't understand the weird part."
  "1 saw the cashier cut her finger." A touch of
anxiety crept into Phoebe's voice.
  "And that's bad?" Piper was still lost.
  "I don't know. It's just that it was such a little
thing." A worried scowl darkened Phoebe's
face. "My visions are never trivial."
  "Well, apparently, they are now." Piper
frowned, too, but she was puzzled. She didn't
want to belittle Phoebe's concern, but she didn't
see the problem. Her own ability to freeze and
Prue's telekinetic strength had increased
dramatically since their powers had been restored.
They would have been a lot stronger if Grams hadn't
cast a spell to make the sisters' powers dormant
for their protection as kids. Prue could even astral
project at will. Phoebe had acquired the power
to levitate herself, but that was a gift from a vanquished
bad guy and not a natural-
  "Yeah," Phoebe agreed, "but why?

  CfaAI caret NED
  Piper slapped her forehead. "Maybe because your
power is getting more fine tuned, stronger, like
Prue's telekinetic whammy."
  Phoebe brightened immediately. "You think?"
  "Have you got a better theory?" Piper dropped
the car keys into her purse.
  "Nope. Let's shop. I've suddenly got a
craving for fresh fruit." Obviously relieved,
Phoebe jumped out of the car and followed Piper into the
store. "So what's the scoop on the new
bartender?"
  "Rick. Grad student, psychology, working on
a thesis that has something to do with pop culture, which is
why he wanted the job." Piper waved at Sam,
the store's owner, and slipped the handles of a plastic
basket over her arm.
  "Oh." Phoebe frowned. "So maybe his
interest in me wasn't romantic. Maybe he just
thought I might make a good research subject."
  "Maybe. Don't know," Piper teased. "I
guess you'll just have to meet him to find out."
  "Lab rat or dinner date?" Phoebe
grimaced. "I'll have to think about it."
  While Phoebe wandered off to inspect the fruit
section, Piper browsed through the bins of fresh
vegetables. Sam's produce market had grown from
a small storefront into a sprawling establishment.
As she made her selections, Piper was glad that
circumstances had forced her to make the extra stop.
Sam's produce was fresher and less expensive
than the supermarket's. P3 was starting to boom, but
with Prue freelancing and Phoebe going to school,
every dollar saved was a bonus.


  "Hurry up, Phoebe!" Piper called when
she had finished. She pointed toward the front of the
store, where Sam was making change from an
old-fashioned cash register.
  "One more minute!" Phoebe picked up a quart
of strawberries and hurried toward her.
  Shaking her head, Piper stood to wait her turn
behind a young woman with a toddler in a stroller. The little
boy had bright red hair that clashed with the red-checkered
shirt he wore under blue denim bib overalls.
Green lollipop goo ran down the stick to his
fingers when he held out the treat.
  "Pop!" The boy giggled.
  "That's okay. You eat it." Piper smiled when
the boy's mother looked back. "Cute kid."
  "Thanks." The woman set her bag on top
of the stroller canopy. "Come on, Nathan.
Daddy's taking us to lunch and we're late."
  Piper set her basket on the wooden counter,
wondering if the woman always fed her son candy before
meals.
  "How you doin', Piper?" Sam's gold tooth
gleamed in the sun when he grinned. Sixty, with the
stubble of a white beard, he wore baggy pants
held up by suspenders and a plaid shirt with a torn
pocket.
  "I'm fine, Sam. And you?" Piper wasn't
sure how long Sam had been selling fruits and
vegetables. His store had been there as far back as
she could remember, and he would be missed if he ever
retired.
  Cradling a bag of oranges and a bunch of
barely

  ripe bananas in one arm, Phoebe stopped at
the end of the counter. She balanced the container of
strawberries on top of the bananas and held it
steady with her chin so she could grab a couple of
kiwi.
  Behind Phoebe, the young mother finished arranging her
bundles and started to push the stroller toward the
door.
  "Uh-oh!" Phoebe yelped.
  Before Piper could react, the young woman turned and
caught the basket of red berries before it fell.
  "Thanks," Phoebe said with a sheepish grin.
"I can be a real klutz."
  "Happens to me all the time." After setting the
strawberries on the counter, the woman put her hand
in her pocket as she pushed the stroller out the door.
When she pulled out her keys, a pacifier flipped
out of her pocket.
  Awkwardly Phoebe managed to unload the
oranges and bananas on the counter, then scooped
up the pacifier. She was instantly caught in the
grip of another vision. Unbalanced by bending over,
she fell to her hands and knees with her eyes closed.
  "Phoebe?" Sam's eyes widened.
  Piper ran to her sister and knelt down, her own
heart pounding as she saw the pacifier. She was
anxious to know what was flashing through Phoebe's mind,
but she had to wait until she snapped out of the daze.
One thing was clear without Phoebe's confirmation.
  Some kind of disaster was going to befall Nathan.


  "Come on, Phoebest" Piper urged. Her
pulse rate had doubled by the time her sister came
to. "What?"
  "Car accident." Alert and now on her feet,
Phoebe glanced toward the street. Nathan's mother
had just pulled her steel gray minivan into traffic.
"Let's go."
  "Hold my stuff, Sam!" Piper called over
her shoulder as she ran after Phoebe. She had the
car door closed, her seat belt fastened, and the
engine running before Phoebe buckled up. "Where?"
  "I'm not sure." Phoebe craned her neck
to track the minivan down the busy boulevard.
"Hurry, before we lose them!"
  Piper's stomach knotted, remembering
Nathan's cheerful face. She wouldn't be able
to sleep if anything happened to him because she and
Phoebe didn't arrive in time. Gravel flew
as she backed up, and the tires spun when she shifted
into drive. She slammed on the brakes at the
exit and pounded her fist on the steering wheel. A
steady stream of traffic whizzed by in both
directions.
  "Come on, Piper!" Phoebe's voice was
tight with urgency, her gaze still trained on the van
stopped at a traffic light. "That light could
change any second and we might lose them."
  "Hang on!" Piper gunned the engine and shot
into the street with little margin for error as a pickup
truck roared toward her. She slowed to let a
yellow convertible speeding in the opposite direction
pass, then gunned the engine again.
  "Watch it!" Phoebe cringed, but she didn't
take her eyes off the gray minivan.

  The driver of the pickup truck slammed on the
brakes and just missed clipping Piper's bumper as
she yanked the steering wheel hard to the left. The car
fishtailed as Piper whipped into the flow of traffic.
As soon as it straightened out, she zipped into the
right-hand lane.
  "Where'd you learn how to do that?" Phoebe asked
with a hint of admiration. "Crash course in stunt
driving?"
  "Smokey and the Bandit." Piper wiped one of her
sweaty hands on her pants, then switched her grip
on the steering wheel and wiped the other. The classic
car-chase movie was a secret favorite. "I
saw it five times."
  "Uh-huh." Phoebe raised herself up from the
seat and pointed out the windshield. "They're turning
right."
  "Got it." Piper rode the tail of the car in
front of her and turned right just as the light turned
red. Three cars separated them from the minivan
cruising in the right lane ahead.
  With the van in sight and the daredevil phase of the
mission behind her, Piper watched for an opening to pass
and shifted her focus to the imminent accident. "What
should we be looking for?"
  "I'm not sure. The van just kind of got
mangled in a blur of red." Phoebe caught her
lip in her teeth and scanned the surrounding area when
the mini-van stopped at another red light. "I
don't have a clue, Piper. Nothing looks
familiar."
  "So maybe it doesn't happen right away,"
Piper suggested as she brought the car to a stop. Either


  that or Phoebe's brain had gone mushy from
overload. Four visions in a couple of hours had
to be a record.
  Phoebe frowned, shook her head. "No, I'm
pretty sure-was
  The blare of an approaching siren cut her off.
  "That's it!" Phoebe's eyes bulged with sudden
horror. "Fire truck. Coming from over there." She
pointed toward the cross street on the left.
Dozens of cars pulled over or halted in the
middle of the road even though they had the green light.
"She's going to pull out in front of it."
  Piper fought off panic as the hopelessness of the
situation hit her. With three cars between them and the
minivan and less than a minute to go before impact,
stopping the collision was impossible-except for her
power. There was no way she could freeze the entire
intersection and everything in it, Piper realized. Her
power just wasn't that strong.
  But she couldn't just sit and do nothing.
  "Your turn to drive, Phoebe." Without taking
time to explain, Piper threw open the door and
jumped out. The blast of the siren grew louder as she
ran between two rows of cars toward the van.
  From the corner of her eye, Piper saw the large
fire truck race down the center turn lane past
the stopped traffic. Siren screeching, the red
giant entered the intersection-just as the gray minivan
rolled forward to make a right turn.
  Piper was stunned. Was Nathan's mom in such a
hurry to meet her husband she was willing to risk her
life and her son's? Or, perhaps, she couldn't

  CHARMED
  hear the siren because her car stereo was cranked or
Nathan was crying. All the possible explanations
rose in Piper's mind as she raised her hands and
froze the van.
  The fire truck roared past as the traffic light
changed.
  Emotionally and physically drained, Piper
unfroze the van, which lurched to a halt as the woman
reacted to the startling gap in her perceptions. She
probably had no idea how close she and Nathan
had come to sudden death.
  Emotionally and physically drained, Piper's
heart lurched when the cars behind the van leaned on their
horns. She hurried back to the car, slid into the
passenger seat, and sagged.
  "Nice going." Phoebe grinned and asked
casually, "Back to Sam's?"
  Piper nodded. She hoped Phoebe's magic
touch didn't tune into any more innocents in distress
while she paid Sam for their abandoned fruits and
vegetables. One more rescue and her sour cream would
turn to spoiled sour soup in the midday heat.
  Waiting for the light to change again, Phoebe cast
a sidelong glance at Piper. "So just how tall,
how tan, and how hot is Rick on a scale of
one to ten?"
  Phoebe dropped a bag of groceries on the
counter and sighed, glad to be home. She had stayed
in the car while Piper finished her business with
Sam. Although Phoebe hadn't said anything, she had
developed a slight headache. Going shop-


  ping had put a dent in her lazy day, but she
hadn't bargained on running a rescue marathon that
left her feeling as if she had been hit by a
truck.
  "Where's Prue?" Piper dropped the last bag
on the table and opened the refrigerator.
  "Still in her darkroom, I guess." Phoebe
began unloading her bag. She handed Piper everything
that needed to be kept cold and tried to think of a good
reason to bail on the "making" part of the snack fest.
Aside from being exhausted after their multiple
adventures, she didn't have Piper's culinary
skills, even when no actual cooking was involved.
Mixing magical potions was entirely different.
  "You look beat." Piper cast a sidelong
glance at Phoebe as she stuffed plastic grocery
bags into a paper bag for recycling.
  "I am a little tired," Phoebe admitted.
"Do you mind if I beg off making black bread
squares? Mine will probably come out looking more like
trape-zoids anyway."
  "Trapezoids would be interesting," Piper teased,
"but I can manage without you."
  "You sure?" Phoebe gave Piper three
containers of cream cheese and sank into a kitchen
chair.
  "Positive." Piper stuffed the cream cheese in
the fridge, then picked up the kettle. "Want
some tea?"
  Phoebe nodded. A soothing cup of tea,
aspirin, and a nap might cure the headache.
Dropping her chin on her folded arms, she glanced
to the side when Prue came out of the darkroom. She
looked upset.
  Piper turned on the kettle and eased into a
chair

  when Prue sat down. "You look like I feel
when I ruin a souffle, Prue. Didn't your
shots of Tremaine come out?"
  "Most of them did." Exhaling, Prue spread
the photos on the table.
  "Gee, Stephen Tremaine looks just like our
couch." Phoebe raised an eyebrow. Why had
Prue created a portrait gallery of the
Halliwell furniture?
  "This is good." Piper moved one of the shots
closer. "You really captured the inner essence of the
coffee table."
  Prue playfully cuffed Piper's arm. "That
wasn't the objective. I was testing the film and the
lens for defects."
  "Oh." Phoebe sat up to get a better
look and frowned. "They look fine to me."
  "I know." Prue's eyes narrowed with dismay.
"That's the problem."
  "It is?" Piper jumped up when the kettle
whistled and took it off the burner.
  "Yeah." Prue pulled a photo of Tremaine
out from under the scattered pile.
  "Great shot, Prue!" Phoebe nodded,
impressed. The lighting and angle softened the hard
lines of Tremaine's face. His expression
seemed a bit befuddled, though. "What's that?"
Phoebe pointed to the oval stone in Tremaine's
hand.
  "That's the problem." Prue took a cup of
steaming tea from Piper, but her puzzled gaze
remained on the picture.
  "I can see why." Piper handed Phoebe a cup
and sat down again. "How come he's holding a
rock?"


  "It's not a rock. Well, not exactly."
Prue sipped her tea then set it aside. "According
to Tremaine it's some kind of spirit stone from an
ancient culture in South America. He said
it's thousands of years old." She frowned again as she
ran her finger over the image.
  Curious, Phoebe pulled her glasses from the
cloth bag she had dropped on the table and slipped
them on. The wispy gray discoloration on the image
instantly came into focus. "It's smudged or
something."
  "Yep." Prue's mouth set in a tight line.
  "Bummer." Piper patted Prue's shoulder.
"It was a great shot. I'm sure Tremaine would have
loved it."
  "That's not what I'm worried about." Prue
hesitated, caught Phoebe and Pipeij's
bewildered stares, and picked up the picture of this
less-than greater-than couch. "This shot is fine.
This one isn't." She tapped the photo of
Tremaine. "And I don't know why."
  Piper stiffened, suddenly on edge. "And this is a
problem because?"
  "You have to go back and reshoot Tremaine?"
Phoebe offered.
  Prue shook her head. "There's nothing wrong with the
lens. Could be a manufacturing defect in the
film-or maybe it's something else."
  Phoebe's heart skipped a beat. For the Charmed
Ones, "something else" usually translated as
"something bad," and that usually meant big, bad
trouble.
  So much for my nap, Phoebe thought with a weary
sigh.

  llie calm, studious atmosphere in the
university
  library took the edge off Prue's frayed
nerves as she followed Phoebe to a study table in
a quiet corner. Her pulse was still racing from their
mad dash across campus to save a student from being
struck by a tree limb.
  "I need to sit down." Phoebe slipped into a
chair and rubbed her temples.
  "Ditto that." Prue dropped her bag and the
folder with the photos of Tremaine and the spirit stone on
the table. "Are you sure you're okay?"
  "Just a little headache. I'll be fine." Phoebe
pulled the photos from the folder and smiled. "Go
get those reference books so we can track this
critter down."
  Phoebe's smile did not reassure Prue,
but she


  decided to let it go until they got home.
Finding out if there was some unknown threat lurking below the
radar had to take precedence over minor discomforts.
  "This could be just a wild goose chase," Prue
said.
  "Yeah, but at least we can do it sitting down."
Phoebe sighed.
  "You sit. I'll be right back." Prue smiled
to reassure her sister, but her own thoughts were troubled.
  Prue had been astounded when Piper and Phoebe
had briefed her about their hectic and harrowing shopping
trip. Phoebe sometimes went for days without having a
vision. This day she had had five. It was, Prue
realized, inevitable that Phoebe's power would grow
stronger, too. She just needed some time to adjust to her
increased sensitivity.
  It wasn't going to be easy on Piper or her,
either, Prue thought as she scanned the anthropology
and archaeology book titles. Saving people from
imminent disaster was always on their program, but they
might have to start making decisions on the merits of
each individual case.
  Prue selected four books that dealt with early
South American cultures, then paused a moment
to reflect.
  There was no way they could have ignored the jogger who
bumped into Phoebe near the student parking lot.
Phoebe's power to divert the falling tree limb
had saved the young man from a broken neck. Paper
cuts, on the other hand, did not warrant Charmed
attention. The sisters simply couldn't risk

  missing a major event for anything that wasn't
life threatening.
  A blast of cold air sent a chill cascading
down Prue's spine. Clutching the books, she
fled the frigid draft and hurried back
to Phoebe.
  "So what have we got?" With her glasses perched
on the bridge of her nose, Phoebe took a
book. "Lost Civilizations of the Amazon.
Sounds like a winner."
  "Watch," Prue said as she sat down.
"We'll find out that that stone is just a fancy
ancient pestle or weight for a thatched roof."
  "Much ado about nothing." Phoebe blew dust off
the old text and flipped to the index. "That would be a
pleasant change in the routine, wouldn't it?"
  "Yes." Prue grinned. "And I'd get a
perverse kick out of telling Mr. Stephen
Tremaine his rare spirit stone was just an ordinary
household utensil."
  Phoebe peered at her over the rim of her
glasses. "Do I detect a hint of interest?"
  "I'm not that desperate." Prue shuddered but not
at the thought of a romantic interlude with the wealthy,
self-centered candidate. Another draft seemed
to wrap her in a cold, invisible shroud. "I can't
concentrate in this draft. You're a student here. Can
you check these books out?"
  "Sure." Phoebe frowned. "What draft?"
  "The one from the air conditioning vent." Prue
glanced upward and scanned the ceiling. No vents,
at least not that she could see. She rubbed her arms,
her frown deepening when the icy sensation passed, and
quickly put a twinge of anxiety on


  hold. She couldn't let her imagination turn every
little thing that didn't have an immediate, logical
explanation into a potential problem of demonic
proportions. She'd go nuts in a week. Maybe
less.
  "Come on." Prue stood up and gathered her
things. "If we go home, I can do research in the
comfort of our own photogenic couch and you can rest your
aching head."
  "Good plan." Phoebe slammed the book
closed.
  Outside, Prue welcomed the warmth of the afternoon
sun on her face and arms as they headed back to the
car. The sight of students wandering the campus paths
or sitting in groups on the grass helped
to dissipate the sense of gloom that had settled over
her in the library. Somehow she had to take control
of the paranoia that assumed evil lurked under every
rock.
  "Somebody dropped their purse organizer."
Phoebe stooped to pick up the woman's wallet
lying in the parking space beside their car. She went into a
precognitive trance the instant her fingers touched
leather.
  Piper stirred the mixture of softened cream
cheese, chopped scallions, and seasonings with a
vengeance. Tears streamed down her cheeks, forcing her
to stop to wipe them away with the back of her hand. After
Phoebe and Prue had left for the university
library, she had thought making the ham rolls would
take her mind off missing Leo. Instead, the
mundane activity had just made things worse.
  Without her sisters or some impending calamity

  to distract her, Piper's thoughts automatically
shifted to the emptiness she felt when Leo wasn't
around. Which was most of the time lately, she thought
sniffling. She couldn't even listen to music on the
radio without falling into the pit of self-pity. Every
song, whether it was about love lost or found, reminded
her that their relationship encompassed both.
  Setting the bowl aside, Piper opened the
fridge to get the sliced ham and closed it again when
the phone rang. She brushed a renegade wisp of
hair off her forehead and took a deep breath
to quell the weepy evidence of her emotions as she
answered.
  "Piper! It's Phoebe. We've got another
emergency."
  "What's happening?" Piper gave her sister her
full attention, her personal problems forgotten.
  "A woman falling out of a window in an alley
behind an old brick building. We have an
address," Phoebe said frantically. "I just
hope it's the right one."
  "Where?" Piper scribbled down the address and
fished her keys out of her bag.
  "You're closer, Piper! If we're not too
late already," Phoebe added. "Meet you there."
  Piper was driving down the street before she
remembered that the cream cheese filling for the ham
rolls was sitting on the counter, but there was no going
back. A-life literally hung in the balance.
Unless she or Prue were on the scene to break the
girl's fall, the victim didn't stand a chance.
  Four minutes and thirty seconds later,
Piper


  burned rubber off her tires as she squealed into a
parking lot at the side of the run-down apartment
building. An access alley ran along the back.
Prue's car wasn't there.
  "Guess it's up to me." Since seconds
might be crucial, Piper leaped out of the car without
shutting off the engine and bolted for the back of the
building. She braced herself for the worst as she rounded
the corner and lurched to a halt by a large overflowing
metal trash bin.
  The alley was riddled with potholes, and the area in
back of the building looked like a dump. Flies,
attracted by the stench, swarmed around garbage
  and litter spilling out of torn
  trash bags. Broken
  glass, flattened cans, and disca-ded junk were
piled by the back door.
  But there was no body smashed to a pulp on the
pavement, Piper noticed with relief.
  A high-pitched squeal drew Piper's gaze
upward past rows of dirty windows. The.building was
five stories tall, but she couldn't pinpoint which
floor the cry had come from until the girl shrieked
again.
  "That hurt, Bobby!"
  Angered by the domestic dispute, Piper positioned
herself to be ready to act no matter what window the
woman came flying out of. She wished Prue and
Phoebe would hurry up. She could freeze a
falling body, but the woman would still be falling when the
effect wore off-at the same deadly velocity
without Prue's telekinetic power to slow the
descent.
  "Come on, guys," Piper muttered, flexing her
fingers. She frowned, fuming.

  "Don't do that!" The woman yelled again.
  "What?" A man's voice mocked her. "Can't
take a little... Linda! Look out!"
  Linda's terrified scream mingled with the sound of
breaking glass as she burst backward through a window
on the fourth floor and started to fall. Piper
froze the back of the building with Linda suspended
halfway out the shattered window.
  "Okay. Now what?" Piper glanced up and down
the alley to make sure nobody was watching the
spectacle, then glowered toward the parking lot. No
Prue or Phoebe, either, she thought, shivering as a
gust of chilly wind blew through her hair. She
frowned, startled by the anomaly in the eighty-degree
heat.
  Her attention was diverted from the icy breeze
by Linda's scream when the action resumed. Reacting
instinctively, she froze everything again.
  And gawked in disbelief.
  Linda was still halfway out the window.
  Piper stared at Bobby, who had clamped onto
Linda's wrist and had just started to pull her back
in.
  False alarm? Piper blinked and threw up her
hands in frustration dissolving the time stall she had
created.
  "Bobby!" Linda's shrill cry pierced the
quiet alley.
  "Don't worry, baby! I've got you!"
Bobby's voice shook with fright.
  Piper thought she saw the man's grip begin
to slip and stopped time a third time. She jerked
back when a pair of silver-framed eyeglasses
came to a


  dead stop in front of her eyes. Phoebe and
Prue raced around the corner of the building as she
snatched the glasses from certain doom.
  "Oh, good. We're not too late."
Phoebe's hand shot to her chest in relief.
  "In the nick of time," Piper said. She held
up the glasses. "I saved these, Prue. You
save the girl."
  "I'm ready whenever you are." As Prue raised
her hand, time rolled forward.
  "Don't let go!" Linda begged Bobby.
  "He's losing her!" Phoebe suddenly rose in
the air.
  Prue latched onto Phoebe's ankle as
Bobby hauled Linda back inside the apartment and
threw his arms around her.
  "Oh, boy." Squeezing her eyes shut,
Phoebe tried without success to lower herself to the
ground.
  Piper watched with a stunned sense that everything was
totally out of control. Since Bobby would have managed
to abort Linda's death dive without their help, they
had dropped everything to rescue a pair of
glasses. The Celebrity Charity Bazaar was two
days away, and she had a dozen things to do before she
went to P3 for the night. And now Phoebe, who
really needed to master her new ability to levitate,
was airborne in front of witnesses. "Get her
down!" Piper snapped.
  "I'm trying!" Prue's blue eyes flashed as
she hauled Phoebe back to earth and clamped onto
her arms to keep her anchored. "Are you cool now?"
  Phoebe nodded and looked up with a frown. "She
wasn't going to fall?"

  "Apparently not," Piper said.
  "But I saw her smash through the window," Phoebe
insisted.
  "She did smash through the window. She just didn't
fall and go splat." Phoebe looked so upset that
Piper didn't mention that she had left her cream
cheese filling rotting on the kitchen counter to answer
a false alarm. When Bobby appeared in the window
to check the damage, she lashed out at him instead.
  "Hey!" Hands on her hips and itching for a
fight, Piper snapped at Linda's bully
boyfriend. "Where do you get off beating up on a girl
and pushing her out a window?"
  "I could give him a taste of his own medicine,"
Prue offered, waving her hand.
  "What are you talking about, lady?" Bobby put
his arm around Linda when she appeared beside him. "I
didn't push her."
  "No, you've got it all wrong." Linda
pressed closer to Bobby as she looked down. "He
was teaching me kung fu and I tripped."
  Feeling like a complete idiot, Piper heaved a
heavy sigh and held up the eyeglasses. "I'll
just leave these here."
  "This, too," Phoebe said softly. With a
sheepish shrug, she placed the wallet on the
pavement by the glasses.
  As they made a hasty departure, Piper cast a
narrowed glance at her sisters. "We have to talk!"
  Athulak sped through the canyons of the city listening
to the idle words of the humans who hurried


  along the streets or huddled behind walls. He
had quickly learned to appreciate the advantages of
being wind. No barrier could bar him, and no human
feared him or recognized his touch.
  The witches sensed him, but they knew not his name
nor his power. Like the hundred others whose carelessly
uttered desires he had granted since his
return, the seer did not know she had been cursed
by the impulsive whim of her own words.
  Or that when Tremaine's words freed his spirit from the
stone, the events set in motion could not be undone. *
  Except by the magic of the three.
  Still, Athulak was untroubled as he rode the air
currents through a sunlit sky.
  What the witches did not know, they could not stop.

  Absorbed in tier reading,
  Prue absently picked up
  her cup and took a long swallow of coffee. The
cold, bitter liquid was a jolt to her system.
"Gross!" She gagged, shuddered, and set the cup
down on the kitchen table with weary resignation.
  "Any luck?" Phoebe shuffled in and yawned.
She paused by the stove and opened the kettle to check
the water level.
  "Zilch, nada, not even a hint." Leaning
back, Prue closed the book and shoved it aside.
The pile of university references had yielded some
fascinating information about ancient South American
tribes, but not a clue about a carved stone that
resembled the one in Stephen Tremaine's library.
  "So maybe there's nothing to find out about that stone
guy." Phoebe turned on the burner under the


  kettle, stretched then rubbed her neck. "If it
is a guy and not a paperweight or something."
  "Ancient South American cultures didn't
use paper." Prue held out her cup. "Would you
dump that?"
  "Sure." Phoebe emptied the cup in the sink,
then pulled a teabag out of a canister. "Want
some?"
  Prue shook her head and stared at the clouded
photo she had taken of Tremaine. Maybe
Phoebe was right and the artifact was just a crudely
carved rock with nothing exceptional about it except
its obscure origin and age. The film was the most
likely reason for the flaws in the pictures,
especially since the sisters hadn't been attacked
by any ferocious warrior demons from the past. They
had enough problems without worrying about threats that didn't
exist.
  Like the rising rate of rescues prompted by the
sudden surge in Phoebe's premonitions, Prue
thought with a guarded glance at her sister. Phoebe was
leaning against the counter massaging her temples.
  "Didn't you sleep?" Prue asked.
  "Yeah, I did." Sinking into a chair,
Phoebe yawned again. "My brain just isn't used
to the extra wear and tear yet."
  Prue nodded. Since Phoebe had gone
to sleep as soon as they had gotten home that afternoon,
she and Piper hadn't had a chance to discuss a very real
problem their sister didn't seem to recognize.
Putting their lives on hold to save people from mortal
and demonic danger was a responsibility they

  ckApo
  all accepted without question. Throwing their lives
into chaos a dozen times a day to prevent trivial
accidents was another matter entirely. Phoebe
had to learn to distinguish between the two, but that wasn't
something Prue wanted to address on her own. The
youngest Halliwell would be easier to convince with the
persuasive power of two.
  "Feeling rested enough for a little fun?" Prue
mimicked the arm movements of a Flamenco dancer.
"Hard Crackers is playing at P3 tonight."
  "You want to go now?" Phoebe glanced at the
clock. "It's almost eleven."
  "Afraid you'll turn into a pumpkin at
midnight?" Prue joked to cloak her concern.
  "Well, I ... okay." Phoebe nodded and
averted her gaze for a second. She smiled when she
looked back, but there was no mischievous sparkle in
her eyes. "Why not?"
  That's what Prue wanted to know. Phoebe, who
was never shy about scouting the dating possibilities
at Piper's club, really didn't want to go out.
That seemed even more ominous than the foggy picture
of Tremaine's spirit stone. It definitely demanded
a family conference of three, she decided as
Phoebe got up to turn off the stove.
  Phoebe stared apprehensively at the mass of
people waiting to get into the club. She usually didn't
mind having to push her way inside because an overflow
crowd meant Piper was making money and she could stay
in school. Now, instead of chic, well-dressed
dollar signs, every person represented


  a potential red alert. Pretending that she felt
fine in spite of a persistent headache had been
difficult in the unpopulated sanctuary of her own
house. Braving a packed house at P3 could be a
waking nightmare.
  Phoebe was ashamed to ddmit it, but if anyone was
on the verge of impending catastrophe tonight, she
didn't want to know about it.
  "Look at that crowd! Not bad for a week
night." Prue eased out of the car and smoothed the
skirt of a black dress that hugged every curve. A
black lace cover-up with long, tapering sleeves
that belled at the cuffs created an image of daring
elegance.
  Phoebe called it Prue's deadly black
widow look; no guy who was still breathing could resist
her. Prue, however, showed no mercy and rejected
most of the poor souls with the courage to ask her out. That
wasn't hard to understand. They all had to err on the
side of caution because of their powers. Even if she
herself hit it off with the new bartender Piper had been
urging her to meet the past few days, Phoebe
thought, eventually her secret life as a witch would
create problems most guys couldn't handle. Being in
love with a White Lighter wasn't easy, but at
least Piper didn't have to hide what she was.
  "That's a lot of people all right." Chilled by a gust
of wind, Phoebe rubbed her bare arms. The
vibrant colors in her long wraparound skirt and
matching midriff top were hotter than the night
air.
  "Are you cold?" Prue asked.
  "It's a little chilly, but I'll warm up once
we get inside. All those bodies dancing in
close quarters

  generate a lot of heat." Phoebe didn't know
if Rick was working tonight, but she had dressed
to impress just in case.
  Prue's eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "It's
hot out here."
  "But I just felt-was Phoebe frowned, realizing
Prue was right. It was hot.
  "Felt what?" Prue stepped closer. "A
blast of arctic wind out of nowhere?"
  "Yeah." Phoebe looked at her quizzically.
"Did you feel it, too?"
  "Not just now, no," Prue said. "I felt a
windy cold shoulder in the library this afternoon. Let's
go see Piper."
  Phoebe called Prue back when she started
toward the crowd gathered around the front door.
"Let's go in the back. We don't want
to incite a riot because we can go to the head of the line."
  "Good point." Prue did an about-face.
  Not really, Phoebe thought as they entered through the
back door into the storage area. She just hadn't
decided how to tell her sisters she was suffering from
premonition overload and didn't know if she could
stand the constant and demanding responsibility. She had
to come clean and soon, though, which was why she had agreed
to come to P3 with Prue. If The Book of Shadows
didn't contain a remedy, there wasn't a cure for a
runaway power.
  She didn't want to spend the rest of her life
in her room or forsake her duty as a Charmed
One, but she wouldn't be much good to anyone if she went
mad.
  Phoebe paused in the storage area doorway
to


  survey the crowded club. There wasn't a
vacant seat in the house, including the bar stools.
Hard Crackers was apparently on a break, but that
didn't deter the habitually energetic. The dance
floor was packed with couples gyrating to the music
on the band's promotional CD. Piper was washing
glasses while the bartenders, Jimmy Dougan and
Monica Reynolds, poured drinks.
  Phoebe was more relieved than disappointed to see
Jimmy and the dark-haired, willowy Monica instead
of the blond, tan Rick behind the bar. The run-amok
visions had put a definitive crimp in her
easygoing style, and a new relationship wouldn't have much
of a chance until she had the problem under control. Just
holding Jiands to dance might prompt a too-powerful
premonition.
  No one was sitting in the alcove on the back
wall because Piper had put up a reserved sign.
Phoebe assumed Piper had held the comfy couch for
them since Prue had called to say they were on their
way. She was silently grateful. The alcove was
set so far back she wouldn't have to worry about bumping
elbows with anyone.
  After she got there.
  "I'm going to go sit down!" Phoebe shouted at
Prue to be heard over the noise and motioned toward
the bar. "You get Piper!"
  Nodding, Prue gave her a thumbs-up and
slipped into the throng like a knife cutting butter.
The sea of bodies separated and closed back around
her in a fluid movement as she passed.
  "Now my turn." Taking a deep breath,
Phoebe

  eased along the wall hoping whoever she touched led
a completely disaster-free existence. No such
luck.
  A heavyset guy wearing no-style-whatsoever
baggy pants and a loose shirt leaned against the wall
in front of her to block her path. "Hey, cute
thing, I've been waiting for you."
  "Funny, but no thanks. I'm meeting someone."
Donning a perky smile, Phoebe edged by him. The
vision hit like a lightning bolt.
  ... open refrigerator, plate of cold
chicken .. disthe man clawing at his throat, choking
on a bone...
  Phoebe stepped back and looked him in the eye.
"When you get home, do not eat chicken."
  "Chicken?" Startled, the man blinked,
bewildered.
  "The leftovers in your fridge." Phoebe
didn't care if he thought she was a nut case as
long as she made her point. "It's bad, rotten,
spoiled chicken. Eat it and you die. Got it?"
  Dumbfounded, the man just nodded.
  "I'm not kidding," Phoebe added as she pushed
past him. She immediately brushed against a young woman
who was staring into space and fighting back tears. The
woman's lower lip trembled as she raised her
glass and downed her drink.
  ... stopped by a cop, too drunk to stand without
wobbling, arrested...
  Rocked by the second vision, Phoebe couldn't
move for a moment. Pressed between the woman, who was
drowning her sorrows over a broken love affair,
and a man who would stub his toe on his way

  Beware What you Wish ss
  to bed, she struggled for control. When the
disori-entation passed, she moved back to the wall and
flattened herself against it.
  With her stomach in knots and her head throbbing,
Phoebe took her time and reached the alcove without
another close encounter. Settling down on the couch,
she made a mental note to tell Piper that the
heartbroken woman wojild need to take a cab
home. She took comfort in knowing she had kept two
more lives from being ruined, but that didn't solve her
problem.
  When Piper and Phoebe arrived a few minutes
later, Phoebe's stomach had started to relax and the
pounding in her head had diminished. Even so, she must
have looked terrible.
  "What happened?" Piper exclaimed, sitting
down beside her. "You're shaking."
  "And white as a sheet." Pijue placed her hand
on Phoebe's forehead. "No fever."
  "I'm not sick," Phoebe said. "It's
worse."
  Composing herself, Phoebe filled them in on the
escalating number of visions and the debilitating
effects, physical, emotional, and mental. She
was near tears herself when she confessed that she wasn't
sure she could take it.
  "And we were worried about responding to endless
false alarms." Piper gently brushed
Phoebe's hair back from her face. "I
didn't stop to think how hard this might be on you."
  "Me, either." Prue gripped Phoebe's hand.
"I was too busy worrying about an old stone that
turned out to be just an old stone."

  "Are you sure about that?" Piper asked.
  "Pretty sure." Prue shrugged. "I mean,
nothing strange has happened."
  "Except that Phoebe's suddenly a walking
code blue lightning rod," Piper said. "My
power got stronger gradually, not all at once."
  "True, but I discovered my ability to astral
project instantly." Prue frowned. "The
telekinesis got stronger gradually."
  "The cold wind thing was sort of strange."
Phoebe was relieved now that her sisters knew she
was having trouble with her increased sensitivity. Still,
if there was any chance that her enhanced power wasn't a
natural occurrence, she really wanted to know. Before,
she had connected only with desperate people who were
threatened by demons and other evil entities with
lethal intent. Being oversensitive could prevent her
from getting the mental messages she was supposed
to receive.
  Piper tensed. "You mean like a gust of ice-cold
air that shouldn't be there on a hot afternoon?"
  "You felt it, too?" Prue stared at Piper
intently.
  "Today when I wasn't saving Linda." Piper's
worried expression changed to one of curious
puzzlement when she glanced toward the bar. "Oh,
my."
  Phoebe looked up to see a tall, muscular
man with thick sandy blond hair and a killer tan
moving through the crowd. Her breath caught in her
throat when he stopped before them, shoved his hands in his
pockets and smiled. Dimples and perfect white
teeth, she noted.

  "Hi, Piper," the man said.
  Deep, husky voice and a twinkle in green
eyes flecked with amber, Phoebe thought, continuing
her inventory.
  "How's it going, Rick?" Piper struggled
to control a grin when Phoebe stiffened with
surprise.
  Prue cocked an eyebrow and subtly nodded her
approval.
  "Great." Rick smiled at Phoebe, holding
her stunned gaze for a moment before turning back
to Piper. "Monica said you were looking for more help
to set up your booth at the charity bazaar on
Saturday, and I'm available."
  "So am I." Phoebe quickly qualified the
remark. "To work on the P3 booth, I mean. This
Saturday."
  "The fringe benefits of working for your sister."
Rick's smile widened as he looked
into Phoebe's dark eyes again.
  "Be here at seven Saturday morning," Piper
said. "We'll be arriving at the park separately,
but Jimmy will let you know what to do."
  "I'll be here." Rick started to back off, then
turned toward Phoebe. "I'll see you
Saturday."
  "You most certainly will." Phoebe was caught
completely off guard when he suddenly lifted her
hand and kissed it. The images that flooded her mind
masked what happened next in real time.
  ... Rick raising a fist to defend himself,
attacked from behind, a club crashing down on his
head... blood gushing from his smashed skull...
  "Come on, Phoebe." Prue's anxious
voice broke through the fog that muddled Phoebe's
mind, but

  she couldn't shake off the physical effects for
several more crucial seconds.
  "Where's Rick?" Phoebe finally managed
to whisper. Sharp pains arrowed through her brain and
ricocheted off the inside of her skull. Shaky and
nauseous, she breathed in and out deeply to quell the
sensations. Apparently, her system reacted in
direct proportion to the intensity of the violence in the
disasters she foresaw.
  "He just left," Piper said, scanning the crowd.
  "He gets mugged in the alley." Phoebe's
eyes widened with horror. "They're going to kill
him."
  "No, they won't." Prue jumped up. "You
stay here. We'll take care of it."
  Phoebe grabbed Piper's wrist. "Don't do
anything we can't explain. About us ..."
  "We'll handle it." Piper squeezed
Phoebe's hand, then shoved through the crowd after
Prue.
  Feeling sick and disoriented, Phoebe pulled
herself up and pulled herself together. Rick hadn't worked
for Piper very long. Still, Phoebe realized, her
sister had intuitively recognized that she and
Rick would connect. For a while or forever, the immediate
rapport had been there. She couldn't just sit while
her sisters tried to stop a gang of street thugs from
bashing in Rick's brains.
  Hugging the wall again, Phoebe worked her way to the
storage area door. Her progress was hampered
only by a fleeting vision of an awkward nerd
summing his fingers in his car door. He'd survive.
She pressed on, driven by the need to know that Rick
would, too.


  Phoebe found Piper and Prue watching the
brawl from the shadows of the exterior doorway.
Prue glanced at her with disapproval, then quickly
turned her attention back to the alley. Rick was
managing to block and strike back at a burly
unarmed teenager while keeping an eye on the two
other boys as they moved to flank him. When Rick
smashed his fist into the burly kid's jaw throwing him
off his feet, the boy on his right charged with a knife.
  Phoebe didn't question why Piper and Prue were
letting the fight play out. Knowing that she wanted
to get to know Rick better, they were waiting until the
critical moment before they intervened in the hope that they
could save him without revealing themselves.
  Phoebe's heart leaped into her throat as
Rick's hand clamped around the boy's wrist, staying
the blade's downward plunge. With practiced
precision, he swung his leg to knock the
attacker's legs out from under him. As the second
boy fell, Rick swung to face the first boy, who
staggered back with his fist raised. Behind Rick, the
third boy picked up a broken table leg that had
fallen out of the P3 dumpster.
  "Get it!" Phoebe whispered in Prue's ear.
  Prue acted instantly. With a targeted flick of
her finger, she telekinetically seized the table leg,
yanked it out of the boy's hand, and heaved it onto the
roof, out of reach.
  Stunned, the third boy jerked to a halt.
  Since his back was turned, Rick did not know
why the boy behind him suddenly panicked and

  took off down the alley toward the street. Already
beaten by Rick's superior fighting skills, the
other two ruffians turned tail and ran after him.
Exhaling, Rick bent over to catch his breath.
  Prue, Piper, and Phoebe eased back from the
doorway and ducked into the storage room.
  "Thanks." Phoebe leaned against the wall
to steady herself. Her pulse was still racing, and the pains in
her head had subsided to a dull but tormenting throb.
  "No problem. At least, not with Rick."
Smoothing her hair back, Piper turned
to Prue. "I don't think it would hurt to dig a
little deeper into ancient tribal cultures of South
America. Cold winds in August might have a
scientific explanation, but it can't possibly be
coincidence that we all felt one at different times
in different locations."
  Prue nodded. "I don't know much about spirit
stones, but assuming they were used as receptacles
to bind spirits-was
  "commaybe one got loose," Piper finished.
"The question is which one and why? And what does it
want?"
  "Professor Rubin in the anthropology
department at the university might be able to help,"
Phoebe suggested. "I've never met him, but
I've heard he's a little eccentric. He's
written a few books about early cultures,
though."
  "Why didn't you say so today when we were there?"
Prue asked, looking a bit perturbed.
  "Because he's a joke around campus." Phoebe
made a circling gesture around her ear.
"Apparently,


  Professor Rubin didn't go off the deep end
until after they gave him tenure. Besides, this afternoon
I didn't really think we had a problem."
  "I'll go see him tomorrow after I drop my
Tremaine shots off at 415." Prue didn't
look convinced that the effort would be worth the trip.
"Can you give me directions to his office?"
  "Better. I'll take you there," Phoebe said.
  "No!" Piper objected. "You're confined
to quarters until we figure this thing out. No leaving
the house."
  "Don't even answer the door," Prue added.
  "But-was Phoebe started to protest, then realized
Piper and Prue were right. If they did have an
unidentified demon problem, they couldn't afford
to waste time and energy rescuing people from fender benders and
bee stings.

  Dr. Gregory Rubins office was in the
basement Of
  the cultural sciences building. Prue walked
down the dim corridor with Phoebe's directions
clutched in her hand, a photo of the spirit stone in her
bag, and a nagging sense that she was wasting her time.
  For one thing, the professor's subterranean
domain was obviously not a maintenance priority.
Paint was peeling off gray walls, and several
wire light fixtures had burned-out or missing
bulbs. Condensation from overhead air conditioning ducts
dripped, forming small puddles on the floor, and
water pipes rattled. Since the administration
couldn't fire the tenured professor for being a kook
as long as he did his job, they had, apparently,
banished him to the basement, hoping he would quit.
  The dismal surroundings didn't instill Prue with


  confidence that the research trip would be worth the
effort. However, since she had come this far she might
as well follow through. Eccentric academics were
often brilliant.
  "I can hope," Prue muttered as she stopped
before a solid door with Prof. Rubin stenciled in
black on gray. A bulletin board hanging on
the wall beside the door caught her eye as she started
to knock. She skimmed over the class schedules and
seminar flyers to a faded book jacket that was
curling at the corners: Ancient Cults of the
New World by Dr. Gregory Rubin. A yellowed
newspaper review was tacked up beside it. The book
had made the nonfiction bestseller list
twenty-seven years earlier.
  Phoebe hadn't mentioned that Rubin was an expert
on cults, but the knowledge boosted Prue's hopes. Quite
possibly, his reputation for being unhinged stemmed from
an academic prejudice against anything related
to the supernatural.
  As Prue raised her fist to knock, the door was
thrown open from the inside. A stoop-shouldered,
elderly man wearing a crumpled brimmed hat, a
wrinkled suit with a loosened tie, and wire-rimmed
glasses looked up from the papers in his hand.
Startled to see her, he gasped and staggered
backward.
  Afraid the old man might have a heart attack
on the spot, Prue quickly moved to steady him.
"I'm so sorry, Professor Rubin. Are you
all right?"
  "I'm too old to be all right," the professor
grumbled. "And according to my esteemed colleagues,
I'm too daft to be right. . . about anything. Now,
if you'll unhand me-was

  Prue let go of his arm. "Sorry again."
  "So am I. That I'm not forty years younger."
He winked, disarming and charming Prue. "Now, what's
a pretty girl like you doing wandering around down here?
Are you lost?"
  "No, I came to see you." Prue pulled the
photograph out of her bag. "About this."
  The old man took the photo and squinted through his
glasses as he studied it. "Why would you be asking
me about Stephen Tremaine? I detest the man."
  "You do?" Prue wasn't sure what to say.
She didn't want to offend the old guy.
  "Most definitely!" Rubin's eyes flashed with
anger. "Tremaine may have the finest private
collection of primitive artifacts in the world, but
he doesn't give a hoot about their cultural or
historical significance. The man is
contemptibly incurious."
  They were on the same page there, Prue thought.
  Rubin shoved the picture back at her. "You can
forget about asking me to vote for this scoundrel. I
won't support someone who's more interested in lining his
friends" pockets than protecting our endangered
environment."
  "I'm not campaigning for Tremaine,
Professor Rubin. I want to know about this."
Prue pointed to the artifact in Tremaine's hand.
  Rubin tilted his head back and squinted at the
photo again. "Oh, I see. Interesting."
  Taking the picture, the professor wandered over
to a desk that was piled high with books, notebooks,
file folders, empty fast food containers, and

  various office items including a banker's
lamp with a green glass shade. He settled into a
desk chair, took off his hat and dropped it on the
floor, then picked up a magnifying glass. The
old chair squeaked as he leaned back to examine the
photo more closely.
  Prue took a moment to look around the office, which
more closely resembled a combination warehouse,
museum, and library. Gray metal shelves
covering most of the wall space were stuffed with books,
rolled charts, and artifacts. The overflow was
stacked or scattered on the floor. The old
man's definition of filing was just to get the folders in
the vicinity of the filing cabinets, she surmised.
Several folders were jammed into open drawers while
others were piled on top of or around the old metal
cabinets. Packing crates, opened and unopened,
stood along the far wall by two huge workbenches.
She found herself wondering if, perhaps, the professor
liked being in the basement where no one would complain about
his functional disorganization.
  "Do you know where Tremaine acquired this?" the
professor asked.
  "South America somewhere." Prue perched on a
dusty chair opposite the desk. "He said it
might be a spirit stone and that it was over three thousand
years old."
  The old man grunted. "Remarkably astute of
him, although I hate having to admit it." Setting the
magnifying glass down, he peered at Prue
intently. "So what is it you need from me, then?"
  Prue was blunt to save time. "I want to know
if

  it's possible for a spirit to escape one of these stones,
and if so-who or what might have occupied this one?"
  The old man's penetrating gaze stayed fixed
on her, but she didn't blink or look away.
"Such things are nonsense," he said finally. "The
superstitions of ignorant people needing something or someone
more powerful than they to blame for misfortune and
natural disaster over which they had no control."
  "Perhaps," Prue countered. "But I've always found
it fascinating that so many ancient beliefs were shared
by cultures that never had contact with each other. Too
many similar myths to be explained as mere
coincidence, don't you think?"
  "Perhaps." The old man paused. "You're not
pulling my leg, are you?"
  "No, sir, I'm not." Prue wasn't sure
if Rubin thought she was slightly unhinged or whether
he was surprised to find a believer. As she and her
sisters had found out, cult superstitions often had a
basis in terrible, violent reality. Although
mysticism and metaphysics were accepted in pop
culture, the hallowed halls of many respected
universities regarded such studies and theories as
poppycock, to paraphrase Grams.
  Sighing, the professor clasped his hands on his
stomach. "You do understand that an academic who gave
credence to such a preposterous theory could be forced
into retirement. The income gained from museums
seeking authentication of their new acquisitions would not
offset the ridicule."


  "Perfectly." Prue smiled to assure him she
understood that whatever he told her was just between them. He
was well past retirement age. His expertise and his
scientific reputation were his job security, and she
had the feeling he had come close to forced
unemployment in the past.
  The old man nodded and adjusted his glasses
to glance at the photo again. "There are legends, an
oral history that's told among certain tribes
who still live in the jungles of the Amazon. I
suspect that stone represents Athulak, an entity
in human form who created and thrived on chaos."
  "Sounds like some people I've known," Prue
quipped.
  "Yes, me, too, I'm sorry to say."
Grinning, he relaxed and continued. "As the story
goes, Athulak could twist the intent of prayers for
peace and prosperity to bring disaster instead. The tribe
prayed for rain and got devastating floods. They
asked for game and were overrun with disease-ridden pests.
You get the idea."
  "Yes, I do." Prue nodded, even though she
couldn't make a connection between the legend and current
events. "How did Athulak get into the stone?"
  "Assuming that is the stone, which I doubt," the
professor clarified, "he was imprisoned by a
powerful woman who could manipulate the elements."
  A witch, Prue thought.
  "After Athulak was trapped, she buried the stone
so a prayer with the potential to create irreversible,
catastrophic mayhem could not release him."

  "What makes you think this figure is
Athulak?" Prue asked, remembering that
Tremaine had said the stone was the only one of its
kind in the world.
  "The smooth contours and almost total lack of
detail," Rubin explained. "It's described in
the stories. The symbolic order inherent in the
shape and design strengthened the power of the woman's
binding spell."
  "Makes sense to me." Prue stuffed the photo
back in her purse and thanked the old man. Now that
she had a name, she could check The Book of
Shadows. She looked back when she reached the
door. "One more question, if you don't mind."
  "Not at all." The professor leaned forward
expectantly.
  "Could a disembodied spirit take form as a cold
gust of wind?"
  The old man hesitated, rubbing his chin, then
shrugged. "I don't have the foggiest. An interesting
theory, however, if one believes in spirits."
  "What did you find out?" Phoebe turned Dark
Passions at Midnight facedown on the coffee
table when Prue came in. A good night's sleep
and a day without visions had cured her headache, and she
had finally gotten a few lazy hours of downtime
to read. She had enjoyed herself, but she didn't want
to spend the rest of her life as a hermit doing nothing
because her power was out of control.
  Prue glanced at the paperback cover. "Doing
some heavy reading to take your mind off your troubles?"


  "Compared to Agatha Cross and Trevor
Hol-combe, my life is boring." Phoebe
wasn't about to admit she was enjoying the steamy
novel, made steamier by substituting Rick and herself
as the hero and heroine. There were some secrets sisters
did not have to share. "So how was Professor Rubin?
As creepy and cantankerous as they say?"
  "More like sweet and lovable-f or a wizened,
cranky old man," Prue said. "And very helpful.
I think."
  "You think?" Phoebe sagged. "I was hoping for
something a little more definitive."
  "Well, maybe you and Piper will think of something
I didn't." Prue glanced toward the kitchen.
"Is she back from P3, yet? I'd rather explain
this only once."
  Phoebe shook her head. Piper had taken
Prue's photos of P3 and the other things she had
gathered to decorate the bazaar booth to the club.
She also had to check with the rental company to make
sure the small fridge would be delivered to the park
on time. If all went according to plan in the morning,
Rick and the rest of the setup crew would have everything
ready to go by the time the wholesaler arrived with the food and
beverages.
  "She's getting a little tense and testy about the
bazaar tomorrow," Phoebe said. "So I really hope
you don't have bad news."
  They both looked toward the front hall when the
door opened and slammed closed.
  Piper stomped in looking furious. "Do you have
any idea how much it costs to rent a refrigerator
for a day?"

  "Not a clue," Phoebe said.
  "How much?" Prue asked.
  "Too much. So I bought one instead, but it's a
write-off," Piper added quickly. "I can use it in
the storeroom at the club." As she started to sit,
Prue grabbed her arm and pulled her back up.
  "Before you get comfy, we have to check The Book of
Shadows." Prue hauled Piper into the hall and
glanced back at Phoebe. "Coming?"
  "Right behind you." Phoebe finished the ginger ale in
her glass and hurried to catch up.
  "Check for what?" Piper asked as they trooped
up the stairs to the attic.
  "An entity called Athulak," Prue
explained. "He had a thing for chaos. According to the
legends and Professor Rubin, a witch bound him
in the stone and buried it. I think Tremaine's
archaeological expedition dug him up."
  Prue dropped her bag by Grams's old
rocker and went to the pedestal that held The Book of
Shadows.
  Phoebe sank into the old rocker, taking comfort from
the Halliwell history that was stored in the attic.
Family heirlooms from centuries ago to the
dress she had worn to her high school prom had
all been lovingly saved. Most important,
however, was the leather-bound Book of Shadows, which had
unlocked to reveal the magical secrets of their
ancestors when their own powers had been awakened.
New spells and information were added as needed when
Grams or another long-dead relative had them
to give.
  "Does he have anything to do with my visions?"


  Phoebe crossed her fingers as Prue flipped
the pages.
  Prue looked up from the book with a frown. "Have you
said any prayers for peace and prosperity lately?"
  "Not since last Christmas," Phoebe said.
"Peace on earth, goodwill to men and all."
  "I don't think that's what Prue meant."
Piper sat on an old beanbag chair that had lost
its poof and clutched a dingy old throw pillow to her
chest. "What did you mean?" she asked Prue.
  "Professor Rubin said Athulak had the power
to corrupt the people's prayers so they created disaster
instead of peace and prosperity. Pray for rain, get
floods. That kind of thingj" Prue explained and
continued turning the pages, j
  Phoebe rocked, which helped her think. "I
don't think that applies to me."
  "Why not?" Piper cocked her head, puzzled.
  "Because being able to connect with more people has helped us
avert disaster, not create it." Discouraged, Phoebe
stopped rocking. Planting her elbows on her
knees, she rested her chin in her hands. be
  "Good point." Sighing, Piper turned back
to Prue. "Anything?"
  Prue shook her head and stood back. "Not
yet, anyway."
  Phoebe stared at the book. Occasionally, an
invisible ancestor's spirit would open the book to the right
reference for them. The pages didn't even ruffle as
the seconds passed.

  "I guess we don't get any help this time."
Piper sighed.
  Depressed, Phoebe hung her head. She
desperately wanted something external to be
responsible for her new, precognitive
ultrasensitivity, but wanting something didn't make
it so. Or did it? Her brain suddenly shifted
into high gear.
  "Brainstorm!" Phoebe flew out of the chair,
her gaze snapping from one sister's perplexed face
to the other. "Don't people usually pray because they want
something?"
  "Or because they're grateful for something," Piper
said.
  Phoebe rolled her eyes, then started to pace
to collect her thoughts. She knew she was grasping
at straws, but they didn't have anything else.
"Well, isn't a wish the same thing?"
  Prue frowned.
  Piper blinked.
  "Yesterday morning when I was watching the news,"
Phoebe reminded them, "I wished that my power was
stronger so I could help more people and-bingo! My power is
stronger."
  "Possible?" Piper looked at Prue.
  "Theoretically." Prue's frown deepened as she
moved to her bag and removed the photo.
  Phoebe looked over Prue's shoulder at the
gray smoky flaw that obstructed the image of the spirit
stone. "What?"
  "I'm not sure." Prue stared at the photo,
her brow wrinkled and her eyes narrowed in thought.
Piper and Phoebe both tensed when she inhaled


  sharply and her blue eyes widened with an unknown
revelation. "This meeting is adjourned to the kitchen."
  "Why?" Phoebe tried, but she couldn't quell
a rush of excitement. "What?"
  "I don't want to get your hopes up."
Prue ran for the door. "I have to check something first!"
  "What?" Phoebe called after her. "I can
take it! Honest!" She stamped her foot as
Prue disappeared down the stairs and glared at the
open door.
  "How about a few ham rolls while we wait."
Piper draped an arm over Phoebe's shoulders.
"I made up a double batch of black bread and
cream cheese squares, too."
  Piper's offer calmed Phoebe's stressed
nerves. However, she couldn't accept without confessing.
"I, uh, already taste tested a few . . .
several, actually. Maybe a dozen."
  "No biggie," Piper teased. "I calculated
in the Phoebe snitch factor when I made them.
Besides, it doesn't look like Leo's going to show up
any time soon to eat them."
  Letting Piper go ahead, Phoebe paused
to switch off the attic light. Her thoughts and
emotions were in turmoil wondering what Prue was
checking into. She didn't want a showdown with a
nasty spirit, but the alternative was worse.
  She would be condemned to the torture of endless
brushes with everyone else's disasters or the torment of
complete, unending isolation.

  iSo She?
  Phoebe stood with her hands on her hips and a
look of consternation on her face.
  Piper pulled a plate of black bread
squares out of the refrigerator and stuffed one in
Phoebe's mouth. "Chew and chill."
  Phoebe scowled, pushed the snack into her mouth,
and grabbed another off the plate before Piper set it
on the counter.
  Inhaling and exhaling with quiet frustration, Piper
reached into the refrigerator for a tray of ham rolls
and began to slice them into circular bite-size
pieces. She didn't mean to appear insensitive
to Phoebe, but if Prue didn't find any
answers the disappointment would be worse. And it
wasn't as though she didn't have her own problems.
The Celebrity Charity Bazaar was costing more than
she


  had anticipated. If the P3 booth didn't
attract more business to the club, her PR budget
for the year would be blown.
  Stricken by a twinge of guilt, Piper stole a
sidelong glance at Phoebe as she arranged the
bread squares and ham rolls on a clean plate.
Her younger sister was flipping through a magazine Prue
had left on the table, but her outward calm didn't
fool Piper. Being the early warning system for every
cut, pimple, or fatal accident in the immediate
future of every person she met was a difficult, if
not impossible, burden to bear.
  Prue emerged from the darkroom as Piper finished
filling a bowl with fresh raw carrot sticks,
broccoli, and cauliflower and set it on the table with a
side of creamy dip. j
  "Take a look at these." Pri caret every lined
up four of the Tremaine photos in front of
Phoebe.
  Piper moved behind Phoebe and looked at the
series of pictures one by one. "What are we
looking for?"
  "The pattern." Prue brushed her hair behind her
ear, then pointed to the flaw over the spirit stone in each
shot. "Every time I've looked at these shots in the
order they were taken, I've had the feeling I was
missing something. Now it's so obvious I can't
believe it took me this long to figure it out.
Don't you see it?"
  "No," Piper answered honestly.
  "I do," Phoebe said softly. "The blemish
gets bigger in each shot."
  "Yep, but that's not all." Prue ran her finger

  across the glossies. "The origin point of the flaw
is the same in each shot, too. It starts at the
inside corner of the left eye."
  Piper moved beside Phoebe to study the photos
again. As Prue had pointed out, the gray shadow
appeared to be elongating from the carved eye. Interesting
but not conclusive, she thought warily. She tended to be
as skeptical as Prue was quick to attribute
everything bad that happened to an evil force. "I
don't want to put a damper on your theory,
Prue, but the images would be in the same spot in every
picture if you used a damaged roll of film."
  "Except they're not exactly in the same
spot." Prue pulled a six-inch ruler out of her
back pocket and measured the distance from the corner of the
eye to the edge of ever right-brace photo. The
measurements were different and off by as much as an inch.
"If the problem was the film, the flaw would be
exactly two inches in from the side in every proof.
They aren't. The flaw originates in the eye in every
photo regardless of the angle."
  "Is this a eureka moment?" Phoebe asked
hesitantly.
  "I think so. My camera captured the essence of
Athulak escaping the stone." Prue grinned,
immensely pleased with herself.
  "Woohoo!" Phoebe raised her hand
to high-five with Prue, then threw her arms around
Prue's waist and hugged her. "What a relief!"
  "Wait a minute!" Piper held up her hands.
"Having an ancient spirit who causes chaos on the
loose is not a reason to celebrate."


  "Oh, right." Prue immediately stopped smiling and
coughed.
  "I beg to differ," Phoebe said. "If
Athulak made my power go berserk, then we can
probably reverse his action."
  "That's possible, but we really don't know much about
him or how he operates." Piper pulled out a
chair and sat down. "Assuming it's Athulak and not
some other dastardly spirit with a completely different
game plan that escaped Tre-maine's rock."
  "Okay, okay." Prue sat down on the other
side of Phoebe. "I admit we're assuming a
lot, but we may know more than we think we do."
  "Like what?" Piper wanted Prue's theory to be
right as much as Phoebe did, but she wanted more proof
than a few photos that might be flawed because of bad
film.
  "I'm not sure." Prue shrugged.
  "Did Professor Rubin say anything else
that might help us?" Phoebe asked Prue, then
glanced at Piper. "I mean, let's just assume
we're dealing with Athulak since we don't have any
other likely suspects, okay?"
  "Okay." Piper folded her arms and crossed
her legs. When she issued a challenge, Prue and
Phoebe usually took the bait and argued a convincing
case. Right now Piper really wanted to be convinced.
"For the sake of argument."
  "Okay." The intensity of Phoebe's anxiety
was evident in her hushed voice and probing stare as
she leaned across the table. "What happened in

  Tremaine's library, Prue? You or he must
have done something to break the binding spell."
  "Well, let's see." Prue picked up a
black bread square and nibbled it while she thought.
"Professor Rubin said that after the witch trapped
the spirit of Athulak in the stone, she buried it so-was
Prue paused, apparently trying to remember the
professor's exact words. "So a prayer that could
produce irreversible, catastrophic mayhem
couldn't set him free."
  Piper recoiled slightly. "What did
Tremaine do? Pray for the end of the world?"
  "No, he wished that he didn't have to run against
Noel Jefferson." Prue tapped the first photo
in the series of four on the table. "Just as I took
this. There's no flaw in the shots I snapped before
he made the wish."
  "There you are!" Beaming with triumph, Phoebe
straightened and slapped her hands on the table.
  Prue's satisfied smile segued into an
irritated frown when she noticed Piper's
expression didn't mirror her and Phoebe's
elation. "What?" Prue demanded. "Everything we've
discussed falls right into place with whaf s happened
to Phoebe."
  "Yes, as long as we ignore the fact that our
powers got stronger without any outside interference,"
Piper responded.
  "What about the cold winds?" Phoebe's eyes
flashed. "How do you explain that, Piper?"
  "A cold wind that touched each of us at different
times," Prue added emphatically.
  "And different locations." Phoebe lifted her
chin, defying Piper to argue.


  "Four times." Piper slapped her forehead. "I
felt the same frigid blast of cold air in the
park!"
  "When the pony ran amok?" Prue asked.
  "Oh, boy." Phoebe closed her eyes for a
second. "The pony went wild right after that little
girl wished she had a pony."
  "Apparently, Athulak delivered," Prue
said.
  "Except we stopped the disaster part." Phoebe
popped a ham roll in her mouth.
  "Which begs the question-was Piper shrugged when her
sisters turned in tandem to stare. "What was Athulak
doing at the park? Or in our living room?"
  "When I opened my big mouth and wished myself into this
mess," Phoebe mumbled.
  Prue winced. "That's probably my fault.
I, uh, used my power to stop the stone from falling
over when Tremaine put it back in the display
case."
  Piper connected the rest of the dots. "Athulak
saw you, and since he was imprisoned by a witch
three thousand years ago, he decided to follow you
to make sure it didn't happen again."
  "I think that about covers it." Prue went to the
refrigerator and removed a pitcher of orange
juice. "Except I'm a little fuzzy on
exactly where we're at or what we're supposed
to do."
  "Me, too." Phoebe scratched her head,
puzzled. "I mean, Tremaine's wish doesn't
sound like something that could cause irreparable harm to the
world."
  That part wasn't clear to Piper, either, but one
indisputable fact was. "But it could spell big
trouble for Noel Jefferson."

  Athulak vented his fury on any humans in his
path as he followed the car carrying the witches. A
spear of concentrated wind speeding through the city
canyons at ground level, he stung bare flesh
with bitter cold and ripped packages out of grasping
hands. Potted plants and plastic furniture,
signs and anything else that wasn't weighted down were
thrown about the streets in a frenzy of rage.
  He took no pleasure in the panic his passing
created and cursed the long-ago people that had carried the
word of his defeat across the generations.
  But his anger at the witches was greater and fueled his
hunger for vengeance.
  Tenacious and blessed by the powers of good, they had
sensed him and gone in search of knowledge. He had
foolishly believed the old witch had buried his
secrets with the stone.
  Now the witches knew his name and his power, and they were
going to warn the focus of the primary wish.
  He would not permit them to succeed.
  When the car stopped by a large building, Athulak
waited until the witches got out. Then he
flattened and compressed the molecules of his invisible
but nonetheless physical, form. Honing the edge of the
molecular blade he had become, he severed a
tall metal pole and sliced a red, white, and
blue cloth to shreds as it drifted to the ground.
  "Did you see that?" Phoebe paused halfway
across the parking lot outside the building that housed the
offices of the Public Defender.


  Prue heard the flagpole snap and watched as
Old Glory was ripped apart. There was only one
plausible explanation. Athulak wasn't
satisfied with making his presence known with cold
kisses anymore. "Stick close to me and run!"
  "It's Athulak, isn't it?" Phoebe
pressed close to Prue as they charged for the door.
  "That's my best guess." Concentrating, Prue
swept her hand in a circle above her head, creating
a constant telekinetic shield to ward off the
invisible enemy. Until the flagpole had been
snapped in half, she hadn't realized the wind spirit
could cause them physical harm. She didn't stop
when they burst through the door into the lobby. Athulak was
a creature made of air, and he could infiltrate
the securest building through the ventilation system.
  "In there." Still waving her arm, Prue urged
Phoebe into the rest room. The instant they were
inside, she locked the door and stood on the counter
to close the vent.
  "What's going on?" Phoebe asked, her
voice frantic.
  "Apparently, Athulak can adjust his molecular
density," Prue explained. "In other words, he
can turn himself into a very sharp, very lethal, invisible
sword."
  "So why didn't he attack us before?"
  Prue shrugged. "Maybe because we didn't know enough
to be a threat before."
  "That's not exactly comforting." Phoebe's hand
went to her throat as her gaze shifted to the crack

  under the door. "What's to stop him from getting in
under there?"
  "Magic. You chant. I'll call Piper."
Prue flipped open her cell phone. "We need
a spell to protect us against a spirit wind."
  "I'm no good at thinking up spells under
pressure," Phoebe said frantically.
  "Punt!" Prue dialed.
  Nodding, Phoebe put her hand on the door and
closed her eyes. "Fire, water, wind and air,
cast in cosmic primal brine; bid Athulak's
wind, beware! No passage through this door I
bind."
  When Piper answered, Prue quickly explained
their new problem. "We need a charm, something we can
carry to protect us from a spirit wind."
  "I've seen a spell to ward off demons who
take elemental form in The Book of Shadows,"
Piper said, "but it might take me a while to brew
the potion and get there."
  "We'll wait." Hanging up, Prue joined
Phoebe, who was sitting on the counter, staring at the
door. Once they had figured out that Noel
Jefferson was in danger, they had realized they
couldn't protect him unless they knew exactly
what the danger was. Phoebe had volunteered
to find out, even though touching him might be painful. The
more violent the calamity, the harder the physical
impact was on Phoebe.
  And this time they were dealing with an event that might be the
beginning of the end of the world.
  Prue glanced at the door and smiled. "Nice
job."
  "I was motivated by the mental image of being
beheaded in the parking lot." Phoebe shuddered.

  ui
  Prue leaned back with a weary sigh. They had
faced many demons, warlocks, and other malicious
beings that had seemed too powerful to beat at first. They
had always prevailed, but Athulak was unlike
anything they had encountered before. They didn't have a
clue how to vanquish him, and if Piper's
protection charm didn't repel him, they had no
defense against a razor-sharp molecular blade.
  Prue tensed when she heard the murmur of
voices and laughter in the hall outside. Someone
tried to open the locked door and pounded when it wouldn't
budge.
  "Hey!" a female voice protested. "Open
up!"
  "Don't think so," Phoebe whispered, frowning.
  Prue held up one hand to telekinetically
reinforce the deadbolt and checked her watch. It was just
after five. She hoped Piper showed up before a
maintenance crew arrived to unlock the door or before
everyone, including Noel Jefferson, went home.
  Athulak had not been prepared for the destructive
effects when he tried to cut through the witch's
barrier. The impact with the undulating wall of force
had almost annihilated his cohesion. In danger of
having his molecules scattered on the lesser wind,
he had mustered the last of his dwindling energy and
retreated into the labyrinth of ducts in the building.
He barely managed to hold himself together as he
slipped through the tunnels and into the room where Noel
Jefferson sat behind a desk.
  Struggling to maintain his physical integrity,
Athulak eased himself under the door of a smaller,

  dark room where the man kept many boxes and cloth
coverings. Safe in the cramped space on the
floor, Athulak relaxed and allowed himself
to drift.
  Thwarted and weakened, he rested to recoup his strength
and nursed his hatred for the females and their overwhelming
magic. He took comfort in knowing that soon the power of
destruction would be his and found solace in the
inevitability of his victory. No power on earth
or beyond would be able to vanquish him or undo the
cataclysm after the primary wish was fulfilled.
  The chain of events begun when Tremaine had
prayed to be delivered from his foe could not be stopped.
  Unless the seer touched Jefferson and saw his
destiny.
  Athulak watched and waited. If necessary, he would
risk further depletion of his diminished energies
to strike the witches down.

  JuuTluUs 8W3KC when Piper
knocked on the rest room door, Phoebe hit the
back of her head on the mirror. She rubbed the
spot as Prue unlocked the door.
  "Sleeping on the job, guys?" Piper quipped
as she entered.
  "We didn't have a deck of cards to help pass
the time," Phoebe retorted, rubbing her head.
Actually, she couldn't believe she had dozed off
with the slice-and-dice wind demon on the rampage.
Spells composed on the spot in emergency
situations didn't always perform as expected.
Fortunately, her binding spell to keep the spirit wind
out of the rest room had worked. Neither she nor Prue
had lost any fingers or toes.
  But she hadn't solved the problem that had

  plagued her thoughts before she had drifted off. They
were so worried about protecting Noel Jefferson,
they hadn't addressed the possibility that a wish
Athulak granted might be permanent. Runaway
ponies and other single-occurrence disasters could be
stopped, but what if the wish that had enhanced her powers
couldn't be reversed?
  "What took you so long, Piper?" Prue slid
off the counter and took the leather-wrapped packet
Piper was holding out. "It's after seven."
  "It's Friday night, and the downtown traffic is
brutal," Piper explained as she handed a second
packet to Phoebe.
  "Better late than not at all." Phoebe
sniffed the spicy tang wafting off the small leather
pouch, surprised by the pleasant scent. It reminded
her of warm spiced cider and cinnamon. The last
charm Piper had tried had smelted like burned cow
manure laced with rotten garbage. "What's in
it?"
  "Raw chicken hearts, falcon feather, and
assorted fungi with some ordinary household
spices." Piper eyed Prue pointedly. "It had
to simmer for an hour."
  "You did great, Piper. Thanks." Prue
stuffed the packet in the front pocket of her
jeans. "You didn't happen to notice if Noel
Jefferson is still in the building, did you?"
  "Because if we're too late to stop whatever's
going to happen to him, Athulak wins and the world is
toast." Phoebe eased off the counter and pocketed
her charm.
  "I don't know," Piper said. "I came
directly here from the main entrance."


  "Guess we'd better find out." Slinging her
bag over her shoulder, Phoebe waved her sisters
toward the door.
  The lobby was deserted, but all the lights were on,
giving Phoebe some hope that Noel Jefferson was
working late. A quick check of the wall directory
by the elevator revealed that Jefferson's office was
on the third floor. However, when Prue pushed the
elevator call button, nothing happened.
  "You must need a key to use it after hours."
Prue hit the metal door with her fist.
  "Can I help you, ladies?" a man asked
sharply.
  Phoebe glanced over her shoulder at a large
security guard walking toward them. Instead of
smiling, she opted for a look of frantic
desperation, which wasn't difficult because she was
frantically desperate. "I hope so. We have
to see Noel Jefferson right away. It's an
emergency."
  "Life and deathst" Piper added.
  "Yeah?" The man's frown deepened when he
stopped in front of them. His suspicious gaze
sized each of them up as though they matched
descriptions on the FBI'S Most Wanted list.
"No can do, I'm afraid."
  "It's really important." Prue nudged
Piper, a not-so-subtle hint that she should get ready
to freeze the guard where he stood. Then they could
take the stairs to the third floor.
  "I'm sorry," the man said, "but Mr.
Jefferson left for his campaign headquarters
half an hour ago."
  "Where is that exactly?" Phoebe asked.
  "This building is closed. The door's over
there." The guard scowled and made a shooing motion.

  "Never mind, Phoebe," Prue said in a
strained voice. "I know where it is."
  "Okay." Phoebe noticed Prue's set
jaw and flexing fingers. She took her by the shoulders
and turned her toward the exit. "We're going."
  Phoebe whispered in Prue's ear as they stalked
across the lobby. "Being unhelpful is not a crime
punishable by telekinetic temper tantrum."
  "I wasn't going to do anything," Prue whispered
back. "There's no unwritten law against thinking about
it."
  Piper paused at the door and looked back
to get in the last word with the guard. "Thanks for all
your help. I'm sure the district attorney will be
glad to know you're on the job protecting public
buildings and public defenders from the public."
  Phoebe yanked her through the door.
  "I'm not sorry." Piper fumed as they headed
across the parking lot.
  The security guard's manner no longer concerned
Phoebe. She patted her pocket to make sure
the charm was still there and scanned the evening sky. The air
was warm and still, but Athulak could be hovering anywhere,
waiting to attack. She hoped Piper had read the
potion directions correctly. Depending on
cinnamon-scented chicken hearts for their safety
pushed the limits of trust.
  Piper stopped by her car and leaned on the door.
"Do you need me for the campaign headquarters
caper?"
  Prue glanced at Phoebe.
  Phoebe shrugged. She understood that Piper was


  pressed to get everything ready for the bazaar tomorrow. The
constant interruptions for rescues real and imagined
had seriously interfered with her schedule. "I don't
think so. I just have to touch Mr. Jefferson to find out
what we need to know."
  "What if you can't find him?" Piper asked.
  Bazaar or no bazaar, Phoebe realized,
Piper wouldn't shirk her duty to protect an
innocent. However, direct contact with Noel
Jefferson was absolutely essential. "No
problem. We can probably find something that belongs
to Mr. Jefferson at his campaign office."
  Prue nodded. "And if not, we can ask Darryl
to find him for us."
  "Good idea!" Phoebe brightened. Having a
contact within the police department came in handy,
especially since Detective Darryl Morris
knew they were witches.
  "Okay, but call me if you run into trouble."
Piper slipped behind the wheel, closed the door, and
waved as she drove off.
  Phoebe stared out the side window as Prue
drove through the downtown nightlife districts as fast
as traffic and traffic lights allowed. At eight
o'clock, with daylight surrendering to the encroaching shadows
of imminent darkness, all the restaurants and clubs
were filling up. Couples sat at window tables,
sipping drinks with gazes locked or strolled the
sidewalks holding hands. Ignorance was bliss,
Phoebe thought with unabashed envy.
  She smiled, thinking of Rick and wondering if

  he was as intelligent as he was handsome and if he was
as nice as he seemed. If circumstances had been
different last night and they had had a chance to talk,
he might have asked her out to dinner tonight.
  And she would have had to break the date to save Noel
Jefferson and the world from some unknown but horrible fate.
  The weight of responsibility was a big pain in
the butt sometimes. Phoebe sighed.
  "I know this is hard on you, Phoebe." Prue
spoke without taking her eyes off the road.
  "Yeah." Shifting her gaze frontward,
Phoebe sighed again. "I know it's not easy for
Piper with Leo being gone so much, but at least she's
got someone who knows and understands that our lives are not
entirely our own."
  "What are you talking about?" Prue cast a quick,
perplexed glance in Phoebe's direction.
  "Men." Phoebe grinned. "Is there anything
else?"
  "There is tonight," Prue said. "We'll find the
loves of our lives one of these days."
  "I'm sure we will," Phoebe agreed. "If
we ever find time to hunt for them."
  Prue shot her a pointed look. "Unless
Rick turns out to be a total jerk, your hunting
days could be over."
  "We'll probably have a great time for a while, but
sooner or later the witch factor will ruin it. There
will be questions I won't be able to answer honestly,
broken dates I can't explain, and so on and so
forth. Doomed from the start."
  "Isn't that being a little too pessimistic?"
Prue


  asked without looking at Phoebe, her pensive
gaze fastened on the road ahead.
  "No, just being realistic." Phoebe sighed.
  "Except that maybe none of that will matter when the
right man comes along," Prue said.
  Phoebe wanted to believe Prue, but she
wasn't going to delude herself. For now she'd just
take everything one step at a time. Rick hadn't
even asked her out to dinner yet!
  "There it is." Prue pointed at a strip mall
on the right.
  The Jefferson for Congress campaign
headquarters occupied an office at the far end of the
retail complex. Lights blazed inside and out, and a
dozen people were visible through the large front windows.
Phoebe fought off a surge of anxiety as Prue
pulled into a parking space. She hadn't considered a
scenario in which she had to brave a crowd to get to the
main man.
  "Ready?" Prue dropped her keys in her bag
and opened the door.
  "Yeah, but-was Phoebe hesitated. She
didn't want to admit she was afraid of having her
mind crash and burn from too much input, but she had
to be honest. "Try to run point for me as much as you
can, okay? The fewer people I touch, the better."
  "Will do." Prue smiled, but her eyes couldn't
hide her concern. "Lef s go."
  Phoebe braced herself as she followed Prue
into the bustling office. Red-white-and-blue bunting
adorned the back wall, lending a festive contrast
to the line of gray metal filing cabinets underneath.

  chApo
  Posters featuring Jefferson's smiling face were
plastered on the wall space that wasn't filled with
rally schedules, membership forms for his political
party, and other campaign paraphernalia. None of the
people who were furiously sorting and stapling papers,
manning the phone banks, or engaged in heated
arguments seemed to notice them as they entered.
  Phoebe wrapped her arms around herself to reduce
the chance of rubbing elbows with the people sitting at a front
table. They were all talking into telephones and
scribbling on pledge cards.
  "Jefferson's not in here," Prue said after a
cursory scan of the room. "I'm going to ask the
man at that desk over there."
  "Where you lead, I will follow." Phoebe stuck
close as Prue approached the desk. She
didn't know a young woman had burst through the door
behind her until it was too late to avoid contact.
  "Hey, Mace!" The pretty young redhead in
heels and a stylish hunter green suit pushed between
Phoebe and Prue, waving a paper.
  Phoebe staggered and clawed at Prue with
grasping fingers as the vision hit.
  ... scalding coffee pouring over her hand, white
skin turning red and erupting with blisters ...
  Phoebe's head began to pound, and her stomach
churned as the impression faded. Breathless, she
pointed Prue toward the redhead, who handed the man
at the desk the paper, then moved toward a table set
up for coffee. "Coffee," Phoebe rasped.
  Prue eased Phoebe into a space between a pile
of


  cardboard boxes and the edge of the desk. "Don't
move!"
  "Don't worry." Phoebe concentrated on
slowing her racing pulse and kept an eye on
Prue, who intercepted the woman just as she reached the
restaurant-style coffee machine and picked up a
cup. The redhead pointed down a hall as they
exchanged a few words. Prue casually placed
another cup under the spigot.
  "Jenny!"
  The young woman jerked her head up and looked
back at a man racing down the hall with a
clipboard. "What's up, Charlie?"
  Charlie ripped a sheet off the clipboard and
handed it to her. "Channel Seven needs a
Jefferson spokesperson for the late news. You're
elected."
  Phoebe stepped back as Jenny barreled past
and out the door. She felt good in spite of her
throbbing temples and shaky knees. Both the young
woman and Mr. Jefferson would have missed a golden
PR opportunity if Prue hadn't prevented the
young woman from burning her hand.
  "Phoebe!" Prue waved for Phoebe to join
her in the hallway.
  Checking both ways for frenzied campaign
workers, Phoebe scurried past the desk. The man
sitting behind it was shouting into the phone and didn't
notice her. The lack of security was disturbing
given that Mr. Jefferson was in dire danger from
sources they hadn't discovered yet.
  "We're in luck," Prue said. "Jefferson
has an office at the end of this hall, and the
candidate is in."

  "Let's do it." Phoebe forced a smile and
tried to muster some enthusiasm. However, any hope
she had of getting a direct line to Jefferson's
future through personal contact was dashed when she saw
two large men sitting outside his door.
  "This could be a problem," Phoebe whispered. The
two men had stood up and snapped to alert attention
when she and Prue had entered the hall.
  "I know." Prue spoke softly through a fixed
smile. "If I fling them out of the way, someone will
call the cops, and it's too late to call
Piper."
  "So much for hindsight." Phoebe donned her
brightest smile as she and Prue drew closer. She
doubted the two men really considered two women a
threat they couldn't handle. "Hey, guys! What's
happening?"
  "That's what I was about to ask you." The tall man
on the left had a bushy mustache and was built like a
linebacker. He clasped his hands in front of him
and rocked back on his heels.
  "We know you don't have an appointment." The man
on the right was leaner with a steely gray stare that
dispelled any illusion of weakness. He was all
business all the time.
  "You're right, we don't," Prue said. "But we
really do need to see Mr. Jefferson on a matter
of huge importance. It won't take more than a
few minutes."
  "Not a chance." Mr. Gray Eyes set his jaw
with a stubborn determination that eerily resembled Prue
when she dug in her heels. "Mr. Jefferson is
in conference with his campaign manager, and he
doesn't want to be disturbed. No arguments, no
exceptions."


  Phoebe waited to take her cues from Prue.
  "I see." Prue sighed and sagged. "Well,
you're just doing your jobs." She looked up
suddenly, cocking her head and smiling with a
coquettish twinkle in her eye. "Do you guard
over Mr. Jefferson all the time?"
  Tease, Phoebe thought, wondering what Prue was
trying to accomplish. The lean, mean security
machine was not her type.
  "Twenty-four hours a day," the mustache said.
"Where he goes, we go."
  "No time off at all?" Prue asked.
  Both men stared at her, immune to the bait.
  Prue nudged Phoebe and extended her hand to the
man on the right. "Wejl, it's been very nice
meeting you." She nudged Phoebe again and shot her
an exasperated glance. "Hasn't it?"
  "Huh?" Slow on the uptake, Phoebe
suddenly realized that Prue wanted her to connect with the
guards. If they were always with Jefferson, then they would
be right in the middle of anything bad that happened to their
boss. "It sure has!"
  Bracing herself, Phoebe grabbed the burly,
mus-tached man by the hand. She fully expected
to be bludgeoned by a vision of such incredible violence
she would blow a mental fuse. She got
absolutely nothing. The security guard did not have
so much as a hangnail in his immediate future.
  On the chance that the two men took alternate days
off, Phoebe turned to the other guard and touched his
arm. Again, nothing. "Nice coat."
  Prue just stared at Phoebe a moment, stunned

  because she was still standing and not stricken by a vision of
Jefferson's death and destruction.
  "Well, guess we'll be going." Phoebe
shook Prue's arm. "We'll just make an
appointment on our way out."
  "Don't bother trying the window," the mustache
said. "There isn't one."
  "Right." Prue didn't need any urging to beat
a fast retreat.
  They did not stop to discuss the unexpected
outcome of the encounters until they were back in the car.
  "You didn't see anything?" Prue asked as she
turned the ignition key.
  "Nope." Phoebe threw up her hands in a
gesture of helplessness. "The iron men are not in
danger from anything worse than a pillow fight."
  "So what does that mean?" Prue put the car in
gear but applied the brakes instead of pulling out.
  "I don't know." Phoebe shrugged, stymied.
"Maybe they aren't with Jefferson at ground zero."
  "I didn't get the feeling they were joking about being
on duty twenty-four seven," Prue said.
  "Neither did I," Phoebe agreed, her mind
racing to come up with a plausible explanation. "The
election is still weeks away. I suppose it's
possible that whatever's going to happen doesn't
happen soon."
  Prue considered that a moment. "Possibly.
Athulak granted your wish and the little girl's wish
right away. It's been over two days since
Tremaine made his."
  "A wish with cataclysmic consequences would


  probably take longer to develop and
implement." As she spoke, Phoebe had the
unsettling feeling they were still missing a piece of the
puzzle. She just couldn't figure out what. "I am
pretty sure there's nothing to worry about tonight. So,
since we have to rise and shine early tomorrow to help
Piper, we might as well go home and get some
sleep."
  Prue frowned. "How early?"
  "Before the birds if you want coffee and time to read
the morning paper." Phoebe grinned as Prue
rolled her eyes and drove toward the street.
  Leaning back, Phoebe closed her eyes and
quietly slipped back into the grip of despair.
The dull ache in her head wouldn't let her forget that
Noel Jefferson wasn't the only target of
Athulak's lethal wrath.
  She pulled Piper's protection charm out of her
pocket and held it in a tight fist, remembering the
severed flagpole. She might not be sure about
Noel Jefferson's ultimate fate, but one thing
was quite clear.
  Athulak hated witches.

  1 lper remOV-ED a batch of blueberry
muffins from the oven and set them on the stove to cool.
It was going to be a long day and she wanted to make
sure both her sisters were fueled and ready to go the
distance. The participation of local and national
celebrities at the charity bazaar meant the event
would be swarming with reporters. One picture of
Brad Pitt stopping by her booth in the newspapers
and P3 would leap into prominence as one of the hottest
clubs in the state.
  She paused to stare wistfully into space, imagining
herself sitting beside Brad in a front-page photo,
wondering if his appearance today was confirmed or just a
rumor. Three weeks ago Leo had
crossed-his-heart promised her that he would be at
the bazaar, and she hadn't seen or heard from him
since.


  "I can't take Brad being a no-show, too!"
Piper yanked the refrigerator door open
to siphon off her frustration. If the big bosses
on high thought she couldn't handle being apart from Leo,
he would be yanked from her life for good.
  Phoebe ambled in, yawning and rubbing her eyes
as Piper set a bowl of sliced fresh fruit on
the table.
  "Morning!" Piper singsonged with a bright smile,
hiding her dismay because Phoebe was still in her
nightshirt and fuzzy slippers. She hadn't even
combed her hair, which was flat against her head on one
side and tangled on the other. Piper didn't
want to jump-start the day with an argument, but she
couldn't htlp wondering what Phoebe had been doing
for tme thirty minutes since her alarm had gone
off. J
  Phoebe grunted and yawned.
  "Coffee's brewing and there's fresh muffins,"
Piper said.
  Nodding, Phoebe stared at the coffee maker as
though she could will the machine to drip faster. After a
few seconds, she got a mug from the cupboard and
pulled the half-full pot out from under the drip
basket. Two or three drops of hot liquid
sizzled on the burner before the automatic shutoff
kicked in.
  "That's still a little strong." Piper grimaced and
gingerly took the hot muffins out of the tins and put them
on a plate.
  "Good." Shoving the pot back into the machine,
Phoebe grabbed the milk from the fridge, snatched

  the morning newspaper off the counter, and sat down
at the table.
  Somebody was cranky this morning, Piper thought,
annoyed. She set the muffins on the table, next
to the fruit.
  Phoebe was too engrossed in the newspaper
to notice. Her coffee sat untouched as she ran
her finger down the page, then flipped the paper open
and continued her intense search while nibbling her lower
lip.
  What was Phoebe's problem this morning? Piper
wondered, blowing a wisp of hair off her forehead.
According to her and Prue's report last night,
Phoebe had gotten off easy with one minor vision
and two blanks.
  "Is Prue up yet?" Piper stood with her
arms folded staring at Phoebe, who remained
oblivious to everything but the morning news. "Did I
tell you I'm going to live with Leo on the higher
plane?"
  "Uh-huh." Picking up her mug, Phoebe
sipped and turned another page.
  "I can't believe I'm up and it's still dark
outside." Fresh from the shower, Prue waltzed in.
Her black hair gleamed from vigorous brushing. A
smoky blue scoop-neck top with three-quarter
sleeves and tailored black pants emphasized
the dazzle in her blue eyes. Prue looked like the
after to Phoebe's before.
  "Coffee's ready." Piper poured two cups and
handed one to Prue. "Refill, Phoebe?"
  "Sure." Phoebe set down her mug, tossed
the front section of the paper on the floor, and moved
on to the metro section.


  Piper moved to the table, refilled the mug, then
stood with her hand on one hip hitched to the side in a
classic annoyed waitress pose. "Okay.
What's the matter?"
  Prue walked over and stared at Phoebe, too.
  Seconds passed before Phoebe realized she was
the focus of their intense scrutiny. She looked up
slowly, her expression questioning. "Uh-problem?"
  "You tell us." Piper left to put the
coffeepot back on the warmer, then dropped into a
chair beside Prue.
  "We're listening," Prue said.
  "Right." Piper nodded emphatically. "How come
you aren't dressed? I had everything planned so we'd
have plenty of time to enjoy breakfast before we have to leave
for the park. So what gives?"
  "I, uh, can't go." Phoebe's lip trembled,
and she inhaled sharply on the verge of bursting
into tears. "Too many people."
  Piper's pique disintegrated in an emotional
collision with sympathy for her sister and
self-reproach. She had been so wrapped up with
her own anxieties and excitement about the bazaar,
she had dismissed the difficulties Phoebe was
having with the extra visions. Worse, she realized.
The additional strain had apparently taken a bigger
toll than Phoebe had let on.
  "How bad is it?" Piper's voice cracked and
she cleared her throat.
  "Pretty bad." Phoebe's hands shook when
she picked up her mug.


  "You seemed okay last night," Prue said.
  "Yes and no." Taking a long swallow of
coffee, Phoebe paused to massage her forehead.
  Piper and Prue both waited patiently until
she was ready to continue.
  "The other day when the cashier cut her finger, the
vision was like"-Phoebe paused, searching for the right
words-"a whisper, but the physical effects are
getting progressively more painful. And exhausting.
The coffee bum Jenny didn't have because we stopped
it was serious, but the effect the vision had on me was
three times worse than it should have been. Understand?"
  Prue nodded and gripped Phoebe's arm.
  "Yeah." Ashamed, Piper averted her gaze and
saw the newspaper on the floor. She picked it
up, folded it, and set it on the table. "What were you
looking for, Phoebe?" she asked gently.
  Phoebe hung her head and sighed. "An
article about Noel Jefferson's untimely
demise."
  "What?" Prue sat back, stricken. "But I
thought-was
  Phoebe held up a hand. "I didn't get
anything from the two tough guys guarding the door. But
after I went to bed, I kept thinking, what if they
aren't right there with him when Athulak's catastrophe
hits?"
  "But they said-was
  Phoebe interrupted Prue again. "I know.
Twenty-four seven, but they are not with him every minute
of every day and night. They were outside Jefferson's
office last night, and he was inside-out of sight."


  Prue's face went white. "You don't think
Athulak paid him a visit, do you?"
  Phoebe shook her head. "The disasters Athulak
causes always relate to the actual wish, like the
stampeding pony. He doesn't do his own dirty
work."
  "He certainly tried hard enough in the parking lot
yesterday." Prue made a slashing motion across her
throat.
  Phoebe nodded. "But I'm guessing that he just
hates witches. Wouldn't you want revenge if
someone trapped you in a rock for three thousand
years?"
  "I might." Prue reached for a muffin and paused.
"Should we call Darryl to see if Jefferson is
all right?"
  "No." Phoebe wiped a tear from the corner of
her eye. "There's nothing in the paper, and I watched
the news on TV when I got up."
  Piper sensed Phoebe's misery and her
dilemma. Because the visions had become so painful,
she was questioning her motives for not trying harder to connect
with Jefferson.
  "You don't have anything to apologize for,
Phoebe," Piper said. "You wouldn't have come home
if you honestly thought something was going to happen
to Jefferson last night."
  "Yeah?" Phoebe tossed her head back with a
short, derisive laugh. "If I really believed
that, I would have gotten some sleep." She took
several deep breaths to bring herself back from the brink
of hysteria. "The thing is, what good is having my

  power if I'm so intimidated by headaches and
nausea that keep getting worse that I won't use
it."
  Prue sat bolt upright. "Ohmigod! That's
it!"
  "What?" Startled, Piper almost choked on her
coffee.
  "Athulak's hidden agenda." Excited, Prue
leaned forward. "Yesterday we couldn't figure out his
motive for granting Phoebe's wish because her
increased sensitivity was preventing disaster, not creating
chaos."
  "I'm with you so far," Piper said, "but I don't
understand where you're going."
  "You talk, I'll eat." Phoebe pulled the
muffin plate toward her and leaned over to get a fork
from the drawer.
  "Okay. This is going to sound complicated, but it's
not," Prue explained. "Not when you put it all
together in context."
  Piper made a hurry-up motion and unwrapped
a muffin.
  Prue took a sip of coffee and cleared her
throat. "We have to start with Tremaine's wish, which
had two elements. First, it freed Athulak from the
stone. Second, when the wish is fulfilled it will have
cataclysmic repercussions."
  "Agreed." Piper pointed to the silverware
drawer.
  Phoebe pulled out two more forks. She handed one
to Piper and placed the other by Prue.
  "Now, since Tremaine's wish is taking longer
to grant than the others-the pony and Phoebe's
power," Prue clarified, "it could be that the first wish
is a lot more important to Athulak than just
bumping off a few humans or making them
miserable."


  "Important how?" Phoebe frowned. She
looked as confused as Piper felt.
  "Maybe it's do or die for Athulak." Prue
paused, weighing her words. "What if his ultimate
destiny depends on the first wish?"
  "If something goes wrong and Tremaine's wish
isn't granted, Athulak is history?"
Phoebe asked for clarification.
  "I love the theory," Piper said, "but it's
really just a good guess, isn't it?"
  "Not really." Prue stood up and went to the counter
to get the coffeepot.
  "It definitely falls into the category of
wishful thinking for me, but I'm more than willing to be
convinced." Phoebe jabbed an orange slice with
her fork.
  Prue topped off everyone's cup with coffee as
she explained. "The key to the whole scenario is
Noel Jefferson, the target of Tremaine's
wish." Prue sat down and set the pot aside.
"If Phoebe connects with Jefferson, we'll know
how Tremaine's wish will be fulfilled."
  "And if we know, we might be able to stop whatever
happens from happening," Piper added.
  Phoebe stopped chewing to stare at her sisters.
"Right, but how did Athulak figure that out?"
  As the clues sank in, Piper suddenly found that
all the pieces did fall neatly into place.
Athulak had seen Prue use her powers in
Tremaine's library and had followed her to the park.
He had been imprisoned by a witch and was worried
that a modern witch might interfere with his plans.

  "Athulak was at the park when Phoebe sounded the
alert about the runaway pony before it bolted."
Piper sat back, stunned. "We even talked about
meeting Noel Jefferson at the charity bazaar
today."
  "That's how I see it," Prue said. "When
Athulak discovered that Phoebe could see the
future, he realized she might see the
catastrophe in Jefferson's future."
  "So when Phoebe made her wish," Piper said,
"Athulak enhanced her power to render her powerless."
  "That is so disgustingly diabolical," Phoebe
fumed.
  "That's why they call them demons," Piper said.
  Prue smiled at Phoebe. "But there was one
crucial factor he didn't take into account: your
devotion to doing the right thing even though it might hurt
you."
  Phoebe, however, was not easily appeased. "I
appreciate that, Prue, but I didn't follow
through. We didn't get close enough to Noel
Jefferson for me to have a vision."
  "But you intended to," Prue reminded Phoebe.
"Where were we going when he attacked us?"
  Phoebe blinked.8To see Noel Jefferson."
  "Yep." Prue picked up her muffin and peeled
off the paper cup. "I rest my case."
  "I'll buy the theory, but I still haven't
completed the mission." Phoebe set her fork down,
her expression pained. "We have no idea how
Athulak plans to get Noel Jefferson out of the
election."
  "It's not too late to find out," Piper said.
"Jefferson


  is still scheduled to give a speech at the bazaar this
morning. Around eleven, I think."
  "I'll go get dressed." Phoebe rushed out
of the room.
  "Well, I guess we'd better not waste any
time." Piper carried the muffin plate and the fruit
bowl to the counter.
  "We're going to need at least another hour."
Prue picked up the coffeepot and put it back in
the machine. "I don't know about you, but I'll feel
a lot better having afresh protection charm on
me today."
  Piper handed Prue a roll of cellophane
wrap. "You clean up. I'll cook."
  Piper's nerves were on edge as she gathered the
ingredients and unfolded the directions for the
protection potion. The wind spirit apparently had the
ability to manipulate his form into a deadly
molecular blade. He could also wield it with enough
force to slice through a steel pole. Three
flesh-and-bone necks would be a snap by comparison.
He had tried to kill once to keep Phoebe from
touching Noel Jefferson. It would be foolish to think
he wouldn't try again.
  The charms were their only defense. Maybe,
Piper thought as she retrieved a plastic container of
raw chicken hearts from the fridge. There was another,
ominous possibility no one had considered. Since
Phoebe had been locked in the rest room when
Jefferson had left the municipal building,
Athulak may have simply followed him. He would have
known Prue and Phoebe couldn't get past the
security men at his campaign headquarters and may
have even tailed them home to be sure.

  Piper stared at the falcon feathers sealed in a
zip-pered plastic bag with a sinking sensation in the pit
of her stomach. The spell she had gotten from The
Book of Shadows had been written to repel
tornadoes and hurricanes. She had adjusted it
to include a sentient evil that had taken form as
air.
  She had absolutely no proof that the protection
charms worked.

  thOUT-JJIL the Celebrity bar Charity Bazaar
did not open officially until nine, thf grounds were
bustling with activity when Prue pulled into the parking
lot at eight.
  "Do we know where your booth is?" Prue asked
Piper as the sisters got out of the car. While some
vendors had come with their own setups, complete with
generators, Piper had rented a booth with access
to electricity from the organizers. Most of those were
located near the pavilions on the far side of the
picnic area.
  "Not exactly." Piper looked up from a
diagram of the booth layout the organizers had sent
her and held her hand above her eyes to survey the
park. She glanced at the diagram again, then pointed
to a

  pavilion shaded by tall palms and hardwoods
to their left. "I think we're over there."
  Shouldering her camera bag, Prue locked the car
doors. Although another bag of extra gear was stuffed
under the seat, she didn't want to take any chances.
  Phoebe leaned against the hood with her arms folded
close to her chest, a stance that drove home just how
loath she was to touch anyone. Above all, Prue
thought, renewing the vow she and Piper had made when
Phoebe had left the kitchen to change, Phoebe
had to be protected from physical contact with anyone
except Noel Jefferson. Saving the future
congressman and the world was imperative.
  "I hope Jimmy and the gang arrived on time
to take our deliveries." Piper exhaled
nervously.
  "I wonder if Rick showed up," Prue said.
  "Don't know, but I'm off to find out. I'll
see you as soon as I know everything is under control."
Gripping the strap of her shoulder bag, Piper
left to find her booth.
  Prue glanced at Phoebe, but her teasing
reference to Rick had gone unheard. Her sister's
somber gaze was trained on the silent amusement
park located at the northern end of the picnic
grounds. Dominated by the towering Ferris wheel, a
huge, ornate carousel, and a roller coaster that was
tame by contemporary standards, the Gold Coast
Amusement Park had sprawled across the landscape like
a slow-growing amoeba since it had first opened
decades before. However, over the past several months
there had been talk of closing the old attraction
down.


  "Penny for your thoughts," Prue said.
  Phoebe's gaze darted to Prue, then back to the
amusement park. "I've never been here when Gold
Coast was closed. It's kind of spooky, as if it
died when the lights and the rides were turned off and the
screams and the circus music faded into"-she
paused, her eyes misting-"echoes of more innocent,
happier times, maybe. When we were kids."
  "That's awfully profound for so early in the day."
Prue tried to offset Phoebe's melancholy, but
she knew that Phoebe would find a way to overcome
this personal crisis, too. A code of no
surrender had been bred into the Halliwell
bloodline for centuries.
  "Okay." Straightening up, Phoebe flashed
Prue a smile. "I've indulged in all the
doom and gloom I can stand for one day. Let's
take care of business so we can have some fun."
  "I'm ready." Prue glanced in the direction
Piper had gone. "Do you want to help Piper or
go with me to check out the stage where Tremaine and
Jefferson will be speaking?"
  Phoebe's internal struggle was evident on her
face.
  "I'll understand if you'd rather hang out with Rick,"
Prue added.
  The light that shone from Phoebe's eyes at the
mention of Rick faded almost immediately. "Work first.
Play later."
  "Let's go then." Prue led the way toward a
large wooden pavilion. A large blue-and-white
canvas canopy had been erected just beyond it.
Inside the

  pavilion, crews were securing risers that formed a
stage, setting up folding chairs for the audience, and
running cables for the sound system. Singing groups from
local schools, aspiring bands, and the celebrities
would share the program with the politicians.
  Phoebe stuck close to Prue's side as they
made their way up a wide jogging path. Except
for people carting in supplies and products, the path was
clear of traffic, and Phoebe began to relax.
Most of the vendors were off to the side, furiously
working on their booths.
  "Oh, look at those rag dolls!" Phoebe
exclaimed. The woman unpacking the
antique-style cloth dolls outfitted in calico
dresses and off-white eyelet pinafores with matching
caps held one out for Phoebe's inspection.
Phoebe shook her head. "Maybe later."
  "What do you want with a rag doll?" Prue
asked, delighted that Phoebe was taking an interest
in something besides their unpleasant mission.
  "They're adorable!" Phoebe shrugged with a
sheepish smile. "She'd look darling on my
bed."
  A darling reminder of bygone days and more innocent
times, Prue noted with a smile. As she looked
around, she realized that the whole bazaar had been
designed to promote a sense of community and
goodwill.
  The wares displayed in the booths ranged from
handcrafted jewelry and wooden toys, foreign
food and hot dogs, to hot tubs and exercise
equipment. Other booths were devoted
to organizations: citizen activist and political
groups, education and health


  care programs, businesses like P3, and
sponsors of team sports and other family
recreational activities. Prue was impressed
with the diversity, ingenuity, and enthusiasm of the
participants. She wondered if the other vendors
had driven their families crazy making preparations
for the big event. Piper had obviously known what
she was doing when she had signed on, though. Judging
from the displays, everyone was expecting a huge crowd.
  "I smell coffee." Phoebe paused to inhale
the enticing aroma wafting from the tent. "I could use
another cup or two."
  "Ditto that," Prue said as she calculated her
next move.
  Two sides under the canopy were open but roped off
to discourage entry. A wall of blue-and-white
striped canvas closed off the rearside. The side
facing the pavilion was partially roped off to form an
entrance. Tables and chairs were arranged in the center
under the canopy. Two women were filling trays with
Danish and doughnuts on tables along the back
wall. The tables also contained two large,
banquet-style coffee machines, creamer, sugar,
and several varieties of tea, a water cooler, and
tubs of iced soft drinks. A sign over the
entrance read, Press and Official Guests
Only.
  "I don't suppose we qualify as official
guests, huh?" Phoebe frowned, annoyed.
  "No, but we might qualify as official
press." Prue fished her 425 press pass out
of her leather shoulder bag and handed the camera bag
to Phoebe. "You just got hired to assist."

  "You are so bad." Phoebe grinned.
  "I know." Prue cut her laugh short as she
walked toward the tent with the air of someone who knew
exactly who she was and where she was going.
  An attractive young woman seated at a
small table by the entrance blinked as Prue walked in
without giving her a glance. "Wait a minute!
Miss!"
  Prue stopped, motioned Phoebe to continue on,
then turned to the woman with a puzzled frown.
"Yes?"
  "Uh-this tent isn't open to the public." The
woman, Louise according to her nametag, seemed
genuinely apologetic when she pointed up toward the
sign. "Press and guests only, I'm
afraid."
  Prue stepped up to the table and held out her
press pass. "Prue Halliwell,
photographer from 425." She glanced at
Phoebe. "And my assistant."
  Louise squinted at the pass. "Oh, cool!"
She smiled. "Help yourself to whatever and make yourself
comfortable."
  "Thanks," Prue said, smiling back. "My
editor told me to capture the local flavor of the
bazaar. Would you mind if I took a shot of you for the
magazine?"
  "Me?" Flustered, Louise smoothed her short
dark hair. "Uh-no. I mean, that would be great."
  "Excellent!" Prue started to leave, then
stepped back. "Do you know when Mr. Jefferson is
speaking? I left my schedule in the car."
  "Eleven o'clock. I just spoke to him, and he'll be
here about a quarter of." Louise held up her cell
phone as proof and leaned over to speak confiden-


  tially. "I talked to Whoopi this morning, too.
She's going to be late."
  "Well, at least she's coming. Thanks again.
I'll be back in a few minutes." Confident that
she and Phoebe would have access to the tent all day,
Prue got herself a coffee and joined Phoebe at
a table in the back corner.
  "Are we cool?" Phoebe cast a doubtful
glance at Louise.
  "Totally." Prue removed her camera from the
bag and set it on the table. "If anyone asks, just
mention my name and the magazine and say you're my
assistant. Louise over there will back you up."
  "I can do that." Phoebe tensed when two women
and a man with clipboards and briefcases seated
themselves at the next table over. However, they were intent
on their own business and paid no attention to Phoebe
and Prue.
  "So what's the plan?" Phoebe lowered her
voice. "Do we have a plan?"
  "We do now." Prue leaned toward her. "But first
the good news. Louise just spoke to Jefferson. No
mishaps in the middle of the night."
  Phoebe's hand flew to her chest in a gesture of
relief. "Thank goodness. What do we do next?"
  "You're going to sit right here and wait while I go
check in with Piper," Prue said. "It might get
a little crowded, but better to hobnob with the celebs
than take a chance in the crowds out there."
  Phoebe nodded, smiling. "We've had worse
plans. Bruce Willis isn't on the guest
list, is he?"
  "Bruce Willis?" Prue eyed Phoebe
askance.

  "Since when is Bruce Willis at the top of
your famous-movie-stars-I'd-like-to-meet list?"
  "He's sexy and cute," Phoebe said, "for an
old guy. Like Mel Gibson and Harrison
Ford."
  "It's your fantasy." Prue stood and picked
up the camera. "I think I'd better wander around and
play photographer for appearances" sake. I
don't want Louise to get suspicious and throw us
out."
  "Not with five dozen doughnuts to choose from,"
Phoebe quipped.
  "Jefferson won't be here for a couple more hours,
but I'll be back before then. With luck you can make
contact right here in the tent before he delivers his
speech." Prue noticed a subtle shift in
Phoebe's cheerful demeanor. "Are you sure
you'll be okay waiting here alone?"
  "Are you kidding?" Perking up again, Phoebe
spread her arms to encompass the VIP domain.
"I've got plenty of coffee and an in with the in
crowd. What more could I ask?"
  Priming the camera, Prue left to snap a few
shots and seal the deal with Louise.
  "You guys are doing great!" Piper pulled off the
ponytail holder and shook out her hair. For the first
time in a week, she felt as though she had made a
sound decision to invest her limited PR money in the
booth.
  Jimmy, Rick, and two of Jimmy's friends had
finished getting the tables, stools and chairs, the
refrigerator, and other equipment in place with
amazing speed and efficiency. They even had the
electrical


  cables ready for Hard Crackers when the band
arrived to set up right after noon. Until then
Jimmy's taped collection of easy rock would
set the right mood.
  Sandy and Monica, Piper's two waitresses
for the event, bopped to the sounds of an old Cars song
as they topped off the tables with red- and white-checkered
cloths and pots of red geraniums. Napkin
holders doubled as paperweights to keep stacks of
P3 flyers from drifting away on a light
breeze.
  The Celebrity Charity Bazaar promised to be
a huge success, as long as Athulak didn't
sweep down from the sky bent on revenge. Piper
touched the charm in her pocket and rubbed a kink in her
neck. Her sudden decapitation would probably get
Leo's attention, wherever he was, but she seriously
doubted his healing powers could put her back together again.
  "Wow! This looks fantastic!" Prue came
up from behind Piper, folded her arms and nodded as she
surveyed the nearly completed booth.
  Piper beamed in spite of her distressing thoughts.
"You don't think it's too much? I mean, we
don't have flowers on the tables at P3."
  "No, it's perfect. I love what you did with the
photos." Prue walked over to the easel Piper
had set to the left of the booth. The pictures of
P3 in action were tacked to a bulletin board resting
on the wooden stand. "These came out pretty well,
didn't they?"
  "Yes, thank you." Piper caught herself holding
her neck and jammed her hands in her pockets.
"Any word on the Mr. Jefferson situation?"

  "I found out that he's definitely alive and
well this morning. He's expected to arrive for his
speech about a quarter to eleven."
  Piper pulled a folded schedule from her
pocket. "Tremaine is speaking right after him at
eleven forty-five."
  Prue frowned. "I wonder if that works
into Athulak's plan. We'll know if Phoebe can
get a read on Jefferson before he speaks."
Prue took a quick look around for curious ears.
"I know we can't use our you-know-what in this crowd,
but you should probably be there just in case."
  "Moral support if nothing else." Piper
knew they'd use their powers if they had to, but
only as a last resort. She glanced back toward
the stage pavilion. "Where is Phoebe?"
  "In the VIP tent, hoping to run into Bruce
Willis." Prue set her camera on the counter that
ran the length of the booth, then slid onto a stool.
She jumped when Rick popped up on the far side
holding a wrench.
  "Phoebe knows Bruce Willis?" Rick's
brow furrowed under a shock of unruly blondish
hair.
  "That's news to me, too." Piper perched on the
stool beside her. "Although I'm glad you brought your
camera. When Brad Pitt stops by, there
probably won't be a reporter in sight."
  Rick's mouth fell open. "You know Brad
Pitt?"
  "We're just friends." Piper burst out laughing.
"N."
  "Don't worry, Rick," Prue said. "I
happen to know Phoebe likes tall guys with sandy
blond hair. Bruce is short and practically
bald."


  Rick's obvious interest in Phoebe seemed
to have short-circuited his sense of humor, Piper
realized. He obviously didn't get the joke.
  "Phoebe doesn't know any movie stars,"
Piper added.
  Phoebe stared at the gray-haired man sitting
across the table from her, fascinated. He wasn't
Bruce Willis, but she had seen him in dozens of
movies and television cop shows over the years. His
name, however, completely escaped her.
  "The best part was when he bent over and split the
back seam of his pants," the old actor chuckled.
"He made them destroy the film."
  "Had to protect the old he-man image,
huh?" Phoebe smiled.
  "He-man with a glass jaw." The old actor
looked up, a twinkle in his eye. "But you didn't
hear that from me."
  "I'm really good at keeping secrets,"
Phoebe said.
  "Well, I'm still getting bit parts here and there.
Nobody's seen him on the big screen in ten
years. Not on the little screen, either." The man's
glee was infectious and Phoebe laughed.
  After Prue had left her, she had spent an
hour reading the gothic paperback novel she had
stuck in her bag. She had passed the next thirty
minutes gawking at the local television news
personalities and numerous character actors she
recognized. They drifted in and out of the tent, taking
breaks from mingling with the crowd, or used it as a green-

  room before speaking or performing to encourage donations
to the charity fund. Most of the minor celebrities
had ignored her. A few had smiled or nodded or
said hello in passing, which was just as well because she
didn't know any of their names, either.
  Then her charming, elderly companion had wandered
over with a doughnut in one hand, a cup of coffee in the
other, and asked if he could sit down. She could
hardly refuse since the chair at her table was the
only vacant seat under the tent. She had spent the
last half hour listening to his stories about working on
various sets.
  There was just one problem. He had touched her hand when
he had reached for a napkin.
  The vision was the first she had had all day and the
effects weren't as bad as they might have been. Through
the sheer force of will, she had sat still through the vicious
hammering in her head and the rush of nausea without
collapsing, but that wasn't the problem. How,
Phoebe wondered, was she supposed to tell this
sweet, cantankerous old guy his false teeth were
going to fall out onstage?
  "There's Noel now." A woman at the next
table gathered her papers and stuffed them into a
briefcase.
  Phoebe straightened to look past the old man
at the entrance to the tent. Tall and blond with a
boyish grin, Jefferson entered surrounded by a large
entourage. Phoebe recognized Jenny the
redhead, Charlie with the clipboard, the mustache, and his
lean, mean partner from their visit to Jefferson's


  campaign headquarters last night. There were at
least a dozen other men and women in the group, some of
whom were reporters.
  There was no sign of Piper and Prue.
  "Who's that?" The old man shifted in his chair
to look at the commotion.
  "Noel Jefferson," Phoebe said. "He's
running for Congress."
  When the mass of people shifted, Phoebe realized
Jefferson had his hand on the back of a pretty
woman with blond hair wearing a wide-brimmed
straw hat. The woman was holding the hand of a
freckle-faced boy who looked about eight.
  Not married but appears to be very involved,
Phoebe thought with a flash of regret for Prue.
Their picnic discussion about the candidate as a
romantic possibility for Prue had been in
jest. Still, even a casual flirtation for fun was out
of the question if the guy had his girlfriend along.
  Phoebe checked her watch and stood up.
Jefferson was on in five minutes.
  "Darn politicians get more publicity than
actors these days." The old actor snorted and
shook his head as he turned back around. "Don't
tell me you're leaving? I was just getting warmed
up!"
  "Yeah. I'd love to stay and listen, but I
really have to go." Resolved, Phoebe bent over and
whispered in his ear. There was no way she could stand by and
let him embarrass himself in front of all these people.
"This is a little awkward, but I think you should check
your dentures before you give your talk. Don't be
mad."

  He reached up and squeezed her arm. "I'm not.
Thank you."
  "If I can, I'll be watching." Phoebe
quickly moved to the food tables where the knots of people
weren't so concentrated. She wasn't worried about
Jefferson's bodyguards trying to stop her today. The
candidate was shaking every hand within reach, hoping to get
votes. However, if she had a vision triggered
by someone else before she reached him, the opportunity
would be lost. She studied the room and chose a
course that would work as long as nobody shifted
position.
  Holding her arms close to her body, Phoebe
wove her way around tables without incident. She
stopped a few feet from the crowd gathered around
Jefferson to figure out where to go next.
  "What's your stand on campaign finance reform,"
a newscaster asked.
  Jefferson didn't try to evade a direct
answer. "We have to keep soft money out of
politics so our elected representatives at every
level aren't in the pockets of the special
interests. The government's first and only priority
should be to the people who vote them into office."
  Under different circumstances, Phoebe would have
cheered.
  The reporters and TV news teams were
concentrated in front of Jefferson. The mustache
and the mean guy stood slightly behind and to the sides of the
candidate, his date, and the kid. Beyond the group, she
saw Prue and Piper waving frantically.
  A quick glance around made it clear that Piper


  could not freeze the scene to help her out. Aside
from the people in the crowded tent, swarms of people were streaming
by. There were easily a hundred people sitting in the
audience waiting to hear Jefferson's speech. Almost
all of them were watching the impromptu press
conference.
  "I want a doughnut." The kid tugged on his
mother's hand.
  The woman leaned down and hushed him. "In a
minute, Paul."
  Catching Prue's eye, Phoebe raised her
hand and pointed to indicate she was going to try to get
close to Jefferson from the rear. Using the crowd as a
shield would be safer. If she keeled over after
shaking the candidate's hand, she'd attract too much
attention. Touching his arm or shoulder was all the
contact she needed, and nobody would notice if she
collapsed on the back fringe of the gathering.
  Prue and Piper exchanged a word, then Prue
ducked under the ropes to improve her position.
  Skirting the outer fringe, taking care not to touch
anyone, Phoebe was halfway to her goal when the
entire gathering seemed to shift as one entity. They
all surged forward as the MC called Jefferson
onto the stage.
  Phoebe clenched her fists, not sure what to do.
  Prue raised her hand and shot her a questioning glance.
  Piper watched helplessly from outside the tent.
  Knowing they might not have another chance if Jefferson
eluded them this time, Phoebe moved behind Jefferson
just as the guards began to close

  ranks to protect his back. As the candidate
started to turn toward the stage, she lunged.
  In the same split second, the kid yanked his
hand out of his mother's grasp, spun, and ran
into Phoebe.
  Thrown backward by the boy's momentum, Phoebe
sprawled on the ground as she was swept into the
maelstrom of the vision.
  . . . clinging to a metal bar . . . the boy
screaming in terror... watching Noel Jefferson
fall from the top of the Ferris wheel...

  rue could not believe
  True could not Deiieve how f caret that things
had gOne so
  wrong.
  "Paul!" the woman in the straw hat yelled as
Phoebe collapsed on the floor.
  Prue saw Noel Jefferson look back as
she shoved through the jam of reporters.
  "What happened?" Jefferson frowned.
  "Nothing to worry about, sir." The large
security guard urged the candidate to keep moving
toward the stage.
  The guard with the gray eyes turned as the boy's
mom knelt beside him. Several reporters blocked
the guard's view of Phoebe, and he quickly turned
back to Jefferson.
  "I didn't mean to." The boy sniffed back
tears. "But you said I could have a doughnut!"

  "It's all right, Paul." The woman reached out
to touch Phoebe, who was curled up, clutching her
stomach, her face contorted with pain.
  Prue gripped the woman's shoulder, staying her
hand. "Please, she's my sister."
  "She seems to be in a lot of pain." The
woman looked devastated as Prue eased around her
and dropped down beside Phoebe. "I can't believe
Paul hit her that hard."
  Prue caught sight of Piper arguing with the young
woman by the entrance. Pulling Phoebe's head
into her lap, she smiled to reassure the boy's mother.
"It wasn't his fault. She, uh-hasn't been
well."
  "Well, if you're sure." The woman seemed
hesitant to go.
  "I'm sure. She just needs some air. She'll
be fine in a few minutes." Prue exhaled as the
woman hustled the boy outside. He stopped crying
when she promised to take him to the amusement park before
they went home.
  Since Paul had triggered Phoebe's vision,
Prue watched to see where they went. The woman sat
the boy on a chair close to the stage and stood beside
him to listen to Jefferson's speech. One of the
reporters immediately offered her his seat.
  Satisfied that Paul was safe for the moment,
Prue's gaze swung back to Piper as Phoebe
moaned and started to come around. Piper raised her hand,
intending to freeze the stubborn young woman at the
entrance so she could enter.
  "Piper!" Prue shook her head when Piper
turned.
  A smoldering anger simmered in Piper's brown


  eyes, but the tension drained away when she saw
Phoebe stir. Thumbing over her shoulder, she
backed off.
  "What happened?" an old man asked, startling
Prue from behind. "Should I call 911?"
  "No," Prue said a bit too sharply, aware
of the many curious stares. She and Phoebe had already
attracted too much attention for comfort.
  Phoebe pushed herself into a sitting position and
breathed in deeply. She smiled weakly at the old
man and rasped, "I'll be fine. Really."
  "She just needs to rest." Prue helped Phoebe
to her feet and braced her with an arm around her waist.
"I'll handle it."
  Nodding, the concerned man stepped back as Prue
walked Phoebe out of the tjent.
  Prue saw Piper pacing by a large tree a
short distance behind the audience. As she and Phoebe
walked past the seated crowd, she couldn't help but
notice that Noel Jefferson's serene yet powerful
voice had everyone enthralled. Listening to him talk
about alternate energy sources and the need to preserve
the country's dwindling wilderness areas for future
generations just strengthened her resolve to do whatever was
necessary to save him.
  If they discovered the threat before it was too late,
she thought with growing apprehension.
  "How is she?" Piper's gaze mirrored
Prue's worry.
  "The boy." Phoebe's voice trembled with
panic as she sank to the ground with Piper and Prue.
"Where is he?"
  "Listening to the speech," Prue said.

  Relieved, Phoebe nodded and leaned back against
the tree. "Good. Then we have time."
  "Before what exactly?" Piper asked.
  "And how serious is it?" Prue hated putting
pressure on Phoebe in her weakened condition, but
they were still no closer to stopping the fulfillment of
Tremaine's wish than they were before. She did not
want to think about having to choose between saving the boy
or the candidate. "What happens to Paul,
Phoebe?"
  "I'm not sure he gets hurt, except for the
trauma"-Phoebe shuddered-"when he sees Noel
Jefferson fall from the top of the Ferris wheel."
  Piper inhaled sharply and sat back on her
heels.
  Prue stared into Phoebe's tormented eyes. A
bizarre twist of fate had given them the critical
information they needed, but the boy's involvement was a
shock. She thought back to Professor Rubin's
explanation about Athulak, wondering if Paul also
played a key role in the irreversible and
catastrophic consequences that would result from
Tremaine's wish. Would the effects of watching a
man fall to his death pervert Paul's destiny,
adding to the harm created when Tremaine was elected and
not Noel Jefferson?
  Prue quickly put those disquieting thoughts aside.
There would be no chaotic chain of events if
Jefferson survived, and that depended on them.
  "I heard Paul's mom promise to take him
to the amusement park," Prue said. "We'll just have
to stop them from going."
  "Works for me." Piper glanced across the park
toward the P3 booth. "Jimmy and the girls can
take


  care of things, and Rick decided to stick around in
case the booth gets super busy."
  "I wouldn't bet money that's the only reason."
Prue smiled at Phoebe. "He's smitten with
those big brown eyes."
  "Yeah?" A smile flickered and died on
Phoebe's face as she stood up. Still shaky, she
steadied herself with a hand on the tree trunk. "If
we're going to ambush Mr. Jefferson on his way
to the amusement park, we should probably get behind the
rocks."
  "What rocks?" Piper asked, confused.
  "I meant get in position," Phoebe
clarified. "I'm not exactly moving at optimum
efficiency right now."
  "Good idea." Prue rose and dusted off the seat
of her pants. "Let's move out."
  Piper followed behind Prue and Phoebe as they
slowly made their way to an empty picnic table a
few hundred yards beyond the stage pavilion. She
resisted the impulse to check the surrounding sky.
If Athulak attacked, they wouldn't see him coming.
The thought was chilling, and if the circumstances weren't
so dire, she might have appreciated the irony. Of
all the grotesque demons, vengeful warlocks,
and other malevolent entities they had fought and
vanquished, a being made of air might be their
undoing.
  "Any idea how long we have to wait?" Piper
asked as she slid onto the picnic table bench.
  Phoebe shook her head and swung her legs under
the opposite side of the table.
  "Probably not long," Prue said. She
straddled the end of Phoebe's bench, facing the parking
lot. "Paul

  will be pretty restless after sitting through
Jefferson's speech."
  "Too bad he's attached," Phoebe said with a
pointed look at Prue. "Noel Jefferson, I
mean. From what I saw, he and Paul's mom are
like that." She held up crossed fingers.
  "My only interest in Noel Jefferson is
saving his life, the kid's life, and the world," Prue
protested.
  For starters anyway, Piper thought. She looked
back toward the pavilion to check on Jefferson.
His entourage was forming below the stage, and the audience was
dispersing.
  "Heads up," Piper warned.
  "Any ideas how we're going to pull off this
ambush?" Phoebe asked.
  "I'm sure we'll think of something," Prue
said. "I'm working on it."
  Piper's gaze drifted toward the parking lot,
her attention diverted by another group of TV news
people and reporters, who were following Stephen
Tremaine toward the pavilion. As they passed
by, Tremaine glanced toward their table,
hesitated, and did an abrupt right turn.
  "Incoming," Piper whispered as the opposition
candidate approached. The reporters hung back.
  "Ms. Halliwell?" Tremaine zeroed in on
Prue. Unlike Jefferson, who was wearing
casual clothes suitable for an outside fair,
Tremaine was dressed in a perfectly tailored
suit and tie with expensive black shoes polished
to a mirror shine.
  "Mr. Tremaine." Prue smiled tightly.
"What a surprise."


  "I'm delighted to see you again as well." The
candidate looked and sounded sincere. "Your editor
sent me proofs of the photos you took the other day.
I just wanted you to know how pleased I am with the
results. Excellent work."
  "Thank you." Prue smiled graciously but did
not invite further conversation.
  They didn't have time for a friendly chat, Piper
realized when she saw Noel Jefferson's crowd
coming toward them from the other direction.
  Tremaine, however, was in no hurry to leave.
He held his hand out to shake Piper's hand and bumped
Phoebe's shoulder.
  Phoebe's head snapped up and her eyes
rolled back as she slumped over. Piper jumped
onto the table and fell on her knees beside her
stricken sister.
  "What the-was Tremaine recoiled as Prue
threw a protective arm over Phoebe's back.
"Should we call an ambulance?"
  "No, it's just the heat. Nothing to worry about,"
Prue explained hastily. "But it might be better
if you leave."
  Tremaine hesitated, then backed off and waved
his people to follow.
  Piper cradled Phoebe's head, realizing their
problems had suddenly become dangerously more
complicated. She watched helplessly as Noel
Jefferson and company passed by on their way to the
amusement park and a deadly ride on the Ferris
wheel.
  Beside her, Phoebe writhed in pain.

  The mental images assaulted Phoebe with a
force as great as the annihilation they foretold. A
silent scream reverberated through her head as she saw
the beautiful city of San Francisco fast forward
into ruin and decay. Lighted windows on downtown
buildings went dark and shattered, raining slivers of
glass on deserted, torn-up streets. Green
leaves withered and fell off trees that smoked and
disintegrated into char. Emaciated people stumbled through
alleys, deathly quiet and too weak to run.
  She watched in horror as the image of the city
receded, giving her a panoramic view.
Blanketed in a thick gray haze one second,
San Francisco vanished in thunder and a blinding
light the next. Then the image cut to black.
  Tears streamed from Phoebe's eyes as she
emerged from the depths of future Armageddon.
  "Come on, come on..."
  Latching onto Prue's frantic voice,
Phoebe forced herself back to reality. The nausea
had become a burning knot, as though her stomach was
being eaten away by flaming bile. Sharp pains shot
through her head, making it difficult to focus.
  "Phoebe." Piper gently shook her arm.
"What did you see? What happens to Tremaine?"
  Pulse racing and barely able to breathe, Phoebe
dug her fingers into Piper's thigh and raised her
head. "He burns with everyone else," she whispered
hoarsely. "Nuclear holocaust."
  "How?" Prue gasped.
  "Irrelevant." Phoebe glared at her
sisters, drawing strength from the Power of Three that
bound


  them together. "You're going to stop it by making sure
Noel Jefferson lives to get elected."
  Prue and Piper both looked toward the parking
lot, then back at Phoebe, their eyes brimming
with worry and indecision.
  "Go!" Phoebe barked.
  "Okay." Prue ran her hand over Phoebe's
hair as she stood up. "We're going."
  Laying her head back down, Phoebe watched
her sisters run after the doomed candidate. Tears
pooled on the rough wooden surface under her cheek
and a shuddering sigh rumbled through her chest. There was nothing
more she could do. The fate of the world rested on Prue's
and Piper's shoulders now.
  "How can one man cause a nuclear
holocaust?" Piper asked as she and Prue came
to a breathless stop by the Tilt-a-Whirl.
  "Has Phoebe ever been wrong?" Hands on her
knees, Prue kept an eye on Jefferson and
calmed her ragged breathing. The cameramen,
reporters, campaign workers, and Paul's mom
moved off to the side as he stepped into the Ferris
wheel line with the boy.
  "No, she hasn't." As Piper pulled a
ponytail holder out of her pocket, the leather
protection charm popped out and fell on the ground.
She dropped into a squat to pick it up.
  In the same instant, Prue heard a
high-pitched whine. The sound intensified as the
temperature of the air around her face plunged
to freezing.

  CllApDo
  Athulak! With no time to shout an alarm, Prue
watched as her sister's fingers seemed to reach for the charm
in excruciating slow motion. In her mind, she saw
Piper's head roll, separated from her neck with a
swift stroke of the wind spirit's molecular sword.
  She blinked when the whine became a higher-pitched,
keening cry of outrage and sensed that the invisible entity
had suddenly veered off.
  Piper stood up and slipped the charm back into her
pocket, then pulled her hair back and secured it
with the holder. Her eyes narrowed with bewilderment when
she noticed Prue staring. "What?"
  "The protection charm works." Prue straightened
with a tight smile.
  Piper looked up sharply to scan the sky, her
hand darting to her neck. "You're sure?"
  "Field tested and approved." Prue noted
Piper's gasp as the significance of her words
sank in, but they didn't have time to celebrate her
narrow escape. Noel Jefferson and Paul were
next up to get on the Ferris wheel. "Let's
move. Somehow we have to talk Mr. Jefferson out of
going on that ride."
  Piper nodded and fell into a brisk walk beside
Prue as the ride operator brought the next empty
bucket to a stop over the loading platform.
Jefferson let the boy get in first, paused
to buckle his seat belt, then stepped inside and sat
down.
  Prue quickened her pace, having no idea what
to say. Nothing convincing came to mind. They'd sound like
deranged lunatics if they told him the truth.


  The operator locked the safety bar in place and
Prue broke into a run. "Wait!"
  What to say ceased to be a problem when the
bodyguards spun toward the sound of Prue's
voice. They recognized her instantly. It
didn't require much imagination to figure out what
was going through their minds as they positioned themselves to the
block the advance of two frantic, running women.
Whether they thought she and Piper were overly zealous
fans or a potential threat, the two men had no
intention of letting them near their man.
  Prue's heart fluttered when the operator started
the wheel. Jefferson's bucket rose and lurched
to a stop as the next bucket moved into place. It
was the last empty bucket on the giant wheel.
  "So much for talking." Piper said as they stopped and
faced off the guards. "I'd say this qualifies as
an emergency, wouldn't you?"
  "Major emergency," Prue said. "Permission
granted."
  Piper froze the guards, the people in the immediate
vicinity, and the wheel. Risky, Prue thought as they
dashed past the other people waiting in line and the scowling men
to jump into the bucket, but necessary.
  "Buckle up," Piper said as she waved her hand
to set real time back in motion.
  The operator blinked, shrugged, and locked down the
safety bar without giving their sudden appearance a
second thought. Prue realized he went through the
repetitive motions of his job with

  CHARMED
  little or no change in routine, but she didn't
breathe easily until he sat down on a metal
stool and depressed the lever to start the ride.
  Jefferson's two guards did not take her and
Piper's disappearance quite so casually, Prue noted
with satisfaction. They both jerked and looked from
side to side, completely thrown off balance, with their
grim confidence broken. When the mustached man
looked over his shoulder and saw her, Prue smiled
and waved.
  "Stop that thing!" The guard stormed up to the
operator. "Now!"
  The operator rolled his eyes and shooed him
away. "Scram, buddy!"
  Riding the wheel upward under Jefferson's
bucket, Prue stared back at the befuddled
guards. Then, after the bucket rounded the top of the
circle, she focused solely on Jefferson, whose
bucket seat was below them on the downward side.
  Neither she nor Piper spoke.
  Gripping the safety bar, Piper stared down,
too. Every muscle in her slim body was steeled,
waiting for that critical split second when their
powers could mean the difference between success and
failure.
  The wheel went around and around, but the sight of the
distant horizon and the carnival atmosphere of the
amusement park below existed outside Prue's
frame of reference. She kept her eyes on the
bucket that hovered over her as they went up and
dropped below them as they went down.
  On the fifth revolution, the keening whine of


  Athulak riding the currents overhead cracked
Prue's concentration. The spirit's presence alerted her
to a danger they hadn't considered. Phoebe hadn't
seen what made Jefferson fall or if he was
headless when he rumbled.
  Prue fumbled her protection charm out of her
pocket as the high-pitched sound intensified and
waited eternal seconds for the wheel to start its
downward course. At just the right moment, she dropped
the leather pouch onto the top of Jefferson's
bucket. When it started to slide off, she
telekinetically flicked it onto the floor of the car
by Jefferson's feet.
  Piper's eyes widened as Athulak screamed by the
front of their car.
  "Don't worry," Prue said, still watching
Jefferson's car as they sped past the ground and started
upward again. "Your charm should work for both of us."
  "I hope you're-was Piper's words were cut off
by the grating sound of breaking metal.
  Prue and Piper both twisted in their seat. They
pulled themselves to their feet so they were braced between the
safety bar and the top edge of the bucket canopy.
Standing up and facing backward now, Prue looked
up and gasped.
  The buckets were attached to the wheel on both
sides by couplings that swiveled to keep the seats
dislevel as the wheel turned. The outer coupling on
Jefferson's bucket broke as the ride continued
to revolve.
  Piper's hands whipped out to cover two direc-

  tions, freezing the Ferris wheel and everyone
watching on the ground below.
  Prue quickly assessed the scene. Frozen with his
mouth open in terror, the boy was strapped tightly
to the car by his seat belt. His hands were clamped on
the safety bar.
  Jefferson's seat belt had torn loose.
Apparently, he had not been holding onto the
safety bar when the coupling broke, and he had already
started to slide under it. When Piper's freeze ended
and the wheel started moving again, he would fall through the
struts to his death on the pavement seventy feet
below.
  "I hope you know what to do," Piper said, "because this
hold isn't going to last much longer."
  "Understood." Prue breathed in and raised her
hands, hoping she had guessed right about what
to expect. Once time resumed, the normally
horizontal bucket would be hanging vertically by one
coupling. She would have only a few seconds to act
before the candidate's dangling bucket was carried over
the top. She would not have a clear shot to use her power
on the way back down.
  When time kicked back in, Paul's scream
cut through the calliope music, the groan of
machinery, and the stunned hush that had settled over the
crowd.
  Jefferson grabbed for the safety bar, his hands
flailing as the bucket swung down into a vertical
position. Focused on the candidate, Prue
caught him with the force of her telekinetic energies and
held him in place before he slipped completely under
the safety bar.


  Still strapped in by his seat belt, Paul clung
to the safety bar when gravity shifted his body. The
boy was no longer sitting, but hanging by the strap
secured around his waist.
  Jefferson's side of the bucket seat had become
the bottom when the bucket dropped. The back of the
seat and the extension where riders usually rested their
feet now formed the sides.
  Sweat broke out on Prue's forehead as she
shoved the surprised man onto the new bottom of the
upright bucket. She continued to hold him as the wheel
sped toward the apex of the wheel's circular motion.
  "Grab onto the damn bait" Piper muttered.
  Prue's heart thudded in her ears as Jefferson
grabbed onto the bar with his right hand, pulled up his
left knee, and braced his left foot against the
curved, metal foot extension. The boy's behind now
rested on Jefferson's head. His legs hung down
over the man's shoulders and chest. Jefferson used his
free hand to steady the screaming child.
  With her power still flowing through outstretched hands,
Prue caught the candidate's eye as the wheel
carried him toward the top. Their gazes locked for a
few eternal seconds in which Prue willed
Jefferson to hang on. She saw his grip tighten
on the bar and Paul's leg before the dangling bucket
rounded the apex of the circle and moved Jefferson out
of sight and beyond her control.
  A shrill wind whistled through the framework of the
wheel as Prue and Piper slipped back into their
seat Prue leaned over the safety bar, holding her

  breath as she looked down. What used to be
Paul's side of the seat was now the top. It
blocked her view except for one of Paul's
legs and Jefferson's braced foot. As the wheel
slowed down and came to a grinding halt, the boy
stopped screaming.
  "Well, that was interesting," Piper said. The
bucket rocked as she settled back to wait while
the bodyguards and a park emergency crew rushed
to remove Noel Jefferson and Paul from the swinging
bucket underneath.
  Prue slumped, then tensed when she heard the
whistle of Athulak's cry sweeping in from above.
  "What's that?" Piper frowned as Prue gripped
her hand.
  "Hang on." Prue clung to Piper, relying
on the power of the charm in Piper's pocket
to protect both of them from Athulak's cutting
wrath. She realized that they had been so engrossed with
saving Jefferson, they hadn't given any thought as
to whether the vengeful wind spirit would be an ongoing threat
to them.
  As the piercing sound closed in, Prue shut her
eyes. Her hair flew wildly in the air churned
up by Athulak's tempestuous approach. A short
cry escaped her as a puff of bitter cold
caressed her cheek.
  Then all was still.

  I hoebe had
  seen everyinu caret as she siowiy wound
  her way around the kiddie rides and games toward
the Ferris wheel. Once she had regained enough
strength to walk, she had not been willing to sit and
wait. It would take more than a throbbing headache and
stomach cramps to keep her away from her sisters
during a crisis. They never knew when the Power of
Three might be needed.
  Apparently, it hadn't been needed this time.
Phoebe paused as the hanging bucket seat with
Noel Jefferson and Paul came to a stop a few
feet off the ground.
  Wary of getting too close to anyone, Phoebe
walked around the edge of the crowd that had gathered to watch
the drama unfold. Flashes went off and cameras
whirred as the news teams attached to Jefferson used
every available second to record the

  remarkable story. Phoebe grinned, imagining the
evening lead on all the news channels.
  "Congressional candidate saves himself and boy from
death dive." Every TV report and newspaper would
carry a variation of the same theme. It was the top
story, Phoebe realized, even though no one would
ever know what had really transpired high on the
Ferris wheel.
  A camera operator bolted from the crowd, hitting
Phoebe in the shoulder as he flew by.
  "Pardon me!" he yelled, but he kept on
running.
  Trying to beat the competition to the punch, Phoebe
thought. Too bad she didn't have time to tell him there
was nothing awful in his immediate future. It had been
pure luck that the man hadn't triggered a vision.
To avoid any more encounters, she eased into a clear
spot between the entrance and the exit for the ride.
  Standing on tiptoe, Phoebe waved at Piper
and Prue, but they had their eyes closed and didn't
see her. She wasn't surprised they were shaken.
Standing backward in a swinging Ferris wheel seat
seventy feet off the ground would rattle anyone's
nerves, even a witch's.
  As soon as Jefferson was on solid ground and
Paul was in his mother's arms, a maintenance team went
to work on the damaged bucket. When the bolts were
loosened, they'd drop the bucket and push it aside
so the operator could unload the rest of his
passengers. It would probably be a few minutes
before Piper and Prue could get off.
  Several park cops helped Jefferson's two
security


  guards move the crowd back so the paramedics and the
lucky survivors could get out without being crushed in
the crowd.
  Watching Jefferson's guards, Phoebe was
reminded of just how lucky she had been the night before.
She had lain awake worrying that they might not be with
their boss when disaster struck, and she had been right.
The quirks of fate had worked in her and Noel
Jefferson's favor this time, but relying on
secondhand visions was a mistake she would never
make again.
  When the wheel moved, Phoebe stepped closer so
Piper and Prue would see her when they emerged.
Jefferson waved off the paramedics as he walked
down the entrance ramp, and the woman refused
to relinquish her son. The uniformed medics pointed
toward their emergency vehicle. Paul's mom
nodded, but she stayed with Jefferson. The boy rested
his head on her shoulder with his arms and legs wrapped
around her.
  The candidate looked shaken, but he was in total
control of himself and the situation. The press and the
public would eat up the hero angle. Although Noel
Jefferson deserved to represent the district on
merit, his daring feat on the Ferris wheel had
probably just won him the election.
  The woman paused when she came abreast of
Phoebe. "Hello! I'm so glad you've
recovered from your little run-in with Paul." She
shifted her right arm to support him and brushed back
her hair with her left hand. Then she touched
Phoebe's arm.

  Phoebe flinched and braced herself, but the vision she
expected didn't come.
  "I was so worried," the woman went on, "but your
sister seemed to know what she was doing."
  "Prue is very competent." Phoebe smiled,
impressed that the woman cared enough to mention the incident,
especially since her son had just had such a harrowing
experience. It was easy to understand why Jefferson
liked her. She'd make the perfect
politician's wife.
  Realizing the woman had stopped, Jefferson
turned back with a nod and a smile at Phoebe.
Every vote counts, Phoebe thought, amused. She was
taken by surprise when Jefferson touched her arm.
"Lenore told me what happened."
  Phoebe swayed as an image of San
Francisco, bathed in sunshine under a blue sky
and seen from afar, swept through her mind. It wasn't
like a normal vision or even those that had plagued her
since Athulak had granted her wish. It was a
precious glimpse of tomorrow, a fleeting gift that
erased the horrors she had absorbed from Stephen
Tremaine.
  And if she was lucky, Phoebe thought, it was the
last unusual vision she would have compliments of
Athulak. She hadn't experienced any
premonitions when the reporter and Lenore had touched
her. Still, that wasn't proof the wish Athulak had
granted had been nullified. She wouldn't have a
vision if nothing awful loomed in Lenore's and the
reporter's futures, either.
  "Excuse me, ma'am." The ride operator
gripped


  Phoebe's shoulders and eased her aside so he
could get to his controls.
  Phoebe's hopes rose when no images about the
ride operator flooded her mind.
  "Are you certain you're okay?" Jefferson
asked, frowning. "No bumps on the head or
anything?"
  "I've never felt better, thanks."
Overcome with emotion, Phoebe quickly changed the
subject. She couldn't explain that his survival
had prevented San Francisco from being blown off
the map in a future that no longer existed-or that her
ability to see that future seemed to be back
to normal. "How's Paul doing? That must have been
pretty scary up there, huh? But you were so brave."
  Paul smiled shyly. I
  "He'll be fine." The woman hffugged the boy
a little tighter. "He still wants a doughnut."
  "The VIP tent has really good doughnuts,"
Phoebe said. "I had three!"
  Paul giggled.
  Jefferson gently rubbed the boy's back. "Can
you eat three, Paul?"
  "Yep, but I don't want any more Ferris
wheel rides, Uncle Noel."
  "Now, there's a campaign promise I can
make and keep." Jefferson laughed.
  Phoebe cocked her head, curious. "Uncle
Noel?"
  Jefferson nodded and slipped his arm around the
woman. "This is my sister, Lenore."
  "Really?" Phoebe nodded, then pointed toward the
gate as Piper and Prue dashed through and ran over
to join them. "These are my sisters, Piper-was

  Piper extended her hand. "Hey, there."
  "Hello, Piper." Jefferson shook Piper's
hand, but his eyes were on Prue. The electrifying
chemistry that crackled between them was tangible. When the
mustache and his lean, mean partner stepped forward
to intervene, the candidate waved them away.
  "comand Prue. Professional photographer,
single, and free for the rest of the afternoon." Phoebe
felt like her old mischievous self when Prue
flushed with embarrassment, but she didn't feel
bad. Prue was too stuffy to make a move on her
own, and Jefferson was obviously hooked. Even
better, Phoebe realized. Her headache was
fading, and she hardly noticed the gurgle in her
stomach.
  "Mr. Jefferson, I'm afraid my sister-was
Prue hesitated as Jefferson clasped her hand in
both of his. "comis, uh, still a bit addled from the
heat."
  "You kept me from falling." Jefferson continued
to stare into Prue's startled eyes.
  "No, I-was Prue flashed a wide-eyed glance
at Phoebe, but Phoebe was too stunned
to respond.
  "No, really," Jefferson said. "I know it
sounds strange, but it felt as if you were giving me the
will and the strength to hang on." Aware that everyone was
staring at him, Jefferson cleared his throat. "And
I, uh, could use some new head shots."
  Prue nodded. "We can probably work something
out."
  "We should talk about it over lunch," Jefferson
said. As he led her away with Lenore and Paul,
Prue looked back over her shoulder and zinged the


  two security men bringing up the rear with a smug
smile.
  Piper watched them for a moment, then turned
to Phoebe with a sad, wistful sigh. "Don't you just
love happy endings."
  "Yep, but since Noel is going to be elected,
it won't get too serious. I don't think
Prue wants to move to Washington, D.c."
Phoebe's eyes widened, and she struggled to keep
a straight face when she saw Leo emerge from the
crowd behind Piper. He held his finger up to his
mouth.
  "She certainly doesn't fit the profile of the
sweet, unassuming political wife." Piper
squealed when Leo covered her eyes with his hands.
Before he could get out a "guess who," she jabbed him
in the stomach with her elbow.
  Phoebe winced as the White Lighter grunted and
grimaced. "Hi, Leo," she said.
  "Leo!" Mortified and thrilled, Piper
covered her mouth and stared as Leo straightened up, still
clutching his stomach. Regaining her wits, she
immediately launched into a typical Piper-style
tirade. "Darn it, Leo! I didn't know it
was-was
  Without a word, Leo placed his hands on Piper's
face and kissed her.
  "comy." Eyes brimming with joy, Piper threw
her arms around Leo's neck and hugged him. After a
moment, she released him, stepped back, and eyed him
sternly. "How long?"
  "They promised me three days, maybe more."
Leo hesitated. "Unless there's a planet-wide
catastrophe of some kind."

  "Not a problem," Piper said as she linked arms.
"We already took care of the planet-wide
catastrophes for this week."
  "Big time," Phoebe added.
  "So I heard." Leo smiled at Piper with
adoring eyes. "What would you like to do first?"
  "First, I want to ride the merry-go-round ten
times. After that, we're going back to my booth
to make sure Hard Crackers is set up and
ready to rock and roll. Then we're going to dance the
afternoon away because that's what people do at P3." As
Piper ran through her to-do list, Leo's
expression segued from anticipation to resignation.
"When the bazaar shuts down at eight, then we can go
home."
  "How many times do you want to ride the carousel?"
Leo asked as they strolled away hand in hand.
  "Ten. And I'm going to count." Piper stopped
suddenly and whirled to face Phoebe. "Tell
Rick he can have the rest of the day off. He was just
hanging around waiting to see you anyway."
  Oh, yeah, Phoebe thought. Rick.
  "You're a very strange girl, you know that?" Rick
kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes straight
ahead as he walked beside Phoebe toward the stage
pavilion.
  "You think so?" Phoebe asked, her eyes wide
and innocent.
  "Yeah." Rick nodded, not happy. "This is the
first time a girl's ever asked me to go on her date
with another guy."


  "It's not a typical date," Phoebe said.
She was secretly pleased that Rick was so smitten
he had agreed to come along. The only reason she
had pushed the joke this far was because he took everything
seriously and she couldn't resist teasing him. Rick
was as hot as she remembered and as nice as she had
hoped, but his sense of humor lacked a comprehension
of satire and subtle sarcasm.
  Only half the folding chairs in front of the
stage were filled, and no one was sitting in the front
row. The old actor was already onstage, telling
stories, and Phoebe was thrilled when the audience
laughed at one of his jokes.
  "Come on. We can sit front
  row center." Phoebe
  motioned Rick to follow.
  Rick stopped dead. "That's Roy Hansen."
  "Who?" Phoebe looked around, then shrugged as
she turned back toward the pavilion.
  The old man caught her eye and waved as he
spoke into the mike. "Hey, there! How's my best
girl?"
  "Just fine!" Phoebe yelled back.
  "You know Roy Hansen, too?" Rick threw
up his hands in disbelief.
  "You mean"-Phoebe gestured toward the stage-"that
Roy Hansen?"
  "There's only one," Rick said. He stared at
the old man in awe. "Roy Hansen was the best
cowboy stunt man in Hollywood for thirty years
until he got trampled by a bucking bronco and
broke about a dozen bones. He's had a second
career as a bit

  player, but no one will ever top him on a horse.
Absolutely the best."
  "You're right about that. He's also my other date."
Phoebe smiled and winked.
  Rick finally caught on. Taking her arm, he
led her to the front row. "Think you can get me an
autograph?" he asked as they sat down.
  "Probably." Phoebe pressed closer when
Rick draped his arm over the back of her chair.
"It'll cost you dinner, though."
  Although Phoebe couldn't forget the problems her
secret life as a witch might bring to a
relationship, she couldn't stop enjoying life, either.
As Prue had said, when the real Mr. Right came
along, nothing else would matter except being together.
In the meantime, though, Phoebe intended to have as much
fun as possible.
  "That's the best deal I've made in a very long
time." Rick brushed her ear with his soft lips,
sending shivers up Phoebe's spine.
  "Hey!" Roy yelled. "No fair making out
with the old guy's girl."
  Rick raised his hands playing along.
  "Thank you. She's a corker, isn't she? Of
course, romance at my age can be downright
humiliating." Roy winked and patted his chest.
"When the old ticker gets beating too fast, my
false teeth fall out."
  The audience roared.
  "Woohoo!" Rick pumped his approval with his
fist.
  Phoebe laughed out loud, suddenly over-


  whelmed with relief and delight. Prue was having
lunch with a future congressman. Leo had come
home to Piper. Athulak was gone, the world was safe,
and she had won the hearts of two totally hot men.
  Today the Charmed Ones were batting a thousand.


  About the Author
  Diana G. Gallagher lives in Florida with
her husband, Marty Burke; four dogs; four
cats; and a cranky parrot. Before becoming a
full-time writer, she made her living in a
variety of occupations, including hunter seat
equitation instructor, folk musician, and
fantasy artist. Best known for her hand-colored
prints depicting the doglike activities of
Woof: The House Dragon, she won a Hugo for
Best Fan Artist in 1988.
  Diana's first science fiction novel, The
Alien Dark, was published in 1990. Since then
she has written forty intermediate reader and teen
novels for Pocket Books in several series,
including Star Trek for young readers, The Secret
World of Alex Mack, Are You Afraid of the
Dark?, Salem's Tails, and Sabrina, the
Teenage Witch. Her first (adult) Buffy the
Vampire Slayer novel, Obsidian Fate,
appeared in September 1999 and was followed by two
additional Buffy novels, Prime Evil and
Doomsday Deck. Beware What You Wish is her
first novel in the Charmed series.