So long, farewell - A Kind of Magic
Okay, time to organize my writing life. I seem to get so many plotbunnies all at once, but I don't have the focus to finish them all. Some of these are four or five years old while others are fairly recent. If you want to take one and run with it, please do. But now it's time for me to say good-bye to them.
Crossover: Highlander/Charmed
Pairing: Richie/Paige
Disclaimer: All things Highlander belong to Gregory Widen, Rysher Entertainment, and Davis-Panzer. All things Charmed belong to Constance M. Burge and Spelling Entertainment. I only own my bad guy and any other characters that don’t appear in either series.
Author’s Note: This is completely AU and set way after season five of Highlander and during season five of Charmed. In my world, Richie is still alive. Denial…it’s not just a river in Egypt.
Chapter One
“Yeah, Mac. I got here in one piece.” A pause. “Yeah, I start the job at the auto shop in a week.” Another pause. “Yeah, all my classes are ready.” Richie Ryan leaned against one of the walls of his new apartment, gripping his cell phone. He sighed as he listened to the constant droning of his former boss and mentor Duncan MacLeod as he went on and on about how to be careful while in San Francisco.
His friend Micah Raymond just chuckled as Richie rolled his blue eyes at him. Shaking his head, Micah hefted the last box from the moving van into the bedroom, and then crashed onto the soft dark green couch sitting in the living room. He lay there, listening to Richie’s side of the phone conversation and smiled. He had known Duncan for a long time, and he knew that the older Immortal thought of Richie as a little brother.
Richie continued to banter with Duncan on the phone. “Mac, I’m twenty-eight years old; I’m not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself.” He listened for a few minutes then sighed. “Yes, I know where my sword is. Yes, I know I should carry it at all times. I promise I won’t leave it in the apartment. Yeah, yeah, there can be only one. I know the whole shtick.” He rolled his eyes again as Duncan went into another lecture. “Mac…Mac, I know how serious the game is.” Another pause. “I’m not trivializing it; I’ve known about it for ten years now. I’ll be fine; I promise. Good bye.” He groaned as he hung up the cell and sat down next to Micah.
“MacLeod is still worried about you moving out on your own, isn’t he?” Micah asked as he looked up at his younger friend.
“Yeah, he keeps forgetting that I’ve taken my share of heads before. Sometimes he acts just like…”
“An overprotective big brother?”
“Yeah.”
Micah shrugged and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. My mentor fussed over me for a hundred years. In fact, he still makes me check in with him every year. I suppose they just get so attached that it’s hard to let go.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Richie agreed as he surveyed his new place. “I just wish Mac would stop treating me like the screwed-up kid I used to be. I’ve changed a lot in the last ten years. I’m going back to school, got a new place here in San Francisco. Things are good.”
“But you’ll always have that youthful nineteen-year-old look,” Micah joked with a grin.
“Yeah, thanks. That’s not my fault, man.” Richie punched him hard in the arm. “But thanks for helping me move. There would’ve been no way I could have gotten that stuff up the steps on my own.”
“Hell with the steps. There would’ve been no way you could have gotten all that stuff on your bike.” Micah stood up and stretched out his tall, lanky frame. He grabbed his coat from the back of a chair and put it on. “Well, I’ve gotta go. Rachel gets off work in a little while, and I need to get the U-haul back before she picks me up.”
Richie smiled as he thought about his friend’s wife. “How do you do it, man? How were you able to find a woman who would put up with your Immortality?”
Micah shrugged. “I don’t know. Luck?”
“That’s gotta be it, especially when she’s that pretty.” Richie stood up as well, grabbed the nearest box, and started cutting into it. “You sure you don’t mind taking back the U-haul alone?”
“Nah, I’ve done it before. I’ll be okay.” Micah made his way to the door and opened it.
“Well, okay, man. Anyway, I’ll catch you later, all right?”
“Sure, man.” Richie walked over to the door and thanked him again. They shook hands and made plans to meet later in the week. With that, Micah left the younger Immortal to sort out his mess of an apartment.
********************
Micah pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he crossed the large parking lot of the U-haul place. He made his way towards the parking garage where he was suppose to meet his wife. The cold, late afternoon wind bit at his face and forcefully lifted his thick brown curls. For once, he was very thankful that the wind was the only thing that he could feel.
Unfortunately, his relief was short-lived. The minute he reached the lower deck of the garage, he felt the familiar sensation in his bones. Another Immortal was nearby. Looking for the source of the signature, he stood perfectly still and surveyed the area.
“Who’s there?” he demanded. “Show yourself!”
He didn’t have to wait long. A tall man wearing a black trench coat appeared from the shadows. His dark eyes were as cold as the wind, and his long, blond hair whipped in the breeze. Never saying a word, he calmly walked towards the other Immortal and sized him up and down.
Micah narrowed his blue eyes. “I’m Micah Raymond. Who are you, and what do you want?” he demanded.
The huge man was quiet for a long moment. “Nothing much, really. Call me Damon; I’ve come for your Quickening.”
Micah reached under his own coat and felt the metal hilt of his broadsword. “You wanna do it out here in the open or shall we step inside?”
Without answering him, the quiet blond turned and walked further into the garage. Never one to run away from a challenge, Micah cautiously followed him. The two men found a deserted corner of the deck and faced each other. Richie’s friend quickly brandished his broadsword and took a fighting stance. The other man, however, produced no sword. He just stood there and stared at his opponent.
“It’s going to be kind of hard to take my head without a sword,” Micah quipped.
“Oh, I won’t need a sword.”
Micah laughed. “Cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you? I’m three hundred years old. As you can see, I don’t die very easily.”
“We will see.” With that soft statement, the tall blond held his hand out in front of him. He opened it with his palm facing upwards as he chanted some words in a strange language.
None of this bothered Micah. He figured he could take this loon’s head without any problem. His confidence disappeared very quickly, though, when he saw a clear bubble form in the other man’s hand. Before he could move, a powerful streak of lightening flew out of the bubble and struck him in the chest, pushing him backwards. His broadsword landed with a loud clatter beside him. Excruciating pain seared through his limbs and caused him to scream out. It felt as if every one of his organs were on fire. Then, everything went black.
The mysterious blond man closed his hand, and the bubble disappeared. He walked over to the body lying on the ground and checked for a pulse. Once again, he had been successful. Smiling, he picked up the broadsword and stood up. This weapon would be a lovely addition to his collection. Placing it inside his jacket, he looked down at the man once more. Foolish Immortals. There were other ways to take their life forces without taking their heads. With one swift kick to the man’s head, he disappeared into a cloud of thin smoke, leaving Micah dead permanently.
* * * *
Just one more feather, Paige Matthews thought as she held a small, brown feather above the already smoking pot. Closing her hazel eyes and silently praying that this would work, she dropped it into the bubbling mixture. When nothing happened, she slowly opened her eyes and peered into the pot, confused. “Maybe it needs something else,” she mumbled.
She turned, opened the glass cabinets behind her, and read the labels off the various bottles inside. Lavender, sage, jasmine. None of them sounded like they should be added. Finally, her eyes landed on a bottle labeled “green powder”. That one sounded interesting. She plucked it off the shelf and opened it. The pleasant peppermint smell coming from it had to be a good sign, right?
Paige took a pinch of it and held it over the mixture. “Here goes nothing,” she said and dropped it into the pot. Within a few seconds, the entire mixture exploded, sending her flying sideways across the kitchen. When she landed on the floor, she looked up to see what had happened. As the smoke cleared, her heart fell. The entire kitchen was a sickly green color. Piper was going to kill her.
She didn’t have to wait long for her oldest sister’s reaction. The minute she stood up, she met the wide brown eyes of Piper Halliwell-Wyatt.
“What…on…Earth?” her oldest sister managed to stumble out.
“Uh…we were attacked by evil leprechauns, and I had to stop them?” Paige offered with a nervous laugh.
Piper slowly walked around the kitchen, her eyes still wide, and her mouth hanging open. “Green. My kitchen is green.” She turned to Paige. “What happened?”
Paige nervously fiddled with her red hair. “Well, I had an idea for a potion that could probably help us blend into our environments, like chameleons, if we ever needed it. So I thought I would try to make it.”
“Paige, you could have blown yourself and the kitchen sky high.”
The younger woman looked at strands of her hair. “At least it didn’t change my hair color this time,” she offered positively.
Piper sighed and continued to survey the mess. “Why didn’t you call me? We could have worked on this together.”
Paige simply shrugged. “I wanted to try something on my own, have a potion of my own in the book. I guess this one won’t be it.”
“I should think not.” Piper continued to survey the room, still stunned.
Paige bit her lip and remained where she stood. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“No, I’m not mad, but I do still wish you had called me. You’re still pretty new to the whole magic thing; I could have helped you.”
The redhead rolled her eyes. “I’ve been a witch for almost year now. It’s about time I tried things on my own, learn more about my powers.”
Piper turned to her sister and sighed. “I know that, but you should take baby steps. You shouldn’t be writing your own potions yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Paige asked, a defensive edge to her voice. She crossed her arms over her chest.
The defensive tone was not lost on her oldest sister. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t practice, Paige. I’m only saying you should call Phoebe or me when you do.”
“Great. Here we go again. I should never do anything on my own, right? I’m only here just in case you need the power of three, right?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Yes, it is. That’s what you always say.”
“Paige, we’ve been through this before. You contribute a lot to this family.”
“But not when I want to do something magical by myself.” Fed up with the argument, the young witch stormed past her sister and into the foyer. Grabbing her keys and a jacket, she headed for the door. “I’m going out. I’m sorry about the kitchen, and I’ll clean it up when I get home.”
“Paige!” Piper followed her. “There’s no need to get upset. Paige!”
Paige didn’t hear her, though. She had already shut the door behind her and was making her way to her light green Volkswagen beetle.
Chapter Two
Wandering around the various streets outside his apartment building, one thought occurred to Richie. San Francisco was bigger than he thought it would be. There was so much to see and do, and he hoped that he would be able to see it all. True, Seacouver, Washington, was a big city in its own right, but it didn’t seem to have the culture or creativity that San Francisco had. As he ambled down the street, he surveyed the various shops and restaurants that lined it. There were clothing stores, bookshops, and several knickknack places, but one store in particular made him stop.
Across the street stood an art gallery. Normally, he wouldn’t have noticed it if it hadn’t been for the painting sitting in the window. He knew the style of it by heart; it was a Tessa Noel print. He glanced left and right, then crossed the street to get a better look at it.
It was as vibrant as he remembered. The swirl of the reds, yellows, and oranges that represented the sun was as bright as the day she had painted it. He recalled peeking into her studio every few minutes to watch her paint it. He had always been impressed by what she created.
Feeling compelled by the print, Richie wandered inside.
The gallery was quiet in the late afternoon; the only sound was of shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. Paintings and photographs lined the dark red walls with various sculptures dotting the floor. Richie sauntered past sculpture after sculpture until he saw one he recognized. It was one of his favorites that Tessa had done. Built completely out of steel rods, it showed a solitary man holding a sword.
As he neared the sculpture, his eyes landed on a beautiful redhead sitting on the bench in front of it. She seemed to stare intently at it and didn’t appear to see him as he walked up to her. Putting on his best smile, he sat down next to her.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” he whispered.
She looked over at him, surprised. “Excuse me?” she whispered back.
“Just saying that the sculpture was pretty.”
“Oh.” Her pretty face broke out into a smile that reached her hazel eyes. “Yeah, it is. It’s one of my favorites.”
Richie looked back at the sculpture. “Mine, too.” When she didn’t respond, he moved a little closer. “Not to sound clichéd or anything, but do you come here often?”
Amusement flashed in her eyes as she turned her attention back to him. “Are you serious? Are you actually picking me up in the middle of an art gallery?”
Richie chuckled. “I suppose I am.”
Paige tried to suppress a grin. “Well, in that case, yes, I do. I take it you don't?”
“Actually, I'm new around here.” Richie leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He indicated the statue. “My friend made that.”
Paige's eyes grew wide. “You knew Tessa Noel?”
“Yeah. She and my other friend Duncan gave me a job and got me off the streets. I spent a little over a year sweeping the floor of their antique shop.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
At that moment, Richie's cell phone sprang to life. He pulled it from the pocket of his jacket and almost turned it off when he saw the name. Rachel Raymond. Richie stood up.
“Let me take this, and I'll be right back,” he said.
Paige nodded her consent. Richie then strolled outside and flipped open the phone.
“Hello?”
“Richie, thank God.” Rachel's voice shook on the other end.
Fear knotted in Richie's gut. “What is it? What happened?” he asked.
“It's Micah.” She paused and took a deep breath. “He's dead. I found his body in the parking garage.” She took another shaky breath. “When he didn't meet me at the car, I got worried. I went looking for him and found him lying on the street. Richie, his head was still attached, and I couldn't find his sword.”
Richie leaned against the brick wall of the gallery. “Rachel, if his head is still attached, he's not permanently dead.”
“That's just it!” Rachel's voice rose in pitch. “I waited two hours, and he never woke up. I would've waited longer, but I heard sirens. The police are here now. Richie, I don't know what to do.”
“All right, calm down. I'll be there in a few minutes.” After saying goodbye, Richie closed the phone. He started back to his car when he remembered Paige.
Ducking back into the gallery, he found her in the same spot.
“Paige?”
She looked up and her smile faded. Richie thought his face must show how awful he felt.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“Something's come up. I've got to go.”
“Okay.” She quickly dug through her purse and produced a paper and pen. She jotted something onto it and shoved it into his hand. “Call me when you get a chance.”
“Will do. Thanks.” With that, he headed out of the gallery.
* * * *
Darryl Morris stood on the steps of the Halliwell manor, gathering the courage to knock on the door. He wasn't afraid of the sisters, but he hated turning to them for help on a case. He had been trained to handle criminals on his own. For years, he and his partner Andy Trudeau stuck to the policy -- see the body, put the clues together, find the killer. But ever since Andy died and Darryl found out the truth, each murder case grew stranger and stranger. Now the stranger
the case, the more he realized he needed the Halliwells' help, and his newest case was no exception.
He knocked on the door and waited. Within a few minutes, a lanky brunette with large brown eyes opened the door. Her smile brightened her entire face.
"Darryl, how are you?" She seemed to note the worried look in his dark eyes, and her smile faded. "What's wrong?"
"I wish I were here under better circumstances, Phoebe," Darryl answered. "Can I come in?"
“Of course.” Phoebe stepped back to let Darryl in and followed him into the foyer. She leaned on the banister and looked up the stairs. “Paige! Darryl's here! It's important!” She then led him into the living room where Piper sat reading.
Darryl heard the light clunk of footsteps descending the stairs. He turned around to see Paige appear at the landing, a cool look on her face. Her face brightened when she saw him, but returned to its cool look when she saw Piper. Piper set her book down and sighed.
“Are you going to give me the silent treatment forever?” she asked. Paige didn't answer. Piper threw her hands in the air. “Oh, for God's sake, you ruined my kitchen. I should be giving you the silent treatment.”
Darryl sent Phoebe a quizzical look.
“Don't ask,” she warned. “They've been like this for a few days now, ever since Paige turned the kitchen green.”
Darryl opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. Instead, he placed the folder he was carrying on the coffee table. “Ladies, you know I don't normally like to do this, but I'm out of ideas.” He opened the folder and pulled out three photographs. Each photo was of a single person - young, unharmed, and dead. All three Halliwells peered at them. “These bodies turned up over the past couple of weeks. All three appeared to have died from natural causes, but the coroner couldn't find anything wrong with them. No external damage, no internal damage, nothing. We did a search and none of them are connected.”
“And you think a demon did this?” Piper asked as she picked up one of the pictures.
“I thought a demon's MO was usually messy,” Paige said. She sat down next to Piper and surveyed the information in front of her.
“Yeah, so did I,” Darryl said. He turned to Phoebe. “I was hoping you might get something off them.”
Phoebe sat down on the other side of Piper. “You know I'm hit or miss most days, and my powers haven't been very reliable lately. I could try, though.” She picked up a picture of a handsome young man, possibly no older than thirty.
Darryl watched her, gauging her reaction. He didn't realize he held his breath until she gasped and her eyes closed. “Phoebe?”
“I don't see him, but there's another guy. Blond hair, blue eyes. Carrying a sword. He's facing another man, also blond. He has a ball. He's going to...” Phoebe dropped the picture as her eyes flew open. “This kid's going to get the life sucked out of him!”
Paige was on her feet. “Where?”
“Wait. We don't even know what we're fighting,” Piper said as she, too, stood.
Darryl collected his pictures. “So you do think it's a demon?”
Phoebe shook her head. “I don't know if it's what we're looking for or how that blond kid is connected to all of this, but the psychic energy off that picture was pretty strong.” She patted Darryl's shoulder. “We're going to find out what's going on, and we're going to stop it.”
Crossover: Highlander/Charmed
Pairing: Richie/Paige
Disclaimer: All things Highlander belong to Gregory Widen, Rysher Entertainment, and Davis-Panzer. All things Charmed belong to Constance M. Burge and Spelling Entertainment. I only own my bad guy and any other characters that don’t appear in either series.
Author’s Note: This is completely AU and set way after season five of Highlander and during season five of Charmed. In my world, Richie is still alive. Denial…it’s not just a river in Egypt.
Chapter One
“Yeah, Mac. I got here in one piece.” A pause. “Yeah, I start the job at the auto shop in a week.” Another pause. “Yeah, all my classes are ready.” Richie Ryan leaned against one of the walls of his new apartment, gripping his cell phone. He sighed as he listened to the constant droning of his former boss and mentor Duncan MacLeod as he went on and on about how to be careful while in San Francisco.
His friend Micah Raymond just chuckled as Richie rolled his blue eyes at him. Shaking his head, Micah hefted the last box from the moving van into the bedroom, and then crashed onto the soft dark green couch sitting in the living room. He lay there, listening to Richie’s side of the phone conversation and smiled. He had known Duncan for a long time, and he knew that the older Immortal thought of Richie as a little brother.
Richie continued to banter with Duncan on the phone. “Mac, I’m twenty-eight years old; I’m not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself.” He listened for a few minutes then sighed. “Yes, I know where my sword is. Yes, I know I should carry it at all times. I promise I won’t leave it in the apartment. Yeah, yeah, there can be only one. I know the whole shtick.” He rolled his eyes again as Duncan went into another lecture. “Mac…Mac, I know how serious the game is.” Another pause. “I’m not trivializing it; I’ve known about it for ten years now. I’ll be fine; I promise. Good bye.” He groaned as he hung up the cell and sat down next to Micah.
“MacLeod is still worried about you moving out on your own, isn’t he?” Micah asked as he looked up at his younger friend.
“Yeah, he keeps forgetting that I’ve taken my share of heads before. Sometimes he acts just like…”
“An overprotective big brother?”
“Yeah.”
Micah shrugged and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. My mentor fussed over me for a hundred years. In fact, he still makes me check in with him every year. I suppose they just get so attached that it’s hard to let go.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Richie agreed as he surveyed his new place. “I just wish Mac would stop treating me like the screwed-up kid I used to be. I’ve changed a lot in the last ten years. I’m going back to school, got a new place here in San Francisco. Things are good.”
“But you’ll always have that youthful nineteen-year-old look,” Micah joked with a grin.
“Yeah, thanks. That’s not my fault, man.” Richie punched him hard in the arm. “But thanks for helping me move. There would’ve been no way I could have gotten that stuff up the steps on my own.”
“Hell with the steps. There would’ve been no way you could have gotten all that stuff on your bike.” Micah stood up and stretched out his tall, lanky frame. He grabbed his coat from the back of a chair and put it on. “Well, I’ve gotta go. Rachel gets off work in a little while, and I need to get the U-haul back before she picks me up.”
Richie smiled as he thought about his friend’s wife. “How do you do it, man? How were you able to find a woman who would put up with your Immortality?”
Micah shrugged. “I don’t know. Luck?”
“That’s gotta be it, especially when she’s that pretty.” Richie stood up as well, grabbed the nearest box, and started cutting into it. “You sure you don’t mind taking back the U-haul alone?”
“Nah, I’ve done it before. I’ll be okay.” Micah made his way to the door and opened it.
“Well, okay, man. Anyway, I’ll catch you later, all right?”
“Sure, man.” Richie walked over to the door and thanked him again. They shook hands and made plans to meet later in the week. With that, Micah left the younger Immortal to sort out his mess of an apartment.
********************
Micah pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he crossed the large parking lot of the U-haul place. He made his way towards the parking garage where he was suppose to meet his wife. The cold, late afternoon wind bit at his face and forcefully lifted his thick brown curls. For once, he was very thankful that the wind was the only thing that he could feel.
Unfortunately, his relief was short-lived. The minute he reached the lower deck of the garage, he felt the familiar sensation in his bones. Another Immortal was nearby. Looking for the source of the signature, he stood perfectly still and surveyed the area.
“Who’s there?” he demanded. “Show yourself!”
He didn’t have to wait long. A tall man wearing a black trench coat appeared from the shadows. His dark eyes were as cold as the wind, and his long, blond hair whipped in the breeze. Never saying a word, he calmly walked towards the other Immortal and sized him up and down.
Micah narrowed his blue eyes. “I’m Micah Raymond. Who are you, and what do you want?” he demanded.
The huge man was quiet for a long moment. “Nothing much, really. Call me Damon; I’ve come for your Quickening.”
Micah reached under his own coat and felt the metal hilt of his broadsword. “You wanna do it out here in the open or shall we step inside?”
Without answering him, the quiet blond turned and walked further into the garage. Never one to run away from a challenge, Micah cautiously followed him. The two men found a deserted corner of the deck and faced each other. Richie’s friend quickly brandished his broadsword and took a fighting stance. The other man, however, produced no sword. He just stood there and stared at his opponent.
“It’s going to be kind of hard to take my head without a sword,” Micah quipped.
“Oh, I won’t need a sword.”
Micah laughed. “Cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you? I’m three hundred years old. As you can see, I don’t die very easily.”
“We will see.” With that soft statement, the tall blond held his hand out in front of him. He opened it with his palm facing upwards as he chanted some words in a strange language.
None of this bothered Micah. He figured he could take this loon’s head without any problem. His confidence disappeared very quickly, though, when he saw a clear bubble form in the other man’s hand. Before he could move, a powerful streak of lightening flew out of the bubble and struck him in the chest, pushing him backwards. His broadsword landed with a loud clatter beside him. Excruciating pain seared through his limbs and caused him to scream out. It felt as if every one of his organs were on fire. Then, everything went black.
The mysterious blond man closed his hand, and the bubble disappeared. He walked over to the body lying on the ground and checked for a pulse. Once again, he had been successful. Smiling, he picked up the broadsword and stood up. This weapon would be a lovely addition to his collection. Placing it inside his jacket, he looked down at the man once more. Foolish Immortals. There were other ways to take their life forces without taking their heads. With one swift kick to the man’s head, he disappeared into a cloud of thin smoke, leaving Micah dead permanently.
* * * *
Just one more feather, Paige Matthews thought as she held a small, brown feather above the already smoking pot. Closing her hazel eyes and silently praying that this would work, she dropped it into the bubbling mixture. When nothing happened, she slowly opened her eyes and peered into the pot, confused. “Maybe it needs something else,” she mumbled.
She turned, opened the glass cabinets behind her, and read the labels off the various bottles inside. Lavender, sage, jasmine. None of them sounded like they should be added. Finally, her eyes landed on a bottle labeled “green powder”. That one sounded interesting. She plucked it off the shelf and opened it. The pleasant peppermint smell coming from it had to be a good sign, right?
Paige took a pinch of it and held it over the mixture. “Here goes nothing,” she said and dropped it into the pot. Within a few seconds, the entire mixture exploded, sending her flying sideways across the kitchen. When she landed on the floor, she looked up to see what had happened. As the smoke cleared, her heart fell. The entire kitchen was a sickly green color. Piper was going to kill her.
She didn’t have to wait long for her oldest sister’s reaction. The minute she stood up, she met the wide brown eyes of Piper Halliwell-Wyatt.
“What…on…Earth?” her oldest sister managed to stumble out.
“Uh…we were attacked by evil leprechauns, and I had to stop them?” Paige offered with a nervous laugh.
Piper slowly walked around the kitchen, her eyes still wide, and her mouth hanging open. “Green. My kitchen is green.” She turned to Paige. “What happened?”
Paige nervously fiddled with her red hair. “Well, I had an idea for a potion that could probably help us blend into our environments, like chameleons, if we ever needed it. So I thought I would try to make it.”
“Paige, you could have blown yourself and the kitchen sky high.”
The younger woman looked at strands of her hair. “At least it didn’t change my hair color this time,” she offered positively.
Piper sighed and continued to survey the mess. “Why didn’t you call me? We could have worked on this together.”
Paige simply shrugged. “I wanted to try something on my own, have a potion of my own in the book. I guess this one won’t be it.”
“I should think not.” Piper continued to survey the room, still stunned.
Paige bit her lip and remained where she stood. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“No, I’m not mad, but I do still wish you had called me. You’re still pretty new to the whole magic thing; I could have helped you.”
The redhead rolled her eyes. “I’ve been a witch for almost year now. It’s about time I tried things on my own, learn more about my powers.”
Piper turned to her sister and sighed. “I know that, but you should take baby steps. You shouldn’t be writing your own potions yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Paige asked, a defensive edge to her voice. She crossed her arms over her chest.
The defensive tone was not lost on her oldest sister. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t practice, Paige. I’m only saying you should call Phoebe or me when you do.”
“Great. Here we go again. I should never do anything on my own, right? I’m only here just in case you need the power of three, right?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Yes, it is. That’s what you always say.”
“Paige, we’ve been through this before. You contribute a lot to this family.”
“But not when I want to do something magical by myself.” Fed up with the argument, the young witch stormed past her sister and into the foyer. Grabbing her keys and a jacket, she headed for the door. “I’m going out. I’m sorry about the kitchen, and I’ll clean it up when I get home.”
“Paige!” Piper followed her. “There’s no need to get upset. Paige!”
Paige didn’t hear her, though. She had already shut the door behind her and was making her way to her light green Volkswagen beetle.
Chapter Two
Wandering around the various streets outside his apartment building, one thought occurred to Richie. San Francisco was bigger than he thought it would be. There was so much to see and do, and he hoped that he would be able to see it all. True, Seacouver, Washington, was a big city in its own right, but it didn’t seem to have the culture or creativity that San Francisco had. As he ambled down the street, he surveyed the various shops and restaurants that lined it. There were clothing stores, bookshops, and several knickknack places, but one store in particular made him stop.
Across the street stood an art gallery. Normally, he wouldn’t have noticed it if it hadn’t been for the painting sitting in the window. He knew the style of it by heart; it was a Tessa Noel print. He glanced left and right, then crossed the street to get a better look at it.
It was as vibrant as he remembered. The swirl of the reds, yellows, and oranges that represented the sun was as bright as the day she had painted it. He recalled peeking into her studio every few minutes to watch her paint it. He had always been impressed by what she created.
Feeling compelled by the print, Richie wandered inside.
The gallery was quiet in the late afternoon; the only sound was of shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. Paintings and photographs lined the dark red walls with various sculptures dotting the floor. Richie sauntered past sculpture after sculpture until he saw one he recognized. It was one of his favorites that Tessa had done. Built completely out of steel rods, it showed a solitary man holding a sword.
As he neared the sculpture, his eyes landed on a beautiful redhead sitting on the bench in front of it. She seemed to stare intently at it and didn’t appear to see him as he walked up to her. Putting on his best smile, he sat down next to her.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” he whispered.
She looked over at him, surprised. “Excuse me?” she whispered back.
“Just saying that the sculpture was pretty.”
“Oh.” Her pretty face broke out into a smile that reached her hazel eyes. “Yeah, it is. It’s one of my favorites.”
Richie looked back at the sculpture. “Mine, too.” When she didn’t respond, he moved a little closer. “Not to sound clichéd or anything, but do you come here often?”
Amusement flashed in her eyes as she turned her attention back to him. “Are you serious? Are you actually picking me up in the middle of an art gallery?”
Richie chuckled. “I suppose I am.”
Paige tried to suppress a grin. “Well, in that case, yes, I do. I take it you don't?”
“Actually, I'm new around here.” Richie leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He indicated the statue. “My friend made that.”
Paige's eyes grew wide. “You knew Tessa Noel?”
“Yeah. She and my other friend Duncan gave me a job and got me off the streets. I spent a little over a year sweeping the floor of their antique shop.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
At that moment, Richie's cell phone sprang to life. He pulled it from the pocket of his jacket and almost turned it off when he saw the name. Rachel Raymond. Richie stood up.
“Let me take this, and I'll be right back,” he said.
Paige nodded her consent. Richie then strolled outside and flipped open the phone.
“Hello?”
“Richie, thank God.” Rachel's voice shook on the other end.
Fear knotted in Richie's gut. “What is it? What happened?” he asked.
“It's Micah.” She paused and took a deep breath. “He's dead. I found his body in the parking garage.” She took another shaky breath. “When he didn't meet me at the car, I got worried. I went looking for him and found him lying on the street. Richie, his head was still attached, and I couldn't find his sword.”
Richie leaned against the brick wall of the gallery. “Rachel, if his head is still attached, he's not permanently dead.”
“That's just it!” Rachel's voice rose in pitch. “I waited two hours, and he never woke up. I would've waited longer, but I heard sirens. The police are here now. Richie, I don't know what to do.”
“All right, calm down. I'll be there in a few minutes.” After saying goodbye, Richie closed the phone. He started back to his car when he remembered Paige.
Ducking back into the gallery, he found her in the same spot.
“Paige?”
She looked up and her smile faded. Richie thought his face must show how awful he felt.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“Something's come up. I've got to go.”
“Okay.” She quickly dug through her purse and produced a paper and pen. She jotted something onto it and shoved it into his hand. “Call me when you get a chance.”
“Will do. Thanks.” With that, he headed out of the gallery.
* * * *
Darryl Morris stood on the steps of the Halliwell manor, gathering the courage to knock on the door. He wasn't afraid of the sisters, but he hated turning to them for help on a case. He had been trained to handle criminals on his own. For years, he and his partner Andy Trudeau stuck to the policy -- see the body, put the clues together, find the killer. But ever since Andy died and Darryl found out the truth, each murder case grew stranger and stranger. Now the stranger
the case, the more he realized he needed the Halliwells' help, and his newest case was no exception.
He knocked on the door and waited. Within a few minutes, a lanky brunette with large brown eyes opened the door. Her smile brightened her entire face.
"Darryl, how are you?" She seemed to note the worried look in his dark eyes, and her smile faded. "What's wrong?"
"I wish I were here under better circumstances, Phoebe," Darryl answered. "Can I come in?"
“Of course.” Phoebe stepped back to let Darryl in and followed him into the foyer. She leaned on the banister and looked up the stairs. “Paige! Darryl's here! It's important!” She then led him into the living room where Piper sat reading.
Darryl heard the light clunk of footsteps descending the stairs. He turned around to see Paige appear at the landing, a cool look on her face. Her face brightened when she saw him, but returned to its cool look when she saw Piper. Piper set her book down and sighed.
“Are you going to give me the silent treatment forever?” she asked. Paige didn't answer. Piper threw her hands in the air. “Oh, for God's sake, you ruined my kitchen. I should be giving you the silent treatment.”
Darryl sent Phoebe a quizzical look.
“Don't ask,” she warned. “They've been like this for a few days now, ever since Paige turned the kitchen green.”
Darryl opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. Instead, he placed the folder he was carrying on the coffee table. “Ladies, you know I don't normally like to do this, but I'm out of ideas.” He opened the folder and pulled out three photographs. Each photo was of a single person - young, unharmed, and dead. All three Halliwells peered at them. “These bodies turned up over the past couple of weeks. All three appeared to have died from natural causes, but the coroner couldn't find anything wrong with them. No external damage, no internal damage, nothing. We did a search and none of them are connected.”
“And you think a demon did this?” Piper asked as she picked up one of the pictures.
“I thought a demon's MO was usually messy,” Paige said. She sat down next to Piper and surveyed the information in front of her.
“Yeah, so did I,” Darryl said. He turned to Phoebe. “I was hoping you might get something off them.”
Phoebe sat down on the other side of Piper. “You know I'm hit or miss most days, and my powers haven't been very reliable lately. I could try, though.” She picked up a picture of a handsome young man, possibly no older than thirty.
Darryl watched her, gauging her reaction. He didn't realize he held his breath until she gasped and her eyes closed. “Phoebe?”
“I don't see him, but there's another guy. Blond hair, blue eyes. Carrying a sword. He's facing another man, also blond. He has a ball. He's going to...” Phoebe dropped the picture as her eyes flew open. “This kid's going to get the life sucked out of him!”
Paige was on her feet. “Where?”
“Wait. We don't even know what we're fighting,” Piper said as she, too, stood.
Darryl collected his pictures. “So you do think it's a demon?”
Phoebe shook her head. “I don't know if it's what we're looking for or how that blond kid is connected to all of this, but the psychic energy off that picture was pretty strong.” She patted Darryl's shoulder. “We're going to find out what's going on, and we're going to stop it.”