AUTHOR'S NOTE: "I'm wondering why Liam and Phoebe only had one kid. I don't know if I'll write that one. I think there's a tragedy there" Me in an email to Talula. I said I wouldn't write it but the idea took a hold and became the hardest story I've ever written. Hope you all think it was worth it. All feedback appreciated.
THANK YOUS: Talula for helping me to have the idea. Seneca Suter for proofreading and invaluable suggestions.
GENERAL DISCLAIMER: Based on the Spelling Productions television show, Charmed, created by Constance M. Burge. All Charmed characters are the property of Spelling Productions. All other characters created by me.
I was downstairs in the kitchen, eating breakfast. In her high chair was Philippa, my two-year-old daughter who'd just started being able to feed herself. Phoebe entered. She was looking pale, just like she had the last couple of days when she'd been waking up feeling none too well. I was starting to get worried.
"Pheebs, the bathroom again?" She just nodded glumly. "That makes four days in a row. You're going to the doctor." I decided. "I'll drag you there if I have to."
Phoebe smiled resignedly, "OK Liam, I'll go. Stop nagging. You're worse than Prue. Oh no!" The last came as Philippa picked up her cup of juice. It slipped from her grasp, headed toward the floor. As Pheebs shouted she made an involuntary gesture with her hand. And the room froze. I looked round expecting to see Prue and Piper, but they weren't there. Puzzled, I turned back to Phoebe and then a slow smile spread across my face.
"I must have a new power!" she said, her smile matching mine.
I shook my head, "No you don't." At her confused look, I continued. "Think about it, Pheebs. The last couple of days. The last couple of *mornings*. It's morning sickness. It looks like we've got a little time freezer. You're pregnant." I smiled even wider, "A Chinese take-out says I'm right"
I cancelled my appointments for the day, and we went the doctor's office to get Phoebe checked out. Chinese food never tasted so good as it did that night.
* * * Philippa ran to her mother, as she entered our house with her aunts. Prue and Piper had been babysitting while Pheebs and I went to get her first ultrasound scan. She clambered on to the sofa and hugged her mother's tummy, "Baba!"
The little two-year old was as excited as any of us. Prue, who absolutely loved being an aunt was ecstatic. Piper was equally happy, and determined that since Prue was admittedly Philippa's favourite aunt, the new arrival would be spoiled exclusively by her. Personally, I think she was especially pleased that the new little one took after her own power of stopping time. Indeed, the mountain of toys at the Manor demonstrated that she'd started the spoiling early.
I crossed to the drinks cabinet, poured a glass of wine each (sparkling water for Phoebe and a Dr Pepper for my daughter). Proudly I produced the first photo of what would in six months time be my son or daughter. Phoebe and I had chosen to preserve the mystery.
Prue and Piper cooed over the ultrasound picture, picking out a head and an arm. Then taking it back, I showed it to my existing child, "That's what your brother or sister looks like."
Philippa frowned, "Baba?" she asked pointing at the picture.
"That's right," I told her.
Philippa smiled satisfied at her deduction, "Baba," she said once more.
The months went past and blessedly, Phoebe's second pregnancy was a dream compared to the first. Having the same powers as her mother and father, the unborn Philippa's powers had combined with Phoebe's own, becoming uncontrollable, particularly that of premonition. What had begun with the unexpected channeling of the child's power by the mother turned ugly as Phoebe began to actually feel her premonitions and then physically manifest injuries that occurred in them. Eventually I'd been forced to bind my child's powers in order to protect my wife.
This time, to Phoebe's delight and the rest of the family's relief, the binding wasn't necessary, and my wife reveled in her second-hand ability to freeze time. Having two time freezers in the family sure surprised the lot of warlocks who came after us, a few of them specifically trying to harm Phoebe, or more accurately our child. Strangely, even the attacks were a relief. During the last pregnancy, the warlock ranks had been ominously quiet, right until Phoebe was almost to term at which point a demon had attacked the lone Phoebe, almost succeeding in finishing what her ungovernable powers had started.
Aside from the mystical considerations, there were practical ones to be made too. The fact that this would be our second child meant that we had to do some serious thinking about our family situation. The house we lived in only had two bedrooms. Would Philippa share a room? The house might just be big enough, but our small and aging car would never hold two children. We came to the conclusion that we'd need a new one--and I was hoping that I could convince Phoebe to let me have the turbo Saab I'd always wanted.
The hormones were another thing that had to be dealt with. Though we were overjoyed at the prospect of having another child, not everything was sweetness and light. Phoebe had the usual mood swings for me to dutifully cope with. Not to mention the cravings.
"Liam," said Phoebe softly. When there was no response, her voice went up a notch. "Liam. Wake up."
I started, then snuggled closer to her in my half-sleep. She had a loving smile on her face as she took in my sleep-tousled hair and still closed eyes. "God, but he looks handsome curled up like that. It's almost a crime to disturb him. He's been working so hard lately..." But she was desperate. With him still curled up against her side, she lowered her face to her husband's and kissed him softly. Unconsciously he kissed her back, then his eyes flicked open and he looked dreamily up at her.
Waking up with a woman's lips pressed to your own is hardly an unpleasant experience, but in this case it meant that she wanted something.
Being incredibly exhausted, I stared at my beautiful wife, then sighed inaudibly before I said, "What is it?"
"Ice-cream," she answered sweetly, "Double choc and praline. And it has…"
"I know," I groaned, blinking my eyes to dispel the last vestiges of what had been shaping up to be an extremely restful sleep. Ice cream had been the craving with Philippa too, but second time around, it had a novel, but totally frustrating twist. I continued for her, "...It has to be that totally delicious kind only stocked by the K-Mart that closes at nine, or the 24-7 on Jones, three blocks away."
Seeing my disheartened face, Phoebe looked down at me with puppy dog eyes. "Please," she asked in a spot-on imitation of my daughter.
"OK." I conceded. I got out of the bed--the very warm bed I observed longingly--quickly got dressed and headed downstairs. "I love you!" drifted down after me, and I shook my head with a rueful smile and a yawn. I was getting the keys to the car when I had a sudden thought. I crossed to the fridge and opened the door. A family size tub of ice cream materialized in the freezer section. Then delving into my wallet, I took out a ten-dollar bill, which disappeared from my hand. I spooned some ice cream into a bowl and took it up to Phoebe.
"That was fast!" she smiled.
"We had some in the freezer," I grinned.
My little ruse worked for a week, and I was quite satisfied with myself until a story broke on the News at Nine about the mysterious disappearing ice cream and the magically appearing ten-dollar bills at a local K-Mart. The ice cream was nowhere near as cold as Prue's eyes as my sisters-in-law and Leo both gave me The Personal Gain Lecture. I squirmed sheepishly under their glaring eyes, and even my 'I knew better, but I was just trying to be a loving husband…' arguments fell flat. Soon I was to find out that there were worse things even than a Halliwell inquisition.
Some time back, Phoebe had acquired the ability to see a vision that showed the events for the whole day to come, letting us know if anything untoward were scheduled to happen. Unfortunately, one side affect of her pregnancy was playing havoc with this power, meaning that she couldn't always manage to see it. But we weren't too worried about it. The life we led had made us cautious anyway, and we'd managed to survive before Phoebe's "Early Edition" as we called it. It just meant that we had to be a little more watchful than usual. But no matter how careful you are, you still can't always prevent things from going wrong. The ironic thing was that what went wrong wasn't even a demon. It was a man. And it was an accident.
* * * Phoebe was seven and a half months along and we were shopping downtown while Prue looked after Philippa. We'd popped into the bank to enquire about a car loan. Phoebe had finally succumbed and said we could get the Saab. After speaking with the loan officer, I was grinning happily and knelt down in front of Phoebe, babbling to her stomach, inquiring what colour car the baby wanted. Phoebe threw her head back and laughed, rubbing her stomach and playing along. We were just about to leave when two masked men entered the bank. They were carrying shotguns.
The first was tall and stocky, and looked like a pro. But it was the second robber who was the one that scared me. He was young, sweating and nervous, it was obviously his first job. He looked like he was on a hair trigger. Amidst the gasps and wails of the suddenly frightened bank patrons, the pair of robbers lined the customers against the wall. That done, the tall one turned to the cashier and demanded the money, gruffly telling his accomplice to cover the crowd.
Only an idiot would have tried something. Phoebe and I certainly were no idiots, and besides there were too many people in the bank to risk using our powers. But as ill fortune would have it, we had an idiot. An off duty cop.
The youngster anxiously glanced around to check on his partner. Recklessly, the cop pulled his piece and shouted, "Freeze! Lower your weapons!" The young one turned to face the cop. Seeing a gun, pointing at him this time, he just lost it. He fired. And missed. But the cop didn't, and the kid went down. Then as the cop fired again, the leader reacted and shot at the cop. He didn't miss either. The cop and the two robbers were on the floor, all three in ever-expanding pools of blood. All around us people screamed in horror and panic.
Taking stock of the situation, I quickly scanned the room, and then I looked down. Phoebe had been standing on my right, and near the now dead policeman. She'd caught the young robber's stray bullet and she was on the floor, blood gushing from a gaping hole in her stomach.
Shouting wordlessly, I wanted to banish Phoebe and myself straight to the hospital, but I couldn't. Not in the middle of that crowd. Around me the bank's alarms were sounding and people were shouting and milling around. The whole thing became a distant din faintly heard in my ear as I concentrated on my wife, and it seemed like an age had passed before the ambulance got there. Arriving at the hospital, Phoebe was taken straight to ER, while I sat outside in the corridor in a daze waiting to hear the fate of my wife and child.
Eventually a doctor came out of the room. The creases and lines of his face were drawn down in a grim mask that made me think that he must have delivered bad news a million times before, but never had gotten used to it. Shaking myself, I tried to pay attention to his words, but I hardly heard the explanation of what was wrong, what they were doing. Then he said something that cut straight to my heart. Words I'd heard before. "Mr Newland. I'm sorry; we can only save either the baby or Phoebe. It's a terrible decision but I have to ask…"
It was the premonition! I closed my eyes and let my memory drift back to Phoebe's first pregnancy, almost three years ago.
* * * Phoebe was only two months along and wasn't showing yet. She was in a playful mood, and her eyes flashed teasingly as she crossed the room. "Will you still love me," she began, "When I'm eight months pregnant and as large as a sumo wrestler?" As she said it, she patted her stomach lovingly.
"You know I…" I began, then stopped as I saw Phoebe tense and stiffen, in the throes of a sudden premonition.
A hospital room.
A bed surrounded by doctors and nurses. Something is terribly wrong.
The doctor turns and leaves the room.
On a chair in the corridor sits a man. It's Liam."Mr Newland. I'm sorry; we can only save either the baby or Phoebe. It's a terrible decision but I have to ask…"
I saw Phoebe relax slightly. She had stood in the centre of the room, unmoving, for what seemed like forever, although it was only a minute. When she fully came out of it, I took a hold of her arm and we crossed to the sofa. When she spoke it was with a forced calm, the almost expressionless voice that people use when they're telling someone something terrible, and are desperately afraid they'll go to pieces themselves in the telling. "Listen."
She described her premonition. Struggling to maintain control, she continued, "I want you to promise me…promise me you'll save our baby."
Doing far worse than her at keeping my emotions at bay, I was already choking back the tears, "You can't ask me to do that."
"I'm not asking," she said, gripping my hands tightly and for just a second, a spark of the usual Phoebe surfaced, "I'm telling you."
I wrenched my hands from her grip, "No! I'll sell my soul before I make a decision like that" Standing up to pace the floor I argued half to her, half to myself, "Your premonitions mean we can change things. We'll stop this from happening."
Phoebe stood up, grabbed me by the shoulders and looked me straight in the eye. Her voice was steel, but almost pleading, "But if we can't, and my premonition happens, promise me you will let me go and save our child."
With tears in my eyes, I finally nodded despairingly. "I promise."
* * * My first thought was stunned incredulity. It just couldn't be. The situation was identical, the words spoken by the grim doctor were the same. How could that be? Then I understood what had happened. We'd assumed, all of us, that the premonition had been about our first child, since it was Philippa whom Phoebe had been carrying at the time of the vision. When Philippa was delivered, and both mother and child were doing fine, we thought that we'd prevented it. Now with horrible clarity I knew we'd all been terribly wrong.
"Mr Newland, I need to know." The doctor's calm voice pulled me out of the maelstrom of thoughts that had me caught up. I already knew what decision I should make. Phoebe had been explicit and I had promised. I looked up and met the doctor's eyes, telling him what to do. And breaking a promise.
* * * They asked me to talk to Phoebe. She was in intensive care and would make a full recovery but there had been complications. The hospital staff felt the news would be better coming from a member of her family.
She was lying propped up by pillows in the bed, a drip in her arm. She was weak but conscious. I couldn't help but think of how beautiful she was, despite the hours of surgery she had just endured. Taking a deep breath, I crossed to her side and sat down in the chair opposite the bed.
"What happened?" She turned to look at me groggily, and was thrown off by the slender tube protruding from her vein.
"You were shot," I answered gently. "But you're going to be just fine." I took her hand, stalling while I tried to think of a way to tell her. I'd never been able to hide things from my wife.
Her deep brown eyes pierced me. "What's wrong?"
"You were shot in the stomach. Phoebe, they… they… had to do a hysterectomy."
Her eyes glazed with pain as the meaning of my words sank in.
"No more children?" She asked. I shook my head sadly in response.
She sat quietly for a minute. "Well, I have two. That's enough."
I couldn't look at her. I dropped my gaze, staring at my hand tightly holding hers.
Gazing at my bowed head, she knew something was wrong. There was an edge of fear in her voice as she spoke. "Liam, our baby. It's OK right?" I couldn't answer, and that fact alone confirmed Phoebe's worst fear. Erupting into tears, she wailed her despair, and a strangled cry of "No" escaped from her lips.
When her crying lessened, and mine increased, I explained. "They couldn't save her and you both. They asked me." Desperately, I hoped that Phoebe wouldn't remember the past, wouldn't realize what I'd done. But fate had decreed that today everything was to go wrong.
Her voice was a whisper, "The premonition then. It wasn't Philippa."
"No." My heart was so heavy; there was nothing more I could say.
She was silent for a minute. Then in a voice full of hurt and pain she said, "You promised."
I had no excuses and even if I had, now was not the time. "Yes," I replied simply.
"You broke it." Her eyes held more pain than I thought possible, and something else I never dreamt I'd see when she looked at me: Betrayal. Then as if refusing to let me see how deeply I'd wounded her, she closed them. Her hand slipped from my grasp and she turned away from me, laying on her other side. "Go Liam," she told me quietly. "Just go."
* * * Piper drove me back to the Manor in silence. My world was shattered, and right now I certainly didn't want to talk about it. Piper knew that now wasn't the time. Poor Prue had been forced to wait agonizingly at the Manor, waiting to hear any news while she looked after her niece.
As we walked in, Prue looked at Piper questioningly. Piper answered her sister with a simple shake of the head. Then she addressed me, although I barely heard her, "Liam. Go in the sunroom. I'll bring you a pot of tea." She smiled weakly, "English blend I think. A taste of home'll perk you up."
Mutely I obeyed. As Piper and Prue conferenced while preparing the tea, my daughter toddled into the room. She came up to me, a frown on her sweet face. She looked up at me and falteringly asked, "Dada sa?"
Nodding my head, I managed a weak smile for my daughter, "Yes darling, Daddy's sad."
"Poor Dada." She held out her hand. Instantly a teddy bear wearing a chef's hat appeared in her grasp. The two year old already had a substantial command of the power she'd inherited from me. She held her favourite teddy out to her father.
"Piper Bear. For me?" I asked. She placed the toy on my lap then reached out her arms, inviting me to hug her. I picked up my daughter and embraced her and Piper Bear as the tears ran down my cheeks.
Philippa was a typical two year old and when she settled on one thing, she often wanted to do something completely different ten minutes later. But not today. She stayed in my arms for half an hour, falling gently asleep in my grasp. Prue took the sleeping child from me and laid her together with Piper Bear, in the bed in Phoebe's old room.
Sensing that my daughter had led to me some sort of catharsis, Piper finally raised the subject, "Liam, what happened with you and Phoebe?" Carefully so as not to appear accusing, she continued, "I went in after you and it looked like her but it wasn't her. And right now you're not the Liam Newland that married our sister."
"It was the premonition." I said simply.
"What premonition?" asked Prue.
"The one… we thought was Philippa," I answered, struggling to tell the story. Patiently, the sisters didn't interrupt, knowing that I had to do this in my own time. "The one where I had to… to choose. I promised. I promised her. And I broke it."
The sisters were at my side, their arms around my shaking shoulders. "We don't blame you Liam." Prue told me. "You shouldn't either. You made that promise in a different situation. Everything's changed now. What was right then may not be right now. It may not even have been right then."
"Don't you see, it doesn't matter." I cried. "We've lost our child and we can never have another. That's bad enough. But I did something worse. I broke a promise. You weren't there. The betrayal in her eyes, it'd have been less if I'd have been the one who shot her." I continued bitterly, "The moment I broke that promise I killed two people. I killed my child and I killed my wife! And I knew it would happen. But I still did it."
Piper saw an opening, a way to get through. "Why did you do it then?"
"Because Philippa needs her mum and the world needs the Power of Three."
"Don't lie, Liam," the middle sibling murmured. "That ain't the reason."
"Piper…" began Prue, a worried note in her voice. Taking a different role than her usual wait and see stance, Piper silenced her sister with a look. She turned back to me, asking again, "Why?"
"Because I wasn't strong enough!" The words were wrenched from my soul. "Phoebe has a strength to her that is so deep you can't see it. Just when you think she's down forever, she amazes you and comes back. But I don't have that strength. I knew what I should say, what decision I should make. I'm sure Phoebe could have gone through with it but I'm not Phoebe. I'm so weak and I just couldn't do it. I love her, need her so much that I couldn't let her go!"
"Phoebe loves you too Liam. She thinks you're as strong as she is. And you're right about her strength. I couldn't handle those premonitions," confessed Prue. "But because she sees the future, that doesn't mean she sees everything. She never saw that she was asking you to make a promise that you could never keep. You didn't do anything to her." Steel grey eyes stared into my own. "You haven't lost everything. You still have Philippa. And given time, you'll still have Phoebe."
Piper continued, "She is so far down Liam, but she still has that strength. And she'll be back. But she needs something to come back to. She needs you now as much as you ever needed her."
I nodded. The darkness that had settled upon me lessened. I knew that Phoebe's siblings were right. My wife would find a way back. When she did, I'd be there waiting.
* * * Moved from Intensive Care two days later, Phoebe was in the hospital for just over a week. Physically everything was going to be fine eventually, but her emotional recovery hadn't even started. If anything she'd gotten worse in that department. But since she was healthy physically, the doctors had no choice but to discharge her. There was nothing they could do about her emotional state until she was ready to heal herself. They hoped that the familiarity of home and family might speed her recovery.
It did not. Phoebe spoke not a word during the drive back to the Manor. We'd hoped that the familiar surroundings of her childhood would bring her around. But as she walked through the door, she barely looked up, not even responding to her daughter's ecstatic greeting. Instead she went upstairs to her old room, entering it and locking the door behind her.
We soon found that life was miserable. And not just for Phoebe.
Philippa couldn't comprehend why her mother was acting so out of character and wouldn't even speak to her. The only explanation her aunts and I could offer to her questioning looks was "Mummy is very sad. It's made her ill." But children aren't daft, and the bright Philippa knew it was more than that. How do you explain that sort of grief to a two-year-old child?
Philippa also didn't understand why suddenly the "Baba" wasn't around anymore. We'd all been telling her that soon it'd be here and now we'd suddenly stopped. Philippa knew things didn't just disappear. Even her two-year old brain grasped the concept that the power we shared only moved things from one place to another. Perhaps it was the frustration of not getting proper answers, or her own way of trying to rouse her mother, but the usually well-behaved child inexplicably turned into a demon. She constantly threw tantrums, causing chaos of a type only a two-year-old witch can achieve.
Everyday I tried to reach Phoebe. So did Piper and Prue, but our knocks on the door were met with silence. We left trays of food outside the door that were half touched when we returned. I could have banished myself into the room at anytime, and Prue could easily have opened the locked door, but the consensus was that if Phoebe had locked the door, barging in would be the worst thing we could do. We just had to hope that eventually she'd come out of her own accord. But as the days went by, I began to fear more and more that Piper had been wrong. That the triple body blow had been too much and that Phoebe wasn't coming back.
It was hard to see how things could get much worse.
But of course they did. In the supernatural circles, word had spread that the Power of Three was down by one, and open season was declared on the Charmed Ones. Fortunately, Prue, Piper and I were able to vanquish all of the warlocks who came our way. But it was a constant struggle. There may have been three of us to fight, but Phoebe was the real last third of the Power of Three, and without her completing the Circle some spells were difficult and others, impossible.
* * * In another realm, five figures in sickly yellow coloured hooded robes stood in a circle. Their debate was heated and angry.
"The youngest is no longer a factor. Yet still her sisters and that meddling Summoner from another world defeat us."
"But not without difficulty," argued the colleague to his left. "We are closer now than ever. If we renew the attacks, they will crack."
"And how many more warlocks will we lose before that happens?" demanded another. "Already I hear whispers. Our minions talk amongst themselves saying if they cannot conquer the Charmed Ones now, how can they hope to win if the Power of Three is restored."
"Cowards," spat a fourth. "Let all who mention such things be executed."
The fifth member, who had been silent throughout the exchange laughed derisively. "An approach that will lead to our ordering the last warlock to vanquish himself."
The leader turned to face him, "So what alternative would you suggest?"
The fifth smiled sardonically, "The mortals have an expression. Use a sledgehammer to crack a nut. Let us no more waste our time with puny warlocks but attack the two Charmed Ones and their brother in law with a force so overwhelming that they will be reduced to dust. Let us unleash The Five."
The other members gasped, "The Five!"
"They are unstoppable, relentless. In two millennia they have never failed," he continued after the gasps died down. "We would have sent them against the Power of Three eventually. Let that day come now, while they are weak, and make sure of it. We destroy the two eldest and the husband, followed by the one with Sight and her brat."
The leader spoke. A cautious note in his voice, "Nothing is entirely undefeatable. Not even legends. Did not Achilles have his heel? The Five may be defeated, although there is only one way. True it requires incredible power but the Power of Three may be enough. Should they reform…"
The one who had condemned their underlings as cowards interrupted, "They would still have to discover the method of vanquishement. Only we know of it, in case the Five should ever turn on us. They will not find it, not even in their much vaunted Book of Shadows."
"Very well," accepted the leader. "The Five. Are we agreed?"
Four hooded heads nodded and the decision was made. The Infernal Council would send their assassins to finally defeat the Halliwell clan. They would send The Five.
* * * It had been calm for two days, and we all hoped that we'd weathered the warlock storm. With my daughter sleeping in Prue's room, the three of us were up in the attic, searching through the Book of Shadows for something that might help my wife. We knew it'd be Personal Gain, but with no improvement in her condition we were growing desperate.
Suddenly five warlocks appeared in the room directly in front of us. Before any of us had time to react, one of them gestured and Prue was thrown back across the room. Instantly I banished her attacker to just outside the attic window, hearing his scream as he fell to the ground. Piper froze the room and we ran to check on the eldest Halliwell. She was bruised but fine. Soon time restarted, and so did the fight.
Prue flung the warlocks around the room, but one of the remaining four, who possessed the same power as Prue and his ex-colleague, returned the compliment and then some. The other two threw energy bolts and fireballs, and Piper was constantly freezing in order for us to dodge the magical projectiles. For my part I did my best to take some of the strain from Piper by banishing the deadly conjurations, making them return to hit their casters. But the bolts, which hurt like hell when they struck us, seemed capable only of inconveniencing the warlock attackers.
Making a final bid, the warlocks stood together and combined their powers into a massive ball of crackling blue energy. It was too big for Prue to deflect. Piper tried to freeze but nothing happened, "Frazzled." she shouted. Pulling together all of my control over my power, I made a supreme effort and summoned the four warlocks so that they stood in front of us, then banished the three of us to the other side of the room. The warlocks saw their own magic heading towards them, but before it impacted, they vanished and the huge conjuration slammed into the wall, scorching the wood paneling, incinerating the insulation, and burning through enough to reveal the wooden support beams beneath.
The three of us looked at each other. Piper voiced what we were all feeling. "That was too close."
Things continued to be 'too close' as the five warlocks--the one I'd banished seemed to have survived--continued to plague us for the next three days. We managed each time to stave them off, battling them to a standstill, forcing them to retreat. But it took everything we had just to hold our own, let alone defeat them. On their third attack, we were in the attic, trying to find some information on this new and powerful enemy. We'd just found something when they blinked in, and as always immediately launched their attack.
Piper was knocked unconscious to the floor ten minutes into the battle, leaving just Prue and I to fend off the opposition. Then the warlocks' attention was distracted as the attic door opened and Philippa toddled in. Vindictively, one of the five threw an energy bolt at the small child. Standing nearest the door, Prue raced across the room and grabbed her niece. The bolt collided into the pair, knocking Prue and my daughter down the stairs. Somehow Prue twisted her body in mid air so she landed on her back, taking the worst of the fall and cushioning Philippa. The eldest Halliwell's head hit the floor and her world turned black.
Up in the attic, the five turned as one to face me, their eyes lit up with bloodlust. One of them held up his hand and the other four took a step back. I guessed that their leader wanted to finish the job personally. He launched a fireball that careened into me, blasting me across the room. Thinking quickly, I lay unmoving on the floor, feigning unconsciousness as the warlocks moved in to make sure none of us ever woke up. The leader walked toward my unmoving form, and launched a final massive fireball designed to incinerate my body. I banished it back at him, and caught unawares, he screamed in torment. The sight of one of their number going down, particularly their captain, made the rest lose their nerve. Surrounding their fallen comrade, they picked him up and vanished once again.
The fight over, at least for now, I checked on Prue and Piper, to find with relief that they'd miraculously escaped without serious injury. In fact they were beginning to come around. Then I tended to a nasty burn on Philippa's arm.
When things had settled down some, we returned to the Book of Shadows and read the page we'd been distracted from. It made for a grim reading. We discovered that they were called "The Five". In essence, they were a longstanding warlock hit squad that was almost unstoppable. There was only one way to defeat them. It seemed that away from their lair they were invulnerable, but catch them on their home ground and you had a chance. Once again the BoS had come through for us, and although we'd never know it, the Infernal Council had seriously underestimated our family grimoire.
The entry about The Five was accompanied by a transport spell to their lair, and also a spell to vanquish them. But there was one problem. It needed the Power of Three. The *real* Power of Three. When we finished reading we glanced around at each other, each not wanting to voice the thought that passed through all of our minds. Did we even have the Power of Three anymore?
* * * "I hate to say it, but I was wrong," admitted Piper gloomily. "Phoebe's gone and with her goes our only chance."
We sat in depressed silence, around the kitchen table drinking tea wordlessly. Our defeated postures were contagious, and even Kit the cat sat quietly sombre curled up on Prue's lap. I finished my tea and put the mug down hard on the table, coming to a decision.
"I can't give up on her," I told the sisters. "She can come back to us! She just needs a reason." Sighing, I continued. "This ain't the one I'd have picked. But we don't have a choice. She's been left alone long enough, and it hasn't helped. Whether she likes it or not, the wife and I are gonna have a heart to heart."
"Are you sure?" questioned Prue doubtfully.
I nodded. "Just let me handle it my way." I went on, my face bleak and bitter. "No matter what you hear, don't come in."
Prue and Piper stared into my eyes, meeting my steady gaze, before Piper nodded, "This is your spell, Liam. Cast it how you want."
Sucking in a deep breath, I turned without a word and banished myself to her room. Several minutes passed. Suddenly Prue and Piper heard a huge crash. Prue jumped up dethroning Kit, and ready to run upstairs, but Piper sprang to the door, blocking her way. "Leave it, Prue."
I appeared in the room. Phoebe sat lifelessly on the bed. A feeling of shock hit me as I saw my wife's grief ravaged face and her dull eyes. Her eyes which usually shone with a merry and mischievous spark, were now motionless and inert, the flame inside extinguished. She looked up, seeming not to know me. Taking another deep breath, I steeled myself for what I had to do.
"Hi Pheebs," I greeted gently.
Her eyes cleared somewhat and recognition crept into them. "Liam," she said tonelessly.
"We need you Phoebe. There's some warlocks. Five of them. They've come every day and we're barely holding our own. I don't think we can last another fight. The sons of bitches even took a shot at Philippa."
No result. I'd hoped that I might stir Phoebe's maternal instinct; make the want for revenge and to protect her daughter start to shake off the shock and grief. Seeing that approach had failed, I prepared to go through with my original plan.
"Fine," I said brutally. "Well at least all this practice at grieving won't go to waste. Because soon you'll be burying the rest of your family as well. But you don't care about that do you? All you think about is what you've lost. A baby and the chance to have more. But you've still got your family. Me. Prue. Piper. And Philippa. She needs you. We all need you. Now more than ever."
A spark seemed to stir in Phoebe, and she shifted her position on the bed. I began to gain hope, and crossed the room to be closer to her. But when I looked at her eyes, I blanched and almost retreated back to where I had stood. Cold savage fury filled them, as she growled. "Damn you to hell. My daughter's dead."
"I know it," I yelled back exasperatedly. "And it's time you faced up to it. She's dead, and you sitting there, rotting with self-pity won't bring her back…"
Phoebe came to her feet, bouncing off the bed and pivoting like a ballerina. Her other foot lifted and smashed into my jaw. For the second time that day I sprouted wings as I flew across the room on the end of Phoebe's roundhouse kick, crashing into the full length mirror, which toppled underneath me to the floor, accompanied by a cacophony of breaking glass.
Phoebe advanced murderously around the foot of the bed. I stared up at her, locking my gaze with hers. "Go ahead, if it'll make you feel better." I challenged, trying to hold my voice calm and unconcerned. "It'll be easier than having to rouse yourself enough to vanquish some deadly warlocks hell-bent after your family, and forcing yourself to start facing life again."
Phoebe stopped then. Hours seemed to pass, but in reality it was just a few minutes. I lay on the floor, half expecting her to drag me up and finish what she'd started with that kick. Then she reached down her hand, knelt down next to me, and pulled me into a embrace.
"Liam!" I almost cried from at last hearing feeling enter her voice again. "Lord. Did I hurt you?"
"Damn near busted my jaw." I answered, relief evident in my voice. "Pheebs - about what I just said…"
"I know why you did it. And later I'll thank you. But right now…" She released me and looked at the ruined mirror. "Did I do that?"
"Well, if you will practice your Tae Bo in the bedroom…" I smiled, well at least tried to smile despite the painful jaw.
Phoebe helped me up from the floor with a sheepish and apologetic shrug. Then, looking around the walls of the room that she grew up in, her face was totally changed. She turned around in a radius taking everything in, and it was like she was seeing it for the first time-and just as if she hadn't spent the last week in isolation staring at these very walls.
Then she fixed her gaze on a photo by her bed. It was a picture of Penny Halliwell, her grandmother, holding an infant Phoebe in her arms. Being at the Manor was finally doing some good. Phoebe tilted her head as if listening to something… or someone. "Grams…" she murmured.
The moment passed and my wife looked up, a determined glint in her eye. Resolutely squaring her shoulders she tossed her hair back and took a deep breath. "This is my home, this is my family. And it's time I started acting like it." Then throwing me one of her trademark impish looks that I had been longing to see, she continued, "Those warlocks are toast."
Walking from the bedroom we went downstairs. The reunion was everything I knew it would be. Rocketing from their seats, Prue and Piper rushed at their little sister, enfolding her in a massive sisterly hug. When they finally released her, we phoned Darryl to come baby-sit. (Prue and he were starting to become quite close, and Philippa adored him.)
* * * We materialized in a dark cavern illuminated by glowing orbs that hung in the air near the craggy roof. Quietly we advanced through the cave. Turning a corner we crept along until we secretly came upon The Five.
They were in conference. "We shall revenge ourselves for their injury upon me." said the one who was obviously the leader that I'd scored a hit against. "Next time they will be ours and every jot of pain shall be returned tenfold before their end."
They were startled by a voice coming from the darkness, "Three, plus one, against five. I'd say someone's outnumbered." The Charmed Ones stepped out the darkness. I stood next to Phoebe as she continued. "And it ain't us."
The Five turned in surprise, ancient curses dropping from their lips as the Sisters Three took each other's hands and began:
"Three the power you cannot fight
Five go down to endless night."At the women's chanting, a sheet of flame appeared in front of us, stretching from the floor to the ceiling in a blazing swirl of orange and gold. Desperately one of the warlocks launched a energy bolt, managing to arc it around the wall of flame and directly at us. Leaving the sisters to continue chanting on the spell, I leisurely banished it back into the fiery curtain. Then the warlock's screams were heard as five lances of flame arced from the wall of fire, shooting out to touch and cremate each of the Five. When the flames disappeared, so hot had they been that they had scorched the bare rock of the cavern floor, leaving behind five black marks as the only reminder that The Five had ever entered our lives.
"Vanquishings by Donna Summer," smiled Phoebe.
"Huh" came the collective grunt of puzzlement.
Phoebe grinned hugely, "Hot Stuff!" Seeing our blank looks she explained, "You know from the Full Monty?"
We laughed. But not at the awful joke. We laughed for joy. The one-liner she'd just cracked proved it beyond all doubt. We had our Phoebe back.
* * * The funeral was a small and simple service. The only mourners there consisted of myself, Phoebe, Prue, Piper, Darryl and Leo. The sombre ceremony wasn't even disturbed by Philippa, who was so delighted at her mother's re-emergence that she slept peacefully in her arms throughout the service. We said the Lord's Prayer and the Twenty-Third Psalm, the traditional versions with all the thees and thous, which I'd always preferred. Phoebe had chosen the hymn "Down By The Riverside" and it was sang gospel style, the small congregation asked to make it memorable enough so that her lost daughter would hear it and smile.
Finally only Phoebe and I stood together by the flower-bedecked graveside. Prue had taken Philippa from her sister's arms and they all wandered back down the hill, leaving us to be alone to say our final goodbyes.
"It's a beautiful name," my wife quietly told me. Phoebe had still been unconsciousness at the time, and so I had to be the one to decide the name for the death-certificate. "What's the meaning?"
"Perdita is from the French, "perdre", which means 'to lose,' I answered, "And Angela in the middle for angel." Tears welled in my eyes as I finished, "Our lost angel."
"I wish I could have seen her, just once." Phoebe looked down sadly, her tear-streaked face glistening in the sunlight.
My heart overflowed at the sight, and then I remembered. "You can," I told her. She glanced up at me confused, and I continued. "I held her, just once, in these." I held my hands out to Phoebe and cautiously, she took them in her own. Then closing her eyes she called a vision.
In my mind's eye I saw again my daughter's face. She had a slightly longer jaw line than Phoebe, more like mine, and a fuzz of medium brown hair, that suggested she'd have looked a lot like her father. Her eyes were closed, but her nose had been Phoebe's and the ears too as I noticed that they didn't stick out like mine. They said newborns couldn't smile, but I would swear to my dying day that there was a miniature, barely perceptible, but incredibly sweet smile cast about her tiny lips, and it seemed that though she rested, she did indeed rest in peace.
A beatific smile bloomed on my wife's face and I knew she was seeing what I had seen. The vision ended and Phoebe released my hands. "Thank you." Then softly she said, "I owe you an apology."
"No you don't." I shook my head firmly.
"Yes, I do," she said fervently. "I blamed it all on you, shut you out, but still you came and saved me. I can't say that I forgive you, because you did nothing wrong, so there is nothing to forgive. I was the one who was wrong. I should never have demanded that you plan out that kind of choice. It was an unthinkable promise."
"I still broke a promise," Facing her, I settled my arms around her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. "And so I hope you can believe this one. I promise I will never break another."
Tears still sprung from her eyes as she reached up to kiss me. "I'll hold to you to that one."
We stood there together embracing, and tears fell freely from two pairs of eyes. They mingled together and ran down our cheeks, falling like crystal down to the ground, and onto a small tablet of white marble, incised with gold inlaid letters an inch high.
"Perdita Angela Newland.
10th November 2002
Taken in an instant
Loved for Eternity."
