Inspector Darryl Morris sat down on the brick wall next to the old pier near Marina Boulevard and stared out across the bay toward brightly lit Sausalito. Because the evening air was very damp and chill, the inspector was feeling grateful for the cashmere scarf the Halliwell sisters had given him for Christmas. Or was it Yule? he wondered to himself, filing that thought into a mind already overly full with new and often dark and terrifying ideas about a world he was no longer entirely sure of. Looking through his binoculars, the inspector picked out the row of gaslights dotting the ramparts of the monastery. The monastery was a bleak, late nineteenth century building jammed precariously between the hillside and the bay and tottering between two realities, the worldly and the ascetic. In the vague gaslight and reflected gleam of the city, the monastery looked more like a gothic prison than the home of the Holy Order of the Brothers of Redemption. As Morris peered at the monastery, the gaslights flickered out, just as they did every night at midnight, and that portion of the brightly lit shoreline vanished into blackness. Then, a moment later, a sole red light appeared -- a battery-powered lantern. The light was operated by Brother Austin McGregor and meant it was OK to come over now. The brothers, all of whom had taken vows of seclusion, had gone to their chambers. All except Brother Austin, the abbot.
Morris packed his binoculars away and signaled his team that he was taking the boat across, again. He felt sick to his stomach for a number of reasons. He hated the water. He hated the idea of being alone, over there, in that vast, dark place, cut off from civilization except for his cell phone and police radio. But, most of all, he hated the idea of using a sacred place like the monastery to conduct surveillance. His equipment waited for him in a tiny cell that formerly housed a young initiate, Brother Thomas, but still held his hard cot, enameled iron wash basin, crucifix, and lone white candle. Because the room had no electricity, Morris' surveillance options were limited. The court would have to rely on his eye-witness testimony, his photographs, and his selective use of video and audio recordings in support of the warrant. But, it would all be worth while if during one of those comfortless nights, Morris could get some documentary evidence establishing Caspar LaMorte's presence in the US. It would be quite the coup to capture him.
No other law enforcement agent, except Morris, had seen Caspar LaMorte since the man had reportedly surgically changed his appearance in 1997. LaMorte, he was told, is a Dutch ex-patriot, a former medical doctor, and a dealer in cocaine who, for most of the year, operates his empire from his home somewhere in that rural part of Mixquic that the Mexican authorities long ago abandoned to bandits. Late last month, Morris literally stumbled into one of LaMorte's private business meetings – thanks to the rambunctious Phoebe Halliwell, who accidently kicked him, instead of the warlock she was chasing, into a hotel ballroom occupied by drug dealers. Morris, who was fortunately attired as hotel wait staff, overheard and saw a great deal more than LaMorte's men suspected. The thug who pulled Morris upright before tossing him back out the door said: "Master LaMorte, sir, it would not be worth the trouble." Morris remembered looking at the man the thug addressed, a thin man in a grey suit who waved his minion away with an almost imperceptible flick of his hand, and thinking: He has no soul.
Capsar LaMorte had the deadest, palest blue eyes he had ever seen. Morris had tried to describe the man to sketch artists, but none of the drawings turned out quite right. The FBI and sixteen other law enforcement agencies and their forensic artists were unable to concoct an image that Morris could agree with. And yet, strangely, LaMorte's image was burned into his brain. And so, for this reason, when the FBI learned that LaMorte was suspected of using the villa next to the monastery for his U.S, operations, Morris was recruited to identify him and gather enough evidence to justify a search warrant. So, at present, Morris was a member of the Bay Area Tri-Lateral Drug Enforcement Task Force.
As he climbed out of the boat, Morris remembered how aloof LaMorte appeared, standing in his linen suit in that dimly lit banquet hall last month. Morris shivered as he stepped onto the monastery dock. Brother Austin greeted him with a vigorous handshake and a flask of hot coffee.
"They are here, I saw them. Something is going on, my friend." The abbot said excitedly. "You must hurry."
Finally! Morris thought. He ran up the narrow steps to his cell, set the coffee down, and peeled off his gloves. Morris picked up his camera, opened the window, and peered down to the residence below. It was a modest villa in the Italian style, very poorly illuminated, as if it, too, had no electricity. The villa walls were covered with moonflowers and bougainvillea. Morris saw no obvious activity on the dock, but a speedboat was moored there. A large skylight in the villa's living room gave Morris a view into the interior. Morris waited and hoped – and then he saw two men walk beneath the skylight and disappear into the kitchen. One had LaMorte's fair hair. Morris felt a thrill of recognition. He set the camera down and picked up his directional microphone and audio recorder and plugged both into the battery packs for the first time. He aimed the mike at the skylight and a conversation burst into Morris' hearing. They were the first words, other than from Brother Austin, that he'd heard on this stake-out.
". . . they are not my concern."
"Sir, respectfully, the cartel is concerned because for the last two years, we have been unable to keep ourselves adequately staffed with runners. We can't keep supplementing their ranks with humans."
Darryl stood upright and felt an expletive rising to his lips. Humans? he thought. This recording won't be going into evidence after all.
"Humans are too easily caught and they have no qualms about making deals with their police authorities. They always cling to the hope that they can escape you. This puts our operation in jeopardy. Also, as you well know, humans want salaries. They expect to move into management positions. They are too expensive."
"That is true, Thalion, but we have lived this long and this well because we have stayed just beyond perception, like phantoms. The police think I am a Dutchman. I like that. It is ironic. The Powers that Be and their minions think I am a myth. I like that even better. And the Source. Well, I pay my. . .taxes. . . and am left alone. That is best of all. Do you not agree that this is a happy middle ground we occupy?"
"The police should have thought you Swiss."
"Do not mock me."
"You cannot maintain this balance forever. I feel that someone is close to us. There have been portents. The cards have been. . .inauspicious. I don't think the police are smart enough to find us; but even if they did, they can be handled. It would be messy, though. But the Charmed Ones, that would be a more difficult proposition. Sir, I fear they are close. Your sister senses a presence, even now. If it is not one of the Charmed Ones, it is certainly one of their servants. This is their town. Why you did not pick Los Angeles is a mystery to me. They will discover you. Your power, though considerable, will not protect you if they learn your secret."
Morris was so agitated at being sensed and so perturbed at being thought a servant, that he almost missed the word "secret." What? What secret? he thought. As he was struggling to regain his composure, Morris heard a high pitched wail rising up from the villa's dock. He put his recording devices down and leaned out to see what it was – only to find a wild-eyed, yellow-haired woman staring up and pointing at him and making that ungodly noise. Finally Morris did curse as he grabbed his radio and backed away from the window.
"Hawkins, come in. We've a breach."
The radio was silent. Morris tried his cell phone, but there was no dial tone.
"Oh. Damn," Morris whispered as he turned and, thinking only of the brothers' safety, bolted down the stairs toward the great hall. The abbot was standing beneath the light of a gas wall sconce, wringing his hands. He was afraid. The woman's shrieking was growing louder, moving toward the entry foyer.
"Brother Austin," Morris cried out, "Get yourself to a safe place. They are aware of me and, I think, will be after me only. – Wait." Morris thought for a moment, then retrieved a pen and scrap of paper from his pocket. "Here, I'm writing down an address. This is important. Go here as soon as it feels safe and take this message." Morris scribbled as quickly as he could and handed the paper to the abbot. The abbot took it and fled into the darkness just as the doors to the entry foyer burst open and two people walked in. The wailing woman quieted herself and stood at the door's threshold. The one called Thalion, who was armed with a pistol, walked slowly toward Morris, eyeing him suspiciously. Morris knew that look. The man -- or demon, or whatever he was – didn't know what Morris was, who had sent him, or what he knew. Morris realized this was a good thing and that a little mystery and bluffing might keep him alive until help arrived. Morris raised his hands in surrender. For a moment the two men stood staring at each other.
"Come with me." Thalion demanded.
"OK." Morris said, shrugging his shoulders and trying desperately to look unafraid as he walked slowly out into the night.
* * *
It was 1:00 a.m. and the Halliwell house was quiet. For a change. Prue was sound asleep, a copy of Agrippa's Three Books of Occult Philosophy open on her pillow. Piper was sitting at her desk in her comfy old pajamas, cutting a recipe out of Martha Stewart's Living -- a recipe for triple fudge brownies, for Leo. And Phoebe was in the living room trying to program the TiVo to record every episode of "Survivor," since she was always missing it.
"Wow. Season's pass. Select. That was easy. No flashing twelve!" Phoebe said as she heard the timid knock at her front door.
"You don't look evil," Phoebe said as she opened the door, mildly amused by the short, burly, red-bearded monk standing before her.
"I have a message from my friend Darryl, the police man. I am afraid drug dealers have stolen him. I came here by myself but it was very hard. I have no money with me and the man waiting in the taxi must be paid."
Phoebe opened her eyes wide in surprise. "Drug dealers have stolen Darryl?!" she cried. "Have you called the police?" Without waiting for an answer Phoebe ran inside and yelled for Piper and Prue, both of whom immediately came clambering downstairs in varying states of undress, which appeared to upset Brother Austin far more than Darryl's abduction.
"Darryl's in trouble," Phoebe explained.
"Here," the abbot said, averting his eyes from the sisters, "Take his message. I don't know what it means but I am afraid. A woman was screaming."
Phoebe read the message out loud: "'Demon with secret weakness. 1366 Myst Pier, near Sausalito. Ask Brother Austin.' Oh God. Is he alright? Did you see what happened?"
"I was hiding. I saw him walk away with a man with a gun. That is the last thing I saw. Then I ran until I found the taxi. Do you think he means a real demon? It has been twenty-two years since I last fought a demon and I do not want to go through that again!"
"Go wait in the taxi," Prue said. "We'll be right down, once we have some clothes on. Pheebs, get the Book of Shadows and some supplies -- anything. Piper, get Leo. I'll be right there, but first . . . I've got to get dressed and . . . I have to pee." Prue darted back up the steps.
"OK," Phoebe said, patting the monk on the shoulder. "It's all under control. Sort of. So, we'll pay for the taxi. Don't worry. That's right, you head on back down those stairs."
Piper just smiled and walked into the kitchen and yelled: "Leo!"
* * *
Morris squirmed uneasily in the overstuffed, red velvet chair Thalion had forced him to sit in. LaMorte stood in the middle of the room, eyeing the inspector. Thalion sat on the sofa, sipping a cup of tea. The woman with the vivid blonde hair stood by the far wall, her attention directed elsewhere, as if she were listening to something. Morris noticed how everything in the room was beautifully gilded or lacquered or sueded. And, everything was covered with a floral pattern, vines and flowers snaking everywhere. Nothing had a sharp edge, a line, or a shadow. The place was indistinct and hazy in the pale candlelight and the warm glow of the fireplace. Morris found it difficult to focus on anything.
"Who are you?" Thalion asked Morris.
"Before you answer," LaMorte cut in sharply, "be forewarned that my sister can hear your lies. Unless you enjoy her shrieks, and my inevitable retribution, you must tell us the truth."
Morris sighed.
"I'm Darryl," he said, trying to look mysterious.
"What were you doing in the monastery? Why were you looking into our home?" LaMorte asked.
"I was looking for you," Morris answered. LaMorte raised his eyebrows and peered at Morris with interest. The inspector's mind raced, wondering how he was going to cope with this, wondering how he could delay them discovering the truth. At least long enough for help to arrive. Morris was grateful he was in plain clothes, that he'd left his badge, pistol, and radio in Brother Thomas' cell. Thalion's search of his person produced only a silver ink pen and the cashmere scarf.
"Who do you work for?" Thalion asked as he refilled his tea cup and then stirred a little sugar in with the point of a long, thin dagger. Morris did not forget the pistol on Thalion's lap, either.
"At present," Morris said, and then he paused, suddenly and desperately grasping upon an idea, "I work for a . . . uhm. . . triad. . . of forces. . .who are interested in your. . .operations. Lets just say you have not been paying enough in . . . taxes." Morris tried to look wicked when he said "taxes." A look of fear passed briefly across LaMorte's face. Thalion almost dropped his tea cup. The woman leaning against the far wall still stared away at nothing.
"Do not think I fear you. What manner of demon are you? Has the Source sent you?" LaMorte demanded, shaking his fist, walking out of the center of the room and toward Morris. Morris noticed that, for the first time, he was seeing LaMorte standing between himself and a light source. The light from the fireplace should have caused LaMorte to cast a shadow in Morris' direction. But, there was none. When LaMorte got angry, he seemed to become somewhat insubstantial. Morris noted these details and leaned back slowly in his chair.
Morris laughed, trying to appear cocky. After a strategic pause, he said, "No, no, I'm not a demon. But I am an enforcer, of sorts. I've seen my fair share of demons, though. I've had to work with a few, but I prefer to act alone." Morris sensed he might have gone too far with that comment. The blonde woman was looking at him intently.
"With whom have you worked?" LaMorte asked.
Darryl's heart froze for a second, since he had never really worked with a demon. Then it occurred to him: "Well, last October I worked a case with Belthazor. We had a falling out, though, and went our separate ways. Then the Charmed Ones got him." The blonde woman stared off into space again and Thalion and LaMorte seemed satisfied by the truth of the answer, though extremely perturbed by it's import.
"You know of the Charmed Ones?"
"Of course. In fact, I know them well. They gave me that scarf. I've worked hard to stay in their good graces and out of their line of fire, if you know what I mean." Morris smiled his wickedest smiled and the untruthful inference of Morris' truthful statement impressed LaMorte more than anything else said that night. Morris could see the wheels turning in LaMorte's twisted and frightened mind.
"What have you reported on our operation?" Thalion asked.
"The triad suspected your location, which is what I was sent to confirm. But I have not made my official report. They are waiting for it. An attack is inevitable if I do not report in soon. You know, I can be persuaded to make a . . .creative. . . report. Thalion, that tea and those scones look delicious. Do you think I might . . .share?"
"Thalion," LaMorte said in a dulcimer voice, "Why don't you get our new friend something to eat."
* * *
Leo, Brother Austin, Prue, Piper and Phoebe tip-toed through the silent gardens beside the monastery, making their way to the main entrance. Once inside, the five went up to the chamber that Morris had occupied.
"Here are his belongings," the abbot said, "and there is the villa he was watching."
"He left his gun," Piper said, alarmed.
Phoebe picked up the cell phone and flipped it open and pressed "Talk." Nothing happened.
"There's no dial tone. Actually, there's no power."
"It's odd," Leo commented as he looked at the equipment Morris had left behind, "none of it is working. Do you think there could be some kind of spell interfering with it?"
"Possibly," Prue said. "Brother Austin, is your electricity out?"
"We don't have any electric power."
"Wow, talk about the Dark Ages," Phoebe said, tossing the phone on Brother Thomas' cot.
"That makes sense," Prue said. "They chose to be here because their spells would limit police surveillance without interfering with anyone else's electrical use. No one would notice what they were doing."
"Do you think they know Darryl was eavesdropping on them?" Piper asked.
"I'm sure of it," Prue said, folding her arms and pacing as much as she could, given the dimensions of the tiny cell. "We need to get over there. I just wish we knew what we were up against, how many of them there are, and what their powers are."
"There are only three of them," the abbot said. "I saw them arrive. Two men and a woman."
"What I want to know," Leo asked, "is where is Darryl's back up? Certainly they didn't send him out here all alone?"
"No, they did not." the abbot said, "There are many men across the bay, waiting for Darryl's signal. They are over there to avoid being spotted. If Darryl doesn't signal them at 2 o'clock more police will come."
"Oh no. Oh no." Phoebe said, looking at her watch. "It's five 'til now."
"We can't risk a confrontation between the police and demons." Prue said. "I don't want Darryl caught up in that and I don't want to see any policemen hurt. I just wish I knew what to do. Any ideas?"
"I have an idea," the abbot said, gripping his hands together, "but I'm not sure you can pick it up."
"What? What are you talking about?" Prue asked.
"The cup," The abbot said in his softest, church-mouse whisper, "the lesser Grail, the most sacred Chalice of Divine Redemption. It is said that water cast from it will vanquish any demon, no matter how powerful. I have seen evidence of this. The problem is that the cup is exceedingly difficult to pick up."
"Show us," Prue said as she turned the abbot by his shoulder toward the door. "We don't have much time."
* * *
"Agent Hawkins," Agent Rasher said to his commander. "Inspector Morris has failed to give the 2 o'clock signal. Should we try to radio him?"
FBI Special Agent in Charge Montgomery Hawkins hated when things like this happened. Check-in times were sacrosanct, like his regular Sunday confession and Monday night football. Hawkins paced. Hawkins thought.
"No. We need to observe radio silence. Their detection systems are reportedly quite sophisticated. Rasher, you and Smith get in plain clothes and drive around to the monastery, but don't park too close. Walk up. Be quiet and stay alert. Check with the abbot and see what's up. If you don't give the OK signal in twenty minutes, we'll be coming to the villa and monastery in force, Alpha plan. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," both said.
* * *
It was a plain, earthenware cup. It sat upon a waist-high, marble pedestal in the center of a large, circular room. The room, illuminated by hundreds of votive candles, was very warm.
"This is it," Brother Austin said as he genuflected in front of the cup, signing himself with the cross and saying a prayer in Latin under his breath. "Do you see how it is full of water? We always keep it full. Only two kinds of people may pick up the cup. The first are those who are in great need, who have committed great sins, but whose remorse exceeds their sin. Whenever someone in need of redemption picks up the cup, the water turns to wine – or, as some believe, the blood of Christ. When the penitent drinks from the cup, he will be set upon the path of redemption. The second are those who are both brave and pure of heart. I have not been able to pick the thing up and I am a monk. But then, I am afraid of many things. When such a person picks up the cup, the water becomes a weapon against evil."
"How do you know that water from the cup can kill a demon, any demon?" Prue asked.
"Well. The sacred texts say so. They are very old, of course, and the translations from the Greek are conflicting. But, 22 years ago, a demon did try to steal the cup. Brother Andrew and I were cleaning this room and a demon appeared as if from the air. He put an oiled canvas bag over the cup and tried to pick it up, but it would not move. He tugged at the cup and the bag very hard, until the bag tore and the demon fell over. Brother Andrew tried to splash water from the cup onto the demon, but the demon was a fast fellow and managed to get out of the way. He knew the water was deadly, I could tell. In his efforts to splash the demon, Brother Andrew got the water on himself, which turned out to be quite fortunate. When the demon threw his fire at Brother Andrew, the water seemed to deflect it. Brother Andrew was unharmed. Realizing the futility of his mission, the demon left."
"Do you know what kind of demon it was?" Piper asked.
"No. He was a big, red fellow with pointy ears and teeth. That's all I can tell you."
"Have you ever seen anyone actually pick the cup up?" Prue asked.
"Well, reportedly many sinners have drunk from the cup. In the last thirty years, though, I myself have only witnessed two people pick it up. Brother Andrew once picked it up. He was dusting this room. He picked up the cup, dusted the pedestal, and set it back down without even a thought."
"It would be dangerous, but do you think he would carry the cup for us?" Phoebe asked.
"Oh yes, he would willingly, he was such a good man -- and brave. But he died two years ago."
"Who else picked it up?" Leo asked, glancing at his watch.
"This is troubling," the abbot said, wringing his hands fiercely, "and it has been a cause of much concern for me. Theologically. That demon I told you about. He came back a few months ago. He just picked up the cup and drank from it. He looked at me for a minute and then shimmered away."
The sisters glanced at each other knowingly, then Prue sighed and said: "That might have been a unique case, Brother Austin. At any rate, since remorseful demons won't cut it – I assume we need water, not wine for vanquishing purposes -- we need to find someone pure of heart. So. Hmm. Leo, see if you can pick it up. You're the closest thing to an angel we've got. Give it a try."
"Me?"
"Well, I sure can't," Phoebe said.
"Go on, hurry," Piper said.
Leo put his hand out, then withdrew it. He looked at Piper, sheepishly, then looked away. He put his hands on his hips and closed his eyes. Then he took a deep breath and reached out -- and, he picked up the cup.
"Is there water or wine in it?" the abbot asked.
"Water," Leo said, smiling hugely.
"Don't get cocky," Piper said. "Vanity and pride are sins, remember?"
"This is relief, honey."
"OK." Prue said. "Let's go get Darryl."
"Leo," Phoebe said, "please don't spill that water."
* * *
"Who the hell are those people?" Agent Smith whispered to Agent Rasher. Rasher looked through his night vision binoculars and focused them.
"The short, fat guy in the robe is the abbot. I don't know the rest."
The two agents had just managed to slip through the garden and behind the bushes by the main entrance to the monastery when Brother Austin, the sisters, and Leo, who was cradling the cup, ran out of the great hall and toward the villa.
"The lanky girl with the black hair sure is fine, whoever she is," Rasher said.
"We'd better follow them. They probably have no idea what they're about to get themselves into. How much time do we have?"
"Alpha plan gets executed in five minutes."
"Damn. Let's go."
* * *
"You know, I've never had clotted cream," Morris told Thalion, smiling.
"It's good with strawberries," Thalion said. Morris observed that Thalion had tucked his pistol in his coat pocket. "What do you want from us in exchange for your favorable report?"
Morris thought for awhile. It had to be a truthful answer, but he couldn't seem to find one that would work. So, as he learned from his friends in the DA's office, when you didn't have an answer, ask a question.
"What would you suggest?" Morris asked.
As Thalion started talking about percentages of racketeering profits based upon a variety of factors, Morris noticed an old wooden box resting on a folded velvet blanket next to the hearth. The box was decidedly ugly and stained and did not fit in with LaMorte's peculiar decor at all. Morris glanced at LaMorte and his sister and noticed that they were beginning to look a little more vague and distant than before. Morris also observed that they never picked up anything up or sat down. They just hovered in place, watching him. It was disconcerting.
"Master LaMorte," Morris said with an obsequious smile, "Won't you join us?"
"That food is not to my liking." LaMorte said curtly.
"Then, won't you sit down?"
"We prefer to stand." LaMorte paced toward the old box. "Look. I'm getting tired. Let's get on with it. Is Thalion's proposal satisfactory?"
"No," Morris said, "But it will have to do."
Just as Morris was about to stand up, the blonde woman began screeching. Morris looked at LaMorte and then at Thalion, fearing he'd somehow been caught in a lie, but then he saw the cause of the woman's distress. Phoebe, Piper, Leo, Prue, and Brother Austin had just walked into the room. Morris carefully backed away from everyone, remembering that when it came to the Charmed Ones and demon fighting, it was best to get out of the way. LaMorte, on the other hand, stood his ground and looked at them without emotion. Morris watched as Phoebe splashed water from a cup that Leo was holding onto LaMorte and Thalion and the woman. When nothing happened, LaMorte laughed.
"Childish witches," he said scornfully. "You think you can vanquish me with water?"
Thalion drew his pistol and aimed it at Leo, who cautiously held onto the cup but backed away slowly, raising his hands.
"What do we do now!?" Piper cried as LaMorte and Thalion moved toward them.
"Fight!" Phoebe yelled, swinging a foot at Thalion's head.
But when Piper tried to freeze LaMorte, he kept walking toward her. When Prue tried to throw him with her power, she failed. LaMorte laughed, flicking his hands at Piper and Prue, sending them both crashing to the ground where they writhed in pain. Phoebe, on the other hand, whose face glinted with water, seemed to have some success fighting Thalion. However, Thalion managed to sucker-punch her with the pistol butt, stunning her momentarily, giving Thalion enough time to pull free. As he moved to grab Thalion, Morris noticed the water glistening on Thalion's face and clothes, too. He saw that LaMorte and his sister, however, were dry. The realization of what was going on stopped Morris cold. He knew exactly what was happening and what he had to do.
Morris ran over to the ugly box on the hearth and kicked the lid off. Inside were two, small, pale green snakes. Without hesitating, Morris dumped them both into the fire. LaMorte and his sister made a wailing sound the likes of which Morris hoped he'd never hear again. As the snakes writhed, burning, LaMorte and his sister began to shimmer and fade until they disappeared entirely. They were just illusions, Morris thought. The real demons were those two snakes! Thalion, however, was still alive -- and he was angry and armed. When Morris turned away from the hearth, Thalion was standing just a few feet away with his pistol pointed at Morris' head. Morris saw Thalion's face, contorted with hatred, just beyond that seemingly huge, black opening at the end of his pistol. The barrel was inches from Morris' right eye. The world at that moment seemed frozen in time to Inspector Morris. He noticed Phoebe struggling to get up, he saw Leo running toward Thalion, he saw Piper and Prue unconscious on the ground. And then, there was a gunshot.
Agent Rasher, who had just run into the room, dropped Thalion with a single shot to the head. Based upon the blood splatter, Morris concluded that Thalion, unlike his employer, was quite human after all.
"Thanks," Morris said, wiping a spray off blood from his face. "You got him. You got LaMorte."
"Who the hell are these people?" Agent Smith said, bounding in just behind Rasher, pointing his pistol at Leo, then Phoebe.
"Civilians . . .um. Friends of the abbot. I think he asked for their help when LaMorte grabbed me. I have no idea how LaMorte did it, but he detected my electronic equipment and snuck up on me. LaMorte had a jamming field in place. See if your radio works now."
"Yeah. It does. I'd better tell the troops to stand down."
"Good idea."
Leo helped Piper and Prue to their feet. He still held on tightly to the cup. Phoebe started to ask Morris if he was OK, then thought better of it and backed away. Brother Austin, who was crouched behind the sofa, popped up, his face brimming with agitation and excitement. While Agent Rasher was radioing Agent Hawkins and while Agent Smith was examining Thalion's body, Morris tried to herd his friends out of the room and into the hallway.
"Listen," he said to Prue. "The police will be combing this place for evidence from top to bottom in a few minutes, so, I suggest two things: Get anything you need, like that cup, out of here ASAP. And," he said turning to Leo, "unless you want to give your eyewitness testimony, you might want to orb everyone home as soon as no one is looking. Yep, that would be good."
Leo, the abbot, and the sisters stared at Morris for a minute, then, spontaneously, gave him a big group hug.
"We came here to rescue you," Prue said, kissing Morris' cheek, "and you saved us. Let's chalk up two demons for Darryl."
"Two demons for Darryl," they all said, and Leo raised the cup to Inspector Morris as if in a toast. Inspector Morris just smiled and shrugged and thought how very glad he was to have clocked some field time with the Charmed Ones before this mission. Police work, he realized, would just never be the same.
