Beware What You Wish

by Diana G. Gallagher

  Prue was blunt to save time. “I want to know if it’s possible for a spirit to escape one of these stones, and if so — who or what might have occupied this one?”

  The old man’s penetrating gaze stayed fixed on her, but she didn’t blink or look away. “Such things are nonsense,” he said finally. “The superstitions of ignorant people needing something or someone more powerful than they to blame for misfortune and natural disaster over which they had no control.”

  “Perhaps,” Prue countered. “But I’ve always found it fascinating that so many ancient beliefs were shared by cultures that never had contact with each other. Too many similar myths to be explained as mere coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps.” The old man paused. “You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”

  “No, sir, I’m not.” Prue wasn’t sure if Rubin thought she was slightly unhinged or whether he was surprised to find a believer. As she and her sisters had found out, cult superstitions often had a basis in terrible, violent reality. Although mysticism and metaphysics were accepted in pop culture, the hallowed halls of many respected universities regarded such studies and theories as poppycock, to paraphrase Grams.

  Sighing, the professor clasped his hands on his stomach. “You do understand that an academic who gave credence to such a preposterous theory could be forced into retirement. The income gained from museums seeking authentication of their new acquisitions would not offset the ridicule.”

  “Perfectly.” Prue smiled to assure him she under-stood that whatever he told her was just between them. He was well past retirement age. His expertise and his scientific reputation were his job security, and she had the feeling he had come close to forced unemployment in the past.

  The old man nodded and adjusted his glasses to glance at the photo again. “There are legends, an oral history that’s told among certain tribes who still live in the jungles of the Amazon. I suspect that stone represents Athulak, an entity in human form who created and thrived on chaos.”

  “Sounds like some people I’ve known,” Prue quipped.

  “Yes, me, too, I’m sorry to say.” Grinning, he relaxed and continued. “As the story goes, Athulak could twist the intent of prayers for peace and prosperity to bring disaster instead. The tribe prayed for rain and got devastating floods. They asked for game and were overrun with disease-ridden pests. You get the idea.”

  “Yes, I do.” Prue nodded, even though she couldn’t make a connection between the legend and current events. “How did Athulak get into the stone?”

  “Assuming that is the stone, which I doubt,” the professor clarified, “he was imprisoned by a powerful woman who could manipulate the elements.”

  A witch, Prue thought.

  “After Athulak was trapped, she buried the stone so a prayer with the potential to create irreversible, catastrophic mayhem could not release him.”

  “What makes you think this figure is Athulak?” Prue asked, remembering that Tremaine had said the stone was the only one of its kind in the world.

  “The smooth contours and almost total lack of detail,” Rubin explained. “It’s described in the stories. The symbolic order inherent in the shape and design strengthened the power of the woman’s binding spell.”

  “Makes sense to me.” Prue stuffed the photo back in her purse and thanked the old man. Now that she had a name, she could check The Book of Shadows. She looked back when she reached the door. “One more question, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” The professor leaned forward expectantly.

  “Could a disembodied spirit take form as a cold gust of wind?”

  The old man hesitated, rubbing his chin, then shrugged. “I don’t have the foggiest. An interesting theory, however, if one believes in spirits.”

  “What did you find out?” Phoebe turned Dark Passions at Midnight facedown on the coffee table when Prue came in. A good night’s sleep and a day without visions had cured her headache, and she had finally gotten a few lazy hours of downtime to read. She had enjoyed herself, but she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life as a hermit doing nothing because her power was out of control.

  Prue glanced at the paperback cover. “Doing some heavy reading to take your mind off your troubles?”

  “Compared to Agatha Cross and Trevor Holcombe, my life is boring.” Phoebe wasn’t about to admit she was enjoying the steamy novel, made steamier by substituting Rick and herself as the hero and heroine. There were some secrets sisters did not have to share. “So how was Professor Rubin? As creepy and cantankerous as they say?”

  “More like sweet and lovable — for a wizened, cranky old man,” Prue said. “And very helpful. I think.”

  “You think?” Phoebe sagged. “I was hoping for something a little more definitive.”

  “Well, maybe you and Piper will think of something I didn’t.” Prue glanced toward the kitchen. “Is she back from P3, yet? I’d rather explain this only once.”

  Phoebe shook her head. Piper had taken Prue’s photos of P3 and the other things she had gathered to decorate the bazaar booth to the club. She also had to check with the rental company to make sure the small fridge would be delivered to the park on time. If all went according to plan in the morning, Rick and the rest of the setup crew would have everything ready to go by the time the wholesaler arrived with the food and beverages.

  “She’s getting a little tense and testy about the bazaar tomorrow,” Phoebe said. “So I really hope you don’t have bad news.”

  They both looked toward the front hall when the door opened and slammed closed.

  Piper stomped in looking furious. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to rent a refrigerator for a day?”

  “Not a clue,” Phoebe said.

  “How much?” Prue asked.

  “Too much. So I bought one instead, but it’s a write-off,” Piper added quickly. “I can use it in the storeroom at the club.” As she started to sit, Prue grabbed her arm and pulled her back up.

  “Before you get comfy, we have to check The Book of Shadows.” Prue hauled Piper into the hall and glanced back at Phoebe. “Coming?”

  “Right behind you.” Phoebe finished the ginger ale in her glass and hurried to catch up.

  “Check for what?” Piper asked as they trooped up the stairs to the attic.

  “An entity called Athulak,” Prue explained. “He had a thing for chaos. According to the legends and Professor Rubin, a witch bound him in the stone and buried it. I think Tremaine’s archaeological expedition dug him up.”

  Prue dropped her bag by Grams’s old rocker and went to the pedestal that held The Book of Shadows.

  Phoebe sank into the old rocker, taking comfort from the Halliwell history that was stored in the attic. Family heirlooms from centuries ago to the dress she had worn to her high school prom had all been lovingly saved. Most important, however, was the leather-bound Book of Shadows, which had unlocked to reveal the magical secrets of their ancestors when their own powers had been awakened. New spells and information were added as needed when Grams or another long-dead relative had them to give.

  “Does he have anything to do with my visions?” Phoebe crossed her fingers as Prue flipped the pages.

  Prue looked up from the book with a frown. “Have you said any prayers for peace and prosperity lately?”

  “Not since last Christmas,” Phoebe said. “Peace on earth, goodwill to men and all.”

  “I don’t think that’s what Prue meant.” Piper sat on an old beanbag chair that had lost its poof and clutched a dingy old throw pillow to her chest. “What did you mean?” she asked Prue.

  “Professor Rubin said Athulak had the power to corrupt the people’s prayers so they created disaster instead of peace and prosperity. Pray for rain, get floods. That kind of thing,” Prue explained and continued turning the pages.

  Phoebe rocked, which helped her think. “I don’t think that applies to me.”

  “Why not?” Piper cocked her head, puzzled. />
  “Because being able to connect with more people has helped us avert disaster, not create it.” Discouraged, Phoebe stopped rocking. Planting her elbows on her knees, she rested her chin in her hands.

  “Good point.” Sighing, Piper turned back to Prue. “Anything?”

  Prue shook her head and stood back. “Not yet, anyway.”

  Phoebe stared at the book. Occasionally, an invisible ancestor’s spirit would open the book to the right reference for them. The pages didn’t even ruffle as the seconds passed.

  “I guess we don’t get any help this time.” Piper sighed.

  Depressed, Phoebe hung her head. She desperately wanted something external to be responsible for her new, precognitive ultrasensitivity, but wanting something didn’t make it so. Or did it? Her brain suddenly shifted into high gear.

  “Brainstorm!” Phoebe flew out of the chair, her gaze snapping from one sister’s perplexed face to the other. “Don’t people usually pray because they want something?”

  “Or because they’re grateful for something,” Piper said.

  Phoebe rolled her eyes, then started to pace to collect her thoughts. She knew she was grasping at straws, but they didn’t have anything else. “Well, isn’t a wish the same thing?”

  Prue frowned.

  Piper blinked.

  “Yesterday morning when I was watching the news,” Phoebe reminded them, “I wished that my power was stronger so I could help more people and — bingo! My power is stronger.”

  “Possible?” Piper looked at Prue.

  “Theoretically.” Prue’s frown deepened as she moved to her bag and removed the photo.

  Phoebe looked over Prue’s shoulder at the gray smoky flaw that obstructed the image of the spirit stone. “What?”

  “I’m not sure.” Prue stared at the photo, her brow wrinkled and her eyes narrowed in thought. Piper and Phoebe both tensed when she inhaled sharply and her blue eyes widened with an unknown revelation. “This meeting is adjourned to the kitchen.”

  “Why?” Phoebe tried, but she couldn’t quell a rush of excitement. “What?”

  “I don’t want to get your hopes up.” Prue ran for the door. “I have to check something first!”

  “What?” Phoebe called after her. “I can take it! Honest!” She stamped her foot as Prue disappeared down the stairs and glared at the open door.

  “How about a few ham rolls while we wait.” Piper draped an arm over Phoebe’s shoulders. “I made up a double batch of black bread and cream cheese squares, too.”

  Piper’s offer calmed Phoebe’s stressed nerves. However, she couldn’t accept without confessing. “I, uh, already taste tested a few . . . several, actually. Maybe a dozen.”

  “No biggie,” Piper teased. “I calculated in the Phoebe snitch factor when I made them. Besides, it doesn’t look like Leo’s going to show up any time soon to eat them.”

  Letting Piper go ahead, Phoebe paused to switch off the attic light. Her thoughts and emotions were in turmoil wondering what Prue was checking into. She didn’t want a showdown with a nasty spirit, but the alternative was worse.

  She would be condemned to the torture of endless brushes with everyone else’s disasters or the torment of complete, unending isolation.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Where is she?” Phoebe stood with her hands on her hips and a look of consternation on her face.

  Piper pulled a plate of black bread squares out of the refrigerator and stuffed one in Phoebe’s mouth. “Chew and chill.”

  Phoebe scowled, pushed the snack into her mouth, and grabbed another off the plate before Piper set it on the counter.

  Inhaling and exhaling with quiet frustration, Piper reached into the refrigerator for a tray of ham rolls and began to slice them into circular bite-size pieces. She didn’t mean to appear insensitive to Phoebe, but if Prue didn’t find any answers the disappointment would be worse. And it wasn’t as though she didn’t have her own problems. The Celebrity Charity Bazaar was costing more than she had anticipated. If the P3 booth didn’t attract more business to the club, her PR budget for the year would be blown.

  Stricken by a twinge of guilt, Piper stole a sidelong glance at Phoebe as she arranged the bread squares and ham rolls on a clean plate. Her younger sister was flipping through a magazine Prue had left on the table, but her outward calm didn’t fool Piper. Being the early warning system for every cut, pimple, or fatal accident in the immediate future of every person she met was a difficult, if not impossible, burden to bear.

  Prue emerged from the darkroom as Piper finished filling a bowl with fresh raw carrot sticks, broccoli, and cauliflower and set it on the table with a side of creamy dip.

  “Take a look at these.” Prue lined up four of the Tremaine photos in front of Phoebe.

  Piper moved behind Phoebe and looked at the series of pictures one by one. “What are we looking for?”

  “The pattern.” Prue brushed her hair behind her ear, then pointed to the flaw over the spirit stone in each shot. “Every time I’ve looked at these shots in the order they were taken, I’ve had the feeling I was missing something. Now it’s so obvious I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out. Don’t you see it?”

  “No,” Piper answered honestly.

  “I do,” Phoebe said softly. “The blemish gets bigger in each shot.”

  “Yep, but that’s not all.” Prue ran her finger across the glossies. “The origin point of the flaw is the same in each shot, too. It starts at the inside corner of the left eye.”

  Piper moved beside Phoebe to study the photos again. As Prue had pointed out, the gray shadow appeared to be elongating from the carved eye. Interesting but not conclusive, she thought warily. She tended to be as skeptical as Prue was quick to attribute everything bad that happened to an evil force. “I don’t want to put a damper on your theory, Prue, but the images would be in the same spot in every picture if you used a damaged roll of film.”

  “Except they’re not exactly in the same spot.” Prue pulled a six-inch ruler out of her back pocket and measured the distance from the corner of the eye to the edge of every photo. The measurements were different and off by as much as an inch. “If the problem was the film, the flaw would be exactly two inches in from the side in every proof. They aren’t. The flaw originates in the eye in every photo regardless of the angle.”

  “Is this a eureka moment?” Phoebe asked hesitantly.

  “I think so. My camera captured the essence of Athulak escaping the stone.” Prue grinned, immensely pleased with herself.

  “Woohoo!” Phoebe raised her hand to high-five with Prue, then threw her arms around Prue’s waist and hugged her. “What a relief!”

  “Wait a minute!” Piper held up her hands. “Having an ancient spirit who causes chaos on the loose is not a reason to celebrate.”

  “Oh, right.” Prue immediately stopped smiling and coughed.

  “I beg to differ,” Phoebe said. “If Athulak made my power go berserk, then we can probably reverse his action.”

  “That’s possible, but we really don’t know much about him or how he operates.” Piper pulled out a chair and sat down. “Assuming it’s Athulak and not some other dastardly spirit with a completely different game plan that escaped Tremaine’s rock.”

  “Okay, okay.” Prue sat down on the other side of Phoebe. “I admit we’re assuming a lot, but we may know more than we think we do.”

  “Like what?” Piper wanted Prue’s theory to be right as much as Phoebe did, but she wanted more proof than a few photos that might be flawed because of bad film.

  “I’m not sure.” Prue shrugged.

  “Did Professor Rubin say anything else that might help us?” Phoebe asked Prue, then glanced at Piper. “I mean, let’s just assume we’re dealing with Athulak since we don’t have any other likely suspects, okay?”

  “Okay.” Piper folded her arms and crossed her legs. When she issued a challenge, Prue and Phoebe usually took the bait and argued
a convincing case. Right now Piper really wanted to be convinced. “For the sake of argument.”

  “Okay.” The intensity of Phoebe’s anxiety was evident in her hushed voice and probing stare as she leaned across the table. “What happened in Tremaine’s library, Prue? You or he must have done something to break the binding spell.”

  “Well, let’s see.” Prue picked up a black bread square and nibbled it while she thought. “Professor Rubin said that after the witch trapped the spirit of Athulak in the stone, she buried it so — ” Prue paused, apparently trying to remember the professor’s exact words. “So a prayer that could produce irreversible, catastrophic mayhem couldn’t set him free.”

  Piper recoiled slightly. “What did Tremaine do? Pray for the end of the world?”

  “No, he wished that he didn’t have to run against Noel Jefferson.” Prue tapped the first photo in the series of four on the table. “Just as I took this. There’s no flaw in the shots I snapped before he made the wish.”

  “There you are!” Beaming with triumph, Phoebe straightened and slapped her hands on the table.

  Prue’s satisfied smile segued into an irritated frown when she noticed Piper’s expression didn’t mirror her and Phoebe’s elation. “What?” Prue demanded. “Everything we’ve discussed falls right into place with what’s happened to Phoebe.”

  “Yes, as long as we ignore the fact that our powers got stronger without any outside interference,” Piper responded.

  “What about the cold winds?” Phoebe’s eyes flashed. “How do you explain that, Piper?”

  “A cold wind that touched each of us at different times,” Prue added emphatically.

  “And different locations.” Phoebe lifted her chin, defying Piper to argue.

  “Four times.” Piper slapped her forehead. “I felt the same frigid blast of cold air in the park!”

  “When the pony ran amok?” Prue asked.

  “Oh, boy.” Phoebe closed her eyes for a second. “The pony went wild right after that little girl wished she had a pony.”