Dark Vengeance

by Diana G. Gallagher

  A brittle tension gripped the room as Paige sat up and flexed her fingers. She hesitated, and then boldly thrust out her hand. “Remote!”

  Leo frowned when nothing happened. A moment later the remote control slowly dissolved into orb particles, which drifted into Paige’s hand and slowly re-formed. At first glance the device seemed fine. On closer inspection, she noticed that the lettering formed nonsense words and the buttons were out of line. “Oh, boy,” she winced. “That’s definitely worse than yesterday.”

  “Which is what I wanted to find out.” Leo kept his tone matter-of-fact when the three sisters looked to him for clarification. “Something happened to start the power drain in the first place, and whatever it was, it happened to each of you again since yesterday.”

  The girls looked baffled. “Nothing happened,” Paige insisted.

  “Yes, it did,” Leo said firmly. “Nothing else can account for the diminished powers and the excessive physical and emotional side effects you’re all experiencing. You’ve all encountered something in the past few days that you’ve never run into before.

  “And whatever it was, you came into contact with it twice.”

  Charmed™

  The Power of Three Soul of the Bride

  Kiss of Darkness Beware What You Wish

  The Crimson Spell Charmed Again

  Whispers from the Past Spirit of the Wolf

  Voodoo Moon Garden of Evil

  Haunted by Desire Date with Death

  The Gypsy Enchantment Dark Vengeance

  The Legacy of Merlin

  Published by Simon & Schuster

  With love for John Alan Streb:

  friend, son-in-law,

  and all round great guy

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Simon Pulse edition November 2002

  ™ & © 2002 Spelling Television Inc. All Rights Reserved.

  SIMON PULSE

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster

  Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  All rights reserved, including the right of

  reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  The text of this book was set in Palatino.

  Library of Congress Control Number 2002111612

  ISBN 0-689-85284-3

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  DARK VENGEANCE

  Chapter

  1

  “Those socks don’t match.” Phoebe Halliwell sat on the bed, watching her fiancé, Cole Turner, pack. As usual, she had no idea where he was going or how long he’d be gone. However, she didn’t give him a hard time about taking off for parts unknown, frequently and without notice. Surviving the death of his demon half required more than a casual adjustment.

  “They don’t?” Cole stared at the socks in his hand—one blue and one tan—as though pairing socks of identical color did not matter.

  Which it doesn’t, Phoebe thought. Compared to the trauma of becoming suddenly human, matching socks rated way below trivial on the what-matters scale.

  Flopping onto her side, Phoebe braced her chin in her hand. She knew that if she lost her powers with no hope of getting them back, she wouldn’t be able to just accept it either. She’d feel ineffectual and incomplete—and cheated out of something precious and irreplaceable.

  She had no right to complain because he needed time alone, Phoebe reminded herself. She had mixed the power-stripping potion that Emma, a young woman who wanted revenge for her dead husband, had used to kill Belthazor. Cole insisted that he didn’t blame her, but she felt responsible anyway.

  Cole shrugged and dropped the balled pair of mismatched socks into his canvas duffel. “Won’t matter where I’m going.”

  “It won’t?” Phoebe asked, startled by the unexpected opening into taboo territory. Since Cole was struggling with an identity crisis, she usually respected his right to privacy. This time she decided to press. “Why not?”

  Cole hesitated, then glanced back with a mischievous grin. “I think trout are color-blind.”

  “You’re going fishing?” Phoebe sat up.

  She had envisioned Cole holed up in some cheap, seedy motel on his recent excursions to “find himself.” She had assumed these periods of isolated reflection included self-indulgent sulking over lost magic balanced by profound remorse for Belthazor’s evil deeds. It had never occurred to her that he might be having fun while he was coming to terms with being a powerless human.

  “I might.” Cole tossed his other pair of blue and tan socks into the bag and zipped it closed. “I’ve heard that sitting in a boat drowning a skewered worm for the perverse pleasure of luring a hungry fish to death by suffocation helps people think.”

  “That’s a warped but apt description of a popular pastime.” Phoebe grimaced.

  “Sorry. Must be residual demon effects that haven’t worn off yet.” Cole kissed her on the forehead and smiled.

  Phoebe cuffed his arm and cocked a playful eyebrow. “You really miss being dangerous, don’t you?”

  “Maybe,” Cole conceded, “but I’m working on it.”

  “I’m not worried,” Phoebe said. “No evil guy would ever wear blue and tan socks.”

  “How long before I’m off the hook for this fashion faux pas?” Cole frowned. “No pun intended.”

  “It’s already forgotten.” Phoebe held up her hand as though swearing an oath. “Not another word. Just come back safe and soon.”

  “You can count on it.” Cole touched her face, his smile tight. “I have to go.”

  Phoebe nodded and followed him down the stairs. Despite Cole’s assurances, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was holding something back. However, she was determined not to let her imagination run wild. His secret might be something as simple and harmless as hating the scent of her shampoo—or not.

  “When does your computer class at the community college start?” Cole paused in the doorway to pull his car keys from his pocket.

  “Tonight.” Phoebe smiled, pleased that he remembered she had signed up to take a course in Web site design.

  “I’m a little nervous, though,” Phoebe admitted. “My computer skills are pretty basic.”

  “Isn’t that why you’re taking this course?” Cole asked. “To improve?”

  “And to make a few bucks,” Phoebe replied. “With luck.”

  An amused sparkle played in Cole’s brown eyes. “I bet you’ll be a dot-com zillionaire in no time.”

  “Don’t think so!” Phoebe exclaimed with mock horror. “Dot-com zillionaires have become so rare, they’re almost extinct.”

  “Extinction is not an option.” Cole bent his head, drawing Phoebe into a long, lingering kiss. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” Smiling, Phoebe watched until Cole pulled his car away from the curb. The instant she closed the door, the house felt empty.

  “Is Cole coming down for breakfast?” Piper asked her sister as Phoebe came into the kitchen.

  “No, he just left.” Phoebe grabbed a glass and opened the refrigerator.

  “Again?” Paige Matthews looked up from the morning paper.

  “Are you done with the sports section?” Leo asked over the rim of his coffee cup.

  Piper flashed her youngest sibling a warning glance. Focused on Phoebe, Paige handed Leo the sports pages and totally missed Piper’s unspoken message.

  “Whe
re did he go this time?” Paige asked with clueless curiosity.

  Piper sighed as she folded Leo’s omelette. Paige wasn’t heartless or mean. She was just as new to being a sister as she was to being a witch. Raised as an only child, Paige couldn’t always tell when uncomfortable family topics should be avoided.

  Like now, Piper thought as she lifted the frying pan and picked up a plate. Five minutes after Cole departed for who-knew-where for who-knew-what purpose was not a good time to discuss his absences, even though Phoebe didn’t seem to mind.

  Distracted, Piper slid the hot omelette out of the pan onto her thumb. “Ouch!”

  Leo’s attention instantly shifted from yesterday’s scores to his injured wife. “Are you okay?”

  Nodding, Piper dropped the pan back on the burner, the plate on the counter, and stuck her thumb in her mouth. She gingerly retrieved the toast that had just popped up and dropped the pieces on the plate.

  “Cole went fishing.” Phoebe answered Paige as she poured OJ into her glass.

  “Really?” Paige’s eyes widened with surprise. “Cole never struck me as the fishing type. It’s so…stationary.”

  Piper noted the younger woman’s pointed sarcasm. Paige hadn’t trusted Cole since she’d found out he had spent the last century leading a double life as a demon. She apparently didn’t realize that her lack of faith in his redemption hurt Phoebe. However, for the sake of domestic tranquillity, Phoebe usually let the verbal barbs pass.

  “Is that omelette almost done, Piper?” Leo asked suddenly. “I’m starved.”

  “Not a good idea to rush the cook, Leo.” Annoyed, Piper buttered his toast. Then she realized that her Whitelighter husband had been trying to change the subject away from Cole’s uncharacteristic fishing trip.

  Unfortunately, Paige wasn’t picking up on the cues. Like a political pundit on prime-time TV, she kept talking undeterred, locked into her own agenda.

  “I mean, how dull compared with skiing or rock climbing or white-water rafting,” Paige said.

  Piper set Leo’s breakfast on the table. “Don’t get too used to this, Mr. Wyatt. My gourmet omelettes are an occasional wifely indulgence, not a required domestic duty.”

  “Uh-huh.” Leo frowned, not sure if Piper’s remark was in jest. “Are you serious?”

  “Completely.” Grabbing her coffee mug off the counter, Piper sank into a chair and fixed Paige with a hard stare.

  Paige scowled under the scrutiny. “What’s wrong with you this morning, Piper?”

  “Monday morning blahs? Everyone seems to be a little tense,” Leo observed.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me that a two-week Caribbean cruise wouldn’t cure,” Piper quipped. She turned to Phoebe. “Is Cole fishing for anything in particular?”

  Piper hoped she sounded casually interested and not suspicious. Phoebe had learned a valuable lesson when she had lied about killing Cole—a.k.a. Belthazor—after they first discovered his true identity: She would not betray her sisters to protect him again. If something about him threatened their safety or their mission as the Charmed Ones, Phoebe wouldn’t hesitate to tell.

  “You might want to dig out your recipes for trout.” Phoebe put the juice carton back on the shelf and closed the refrigerator door. “In case he actually catches something.”

  “I’ll do that.” Piper raised her cup and paused. “When is he coming back?”

  “I’m not sure.” Phoebe sat down. “A few days.”

  Piper exhaled with relief. “Good, because I’m way too busy to mess with fresh fish for dinner tonight.”

  “Better for me, too,” Phoebe said. When everyone turned to stare, she added, “that Cole won’t be here tonight.”

  “What could possibly be more important than being with the tall, dark, and dastardly love of your life?” Paige asked.

  “Nothing,” Phoebe said. “It’s just that my Web site class starts at seven.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot.” Piper held up crossed fingers. “Let’s hope you have a knack.”

  Piper and her sisters never knew when the Power of Three might be needed to save an innocent from some horrendous supernatural evil. Consequently, Piper didn’t want Phoebe tied down to a nine-to-five job.

  Being confined by employment wasn’t a problem for Piper, because she owned P3. Running the popular local nightclub was demanding, but she had complete freedom of movement.

  Bob Cowan, Paige’s boss at South Bay Social Services, grumbled occasionally, but Paige could usually come and go as her Charmed duties required. The chances that Phoebe would find a job with the necessary flexibility and an understanding boss were remote to nonexistent.

  “A freelance business in Web site design sounds like the perfect career for a witch on twenty-four/seven demon call,” Paige said.

  “Since I’m obviously not going anywhere with my psychology degree.” Phoebe sighed.

  “Some extra cash coming in would be nice.” Piper glanced at the pile of bills collecting on the hutch. No matter what else happened today—invasion of fever fiends, ambush by spit sprites, or an insidious plague of skin mold—she had to deal with the household finances. The money available for Halliwell Manor’s operating expenses was always stretched thin, and she didn’t want to incur any budget-busting late charges.

  “Ditto that.” Paige lifted her handbag off the floor. The leather around the metal clasp was scorched. “My meager wardrobe funds can’t keep up with the demon damage.”

  “Let’s see if I can get through the course first, okay?” Phoebe exhaled long and loud. “I don’t take to technology as naturally as I do magic.”

  “You’re going to ace the course,” Paige said. “And who knows? Phoebe’s Web Enterprises might be the beginning of a new dot-com boom.”

  “Not likely, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” Phoebe sighed. “Anyway, it’ll be easier to concentrate the first few days without Cole around to distract me.”

  “Speaking of distractions”—Leo pushed his empty plate aside and leaned toward Piper—“I thought you might want to—”

  “Not!” Piper’s tone was sharper than she had intended. She did feel a little guilty about having neglected Leo lately, but she didn’t want to discuss it in front of her sisters. “No time for fun and games today, Leo.”

  “You can’t be that busy,” Phoebe teased.

  “No?” Piper counted on her fingers as she rattled off the items on her schedule. “I’ve got to catch up the bills, iron Leo’s shirts, grocery shop, and audition a new band for next weekend because Rock Bottom cancelled. Plus, there’s a huge delivery arriving at P3 this afternoon that has to be stocked before we open.”

  “That’s why I thought you might want some help,” Leo said. “I can do the grocery shopping and—”

  Piper cut him off with a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “The last time you went to the grocery store you came back with cabbage instead of iceberg lettuce.”

  Leo threw up his arms in frustration. “I was in a hurry.”

  “And considering that we’re still talking about it six months later,” Phoebe said, “that’s a mistake he’s not likely to repeat.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m a chef, and chefs are very particular about the quality of their groceries.” Piper wasn’t in the mood to be gracious. Eating shrimp cocktail served on a bed of fresh cabbage hadn’t bothered anyone else, but they didn’t share her professional culinary sensibilities. “Especially produce.”

  “Sounds to me like you could use some fun and games, Piper.” Paige drained her coffee cup and rose to refill it. “If you don’t lighten up, you’re going to worry yourself sick and drive the rest of us nuts.”

  “This stuff won’t get done by itself,” Piper snapped. Since she had just rejected Leo’s offer to help out, she instantly regretted the remark. When had she gotten so cranky? Maybe she was pushing herself too hard.

  “But where is it written that you have to do everything, Piper?” Phoebe’s brown eyes darkened with concern. “
We should all pitch in. We’ve got time, and we’re not incompetent.”

  “Just leafy vegetable challenged,” Paige added. She ducked when Leo wadded his paper napkin and tossed it at her. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

  “Not funny.” Piper took a large swallow of coffee expecting it to be warm and gagged on the cold, bitter brew. Sputtering with disgust, she set the mug down too hard. Coffee splashed onto the clean tablecloth. “Now look what I did!”

  “It’s just a tablecloth.” Paige handed Piper a fistful of napkins. “Take it easy, okay?”

  “Really, Piper.” Phoebe leaned forward, drawing her flustered sister’s gaze. “You’re so stressed out about the small stuff, you might not be able to cope when the pressure is really on.”

  Piper started to protest, then nodded. Phoebe was right. Vanquishing evil was difficult and dangerous when they were all on top of their game. If one of them cracked, things could get fatal fast.

  “So here’s what we’re going to do,” Phoebe continued. “I’ll iron Leo’s shirts while you do the bills.”

  “And I’ll help you stock the P3 delivery,” Leo said.

  “Okay.” Piper nodded, her smile sincere. She wished she had words to express her gratitude, but she had never been much for verbal gushing. Some homemade chocolate-chip cookies would get the message across.

  “You’ll have to handle the audition yourself, but maybe Paige can stop by the store on her way home from work.” Phoebe glanced over her shoulder.

  Paige just stared back, speechless as she held Phoebe’s questioning gaze. She couldn’t believe Piper needed a favor on a day when she had to refuse.

  “Is that a problem?” Phoebe pressed.

  Piper held up her right hand. “I promise not to banish you to the basement if the tomatoes are bruised.”

  “No, that’s not—I mean, I would if I could”—Paige stammered and cleared her throat—“but I can’t.”

  “Big date?” Piper asked.

  “I wish, but no such luck.” Paige sighed. “My social calendar is depressingly uncluttered.”