Soul of the Bride

by Elizabeth Lenhard

  “I’ll remember where we left off,” he whispered back. Then he winked.

  O-kay, Phoebe thrilled inwardly. Back on plan.

  An hour later four men and three women were lounging around the kitchen in gold-edged tunics, filmy dresses, and Grecian sandals. The kitchen table was littered with fake shields, lyres, and pan pipes. And the air was thick with the conversation of beautiful young things.

  “So, I said to the prof, ‘You can’t give me an incomplete.’ I mean, I had an audition,” said Kurt, the buff blond playing Apollo.

  “Mmmm, interesting,” droned Madelaine, a stunning redhead in full Hera gear, who was munching one of Piper’s canapés. “Do you think this hors d’oeuvre is fat-free?”

  Phoebe, meanwhile, was hanging in the sunroom with Nikos and Mitchell. Mitchell was setting up light reflectors around the room. Nikos and Phoebe were simply flirting.

  “I’ve got to say, Nikos, you’ve got lovely legs,” Phoebe joked, eyeing her hottie’s short tunic.

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the gods,” he teased back.

  Phoebe laughed. “Why, you’re the only god I kno—”

  “Phoebe!”

  Phoebe jumped and turned around. Prue was standing next to the Victorian camera at the sunroom entrance. She was wearing baggy overalls and a dour expression.

  “Prue!” Phoebe said with alarm.

  “Prue . . .” Mitchell said with admiration.

  “Hi, Mitchell,” Prue said, trying to shoot a smile at her gorgeous “assistant” while she simultaneously glared at her sister.

  “Um, is there a problem?” Phoebe asked, glancing through the living room to the model-filled kitchen. “The natives certainly look happy.”

  “Yes, well, did you notice that we’re one native short?” Prue hissed. Inside she was seething. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Phoebe, she thought. Of course, something was bound to go wrong.

  “That can’t be,” Phoebe said weakly, lurching to her feet. “I confirmed with everyone.”

  “Well, one of the women didn’t show,” Prue said curtly. “And we’re in big trouble.”

  Piper walked into the room holding a tray.

  “Phoebe, you’ll try my crab fritters, won’t you?” she said, offering a savory-smelling appetizer. “None of the models will touch them. It’s a deep-fried thing.”

  “Not now, Piper,” Phoebe began. “We have a cri— Hey. . . . Piper.” Phoebe suddenly smiled at her sister. Prue’s eyes widened as she read Phoebe’s mind. Then she turned and smiled her own sweet smile.

  “Piper . . .” she began.

  Piper’s jaw dropped. Then she spun around and headed right back to the kitchen.

  “Oh no,” she called over her shoulder. “I recognize that tone of voice. You guys are going to ask me for another favor. And I can tell I’m not going to like it.”

  “But you’d look so pretty in this,” Prue said, showing her the last costume—a low-cut, sheer sheath.

  “And . . . you love Greek food!” Phoebe stammered.

  “Desperate, Phoebs,” Piper said, plopping her tray on the counter. “Really desperate.”

  “You’re right,” Prue cut in. “We are desperate. One of the models didn’t show up, and if you won’t fill in for her, my whole tableau will be ruined. And my one chance at the 415 cover? Dashed!”

  “Okay, okay,” Piper said. “I’ll do it. Just please, put me in the back of the crowd. This is sooo embarrassing.”

  In just a few minutes, the models were assembled on the antique furnishings in the sunroom. With Mitchell’s help, Prue arranged them in classical poses. Joey, the guy playing Ares, held a spear aloft and looked fierce while Aphrodite—otherwise known as Piper—draped herself awkwardly over his shoulder. She yanked at the hem of her short tunic and hunched her shoulders.

  To depict Persephone, the captive bride of Hades, Prue had Phoebe lay a hand across her forehead and turn her back to Nikos, playing the god of the underworld.

  “Uh, Phoebe,” Mitchell whispered to her, “are you sure you should be sitting so close to Hades? I mean, you’re not supposed to really like him in this scenario.”

  “Shhh,” Phoebe said, winking at Mitchell and sidling even closer to Nikos.

  Mitchell winked back and held a light meter up to Phoebe’s face.

  “It’s at seven point four, Prue,” he announced.

  “Great,” Prue said, ducking under the velvet drape of the antique camera. “Okay, looking good. Everybody ready?”

  “Actually, I am very uncomfortable,” said Chloe, the petulant blond who was playing Artemis. She was aiming an arrow at the wall and giving the camera a sultry stare. “Those canapés were much too salty. I’m parched. May I have some spring water please? Make sure it’s spring, not mineral.”

  Prue planted her fists on her hips. She was about to tell the prima donna just what she could do with her spring, not mineral, water, when Mitchell placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

  “Of course, I’ll get you some water,” he told Chloe. “Evian or Pellegrino?”

  “Evian,” Chloe ordered.

  “You’re a saint,” Prue whispered to Mitchell with a grin.

  “What are assistants for?” he whispered back. Then he headed into the kitchen to get the water.

  Prue ducked back under her velvet drape. She thrilled inside. This was going to be a gorgeous shot. She could already envision it on 415 ’s cover.

  “Looks almost perfect,” she called from beneath the drape. “Now, Phoebe, if you’ll just unpeel yourself from Nikos, and Piper, if you could try to look a little less stricken, I’ll take our first shot.”

  “Who died and made her Annie Leibovitz?” Piper muttered through gritted teeth while Phoebe stifled a snort of laughter.

  “Okay!” Prue announced, holding her antique flashbulb aloft. “Here we go. One . . . two . . . three!”

  Psfffftttt!

  Piper saw the flash go off and then, for a moment, she was utterly blinded. When the bright light subsided, she squinted painfully. Then she looked down and gasped. “Ares” had slithered out of her embrace and collapsed onto the floor at her feet.

  “Prue. . . .” Piper started to say. She looked around her. Nikos, Chloe . . . all the pretty young things had slumped over in heaps. Only Phoebe sat upright, blinking in confusion.

  Prue emerged from the drape looking panicked.

  “What happened?” she gasped, rushing forward and kneeling over Kurt/Apollo. She jostled him lightly and put her face close to his.

  “He’s breathing,” Prue said.

  “So is Hera over here,” Piper said, lifting Madelaine’s limp hand and dropping it into her lap. “In fact, she’s snoring!”

  Phoebe peered at Nikos. “He looks so peaceful,” she said. “They’ve all just fallen asleep.”

  “Yeah,” Prue said, nudging Kurt again. He kept on snoozing away. “They’ve fallen and they can’t get up.”

  “One Evian, with a straw, coming up,” called a voice from the kitchen.

  “Mitchell!” Phoebe gasped.

  Piper could see Mitchell’s boot toe stepping into the living room. Before she could think twice, she waved her hands in front of her. The boot toe, and the rest of Mitchell, froze in place. The sound of Hera’s snoring, along with the ticking of their grandfather clock halted, too. Time was stopped, for the moment anyway.

  “Good call, Piper,” Phoebe said, lurching to her feet. “I don’t know what this is, but it’s definitely something supernatural.”

  “Which means Mitchell had better not find out about it,” Prue finished for her. She rushed to the wooden archway that separated the sunroom from the living room and unhooked the pale green curtain from its usual spot, tucked against the door frame. Then she zipped the curtain across the brass rod, hiding the heap of sleeping models, as well as Phoebe and Piper, from Mitchell’s view.

  Just in time, too. The minute Prue shimmied the curtain into place, Mitchell unfroze. He stepped into the living roo
m, holding the bottle of water.

  He looked from the curtain to Prue and back to the curtain.

  “Ten-minute break already?” he said. “I thought you said you ran a tight ship.”

  “Uhhhh,” Prue stalled.

  “Broken spaghetti strap,” Phoebe shrieked from behind the curtain. “We’ve got a costume crisis here. We’re not decent. So don’t peek!”

  “Exactly!” Prue blurted. Inwardly, she groaned. Leave it to Phoebe to come up with the most lurid lie imaginable. But she couldn’t back out of it now.

  “I can’t believe how flimsy those costumes are,” Prue complained, shoving Mitchell into the foyer. “In fact, I’m going to take them back to the costume shop right now and demand some new ones.”

  “Let me do that for you,” Mitchell protested. “I’m the assistant after all.”

  “No!” shouted Piper and Phoebe from the sunroom.

  “Uh . . . they’re right,” Prue stammered. “My name is on the order. I’ll just have to do it myself, and we’ll have to resume the shoot this afternoon.”

  She opened the front door.

  “So, I really can’t make you wait around here,” she said, nudging Mitchell onto the front porch. “But you were so great this morning. Thanks for your help. Couldn’t have done it without you. Good-bye!”

  “Wait,” Mitchell cried, blocking the door as Prue tried to slam it shut. “What about the rest of the shoot this afternoon? Won’t you need an assistant?”

  “You know what?” Prue said, feeling regret as she gave Mitchell this necessary brush-off. “You’re a fabulous assistant, but I think I just work better solo.”

  “Well . . .” Mitchell sputtered, “that’s understandable, I guess.”

  “Great!” Prue said. Then she tried to slam the door again.

  “Prue!” Mitchell blurted, stopping her once more.“If you don’t want me to be your assistant, at least let me take you to dinner tomorrow. I really want to see you again.”

  “Fine!” Prue blurted, feeling panic and elation at the same time. Maybe she could get through this whole snafu without blowing it with Mitchell. “Why don’t you come by at eight. See you then!”

  With that, Prue succeeded in slamming the door. She spun around and leaned back against it, breathing hard. She hated these awkward witch-mortal moments!

  Sighing, Prue stalked back into the living room and yanked open the curtain. Piper and Phoebe were sitting on the floor, staring at the pile of slumbering babes.

  “We’ve checked on them all,” Piper said. “They seem fine. They’re just in a deep, deep sleep.”

  “So much for my big after-the-shoot plans with Nikos,” Phoebe said morosely, poking at her honey’s babealicious but inert body.

  “And so much for my 415 cover, thanks to your boyfriend, here!” Prue said angrily. She glared at Phoebe. “What do you think he is? Demon or warlock? It’s so hard to tell with that buff disguise.”

  “How do you know it was Nikos’s fault?” Phoebe protested, leaping to her sandaled feet. “The camera wasn’t even his. He said he found it in his father’s basement. It could have come from anywhere.”

  “Right, Phoebe,” Prue said, fuming as she briskly yanked the negative plate out of the camera and put it into a protective metal box. “Right now I don’t care what he is. All I know is, you brought him here and he brought a cursed camera with him. And now we’ve got six people under some sort of spell in our living room! My ruined photo shoot is nothing compared to the trouble we’re in if we can’t revive these models.”

  “She’s right,” Piper said, tugging at her too-short tunic and biting her lip.

  “I just don’t get it,” Phoebe said, walking up to the camera. “It looks like an ordinary old musty antique to me.”

  She peered at the camera and laid her hand on top of it. Instantly, a shock passed through her body. She gasped and squeezed her eyes shut. It was one of her premonitions—she could feel it coming on.

  She was walking through a dark, swampy forest. She looked down and saw her gold-sandaled feet squishing along a muddy, moist trail. The trees loomed around her like sinister skeletons, and in the distance she could hear anguished ghostly cries.

  She gazed around but saw nothing but mist. And wait—there were also a few ghostly wisps, darting behind the trees. She was terrified, but also felt as though this place were somehow . . . familiar.

  At that moment Phoebe felt her mind whoosh away from the scene. She blinked to see her sisters hovering over her, looking worried. She’d slumped to the floor near the camera.

  “A premonition?” Piper asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Phoebe said breathlessly. “I was in a swamp—I have no idea where. But something makes me think our models have been taken there.”

  Prue and Piper glanced at each other.

  “Book of Shadows?” Prue prompted.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth,” Piper answered.

  With that, the three sisters rushed up the stairs to the attic.

  The attic was filled with old horsehair sofas and cane chairs, yellowed dress forms, and rusty bird-cages. But the center of the room had been cleared of clutter. This was where an old wood bookstand stood, holding the enormous leather-bound Book of Shadows.

  The sisters leaped upon the tome. Phoebe began flipping through its weathered vellum pages.

  “Let’s see . . .” she muttered. “Pictures, sleep spells, camera . . . Ah! Cameras.”

  Piper and Prue leaned over Phoebe’s shoulders as she read out loud.

  “ ‘Primitive cultures have long been mocked for their belief that a camera will steal one’s soul,’ ” she said. “ ‘Little do most mortals know that cameras are classic portals to points beyond.’ ”

  “Points beyond?” Piper said. “And that would be where exactly?”

  “You know the BOS,” Prue said, sighing. “Always cryptic.”

  “ ‘The soul is captured by an energy vortex in a spellbound camera,’ ” Phoebe continued. “ ‘It must be retrieved through the same portal.’ ”

  “It sounds like we can travel through the camera to retrieve the souls of our models,” Prue said.

  “But we weren’t zapped the first time the shutter closed,” Piper pointed out. “It must have been our powers that protected us. So how are we going to make it work this time?”

  The sisters eyed one another. Then all three blurted, “Spell.”

  “Yup, let’s see what we can whip up,” Phoebe said, flipping through the book again. “Okay, how about this one?”

  “ ‘For an instant may we be ordinary mortals three,’ ” Piper read.

  “ ‘Take us where we want to go, then back to our powers let us go,’ ” Prue finished. Piper quickly scribbled the lines on a scrap of paper.

  “I think that’ll do it,” Phoebe said, slamming The Book of Shadows shut. “Let’s go downstairs and kick it into gear.”

  “Grrrrrrrrr.”

  “Wait a minute,” Piper said, glancing over her shoulder into the shadowy recesses of the attic. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?” Prue asked, heading for the stairs.

  “GRRRRRRRRRR!”

  “Okay, wait a minute,” Phoebe said, her voice shaking. She grabbed Piper’s arm. “I definitely heard that.”

  “Grrrrr-OWR!”

  With another horrible growl, something leaped out of the farthest corner of the attic. In the dark gloom, Phoebe struggled to see the intruder. It was some kind of beast. It lunged closer. That’s when Phoebe let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  The beast was a ferocious, menacing dog. Its muscles rippled beneath a shiny black coat. Its razorlike claws dug into the attic’s floorboards. And it snarled at the sisters with not one, not two, but three furious heads!

  CHAPTER

  4

  Whoa!” Piper screamed, waving her hands before her in panic. The three-headed beast froze in midleap, just as one of its gaping sets of jaws was about to snap closed on her throat. “Ooo-kay,�
�� Phoebe said, her voice trembling. “This is new.”

  Prue ran back up the stairs to join her sisters. She gasped at the three sets of vicious teeth, the six bloodshot yellow eyes, and the bear-size muscular body.

  “Suggestions?” she asked, staring at the otherworldly beast.

  “Vanquish his butt!” Phoebe cried.

  “But how?” Piper said, just as time unfroze and the dog landed before them, growling fiercely.

  Prue waved her arm and caught the dog with an invisible fist, sending it flying across the attic. It crashed into a mirror, smashing the thing to smithereens. But the dog barely seemed injured. It shook its three heads and began running back to the witches.

  “Grrr-ROWR!”

  It pounced at Prue. She caught one of its throats with a roundhouse kick, knocking the dog away. Then she swung her arm and sent the creature crashing down the stairs. It hit the bottom of the stairwell with a thud.

  “AAAAARRRP!” the dog yelped.

  “Finally, an injury,” Phoebe breathed. She quickly looked around for a refuge. Suddenly, she spied an old lamp. She’d brought it up to the attic a few weeks earlier because the electrical cord had frayed. It was a total fire hazard. She’d stashed it here, intending to get it fixed when she had more time.

  “I’m not a physics major, but I have an idea,” she said. Then she turned to Piper.

  “You be the bait,” she ordered, grabbing her sister and planting her in front of the stairwell.

  “Hello?” Piper squeaked. “Did you just say bait?”

  “Prue,” Phoebe said, tossing her sib the end of the lamp’s electrical cord. “Plug this in.”

  Prue followed Phoebe’s orders. Phoebe grabbed at the rubber around the cord and ripped at it, exposing a length of naked wire. Then she gripped the lamp with all her strength and stretched the cord across the top of the stairwell.

  “Grrrrrrrr.”

  The menacing sound was coming from the bottom step of the attic stairs.

  “Phoebs,” Piper said shakily, “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Don’t move,” Phoebe ordered. “But be ready to go into freeze mode if you have to.”