A Charmed Future

He Said, He Said

"Now what?" Chris questioned Wyatt as he sidestepped the rebounding door.

The two brothers were alone in the attic of the Manor after having a small and tearful funeral for their parents. Anakin was staying over with Victor, their grandfather, but the two older brothers could not bring themselves to leave the Manor. It was dumb, and they both admitted it. Leaving the Manor, though, in their minds, would mean that their parents indeed were dead, and they were all alone in the world. Chris shook his head and continued toward his blond-haired brother.

Wyatt, without answering, waved his hand, and five candles abruptly settled into equidistant positions from each other, forming a pentagram. He gave each candle a death glare, and they erupted into flames.

"We, Chris," said Wyatt slowly, marching over to the Book of Shadows, "are going to summon Grams's ass down here."

Chris frowned and glanced down at the candles.

"What!" Chris sidestepped another fire eruption as he made his way over to their ancestral tome. "Why! Why? Grams, really?"

"Because," stated Wyatt brashly, "I want a straight answer." He flipped erratically through the ancient yellowing pages.

"Answer?" Chris eyed Wyatt cautiously. "An answer to what exactly, Wy?"

Wyatt squeezed his eyelids shut, stopping his frustration and the flood of tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He opened his icy blue eyes and defiantly swallowed the lump in his throat. "You know exactly what, Chris." He paused, sighed, and corrected his angry tone. "I want to know why I was not allowed to save Dad. Why Mom had to die!"

"Wy," whispered the brunette in what he hoped was a comforting voice, "that isn't going to bring them back. You—"

"No!" snarled Wyatt, his anger flaring in the flames on the candles. "Don't finish that sentence, Chris." The older teen returned to searching through the pages in the green leather-bound book, "I know it won't bring them back, but it will—"

"Will what?" interrupted Chris, not liking the look of utter despair in Wyatt's eyes. "Wyatt, Grams probably won't even answer our summons. We need to concentrate our efforts on who sent those demons after us last week. Or, at least, on how to get the police off our back. Uncle Morris can't keep heading them off; he got out of that gig ages ago."

Wyatt growled at the word 'police.' "They should know to fucking leave us alone. We just lost our parents, for God's sake."

"I know, Wy," Chris said calmly. "But you screaming at them doesn't help the situation any."

Wyatt disregarded Chris and turned back to the Book. "Grams, you had better get your ass down here, or I'll go up there and drag it down here myself." The blond threatened uselessly. He looked over at Chris impatiently. "Come on, Chris!"

Chris sighed; he really could not argue against this. He wanted answers as much as Wyatt, but the goody-two-shoes in him had to have some time in the limelight. The young witch stepped over to his brother and placed his hand in Wyatt's firm grip. He took another deep breath and nodded. "Ready."

The two brothers stood behind the Book of Shadows and read the spell aloud in practiced undulating unison:

"Hear these words,

hear my cry,

Spirit from the other side.

Come to me,

I summon thee.

Cross now the great divide."

There was a blast of frigid wind. It whipped through the attic with the power of a miniature tornado. It toppled over boxes and pieces of furniture but let the candles be. Suddenly, a loud bang and a concussive shockwave rocked the attic sending the few remaining pieces of furniture still standing toppling everywhere. Wyatt threw up his shield, protecting Chris and himself from being pelted by boxes and splinters of wood. As the dust settled, Wyatt noticed the candles flickering still as if in defiance of everything that had just happened.