Post by StoryGirl83 on Aug 27, 2008 15:26:21 GMT -5
Chapter One - Those Stubborn Halliwells
Later that morning Wyatt Halliwell stood outside Chris’ door. His blond hair was cut short close to his head. He was wearing a T-shirt under a light weight jacket and blue jeans. In his hand was a phone. He raised his hand and knocked on his brother’s door. When there was no response he turned the knob and pushed open the door. “Chris?” He looked over in the direction of the bed and saw Chris moving restlessly in his sleep. “Chris.” Wyatt walked over to the bed, the phone dangling in his hand. Once he was standing next to the bed he looked down at his brother. The light streaming in from the window gave him a good look at his brother. Chris’ brown hair was pasted to his forehead with sweat. It struck his as odd that his brother was wearing a jacket to bed, but the thought was pushed to the back of his head as he spoke. “Wake up, Chris. Your boss is on the phone.”
His eyes still closed Chris turned his head toward Wyatt. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Dad?”
This brought a chuckle to Wyatt’s lips. “Not Dad. Your boss at Centennial.
Chris’ eyes fluttered open as he looked up at his brother.
Humor filled Wyatt’s blue eyes; a smile lit his face. “Nice to see you join world of the living.”
Chris didn’t say anything. His gaze was unsteady and somewhat weary as he looked at Wyatt.
“Your boss called,” Wyatt repeated. “He wanted to know why you’re late for work.”
Chris tried to sit up, but pain racked his body and he slumped back down. The sheet and blanket covering him fell as he did revealing a hole in the cloth of his T-shirt surrounded by dry blood and not so dry blood. A stab wound was in the middle of the hole in his clothes.
Wyatt dropped the phone. “What happened?” Without waiting for an answer Wyatt dropped to his knees next to his brother’s bed and held his hands over the wound on his brother’s stomach. He furrowed his brow in concentration, but nothing happened.
Wyatt held them there for a moment before Chris spoke in a weak voice. “It won’t work.”
Wyatt looked down at the wound, frustrated and held his hand closer to the wound. “Why not?”
“It can’t be healed by whitelighters,” Chris told him. “Dad couldn’t and he’s an elder.”
This answer caused Wyatt to frown and look at Chris in confusion. “Since when? Last I checked Dad hasn’t been an elder since just after you were born.”
Chris frowned and clamped his mouth shut. He looked out the window.
The silence was such that the person on the other end of the forgotten phone could be heard, but not understood.
Wyatt picked up the phone and put it to his ear. “Sorry, I came in to check on him and he’s hurt, bad. He won’t be coming into work today. No, I don’t know when he’ll be better.” Wyatt paused to listen to the person on the other end. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t help. I need to find a way to help my brother.” Wyatt paused, again, to listen before answering. “Sorry, goodbye.” Wyatt hung up and turned to his brother.
Chris had a pained expression on his face.
Trying to lighten the mood a little Wyatt offered, “Guess a party’s out.”
Chris raised his eyebrows, but didn’t answer.
“You want to tell me how you got injured, so we can fix it?”
Chris didn’t answer, instead choosing to look out the window.
“Why can’t I heal you?”
Chris sighed and looked back at him. There was sadness mixed in with his pain.
“Chris,” Wyatt pleaded, “tell me what happened.”
“Magic,” was the only word Chris said in response.
Wyatt sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Can you orb?”
Chris glared at him. He opened his mouth and shut it. Finally, he sighed. “Orb? I can’t even sit up. I might be able to, but I’d rather not die faster.”
Wyatt frowned and shook his head. “You aren’t going to die, Chris. I’ll orb us.”
Wyatt stood up. He reached out one hand and touched his brother’s shoulder. The two brothers disappeared in blue white orbs.
Several miles away in the attic of the Halliwell manor, blue white orbs appeared next to a couch. They slowly disappeared leaving behind Wyatt and Chris. Chris was on the couch and Wyatt was standing next to it still touching his brother’s shoulder. Besides the couch there were shelves, bookcases, and chests scattered throughout the attic. The shelves contained everything from fragile antiques to various toys. One wall had a large window with several stained-glass panels. In the middle of the room was a podium. It was empty.
Wyatt left his brother’s side and walked past the podium to a chest, which he opened. He pulled out a very thick, very old book. “I sure hope there is something in here that will help.”
“There won’t be.”
Ignoring his brother, Wyatt placed the book on the podium and moved the podium closer to the couch. “Tell me more about what attacked you and why I can’t heal you, so I know what I am looking for.”
Wyatt opened the book and started flipping pages as he waited for his brother to start talking. When several moments passed in silence Wyatt turned to his brother. “Chris, start talking before I get Mom.”
Chris sighed. “It was an enchanted blade made so that whitelighters couldn’t heal it’s wounds.”
Wyatt turned back to the book and started flipping pages, again. “Who wielded it?”
There was silence from Chris causing Wyatt to look up, again. “Chris?”
“Not now.”
Wyatt sighed, again, this time in annoyance. He looked up, but kept an eye on the book as he continued flipping pages. “We may not have much time. You have to tell me.”
Chris closed the book with a slight movement of his hand. “You won’t find anything. Only the person who did this can help and he’s dead.”
Wyatt opened the book in the middle and started flipping pages, again.
Chris closed his eyes and grimaced. “So how are things between you and P . . . out parents?”
Wyatt looked back down at him with a confused look on his face. “Good. Great. Why? You knew that already.”
Chris moved restlessly on the couch, grimacing, trying to fight the pain. In a low voice he whispered. “I can’t believe I’m going to die twice.”
Wyatt only caught the word “die” and frowned at his brother. “You aren’t going to die.” Wyatt continued to look through the book. He flipped several more pages and then he stopped. He turned back a page and read the heading aloud. “To save Chris.”
This got Chris’ attention and he tried to move to a sitting position, again. He didn’t get far before he gave up rather than increase the pain. “What are you talking about?”
“It looks like Aunt Phoebe’s writing, though I can’t tell for sure, because it has no name at the bottom.”
“Read it,” Chris requested, his voice strangely filled with hope that hadn’t been there minutes before.
Wyatt picked up the book and took it over to the couch. He crouched down so that his brother could see the words as he read. “A couple of years ago a young man came to us with one goal in mind, to prevent someone dear to us from turning evil, and though he succeeded it was with great cost, his own life. While he was here he annoyed us, he pushed us, he aggravated us, he even angered us, but by the time all was done, he was dearly loved by us and is greatly missed.
“A hundred “if only”s go through our minds, but the one that keeps going through my head is if only we could have lifted the curse. He was stabbed with an enchanted blade that prevents whitelighters from healing him. Since wish as I might we cannot save him, I wanted to find a way to save others from the same fait. It isn’t good enough, but it is the best I can do. To save Chris, or at least to save those who like him have been injured with an enchanted weapon, I have written this spell, with some inspiration from our muse, Melody. She also inspired Piper to make the potion that goes with it.
“We have not tested it, for thankfully there has been no need, but the infected person must drink the potion and someone must say the spell while the potion is still in there system.” Wyatt stood and placed the book back on the podium.
Chris followed his brother with his eyes. His eyes were filled with shock.
“There is a spell and then a list of ingredients for the potion.” Wyatt looked at Chris and points with his finger at the book. “It almost sounds like it was written for you.”
There was no comment from Chris, but his eyes ran back and forth between his brother and the book.
Wyatt continued to examine the book checking what items were needed for the potion. “I’ll go see if the ingredients are in the house . . .” Something on the page caught his eye and he smiled. “Or not.”
Chris frowned and focused on his brother. “What?”
“Apparently Aunt Phoebe had Mom make several and stored them in the attic. I’ll see if I can find them.”
Chris grinned at this. Though his voice was still weak, it was somewhat cheery as he spoke. “Good. You’d probably kill me faster with your attempt.”
“Funny.” Wyatt went back over to the chest that contained the book, an old chest that had once belonged to their mother’s Grams. He looked through it and brought out a vial that was marked in the same manner as the page in the book, “To Save Chris”.
“Got it.” Wyatt brought the potion over to him and hands it to Chris. Chris can barely grasp it. “You have to drink this. Can you handle that?”
Chris tried, but he almost dropped the precious vial. Time was running out and he was getting weaker . . . again. Wyatt took it from him and helped his brother drink it. He then stood and grabbed the book off the podium. “In this place and in this hour, I call upon the twice blessed power. Remove this magic and painful feeling, so the cursed wounds now begin healing.”
Wyatt put down the book as soon as the spell was finished. He held his hands over his brother’s wounds. This time after a moment a golden glow emitted from Wyatt’s hands and the wound began to mend itself and then heal completely followed by the T-shirt healing and the blood stains that were once there, disappearing.
Chris pushed himself into a sitting position. There was something in his eyes as he looked at his brother, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Thanks, Wy.”