Experience the magic of Constance M. Burge's Charmed as you've only imagined! Join the third iteration of the Charmed Ones as they struggle with the loss of their sister and the implications of her untimely death, and continue their destined battle...
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This story is dedicated to the memory of Shannen Doherty, who sadly passed away on 13 July 2024. I hope I've done Prue justice. Blessed be.
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Kneeling in the candlelit attic, before an altar laden with herb jars, chalices, and other ceremonial items, Piper Halliwell flipped through the Book of Shadows, the ancient leather-bound tome she and her sisters had found in that very room three years prior, when life as they knew it had changed.
Within its pages, they had learned of their birthright. They were witches. Moreover, they were the three sister witches prophesied to become the world's most powerful, the wielders of the Power of Three, the Charmed Ones. Brimming with spells, potions, and knowledge accrued from generations of magical ancestors, the Book of Shadows had been a steadfast support as they struggled to fulfill their destiny, to protect the innocent by combatting the forces of darkness.
Now, though, it seemed to Piper that the book had abandoned them, and at their lowest moment, when their mission had cost them their sister. Her long brown hair flat, and her pallor face stained with tears, Piper located the first of the spells she was looking for, the incantation that had awakened their powers. This time, one of them would work. They had to.
"Hear now the words of the witches, the secrets we hid in the night," she recited solemnly. "The oldest of Gods are invoked here, the great work of magic is sought. In this night and in this hour, I call upon the ancient power. Bring back my sister. Bring back the Power of Three."
Piper kept her eyes closed for a prayerful beat, then opened them, scanning the dark room for some sign of magic in the air, some sign that her plea had been heard. But there was nothing.
Blindly determined, she began flipping pages again, landing on the spell to call a lost witch. Mixing rosemary, cypress, and yarrow root into a silver bowl, she chanted, "Power of the witches rise. Course unseen across the skies. Come to us, who call you near. Come to us and settle here."
Pausing, she reached for a ceremonial athame and used it to slice open her left index finger, allowing blood to symbolically spill from her heart and into the bowl of herbs. She then continued, "Blood to blood, I summon thee. Blood to blood, return to me."
To Piper's surprise, upon completion of the spell, a faint breeze caused the candle flame to flicker. She looked around expectantly, but when nothing else occurred, she buried her face in her hands in defeat. A draft was hardly uncommon in the old house, which had felt colder and draftier than ever over the last week.
"Piper?" a distant voice uttered.
Piper looked up hopefully. "Phoebe?" she called out in response. Her faint glimmer of hope was quickly extinguished, though, when her husband appeared through the attic door, wearing a blue flannel robe.
