Third Time Charmed

Size Matters (Part 5)

"Tricky little witch," Gammill muttered to himself. After tipping over the bureau in frustration, he had upended half the room before giving up on his pursuit and angrily dismissing his comrade. He was now alone, hunched over a work area of some sort.

Prue watched him from the safety of her new hiding place, in the folds of a dusty drop cloth covering an oak bookcase, trying to discern what he was up to while vaguely wondering whether the old house hid any antiques. When this was all over, she would have to take a proper nose around.

Gammill moved across the room and placed something on a small wall shelf. Prue squinted in that direction. It was another of his unusual figurines, this one unfinished and covered in fresh clay, this one...blinking and mouthing for help. Her stomach dropped. All the others... It was as she feared. They weren't figurines at all. They were trophies, Gammill's shrunken victims.

Prue clenched her fist. What a horrible way to die. His latest victim, this Innocent, was still alive but might not be for much longer. There was time to save her, but placing her in such a visible location smelled like a trap. Regardless, Prue had to try. She would be smart about it, though. She couldn't just fly herself up there with her Telekinesis, even if her tiny body would allow for such a feat.

While Gammill busied himself in the corner again, Prue moved deeper into the fabric and hid behind the bookcase. She Astral Projected from there to the shelf, appearing behind the clay-covered woman's body for cover. She peeked out from behind her to check on Gammill.

He was bent over, inspecting the fire inside a gas oven, his kiln, his execution chamber. With him occupied, Prue made herself known to her fellow captive and raised a finger to her mouth to signal for quiet.

In reply, the living statue blinked in understanding, and Prue pressed her hands down on the thick clay around the woman's legs and forearms. It was dry. Stepping back, she gave it a short, sharp kick. The pasty gray-brown shell shattered, freeing a pretty, young blonde in a pink top, who proceeded to collapse into Prue's arms.

"No, no, no. Up," Prue urged, keeping the woman on her feet. "What's your name?"

"Claudia," she breathed, her knees wobbly.

"Okay, Claudia, we have to move right now. Ready?"

At that moment, Gammill's face loomed into view, appearing from a crouched position, and he sprang his trap, slamming a lidless paint can down over the pair of them. "Gotcha!" he muttered in triumph. "I knew a witch could never resist saving an Innocent." His celebration was interrupted, however, when there was a knock at the door.

"Hello?" a voice called out from the porch.

"Now what?" Gammill groused as his handsome comrade entered the room, looking to him for instructions.

"Hello?"

"Another girl," said the man, changing his tune and ordering the younger man. "Get her inside. Go get her. Get her!"

"Maybe we should just let them all go?" he responded.

"Since when did you develop a conscience, hmm? I never gave you one," Gammill told his reluctant servant, who cast his sad eyes downward. "Now what are you standing around for? Go! Go! Fetch!" He then picked up his modeling board, carefully slid it under the paint can as if maneuvering a trapped spider, and emptied the contents into a storage bin.

However, Gammill did a double take when he saw that only one of the women had been transferred. He turned over the can, but the witch wasn't in there. Furious but wary of the visitor at the door, he restrained himself from slamming the lid of the storage bin and resumed his search for Prue. He was very much going to enjoy adding her to his collection.