Date with Death Read online

  “I'm glad I ran into you, Paige,” Josh said.

  “Why?” Paige asked apprehensively. She leaned back against the clammy brick wall of P3's alley.

  “Because,” Josh continued, leaning in. His voice got deeper, almost robotic. And his face began to change too, darkening into a sinister glower. Paige could feel his breath—hot and fetid—gust onto her face. “You've got my heart.”

  Paige glanced down and saw Josh's hand reaching toward her chest. His arm was shaking, as if infused with some sort of electricity. And as his fingertips brushed the bare skin above the

  lowcut bodice of her dress, his nails instantly grew into glinting, razorlike talons.

  In fact, his entire hand transformed into a metallic, clawlike, lethal weapon.

  Charmed™

  Published by Simon & Schuster

  An original novel by Elizabeth Lenhard Based on the hit TV series created by Constance M. Burge

  SIMON PULSE

  New York London Toronto Sydney Singapore

  For Allison, Cathy, Jen, Rachel and Reva

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Simon Pulse edition September 2002

  ™ & © 2002 Spelling Television Inc. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  ISBN 0-689-85964-3

  I'd like to thank Alice La Plante and Clare La Plante, authors of Dear Saint Anne, Send Me a Man: And Other Time-Honored Prayers for Love (Universe Publishing, New York). There are many versions of St. Catherine's tale floating around. The one I found in the La Plantes' whimsical book inspired this story.

  chapter

  1

  Phoebe Halliwell sank into a chair at her favorite coffeehouse—City Drip.

  Man, she thought, taking a big slurp of her grandé Chai latte and glancing around the shabby-chic joint, I haven't been in here in forever.

  Actually she hadn't been there since she graduated from college. Back when she'd been a student, Phoebe had been a part of the wallpaper at City Drip. She'd set up camp at this window-side table with her books and sketch pad and a steady supply of caffeine. Occasionally she'd take a break to pay attention to some dreadlocked and disenchanted singer-songwriter strumming an acoustic guitar in the corner. Or she'd check out the latest really bad art for sale. If she got really bored, San Francisco's coolest neighborhood—Haight-Ashbury—was right outside the door. A twenty-minute powershop and she'd be back at work.

  When you think about it, she thought, I owe my degree to this place.

  Phoebe rolled her eyes as she remembered what a struggle college had been. It was weird because her older sister, Piper, had been a total smarty-pants—okay, let's face it, a nerd—in high school. Now, she was an on-top-of-it-all business owner, running their nightclub, P3. Phoebe's younger sister, Paige, was also a bit of a brainiac—or at least extremely driven—working to save the world as an assistant at a child welfare clinic. And then there was her late sister, Prue, who'd been a studious art historian before branching into photography.

  But book smarts had never been Phoebe's bag. She'd taken a few classes during her post high–school years in New York. Then, after moving back to San Francisco to live with her sisters, she'd bounced from job to job for a while, before finally settling down and snagging her B.A. That is, after logging in about a thousand hours at City Drip.

  And now, here I am again—hitting the books, Phoebe thought, taking another spicy sip of Chai and glaring at the reading she'd brought to the coffeehouse. She sifted through the stack of super-thick tomes and sighed.

  “Let's see,” she muttered. “We've got Contemporary Bride, Blushing Bride, and the oh-so-classy Getting Hitched. Where to begin?”

  Phoebe grabbed Blushing Bride and opened it up to an advertisement featuring several sheepish-looking models in fluffy, lime green bridesmaid's dresses.

  “Okay, moving on!” Phoebe whispered, grabbing Contemporary Bride. The first article she happened upon advised brides to include pressed rose petals in the envelope of every “Save-the-Date” card.

  Save-the-Date cards? Phoebe thought. I didn't know about “Save-the-Date” cards! I don't know if I can even get it together to send out invitations. And now when I do, nobody will have saved the date! There will be no wedding guests! My big day—ruined!

  Phoebe slumped back in her chair and stared gloomily out the window. The thing was, she had a hard time thinking of her wedding day in a few months as her “big day”! It wasn't that she didn't absolutely adore her fiancé, Cole. And she'd even gotten over her fear of becoming a vanilla-flavored, happy housewife the minute she uttered the words, “I do.”

  But the whole white wedding thing? Phoebe just had a hard time buying into it.

  I guess that's what comes from growing up in an . . . um, slightly unconventional family, Phoebe thought with a little smile. I mean, we are witches.

  Phoebe's mind flashed back to the fateful day that she'd discovered she was a witch. It had happened in the attic of Halliwell Manor, the rambling Victorian mansion where Phoebe and her older sisters had grown up. Nosing around one day, Phoebe had discovered the magical Book of Shadows and unwittingly uttered a spell that unleashed the sisters' magical powers. And not just any magical powers. The Halliwells were the Charmed Ones—supernatural whizzes on their own but almost unconquerable when they banded together as a trio.

  That would be the good old Power of Three, Phoebe mused.

  Ever since that day Phoebe had been having premonitions. These visions of the future sent the sisters on wild goose chases to save innocents and vanquish demons, warlocks, and whatever other baddies came along to try to conquer the Power of Three. Piper had learned to freeze time or blow things up with the flick of a finger.

  Along the way Piper had married Leo, despite the fact that he was the sisters' Whitelighter—an angel assigned by the Elders to protect them. Witch-Whitelighter romances were totally frowned upon in the Elders' world. But somehow Leo and Piper's love had managed to beat the odds.

  Meanwhile Phoebe had fallen head over heels for Cole, an assistant district attorney who happened to be moonlighting as Belthazor, a high-level demon intent on doing in the Charmed Ones. (Not that Phoebe knew this at the time, of course.) Once Cole fell for Phoebe, though, he'd said sayonara to the evil underworld. In fact he'd risked life and limb to do so. Eventually he'd even given up his powers, becoming a full-fledged human being.

  And finally, Phoebe thought with a stab of grief, the worst had happened. The Source of all evil had sent an assassin to kill the Charmed Ones. After years of misses, he'd made a successful hit. Prue was killed, destroying the Power of Three.

  Temporarily, of course. Because that was when Paige—who would be the love child of the girls' mother and her Whitelighter—turned up. After that, their big, Victorian house became home to a new set of Charmed Ones. Paige discovered that, just like Leo, she had the Whitelighter's ability to orb—to disappear in a flurry of shimmery, sparks of light. She could also orb objects into her hand.

  Even without all our magic and save-the-world destinies and such, Phoebe thought, our family's never been normal in the marital department. I mean, Mom left Dad for her Whitelighter before passing away when we were little. And while our grandmother was raising us, she somehow found the time to marry and divorce six times. And let's not forget that Piper and Leo's wedding wa
s almost ruined when Prue's astral projection went wild and was accused of murder.

  But in the end, Leo and Piper did have a dreamy wedding, Phoebe remembered with a happy sigh.

  So why can't I? she thought. I mean, just because I'm not a domestic goddess like my big sister, does that mean I can't pull off a dream wedding? Would it be so—

  “Unbelievable!”

  Phoebe gave a start and looked up. Well, well, she thought. If it isn't my favorite sorority sisters.

  The two women bearing down on Phoebe in a gust of Happy perfume and sparkling lip gloss had been in a couple of her classes at school. Not that learning had been even close to the top of their to-do lists. They were more interested in gossiping about guys and trying to suck Phoebe into their dish sessions.

  “Phoebe Halliwell!” Missy, the tall, skinny one, cried.

  “Where have you been?” squealed the other one, a buxom blonde named Carla.

  “Um, home?” Phoebe said. “After that whole graduation thing, I decided to stop hanging around those classes.”

  “Phoebe! Always with a joke,” Carla said, plopping into the empty chair at Phoebe's table. Missy dragged over a third chair and squeezed in.

  By all means, Phoebe thought dryly, have a seat.

  “I guess you missed the Drip,” Missy said.

  “Well, I was just looking for a place to do some reading,” Phoebe said. “You know, a quiet place?”

  “Oh! My! God!” Carla shrieked, pointing at Phoebe's left hand.

  Oh-kay, Phoebe thought, guess she missed that memo about the quiet.

  “Is that an engagement ring on your finger?” Carla continued.

  “Um, yup, that would be my rock,” Phoebe said, sheepishly, glancing at the sparkly ring Cole had given her. “I'm getting married in a few months.”

  “Awwwww, you are so lucky!” Missy gushed. “Tell us about him.”

  “Oh, well, let's just say Cole is a . . . really old soul,” Phoebe said with a secret smile. It was no lie. Cole had been a demon for a couple centuries before giving it all up for her.

  “And I love him,” Phoebe continued simply.

  “Oh, what I wouldn't give,” Carla said. She grabbed one of Phoebe's bridal magazines and flipped a few pages with a long, pink fingernail. “I'm so single. And here it is, February second and I still don't have a date for Valentine's Day. But I just signed up for Kiss.com. You know, the Internet dating service? I'm hoping that's gonna be, like, a total turning point for me in the romance department!”

  “Great!” Phoebe said, scooping up her magazines and feeling grateful that she'd gotten her Chai in a to-go cup. “Good luck with that. But you know, girls, I just remembered I have to be someplace in ten minutes. It was great to see you!”

  “You too!” Missy and Carla trilled.

  “You have to call us for lunch,” Carla said. “We'll dish about blushers and bustles and stuff!”

  Okay, forget Save-the-Date cards, Phoebe thought, feeling another wave of panic wash over her. What the heck is a blusher?

  She gave the girls a weak wave and rushed out of the coffeehouse.

  Oh, she worried as she hurried down Haight Street. Maybe I'm just not bride material!

  Ugh, I am such the little wife, Piper thought in disgust. She was standing at the island in the Manor's kitchen. Normally it was her favorite room in the house with its bright white bead-board and sturdy, oak table.

  Yeah, we got the strongest one in the store after the last one was destroyed by yet another demon, Piper thought, rolling her eyes. I don't know why our unholy invaders always have to land in my kitchen! Like last week, that primordial demon came to visit and totally gunked up my Kitchen-Aid mixer when I exploded him.

  Piper caught herself midthought and rolled her eyes.

  “Okay, stressing about my mixer? That just proves it,” she muttered to herself. “I am Harriet Nelson. And appropriately enough, here I am making meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes for dinner. My husband even served in World War II!”

  Piper sighed as she popped the ends off a handful of green beans and tossed them into a bowl. She remembered what it had been like when she and Leo had first gotten married. She was so eager to please that she'd made him elaborate spreads of sushi and sake; homemade pasta and tiramisu, raspberry sorbet and six-layer cakes—the works.

  And Leo, sweetie that he was, never said anything but “thank you.” But eventually she'd realized that her hubbie was never more enthusiastic than when she made meals that looked like his childhood . . . in the 1930s. That meant meat and potatoes.

  So, dutiful dame that she was, she was making meat and potatoes for dinner tonight.

  Again.

  It wasn't that Piper didn't like cooking for the family. In fact she was never happier than when she was whipping up a meal. After all, she'd been a chef before she opened up P3. In fact the first time she'd ever accidentally used her freezing power had been to remedy a botched recipe during a tryout for a job in a restaurant kitchen.

  But lately she'd been feeling a bit frumpy compared to her younger sisters. Phoebe, she of the perma-tan and blonde-streaked shiny locks only had to get her skinny self out of bed in the morning to look glam. And Paige . . . well, let's just say I am still getting used to having a sister who looks like Snow White—all creamy pale skin, black hair, and puckery, glossed lips. She makes me feel like such the . . . eldest sister!

  “Hi, Ma! What's for dinner?”

  Piper started and looked up. Paige was sauntering into the kitchen with a grin on her face.

  You know, Piper thought, these retro greetings of Paige's aren't helping me feel any more hip. It's either the “Hi, Ma,” line or “Honey, I'm home!” Or, what was it she said yesterday at breakfast? “Gee whiz, that's great coffee!”

  Piper sighed. She knew Paige didn't mean to tease her. It was just there was no denying their relationship still had some rough edges. Piper couldn't stand Paige's bohemian decorating style, for instance. And the way she tossed her clothes, books, whatever, on the closest piece of furniture—oooh, that drove Piper nuts.

  But Piper knew Paige was still struggling to fit into her new life as a Halliwell . . . and a witch. So she tried to cut her sis some slack.

  “Um, meatloaf, Biff!” Piper said brightly, trying not to cringe as Paige tossed her briefcase onto the kitchen table. “Green beans, potatoes . . .”

  “Again?” Paige asked.

  “Again,” Piper said, looking down and pursing her lips. “Yeah, I guess I'm in a bit of a rut.”

  “I was kidding,” Paige said, rolling her huge, hazel eyes and hopping up to take a seat on the counter. She grabbed a potato and knife and started peeling. “C'mon, I was a vegetarian before I moved in here. Your meatloaf totally converted me back to being a carnivore.”

  “Thanks,” Piper said, flashing Paige a smile. “But, you know, I think I do need to shake things up a bit. I've been a ball-and-chain for, wow, more than a year now.”

  “Oh, please, you and Leo are total mush-pots,” Paige said. “I see you smooching whenever one of us leaves the room.”

  “If you've left the room, how have you seen it, Paige?” Piper said. She felt her cheeks go hot.

  “Well, I might have . . . left the room slowly once,” Paige said with a sheepish grin. “Whatever. My point is, I would give anything to be all married and settled.”

  “Really?” Piper said in surprise. “You, the Saturday Night Fever of P3? I've seen you dance with dozens of different guys at the club.”

  “Yeah, but hardly any of them stick around after the dance,” Paige complained. “They're just fly-by-night hotties. Gorgeous and buff and adoring, yes. But do any of them bring me chicken soup when I have a cold?”

  “I just never pegged you as the chicken soup type,” Piper said, suppressing a smile as she put a pot of water on the stove to boil.

  “Yeah, I always think of borscht when it comes to Paige.”

  The sisters glanced at the kitchen doorway.
Phoebe was standing there with an armload of bridal magazines and a grin.

  “Or . . . hmm, maybe beef barley,” Phoebe added.

  “Consommé!” Piper chimed in with a nod.

  “Okay, okay,” Paige said, tossing her peeled potato at Piper. “I get your point. So maybe I'm not so domestic. But would it be so wrong if I had a boyfriend who'd say . . . bring me roses on Valentine's Day?”

  “Aha,” Phoebe said, crossing over to the island and heaving her thick stack of magazines onto the counter with a bang. “That's what this is about. It's February second. You're angsting about Valentine's.”

  “Well, how can I not?” Paige protested, grabbing another potato. “I mean, Piper and Leo are all but knocked up.”

  “Hello!” Piper squealed. “I am not pregnant, thank you very much.”

  As she said this, Piper felt a little pang. Because it was true. She and Leo had been talking about having a baby for a while now. But talking and . . . conceiving? Well, that was a big leap. Especially when demons dropped into your kitchen on a weekly basis. At the moment they were still at an impasse, and Piper was the one who couldn't budge. She'd gone through so many huge changes lately, it was hard for her to sign onto anther one. So Operation Baby was definitely on hold. No matter how much Leo protested.

  “Okay, but you could be,” Paige said. “You're legal and in love. And Phoebe's shopping for blushers, for Pete's sake.”

  “Okay, what is a blusher?” Phoebe sputtered. “How does everyone know these things?”

  “My point is, I'm at square one,” Paige wailed. “I have no boyfriend. No prospects. No plans this Saturday. I'm in such a dry spell!”

  “Paige, honey,” Piper said gently, “didn't you have a date, like, three days ago?”

  Well . . . yeah, but he was wearing the worst shoes,” Paige replied. “So obviously he was not boyfriend material.”