Page 44 of Charmed

"Such a guy thing to do. Come on, we can..." She stopped abruptly and grabbed his forearm, bringing him to a halt.

At the end of the alley by the private rear parking, Gregory Meath stood blocking their route. Arms crossed, stance wide, he glared at them from several yards away. He wore an expensive charcoal suit and, apparently, was beyond using glamours because he was still presenting as the Minister. Shoulder-length salt and pepper strands stirred in the cross-breeze.

The hairs on her neck rose. Ice slithered through her veins.

"Crap," Riley muttered. "Asshole cleanup, aisle four."

"No kidding." She did an about-face, tightening her grip on his arm, but another man blocked the front entrance. Her heart stuttered and blew a proverbial puff of smoke. She didn't recognize the middle-aged brute, but the tattoo on his arm of a dagger with a cross on the hilt indicated he was a hunter. Up to this point, the Brotherhood of Venatores hadn't been a factor, and their fated six just learned of the witch-slaying group when it had been Brady and Kaida’s turn at destiny. They’d only dealt with the Minister so far. "He brought a minion."

This didn't bode well. Riley was unarmed and her powers weren't at max capacity yet.

She examined the narrow alleyway between the brick exteriors, roughly half a city block long. Barely enough room to maneuver. No ladders to a roof access for escape. Due to Riley and the Tourism Board's efforts to maintain an idealistic vacation environment, there wasn't even a stray bottle lying around to use in defense. That Gregory wasn't holding the witching blade was the only thing keeping her from flipping her gourd. It didn't mean the weapon wasn't on him, though.

Shoes scuffled pavement and reverberated in her ears as the Minister walked closer, jacking her pulse to spastic. "Relax, witch. I'm merely here to chat. I believe we can make a deal."

Riley grunted. "All together now. If you're psycho and you know it, clap your hands."

Gregory didn't spare his nephew a glance. "You are the only one among your pathetic group with any sense." He paused on the other side of the garbage bin a couple feet away, his cold green eyes locked on hers. "I will offer this once. Join forces with me and your life will be spared. We both want the same thing."

Did they? She very much doubted that, but he had a purpose for cornering them, and it wasn't to strike a deal. If he had any comprehension of their destiny at all, he had to know the only way to reverse what Celeste had done over two centuries ago was for the fated six to collaborate and complete their tasks. He played no part, other than to thwart their progress.

"Careful," she taunted. "God's watching. Isn't it against your twisted version of Bible interpretation to consort with sorcerers?"

Riley's respirations increased, and his arm tensed under her palm. He was holding it together, but his fear was apparent by his avid trembling. He'd behaved the same way that night in the woods when his uncle had used the potion on her. Yet, she had no doubt he'd act if he needed to, if it meant helping her.

A sly smile twisted Gregory's lips. "You no longer have powers."

Was that what the potion had been about? To strip her abilities in order to coax her over to his side? To what end? His motive hadn't been clear from the onset.

Not to mention... Could this jerkwad be a bigger hypocrite? Three hundred years prior, he'd sought a voodoo priest to charm a dagger to steal witches powers during a kill, plus he'd had other witches douse him in several glamour spells through the centuries to keep his identity hidden.

All right. She'd pretend to play his game. They needed answers more than her desire to pummel his face into bloody putty. Almost. "How, exactly, can I be of service to you? The curse cannot be broken unless the chosen six do our duty."

"Ah, you're only seeing one outcome." He dipped his chin like he was speaking to a petulant child. "Finish your tasks, and the spell is done. I'm released. Our bloodlines are free. Fail, and I go on doing what I have for centuries. I'll slay heathens, including what's left of the Galloways. Either conclusion benefits me."

Wrong. It wasn't that basic. He'd never concede victory to a witch, even if it meant his freedom. What did he really want? "If we succeed, you won't be around to meet your twisted justice."

"Won't I?"

The breath in her lungs stalled. What did he mean by that cryptic comment?

The end result had always been obvious. Foretold, even. If they won, the Minister and Aunt Mara would be released from the immortality plague. The curse would be lifted, and happiness would abound for both families. If they lost, future descendants would never find love or peace. Her aunt and Riley's uncle would be doomed to forever walk this Earth, never to age or die.

Did he know something they didn't? Had they been mistaken all along?

The minister's laugh was as calculated as his character. "Join me and you'll be spared. Decide."

There was nothing to decide.

She slapped her clutch to Riley's chest. "Hold my purse."

He bobbled it, then flicked his gaze between it and her like she'd not only flown over the cuckoo's nest, but had used a broom.

Bending over, she fisted the hem of her dress and gave it a firm yank. The seam split up the side to mid-thigh. She'd mourn the loss later. For now, she needed room to fight. A quick glance to the right proved the silent minion had moved closer, caging her and Riley.

"Go get help," she said in a tone low enough for only Riley to hear. "I'll distract them."

His wide, are-you-insane gaze jerked to hers. "There's not a chance in hell I'm leaving you here."

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