CHAPTER FOUR

Halliwell seemed a bit taken aback when she caught sight of the man that resembled her ex too much, and neither John nor Rachel missed it. “Can I help you?” she asked once she had regained her composure, actually sounding sincere.

Rachel answered, “You and two other women saved Miss Ibarra, is that correct?” Rachel did not miss Halliwell’s sharp intake of breath.

She nodded and replied, “My sisters and I were playing out front with my two nephews, Wyatt and Chris, when we heard a commotion - like pots banging.”

John picked up, “So you went over there to check on her?”

“My older sister Piper never misses the news,” Halliwell said, though John could tell she was lying through her teeth. “She is naturally paranoid, and therewas that murder a few blocks from here. She was really worried, so Paige and I thought that we would humor her.” There was a beat, then, “It’s a good thing, too.”

“If you are free, Miss Halliwell,” Rachel began.

“Please, call me Phoebe.”

“Phoebe, if you have a chance, we would really appreciate you and your sisters coming down to the local police station where we have set up our headquarters.” Phoebe nodded curtly and gently closed the door.

“She has lied more than once. That was pretty believable,” John noted.

Rachel responded, “She is hiding something.”

“You think that she could be involved?”

“She showed up at the first crime scene, and now she’s at this one.”

“She knows the killer.”

“I think she may suspect someone, but I don’t think she’d call him a friend.”

“Then why hasn’t she made a pitch?”

“She’s frightened.”

“That’s understandable. I’d be scared of a psychopath, too.”

“No,” Rachel corrected. “I think she’s afraid of us.”

x x x

John was so far into boredom that he started becoming irritable. George’s fingers typed away at a mile a minute, and the tap, tap, tap was enough to send any thirty three-year-old Irishman over the edge. “Do you have to hit that thing so loudly?” John snapped.

George stopped his typing and looked at John sympathetically. “You are just upset because Rachel got to interview Ibarra without you.”

“I am in charge of victimology! The least Bailey could do is allow me to do my job.”

“You still view Rachel as a threat to your job, don’t you?”

“She’s good at everything,” John replied, looking like an eight-year-old robbed of his candy bar.

“But you’re great at what you do,” George reassured. “You’re irreplaceable, John, and Bailey knows that. So does Rachel.” John looked appreciative enough, but George kept going anyway. “Besides, you and Rachel make a great team.”

John smiled genuinely, but corrected, “All of us make a great team.” John grinned and added, “You can start hitting that thing again.”

George rolled his eyes and started typing away at the keyboard as Bailey and Rachel strolled into the makeshift command center. John quickly hopped off the table he was sitting on and leaned over George, peering at the laptop, acting as if he had been helping a great deal.

“What have you got, George?” Bailey asked.

“I may have found something when I was looking through 9-1-1 calls for John. Ibarra, along with a few other women, visited Cartier on the twenty second of June. A neighbor called in a 9-1-1 emergency, claiming there was a great amount of smoke coming from Cartier’s house. When the Fire Department arrived, the women had been throwing a bonfire in the backyard. They were ordered to put it out, and it was filed as a misdemeanor because they did not have permission from the City of San Francisco.”

“I want those women’s names an hour ago,” Bailey said, getting across his point of urgency. George began typing at a frantic speed. Then Bailey turned towards John, “I understand you and Rachel stumbled onto some sort of secret room at Cartier’s place?” John nodded, and Bailey ordered John and Rachel to head back and investigate with flashlights.

To John and Rachel, it seemed to take an hour to get to the first crime scene because rush hour traffic was at its worst. When the two finally arrived, the agents practically ran inside and returned to the hidden room with gloves and flashlights. The excitement was evident in John’s eyes; he had been cryptic of Sam’s methods of needing to know the victims but had more than quickly warmed up to the unspoken job that was almost always assigned to him. Now, every time he investigated a case, every time he delved into the life of another, he felt as if he had lost a friend when the case finally closed. He knew the victims so well that testifying in court was a breeze, and going to memorial services or funerals affected him personally.

Rachel first scanned the walls, which could not be seen at all because of the towering book cases all around. John went toward the coffee table that Rachel almost ran into earlier. On it, there were a few books, one of which John picked up and flipped through. “Rach, I think I found something.”

Rachel turned her full attention to John. “What is it?”

“The twenty second of June - this book says it’s also known as Litha.”

“The summer solstice!” Rachel recalled. “These women are Wiccan.”

“Which means these were most likely hate crimes!” John finished.

The two were flooded with satisfaction. They were now one giant step closer to solving this case, and both felt as if a huge weight had been lifted. This was the connection.

Suddenly, a bright light shone in the room. John and Rachel both shielded their eyes, which had already become quite acquainted with the darkness of the room. When the light faded, a gasp was heard, and John and Rachel both pointed their flashlights at Phoebe Halliwell and two other women. The other two were obviously the sisters.

“What the hell was that?” John asked, his fear masked with a look of repulsion. In an instant, the sisters’ faces went from shock to dread. The evolution was so fast that both John and Rachel swore they merely blinked and the change had happened.

“So, you are John Grant, then?” asked one of the Halliwells. She had long, brown hair and brown eyes, similar to the Miss Phoebe Halliwell that the agents were already too familiar with. Rachel seemed slightly more composed than John, who refused to acknowledge that the one had addressed him by name.

“What the hellwas that?” John repeated with much more emphasis.

“My name is Piper,” the one from before said. Then she gestured to the tallest, more colorless woman. “This is my sister Paige, and you have already met Phoebe.” Rachel instantly noticed that this Piper seemed just as stubborn as John. She, too, had continued on her one-sided conversation.

Before John’s fuse ran out, Rachel stepped in. “I am Agent Burke, F.B.I. This is a crime scene, and you have no authority to be here.”

Piper began, “We were just—”

“I think you are a little out of your league,” John said fiercely.

“Actually,” said Paige, “I think you are out of your league. You have no idea what you are dealing with.”

“I’m dealing with three women who, as far as I can tell, may have returned to their own crime scene.”

“John,” Rachel warned.

“What?” asked Phoebe, outraged.

“You heard me! Here you three are at this crime scene, and you openly admitted to being at the second. I’m starting to see a pattern here,” John fumed.

Rachel could see red spread along Phoebe’s face – whether it was rage or embarrassment, she could not tell. “How dare youaccuse me of committing murder, Cole—”

“Phoebe, that isn’t him,” Piper reminded. Phoebe’s mouth snapped shut, and she bit her lip.

After seeing Phoebe calm down, John followed suit. He inhaled deeply and proceeded with his line of questioning in a calm manner. “What was the bright light? And how did you three get in here?”

The three eyed each other before Paige spoke. “That was me. I’m – we are witches.”

Rachel raised her head slightly. “Were you in the same coven as Cartier and Ibarra?”

“No,” Piper picked up. “No, we did not know Amber until her death. We knew Deirdre from just being neighbors. We did not know she was a witch until the other day, when...” She trailed. Then she caught both of her sisters, both of whom nodded in mournful agreement. “When we scried for her,” Piper finished.

“What?” John asked, confounded, “‘Scried’?”

“It’s a magical term. We used a crystal to locate her on a map,” Phoebe said matter-of-factly.

“Magic,” John said, turning to face Rachel. Amusement rather than annoyance played its way across his face. “They used a crystal.”

The corner of Rachel’s lips twitched upward before she remembered herself. As ridiculous as it sounded, she urged the sisters further. “And what happened after you scried for Ibarra?” John turned to face the Halliwells again.

Piper continued despite John’s mocking attitude. It was apparent to Rachel that she simply wanted to get through this so that she and her sisters could continue doing what they set out to do. “Paige orbed us – that would be the light that you saw – to Deidre’s house. When we arrived and explained the situation to her, a warlock attacked.”

John smirked. “A warlock as in...?”

“A witch gone bad,” Paige said.

“Ah, of course. I should have known that one,” John said. “I read about this in a magazine once. Oh, what was it called? The National Enquirer.”

Before John could spit out another sarcastic remark, Paige stuck out her hand and demanded, “That flashlight!” John’s amused face evolved into a stunned one as blue and white lights took shape of the flashlight and altogether disappeared from his hand. After that, the lights began to reappear in the same shape and dissipated, leaving the flashlight in Paige’s hand. “Orbed,” Paige said smugly. John stood there in disbelief. After he forced his eyes off of the flashlight in the woman’s hand, John slowly turned toward Rachel who was still staring at Paige.

“So you saw it, too, then?” John asked his partner. Rachel nodded slowly. “Just double-checking,” John said.

“Why don’t we talk somewhere with a little more light?” Piper said. Rachel slowly turned and began climbing through the secret entrance that separated the room from the rest of the house. The three women followed her, but it took John a few additional seconds before he himself made his way toward the pantry. In fact, when he finally made his way into the kitchen, the four women began seating themselves around the living room couch.

x x x

A/N: I sincerely apologize for the absence. I simply and truly forgot! I have these chapters all written ahead of time, so if it takes me more than two weeks to post, just send me a barrage of e-mails.