Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

PRUE

O ne margarita pizza. Two ravioli specials. One glass of red wine. Check, check, check. The dinner rush is in full swing, and I'm loving it. I'm good at this, collecting orders and executing everything perfectly.

"Hun." Andria comes up to me. "Denise had to leave, can you pick up her tables?"

Groaning, I nod. Denise has never finished a full shift.

"Bless you," Andria says while thrusting all the order slips at me.

I swing to the kitchen to line them up. Scanning when each order was placed, and what food should be prioritized and sent out next.

"Danny," I yell. "Three more raviolis, please. And one Hawaiian."

"For shame."

I stifle my laughter when Danny grumbles about Hawaiian pizzas and the people who order them and how they were the bane of his existence. I pick up two of the ready dishes and head to one of my tables, plopping them down with a smile. I clear out a few plates and order slips then realize the dread I'd felt last night and this morning is gone.

I glance around me; everyone looks perfectly ordinary, sitting at our checkered tables, chatting and happily devouring their food. The bustle of the kitchen, the laughter at the tables, the grumble of the unhappier patrons, chairs moving, glasses clinking. Everything's in its place. Everything's fine. The kitchen bell dings, signaling that an order is ready.

I make my way back there. It's another ravioli dish, but this one has a special request for a bit of cream added to the sauce and dash of ricotta cheese on top. It's unusual, something I haven't seen before, but I have to admit, it intrigues me. I grab the plate and check the table. It's at the back corner in Denise's section.

I weave between the tables, smiling politely at anyone who catches my eye. The table is just ahead. I focus on the hot plate in my hand, bypass a patron, then stop in front of the table.

"One order of ravioli with extra cream and ricotta chee—" The words snag on my lips when the guy lowers the newspaper he's reading.

"Holy shit." The plate slips and lands with a clunk on the table, splattering myself and him. "Shit." I whip out my cloth, hoping to clean up the hot sauce that's everywhere.

"Prue, are you okay?" Andria asks from behind me.

I spin. I don't know what to say. Because the figment of my imagination is sitting at the table, covered in pasta sauce. All that dread and panic is back, tenfold.

Andria glances at me then at the guy. Her hand on my arm fires my brain.

"I tripped. Sorry." I race out the words in a desperate attempt to keep the situation under some form of control.

"It happens." Andria pats me. "Don't worry about it." She addresses our mystery customer. "Sorry about that. I'll get another plate to you shortly." She lifts the dish off the table and wipes down the rest of the sauce.

"Honest mistake. I caught her off guard," he says.

A choke escapes me.

Andria eyes me again, concern furrowing her brow. "Why don't you come and fetch a new dish, Prue?" she asks, giving me an out.

"Sure." I keep my reply simple to hide how rattled I am.

Andria smiles at me and starts to walk away. I hurry to follow.

"Why don't you sit down, Prudence?"

His words reach me, I stop and turn to face him. How the hell does he know my name? And why the hell is he using the full version of it? No one calls me Prudence. I'm about to ask him, when it hits me that Andria said it in front of him. Well, she called me Prue but it's close enough for him to guess my full name. There's always a logical explanation. I don't move, but previously naked guy does. He stands and pulls out a chair for me, tilting his head toward it. I don't know why but sitting seems like a pretty solid idea right now. So, I sit, and for a few minutes, neither of us say anything. I stare at his face, trying to decipher if he's the guy who landed in front of me naked the previous evening. Or if my brain has mistaken this stranger? I'm having another meltdown because I'm clearly crazy.

"You're not crazy."

"Holy shit." My hand flies to my head. "Can you read my thoughts?" I whisper.

Stranger hottie, because hell he is hot, laughs. "No, but I know that look."

"What the hell's happening?" I finally get something sensible out. "You were at my house last night?"

"Yes."

"You were naked," I say, trying to keep my gaze on his face and not dipping to parts of him I have vivid recollections of.

"Yes."

"You fell from the sky?"

His eyebrows shoot up, and his eyes narrow on me. "Is that what you really think happened?"

Is that a trick question? I tap the table in front of me. "It's what I saw."

"Is it?"

"Buddy, listen, I'm not here for whatever mind games you're playing." I point at myself. "I've seen enough movies to know that if someone falls out of the sky, lands in a UFO or whatever, that the correct response is to run." I stand, my fingers still tapping the table. "So, well, it really hasn't been great seeing you again. I'm going to leave now. Please don't follow me."

"Prudence." He catches my fingers before I can remove them. "I need your help."

I bark a laugh. This is seriously not happening. The panic that hits me at the sight of him has tripled, my stomach is on fire from the anxiety, and the small threads of sanity I weaved together this afternoon when everything seemed normal, unravel.

"No." I try to uncouple my hand from his but his grip is firm.

"What do you mean no? You haven't heard me out."

"Is that what you think's going to happen, that I'll listen like a good girl?"

His brows furrow, and his shoulders tense.

"Yes," he exclaims.

"Well, I'm not." I try to yank my hand from his, but he grabs my fingers and wraps his around them. His touch is cold, and my focus shifts to his icy fingers holding mine.

The distraction is short lived. I need to make a plan. I flatten my palm on the table and reach across him. He doesn't move. I swipe his knife, glare at him, and those same dark blue eyes from last night hold my gaze. He seems to be sizing me up. I let him, and before I can process what I'm doing, what crazy plan I've come up with, I bring the knife down aiming it for his hand holding mine. His eyes widen, and he reacts in time, pulling his hand away. I snatch my hand back too before I inadvertently hurt myself. The knife clangs onto the table. Silence settles over us.

"That's better," I say, nonchalantly rubbing the hand he was holding.

I can't quite decipher his expression. He splays a few fingers across his mouth like he's trying not to laugh. Clearly, this guy is as crazy as I am. I don't give him a chance to respond though. I take the gap and leave. I catch Andria walking back with his food, and I aim for the kitchen, checking the clock. I desperately need it to be closing time, but we're in the middle of the rush. I have an hour to go.

"Danny, how long?" I shoot out as I push the door open.

"Kitchen closed a minute ago." He's sitting on a chair in the kitchen, taking a breather and checking his phone.

I glance at the clock, because something feels strange about this. It really does read nine PM. The rush of the day, and the shock of seeing whoever that guy is, has gotten the better of me. I sink in relief and walk over to the fridge for a bottle of water. I glug down half of it.

"Prue, hun, the gentleman in the corner would like a refill of his iced tea. Can you sort that out for him?"

Groaning, I open the fridge again and pick up the pitcher of iced tea. I can do this, with the kitchen closed, most clientele leave, which means he will too. I can close up and head home, then debate whether I need to move towns.

"Sure." I push the door open and trudge to his table.

I don't say a word when I approach. I motion for his glass which he pushes across the table toward me. I silently fill it.

"What did you just do?" he asks and taps his wrist as if he's referencing a watch.

The motion makes me pause.

"And how did you do it without me picking up your loop?" he asks.

His voice is certain, clear, with an expectation that I know what he means. I don't, and now, instead of panic, my stomach tenses, and my hands curl into fists, I'm uncomfortably frustrated. That catches me off guard. Why would this irritate me to the point of frustration?

"Listen," I pause, and gesture at him, wanting to know his name.

"Grayson," he says, and oddly the name feels familiar like someone has said it to me a couple of times before.

"Listen, Grayson, I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't want to know either. Please enjoy the iced tea."

"Prudence."

My full name is stern on his lips, and hiss perpetual use of it drives me up the wall.

"I need your help. And you will give it to me, whether you like it or not," he says.

The ominous words echo between us. My chest tightens. I'm going to have to leave, not the restaurant, but Haddlebrooke.

As soon as Grayson leaves the restaurant, I flee. That's an understatement, It's like I teleported to my house with the bus arriving perfectly on time and the trip taking a mere few minutes.

So, here I am standing in my living room, quietly freaking out. Grayson is real and was naked in my garden last night. He also seems to think he needs my help. Which is insane in of itself. I'm the poster child for an average human. I have no special skills. Don't you, Prue? A niggly voice breaks through my thoughts, and it makes me pause. Nothing unique has ever happened to me, I push back. My neck tingles. The thoughts refuse to shut up. How did you land up in Haddlebrooke, Prue?

I trail my fingertips down my neck. One, two, three, four, I trace the scars there, my anxiety spiking with each peak. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I didn't want to go back to that night. I concentrate, letting my fingers fall from my neck. My eyes open, and I name five visible things scattered in my room: couch, orange blanket, lamp, shoes next to the couch, and the rug. One more deep breath, and I focus on five things I can feel, my clothes against my skin, my clenched teeth, my feet in my shoes, the slight breeze against my skin, and the tensed muscles in my back. My breathing evens out, and I return to the present moment, giving my brain a chance to process what was going on now.

I check out my window for Grayson. He isn't there, but he does know where I live. I have some choices to make. I can stay and hope he leaves me alone. I can leave, but where will I go? I groan and run a hand over my eyes. Both options make my stomach drop. How did this happen? I want all of it to stop. I want to go back to two days ago when Grayson didn't exist in my reality. My breathing hitches, and the strangest sensation starts to spread across my limbs, like my whole body is extending and everything is attached to me. It's like I can pull at all the objects surrounding me, twisting them and bending them as I see fit. The sensation grows, and so does my realization that I have experienced this before. Is this what a panic attack is like?

I don't understand how everything has gone crazy in the matters of hours. Or why there's a person searching for me. My hands clench, and my eyes automatically shut. Everything needs to stop... I open my eyes and unclench my hands. When I do, it's like a stream extends from my fingertips. It glows white and silver and stretches out everywhere, oscillating then contracting. Instinctively, I know I can pull at this stream, like I'm meant to, and that if I do, everything will stop.

"Prudence." The sound assaults my ears, and I swivel to see Grayson behind me. I don't know how or when he arrived, but he is there standing in my doorway, and oddly there is an indigo purple stream coming off of him and I reach out to that too.

"You need to stop what you're doing," he yells and steps forward, and the purple color connected to him darkens.

I ignore him. Why would I listen to him? This feels right. One more tug of the stream, and everything will be peaceful and perfect, like I need it to be.

"Prudence." He grabs my shoulders, his cold fingers digging into my skin. But the stream I have extends to him too, and I will it to encase him. It does. His eyes grow wider, and his purple stream bends and snaps, and starts to fade. I think he's panicking? But why would he? This is right, and he'll be okay too in a moment. This'll fix it all.

He squeezes harder, and pushes against my stream, the purple color now brightening. But my silver stream stands steady.

"You need to stop this," he chokes out. He moves his hand to my face, the cold following wherever he touches. "You need to stop. Please." His tone is desperate, his blue eyes pleading with me. Blue eyes, cold hands; he's like winter.

"Why?" I croak.

"You're undoing time." His words are sharp, crisp, like him, and they make me pause. "Stop and listen to me." His grip is forceful. "If you don't stop, you're going to unravel this time stream, and everything you love will cease to exist." He shoves my hands to my sides. "Stop. Stop before I disappear."

I catch his gaze, his eyes leached of color, the purple around him is almost translucent now and he seems faded, and it makes me halt, but more than that, fear twists his face like I'm dangerous, a threat. His eyes are wide, his jaw clenched. His hands grip mine tightly. I realize how off my feelings and thoughts are. I inhale sharply. The air is dense and sticky. My stomach drops, and every inch of me heats up. I think I am going to be sick, but Grayson's keeps holding me even though my fingers are pulling at the stream.

"What do I do?" I ask softly, but my words come out rushed, betraying how upset I am. I fight back tears. "What do I do?" This time, I almost scream. Everything's ramping up again.

"What do you see?" Grayson's voice is urgent.

"It's like a white stream."

Grayson lets out a low whistle. "Let go of it now."

"How, Grayson, how?" My voice is high pitched, my irritation growing. Does he know how to let go of something that doesn't have any rhyme or reason?

"Stop thinking about it." He wiggles my fingers free, forcing me to uncurl my fists. "Focus on me, and only me."

I look at him, and stare at his eyes, nose, chin, stubble, and cold hands. I take a deep breath, and slowly shake my fingers out. I concentrate on nothing but him, his curly hair, bronzed skin, the shirt he's wearing. The streams dissipate, slowly like they are pulling back into me. Everything returns to a state of normal. I can't see silver tendrils or sense anything other than me and Grayson. The extension is gone and the purple energy around Grayson stabilizes.

One by one, I gather myself. Grayson's eyes are dark blue again.

"What did I do?" I choke out.

He steps back but doesn't get a chance to respond. A cold sweat breaks out all over my body, bile rises and I dash for the bathroom knowing I'm going to be sick.

Holy shit. Prue runs to her bathroom and slams the door, and the sounds of retching follow. I take a second then punch the nearest wall, needing a physical outlet for my emotions.

She'd almost unraveled this earth's time stream. When I picked up her magic, I felt the pull like I did with my earth, as if I was caught in a raging current unable to fight back, I ran as fast as I could. I used my abilities to shield against hers as much as possible. The mere thought of another time stream disintegrating sends a wave of nausea through me. My hands grow sweaty as the panic settles deep within.

I got here in time, I reassure myself. But Prudence has no idea what she's capable of. Not only did she almost alter this earth's existence, but she almost took me out too.

Her magic's unchecked, and she's dangerous. When this is all over, that type of power needs to be contained. It has to be bound. What just happened sealed any doubts I have about what I plan to do. What I will do. I glance at my throbbing knuckles, the physical outlet having provided some relief.

I sit on the couch while I wait for her to come out of the bathroom. The shower goes on, and my body burns with anticipation. It takes everything to remain seated and not punch the wall again. Finally, she emerges in nothing but a towel, soaking wet.

I focus on her face, not letting my gaze trail over the rest of her.

"Get dressed, and pack a bag. We need to leave." I keep my tone even, and my words come out slow and steady.

She opens her mouth to argue, but her gaze lands on the hole I made in her wall. "What did you do?" she screeches and walks towards the wall.

"I punched the wall. We need to leave. Hurry up." I stand up and move closer to her.

I make a conscious effort to keep my hands at my sides, no closed fists, but I'm about to burst. I feel hot and bothered and want her to come with me so we can sort all of this out. Including her.

"No, I'm not going anywhere, Grayson. You need to leave. Everything went wrong when you showed up." Her voice rises, and her back tenses.

"Prudence, the guys trying to stop me will be here shortly, looking for you. You made it easy for them to find you."

"You mean you made it easy for them to find me," she screams.

"You can't be serious." My anger flares, and I take a few more steps toward her. "Are we going to pretend you didn't do something abnormal back there?"

She's quiet as takes in her surroundings, then her gaze lands on her hands. She extends them as if trying to touch the air and then cups the back of her neck.

"If I must go, I'll leave town, but I'm not going anywhere with you."

That's a change in tactic, and it kills the last bit of my patience.

"Minutes ago, you single-handedly almost unraveled the very magic that holds this time dimension together. So, you have two choices; come with me or face the devil you don't know, Prudence."

I'm uncomfortably close to her now. At this distance, her energy pulses in waves off her. It makes me wonder how strong she really is. After all of that, there's latent magic crawling off her, begging to be released. My gaze trails to the distinct freckle on her lip then up to the one under her eye, like they map out a constellation on her face. I realize she still hasn't agreed to leave with me. "The people you love here are at risk because of you."

Her body seems to shrink, and she shuffles. "Fine, but only for tonight," she finally says. She deflates, hugging her towel closer to her. "On one condition, you have to tell me everything. I'm not oblivious, Grayson, that this entire situation is beyond weird. You fell from the sky. I did something earlier." She tenses, gestures behind her, then runs a hand through her hair. "That has happened before." Her words are soft. She closes her eyes. "I did that before, whatever that was." Her hands shoot up and circle the room.

Her words pique my curiosity, but I don't question her, priority number one being to get her out of this house.

"But I won't blindly trust and follow you. Even when you threaten me with some danger I'm not aware of," she says, her frustration evident in her stiff posture and how clipped her words are. "So, you owe me some answers."

I stay silent, curling my fists.

She walks toward her room and halts at the door. "And stop calling me Prudence. My name's Prue."

Our night is just beginning, and the weight of my impossible task wraps around me like a vise. Find the girl who can save my world? Sure. Simple enough. Get Prudence ready and willing to help? Highly unlikely at this stage.