Jean Grey blinked and looked around, trying to absorb the reality of what was happening.

If ever an occasion was surreal, this was it.

She was sitting between Zack and Zane Warren in their shadowy attic, where the Charmed Ones had honed their powers, casted spells, and vanquished countless numbers of demons and warlocks.

No, she hadn’t quite hit grief yet. She was still in the stage where time seemed to be moving in slow motion, and everything seemed so surreal.

She watched as Marie and Zoe delicately placed an array of herbs into a ceramic bowl with a burning pillar candle placed in the center. Marie then placed the bowl carefully onto the floor and the five of them held hands, forming a circle around it.

Jean began to chant. Her voice was scratchy and her brimming eyes veered in and out of focus as she stared intently at the flickering candle flame. The Charmed Ones joined in unison.

A rustle of wind blew softly around them, then died down quickly.

Looking up expectantly, Jean was greeted by the twinkling lights of the overhead lamp, not the magical lights that appear whenever a spell is casted. Jean had never felt so powerless.

She then stole a nervous glance at her brothers, who seemed to be lost in thought. Zane had a pained expression on his face, as if the failed spell had taken out all the magical oomph in him.

She didn’t blame him, for she was exhausted too. And so was Zack.

Just hours ago, something had gone horribly wrong.

Zoe’s head still spun at the memory of it all. The Bounty Hunters – The Source’s latest assassins – had burst into their home. In order to buy time so that they could tap into the cosmic power of opening up a wormhole (the one and only way to kill Bounty Hunters), Marie had disguised everyone, transmogrifying them and making all of them look like one of the Bounty Hunters.

And because of that, confusion roused and instead of the Bounty Hunter, the wormhole had sucked Scott into the swirling vortex, and then snapped shut.

Abstrusely, the spell had taken more energy than the Charmed Ones had expected, and it left them dizzy and weak-kneed.

A page in the Book of Shadows suddenly caught her attention. Scanning the ingredients needed for the spell, Zoe breathed hard. A strong feeling told her that the spell might actually work.

"You guys," she said, motioning them over. "I think I found something." She began to read from the book. "‘A trace of paternity and clothing so dear, a lock of hair to trace for and near…’"

Marie’s eyebrow went up in a doubtfully arch. "A tracking spell?"

Zoe nodded. "This spell works by tracing the spirit of our target. If enough power is used, it might even lead us to him, telling us that he is still alive."

"And what if the spell can’t trace him?" Jean asked, crossing her arms in a protective stance. One thing she had learned over the years is not to keep one’s hopes up too much.

"We’ll get to that bridge when we come it," Zane interrupted. "What does the spell require, Zoe?"

Zoe looked back at the Book of Shadows before replying. "Here it says that we should use the shirt that the person last used. And then some of his hair and a paternity’s thing."

"Okay… the shirt is fine and the hair is fine. But this paternity’s thing really throws me." Zack pointed out. "I mean, I’ve never seen any of his family stuff."

Jean gave his shoulder a little squeeze. "Don’t worry. I’ve got it. Why don’t you go back to my room and get his comb and that maroon shirt from Burberry." She turned to Zoe as Zack quietly left the attic. "Zoe, try calling out for Scott’s pocket watch."

Zoe frowned, then sighed. Then she boldly thrust her arms out and said, "Scott Summer’s pocket watch!"

A moment passed before a bronzed pocket watch appeared in a swirl of fluorescent lights and settled snugly into Zoe’s palms. Zoe breathed. She was afraid that if she hadn’t concentrated hard enough, millions of pocket watches owned by various Scott Summers around the world may just orb their way to her.

She held the old watch up by its silver chain. "Is this the right one?"

Jean smiled. "Yeah, it’s the right one. His father gave this to him on his 11^th birthday. Scott had it locked in his safe and I didn’t know the combination."

Zack returned shortly after, holding up Scott’s comb and last-worn shirt. They then began to assemble to ingredients of the spell on the attic floor. Jean had chosen another ceramic bowl wide enough to hold the ingredients while Zack pulled a tangled mass of hair from Scott’s comb.

They lined the bowl with Scott’s musk-scented shirt, then place the wad of hair on top. Once the pocket watch was nudged under the collar of the shirt, they were ready to begin.

Jean felt herself tense with urgency and anticipation. Would this spell bring Scott back to us? No, it was only supposed to lead them to him, but it was a start. It had to work. Her heart was beating hard in her chest.

"Okay." Zoe’s voice was solemn. "Let’s recite the whole spell." Together, they chanted:

Jean glanced across their circle at Zoe’s shadowed face. Nothing had happened. Did they do something wrong?

"Let’s repeat the last part," Zack said. "‘Find our Scott," they chanted in unison. "Point the way. Track his spirit…" A clean, soft wind blew across the room. "Find him today." They finished chanting.

The wind swirled around the objects in the bowl. The pocket watch clicked open, then balanced in the air, spinning wildly. The shirt rose high above the ground, then came alive, as if worn by an invisible mannequin. The sleeves flapped madly, pointing in every direction.

Was the jacket pointing the way to Scott’s spirit? The wad of Scott’s hair floated in the air then burst into flames. The smell stung Marie’s nose, and she pressed her sleeve to her face. Zane coughed, waving the smoke away.

The flame transformed into a ball fire and began to throw off sparks.

Dazzling light surrounded the fireball, whirling around in some kind of intricate dance. With the brilliant satellites swirling around it, the fireball reminded Jean of the planets revolving around a star.

Then, something began to form in the air over the gyrating orb - a whirling haze of molecules. Jean squinted, trying to bring the fuzzy shape into focus.

It was an image.

An image of Scott.

Jean felt Zack took her hand, and she gave his hand a soft squeeze in response. She couldn’t stop staring at the image sharpening over the spinning, sparkling, luminous ball.

The image was growing stronger - clearer - with every passing second. And it wasn’t just a hologram. Those were physical, solid molecules gathering above the ball of flame. It wasn’t merely made of light.

The spell was working. It was bringing Scott back!

Excitement rose in Jean’s throat like a bird trapped in a chimney. It’s going to work! She thought. Scott’s coming home!

But then the ball began to slow down.

Zoe and Marie let out a pained groan from deep in their chests and doubled over as the fireball began to wither. The image of Scott began to fade.

Jean was already holding hands with Zack, so she reached out with her free hand and clamped onto Zane’s arm. In less than a second all of them had formed a union, chanting the spell fast and firm, concentrating their spiritual powers on the glowing orb.

They were one.

For a moment Scott’s image became clear and crisp. His eyes moved from Jean to Zack, then to the rest of them, and Jean was sure that he saw them. Saw them!

But then the image flickered.

And then it winked out.

Kit wandered around the dance floor of P3, squeezing through dozens of dancing bodies, searching the sea of heads for a glimpse of Zack’s shaggy blond hair. P3, as usual, was packed.

Finally, she spotted Zack sitting at the corner of the bar counter. She squeezed her way through and plopped down onto the empty seat beside him.

"Hey," she said. "Big crowd, huh?"

"Huh?" Zack replied. He turned to face her, and his beautiful silvery blue eyes seemed glazed.

"The crowd," Kit said. "These people really know how to party."

"Oh…hmm," Zack said. He offered her a weak smile. "Sorry, I was just thinking about something else. Any word from the Council of Elders?"

"Sorry." Kit’s face fell. "Nothing at the moment. They’re doing their best, though."

Zack snorted and shook his head in disgust. "So what else is new?" he muttered. "They’re at their worst when they’re at their best." He sighed deeply. "I just can’t believe how our powers completely screwed up on us. Now we’ve probably vanquished Scott."

Kit reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of his weary eyes. "We’re gonna figure it out. Don’t let the weight of the world crush you, okay?"

"Hmm." Zack nodded lethargically.

Kit peered at his gaunt, drawn face. He looked a little stronger than he had a few days ago, but was still obviously worn out. And still obviously gorgeous, of course.

"You okay?" she asked.

Zack turned to face the stage just as Garbage finished their number: ‘You Look So Fine’. "I’ll live," he said listlessly as the partygoers roared with applause. His voice sounded far away, as if it was an effort to speak.

"Hey," she whispered, slipping her arm around his waist. "You know I'll always be here for you, right?"

Zack said nothing. If he had smiled in response, it was hard to detect because his jaw muscles, usually taut, were now slacked and lifeless. Kit watched as her boyfriend stared off blankly into the air, as if he were too tired to be bothered with anything right now. He didn't even had the energy to return her hug.

Zane doesn't look like he's doing any better, too, she thought as she looked across P3's dance floor. He sat on a velvet black couch against a wall, sipping on a glass of prune juice, isolating himself from the rest of the crowd.

Kit smiled to herself. Typical Zane. Always taking prune juice as a remedy to calming and soothing his harried mind. As a blood witch, he was unmistakably more magically potent than Zack, or Zoe, or Marie. Thus, he looked a bit stronger... but still obviously tired and weakened from the battle against the Bounty Hunter.

And obviously disheartened.

The Power of Three had failed them. It had literally sent Scott through a wormhole and banished him straight to Hell.

She saw Zane watching and flashed him a smile, hoping to help alleviate his sinking spirits, not just because it was part of her duty as his Whitelighter, but also as her duty as a friend. He returned her smile, barely.

And then his eyes slipped past her and the crowd gyrating away to the loud music, and his lips tightened, his smile quickly becoming a work of fiction and artifice.

Kit immediately intuited what was happening. Ever since Zane had tapped further into his powers, his mental barriers had perforated, and he often found himself caught in a rapidly rising torrent of thoughts and emotions.

"Um, Zane?" Zack asked tentatively.

Zane sat perfectly still, a sheaf of newspaper placed neatly in front of him. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing slowly and deeply. What seemed like a second later, the edges of the newspaper sent up a suspicious smoke signal. Then it exploded in flame.

The newspaper was on fire.

"Zane!" Marie cried, alarmed.

"What!?" Zane’s eyes snapped open and he gave a jolt of fright. Before they even realized what had happened, there was shattered ceramic all over the countertop and a huge coffee puddle was moving fast, about to spill over onto the floor.

"I got it! I got it!" Zack threw out his hands and froze the spill, then grabbed a roll of paper towels and ran it over the frozen spill. He couldn’t help but noticed that the shattered remains of the coffee mug were charred around the edges.

"Zane," Marie sighed. "You’ve got to be more careful with that fire power of yours. You know as well as we do what it can do when it gets out of control."

"Yeah, yeah," Zane mumbled as he fanned out the sheaf of burning newspaper and dumped it into the trash. "Crap."

"Well that’s just great," Zack said angrily, tossing the soggy paper towels into the trash. "So now not only is the Power of Three useless, Zane’s power also has gone out of whack."