The Box

Emma looked down at the box and snorted, a cat twining itself around her ankles. An object that would shape her future? Ridiculous. The future wasn't subject to the meddling of insignificant humans. This was, no doubt, Ezra's doing. That man was the bane of Emma's existence. Just because he could travel in time didn't mean he was the foremost authority on magic. Ezra had once invited Emma to travel with him, but she couldn't leave behind her beloved cats. And then there was the lingering hope that he would return- and if that happened, Emma wanted to be ready. When Emma turned Ezra down, he seemed to take it well, but afterwards he seemed to find ways to undermine Emma: ruining her spells, taking her cats, and now this box.

Ignoring the offending object, Emma scooped up the cat still at her feet and crossed to the window, thinking. She had promised to find Diana, but her attempts at scrying had thus far been thwarted. Again, most likely because of Ezra. He was such a hypocrite, always preaching about justice and doing good, and then preventing a mother from reuniting with her daughter. Emma wondered if Diana's mother had received a box. She hoped not. That woman's future was uncertain enough. Suddenly, the cat in her arms made a noise of protest and forced her way down, sitting right on top of the box. Shaking her head Emma walked over.

"That isn't anything you want," she assured the tabby. The cat just stared defiantly up at her, its yellow eyes baleful. Sighing, Emma pushed the cat off and took the box, fully intending to put it in her closet. Still, something about the box drew her, compelled her. Muttering under her breath, she took the "mystical wonder" over to her dinner table and opened it with a knife, prepared for nothing to happen. Or worse, for something to happen.

Light flooded from the box, causing Emma to squint. The smell of lilac and raspberry filled the air, and she could hear the chirping of birds. No. Of all the tricks Ezra had played on Emma, this was by far the cruelest. Cursing the idiotic magician, she gingerly hoisted the box and shoved in her closet before collapsing on her bed, shaking. That was it. Ezra had gone too far this time. Shaking off her funk, Emma marched out of her apartment and practically sprinted to the park. She sat on a bench and waited. He would find her. He always did.

After a few minutes, Ezra joined Emma on the bench. "Did you appreciate your present?" he asked, smirking. Emma was in no mood for civility. "What is your problem?" she demanded, rising from her seat. "What did I ever do to you? Is this because I didn't join you galvanizing around the world, living nowhere, never in the same time period?" Ezra shook his head, still smiling. "I don't hate you, dear," he said in a patronizing manner. "I offered you the gift of truth. It isn't my fault you've embraced your life of lies."

The Flames of Irony

When Emma finally got to Charmed 15 minutes late, she skidded to a stop. The store front was gone, now lying in shattered pieces of glass on the ground. A few curious onlookers eyed Emma curiously as she approached, but no one stopped her from gingerly picking through the glass and going through the now-useless doorframe. The inside of the shop was even worse: smashed potion bottles spilling noxious liquids everywhere, crystal beads laying shattered on the floor, and the books pulled from every shelf. Pages fluttered around in the outside air, priceless writings on the most arcane of spells lost forever. A dove that had come loose from its cage flapped freely. Emma winced as she came across an ancient tome covered in potion.

"Are you Emma Monfort?" a shrill voice suddenly demanded. Emma whirled to find a woman with straggly hair rising from a crouch in the furthest corner of the shop. "Are you?" she repeated when Emma stayed quiet. Emma nodded. Was the woman the one who had ransacked the shop? Or was she a random homeless person? "You're a witch," the woman declared. Instantly Emma reached for a shard of glass to defend herself with. There was usually only one reason why a person sought out a witch: to kill them. The woman made no move to attack, though. "Can you find someone?" she asked. That was unexpected. Emma cocked her head to the side, only fractionally less wary. "Who? And how did you find me?" The woman waved aside the second question. "My daughter, Diana. She's only ten- here, I have a photo." Emma tensed as the woman reached into her pocket, but all she pulled out was a wrinkled paper, which she thrust forward. "Here."

"Did you break into the shop?" Emma demanded, ignoring the proffered photo. Diana's mother set her chin stubbornly. "I was looking for a spell or charm in here. Asking you was a last resort. Everyone told me you're a snobbish brat. I didn't think you would help." Snobbish brat? That stung. No, Emma didn't exactly go out of her way to make friends, but snobby? "So you broke into my shop, destroyed everything, and now you expect my help?" This woman might actually have been insane. Maybe her daughter's disappearance had cracked her. "I broke into your shop because I knew you wouldn't help. But please, find Diana. If not for my sake, then for hers." She shoved the paper forward again, and Emma reluctantly took it.

Diana was a freckle-covered little girl with scabs and bug bites all over. She was grinning in the picture, showing her missing front teeth. Her face was so happy, so open and sweet. When had Emma stopped looking that happy? When was the last time she had truly smiled? And now Diana may never grin like that again. Sighing, Emma set down the photo and grabbed the broom in the corner of the shop. "What are you doing?" the woman asked, watching her sweep. Emma pointed the end of the broom at her. "You want my help? I have to clean up your mess first. There's another broom in the back. Get to work." The woman eagerly began cleaning up. When Emma heard police sirens coming to investigate the break-in, she led her unlikely companion to her apartment.

Now can we look for my daughter?" the woman asked, watching as Emma pulled a large bowl out of a cabinet. Emma shook her head, remembering what he had told her long ago. "Don't look; see."

Life is a Circus

All Emma had wanted was to get to work on time. Outside The Meridian, a large crowd had gathered, which normally would have sparked her interest, but she needed to be at Charmed in two minutes. Further down the street, a news van had parked, and a reporter stood in the rain, interviewing Kaia Kardashian, St.--'s resident attention-seeker. Emma wasn't entirely sure who the Kardashians were, only that they were famous. And why would a member of a famous family be in this run-down foul-weathered town? Most likely, Kaia was just trying to get attention. Decidedly turning her back on the news crew, Emma splashed through puddles, pushing through the crowd to try to get to work.

She hadn't counted on the cat, though. Emma was almost past the fountain when she heard a growl. Turning slowly, the blood drained from her face as she saw the tiger. Emma was used to seeing stray cats, but a tiger was another matter entirely. Maybe she was imagining it. But no, the tiger was still there, still staring, even after Emma rubbed her eyes. She had really hoped to avoid something like this.

There were cat lovers, and then there was Emma. Her grandmother said the day she came home from the hospital, there had been a line of stray cats waiting to welcome her home. Emma thought her grandmother was probably exaggerating, but it was true that she loved cats and cats loved her. Even the lion that had escaped from the zoo. Emma wasn't afraid of the tiger, but she did want to avoid the questions that were sure to follow. Still. She was late for work, and escaped exotic animals were bad for business.

"What are you doing here?" Emma demanded. She'd discovered cats found it condescending when she used baby-talk. The tiger blinked slowly, looking equally exasperated. Fine, then. "You need to go," Emma informed the animal. He growled. Distantly, Emma could hear someone screaming. This was not good. She held the tiger's gaze, though, trying to look bigger, more threatening. Not worth the effort of attacking. A few seconds passed. Finally, with a shake of his big head, the tiger loped off. Emma released a relieved sigh.

She was almost wishing for the tiger to come back once the crowd descended, people shouting questions and demanding to know what had happened. Emma tried to hold them back, but they pushed against her, crowding her, choking her. Emma fought against her panic. She much preferred tigers to nosy neighbors, particularly when they had the ability to expose her, to ruin her life.

And So it Goes

The day began with darkness. Still half asleep, Emma Monfort stumbled to the kitchen, tripping over cats that seemed to have multiplied while she slept. Going by feeling, she opened the cabinet that held her spirit candles and lit one. Instantly, the smell of "Serene Lake" filled the room, revealing several grumpy cats waiting to be fed. Cooing to them softly, Emma dumped food from the bag she kept by the doorway into ten bowls. By the time she was done, Emma was wide awake, so she abandoned any hope of going back to sleep, and went back to her bedroom to get dressed.

Once clothed in her usual attire of black, Emma went back to the kitchen and made tea. Gulping it down quickly, she frowned at the leaves clumped on the bottom. "A bird, a sword, and a tree," she muttered darkly, bending down to pet a cat that brushed past her. The bird wasn't a problem, but a sword with a tree? A storm was coming. The power outage was just the beginning.

Realizing she only had an hour before she had to open Charmed, Emma quickly went through her daily rituals: putting salt on all the windows, smudging protective symbols on all the doorway, and setting out an offering before the shrine dedicated to the spirits that protected her home. Everywhere Emma went, cats dogged her steps, mewing pitifully. A rare smile lit her face up when the smallest, a tabby kitten, jumped into her arms. It was no secret that Emma was lonely. Only eighteen and already an old cat woman, that's what everyone said. But when surrounded by her beloved pets, Emma didn't mind her life so much.

As the grandfather clock chimed the hour, Emma pulled on her long black coat to protect against the perpetual chill that seemed to constantly hang over St.---. Saying her goodbyes, she left her apartment and stepped into the clunky old elevator, pressing the button for ground floor. When the doors chimed open, Emma entered the lobby, ignoring all the people she was forced to live with. With her head held high, St.---'s resident witch stepped out into the morning cold.