WHO: Prue & Dr. Strange WHAT: Magic calls magic WHERE: New York Sanctum WHEN: Sunday, February 21st, early afternoon WARNINGS: Some mentions of death, nothing crazy STATUS: Complete
She was supposed to be dead.
She had felt it coming. She had come so close to death time after time in the last three years, even actually died several times before, but none of them had stuck. This one should have; she’d felt a coldness wash over her, a sense of calm and acceptance that this was the end. None of those previous experiences had ever evoked that strong feeling. Shax was a force to be reckoned with, and without the Power of Three present and the vanquishing spell prepared, there was always a chance one of them wouldn’t come out of this battle alive.
She could only hope Leo made it in time to save Piper.
Instead of succumbing to her injuries, Prue woke up in the middle of a forest, bloody but apparently healed, and was greeted moments later by a representative of some organization called the DOA. She’d been brought back to their offices, debriefed on her situation, and registered as an Outlander — to her, it made the most logical sense if she was trapped without any hope of leaving. And if she was dead, what did she have to go back to, anyway? Then, she was handed a phone far beyond anything she’d had back in 2001, a loaded debit card, and sent off to Morningside Manor, where she’d spent the night in a neat little one-bedroom apartment.
Today, she was out to explore. She hadn’t quite accepted what was going on, but she was dealing as best as she could. Without the Book or demons or even a photoshoot to occupy her mind, she was floundering a bit. But she could feel the magic around her, and her curiosity peaked. In the three years she’d been entrenched in the magical world, she had never been somewhere that bled magic the way Vallo did. The Manor was always her centerpoint, the place where her power felt strongest. This was double that.
And now the townhouse she found herself stood in front of — it made her skin tingle, her blood surge, and her heart thrum loudly in her ears. It was perhaps the strongest source of magic she’d ever come across. It wasn’t particularly bad, nor particularly good, but it was stunning how drawn to it she felt. Brows furrowing, she padded up the short staircase and knocked firmly on the front door.
Oh. There was someone at the door.
Had he scheduled an appointment and just didn’t recall? No, that couldn’t be it - Stephen never forgot anything like that, photographic memory aside. He was pretty good at keeping track of his life, anyway, and even though he didn’t have Wong here to remind him to do-something-or-another (pick up a loaf of bread, for example) he still was on it.
So this was a surprise. He’d been meditating and doing some reading on and off, sage and frankincense permeating the air along with the scent of magic which clung to his hair, his skin, traces left behind in the Cloak of Levitation - the material rippled like red water over rocks as he hovered in the air. But then a moment later, in a flash too quick for the shutter of a camera lens to catch - quick enough to stop a heart - he appeared by the main doors, a gust of conjured wind causing them to open in an ominous creeeeak.
He always did enjoy a bit of theatrics. The Sanctum was creepy enough to deserve such things anyway.
“Hi there,” he spoke from the foyer, still levitating casually - the cloak’s collar was popped up, and Stephen had a book in his hands; he flipped an old onionskin page with one finger, debating whether or not this was a social call and how long it’d last. The person at the door wasn’t here to sell Girl Scout Cookies, that much he could tell - like attracts like; magic greeting magic made his nose itch, not in a bad way. “Can I help you?”
Was this a vampire situation? Did he need to invite her in? ...no. Felt like something different - ancient magic, old in the way his own happened to be. Powerful. Enduring. The mystic arts were as old as time itself.
If there was any doubt in Prue’s mind that this place was magical, the way the door creaked open, not to mention the levitating, caped man in the foyer when she stepped inside quashed that notion. And wow, if she’d thought the call of magic was strong outside the house, she was suffocated with it now that she was inside. Not only was it wafting off the man in front of her, but she could feel it in the air, even smell it clinging to the walls.
Incredible. The only thing she could fathom that nearly matched it was being Up There during their Aames’ vanquish.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m new around here and I just—I couldn’t resist the magic. This place is dripping with it.” She swept her eyes up the man before her again before approaching and offering him a hand to shake. “I’m Prue Halliwell. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
His feet touched the ground, and the Cloak of Levitation gave a bit of a wave in response to I’m Prue Halliwell - because of course it did. Cloak was Stephen’s friendly sidekick - it didn’t bond with just anyone and could be fickle in who it chose to give its true loyalty to, but by now the sentient object had chosen Stephen and made it clear that was the case; they chose each other, in a sense. The cloak had come to him when he needed the assist and hadn’t left his side (or his back, rather) since.
So yes, the cloak gave a wave and Stephen shook her hand.
“It was built on a hotspot of intersecting mystical energy veins - veins that run through the Earth,” he said, closing the book with a dusty and relatively quiet bang; a second later, that book was gone - back in the library where it belonged, in its proper place. “The Sanctum Sanctorum - there are a few of its kind back in my world, and they’re all built on a convergence of magic.” Helped ensure they all stood for so long, which they had, shifting and changing over the years.
But anyway. “Manners, sorry. I’m Dr. Stephen Strange. So you’re new, just blipped in? Welcome. Can I offer you some tea?” It was the least he could do - ending up here was disorienting and he wouldn’t just cast a newcomer away when they were trying to find their footing in an odd new world.
Prue listened as he spoke, absolutely rapt. She didn’t mind that the explanation preceded a proper introduction in the slightest. She had always been a nerd in some form or another, and ever since she and her sisters had come into their powers again, she’d been a bit magic obsessed. She wouldn’t call herself an expert by any means, but she liked to learn and she was a pretty quick study.
“Tea sounds nice, thank you.” She accepted his offer with a smile. “Holy of Holies, huh? That’s quite a claim.” Not that it was undeserved; she couldn’t judge that one way or another. It was beautiful in here, there was no doubt. Already, she’d caught glimpses of a few interesting artifacts she hoped to get a closer look at.
Rather than just rearranging everything so they ended up planted in chairs in the sitting room, Stephen led the way on foot. Though it was easy enough to do otherwise - he barely had to lift a finger to flex a touch of the mystic arts when magic was literally embedded into the walls, had soaked into the floorboards. If you weren’t connected to what thrummed and pulsed through the world’s magical veins the Sanctum could simply feel like being trapped in a funhouse mirror - if you were connected it was still a lot; breathing it in took some getting used to, and so did the heaviness of power and ancient history that hung heavy in the air.
Walking through the foyer, you could see balconies in a ring above the room - up the staircase was the Chamber of Relics, the seal of the Vishanti, and the grand library. He’d explain those relics later if there was any interest but for the moment he stayed downstairs - to the left of the staircase was the Cauldron of the Cosmos, and a table and chairs. That’s where he headed, and where he sat - tea appeared in his hand a moment later, seemingly out of nowhere, and if Prue looked down she’d find her own clay cup there as well.
“So you know your Latin then,” he surmised. “You’re...a witch?” That was just a guess. Some found the term offensive, but he was trying to get a feel for that right now.
“I…am.” Her hesitance, hopefully, wasn’t mistaken for uncertainty. She was a witch, but it wasn’t something she typically told people. There had been some innocents she had to tell, of course, to be taken seriously when she was there to warn them about demonic threats. But it was something she and her sisters kept close to their chests. Revealing it could spell trouble for them back home.
That didn’t seem to be a problem here. Magic users on the network seemed fairly open — she swore she’d even seen someone claiming to be Superman. She just had to adjust her viewpoint.
There was a blink of surprise when she took her seat at the table and found a clay teacup awaiting her a second later. “The Latin came before the witch, though. I took classes in college,” she went on, picking her cup up to take a sip. “In my world, my sisters and I are known as the Charmed Ones or The Power of Three. Sort of famous in the magical world? We only recently came back into our powers and became — well, basically demon magnets.”
The tea was a green rooibos with a little bit of black tea as well, lemon citrus with a dash of sweetness - one of Stephen’s favorites, though he supposed he had to see about obtaining more tea, familiarizing himself with the selection in Vallo. In Kamar-Taj the kitchen always maintained the scent of loose leaves and spices, various tea sets belonging to the various sorcerers all in usual formation on the counter. He missed that, somewhat.
“Ah, notoriety,” he chuckled. “Sometimes it’s not always all it’s cracked up to be. But it seems three is an important number, for some types of magics.” It was all harnessing energy, connecting with the multiverse to cast what others called spells - the Ancient One referred to it as computer code, ‘pressing buttons,’ utilizing specific hand gestures or incantations to achieve an effect. That energy bypassed any physical limitations - his hands weren’t healed completely, but they didn’t shake when he was casting. “Mine is Eldritch magic. I wouldn’t call myself a demon magnet but I’ve dealt with my fair share of them.”
There was even one in the fridge. Burp.
“There are a lot of magic users here,” he continued. “You’ll fit right in. Maybe learn some new things too.”
Prue gave a nod of agreement to that sentiment. Being well-known had never done them much good. If anything, it made every demon and warlock in the San Francisco area all the more interested in taking them down. Killing the Charmed Ones would be an immediate ascent to power, a feather in some lucky evil being’s cap. She hoped there weren’t any here in Vallo that shared that desire.
“It’s hard not to feel the magic here,” she remarked. “I’m not used to being so open with it, or with different types, but I’d love to learn.” She’d done some research over the years, knew that their magic was one of varying types, but she hadn’t experimented much outside of her own powers. Now? Well, why shouldn’t she?
With her tea drained, she raised her head, telekinetically lifting the pot between them in the air and, with a crook of her finger, topping her cup off with another round. She circled her finger and raised an eyebrow at Dr. Strange. “More?”
“Oh - yes, please,” Stephen nodded, not at all put out by telekinesis - a helpful trick indeed. He waited for that cup to fill before taking a sip, letting the hot liquid roll down his throat. It was soothing, in a way few things were.
Where humanity often disappointed him, tea remained fulfilling. Bless.
He was curious about his current guest, who had seemed to seek out the Sanctum in a way, like magical magnets colliding - most people arrived and made an initial network post asking where the nearest place was to get blindingly drunk; it was a pattern he’d noticed, but that wasn’t his preferred coping mechanism. No, he usually preferred to tumble headfirst into some kind of task - work, a challenge, an assignment. A demon to exorcise, maybe. Drowning in a bottle never did him any good.
“What’s your magic like? I realize that’s a simple question for a complicated answer, but,” he shrugged, and the cloak lifted at one end - mirroring the gesture. “There are different types where I come from. Different origins.”
“No, I get it,” Prue assured him with a quick smile. She tried to think of the most concise way to explain what she knew. “In my world, a true witch is someone born with magic. It’s passed down through our bloodline, along with specific powers. Mine and my sisters’ started with our ancestor, Melinda Warren, back in the 17th century. She was actually one of the accused burned at the stake during the Salem Witch Trials.”
It still saddened Prue a bit to think of Melinda’s fate. She was a sweet, kind soul — she hadn’t deserved a fate so horrible, especially when she could have put an end to it. But without her, and her sacrifice, the Warren line would have been snuffed out centuries ago, and she and her sisters would never have existed.
“There are practitioners, too, but they don’t have any inherent powers. Some can tap into natural magic, but some can’t. Comes down to how strong their affinity is.” She took another sip of her tea and raised her eyebrow at her companion across the table. “You? What exactly is…all of this?”
Magic through the bloodlines, that made sense to Stephen. “I’ve never heard a version of the Salem Witch Trials where it was just or fair,” he shook his head. “It’s sort of similar where I come from. My mentor once referred to magic as harnessing energy, tapping into the multiverse - there are multiple ways to do it, whether it’s something that’s passed on in families or learned. Eldritch magic, what I know, is learned.”
He set the teacup down and flexed his fingers - a swoop and a sweep of his hands, like he was playing cat’s cradle or a game of charades, and sparking golden energy manifested; it was a geometric pattern of pure holographic light, just a demonstration before it faded out of existence. “Looks like that, which was just a brief shield - but I can form other objects, like a whip or a sword, out of that energy. I also know other spells, things I’ve read about and practiced. The Sanctum,” he gestured around him, “...it’s one of the bases for the Masters of the Mystic Arts, who keep the world safe from magical threats. I’ve been tasked as guardian of this particular Sanctum and everything in it.”
On the network he’d described most of the artifacts as ‘dark’ in nature, but that was perhaps the wrong word - these items shouldn’t fall into the hands of someone who didn’t know how to use them, but they weren’t especially deadly. Besides, you could kill someone with an electric skillet and no one was wary of those.
Eldritch magic. Prue was fascinated by the shield conjured before her eyes and disappointed when it faded away. She certainly knew how to draw on magic around her but not to that sort of extent. And if Eldritch magic was learned — well, she couldn’t help wondering if she could learn some. But that seemed a little presumptuous to ask of someone she’d met barely an hour ago.
“I would love to have a look around,” she said instead. “If you don’t mind? I caught some glimpses of some really interesting artifacts. I was a museum curator for years and I guess the history nerd in me never really went away.”
A museum curator - well, that was an automatic extra hundred points with Stephen. He supposed it would have been easy to run screaming from the house, but she didn’t seem the type.
“I don’t mind - the Chamber of Relics is just upstairs,” he said; truth be told, he was somewhat eager to show it off. The thought of having some locals come and tour as a result of that coven world’s fair in the works was interesting too - maybe a good way to build rapport, and he’d be able to put what he could do out there. In case any of the local covens needed him.
There were always threats to the world. Always a demon or two to exorcise, or a dark entity to outsmart. That was where he was best in his element.
He rose from his chair, the cloak fluttering excitedly. “I can show you the library too - and if I get too rambly, just let me know.” Dr. Strange wasn’t usually a big talker, but this was a different story.