Angel Island, six weeks later...
Derek gazed absently from his office window at the San Francisco skyline
shining in the sunlight across the bay. It had been warm day with an off-shore breeze
that had pushed the fog bank back to the Golden Gate. Suddenly, the intercom buzzed.
"Dr. Rayne, you have a call on the video-link," announced the genteel voice of
the household's majordomo.
"Thank you, Dominick," said Derek as he swivelled his chair around and flipped
on his monitor. He was surprised to see the face of a former prot�g�e and house
member.
"Good afternoon, Amanda. It's been a while. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I'd like to say that I was just calling to say, 'Hello,' but I can't. You're looking
tired, Derek. I hate to bother you with this."
"But...," he continued her sentence. "You're looking rather tired yourself... so
what does the LA House need my help with?"
"We have a house which was the scene of a violent take-over robbery that went
bad. It resulted in the gruesome murders of the young couple that was house sitting.
The house now seems to be haunted by an entity that dislikes women. We're at our
wits end, Derek.... When I heard that you were coming down to guest lecture at Dr.
Sato's graduate seminar at UCLA, I had an off-the-wall idea. I thought that, perhaps,
the entity might be a little more accepting of you, since you're a man... maybe you
could get some impression of it."
"Of course," he replied.
"Great," Amanda said with a grin. "Lunch is on me... at your favorite... Musso
& Frank's. It'll be good to see you in the flesh."
"I'll see you next Thursday."
< < + > >
San Francisco
Later that night, Rachel Corrigan unfastened her seat belt. "Thank you for a
lovely evening, Derek," she said as she searched in the darkness for her purse.
"I assure you, it was all my pleasure to escort two such lovely ladies to the
opera."
Rachel turned in her seat. "Katherine, what do you say?"
"Thank you," came a happy voice from the backseat. "Can we go again? I want
to see Die Fled... Die Fled...."
"Die Fledermaus," said Derek.
"Yes, Die Fledermaus," Kat repeated. "Please, I want to see it again."
Watching Kat's face in his rearview mirror, Derek teasingly hesitated, then
replied, "I think that might be arranged." He smiled and glanced at Rachel as he saw
the delight spread across her daughter's face. "Being a patron of the arts does have its
privileges."
"Why don't you come in for a cup of coffee?" Rachel suggested, not quite
wanting the evening to end.
"Please... teach me the song from the beginning," Kat implored.
"You mean the 'overture'?" he asked.
"Please."
"All right. I could use a little caffeine pick-me-up, anyway," he said as he pulled
his keys from the ignition. By the time Derek had opened the car door, Kat had
bounded from the Explorer and, in a child's waltz, twirled her pink lace skirt all the
way to the front steps.
Rachel unlocked the front door and flipped on the lights. "Kat," she called, as
she took Derek's topcoat and white silk evening scarf. "Run up and get ready for bed
first. You still have school tomorrow." She turned to Derek and undid his black satin
bow tie. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll just be a moment."
Rachel headed off toward the kitchen to put on the coffee, then slipped upstairs
to shed her gown in favor of a velour caftan. She sat at her vanity and removed the pins
from her upswept hair, allowing the blond cascade to fall over her shoulders. She
quickly brushed out the tangles and removed her necklace. It was a simple piece of
jewelry, a diamond studded heart on a gold rope, but she always wore it for special
occasions... it had been her husband's last anniversary gift to her. She touched it and
could see Patrick Corrigan's face beaming with love as he had watched her open the
silver wrapped package. Only two months later he and their beautiful son, Connor,
were gone. In his eager desire to get home, Patrick had decided to drive straight
through and had fallen asleep at the wheel. Tears swelled, but did not fall... this time.
Below, she could hear Derek playing the piano, not the song Kat had wanted,
but another Strauss waltz. She listened. It wasn't one of the more familiar tunes. She
couldn't place it, but she could tell that he played it to perfection. He might have been
a concert pianist or a composer, she thought, if he only hadn't been a son of the
Legacy... if only....
By the time she walked into the living room carrying two mugs of steaming
black coffee, Kat, in her flannel pajamas and robe, was already on the piano bench
next to Derek.
"Wow! Record time," Rachel said. She placed a coaster on the piano and set
his coffee on it. "Thank you again for thinking of die Fledermaus. We both really
enjoyed it."
"I thought you might. It was the first operetta I ever saw. Mother took Ingrid and
me to see it in Vienna. I loved it."
Derek had unbuttoned both his shirt collar and his jacket, and looked as though
he had run his hand through his hair a few times. Settling into the sofa, Rachel thought
that, while Dr. Rayne could look so handsomely sophisticated in his Italian double-breasted tuxedo, Derek was somehow twice as charming with his hair mussed and his
expensive clothes half rumpled.
"What was the waltz you were playing?" she asked. "I vaguely recognized it,
but can't recall the name.".
"It was Dorfschwalben, Village Swallows," he replied absently as he began
showing Kat the melody she wanted to learn. "By Josef Strauss, Johann's younger,
possibly more gifted, brother." He took Kat's small hand and placed her fingers on the
proper chord. "Sadly," Derek continued, "he didn't compose much... he worked as an
architect and died young, but he had what the Viennese prize... Schwermut, poetic
sadness."
Rachel snuggled deeper into the pillows. She relaxed, sipped her coffee, and, as
she watched and listened, let her thoughts drift again. She wondered what it was about
Derek Rayne that women found so appealing. He was a workaholic, dedicated with his
whole soul to the Legacy, its mission against evil, and above all to his own house. He
could have an aura of absolute confidence that bordered onto arrogance, but when the
"Sight" left him shaken and vulnerable.... It was then that those hazel eyes of his, so
cold and hard when fighting Satan's minions, betrayed a haunting look of sadness and
unshareable knowledge. Schwermut, she thought. But, perhaps, the Derek Rayne that
drew women to himself was the one whose company she and Kat had enjoyed this
evening... the kind, gentle, thoughtful man, who actually valued the companionship of
women, a precious quality most would say.
She knew that there had been numerous liaisons in his past, but none lasting.
Some had been moments of mutual passion or compassion, one or two had ended
bitterly, and one, Alicia, had ended in tragedy without ever having been allowed to
blossom. She had recognized from the outset that her friend and fellow Legacy
member, Alex Moreau, was in love with him. Doubtless the affection had begun as a
student's crush on her professor, but over the years it had deepened into something
else, something more complicated, but something melancholy as well. Rachel herself
felt his allure. Though she was completely at ease in his presence, there were moments
when his scent or his casual touch would take her breath and send tremors down her
spine. She wondered if he could sense it. Maybe one day she would make sure that he
did, but not yet. Patrick's death was still too close upon her, and she would not risk
Alex's friendship.
Now, watching Derek and Kat at the piano, she knew that he had another
conquest. Her daughter's love of music had flourished once she realized that it was
Derek's joy. She could see little Derek mannerisms that Kat was subconsciously
adopting... the stubborn raised eyebrow, the enigmatic half smile that hinted at some
private amusement, the absolute confidence in her gift of vision. There had been a
quiet affection between them from the beginning. He had never treated Kat as a child,
and Kat had seemed to instinctively understand his seriousness and the wry sense of
humor that lay beneath. Her daughter had embraced Nick and Philip as older brothers
and playmates, Alex as sister/confidant, but Derek, Rachel now knew, was Kat's soul
mate. They shared the wonderful, horrible gift of true vision... revelations of past,
present, future, and what might be. Where Alex's psychic talent gave her glimpses and
feeling, their's could have an impact that could resonate physically and mentally with
a frightening violence.
All of a sudden, Kat let out a torrent of giggles."I did it,"she squealed. "Did you
hear, Mommy?"
"Yes, dear. It was delightful," Rachel fibbed. Deep in her own thoughts, she
hadn't heard. "It's way past your bedtime, sweetie. Say good night. You can practice
it for the rest of the week and play it again for Derek on Sunday. OK?"
"Good night, Derek," said Kat. "Thank you." She gave him a peck on the cheek
and said quietly as she slid from the piano bench, "I love you."
"I love you too, Katje," he replied softly.
Rachel was surprised. She had not heard Kat say that to anyone except herself
since her father had died, not even to Nick, Philip, or Alex.
"Come on, sweetie... I'll tuck you in." She took Kat's hand and led her toward
the stairs. Derek began to play again, a wistful aire that she suspected was his own
composition.
< < + > >
The wolf prowled his desolate, gray plain...
hunger... thirst... anger... hatred. He could feel his prey.
He could sense its weariness and smell its sickness. What
was this creature that could elude him? This being had
more strength than any such animal he had ever
encountered. He must devour the creature. He must
replenish himself from its blood... from its power... its
soul.
< < + > >
San Francisco
Derek was still playing when Rachel returned to the alcove. She stood in the
doorway and listened. Her own abilities as a pianist told her that it was a deceptively
complex piece. He looked up, but continued to the finish.
"It's the only place I can loose myself," he explained. "There's only the music."
"But if you empty yourself, don't you invite other things in to fill the void?"
asked Rachel, trying to avoid her psychiatrist's voice.
Derek was too perceptive. "Playing the analyst?" She saw the eyebrow go up
ever so slightly, then relax. A flicker of a smile crossed his lips, but the eyes remained
unfathomable. "You mean the 'Sight'? Sometimes," he said enigmatically. He looked
down to massage his right hand, which Rachel suspected often ached from an old
injury. The silence stretched awkwardly.
Finally, thinking how alone the precept sometimes seemed, Rachel had to break
the moment. "Would you like a refill?"
It took him a second to realize what she was talking about. The coffee... it
dawned on him. "Oh... no, thank you. I should be getting back to the island." He
gently closed the piano and began to rise. Suddenly the room faded, replaced by
spinning pinpricks of light. He clutched the piano as he felt his balance go. Derek shut
his eyes, bent over a little, and took a deep breath.
Rachel was there. She grasped his arm. "You OK?" She had seen him sway and
loose color. Was it a vision, she wondered. She'd never get used to this part of Derek.
It still frightened her. "Derek?"
"I'm fine," he replied firmly. "Just a little light-headed... I got up too quickly."
The precept straightened slowly, but swayed again. "Ohhh... damn it."
"Sit down." Rachel got a better grip on his arm as she pushed him back down
onto the piano bench. The doctor in her efficiently took command. "Lean over... put
your head down," she ordered. "I'm going to get my bag. I've got smelling salts."
Derek grasped her hand as she started to walk away. "No... I'm OK... just a
little dizzy," he said. "I'm not going to faint on you... I promise."
Rachel turned and brushed a wisp of salt-and-pepper hair from his forehead as
she gently pushed his head back down. He seemed warm. "You're not driving home
tonight," she said, "...that's all there is to it." It worried her that he didn't argue. "I'll
make up the guest room....You stay put."
Once Rachel had disappeared up the stairs, Derek laid his head on the piano. He
wasn't just queasy or a little light-headed, he was reeling with vertigo. The world was
whirling and he damn near couldn't tell up from down. The lamp's light quivered in
multi-colors. He fought for control... fought so hard that he began to sweat. His hands
trembled. His stomach seethed. He fought.
By the time Rachel returned, five minutes later, he had mastered himself to the
point where he could open his eyes again without feeling like he was going to die.
"How are you doing?"she asked, allowing the concern to creep into her voice.
She felt his face, which was now flushed, as she had felt her children's so many times
before. "You have a temperature."
Derek steadied himself before he looked at her. "I'll be OK. I can't seem to
shake that bloody flu," he explained. "I'll think I've beat it, then it comes back on me
in a different way... very annoying... I'm sorry to put you out," he added.
Everything in Rachel Corrigan... the psychiatrist, the doctor, the mother...
shouted at her that he was slamming the gates... Derek Rayne was locking himself
inside his bastion, and everyone else out. "Damn him," she thought as she helped him
toward the stairs. He put more weight on her than he realized. She could feel the
unsteadiness and knew that there was more to this than recurring flu, but, fearing that
he might retreat even farther into himself, she kept her tone calm and matter-of-fact.
"Rubbish... you're always welcome here... any hour of the day or night, and you know
it. I'll call the house and let them know you're staying over."
He nodded and concentrated on making it up the red carpeted steps one at a
time.
< < + > >
Angel Island
In her bedroom on the upper floor of the castle-like Rayne Mansion, Alex
Moreau was getting drowsy... disappointed and drowsy. It wasn't often that she
allowed herself the delicious luxury of a paperback novel for bedtime reading. Usually,
she was wading through Luna's quarterly statements or proofreading Legacy reports
destined for London House. Her decadent escape, however, was proving to be a bore.
It had held promise. It had a lusty cover and took place in her hometown, New
Orleans. The author knew her stuff. She described the sights, sounds, smells of the
French Quarter to perfection... the aroma of gumbo, the dirge of a jazz funeral, the
pigeons in Jackson Square... but she couldn't come up with an original character or a
plot to save her ass. Alex flung the book toward the waste basket and reached for the
light. She had just switched off the lamp, when the phone rang, startling her. Before
she finally found the phone, she had knocked it over. She hoped she hadn't
disconnected the call.
"Luna Foundation. Alex Moreau, speaking," she said from habit. "Oh, sorry...
I forgot... this is my phone. It's Alex."
"Alex... it's Rachel."
"Oh, hi! How was the opera?"
"Great... Kat loved it. Listen, Derek's going to stay the night."
"Oh?" There was an uncertain silence before she continued, "Is everything all
right?"
Rachel explained quickly, "He had a dizzy spell, so I put him to bed."
"Is he OK?"
Rachel could hear the anxiety in her friend's voice. She hesitated. "How's he
been feeling?" Other than this evening, she hadn't seen much of Derek lately. He'd
been busy with various investigations and, since the Legacy had not been in dire need
of her services, she had been using the time to catch up on her patient load.
Alex didn't need her own psychic sense to feel Rachel's concern. "He's seemed
tired," she replied slowly, "and definitely short tempered. He reamed Nick over some
nonsense this morning."
Rachel said nothing, but waited for Alex to continue.
"I don't know what set him off. I do know that he's had a couple of really bad
headaches lately."
"What did Nick do?" the psychiatrist asked.
"He took it... I was flabbergasted. He went off to inspect perimeter security, then
spent the rest of the day working on the Mustang."
"I see." Rachel knew that Nick, not one to take much guff, ordinarily would
have exploded right back at Derek. The fact that he didn't spoke for itself. "I'll give
you a call in the morning," she said. "I'm not sure Derek should be driving 'til we
know what's going on."
< < + > >
San Francisco
Derek slept fitfully. In his dreams he knelt before the golden alter in the Chapel
of Light. Like a knight on the eve of battle he held his sword before him as a cross...
it was his own sword with the crescent moon on the haft and the elegantly curved lion-headed quillons, the sword that had served and protected his family and the Legacy for
a thousand years and more. He prayed, "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us
sinners, now and at the hour of our death." The altar ran with red. The stained glass
windows shattered into a million piercing needles. He was trapped in the midst of
swirling colors, red flames, monsters with slashing daggers crying in a discordant
chant... blood-soaked fur, yellow eyes, teeth... scoring his flesh... hot breath with the
stench of decay... unbearable pain. Still, he prayed, with the sword high before him,
"...demitte nobis debita nostra.... Et ne nos inducas in tentationem..., forgive us our
trespasses.... And lead us not into temptation...."
Above, at the top of the fabled stairs, stood a small, calm figure in white. Her
whispers reverberated through the chapel, "Derek Rayne! Beware, the wolf!"
He awoke breathless and trembling with prayer on his lips."Sed libera nos a
malo.... But deliver us from evil...." Derek rose in the half-dawn, slipped on his
clothes, and left.
In her bedroom down the hall, Kat murmured, "Christina."
