< < + > >

Kensington, London

Somewhere in the distance of sleep, William Sloan heard the incessant bbbrrr, bbbrrr of the phone. On about the tenth ring he dragged himself awake and reached for the receiver.

"Yes," he mumbled, "Sloan."

"Sir, it's Bethany Lopez... in Los Angeles," said a high-pitched, tinny, hesitant voice. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but London House put me through to you. I work with Amanda Drake."

"Honey, what is it?" asked Patricia Sloan as she rolled over to turn on the bedside lamp.

"Yes, Miss Lopez... what can I do for you?" the Ruling Precept asked. The anxious tone of her voice prodded him fully awake.

"Sir... Dr. Drake is in intensive care at UCLA," said the quivering voice.

Sloan pushed himself up and swung his legs out of bed. "Hold on... let me take this on the video-link," he said. He couldn't recall the face that belonged to the voice... just young with black hair.

"I'm sorry, sir. But I'm not at the House... I'm at the hospital," she replied.

"What happened?" he demanded. In an aside to his wife, he whispered, "Amanda Drake's in the hospital."

"We don't know. She went to the Crestview house alone... later Mark... Mr. Taylor... found her on the living room floor... bleeding. Her uterus had ruptured. We suspect the entity assaulted her."

"When did this happen?" the precept asked. "Have you informed Dr. Rayne?... He was supposed to meet with her."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Miss Lopez?"

"I'm sorry, sir," she stammered. "It happened yesterday afternoon. I saw Dr. Rayne a couple of hours ago at the house. He was quite upset that he'd not been told and warned us that you would be as well. We simply wanted to have something to report concerning Amanda's... Dr. Drake's... condition.

"Well?" Sloan asked testily. "I hope you finally have something to report."

"Yes, sir... she's critical, but they expect her to pull through."

"Miss Lopez," said the precept, "you do realize that this will not be a favorable mark upon your, or Mr. Taylor's, file. I should have been informed immediately. We'll discuss this further when I get there."

"Yes, sir," said Bethany in a small, rather frightened voice.

"Good-bye, Miss Lopez... and should you see Dr. Rayne... don't tell him I'm coming over tomorrow."

"Yes, sir... I mean.... no, sir.... good-bye, sir." A dial tone replaced the confused voice.

"Honey?" questioned Patricia, catching the angry concern in her husband's tone.

"Just a second," William replied as he pressed the com-line for his secretary's home. A familiar voice answered before the first ring finished. "Martha," he said, "sorry to awaken you... several urgent items.... Cancel all those meetings that we'd rescheduled for this morning before my flight to LA.... Bump up any that can't be shifted to as early as possible. I need to get over there as soon as I can."

"Yes, sir," the Englishwoman efficiently replied. "According to the latest weather info.... Heathrow and Gatwick are still socked in and will be for most of the day. Do you want me to make arrangements for you to fly out of Manchester or Orly?"

"Orly," the precept answered. "I can catch the Eurostar through the Chunnel to Paris. Second... I need you to call Dr. Steven Newman at the UCLA Medical Center. Get me all the info you can on Amanda Drake. She was admitted there yesterday afternoon... their time. I also want all the case files on the haunting at Crestview Place in LA... and I want all of Derek Rayne's medical records... the complete versions... and all of his case files for the past six weeks.... on my desk by five."

"Yes, Mr. Sloan... no problem... you'll have them," his secretary replied without hesitation.

"Thank you, Martha... I'll see you in a couple of hours."

"William... what's going on?" demanded Patty, pushing herself up in bed.

"LA's turning into a real crisis," he explained as he reached for his robe and hauled himself out of bed. "Derek's going to do something stupid.... I feel it in my bones." Searching for his slippers under the bed, Sloan paused, then raised up to ask, "Should I call him and forbid him to take any action concerning that house? Or just hope that he doesn't until I get there?"

Patricia thought for a moment. She had known both men for almost a quarter century... in the early years she had felt like a third wheel. They were both so much alike and even though Derek had pushed her husband out of his personal life over a dozen years ago, William had never quit caring... and in his own brusque way had repeatedly tried to make amends. Finally, in the past year the ice had thawed and at last had broken. Though neither man had openly demonstrated much of a change in attitude or demeanor, she could tell that both were relieved and pleased, as she was, and Derek's mother.

"The others were going to try to stall him, weren't they?" she reasoned. "If you call him and forbid it... you might just push him into moving more quickly."

"Christ... that's what I'm afraid of," William admitted. "Sometimes, I swear I have to be a goddamned magician to cope with that blockheaded Dutch bastard. How have I managed to survive him for damned near thirty years?... I think it was easier when we were totally on the outs."

Patty reached over to grasp her husband's hand. "I know you don't mean that, William... you care too much," she said. Sliding from beneath the covers, she added, "You get ready... I'll pack your bag."

< < + > >

Crestview Place, Bel Air

"Here," said Alex, handing Derek a full plate and a pair of chopsticks, "all your favorites. Nick said you haven't eaten all day."

Giving the younger man a hard glance, the precept took the plate. "Thank you," he replied, then casually turned to lay his files on the mantle... along with the plate. Momentarily, he stood there looking at the mee krob and lemon chicken... his stomach churned at the odor. Finally, quelling the nausea, he turned his back to the fire and faced his team.

Alex settled into the couch beside Rachel, while Nick filled his plate with fried rice and a spoonful from each white carton. From the corner of her eye, Alex caught the doctor studying the precept. By her expression she could tell that Rachel didn't like what she saw. Alex again reached out with her special talent, only to again be met by a wall of soul penetrating exhaustion.

Slipping his hands into his pants pockets, Derek hung his head for a moment to collect his thoughts. Finally, knowing that all eyes were on him, he cleared his throat and began, "The entity is the spirit of the Mattox's child.... It's lost," he explained. "According to the medical examiner's reports, Susan Mattox was pregnant at the time of her death... the paramedics did an emergency C-section when they arrived... hoping that perhaps the child had survived, which it had. However, it lived only seconds outside of its mother's womb."

He paused, then continued in a pensive tone."What I sense is that it doesn't know who or what it is. There's no concept of identity, language, or image. The child is seeking the only home it ever knew in the womb of every woman that comes within reach... and when it doesn't find what it wants, it becomes panicked and enraged." Derek stepped away from the fire to look down at Alex and Rachel. "...which is why you two must stay out. That's an order." Suddenly, an inspiration struck.

"Alex... I need you to locate the Mattox's parents... or anyone else who might have known them well. See if you can find out what they were going to name the baby and anything special they might have done in preparation for the birth." The precept glanced at his watch. "It's still early... make some calls tonight.

"Rachel, I need an opinion on the child's emotional stability."

"Your guess is probably better than mine," replied the doctor, looking directly into the precept's eyes. "Who can say what a child knows or experiences before or during birth?

Rachel set her plate aside and heaved herself up out of the cushions. "Derek, are you all right?" she asked with concern. One of her first insights into Derek Rayne's personality had been that, when he was exhausted or ill or hurt, his normally hazel eyes shifted toward brown... as they were now. She had also noticed his dinner was still sitting, untouched, on the mantle behind him.

"Just tired," came the pat reply. Slowly he dropped his head to rub his eyes. "Can't seem to think," he added to everyone's surprise.

Rachel reached up to touch his cheek. Gently, she brushed her fingers across his brow to sweep aside an unruly curl of salt and pepper hair. "You have a temperature," she said. "Take some aspirin and get some rest... doctor's orders."

A smile tugged at the corner of the precept's mouth. "I will," he agreed as he pulled his tie off.

"...and," she continued, "when we get back to San Francisco, you're going to the doctor."

"I've been," Derek replied. "I'm fine.... I'm going to bed.... Good night."

Each Legacy member glanced at the other without saying a word until their precept had disappeared down the hall.

"Well," said Nick as he scooped Derek's untouched lemon chicken onto his plate, "so much for dinner."

Alex shifted in her seat to face Rachel. "Derek Rayne went to the doctor? That's scary... now I am worried," she said, looking straight into her friend's dark eyes.

"Me, too," agreed the psychiatrist, anxious at the thought that Derek had been concerned enough about his own health to go to the doctor without it being a Legacy mandate.

"He's probably blowing smoke," Nick commented. "I'll bet he didn't go."

< < + > >

San Francisco

The girls lay sprawled in sleeping bags around the floor of the plushly carpeted den. They had eaten their pizza and popcorn and pizza again until their tummies were about to burst. They had watched videos, talked about boys, played their CD's, talked about boys, played their games, talked about boys, and finally told ghost stories until the heartiest of the lot had at last drifted off.

In the darkness, Kat fought her pillow. The dream had come again... the yellow eyes... yellow teeth dripping red... then a woman's face... an old woman's face with wrinkled, cinnamon skin and gray Cleopatra hair.... She smiled a toothless smile.... Her piercing black eyes smiled too. Her lips moved, but the words were strange... if they were words at all. Kat seemed to see through the woman's chest... through an intricate star burst design she saw the bright blue sky behind. The old woman held out her work-worn hands. In her right palm lay a tiny aqua pebble. In her left was a small wooden doll, colored by paint and ancient fires.

Suddenly, the yellow eyes were back... and now the stench of blood drenched fur. The den turned into pandemonium as the other girls were startled awake by Kat's scream and gasps for breath.

The light came on. "Girls," called Mrs. Foster, "shhhhh.... It's all right.... What was it a bad dream? Too many ghost stories on top of too much pizza?"

"Mrs. Foster," said Kat, crawling out of her sleeping bag. "I need to call my mommy."

"Honey... it was just a bad dream.... It's almost three a.m. Do you really want to wake her?"

"Yes... I need to call my mommy," Kat insisted.