See Part One (A) For Disclaimers

"Just make sure you fix something which all of us can eat, Dani.  Remember, not all of us are former Marines," Tatya said dryly.  Dani responded by sticking out her tongue at the older woman, and Tatya rolled her eyes, adding, "Infant.  Since you'll fix dinner, there are some things I need to go over.  Val, I'll take Philip to DH in the late morning.  I have an early appointment, and I have something to go over before I do that."

"Okay, thanks for letting me know.  Since you two are occupied and out of trouble, I'll have a little talk with my godfather.  I'm actually surprised he hasn't tried to have our conversation already," Val replied.  She paused, then added more seriously, "And Dani, when you can take a few minutes, would you mind checking on Jasmine?  These nightmares have me kinda worried."

"No problem, little boss," Dani replied, using one of her favorite pet names for Val.  The young precept responded with a mock glare of her own, and Dani laughed, adding, "Go ream your godfather, for all of us.  Especially poor Philip.  He's had one helluva introduction to this House, and he's kept himself together fairly well."  Val nodded.

"Oh yes," she answered dryly, "I fully intend to do just that!"  With that, she rose to her feet and walked upstairs.  Behind her, she heard the two older women snickering.  She knew they would have paid to see the coming confrontation with her godfather, but she also knew they were too professional to eavesdrop.  At least, she HOPED they were that professional.

*    *    *

Val never had the chance to do that.  Her godfather had fallen asleep waiting for the confrontation, and rather than wake him up, Val returned to her own office.

She sat back, regarding the pile of paperwork on her desk, then shook her head.  She would deal with that crap later.  There was a time to be the responsible precept, and a time to be a thirty year old woman.

This was definitely a time for the latter.  She double-clicked onto the icon for her web-server, then typed in her password under her user ID.  Girlmage, of all things.  She was no girl, not at thirty, but it was a way of relinquishing responsibility, if only for an hour or so.  She found several emails, then her eyes lit up as she found a familiar name.  

She opened the email and began to read, laughing in some spots.  As usual, the mailing list she belonged to had overloaded her mailbox, and she would filter out the crap later.  For now, however, she would just read the email and relax.  And try not to feel too guilty about playing while the rest of her team worked.

*    *    *

That girl works entirely too hard.  She just got back from London, had to deal with that idiot Tremain, gets thrown into this new situation, and a new case, and she's bitching at herself because she's taking some downtime for herself??????

Winston Rayne exploded.  His two female companions . . . Kristen Adams had joined him and Deirdre Barton some time before . . . looked at him in amusement.  He ignored them, at least for the time being.  He could never ignore them for long.

Look who's talking, Kristen replied dryly, this from the man who literally worked himself to death.  Winston glared at the young woman, who added, her blue eyes sparkling with a combination of annoyance and challenge, a challenge which she knew Winston Rayne couldn't refuse,  Oh now don't look at me like that.  At least when I died, I was actually protecting someone, instead of acting like a macho idiot.  And may I remind you, Dr. Rayne, that I was protecting . . .

A young man whom my daughter's House needs desperately.  Stop it, both of you, Deirdre ordered.  Her dark eyes flashed with annoyance as she glared at the two bickering spirits.  Kristen desisted immediately, and Deirdre glared at Winston, adding,  And you, Winston.  Kristen is right about one thing at least.  You have no right to judge my daughter's work ethic.

Oh Lord have mercy.  He had just inflamed the mother.  As he had been told once, never get between a lioness and her cubs.  Deirdre Barton had left the earthly plane when her middle daughter was only twelve years old, some thirteen years after Winston's own death.  And while she had sacrificed her life to save that of her infant daughter, Kerry Isis, Winston knew that Deirdre had never fully forgiven herself for leaving her two older daughters.  Especially not after what her husband had done.  He sighed.  What was it about the precepthood of the Legacy which drew fools such as himself and Douglas Barton to it?  And what did the Legacy do to deserve precepts such as his son and young Valerie Barton?

I'm not judging her work ethic, Deirdre.  I'm questioning how long she'll be able to do this.  To work herself like this, and then show such contempt for her need to relax.  Yes, I did work myself to death, and I damn near killed my son as well.  Valerie is young.  She still has time to learn that being a precept doesn't mean she has to stop being a young person, Winston replied.

I wish I could have met your daughter, Deirdre.  I think I would have liked her.  Even if I didn't care for her comments regarding Jane, Kristen said softly.  Deirdre looked at the young woman, who sighed, I know, I know.  She was right.  Jane was foolish, going to a secluded area, after dark, to meet someone she didn't know.  That doesn't mean I have to like . . .

Winston muffled his laughter.  Actually, he had rather appreciated Valerie's remarks regarding the old bat.  The conversation in question had happened only hours earlier, while she was in the control room with Philip.  Philip.  Winston's eyes softened as he watched the young man unpack.  He remembered how the boy's blue-gray eyes had widened in shock at Valerie's words.

The young precept had been seated atop the computer console, her feet resting in the chair.  She had mentioned Jane Witherspoon's death, then added in a contemptuous voice, "Let me get this straight.  This woman gets a message from a man she doesn't know, goes to meet him in a secluded area of town, after dark, and people are shocked when she's killed?  Can you say 'duh,' boys and girls?"

She had been doing research on Winston himself at the time, even though they had been discussing Jane Witherspoon.  Trying to figure out why her niece was dreaming of him.  Winston actually knew the reasons for the girl's dreams, or nightmares.  But it wasn't his place to explain that to the mortals.  He couldn't explain a lot to them, including things he wanted to explain.  Needed to explain.  Now was not the time.  And so, he could only watch in silence as this brave new generation of the Legacy coped with the demons, both supernatural and mundane, surrounding them in their own way.

*    *    *

For the next hour, Val was immersed in her own thoughts as she emailed her reply back to her friend.  She didn't mention the Legacy, of course.  After thirty years in the Legacy, in one form or another, she knew better than that.  Just told her friend Marina that she had just returned from England, a business trip, only to find that all hell was breaking loose at her own business.  Which wasn't entirely a lie.

She paused, sat back and re-read the last sentence, then typed, "I know I'm whining.  I know that.  But, when my father died and left me the chair of our foundation, I know he wanted me to make my own decisions, AND my own mistakes.  How can I do that, Rina, if my godfather interferes in that?  How will I ever learn, if I don't make my own mistakes?  We've talked about this before, although then, it was why your father would never give you the same opportunities that he gives your brothers.  It's different, but it's the same."

Val read that sentence again, then typed, "I know he acts out of his love for me.  That's the only reason I forgive him half the time.  Well, that and the fact that I love him, too.  I just . . . it bothers me, you know?  That he has so little faith in me, in my judgment.  Why does he have so little faith in me, Rina?  Should I have been stronger after my mother died, after my father died?  Should I have spent less time with my niece after my sister died, and more time with the business?  What will it take before he starts believing in me?"

Val blinked back tears, then snarled a curse at herself.  She was thirty years old, for God's sake, not fifteen!  She was an assistant professor of history, reasonably popular with her students if the sizes of her classes and the number of youngsters who came up to talk with her at the end of class were any indication.  She was quietly remaking her own Legacy House to suit the new era.

So why the hell couldn't her godfather, the only parental figure she had left,

believe in her?  Val knew that a number of people had disliked Sloan, and she understood why.  He was a pain in the ass, abrasive.  With most people.  But she and Dani had been exceptions to that rule.  He had always been gentle with her . . .

but not patronizing.  He had believed in her, believed she would make a good precept.  In part, he had told her laughingly once, because she had her powers as a mage and had never turned Eddy Tremain into a hamster!

Still thinking of the man, Val typed, "I miss Uncle Will.  He wasn't really my uncle, of course.  And I don't know for certain that he's dead.  But it's been two and a half years since his disappearance while rescuing a friend.  And while I know it's unlikely he's still alive, I have this feeling in my gut that he isn't finished yet.  Practicality wars often with instinct, and this is no exception."

That wasn't really true, though.  There were times when practicality went hand in hand with instinct.  Just as there were times when her instincts defied logic.

Defied everything which seemed real.  The keyword there was 'seemed.'  Val had spent too many years in the Legacy, first as a Legacy brat, then as an operative, and now as a precept, to just accept 'reality.'

Val said her good-byes to Marina, then sent the email and sat back.  Reality.  That was such a funny word.  How exactly did one define 'reality,' really?  She knew people who considered that belonging to the physical world as reality.  And it was.  But it was only part of reality.  Val had come to the conclusion years earlier,

after a conversation with the younger brother of one of the Legacy members under her father in Vancouver, that each person's reality was different, because each person's experience was different.

Val sighed and leaned back in her chair.  As a precept, she knew one thing.  As a human being, however . . . as a precept, she had to be strong for her people, especially when times got bad.  When they needed someone to lean on.  As a woman . . . no, not even as a woman, as a human being, Val was as susceptible to doubts as anyone.  Perhaps that was why she could understand Philip Callaghan.

Philip. She smiled gently, thinking of the soft-eyed young priest.  He was five years older than she was, and yet, she felt older.  Not that she would ever say so.  But it was true.  In the last few hours, she had watched him diligently working at the keyboard.  No wonder his soul had felt so divided between the Legacy and the Church.  He gave everything he had . . . it was just a wonder he hadn't collapsed from exhaustion.

Not for the first time, Val acknowledged that her godfather had known what he was doing when he chose the dark-haired priest to assist them.  That was never an issue . . . well, not really.  Val had her concerns at first, but he was quickly putting those to rest.  What concerned her, however, was her godfather's methods.  Especially where Philip was concerned.  She was less angry about his high-handed methods with her . . . she had known him for thirty years.  She knew how he operated, and how to react.  Philip had no such advantage.

Still, she turned her mind to ways her House could help Philip.  She planned to check back with a few Catholic friends who attended the church where Philip was now a curate.  She wanted to find out what sorts of things Philip was planning to do with his new position.  Val wanted to support him as much as possible.  She believed, with all of her heart, that Philip's work in the parish was as important, if not more so, than his work in the Legacy.

There, she had differed with a number of precepts.  But in the closing days, before his final trip to San Francisco, Val had finally been able to explain her thinking to William Sloan.  She smiled, remembering that conversation now.  It had been the first time she had ever heard Philip Callaghan's name, and Sloan had seemed rather dismissive of the young priest.

Just because she had been feeling particularly feisty, and because she understood the importance of parish work, Val had immediately challenged him.  What followed was a debate . . . the importance of the Legacy, the big battles, against the importance of the church, the smaller battles.  She received support from Patricia Sloan, who weighed in on Val's side, reminding her husband of all the times they had survived a crisis in their family because of their cleric.

It wasn't until Val used a local example that she made her point, however.  She had been the precept of Baltimore House for only a few months at that point, but she had encountered a situation in her godfather's parish.  A young man had sought the aid of a local priest, who gave it.

Val later learned, and told Sloan, that the young man had been dancing along a precipice . . . in danger of falling in with the wrong crowd, drugs, alcohol.  And, she had added, this particular gang had a habit of trying to call up things they couldn't control.  But because of the intervention of this priest, at least one kid had been saved.  All of them couldn't be saved . . . but one was better than nothing.

Sloan had been quiet for a long time after that, but Val hadn't really noticed.  She was happily chatting with Patricia Sloan, discussing things other than Legacy business for a change.  That was one reason she got along with Patricia . . . the older woman had always understood her need to be more than just Valerie Barton, Legacy member . . . or Legacy precept.  

She could always count on Patricia to understand her stories about her students, her worries for them, and the thrill she received when one of them told her that she had made a difference in his or her life.  It wasn't as big as the Legacy . . . and she felt she had made a difference in the Legacy.  But it was special.  And Patricia understood that.

Val supposed that also factored into her reluctance to just give up on Sloan.

Quite apart from the support he had always given her, there was her memory of her father after her mother's death.  While Patricia was far more stable, Val didn't want that kind of pain for a woman who had always been so good to her.  She didn't want it for anyone . . . much less for Patricia Sloan.

*    *    *

Dani knew she was too distracted to actually make dinner, so instead, she ordered out for pizzas . . . four large pizzas.  She didn't know what Philip liked, but since she had ordered four different kinds of pizzas, she figured the priest would find something he liked.  An alarming thought occurred to the security officer as she finished placing the order . . . what if Philip didn't like pizza?  She shook her head. Not possible.  He was too . . . well . . . he fit in around here too well NOT to like pizza.  Even if he had been here less than twenty-four hours.

She peeked into the refrigerator . . . Val had bought cokes on her way back from the airport.  The girl seemed to have a sixth sense about when her drink of choice was about to run out, even when she was on the other side of the Atlantic.

Dani wondered if it came with her abilities as a mage.  She grinned to herself and returned her attention to the drinks.

They had all sorts of soft drinks, and out of respect to Andy, no alcohol.  The four women had made a decision together, about three years earlier.  Andy was struggling to stay sober . . . they would not make things more difficult for him.  To the best of Dani's knowledge, there wasn't alcohol anywhere in the House.  After her mother's death, Val had violently turned against liquor of any kind.

Dani didn't mind leaving the House if she wanted to get a beer.  It wasn't that much of a problem for her.  And with an alcoholic in the House, an alcoholic who was continuing his daily fight with the bottle, it made sense.  Besides, there were times when she had to leave the House . . . and when those moods hit, Dani often took Renee with her as company.  The former Marine wondered a bit uneasily if anyone had mentioned the alcohol rule to Philip.

It wasn't that alcohol was banned . . . just discouraged.  Well . . . strongly discouraged.  And there were other ways of relaxing.  Dani wiped her hands on her jeans, eliminating the condensation from the cans.  Well, they seemed to be alright in the beverage department.  What else could they have with pizza?  Dani almost laughed aloud, realizing what she was doing.  Whatever.  The Legacy couldn't take over her life.  She would sacrifice herself to protect another member of her team, or to protect a victim or bystander.  But while she drew breath, she would continue to be Danielle Grant, former Marine and resident smart ass.

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