See Part One (A) For Disclaimers

Chapter Eleven

Philip had much to consider as he unpacked his clothes.  Looking around the room, he marvelled at how different it was from San Franciscou House.  How different . . . everything was.  He hadn't decided what he would do, past the next few days.  But for now, he knew he would help Valerie in any way he could.

Philip had once heard that the soul of the precept determined the mood of the House.  That was true . . . he was seeing it here in Baltimore.  He had never known any Houses, other than Boston and San Francisco.  It never occurred to him that there might be precepts who were neither mavericks, nor sticks in the mud.

Technically speaking, Valerie Barton wasn't a maverick.  She was quiet, more or less, not a flashy sort at all.  And maybe quiet wasn't even the right word, but it was the one which kept popping into Philip's mind.  She knew exactly who she was, knew what she wanted, and had a pretty good idea how to get there.

But in the world of the Legacy, a three thousand year old world with traditions as deeply rooted as the Church, Valerie was a maverick.  She had her own way of dealing with people.  She believed that parish priests were just as important as scholars and linguists.  And pagans were as common in her House as any other religion.

Yes, he was sure that according to the Legacy hierarchy, she was a maverick.  And a dangerous one at that.  Philip rocked back on his heels.  This room was decorated as spartanly as his room in San Francisco had been.  And yet . . . there was something different.  It took him a moment to ascertain what that something was.

It was a blank slate.  It was whatever he chose to make of it.  Like life, a voice inside his head murmured, but Philip ignored it for the moment.  If he chose to stay, he could make this room his own.  He could create something.  The possibility made Philip dizzy.  His own terms.  Not Valerie's.  Not Derek's.  His own.

Choose how involved he would become in the Legacy.  Valerie was willing to trust him enough to do that.  And all she asked in return was respect.  Respect for her chosen beliefs, for her chosen faith.  There was a possible problem with Andrew Ramirez, but if Philip chose to remain, he believed he could come to an understanding with the other man.

Andrew would probably never like him.  But they could find a peace of their own.  Despite his continuing grief, despite his rage toward Derek, Philip sensed that Andrew was actually a reasonable man.  He didn't know where he got that.  But he felt sure that in time, Andrew would . . . come around?

Philip didn't know.  But he felt almost excited, rather than stifled, by the prospects.  He had made his choice, between the Legacy and the Church.  But what if he didn't have to make that choice?  What if he didn't have to choose one over the other?  What if he really could be part of the Legacy, and part of the Church, without sacrificing his soul?

He had already realized that the bishop would never put him in a position where he had to choose.  And Valerie had already told him that if he remained in the Legacy, it would be on his terms.  If he could reconcile his obligations to both the Legacy, and to the Church . . .  If he could find a way to balance the demands of both . . .

Philip shied away from that thought, from that temptation.  He remembered his conversation with Nick in Boston . . . the doubt.  The ugliness.  He remembered Jane Witherspoon's death, and shuddered.  He remembered his sudden tumble down the library stairs at the hands of a very angry little ghost.  Did he really want to return to that?  To the nightmarish violence of his childhood?

But . . . what if he was doing the wrong thing by walking away?  He had grown up amid violence, grown up amid destruction in the war-torn Belfast.  He had been trying to save people, one soul at a time, as he had told Nick.  But had battles ever been won by someone refusing to fight?   He didn't carry a gun or a knife, didn't use those sorts of weapons.  But he did battle evil, in his own way.  And Philip knew that it was a battle the Legacy faced.

He had thought of the unpleasantness of the Legacy.  The violence, the doubt, the fear.  He thought now of the good parts.  His battle with the Warden at St. Athanasius.  He *had* made a difference.  Kat's smile.  Alex's gentle teasing.  Kat.  Alex.  Philip bit his lip, willing back his tears.  God, he missed them both so much.

Had he really been running from the Legacy?  Or himself?  Or Derek?  Philip didn't know the answer.  He only knew that in Valerie Barton's dark hazel eyes, there was only compassion and acceptance.   Not disappointment, not anger, not resignation, as he had seen in the eyes of both Nick and Derek.  That in the young mage and professor, there was the same fear and the same vision which Philip himself had.  And was it possible that he had only been seeking a refuge, a sanctuary in the storm?  A . . . what had Valerie said earlier?  A retreat?

Yes, that was possible.  As Philip finished putting away his belongings into the dresser which had been provided for him, he thought about this House.  A precept who believed in giving her people choices.  Who understood that sometimes, mundane evil, demons in human flesh, were just as much part of the Legacy's work as supernatural threats.

He hadn't made his choice yet.  But as he looked around the room where he would be staying, at least for now, Philip accepted that he did have a choice.  That he wasn't being pushed or prodded back into the Legacy.  That no matter what he chose . . . his choice would be accepted.

*    *    *

Philip rejoined the others after he finished unpacking . . . actually, he followed the sound of the laughter, and discovered the rest of the House in the kitchen.  Pizza was being distributed by Valerie and Danielle, amid much laughter.  He hung back for a moment, not sure if he really belonged here, despite what he had been thinking earlier.

And then Kr . . . Renee . . . looked up and bounded to her feet, still chewing on her food.  She bounced over to him, her bright eyes alight with laughter, and grasped his wrist, dragging him back to the table with her.  Still laughing at something Danielle had said, Valerie asked him, "What kind of pizza do you like, Philip?  We have cheese, pepperoni and cheese, garbage, and something which defies description."

Philip simply grinned shyly and sat down at the table with them, between Jasmine and Tatya, who had made room for him.  Valerie's question had sent another spasm of laughter through the room.

"Hey now!  I like a pizza with everything on it!" Danielle protested, swatting the young precept's backside with the spatula.  That earned her a dirty look from the younger woman, and Danielle added, "Oh please.  You're wearing jeans, I know I didn't ruin any of your nice clothes for the start of school.  Which reminds me . . . "

"Two weeks," Valerie answered.  The others at the table blinked, and Valerie explained, "Classes begin in two weeks.  Which reminds me.  I'll take my cell phone with me tomorrow when I take Jazz shopping for school clothes, in case you and Philip need me, Tatya."  The psychologist nodded, taking a sip of Pepsi.

"Don't forget to get that skirt we were discussing, Val," Renee said, holding out her plate for another piece of pizza.  The young precept raised her eyebrows, and Renee explained, "The plaid one we saw a few weeks ago when we were shopping together.  You know the one."  She set the plate down and folded her arms over her chest.  Valerie just made a face.

"That's her 'bite me' face," Tatiana explained.  Andrew, who had been drinking what looked like tea, nearly spit out the beverage.  The psychologist continued, "Well, it's true!  Philip, take note of Val's expression right now, particularly her scowl.  When she has that expression on her face, it means not to push her."

"Philip, what kind of pizza would you like, and how many pieces?  Dani, give me that thing . . . don't make me take it.  You don't want to know what I would do with it," Valerie warned, grabbing the spatula from Danielle's hand.  Philip indicated the cheese pizza . . . he didn't think his system could handle anything else, especially after being sick this morning.  Valerie held up one finger questioningly, and Philip bobbed his head.

"Yah," Andrew said dryly, sounding almost exactly like Nick, "she would probably take it and shove it up your . . ."  He was immediately silenced by four women shrieking his name, even as Tatya placed her hands over Jasmine's ears.

"My, this is a lovely scene.  May I join you?" Bishop Hughes asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he entered the kitchen and removed two silences of . . . whatever that was.  Philip didn't think there was a name for this pizza, not with all those toppings.  He couldn't fail to notice the sudden silence which now reigned in the kitchen.

However, Valerie said calmly, "If it will make you feel better before I strip a few slices from your hide, Uncle Nathaniel, by all means."  The elder priest looked at his goddaughter, and Philip wondered uneasily if he should find an escape route.  Maybe take Jasmine with him.  Valerie added, "Relax, Philip.  I won't kill my godfather.  Yet."

"Does that mean I can?" Andrew asked, glaring at the bishop.  The older man just folded his arms over his chest and returned the gaze.  Andrew spat, "Oh, please.  You think that's gonna intimidate me, old man?  I've had about enough of your power trips.  You keep trying to take this House from Val, you don't have any faith in her judgment, and worst of all, you foist . . . "

"ANDY!  That's enough!" Valerie said sharply, her eyes shooting to Philip as she spoke.  There was silence for several moments, then she said gently, "Andy, I'm sorry for yelling at you.  But everyone is eating dinner, and I don't want anyone sick from the tension.  Please?  I know you're angry, and I know you're trying to protect me.  But for now . . . ?"

"I'm sorry, Val.  He just pissed me off, that's all," Andrew replied, sinking back into his chair.  He looked over at Jasmine, adding, "And I'm sorry for using bad language in front of you.  That's showing a lot of disrespect for you, and for your aunt.  I hope you can forgive me, honey."  Jasmine bobbed her head.

"Now," Valerie said, taking a deep breath, "out of respect for Philip, who has only been with us a day, we'll wait before I talk with you, Uncle Nathaniel.  Perhaps tomorrow, while he and Tatya are at DH."  The bishop, not surprisingly, began shaking his head in the negative.

"Uhh . . . not tomorrow.  I checked my email.  There's been a problem which just came up at the church.  No, Philip, this isn't your concern.  This is an administrative problem.  I'll deal with it.  It may take me a few days, since it deals with one of the parishes outside the city," the bishop answered, pointedly ignoring Andrew's mocking grin.

Valerie studied him for a few moments, then replied, "Fine.  But we will have that talk, Uncle Nathaniel.  Count on it."  She transferred her attention to the rest of her team, saying, "Okay, so who is doing what tomorrow?  Tatya, make sure you have all the cell phone numbers . . ."

Continued

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