See Part One (A) For Disclaimers

Dinner progressed quietly after that.  Philip talked quietly with Jasmine, leaving Val to plan out her own day.  She had promised Jazz weeks earlier that they would go shopping for school clothes.  It was an annual tradition, and one that she refused to break.  As committed as she was to the Legacy's ideals, she was equally committed to her niece.

She knew that not all in the Legacy shared that . . . what?  How did she describe her desire to keep her family intact?  A virtue?  No, that sounded too self-righteous, a vice which Val tried very hard to avoid.  That was another way of letting in the dark side.  Self-righteousness had killed her mother.  She wouldn't do that to someone else.

But she needed her family . . . her niece and her baby sister.  And the people now sitting at this table with her.  Yes, even her recalcitrant godfather.  Val knew he loved her . . . that was never in doubt.  And that was why, as much as he aggravated her, she would never walk away from him.

She just wished he would learn to trust her.  Yes, she would make mistakes.  That was part of growing up, and while Val was thirty, she was mature enough to know that she wasn't finished growing up.  Not when she still found herself hating Derek Rayne with the same intensity she had when she was a motherless twelve year old.

That raised another question.  Just what would she do when Rayne finally showed up?  He didn't remember much of the last twenty years, and could she really hold it against him?  Could she hold a missing memory against the man?  She wanted to believe she was strong enough, wise enough, mature enough to let it go.  But . . . she wasn't sure.

As ever, thinking of her mother also brought the Port to mind, and she made a mental note to herself to swing by the Port either before or after they went shopping.  Her niece had expressed an interest in seeing the foundation which had been created in her mother's memory.  Val still wasn't sure if she liked the idea of Jazz seeing the more unpleasant side of her work, but at this point, it was too late to worry.  The Legacy or the Port, it didn't matter.  She knew how ugly life could get.  There was nothing Val could do to protect her niece.

She could still protect the girl physically, of course.  But shielding her from the ugliness of the world?  How could she do that?  With everything Jazz had already experienced, including the blooming of her mage abilities, how could Val shield the girl from ugliness?  She didn't want to make her niece's life difficult, just to make her stronger.  Then she would be no better than that bastard Boyle, and she would slit her own wrists before she allowed herself to become like him.

"That will never happen," a soft voice said, and Val looked up, startled.  She hadn't realized that she had spoken aloud, and gaze at the dark-haired man beside her.  Philip repeated with a faint smile, "You will never become like Jonathan Boyle.  He had none of your strength or your courage.  And you don't strike me as a precept who deliberately sends her people into deadly situations wi'out backup."

There was more than a touch of bitterness in his voice, and Val realized after a moment what he meant.  She said, taking a sip of her Coke, "You mean the Vance incident in San Francisco.  I've heard references to that.  I knew Alex Moreau is a friend of yours.  I take it you've never totally forgiven Derek Rayne for that."

Philip sighed and looked down at his plate, then back up at her.  He said softly, "At the time, Derek didn't know how dangerous it was.  Or so I've been told.  But . . . what really made me angry was how . . . cavalier he acted toward Alex when it was all over.  As if it was some sort of game. I could never brin' m'self t' tell him, but that was part of the reason I couldn't stay in the Legacy."

Val looked down at the table, trying to control the rage which burned toward Derek Rayne.  She tried to tell herself that the incident had been more than four years earlier, than Alex Moreau had evidently forgiven the man.  But it was yet another reason for her to despise the other precept.  And he had already given her too many of those.

When she had herself more under control, she lifted her eyes to Philip once more and said as neutrally as she could, "It's understandable.  The Legacy doesn't work without trust, and little stunts like that shatters trust.   Given stunts like that, it's a wonder Derek Rayne didn't lose his House to the dark side years ago."

Philip winced and said apologetically, "I'm not bein' fair, and I'm givin' you the wrong idea about Derek.  I know what happened t' your mother, and I'm so sorry for it.  But the Derek Rayne I knew, for all his flaws and mistakes, is a good man.  I don't know what happened eighteen years ago in San Francisco or Santa Fe.  I just know . . . "

Val smiled and put her hand over his, interrupting him.  As he fell silent, the young precept told him, "Philip, it's all right.  You don't have to apologize for him.  That's not your responsibility . . . none of what happened is your responsibility."  Philip sighed with a half smile.

Seeing his resigned expression, Val almost laughed aloud.  It was as if he had found himself lapsing into old pattern of behaviors.  She continued after a moment, "And you don't have to apologize for my mother's death, either.  It wasn't your fault.  That was eighteen years ago, as you said yourself.  Long before you become involved with the Legacy, long before you met Derek Rayne."

Philip nodded, his eyes reflecting his surprise that she had understood.  He shouldn't be surprised, she thought, I'm a mage, and I do have some psychic abilities.  Then again, he just arrived today, and he has had a lot thrown at him.  Thinking about that, she felt badly.  For all that had been thrown at him during the last forty-eight hours, he was doing damn good.

"I know.  It just seems like when I come under the roof of a Legacy House, I start doubtin' m'self all over again.  I don't know how t' stop m'self.  It's just there.  Like m' own personal ghost," Philip admitted with a soft sigh.  Val patted his hand sympathetically, hearing what he wasn't saying, as well as what he was saying.  She was no stranger to doubt, to fear, and told him so.

"If it makes you feel any better, Philip, I do understand what you mean.  There are times when I look around myself, and think, ‘what the hell am I doing?'  I'm thirty years old, in charge of an outpost, with people depending on me, and in some ways, I'm still the twelve year old girl who lost her mother to the same organization which I'm now a part of.  It results in a slightly . . . ah . . . frazzled Valerie," she told him.

Her reward was another grin, then she saw something flicker in Philip's blue-gray eyes.  She knew he was distancing himself again.  He was afraid.  Afraid of giving his heart to the Legacy once more.  Something else she could understand and respect.  For her own part, Val had wavered a long time between joining the Legacy and remaining a civilian.  She smiled, as if she hadn't seen anything, and said, "But enough of this serious talk.  We're having a pizza party after all."

That coaxed another answering smile from him, as well as a grateful glance.  He knew she had seen his distance . . . and was grateful to her for not calling him on it.  They had known each other less than a day, but Val felt certain that they were starting to win Philip over.  She could only hope that something wouldn't happen to threaten that.

*    *    *

After dinner, the members of the House congregated in the library.  It didn't seem to be a deliberate action, Philip noticed, they all just sort of drifted in that direction.  Valerie was nestled in a bean bag chair (a bean bag chair in a Legacy House, he thought yet again, once more astonished at the very idea), with Jasmine's head resting beside her arm.  The young precept was reading, and Jasmine seemed half asleep.

In a leather-backed chair nearby sat Andrew, who was doing something on paper.  Philip hadn't the courage to approach the other man and find out what he was doing . . . so he was grateful when Kr . . . when Renee practically skipped over to the researcher and perched on the arm of the chair, asking, "Whatcha doin' there, Andy?"

Jasmine stirred from her position beside her aunt, saying, "You sound just like Duo, Renee.  Well, sort of.  That sounds like something he would say."  The adults laughed and Philip was sure his confusion was being broadcast on his face like a neon sign.  Perhaps taking pity on his obvious puzzlement, Jasmine explained, "Duo Maxwell.  He's a character on  Gundam Wing."  As if that explained it all.  And perhaps, to her, it did just that.  But Philip was still confused.  Fortunately, Valerie took pity on him, and shifted in the bean bag chair.

"It's an anime series, Philip, and pretty much everyone in the House is an anime freak.  Maybe you can convince Jasmine to let you watch some of her tapes?" the young precept questioned, looking at her niece first, then at Philip.  The priest really didn't know what to say, until Jasmine perked up.  He sighed mentally.  Like he could say no to her?  Any more than he could say no to Kat?  As Kat herself might have said, as if!

"C'mon, Philip!  We can watch those in the rec room!" Jasmine replied, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet.  The others chorused their good-nights, and Philip had a sinking feeling he was in way over his head.  Too far gone to be rescued now.  The question was, did he really want to be rescued?  And from what would he be rescued?

*    *    *

Philip and Jasmine disappeared for the rest of the night, and Val went to bed around ten.  It was earlier than normal for her, but she was still recovering her energy from the exhausting trip to England.  No, she wouldn't think about that . . . she would just get mad all over again.  Scratch that.  Thinking about Sir Edmund made her mad.

The thing was, she knew most of the Legacy precepts had difficulty dealing with William Sloan.  He was arrogant (can't be a Legacy precept if you aren't arrogant, he had once told her.  She had blinked at him in dismay, and he had amended, you're an exception, Miss Val.  I'm still figuring out how you do it), abrasive, tended to state the obvious.  So why was it that she saw that side of him so rarely?  At least, in the months between her ascension to the preceptry of Baltimore House and Sloan's disappearance, she had never seen that side of him.

The William Sloan she had known could be arrogant . . . but he always treated her with respect.  Especially after he had nearly died in that plane crash.  He had told her everything which had happened to him, including his fear that the Legacy had sometimes persecuted innocents in the past.  It had been tempting to roll her eyes, since she had KNOWN that.

But she hadn't.  Instead, she had retrieved the journals of her own ancestors, the McCormicks.  Her mother's side of the family.  And then, she had shown him her father's journal, telling the truth of her mother's death.  Between his ordeal after the plane crash, and the journals he read that day, William Sloan's faith in the Legacy had been badly shaken.

Val didn't know how she felt about that.  If she felt relief, or sadness, or . . . what.  She didn't like dictating how other people felt.  She always got her Irish up, as her father had always laughingly described it, when someone tried to dictate to her.  She could follow orders well enough . . . it was the blind obedience which tripped her up.  Along with the smug attitude of certain other precepts that they were the Legacy, and therefore infallible.  She had a hard enough time with papal infallibility, much less with the infallibility of the Legacy.

Val lay back and stared up at the ceiling, sighing deeply.  Yes, it was this last which caused so much trouble with Sir Edmund.  To him, magick-users of any kind were evil, and anyone who wasn't a Christian didn't belong in the Legacy.  She had quietly pointed out to him that the Legacy had a number of rabbis and Muslims in its ranks.  But that was different, he had said, adding rather pontifically that he wasn't comfortable with Muslims in the Legacy.  Not with their attitude toward women.

Val had almost died laughing at that point, but managed to keep her mouth shut.  It had taken all of her self-control, but she had managed it.  Coming from Sir Edmund, that remark had been hysterically funny indeed.  Still, it had convinced her that she needed to learn more about the Islam religion, so she could defend herself more ably in future debates.  Not that this would help with Sir Edmund that much, unfortunately.

Val regarded the pile of books on the floor beside her bed disconsolately and sighed.  One of these days, she promised herself,  I'll get to those one of these days, when I'm not as tired, when Andy doesn't need careful handling, when Dani doesn't decide to goad him into an argument.  Then she laughed at herself, a bit harshly.  Nice try, Valerie Erithythia, she told herself,  that'll never happen.

Still, never was a long time.  And Val wasn't about to give up on her New Years resolution to take more time to just read.   Read, whatever.  Something which didn't have to do with the Legacy.   It was what her mother would have wanted.  Mom.  Val rolled onto her side and picked up the framed picture of her mother, then rolled back onto her back, holding the picture tightly to her chest.  She fell asleep a few moments later, still holding the photograph tightly.

*    *    *

Sleep well, sweet baby, the ghost whispered,  sleep well and the problems will fix themselves.  You are so like your father, little one.  And so unlike him.  I wish I knew where you got your strength, Valerie.  You didn't get it from me, and you didn't get it from your father.  Perhaps the trial you were forced to endure when you were still a child gave you that strength.  Regardless.  It shouldn't have happened.

We in the Legacy tend to test our children to their limits and beyond.  And don't underestimate your own strength, Deirdre.  Don't overestimate your daughter's, her companion said and Deirdre McCormick Barton raised her eyes from her daughter's sleeping form to look at him more fully.  A sad expression . . . but not particularly surprised.

I cannot protect my child from the ills of the world and would not try.  We never tried to protect her from the horrors we saw on the news, of Vietnam.  We never tried to protect her from the unpleasantness of every day life.  But by God, we failed as her parents when we allowed the Legacy to bring their damn tests . . . when we allowed Edmund Tremain to test her magick!  She was ten years old, Winston!  That means nothing to you, Winston, but it means everything to me! the ghost hissed.

You're wrong.  Thinking that means nothing to me.  Do you really think you and Douglas could have protected her for much longer, once word got out that she had magick?  This is the Legacy we're discussing!  My God, woman, the Legacy couldn't even protect Jonathan's wife and son from his weakness.  What makes you think you could protect your daughter from her own strength? Winston asked.

That's exactly what I mean, Winston.  Valerie hadn't even had a chance to learn how to control her Gifts.  They were just starting to manifest themselves, and I had only barely begun to teach her how to handle them, how to control them.  I didn't ask that we protect her indefinitely,  just long enough to teach her properly!  Time that I wasn't given, Deirdre fired back.

There was nothing Winston could say to that.  She was right.  They both knew she was right.  Deirdre said more softly,  She and her sisters were the one thing . . . the only things in my life worth dying for.  I would not have died for the Legacy.  But I do not regret giving up my life for my daughters.  They were worth it.  The Legacy never will be.

Winston had no answer, and after a few moments, the two ghosts quietly faded away.  But they would be back again.  Deirdre McCormick Barton had sworn it.  Whenever her two daughters remaining on the mortal plane needed her, she would be there.  That was, after all, what mothers do.  Be they living or dead.

To Be Continued...

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