See Part One For Disclaimers

Chapter Two

When she had impacted with him, Mel was almost knocked backward by the smell of liquor on his breath.  So that was what happened.  The creepazoid had gotten drunk, and found her mother's pentacle somehow.  Probably went snooping through her mother's things, spying for that damn precept of his.  Never mind that Derek Rayne WAS awful cute.

Mel made a quiet oath that she would never allow herself to get out of control . . . not from alcohol, not from drugs, and not from love.  And that when all this was over, she would give Derek Rayne a rather lengthy piece of her mind.  He was to blame for all of this . . . he had sent Boyle to Santa Fe, to see how their House could be improved.  Improved, ha!  Mel was sure Boyle was here to spy.  Well, he wouldn't get away with it, and neither would Derek Rayne!

First, however, she had to survive this encounter.  Her mother kept trying to stay out of the way of the enraged bull to which Melanie now clung.  As her hands threatened to betray her, and she began to slide from Boyle's back, the stakes went up even higher . . . Mel's twelve year old sister skidded into the room, trailed by Leo Herzog, and impulsively threw herself over their mother protectively.

Oh Goddess, no, Melanie thought.   Val, get outta here!  She tried to steer Boyle away from her mother and sister, but he was stronger than she was, and it was all she could do to hang on.  She dug her fingers into Boyle's shoulders, wishing she hadn't cut her fingernails.  She would have liked to have hurt him in one form or another.

*    *    *

Only five minutes after her mother departed, Leo Herzog shook his head ruefully and looked at Val, saying, "C'mon, kiddo, that's enough of that.  Let's take our break, get some of those cookies.  And figure out if we wanna spend the rest of the day inside, or out in the sunshine.  You're a growing girl, you need time in the sun."  He paused, smiled, and added, "Besides, I don't know about you, but my concentration's about shot.  We both need the break."

Val closed her book with a sigh.  She started to reply, started to thank her young teacher somehow, but the sound of angry voices drew her attention.  Leo said softly, "That's coming from downstairs . . . and it sounds like Mr. Boyle."  Val froze and stared at her teacher.  She hadn't been officially 'dismissed' and her upbringing had taught her to stay put until she knew what she was to do.

Leo quickly ended that paralysis, adding, "Let's go . . . I have a really bad feeling about this."  He took Val's hand, and together, they raced downstairs.  The shouting was coming from the study, and Val broke away from the young rabbi.  She headed into the study . . . then stopped dead in her tracks.  Her sister had clung to Boyle, screaming in fury and trying to steer him away from their mother, who was sprawled on the floor.  But their mother wasn't out of danger yet.

She was lying on her side, curled into a fetal position, to protect herself and her baby.  Leo murmured, "Stay put, Valerie, and I'll call the police.  That man is completely out of control."  Val bobbed her head and Leo ran into the kitchen, the site of the next nearest phone . . . there was no way he could make it to the phone in the study.

Then Boyle almost dislodged her sister.  It was clear to Val that Mel couldn't hold on for much longer.  As it was, she reminded the preteen of a cowboy trying desperately to keep control of a bucking bronco.  Boyle turned toward her mother.  Val forgot her promise to stay put, forgot about doing as she was told.  Her mother needed her.

She darted from the doorway and threw herself toward her mother.  Val's intention had been to move her mother out of the way . . . get her out of Boyle's range.  Her plan came to a quick halt when a foot slammed into the small of her back. It felt like she had been hit with a locomotive, and Val slumped over her mother.

Her mother was whispering, "Oh, Goddess, no . . . not my Val, please, not my baby Val!"  And now she was trying to move Val out of the line of fire, but Val couldn't move.  The first kick had struck her spinal column, felt as if it had shattered her vertebrae.  Not that she would have moved, if she could have, despite the repeated kicks.  Despite the kicks which cracked the ribs protecting her back . . . Valerie had made her choice.  She would not let this monster hurt her mother or her unborn sibling.

She didn't know how long it lasted . . . but the kicks finally ceased, and Mel was at her side.  She pulled Val away from their mother, sobbing, "Val . . . Mom!"  Val shook in her sister's arms, from a combination of shock and terror and pain.  But that was good, wasn't it, if she could feel pain?  If she had feeling in her body?  Mel screamed, brushing Val's dark hair back from her eyes, to someone Val couldn't see, "I don't care what you have to do, but keep that monster away from my mother and my sister!  Oh, God, Val . . . Val, sweetie, I am so sorry!"

She rocked Val in her arms, and Val forced out, "Mom . . . make sure Mom is okay.  The baby."  Then she could say no more . . . paramedics had arrived, along with the police.  As the paramedics tenderly lifted Val onto the stretcher, she could see Leo Herzog pinning Jonathan Boyle to the floor.  Val would have cheered, if she could have.

Two policemen took his place and Leo said in a firm voice as he rose to his full height, "Yes, sirs, I'm the one who called you.  He attacked Dr. Barton, without provocation, and then he attacked Valerie while she was trying to get her mother to safety.  Yes, it's Valerie on the stretcher.  She's twelve years old.  I'm her teacher . . . Rabbi Leo Herzog."

Val heard one of the police officers mutter under his breath, "Jesus H. Christ on a fucking raft . . . first the prick attacks a pregnant woman, then he starts beating up her twelve year old kid for trying to protect her?  Who in the hell does this guy think he is?"  He's a member of the Legacy, she thought fuzzily, that means he has the right to do what he wants, to whoever he wants.  He thinks.

Val saw another motion from the corner of her eye . . . Mel was kneeling a few yards away.  She swiped up something with her hand.  She waited until the officer's back was turned, then turned her hand for Val to see . . . it was their mother's pentacle, which she kept in her special box.  Val didn't want to think about what would have happened if the police officers had found that.  But what was it doing here?

She tried to focus on that . . . tried to keep herself in the here and now, before she passed out.  She couldn't pass out . . . why?  She wasn't sure, but she knew it was important that she remained conscious.  Through the red haze of pain which permeated her vision, Val now saw the paramedics as they secured her to the gurney.  One of them gently caressed her hair, murmuring, "It's all right, honey, you're safe now."

She tried to speak, but it was hard to breathe, and the paramedic asked, "You checked her for a possible puncture to her lungs, didn't you?"

"Yeah.  She's good to go . . . I think it's just the pain.  Don't worry, honey, we're gonna take good care of you.  Just relax, and don't try to talk," the other paramedic answered.  Val closed her eyes, trying not to breathe too deeply, so it wouldn't hurt so much.

"Get my daughter out of here . . . I'll be fine.  But call my husband, let him know that we need him here," Val heard her mother rasp.  The girl could tell, even as she started floating toward oblivion, that her mother wasn't all right. But she couldn't seem to speak.  She had to tell the paramedics that her mother needed help.  And then, there was no longer a need to speak, for she was drifting . . .

*    *    *

The paramedics did as she asked, carrying her daughter from the House.  Valerie, Deirdre had seen, was unconscious.  Boyle had stopped struggling against the police, and now sobbed that he hadn't meant to hurt anyone.  Bullshit, as Nathaniel would have said. That bastard had meant to do exactly what he had.

Blessedly, Deirdre's unborn daughter waited until she and Mel had reached the hospital before choosing to start her entrance into the world.  But it was still far too soon.  Leo had thoughtfully offered to drive Deirdre and Mel to the hospital, so they could be there for Val.  The boy was shaken, Deirdre could tell, and at first, she had considered saying no.  Then she realized that Leo needed something, anything, to do.  She had assented, after telling him to give the entire staff the rest of the day off.  She was sure the encounter had shaken them as well.

While Leo was getting the car ready, Mel opened her hand and placed Deirdre's pentacle into her hand, murmuring, "I picked it up while the police were dealing with Mr. Boyle.  Figured the last thing we needed was the police asking questions, and thinking you had a pentagram.  They don't exactly know the difference between the two."

"Thank you, love," Deirdre murmured, slipping the pentacle into her pocket.  She wished now she had allowed the medics to examine her. When Boyle pushed her to the ground, the baby may have been harmed.  She vowed to ask a doctor when they reached the hospital, and silently swore that if Boyle had harmed both of her younger daughters, she would kill him herself.  One way or another.

While the medics were preparing Val for the ride to the hospital, Deirdre had told them to do whatever was necessary to help her.  The same was true for the doctors.  When they reached the hospital, they learned that Val had just been wheeled into the ER.  Deirdre's youngest daughter chose that time for the beginning of labor.  In short order, Deirdre was on a gurney and being wheeled into the delivery room.

The last she saw of her oldest daughter was Mel's tear-stained face as Deirdre was wheeled into the elevator.  But over the next several hours, Deirdre could only focus upon her unborn child.  She had to have faith the doctors would take care of Valerie, and Leo would look after Mel.  Besides, Nathaniel and Douglas were on their way.  That was something else which Leo had seen to before their departure from the House.  The boy had been a goddess-sent in the last few hours.

But her unborn daughter needed her the most right now.  She was a month premature, and as Deirdre fought to bring her child into the world, she became aware of a Presence.  While she didn't believe in the devil, or in Satan, Deirdre knew evil existed.  And right now, an evil was present in this very room . . . an evil which wished to take her child's life.  A supernatural evil, which was as real as Jonathan Boyle.

Deirdre was bone-weary . . . exhausted beyond physical endurance.  The attack against her, the attack against her daughter, her fear for Mel and Valerie . . . and now, the attack against her unborn child.  She was dimly aware of the doctor saying something about her hemorrhaging.  They had to stop the labor, or both mother and child would die.

That was not an option.  Deirdre focused all of her attention on her unborn child.  She knew that if her daughter died . . . something terrible would happen.  She couldn't allow her child to die, or the spirit she now felt would take her baby.  No.  Deirdre forced herself to focus, forced herself to push her child out into the world.

As the little girl emerged from her mother's body, Deirdre whispered, "Goddess, protect my child.  My blood for hers.  I make this sacrifice freely."  She knew that her older daughters would be shattered, and she grieved for their anguish, for the anguish of her husband.  But she was the only one who could protect her baby girl.  The Goddess granted her request, and the last thing Deirdre McCormick Barton heard before the Lord and Lady welcomed her into their loving embrace was the cry of her baby daughter.  But Deirdre knew it was not the end.

*    *    *

In the last week, Douglas Barton had come to believe in hell.  Five days ago, he had been in Washington DC for a conference when he was called home.  His wife and daughters had been attacked by that Neanderthal, Jonathan Boyle . . . although that was an insult to the ancestors of the human race.  But it would have to do for the moment.

Douglas, and his childhood friend Father Nathaniel Hughes, immediately flew back to Santa Fe, but by the time they reached home, it was too late.  Douglas had lost his wife, his mate, his lover, his dearest friend.  Deirdre died in childbirth . . . and Val was still fighting for her life.  As he kissed his wife's cold forehead in farewell, Douglas quietly vowed to avenge the harm done to his family, no matter what the cost to himself.

The nightmare had not ended with his wife's death.  If anything, that had been only the beginning.  Only two nights earlier, after Douglas had spent some time with his baby daughter, his final legacy from Deirdre, he had gone to Valerie's hospital room . . . only to find Jonathan Boyle looming over his terrified daughter.  Enraged, Douglas had ordered the San Francisco House member from his daughter's room, then turned his attention to comforting the twelve year old.

Valerie admitted that Boyle had been trying to frighten her into lying about what had happened to her mother.  Told her that the Legacy was such a dangerous profession . . . and wouldn't it be a terrible thing if she was to lose her grieving father so soon after her mother's death?  Grieving men made mistakes . . . often fatal ones.  Shouldn't Valerie re-think what she had said about the attack on her mother?

And that had been the final straw.  Even if Douglas could have forgiven Jonathan Boyle for his drunken attack on his family, he could never forgive the other man for threatening his daughter while he was sober.  Douglas had begged Edmund Tremain, the precept of the Ruling House in London, to call a tribunal against Boyle.

Douglas wasn't sure why he had gone to Tremain.  The older precept had never made a secret of his dislike of Deirdre, particularly after that damnable test, which had almost taken Valerie's life.  He had never made a secret of his opinion of witches.  Perhaps Douglas had believed that as a Legacy precept, Tremain would believe in holding murderers accountable for their actions.  He had been wrong.

Now, with that conversation concluded, Douglas replaced the phone in its cradle.  It had become a three way conversation between London, Santa Fe, and San Francisco. He slowly left the doctor's office and headed to Valerie's hospital room.  He had to be with his girls.  As he walked, he silently vowed to himself that this wasn't over.  That somehow, someway, he would find a way to avenge his wife's death.

Mel was with her younger sister, as she often was these days.  She felt guilty for not protecting Valerie and their mother, Douglas realized.  She had been so impatient with Valerie before . . . before things went to hell.  No worse than any other teenager with a younger sibling, but when Boyle had almost killed Valerie, Mel's protective instincts had gone into overdrive, to the point of feeling guilty about being a typical teenager.

Both sisters looked up as Douglas entered the room, but it was the older girl asked "You talked to London?  Told them about Boyle coming into Val's room and threatening you if she didn't change her story?"   Douglas nodded . . . oh, yes, he had made a point of THAT part . . . and Mel continued, growing excited, "What are they gonna do about it?  They're gonna kick him out of the Legacy, aren't they?"

It took all of his strength to shake his head.  Mel and Val looked at each other.  Douglas sat down on Val's bed and explained to his daughters with a heavy heart, "Nothing will be done.  As far as Rayne and Tremain are concerned, no crime took place.  It's over.  Boyle will remain in the Legacy, and he won't be punished in any way."

He didn't tell them about Rayne's assertion that a 'brave man like Jonathan Boyle' would never harm innocents.  He didn't tell them that Tremain had clearly indicated that even if the attack had taken place, Deirdre had probably brought it on herself.  He didn't tell them that Valerie's statement to the police had been dismissed as a hysterical child's rage, following her mother's death.  That, according to the other two precepts, she had dreamed Boyle's appearance in her room.

Tremain had spoken to Valerie for maybe two minutes while she was sedated.  How could he say, based on that interview, that she was lying?  Douglas realized once more than she had been right about him . . . Deirdre had been unerringly correct when she described the precept of the Ruling House as a lying coward.  But Douglas should have realized that after the events from two years prior.

For now, he had to concentrate on the present.  The past was done, and the future wasn't important at the moment.  He would worry about the future later.  His priority now was his children.  His two . . . three . . .  daughters.  On healing the emotional wounds that would accompany the death of their mother, and the acknowledgment that her murderer would not be punished.  At least, not by the Legacy.

Mel went white, and Douglas saw tears form in Val's eyes.  He took each girl's hand and said softly, "It will be all right.  Tremain, Boyle and Rayne will pay for what they did to your mother.  I promise you.  They will pay."  The two girls nodded and Douglas released their hands, putting an arm around their shoulders instead.  He didn't know how, but all three men would pay dearly.

It took him more than four years, but he eventually carried out that promise.  It began when he made an alliance with an entity with glowing red hands.  An entity which called itself 'Bryan Cranshaw.'  All it cost him in return was his soul . . . and the hope of ever seeing his three daughters again.  But it would not end there.  Oh no.  There was far more damage Douglas Barton planned to do to the Legacy.

Continued

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