"He who fights with monsters might take care,
lest he thereby become a monster.
And if you gaze for long into an abyss,
the abyss gazes also into you."
--Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, "Beyond Good & Evil"
William Sloan, Precept of London House and head of the Legacy itself pulled
the younger man aside and whispered, "Nick, I really have to talk to you --
in private, if at all possible."
Nick Boyle, ex-Navy SEAL and member of the San Francisco Legacy House stared
at Sloan as if he'd made a lewd proposition, and asked "Why?"
"Because," the Precept said in measured tones, "there are some things your
father was researching that I think someone should know -- and you're the
best candidate as far as I can tell."
"Why me?" Nick asked, growing concerned but still annoyed. It wasn't the
first time Sloan had brought up the subject of his father, and it annoyed him
every time. He was pretty certain, in fact, that the Legacy leader did it
just to bother him . . . "Wouldn't Derek be the better choice?" he asked,
referring to his own Precept.
"No, at this point I don't believe he would," Sloan answered, glancing over
at the tall man studying an ancient mesopotamian artifact. He seemed
oblivious to the discussion going on across the room from him as he turned
the winged figurine over in his hand and looked at a tiny inscription on the
back. "As a matter of fact, right now, he might be the worst choice."
Nick glanced at him sharply and opened his mouth to argue, but something
about the look in Sloan's eyes as he watched Derek woke a feeling of disquiet
within him. "Okay," Nick agreed, part of him still reluctant to give Sloan
any kind of help even though he knew that urge was immature at best.
"Kitchen?"
"If you wish -- a cup of coffee wouldn't be bad," Sloan agreed.
"Good, you know where we keep it," Nick muttered, leading him out of the
library. He missed the soft chuckle as Sloan overheard him.
Nick poured coffee for the two of them and then sat in one of the
window-ledge seats while Sloan stood, looking out across the water. "So,
what's so important that my Dad forgot to tell me about it?"
"He didn't forget, Nick," Sloan said sadly, "He was hoping that it wouldn't
be necessary to pass the information on -- hoping that nothing would ever
come of it. Unfortunately, it's looking more and more like that's not the
case." He paused to sip at the coffee and take a deep breath, then he asked,
"Have you ever wondered *why* so many dark things have taken such an interest
in Derek?"
"Well, I always thought it was because he's the biggest threat, being the
one who leads us," Nick responded quickly as if Sloan had just asked a stupid
question that anyone would know the answer to. Then he looked at the older
man's expression again, seeing that odd mixture of sadness and fear. "But
that's not it, is it . . ."
"No, unfortunately it's not," Sloan responded, meeting Nick's worried gaze.
"Tell me, Nick, what do you know about the fallen angels?"
"Well, um . . . supposedly they fell because they were seduced by the
'daughters of man' -- descendants of Cain if I remember right. They fathered
children who were supposedly destroyed by the Flood. I think. You'd do better
to ask Philip," he suggested, knowing there was more to it, but unable to
remember the details. "I hate pop quizzes."
Sloan smiled again, but it faded to a thoughtful frown far too quickly. "The
group you're talking about were known as the 'Watchers' -- they were supposed
to teach and guide mankind, but were seduced by them instead. They *did*
teach them, however -- how to make weapons, how to wage war, about the
medicinal powers of herbs, about perfumes, cosmetics, magick, and many other
things. Their descendants were called the Nephilim, and were sometimes
referred to as giants, although that may be a mis-translation. And they were
not all killed in the Flood.
You might remember the name of the Watchers' leader: Azazel," Sloan said,
watching Nick's reaction carefully.
"The thing that killed Derek's father and nearly killed all of us," Nick
murmured uncomfortably. He repressed a shudder as icy fingers traced their
way up his spine. "So, what does this have to do with my father and Derek?"
"You know that the Rayne family has been involved with the Legacy for . . .
many years, right?" Sloan asked, watching the younger man carefully.
"Yeah -- Derek said something about his father's journal mentioning they'd
been connected to it for generations," Nick answered carefully, an ominous
feeling settling over him. "Look, I'm not in the mood to play 20-questions,
so just tell me what it is."
Sloan sighed and sat down next to him, studied his hands for a moment. "This
isn't easy, Nick," he said quietly. He took a deep breath and looked up, then
continued, "The Raynes have been members of the Legacy for at least ten
generations, and have been feuding with the Arkadi family for at least that
long. In the old journals in the Archives at London House, there's mention of
an incident ten generations back where one of Derek's ancestors made a pact
with a fallen angel to avenge the murder of his wife by a member of the
Arkadi family -- it's possible that that event was the beginning of the
feud."
"My god . . ." Nick murmured softly. An ancestor of Derek's, siding with the
darkness? Sloan *had* to be kidding . . .
"No, Nick, I'm not making it up. If you want, later, you can use my ID to
access the archive files and read it yourself," the older man said, his voice
suddenly weary. "But that's not the worst of it."
"How much worse can it *get*?!" Nick asked, a sick feeling twisting his
insides.
"The Sight has been carried fairly consistently through the Rayne family
line -- some had more of it than others; Derek seems to have more of it than
most of the past four or five generations. Some of the earlier ones were also
sorcerers or witches to one degree or another." He paused, and Nick got the
impression he was gathering his resolve, then he said, "From the wording of
that pact, it's pretty certain that Azazel was the fallen angel it was made
with. *And*, it's also pretty certain where the Rayne family's abilities came
from in the first place.
"Derek Rayne is a descendant of the Nephilim . . ."
Nick stared at him for a long moment, unable to remember how to form words.
Eventually he settled for shaking his head instead.
"I'm sorry, Nick. I'm not making this up. I wish that I were . . ." Sloan
said softly. "I care for him, too," he admitted, although Nick got the
impression that he'd never hear Sloan say it within his hearing again, "and I
don't want him hurt in any way."
"Why did you tell me this?" Nick asked, his voice suddenly rough with
emotion.
"Because of all of the recent incidents -- including the creature that
claimed to be Derek's son . . . even Angeline's attack on his sister. They're
building up to something, and I don't know how much more of it he can take .
. ."
Nick stared at him as he ran through the recent events, knowing that Derek
hadn't filed complete reports on all of them. He was uncomfortable with how
much Sloan knew without their telling him, but right now that was the least
of his concerns. "You *are* worried he's going to turn on the Legacy, aren't
you!"
"Nick, I've already told you far more about my personal feelings than I tell
anyone, but Derek's *loyalty* is not my main concern here. Just as I said to
Derek when his sister was abducted, I know he'll do the right thing. I just
don't want him to *have* to."
"Then what?" Nick asked, too worried to think his way through it.
"He's worried that I'll kill myself rather than betray all of you," Derek's
voice floated from the doorway. Nick and Sloan jumped, then looked up at him
guiltily. "Yes, William, I heard it all."
"Derek, I--"
"Don't apologize. I'd suspected there was something -- my own father's
journals weren't entirely clear, but they referred to the Rayne family's
heritage and hinted at it enough to make me wonder." He stepped into the room
and walked to them, then stared out across the water. "So, can I be trusted,
or should I step down as Precept of this House?"
"What?" Nick exclaimed, "No! I mean yes, I--shit." He turned to Sloan with a
withering glance and muttered, "This is all *your* fault . . ."
Sloan almost grinned, then said, "I think you're attributing far too much to
this old man, Nick. Derek, don't be an idiot -- of course we can trust you,
and don't you *dare* step down." This time he did smile, "Besides, if we're
lucky, your heritage will actually work to our advantage."
Derek raised an eyebrow and met his gaze, then said, "You're hoping I'll
draw them to me so we can try to destroy them. William, you are a bastard.
You have no idea what that kind of thing entails, or how difficult it is."
"I've got some idea," Sloan answered softly, meeting Derek's gaze. "But we
should discuss this later -- I think you two probably have a lot to talk
about." He stood and nodded to Nick, then hurriedly left the kitchen.
"So," Nick said uncomfortably, "Now what?"
Derek sat down and rested his head in his hands, rubbing his temples as if
he had a headache. "I'm sorry about this, Nick. You must think I've been
hiding things again . . ."
Nick looked at him, unnerved by his defeated posture and the sadness in his
tone. "No, Derek, you said you didn't know -- I . . . I believe you when you
say that. I think something like this you would have told us . . ."
"Thank you," Derek whispered. "I'll have to let the others know -- something
like this can't be hidden . . . William's being a little too lenient saying
I'm not a danger to us."
"'William' is planning on *using* you for bait!" Nick hissed, unable to hide
his anger.
Derek rubbed at his forehead and heaved a sigh, then whispered, "I don't
know if I can do that. The risk involved . . ."
Nick touched his shoulder and realized he was trembling; stood and helped
him up. "Derek, you're in shock," he said softly, letting the taller man lean
on him. "I'm going to get you up to your room & get you warm, *then* we can
think about this mess."
Poltergeist: The Legacy is (c) 1997 MGM/UA and Trilogy Entertainment. This
story is not intended to infringe on any of these copyrights.
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