Legacy

Dinner this time was a little more substantial. Roast beef au gratin, salad, mashed potatoes and red wine. When he sat down to eat she pointed her fork at him. "Talk" she commanded.

He swallowed his current mouthful. "About what?"

She shrugged. "Know anything about ghosts?"

He answered her shrug with his own. "Not much. Supposed to be a few here, so I hear."

"Exactly! And you do. I saw her."

"You saw....her?"

"I think it was Corrine."

His eyes narrowed. "You saw Corrine."

"I did."

He put down his fork. "You should talk to Sean."

"Sean who?"

"The guy that owns the place."

"Okay."

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Ownership of "The Virgin and the Unicorn" has passed from generation to generation. A true family legacy. Ownership of the property currently resides with Sean Verence. Dedicated to continuing the family's traditions and heritage, he's helped usher in modern conveniences including the online sales and online room booking service. Staying here has never been easier or more convenient.

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Randy made an appointment for the next morning and Rowan was ushered politely into Mr. Sean Verence's office.

Sitting in a heavy wing-back leather chair, he offered her tea. She accepted and watched him pour. Her impression of Sean was one of severity. He conjured up images of witch hunters and strict clergy. He looked to be in his early 30's, black hair and deep green eyes. He was tall, with wide shoulders, wearing a uniquely tailored suit that was a cross between the period portrayed at the B&B and modern dress. Conservatively cut, black, with a unique string tie. The black silk ribbon of material was tied into a bow and secured at the knot with a silver pin set with polished stone that looked like hematite, all contrasted against a white shirt. Adorned with nothing but a silver band on his left hand ring finger. She couldn't imagine him married. Probably married to his job.

She took a sip of tea. She hadn't asked for sugar, it hadn't been offered. It wasn't the tea she had been expecting. It was herbal, she assumed, and bitter. She decided it was perfect, coming from him. Oh well. "Mr. Verence, thank you for your time. Randy told me that I should speak to you about seeing Corrine."

Sean sat in his own wing-back chair and faced Rowan, speaking at a slow, deliberate pace. "Please, Miss Knapp, indulge me by telling me what happened."

She felt he was choosing his words very carefully. She made an effort to try to do the same. She recounted the events.

He sat in thought for a moment, and then stared at her until she became acutely uncomfortable until she decided "fuck it" and stared back.

He smiled and she reassessed "severe" to "dangerous." His businesslike manner was being slowly replaced by something unnervingly personal.

He spoke slowly again. "Miss Knapp. Things happen here a certain way. I do things here a certain way. I will give you one warning. I want to be assured you hear me. You should leave now. I would be happy to refund the amount for your stay here, immediately, and escort you to your car and off the property."

She continued to stare, waiting for further explanation. He waited. She waited. More of an explanation was not forthcoming.

She spoke. "You can't be serious."

"I am."

"Why?"

"Because if I told you, you wouldn't believe me anyway. And I might not be right. You could have a lovely time and I'd be dead wrong. I don't like being dead wrong. Perhaps if I warn you, though, you'll step carefully while you're visiting us. I'll feel relieved of responsibility. Corrine doesn't consult with me. But I do have some historical background that might give me an inside track."

Her eyes narrowed. "Let me guess. Proprietary information?"

He nodded. "Something like that, yes. Let's call it that."

She took a deep breath and made a choice. "Corrine appeared to me. I want to know why. Aren't people here to see ghosts? Or am I in a room where the ghost generator is on the fritz?"

His lips quirked to the side. "Ghost generator" clearly amused him. "What do you think Corrine has to say to you? Will she lead you to buried treasure?"

She sighed, deflated. "When you put it that way, it sounds very melodramatic."

"Excellent, Ms. Knapp. Let's dispense with the melodrama and I will escort you off the property. Although if Corrine has appeared to take an interest in you, that might not be possible even now."

Feeling manipulated and laughed at, she replied "I really don't want to go, it's a lovely place. And I just can't take this all very seriously. If she'd wanted to hurt me, she would have. If the ghost generator is on the fritz, you can fix it. I won't tell."

"You're sure?" He asked with a raised brow in challenge.

She paused. "No." Her eyes closed. So close to something unique. So close to a mystery. So close to something interesting. Another "fuck it" moment. She opened her eyes and stared again. "Yes."

His smile transformed and his new expression was slow in arriving on his lips, but once it did, the hair on the back of her neck prickled up again as it had when Corrine was close. Far from his initial impression of severity, relieving himself of the preliminaries of warning her softened him with humor and if she wasn't mistaken, sympathy. Several other elements that were undefined. She had no words for this mood and had only an impression of being far out of her depth, in several directions. Walking toward her he said "Shake on it, Rowan?" So. No longer Miss Knapp. She was nervous and shaken, but she acknowledged she was enjoying those two feelings together. This was what she was after, surely, coming to a haunted house?

She swallowed and reached a trembling hand out to his, which he took in his grip and held, his other hand resting on top of the grasp, speaking as if reciting an oath. "Rowan. I will respect your choice to stay. You are welcome here as family. If you need anything from me, just ask." He withdrew his hands and began to walk back to his desk. "Your room is complimentary due to the insult the owner has unforgivably issued." His tone was light and teasing and the sudden shift in gears was an emotional lurch she was still trying to process.

She sighed. "Thank you. That's...that's very polite. And creepy."

He shrugged. "Get used to it. Many people have seen Corrine, but very rarely...does Corrine see someone else."

"What does that mean?"

"It means...for me at least, heads up."

"Do you speak anything other than cryptic? I hear English is a nice language."

"I'm truly sorry that I can't explain it to you, for many reasons. The first of which being that you'd consider me to be entirely insane. I prefer that to not be the case if at all possible."

She smiled. "Can I have a hint?"

He tipped her chin up with a warm finger and smiled genuinely. "It's not a ghost generator. Nothing's on the fritz. Unless someone is staying here by the name of Fritz and he's having a good time."

It took her a moment to work through that, and although she didn't smile, she was reassured and a little disarmed. After a moment she said "That wasn't cryptic, but it was entirely inappropriate. I did, however, ask for it. I'm sorry. You have a lovely place here, and I just want to stay. I really like it here. Even if the management is...okay, it is my turn to insult you, but I'm not going to. A free room makes me well mannered. I'm better than that, see?" She sighed, turned to leave and headed for the door, her hand pausing on the knob. "Her lips were sewn shut."

He considered that. "Corrine has suffered. For three hundred years now."

"Do you think I have a chance of helping her?"

"It might be that she will show you."

Her head turned back to look at him in an appeal. "So what do I do?"

"You...and I...wait."

"You're no help at all."

"I know. It's one of my more endearing attributes." He turned back to his desk, effectively dismissing her.

She snorted a brief appreciative laugh and then left, finding her way to her room.

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Ghost enthusiasts have flocked to "The Virgin and the Unicorn" for decades. Although you may not always see the otherworldy denizens, the service and family atmosphere ensure nobody goes home disappointed.

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Once back in her room, Rowan sat on the carpet facing the stained glass to meditate. Order to her thoughts was required; her mind was jangling. Calming her breathing and her heart rate was a challenge, but over time habit took over and she became calm. Events still offered no course for her to take. Her sense of swimming in deep, dark waters made her consider Ethan's advice to wait as sound. She decided to dismiss any impulse to dive deep while holding her breath. A 300-year-old ghost could find her, surely. She didn't need to go looking. Patience would guide her course. Unnerving cryptic hosts aside, she really didn't want to leave.

The now-familiar prickling sense on the back of her neck caused her to open her eyes. Sitting across from her in a matching meditation pose was a dark figure. She couldn't make out features in a blur of black smoke and silver strands.

Rowan smiled in tentative welcome. "Ethan?"

A sense of calm settled on her like a mantle of serene bliss. It wasn't anything she'd produced. This presence had wrapped her in it completely. Everything was okay. Better than okay. Better than she'd ever felt.

She spoke with a pleasure-slurred voice as if to the closest of confidantes. "Ethan. That's not fair."

His words formed and she seemed to absorb them straight through her skin. His voice was familiar because it echoed the current owner whose company she'd just left. Rich, sensual, warm where Corrine had been cold. "Hello Rowan." The voice made her name sound like an endearment.

His voice continued with the patient, steady rhythm of a river that had been there forever and will always be there. "There's a story here, Rowan. An old story, but one that is still writing new chapters. It's a story of faith and passion and sacrifice. A common story that's repeated in small or large ways among the living. Now we carry it forward in our deaths. These things for us are never ending. You will stay here, so the new chapter will be written with your hand."

He continued after a moment. "Corrine, my wife, is not well. She was not well while she lived, she is not well now. She will never be well. But she has chosen you, and for that you will need faith, passion and sacrifice. Whether you give these things or they're wrested from you is your choice. You choose whether you write this chapter or it's drawn in your blood."

She sat still, absorbing the information without reaction. The sense of well being soaked through her like honey in the sun. Everything seemed perfectly normal, natural, and slightly amusing. But while Ethan spoke in quiet eerie tones, Rowan's body started responding in ways her emotions weren't. Her eyes started to produce tears again, the back of her neck prickling as his voice seemed to grow closer, warmer.

Ethan continued. "Rowan, my wife wants a child. Once every generation she chooses the mother of the next generation. I believe she has chosen you. And you have chosen to stay. This is good because the first choice should always be yours. What Sean does not think you will believe is that Corrine would not let you go once chosen. He cannot be sure. He would have risked himself to try, though, had you chosen to attempt to leave. He is a good man doing what he can to serve a legacy that is beyond his control. I am here to present the second choice. My wife is dead and insane. You are alive and sane. Do you wish it to stay that way or do you wish to become like her? Choose carefully again, as faith, passion and sacrifice dictate what happens here."

His presence withdrew from her, the calm and warmth receded and sharp clarity settled in, cold and stabbing like icicles. She spoke softly. "Ethan, you can't expect me to make that decision."

"I do."

"It's hardly informed consent."

"You're speaking to a ghost, Rowan, not a circuit court judge. Would you prefer to learn the rules the very hard way? Corrine can teach you that. She is very much the law here. Sean and I, and now you, I believe, can only interpret her intentions to the best of our ability."

"What can you teach me?"

"Corrine knows things about the nature of people. She does not speak, so she cannot say what these things are. She had this talent in life, and she carries it with her. If someone means harm to this place, she knows. If she thinks you belong here, she knows. She can't tell us why. But we honor her choices. I can help you, but my wife will always come first. If you set out to harm her in any way, I will stop you."

"Begging your pardon, Ethan, but you're a ghost. Will you rattle some chains and scare me?"

"Begging your pardon, Rowan, but you're uninformed and I have 300 years of experience upon which to base my conclusions."

"Which means you could have an amazing bluff worked up by now."

"True. But inaccurate in this case. Would you like a demonstration, at a price, of course?"

"Do I get to know the price first?"

"Hardly ever. Just like dealing with live humans."

"So, this is the faith, then? I simply believe you can do what you say, or...?"

"Or you learn faith the hard way."

"Can you find it in your cold, dead heart to make it the semi-hard way? I would like a demonstration, if you please."

"I could do that. In fact I believe you've convinced me. We'll make this a demonstration of a price that's already a foregone conclusion. Consider this writing in your hand, only tracing over what I believe is already written there."

Ethan's shadow stepped into her. Seamlessly Rowan reached for her cellphone and dialed the number of human resources where she worked. She cordially tendered her resignation, as her vacation was already two weeks in duration, they could do without her for that amount of time. She'd been offered a position at the B&B where she was vacationing and decided the package benefits were more to her liking. She offered them a forwarding address for all her correspondence. She repeated this cycle, calling in notice at her apartment, arranging for utilities to be canceled, arranging for her items to be moved to a storage facility here on the property.

When the calls severing her contacts with her previous life were finished, she watched her hand power down the phone. Then the phone fell out of her hand. She had control over herself again. With a cold sense of betrayal she realized her hand was nerveless and no longer obeyed her commands to stay calm. Trembling began in her fingertips, weakness stripping her muscles. She slumped to the floor and curled into a ball.

Ethan's presence stepped away from her body "The more I do that, the weaker you will become, Rowan. That's something to keep in mind. If you choose not to do as you are instructed or as is expected of you, you will do it anyway. It only makes me stronger and it costs you so much. Put your faith in us. Do not attempt to undo what becomes done. For there our forgiveness and indulgence end. If you do not wish to end this trial entirely broken in body and mind, conserve your strength, listen carefully, grant us your faith, passion and sacrifice. You can maintain your will and sanity and life. Congratulations on your new job, Rowan. And welcome to the family."

Absorbing it all was impossible and her body was throwing off waves of nausea and a severe headache that she assumed was the result of Ethan's manipulation of her body and mind. Throbbing pain kept the time to her universe as tears leaked out the corners of her eyes. Pain flowed by like an endless river to the rhythm of her breath and blood.

Ethan settled in beside her and spoke quietly. "I don't want you to hurt, Rowan. I take no pleasure in it. I'd love to see you happy here, thriving. We can make you do anything we want. I could make the pain go away, but it's real, and it's your demonstration. This is the real response you have to having your will overridden. The results of your choice."

Rowan gritted her teeth and spit out her response. "I'll take the pain."

She could feel his approval and she was irrationally proud and simultaneously disgusted with herself for caring. "Ethan?"

"Yes?"

"If you're of no damned use to me as a ghost, go find someone alive that can get me some aspirin or something."

Warm humor greeted her in waves. "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am."

"Yes, Rowan."

"Ow. Your demonstrations suck." She rolled over and winced.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"Yes, I am. Not sorry you're here, sorry you're in pain. I'll go find someone." He seemed to move away, but then appeared to pause.

"Fast. Fast would be good."

"Well, someone recently reminded me I'm 300 years old and a ghost. Don't expect too much."

"Ethan?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up and go."

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Fate. Free will. God. Three frames of reference that have sustained cultures for centuries. Three frames of reference that can never be proved or disproved. Three frames of reference that have to be believed.

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Rowan focused on breathing. Surfing the pain was better than drowning in it. Help came gratifyingly fast in the form of Sean. She heard the key turn the lock, the door open, and his footsteps on the way to finding her.

He lifted her easily into his arms and dragged the quilt from the bed, sitting down with her into an overstuffed wing back chair.

She spoke in a quavery voice. "Sean?"

"Yes?"

"I hate your family."

He nodded in agreement. "We're an acquired taste, and so is this. Drink." He pulled a flask from his jacket pocket and held it for her to sip. "Slowly."

She took a sip and nearly spit it out. "That's vile. That's beyond vile."

He smiled. "The alcohol hardly masks the vomit-inducing bitterness, but you don't want this stuff in a tea. Take at least five sips."

She struggled through the medicine that she barely considered any better than the ailment, hoping it would work. "What's in there? Do NOT say 'proprietary blend' or I swear I'll drown you in the stuff."

"It's a little flask, Rowan, and you'd have a tough time carrying out that threat in your state. You'd probably have a tough time sitting up. But I'll indulge you. Corrine was a witch in her time. A very effective one. She had all the knowledge of herbalism from the old world, and then when she got here, to this new place, she started to develop herbal remedies from the plants that grew here. This is applejack, which gives an alcohol base to hold tincture of white willow bark and lady slipper root. It works. The alcohol will warm you back up. The white willow bark has salicylic acid, the therapeutic component in synthetic aspirin. Dried lady slipper root is a headache treatment that isn't available to many because lady slipper are an endangered botanical species. There are benefits to having your own greenhouse. Tastes like hell, but it works great on certain conditions."

Her head was clearing, the pain receding. "I still hate your family. Why couldn't they discover chocolate helped this. It helps Harry Potter with Dementor attacks."

"Would you like me to get you some chocolate?"

"My life has just fallen apart. Chocolate is required in a civilized world."

"There are also benefits to having our own chef. Keep in mind you'd still be lying here in pain if room service in the form of Ethan hadn't alerted me."

He lifted her again and put her in the bed, tucking the quilt around her after she'd stretched out to ease muscle cramps. He called down to room service and ordered chocolate mousse. Assured she was not going to fall off the bed or die suddenly if he left, he went to the kitchens himself to pick it up rather than wait.