Author's Notes: My AU, my rules. :)

Terms in this chapter:

-dono: I've dropped the title "Mystic" and am using the honorific instead. Basically, it applies to all spirit mediums who have completed their training, and the Heir at any state in her training

-Heir: Basically, this means the girl who is intended to become the next Master.

-Training Mistress: Fairly self-explanatory, it means the channeling teachers, also the head of the Branch family.

-Kimono vs. yukata: I've decided that Morgan's longer, patterned kimono (as seen in JFA) is the mark of a fully medium and that Maya and Pearl's short purple things are the trainee version, for my own convenience and because they're less formal.

-Om Mani Padme Hum: As far as I can tell from the first two sites that spring up on google, this is the main prayer in Buddhism. But if any of you know better, tell me. I'm just an ig-nor-ant Christian who wants to get her facts straight if at all possible.

Disclaimer: I'm not Buddhist, don't know much about the religion, but in the spirit of…the East Asian setting, I've tried to use that theology when describing what happens after death, and how the Feys call back the dead. If anyone can set me straight…please do. Also, I continue to not have rights to that which is owned by Capcom.

"Misty-dono!" Morgan walked as quickly as her kimono would allow. It had been little more than a week since she'd graduated from the freedom of the short training yukata. Now, as a recently restrained, fully-fledged medium, she destroyed her dignity and possibly her hems as she hurried across the courtyard, in plain view of their paying customers.

"Morgan-dono." Misty greeted her, and Morgan managed to avoid flinching. There was a politely steely tone to her younger sister's voice, one that reprimanded and reminded of their status.

"Ah, our honored guests. I thank you for visiting our humble village," she offered by way of apology as she sank into a deep bow.

"Pardon us, kind sirs. My Sister and I must discuss something of vital importance. If you will excuse us," Misty bowed as well, and swept Morgan away towards the side room, extruding confidence and manners. But out of sight of their customers, Misty's collected mask of the Heir disappeared. "What is it, Morgan?" she asked excitedly. 'Of course,' Morgan thought, bemused. 'She already knows.'

"I'm having my first channeling tonight. With one Daniel Hawthorne."

Misty beamed and pulled Morgan into a delicate hug. As the Heir Apparent, Misty was already channeling for their guests, but most mediums had to wait until they had completed their formal training to away from the Training Mistress' watchful eyes. The first successful channeling, rather than the ceremony that ended the training, was the passage into "adulthood" for the trainees.

"You'll be fine. It's really no different from training, except that Aunt Melissa isn't standing there, waiting for you to slouch or fidget or make a mistake in ritual before calling the spirit up."

Morgan giggled, but the anxiety, the reason she had risked embarrassing herself and the Sisters in front of the customers, hadn't been relieved. "It's…my fertile time," she admitted, blushing away from Misty's gaze.

"Oh. Oh…Oh." Without looking, Morgan knew that Misty's eyes were wide, that she was covering her open mouth with her fan, that she was straightening her back into a formal position. She was making the transition to Heir of the family Fey. "I hadn't realized," the Heir said, frowning at Morgan. "Then, Morgan-dono, it is your right to take this man to bed if you so choose. He is not married or engaged, nor does he have an acknowledged lover. If you can win him, you have your chance for a child."

"Yes, Misty-dono."

"And if you do not desire his seed, he shall never know what he may have offered our family, and we him."

"Yes, Misty-dono."

The Heir melted back into her sister. "You don't have to have him if you don't like him Morgan. You're only 20, there's absolutely no rush at all. Really. You know the Mothers and elder Sisters will schedule visits during the fertile time for anyone who asks, no matter how old they are. And absolutely no one would try to force him on you. There's nothing to be afraid of. We are the Fey family. We are above the reproach of any except our own."

"I know the protocols Misty. That's not what I'm worried about."

"Then what is it?"

"What will happen if I do want him? I've never even left the village before. We expel most of the males from the village once they reach adolescence, and even the ones who stay are practically forbidden to talk to any of us. How am I supposed to talk, to attract—"

"Hush." It was the tone rather than the word that caused the words to die in Morgan's throat. It wasn't the formal, iron sharp speech that was the voice of the Heir, nor the easy cant of her younger sister. It was the respectful tone of one Sister to another. Misty had never used that tone with her before. "You know as well as I do that channeling is not the only thing we are instructed in during our training. If needed, you can and will use your courtship lessons that our Mothers have used for generations. Obviously, they have worked, or we wouldn't be here." Misty smiled, and she switched to her sisterly teasing voice. "They worked for me as well."

"But how do I know if I'm ready, Misty? To…to become a mother?" Misty crept forward and hugged her softly, careful not to disturb their kimono.

"Well, you know that there is never any guarantee that you will become pregnant. Besides, I don't think anyone is ever truly ready. To have a child…it must be terrifying, no matter how old you are. I'm still not sure that I'm ready for Mia-chan, and I've loved her more than my own life for all her three years." Morgan smiled and drew back from the embrace, feeling more like the older sister that she was. Misty doted so on Mia-chan that watching her act the mother was adorably ridiculous.

"Thank you, Misty."

"Come, Sister. We must apologize to our honored, paying, guests for our prolonged absence from their honored presences. Or I have to, anyway," Misty giggled.

When they left the side room, it was not as two sisters nearly grown, but as the clan Heir and an assured spirit medium with impatient customers to placate.

…

"Welcome, honored sir. I am Morgan Fey."

The man bowed. "I am Daniel Hawthorne." The introduction was, of course, unnessecary. Older Sisters screened all their customers, be they government official or farmer. This was both a preliminary safety measure and a way to assess how much the channeling would cost. The Feys worked by the ___ the Justice System had abandoned: the price always depended on how much could be paid and why a spirit was called upon. Daniel Hawthorne, a wealthy jewel merchant had much to offer the Feys.

"And who does honored sir wish to be brought forth from the eternal?"

"My father."

"I see. And how long ago did he pass on?" Morgan took out her fan and waved it lazily in front of her face to draw attention from her other hand, which began inching towards her magatama.

"Two years ago, Morgan-dono." Morgan blinked, surprised at the proper title being used by an outsider.

"I see." With her fan covering view of her neck, she broke the cord the magatama hung on with a quick jerk. "In that case, valued guest, I must beg permission for physical contact. A spirit gone so long gone…A blood connection will build the strong bridge your father's spirit will cross." This was a lie, but she wanted the excuse to test him for any psychic power.

"Of course, whatever is needed." Morgan took Hawthorne's hands and brushed him with the magatama. There was no answering flash to indicate spiritual strength of any kind, but that was necessary. Long ago it had been realized that the Fey's gift flowed best through maternal lines, and that the Fey sons were never able to access the spiritual plane. The coupling of psychics, especially those of the same channeling branch, produced children with the father's lesser potential. Thus, the men descended from the Fey were discouraged from remaining in the village and making families with the mediums they'd been raised with. Instead, most broke off most communication with the females of the family, went out into the larger world and were the quiet makers of Fey "foreign policy." They took wives and had children there, children with usually unexplained senses for the spiritual world. The fruit of the Fey's loins often became priests or artists, having an internal urge to help others connect to the places the body couldn't go.

Morgan smiled. The man before her had no idea that she was judging his worth by his polite answers to her ritual. Thus far, his attributes were his good looks, that his father hadn't died a suspicious death and that he had no spiritual power in his blood. But these were not reasons for her to life her skirts for him, to try to get Daughters from him. The game would go on.

"If sir would close his eyes in meditation?" She led them in a mantra she could have repeated in her sleep-"Om Mani Padme Hum." Letting the familiar words fall from her mouth, she retreated into her Self, freed it of the cage called flesh, and made her way to the full nothingness from which all souls emerged, to which all souls returned. The spirit of Hawthorne-san to came forth, called by his son's prayer and the open shell that was her body. In that timeless place, his soul was Morgan's and hers his, and she felt the man's warm kindness and his love for his son envelop her. His memories filled her entire being, memories of disappointment, of joy, of hope, of loss, of trust and most of all of love. Distantly, the body smiled as she broke the last link that held her to it, surrendering completely to the genial old man.

…

Slowly, she surfaced. It was a peaceful, gradual thing.

A visit could only last so long. Spirits who had passed from the world found it difficult to remain there for any amount of time before they had been reborn. Spirits who had not yet died could not be separated from their bodies for extended amounts of time without damage to both. The weakening of the deceased or living spirit announced softly to the other that their time ran short, calling both to trade places, and here was the danger. A spirit who had been cut off before its time, by murder, sickness or accident, had years of its strength left. If such a spirit refused to make the descent back into everything, if it fought the transition, a stalemate emerged. Only one spirit could reside in a body at a time, and the living medium was on her own. She could expect no outside help in removing the spirit, she was behind closed doors. She had to rely solely on her own reserves of psychic power in the fight to get back to the living.

Usually, the medium could hold on until the dead could no longer stay in the living world, but there had been casualties over the years. It happened when a Sister, despite her bloodlines, was uncommonly weak and channeled a spirit cut off in the prime of its life. This was why the screening, which sometimes offended their customers, was done. This was why Fey males were so carefully removed from the village-to reduce the possibility of the greater loss of a Daughter, of a Sister.

But there was no danger of that tonight. Hawthorne-san felt his time drawing to a close and said his last good-byes to his son, and seemed to smile when Morgan passed by him and reconnected the Self and its physical manifestation. When Morgan could no longer sense the man's presence without reaching out into the other plane, she opened her eyes and observed the man before her.

He had cried. She could see that, and the loose robe mediums wore when channeling someone much larger than themselves had been obviously disheveled by movement, probably the old man comforting the younger about his passing rather than the other way around.

"Honored sir," Morgan began, stopped, and blushed. Earlier, when she'd complained to Misty about no knowing what to do to win Daniel over, she hadn't realized that she could become this tounge tied. She had been fine while going through the formal, distancing rituals of the channeling, hadn't felt flustered while weighing the pros and cons of having a stranger's child. But now she knew him as his father had. Now, having been convinced of Daniel's worth by Hawthorne-san's love for his son, having decided that she would try to seduce him—she couldn't think straight.

"Hawthorne-san?" she ventured, trying out his name to initiate intimacy, rather then observing the title adopted to make the customers feel important. Daniel turned his attention to her, looking lost. "Hawthorne-san, you don't look well. Why don't you remain here tonight? You aren't expected back by anyone are you?"

"No. No, I—" Morgan whipped out her fan again, and fluttered it before her face as she had before the Training Mistresses years ago.

"Honored sir," she began but Daniel interrupted.

"Hawthorne. Call me…I'm Daniel Hawthorne."

Morgan smiled and continued, "Hawthorne-san. You do not appear well. I fear for your safety if you attempt to drive home this evening." She ducked her head, pouted, and looked up through her eyelashes at Daniel's neck. "I would be absolutely devastated if you came to any harm because of me…"

"Oh, ah, yes, of course not," he mumbled. "That would be-no. I suppose…if you have a room. I don't want to be a bother..."

"Not at all, Hawthorne-san. I shall make us a tea while the room is prepared for you. You

must sit and relax." As she spoke, she opened herself once again to the spiritual plane, as she would while meditating, not to call to anyone. She needed to feel more serene and collected, and this man couldn't sense the change in her spiritual resonance like the Training Mistresses did. She would use her years of meditations as a crutch, staying calm as she studied his responses, verbal physical and emotional through her training and her sixth sense.

And if, even with all this going in her favor, she couldn't convince him to abandon his senses for an hour or so, she would summon up some prostitute and let her do all the work.

A/N: Eww, seduction. I don't have a clue there.

Leave a review anyway. :3