Neophyte
Author: T.D. McMichael
Date: 2012-03-28 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance
Description: Halsey Rookmaaker is on vacation with her new boyfriend, Lennox, when disaster strikes. Her best friend, Ballard, has not been in contact with her for over a month. He and his family have been getting Rome ready for something called THE GATHERING, an event which has not taken place in a quarter-century. Thirteen magical Initiates have been summoned from all over Europe to attend, including Halsey herself. But she will not be going alone . . . Lia, Ballard's sister, has also been showing signs of the Craft. Now Wiccans and other Supernaturals are flooding into Rome, including the Lenoir, vampir
Publisher: Magnus Corner Books

The Wiccan Diaries

Vols. 2-3

by

T. D. McMichael

Copyright 2013 by T. D. McMichael

All rights reserved.

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Apparition ©iStockphoto.com/chuwy

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wild animals ©iStockphoto.com/visualgo

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For more information, please visit:

http://tdmcmichael.blogspot.com

The Books

Neophyte (The Wiccan Diaries, Vol. 2)

Adept (The Wiccan Diaries, Vol. 3)

Neophyte (The Wiccan Diaries, Volume 2)

* * *

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – Arguments

Chapter 2 – Venice

Chapter 3 – Lost Cause

Chapter 4 – In the Muck

Chapter 5 – Gambalunga

Chapter 6 – Munchies

Chapter 7 – Wolf Tales

Chapter 8 – Nightmares

Chapter 9 – Campagna

Chapter 10 – Welcome

Chapter 11 – The Rota

Chapter 12 – Volt and Pouch

Chapter 13 – The Styles Master

Chapter 14 – Problems

Chapter 15 – Party

Chapter 16 – Hiving

Chapter 17 – Wizard Donuts

Chapter 18 – The Wiccaning

Chapter 19 – The Aether

Chapter 20 – Seeing Paris

Chapter 21 – In the Dark

Chapter 22 – Houses

Chapter 23 – Vittoria’s Secret

Chapter 24 – Birthright

Chapter 25 – The Last Pendderwenn

Chapter 26 – Them

Chapter 27 – Misdirection

Chapter 28 – Last Rites

Chapter 29 – Epilogue

Chapter 1 – Arguments

We were born on the Summer and Winter Solstice, respectively. He was a Gemini, I was Sagittarius. He didn’t think he was human. I didn’t think he was not.

We were as far apart, celestially, as it was possible to be. And yet...

I fetched out my diary from underneath my pillows. Lennox had insisted on separate everything. That included beds.

I clicked my pen. I had to get this down.

“We are here, finally,” I wrote, putting the pen between my teeth. I scratched it out. For there to be a ‘we’ there would have to be two of us. “I am here. Why do I feel like I’m all alone? Oh yeah, maybe because I am...”

It was hard to feel upset, with how beautiful everything was. The morning was my favorite time of day. The fog surrounding the lagoon islands closed us in. We were stuck someplace between the Lido, on the one hand, and San Clemente, on the other. On our own private island.

Venice was in the distance. Venice, Italy. Too far away to see. I had not yet set foot there. It was the home of Lennox’s small but distinctly loving family. Having never actually met them, I couldn’t say for sure, but I was beginning to think Lennox didn’t want me to; like I wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t think of another reason why Lennox had not introduced us.

“Nonsense,” he said. “That’s why I brought you here.”

But I couldn’t help feeling like there was another, secret, reason, he had brought me to one of the oldest cities on earth. It had been three weeks.

That was almost a lifetime to have been away from Rome, parted from my new life and everything in it. There was my best friend Ballard, for one thing. I could feel him growing restless, even though we had agreed not to write. Lennox had frowned against me bringing my laptop, which meant no sending emails back and forth.

There was another reason why I wanted to keep Ballard close by, though. He was a werewolf. Or something.

He was different. That was all that mattered. We all were.

My landlady, a secretive crone––I couldn’t be sure if she knew more than she was saying––had agreed to continue letting me my small room above one of the brightest and busiest tourist areas in Rome. Something Lennox thought was perfect, because when I was all alone I was having the dreams––nightmares of creatures stalking me, and something worse. That was all over with, wasn’t it? The necromancer who had tried to kill me had been beaten, hadn’t he? Even my other friend, Marek, who had tried–– No, who had bitten me, was off.

Who knows where, doing who knows what. He was a vampire like Lennox, and I, I was something else. That was part of the problem. Who was I? My past was more confusing than a jigsaw puzzle.

Was I a witch? Or just a potential witch?

My pen hovered over the page. It was as indecisive as I was... About everything: my life, my love. What I was even doing here?

“Dear Diary,” I wrote again. “We are fugitives in a gorgeous villa, whose crumbling rock exterior hides a very lovely hovel, indeed. It is almost winter. I didn’t know it, but it snows in Italy; just not everywhere. We are near to the Dolomites. Italy’s own portion of the Alps. Lennox has suggested we go snowboarding. Not now. But someday.

“I like that word: someday. I have taken to thinking about vampirism, and the Immortal Life, as I call it. Anything to get closer to the person that I love. I do love him.

“I know this sounds like me trying to reassure myself, Diary, or even you, but–– You know how you know when you know? I’m still trying to imagine he and his family strapped to their Burtons straight-up grinding on the snow up there. They must fly down the mountainside, which is something I would dearly love to see, if I could, if I could keep up.

“The name of our place? Rat Rock, of course. Lennox assures me that there aren’t any. In fact an old legend has it that Rat Rock was used during the Black Plague to quarantine the doges and other people of significance, who came here to die. A good cover story to ward off any adventuresome Venetians, who may want to set foot on our island. Actually, Lennox and his family use it, for when they ‘want to get away.’ Something I take to mean, for when they want to eat human beings.

“Which is why Lennox doesn’t think he’s good enough to be with me.

“I try to tell him that I don’t care. ‘What’s past is past,’ I say. But he has fears: among them, that he may try and hurt me.

“‘I can withstand anyone else––but not you,’ he says. ‘It’s like flame upon wax.’

“‘If you mean you melt me,’ I said.

“‘No. It’s just.’

“‘What?’

“He can be so prettily metaphoric. ‘You burn me.’

“I suddenly understood: I was the flame. How could that be? If he knew what he did to me... He would understand it was I who was worked upon by him.

“Or wished to be.

“‘It’s like our first vacation together,’ I said, the day after we had first arrived, ‘like our––well, our...’

“‘What?’ he said to me. ‘Say it. I feel like we don’t say it.’

“‘Honeymoon,’ I said.

“He immediately proceeded to turn into an ice cube. I could literally hear him freeze over. If he used his voice it would have chilled me. Instead, he disappeared into his room; I barely saw him anymore. It frightened me.

“That I could lose him that quickly...

“‘Rocks can’t be burned,’ I said, hoping he would come back to me, and stop being an island unto himself. After all, there were so many things I wanted to ask him, particularly about himself. Anything to do with himself was off-limits: just that I know I was too good for him and blah blah blah.

“Just once I wanted him to see himself clearly, the way I did, for him to know what I knew him to be. But we had separate beds. It wasn’t even like we were boyfriend-girlfriend. The word ‘honeymoon’ had driven a wedge between us. I was determined to bring him out of his funk.”

* * *

I tucked my diary away. It was a running commentary of my time spent in Italy. A portable friend I could berate with the things I found out. I got up and made my bed and looked around my room.

Vampires lived here. I had to remind myself of that. I suddenly got nervous about the possibility of meeting his family. It was like anything that had been postponed too long: artificially worked up into something ‘significant.’ I wondered suddenly if I would be required to put on a ‘performance.’

I don’t do well with things when people are watching. One of the reasons I had not yet chosen to let Lennox in on my little secret. Because when we were not alone together––which was a kind of double entendre––I was busily researching all things supernatural, particularly as they related to me.

I sat on the edge of my bed and put on my shoes, tying the laces tight. Lennox’s modest island getaway was exactly as it should be: with very little to distract from the solitude. Rat Rock would always be a place of contemplation for me. It was empty of any kind of frills, except for that spectacular view. I went out with a baggy sweater over a pair of tights, and my long, black hair done up in a ponytail, and was hit by the early-morning sounds.

The lagoon water was granite-colored and choppy. I began stretching and walking around. Visibility was practically nothing. I could just make out the San Clemente tower and the old insane asylum, and the sun, a muted white orb that hung low on the horizon; its rays licked at the shoreline of Rat Rock, but seemed to die in the early-morning fog. The sound of creaking vessels could be heard off in the distance.

Venice and its environs were awash with boats; they were like bicycles. Everyone had one. We had one too. A small wooden affair. Lennox had carried it from the rock outcrop that functioned as harbor, to a small tool shed adjacent to the deceptively small cabin.

I took a sniff of the salt air, and watched as a flock of seagulls hovered overhead, and was about to turn, to go in and make a pot of coffee, when a voice behind me startled me out of my reverie.

“But the sun,” I said.

Lennox paid no attention. He was standing in a grey t-shirt, and pair of shorts, the kind I saw all the fishermen wear––except Lennox’s didn’t have fish guts all over them; and he was hunched over with his arms folded, as if cold.

His dark hair was wild and unkempt and all over the place––as if he had had a long night. I noticed the bags underneath his eyes.

He was my age––if you didn’t count the fact that he never grew older. Even in the pale light he looked haggard. He grimaced. “I should be okay for another hour or two,” he said looking at the sun. I wondered what would happen if our shack burnt down.

“I don’t need to breathe,” he said, as if that settled the matter. It took me a moment to figure out.

“You mean you would just jump into the water?” I said.

“I would hang out down at the bottom until nighttime,” he said, nodding his head.

“I see.”

I wanted to see more. In fact, I needed to.

Again, I asked him what was bothering him; he just shook his head. I was too accustomed to his dismissiveness where it came to himself. This time I was determined to get something more.

“I feel like you brought me here and then changed your mind,” I chided him, noticing the pained look he wore. I interpreted it as a form of guilt. “Just so you know, people don’t like being felt sorry for.”

That was another thing. “I need you to come back to me,” I said. “I don’t like it when we’re uncommunicative.” He tried to stop me, but I steamrollered on. “Let’s say something were to happen. By that I mean some vampire thing came up, and you needed my help. It could happen,” I said defensively. “How would I know what to do? Unless you tell me.”

There. I waited for his response.

“You want to know... more?” he said. He was almost incredulous.

“Duh...”

Not my greatest comeback, but it got the job done. At least he was talking to me again.

Lennox said, “A vampire lives forever. In theory.”

“What does that even mean?” I said, pressing my advantage.

“By that rationale, there should be vampires walking around since The Creation,” he said. “Only there aren’t. Not really. Do you understand?”

“I understand that I love you. I understand that I want us to be together,” I said.

He shook his head.

“You’re doing it again,” I said.

He looked at me.

“Having second thoughts. Changing your mind,” I said, when he looked like he didn’t understand what I meant. “Am I so repulsive?”

“Of course not,” he said.

“Then... why?”

I walked away from him. I walked all the way down to the water and picked up a stone. It plunked into the water.

I imagined it traveling all the way down to the bottom and sitting there all day. I waited.

“Do you want me to take you back?” he asked.

I shook my head. Petulant.

He put his arms around me and I fell back into his embrace. I was so easy. “Just tell me what’s going on,” I said. I craved knowledge, knowledge of him, his essence, his everything.

He nuzzled my ear. “It is starting,” he said.

* * *

We were inside and I was treating him like he had an infection. “Describe it. Where does it hurt? How do we stop it?” Poking and prodding and pinching him.

He smiled. “The vampire coming of age cannot be stopped,” he said.

“So it is the Agonies.”

“Yes,” he said.

“You don’t look in pain. Just a bit morbid. And I thought you said you couldn’t die,” I said.

“You’re not paying attention,” said Lennox.

Maybe I needed coffee. I made a pot.

“Okay. You can’t die? But you can die?” I said.

“Something like that,” said Lennox.

I looked at him, exasperated. “Explain,” I said.

He watched as I hastily prepared my cup of coffee: plenty of milk and sugar. All the good stuff, to compensate for my lack of honey. He reached out and held my hand. Our fingers intertwined at the kitchen table. I drank my coffee, waiting for him to speak.

I expected him to go on with what he had already told me––The Agonies were tests administered to new vampires, less than a century old. Instead, he seemed to retreat within his mind, just when I was getting him back.

I cleared my throat. “You were saying,” I said.

He looked up at me, between his eyelashes, in as seductive a way as I had ever seen. Lennox had lavender eyes, too beautiful for words. My brain went numb.

“The thing about a test is, you don’t know the questions,” he said.

“Unless you cheat,” I said. “I won’t lose you. I mean it.”

He wasn’t listening. “I don’t fear for myself. It’s you I’m worried about,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Halsey. Don’t you think it’s a little unfair? You know everything there is to know about me. Enough anyway that the Lenoir will get nervous.”

The Lenoir was this big bad Paris vampire coven. Supposedly peacekeepers. They made the laws, among them that it was forbidden for someone like me to know of their existence. I had a way around this. We had skirted this conversation before.

“Only if Marek tells,” I said.

So far as I knew, Marek was off, trying to cure himself, of the vampire malady known only as The Suck. He had to find and kill the necromancer responsible for it––the necromancer who was also responsible for the death of my parents. I thought of him out there, Marek, not un-fondly. “What is it between you two, that makes you dislike him so much?” I asked of Lennox.

“You mean, other than the fact that Marek tried to kill you?” he said.

Here I had to prevent myself from blushing. I hid behind my cup of coffee. Lennox was mesmerized once more by our fingertips. I pulled mine away from him.

When Marek had touched me, a kind of spark had happened. There was only one other character I had encountered that sensation with: Lennox himself. It was one of the things I wanted to know about. It was magic, or magical. It wasn’t the touch of a killer with his prey.

The blood retreated from my face... It was sexual.

Lennox said, “His intentions are selfish. They always have been. But that isn’t why I’m worried about him talking to the Lenoir.”

“It’s not?”

Lennox sighed. “You said you wanted to know more about us. About vampires.”

“Yes please,” I said. It meant binding myself to him further and further. The more I knew, the greater the danger, the more he would have to protect me.

Which meant that he could never leave me. My own vampire protector.

“We have Powers,” he said, and then went to his room.

I banged on his door. “Come out here!” I said.

He reappeared, looking devastated. “Why?”

It was such a curious question... I didn’t know what to say. “You’re still not ready to be honest with me, are you?” he said. He shut the door again.

I banged on it some more.

“What are you, Halsey Rookmaaker?” He shouted it through the door.

“I––”

It opened; he smirked and moved past me, wearing a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. It wasn’t snuggle time, was it?

I blushed for all new reasons. He knew. Somehow he knew. That I was–– That I––

Impossible! How could he?

I think I said something like “Huh?” Or possibly, “I don’t know what you mean.” But playtime was over, he said.

“You know all about me. I just told you we have secret Powers––vampires.” Which I wanted to go back to, but he was adamant: I had to come clean to him, he said. A relationship meant trust, and we had none.

When he put it like that.

“I’m a... I’m... I think I’m...”

I watched him tap his foot. When did this happen?

“I think I might be a... well, a...”

“I’ve never met a well a before,” he said, being all annoying and good-looking.

“A witch,” I said.

“I know,” he said.

He was superiorly smug. “I’ve known for ages. I even saw you float.”

“I what?”

“You know? Up in the air? It was a dead giveaway, by the way. People are usually uncomfortable when they find out they are dating the undead, but not you.”

“That’s only because, well, I knew what you were, before you told me,” I said.

“That makes two of us,” said Lennox. He had that smug smirk on his face. I either wanted to punch it off or cover it in kisses. But why was he being so nonchalant?

“So you don’t mind? That I’m a... witch?” I said.

“Believe me, you are. And not at all. In fact, I think I love you.”

It was the first time he had used the L-word. I blushed for a third time. Suddenly he was coming toward me and I was surrounded by his skin scent. “But we have to go back to your Powers,” I said. I had seen his strength and invulnerability––and, of course, he could devastate me with a single look, but if these Agonies were anything like what they sounded like, not every Immortal could claim that superpower. I didn’t mind if I died. But I wouldn’t let Lennox. I needed him too much.

“There’s thrall, which is a major one,” he said. “It’s a power of convincing. But there’s also other ones, and they range from the mundane to the supercomplex. And they’re developed to such an extent that some vampires are more powerful than other ones. And age is important.”

“When you say you’re worried about Marek talking––”

“The Lenoir have mind readers, very powerful vampires who can tear confessions out of even the most tight-lipped vampires out there.”

“What about humans?” I asked. I noticed my faux pas immediately. Lennox did not.

I was glad, because I wanted him to know that I thought of him as a person: even if he drank blood, it didn’t mean that he had lost his soul. Besides, Lennox didn’t do that sort of thing. He didn’t kill human beings. If I was looking for proof of his humanity, I didn’t have to look any further. But he could slip. With me, for instance. When he got that look.

But we had not been intimate. Not yet. Not in that way.

“They don’t need any upgrades, vampires. They can do anything they want to you people.”

Warning me again. I flinched involuntarily

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he said.

But something had occurred to me. “It’s like discovering you have gifts. Like... puberty, almost, isn’t it? Like your voice is changing, and stuff. You’re growing in your wisdom teeth. Lennox,” I said, “you’re coming into your Powers!”

“Only if I survive the Agonies,” he said. “Then, yes, I suppose I will have new Powers.”

I suddenly had a million questions I wanted to have answered. Particularly about his family. For hadn’t all of the Venice vampires passed the Agonies.

“There are only two of them,” said Lennox. “Dallace and Camille.”

That didn’t answer my question.

“I suppose Dallace would be perceptive. Camille is, well, you’ll see what I mean.”

So we were going to meet them? “And soon,” said Lennox. “But I still want you here to myself. At least for one day more.”

Nervousness and excitement battled within my breast. Nervousness that the two vampires Lennox was closest to might not like me. Excited because it meant we were taking our relationship to the next level.

“What is it?” he said.

I shook my head.

“It’s just––I’ll never get to take you home to meet my family,” I said.

He nodded, sad for a moment, and then his face brightened.

“So, Halsey Rookmaaker. Tell me everything,” he said.

We talked all day. One of the things I liked about Lennox was that in his immortal wanderings he had learned how to listen. This also meant that I could be assured he heard everything I said, which helped when he tried to evade my questions.

We got talking about vampires again. I got the sense he had led me down this avenue––as if he was my supernatural guide.

The fact of the matter was, I told him, vampires couldn’t exist. It was a matter of numbers, I said. One vampire makes more vampires––pretty soon the world is overrun with bloodsuckers. I didn’t say it just like that.

It was mathematically impossible for vampires to be real.

“Unless...” said Lennox, “...we die.”

I didn’t want to hear any more.

“The thought of someone hurting you...” I said.

I suddenly wanted to know everything. What kills vampires? What can they do? What can’t they do? Because that way I would be more prepared––if the day ever came––if I ever needed to defend him...

“Have you ever considered who is protecting whom?” he said.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said.

It was pointless; I couldn’t get any more out of him. That night I confided in my diary, scribbling furiously, trying to figure things out. When I fell asleep, I had a terrible dream.

Ballard was chasing me. I had had these moments of precognition before. Somehow I knew... that it was real; or almost real... It was definitely going to come to pass. He wasn’t on his motorcycle; that had been destroyed; and he wasn’t chasing after me on foot.

He was chasing after me on feet.

I heard Ballard pounding after me––which was unusual, because in his transformation, I imagined Ballard prowling and impossible to detect. Something else was thrashing after me.

Ballard was trying to save me. But no matter how fast I went, I couldn’t escape it.

I could feel the wind on my body as I ran, my hair, half-wild, trailing along my back, whipped up, like the flames of a fire, and I so fast; but I couldn’t get away.

I heard it tread upon my path––deliberate with an incalculable cunning. I whipped through the trees, my feet like comets, faster, until I broke into a clearing. The stars wheeled overhead. There; a bright orb. Suddenly, we were not alone.

I came out of it, but I remembered a pair of dark eyes; the light swam in them. A million pinpricks of light, like diamonds buried in a sea of night. And the voices caught up, and I howled. I leapt out of bed.

I was standing, half-naked, with my toes pressing into the hardwood floors––the small window thrown open, with the moonlight dancing across my frail body. A wisp of wind came in, tossing my hair.

Somewhere a foghorn sounded, low and mournful, like the baying of a wolf.

I had lost Ballard temporarily; I couldn’t imagine how that could be. Quickly, I moved to go to him, but then I remembered where I was. Lennox was in the room across the way. I couldn’t disturb him with this.

Something had been after me. Something supernatural. Something I had seen, night upon night, every night for the last three weeks; the thing which was stalking me in my dreams, I couldn’t defend myself against.

I remembered Lennox, and how he had accepted me, absolutely, for who I was. There had been no censure in his eyes––only a kind of desperateness. He knew who I was! And... he loved me.

I went to him; I threw something on, something silken, and moved quietly through the small dark shack. “Lennox,” I said, “Lennox.” His door was wide open. Instead I went out through the small kitchen. I had to duck to go out the door, it was so tiny. I found him, standing there, on a large stone that fingered out into the docile lagoon water. He was holding an old kerosene lamp. It burned like a beacon. He was staring off into the distance, an outline in the preternatural fog. And I came to him.

I could see the lamp turning. It bobbed to me, along the finger of rock. I started to run, and he put it down. “Oh, Lennox,” I said.

“Listen to me,” he said, sometime later. He had insisted we go inside; I think he carried me. The rocks were sharp. “From what Dallace has told me, each Power has its opposite, a natural twofold force. The light and the dark, equal yet opposite. Thrall and anti-thrall; attack and defense.”

I told him about my dreams. “And it was chasing me,” I said. “I think it’s after me. This isn’t the first night...”

“It’s happened before?” he said.

Mutely, I nodded. It was utterly dark. His eyes swam in and out of focus. My remembrances took me back.

“Was there anything else?” he said. “You can remember.”

“I can’t... I can’t...” I said.

“You must try.”

“A voice! A voice! I can’t remember the words,” I said.

I felt him shift; everything was more real. We weren’t in trouble, were we? Why was he looking around us? What had he been up to, out on that finger of rock, alone, late at night?

“She will meet a vampire... His strength will protect her from death... They will have a Power... of Sight...” Could this be? Was I her? I repeated Infester’s words. “...And he showed me these symbols,” I told Lennox. “I think I’m her, this witch, whoever she is. It’s like there’s somebody else here. Like there’s two of me: who I am, whoever that is, and this new person, and she... or I... is super powerful––or could be. I don’t know. Promise you won’t leave me. I must stay strong. Whoever is looking for me, they’re going to try and take me. Lennox... When Marek gashed me, my wound healed overnight. Yet this magic, if that is what it is, is immature. I think I may be, strange as this may sound, connected, somehow, to others... like me––but they’re different. I feel them calling to me.”

“What do they say?” said Lennox.

“‘Come... Find us...’ But what us?” I said. “In my diary... it’s all in... my diary.”

“Diary? What diary?” said Lennox.

Chapter 2 – Venice

The water was gentle. I could hear the oars working. The wooden hull creaked beneath my body, through which I could feel the current; it tore secretly beneath us, guiding he and I.

The two of us... together.

When I opened my eyes, Lennox was rowing: the muscles of his upper chest flexed; the veins stood out on his arms––

Like wires, like blood-filled ropes.

We were leaving Rat Rock. The stars reflected in the water. His eyes were like two Northern Lights: mysterious and elusive and ever-changing. I realized it was the lagoon algae glowing on the surface of the water, and not any fickleness in my love. His gaze penetrated to where I lay, and then he looked off, to Venice––We were drawing nearer.

It was past Midnight, a word, somehow, that should always be capitalized. Venice’s green-tinged silhouette lay before us like a collection of huge jagged rocks, thrust from nowhere. Its ancient edifices rose from the lagoon like bewitched stone. I could see towers and tunnels, and secret, hidden places, where no one should go; which was precisely where we were headed. To the vampires who made it their home.

Nervousness had been replaced by uncertainty; both for myself and for the world I had imagined and our place within it. Suddenly everything was being jeopardized. I didn’t like it. It pissed me off. As for Lennox, I could see him steel himself; there was something going on with him more than just our Fate.

I had never before seen him so contemplative and like a statue. Like the mysteries of the world somehow came down and sat upon his brow. He was encumbered with more thoughts than I could count. Plus there was the Agonies.

Our little boat battled along. We avoided the main artery, the Grand Canal, that snaked through the impossibly-constructed city.

Beautiful, delicate ribbonworks of orange glass stood out from false balconies, as we navigated the minute chambers of water. Footpaths ran alongside the canals we were in, and storybook bridges shot above us like rainbows. There were strange openings, many of which were concealed behind rusted iron bars, in the sides of the buildings; they leaned this way and that. There were small gardens in the air. They threw out leafy vines, that crawled along the rosy bricks and crumbling plaster. Towering campaniles with lighted rooftops, festooned with gargoyles and other Renaissance architectural flourishes, soared above us.

The moon disappeared and reappeared. We were traveling deeper into the heart of Venice. It was quiet out. Lennox and I could hear crowds of people, but they were far away, in some other, more populace, part of Venice.

Empty gondolas and other boats were lashed to wooden piles that broke from the murky depths of the canal we were in; they bobbed in the current, making small bumps and scraping noises as they hit one another and the sides of the buildings.

The canal would open up, and then it was like we were in a fishing village, with a myriad multicolor lights dancing on the surface of the water, and then it would close in, and the fog would obscure us.

I had seen supertankers on the outskirts of the city; we were comparatively insignificant.

That was exactly how I liked it.

Lennox worked, taking us deeper into Venice.

Everywhere I looked were the most interesting sculptures: cherubs, and angels fallen from grace, and lions, men on horseback, battling hydras; flowers marked some sculptures like they were graves; there was even a giant alligator. It was Lennox himself who was the most impressive.

Time would not age him. I saw him sitting there, a beautiful angel, not cracked and crumbling like the other sculptures around him, but eternal, crafted by the hand of an artist, and I so ephemeral; he would outlive me by lifetimes; by lifetimes of lifetimes, so far into the future that countless new lives would replace the memory of the one he and I had shared together.

“What are you looking at?” he said.

“You.”

I saw my diary, then, sitting at his feet. We had taken nothing else. He sat in the bow, looking at it. I grabbed it in my panic. “You’re not reading that, are you?” I said.

“No,” he said.

I relaxed. “I feel different, somehow. Like I’m changing,” I said. I flipped through my diary. There was a drawing in there. Of a monster, the one that was hunting me.

I had executed it with a thick charcoal pencil, extracting the form from the negative space: a pair of watchful dark eyes.

“We take very little to Rat Rock,” said Lennox. “And take nothing when we leave.”

I assumed he meant Dallace and Camille and himself.

“Do they know we’re coming?” I asked.

“Camille can sense it,” said Lennox.

“That’s something that might be called a power,” I said. “You know, what you’re so reticent about describing to me.”

He laughed. “The last thing I want is for you to get too comfortable with vampires,” he said.

“Never!” I said as dramatically as possible.

We were there. The stones were slick from the mist and fog. An expensive-looking motor boat with wooden panels sat docked at the bulwark. A tarpaulin covered it. I could just make out the name. Bellezza Immortale.

Immortal Beauty.

A set of steps crawled from the water. Dark angles cut the grid of canals––leaving this place suspended in a world unto itself, between time. Anything well-aged and useful merited my respect; which translated to a love of Italian doors. They were so solid and beautiful, and they often contained little hints as to what lay inside.

This one had a quatrefoil carved into the black and aged wood, a simple series of four rings, I took to be symbolical, and a knocker, in the shape of a lion’s head.

The building itself was imposing. Two towers rose behind a large stone wall, through which a set of rusty iron gates sat, either inviting or imperious, I couldn’t be sure, on their half-closed hinges. It was a kind of throughway to the bright lights that shone from the large panes of arched glass. Stone columns led from a kind of inner garden. Over everything a leafy green glow manifested itself. Even in the middle of the night.

It felt alive, yet sacred; the fusing of two fundamentally distinct concepts: the eternal and the now; the old and the new.

“We’re here.”

I didn’t know if it was my heart knocking, or else Lennox hitting the side of the bulwark, with our little boat. He lashed it to the bollard.

“Are you nervous?” he said. “Don’t be.”

I gulped in response.

You’re okay, you can do this, I told myself. I watched Lennox, lost inside himself; then he came out of it. Two vampires were standing at the iron gates.

My first impression was that they were identical, almost brother and sister––the same, yet different––so completely did they complement the other.

It was only when I got over the awe of their sudden arrival, that I noticed the differences.

They were both predatory––that was evident immediately; but their stillness suggested they were on their very best behavior. The man––if you could call him that––was almost identical to the classic male models in any glamor magazine. He had a perfect shaped jaw, and high chiseled cheeks. His eyes were comely and aloof, belying an intense speculative interest. And of course he was perfectly featured throughout.

The woman was extravagant. She exuded a kind of dangerous sensuality; if he was manicured, she was jagged. Her flaws a counterpoint to his own self-perfection.

Her first words to me were an excitement of thrills, like poisoned petals, opening to ensnare, I was to realize were the pursuit of her endless existence. Which is to say that she thrilled me.

There are people that you meet whom you know will give you beautiful experiences. Such associations are never fated to last. But that was exactly what she was offering. The opportunity to come be with her. With them. I only had to choose.

The rusty iron gates opened inwardly. Something I thought was important. Like an invitation almost, I would be fool to refuse. I saw my past, and everything in it, vanish.

Lennox introduced us. He seemed to put no significance on greeting Dallace and Camille, himself. I thought I saw a sparkle of something in Dallace’s eye; but then he turned to look at me.

Where Lennox’s eyes were lavender, Dallace’s were like emerald planets. I could see the clouds roll in and thunder. His mind opened up and delivered a truly astonishing message: you truly have nothing to fear.

I grasped at it hungrily.

“You must be Halsey,” he said. I felt myself being sucked into his eyes. “This is my wife, Camille,” said Dallace. He helped me from the landing; Lennox looked on, with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Halsey Rookmaaker––you have an exciting name,” said Camille. “It’s so full of odd things.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. “It’s just what they gave me,” I said.

“Oh, they gave you more than that.”

She looked me over, if somewhat boldly. She and Lennox exchanged no pleasantries. But Dallace hugged him like a brother. “Welcome home,” he said.

Lennox took my hand. “We need to talk,” he said to Dallace. Somewhere in the mix, Dallace had his arm around Lennox, and they were whispering ahead.

Dallace’s garments were simple; on him, exceedingly daring. I could not get over his age, and that he looked like he had seen so much. I reminded myself that he probably had. Just how old was he, anyway?

It was Camille I was with, and she was like fire. I heard the gates snap shut behind us. The outside sounds all went away; only a pleasant gurgling, I figured was thanks to the Eden they had constructed for themselves behind closed walls.

Luxuriant large leaves, and the fingers of supple trees, blocked the sky. There were footpaths in the garden, large round stones with grass growing wildly between them. Lennox and Dallace walked ahead. They would turn, and by a trick of the path, disappear, leaving Camille and I to become acquainted. I was suddenly a jumble of awkward feelings.

“It’s late, and you are in a garden full of vampires,” she said.

Tell me about it. I could feel my heart beat.

“I know,” I said. “Believe me.”

Her long hair was straight and sleek, like a curtain of Midnight, and just a swirl, or band, of red, accentuating it. Two round moist eyes led to a mind that was almost child-like. “I will show you to your room,” she said. “For sleep is a boon. Come along.”

I followed; the last thing I heard was Lennox’s voice raised in agitation. “Forget them,” said Camille. Her voice was wicked and singsong and had little bells in it. “Come along with me.”

What else could I do? It was exceedingly late. Everything had a quasi-lucid glow. I felt myself moving, without really knowing how I got there. First up one set of stairs, then another, her voice telling me to follow her. “Your room,” she said.

I fell into an enchanted slumber. All night long I heard the whispering moths’ voices. They were in the garden; I was not. When I awoke, it was morning. It broke into my lighted room, from a balcony. I had a serious case of déjà vu. For a second, I thought I was back in the Eternal City. The house was quiet. It was high up. I could see out over Venice from my bed covers.

It was a moment before I realized that I had not had any dreams. No snuffling, or dark eyes. Nothing. Only peaceful, unperturbed sleep.

My diary was on a small nightstand, watching over me. So far as I knew it had not been touched. If I was going to be so paranoid about it, I should just stop keeping the diary. Secrets are better left un-blabbed.

My guard had been up. Some of it fell away. But then I heard them.

“I won’t let anyone hurt her. That includes all of you. I’m serious.” Lennox’s voice.

“What do you take us for? Monsters?”

There was some general laughter.

“She is not one of us. It’s dangerous,” said Camille.

“He needs a lady in his life, even one so fragile,” said Dallace. I took the opportunity to mentally memorize both of their voices. The unreality of last night was, by now, gone. I was in a house full of vampires, and they were arguing, about me. Why?

“But that’s the thing, is she?” said Camille. “In case you missed it, Lennoxlove, this gathering is taking place. It’s time you came to certain inexorable truths. Among them that you cannot protect her forever and always. At some point, she will be indoctrinated into the larger world.”

“He knows that, Camille. And I want you two to stop arguing.”

“Why?”

“Because Halsey Rookmaaker is awake. And she is listening to every word we say.”

I felt the fluids in my heart gurgle through my veins. They had heard me. How? I didn’t even move. Lennox explained. I came down sometime after, and entered the garden. Dallace and Camille had gone for a stroll.

“They like to walk in the garden,” said Lennox. “It’s bigger than it looks.”

That still didn’t explain how they had known I was awake.

“For someone magical, you sure find it difficult to accept the supernatural,” he said.

I gave him that. “I never said I was perfect,” I said.

“Just the one,” he said, getting that far-off look again. Was he in pain? Did it have something to do with the Agonies?

“Don’t you see that I crave knowledge, and, well, everything?” I said, trying to get him to see reason, and open up to me.

“I fear,” said Lennox, “that I will know nothing about you, and you will know everything there is to know about me.”

“What is there to tell?” I said. I would let him decide if I meant him or me, by that. Something sparkled. I saw a tray of lemonade. There was only one glass. It was like crystal. There were also sandwiches; bits of cucumber poked from them.

“It is for you,” he said.

I took one and ate it. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. “Mmm. Nom nom. I’m waiting,” I said. He poured the lemonade.

“You truly are incorrigible,” he said.

“So my hat it pointed, and your teeth are. So what? Witches are in covens the same as vampires. You’ve been at this longer. I told you. I know the sum of squat. I want more. I’ll take answers first.”

“And after that?” he said.

“I don’t know. We’ll see,” I said.

“Fair enough. Vampires’ senses are heightened: this means hearing and sight. Touch and taste, however, are relative to the raw material. Some blood is better than others,” he said, when he saw the question forming on my lips. “Just as some vampires’ connoisseurship––well, let us say, they think they know what is for the best.”

“Paris. The Lenoir, you mean.”

“They rule the Immortals. But their reach is greater, more powerful. And it is growing. But enough of that. You wanted to know how––” he motioned to the garden; its reach extended to Lennox. I suddenly became aware that I was sitting in light; he was not.

“Dallace––and I, and Camille––but Dallace––he must’ve been a wallflower, when he was a mortal. I would have loved to have known him, then. What is the more romantic version? That he heard the rhythms of your heart, or that he was listening to them in the first place? He pays attention, Dallace. Dots the i’s, crosses the t’s.”

“So when you said he was perceptive...”

“It isn’t really a Power, it’s just him; which is one of the reasons why we’re here...”

“But why are we here?” I asked. “Not that I want to leave; just the opposite, in fact. I would love to explore. To see Venice.”

“So you shall. If things hold.” He looked at me. “I am afraid that I must go,” he said.

“What? Now?” I said.

“Soon. Days. I needed to know that you would be in good hands. Camille and Dallace will pro–– They’ll make sure nothing happens to you... while I am away.”

The visions. My dreams. Had Lennox just admitted that he knew something was after me? Was that why he was standing out on that finger of rock? And was he still, in a sense, on duty? Was Lennox... protecting me?

“I thought you didn’t need to do that anymore. I thought nothing was after me,” I said. “Well, besides Marek. But he’s not coming back again, is he?”

“Would you want him to?” he asked.

Lennox produced an envelope. It was made of thick cream parchment, and had a wax seal. “It’s unopened,” I noticed aloud.

“It’s addressed to you,” he said.

Dallace and Camille returned. They had been up all night––all of them. I had been left out. “Good morning, Halsey Rookmaaker,” said Dallace. Camille smiled at me; it was only polite.

Chapter 3 – Lost Cause

Dear Diary,

Do I retreat within myself? And make of things more than they are? Don’t answer that.

I have just spent the day with all of them; we didn’t go anywhere. I got the impression that they’re all kind of aimless. I don’t mean that in a bad way. Even Lennox is prone to staring at walls.

I suspect it has something to do with having a lot of time. Anyway, they’re out now. They take shifts guarding me. Camille is off hunting. The other two are wandering around somewhere downstairs.

I spent some more time alone with Camille today. She told me about Hunters.

“Vampire Hunters,” she said; somewhere in Prague or something. If they’re not here, now, I don’t really think about them. It came out during a conversation about something or other. “The young are vulnerable to hunters,” she said. “Another reason we’re so communal. It’s for protection.” She stared at me with her big eyes.

I think I’m getting paranoid. Nobody’s telling me anything. Scratch that. Just that I’m safe and not to worry. But that’s not really true, is it? I’m not really safe. If I have three vampire protectors, but things can kill vampires...

Do my protectors need protecting?

Lennox is always whispering, and when I ask him about it, he just smiles, and says not to worry.

I got a letter today. There were actually four of them that were delivered. And that’s another thing, it must’ve been by hand, because there’s no stamp; probably while I was sleeping. An invitation, Diary, to something called a Gathering, or the Gathering, I’m not sure.

I won’t transcribe it; it just said I was summoned. ‘You are hereby summoned.’ Which struck me as odd. There’s a difference between a summons and an invite. A summons is a command, which means that I was born into something, or that I signed up.

I don’t recall having done either.

It was sent by the Lenoir.

* * *

I paused to think about that.

* * *

The Lenoir. I have heard it pronounced both ways. Like the American jaguar, and the very French Len-wa. I favor the latter. They are, after all, from Paris.

Vampires have a saying. That all vampires are from Paris. It is the simultaneous audacity, and clannishness of the Paris Coven, that I hate. Lennox is of course encouraging me not to think of them in those terms. But I choose how and what I think, and the process by which I do it.

I feel claustrophobic, Diary. I miss Rome. But if this summons is truly a command, I won’t be missing it much longer. The Gathering takes place in Rome; or on the outskirts, at any rate. There are a series of tunnels. I guess I’ll see it when I see it.

It sounds like Jubilee. The Romans have this thing, Jubilee, where every twenty-five years they get together and celebrate, I would guess to punctuate generational milestones, almost. More significant than the Olympics, or any other event that takes place every four years. This takes place every twenty-five.

Well, so does the Gathering.

It said that I would be ‘tested’, the summons.... Diary––I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like it. We’re going out. They’re calling me.

* * *

I put my book away; it was black-bound and could hold my angst. In Venice, there is the idea of the città salotto. The city as salon. As gathering place. Innumerable small islands, in a sense, interconnected. With all the doors thrown wide open. Inviting waterside cafés... etc., etc.

They were waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. Camille wore an embroidered black dress, with a silver choker; her eyes peeked through two curtains of shiny dark hair––that same lick of red, that was the color of blood.

She smiled at me, genuinely this time.

Dallace marveled at my appearance. “I didn’t know your size,” he said. He and Camille had supplied me with a small wardrobe, while I was here.

I had on a pretty silk dress and heels. Lennox took my hand. “Shall we?” he said.

I nodded, anxious to see the city. We were going out!

I had never experienced anything like it; but then again, what other city in the world was quite like this one? We left the dark chambers and entered the Grand Canal, Venice’s chief waterway. Where we were headed was Riva del Vin––a kind of Main Street.

Camille and I sat in the back of the boat together, the Bellezza Immortale, Dallace throttled along slowly; we were in traffic on the waterway, it was amazing.

Water taxis went to and fro; there were suitcase boats, loaded with luggage. The Canal is only about two-and-a-half miles long. The water lapped mildly around us.

And of course there were the gondolas. Tall Italian men stood in them and rowed passengers along. Everything felt safe. It was a cool September night, and the light on the water danced in my eyes. I inhaled the smells––the water, the food. Lennox had neglected to mention vampire smelling. They must, mustn’t they? I had remembered him sniffing my hair.

Camille took my hand and held it with both of hers. I looked but she was staring off in her own little world. My stomach rumbled.

“How do you like the city?” she asked, smiling, and turning her bulbous blue eyes, to look into my own. She didn’t often blink. I had the impression that she didn’t need to.

“It’s wonderful. But I would be afraid of getting lost here,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

I thought a moment. “Well... it’s self-sufficient; it’s been around forever, and it certainly doesn’t need me. Venice is almost a trap.”

The bells in her voice chimed. “Exactly how I feel,” she said. “You know it’s disappearing, don’t you? Every year it gets closer and closer.”

So I had heard.

“Venice is like Atlantis,” she said. “One day it will be a myth. People will be sure that it never existed. The earth is swallowing it up. Wonderful what mortals will do, isn’t it? They’re so afraid to let things die, they will try and save a lost cause. This is the point. That this world, our world, is stuck in the past, nothing can prevent its slow decay. One day, it will cease to exist, as will we.”

I think I said something about drinking blood and not to talk that way anymore.

“You are young. You still have your passion,” she said. “I will say no more.”

“But I want you to go on. I want to know more, particularly about your past,” I said. “Who made you? And how long have you been?”

Her liquid emotionless eyes cared for nothing. I could see her death, written dismissively in them.

“Such secrets are not for mortals. I only wish to offer a warning. Be not too hasty to enter our world. For I am death, I am the dead.”

“I don’t care,” I said. “There’s nothing for me here, or anywhere––except Lennox.”

“But you said it yourself. This place, Halsey Rookmaaker, us, we are a dead end; we are nothing, we had our time; while you, you are just starting. Your life is like a wheeling star, spinning recklessly; it could shoot,” said Camille.

“The only question is why you are in such a hurry to give it all up. To let life go,” I said.

“But I am not alive,” she said.

I wanted to shake her. The boat was pulling into the dock. “All I’m saying,” she said, “is that the trajectory of your life is in your own hands. Right now you could be anything. But that window won’t stay open forever. Oh! Look! I just love water lillies.”

I went to dinner with Lennox at a small café, sniffing at the scents of rosemary and juniper, with the Rialto Bridge in the background. He ordered the wine and whatnot. I had a nice dish of caper berries and marinated white anchovies, he assured me was delicious. How would he know?

His whatnot disappeared mysteriously, as I dug into the main course. Sarde in Saor. It sounded worse than it was. Fried sardines.

I was somewhat irked with the conversation I had had. Something of it played in my face.

“What is it?” he said, being all charming and stuff. Dallace and Camille had gone window shopping. They were like two old lovers surprised by everything. It gave me something to consider, actually.

I deigned to answer. “Vampires being all self-analytical and pseudo-deep: I get it you live forever boohoo.”

“What?” He laughed.

I told him about Camille.

“She’s like that,” he said.

I rolled a marinated pine nut in my mouth. “If you want to be with me, be with me. Come on, Lennox, love. We spend half our time not talking to one another.”

He blushed without blushing.

“See? If you can hear when I wake, I can at least hear when the three of you whisper. I think I listened to your conversation all night. I had funny dreams. Not the bad ones,” I said. “Just sounds, shapes, mostly. And Camille. She called you Lennox, love.”

“Lennoxlove. One word. And stop that.”

I stared at him. And ate another fish. “This isn’t good,” I said. “The fish is excellent. But my not knowing your name.” I dropped my fork. “We’re supposed to be going out... dating... I don’t even know your name. It’s not good, Lennox, love.”

“Stop saying that.”

“But, Lennoxlove...”

“I didn’t bring you here to fight,” he said.

“No. Just to ditch me,” I said. The wine was excellent, the food was excellent. Everything was excellent, just not us.

“No offense to your family––they’re actually quite nice, and under different circumstances, I would love to get to know them,” I said. “All right, Camille’s a little weird, and Dallace has been alone too long, but when you go, I go. We can either go together, and face whatever’s coming for us––you with the Agonies, and me whatever––although, if you ask me, what you’re going through sounds like it doesn’t exist––I’m not undervaluing it. I just don’t understand why you would let something else control you. You are who you wish to be, which has always been my personal philosophy, come what may. It sounds like a load of hokum, is all. But if I’m not invited, sobeit, you’re going to have to come find me in Rome––’cause that’s my home. Otherwise, we need to just break up.”

I left off and ate a sardine. Little did I know that he would actually take me seriously.

* * *

We walked that night through the sestiere of San Marco, in the only true piazza in Venice, where I saw a strange clock tower and a mechanism of blue and gold. The sun was the hand of time.

I realized it was the zodiac and the phases of the moon. Two huge bronze statues stood above us; they moved suddenly and struck the bell. Dallace explained them. The clock boomed.

“They are the Mori,” he said. “Italian not Latin. They are the Moors. If it were Latin, they would mean death. They guard the clock.”

It unsettled me for a second, watching the clock. Not least because it looked like the Wiccan symbol for the Three Protectors, otherwise known as the Triple Goddess.

Infester had explained it to me. The Triple Goddess told the story of the Three Protectors. One, who was steadfast, never moved; that was the circle. The others, the crescents, could only be there some of the time. But Infester had an ingenious theory. It wasn’t because their interest in her had waned. Quite the contrary! It was because they were vampires. They could only protect me some of the time. And I, I––

As I looked at it, the full moon was like the sun, chasing away the crescent moons––which were represented in the moon phases of the clock.

As soon as I returned to Rome I was adamant about finding magic; I knew who needed to help me. There was also a Fourth Protector.

The famous pigeons slept in their alcoves; the square was dark, unusually empty, even for this late hour. I took Dallace’s arm, as we walked along. Lennox and Camille were behind us, whispering about who knows what.

“Something troubles you, Halsey Rookmaaker,” he said to me.

“Camille and I spoke. Did she tell you?” I asked.

Dallace said, “Camille is good about not revealing confidences. What did the two of you speak about?”

“It was weird. We were talking about Venice, how it’s old and stuff,” I said, walking along; his footfalls kept time. “But I got the sense that we were talking about something more than that.”

“Camille has troubling gifts.”

“She’s very nice,” I said.

“Perhaps if I explain what Venice means to me,” said Dallace, “and why I live here...”

I waited for him to continue.

“We don’t rule Venice,” he said. “Rather, we fit in. We love it too much to sully it with blood. This is a peaceful place. It teaches us patience, to take our time. A human ungifted with our preternatural speed could cross her in an hour, taking his time. It sets us a different pace, brings us back to our former selves. To a happy equilibrium. In Venice, you have all the time in the world... to be human.”

“But something troubles me,” I said, “and I require your edification, if you will.”

“Please. Go on,” he said.

“Well, it’s just that you said you ‘love it too much’. And that’s just the thing. Can a vampire truly really love?”

“You’re worried about Lennox.”

“Do I need to be?” I said.

“It’s true. What he faces is very real, Halsey Rookmaaker. It’s so real, that he’s afraid to let you in on it. As you can see, I lack some of my wife’s discretion. Perhaps I should say no more.”

“Or,” I said, turning so that we could look at one another––Camille and Lennox were nowhere to be seen, “what you say is more to the point, and so, of greater value. No offense.”

“None taken. I am honored that you care so much for him. But if you do, you will let him go. At least, for the time being.”

“Is that what you advise me to do?”

“I do. Lennox is very wise. But he is young and he has a lot to learn. This thing will be happening, whether he wants it to or not. We all face challenges in the immediate future. Tell me, have you given any thought to your letter?”

“It was sent by the Lenoir, but who are they to tell me?” I said.

“The Lenoir, for all of their longevity, have missed a few crucial lessons. You have heard the saying that Power corrupts; it also blinds. Be assured. They do not hold all the power. There are more supernaturals than just we vampires. And that should be exciting to you.”

“What are you saying, exactly?” I said.

“That there is a reason that Rome was picked. Just as there is a reason you yourself were chosen to bear this gift. For such gifts are given in the hopes that they will be taken as such––and used.”

“I’m just afraid that Lennox will forget me. He is withdrawn, I feel him withdrawing more,” I said to Dallace.

“Those things that we let go, return to us, if that is their will. Let go. You have another question.”

“Camille spoke as though all vampires are dead.”

“We are,” said Dallace.

“You know what I mean. It was different.”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes. We call it the fugue. It actually happens twice for vampires. And that’s the whole deal. Lennox was turned some time ago. He is relatively new for a vampire, but he is old enough to ask all the right questions. Among them, Is this it? Are we all that there is?

“Do not take that personally, Halsey Rookmaaker; this has been coming on for a while, since before he met you. A vampire confronted for the first time with the prospect of eternity oftentimes doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“There is only one right way, and not all minds––for we retain that at least––know how to accept the unacceptable. But I would appreciate if you would mention nothing of what I have just said to Lennox. The Agonies is a private time for a vampire. Something that should be figured out for oneself. The alternative is complete death. That is the one that cannot be outrun.”

* * *

I stood in the square feeling my mind would pop. Dallace had become uncommunicative, but I understood it was because he had already shared more, perhaps, than even I was aware of, at the time. So we just walked and he admired the beauty of their home, and we returned to the empty, dark canal.

I was quiet all night, but the dreams came back. Camille’s garden beckoned to me; I trod on the grass, up to it. I looked down, my feet were bare.

Something was whispering inside the dark tunnel of vines and trees; I couldn’t see it. It was nighttime and the air was full of an impenetrable mist; it made my nightgown cling to me. My hair trailed thickly down my back. “What is it you’re saying?” I said.

I whispered so that I was not found out. I must enter this tunnel alone. There was no response.

I looked around, briefly. The high wall kept out the noise. The windows back the way I had come were dark. Above the canopy of trees the two tall towers lay dark, moonless. My windows fluttered open, but it was only the breeze.

I turned and looked down the dark tunnel, to where it bent. I must go in there. I stepped on the stones with my bare feet. Bits of grass stood out greenly on my wet feet.

“The magic in her blood is pulling her,” said a voice. I looked around. Deeper and deeper into the trees.

“She is not one of us. It’s dangerous.”

“No. Impossible. That hasn’t happened in over a century.”

I looked up, hungrily, for the moon; it was gone, it was closed out. I was completely, totally alone.

“She’s in and out,” said a voice. “Go, Lennoxlove. I will be here when she wakes.”

“We will protect her.”

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure you can,” he said.

I wanted him to wait––for me––to stop–– To scream that I needed him. If I meant anything to him, he would wait. The thrashing thing was back again. A pair of dark eyes.

Ballard. I ran to him. It attacked me. I tried to fend it off.

It was too late.

I woke up, screaming. The last image I had was of a small face turning to stare at me; the dark tunnel disappeared, and it was like I was being sucked backwards from my dreams. Camille was standing over me, and I had the sudden impression that she had been trying to drink my blood. Impossible. I rolled away, trying to free myself, but she put her hands on me. They were like vices of cold iron I could not escape. I heard her voice. She was trying to bring me back.

“Halsey! It’s just a dream! You were dreaming!”

“Lennox...” I said. He had left me. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted my boyfriend back. He was gone. I was all alone. He was gone.

Chapter 4 – In the Muck

Ms. Halsey Rookmaaker
c/o The Venice Coven

Youknowwhere

Venice, Italy

Dear Ms. Rookmaaker,

According to the European Covenant of Magic, as agreed to in 1887––we were there, so do not try to deny it––and in accordance with the highest ideals of Supernatural, and Immortal alike––agreed to, and signed in blood––by all parties involved––as stipulated:

Every quarter century a reckoning must and will take place––As for the benefit of all––to include but not limited to––

The indoctrination of all those magically-endowed, to be presided over by Three Houses (The Lenoir––Immortal, Vampire; Prague, the Districts of Magic, the original magical bloodline; The Sons and Daughters of Romulus).

Taking place in the three European cities, The Gathering alternates between the home of the vampire; the aforementioned birthplace of Magic; and, now, this year, Rome. It is a celebration of our rare and unique gifts. You are hereby summoned to attend.

As this is your first Gathering, failure to attend will be met with the severest penalties.

Yours in Admiration and All Due Respect,

Maria Lenoir

Head Vampire

* * *

I read through this strange and curious correspondence, in the scrawl of the vampire. It was signed in blood. It sounded fussy and like a boss. It put me on my guard. Dallace and Camille had received similar invitations, I was sure. Though I’m sure theirs were a little different, given their age. Something about it disturbed me. Maybe it was all the slashes. I also noticed Maria put the Lenoir first, when naming the Houses. House Lenoir. Like they came first. But who were the Sons and Daughters of Romulus?

Ballard––I needed his council. He was sixteen years old, but beyond his years in wisdom. His family relied upon him. I imagined him now, working in his motorcycle shop, with a grease rag in his hands, wiping some of it on his face; it excited me that I was going to get back to him, to his kind eyes, and gentle voice.

I realized something. My hunt for Magic was over. They were going to be there, weren’t they? Whoever they were. These magic people. I needed to learn more. I felt like I had a test to study for. I didn’t want to walk in unprepared. It would be a catastrophe.

“I never heard of this before. There are governing bodies, secret meetings, a European what is it? Covenant of Magic,” I said.

“That was actually just agreed upon for ease, the thought being Vampirism was likewise ‘magical’. A subtle way of saying we can do everything you can do better,” said Dallace, referring to the feud between vampires and magic I had not really heard that much about.

We were on the train. I clutched my diary in my hand, the letter tucked away safely inside it.

There was a wax seal in the paper; it looked dripping with blood. An ornate letter L. Camille would be catching up with us, she said. It was just Dallace and I. He would see me back to my place, in Rome. (“You’ll be safe there,” he said. “At least from us.”)

“I didn’t know there were so many things I had to worry about,” I said.

Dallace looked excited for the Gathering; I didn’t imagine there were that many things he really looked forward to. And Lennox?

“He had to go,” said Dallace.

I nodded. “They sound like busybodies,” I said, “the Lenoir.”

“There have been problems in the past. Wars,” said Dallace.

“Oh,” I said. I waited for him to go on. The countryside flashed past. Already my time in Venice was beginning to feel like a distant memory. Like I was some other Halsey. Like my old me was gone. I was headed into the unknown, and everything that entailed; within me, particularly, a sense of dread was growing, that I might not measure up, that I might, strange as this may sound, let my parents down. They had been dead since before I could remember.

I thought about that as the train chugged along, through fields of wheat, and cypress trees, and the lovely Italian villages, that went rolling past our window, as we headed to Rome, to the smog, and the meetinghouses, and the secrets, and the past, I a witch.

It was official now. My too-heavy head, full of thoughts and feelings. The sun was setting and we chugged into the night, through Bologna, and Firenze, and the Tuscan countryside. And all the while, I thought of Lennox, and what he must be doing. But I whispered nothing of my fears to Dallace.

I was sure he had his own concerns. After all, Lennox was something of a son. They gave off this brotherly affection, but I knew who Lennox turned to for help and support. He turned to Dallace. Which made me love the vampire sitting across from me all the more. And I thought, witches and wizards and vampires do not get along? How come? Why not?

What was it in our shared pasts that made us enemies? And Dallace, did he feel that way about me, that I could not be trusted?

Had all of this, my staying with them, been a sham? Were they not, in a way, going to be glad to get rid of me?

“Your mind oppresses you with figments and shadows and other haunting things,” he said.

“So you know what haunts me?” I said.

“Your dreams,” said Dallace.

“I don’t want to go,” I said.

“Can I tell you something? Perhaps it will ease your mind. You noticed the quatrefoils? The Venice architecture?”

I had become expert in architecture. I had to, when I had been trying to figure out what Lennox was––before I knew, and that I loved him. A quatrefoil was simply four of something. They were particularly useful in windows. They looked something like this.

Like four-leaf clovers; they were open. So was Dallace’s confession.

“We have a Story, call it a family tale. That we are incomplete. That one day we shall be four: Camille, myself... Lennox, and now you.

“So you see,” he said––I didn’t know what to say to this “––in a sense we have nothing to worry about. Lennox should survive, and this thing which hunts you, be it perceived only, or in fact the real deal––it cannot stop the fact that we are meant to be together, Camille, myself––and if you will, you and dear Lennox. This is why I am coming with you. Not as Protector. As friend and guardian. If I may, to vouch for you. The Lenoir will not think to bother you. Not unless they wish to open old hostilities. If I may, you should rest, Halsey Rookmaaker. We will be there soon, and you have much to get ready for. If I am not mistaken, the covens will want to test you––and the other initiates. They are looking for someone; or something. I have never really been sure what they meant by her. But here I have already said too much. It will be up to others to indoctrinate you. Just be sure you do not forget who you are. All right?”

I nodded, and then gulped. Despite his words to the contrary, I knew not to assume Lennox would just make it. I worried about him, now more than ever. And had Dallace just said that he wanted to turn me into an immortal, a vampire, just like him?

Was that what this was all about? Was I to become one of them?

“I do not claim to see the future; but it would not be so bad. I can think of worse things than having my family whole and complete. We take you as you are, Halsey Rookmaaker,” he said.

The train shot us through the two-hundred-fifty-mile trip, with various stoppages, so that it was almost morning when we arrived; I had slept intermittently; the jostling of the cabin kept any nightmares at bay. We arrived at Termini Station at first light.

“I leave you here, but we will meet again. Goodbye, Halsey Rookmaaker.”

I thanked Dallace for accompanying me, and wished him well. Where he would go, I had no idea; I couldn’t exactly invite him to come stay with me. He flew off, and that was it. The Gathering would be taking place in three days’ time. I would see him again.

What to do now? I stood outside the station, clutching my diary, and just began to walk. It was a mile or so to my apartment on Via dei Condotti. The minicab operators were nowhere to be seen.

When I got there, flushed from my walk in the mist and monuments, my landlady buzzed me up. She had still not learned how to stop disliking me so much. She had a very disapproving look upon her face. Amazed, no doubt, that I had still not managed to get myself killed. I nodded. “There’s still tomorrow,” I said, bidding her goodnight.

Her eyes glinted. “This is tomorrow,” she said, in her broken English. She jabbed at me with her fingertips.

Let her think I don’t know what she’s saying.

I nodded and smiled. “Lovely to see you,” I said. I meant it, too. But her face distorted into a thousand ugly creases. “You. Be. Careful,” she said to me.

I promised her that I would be; and then I ran. My room looked exactly as it always did; with the bed and the whatnot and the candles and the tub. There was a map of Rome on the wall, but I almost never looked at it. The idiosyncratic layout of the city was becoming second nature to me. I had been looking through it for so long, trying to find my past, that now I knew it better than I knew myself.

This must change.

It was too early to even think of going back to sleep; once I’m awake I go until I’m dead. This helps when you have a vampire throwing you off your sleeping patterns, not that we ever have.

I booted up my laptop, and checked Gmail. There was a message from Becca, my old best friend from Massachusetts.

From <covengirls95@gmail.com>

To <halseyrookmaaker@gmail.com>

Like hey!

------------

From <covengirls95@gmail.com>

To <halseyrookmaaker@gmail.com>

Stop avoiding me!

------------

From <covengirls95@gmail.com>

To <halseyrookmaaker@gmail.com>

Avoiding me makes an ass out of you and me. I have news.

------------

From <covengirls95@gmail.com>

To <halseyrookmaaker@gmail.com>

This isn’t funny!!

------------

From <halseyrookmaaker@gmail.com>

To <covengirls95@gmail.com>

Relax, Becca, I’m here! What is it?

I sent that real quick, and then hopped out in the hallway to get a pick-me-up––an energy drink from the vending machine. While I was here, I lived on stale snack food and Red Bull. I threw the locks real quick. Crazy obsessed staring lady was still giving me the what-for down the hall. I could feel her presence. Becca responded almost immediately.

From <covengirls95@gmail.com>

To <halseyrookmaaker@gmail.com>

Where the heck have you been? I’m practically going crazy without anyone to talk to. It’s been three weeks!

Never mind that. You’ll never guess what’s been going on. Mistress Genevieve and the other teachers got us all together, those who graduated. (Hey! She says it’s not too late for you. I talked with her. She says that she’s prepared to forgive you. These were her words: “Halsey needs to learn certain things for herself. I cannot help her. Neither should you.” But since when did she ever say anything that didn’t mean a bunch of different stuff.)

They got us all together. Halsey, we’ve been talking. We want you back. You need to get out of there. Things are really starting to jump up.

Our magical training isn’t over. It’s beginning. We start combat and fight mechanics. Real sword and sorcery. Where have you been?

------------

From <halseyrookmaaker@gmail.com>

To <covengirls95@gmail.com>

Becca, all that I can say is one, congratulations, we knew there had to be some point to all of this, right? And that, secondly, I have been undergoing the same kinds of shocks to the system myself.

I am not coming back. I’m sorry if that hurts, or if I sound like I’m being a bitch or something, but––that was then.

I’m changing. I’m a different person now. But I’ll tell you what. You keep practicing. And make sure you get good. We will see each other again. I’m almost certain of it. When we’re both Virtuosos and we can cross oceans in our minds.

I will fly over the countryside with you one day. But I think we need to go our separate ways. Tell those bitches I said hi and that I miss them.

I miss you too, Becca. But what I’m doing here is so, so important. I could no more let it go, walk away from it, than you could stopping the continuation of your own self-discovery and magical education.

We were born with Powers. It’s time we learned to start using them. Blessed be. I love you.

Halsey

------------

From <covengirls95@gmail.com>

To <halseyrookmaaker@gmail.com>

Sisters forever. Your bitch for all time. Go do your thing. It’s a date, kiddo.

Wherever. Whenever.

You know where to find me. This is Becca signing off.

------------

I had tears in my eyes. I missed those bitches. But we each had things to do. I think I got up and washed my face in the bathroom, and then I stepped out, and looked out, over the street, and the shops below. My balcony afforded spectacular views. I could see the sun, risen more fully. Fingers of light crept into my room. Becca. She was off, learning how to duel. Real magic. The things we had only heard of, but never actually seen.

I realized my time had come as well. I would not be learning in a safe environment. I was three days from a reckoning. I was three days from the end of my world, and the start of something More.

* * *

Ballard’s email was waiting for me, when I came back in. It just said, “I’ll be here, waiting for you, when you get back.” I sent off a quick reply. It was time to go see him. The only problem was, word had gotten out about me. Not that I was a witch with unexplored supernatural powers. That was still secret.

The fact was, the Vespa I had rented had been destroyed last summer, in an attack by zombies. Lennox’s mentor’s house had nearly gone up in flames; it was still being restored. Which meant that my ability to lease a motorini had been compromised, I feared, forever.

There was no way around it. I had to go out and ask my landlady to call me a taxi. I slipped her next month’s rent, and the month after; I had no idea how long the Gathering would be taking place. She jabbed me with mind darts. Why did I feel like I owed her a thousand apologies?

It would be ten minutes. She put her hand through the tray under the plexiglass, and grabbed me by the wrist. I felt a jolt go through me, that had nothing to do with any kind of spiritual connection. “I know why you are here,” she said, in her strange, eerie voice.

I shrugged obtusely and tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let me go. She just held on, with her fingernails digging into my skin.

“I need a room,” I said. “That’s it. I swear.”

She released me and her eyes blazed with a fiery light; I left the moth-eaten hallway, in the Belle Époque style, and waited in the street. She shouted after me to watch my back. I think that’s what she said. She could have been placing a curse upon my head. Something in her countenance suggested it. As if she had a magic all her own: to creep me out, or at any rate to put me on my guard. But from what?

All I could think was her; she seemed protective, yet evil. The cab came and took me over the river. I forgot about it.

Trastevere had the happy habit of making me happy; it was the section of Rome that Ballard’s family resided in, a family, I had come to learn, that was bigger than I expected, for it also encompassed the street gang, I Gatti. They rode around on motorcycles, protecting Rome. I was one of the few people who knew this.

Part of having a supernatural identity was keeping it secret, and we––or, that is to say, they––were very protective about who they let in on their little secret. If anyone got their hands on my diary...

I had stowed it away in my room, underneath a pillow. But it was guarded by her. My own fire-breathing dragon lady. And a four-story window.

Lennox liked it because it meant vampires could not get to me. They had to be invited in. He had stood on the balcony, before I knew what he was. But what about those things that did not need an invitation? What about the thing that was hunting me?

I shivered, feeling a tingle of fear. Whatever it was could not get to me while I was here, in Trastevere. Trastevere was like a bulwark against outsiders. It kept its own secrets. And it was also a repository of the past. For only here were mortals that knew of Immortals. Besides witches and wizards, I mean.

Had that been why Lennox could tell me? Because he knew I was a witch? I tried to remember having ever shown in front of him, but I couldn’t. I was sure he had made it all up, perhaps to trick himself into thinking we could ever be equals. He was so far beyond me it was not even funny. Maybe he thought we couldn’t be together unless I was somehow supernatural like him. Otherwise the Lenoir would try and kill me, wouldn’t they?

That gave me something else to think about. What if I were exposed to these tests and nothing happened? What if I were not magical at all? What if they made a mistake? There I would be, walking around with knowledge of Immortals, not to mention Magic, but decidedly not one of them. The Lenoir would take me out back, wouldn’t they? They would drop all this nonsense and eat me right there. And the magicians would applaud.

I needed to get away from these thoughts. Luckily Ballard’s uncle’s motorcycle shop was coming into view, around the chamber of high, stone buildings, that blocked out all but direct, midday sun. Risky had known the Rookmaakers; he was Ballard’s uncle, and it had been he who had suggested to Ballard––rather, required––that he contact me. I wanted to know why.

The cabbie let me out, and I paid up. I was left staring at the autofficina, that doubled as the Trastevere Motor Club. The home of The Cats, Ballard’s dubiously-named biker gang, I happened to know were werewolves, and not the innocuous felines that prowled in remarkable numbers through a city as old and lineaged as they were. That was a Wiccan word. It meant they could trace their roots back to Rome’s twin founders, Romulus and Remus.

Romulus and Remus who were werewolves; anything else just didn’t have that same authenticity of my cobbled-together history. I tripped across the stones to go say hi, and hoped the time apart had not done to my relationship with Ballard what it had done between Becks and me. Namely, for all intents and purposes, made us just two people on opposite ends of increasingly dispassionate emails, who had grown apart.

Chapter 5 – Gambalunga

Out front, a collection of all manner of broken-down automobiles had collected in the month, or so, since I had been gone. An old and crushed-in ape van, that looked like it needed a ton of work, sat parked in pride of place, in front of a huge and dented in roll up door, through which I could hear the sounds of someone hard at work. There were sparks flying out the door, a stereo was blasting.

The Trastevere Motor Club was empty except for a single employee with a welder’s mask covering his face, bent over a beautiful red bike, the likes of which I had never seen before. Part of me attributed freedom and responsibility to the machines, that I saw everywhere as I traveled through Rome; they meant safety, and to be part of a gang. The stereo was an old boom box with a broken-off antenna and cassette player.

I paused the tape.

“Lia... I don’t have time for this,” he said, turning to face me. His hands were covered in thick leather gloves. The welding torch he was holding cut off in his hands. He raised his visored helmet to me like a salute. We stood like that for some time, staring past one another, at our own shadow reflections.

“Halsey?” he said.

“I sent you an email,” I said.

Ballard had an old PC in the corner of the shop, he used to communicate with the outside world. There were brothers in California, and parents in Greece. I marveled at the work around him. A collection of bikes on racks, all of which needed his attention. He was the go-to mechanic for the street gang responsible for safeguarding all Rome. That was some responsibility. Did it at least pay well?

I looked at all the thingy-what’s-its littered across the floor. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” I said, realizing it was mid-September. I had gotten so used to not having to think about St. Martley’s Academy, I forgot he was still underage.

Ballard shrugged. “Everything has gotten so much more... complicated,” he said.

He put down the oxy acetylene torch, and took off his gloves. He was sweating slightly. I could see faint splotches of oil, where he had cleaned his face with a dirty rag. He came forwards to give me a hug. “I missed you,” he said.

“Ballard? What is that?” I said. It came out muffled, because I had my face pressed into his chest. He was big, almost as big as Gaven, I Gatti’s leader.

“Huh?”

He looked where I was pointing. On the floor, next to the bike he was working on, in among the crescent wrenches and other ancient well-used tools, was a letter with a dripping, red wax seal. The kind I had seen before and knew so well. The kind of the Gathering.

Ballard had received a letter. Was it from the Lenoir, too? Did they know he was a––whatever he was?

He saw what I was staring at. There was no hiding anything from Ballard. We had worked together, all last summer, figuring out there were vampires in the world, and that witchcraft existed. He knew just as much as I did. In some respects, more. He had grown up with it, face-to-face with the fact that there were unexplained phenomena, not least because his own family included shape changers.

I had never seen Ballard transform. Standing in his presence now, I could not be sure I hadn’t invented the whole thing. What had that enormous creature been, that had come to my rescue, when Marek, possessed by the necromancer, had tried to end my life? For certainly it was not a figment.

It was as real as the sixteen-year-old with the curly black hair. But not a werewolf.

Then some other shape changer, then.

I was so certain it was Ballard who had saved me. He had never denied this. I remembered confronting him with a theory that he could be a wolf. He categorically denied it. His explanation, then, had been that he was too old, that somehow he had come through puberty without showing.

This exposed some knowledge on his part. A familiarity with the fact that there were werewolves. He was just not one of them.

The only problem was, if he wasn’t a Supernatural, what, oh, what, was he doing with a letter I could only assume was an invitation to a meeting with all the Supernaturals? An invitation I had received myself.

“Ballard....”

I waited for what his reaction would be. He picked up the envelope with dirty fingers and left paw prints on it.

“It’s not what you think,” he said. “It’s for Lia.”

* * *

So many questions went through my mind. Every time I turned around I seemed to be asking the same thing: What did I really know about anything? Lia...?

Lia was Ballard’s sister. She was several years older than he was, and she also happened to be a world-class frenemy.

My world-class frenemy.

Lia had received a letter to the Gathering, and Ballard had not? It didn’t make sense.

“It’s ten times worse,” he said. “You should’ve seen her. She’s been insufferable. Strutting around.”

“Worse than normal, you mean?”

“Ever since this letter showed up, and they asked I Gatti to get the meeting place put together... Gaven and the rest of the crew, and some warlocks, have been working on it overtime, trying to get it ready–– I’m stuck here, fixing motorcycles. Not that I’m complaining. Hey, check this out.” He had been so busy yakking, he hadn’t noticed that I was undergoing a major life change. “It’s a Gambalunga.”

“Ballard...” He caught me before I hit the floor.

* * *

While I was out, I had composed a very pretty speech. It went something like this. “This pussyfooting must stop. I am a witch, Ballard. One of the Three. There are also vampires, and now you, The Sons and Daughters of Romulus. Whatever you are. In case you missed it, I have been looking for some sign of a larger world.”

Well, it was throbbing inside my forehead, that sign, in bright, shiny lettering, that gave me a headache. I came out of my faint, and felt Ballard brushing aside a wild lock of my hair. I still felt groggy. When I could finally open my eyes, and focus, he was smiling at me. “There’s no easy way to talk to you, is there?” he said, and then laughed. It sounded like a bark.

Grr.

“Not funny. You should have told me,” I said.

“You were gone,” he said. He helped me to my feet. I was suddenly standing face-to-face with the red motorcycle. There was no point, really, telling Ballard I had also received a letter, he seemed to take it for granted. But Lia. It was a kind of weird moment. Was she a witch too? I thought she was a werewolf. We were almost sisters.

Did that mean I would have to be working with her?

According to Ballard, the Gambalunga I was looking at was an Italian motorcycle made in the late-forties, early-nineteen fifties. It was designed for racing, alone. It looked to be a very fast red rider. It hunkered low and had a single red headlight, round as a circle of magic.

“I want you to have it,” he said.

I looked at Ballard like he was joking. “I can’t, Ballard. It must’ve cost a fortune,” I said.

“Ordinarily. But I happened to find it in a scrapyard friendly to our kind,” he said. “That is to say, my family and I. We are werewolves, Halsey Rookmaaker, ailuranthropes, and other shapeshifters. Therianthropes for long, and therians, or Shifters, for short. Dog Shifters, by some. It is my pleasure to meet you. The door’s right there, if you can’t stand to stay a moment more, which, by the way, I completely understand. I am as freaked out by this as you are. Heaven knows, if I could run from it, I would, but I can’t. I’m stuck. I––”

I kick-started the engine. The Gambalunga puffed and snorted, like a dragon with a cold, before it caught fire. The throttle stuck some, but it just needed a little TLC, and some oil. That was like what being hit with revelation was like. You just needed to work out the kinks.

“Acceptance is the first step to awesomeness,” I said.

Was that what Ballard was so worried about? That I might not approve if he was Supernatural like me? As far as I was concerned, it was the best day of my life.

“I feel like I just got my best friend back,” I said. “If you like howling at the moon, and running around humping people’s legs, I don’t mind.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

Ballard unstuck the throttle, and I flicked it. It demanded to be taken out. Now. This very moment.

* * *

As we wheeled the bikes out, and started them––Ballard on his own that he had fixed––I could not help feeling like my dreams were an elaborate ruse I had rigged up to persecute me for some unknown reason. Ballard handed me a helmet and kicked his own ride into life. I could see Mistress Genevieve, if she knew what I had been up to, scolding me for my reckless behavior. (“Fraternizing with a vampire! Your parents would never have approved!”)

I wondered what she would think of a werewolf, when I slipped on my helmet, and then it was like the voices were all shut out. I followed behind Ballard on my Gambalunga; his motorcycle charged recklessly through the Trasteverean chambers, metallic black, to match his helmet. We were soon cruising through an open square. I noticed people stop and wave, and Ballard return the gesture. He motioned and I pulled alongside him. “Follow me!” he said.

We left through an opening with a lion over the archway and accelerated south, until we reached countryside, when Ballard really opened her up.

My Gambalunga had no difficulty keeping up with him through the twists and turns. We made a long circuit through the hills. My stuck throttle undone, I put the motorcycle through a quick series of paces. It answered every challenge.

While that was happening, I couldn’t help feeling like I had mastered, in a way, at least one aspect of my dreams; it was I who was chasing Ballard, this time, not the other way around. He came to my rescue, when it was dark and I was all alone, and there was no one else to help me. Here on this motorcycle, I was keeping up with him; two pack members, running for no other reason than to feel the wind on our backs, and the miles pass beneath our feet. I felt alive with the joy of it.

“You should come riding when we’re all together,” he said. We had stopped on the side of a hill.

In the distance, the campagna, as it was called, rolled out in fields of grass, and mounds of exposed rock. It had that sweet smell I attributed with cypress trees, which rose over the terrain, in interesting shapes.

If anything Ballard sounded like he was running to catch up, instead of running from his responsibilities. I got the sense that he was plagued by demons not unlike my own. That he had chosen to meet them. And that he had come here to show me more than just how excellently awesome my new motorcycle could be. Already I felt the shackles of having no ride fall to the wayside completely.

The campagna, which was simply the countryside surrounding Rome, was where the Gathering was going to be taking place––out there somewhere.

“Remember,” said Ballard, “when I took you to Via Appia Antica, and the burial grounds?

“There are catacombs littering the countryside––some so old that no one even knows they exist,” he said. “But we do. They’re being built, hidden away from prying eyes, with Magic.” He raised his eyebrows to me. We were clearly on my turf... but wherever these magic catacombs were being built, I certainly didn’t know––all I saw was wildlife.

He seemed depressed by that. “Oh well,” he said. “I thought for sure you’d be able to see them, or else feel them or, I don’t know, use your magic powers...”

“I’ve never crafted, Ballard. Sorry. Shouldn’t you try Lia? She sounds like the magic one...”

“I already did.”

“And?”

“We’ve all been invited. I’ll see them anyway,” he said.

“You mean you’re coming too? I thought it was just her.”

“Oh, she got a letter all right, but as a member of the Pack––or the Pride or whatever––I have certain inalienable rights. Among them, that I’m invited along with everybody else. At least, that’s what they said. I wasn’t invited. It’s going to be one big harmonious group freakfest. Witch, Immortal, and Shifter kind. Which reminds me.”

I didn’t like the bitterness in his voice.

“We’re having a get-together tomorrow night. It’s White Night. Everybody stays up late. La Notte Bianca,” he said in his flawless fluid tongue. “You can be my plus one.” He didn’t say anything more, and I followed behind him, on his way back to Rome, the temporary reprieve from loneliness punctuated by the thought that there was something troubling Ballard, to which I could provide no assistance. If he was busy with his own problems, how could he ever help me with mine?

* * *

When I got home, I got on the Internet. I had a lot of studying to do. But the only Wicca I could find was the stuff Becca and I had been so sure was hocus-pocus. Year and a day, and telltown marriages. They were mostly fraudulent covens, presided over by unscrupulous individuals. We were leaving the cross-quarter days, and entering Mabon, one of the Lesser Sabbats, the time of the Ingathering was upon us. You could tell by the moon. It was a Harvest Moon, and it fell, strangely enough, upon the time of the Gathering. I stayed up late into the night, researching Wiccan esbats––for any gathering that was not a Sabbat, was an esbat. They were mostly sexual in nature. At other times, they were used to train in Wicca. I remembered what Becca had told me about fight training. They were doing it in New England right this minute.

The moon stood like molten fire in the night sky, stained by the dark maria. My dreams that night were fitful and full of meaning. The Venice clock beat like the wheel of time, and metamorphosed into a beautiful red moon. I was speeding under it on my Gambalunga, with a pair of werewolves chasing after me.

It was only then that I realized I was not alone, that they were with me, not against me, and that we were chasing something together. When I went to flick the throttle, I felt my paws hit the ground; the countryside passed powerfully underfoot.

Chapter 6 – Munchies

Ballard came to pick me up the next night. Instead of revving his engine in the street, as I would have done, my landlady buzzed him up, and let him pass unscathed.

“How? What?” I was completely baffled by this.

He looked all metrosexual and hot for his age. His smile broadened in that irresistible Ballard way. “So what are we doing tonight, hotshot?” he said, stepping into my apartment and taking a look around. He was in a grey V-neck and matching jeans, still bronze from the Mediterranean summer.

“You tell me. For starters, how you got past my landlady?” I said. I motioned to the dingbat down the hallway. Ballard crossed his fingers like the two of them were simpatico, and got his wolf grin again.

Was that stubble on his chin? Clearly, he was over being all sullen guy.

I still had a little freshening up to do, I said, if we were going to be staying out all night. So he stood and waited, by the French doors, and when I came back out, he was holding on to the iron roses, an ornate candlestick that reminded me very much of Lennoxlove Lenoir––for so Dallace had told me that anyone with connections to the Paris Coven took on the surname of Lenoir. Except Dallace had called it a sirename.

I grabbed the candlestick from Ballard. I had been burning the iron roses throughout the night as I had done research into European wizards, witches and vampires, and what could have been responsible for these wars, as Dallace called them....

The room smelled of lavender. Ballard apologized profusely but I said it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter at all, it was nothing, absolutely nothing. “I’m ready to go,” I said.

“I thought first, we would grab a bite to eat,” he said, “and then we could talk, if that’s all right, if you’re still hungry.”

My room was filled with junk food wrappers. “I could use a decent meal,” I said.

“I have someplace to show you afterwards,” he said. “We’re both invited... this time.” My ears perked up. “You’ll see,” he said.

We went downstairs, past what’s-her-face, who wore a look of death upon her wizened old mug, and soon Ballard and I were both on our motorcycles, heading out to eat. I made a mental note to buy more jeans. I wore some now and a pair of boots.

* * *

The place we ate at was a trattoria, a small mom-and-pop outfit on the banks of the Tiber. It was a quaint picturesque picture-postcard hole in the wall. I had not had a real meal since Venice, and the food did not disappoint. It was served with a particular fondness for Ballard. I looked inside the restaurant from our table out on the walk, and saw the mom and pop responsible for the delicious food waving at both Ballard and I.

There seemed to be some kind of transcendent affection that went into the food itself. There was spaghetti alla carbonara, a fresh wheel of pecorino cheese, and a scrumptious salad made of fresh produce from the local market. For desert we had cheesecake.

I saw as twilight passed into deep, rich night, and the sparkling waters of the Tiber came alive with streetlights and the passing lamps of automobiles, and we talked, in our small alcove, amid the creeping ivy of il ristorante, and the potted plants that rose as summer faded and Fall began.

His words filled me with pictures of things, of wizards dueling, and witches confronting one another, vampires breaking their bonds and heading into the light, to be met by werewolves and other, fiercer things, that had no name. As we spoke, I had an image of things as they may have been long, long ago––too long ago––in a faraway Past, too deliberately shrouded in mnemnosy, the things we forget. The air a scintilla of scents of shared memories, and things gone by, Time meaningless, all the while Ballard chewed and chose his words with care and confidence, and I wanted to know more. More.

I was determined that whatever came, I was going to be ready for it. Everyone had given me pieces of things. It was time to put the whole jigsaw together. Didn’t he think?

“That’s what I’m excited about,” said Ballard. “When they came, with the letter, and whatnot, about a month ago, and a plan, and that it must be done, done, done, and here are some people who can help you... I mean, Gaven got Lia and the others and they had a Wolves’ Council, which is where we’re headed tonight... to a second one... I’m finally invited.” He ate while I chewed on more than my food. “The whole thing was a misunderstanding, just a total misunderstanding. Anyway, since I started changing.... The letter is for girls only. Sorry. Women.” He twirled his spaghetti, and thought some more.

His confidence was faltering with whatever was eating him up.

“Ballard... Slow down! You’re like a runaway Gambalunga,” I said. “Who’s they?”

“You know... the what-d’you-call-’ems––vampire emissaries... the Renoir...”

“Renoir was a painter,” I said.

“Oh sorry. The Lenoir.”

My fork clattered onto my plate. “They were here?” I said. “When?” I held on to every word, as Ballard explained how they had come, and that Rome was to re-enter what he called a Golden Era of prosperity––

“‘...Where werewolves and other shapeshifters could be welcomed back, into a community of like-minded blah blah blah...’ At least that’s how Lia put it. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of getting everything secondhand,” he said.

I listened as he railed against his sister (“She has it out for me. If she wasn’t going out with Gaven, she wouldn’t even be on the Wolves’ Council. It’s what we call a gathering of I Gatti,” he said, when he saw I wasn’t keeping up. “They don’t exactly trust these blood-gulping bozos. Who would? Apparently they’re all smiles. I can’t say that I blame her. I just want to know if there’s going to be a fight. I want in, that’s all.”)

Ballard explained to me about shape changing (“It’s like this tingling in your nether bits,” he said) and how it’s really painful. “It sounds like you’re doing it wrong,” I told him.

“That’s the thing. I have so much to learn. I want to learn,” he said. “I want to know. Finally I understand what it’s like being you!”

He laughed and finished his spaghetti. It was like watching the bloodied muzzle of a carnivore tear its way through a carcass.

A bunch more questions popped into my head, now that we were being honest with each other.

I reasoned that any knowledge was good knowledge, and that it would improve my magical education, would it not, knowing as much as I could about he and his family? I did not tell him that I had dreamed I was a wolf. There was no need to freak him out too badly.

I noticed that he had seemed to take on a bit of the werewolf in his everyday life. His table manners were not of the best.

“Even when I’m on two legs, I’m still a werewolf,” he said, “if you follow me?” He grinned. I could tell what he meant. It sounded like a license to kill.

“Don’t get carried away too much by it, Ballard,” I told him. He told me not to worry about it.

“What about when a werewolf bites someone, is that person placed under the Curse?” I asked him. I wanted to know if he was dangerous, and if I should worry about him.

“Curse?” That seemed to astonish him greatly. “No, no. It’s like we’re super powerful. You’re either born with the gift or you aren’t. There is no curse.”

“And the whole full moon thing?” I asked.

“I love the full moon,” he said.

“You know what I mean, Ballard.”

“I can only tell you this. We’re sitting under a full moon now. The remnants of last night’s full moon, and if I didn’t kill anybody then.... Werewolves get better with age, more powerful, and we also learn self-control. But this is more to do with controlling the gift, not wielding it.”

“Actually, you seem rather composed. If we’re going off stories, I mean.”

“The werewolf roaming the countryside myth? Hogwash,” said Ballard. “We’ve been used to explain away criminal behavior in human beings.”

I listened as Ballard explained about murderers and other sickos stalking the night.

“...Cannibals, mutilation, is he or isn’t he on a lunar cycle? It sickens me. But then I remember that is what we want them to think––people. That we don’t exist. That we are not real.... It’s like the best inheritance ever!”

I watched him dip his fork into the cheesecake, with the dripping wet red cherries, and took a bite of my own. We were in our own unusual world.

“I prefer the cave paintings,” he said. “At least there, man and animal were one.”

How many of them were there? And was that how long it had been going on? Had human beings been metamorphosing into animals since pre-history?

“It’s all there...” said Ballard. “At Lascaux, the pyramids––Pleistocene aurochs and cats, alligators and the like. And that’s another thing. I Gatti is comprised entirely of cyanthropes... Dogs... How we came to be called the Cats is beyond me...”

“You’re saying people transform into all of these things?” I said.

“No. I’m saying that I have a tail. It’s just hidden right now,” said Ballard. “The gene, or whatever it is, isn’t recessive at all. It’s dominant. Every member of I Gatti is affected. We all change.”

As I listened to him speak, I recalled that of the 8 Virtues which affected my kind––Insight, Discretion, Virtuosity, Severeness, Humor, Goodwill, and Grace––one of them was also Malleability, which was the ability to change in its purest form.

Had I just discovered my own Virtue? Were the dreams telling me that I was Malleable? That I was going to be a shape changer?

He talked about what he called the transmigration of the soul, next. “A wolf can be you or your double, the soul animal, a vehicle for the spirit. I don’t really understand it myself. Gaven keeps telling me about something called metempsychosis, it takes a while. Like he would know. Everything comes so easily for him. I’m running to keep up.”

I soon wanted to know what werewolves could do and what they couldn’t do.

“Do you believe in the sharing of your soul?” he asked me, in a tangential line of questioning that had me searching for its roots.

“I believe in soul mates,” I said, “that two people can be together forever...” I quickly steered us someplace else. “What you’re talking about sounds like something different.”

The smolder in Ballard’s eyes died somewhat. “Forgive me,” he said. “There’s a reason we like to howl at the moon.”

“What d’you mean?”

“This. All of it. Our behavior. Everything. It’s a hereditary condition. Invulnerability, speed, strength, falling from great heights is also not a problem. Of course, there is also aggressiveness,” said Ballard, “and we have certain urges... of the sexual variety.”

“Nether regions...” I said.

“It goes with the territory,” he said. “Sad but true.”

“So, is that a problem, with so many males and females, in the Pack?” I asked him, being somewhat facetious, but curious all the same.

“It explains one thing,” he said. “Why they all seem to pair up. But you know.”

“No. I don’t,” I said.

“How can somebody like us ever be with somebody who isn’t... like us?” he said. “They don’t understand. Take what’s-his-face, that vampire guy.”

“His name is Lennox, and I don’t want to talk about him,” I said. I glared at Ballard like a silver bullet.

“All right. Point taken. But I’m just saying. He didn’t seem to have anything in his life, until you came along. Where is he anyway?”

I started to tell Ballard about the Agonies––but something interesting happened. I wasn’t sure Lennox would want me speaking to a werewolf about something so private that concerned vampires, even if that werewolf happened to be my best friend. It was the first time I had ever been faced with choosing sides, and I didn’t like the feeling.

“He’s hunting Marek,” I said.

“The other bloodsucker, you mean?”

“Ballard...” It was important I change the subject. Even though Lennox and Ballard had fought this summer side by side, Marek’s betrayal had put Ballard off them permanently, including the rest of the Immortals. “I wanted to talk to you about... something. These dreams I’ve been having,” I said.

He leaned forward.

“But first, will you wipe your face? You have spaghetti sauce all over your mouth.”

“Oh right.” He wiped his face with a paper napkin. “What’s up?” he said.

I had to proceed with caution.

“I think I’ve been having dreams about you,” I said. He beamed.

“It’s been really weird actually.”

“But you have been dreaming about me?” he said.

I blew the strand of hair out of my face. He quietened down.

“I’ve been getting them since I left Rome, last month. At first they were just impressions, they didn’t make much sense. But now the dreams are starting to,” I said.

“You mean you get them every night?” He thought about this.

“Something’s after me, Ballard. And I think, whatever it is, is a shapeshifter...” I said.

“You mean like me?”

I nodded.

“But that’s impossible. I know I Gatti. They wouldn’t do that,” he said.

“Of course not. But you said yourself. There are other shape changers in the world besides I Gatti.”

I didn’t tell him, but I had just figured something out. The creature that had smashed through the stained-glass window and defended me from Marek wasn’t a werewolf. It was something else. If I had to guess, a cat. It had black fur, and yellow eyes. But who was it, and why had it tried to save me?

“I haven’t told you the worst part,” I said.

“What?”

“In my dreams, there is this huge clearing, and we are heading toward it––you, me, and someone else.”

“There aren’t very many clearings like that in Rome,” he said.

“The trees are different. They’re not cypresses,” I told him.

“Then where are we?”

“I don’t know. That’s the whole point, Ballard.” I couldn’t keep the stridency out of my voice. “But there’s more. We’re in wolf form.”

“You mean you are?”

Ballard rocked back on his seat. We sat like that for some time, just staring at each other. Nobody spoke.

Finally, Ballard broke the silence. “Have you had these kinds of dreams before?” he said. “It almost sounds like you expect them to happen. To take place. Wait, you can’t, like, see the future, can you?”

“I’ve had other dreams that I expected to come true,” I told him. “Not that they ever have.”

“Whoa,” he said.

I nodded. “It was like I was really fast,” I said, recalling the dream. “We were flying through the trees. We came out and we started howling. I mean, woofing.”

“We need to talk to Gaven about this,” he said. “If you’re having the Calling....”

I looked at him inquiringly.

“It’s what happens to werewolves before their first transformation,” he said, correctly interpreting my look. “Good thing the Council meeting is tonight. Gaven can catch you up on the Family origins. Hey, what if we’re related? Maybe that’s why Risky had me find you. I don’t know. I don’t know,” he said.

I didn’t tell him the bad part. That whatever was chasing me was faster. That Ballard was meant to protect me... And that he kept throwing himself into dangerous situations, in my dreams, in order to protect me....

* * *

We paid up, and left the small café. and got on our motorcycles. And we just cruised through the city for a few hours. We couldn’t go to wherever we were going until everyone got partied out, and went home. Ballard wasn’t joking. It was like Vampire Night for mortals. Everywhere people were going to dinner and the theater, and just strolling around, regardless of the fact that it was way past their bedtimes. They would be making it up at tomorrow’s siesta, no doubt, having stayed up all night.

Finally, the moon was breaking through the clouds, and we were well past Midnight, and the sounds, though fewer, were more raucous––teenagers on their last dregs, whispering excited words to each other, as they lived lifetimes between hours. I among them. It had been a night for revelations.

I realized it wasn’t over. That, in a way, it would never be over. That this night would be mine, and it would be going on for as long as forever, for as long as I still burned for some inward heavenly thing: secrets, and truths, and dreams.

The onset of the Agonies was not unlike this ‘Calling’ Ballard had expressed to me; maybe I was being called. To what I did not know. It didn’t seem important to me just then. The inexpressible pursuit had ended for now. I was with Ballard and we were young and free, and whatever problems we had were in the past.

I decelerated and said, “You can’t be serious.”

The place we had arrived at was the most famous place in Rome. The light turned green and we accelerated through the empty night street to a mammoth colosseum––It was the Colosseum, and it was where the meeting was going to be taking place, the Wolves’ Council I wasn’t entirely sure I was invited to.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Ballard. “They’re expecting you, aren’t they? You’re invited, remember?”

I couldn’t think why. It was a huge lighted edifice I had seen a thousand times before, but never in person. It looked like a giant war god had struck the side of the Colosseum with his cudgel and caused half the oval-shaped exterior to crumble in. A million lights lit up the outer walls, the archways golden-hued, staring out at us like eyeballs. Very watchful and alert eyeballs.

Spiked gates blocked off the entryways the length of the perimeter, preventing would-be visitors entering the Colosseum. It was definitely closed to the public. There was no way we were getting inside, were we?

Chapter 7 – Wolf Tales

I whistled. The gates were high up. I couldn’t see a way in. The Colosseum was like an impenetrable fortress. Ballard put his hands on the smooth stone surface of the Colosseum archway blocking our way inside. “These are Doric,” he said, unnecessarily, indicating the columns.

The façade was made of travertine, which I already knew. It was hard not to imagine Lennox and I having been inside already. I couldn’t understand how werewolves, even a whole pack of them, could contend with a single vampire.

Ballard told me to wait a second. I watched in amazement as he threw himself bodily into the air. He was over the fence in seconds. It happened so fast I couldn’t believe it. One second he was standing there, the next he had vaulted himself over a dozen feet above me.

He landed effortlessly on his feet, avoiding the spikes. “Okay that was amazing,” I said, my mouth hanging open.

He smiled, and began looking for a way inside. I followed along as we circled the length of the building. I saw other motorcycles lined up. I Gatti was definitely here all right. “So how long have you known, Ballard, that you were a w-werewolf?” I said.

He let out a derisive snort. “Lia. She didn’t even tell me,” he said.

“You mean you had to find out on your own?” I wanted to understand.

“It’s complicated,” he said. He found an opening between a gate that had been locked off with a steel chain. “If I...”

Ballard’s muscles tensed. I watched as he pried the gate open slowly. The links in the chain began to stretch slightly. It was just enough for me to squeeze through.

Ballard could bend steel.

The exertion had cost him slightly. I could see beads of sweat standing out on his forehead, as I made my way through. He brushed them away and wiped his hands on his pants. “Shall we?” he said. I followed after him.

The Colosseum was an intricate structure of internal corridors and tunnels that led to the actual pit where gladiators had fought. We were on the ground floor. Below the structure was a hidden clockwork of chambers the Romans had used to stage contests. Ballard and I walked into the heart of the Colosseum, and it opened before us.

It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Ringed around us were multiple levels where spectators had watched everything: from fights to the death, to sea battles, and even lions and tigers Roman huntsmen had imported from faraway lands.

If it could awe, it was staged.

Two thousand years had weathered it until the stones themselves were rounded and a thick layer of moss clung to everything. The starlight overhead shone into the Colosseum, and I heard voices, in the darkness of the pit below.

Ballard’s family was gathered there, waiting for us. I saw faces that swam out of the dark. Young men and women all in their early to late twenties. I longed to see a transformation. Ballard, as a sixteen-year-old, was quite exceptional.

So far as I knew, no one over thirty was a part of the street gang known as I Gatti. There had to be a reason, didn’t there?

All told, some thirty shapeshifters were present, still in their human forms.

I trailed after Ballard as he hopped gracefully to the floor below. We had to walk across the grassy and wet stone turf, after he helped me down, through a forest of Stonehenge-like structures, all missing their tops. Dripping moss clung to them.

There were chambers that dead-ended, and rounded, curved stone walls. High above was the seating area. The bodies of the werewolves swam into focus in the semidarkness below. Lia was among them.

I could tell her by her long, dark hair, and shining eyes. There seemed to be an unanswered question in them every time we met.

I recognized Paolo and some of the others, most of whom I knew only by sight, never having been properly introduced.

These were the werewolves! The weredogs of Rome! Ballard raised his arms, in greeting, and we were quickly being passed through murmuring, dark bodies, all saying their hellos––the late hour would turn to leaden sky before the night was through.

Torchlight was kindled in a makeshift pit, and we circled around a bowl of it. I tried to feel a kinship to the werewolves––to walk in their skin––but mostly I was in awe. They could be a formidable army, if they chose to be.

Something similar was on Gaven’s mind.

He strode into the fire circle, a tall, imposing figure, and his shadow was thrown a hundred times as large upon the Colosseum itself. Everyone shut up. The murmuring went out like a candle flame. He acknowledged those present and they nodded back. I didn’t know what to do.

“We have a new member tonight,” he said. “His name is Ballard.”

“Welcome Ballard,” said the group, in low, mournful tones.

Ballard didn’t know what to do, either

“And a guest,” said Gaven. “Halsey Rookmaaker.”

Gaven dipped his head to mine, and I returned the gesture. The faces in the gathering briefly turned to me. I caught sight of Lia. She was smiling at me. Gaven went on.

“We have come here tonight to speak about troubling things. A celebration is gathering the likes of which we have never seen before. As you may or may not know––” again he inclined his head to me “––Rome is the seat of werewolf-kind, and has been so for a very long time. Now we are under attack by an enemy we no longer by rights can pursue openly. I am speaking of course of vampires. Members of a society so secret that their true dimensions are unknown to even the wisest of us––werewolves who have spent their entire lives protecting the city, and routing out these blood drinkers...”

There was some angry murmuring around the group.

“To speak nothing of the witches and wizards who are even now flocking in from all four corners of Europe. Their craft-magic is kept secret from us. Our own Lia, and Halsey herself, have been invited to attend, and study with them––if they will. I want to stress to each of you: caution,” said Gaven. “Vampires have their bloodstock––human beings who have been selected for termination. Which is why we have been purging this city, yet back they come again.”

“Parasites,” said a member of I Gatti, a male I didn’t know. There was some arguing back and forth: some seemed to think that we should give them a chance, others that the vampires could not be trusted. Gaven circled the firepit, his shadow doing interesting things, as the flames flickered, and I listened to what they were really on about.

“I know four vampires,” I said. They turned to look at me. “Three of them I would trust absolutely.”

“And the fourth?”

Involuntarily, I felt to my breast; I could feel the outline, there, where Marek’s vampire embrace had caused a light scarring. Two permanent reminders of what happened when I let one get too close.

A faint crescent outline was at my throat, the shape of one of the Three Protectors, if I was to believe what Infester had told me, and that Marek was one of the chosen three, destined to watch my back. But that would have to make me Her, this Super Bitch, as I had heard her referred to in the past, this nebulous female warrior with some kind of destiny, whatever that might be.

Gaven was waiting for a response. I saw him, a proud male warrior, standing there with only good intentions––but he didn’t know... He didn’t know how sweet vampires could be; and how they looked after me, with their heart and soul.

Somewhere Lennox was undergoing a life-altering experience, and I couldn’t see him, I couldn’t see him at all. I didn’t even know if he would be the same Lennox if I ever saw him again. He couldn’t be, could he?

That was the definition of a life-altering experience. Change. These werewolves certainly had changed.

Again, I was confronted with the fact that I would have to choose, somewhere in the future, really between two worlds. Lennox’s––which only he and I could share (. . .and perhaps Dallace and Camille; I wondered if they were okay), and everybody else’s.

It was like they really were mutually exclusive, and I could only choose one. I would have chosen both, but that didn’t seem to be an option. Whatever Gaven said to the contrary, I could tell he disliked them. Even Ballard felt that way. But he was just being stubborn. Before I had been bitten, working side by side with a vampire had not phased Ballard.

I sighed. “He bit me,” I said, “but it wasn’t as bad as it sounds.” They gasped when I said that. “He didn’t know what he was doing. Please,” I said.

This wasn’t entirely true––Marek had wanted me.

I, however, was not prepared to end relationships between Supernaturals, particularly since they were already so strained, and there seemed to be an opportunity to repair old hostilities, as Dallace had called them. Maybe this was what he meant by that, when he told me not to worry about the Lenoir killing me.

Somehow he knew the werewolves would not approve, and that would be enough, somehow, to prevent an entire coven of vampires––I gulped––from coming after me.

I realized that in that conflict, I would stand with the wolves. Did that make me one of them? I had already been having the dreams.

While I was thinking about that, Gaven conceded the floor––or firepit, more exactly––to Lia, who had something to say.

“You all know me, and that family comes first,” she said, tossing her hair. She was holding the letter from the Lenoir in her hand. “I have heard it said that the best policy is to get to know your enemies. This Gathering gives us the opportunity to do just THAT.” She dipped the letter into the fire, and it started to burn. The others whooped. I watched as the wax seal lost its shape and dripped like running blood. She held it in her long fingers, her crimson nails the color of her racing bike. “They’re supposed to come send a Finding-feeling, a touchy-feely, anyway something equally grabby-sounding––some Party––to come test Halls and me,” she said. In the firelight her smile was pure wicked incarnate. “And I say amen to that.”

The rebel werewolves threw their heads back and howled like a pack of animals; it made me laugh.

Lia was serious, but we had a moment, there in the fire. She and I were family, members of a pack, and I knew we had each other’s backs. It was all she had to say. She winked at me and relinquished the floor.

Gaven was back looking at all of them. “So,” he said. You didn’t attack this and make it out alive. That was the gist. They all nodded at each other.

Gaven was concerned about one thing:

What the Lenoir’s reaction would be when they learned of Rome’s policy. That werewolves had hunted and killed vampires before––and would continue to do so, once this little get-together was over with.

“These are our killing fields,” he said. “We will not yield a single inch to these madames et monsieurs. They have their city.” The others whooped and yelled. It was like a battle cry.

“I was hoping you would speak to this,” he said, pointing to me, and relinquishing the firelight.

I stepped forward into the pit––a gladiator in my own right. Their eyes danced like wild things.

“It’s true. The vampires are coming,” I said. “And I would certainly be intimidated by you, if I were all of them. However, this is a civil gathering. At least that’s what they say. So let us use the caution Gaven spoke of.”

They nodded, listening.

“I can tell you one thing. These vampires have their own mysterious rules. I don’t pretend to know them. They consider themselves the only vampires. In that respect, there has only ever been one true vampire in Rome. Lennoxlove Lenoir.”

They all giggled.

Behold my icy stare.

“Right now this city is as empty of Immortals as you have made it,” I said. “The Lenoir will not fault you for that. In fact, you will have their appreciation. They consider themselves of superior blood type, you see. Just don’t kill one of them.”

I did not tell them about the Agonies––that the vampires purged their numbers.

“Thank you,” said Gaven.

“As for Magic, Lia and I will have to find out,” I said. I joined the other bodies.

Gaven stepped into the firepit and it was like he transformed. Everything about him changed. From his tall and muscular form, to the way he held himself, and even his eyes; his hands were like claws, as he strode in front of the firing flames. Even his shadow took on something of the wolf. The fire flickered, and I could see his eyes, like two shards of onyx. Something had possession of him.

“Let me tell you Alec’s story,” he said. “He was the first Werewolf. His name means Protector of Men. He was born in Greece. No history records his deeds.”

Gaven threw his head back. The night itself stooped to listen.

“Moonlight healed him. He could run for days. The gods themselves attended upon his birth. So the wise women said. They spoke of him as they did their herbs: useful and trusty things, they could bend to their wills.

“Alec was given a choice. To live forever. Or do great things. He chose the latter.

“A lifetime unbounded by death? Who wouldn’t choose that?

“No; Alec would win renown for himself, and thereby be immortal. But first, he had to pass three tests.

“A terrible beast was rampaging through the countryside. ‘Kill it, Alec,’ they said to him.

“He nodded. ‘I will,’ he said. Alec had gifts. A strong body, and a well-tempered mind, but he was no wolf. He was just a man, and the nameless thing which hunted could kill and eat men. No one was safe. No one could stop it.

“It terrorized small coastal villages. Then would disappear. The townsfolk soon realized it must take up somewhere, either in a forest or a cave. It was to this place Alec would go, and kill it where it slept.

“‘Take an army, Alec. Let us dress you in the finest armor.’

“‘Nay. I go alone, with only those things Nature and the gods themselves endow me with.’ He proceeded to bend a scrap of iron with his bare hands. ‘I am strong enough.’

“They all agreed that he was a most impressive young hothead.

“‘But he will come to no good,’ said one older crone. She heard things. The locals said she had The Ear.

“Alec mocked her and he did his Dance of Mockery. The others took it up, and so chased the old woman from the village. All thought it was a good riddance: the old crone gone and Alec off to fight the beast.

“Alec bid them farewell and undertook the destruction of the beast. There was no one whose paws it could not sully. Alec would remove the threat, and stop the gruesome murdering of the villagers.

“On the first day, he called down a crow. ‘Show me the way, crow.’

“‘No,’ cawed the Crow.

“‘You see everything, crow. Surely you have seen this thing hunting at night. It cannot hide from you.’

“The crow cawed. ‘What’s in it for me?’ he crowed.

“‘You get to live.’ Alec grabbed the crow with incredible reflexes.

“‘He went thataway,’ cawed the Crow, before he flew off.

“‘I will shoot you from the air, if you’re lying to me,’ said Alec. He ran over the countryside. For days and days he ran. And the crow flew with him. Finally he stopped.

“ He waived the crow down. ‘Crow, I have run for days and days. You said thataway, and thataway I have come. There is no beast.’

“‘True, true,’ cawed the Crow.

“‘You tricked me, Crow. If I should meet the strange nightmare hunting my people, I shall be too tired to fight it. I need energy. To eat you.’ He grabbed the crow with his amazing reflexes. ‘Energy you can give me, after you tell me where I am, and how far it is to this evil thing’s lair.’

“The crow said, ‘I already have told you. Don’t betray our covenant simply because you have no faith.’ He cawed.

“Alec broke the bird’s neck. That night he ate crow. And that is where that expression comes from,” said Gaven.

“The crow’s feathers were left to the Wind to take up; it did, and they fluttered away. As evening passed into morning, Alec decided to continue his journey. He had come to the evil thing’s lair. The crow had led him straight.

“He thanked it now, and journeyed into the dark cave.

“‘I am Alec. I have come to kill you,’ he said to the monster that was waiting for him there.

“The shapeless thing opened its maw. ‘I eat men. I will eat you too,’ it said.

“Alec didn’t think so.

“He had thought long and hard about his immortality. If it was to be the kind that lasted, no first challenger could stop him. Alec would kill the beast, and so gain his fame.

“‘I have three tests, and you are merely the first,’ he said. ‘They are guaranteed me.’

“‘Yes, they are,’ said the beast, acknowledging Alec’s logic.

“‘Therefore, it has already been decided that I shall kill you. Otherwise, how would I ever get to the other two tests?’

“‘If that is so,’ said the beast, ‘I should be able to kill you. For, if you are immortal, and have other places to be, I can do anything I want to you, even kill you, and you will not die. For you are Alec. Immortal.’

“Alec thought about this. It was a way of cheating death, of cheating the gods, who said he could be one or the other––either immortal or renowned––but not both.

“‘How do we do this?’ he said, with his eyes on achieving the unprecedented.

“‘You jump into my mouth.’

“‘Then?’

“‘I eat you. Just have faith,’ said the beast. It was almost exactly the same thing the crow had said.

“Alec was in a hurry to disprove the crow’s slight, to prove that he could have faith, and be famous, and be immortal. All three. He ran and leapt into the giant mouth of the beast, whose jaw snapped shut, and Alec was met by the crow.

“‘You killed me,’ said the Crow. ‘I was your friend and you took my life.’

“‘Silence, Crow.’ Alec waited for whatever was going to happen to him. Any second now.

“‘I see you have learned faith,’ said the Crow. ‘You really believe what that animal said will happen. That you will somehow come back?’

“Alec smiled. It would just be a second. He imagined what he would do, when he got back, when the villagers all met him, and he told them the good news, that he had defeated the beast––he would take its pelt back to them, to show them.

“The crow cawed; it sounded an awful lot as though Crow were laughing at Alec.

“Alec became impatient. ‘Why isn’t it happening?’ he said.

“‘Because you are dead. And there is no coming back from death.’

“‘No fair,’ Alec said. ‘That beast tricked me.’

“Crow cawed.

“‘I want another turn.’

“‘I do know someone who can help you. She was eaten by the beast, too. I think you know her,’ said the Crow.

“Alec looked and the old crone whom he had chased out of the village with his Dance of Mockery had appeared.

“‘Crone, my life was taken from me. Give me it back.’

“‘Very well,’ said the old crone. ‘But I will teach you a lesson. Your name means Protector of Men,’ she said, ‘but all you ever did was glorify yourself. I will send you back as the werewolf itself. Maybe then it will stop killing people.’

“But Alec said, ‘I can’t be a beast. I’m a man. If I go back to the village, they will kill me.’

“Old crone laughed. ‘You will be shunned as I was shunned, when you did your Dance of Mockery. Therefore, you will wander far and wide. A vagrant. And if any man meets you, he will try and kill you as you did Old Crow.’

“‘Caw!’ said the Crow.

“Alec said, ‘My three tests...’

“‘You already had them,’ said Crone. ‘A legacy of cruelty to me, of faithlessness to old Crow, and stupidity, walking into that beast’s mouth. But I will give you another shot, this time at redemption. If you perchance can find a home and do good, I will allow you to transform back into a man. But you will always have the other half. Maybe you can earn your name.

“‘However, you must never again kill the beast of the field. For you and it are family, you see, and as you come back, so will it.’”

Gaven stopped speaking, but the others thought about that.

“But what happened to Alec? Are you saying he was turned by witchcraft?”

Gaven looked for who had spoken; a young warrior not much older than we were.

“Alec left his gift to us,” he said. “We choose what we make of it. Protect Rome. Protect Lia and Halsey, and yourselves. But above all, keep the faith. It’s almost morning. Tomorrow we meet the Beast.”

Chapter 8 – Nightmares

That night I had a terrible dream. The beast was after me again. It’s mouth gleamed with razor-sharp teeth. I turned to face it. But instead of trying to eat me, it spoke.

“You belong with us,” it said.

I felt them––like there was more than one, and I was to join their rank. A hand reached out to me.

I twisted out of it, and fell onto the floor.

My eyes popped open. Suddenly, it all came flooding back; that I was still myself, and they couldn’t get to me, at least not yet, anyway. I longed for Lennox’s return.

I needed the calming serenity of his strong voice. What had Infester said? That we had a Power... a Power of Sight? I wondered what he meant by that. Maybe I could see Lennox? Maybe we could communicate with each other?

How?

I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to speak to someone about Magic, but as my eyes adjusted to the light filtering into my bedroom, I realized that that was not possible, that I was all alone, that there was no one else I could confide in, there was no one who could guide me, or help me out. I had never missed my parents more than in this moment.

Lia.

She had received a letter as well. I couldn’t bother her with this; she had her own problems. Tomorrow was the Gathering....

I ran a warm bath, and while that was happening, sent off a quick email to Ballard.

(“Can you come see me tonight?” I asked. “I need to know what we’re doing for tomorrow, and there’s some stuff I want to speak to you about,” I wrote.)

Ballard was probably still asleep. As I listened to the sounds outside, everything seemed more subdued. Tourist season was over. It was a mild seventy-two degrees, and we were headed into a peaceful winter, I hoped. Rome slept.

I finished bathing and got out of my clawfooted tub and tracked footprints throughout the house; they fascinated me as I put on my clothing.

I had attended my first Wolves’ Council. Me.

How many people knew about them? Did the people who ran the restaurant who were so friendly to Ballard and I? Did the people I saw wave to him as we drove our motorcycles through Trastevere? They would wave out of windows while they did their laundry.

Ballard seemed to take it for granted. He was, after all, friendly in the extreme and fun to be with. Maybe everyone loved Ballard. That made perfect sense.

Then again...

Maybe they knew what he was, what he was turning in to. Maybe it was, like, this massive conspiracy, and I thought, Had they been members of I Gatti?

True, they were, like, a hundred years old, a lot of them, but maybe they had heard quote-unquote ‘The Calling’, back in the day. It made a lot of sense, Rome being handed down, generation to generation. Protectors...

I browsed through a slew of websites, but whatever was out there couldn’t be culled from the Interwebs. Instead, I abandoned my search for witchcraft and werewolves, and went out, to get a drink from the vending machine.

I bumped into What’s-Her-Face. She ripped the tab off her soda.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” I said. “Andando. I won’t be back for a while. I don’t know for how long. If you hear strange noises coming from my room, run, it’s most likely an intruder. Nice talking to you.”

I was just about to shut my door, when she spoke. “This city is full of strange things,” she said, her voice rising in that weird way she had, drawing me back. “Something to consider when you take off.”

“What do you know about it?” I said. I was so unnerved by her statement, it was a second before I realized she had spoken to me like a real person––and in English.

“They’re here. Can’t you feel them?” she said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

Her eyes got big, and spooky. “We’re not alone. Take care, Halsey Rookmaaker.”

I slammed the door; my breathing picked up, and I felt the chills run down my spine. Ballard knocked on the door five seconds later. I opened it, not knowing what to expect, and he walked in with a strange look on his face.

“I know what you mean,” he said. “That chick is weird.”

“You felt it too?” I said. “She gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Maybe you should move. I don’t even know how you afford a place like this.”

I explained to him that I had some money. A small sum of money bequeathed to me by my mom and dad. I actually had lots.

“Still, this place must cost a fortune,” he said. “You’re right in the thick of it.”

Truer words were never spoken. But when I thought about it, Ballard was right. My room was modestly proportioned, but it was right over one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in the world. It would be like living on Fifth Avenue or Rodeo Drive.

Surely the small sum of money I dished out each month wasn’t enough for such accommodations. I shook it off. Ballard had brought breakfast. He went out to the balcony, to take a look around, and unwrapped a sausage-and-egg McMuffin, which he ate with relish, there on the balcony, before offering me one, and coming inside.

He smiled at me as we ate our meal. “That was some get-together last night,” I said.

“Tell me about it. Who knew Gaven was such a mystic?” he said.

“So he’s never spoken to you about where you guys come from?” I asked.

Ballard made a noncommittal sound. “Not really,” he said. “It’s all need-to-know. I guess I don’t yet.”

“It sounds like he’s really busy, though, getting this place together, wherever it is that we’re going to meet; and you just started changing... Maybe there’s, like, an initiation or something, for all new werewolves...”

“I don’t know,” said Ballard, “we’ll see.”

“So what’s the deal anyway? Are you, like, marked for life, or something? I haven’t really seen any other people older than thirty, in I Gatti. What happens to werewolves when they get too old?”

“I’ve thought about it,” said Ballard. “I think you kind of grow out of it, whatever that means. Like I said, there’s a bunch more to find out. Remember that bike race we had, where I crashed, and almost got killed?”

How could I forget? Ballard had slammed into a wall head first going who knows how fast.

“I didn’t know it at the time, but it’s a race for who gets to be the Head of the Pack,” he said.

“Isn’t that Gaven’s job?” I asked.

“So long as he keeps winning,” said Ballard, “but he’s getting older. He and Lia keep talking about settling down––so I guess that means he can’t be a werewolf forever.”

“How old’s Lia, anyway?” I asked.

“She’s twenty-four.”

“So she can’t keep doing this much longer, either.” I said.

“Apparently not. When I ask her about mom and dad––they’re living in Greece you know––she tells me to keep my mouth shut. One of the reasons she didn’t tell me what I Gatti was up to until I started showing. She doesn’t want me blabbing to them about it. It’s like some big secret.”

“What about your two older brothers? What are their names again?”

“One is called Sándor, and the other is Septimus,” said Ballard. “They’re really weird. So far as I know, they haven’t shown. They’re not werewolves.”

“Oh,” I said.

He pointed to the laptop. “So what have you been finding out? Anything special? What’s going on?”

This was what I missed, the two of us together, sleuthing. I typed an address into the URL. “Check this out,” I said. A website popped up.

Roman numerals flashed across the screen as the web page loaded: I... II... III... all the way up to the number nine.

Ballard said, “Will you look at that?”

“I thought you would appreciate it,” I said.

Symbols fell like snowflakes. There were full moons and crescents, and also strange runic-shaped ones we had never seen before; not to mention the Wiccan iconography Ballard and I were proficient in having interpreted it over the summer.

They fluttered around a large symbol I had seen before. A giant circle with slash marks through it.

I drew it on a piece of paper, and filled it in by hand.

All 8 of the Wiccan Virtues. “It was said that every magical person possessed one. Their birthright,” I said. “Like a star sign, almost. It defined who you were to become.”

“Which one are you?” he asked.

“You remember when I said I didn’t know anything? I literally do not,” I said. “But I have reason to suspect I might be this one here––” I tapped the wedge. “Malleability,” I said. “I think it means I have transformative properties. Or something. I’m not sure.”

“Like that dream you had, where you thought you might be one of us, a werewolf?”

I nodded. “That’s right, Ballard.”

“What’s Lia? Is she Discretion? I bet she’s Discretion,” said Ballard. “Real party pooper.”

“Whatever she is, I don’t think she will know until she crafts,” I said.

“I get it. It’s like one of those things you have to figure out for yourself,” said Ballard. “Hey, click on it! Go on! Check it out!”

I moused over the eight-sided wheel. Roman numerals appeared again. Ballard and I waited, but the screen refused to change. Nothing happened, even when I clicked on it.

“What does it mean, anyway?” he asked. “What’s the website trying to tell you?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but do you remember the Wiccan symbols last summer? They were in a specific order.”

I quickly drew them out.

Ballard had not had the benefit of Infester’s guidance. No one knew the story of the Wiccan witch, except for me.

I didn’t see any reason not to include him. After all, if the story was true––if the symbols did, in fact, predict the future, and the coming of this witch––then Ballard was as much a part of the story as me. He was caught up in it, too! I drew them out.

“Vampire,” I said.

“The Three Protectors.”

“A fourth one. He has no name.”

“A coven of vampires. Four.”

“And that one?” said Ballard.

“It’s the symbol for war,” I said. “All told they tell the story of a Wiccan deity, with unspecified powers.”

Could that be true? As I said it, I knew that it was.

“These are just the broad strokes,” I said, “it’s a little more...”

“Oh,” said Ballard.

It happened. One second, I was in my room on Via dei Condotti, the next, it was like I was being transported someplace else. I could hear voices speaking, see strange shapes––but they were all obscured; they could not see me. Fog swirled like a vortex around us. “She will not undergo the trials. I will not let her be fledged.”

“And the other one?”

“Guided by passions. It is too soon to tell.”

“Let neither of them survive. Use THEM if you have to!”

The fog began to swirl. I felt myself falling from a great height. The next second, I was opening my eyes, and Ballard was standing over me.

* * *

Ballard and I spent the day together. I didn’t know how much time we could expect to see one another, with tomorrow happening, and all of that. He got this really weird vibe, like it had been coming on all day, whatever was bothering him––jumping at strange noises and all that. I had never seen him so spooked. When I asked him what was wrong, all he said was, “It’s Gaven’s orders.”

I told him about my lapse-journey-thing and not to worry about it, that I could take care of myself. He didn’t believe me.

“What if something attacked you?” he said.

“Nothing’s going to attack me, Ballard. And if it did, so what? I don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s going to be a bunch of magical people there––not to mention werewolves, and I’m sure not all the vampires are evil bloodsuckers of the night. They’re getting together for a purpose, whatever that is.”

“I still don’t feel safe leaving you alone tonight,” he said. It was super sweet. “Maybe I could, I don’t know, curl down at your feet or something.”

The werewolf puns were going to be an ongoing treat with us, I could tell.

He looked out the windows, like something was going to attack us, and then stood out on the balcony––and he would do that, like, every five minutes.

“Will you sit down,” I said.

He obeyed me like a good boy.

“So, what else did you learn? Did you and Gaven get a chance to talk last night?” I asked Ballard.

“I did learn one thing. You remember that seven-sided star that was engraved over the entrance to La Luna Blu?”

La Luna Blu was this bar they all hung out at. It was in Trastevere.

“Well, supposedly, it’s etched over the doorways of every werewolf-friendly tavern in town. Can you believe it? I was, like, the last to know.”

Ballard was starting to interject everything he said with like, like me.

“Did that restaurant you took me to?” I asked.

“It had it,” he said.

So that at least explained one thing. Their secret went beyond the bounds of I Gatti itself; I found this troubling on a couple of levels, and I also remembered the Vampire Killers, the Hunters in Prague who made it their business to eliminate Immortals. In a way, it was like there were three levels, just as there were three levels to Magical apotheosis.

There were those who were. I.e., the Supernaturals.

There were those who knew. These hunters, and certain tavern keepers, it sounded like.

And there were those who had no idea what was happening, and that there was an entire netherworld, they had never heard about before.

I had to add a new group of individuals to the second level––the ones who knew, but who were not magical whatsoever. Because there had to be people who were trained in magic but didn’t Graduate? Was that the right word?

I realized that that was me.

I had been trained in Wicca. St. Martley’s had trained me. But I had never crafted. I had never graduated, either.

They had taught me abstinence, to be patient. Why? What was it about witchcraft and wizardry that was not for the underage sorceress and sorcerer?

Some secret I had no idea about. That was the only thing I could think. It was the only thing that made sense. Of course, not even being a Neophyte, I had no idea.

Tomorrow... It would all come out tomorrow...

Ballard was making another round, checking outside my windows. What did he think, somebody was going to fly up here and kill me? They were all so afraid of the Lenoir. But vampires needed an invite, didn’t they? Otherwise they couldn’t come in here to get me. As if they would even want to. Lennox was a million miles away. Who knew where Marek was now?

Something bothered me. The place we were going to (and Ballard wouldn’t even say; “I am as curious about it as you are,” he said) sounded like a piazza buried deep underground. The città salotto, as in Venice; the city as a gathering place, open, inviting.

Something about this openness, made me believe the vampires wouldn’t have a problem sneaking into my bedroom, if I even had one.

Maybe that was what this gathering was all about. Being open.

From what I had heard, about the wars and everything, vampires did not like Wicca, did not like werewolves, and vice-versa, ad infinitum, and so on, and so forth.

That was all well and good, but what happened if you put us all together?

“I can answer that,” said Ballard. “What happened when you and what’s-his-face and I and everyone else all got together?”

“We averted the Apocalypse,” I said.

“So we’ll do something similar,” he said. “Perhaps develop some new unity. I don’t know. That’s all Lia’s business. She’s always walking around, making speeches. Like she’s some kind of politician or something. All I know is, I got something for them, if they step out of line.”

He made a fist and punched his hand with it.

“Ballard, just how strong are you anyway?” I said.

He shrugged. “That’s the purpose of these tests, isn’t it?” he said. “To find out.”

I gulped. I had forgotten about that. The Wiccans were going to be testing Lia and I, and Ballard, it sounded like, was going to be undergoing his own trials and tribulations, not to mention Lennox was out there––

If I could hear the whisperings of others, whoever they were, was it not so impossible to think I might somehow overhear Lennox himself?

Where was he, and what was he doing? Ballard stood all nonchalant at the balcony, a soft breeze playing with his hair. He looked like a younger version of Gaven himself. Incidentally, one of the most gorgeous men I had ever laid eyes upon. I had trouble breathing around Gaven. I didn’t know how Lia managed it. But maybe that was the whole point.

When I lit the iron roses, it was like staring into the flickering madness of Lennoxlove Lenoir’s lavender lovely light-filled eyes.

I had to stop doing this. I had to stop punishing myself. Wherever he was, he was going to be okay. He had to be. Otherwise, I didn’t know what I would do. Kill myself, probably. I just wished this could be over with already. I was tired of waiting and having to do all these things. I wanted a resolution. A sunset to all my problems. But they just kept stacking up.

Now Ballard was in on it––a Supernatural––and I would have to worry about him, too. But he had just the opposite in mind.

“I will protect you, Halsey Rookmaaker,” he said.

“I know, Ballard,” I said.

* * *

We were ringed around a romantic moonlit table, the four of us. Dallace, Camille, Lennoxlove and myself. Candlelight flickered. Lennoxlove was holding on to my fingertips. “Humans are sometimes, I don’t know, mates of vampires,” he said. “That vampire has rights to them.”

“She’s going to need to be trained,” said Dallace. He raised his empty wineglass to mine. Awesome fish dishes were laid before us––silver spoons with Venetian lion finials. “The family crest on the silverware we don’t use,” he said. His smile faded.

Waterfowl in the lagoon made their curious honking expressions.

I splashed my wineglass onto the table. The stem of wine ran like mercury, staining the tablecloth silver.

“I don’t feel so well,” I said.

“There, there,” said Camille. “Not to worry about it.” She dabbed at the blood that ran from my wineglass. “It’s the moon that does it. Makes it appear that way,” she said. She threw a napkin over it. “It takes some getting used to.”

I nodded, and the place changed. They were standing over me. I was unconscious, in my bed. We were at their home. We had left Rat Rock.

“It’s like he’s changed. He acknowledges it.”

I twisted in my sheets, listening to their conversation. What was Dallace talking about?

“The proper word is ‘affair’,” said Camille. She sounded upset.

“But I’m free,” said Lennoxlove.

“What about it,” said Dallace. “What do you think?” he asked his wife.

“The magic in her blood pulled him to her. There can be no doubt of that. It’s obvious.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt her. That includes all of you. I’m serious.”

“What do you take us for? Monsters.”

They all laughed.

“Anytime he brings her around other vampires, they’re going to want to drink her.”

“Perhaps we should turn her––if she really is this once-in-a-generation thing...”

“Out of the question.”

“What is it they’re afraid of she can do?” said Dallace.

I turned––and the scene changed. Ballard was issuing orders in front of an army of werewolves. Something had happened, and it had all gone so wrong. He was different. It looked like a battlefield of some sort. He was scarred.

“She’s waking up. We’ll watch over her. Lennoxlove, you have our words.”

* * *

I yanked myself out of bed. Ballard slept soundlessly at my feet. One was running wild. The other I had never met before. One I could not see. And...

I took out my diary, and journeyed to a spot on the balcony. The words flowed.

Chapter 9 – Campagna

Mist unfurled, and crawled through the corridors, keeping pace with my Gambalunga, as I steered it from Rome––from her sprawling vistas of obelisks and domes, to the millennias-old monuments––hunching over the handlebars, with Ballard at my heels.

Everything appeared supernatural and surreal, colored by a lack of objectivity, which had nothing to do with where I was going, but only how I would get there––to the sub rosa goings-on I would soon be taking part in––and the people I would meet. Everything to do with where I was headed was shrouded in mystery, even how to get there. I had to swear, over and over, to Ballard, that yes, I would not tell a living soul.

“That includes your diary,” he said. He seemed to regard my keeping one as a risky business, fraught with peril.

A light pitter-patter drizzled intermittently, pelting off my helmet top. Ballard popped a wheelie. Water sluiced from his front wheel as he dropped the nose, the picture of self-control. We pulled to a stop sign in the shape of a theta and he smiled at me.

Nervousness par excellence played at the corners of his mouth––somehow a beautiful excitement––together with a light in his eyes I could only assume was acceptance of some inner, hidden challenge, I wasn’t to know about.

We were in a decrepit and beat up part of Rome, full of ruined old buildings, with graffiti and flyers adding to the mise en scène. Ballard’s family would be meeting us in Trastevere. Because when you went to a secret meeting the best way to go was as a pack!

I noticed for the umpteenth time the freedom-like bliss the Gambalunga gave to me. Any motorcycle for that matter. Even my old Vespa had done the trick. I didn’t care that I wasn’t going alone. I could’ve gone alone! That was the whole point! It was some weird mix of being an antisocial control freak, but with good intentions. I could go anywhere anytime. It didn’t matter. Nothing could stop me.

We peeled out and raced to Trastevere. Ballard did some trick, but I was right on his taillamp. We pulled into Trastevere Motor Club––and a mound of racing bikes greeted us.

Lia was on her Ducati next to Gaven, who, I noticed, was eating a grattachecca, the Ballard family specialty––blue ice as cool as he was. He smiled at me––one of those fabulous grins some guys have––and I returned the gesture with one of my own.

“About time, brother,” said Lia. She spoke into a walkie-talkie. “Tell Volt and Pouch to lock it up as soon as they get here. And follow after us. Yeah. You’ll be able to smell our exhaust.”

She was looking at me again––just blank staring. She put the walkie-talkie away. Next thing I knew her helmet was on and her fire-red racing bike spit and started.

Gaven hurriedly finished his grattachecca. The other riders were waiting for his command.

Being among them was like crawling through a stand of densely-packed fir trees––pun intended; they were all exceedingly tall. And Ballard was getting that way. Had he had a growth spurt? Already I had begun to look up to him. He had said the werewolves had vast sexual cravings. Maybe his hormones were catching up to him. What an animal, I thought.

Lia revved her engine impatiently––her thighs looked sleek in their bright leather pants––and Gaven, said, “Okay, let’s go, side by side, in pairs, if you would. Don’t break formation! This isn’t a race!” He flicked down his visor and I watched, in amazement, as even more riders appeared from Ballard’s motorcycle shop––they poured out of the garage, two by two, as Lia and Gaven accelerated down the minuscule alley, at the front end of a queue as long as the eye could see. They were around the bend, with still more bikes in front of us, before it was even our turn.

“Are you ready for this?” said Ballard.

I nodded, dumbly, and then got this huge grin. We were going to the Gathering! “Who are Volt and Pouch?” I asked, as I checked the switches on my Gambalunga, and prepared to depart. Still more riders poured in from behind us. Far more than were at the Wolves’ Council two nights before. Where were they coming from?

“I Gatti. They’ll stay behind and monitor the city, helping make sure nobody gets up to any shenanigans. While we’re at the Gathering,” said Ballard, “Rome is exposed. Gaven’s orders.”

“Volt and Pouch must be two badass werewolves,” I said. He laughed. “We aren’t taking any chances,” he said, starting his Ducati. It was midnight blue. I would recognize it anywhere. Ballard had paid somebody to detail the monocoque with a steel-blue moon rising from storm clouds. He flicked it to life.

We pulled out and followed the queue.

I noticed, as we wound through Trastevere, everyone stop what they were doing, and watch, as rider after rider, passed them by. Never had I thought that I would be in such a group. Some of the onlookers had small children, whom they held by the hand, pointing and whispering secret things to. I wondered what they said. That there went the werewolves, the protectors of Rome. It was an honor and privilege to be in such a group.

I also felt like I didn’t belong.

As I passed a young girl bold enough to stand on her own, she smiled at me, and her small hand rose into a wave. I gave her a salute and allowed my Gambalunga to snort some; she giggled.

We were headed into the unknown––or at least I was.

I looked overhead and saw the clouds depart; the leaden sky turned cobalt blue, and the sun, in its last show of strength, beat upon our hot chrome. We left Trastevere, and headed south, away from the friendly confines of the Aurelian Wall, which formerly protected Ballard’s werewolf tribe, following the line of the Tiber river, as it wound itself away, into campagna––the site of the Gathering.

The long procession of motorcycles and their Riders interlaced like the strands of an intricate Celtic knot, whose Wiccan symbolism was not lost on me; it made me think of druids and the time of Samhain and on and on, as we proceeded into dry hills, that ran over and under, following a trail only the Head Riders knew about. I wondered how long Lia and Gaven had been in charge of the Pack, and if it were really true, if Gaven was getting too old. Gaven’s orders was a phrase I was starting to get used to. I wondered if he would ever step down, if he even had a choice in the matter. From what Ballard had said, the ability to transform went away. Just poof. I didn’t want Gaven to just poof. It made me sad.

Nerves, and a slow pace, were making the Riders swerve back and forth, in a little game they liked to play in the middle of the pack. Wiccan knots within Wiccan knots. I and Ballard did it for a while. Listening to the whines of the engines was like being in a kennel full of dogs. I had to remind myself that these were weredogs. Sirius business. Not to be trifled with.

But why was Lia so gape-faced like she was staring at me all of the time?

If I swerved just right, I could make her out, in the curve of the hill up ahead. She and Gaven were cruising along like they didn’t have a care in the world.

One second I was feeling the enviousness I always felt when I stared at her for too long, the next, she had disappeared. It was like Lia was totally gone. I swerved with Ballard, and checked it from the other side. So was Gaven. They were all disappearing, two by two.

We looked like some kind of ouroboros, eating itself, we had become so twisted in the hills. Ballard just shrugged. He didn’t know what was going on either.

As we moved closer and closer to the thing which was eating up the Riders, the dragon’s tail naturally accelerated; I had quite the opposite reaction. I wanted to slow down. But it was too late. The Riders before us were disappearing, and pretty soon it was our turn. I looked up at the sky, not knowing what to expect, and if I would ever see it again, and then I looked down.

It was like going through an archway. One second we were in campagna, the next...

Rainbows and glitter, twenty percent off sales, caffeine, unicorns, holding hands, claddagh rings, staying up late, your nails done great, snakebites and flowers, butterfly tattoos, candy-flavored bubblegum, hallowed trees, musical CDs, popcorn at the theater, candyfloss, doing each other’s hair, scrapbooking, nail polish, grunge, being late, OCD, OMG, shopping spree, black lace lingerie, gift cards and get-well cards, Valentine’s cards, and credit cards, I love you grams and teddy bears and fluffy little bunnies. That was what this was like. And oh everything that my seventeen-year-old heart could wish for. I had arrived. I was there.

The mist felt like vaporous tentacles swallowing me whole and playing tickle with my skin that was covered in goosebumps. Some kind of barrier separated the outside world from knowing about this place. I could only assume it was the work of the warlocks Ballard had said helped I Gatti shield campagna and the Gathering from unwanted non-magical attention. For everything that could transform, or else conjure, or otherwise bend reality––such as vampires and their ability to live forever––demanded from me a respect and acknowledgement that they too must be magical.

We were in an underground facility, like a loading dock almost, except it went on forever. I Gatti’s motorcycles formed a huge double line. The Riders putting down their stands, and stepping off them. I followed those in front of me, and removed my helmet. My long black hair cascaded down my back. The rest continued to pour in. Underground the engines sounded five times fiercer. Ballard was looking ahead to his sister. I could see her and Gaven talking to someone in long, dark robes.

Around us, hewn from rock, was a kind of cathedral-sized debarkation zone. The sunlight pierced the mist from the gigantic opening. The last of I Gatti arrived and the engines cut out. Ventilation swept the fumes away. I looked one last time at the meandering Italian hillsides, and in the distance, Rome, like a citadel, standing sparkling, in the afternoon sun. Suddenly the voices ahead were amplified. Ballard tapped my shoulder. “They’re calling for you,” he said. I looked ahead and saw what he meant. Lia was waving frantically. “Halsey!” she said. She hardly ever spoke to me. It must be important.

“Go on,” said Ballard, “I’ll catch up.”

But I didn’t want to. Leaving him wasn’t an option. Whoever the figure in robes was, she looked at me like I was a bug. It was Ballard who got me to go, giving me a shove. I reached back and grabbed him. “You’re coming with me,” I said. He sighed, and said, “All right.” So together we walked past the others, up to Gaven and Lia, and this new person. Lia was looking at Ballard with the same look as the other lady had for me. “Did I say Ballard, Ballard?” she said.

“Shut up, Lia.”

“Ballard has a point, we came in pairs,” said Gaven, “we should stay that way.” Lia glared at him. “That means you and Halsey... and Ballard and me. It’s check-in time.” He patted Ballard on the back.

I finally stood next to them. Lia glowered at Ballard, who returned the look. But she said “Hi,” to me.

I could suddenly see her overwhelming absolute sheer joy and euphoria for where we were. This rush of unspoken shared affection. It was almost like she said “Can you believe it?”, and yes I could, and no I could not.

Yes I could believe that at this point she and I were potentials, if not shoo-ins for magic, no I could not believe that she looked at me with affection and warmth. We had a past, after all. A past that could freeze unfreez-y things. Here she was, Lia, like it was all forgotten. And I could swear, seeing her there, that it was. That was magic all in itself. Lia said, “This is her, this is Halsey–– She has a thing for you to sign,” she said to me.

The witch read down her clipboard. “Rookmaaker, Halsey. Sign here, please.” She eyed me beadily. I could see where Lia had signed in big, loopy lettering. There weren’t that many of us Wiccan potentials yet.

“Where are the others?” I asked.

Lia had done hers with a flourish. I mimicked it and signed my Rookmaaker in style. For some kinds of signatures demand as much. That you are here. That you are present. And that you have a fire. An élan. Lia looked on with approval.

“Represent,” she said, proving once more that we seemed to have some kind of mind link, a shared exultation for the things to come.

“This is it,” said the stern-faced witch. “At least for Wicca. You will soon understand why.”

I looked at Lia.

“As for the others,” went on the witch. “Vampires, et al... they came in the night. I would not presume to monitor the Sons and Daughters of Romulus.”

“That’s us,” said Gaven, cheerily. We thanked her and went on. Large doorways led off in all directions.

“Stay together,” said Lia. The rest of the werewolves filed in, past what’s-her-face, who seemed to have channeled my landlady. Ballard held my palm. His paw was firm and sweaty. I cared not.

Lia somehow pulled a switcheroo and started walking with me. It was a vast subterranean complex. Gaven knew where he was going. He walked at the snake’s head of our human daisy chain side by side with Ballard who had reluctantly surrendered my hand. Every now and then he would look back at Lia and I, would Ballard, amazed that we were not fighting. Overhead the rock tunnels had been dug out by hand. Magic had made this place. Torchlight followed us wherever we went, but there were still dark corners, and secret places, where those of us could whisper, who were so inclined. No doubt a requirement with so many magical delegations pouring in from all over Europe and the beyond. Was the United States like this? St. Martley’s was so self-sufficient, a world unto itself. It was hard to imagine the Sisters having to bow to any outside influences. There must be South American vampires, mustn’t there, and Wiccans there, and Asiatic enclaves of shape changers––not to mention everywhere else. I carried three things with me. The first was my diary. The second, my parents’ hand-me-down copy of the Magus Codex, a kind of beginner’s spell book for Neophytes, I had dug into the previous summer with mixed results. And the last was my laptop.

We left the rough portion and exited through the underground tunnel into a silver and porcelain hall. Red porphyry columns with inlaid stones and high overhead ceilings with bright heaven-spun lights. Miniature obelisks littered the sides of the round hall. We filed in. There were two more figures in robes, ready to greet us. Gaven handled all of the ceremonies. Each member of I Gatti was given a care package, which included a map. It was something seeing these hardened female warriors and guys ripped from body magazines holding boutique bundles with wrapping paper sticking out of them, but that’s what they were doing. My own included a map. It looked like a snowflake almost, with a huge central circle, like a nucleus, and then, clearly delineated, sections for Werewolves, Wiccans and Vampires. The Magical Three.

In shape, it was very like the Aurelian Wall. The geographic boundaries were clearly marked. Obviously the masterminds behind this little get-together, say what they would, didn’t want the particular ‘races’ mingling. There were tunnels that led off to No-Man’s Land, which must be like the one we had just left, and rooms that were clearly outlined, but didn’t have a purpose. The central room was for the Gathering...

My pulse quickened deep in my chest. I was leaving hand marks on my books. My fingers were nervous with sweat. It ate into the cloth of my diary. I had been neglecting my diary. That happened when I didn’t have time to pause and reflect. It was all happening too quickly. I suddenly wanted more time. But I was out of time. What did they expect me to do, invoke, raise up, incorporealize, bewitch, ensorcell, do sleight of hand? I was a fraud, a flimflammer. I wasn’t special.

Lia completely took me out of my head. “I still need to take you shopping,” she said to me, her eyes gleaming, and her smile as radiant as a million suns.

Gaven continued whispering with the two docents. I took the opportunity to look them over more fully. These two were a man and woman, in appearance exactly as the woman who had signed in Lia and I. Witches and wizards. Their robes were intricate and flowing; the silver-bright threads imbued with flowing lunavotum symbols. The cloth looked alive. Obviously it had been enchanted with something. They continued with Gaven, but I noticed them look from the corners of their eyes at Lia and me. Gaven laughed, and they shook hands. They left us. It was just the werewolves and I standing in the hall.

I felt like a third wheel. Although fourth would be more accurate.

I felt between was what it was. Not a werewolf. Not a vampire. Not a Wiccan.

I realized what was wrong. I should be here with St. Martley’s. In fact, I had the strangest sensation that St. Martley’s didn’t even know anything about what was going on here. I decided to get to the bottom of it.

The whispering was like a barrelful of loud and whispery things. I stood nervously on one toe then the next, and blew the strand of hair out of my face. My forehead buzzed with a million thoughts and ideas. Gaven looked like a sculpture decorating the center of the hall. We all looked to him. I suddenly admired him very much. He and I had never really spoken. I shushed my inner monologue and waited for him to speak. Lia bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.

“We’re here,” he said, he looked from one to the other of us; I could feel the atmosphere change. “I have just been speaking with Stavros and Gisela. They are from a northern coven. Not Prague. Everyone is here. We were the last to arrive. But there’s a problem,” he said.

“Isn’t there always?” said someone.

I listened, wondering what it could be. Gaven made sure the doors were closed. He looked to one of his guys––Paolo, I think––huge and buff and put stars in your eyes. A thumbs-up was passed between them. Gaven continued with what he had to say.

“I know that you’ll want to get moved in, but a word of caution first. We arrive optimistic; not stupid. The Wiccans have informed me that the vampires arriving was not without incident. Part of the purpose of the Gathering is to renew old ties. Risky wanted this. I trust Risky. There is a Welcoming Ceremony later today. I and the warlocks and everyone who worked on this to make it the safest place possible have supplied the Gathering with whatever you may need––that includes food, clothing, and sleeping accommodations. We can live here indefinitely. In just a moment I will break you into groups. Each group will be assigned a Team Leader. He or she will have the responsibility of protecting that group. Do not make it difficult for them to do so. Leaders report to me.”

There was some general nodding. Some of the faces looked a little glum. Others were angry. They didn’t like this business about the vampires.

“This is the last time that we will have an opportunity to be alone like this. Just because the Wiccans say something, doesn’t make it so,” said Gaven. “Remember that.”

He changed gears.

“While you are here, you represent us––the werewolves. Do not give them an opportunity to point the finger at us. Lia, Halsey, as Wiccan potentials, you have carte blanche, and also a bit of a conundrum ahead for yourselves. I will not tell you to say this or not say that. Nor will I ask that you spy on either of the other groups. The better you are able to move between Wiccans and werewolves, the closer our ties to the vampires, the better for all sides involved.”

He proceeded to identify the Team Leaders. One was Paolo, whom he regarded as a beta, a number two. The werewolves cheered when Paolo’s name was called.

Gaven called three others. Their names were Locke, Leander and Liesel. I got assigned to Locke.

I was hit with an overwhelming fact. This Gathering was about Politics. For all this talk about magical partnerships, the real reason we were all here was to check each other out.

Gaven assigning me to one of the werewolves, when in reality I was here as one of the Wiccans––invited by a vampire, no less––the letter was still in my diary––gave me my anchor. It gave me my freedom to fail. It was like he was saying if I didn’t make it with the Wiccans, I could always find my place with the werewolves.

That was the same lifeline Lennox had extended to me. Because it would always be us. If everything else failed, Lennox and I could always go live on Rat Rock.

There was some whispering that Lia should’ve been made a Team Leader. But I knew better. She and I would soon have very hectic schedules. Hope, hope.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” said Gaven, “I need to go have a talk with the delegates from Ravenseal, and the other magical houses, and the Lenoir. Leaders show your groups to their rooms. Everyone is on their best behavior. Be good.”

He found the door he was looking for, and before I knew it he was gone.

“What did he mean by other magical houses?” I asked Lia. “And who, or what, is a Ravenseal?” Lia was also in my group. She shushed me as we walked along. Locke, as a werewolf, was unusual. He looked guarded. Like his mind was closed. I looked for Ballard, but he was with Liesel’s group. I saw him looking at her butt as she led them off in another group through separate doorways. There were doors and doors, in this place. And miles of tunnels. Locke explained. But he had no interest in babysitting a bunch of us. Nor should he. Everyone here was an adult. The werewolves had all come of age. Except for Ballard. And I––I was almost eighteen. My birthday was in three months. Anyway it gave Lia and I an opportunity for some privacy. And after the initial shock, I found I quite liked being in her company. She said:

“Ravenseal is the coven from Prague. There are also the Harcorts and the Covens. But the Ravenseals have the most power. They are from where Magic began originally. So I hear. The Covens come from really far away, so I guess they don’t matter. I bet that’s where the name comes from. Covens. Otherwise they have a serious lack of imagination.”

“And the Harcorts?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think they’re British or something. We’ll see. Oh. And that’s another thing. Gaven was furious. So I guess he doesn’t agree.”

“With what?” I said.

“If we are, well, indoctrinated and everything...”

“Yes?” I said.

“I mean, if we’re chosen to be, well, you know––Anyway we have to take one of their names.”

“What d’you mean?” I said really fast.

“It’s like a House name. House Harcort, House Coven, House Ravenseal. I would become Lia Harcort. Or you might be Halsey Ravenseal. You’ll see.”

“You mean we have to take their name?” I said. Something about that really bothered me.

“I know right. Gaven was really upset. He wants me to take his name, you see.”

She said it with a certain pride. How could she not? He was a total hottie.

We meandered through very confined spaces. Some of the tunnels barely fit the description. We had to go through them single file, or else duck low. Glass globes of gas lamps were in niches in the walls. Other sections were more hi-tech. I don’t know if that’s the right word. It was almost like the Gathering had been built on the bones of something far more ancient.

We were finally shown to our rooms. I stood under the glow lamps and marked the space on my map. Accommodations were tight, but manageable. I could hear voices in the distance. Locke said, “This is you.” Lia and I had a compartment all to ourselves. Perhaps that was by design. It consisted of a bunk bed cut into the wall, a minuscule closet at the end, and a workspace for a single occupant––so obviously we weren’t going to be spending too much time in here. Lia called top. So I guess that made me a bottom. We did have a slatted door that could close. And it was a wing of the compound occupied entirely by werewolves, so I tucked my diary under my pillow. And I put the Magus Codex and my laptop under my bed. All so that Lia could not see. Next I reread Maria Lenoir’s letter. She was here right now. The docent had said that everyone had arrived. That meant Dallace and Camille, if she was also coming, had arrived. I had allies.

Maria’s letter was like a threatening specter––and I wondered what she would be like.

Old, probably. I had never really spoken to Lennox about vampire aging. Did that mean she had Powers as well? She had passed the Agonies. She must have. And she was not alone. The Gathering was filled with dangerous things that could kill me. I needed to be wary and stay alert, and above all, protect the other werewolves.

Somehow I didn’t think I would be having those dreams while staying here. The dreams were about possibilities, after all. The things I could become. I remembered Mistress Genevieve, in one of her tiresome speeches, I missed now that I was no longer their chief subject. She had said that for a young person like me I could be anything. “Right now, you have doorways open to you. But it won’t always be so. We make our choices. Soon you will have to choose for yourself.”

I had. Instead of the world, I was in a very small closet. It wasn’t a room at all. “I hope the food is good,” said Lia.

With Lia.

Chapter 10 – Welcome

There was a large rectangular hall listed on the map in what I had come to privately call neutral territory––not a part of one of the delegations’ territory. It was the dining hall. I labelled it MEADPALACE. Somehow that seemed apt. The Meadpalace was where we would be meeting later today. So Lia and I spent the remainder of the time getting to know the werewolves on our block. That is, Lia introduced me around some. If I might be one of them some day, I should at least get to know them, right? There was no segregation while we were here. Guys slept with girls, and vice-versa.

There was Raina. She was a beta. You could tell it by their natures. When Lia invited her to sit down with us she jumped at the opportunity. Lia warned me. “You have to be careful with Betas. They’re the tricksters.”

Lorentz. An Alpha. “Everybody wants to be Gaven,” said Lia.

Pendderwenn, Blunt, Giorgio, Berenice, Michelle. I tried to remember all of their names. But it was too much.

“That’s pretty much everyone in the Pack, of those who are in this group,” said Lia.

I could tell them by their beauty. The werewolves were earthy, splendid and pure. I could tell them by their beautiful and bright smiles and untainted spiritual openness. They had been whelped in Roma.

The Wiccans I had yet to judge. Aren’t I Miss Judge? From what little I had seen, they appeared cold and manipulative. I took Gaven’s words to heart, to let them all show themselves––vampires and Wiccans––for who they truly were, instead of being all constant moral judgement stance girl, to let them exhibit, show off, or hang themselves. Locke wasn’t rainbows and kittens, either. The Wiccans were probably not all frostbite and foul weather. And my heart, to speak of the vampires, beat for someone’s that did not.

My revery was interrupted by a voice over the PA System that I didn’t even know was there. Perhaps it was a magical trick.

In any event, someone said, “Attention!”, in a voice so amplified that everyone could hear it. “At this time, we would ask that the Houses make their way to the dining hall, clearly outlined on your maps.”

It was repeated in several languages.

“Please drop what you are doing and join us for the afternoon luncheon,” said a bright female voice. “The Welcoming Ceremony is about to begin... Thank you...”

It shut off. I looked at Lia. “I guess that means us,” she said. She had been in a debate with one of the werewolves I seemed to recall was named Sofia, about what was preferable, a monkey wrench or a sledgehammer, when it came to turning over an irksome engine that refused to start.

“Just as long as it does what I say, when I tell it to, we won’t have a problem,” said Lia, which I guessed made her an Alpha. What happened when two Alphas got together? Obviously, they ruled the Pack. I wondered where Ballard was and what he was up to? He and I would likely be going our separate ways. At least until the Gathering was over.

He was a werewolf and I was a witch. But then I wondered what exactly was the point of getting us all together, if we were just going to be separated, and do whatever we were going to be doing independently? There must be more to the Gathering than I knew about. Hopefully this little snack break would fuel more than my hunger. It would satiate my ravenous desire, by telling me what I was doing here.

* * *

We went single file through the tight-fitting corridors, until they opened into an expansive concourse. The design was not unlike the Colosseum––except it was buried way underground. Everyone was hurrying to the first open gathering. Many of the werewolves had changed into simple russet-colored robes. These were woolen. It was like wearing giant burlap sacks.

Lia and I had changed into black robes which were to be worn by the initiates. They had been waiting for us in our closet along with a note pinned to each. “Blessed be, Halsey Rookmaaker,” and all that.

They had thick hoods. I wore mine down. My pale skin contrasting with the darkness of the robes was like fire and ice. My hair was wrapped sleekly around my neck and down one shoulder.

Lia and I stood out. Ballard waved. He gave me the double thumbs-up and then the universal Italian I took to mean: “Wow. Nice.” His fingers wiggling at the corner of his mouth.

I beamed.

We followed the long, sloping corridor until it opened further. Suddenly more people were there. Different. Of a kind I had not seen since I had left New England and the confines of my Academy for all girls.

They were witches and wizards, and in among them, Dallace and Camille. I couldn’t believe it! They were watching the arrival of the werewolves for signs of me. “There you are!” said Dallace. He waved me over, excusing himself through werewolves. Camille followed. She looked reticent to be among so many members of the pack.

“This is Lia,” I said, introducing her when I finally pulled away from Dallace’s cold embrace, which had nothing to do with any kind of apathy on his part. Even through his vampire getup I could feel his obsidian-hard washboard abs. His smile was intoxicating.

“Pleasure,” said Dallace.

Lia smiled weakly, before becoming more comfortably herself.

“Halsey Rookmaaker,” said Camille, and let it go at that.

Between Camille’s staring and Dallace’s joviality, I felt like I was meeting the in-laws all over again, except there was no Lennox with me this time. “I have still not heard from him,” whispered Dallace.

“Is that unusual?” I asked.

He shrugged, being absolutely no help. We were creating a bottleneck. The other werewolves continued to squeeze past us. I could see Ballard up ahead keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Dallace and Camille, whom he seemed to regard as a little bit crazy, just to make sure that I was still okay. I wasn’t a baby. I could take care of myself.

We began walking again, headed to the Ceremony.

“Did you just get here?” I asked Dallace. “When did you arrive? How long are you going to stay? What have you been doing for three days in Rome? Are you all right?”

I continued to jabber on unnecessarily.

“We’re fine, fine. We stayed at a lovely little bed and breakfast. The food was superb.”

At this Lia stiffened. But Dallace was joking––joking...

“I hope so,” said Lia so that only I could hear.

There are certain lovely noises. Hearing a full orchestra tuning its instruments, all simultaneously, before the start of a big show, is one of them. The Meadpalace sounded just like that. Full and throaty.

Everyone was there. Talking. Laughing. One look around and I could see them all. The werewolves continued to seat themselves. But there were also the Wiccans, some of whom were in high seriousness, but others looked like they knew how to have a good time. And, of course, the vampires.

They had come with a retinue of servants. “It is always the same,” whispered Dallace. He wished me good luck, and went to find his seat. Camille went with him. She continued to look straight through me, like a child that has been carried away.

I felt like she knew what I was going to do before I did it. She was just waiting for me to trip up. Then she could offer me advice.

Meadpalace had high roofs disappearing into infinity, belying the fact that we were entombed within rock, deep underground, and multilevel pews, running down both sides and around the back.

In the center, a long table sat, upon which there was a feast of food, and around which were the more important members of the Gathering. I recognized Gaven at once. He witnessed us entering with a solemn expression on his face.

There was also a group of black robes, like me.

This was the smallest section, a single row, midway to one side. It was to here, Lia and I were directed, to take our places nervously alongside the other initiates. I looked at them. There were twelve in total, once Lia sat down. I made thirteen. Most of them had snotty looks upon their faces. Like they were too good to be here. I wondered what that was all about? Then I realized they must know the other wizards and witches. It was a little known fact that you could tell the master by the servant. Lia and I were, I thought, purer initiates, and Lia moreso. She had no idea what to expect. I at least had gone to St. Martley’s Academy for the Gifted. I took my seat.

A tinkling glass interrupted the oboes and clarinets and the loudmouth bassoons. To end that metaphor.

I looked for the source of the noise. “Shall we?” said Gaven. He stood up along with the others seated at the long table. He was in white robes with red stripes at the sleeves. I noticed Wiccans: three to be exact, standing at other places around the table. One was a woman with candybright blue hair; she had an angular, smart face. Chin upraised. A little like Mistress Genevieve. The other two were wizards. One looked affable, the life of the party, a great guy. Almost, dare one say it, a TV personality. With a rub-on smile and an overtly cheerful personality. The other looked dire, self-important, like he wouldn’t know a joke––or might possibly instruct us in craft laws, otherwise known as ardanes. I groaned. Hopefully this wasn’t going to be a chore.

There were two vampires and another individual who looked by far the most interesting––but it was one of the vampires who caught my eye, mainly because she was staring at me.

I wouldn’t have noticed her unless I had noticed her. Which is the verbal equivalent of a set of never-ending stairs. If by some trick of the eye she meant to put me on my guard, she had succeeded. I withdrew my gaze, to study her with more leisure within my own mind, one of those happy facilities where time stands still while you peruse a particularly unnerving face.

By her eyes alone, which were dark and subdued in shadow, I would say I had met someone wholly without goodness. Her look was pure evil. It gave me the chills. But this was nothing compared to the rest of her.

Where Camille was childlike, this vampire was predatory, almost pure mind. A wave of intelligence unlike any I had encountered radiated from her, and those eyes. Those absolute evil eyes. They had sized me up cool as you please.

I looked again, but her attention was directed elsewhere, to Gaven: she continued to take interest in things, revealing nothing, but I had seen her eyes. Her interest waned and she looked at me again, locking eyes. I refused to look away. I didn’t know where this power came from. But something inside me refused to allow her to win. I was having a staring contest with a vampire.

“...My pleasure to introduce Maria... From the Lenoir...”

I came out of it. The dark-haired female vampire was acknowledging Gaven graciously. In fact, she unleashed a radiant smile––and took a bow like this was all an act in a play acknowledging the enthusiastic applause of the audience.

Sound returned. I could feel my heart thumping. She didn’t look back. The introductions continued on––and I felt I had seen something no one else had.

Whoever the other vampire was was forgotten. I continued to catch my breath. Nobody had noticed anything. My heart continued to flutter.

It was only then that I noticed the third individual––the one who was so intriguing-looking, but whose perusal had been cut short by the little tête-à-tête between myself and Maria Lenoir.

He was not so oblivious after all. In fact he looked at me almost as though he was concerned for my safety.

But this was a Ceremony––and it was their duty, at the table, to drown out any protests I might have with speechmaking, and toasts, and Get along, and For the benefit of all, Forgive and forget, blah, blah, blah.

I could’ve learned a lot, had I cared to listen. But it was her eyes that got me. Staring out of a porcelain face. Almost like a mask.

* * *

After lunch, which consisted of tiramisù and various other delicious oddments––my cheeseburger diet was being compromised by Italian cuisine––there was a little commingling and whatnot, where a few of us intermingled, and so I learned a few of the names of the Initiates, which I promptly forgot, and pretty soon Lia and I were making our way towards Gaven. Quite a few of us made that mistake. The center table drew us like flies. Everywhere I looked were people and were-people in various-colored robes. It was by far the most cosmopolitan of the after-meal crowds.

“Your speech was excellent,” said Lia, giving Gaven a hug before kissing him discreetly on the mouth.

“I was afraid it was a little heavy-handed. You know, about The One, and all of that.”

“No it was perfect. Very practical,” said Lia.

Any time I stood in their presence it was like finding two impossibly compatible people who knew what they had and were not afraid to show it. I was beginning to gather Gaven was something of a Romeo and I determined Lia should tell me the story of how the two of them had met at the first possible convenience. I could use a little vicarious hot talk. N’est-ce pas?

These Frenchisms were impossible to stop once the Lenoir had arrived. Why, oh why, if vampires were all French, was the Venice Coven allowed to exist? Another little mystery certainly. Maybe I could ask Dallace whenever I saw him again.

I was just about to say something to Gaven, when someone cleared her throat, waiting to be introduced. Gaven turned to look.

Maria Lenoir had arrived, together with her retinue––it included the peculiar-looking individual, who made up the third member of her group. He wore spotted leather pants and a matching indigo-colored vest. A silver chain was around his neck, and he had dreadlocks. To top it off was an animal skin––it went daringly down his back.

“My psychic wereleopard Asher,” said Maria Lenoir. I had a feeling she had said it directly to me––everyone else was forgotten about.

“What did I miss?” said someone behind me. I turned around and Ballard was standing there. He and Asher eyed one another inscrutably.

“You’re that American girl who has been running around all of Europe––trying to find Magic,” said Maria Lenoir to me, very slowly and deliberately. She said it like it was the most ridiculous thing ever; the lilt of her tongue included an invitation for others to join in and mock me. “I’ve heard about you.”

“It’s true. I didn’t just land in Italy,” I said. “But once I got here I wouldn’t live anyplace else.”

I hoped she got the tenor of what I had just said. That if it was a choice between her and the Lenoir, versus the werewolves, I would choose sides with the werewolves.

It rolled off her with an infinitesimal blink.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Asher,” I said. “My name is––”

“I know who you are.” He bowed. “The honor is mine, Halsey Rookmaaker.”

“Lovely,” said Maria. She looked like my evil doppelgänger. We could be twins.

“So there’s that,” said Gaven, smiling once more. “We will see you later,” he said to Maria.

She blinked.

“Shall we?” he said. “Come on, gang.”

Reluctantly, I followed with the rest of them. The Meadpalace was by now almost entirely empty. When I looked back Maria Lenoir was staring after me, with Asher, the psychic wereleopard, still at her side.

* * *

Lia effused, extolling Asher’s virtues. “Have you ever seen so many hot guys? That Asher. Makes me want to die young, live forever.”

That was the second time I had heard that phrase. Marek had used it once upon a time.

“I heard your ‘friends’––” she put the word in finger quotes “––saying that to one another. It must be vampire lingo for howya doin’?”

“Dallace and Camille were talking to Maria?” I said. “When?”

“And the other one. She had a little tiff, did Maria,” said Lia.

“What did she say?” I asked, suddenly interested.

“Oh, something about ailuranthropes or something, and how she was perfectly within her rights. That’s a cat, remember? Someone who shifts into one. We’re cyanthropes. Apparently Asher can transform himself into a cat. Psychic wereleopard; three guesses which.”

I wanted to go back to the psychic part. I looked at the clock on the wall. Time ceased to matter at the Gathering.

We were in our room. Lia was chatting from her overhead bunk. Something about if she and Gaven weren’t so close that Asher would have to look out. “But I don’t think that’s his problem. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?” I said.

“Oh, come on! You can’t have failed to notice. He was practically drooling. And that nice to meet you, Halsey Rookmaaker, bit...” She said my name slavishly. “It was like he was practically proposing.”

Heat rushed up my face.

“I tell you. I’d look out for him,” she said. She got lost in her own mind for a while.

Was Asher drooling over me? It didn’t make sense. That was impossible. And that was another thing...

He didn’t know me from Eve. What was going on?

“My brother certainly made an ass of himself,” said Lia. “I wonder what we’ll do tomorrow? These trials last a few days.”

Trials. I had been so busy staring at Maria I hadn’t paid attention. Witch Trials. They used to burn them, or else drown them, or throw rocks at them. And that was only if they showed. I wondered what happened to a witch who was supposed to show, but for whatever reasons couldn’t.

“Do you think you’ll be able to craft?” I asked Lia.

She contemplated it for a while, and it got very quiet.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know.”

I took out my diary and berated it for a while.

Chapter 11 – The Rota

I could hear Lia snoring above me. She didn’t talk in her sleep, did she? No the voices were real. The only question was who they were after. There were twelve other Initiates.

Had they also been visited by the disembodied voices, as I had? Even underground I could feel the dawn arrive.

This was it.

I looked around my surroundings. When I was a girl I used to have truly nightmarish dreams, of being chased, whathaveyou. As I got older I learned to control them. But I remembered as a child––so powerful were they––that sometimes my dreams would come into reality; that is, the specters, which used to haunt me, would seem to come out of the dark, as I opened my eyes and cringed beneath my covers, and I would peek up, and they would come at me... as ghosts... the remnants of my dreams, reaching out their dark hands... They would seem to dissipate, and I would be left shivering at what I had seen.

That was like these voices. They rang in my head just long enough for me to find the candles, in the candle-niche, at what should’ve been my headboard. I lit them, so that only I could see, and hurriedly jotted down the conversation I had just heard.

“It’s just a gathering to discuss Rome. She isn’t the Chosen One yet.”

“The Lenoir will want to test her––and so other magicals have come as well. I don’t trust that Half Lighter. Watch him. Watch them all.”

“Free as yet is her decision to make. She must choose carefully. They will want to claim her as their own. The doges have already made that mistake....”

“She must die when we say she does.”

“She will...”

I wondered if it had happened in ‘real’ time? If... where I was, and they were... we had linked up?

Somebody was out there––somebody dangerous; and, either they were at the Gathering, or they wanted in. And if I couldn’t even keep them out of my own head....

Maybe I was the Protector. Maybe I was overhearing them for a reason. To protect someone...

I hadn’t thought of that.

There were twelve other Initiates at the Gathering besides myself.

Maybe I wasn’t this Chosen One after all. Maybe I was just me. Halsey. Maybe Lia was the Mythic Chick...

I reread what I had written. What the heck was a Half Lighter? It was just another question I had for a magical world I knew nothing about.

People were stirring. Soon it would be time to get up. I stared at the candle flame the action of which made me think of Lennox.

He was far, far older than I. Perhaps he knew what was going on. Gaven had recommended circumspection. Waiting and watching. Whoever these people were, time would reveal them.

In the meantime, I had magical studying to get ready for. I fetched out the Magus Codex and flipped through it some more. I had been neglecting it for far too long. There were the strange curling bands I had seen before––drawn on the figure of a witch or wizard. The marks of the Adept. Perhaps what happened when you became fledged. When you had reached an elite magical level. They ran up the hand and seemed imbued with some mysterious significance I was too naïve to know about.

The Spellcaster’s Mark.

Lia shifted––but not really. She turned over. If she had turned into a dog––then we would have had problems. I didn’t want her drooling on me. Or Asher, for that matter. I was Lennox’s.

Possession for a vampire was like obsession for a mortal. Try as I might, I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of living forever, of being immortal, much less being with the one I loved. Already we had been separated by circumstances of Fate. I hated using words like that. But that’s what this felt like. Like someone had chosen to interfere with our Life together; Lennox’s and mine...

If I had to guess, Maria...

That mocking, better-than-you attitude of hers, really got under my skin. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to see her again.

But I knew better than to wish for something so impossible. She was just as interested in the Initiates as the rest of them had been. I wondered why?

What was so important about the Initiates that everyone was so crazy about them? Surely there were enough other magical people. I had seen gobs of them.

“Try not to think about it. We’ll make it through this,” said Lia.

I couldn’t help myself; I crawled out of bed and peeked up at her. Yep. Talking in her sleep. Her mouth was hanging open.

“Don’t worry, baby... don’t worry...” she said.

Her long, dark hair hid most of her face. Lia was wrapped in her sheets, like she had been tossing and turning all night. I decided to go take a look around. I hurriedly dressed in my Initiate’s robes. I didn’t bother dragging a brush through my hair. Maybe there was a spell for, like, split ends and bed head and stuff.

I crept through the sleeping berths, but there was no need. Wherever the werewolves were, they were no longer here.

I tried Ballard’s, but he was gone. Where could he have gone to? I wondered. Was it just Lia and I?

I crept into some kind of informal gathering hall. The tunnels twisted and turned. There were stuccoes on the walls. I didn’t know what they were.

A glow lamp spluttered and went out. I turned.

Asher was coming from some kind of secret entrance, there in the wall. I felt for my map, but I had lost it. It was too late. I was caught.

I made a mental note to never ever leave that map in my room, ever, ever again––

If I even ever made it out of this alive.

I wondered if he would be angry at me, Asher. Angry at me for wandering around. The maps made it pretty clear that some places were off-limits. It depended on who you were. And who you were with.

I didn’t know where I was. I was lost. That had to be a good enough excuse, surely.

He was standing there, halfway on his way to someplace else. He seemed to know that I had gotten confused.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said, “much less wandering around the halls at night. It isn’t safe. You can’t just go anywhere you feel like, Halsey Rookmaaker.”

“I’m not,” I said.

Meanwhile, that looked like exactly what he was doing.

“I’m on my way somewhere,” said Asher, as if that explained what he was doing out of bed.

I bit my lip. I didn’t know him that well; not yet. I didn’t know if Asher was good or evil. He gave off a Marek vibe. It could go either way. I certainly had reservations about the company he kept. Hanging out with the Lenoir. It didn’t make sense. Unless he was lying.

“You’re not a vampire, are you?” I said.

“Certainly not,” he said.

But if he wasn’t, what was he doing with them? Certainly not a servant. Asher seemed too proud for that. Like he was noble almost. He apologized for scaring me.

“Not at all,” I said. “I just didn’t know there were secret passageways and stuff.”

“Has no one told you what this place is?” said Asher. He wanted to take me back to my room. “Come...” he said. “I will make sure nothing happens to you.”

I followed, waiting for him to talk. It turned out to be a futile effort.

“I give up. What is this place?” I said.

“It’s what it used to be,” said Asher. “Not what it is now. You forget the past at your peril.”

“I don’t know my past,” I said.

But he turned and stopped me. “We wear that on our faces,” he said. “Follow me. I will guide you back to where you belong.”

He moved cautiously, like a cat. And like a cat, he had vertical pupils.

I followed after him with about a million questions.

“Something is in the ether,” he said. “I feel it. Do not you?” He stopped and turned to me; I had been admiring his stalking body. His eyes looked like two moons glowing out at me from the dark. But I felt only safety. And a desire to know more.

“I know that there is something out there, Asher, perhaps waiting for me, perhaps waiting for us all; and that it is only a matter of time...” I said. “But tell me, now that we are here together, what are you––for I would know you, but only as friends.”

Now that I was alone with him I had seen what Lia meant; a prerequisite, therefore, had to be me stating the obvious. That I was seeing someone else.

Asher seemed devil-may-care––until he leaned into me.

“The moon does strange things to the earth,” he said. “Its rhythms affect the other. I am not out-of-body, nor persona non grata, Halsey Rookmaaker––”

“Halsey,” I said. “Halsey Rookmaaker makes me sound like I’m––I don’t know––something I’m not. This Mythic Chick.”

“I didn’t come here to get a suntan,” said Asher.

We were a hundred feet underground. “Of course not,” I said.

He was really close. I felt my hammering heart like it was trying to give me away. Asher invaded my personal space with impunity. I gulped.

“Now what?” I said, half-breathlessly. I was almost in a swoon.

“I answer your question of course. I am like your friend Ballard.”

“What does that even mean?” I said.

“I will not give up his secret, as he has not entirely figured it out for himself,” said Asher. “Suffice it to say, I have my eyes on you.”

They glowed non-threateningly. “I’m good. You don’t have to worry about me,” I said. I needed him to turn around so I could catch my breath. “That still doesn’t answer what you are,” I said.

“That... is complicated,” he said.

“And what you’re doing here...”

“Again. Complicated.”

“You can be simple with me,” I said. “Try.”

He chuckled. It sounded like he had a furball.

“I am one of the Celeres––personal guard to the Magister Equitum, himself,” he said. “He sent me here.”

“With the Lenoir?” I asked.

“Uh-huh.”

I didn’t even know who that was. Much less what a celery stick was.

“Celeres,” said Asher, smiling. He had a powerful jaw. It was good for ripping. I could see his sharp, pointed teeth. “We guard the Wolf King, the other shapeshifters and I.”

“But I thought Gaven was the Wolf King,” I said.

“He is Il Gatto, the King of Cats,” said Asher.

“But he turns into a werewolf,” I said. “Gaven is a dog, not an ailuranthrope.”

“Again, you forget the past,” said Asher.

I had a headache. I wanted answers, not cryptic crypticness.

He smiled at me. “Perhaps another time, Halsey Rookmaa––”

I glared at him.

“When you have been here longer,” said Asher. “Right now I need to take you back. The first day is about to begin. You don’t want to be late. This is your life we’re talking about.”

Was he trying to change the subject?

“Because it won’t work,” I said. “I will get to the bottom of this, of everything. I’ll go it alone, if I have to.”

“You’ll go with me, and then, yes, you will get to the bottom of things. I have no doubt.”

“Answer me one thing,” I said. I could afford to be stubborn now.

“You have only to name it,” he said.

I studied Asher’s eyes. I could tell he meant it. That he would answer me one question. I decided to make it a good one.

“If you’re not with the Lenoir,” I said, finger quote, stress-stress, “then what are you doing with them?”

“Ah, that is an interesting question. And one, unfortunately, that I cannot answer. I can, however, ask you a question of my own?”

“Go on,” I said, feeling as though I had already been played with, but resigned to hear the question anyway.

“If you’re not with the werewolves, Halsey, then what are you doing with them?”

“It’s complicated,” I said.

“So there’s that,” said Asher.

He took me back, and Lia was there. By the time I got back into my room, she was wide-eyed and awake.

“Where have you been?” she said. “I thought I had missed it. I woke up and you were nowhere to be found. You didn’t go to the Gathering without me, did you?”

“I wouldn’t just leave you behind,” I said, my mind still full of Asher––from his cat paw gracefulness, to his cryptic warnings and obfuscations. “You should know me better than that.”

There was something that Asher didn’t want me to know. And what had that been about Ballard? He didn’t know himself?

If he didn’t, who did? Certainly not me.

* * *

The Lenoir Finding Party consisted of Maria Lenoir and the male vampire she had come to the banquet with. His name was Pier Alexander.

Pier Alexander and Maria Lenoir were waiting for all thirteen of the Wiccan Initiates when Lia and I arrived. I saw them whispering behind their hands. Lia and I had our maps out, but there was no need. The Gathering had been designed so that the central chamber––The Star Room as I called it––was easily accessed. It was here that we were to be indoctrinated into the ways of Magic.

I put away my map. I didn’t know what I expected, but not this. It was a sandpit. Exposed rocks jutted from the earth like teeth. I could follow the fissures up, into seating areas. I half-expected the werewolves to be seated up there, or else running around, practicing.

They were not.

Instead the sandpit was filled with the other Initiates––eleven girls from all over Europe––which raised even more questions in my mind. Such as, Do I even belong here? I was, after all, an American girl, from Massachusetts, U.S.A.

Why had I been chosen?

They were presided over by various witches and wizards, the only one of which I recognized was the Alpha female, who had spoken at the Welcoming Ceremony. She had shocking blue highlights in her hair––her cheekbones were so angular they threw the rest of her face into shadow. I didn’t know her name. I felt like I had messed up. But who could blame me? Maria Lenoir was, even now, giving me a look that could kill. It was almost as if she wanted me dead. She looked at her partner and laughed about something. He continued to whisper.

I looked around but there weren’t very many other people here. The Star Room could’ve seated everyone in the Gathering––all the werewolves, Wiccans, shape changers, and vampires.

Asher was absent, persona non grata. But I did see one of the wizards from the Welcoming Ceremony––the lighthearted one––up in the rocks, by himself. Two crags obscured his face, but he was watching us. He looked intent on something. So I wasn’t the only one here who had a lot to think about. I memorized his face.

The lady with the highlights said, “Good morning! I see that we are all here. Wonderful, wonderful.”

Lia and I hurried to our positions. We stood side by side.

“My name is Veruschka Ravenseal. It is a pleasure to meet you. I have no doubt that we will soon know each other quite well. This is Mariska Coven,” she said, indicating another witch, whose hair this time was streaked (but badly) in candybright green.

Camille had hair like theirs, except hers was candybright red.

“Mariska is from the Covens, the coven Covens, as you may have gleaned from her last name,” said Veruschka Ravenseal.

I had to get used to that; it was like the whole King Cat Dog thing––everything was backwards.

“For those of you who don’t know, that is a northerly coven, the exact location of which is their secret to disclose. I myself am from Ravenseal. You should all have received your letters, and know where that is. Can anyone guess?”

“Prague,” said one.

I peeked at Lia, who was looking at me from the corner of her eyes. She knew verbatim the XYZ’s and ABC’s of everything Mistress Genevieve had not thought fit to teach me.

“And, of course, Fanishwar Harcort, from House Harcort.” Veruschka Ravenseal pointed her out.

Fanishwar Harcort inclined her head. She had beautiful liquid-blue eyes. Her hair was candybright purple. “We are from England,” said Fanishwar Harcort, introducing herself in four little words, and her entire coven, who seemed present, even though they were not.

The covens had sent delegates to represent themselves. It was very New World.

“If you have guessed it yet, although have you? The purpose of the Gathering is twofold. One, we like to meet every few years––”

“It’s been twenty-five since the last one,” said Mariska Coven.

“Yes, thank you,” said Veruschka––she looked at the candybright green witch. “As I was saying,” said Veruschka Ravenseal... She waited to see if there would be another interruption. “Every few years we get together... To say hello... To exchange the best spells. But mainly to introduce our new chosen ones.” She seemed to relish the last two words.

“Tell them why,” said Mariska.

“I’ll get to that,” said Veruschka. “But first the other reason. Magic, you see, is mag-i-cal. Does anyone know what I mean by that?”

One of the Initiates raised her hand. A blonde girl in a ponytail. “It can be used in-structively or de-structively,” she trilled. She said it like she was reciting from a textbook. I caught Lia’s eye, who winked.

The Initiate was right.

“The purpose of the Schools,” said Veruschka, “was to instruct young witches and wizards in the ways of Wicca. We could not have reckless crafters going about, doing whatever they pleased. That was how the trouble began in the first place. Therefore, it was decided, that the Wiccan coming of age would be after the seventeenth summer, but before the twenty-fifth. Too soon, and there’s no appreciation. Too late, the mind cannot attain fully-fledged status. Brains have a nasty habit of becoming close-minded.”

I listened on, interested.

“This Gathering is like Jubilee. For far too long magical upheaval has reduced the covens––to speak nothing of our cousins, the Sons and Daughters of Romulus.”

“Hear, hear,” said Fanishwar Harcort.

“That is why,” said Veruschka Ravenseal, looking around at all of us, “we have chosen to meet here, of all places––at this temple of significance...”

I didn’t get it. What made this place so special?

“Amid the trenches of the Last War. The war we wizards made upon ourselves.”

“It was not our fault.”

“I am tired of running from that chestnut. I am here to tell you that it was.... But I get ahead of myself. Let bygones be bygones. And wizards wizards,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. “We have Initiates to initiate.”

She brought up her hands, from her long sleeves, of which only the hands had been visible; it was just a moment but I saw the adamantine swirls, like a fine tracery of liquid steel, that were different for each witch and wizard. They began at her thumb and twisted themselves up to a life-spot at the crook of her elbow––they extended themselves to the index and middle finger of her right hand.

It was said that a witch’s arm was her delta, through which her magic flowed. The symbol of Power of all true crafters was in their Mark.

Magic flowed through her arm into her fingertips. It lit up her features and all other lights died out.

She cupped the flame in her hand and looked to each of us––a fledged Wiccan witch––and it was like seeing a shadow reflection.

I could be her.

I could be her.

I could be her.

I and the other Initiates stood in darkness. The Wiccans surrounded us. Their lights popped on and moved about us. I could follow the slow trailing of their robes. The silver symbols like bright fish lurking in deep depths. Veruschka Ravenseal raised her voice.

I wondered who had elected her; if there was even an election. Was Magic run by committee? I didn’t know.

But it felt like Ravenseal was the best.

Like the other Houses had to kowtow to it. Which reminded me of the Lenoir. How in their arrogance they considered themselves the only vampires. Was Ravenseal the only House?

I didn’t know how we could all exist, if it was even possible. Perhaps that was the point.

Ravenseal battled House Harcort, which battled House Coven.

I rubbed the thumb and index and middle fingers of my right hand together, imagining myself with the Wiccan Mark.

Imagining if I could possibly be her. This Mythic Chick.

“I know you are asking yourselves if you are worthy, if, when it comes your turn, you will show yourselves adept...” said Veruschka Ravenseal.

St. Martley’s was so full of Wiccan potentials––it too was all-girl. Yet I had a father who was magical, and there were other wizards attending the Gathering––male practitioners, themselves with the Mark, circling me even now.

I wanted to look at their fingertips––to see the conduit through which each of them crafted. More than anything I wanted a Mark of my own.

“Only a lineaged, second-degree crafter or higher-up, may invite someone with no powers to study,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. “That person being the Initiate... Like the Great Book, we are tied, each of us, tied to each other, by the Goddess herself...

“So long as Initiation is lineaged,” she went on, “there remains an unbroken link of every magical adherent back to the beginning––to the one true Magic.”

“Blessed be,” they all intoned. Lia nudged me.

“We pass... We move from the here into the hereafter. Our time comes. We turn from fledged to neophytes and back again. We pass through this existence. We are energy... ‘When I die, my energy will flow...’”

The others recited it as a chant almost.

* * *

I rushed back to my room.

Dear Diary,

I think I know now why Wicca is predominantly female... Even though a witch will call herself a wizard a warlock has a connotation of being a subpar spellcaster. Mother Gaia and the Goddess above. But as my mother used to say––it’s written here in her book––when I’m a rose I’ll act a lily. Her Wiccan band has been ‘immortalized’ in my Codex––alongside that verse. Witch (funnily enough, I wrote witch) after all used to be her Codex. I wish I could draw the Mark so that you could see it. Her Mark was like a flower creeping up her arm.

I wish she hadn’t died, or been murdered.

They have a device in Rome, the Rota. It’s where mothers used to drop their infant babies––the ones they didn’t want anymore––off, like puppies at a night shelter. I wonder who stuffed me down the Rota.

Her Mark is too beautiful and obviously magical; it’s full of Craft. She must’ve been a powerful, powerful Wiccan. If I could be a tenth of her...

And my father...

My mother loved my father.

Something Veruschka Ravenseal said about Initiation––that it was unbroken, that you had to be invited.

But nobody invited me. I was stuffed down a hole and left for dead.

Chapter 12 – Volt and Pouch

Dinner was a raucous affair. The Wolves were back from wherever they had been. We had fried rice croquettes and abbacchio alla cacciatora together with a sprite garden salad that snapped in the mouth; there was wine and even the Succo del Gatto I had not had since forever, its bitter spirits racing to my brain set everything right. The vampires were someplace else. I leaned toward Lia. Just how were the vampires eating? I asked.

“The what-d’you-call-’ems, Blood Cups,” said Lia. “While they are here, killing people is strictly off the menu. I know what you mean though. I bet they can’t stand watching us eat. It must be really difficult for them.”

She took a sip of her aperitif.

I nodded, wondering how the Lenoir managed, with so many viable morsels wandering around.

My map was my constant companion. I laid it on the back of the chair in front of me. There were a series of tunnels that had no names––just designations... Werewolfs, Wiccans, Immortals.

“Those are access points,” said Lia. “Notice how the vampires insisted on being called Immortals? They just can’t stand not rubbing it in.”

“It’s like we’re segregated,” I said.

“Separate his and hers everything,” said Lia. “Just because we’re having this fling, doesn’t mean we cannot get divorced. Everything is structured to prevent confrontation.”

“I just wish we could be more open,” I said–– Still, there looked like there were other tunnels.

When I pointed this out to Lia she just shrugged and nodded. We were interrupted just then by Ballard.

He and Lia shared a brother-sister moment.

“Hey, butt-face!”

“What do you want, Lia?”

“Not you here.”

Ballard smiled. “My sister,” he said. “Bet you could use a break,” he said to me. “How about tomorrow?”

“What d’you mean?” I said, and stuffed my face with my garden salad.

“You. Me. Elsewhere. You can take out your Gambalunga. What do you say?”

“You mean we can just leave?” I said.

“It’s a meet and greet, we’re not exchanging vows,” said Ballard, who also seemed to have marriage on his mind. He grabbed a piece of meat off Lia’s plate. “Besides, I wouldn’t get too comfortable,” he said. He exchanged a look with his sister. “We’re having visitors.”

The word hung in the air like it was made out of helium or something.

“Does Gaven want to have a Wolves’ Council?” Lia asked, her mouth hanging open.

I saw her look down to the long table; Gaven was in a heated discussion with two of the Wiccans, neither of whom I recognized.

There were more Wiccans than I knew.

“Even if he did,” said Ballard, “you wouldn’t be invited.”

This was rather cruel.

“That’s unfair and you know it,” said Lia.

“What’s going on?” I said.

“Gaven’s orders. While I’m here I’m not on the Wolves’ Council. Technically, you shouldn’t even be talking to me,” she said to Ballard.

“Ah, technically, Gaven can shove it, if he thinks he can tell me what to do. You’re my sister, remember?” said Ballard.

“Gaven thinks that because I might be a witch there’s a conflict of interest,” said Lia. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Actually it’s pretty sweet. He says I deserve an opportunity to be whatever I want to be, and if that means being a witch...”

They continued to be vociferous down at the table.

“Halsey?” said Lia.

“What are they arguing about?” I said.

Again, Lia and Ballard exchanged looks.

“It’s nothing,” said Ballard. “So how did your training go?”

I decided to let Ballard win. “So-so. How would you say, Lia?”

“I’m all over it,” said Lia.

* * *

Ballard waited outside my door looking all nonchalant, which I knew was a very difficult pose for him, holding his motorcycle helmet and a pair of riding gloves. After all, how many more opportunities would we get to ride with winter coming on? I joined him soon thereafter, leaving Lia, who had her head in a book. Each Initiate had been given a copy of the Magus Codex. Apparently it was traditionary. A Wiccan stopped by to hand us ours. “Learn it,” he said. I already had. The good bits, anyway. “Later Lia,” I said. She waved bye-bye. I was excited to get out, the conditions were so cramped.

Ballard said, “Ready?” His face brightened in that Ballard way.

“After you,” I said, and followed him out.

Ballard was chitchatty. The long tunnels were empty that led to our motorcycles. I started my Gambalunga. It took a while but it caught and snorted.

“I may have to adjust the fuel mixture,” he said.

“You know I researched for this get-together,” I said.

“And?”

“Well, I was thinking about last night, and our conversation.” I unstuck the throttle and the Gambalunga made a bunch of loud fits. “Official Church doctrine––and I’m talking Rome here,” I said, “––had it that all shapeshifters––you, Asher, everyone––”

“I like Asher,” Ballard said.

“Anyway, if you were a werewolf, you were considered a witch, back in the day.”

“Is that really true?” he said.

“Yep. And in Serbia, werewolves and vampires are vulkodlak, literally the same thing. So I guess what I’m saying is, we’re not so different after all.” I put on my helmet.

“No, just part of the same strange mixture of legend and lies,” said Ballard.

Ballard’s moon-blue motorbike started and we raced into countryside. I felt alive again.

* * *

Volt and Pouch were two scrawny-looking fourteen-year-old boys, when we finally got there––they jangled when they walked, weighted down with binoculars and other gear. Both were in makeshift fatigues. They looked ridiculous.

When Ballard appeared, they said, “It’s Ballard”, “It’s Ballard”, in hushed, awestruck voices. As a sixteen-year-old, he was far, far older and far superior than they were.

They were camped out in a little hideaway in Rome. Trastevere, to be precise.

“If there was a district of Magic in Rome it would be here. In Trastevere,” said Ballard.

Either Volt or Pouch––they were honestly interchangeable––took off their binoculars and handed them to Ballard.

We were in a quaint little corner of Trastevere, hiding behind a pillar at a four-way intersection; the street was made of cobblestones.

Volt and Pouch were using a newspaper stand to hide behind. People came and went, on foot, buying The Daily Telegraph, and somesuch, ignoring the boys. Ballard, however, seemed serious. The newspaper vendor pretended like we weren’t there. I looked at my Gambalunga, just wishing we could leave. It was parked beside a huge stack of newspapers that had been cut open. There were riots in the streets in other parts of Rome; it had yet to spill into Ballard’s neighborhood. I commented upon it.

“How many times do I have to say? We keep the peace. The other mortals are completely oblivious to what is going on here. They’re free to do what they want,” said Ballard.

“But what is going on?” I said.

“In a word?” said Ballard. “...Change.” He peeked through the binoculars at the doorway across the street. It looked like a tavern of some sort. A moon and star were engraved above the doorway. It looked like a cyclops with a happy face.

Ballard frowned.

I made a noise.

“Ahem,” I said. “Can I see you over here?” I pulled Ballard away. Volt and Pouch continued to stare at the strange tavern; one of them undid his canteen and took a long draught.

“What are we doing here?” I said.

“It’s a stakeout mission,” said Ballard.

I mimed staking a vampire.

“It’s not that,” he said.

“So are Volt and Pouch on the Wolves’ Council? I mean are they––werewolves?” I practically had to whisper.

“Of course not,” said Ballard. “They’re way too young.”

“How old do you have to be, anyway?” I said.

He ignored this.

“Look. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” I said. “But I do want to know what we’re doing here. I could be getting ready. Or something.”

“What, you mean for those Wiccans? You can’t honestly believe you want to be a part of them? I’ve heard things,” said Ballard.

“Be that as it may...” I said.

He held up his hand. Ballard was really becoming annoying. Either Volt or Pouch made some hand sign. Ballard returned it, but more intricately.

“I just told them to hold their positions for another forty-eight hours,” he said.

“Don’t they have school?”

“This is more important. Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah. You were nervous about something.”

“I just wondered what we were doing here, is all,” I said, slightly hurt.

“I told you, we’re staking the place out. There are... things inside.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Honestly it’s more up your ally than mine,” he said.

“Is that why I’m here, you need me for something?” I said.

“No.”

I snapped my fingers in front of his face, bringing him back. “Hello? Ballard, you there?”

“Right. You wanted to know,” he said. “It’s like this.”

I waited for him to speak, but it was like he was thinking about something. Finally he opened his mouth.

“We are called. It is our birthright. You understand?”

“Not really,” I said unhelpfully.

“It’s like in magic. Lia says that when one is ‘particularly well-lineaged,’” he said, putting the words in quotes, “they are said to have status. Something to do with which parents you had or something.”

“Go on,” I said.

“Well, Lia and I come from a well-lineaged werewolf bloodline...”

“You mean Risky?” I said.

He nodded. “My parents don’t know. They think we just run the shop, so I guess it may have skipped them.”

“But what does that have to do...?”

“I’m getting there. That symbol over the door... means it’s a werewolf-friendly tavern. Like that restaurant I took you to,” said Ballard. “There is something in there that should not be. That is why we are watching.”

I looked again. Ballard made it sound like whatever was inside there was really dangerous.

Then he said, “Wiccans. But not Wiccans. They are inside.”

“Did you get a look at their faces?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“As far as werewolves go,” he said, “we are called hamrammr, and we are called, to serve seven years. But for some of us, for some of us it lasts longer than that.”

“Gaven...” I said.

“His time is running out. He’s already stretched it to as far as it will go. The Gift, as he calls it, could leave him at any time. And we are under tremendous duress. He thinks the vampires may be angling to stake Rome for themselves.”

He mimed putting a stake through Rome’s heart.

“But its history... Romulus and Remus... Rome is the seat of the Werewolves...” I said.

“Then these black-magic, dark, Wiccan weirdos show up––it’s weird.” He motioned to the tavern. I wanted to know more.

“Gaven is nervous. If he loses the ability to transform... You see we have to use Volt and Pouch... we’re spread thin,” said Ballard. “I won’t let us fail. That’s why we’re here. Oh and Lia wants to take you shopping. So I thought I’d get you away from her for a while.”

“Are Volt and Pouch going to be okay?” I asked, disregarding this last bit.

“Oh yeah. They’re just observing. We have a few others we kept back,” said Ballard. “Transformers. You may have noticed we were gone yesterday. We were having a meeting. Don’t tell Lia.”

“But you shouldn’t even be telling me,” I said.

“Nonsense. You’re family. Anyway... There is a legend, in Trastevere, about Defenders. Many was the time my mother tucked me in and told me about how they protect Rome. I just didn’t know I would be one someday.”

“And the symbols on the doorways?”

“Like I said, it only lasts for seven years. There have to be Defenders out there, don’t there, whose time came and went. Yet they remember what it was like to be a Wolf.”

He hopped on his Ducati. Volt and Pouch gave him a thumbs-up. And a salute.

I didn’t say it––just thought it. For Gaven and the rest of the werewolves, they were twentysomethings. Ballard was showing and he was only sixteen. Why?

He kicked his Ducati into life. We drove past the ‘werewolf-friendly tavern’. It looked like one of those places which has suffered urban decay.

I drove up to Ballard. “It isn’t a tavern at all––it’s a movie theater,” I said.

He looked back at the round marquee, with the falling letters. The box office out front had been papered over with advertisements. The glass was all dark. Old newspapers drifted down the street, tossed by the people who read the bits they wanted, and discarded the rest....

* * *

“Lia. Lia!”

“Oh hi Halsey.”

“You’re drooling on your spell book,” I said.

“Mmm.”

I got into my pajamas. Dear Diary, I wrote.

Gaven is almost a tricenarian––it means he’s really old. Lia seems interested in the Craft, but she’s twenty-four. Next summer is probably her twenty-fifth, which means, from a Wiccan point of view, she just made it. I’m concerned about her werewolf point of view. And her Midnight mumblings...

Maybe, whatever Ballard took me to today, it has something in common with her dream talking. She’s worried about something but she won’t tell me what. Shopping should be the furthest thing from her mind. A mind dangerously close to being set in its ways. Can a person really be more than one thing? In school, they wanted to teach us to be well-rounded. But I don’t think that’s how it is. I think you find one thing. And then you do the you-know-what out of it. Right?

Asher was creeping around on his padded feet and I have still not seen a transformation. Although... Veruschka Ravenseal did make lights fly out of her hand. If one is real, the other probably is as well. I can’t help thinking Ballard is going to say, “Surprise! Fooled ya! I’m not really a werewolf, after all!”

I miss my room. I miss Via dei Condotti. If I had a home, I would say I wanted to go there. But I don’t.

Do you just stop being an orphan when you turn eighteen? Does it just turn off, in the same way it sounds like Gaven will turn off, when he becomes a tricenarian?

Despite what she may say, or however much she may want to be a Wiccan, I know Lia will go with Gaven, when he decides to leave. I don’t see him drifting through Rome saying Remember When?

Question: if I had to give it up, to stop being a witch, would I? For Lennox?

I put my pen down and thought about it. The candle guttered, then came back.

I guess what I’m saying is, it’s between love and something else. And I am at a crossroads. As is Lia. We didn’t see it coming. But it’s here. It’s here.

Chapter 13 – The Styles Master

Lia bolted down her breakfast, a chocolatey cappuccino, and two pieces of bruschetta, a lovely Italian word, meaning toast.

We were late for practice, and I had not eaten anything. “You can’t conjure on an empty stomach,” Lia chastised me.

“Honestly, I’m more worried about throwing up when they realize I can’t do Magic,” I said, as we hurried along.

The tunnels went all over the place. I frequently had to check my map. Finally, we got there.

The central chamber was even more ominous than I remembered––perhaps my last visit, and Maria’s snickering, had made it that way for me. The sandpit looked gladiatorial. One wizard was standing there. Unlike the previous time, nobody else was up in the stands, laughing behind their hands, and whispering secret nothings about me.

Was I being paranoid?

Anyway.

As was our wont, Lia and I showed up late. We stood in a line next to the other Initiates, whom I could swear, said, “About time.” The wizard looked at us sternly.

He was––awesome-looking; there was no other way to describe it. One of those people beyond description.

He was in a loose-fitting white shirt with an open front. No wizard garb for him. The sleeves were rolled up. It looked like something someone would have worn to a duel... two hundred years ago––

I could see his Mark. It looked like a scar.

It twisted viciously up the length of his forearm; I wondered who had cut him... If that was even the right word.

Bright bits of metal, like rings with fingernails on them, were on his thumb, index, and middle fingers. They looked like talons.

But when I saw his face...

He had dark hair; it fell in locks. His shining, bright eyes, were like two limpid pools; they invited you for a swim; to get lost in them. He had a tall alabaster forehead, but on him it looked reckless and daring.

He waited for us to stop gushing among ourselves, perhaps used to female attention. The other Initiates and I couldn’t help ourselves. “Oh boy,” said Lia.

I sympathized. He was totally and completely incredible-looking. It made your mind go blank just staring at him. Where had he come from? Why were we just seeing him now?

He introduced himself, but I don’t think any of us heard him. “Ladies...” he said, trying to gather our attention.

He smiled, and it was dazzling. One of the Initiates popped. She reappeared someplace else.

“Spontaneous crafting. I like it,” he said.

He waited for her to come back down, before he began again. She had traveled without thinking about it, all the way up into the rocks.

“My name is Professor Lux,” he said. His voice was mellow, articulate. It said things exactly how they should be said.

The other girls giggled. One of them made a joke.

“Please,” he said. “We have not much time. You may call me Lux.”

Lux smiled and I felt my stomach butterflies. They were winging around, completely out of control. It wasn’t enough that I was going to have to fail, but I had to do so in front of Professor Lux! Not fair!

“I am the Styles Master,” he said.

“What coven are you from?” asked the girl who had spoken before. She had heavily-lidded bronze-colored eyes and witch-black hair. She looked at him like a bird of prey.

“Ravenseal,” he said.

The other Initiates nodded. As far as they were concerned, it was the only House, and they would be joining it shortly.

“My job is to prepare you for the Wiccan world...” He said. “Yes, you had a question?”

“How old are you?”

They giggled again.

Lux shot it down with a wave of his off-magic hand; the other one fascinated me, particularly the scar. His Mark was so deep it was like it was embedded in his flesh. Like his arm had ceased to be an arm and was pure Magic.

“Old enough that I am used to people listening while I speak,” he said.

Lux continued. “As I was saying. Time is precious. You have had to wait a long, long time. Now suddenly things are expected from you.”

“It’s unfair,” said one.

“What’s your name?”

“Badgley.”

Professor Lux had us go down the line: so I learned that the heavily-lidded girl was Vittoria. She was Basque. From Spain.

I introduced myself and Professor Lux kept his eyes on me for a while. Lia desperately tried to nudge me.

“Well, welcome to you all. The first thing we will be doing over the next few months...”

“Months!”

There was a general complaint that this was far too long.

“Months,” said Professor Lux. “You do not just whisper a few silly words and everything is solved for you. Nor do you spellcast without the proper appreciation of the ethics involved. To speak nothing of laws––or ardanes as we will now call them.”

I glowed. Something I was up on.

“Magic is mysterious. It is mind-maddening Magic. Both in who it chooses and how it chooses them.

“I will let you in on a little secret,” said Lux. “Magic chooses everyone. But so few actually want it. They let it go.”

He stared around at all of us. “That’s part of the test, you see,” he said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I would do anything for Magic,” said Badgley.

“Well, you’ll be given that opportunity,” said Lux.

“If you’re the Styles Master,” said Vittoria, dragging it through the dirt. “Then you must be proficient in all styles. But why do you wear the rings?”

There was a consensus that this was a very good question. It was also completely rude. Professor Lux, give him credit, let it slide off. In fact, he answered the question.

“I don’t Craft anymore; not without these rings. And even then I choose to solve my situational problems by any means other than actual Magic. The reasons are my concern. You had a question.”

“Yes sir,” said one of the Initiates, whose name, I believe, was Shaharizan. “It’s just that––forgive me––your scars are very deep––and as you’re the Styles Master...”

“These are not scars. They are my Wiccan Mark––something most of us will be learning about––”

“Yes but, like, uh, Vittoria said...”

“Speak...”

“If you know every style, your style must be every style.”

“It’s true. My virtue is Virtuosity. These are the marks of someone with that style.”

There was a moment of silent awe.

“I told you,” said Lia who nudged me again.

“The Wiccan Virtues manifest themselves in the orientation, dimensions, and complexity of our Wiccan Marks, which is why Wiccans are very particular about who they let see them. Know the Mark, and you know the person. Virtuosity cuts through almost everything. That is why it is so pronounced. And prized. Whereas Malleability is hardly ever seen. It’s transitory. It can be anything. In that sense, it is the antithesis of Virtuosity. Virtuosity is bold and open. It says, ‘Look at me!’ Malleability is trickier than that.”

He proceeded to list the Wiccan Marks.

“Insight is straight. Very little detouring in the vein work,” he said. “It wants to know.

“Discretion. Discretion puts up walls. Very ornate marks. A lot of fury. But it’s to mask something else.

“Severeness is thick. Humor corkscrews.

“Goodwill... The last two are peace-loving. It and Grace can sometimes appear as flowers... We have a lot to get to...”

He showed us how to direct our magic. The talons on his hand were like some kind of superconducting aid to help him focus his Magic––as though it had somehow cracked. As though he had somehow been handicapped. Despite what he said about his scars––or non-scars, if he was to be believed––there was a story there.

“Forefinger straight,” he said. “The thumb and middle finger are like wings.” He called it the W. “Make the W,” he said.

“W for Wicca.” I watched as Vittoria milked all the attention from him she could get. He directed her hand with his own. She smirked so he could not see, as he stood behind her. I watched as she pressed herself up against him.

“Yes, well. I think you’re getting it,” he said. “How are we doing, Miss Rookmaaker?”

“Very good, sir.” I directed it and a spell erupted from my fingertips. Lia whooped. But she went back to straining with her own.

“I can’t––”

Lux held my arm. His other hand was around my waist. He was directing me from behind. I thought I might not be able to breathe anymore. Or that my panting might give me away. Instead I held my breath. What was it with Magic and hot guys?

“I have seen some Marks that wrapped themselves around the wearer’s arm, forming almost a glove,” he said into my neck.

I nodded, trying not to hyperventilate, he was so close.

“That’s very good. The Marks themselves are a callous. This is very important!” said Lux, releasing me. I breathed again. He walked among the partners, listening to them, watching as they tried to shoot one another with their Wiccan Marks. But the spells, whatever they were, were like ghosts of spells.

“The callous will form only as you practice and learn to control your Magic!” said Lux.

“So my Mark––,” said one girl.

“Will reveal itself in its own good time,” said Lux. He clapped his hands together, drawing our attention. “Next time we will be learning about ardanes. And we still have to get you guys to recite the Wiccan Rede. No Magic without the Oath, I’m afraid.”

He dismissed us.

We filed out, and it was like flames erupting. The other girls and I couldn’t stop talking about Lux.

* * *

That evening at dinner was like some kind of announcement––everyone was there again. Lia and I continued to sit with the other Initiates.

I felt very Dragon Girl. Like we were being prepped for some kind of sacrifice or something.

If the other Initiates and I and Lia were going to have some kind of camaraderie, Did it involve being thrown into the mouth of a waiting animal together or just one at a time?

“There are only so many spots,” said Vittoria. She plopped a pickled beet in her mouth. “Listen, I heard all about it. They don’t take all of us. Just some.”

“Which Wiccan coven do you think you’ll be in, Vittoria?” asked one of them.

“I want Ravenseal. It seems by far the best. What about you, Halsey?”

I dropped my fork. She was looking down the row at me.

“Ravenseal would be nice,” I said, buying time and remembering Professor Lux’s arms around me. Was it really true that the Wiccan covens only had so many spots? If so they were treating us extremely unfairly. “To tell you the truth,” I said. Vittoria’s eyebrows went up. “I don’t think I will be in any of the covens, er, Houses.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because of where I’m from,” I said.

“Which is?”

I thought about it some more. “Not here,” I said.

I wasn’t from here. I didn’t belong here. But I would make do. I would make the best of it. I will craft, I told myself.

I had... I could...

Vittoria’s baiting couldn’t get me down though; oh yes, I know you, I thought, as I looked at her.

“Well I want Ravenseal,” she said. “They seem... competent. That northern coven has a chip on its shoulder. And look at Mariska’s hair. And she’s the Head?”

Vittoria seemed utterly unconvinced.

“What about Harcort?” I asked.

“Stupid name,” said Vittoria. “Stupid House. I’d rather be a dog.”

“Hey! Watch it!” said Lia, giving her the Evil Eye.

“Oh! I forgot! You run with them... don’t you?” she said.

But it was broken up by the tinkling of silverware against crystal glass.

The delegates from the five Houses, rose to their feet–– That is, Ravenseal, Harcort, Coven, Lenoir, and The Sons and Daughters of Romulus.

Everyone quietened down. Gaven was looking dashing as always. I couldn’t help but picture him in all his six-nine magnificence being mad at the other VIPs. Could a werewolf beat a magician, or a vampire, for that matter; and, if so, were we in any danger of putting it to the test?

I also wondered how he and Lia kissed. He was super tall.

Fortunately, they had more grand designs.

“Professor Lux says the Initiates are coming along well.” Gaven indicated him.

Lux looked roguishly handsome, but he was too self-effacing to make much of the compliment. The Gathering lost interest in him. They were more interested in what the big secret was. I looked around at them all.

At all of the male and female vampires; there were over fifty of them.

The Werewolves, of course. The Pack, if anything, seemed to be growing in number. So there was a healthy dose of females in the population. Being called occurred regardless of gender. Over half of them were women.

I caught sight of Locke, who looked away from me, when he saw me staring.

And the Wiccans. So many Wiccans. Their robes were like jewels: amethysts and emeralds, rubies, and sapphires...

The men favored blue and the women a variety of hues. But there were a few outcasts. I saw the serious one.

Gaven said, “Part of any get-together is knowing how to have fun!”

Maria looked like she could disagree but didn’t say anything.

“That is why, this Saturday, the Gathering will be transformed, from a dire attempt to decide the fates of our three worlds, to an evening to remember...”

I couldn’t be sure but I thought I saw him blush. But he carried on gallantly anyway. Gaven speechmaking was something I was getting used to. But now that I knew this about him I was beginning to accept him as the Leader of Leaders––or the Host of Hosts.

If this were Paris, it would be Maria making this speech.

“Three nights from now, we will be having a Ball,” he said. “And that isn’t hyperbole!”

His joke fell flat on the ears of his audience.

“You know! A dance!” Gaven said.

My brain began catching up with what he was saying.

“Yes, each of you are encouraged to find a date, if you do not already have one. There will be dancing, and I’m sure, plenty of opportunity to get to know the rest of the many interesting people we have here with us. This Gathering,” went on Gaven, “will be attended by more than just those of you who are assembled here, so you are encouraged to look your bests. Now I know my own fiancée is probably thinking she has nothing to wear...” Nervous laughter. “Not to worry. Come tomorrow night, you officially have forty-eight hours to attend to whatever you need to attend to: including getting a date!”

Okay, now he was just being mean.

“That means the tongue-tied will need to loosen those tongues, and everyone else––all of you suave ladies and gentlemen––work that mojo!”

Definite laughter. “The Ball will begin at eight p.m., and continues until Midnight. It is an excellent opportunity to say hello to those you may not have spoken to before now, and to get those bonds of friendship solidified, which really, this whole endeavor is about anyway. Anyone else?” he said, looking around. Now that he was on a roll, Gaven seemed to be enjoying himself.

The other delegates, all of whom were female, said nothing. They just smiled at him. Gaven therefore wrapped up with this sentiment.

“If we can enjoy ourselves together for one night, just imagine what we could do if we had all the time in the world?” He sat back down.

The Meadpalace absolutely erupted.

Vittoria was off, enumerating all of the problems. “I don’t even know anyone here. Much less any of the boys. There are not hot guys here. Oh excuse me. Unless you want to get fleas.”

Lia ignored her. “You know what this means,” she said to me. “We finally get to go shopping!”

It burst like a spell from her unformed Mark. She squee’d uncontrollably. I had to admit. Now that I thought about it, it sounded like fun.

“But who will take you?” she said to me.

Reality dropped back into my stomach, along with about a million butterflies.

I didn’t know anyone here; when I ran through the guys, all I said was no, no, no. This was ridiculous. Where was Lennox?

Gaven was getting himself sloshed down at the long table. The vampires were all carrying on among themselves. So at least this was an opportunity to get them out of their antisocial rut. But did I want to know any of them?

“Who were the visitors Ballard was talking about?” I said suddenly. “Who were the visitors Ballard was talking about?” They must’ve been these non-Gathering gatherers––The outsiders who were insiders––The rest of the Magical and Supernatural world! Politics! I told myself.

Lia was thinking about where we should go. But we still had one more day of Wiccan training to attend to, and then––gulp–– I suddenly had no time. This was just wrong, throwing this off on me with just short notice. Honestly...

I didn’t even have my makeup or anything. Who was going to do my hair?

I didn’t want to go to a stupid ball. I wanted to study Magic.

“Halsey. Calm down. You look like you’re hyperventilating,” she said to me.

“Hyper is right,” I told Lia. “I wish my Mark would just form, so I could conjure my way out of this. I better not be thick like Mistress Genevieve. She looks like she has a runway going down her arm. I want swirls.”

“And you’ll get swirls,” said Lia, who looked like she thought I was cracking up.

“If I could do Magic I could just Alcatraz or alakazam... Ali Baba...”

“Abracadabra,” said Lia.

“Yes that. Just do my hair,” I said, indicating a strenuous motion that would result in my hair changing color.

“Would you really want to? You have such lovely hair. It’s like mine. We could be sisters.”

“Purple or magenta or some other derring-do.”

“You punned.”

“Pardon?”

“You punned. Daring do. Is that what you’re worried about, that your hair won’t be right?”

I blew a strand of hair out of my face. “We don’t all have boyfriends, Lia. Well, boyfriends who are here all of the time,” I said. “That reminds me. When did you decide to get married? Never mind. There’s no time. No time... to hear your life story. I mean, did you pursue him or did he, Gaven, pursue you?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Ballard came over, but she shooed him away. He left hurriedly. He didn’t even argue. Which meant my face must really look horrible.

“My parents didn’t want us seeing each other,” said Lia. “They didn’t approve of Gaven.”

“But he’s Gaven,” I said, looking at her through my hands. If I had mascara on, it would be running all over my face. “And you’re so beautiful-looking. Italianate. Sleek and ridiculous. I’m a potato farmer.”

“Knock it off,” she said. She could see me judging myself. “You’re not a nottie.”

“No?”

“Uh-uh,” she said; except it sounded like mm-mm. “If I were a guy, I’d be all over that. Naughty not nottie.”

“You made a pun,” I said.

“So where were we?”

“You were being all Romeo and Juliet. Gaven was from the House of Montague. And you were her, the girl from Verona.”

“Right––so they didn’t approve. They thought he was a troublemaker. I thought he looked most comely on the back of his motorcycle. But then one day––he changed.”

“You mean he became a werewolf,” I said, “you saw him transform?”

“No. But he started chasing me like a dog. He wouldn’t stop asking me out. He even gamboled a time or two.”

“So that’s what love is? Making a fool of yourself?” I said.

“I’m not saying make a fool of yourself. Just look for someone who would make you happy for one night. You have forever to fall back on with Whosie-whatsit. Although I don’t recommend doing it that way.”

“Thanks Lia,” I said.

“Oh, and let my brother down gently. The git doesn’t get it, got it? Good.” She left me there. It was almost bedtime before I wandered back into my room. And late, late at night, before I drifted off to sleep. I had been looking at the illustrations of Wiccan Marks as inked in the margins of my copy of the Whatchamacallit Codex-thingy and it was a while before I shut my eyes. When I did it was like blood running in rivulets up both my arms. Professor Lux was holding me, and saying, “I have seen many Wiccan Marks, but yours are the best. They were always there. You just had to reveal them, Halsey, like your feelings for me....”

Maria was laughing. I was playing roulette with a Wiccan wheel that had all of the House names inscribed upon it. And as I spun it I saw all of them––the faces of the members of each House.

And just when I thought it would land on Ravenseal...

Chapter 14 – Problems

I woke up. As I lay in bed I tried to direct my magic but it wouldn’t do anything. That was the big secret. How do I open the conduit, so to speak? No one had ever told me. I had always had to wait. Abstain. Whatever the reasons, they sounded like mush in the mouth, when I heard them.

Ballard wasted no time.

“So,” he said–– my forehead creased over my Rice Crispies.

“Ballard, I’m flattered, but––”

“Guess who I just asked out?” he said.

My plastic spork fell on top of my cereal and drifted there. “Who?” I said.

He tossed his head nonchalantly at one of the werewolf girls––herself chatting with a bunch of them; probably about what they were all going to wear. She was very beautiful.

“Liesel. But isn’t she––”

“Yeah,” he said, as if he couldn’t imagine his good luck. “She’s one of the Team Leaders. I only go with the best.”

He wasn’t aware of it, but because of what I had been thinking about, that really, really stung. Did I want to go with Ballard?

Lia scoffed into her breakfast. “She’s way too old for you,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Ballard, bright and hopeful.

Lia frowned. “Last time you hopped on something you couldn’t handle, you crashed into a wall.”

“Well, I’ll just have to ride her till I break her in, then, won’t I? Ta-ta.”

He was off, finally having won an exchange. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of us that Lia and I would show up late to the Star Room today. When we got there the other girls were all over Professor Lux, which I realized was a tactical error, on my part.

He called us to attention, and then sacrificed the floor to Veruschka Ravenseal––She of the blue hair––and the other Wiccan delegates.

“Now that we are all here,” said Veruschka, looking at me and Lia. I tried to catch Lux’s eye, but he had his head bowed. “You young ladies need the Oath administered to you forthwith. Please bow your heads. That’s right. I find shutting your eyes also helps. Repeat after me, please. I...”

“I,” we all said.

“Do solemnly swear...”

“Do solemnly swear...”

“That I will not use my Powers...”

“That I will not use my Powers...”

“For any wrongdoing, unless I am prepared to have that wrongdoing visited upon me elevenfold. I...”

“I,” we said.

“Pledge to protect the secrets of Wicca, and will not share them with outsiders, unless I am prepared to vouch for that person as a new Initiate.”

We repeated after her.

“Congratulations,” she said. “You are all officially Neophytes.”

Professor Lux raised his head and smiled to himself.

“I trust you will fill them in on the gaudy details,” said Veruschka to Professor Lux. She proceeded to exit the sandpit at a trot, her feet flying. The other delegates followed after her.

Lux made sure we were finally alone. “I think that illustrates a point you should all learn. Even Magic can be turned mundane,” he said. “Do not lose your awe. Right...”

He looked over his notes––some three-by-five cards he was carrying.

“I need to fill you in on the structure of Wiccan covens,” he said. “Wiccan covens are matriarchal. That is to say, they are like beehives. With one Queen. She’s the boss.”

There was some giggling.

“You like that. Good. Of course non-Wiccans pretending to be Wiccans can do something else, but what do they know? Next.” He flipped to a new card.

“Like she said, you are no longer Initiates. Which means that you can attend any gatherings, not just the open ones. Do please continue to wear the robes, however. I like seeing you in them.” Flip.

“Do you all have your books?” he asked us.

We nodded. We all looked at each other.

“Good. Each Initiate is given their own copy, when they come in. Obviously, obviously. But they are encouraged to make changes to it. The Book is really a metaphor for the Wiccan experience. No two Wiccans are the same, just as no two Books are ever really the same. Magic split. At this Gathering, we have three Houses. The reason for that is these Books.” He held up his own; it looked well-loved and cared for, though it had started to fray.

“You can imagine being Initiated by someone,” he said, “and they hand you down their book, with all of their marginalia in it––the things they thought Important. Improvements, and so forth, experimentations, new discoveries. Wicca is not set. Just as the Universe is alive and ever-adapting. It is constantly in flux. So is Wicca. And part of the chameleonic nature of Magic is new blood coming in, tossing out all of the old, crusty ideas. Upending things. I think that’s the responsibility of youth. So whereas we can all trace our roots back to the same beginning, within the Houses there is mutation, just as there is mutation within your Books. Do you understand?

“How many of you received new copies of the Magus Codex without anything written in them?” he said.

Lia raised her hand. She was one of the few who did.

“For each of you, the experience is going to be different. We put the books into a Hopper. Each coven was allowed to bring so many copies––annotated however they saw fit. And we also introduced untainted versions into the catch-all Hopper. Each book was then drawn and you received your books indiscriminately, the leftovers going back to wherever they came from. This has been the technique for bringing in new Wiccans for over a century. It is important to note. There is no right way. All Virtues have Power, just as all Wiccans have Power. Just as all Books have Power. Learn to appreciate your differences, and you will see all which you have in common.”

“Excuse me, sir, but how long does it take to go from a Neophyte to Adept, and has anyone ever just skipped straight to Fledged?”

I didn’t see who had spoken––just knew. It was Vittoria. I noticed, when I came in, that she especially had been flirting with Professor Lux.

“To become Adept,” he said, “takes a year and a day. Fledged takes longer. Yes?”

“Thank you for that, but what I meant was, is it possible to accelerate the learning?” said Vittoria, accompanied by a bunch of nods from the other girls.

“I understand. You’re looking for a cheat. Wiccan steroids,” he said. “There aren’t any.”

“But I heard––”

He held up his hand with the gnarly Wiccan Mark on it and she stopped talking. Lux didn’t need to hide his Mark.

“Some would think an annotated copy of the Codex, with a bunch of marks in it, preferable. It would be better than a brand new book which has never interacted with a Wiccan mind before,” he said.

Sure. They all nodded and agreed.

“But ask yourself: Who was it that came before you, and what did they think? What should you think? Should you follow or take control of your own destiny? Are they correct by virtue of their age alone, and the fact that they were here before you? Maybe you have a better idea. Don’t discount the fact that you matter. If you didn’t, none of us would be here.”

He broke us into teams, and instructed us to try and move each other.

“Levitate a grain of sand,” he said, when he saw that we were having difficulty with that. But no matter what I did I couldn’t get one speck, one mote, of magic dust to move.

“And the reason,” he said, “is because there is no cheat, there is no shortcut. There is only practice, and determination, and if you want Power, it comes at a price.”

My mind felt like it was going to explode. A vein was throbbing in my temple. Lia gave up, huffing and puffing. I had never felt less like a witch before.

“That is your first lesson,” he said. “Wanting something is not the same as earning it. And I would say something else. The people in your books acquired their knowledge through trial and error. Through trial and error. You will be making a lot of mistakes before you are ready to advance. Do that! You make those mistakes! In here, you are encouraged to make fools of yourselves, because out there, you cannot afford to slip up. So take advantage of this time. And remember. If it was easy, it wouldn’t be Magic.”

I looked at my Mark, willing it to appear, but if I expected to see something, it wasn’t there.

He dismissed us. “Not you, Halsey,” he said. “Stay a moment, would you, please?”

I caught sight of the other Neophytes, all of whom were staring at me. Vittoria’s wrath was particularly palpable. She may not have been able to levitate a grain of sand, but she could certainly put me on my toes. I was going to have to watch out for her.

She looked daggers at the two of us, before departing in high dudgeon. Lux waited for the others to leave.

“I spoke to Stavros,” he said. “He was the one who brought you and your roommate both of your Books.” I could imagine where this was going, because it had also been on my mind. “He told me that you said you already had one,” said Lux.

“Yes sir,” I said, wondering if he was going to be disappointed in me. And then, if it was even my fault. After all, my parents had left it to me.

“I understand if you don’t want to tell me, but I am curious,” he said. “Whose copy do you have?”

I explained to him about Ballard, and how he had sent the book to me and stuff, and what I was doing in Rome before I found out about the Gathering, and that I was one of the ones who had been invited to be Chosen. He just nodded his head, like he was thinking about something. I finished up with: “And so now they expect me to get all dolled up for some dance routine I knew nothing about, and I have nothing to wear, and if I’m the only one who shows up without a date, the other kids will laugh at me.” I felt pathetic.

“Do you know what I find works best for that?” he said.

“I know. Make mistakes, take chances. Be the best me I can be,” I said as forthrightly as possible.

“What else have you got to lose?” he said. He interrupted me before I could retort. “What I was going to say is––you take charge. It’s like the Wicca we were talking about. Destiny is for the people who are afraid to take control of their own lives. You make your own destiny. Have some nerve. It’s not called crafting for nothing. It’s like these Marks. If I wanted to be somebody else, I could’ve been. But this is who I chose to be. Do you understand? I crafted myself.”

He flexed his right arm with his off-hand; I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like he grunted.

“Sir...”

“Lux,” he said.

“Sir Lux?”

“It’s Professor Lux, Halsey. What do you want?” he said smiling at me.

“To know why you really wear those talons.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Is it really true that I will have to take the name of House Ravenseal if I join,” I asked, “because I kind of like my own name, sir? Is something bothering you?”

“It’s nothing. Go on. I kind of like yours as well. It is true. But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Halsey. Again, Wicca is a personal discovery process. Soon you’ll be eighteen. You can make your own choices from here on out, don’t you think?”

He grimaced. It looked like his Mark was paining him. But he soon got over it.

“How old are you, anyway?” I asked.

“I’m your teacher, Halsey. You cannot ask me to the dance.”

“No. Of course not,” I said.

“But we can go as friends.” Lux smiled and I beamed the way the lights did on the waters of Rat Rock, late, late at night. “Is that a yes?” he said.

Something boomed within me. I nodded.

“So it’s settled, then. Sorry, but I’m afraid I will have to go now.” He left me standing there.

The more I thought about it, the Marks seemed to be shaped by character. It was almost like looking at a person’s penmanship. Sloppy, neat, all over the place, etc. Or like their bedroom.

Yeah.

My own room was simple––it was neat, clean, and elegant––not too much clutter. And it was filled with various mementoes. The things which mattered to me. And nothing else.

* * *

If witches and wizards were like open books, then Lux was a mystery novel. I couldn’t tell what was up with him, but I was glad we were going to the Ball together, even if it was just as friends.

When I thought about the Oath I put in my diary that it was a lot like the oaths doctors took to do no harm. ‘Power takes Oaths,’ I said. ‘What gives me the right to take power?’ A bit of rhetorical nonsense, but the more I thought about it, I thought, Can being born with something be a responsibility?

You have it. Therefore, shouldn’t it be yours to use as you will?

The forty-eight-hour clock began to tick in my head, now that we were out of class. Lia was all over the place. She and Gaven would obviously be attending together. “But then it’s like a State dinner,” she said. She didn’t know if she would have to shake a lot of hands and come up with something interesting to say to each and every one of them, or whether or not it was more informal than that. “Because if I have to be Mrs. Wolfhead, it’s a lot different than if I was just going to a kegger in Trastevere,” she said. “You know what I mean?”

Gaven came by and explained; I think he could feel when she was upset.

“So we have to get evening gowns, shoes, a wax job wouldn’t hurt, you’re right, your hair is terrible,” she said to me. Gaven knew better than to stick around.

“Lia. Relax. You’re hyperventilating,” I said. “One thing at a time.” I had still not told her who I was going with. I decided to let it be a surprise. It was no one’s business, after all. Lennox was gone.

Now I began hyperventilating.

“Halsey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I said it as resolutely as possible. It was just one night. “Let’s go shopping. Come on. This place is starting to smell like BO.”

“You should be here when we all shift,” she said, and then her frown became really pronounced. Was she crying?

“Lia, what’s wrong?” I said.

She shook her head when I came to her. We sat down on the bottom bunk. I had my arm around her. She had her face in her hands.

“I can’t... anymore,” she whispered to me. “Ever since I got here.”

“What do you mean you can’t? You can’t turn into a werewolf?” I said.

She sniffed. “I can’t shift,” she said.

“Does Gaven know?”

“He says the Magic may be interfering. It’s not a case of having been a werewolf for too long. I asked him to talk to some of the Wiccans, but, you know, hypothetically.”

“And?”

“They said there’s never been a witch who’s both. At least not for a while. Over a century, they said.”

“You mean a witch and a Shifter, a Witch Shifter?” I said.

Lia nodded and then tried to get a hold of her emotions.

“Did they say if your Shifting ability will come back?” I asked.

“They d-didn’t––k-k-know...” she said, and started to blubber.

Some of the other werewolves came to look. I gave one of them an angry look and kicked the door shut, but the sound dribbled out anyway.

“Lia, we’ll figure this out,” I said, “do you hear me? Just don’t give up hope.”

She wiped away her tears, and then took a gigantic sniff. “I’m okay,” she said. I saw her stand up and square her shoulders. She threw her head back, and her dark-colored hair cascaded down her back. The next thing, she was putting on her riding jacket. “I feel like going for a spin. What do you say?” she said....

We returned that night with gowns we purchased from Via dei Condotti. They cost a fortune!

It was amazing what it felt like to be back; like I had never left Rome; but also, that I might never come back. Everything was changing. I was changing. So was Lia. I also got some jeans and stuff.

We had everything we needed to do our makeup and hair––and shoes; Lia and I got lots of shoes!

Chapter 15 – Party

Saturday, the day of the dance, dawned cold and dark. We had been at the Gathering now for nearly a week. Tonight I would be attending my first ball; the thought of it filled me with nerves, but they were good nerves. Rumors swept through the Werewolf side of things, over who would be in attendance. What Supernatural luminaries might we have the pleasure of getting to know firsthand?

Lia was a bundle of feisty, maligned energy. She got up early and by a stroke of genius had one of the Wiccan witches––Gisela, I think her name was––who admitted us into the Gathering, do a bit of voila-action upon the cubbyhole of a desk in our room. It was transformed suddenly into a suitable place where we could put on our faces––cosmetically-speaking. We now had a large divaesque makeup station with mirrors and big pretty lights and another full-length mirror on the inside of the door. And a sink. I watched the witch perform her spell––but however she did it was beyond me. Lia decided to get to the bottom of it.

“So, Gisela, right? Just how fledged are you, anyway?”

Gisela’s nose wrinkled at being addressed. She was an arctic blonde.

“You’re from the Covens, right?” persisted Lia.

“Yes,” said Gisela, as if she thought this might go on longer, and was in a hurry to get away.

“What’s the matter, you don’t want to talk to us?” said Lia. I sat up in my bed, holding a candle, watching her. There wasn’t enough room for all of us to stand up.

Gisela said, “I am not supposed to offer my criticism or support to the Wiccan Initiates––”

“We’re Neophytes now,” said Lia. She held up one finger. “One day gone. One year to go. Then I’ll be just like you. You are Adept?”

“I am not supposed to influence the decision of the Council.”

“What Council? I thought we got to decide which House we wanted to be in for ourselves,” said Lia.

“No.”

“No, we don’t, or no, you don’t know?”

I watched as Lia bullied Gisela out of the room. “No, you don’t get to ask me that,” said Gisela.

Lia slammed the door in her face. She turned to me with a triumphant smile, a little wistful for the unfortunate attitude of some of the Wiccans. “I gotta say,” she said, “if it’s a choice between her and being a werewolf... argh argh arwoo... I think I’ll keep the fleas. Don’t tell Vittoria I said that though. So, you’ve been quiet. Got a hot date?”

I blushed. She smiled at me mischievously. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say. But you do have to get in this chair. Come here,” she said, kicking it out for me. “Crawl your skinny ass out of bed. We’ll have to work straight through breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I tell you...” I crawled out of bed, and set the flickering candle on the countertop. Lia and I proceeded to dump out all of our cosmetics onto the table and sorted them. “I’ll be glad when we can just focus on the witchcraft,” she said.

She looked at me in the mirror, taking stock of the “raw goods,” as she called them. She ran the sink. “I need to wash your hair,” she said. Her fingers were massaging my scalp. “That’s right. Good.” I had had similar experiences basting turkeys before––except I was the turkey. Lia frequently grabbed for her power tools like we were in the motorcycle shop. She tweezed, plucked, and pinned...

I talked. I got her to open up to me more about her family’s curse they had going on of being werewolves. “The old stories,” she frequently said. “According to the old stories...”

I was more interested in now. “What’s it like?” I asked.

Lia thought a bit. My hair was in her hands. She yanked it roughly about. When she talked she had to do it out of the side of her mouth, because the other side was full of pins.

“Like wrapping your legs around a wild animal,” she said. “I mean, you know, you have your Gambalunga. What’s it like when you put on that helmet and start the engine?”

“Wonderful,” I said.

“But instead of being separate from it, it’s like you are the thing. And there are all kinds of upsides.”

“Such as?” I said. I had already heard Ballard’s list of werewolf powers, but I wanted Lia’s take.

“For starters, speed. Werewolves are fast. There’s also werewolf constitutions. Eat what you want. Do what you want. I like hamburgers and French fries, myself.”

As she talked, I saw a flicker in her eyes, the corners of her mouth relaxed, and her eyelids half-closed––I could tell she was thinking about it. It made me think about what it was like for her and Gaven. I mean, they got to be this together, they got to be werewolves together. They got to run in a pack. Something such as that would be a loss, indeed, when it was gone.

“The thing is,” she said, “that a long time ago, it didn’t used to go away, being a werewolf. I mean, there used to be stories. According to them, if a werewolf abstained––attacked no human being––then after a period of so many years, they would retire and return to their former selves, presumably as humans, to live out the remainder of their days. Which I’ve always thought was a kind of promised land. But that was then. Now it isn’t so much a curse as a way of life. And I have to say, once you’ve tasted it, it’s hard to imagine going back. I certainly can’t, and I think about it a lot. Gaven says he’s ready, but I don’t know. I’m going to be this for another six years. Unless the Magic takes. I’ve been thinking about it, and you’re right. It’s like when they threw me, temporarily, off the Wolves’ Council–– Which, by the way, did you hear about the Magic Council––? Gisela certainly didn’t mean to let that slip. There’s a lot of factions going on here. Anywho. I’m in a state of flux. I know what she was talking about, when Veruschka Ravenseal said minds get narrowed. I want what I want. And I’m too old to be in school again. Of course, we have other secrets, werewolves. But some things you need paws to comprehend. I can tell you this... that when a werewolf dies, so does the shape changer. It’s called reper-something-or-other,” said Lia, “and it’s what happens when you get stupid. Which is why Gaven is practically a stranger. He’s on the lookout for anyone acting in a way they shouldn’t be. Which means he’s pretty much busy all the time. Oh well. At least I get to hang out with him tonight.”

How could I not love this woman?

“Lia... I’m kinda glad I know you,” I said. She yanked my hair again. If I had to pay for her being neglected, so be it. Who knew hair could be so cathartic.

* * *

It was time. The lights were all low, and the magic that usually shone from the corridors, filled the hallways with twilight. Lia and I stood in our gowns in front of the full-length mirror, admiring one another, as the clock ticked to zero hour. It seemed to boom over the PA System, announcing the start of the evening’s festivities. We could hear doors opening and the sounds of the Wolves meeting each other for their dates. Lia winked at me.

“Whoever he is, he’s lucky,” she said.

I thought Lia exhibited more than her usual skill at fixing things; she had used real craft-magic getting the two of us together. Her hair was in an elegant twist and her eyes, Midnight and dusky, obviously had big, Gaven-sized plans for the night.

We wore white evening gowns in deference to the black robes we had worn as Initiates. White for Neophyte.

It was time to go meet our dates.

“Remember,” said Lia, taking my hand and opening the door, “it’s a cotillion ball, a coming-out for of-age Crafters––you look great, by the way. As such––”

“Halsey!”

Ballard came running up to me.

“See, told you so,” said Lia.

But he had come with someone else. A woman older than he was.

“May I present––Liesel. From the Sons and Daughters of Romulus,” said Ballard.

Liesel said, “I really like your outfit, Halsey.”

“Incidentally,” said Ballard, carrying on before I had had a chance to respond, and whispering to me so that only I could hear. “They don’t usually make them like that. Just don’t tell Lia.”

Clearly he couldn’t believe his good luck.

“I don’t know, Ballard,” I said. It was clear he didn’t know what he was talking about, because next second Gaven arrived. He beamed as Lia left me and took his arm.

I said hi to Liesel who commented on the locket I was wearing. “It looks very old,” she said.

“Seventeen years old!” I said.

But then I forgot where I was and the sound got shut out. Lux was waiting for me at the entrance to the Werewolves’ dormitories.

I nodded at Liesel and walked past Ballard, who momentarily stared after me, amid the others filing out. Lux stepped back, letting them pass.

He had brought me a pink corsage, “Until you have a flower of your own,” he said.

I had to stare at him before my mind would work. He obviously meant my Wiccan Mark. I didn’t know what it would be when it appeared.

“Shall we?” he said.

He held out his hand to me, the one with the scar on it, whereupon I noticed that he was not wearing his rings.

“They’re called Tridents,” he said, when I commented upon this. The skin there was blackened, reddish raw.

“Do they hurt?” I asked, seeing the three fingers which made up his Wiccan W. The index finger especially looked like it had been burned. It was different-colored than the rest of him. Despite what he said it looked like scar tissue.

Before he could reply, however, we were being swept out into the Gathering. Where we were headed I had no idea. Apparently the warlocks who had helped build this place had been busy the length of time it took Lia and me to sufficiently coif our disobliging hair.

Even the lock I usually had to blow out of my face knew where it was supposed to be tonight.

The same could not be said for the Gathering. It had been transformed. Now holly, garland, and mistletoe bedecked every passageway in and out of the place. We were being led by streamers to the Star Room itself––the place where the other new-minted Wiccans and myself had been practicing under the tutelage of Professor Lux. I thought what Vittoria might say (“Teacher’s pet”), or indeed any of the other Neophytes, if they saw me hand-in-hand with him. That he’s too old for you, probably. Let haters hate, I thought. I had Lux. And we were going to a dance. Something Lia hadn’t said. It used to be that such as I, at such as this, were called debutantes, and it was our opportunity to exhibit and be seen. I had looked for European witchcraft all of my life––since St. Martley’s––never having really expected to find it. Now they were going to be seeing me, these witches and wizards!

It was weird.

What did they look like? How did they behave?

Mistress Veruschka, et al, were here as ‘representatives’––nothing could be so false. But Wiccans outside of the Gathering! They were going to be in attendance, as well as other Supernaturals! It wasn’t just my coming out. It was the coming out of the world!

I found Ballard, with my eyes, engaged in conversation with Liesel; she was in a pretty sequined dress that showed off her figure. I suddenly saw her laugh and Ballard throw his head back; she continued to giggle behind her hands. What was I doing?

I looked at Lux, who smiled at me.

“Nervous?” he said.

“Not one bit,” I said. “I can hardly wait.”

As the tunnels opened up and the ceilings became less oppressive, light filtered in, and the clicking of heels and whispering of cloth gave way to the sounds of hundreds and hundreds of individuals from here, there, everywhere. There were more Supernaturals at the Gathering than I could imagine! I looked for Asher, Dallace, Camille; what I saw instead were trains of people I had never seen in my life; it really was an opportunity to dress up and show off, like a parade, almost, and thanks to Lia’s ministrations, I had nothing to be worried about.

I saw men––some so Mediterranean their eyes looked like they had dragged the sea with them; and women––like jewels in a box, bright and sparkly. They greeted each other and enquired as to this or that. Having always perceived of werewolves as eternally young, I was surprised to see very wolfy-looking older men and their dates; all of whom looked like it was high times indeed. Then there were the werecats.

“Don’t ever call a werecheetah by a werepanther’s name,” said Lux. “They will so dislike you for that.”

“I think that’s a were faux pas,” I said. “...A werepaw,” as he steered me through the assemblage.

I looked out at the assembled skin-walker’s convention––and then I noticed the vampires––and something miraculous happened.

They were happy. Everyone was. It was like they were glad to be here. I had to give myself a little pinch; they were all smiling and laughing. And all of it, the paranoia––the them versus us... None of it seemed to matter anymore. For tonight at least we were as one.

Periwinkle-blue dog’s-bane and hydrangeas the size of footballs covered the sides of the catacombs, with twinkling glitterdust that floated in midair. Butterflybushes filled with real butterflies stretched towards the many hummingbirds I saw drinking from flutes of coppery foxglove like champagne glasses filled to the brim. Still we continued, past nasturtiums of nasturtiums and the devil’s-walkingsticks I saw guarding the way, past garlands of holly, and even a roisin dubh or two. And all the while I clutched Lux’s arm. It was perhaps a spell like the one Camille had weaved at Venice, ethereal and otherworldly; on the garden, not Lux.

I wound my way through the tunnels with the other guests. No amount of magic could fool the eye when it came to discerning who these magical people were. The foreign werewolves and other shape changers, the vampires and the Wiccans, they gave an air of mixed breeding and savagery, of refinements and the most well-polished animal instincts. The vampires were like velvet-lined boxes or the powder rooms of movie stars, all, I realized, with that most coveted of possessions.

Status.

They were here by invitation of the Lenoir. I had the sense that they could blink away a quarter century no problem.

As for the ailuranthropes, though lacking in refinements, they had cultivated a presence nonetheless that was all their own. Hirsute or not, they were formidable-looking. The only question was why they hadn’t sent delegates to the Gathering themselves.

Asher was with the Lenoir, or so he’d said. His real objective was something else––I was sure of it. Lia had said that the other delegates had been upset with Maria Lenoir when she brought him along. What was it about ailuranthropes––Cat Shifters––that was so repulsive to them? There were so many dos and don’ts, to Magic. It was like Magic was Magic, and I was trying to keep up.

As for the Wiccans, it sent chills down my spine seeing them all here.

I heard voices behind me suddenly; one in particular I knew.

“She’s all right, if you’re in to that sort of thing.”

I looked back. Vittoria was staring after me with her heavily-lidded eyes, on the arm of Paolo, one of the Werewolf Team Leaders. He wasn’t divulging Pack secrets, was he? Then I thought: Is it even my business?

If I’m going to be a werewolf, I told myself... Then, yes, it is....

I cocked my head at her. She made a W and shot it at me, then smirked and walked past me, into the Star Room.

It opened before us like a million galaxies. Immediately couples began to make their way onto the dance floor for the opening dance.

Chapter 16 – Hiving

This was the part I had been really afraid of. I can’t dance. It’s one of my major life failings. Lux and I revolved slowly on the dance floor. I frequently stepped on his toes. Every once in a while he would be hailed by someone presumably that he knew from across the dance floor––but he stayed with me.

He’s with Ravenseal, Halsey, relax... I told myself, of course he knows people!

Then a strenuous number. Lia and Gaven were throwing their bodies around wildly. You had to give it to the Wolves. There was something wild and free about the way they danced. Unselfconscious. As though they were at one with themselves. It was a moment before I remembered that Lia was split––she was either a werewolf or a Wiccan now, but she couldn’t be both; her Mark had still not filled in. No one’s had.

The other weres, I noticed, were a secretive lot. Particularly the cats, who kept mostly to themselves, although one werecheetah actually bent and kissed my hand, when Gaven introduced us. An electric current passed between the werecheetah and I, which meant that we had sexual chemistry. I could almost see him blush through the whiskers on his fine face.

Lux removed himself to go get us some drinks. I was left staring at the sandpit. Except it wasn’t the sandpit any longer. Magic had transformed it until it was a kind of Roman Forum (as if, in celebration of the fact that we were in Rome), with various statues of particularly impressive cyanthropes––that’s Dog Shifters––in full change––something I had never seen before––and wizards and witches who looked like they were in the throes of some particularly complex conjurations. A tall obelisk stood in the center of the room. It usually stood there, but seeing it tonight, it was somehow strange and ominous. And full of Magic. Ornate figures were carved around it so that it looked like an impenetrable iron fresco or a shadow caster. Instead of projecting the light, it drew you to it. The ground had been covered over with a parquet floor temporarily and the obelisk jutted out of it like a metallic tooth.

The vampires, meanwhile, didn’t need statues. Tall and imperious-looking, there were a hundred of them situated throughout. They looked to be carved out of stone. Quite a few of them were in conversation. I made my way over to a pair who were talking to some of the warlocks I had never met before. Their drinks were red, with sparkles in them. Magic Fruit Punch.

“I think we must create New Magic––embrace werewolf, witch and vampire-kind.”

I paused, listening in to what they had to say.

“It’s a pity some of the others couldn’t make it. Although if you ask me a lot of them are without any civility whatsoever.”

“If you ask me this sieving process has to stop. Isn’t the purpose of our gifts in their mastery? How can you master anything if you don’t even know what it is you can do?”

“I just wonder about our guests,” said one wizard––an older gentleman who looked as though he could’ve been an Oxford Don; “as well as the Initiates’ Marks.”

“What do you think they will select?” asked his friend, a vampire.

“Well, we’ve given them someone who will help them, I daresay. An expert in Wiccan Marks, is old Lux.”

“Can you explain that?” said the vampire, before sticking his fangs into his drink.

“The Mark is you––or your essence. I really don’t understand it. What it will be is anyone’s guess. Only the Initiates really know. But don’t tell them that.”

“Why not?” asked one of the vampires.

“Well, it has something to do with going against the Initiates’ natures. Malleability, you know, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Just as Virtuosity––well...”

“Isn’t that Lux’s...?”

“I wonder how he got those scars?”

“Dueling, most like.”

“So they’re not his Mark.”

“Good heavens, no. Lux has always been reckless. Short fuse. You see it with Marks like that. A Mark, mind you, that has grown deeper. Which is why Lux’s name is so funny. It means Light, you see. I don’t know if he’s turned from it––or is trying to find his way back. But I’ll tell you this... Aether does funny things when you play with it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to bend Magic and got a very nasty shock indeed. You see those rings he wears. You know how he got them? Lux, old boy––!”

I turned around. Lux was standing right there with our drinks. Huge paper umbrellas stuck out of them with swizzle sticks.

“And who is this young lady? Not breaking the rules, are you, Professor?”

It happened. One minute, Lux was preparing to engage the wizards and vampires in conversation, the next––my eye caught sight of somebody else.

He wore a pair of dark wizard dress pants and I couldn’t be sure but a black, spotted with darker black, silk dress shirt that changed as he turned, and the light hit him from different angles; it was almost holographic. His long mane of black hair fell to his shoulders. The serious-minded Wiccan I had seen before. His eyes were penetrating into my own, like chips of blue ice. He was just about to ask me something, when somebody else fell upon me.

“Julius Pendderwenn! There you are! Very glad to meet you! Wanted to introduce myself for ages! But then you already know me! It’s you I’m interested in!”

He held out his hand to mine and shook it furiously with two of his own. It was a moment before I could look and see who I was talking to. I looked for the other Wiccan but he had gone.

“Good to meet you!” he said. He continued to try to rip my hand off. “Halsey Rookmaaker–– I was in your parents’ House, don’t you know? Their Wiccan House.”

It was the smiley wizard I had seen before at the Welcoming Ceremony. And elsewhere... He had also been following us up in the stands when the Initiates and I had been training. One of the few to have done so.

“I’m sorry. Can I help you?” I said. Still full of the wizard I had just seen, it was a moment before I realized what Julius Pendderwenn had said...

“I knew your parents! Seventeen years ago! It was horrible when we lost them.... Who do you think took over when they were––well, anyway. But now you’re here. Pendderwenn House has been waiting a long time to be complete. With you, I think we can be. Circles within circles. What goes around comes around, eh?”

“W-w-what?”

“Halsey... ––Pendderwenn House is here in Rome,” said Pendderwenn. “Just think about it. Think about us. All right. I’m going. I’m going.”

“We are not to the selection process yet,” said Lux, who had finally reappeared and was now pushing Julius Pendderwenn away. Veruschka Ravenseal and the other coven leaders popped up, along with Maria Lenoir.

“Not breaking the rules, are we?” said Maria, whose marigold-colored eyes blackened infinitesimally, before lighting on me. Pendderwenn gulped.

“I want to see!” said Vittoria, pushing her way through.

Maria stood, waiting for an answer.

“It’s nothing. Just a lapse in protocol,” said Lux. I noticed as he spoke Lux dig in his pants-pocket and remove his Wiccan rings. He slipped them on.

“There are a lot of things that you don’t know about yet, Julius,” Maria Lenoir said to Mr. Pendderwenn, who shook from head to foot.

I turned my head away, letting my hair fall between us. She had looked at me.

“Who are House Pendderwenn?” I asked Lux, feeling like he had been keeping things from me, “and what are they doing in Rome? Is it really true my parents used to be one of them?”

It was hard to keep the bitterness out of my voice. Had there really been a House in Rome all this time, and I had not found it?

The party hiccoughed. Vittoria looked around waiting for something else to happen. Veruschka Ravenseal looked daggers at Mr. Pendderwenn who apologized profusely. “It can wait. It can wait,” he said. “Just a little overanxious is all. Twenty-five years... it’s a long time to wait. Won’t happen again. Promise, promise.”

“It better not,” said Veruschka.

Apparently that was the end of it. The werewolves went back to their dancing––and Vittoria, with one last look, disappeared with Paolo. Maria Lenoir continued to hover, however, like an overeager evil-eyed specter. “You know the rules, Lux,” she said to him.

She left; I was left staring at Professor Lux with about a million questions. I think he could see it because he formed his Wiccan W and stirred his magic drink. It was a mark of the severity of the situation that he used his magic for something so mundane. He swizzled it and took the umbrella out, which folded up all by itself. What did Maria mean by that, and why was Lux looking the way he did, like he was nervous––or worse... scared? I wondered.

“You’ve been marked,” he said. “It was foolish of me to take you here tonight. I’ve put a bull’s-eye on your back.”

I grabbed Lux and dragged him over to an alcove where we could talk alone.

No more half measures. I wanted the truth.

He paced back and forth, and I saw him, absentmindedly, massaging where his tridents were. He didn’t expect a fight, did he? “The other Houses will try and recruit you,” he said to me. “That’s what Pendderwenn was doing. He thought I was giving Ravenseal an unfair advantage. This Gathering is about more than indoctrinating new Wiccan Initiates––it’s about staking your claims to them––the other Houses, I mean.

“Pendderwenn had no right to engage you like that,” he went on, “but he thought I was making a move on behalf of Ravenseal before the Wiccaning. So...”

“Not so fast,” I said. “What’s a Wiccaning?”

He took a sip of his raspberry-mint cocktail.

“It happens in two-days’ time,” he said. “There will be a reading of sorts––kind of like when we all held our lights––except this time it’s for real––at which point you and the other Initiates will have to choose.”

“Our Marks, you mean?”

He nodded.

“With this type of choice there is no second choice,” he said. “It is a chance for the other Houses to look at you as well. We have an unusually high number of Initiates this year, and not enough spots.”

“They keep threatening me with that. Vittoria said there weren’t enough openings––and as she’s easily the most powerful new witch–– I mean to say, there’s no way Ravenseal can afford to take all of us, can they? Maybe Pendderwenn’s my best shot, maybe...” I said.

“Magic split, Halsey. I’ve been meaning to speak with you about this––with all of the Initiates, as a matter of fact.”

“We’re Neophytes now,” I said. I couldn’t help it. I smiled.

“You see this W,” he said. “Like it’s being pulled apart. Like there are three of them. They represent the Three Houses. Harcort, Coven, and Ravenseal.” He waggled his three fingers. “But there are more Houses than just we Three. Magic continues to split. Pendderwenn House is a satellite. It is a lesser coven. I will explain...”

I watched him compose himself, wondering if it were really true. Like everything involving Magic, there seemed to be layers upon layers––each one hidden under the next.

“A Wiccan coven is comprised of twelve members––just twelve members. Thirteen, and it can no longer function,” said Lux.

“There must not be that much Magic in the world,” I said.

“On the contrary,” he said. “Unlike vampires, who keep their numbers hidden, Wiccans have to be very open about just how many of us there are. The reason is because of the Last War, in which a lot of the Supernaturals were killed. It happened over a century ago. In the time of Charles Dickens and cobblestone streets.

“I won’t bore you with the details,” said Lux. “Suffice it to say, that a treaty was brokered, in which certain covenants were agreed upon, among them that Wiccan covens must Hive––break away, and form autonomous covens.”

“It was the vampires who made us agree to that,” said Lux. “But we got something in return. Vampires could no longer employ Half Lighters––magically-empowered beings with unique gifts, such as the ability to see the future, to scry, as it’s called; some can travel with their minds. Asher is one. He has the leave of the Houses, and that of his own tribe, to attend this Gathering with the Lenoir, who just want to keep an eye on things, they say. But hiving... Hiving is important....

“It was Erasmus of Ravenseal who proposed the idea... an idea supported by Maria Lenoir. She was there, you see. The Lenoir had a foothold. Their power was great. This was 1887. Maria was second-in-command at that point. How she gained further power I do not know.

“But it was her pleasure to state the following: that either Wiccans should purge their numbers––reduce their sizes––to twelve a House––or the Lenoir would systematically destroy all of them. There wasn’t a question that they could do it. Their numbers were enormous. It was an ultimatum Erasmus, as wartime Head, was unwilling to test. His Mistress, Vanity Ravenseal, had already been killed, you see? One of the vampire hunters who had been turned had caught up with her, on Maria’s orders, no doubt. Erasmus agreed that from thenceforward all Wiccan covens must Hive.”

“But what is Hiving?”

“Hiving,” said Lux, “is what happens to over-numbered covens when they get too big––thirteen Wiccans or greater. They must split off––hive. One House becoming two. Parted. Forever.”

He seemed to consider that important.

“So whereas Ravenseal is at eleven, presently, if it takes on more than one Initiate at this Gathering––becomes thirteen members or greater––it must fracture. Thirteen people is too many.

“House Pendderwenn, of which your parents were a part–– I was a kid, but I have seen the Family Trees–– hived, originally, from us, from House Ravenseal. Here’s the rub––and it was something Maria Lenoir didn’t intend...

“Only a fledged Wiccan member of any coven may form an autonomous House,” said Lux. That means it is independent in every way from its parent coven. Julius Pendderwenn is not fledged, nor will he ever be, I don’t think. Even if something should happen to him, it is Ravenseal’s decision on who should replace him. Houses don’t let other Houses Hive from them, Halsey. Not really.”

I nodded. Now that I thought about it, I didn’t want to be beholden to some parent coven––some Ravenseal, or something like that. It was like the magic books. They should be free to develop independently, as should the Wiccans who read them, shouldn’t they? Yet, if I joined a House like Pendderwenn...

“...I mean to say,” I said. “I would be a slave,” I told Lux.

Now that I thought about it, St. Martley’s was an independent coven. They had never hived from anyone.... That I knew about....

“It’s for protection,” said Lux. “If a war were to break out, the Houses would contract, the parent covens dragging back their satellites, anywhere in the world. Ravenseal’s numbers would swell, become greater than twelve, along with its power. Not to mention the Harcorts and the Covens. And that is what the vampires are afraid of. That we will be too powerful for them to control, if and when a second war ever starts.

“Erasmus must’ve really outsmarted Maria Lenoir that day,” he continued almost to himself. “She must’ve thought that would’ve been an end to it––with Hiving. She figured eventually Houses would emancipate themselves, one from the other. But that hasn’t happened. Which is why junior covens are carefully monitored and fledged Wiccans not allowed to head them up. That’s third-degree Wiccans, by the way. Some say there’s a fourth degree.”

I drank my mint julep feeling like my head would explode.

* * *

It was nearing Midnight. And as the chimes rang, the party was ended––I had not really met anyone. So many Supernaturals had attended this Ball. Yet, I felt, we were no closer to any kind of magical understanding. The room was emptying. I looked up into the stands, where couples were being shooed out of their niches. It was time for the goodnight.

Lux and I had spent the evening whispering together. I felt honored to be in his presence. So I knew, for instance, that he was twenty-eight-years-old. I asked him about it. And also, how long Wiccans could be expected to live. A part of me was thinking about Lennox––and then a nebulous guilt would surface until I remembered Lia’s words––one night only...

Lennox and I had forever. Or at least a forever. Lux explained:

“We do not ordinarily outlive our counterparts, unless we have something left to do, some unfinished business.... Wizards, I mean...”

By counterparts he meant humans––non-magic human beings. Even with magic, people still fought wars. It made me sad.

Lia and Gaven came over––and were just about to engage us in conversation––when several things happened simultaneously.

Lux grabbed his Wiccan Mark and grimaced––the doors flew open and several people I recognized as members of Gaven’s pack raced in––and my head, my head went funny––

Shapes and sounds assaulted me––and a voice...

Ballard yelled and my eyes flew open. He was being held back by Locke and some of the other werewolves. Paolo stopped dancing with Vittoria to come over and rescue him. Suddenly, I was in a furstand.

Gaven and the werewolves were all six-nine. So I didn’t see what had gotten Ballard’s goat, or his werewolf or whatever. But Lux was really hurting. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” he said to me, panting and out of breath. He stopped me when I tried to help him. “But I have to go,” he said.

I tried to go with him but I was stuck in tall bodies––shunted to the side––with Lia. Lux bade me goodnight and left.

Gaven was surrounded by werewolves.

“But they’re okay?” he said. “No... I want no retaliation. Step up the protection detail. In fact, I want the Riders assembled. Tell the Team Leaders I wish to speak with them immediately. It can’t be helped.”

Lia whispered to me.

“Volt and Pouch were just attacked,” she said. “They’re being taken to my house.”

“Volt and Pouch? You mean those two fourteen-year-old boys? Attacked by whom?” I said. “Are they okay?”

“Good question. We can’t stay here. Gaven’s orders. He wants us back in our dormitories. Come on,” said Lia.

I followed after her. Ballard was nowhere to be seen. Apparently, Rome wasn’t big enough for all of us––all the Supernaturals––even for one night. “My idiot brother. Can’t even control himself,” said Lia. It was a while before I spoke with her again.

Chapter 17 – Wizard Donuts

Lia’s snores filled the dormitory. The usual sounds were gone from the werewolf side of things. I realized half of them must be out and about.

On Gaven’s orders. What had he said? That they were to ride around all night. But that couldn’t mean... There weren’t vampires making a problem in the city, were there? I couldn’t sleep. Despite Lia’s warnings or perhaps because of them my mind and body were both wide awake.

“Dear Diary,” I wrote, but gave it up as a bad job. I was restless. My legs were itchy. I decided to go for a walk. The clock in our room said three-thirty––so I hadn’t been asleep that long. Dreams at the Gathering were non-existent. Instead I was having waking dreams––visions... of–– But no, it was impossible, I shook such inane notions out of my head; and because they were so warm, slipped on my Initiate’s robes. I put my hood up. Now if I was interrupted, people would think it was just some strange specter––like Maria herself––not a narcoleptic Neophyte who walks in her dreams.

Despite what anyone said, I didn’t trust Maria. She gave off this vibe, like death. Maybe she was the one whispering in my head. I had to keep that to myself. I couldn’t let it out that I was––that I might be––

If people thought I was, they wouldn’t want to be around me anymore, would they?

No, they would not.

Pretty soon I found myself standing in one of the hallways that led to the Star Room––I didn’t know what had made me go there, but I had.

It had been put back to rights, the Star Room, like nothing had ever happened––the holly and unused mistletoe and all of it had all been magicked into non-existence. Such efficiency scared the hell out of me. I thought a party should be messy afterwards. Everyone drunk on sleeplessness and whatnot. It turned out someone else had come for messy mis-remembrances. Gaven himself. He stood there by the obelisk, running his fingers along it––looking at all of the figures. I startled him when he heard my footsteps––apparently I was less disembodied than I thought. He turned suddenly; it looked like he was angry. His violence faded as fast as it had flared, however. “Halsey!” he said. “You shouldn’t be here.”

When I asked him why not, he said, “For lots of reasons.” But then he smiled at me and went back to petting his sculpture. Gaven wore his biker jacket over his tux.

For a tricenarian, he was very hot.

Tricenarian. Gaven was losing his power...

“Ballard tells me you’ve been having funny dreams,” he said.

He stood up and looked at me; I nodded.

“It isn’t that he can’t keep confidences. Ballard is a werewolf,” said Gaven. “He is in my pack. He has an obligation to inform me if anyone is experiencing the Calling.

“Is that what this is? I have––funny dreams,” I said. “I hear––voices almost.” Immediately I had betrayed myself after swearing I would not tell anyone that I was crazy.

Gaven stuck his thumb back at the obelisk. “I have just been talking to Asher about this obelisk. Funny guy, Asher. But trustworthy, you know? Has things to say. Apparently this meeting place rests on my ancestors. This obelisk is their tomb. Their headstone, in point of fact.”

He didn’t expect a response––which was good, because I had none to give. It was so late at night that any ordinary formalities ceased to exist.

Maybe Gaven was used to being by himself. Leaders were like that. Because he went back to staring at the obelisk, and forgot about me. But of course he spoke again.

“I didn’t know what I was at first,” he said. “I was just some teenage hormonal biker chasing girls––not that I’m not that guy still––at heart. But then it started happening. I would lose time. I would cease to be me, and I would be the Wolf, instead. It is an amazing and terrifying experience. This ferocious joy would overwhelm me. Then––alone––I would run to meet the night.”

He turned and smiled at me. I could see for a moment what he was talking about. It was like something had hold of Gaven. Some force larger than he was.

Mind you. Gaven was big.

“This was bigger,” he said. “Better than anything I had ever known. But when I went to share it with other people I realized I was all alone. That is what it is to be the Alpha. Even when Lia turned, I could not share everything––what all of this meant to me––even with her. I have been a werewolf now for ten years. And I can feel it slipping away from me....

“So much for my little bildungsroman. The Calling, Halsey, is the werewolf coming of age. For seven years those whom it selects are forced to serve. Old men forget or they never knew. This party tonight is an example of that. Things are not as they seem. They are not as others would choose to believe. The Dioscuri have seen to that....

“I think I may know what is hunting you,” he said to me.

I didn’t know why, but I told him––there and then––what I thought it was.

“Some kind of animal, Gaven. I dream about it every night. And Ballard. Ballard is part of it. Ballard...”

“Ballard,” said Gaven, “is special.”

“He’s protecting me,” I said.

Gaven fell silent again.

It was a while before he spoke.

“Promise me,” he said, “that if you should ever take leave of Rome––no, listen to me. Promise me that you will take Ballard with you. I think he is meant for more than this. He’s worth ten times as much as me. I just hope we are not too late. He will need your guidance before the end. Well, my end. For you and Ballard, this truly is beginning.

“You are like the Wolf, Halsey Rookmaaker. The Wolf that I was. I look for him, now and then, but he is gone. Ballard will explain to you. I will let him in on the secrets of our Pack. Risky would have wanted it. He was the greatest werewolf who ever lived, Risky. But he had his time. Watch out for Ballard. He doesn’t say it, but he will need your help. Come with me. I will take you back.”

* * *

The next morning was a buzz of dullness, until over breakfast Ballard explained to me what had happened. He had been riding around all night.

“I’m famished,” he said. He dug into his pajata, which was calf intestines, calling it the quinto quarto, whatever that meant. Plus he ate oxtail stew. I watched him, slightly sick to my stomach. Maybe it was all the mint juleps the night before. Or maybe there was something different about Ballard. I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was like he had changed. Like the old Ballard was gone.

Lia made a point of ignoring him. But I knew Ballard. He would just think she was being jealous. After all, as a Wiccan, Lia had been shunned, in a way, from the Pack––and this after being its co-Head, the alpha female. To top it all off, she had still not figured out what was going on with her shifting––if she could anymore, or if it was gone forever.

Now was Ballard’s turn to exhibit.

“That blood-lipped vein drain is gone, I take it. Last night,” he said, “with Liesel. Guy comes up to me. Tries to start a fight.”

“He wasn’t starting a fight, you idiot. He asked Liesel for a dance.” Lia couldn’t control it any longer. “But no. You have to go and cause a scene. Mom and dad...”

“If you mention my mother and father again, I’ll––”

“What? You’re becoming a real problem child, you know that, Ballard? Come on,” she said to me, “we’re going to be late...”

I hurried after her. Ballard went back to his food, with an angry look on his face.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

Lia slowed down once we were out of Meadpalace.

“He just doesn’t think. I swear––I thought he was going to shift, right there, when he shoved that vampire. We’re supposed to be getting along with these... people. If Ballard’s not careful, he’ll end up starting a war.”

We turned a corner, and went down the tunnel to the Star Room. I liked it better when it was decked with witchhazel and all of the other flowers. Now it was cold and stone. And Lux was, too, when he finally got there. Maybe he was still hurting from the night before.

We had never had that awkward moment, Lux and I––of whether it was a date or not––or what was the protocol, and so forth, for ending the evening.

There was that guilt again.

An image of me, locked in Lux’s arms––Lennox, scrutinizing us from a doorway.

“Vampires... What kills them... What they can do... And what we can do to counteract some of their nastier aspects. That will be the lesson for this morning,” he said.

He stood around waiting for someone to speak.

“Anyone?” said Lux. “Come on. Don’t be shy. Yes, you there. Shaharizan, is it not?”

“Yes sir... I was just thinking... well...”

“I see. You feel that we should be friends with vampires. Is that it? You see them here and you think that this is their normal behavior. By all means, let us here from you next.”

Another Neophyte had raised her hand. Badgley, I think.

“It’s just, it’s a little––and I mean no disrespect––but it is a little––two-faced, don’t you think? I mean, here we are trying to make friends. And then the next second we’re learning how to kill each other. It’s just rude, is all.”

“Isn’t it?” said Lux.

I got that swashbuckling sense from him again, even though he was a little hungover, or whatever, with the pain from his Wiccan scar. Maybe it had interfered with his niceness, because he was being more direct with us than he had ever been before, less inclined to coddle––I almost wrote cuddle––us.

“Wiccans make war. So do vampires,” he said. “We like to kill each other.”

“But––”

“This is not an ivory tower, it is a sandpit.”

Badgley stopped talking.

“Rude perhaps. But I think you’ll be glad of the training you received from someone like me if a vampire ever tries to attack you.”

Was that a possibility?

As I felt to my neck, I knew that it was

“Besides, this is an intellectual discussion,” said Lux. “You will not need your callouses.”

The wit of that. Like we would have to build up our resistance to sentimentality. I looked at my Mark, wishing it would appear.

It went from the most contentious to the funnest lesson we had ever had, and the most informative. We learned about sires, brood sizes, and certain telepathic powers they possessed (“They feel a connection with their brood master,” said Lux), something Lennox had never explained to me amply, and also about what kills vampires.

This was the part I shied away from. The other Neophytes and I looked at each other––except for Vittoria, who said, “I just wonder what kills those big hairy balloon animals?”

She pantomimed making a werewolf out of a balloon. Apparently her date with Paolo hadn’t gone that well.

Lia overheard this but didn’t say anything. She may have been mad at the werewolves herself. From what I had seen, they had started treating her shabbily. I was going to have to have a long talk with Ballard about that.

Lux signaled for the end of the lesson.

“One last chestnut,” he said, “–– yes, Lia?” Lux looked surprised. Lia hardly ever raised her hand.

“I don’t know about you guys,” she said, addressing the other Initiates, “but I could do with a ladies’ night out. What d’you say to getting out of here for a while?”

The other Neophytes and I looked at each other.

“Seven o’clock?” she said.

We nodded. It was agreed upon.

“Tomorrow is a big day,” said Lux, drawing us back temporarily. “We have a guest speaker. Try not to be late.”

“We won’t be long,” said Lia.

Lia and the rest of us shuffled out of the room, with Lux disappearing to wherever he went. Vittoria was looking at Lia like some kind of boundary had been crossed, but let it go. The other Neophytes and I whispered excitedly together. We agreed to meet at seven o’clock at the tunnel the Wiccans took to get in and out of the Gathering. There was a big van, or something––and some other cars there, that we could take. My inner-Gambalunga snorted some.

* * *

November visited the Roman countryside that afternoon with thunderclouds and a fierce torrent of rain water, so I spent the time writing in my diary, waiting until nightfall, when the storm subsided somewhat, and everything cleared up.

We had a little surprise waiting for us when we got there. Two little surprises.

The first was that Vittoria wasn’t coming.

Cool with me, I thought.

“It was almost like she didn’t want to come,” said one Initiate in a hushed voice.

Lia smiled at this.

“Vittoria was all buddy-buddy with Veruschka Ravenseal at the party,” she whispered to me. “Two guesses who they’re picking.”

It sounded like Ravenseal had their new Initiate. Vittoria Ravenseal.

When I thought about it, it made me sick. I didn’t tell Lia that Ravenseal had only one opening. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. “I’m not joining any House she’s a part of,” I said.

The next surprise was that Ballard’s ape van was waiting for us, a curious little vehicle that rode on three wheels. There was a single driver’s seat and a little homemade chair behind it. The other Initiates would have to make do in some of the other vehicles I saw lined up at the Gathering.

It was obvious that the majority of them had driven here. I didn’t know what I had expected, broomsticks and magic carpets. But we piled into as few automobiles as possible. It was Lia and I in the ape van. The rest would have to follow.

When I crawled inside, there were bits of straw, like chickens had lived in it. The front end was badly damaged but the motor had been fixed. It was the color of a pale blue sky, covered in rust. Lia started the ignition and the engine rattled to life. “Gaven brought it,” she said.

“How is Gaven?” I asked, but she just shrugged. Lia more than anyone needed to get away from here. It was clear that she longed for the city––for the piazzas and all the places she knew. In a sense, I knew where she was coming from. But she had it worse.

My homesickness had abated. I was merely a potential who might possibly be recruited by a prestigious Wiccan Household. Lia was in the Hopper with the rest of us, but if no one picked her, if she wasn’t selected, she didn’t have the past that she could fall back on, of going and being a werewolf again. And even though she had Gaven, neither did he. Losing your animal was like dying, I thought.

The bashed-in ape van wobbled and picked up speed. The leaves on the trees were in their last gasp of life. And the moon through the clouds was crescent. It was a blue moon. Lia’s eyes were bright and sad. I could see them through the rearview mirror, which dangled like it had done something wrong.

We went that night to a piazza, whose stalls were open, just to walk around. The other Initiates, none of whom were from Italy, took the opportunity to walk around and admire the jets of water bubbling up from the fountains, and to buy interesting knickknacks.

Lia and I bought some roast chestnuts from a vendor, popping them into our mouths, while we spoke about, oh, lots of things.

“I want to show you something,” she said. We took our purchases to one of the fountains. I think it had a satyr in it. Anyway....

The light from the moon and stars reflecting in the water––

––revealed her Wiccan Mark.

It was faint. But it was there. She hid it with her hand so that only I could see. It had a fingerprint. A sort of unique swirl at the tip of her index finger. Silvery-blue like streaked lightning. But so finely wrought that it was almost invisible. Her delta––that was the point of her elbow––looked like an intricate knot work of silvery veins that glowed when she hid it in her other hand––it came out in the dark. “Lia... it’s... beautiful...” I said.

She glowed.

But then her eyes got sad. “I’m going to start having to wear manica langas,” she said. “That’s what we call it when someone is sly. It is said they have long sleeves. I hate that we have to hide. Wiccans, I mean. Gambalunga means long legs, by the way. So at least you’ll be able to run really fast, if you have to get away.”

We joined the rest of the Wiccan Neophytes I kept thinking of as Initiates because the Houses had still not made their selections yet.

It was like joining a fraternity. A sorority, because we were all witches. Why was that, by the way? Why were the Initiates all female?

“I have been reading my book a lot,” said Lia, who was referring to her codex, “and it’s... ––they’re looking for somebody,” she said. “This... super witch...”

“Is that what this is all about? Which House will get her?” I asked.

Lia shrugged.

“The others think that that House will take over,” she said. “They’re angling for supremacy, the Houses. Even the vampires and werewolves are interested in finding her. Maria––you know she will be there at the Wiccaning, right? She’s brought a psychic wereleopard, remember? It’s where they read our minds. She’s as interested in finding her as the rest of them are. Maybe even more so. It would be the missing piece. The one thing Maria needs to take over––to start another war. Maybe I’m being paranoid.”

She popped a chestnut in her mouth. Lia motioned for the other Neophytes, who returned, carrying their purchases.

We sat that night around the fountain, talking.

It would come and go, the rain.

I learned the rest of the Initiates’ names.

There were ten of them.

Nora Blackknight, Larissa Nightbloom––Badgley Ravenscroft, Azura Darksky––Lizette, Pilar, Padget, Shaharizan, Astra, and one last one, the strangest of them all––Gemma Moonflower.

It was a matter of Houses, of who would go where, and what they would do. Perhaps Lia understood that. She was, after all, the oldest of our lot, a Mistress in her own right. We treated her like Big Sis.

* * *

I spent the rest of the night fretting––pursued by Maria––she brushed the tops of the trees, in her witch’s feet––following me over countryside––wondering if it were really true––if they were really waiting for her to be this super witch––or, well, one of us––whoever she was.

The Wolves were waiting for her and the vampires had their own claims staked–– Not to mention the Wiccans...

It got me thinking where my choice was; if I even had one?

A cold draught fluttered the hairs on my forehead and I went back to sleep. In the morning I had no sense of the way things had gone––but it bubbled up like something out of a fountain, the idea of the One, during our training session with Lux.

He had brought someone with him. Asher––Maria’s psychic wereleopard.

I was puzzled because both Ballard and Gaven had vouched for Asher––as had all of the covens.

Yet why was everyone so wary of him? In particular, the Wiccans.

He was wearing his indigo-colored vest and other accoutrements, but it was Asher’s eyes, like fire opals, staring out at you, like slitted cat’s pupils.

Lux cleared his throat, enjoying our reaction. Asher was so impressive he merited staring at––a lot. Some girls were drooling.

Lia had to shake her head. She was in her robes, her Wiccan robes, which hid her Wiccan Mark. Neither one of us could discern a virtue yet. But then babies all start out the same too. My money was on Awesomeness, whatever she selected (“You’ll be able to,” I said. “It’s your choice.”)

“This is Asher, who is–– do you mind if I say?” said Lux.

“Not at all.” Asher looked like he was rather enjoying himself. He winked at me and I returned the greeting.

“Asher is a Half Lighter. Does anyone know what that means?” said Lux.

Half the hands in the room went up. “Vittoria?”

“Half-Magic, half- Something else,” she said.

Asher smiled and his fangs were exposed.

There was a gasp.

“In my case,” he said, “I am the offspring of an eclectic wizard and his wereleopard bride.”

“Do you shift?” said someone.

Asher’s smile broadened. “I do something else,” he said.

“But you’re not a wizard...”

Vittoria again. I wished she would just leave. Asher took it in his stride. I suddenly saw my opportunity––and it came to me, what I had to ask.

“Please Mr. Asher, sir, is it possible for someone with Craft to also transform into a crocodile or a weregiraffe or something like that?”

I could see Vittoria thinking about her balloon animals again. Which was good. I didn’t want her knowing how seriously I took the answer.

Asher seemed to sense there was more behind my question, however, and I noticed as he paused, that Lia’s ears perked up.

“Some Wiccans actually covet shapeshifters as mates to create Witch Shifters––there has not been one in over a century,” he said.

I looked at Lux, who was perfectly content with Asher’s description, so it must’ve been true.

“But we need to get back to Half Lighters,” said Asher.

The class made an aw sound.

“I have to instruct you for tomorrow’s Wiccaning,” he said.

Suddenly we were all on the tips of our toes. He had our full attention.

“Because one of you may be this One, the Wiccan Prime Mover. She can access large amounts of magic they’ve only dreamed of before.” His un-Marked arm seemed to take in all the world. “That is why everyone is so interested in finding her,” he said.

“But I thought a Wiccaning was for infants?” said Shaharizan, who clearly knew more of the magical world than I did.

At the mentioning of the One, the other Initiates hadn’t even flinched––which meant that I was far, far behind. I was going to have to start practicing. If I was going to form my Mark, I had to.

“Childlike is what you are, when it comes to Magic,” said Asher. “You have all had to wait, have you not? So we are going to have a Wiccaning. To do this we use Guides. Fledged Wiccan Elders who help you look inside––to see who you truly are.”

“You mean mind reading?” said one.

He nodded.

“In a sense,” he said.

A mutinous outbreak of mumbles, followed by a cold sweat. My cold sweat. I didn’t want someone messing around in my head. No way.

“What happens if you don’t let them in?” I asked. “I don’t want someone reading my mind.” Grunts of agreement.

“That is where I come in,” said Asher.

“Pardon?”

“I am a psychic wereleopard, Halsey. I can break in.” He smiled, and his canines––which really should have been called felines––erupted mischievously.

“I don’t want you looking around... There are things, in there––private things...” I said.

The other Initiates and I were in a panic. It was uproar. Asher breaking in. Asher––seeing.If he had thought we would appreciate that, he was very much mistaken.

“Believe me, you have nothing to worry about,” he said, but no matter what he said to alleviate our worries, I couldn’t stop the massive panic attack welling within my breast.

Vittoria flexed her fingertips. “If that’s what it takes to be in Ravenseal...” she said.

So it was true, then?

“Then I’ll do it,” she said.

The rest of the Initiates nodded.

“It looks like we have to,” they said.

“It’s all right.” Lia put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure if it was really bad, they wouldn’t make us do it.”

Lux helped Asher get the class back in order.

* * *

Lux warned us to empty our minds. “They’ll try and read you,” he said. I could only imagine he meant the Wiccan Elders, who sounded like a bunch of old dudes. “Remember,” he said. “This is a reading. They’re looking for certain affinities, the shape of your mind, its complexity. They just want to peek inside and get a feel for you.”

Gross. I suddenly found myself getting angry. “You mean so they can better know where to put us,” I said. “Into which House.”

“It’s true. The findings, some of them, will be broadcast,” said Lux. “Do not be surprised if you get certain invitations afterwards. A part of the Gathering, is so that recruitments can take place in a controlled, safe, environment. Do you remember what I said about Wiccans not liking other Wiccans knowing about the shape of their Marks?”

We all nodded.

“Sounds paranoid to me,” said one.

“The mind is the same way. It’s inviolate,” said Lux. “A crucial Wiccan ardane is that you do not mess around in someone else’s head. That was agreed upon at the Covenant of 1887.”

Lux had briefed us on the event, the ardanes and the hiving he talked to me about earlier.

“Then why are they making us do it?” asked Shaharizan.

“Because you have to. Just once. You’ll see,” said Lux.

“I do not use my gifts,” said Asher, continuing, “except under special circumstances, when the powers that be have come together and it is agreed upon that I should look.”

“Among the covenants that we signed,” said Lux, “was that Half Lighters were no longer to be used as weapons––to scry, as it’s called, or see into the future. It’s too much power. But they, like all fledged, can look into our minds. Something Wiccans do not do to one another, as a courtesy, as much as anything else. Clear your minds, please.”

But my mind wouldn’t clear.

No matter what I did.

I had scried. I had thrown my mind over great distances. I had heard into others––or, well, listened to them. It was like I was there, but my body wasn’t. But that wasn’t possible, was it? You had to be a psychic wereleopard or something, didn’t you?

Lux and Asher paced among the Neophytes. “You’re not clearing your mind, Halsey,” said Asher.

I looked at all of the other Neophytes, all of whom looked serenely out of it, or like they were constipated, so focused were they on trying to forget, to empty their brains, but that kind of oblivion just wasn’t possible for me. I could feel my forehead crumpling. I had to get to the bottom of this.

“You said that your dad was a wizard? But what kind of wizard? An éclair wizard?” I said to Asher.

“Eclectic.”

“But what is an Electric wizard?”

“Eclectic. It means he wasn’t Initiated by any of the Houses,” said Asher. “Wiccans have a thing. That they are all descended, one from the next, through lineaged magical bloodlines––for want of a better word––back to the original House itself. Before it split. So in a sense, all Wiccans are related to each other. You are all in one House. One Line.”

“But some Houses are better than others,” I said.

He laughed.

“Do you know why I came here, Halsey Rookmaaker?” he said to me.

I looked around. It was just the two of us talking.

“To find the Wiccan Prime Mover,” I said.

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Know your history; it is important,” said Asher. “The ailuranthropes––those who shift into cats––have been discriminated against forever and always. They weren’t even invited to the Covenant of 1887, much less this Gathering. Do you see any of them here, besides me?”

“No,” I said. “Well only at the party.”

Asher held up his hand.

“Even in the realm of magic and fantasy, we have our hierarchy.”

“But you can’t think––I don’t think of you that way,” I said.

“I know you don’t. I am here only for my powers, Halsey. Otherwise, they wouldn’t need me. An eclectic supernatural is a false mage––someone who exhibited signs of the Craft, but for whatever reason, did not matriculate and become fledged. Magical outcasts. Unschooled. Roughly fledged. In some things they know absolutely nothing. But in others––in others, we are masters in our field. We are the self-Initiated; you meet us, time to time. Have you ever met a false mage, Halsey Rookmaaker? Anyway... My father was one. A great far-seer was he. He knew things before they happened. He could always see when we were about to have dinner guests, for instance. They came like clockwork. I was there when he died. When he stopped seeing. It took us the afternoon to figure it out. But by then it was too late. He had stopped seeing. Halsey?”

My gut clenched. I remembered back to the voice that would never leave me. The mad old tinkerer in his workshop, with his ball of string.

“I have met an eclectic supernatural before, or, well, a wizard, rather, like the one your father must have been,” I said. “He stopped seeing too. I was there when he stopped. His name was Infester. And he could see everything,” I said.

... He saw me coming, and he saw who I was to become, and he saw me seeing. The whole Power of Sight thing.

Asher could read it on my face. “Tomorrow,” he said. “We need to talk after the Wiccaning. But first clear your mind. Clear your mind, Halsey Rookmaaker. Otherwise they’ll all see.”

I did as he said, feeling the weight of the inevitableness of it press into my flesh, like an ingot of gold, like a hot Wiccan Mark, it was my destiny to wield.

* * *

The Pack were treating Lia like crap. At dinner the two of us were all alone. Ballard was with the other werewolves and Gaven was nowhere to be seen. It was me I had to worry about. I couldn’t be seen, either. Asher was right. Lia was right. Wiccans had to hide. Besides, hadn’t Lux said that it was a private discovery process?

I practiced closing my mind; but no matter how hard I tried, I kept seeing them all, staring at me, whoever they were, these Wiccan Elders.

When I looked around in the Meadpalace, I was surrounded by dangerous beings, and I certainly was dangerous. I knew that now. Maybe I had always known. It all went back to Risky, and something Asher had said. He had been telling us about shape changers. Lux had really invited him, he said, so that he, Asher, could give us a heads-up. Just like Lux wanted us to know about vampires, he wanted us to know about werewolves and other shapeshifters––and as Asher was about as other as you could get, the lesson was comprehensive and authoritative. “They transform,” said Asher, speaking about werewolves et al, “uncontrollably at birth, before learning to control it; before forgetting it, in fact. Whereupon it comes back as a Big Surprise.”

The others laughed, but I looked at Lia. Now at dinner she was staring pensively into her food.

“I suppose you heard what he said,” she said. “Come on, Halsey, you’re good at putting two and two together.”

“I thought you had missed it,” I told her.

“Shapeshifters shift,” said Lia. “And as you’re born with it...”

I took a sip of my soda.

“My parents would’ve known,” she said. “They would’ve known all along. They would’ve seen me and Ballard as babies. They would’ve seen me shift, and they never told me. They never said, ‘Hey, expect to grow hair in unusual places, when you turn twenty-three. And Gaven... Gaven! This explains absolutely everything.”

“Actually... ,” I said.

She looked at me, shaking her head. “What is it?” she said. Her eyes were sad again, almost as if she didn’t want to acknowledge what was coming.

“You do realize, Lia, that in a sense, I am Italian, even though I have a weird-sounding name, and used to be butt white because of where I grew up in New England, don’t you? I was born here. Then Risky had Ballard contact me. Why? And why didn’t your parents say anything about it? If you were a baby,” I said, “and popped, went from a cute and cuddly little thing to looking like a furball, and they didn’t freak and kill you––” or, I thought to myself, give that child up for adoption, “––then I think we have to assume that they expected it to happen––which means Risky must’ve talked.”

“Risky was my mother’s brother,” said Lia, trying to figure out what that meant. “He probably, I dunno, let her down slowly. Told her about Ballard and me. Except Ballard’s different. It’s me. I’m the freak.”

“Come off it, Lia. There’s nothing wrong with being a werewolf,” I said. And then, because she looked like she was going to cry: “Or having been one. But the fact remains that they didn’t say anything. It speaks to a larger conspiracy. And that’s what I want to know about.”

I had let my voice get out of control. Ballard looked up at me, but I ignored him.

“First things first, is this Wiccaning. Let’s get our Marks first. Then we’ll see,” I said. “Can you see any more definition? Come on. Show me. I don’t think it knows what it wants to be yet,” I said, looking at her Wiccan Mark. “Kind of like us.”

Lia sniffled. “A witch who can’t conjure, and a werewolf who can’t shift,” she said. “I’m practically useless.”

“What about me? I don’t even know what I can do?”

Chapter 18 – The Wiccaning

Light filtered in through the slats in our door and the day of the Wiccaning was upon Lia and I. Something which had been bothering me had finally been worked out. It happened sometimes, my brain working independently from myself.

Becca had Seen.

I could finally take it to mean that St. Martley’s had put her and its other recent graduates through their own Wiccaning process. She hadn’t told me what that all meant. Probably on Mistress Genevieve’s orders. (“Halsey has certain things she has to figure out for herself...”)

In that moment, I was cool with it, I was cool with wiccaning, with being wiccaned.

If they wanted to break in, so be it.

I watched the swirling dust motes for a while, but no little impulse came to log it all in my diary. Today I was going to be getting some answers. Lia stirred. Since psychologically saying To hell with it––to hell with them, Lia’s dream-time talking had all but dried up. Which was good, because we needed to be on our toes today, present, here.

I wondered if I would See. Then: if I would see the way they thought I should see, or the way Infester had seen me seeing, the way I saw when I saw the Wolf, or threw my mind and saw certain shadowy individuals, nebulous and out of reach.

Asher’s and Lia’s advice to Hide was more important than ever.

The heavy snores of the werewolves filled the atrium.

Lia, tousle-haired, and I, made our way to the Meadpalace in our robes; then, because that was empty, the Star Room. And there on the threshold were the other Initiates. Something curious happened. My butterflies left me. I was butterfly-free. The other Initiates, meanwhile, were not.

Only Lia and I looked as though we could care less.

I saw Vittoria spread her fingers with her off hand. She had long, pointed, crimson-painted fingernails. Her Spanish eyes caught mine staring at her. But her visible gulp meant that she was in something less than her usual form. Take that for a W!

The Wiccaning took all day. And as it was alphabetical, Halsey Andromeda Rookmaaker was called during the latter half of it.

Nobody spoke. Nobody needed to. It was clear what this was all about. Hiving and Houses.

I just wondered if it would be like Valentine’s Day, and some of us would be left holding cards, while others would not.

They weren’t that cruel, were they?

Something told me they were.

Vittoria was up; it was my turn next.

I looked where my Mark should be. There was still nothing there. Instead of feeling nervous, as I normally would have, or guilty, because it had not shown, a carefree serenity settled over my brow.

Maybe I was just a late bloomer.

It was a while before I was called. But, eventually, I was. They certainly had put Vittoria through her paces. Longer, in fact, than anyone else. And so I stood up, and wished Lia good luck––She was after me, you see?––and went to meet my doom.

The Star Room looked somehow more ominous than I had ever seen it. Still my butterflies would not flap. Even when I saw the Wiccan Elders, and who they were.

They consisted of the Mistresses of each of the three recognized Houses at the Gathering.

Veruschka Ravenseal, Mariska Coven, and Fanishwar Harcort. Lux was also in attendance, which meant that he was also going to be reading my mind (“...Just great,” I thought); and, here was a surprise, Julius Pendderwenn; together with Maria Lenoir and her consort, I seemed to recall was named Pier Alexander. Asher stood next to them. His indifference was the first warning to put me on my guard. Gaven, of course, was also there. Although what good he would be, I had no idea. As were two twins, I had never seen before in my life. There was also one other. The mysterious gentleman I had seen at the party who always looked so surly, but whom, I realized now, was so serious-minded that indeed, he was the only one who looked like he hadn’t been talking to the rest. He sat in contemplation, his head bowed. But when I entered, he looked up at me, momentarily. His piercing blue eyes jabbed into my own softer, brown ones.

The committee or whatever. The judges’ panel. They Who Sat In Judgement Of Me.

Everyone took their places. Instead of Gaven, who usually emceed, it was Maria Lenoir who headed up the proceedings. I could see her look at me, from the center of the group, with dark eyes.

They were gathered in a circle, the judges, with me inside it, and all of them in their finest robes; me in mine.

I looked up at the stands, but they had been darkened out. An unusual amount of twitters came from the stands. It was obvious the other Houses had sent their delegates. I didn’t know who they were yet, but one thing was sure. The numbers were there. The Initiates would be Chosen.

I didn’t know how I felt about that. Numb, perhaps. The waiting was over. I was up.

Veruschka started off. “Welcome... Miss Rookmaaker...” she said. She had to read my name off a piece of paper. I stood waiting while she wrote something down. Finally, she looked up at me, and then at the judges.

“It is my turn?” she said.

They nodded, and she turned to me. I couldn’t help it. I looked around at all of them. Were they all going to be ‘reading’ me? I found Lux whose cheek colored slightly when I looked questioningly at him.

“Miss Rookmaaker?”

Veruschka Ravenseal had apparently finished shuffling her papers, and was calling me back to attention. I waited. Finally, she spoke. I repeat the event verbatim.

“Try and keep eye contact,” she said.

I looked into her blue-haired face. “Into my eyes,” she said. “There you go.”

Close your mind, Halsey, I told myself.

Veruschka Ravenseal probed––every once in a while her reading of me was punctuated by the sounds of her scribbling in her notebook, but she never once broke eye contact with me. I could see her iridescent moonlight eyes widen and distend, the pupils grow larger. It felt like I was going to fall in to them.

“Don’t be alarmed,” she said. “It is just you and me, just you and me. The others needn’t know.” Somewhere I heard an intake of breath. “Do not look away, Halsey.”

I redoubled my efforts, staring in to her, in to her eyes, which held me like a caress.

“I can see someone has been teaching you how to lock safe your reticent soul, but you needn’t fear me. In fact... let me see if I can... pry you open a bit... Now this won’t hurt...”

“No...”

I tried to resist, to break from her eye contact, but it was like we were locked; she was in my head. “I don’t want you to see!” It came from me like a gasp.

I could feel Veruschka Ravenseal rattling around in my mind with all of her skeleton keys and super-secret lock-picking devices––she darted here and there into various corners of my brain. “And my, are you strong,” she said. “Very good indeed. We’re almost over; then I’ll pass you off.”

You mean, I have to go through this again?

I felt like I was on display; like one of those bodies being taken apart in an anatomy theater; the good doctor humbly taking a bow, cleansing his hands of my blood; my body open for all to see (“I wonder if he’ll wish to look inside,” said Veruschka Ravenseal, “if he will even be able”). I felt voices, not all of them friendly, there on the outskirts of my vision. Gray mist ensconced us, as in a curtain of fog, Mistress Veruschka and myself battling one another. Lux warned me to empty my mind. Now I knew why. It was like a house that’s been shuttered, thrown wide open. All the locks ordinarily in place had been picked. The other Wiccans were waiting to come inside.

Veruschka held me, it felt like, within the palms of her hands––yet, from some places, she would turn away.

“No, mustn’t go there, mustn’t go there, either...” she said, as she skirted about.

“Jackpot! Oh, that is good! Yes, indeed! Wonderful, wonderful!”

She made notes and winked at me, the move to draw me away, to distract me from someplace else she wished to penetrate.

“You have a very nice mind; quite good, in fact. It’s capable of great leaps. Still some places are underdeveloped. It’s not clear if you’ll ever be good there, for instance,” she said, zooming in on one aspect of my nature, “but, all in all... yes, I’m quite satisfied. It’s like taking somebody’s car out for a test spin, don’t you think; a nice little two-door coupe. I like you, Halsey Rookmaaker, very much.” She broke off.

I felt myself fall off-balance; I had to take a step to regain my equilibrium. Disconnecting from her was like electrocution. Veruschka Ravenseal scribbled in her notebook, and said she was finished, quite finished, indeed. Lux was next.

He held me in his eyes and I felt them open warm and inviting. The tenor of his mind was different than that of Veruschka Ravenseal. Where she sought to probe, and rifle into every closet, his was more laissez-faire. He came in and took a look around, politely inquired as to this or that, how I was holding up.

When I replied, it was like I was talking through my teeth. “I’m fine.” My lips didn’t move very well.

“Ignore them, Halsey. They can’t hear us. You have some formidable minds coming up. I noticed Veruschka Ravenseal was a little rough with you.”

“Is that what you call it? She’s grabby,” I said.

“I can’t say that I blame her.”

Lux smiled and the contact was broken.

“Good?” said Maria, raising her eyebrows to me.

“We’re good,” said Lux. He settled back in his chair. I could see his encouragement like a palpable blanket enfold me.

“Then it’s my turn,” said Maria Lenoir.

I looked at her like she was joking. Which was the absolute worst thing I could have done. “I thought––” I said.

She didn’t need a psychic wereleopard––or an invitation. Maria Lenoir invaded my mind. She was flipping through it. Her brazen marigold-colored eyes stared at me. “Ah! Miss Rookmaaker! At last, we meet!”

“You’re a witch?” I said. I couldn’t help it; I wanted to know more.

“How simple your mind works. I am eldest. Now... be quiet.” Her pupils widened, sucking me in. “I want to penetrate through the lies to the real you.”

“How old are you?” I said.

“I see you know my cousin, Lennox...” I could feel my heart rate spike. “I see you know him very well. At least, you think you do!”

Her voice continued.

“And running around with poor Professor Lux. Isn’t he an unfortunate one? But then, you don’t know anything about that, do you? And what is this? There’s something insatiable about you, Halsey Rookmaaker. I can see you have lots to learn. About us... About everything... Do you have feelings for a vampire?”

“Stop it,” I said.

“Ah! You’re hiding something. Now, what is it? Ce n’est pas possible. They wouldn’t be so benign if they knew what dark powers I saw lurking here. Something happened to you. It’s here, plain as day. Something I have not seen in two centuries...” She rattled around. Her mind was absolutely filthy with death. “They’re afraid of you. What is it that you can do, Halsey Rookmaaker? Is that Camille, do I see?”

But I had finally had enough.

I ripped myself from Maria Lenoir.

Her deeply-hooded eyes looked back at me shrewdly. I blew the strand of hair out of my face, letting it fall between us. I was tired of looking at her.

“I’m done,” said Maria Lenoir. Asher, I noticed, was smiling. Maria and Pier Alexander whispered to one another. Julius Pendderwenn looked like he was anxious to get started. Then this coldness... Like ice... I shut down completely. I turned, looking for who had done it. Who had been trying to break into my mind.

The silent wizard was staring at me. Without preamble, he leapt into my brain. I forced myself back, to no avail.

There was this silence about me––like an aura. I realized it was what kept him from my stare. A dark nebulousness through which it was impossible to see him. But into me he could, and did, look....

I had come to the silent wizard’s mind only to find it locked shut, remote, inhospitable. Very hostile. He tossed my memories about. Before I even knew it he was gone. My synapses caught up with the rest of me. The silent aura had retreated shadow-like from my mind.

“That just leaves I Gatti,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. “Gaven?” She indicated that the werewolves should go next.

“One moment, please! One moment!” said Mr. Pendderwenn. He held up his hands; I could see his Wiccan Mark. It had no style whatsoever.

“We said that we would let you watch, Julius,” said Veruschka Ravenseal.

“Then I should be able to read her!” he said. The idea was repulsive to me; I promised myself not to allow it. I would expel him from the temple of my imagination. A temple, the others hadn’t had any real problems negotiating.

“Do not try my patience, Julius,” said Veruschka. “The Sons and Daughters of Romulus must first have their turn! Asher?”

Gaven cleared his throat. “There is no need. Halsey is here with me. I know her.”

“You mean you have already tried to indoctrinate her!” said Julius Pendderwenn angrily.

“Julius!” Veruschka Ravenseal stood up. “You are the House of Rome. But you have no right to talk in that way.”

Fanishwar Harcort and the others joined in. “He does have a point...”

“The werewolves have two Initiates,” said Mariska Coven. “It is only natural that the Rome Initiates would want to go with them––they are like naïve children, who don’t know any better.”

“And what about the English Initiate, Fanishwar? Or,” said Veruschka, looking meaningfully at Mariska, “those who come from where you do? The question is where does Halsey wish to go.

The more I was getting to know her, the more I liked Veruschka Ravenseal. The two twins had still not spoken. They watched the goings-on, dispassionately, giving nothing away. I thought no more about them.

First, was to refute Mariska’s claims––and Fanishwar’s––neither of whose House I had any interest in joining whatsoever; I think they could tell.

“I have not Chosen––any House. But it is true,” I said, looking around at them all. “The werewolves are my friends.”

“And the vampires?”

This was asked by Pier Alexander.

“I have nothing against them,” I said. He took no more notice of me.

“Very well,” said Veruschka. “Gaven forgoes the Rookmaaker Wiccaning, and I am satisfied. Are you, Mistresses?”

They nodded, albeit reluctantly.

“Which leaves only Mr. Pendderwenn. You can penetrate her mind, Julius, if you can, but I would think you would want to make the best impression possible. Isn’t that the point, to get together so we can present our respective Houses in their best lights? You are only a number two. A second-degree Wiccan. Merely Adept. You are not powerful enough to rip the secrets from her mind.” The twitters broke out again; this time with particular significance. “You do not know how to sift brains yet,” said Veruschka, dragging his embarrassment out further. Pendderwenn swallowed hard. There were a lot of people there.

“Only because you have not taught me how,” he said. “Besides, I seek only that which is good for my House. As any of us would do.”

“Then take it from me... she is...” Veruschka Ravenseal pointed her finger at Pendderwenn. “But I will let you plead your case. Only make it fast.” She sat back down.

Pendderwenn stood.

“Halsey.... Your mother and father were in my House...” he said.

“ONLY BECAUSE THEY HAD NO CHOICE!”

“Selwyn, please!” Veruschka Ravenseal was back on her feet.

I looked at him, the Cold Mind. He had pounded the table with his fist. His mane of black hair covered his face. I could no longer see his blue eyes.

I faced Pendderwenn quickly, anxious to be gone; he stood trembling, with the whisperers in the background making it worse.

“We are a small House; we have not the numbers, Halsey, to be of much esteem,” he said. “We have zero satellites. None.”

Which appealed to me. I did not want to be enslaved or enslave anyone else; no part of me was interested in that.

“As Mistress Ravenseal says,” went on Pendderwenn, “I am only Adept. I can Craft, but not the best. I feel certain, Halsey, that you would find a place with us, that you would raise us up to the House we were. We have not been twelve since your mother and father died. Just consider that. I have had my say. I will say no more.”

He sat back down.

Mistress Ravenseal stood up. She looked at me. “You may go, Halsey,” she said. “Send Lia in next. Her I am most interested in.”

I looked back at Cold Mind. Everything from his bearing to his look said watch your step. I fully intended to.

* * *

When I got back to my dormitory I studied my Wiccan Mark, but it had still not appeared. I didn’t know what I had expected? Maybe I was Malleable. Maybe I was also fickle. Capable of being swayed by the slightest argument. That’s what it had come down to, after all. A choice. Everything was suddenly really hard. Only one path existed, and I had to choose carefully.

Asher was pretty much persona non grata the next day, as he had been scheduled to speak with me after the Wiccaning but had had to go, according to the Wiccans, to deal with a problem which had come up with his own people. I didn’t know who they were. Only, that it would be a while before I saw Asher again. Apparently they lived pretty far away.

* * *

“Aether. The fifth of five elements; the fifth of All. Aether is what makes you break out in Wiccan Marks. It is what curls up your arms in bands of bright blue. The Mark is the aether.” Lux’s eyes flashed like brilliant gems. It was almost December. Nearly a month had passed, in which the other Initiates and I had been studying hard. I had not spoken to Ballard for almost two weeks; not since the Wiccaning. He kept himself elsewhere these days, doing what, exactly, I had no idea. Lia and I were by this time complete emotional compatriots, and although her band had formed, mine had not; the rest of the Wiccan Initiates who were being pelted daily to come join this or that coven, passed the time arguing with one another over the merits of each House. Each Initiate had kept her Wiccan Mark to herself, but Lia and I were so close that I knew, for instance, what her Virtue was. It was a secret I shared with no one else, not even my diary.

Lux said that we were very close to completing the first phase of our magical education and that he was very pleased with our progress. I had stopped trying to catch his eye. In fact, there was a dropping off in the number of hands that were raised. “You have all started to become secretive, which means that you have become aware of what your magic can do,” he said. Soon, apparently, we would become so afraid of one another, that we would be addressing each other as Mistress So-and-So and not staring too long, lest the other attack, which explained why some Wiccan Houses were so far away. They were off the beaten path so they wouldn’t get beaten up, he said. Some were so far away that you had to go hundreds of miles just to go to a bookstore, if you joined their House.

The aether lecture continued: “There is positive aether. And there is negative––the negative aether.”

“How long has it been since there was a war?” asked Vittoria.

All this talk of aether. Lux wiped the sweat from his brow. “Pardon me?” he said.

“The Last War, when did it end? What is it like when two wizards fight? I want to know about dueling,” said Vittoria Ravenseal. The pretense may as well have been dropped. No Neophyte, that I knew of, had uttered one word of what had happened at their Wiccaning. Invitations were sent out tactically, targeting each Wiccan. I had received some myself. Fourteen, in fact. Harcort had recruited me. They had a number of openings. I wrote back thanking them for their interest. But said that I would need some time to come to my own conclusion. Somehow I didn’t think any House would want a Neophyte whose Mark hadn’t shown.

“Oh, and have you ever fought a duel? Someone at the party said that you had. They said you killed someone, if you can believe it, and that was why you didn’t Craft anymore. Because you felt guilty.”

For a future Housemate, Vittoria was very aggressive with Lux Ravenseal. Despite myself, I leaned forward to listen.

“Vittoria, you need to be very careful with what other people say. Otherwise, you’ll have to believe what they say about you,” he said.

Oh, that got her!

“That’s supposed to be a secret. How dare you bring that up?” she demanded.

“I might say the same to you,” said Lux. It was obvious that he had read her mind; perhaps she had gained access to his. “But as it will do us some good.... Negative aether can be bent. I do not say that it is bad aether, merely that it is the opposite of positive. It is in some ways much more powerful; and never does it prove that more than when you meddle with it. I meddled with the dark aether,” said Lux. “Let us hope you will not. As for dueling––non-wizards prized it for settling old scores. This world, our world, is nothing if not full of old scores. You may hear more about them if you meddle overlong in the affairs of us all. Something to consider before indoctrination. Nobody comes into the Magical world without accepting all which that entails. Now, off you go! I want to see those Wiccan Marks shining, or un-shining, as the case may be, before long.”

“I don’t think your boyfriend likes me very much, Halsey,” said Vittoria Ravenseal, once we were out of earshot of the Star Room. I was walking along with Lia and some of the other Initiates. They had cooled to Vittoria when it looked like she had been Chosen and they had not. When it looked like she would be the one––and only––Ravenseal recruit.

“Maybe he thinks you’ll stink the place up,” I said, referring to the House, in House Ravenseal. There must be one, mustn’t there? A place where they all lived?

Vittoria blanched.

“I’m in,” she said. “But you’re not. And I know why. Everyone knows you don’t belong.” She flung her hair. “You’re just not Ravenseal material, biiiitch.” She laughed at me and walked away.

I thought about calling after her, but if we dueled, I wouldn’t be able to do anything except pull her hair. My Mark had to show! It had to!

* * *

Camille, that night, came to see me; it had been too long, she said. She was with Dallace. The two of them had been sightseeing in Rome. “It’s nice to see where Lennox lives,” she said. Were those tears in her eyes? Dallace laid his hand on her shoulder. “Now now,” he said. “It’s time that we leave, my wife and I,” he said to me. “You do not belong with us, in Venice, and we have no right to take you back, Halsey. You belong here now.” Quite to my shame it had been a while since I had even thought of their son; or of the four of us together. I was wrapped up in all of this; of being a Wiccan.

“You are discovering who you are,” said Dallace, as if he could read it in me, and forgave me. “Undergoing your own special agones.”

My mind flashed on Vittoria and a quick-flame of anger roughly subsided.

“I want to thank you both for bringing me here,” I said, “and for watching out for me.” They smiled at me; they smiled at Lia too. Dallace and Camille were great friends of Lia’s now, and of I Gatti, whom, they said, allowed them to wander. “We have many new antiques to show you, if you ever come to visit us again,” they said to me. I thought of the quatrefoil and their family tale. They too had some pull for me. “I have not been under the muzzle of a werewolf,” said Dallace, “for so long that I quite like them now.”

“Just don’t tell them that, dear,” said Camille. “But I sense Halsey has something she wishes to speak with me about. Isn’t that right, Halsey?” She looked into my eyes, reading them as easily as if she were a Wiccan witch herself.

“Actually, there is something I would like to talk to you about,” I said. She and I went off a little ways so we could speak alone together. Dallace and Lia, meanwhile, looked like they were on their way to becoming fast friends. They laughed and chatted while Camille and I got down to it.

“It’s about magic and witchcraft,” I said. “I want to know––”

But Camille could see it. I remembered what Lennox had said about Camille having magic senses.

“You want to know if we are sisters in those arts you seem to value so highly,” she said.

“It’s just that I can see your hair...” It was candybright of a color I had only seen Mistresses wear... “And, then, when Maria broke into my mind––” I said. “I don’t trust her. When I look at her I feel a draw, not for her, but for what she can do.”

“It’s true, she does have certain powers. We all do,” said Camille. “As do you. As will Lennoxlove, when he comes back. I feel him in the very throes of the Agonies...”

“How’s he doing?”

Camille sniffed. “Recall Asher,” she said. “Write to him. Never mind. I will. You have to know.”

She left me there, staring after her, as she rejoined Dallace.

“Oh, and Halsey!” she said.

I looked at her.

Camille made the Wiccan W with her hand, raising it up to me, as if she were wishing me farewell. As I looked I saw the finest of fine pen strokes of her Wiccan Mark. She had swirls. Corkscrewing swirls. But they had not been used in years. I nodded to her to show that I understood and she was gone, with Dallace behind her.

Chapter 19 – The Aether

Life under the Styles Master was growing more demanding by the day. Magic was not just cast by thinking. It was crafted. Hence, the name. The only problem was, we were so busy being indoctrinated into the magical world––learning about ardanes and the ethics of wielding our power (“What are you going to do, if somebody disagrees with you? Craft them into submission––?”) that we weren’t really learning how to direct our magic, intentionally. On the very first day somebody had popped––gone from one place to the other as if instantaneously––but we had still not learned how they had done it.

It was as if it was all just one big crafting accident, and things were happening by chance.

“You may all have experienced random magic,” said Lux. “Which is why I have not taught you anything specific. It does us no good if you do not learn self-control.”

Tell me about it. We had still not learned how to levitate a grain of sand; much less really conjure. We had no Craft-sense whatsoever.

“Your Wiccan books may be full of handwritten spells but you couldn’t perform them,” said Lux.

It was like a pipe exploded; we ran everywhere, sloshing all over the place, spraying in each other’s faces, the other Initiates and I––with our anger.

“Why is that?” we suddenly all demanded. It was like we had all been trying to do Magic, to bend it like spoons or something, but hadn’t been successful. We hadn’t managed to conjure. Suddenly, as I looked around, I felt happy.

Lia and I sighed with relief. None of the other Initiates could craft either. “And I have my Mark!” said one.

“YEAH,” they all agreed.

The rest of them looked at each other. This was the part I wasn’t so happy about. It looked as though I was the only one who was still without her Wiccan bloom. I would have to wear manica langas for an entirely different reason. Why was everything so backasswards with me?

Lux held his scar again, waiting for us to quiet down.

“Are you through? Because this yakking does us no good,” he said. “You wanted to know about wizards dueling? What about teenagers behind the wheel?”

“I have my license and I haven’t killed anyone yet,” said Pilar.

More shouts of yeah and What the heck?

Tomorrow’s crafters today, I thought.

I could see where this was going.

“You wouldn’t give a kid a firearm to play with, would you? Maybe you would. But we Wiccans do not. It is a slow indoctrination,” said Lux.

“What about this One, whatever they call her, the Wiccan supergirl? She’s only a kid and she has Power!”

The other Initiates seemed to think they had scored a point.

Lux coughed and acknowledged they had.

“She is different,” he said.

“Oh, come on.”

“The Wiccan Prime Mover is said to possess unheard-of powers. She is a myth,” said Lux. “We look for her but she does not exist. Do not believe in her.”

He had to wait until we all quieted down.

“Just because she’s hocus-pocus, isn’t to say you are,” said Lux. “Think about it. Each of you has been tested. Each of you has been wiccaned. Some seriously powerful wizards and witches have read your minds.”

“I thought Asher would never stop pawing my brains out...” said Astra.

“You see? So you’re all still here, aren’t you, you’re all being taught? You are the dangerous playthings, the firearms, and the engines with the horsepower. You are Wiccan, and you will craft, but you have to be patient.”

He started going into ethics again. We groaned, but eventually everyone paid attention. Lux was a first-class speaker; any opportunity to hear him should not have been missed. I was only sorry when he cut short our lesson because he wasn’t feeling so well.

The rings on his fingers had dug into his hand from clenching his fist too tightly. He took them off.

“Oh, and I will say this,” he said, gazing out at all of us. “Just because duels existed with swords––which wizards and witches also used to fight with––” He had to stop to breathe “––wands and swords just being extensions of the aether––does not mean that all of the formalities should be adhered to. You are in a fight for your lives, when you duel. Act like it. Cheat, if you have to. Living isn’t a test. It’s a survival strategy.”

He left us there, smiling at his own wit.

* * *

The rest of the day passed as it usually did––with meals and gossip––and it also passed as it usually did not. I had begun trying to craft in my free time, something Lia thought was a very good idea. We practiced shooting pale smoke at each other. But nothing would happen except for coughing fits. “It’ll happen. I know that now,” said Lia. She winked at me.

“I guess,” I said. I wasn’t so sure. Lux’s pep talk was like a band-aid. I needed a new one now.

“Where there’s smoke there’s fire,” said Lia, encouragingly.

At dinner Ballard was with the rest of the werewolves. I saw him drinking from his moon flask, pretending like the rest of the Meadpalace didn’t exist. He, Paolo and Locke were sitting together. Ballard shook his head forcefully, like he didn’t want to hear anymore. Locke got up and left him, after which Paolo paid attention to his steak, and Ballard stared at a spot on the wall.

Most of the vampires, by this time, had stopped coming to the Meadpalace. You saw them, time to time, in the hallways, but they rarely if ever engaged people in conversation, keeping mostly to themselves. The Wiccans were also distant. It was a good thing that each particular race had somewhere they could go, because the more I saw, the more it looked like we were getting tired of each other.

I wondered if every Wiccan, werewolf and vampire was a social misfit, and then, when I thought about it, yeah, we kind of all were. At least we had that in common!

I left Lia and went to go back to my dormitory. But before I could get there I was hailed by someone I had not seen in a while.

It was Asher, and he was motioning to me like I should follow him. He looked guilty about something, almost as if he had done something wrong, or was about to, like he had carnivorous butterflies gnawing at him or something.

I said, “Hey, what’s up, Asher?”

“Come with me,” he said. Wouldn’t you know it, he led us straight to the space in the wall, I had seen him coming from once before. And there were the stuccoes with the sculptures of the warriors on them. Asher felt around, trying to find the finger hold which would allow him to open the secret passageway.

“This is a cryptoporticus,” he said. “It leads to the columbarium.”

Crypto-what? Columbarium-who?

“Hurry! We’ll be safe there!” he said.

I followed after Asher. Ballard’s and Gaven’s vouching for him wasn’t the only reason why I felt safe; I had come to trust Asher. He took a torch from a bracket on the wall and whispered secret words to it. A flame lit. The entrances closed and we were standing in a small tunnel which went on for as far as the eye could see.

I saw various niches in the walls, Asher said were called loculi. They had urns tucked into them.

“There are the ashes of the warriors that were killed when a great war was fought here, Halsey Rookmaaker,” he said, pointing them out. He wasn’t going to start that Halsey Rookmaaker nonsense again, was he?

“It was their sacrifice that repaired originally relationships between shapeshifters and Immortals. Follow me.”

He guided me as fast as he could through tunnel after tunnel––what looked like trenches. You could still see where the ghosts of soldiers had fought and died.

“Where are we going, Asher?” I said.

“There’s no time. Hurry!”

I hurried after him as fast as I could. When we finally got there, he entered into a circular room, which was like the Pantheon, except buried deep underground. An oculus in the ceiling fed into daylight. The Columbarium––the vaulted tomb.

Five funerary urns the size of living people stood in the corner, as well as other tombs. “The Five Fallen,” he said. “Five immortal vampires who died defending Rome. They rest now with the Dog Kings, in the royal columbarium.” He saw me looking up. “Above us is the fighting pit,” said Asher.

“So this must’ve been what Gaven was talking about,” I said. “The tomb of his forebears. The Columbarium. But there are vampires?”

I asked Asher about this. He said, “We––that is, shapeshifters and other Supernaturals––have not always hated each other... Much. Don’t get me wrong. We’re not the best of friends. But this Gatheringplace was selected to honor the past––in an attempt to try and prevent it from reoccurring.”

In the center of the room was a large and ornate sarcophagus––the kind Egyptians used to bury their mummies in. It looked like a man and woman had been sculpted on the cover of it.

“Rhea Silva,” he said. “She was said to possess all eight of the Wiccan Virtues. She found her true mate. They rest now, in peace, at an eternal banquet.”

The man and woman looked peaceful, powerful, old.

“Asher. I think I may be her,” I said. “This super witch they have all been waiting for. I have disturbing nightmares. And my mind––it can go places. When I asked Gaven about my visions, and the thing which is chasing me, he said it may have been ‘the Calling’, what werewolves feel before they change.”

“I see,” said Asher. “You think you may be one of them, a Witch Shifter. It’s true. Such beings have existed. Before the change, as you call it, young warriors are possessed of their Animals... in their dreams. It is only natural.”

“You mean, it will try and become one with me, that I may be a werewolf?” I said.

Was that what the monster was that was chasing me? My Animal? Before I became a Shifter?

“Who were your parents?” asked Asher. “Forgive me.” He could see that he had made a fur paw. “So you, like me, Halsey Rookmaaker, are outcast, too.... You know, this animal may be your Other, or it may not be, but I perceive incredible things for you––” He wanted to say my name again. “If you are this One, then this would be your Mecca. Rhea Silva was a true Level Nine Wiccan. She was not any of the Virtues. She was all of them. Beyond Fledged. She was also a Witch Shifter and she could See.”

“You mean like you do? Is that why you are here? Did you see––something? Me? Did you see something with me?”

“Camille asked me to come here,” said Asher. “She wrote to me about you. She said you deserved the right to look, even though her husband––and these were her words––worried that you might overreact, if you saw what was happening. Halsey needs to know, said Camille, for her own illumination, WHAT THESE THINGS ARE,” said Asher.

“What what things are?” I said.

Asher blinked.

“Do you know, Miss Rookmaaker, who and what, the Dioscuri are?”

“I have heard that name before,” I said. “But I do not know what they are.”

“They are here with us––in Rome,” said Asher. “Even Prague is nervous. They have sent their emissaries, the two twins. Two very deadly men. Never speak to them.”

“I haven’t. I won’t. But who are the Dioscurvy?”

“Dioscuri.” Asher trailed his torch along the rounded walls of the werewolf tomb. I saw the figures battling in two dimensions. “The stuccoes tell the tale of the First War,” he said. “The Dioscourges, on the other hand, tell the tale of the Second.”

I didn’t follow. “But what Second?” I said. “I thought there was only one war. The First War. You mean to say, there’s another?”

“The Dioscuri have, indeed, begun to predict of late a second war,” said Asher.

“You mean...”

“They are Seers. The most powerful kind. But they are untrustworthy.”

“But what are they?” I asked.

Asher shook his head.

“Not just what, who. They are... alive in some strange sense. Avoid them. And most importantly, the twins. They will be missing you soon. I would like to meet you here tomorrow night. We will throw our minds together, eh, and cast out, to see what we may see. I have certain things I wish to show you. Among them Lennox. And the Agonies.”

* * *

Time moved like sludge, when it used to flop out of the taps in my old apartment building. The clawfooted tub reminded me of Lennox. I wanted to wallow in memories of him but I couldn’t afford to right now. Lux was going to be showing me what dark aether looked like today, and I couldn’t miss it. I got out of my bed and got dressed. Lia was already at breakfast when I got there. I was piling my tray up with food––calf’s liver and sautéed onions––when I turned and saw Ballard. He had a Succo del Gatto in his hand. It was thanks to the werewolves no doubt that our menu had become, shall we say, more K-9-friendly. Ballard’s dog’s body looked tired, careworn. “I suppose I would shirk my responsibilities, too, if I thought I was special,” he said to one of the betas, whose name I didn’t remember. Ballard moved on as if he hadn’t seen me.

I told Lia about it but she told me not to think about it.

“It’s my brother’s misfortune that he considers himself the only important person in the world. We need to concentrate on us now. Otherwise, we’ll get left behind.”

“So have you decided on your House, Lia?”

“I dunno,” she said. She dug through her robes. I saw some of the same brochures I had received. And some other ones. “This one says they have an excellent library full of arcana, but I’ve always felt pulling your face out of a book to be more beneficial when it comes to deflecting a whammy or some other curse, don’t you? I don’t want to suffer the effects of the kibosh just because my eyes don’t work anymore because of all the books I’ve been reading, you know what I mean?”

“I guess,” I said. “What about that one?”

“Ravenseal,” she said, handing it to me.

I flipped through it. It showed lots of pictures of Prague. And was that––?

“The Districts of Magic,” said Lia.

It was an alcove of the oldest Magical city.

“Entirely magical population,” she said.

It looked like a combination of algae-infested stone masonry, and dark forbidding alleyways. That was where the Vampire Hunters and other monsters lived. “And also,” said Lia, when I told her this, “it’s where the House of Houses resides. And I don’t mean Ravenseal.”

I looked at her questioningly.

“Honestly, you need to read more,” she said, which I thought was contradictory. “Ravenseal isn’t the be-all and end-all. They’re just a House. One of hundreds, maybe even thousands. It is this House,” she said, taking the brochure and flipping through it to one of the pages, and tapping the picture, “that is the Master House. The one beholden to none. They don’t recruit anyone.”

I looked.

“Apparently the twins are from it,” said Lia.

A huge and ancient edifice soared above the rest of the Districts of Magic, there in Prague. Its golden dome flashed in the non-existent sun. The Master House.

“Everybody wants to go there. Including Veruschka Ravenseal. Or so I’ve heard,” said Lia. “All the Mistresses are jealous of her, because apparently her time is coming; she’s going to be made a member. The Master House will select her; it’s apparently an opportunity that cannot be refused.”

Lia petered out. “Is that where you want to go?” I asked her.

But Lia had dropped her fork in her fegato alla Roma, and was trying to fish it out.

“I can’t even eat like a werewolf anymore,” she said. “Where do I want to go? I want to go here. To Rome. I don’t want to go someplace else. This is my home, Halsey. Besides, I would miss Gaven too much.”

Lia got this faraway look in her eyes––

“We’re supposed to be married soon,” she said. “He asked, did I tell you? I can’t wait to go on our honeymoon....”

I had lost Lia. I continued to look at the Ravenseal brochure, but really I was thinking about something else.

* * *

It didn’t escape me that certain marks (X-amount out of such-and-such) had been awarded to the Initiates, based upon their performances at the Wiccaning, and the marks had been posted for others to see––just not us; and just not our Marks, but our futures were in the balance. Who would go where was more important than anything else.

Lux snapped his fingertips like a pair of dull flints, trying to spark a blaze; finally he seemed satisfied because his band of Virtuosity glowed brilliantly, and he said, “I can only show it to you. I don’t go there myself. Unless in a moment of absolute need.”

The aether, he meant––the bad kind.

“It really is much easier if we all form a circle,” he said.

So, with Lux directing us, the other Neophytes and I formed a circle, linking our hands; it was just my luck I had Vittoria for this handfast, gripping my palm with her own, sweaty one. Lia was on my other side.

“Your hand feels like a dead fish, V.”

“If you say so, H.”

“Ladies...” Lux closed his eyes. I could see something curl down from his delta, but if he whispered magic words or only thought them, I couldn’t tell. Next second my eyes were closing and it was like we were being linked, the other Initiates and I.

Everyone was pushing everyone, except it was all in our heads.

When Lux spoke, it echoed in that distant, internal-external, near-far, weirdo wacko way, which meant that we were all talking to each other without speaking, using only our minds to communicate. I also had a sense like I was in a vast mansion with hundreds of locked doors, and also, huge, open, breezy places; the places the Initiates did and did not want others to see.

“That is why we are called Houses,” said Lux, eliciting a number of oohs and ahs from the excitable Neophytes. Any kind of secret explanation for anything to do with magic sent a thrill down my back. “And, really, why twelve is all we can ever be. Any more and it doesn’t become a House, so much as a train station.”

“Choo choo...” said someone.

The other Neophytes and I spent a few minutes running in and out of each other’s bedrooms. All good-naturedly. Then Lux said: “Let me show you one of the basements.”

I saw it. Like a dark nebulous cloud. When I went to reach for it, I could not touch it.

“That is the aether. The dark aether,” said Lux. “Some of you may have experienced it during your Wiccanings.”

I went for it.

“Selwyn had it,” I said.

Somewhere I could feel two people’s hands in my own, but it was really far away.

“He used it to hide from me. I couldn’t get through it,” I said.

“We all have a little dark aether,” said Lux.

“You said the Mark is positive aether. Can it not reside in the body where the dark aether is?”

“A trenchant and profound question-slash-observation, Vittoria, of soon-to-be-Ravenseal,” said Lux. “You may think about studying Marks at some later date. To answer your question, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Veruschka said there were some places she couldn’t go, when she was in my mind. Was this what she meant by that?” Vittoria continued.

“Yes,” said Lux.

I didn’t tell them that this must’ve been what Maria had seen in me, when she said I had dark powers lurking there. The negative aether.

So Vittoria had it too.

“I got the sense that negative aether was like ‘dark magic;’ that it was really bad,” said Vittoria.

“Some would think...” said Lux.

That went into my memory bank; I would have to look at it further.

“All forms of energy can be abused,” said Lux. “Let me see if I can just tap into it for a sec.”

One of the Initiates panicked. “Won’t it race into us, Professor?”

“If I do my job right,” said Lux. The next second, I felt it.

It was like another world opened up to me. Like I was me, but not me. Like whoever I was, was over. I was someone new.

And the miraculous thing was, I felt really powerful. I mean death-defyingly jump over whatever impossible thing to jump over powerful.

Lux pulled out and the connection was lost. “Any questions?” he asked.

Hands went up, before, reflexively, going back down. The other Initiates didn’t want to give away what Virtue they had become, you see.

Lux said, “It is attractive and forbidding; and it is powerful and addictive, the dark aether. Better you see it from me, than a bunch of aetherheads, out on the street.”

Chapter 20 – Seeing Paris

“You told me, yesterday, that you would show me certain things. I want to know what things. And, above all, how Lennox is doing. I have been so busy and self-absorbed that I have practically forgotten that he exists,” I said. “And that’s another thing. I feel like our relationship was all some magic spell, but I can’t craft, can I?”

Asher said, “Tell me what you have seen. Before it can be directed, I have observed that all forms of magic are rambunctious. The shapeshifter shifts without thinking it, the witch or wizard disappears or reappears, without meaning to, the vampire kills before it can understand why it is even hungry...”

“Do you know about the dark aether?” I asked. We were in the Columbarium. Asher assured me we had all night.

“I am not a wizard, per se, but yes, I have heard of it.”

“But never seen it?” I said. Despite myself, my voice was trembling. After all, what Asher claimed to be able to do struck me as nothing short of dark magic.

I realized suddenly that that was the way the other Wiccans had been behaving toward Asher, as though they thought he was dangerous, too. I suddenly felt ashamed.

Each new Wiccan discovery hit me with its own particular pang. So this was why ailuranthropes were mistrusted? The dark aether. People thought they had it.

“I should trust you,” I said. “Forgive me. I will describe it to you. The dark aether is like an alien intelligence. You can see it, feel it. But you can never trust it. Sort of like it thinks for itself.”

“That is exactly how the Dioscuri are,” said Asher. “But go on. I want to know what you have seen.”

I snapped two of my double-jointed Wiccan W digits. They sparked but did not blaze. To Asher:

“Two voices. Don’t know who they are,” I said. “I’ve heard them a couple times. I forget what exactly. Something about two of us. ‘She must not become Fledged,’ or some nonsense. So I guess that means I have time. It’ll be almost a year before I’m Adept. How long to Fledged is anyone’s guess. But they said that they would try to kill her––me, whoever I am; so I guess I don’t have that long. If I’m her.”

It felt more natural to think of her as being me, and vice-versa.

Asher nodded, as if this made perfect sense.

“The conduit goes both ways, into, and from,” he said. “Although why someone would wish to broadcast they mean to kill you, Halsey.... No, I choose to believe you are causing this to happen. You said it has not happened for a while, your mind traveling?”

“Correct.”

“I will keep an eye out,” said Asher. “Interesting expression. I think I will keep both eyes in, and peeled, except for when I blink, but you get the gist. I will watch to make sure nothing happens to you. Meanwhile, you, Halsey Rookmaaker, must continue to concentrate on your becoming. We are at the Gathering, which is safe. There are too many of us here for any such shenanigans. No one will try to kill you here.”

I let Asher believe that; although, I thought, it would be the perfect opportunity. If someone was trying to kill me, what better place? Nobody would know who had done it. Maybe that was the point. Then, I thought, if they were after me, they, whoever they were, must think I could do it, become fledged!

I did an inner-woohoo and came back to Asher.

“Maybe it’s Marek,” I said. A part of me that I didn’t like to think about got excited at the mere mentioning of Marek’s name. “Although he is more of a loner. As in, one. Whoever these people are, there are two of them. One. Two,” I said, holding up two fingers.

Asher might have thought I was crazy, because he got this look on his face, so I guessed we were even.

“Are you ready?” he said. “Because I want to show you something. How I do what I do is as important as what I can do.”

We sat down facing each other, there in the dirt. The torch, in a bracket, illuminated us darkly.

I became aware of Asher’s eyes.

“You look like you want to read me,” I said.

“You are not wrong.”

“Then why are you hesitating?” I said.

“Because... I am there, in my head, and I am told that you have feelings for this person. His name is Lennoxlove... Lenoir... correct? He is one of the vampires...?”

I looked at Asher, whose eyes were blind. He could not see me. He was someplace else. The place Lennox was at. Far, far away.

“I have to warn you, Halsey, that my gift is an unusual one. I do not merely see. I am a traveler in memories. And a trawler in dreams. I see things as they are, as they may be, and I see things that were, but have not been for a while. No doubt you can appreciate why certain ardanes exist forbidding the use of those of my kind? While I am not a Dioscurus, I have its power. What I will show you is truth, however. What they show is only what they wish others to see. Which is why it is dangerous to put too much stock in their visions.”

“Can you see me?” I said.

“Alas, not what you wish to know––nor would I tell you, even if I were able––about your parents and whatnot. Nothing is so destructive as knowing the future. And nothing is as dangerous as the past. I could only help you to experience what you yourself have already seen, and for that, you have your own brain. But we can read Lennox, if you wish. He is experiencing the Agonies this very moment. It is a trial by fire. And I am afraid, you may not like what you see.”

“But you can show me?”

“Yes, Halsey Rookmaaker. I can show you. Now, if you wish.”

He blinked. Suddenly I was staring at him, into his eyes, which were here with me. I licked my lips.

“Do you think I should look?” I said.

“It’s not for me to say. Look and you will see; for my eyes have that power. Do you wish to see?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

I felt myself being sucked into his eyes. Our surroundings vanished entirely. All communication was by telepathy alone. We were flying over countryside. It was dark out. Fires peppered the countryside. I realized they were house lights. They were becoming fewer and fewer. Remember what I told you, he said. My power is in the seeing. Not in the direction of my sight.

We came to a place on the other side of daylight, ill-lit, shrouded by the dark aether itself; the countryside around it barren, craggy, with scattered houses here and there. I could hear the rush of something or other, what must’ve been the sea, but it was too far away to tell.

Everything was shrouded in the fog of Asher’s mind.

I told him this, to which he replied, “That’s good. Maybe you are like an aerial. Intercepting traffic.”

I thought about that; but it didn’t make much sense.

“Never mind that now,” he said. “We are almost... Yes; in there are two vampires. One of them, I think, is your Lennoxlove.”

“Why are we so far away from everything else?” I said, looking at the barren countryside.

“Probably,” said Asher, “because of the screaming.” He shushed me and we went inside.

Two vampires were sitting much as Asher and I were, wherever we had left our bodies, back at the Gathering. I recognized one of them immediately. Lennox’s eyes were closed. He looked as though he was in deep meditation. But his body...

Lennox’s body was emaciated-looking, his eyes especially, the skull so sunken, in some parts, it looked as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Fed, I needed to remind myself. With any supernatural, their particular rhythms overwhelmed me.

I was on Werewolf Standard Time, when I needed to be on Lennoxwatch.

“Oh, Lennox,” I said, coming to him. “I’m so sorry,” I said, but he couldn’t hear me. His eyelids flickered.

“That is good. I think we will get our opportunity sooner rather than later,” said Asher.

“What d’you––?”

But before I could inquire further, Lennox’s eyelids opened, and a couple of things happened simultaneously.

Lennox said, “Halsey?” And Asher and I jumped into his eyeballs. It was like falling into an April sky. Lennox’s lavender eyes widened, and somehow both Asher and I had landed, smack dab, in both a time and place I did not recognize.

Cobblestones instead of asphalt.

Huge white-washed buildings.

Clapboard houses.

Real gas lamps.

I followed Lennox as he walked down a narrow moonlit street in clothes I had never seen him wear before, with Asher at my side. “Where are we?” I asked.

“Unless I am much mistaken, we are in one of Lennox’s memories,” said Asher. He shrugged and smiled.

“You mean, you can just jump into people’s memories and relive them whenever you feel like?”

“Shh,” he said to me. “This is important to Lennox. Pay attention, now. Let us see what we can see. I have heard that is the purpose of the Agonies. They are a sieve, Halsey Rookmaaker. For what, I am not sure.”

A carriage pulled by two stallions, came to a standstill some ways ahead of Lennox, who crouched, in his ill-fitting garments, watching the scene unfold. Suddenly a horrible scream erupted from the buggy, which looked like it was about to turn over, it was rocking so fiercely. A woman fell out of it, and began crawling on her hands and knees. The driver of the carriage simply sat their, reigns in hand, ignoring her. Lennox leapt forwards. Out stepped an older gentleman who bent and was about to deliver a backhand strike to her face, when Lennox made his presence known.

“What do you want?” said the older man.

The aura about Lennox changed. The garments he wore, instead of looking as though they had been pulled from a trash heap, took on a different aspect. He simply radiated power. When he took off his jacket, to give to the lady, he looked royal. She crawled up his leg, which he held out jauntily. His open shirt clashed daringly with his well-chiseled profile, I saw smirk, as he dared the other man to say something. Anything.

“Drive on, Rochester. I know a lost cause when I see one,” said the older man.

He left the woman to Lennox’s ministrations. At once Lennox helped her to her feet.

“My hero,” she said. She may have been drunk. Her makeup was smeared. She was in a frock of some sort. It looked turn-of-the-century. But what century? Just how old was Lennox, anyway?

Less than a century, I told myself. Everyone said so.

So this must’ve been around Nineteen Something-or-other. I didn’t recognize the place. Asher helped me there. “Look!” he said.

Rising in the distance was the Eiffel Tower, so we must’ve been in Paris. The home, I realized suddenly, of the vampires. If I were to believe their conceit that they were the only ones.

Perhaps they made that true by enforcement. I had seen Lennox kill two vampires before.

“Say, whatcha doing here, anyway?”

“You’re drunk,” said Lennox.

“And you’re handsome. You lookin’ for a good time, or you just like to wander the streets like I do? Only time to get whatcha really want, at night.”

“Can I drop you somewhere?” said Lennox.

“Not unless you’re going to give me a piggyback ride,” she giggled. She didn’t look like she would object.

“I had something else in mind,” he said.

“Well, that’s gonna cost you,” said the prostitute.

“I can pay,” said Lennox.

“Just as long as you ain’t one ’a them deadbeats. Deadbeats,” she said again. “Come with me. Maybe we can find someplace behind a tree or something.”

She took Lennox’s hand, who did not move.

“Say, you’re kind of cold. What––what are you doing? No, I don’t want––Don’t––”

He was rising up with her.

The scene changed.

Asher bade me look away. “Once we have seen we cannot unsee,” he said. “Lennox may not like you knowing these things about him.”

But I couldn’t.

“He told me once,” I said. “Lennox told me that he used to kill people. It was in his nature back then...”

I watched as Lennox took the prostitute. What I couldn’t have known, and was unprepared for, was how brutally cruel he was, and nonchalant in his cruelty. He played with her as a cat does a mouse.

“You want me?” he said to her.

“I want to be you,” she said.

She clung to him, half drenched in her own blood; it ran down her front in a great sash. A torrent of blood that coated her naked body.

“You will be, I daresay,” said Lennoxlove, “quite soon enough. Say hello to death, mademoiselle, for you are with it now...”

He lunged at her before she could speak. There was a powerful exhalation of breath. He left her there on the banks of the Seine. And I watched, in horror, as he disappeared into the night.

The next night was worse; I met with Asher again, and we rushed into Lennox’s dreams. His nightmares. Into his very soul!

By then, I was addicted. I didn’t care that it was rude. I needed it––had to see. Lux’s speeches about the ethics of power were so much hot air. Besides, I had that sense that Lennox, for want of a better word, could almost feel me there. I had his permission. I had permission of Camille, too, who was almost Lennox’s mother. Perhaps she thought my overhearing would help him in some way. The Agonies weren’t a penance, were they?

Lennox was somehow more self-assured, this night. We were at another day, another memory.

He looked like a million French francs. His coat and top hat from a fine French house of fashion. One could tell. His luxurious necktie spilled out from the lush fabric.

It was an autumnal evening. The horse and buggies were interspersed with carriage-shaped automobiles. Lennox took in his surroundings. I was quickly treated to a surprising succession of very rapid murders. He particularly liked the attentions of women––late-teens, early-twenties. He killed a number of those.

It was always his practice to let them see just exactly who they were kissing, before he took them unawares.

It happened so long ago, the part of my brain which should have recoiled made excuses for Lennox instead.

I appreciated for the first time that Lennox was a vampire. He was young and in Paris. And a killer.

Clutching Rimbaud’s poems, or somebody else’s, he would utter into the susceptible ears of his victims his own verse. The girls, besotted after two seconds, never wavered in their devotion to him, not even when he drank the rose honey of their blood, or stared into the very mask of their adulation. The light of their eyes was like two false beacons––begging him to crash upon the tumult of their shores.

He took from them their very lives, as well as their blood. And always, always their money. His existence, for all of its finery, was rather mean.

I also noticed that he tried on various personas. As if he was entranced by them all, but not certain which he should adopt, the rake, the genius, the Don Juan.

He would whisper his words so sweetly to them...

Lennox was the man of danger, of allure, he could promise his victims one night––but one night only... And what a night!

It got so that Asher and I couldn’t look away. I rooted for Lennox. I hated him. And I was attracted to him. But this Lennox was not my Lennox. I knew that now. It was somebody else.

I knew that he had done these things, yes, but that he was no more responsible for them––I’m talking about the present-day Lennox––than I would have been, if the tables were turned, and Lennox had been judging my faults, my past.

The truth was, Lennox was a vampire, and I was confronted with the overwhelming facts of that. Of him. Lennox’s faults were laid bare to me.

The city was in a panic––various people thought a madman was on the loose.

We heard him come, eventually. The footsteps. When Lennox killed. When he raced away––with his prize, or without it. When he stalked some particular lovely young woman whom it was his dearest ambition to annihilate in some petty, tortuous––but always sexy––manner. At these times it was like there was another observer there with us.

And so it was, one night, that he, whoever he was, finally made himself known.

Lennox had murdered again. This time the daughter of a glover; she had lovely auburn hair and skin that set one’s envy meter on high. She was a rag doll, now, in the street. The gloves Lennox had purchased were fetched from his pockets. He paused as if to memorize her body. The way her hair spread out in the pool of blood, etc.

He bit them sometimes on a place at their groin; and as they moaned, the heat spread from their wound. It was their breathing quickening which let them know they were dead. That they were dying.

Lennox savored them only briefly. It was his pleasure to do this as many times a night as he possibly could, so long as the game itself was played to its excruciating end. With the glover’s daughter, it had been, he had been charming her for weeks. Lennox groaned uncontrollably, savoring her splayed, lifeless body there. Her essence had all but flowed out.

He turned, because someone was clapping.

Marek was standing there. He had been watching Lennox from a giant sycamore tree. Suddenly, he stepped into the light coming from a streetlamp.

He continued clapping. Marek’s hands mocked Lennox, whose face hardened. “Who are you?” demanded Lennox.

It was something, hearing Lennox speak. He didn’t usually. Usually he just thralled.

“Someone like you. A vampire,” said Marek.

“You lie,” hissed Lennox.

“I stalk the night, killing, devouring. With an appetite almost as insatiable as your own, my young friend. Or should I say my young fiend?”

Lennox lunged at Marek, who sidestepped him quite easily.

“I suspect this is your first run-in with someone like me––except for whoever sired you,” said Marek.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lennox, who nevertheless continued to crouch, and eye Marek, hoping for some kind of opening, through which he could attack.

“So I will give you a piece of advice,” said Marek. “Come at me again, and I will give you a permanent reminder of who I am. I am older than you. Perhaps you do not realize this now, but meeting me tonight has probably saved your life. If you call this living.” He nudged the corpse with his boot tip. “My name is Marek, by the way.”

Lennox did not know how to respond. It had been too long since he had faced anyone equal to him or better. “Lennoxlove,” he said.

Marek nodded. And then smiled. “I can teach you how to become more powerful, if that is what you wish,” he said. “But first you must learn the rules.” He took in the sight of the girl on the ground again. “You must curb such appetites, my friend, if you are to fit in with the Lenoir. They run this place, you see. No, do not try to run. They will wish to see you. Neither shall you hide. With my help you can live in the open. But I will want something in return.”

“What?” said Lennox.

“Later perhaps. Come with me now,” said Marek. “And remember. The eyes of your masters are not upon you all of the time.” He smiled, and his fangs, large and impressive, glinted in the light.

I couldn’t leave; I didn’t want to miss this.

Asher and I stayed there the rest of the night.

Wherever Lennox was now––he was thinking about his past––with a vengeance.

Marek led him through the streets at night. Paris was another world. It was different than I had ever seen it, more real. But so old. This must’ve been just after Lennox had been sired. Somehow I had always thought he was American. What was he doing on the continent?

Marek asked him.

“Looking for somebody,” said Lennox. He was becoming more personable; he seemed to take it for granted that he could not just kill Marek, and had stopped trying.

For his part, Marek eyed his young friend quite enjoyably from askance; he clapped his hand on Lennox’s shoulder.

“I see. You are looking for your father,” he said. “Am I right?”

“I wish––I mean, I have desired overlong,” said Lennox, “to know the secrets of my past, of who I am, and where I come from. Why am I here? What is the purpose of this existence, and of us?”

“You are a vampire with questions,” said Marek, “which is not unusual at all. But take it from me. On some things, where I am taking you, you must keep mum. They will wish to read your mind.”

“It is a power?” asked Lennox, suddenly fearful.

“Aye.”

“But how do I close it so that they do not see?” he said.

“You cannot. Not yet. They have seen you coming for some time now. The Dioscuri are with them; powerful soothsayers who among other things keep tabs on who and what we vampires are. Someone saw you coming, my young friend. That is why I was sent. They seem to think you have potential. Let us hope they are right. Otherwise,” said Marek, drawing a finger gently across his throat, “they will try and kill you permanently. I will teach you what you must do.”

They walked through the early-morning streets philosophizing about the Immortal Life. And their place within it.

“Perhaps one day you will meet your sire. I certainly am not him,” said Marek.

“Oh?” said Lennox, who nodded, encouraging Marek to continue. He was beginning to perceive of him as a mentor.

“Take these practitioners, these Dioscuri––they only give one the heebie-jeebies; your real sire will cause a different reaction; you will feel him. It is a him?”

Lennox shrugged.

“I only say because you are quite good-looking, my friend. Maybe you were made and then forgotten about, once she had taken her fill, so to speak.” Marek tossed his head back, laughing, and looked at the look on Lennox’s face.

“A strange figure, that is all that I remember,” said Lennox, “murdered me... and left me for dead...”

“But you are not dead,” said Marek.

“Aren’t I? I kill. I feed. I am a beast. That is all,” said Lennox.

“I kill. I feed. I am a beast,” said Marek. “But I am certainly not dead. On the contrary, I bring death. And perhaps you will too, to the one who made you. In the meantime, live. And that is an order. These Lenoir are shrewd. They will walk you into death, in traps made out of words. You must be nimble, and, above all, follow your instincts. That is all we vampires have, is it not?”

“I have heard that there are other––things. Other monsters––out there,” said Lennox.

“Oh, great heavens, there are, yes, lots of things, and of such mortal import. It is harder to stay alive as a vampire than as a mortal. Everything wants to kill you, and some of them can. But you needn’t worry at present about all of that,” said Marek.

“No?”

“I will help you. Come on...”

The scene changed. Asher explained. He is skipping ahead, Lennoxlove. Remembering... One thing leads into another... You understand....

I watched as Marek and Lennox were led into a great hall. It was like Meadpalace except better, more grand. Vampires were leading Marek and Lennox. Lennox stuck close to Marek. It was obvious he had not met one vampire before, let alone all of them.

On a dais, at the front, was a gigantic golden throne, upon which sat a vampire more aged than any I had ever seen. Wisdom was on his brow. He had a fine raven-colored head of hair, and his steel-colored eyes merited fear and wonder; they looked through Lennox, who seemed nervous.

Lennox and Marek continued up the chamber to the Great Seat, while their vampire guards went to places around various pillars. Only the Vampire King sat. The others stood, and watched, prepared to obey their master’s directives, to attack, if that was what he wished. He however greeted Marek like an old friend.

“Your Majesty,” said Marek, bowing.

“And who is this with you?” said the Vampire King.

“If you will, Your Highness, this is that young ruffian making the great to-do in the city, sending half the people into early graves. He says his name is Lennox, Master, Lennoxlove.”

“Indeed?”

“Your Highness,” said Marek.

“And what do you say, Lennoxlove?” said the Vampire King, whose name I didn’t know yet.

“I am a vampire... I kill, hunt, feed; not in that order. I was made for death,” said Lennox.

“Vale. Enough. Here are the rules...”

“Begging Your Majesty, but I have never sworn loyalty to you, or the Lenoir. I will make my own rules,” said Lennox. “By your leave or without it.”

“A saucy young hothead. I do not give it. And you shall not take my leave. Not in that manner.”

The hall boomed with laughter.

“Send for Maria,” said the king; “I must take her council. And for the Dioscurus I saw wandering the halls. Although, if you ask me... We should destroy all such creatures.”

Maria was brought in. She was ageless. The same looking. Although her eyes, if possible, were even more cunning. Less wise. But always cunning.

“Majesty?” she said

“Read this hothead,” said the king.

“Yes Majesty.”

Maria blinked––and then opened her eyes wide. Lennox tried to draw away, but it was too late.

“Oooh, I don’t like him,” she said. “If I were you, Majesty, I would kill him at once; at once, at once. He has quite a chip on his shoulder. Angry about everything. Although what it is specifically that bothers him... You, boy, what vexes you? Speak up!”

“Yes, speak!” said the king, enjoying himself.

“Nothing, if not this Life,” said Lennox. “The very odor of Paris is a vexation that I cannot abide.”

“And the Dioscuri?” said the king. “Do they vex you?”

As he spoke mist rolled in I realized was aether. The vampires gasped.

It traveled cloaked in fog. I couldn’t see it; only feel it.

The Dioscurus.

It moved through the assembly, giving the vampires it passed the heebie-jeebies, as Marek termed it, the sensation which threatened to overwhelm them. Suddenly it hissed. “You are being watched, Highness,” It said.

The king stirred in his seat, uncomfortably.

“Indeed?”

“This one wants to start a war,” hissed the Dioscurus; I could only assume it meant Lennox.

Lennox turned from the aether-form, drawing away; it was almost like the Dioscurus was the dark aether.

“He hides from us; we fear he hides from you too,” It said, returning its attention to the king, who squirmed.

Maria looked like she was going to be sick. She turned and ran from the hall. The other vampires clutched their throats.

Whatever it was doing, it was like the Dioscurus was sending out a wave of silent enmity. Only the King, and Marek, could withstand it; Lennox clutched his head. The others were suffering... pain...

“Banish this monster at once!” said the king.

The Dioscurus directed its attention to the king himself.

“He will start a war. A war, Highness. It will happen all over again.”

“That is ended. Be gone from my sight! And stop attacking my people! Otherwise you won’t live to see anything!”

* * *

Asher and I were standing there panting. It was not long before we were returned to the Gathering. And our bodies.

Chapter 21 – In the Dark

I was neglecting the lesson, my mind full of what Asher and I had seen the previous night. He warned me about sharing what I had seen. “Scrying is illegal,” he said. “I could get into trouble. So could you.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I said. “I promise. I want to see more.”

Lux said, “Halsey? Are you still with us here? Hello? Halsey Rookmaaker?”

“Sorry,” I said, coming out of it, looking around. I heard Vittoria making a tisking sound.

“I was saying about sharing magical discoveries that secrecy fosters an attitude of them versus us, which can be fatal when it comes to the stability of the Houses,” said Lux.

“Absolutely. We must present a united front. Yes sir,” I said.

“But something tells me you weren’t paying attention,” he said.

I had sand in my toes. “Sorry Professor, it’s just...”

“What is it, Halsey?”

“I was just wondering if you could tell us––I mean, the thing is, what exactly do you know, Professor, about––the Dioscuri?” I said.

Lux’s eyebrows went up.

“It’s just Gaven––he’s the Head of the Sons and Daughters of Romulus––and he said, well he seemed to think, rather, that they, the Dioscuri, mattered, and I was just wondering...”

“...What they are?” said Lux.

I nodded. The other Initiates looked around at each other. Shaharizan had her hand up.

“Shaharizan?” said Lux.

“Well, I was at the Ball, too, and I couldn’t help overhearing something about them also. It’s a strange name. And I kind of never forgot it,” she said.

“Yeah,” said someone else.

“And now that I think about it,” I said. But I shut up. “Never mind.” I had just remembered that my landlady had spoken about them, the Dioscuri. They are here with us, she had said, or something.

Lia looked at me. “Are you all right, Halsey?” she whispered to me.

“Later,” I whispered back. She nodded.

“Very well. Dioscuri––that is plural,” said Lux, “are these––”

“Things,” I said.

He nodded. “Have any of you ever seen one?”

They shook their heads no. We all did.

“Good,” said Lux. “They are vile creatures, Dioscuri, which is why they keep themselves hidden. You only meet a Dioscurus sometimes. And then, only when you have no choice. They are Seers, and it is amazing how many Wiccans and other Supernaturals put stock in their put-ons. We’re so interested in prophecy and mumbo-jumbo. But that is like saying sharks make wonderful soup. They are foremost sharks. The same for the Dioscuri. Wizards and vampires keep them around for their visions, but the Dioscuri have minds of their own. Yes, Halsey?”

“Is there a connection between the Dioscuri and the dark aether?” I asked.

It looked for a moment as if I had gone too far. Lux looked at me as if sizing me up.

Rather than asking me to explain myself, he said, “That is a theory I have been working on, as well, yes.”

Vittoria looked between us.

“But how did she...?” she said.

“It’s a pity my House has only one opening, Miss Rookmaaker,” said Lux. “You would make a fine addition to House Ravenseal.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be in Ravenseal,” I said.

“No?”

“No. You guys can have Vittoria. No offense,” I said to Vittoria. “Is it true that they’ve predicted the coming of a second war?” I said to Lux, before she could respond.

“I don’t know who told you that,” said Lux, “but yes.” The other Initiates, Lia among them, looked at me, as if wondering where I got my information. “She knows things before they happen,” they said. “Maybe she is her. The One.”

“The Dioscuri are incorporeal; it means they’re not real,” said Lux. “But we certainly feel them.”

“If they’re not real then why do they matter?” said Badgley.

“That is an important question. A Dioscurus cannot be touched. Not being flesh, the only reality is the malice of its mind. They truly are things, the Dioscuri. As for their bodies, some of us––” And he inclined his head to me “––believe they are manifestations of something else. I can only assume that’s what your Magus Codex said? The dark aether perhaps?”

It certainly had been like the dark aether, the Dioscurus. I couldn’t see it. Just feel it and perceive of an entity through the cloud of Asher’s mind. Maybe scrying made Dioscuri invisible.

“Are they at all perceivable visually?” I asked.

Lux adjusted the rings on his Wiccan W. “Yes. And there are lots of them. The Dioscuri have a hive mind. I don’t mean Wiccan Hiving,” he said. “I mean, One mind thinking for all, all minds thinking for one...”

It sounded like some kind of nightmare version of The Three Musketeers.

“I have heard that they have a dark tower somewhere, although where it is is beyond me,” said Lux. “They come from it, now and then. Do not ask me more. I do not know. Oh, and, since this Gathering encompasses fight training, I will say this.” He flexed the muscles of his Wiccan Mark. “When you attack one of them, you attack them all. They all know. Hive minds, remember? In that sense, they are immortal. Can you figure out why?”

“Because... because...”

“Because,” said Vittoria, who wished to prove that she––of all of us––deserved to be in Ravenseal, “the Hive never forgets.”

“Even new Dioscuri know the oldest things,” said Lux. “It is the source of their power. Which is why witches and wizards come to them. To remember...”

He left us there, thinking about what he had said.

* * *

That night Lennox and Marek had a tremendous argument outside of a speakeasy in New York City.

“You really believe this? You really believe they have our best interests at heart? Maria wants power, Lennox, more than she’s got. She killed Glamorgan, the Vampire King, or did you not put that together in that thick head of yours?”

“Don’t you see, Marek, that that is why I need to go back,” said Lennox. “They’ve offered me Rome. Did she tell you that?”

“Maria says the same thing two different ways and backwards. Believe none of it.”

“You have been my mentor. Almost a father,” said Lennox. “I would be dead without you. But it is time we went our separate ways. Just think, you won’t have to look out for me anymore!”

He laughed.

“Actually, that’s exactly what I’ll have to do,” said Marek. “If you go back to them, how could I ever trust you again? You know things that could get us both killed.”

“Only because you told me,” said Lennox. “Besides, I’m sure they wouldn’t object. Come with me.”

“Two vampires in Rome?”

“Absolutely.”

“It is 1929,” said Marek, looking at his wristwatch. “Besides, these flappers taste good. I couldn’t give that up. You go and be their lapdog and watch for these mongrels. I say no thank you. You go Lennox. I’ve taught you well enough. Maybe you will survive. In which case I’ll see you next century. Or the next. If you make it.”

“Don’t be like that, Marek.”

Marek made his way down the street. “Die young, my friend. Live forever. Et cetera, et cetera. Blah blah blah. Whatever. I don’t care.

“Marek!”

But Marek didn’t turn around; he didn’t look back. Lennox watched Marek disappear. Something in his eyes sparkled.

* * *

Asher massaged his temple with his huge lion-like paw. “I will have to go,” he said. “But I can come back, in a day or so, if you wish to scry some more.”

“Is anything wrong?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing for you to worry about,” he said.

I didn’t inquire further.

“But, remember, Halsey, keep practicing,” he said. My robes hid my Mark. “The best defense is the threat of retaliation.”

... Because there wasn’t anything to hide.

“Okay, Asher,” I said, promising him, “and... thank you...”

He nodded. “See you soon,” he said.

We left each other at the opening to the Columbarium. It was quite a trek back to my room. Asher slipped off. He didn’t want anyone knowing he had been showing me stuff. I remembered all of the fuss that had been made about ailuranthropes––because some of them when mated with certain wizards and witches produced extraordinary children; children with powers that could be abused.

What would have happened, if we had been caught? Was there some kind of council that ruled on magical infractions? I figured there must’ve been. Whoever they were, I didn’t want to get caught up in their politics.

No wonder scrying was illegal. It was dangerous. I had seen Lennox as even perhaps he did not want me seeing him.

Asher had taken the torch with him. And cats were usually so good about seeing in the dark. I trailed my hand along the rough stone wall. My book and my map were both back in my dormitory. I seemed to remember swearing to myself that I would never leave either of them behind again. Some idea was rattling around in my head––

Either my roommate or my diary would get the full brunt of it, if I ever got back.

Asher had created fire as if by speaking it. “Fire!”

I tried the same. My Wiccan Mark was really letting me down. Nothing happened. Instead, I walked along, on my short, non-Gambalunga legs, and then somebody said my name.

“Halsey?”

I turned around.

“Psst! Over here!”

I went back to see what this was all about, but a little part of my brain was like What. Are. You. Doing?

Someone was trying to kill me, weren’t they?

It was impossible to see who it was.

I continued to creep towards them. And then he appeared.

Pendderwenn.

He looked anxious. His eyes were bugging out. When he put his hands on me, I nearly panicked. For some reason––tonight––right now––Pendderwenn was scaring me.

“Mr. Pendderwenn,” I said, in a voice of feigned astonishment. He had both his hands on my arms and shook me a little bit. If Veruschka Ravenseal was grabby––that was mind grabby; Pendderwenn was the real thing.

“You’re hurting me,” I said.

He apologized profusely. But he still didn’t let me go.

“I have been wondering if, whether or not, you have given any consideration to joining my House,” he said.

“It’s the middle of the night, Mr. Pendderwenn,” I said. “Please, let me go.”

He seemed to come back to his senses. “Yes, you’re right, but, still, we could use you. Pendderwenn House would be right up your alley.” He smiled at me. His fake rub-on tan made him look like he was plastic.

He looked into my eyes to make sure I got the point and then let me go.

Halsey Pendderwenn.

It didn’t sound that bad. In my head.

“Heads are Houses,” said Pendderwenn, very wisely, “and as I am the Head of House Pendderwenn, I know. Your joining us would be like a coup d`état.” Pendderwenn beamed. “So what d’you say?”

“Thank you. I’ll think about it,” I said.

“Nobody else is recruiting you, are they?” he said, as if he thought it was a long shot.

“Well...” Better to let him make of that what he would. I said good night.

“We would be twelve again. I mean, you could help me with the recruiting. A full House, eh?” said Pendderwenn. “Eh, Miss Rookmaaker?”

“You mean you don’t even have a––partial House?” I said.

He broke down entirely. “I’m losing it. Oh, I don’t mean it’s being taken away from me. It’s just... dying,” he said. He wept right there. “You can imagine what they think.”

“Honestly... ,” I shook my head. “I can’t.”

He took a great gulp of air, becoming even more bug-eyed.

“Paris, with all of their vichyssoise, they of course are happy,” he said, angrily. “They have always feared what the House of Rome could be! Then you have the other covens.”

“They don’t like you either?”

His shoulders shook.

“What a great bore you must think me,” he said.

“I think you could just use a vacation,” I said.

A tear leaked from his eye.

“I knew you were a good one,” he said. “I said, Pendderwenn, I said, if there was ever an Initiate who could bring us back to the status we had so briefly––and it was ever so brief––it would be that Miss Rookmaaker. After all, her parents were watchtowers. Powerful Wiccans were Kinsey and Maximilian Rookmaaker, powerful, powerful....” He trailed off.

I stood dumbfounded.

“You really knew them?” I said.

But Pendderwenn was still in a huff. “Knew them? Huh. Not as well as some people. Let us just say, I shook their hands once. Word gets around, Miss Rookmaaker. It does indeed.”

“Yes, but, it’s just––”

“Oh! My word! I forgot. You never knew them, did you?” he said.

My lip trembled somewhat; I nodded my head.

“What’s a Watchtower?” I asked, recovering myself, but Pendderwenn just shrugged.

“I’m only a number two, remember, Miss Rookmaaker; I’m not to know about, well, anything,” he said.

He bade me goodnight.

“But wait!” I said. “Can’t you tell me anything?”

Pendderwenn searched and searched in his head.

“I really wouldn’t know where to begin,” he said. “Being Adept sucks.”

He turned and left me.

* * *

I raced back to my room. “Lia? Lia? Wake up...”

“M’argh.”

“Oh, never mind. Go back to bed.”

“Murgh...” she sighed and went back to sleep. I was left wondering what I should do. I pulled my diary out from underneath my pillow and decided to write in it some.

But then, it happened.

When I went to light a taper, something happened. Something had never happened before; but here it was, and it was happening.

When I held the matchbook over the candle, prepared to remove a match to light it––

The candle ignited. It was like a tiny light going on. My tiny light.

I had just done magic without meaning to. Lit a taper.

Surprised, I dropped the matchbook, and then leaned closer. The candle flame hissed quite happily and then I blew it out. A curl of black smoke drew up, I could see it from the faint light which filtered into our dormitory.

Nervous and excited, I drew forward once more, on my hands and knees, and––holding my breath––held up a single fingertip above the candle wick. It popped on again. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a rush of emotions. I could turn on lights! But that would mean...

I took the candle with the flame in it, in my off hand, and trailed it along the place––the alleged place, I had to remind myself––where my Wiccan W should have been––all along the fingertips, and then up my arm, to my delta, the Wiccan magic spot, where the aether was said to flow, from the crook of my elbow. But, if it flowed out of me, perhaps the aether was the dark aether?

There, at the crook in my elbow, was the teensy tinsiest knotwork of magical veins, which meant that I could not go to a non-magical blood drive ever ever again.

My delta.

My magic.

It was really there.

I blew out my candle and fell back on my bed.

The creature reappeared again. Its eyes, so dangerous-looking, shined from out of the darkness. But I had fire now. An élan that was super-Wiccan and all me; it didn’t dare come any closer. I had magic, now.

It was only later that I woke up and imagined that it had all been a dream––but there it was, my Mark was shining.

* * *

We were approaching the middle of December; I would be eighteen years old in one week’s time, but I couldn’t think about my birthday right now. Lux was pushing us harder than ever before.

“You have to master this. Cull forward your magic,” he said.

But the other Initiates and I got that constipated look on our faces again. We couldn’t do what he wanted us to.

“It hurts... I can’t do it... ow,” complained Shaharizan. She looked at Lux mutinously.

“I have to get you ready,” he said.

“But why?” we all complained. “What’s going on? Is something coming up?”

Bad choice of words. I had been straining so hard I almost vomited. (“Soon it will appear almost effortlessly,” he said.) I didn’t want it to. I drew back from the magic. It was not more second nature than going to the moon, and twice as hard; but I at least recognized it, when I saw it, the good and bad aether... I looked surreptitiously at my fingertips. The index had a faint silvery swirl––intricate and fascinating. Like me.

I gave myself a little pep talk. Now you must hone your craft, Halsey, I told myself. Lux cleared his throat.

“This is recruit week,” he said. “You all know that. Which means that you should all have received your brochures by now. Tomorrow,” but we moaned again. “Tomorrow is the first day of the Wiccan Draft. It is the opportunity the Houses have all been waiting for. Right now, they’re going back and forth between each other over who will get to select you first; which is really what they’ve all been up to since the beginning. I know what you’re thinking. That you were all supposed to have had a choice, some say. Later Halsey. The fact is, this Gathering has seen––for lack of a better word––into each and every one of you. Now it’s only the Houses that are left jockeying for who will draw first.”

“You mean we are just going to be chosen?” interrupted somebody.

“It does us no good if you go to the wrong place,” said Lux. “Just as it does them no good. Who better to decide that than the Houses. They will know which of you will fit in with each House?”

“But what if no one picks us?” Lizette said.

“What if we get stuck in the Hopper?” said Astra.

Lux addressed the Initiates’ queries. “That is why each of you will be required to present yourselves, one last time,” he assured us, “for evaluation purposes only. You needn’t worry...”

There were boos; they drowned him out.

“I can’t go through that again,” said one.

“It isn’t fair,” said another.

“They already saw. Why do they have to look again?” said Lia.

“The decision process,” said Lux, “is difficult this year, owing to the fact that there are so many of you.”

“Only thirteen,” said Badgley. “How many Houses are there, anyway?”

“It’s not that simple,” said Lux. Why did I get the feeling like he wasn’t telling us everything? “Some are negotiating for higher spots. While others, others are looking at auctioning their markers to the highest bidder, whichever House is willing to give up the most for you. Which is why it’s a good thing to go with them, when they do choose you, because you’ll be going to a House that really wants you,” he said.

I looked at him like it was rubbish.

Vittoria was looking around, all very blasé. She neither exclaimed nor objected––to any of it.

Lux gripped his arm at the delta. “Enough! You will all have a chance to exhibit, which, after all, is the point. Without you being educated by an esteemed and certified Wiccan Household––well, you don’t want that traumatization, believe me.”

“That’s why you showed us Asher,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“Asher,” I said. “He’s an eclectic supernatural. Self-educated,” I said as derogatorily as I could muster. “And you saw,” I said, speaking to the rest of them, “what he was treated like. Nobody trusted him. In fact, they all feared him. But they were willing to use him, weren’t they, to get what they wanted?”

“There are benefits to being educated classically, through one of the schools,” said Lux. “Among them is respect. If you encounter a third-degree from one of the Houses, you’ll think twice about dueling with him––for he will know what you will know, unless you sabotage your chances of being recruited by a House, simply because you were too stubborn to exist in a world which is imperfect.”

Lux’s speech was working on them...

He was showing them what they stood to lose.

“You said that we were important,” I said. “You said that we mattered.” I couldn’t help it; I was shaking as I spoke. “You said that if it weren’t for us, none of them would be here.”

“Halsey, think about what you’re saying,” he said.

“I am, Professor.”

“Don’t talk yourself into something that you can’t take back,” said Lux. “That isn’t a threat. I am your friend.”

Vittoria smiled at me. It was that, more than anything, that got me.

“I will finish up with the selection process,” I said, “or the draft, as you call it––if for no other reason than to see; but I don’t like what I see; and I do not agree with it, Professor. And I certainly––I certainly won’t be a part of it.”

He called me back, but it was too late; I had gone. Lia caught up with me. “Do you know what you’re doing?” she said. We were departing the sandpit. Lia wasn’t angry with me, was she? If anything, she looked impressed.

“Why are you beaming?” I said.

“Because... you just stuck it to a third-degree badass from the House of Houses––except for the Master House,” she said.

“There is no master House, Lia. And he isn’t that bad. Do you know? I feel reckless. What’s the Wiccan virtue for not giving a damn?”

“I don’t think there is one,” said Lia, who looked at me, admiringly. “Do you think he’ll tell? You know––them? The delegates from each of the Houses? About you? That you might be a bad seed?”

I shook my head. “It isn’t his style––if you’ll forgive the pun. But Vittoria will. Ravenseal must hold the first marker. I looked at her face,” I said to Lia. “They’ll choose Vittoria with their number one pick. If the other Houses reject me, so be it. I’ll go it alone. I always have. Come on.”

* * *

I wished, for the first time in a long time, that I had Ballard back as a friend. I was getting tired of our cold war. Whenever we passed each other in the halls he pretended to be engaged in conversation with someone else. It was a wonder he didn’t bump into everything. But then I realized that he didn’t want anything to have to do with me. The same with the rest of the werewolves, who kept themselves to themselves, even when the Gathering seemed to be taking on new life.

For one thing, there were a bunch more people at mealtimes. I reckoned the Houses had all sent their delegates. For another, those I hadn’t seen in a while––including the three chief mistresses––were making their reappearances. So everybody must’ve been excited for this selection process.

All day I had been reliving the confrontation with Lux, in the sandpit earlier that morning. At times I would think I had been a fool; at others, I would know I had been.

I wondered if it was too late to take it back. And then, if I really wanted to? Very rarely did I come off looking well, when I replayed the scenario in my head.

Yet, it felt right; and that was important to me.

Still, the consequences were disheartening.

The other Initiates were avoiding Lia and I. She had come with me, you see, and now she was being ostracized as well.

I imagined us in some lonely one-star hotel, bent over a hotplate, with the fingers missing from our gloves. Lia passing me a can of beans. It was clear that our Marks had not fully formed, in these visions. We had the stubs of Marks, and our beans were getting cold.

At other times, I imagined the two of us, leading some great revolution. I seemed to be carrying a flag, the Stars and Stripes, which must’ve meant that on some level I wasn’t over my homesickness yet. We were leading the Initiates to freedom. All except for Vittoria, who I didn’t give a crap about. But these visions wouldn’t last very long; and, before I knew it, I felt like a fool again.

Halsey, you dope. You moron dope. You big stupid moron dope, I said to myself. I was good at berating myself.

But that would pass too...

I said that thing you say about not being able to change the things that you can’t change, and to be at peace, and stuff, and I just let go. What would be, would be, I guessed. It was up to me to make a place that being me would be enough. I was going to be happy. Sooner or later, the rest would sort itself out.

“What will I do without a House?” I wrote in my diary. It didn’t respond back.

Chapter 22 – Houses

“Your name is the most important identifier you possess. All coven members’ surnames––Harcort,” said Fanishwar Harcort “––Coven, Ravenseal, and so on. ” She inclined her head to each of the mistresses. “All are hive names, because all covens hived. That’s how we came to be. Over-numbered covens split by hive.” The rest of the twitterers agreed. This time, I could see them, ranged up in the stands; crags of rock hid their bodies for the most part. But there were the jewel-bright heads of hair and the flashing gowns with the runic symbols; it made me think of the website I had seen and the symbols which tumbled down from it like snowflakes. But if I were to become adept, and then, potentially, fledged––if that was to be my lot in life––I would have to concentrate on my magic, and give up things like YouTube and video games. Still, it would be nice to get on my laptop, a high-powered Mac I carried with me everywhere I went. I wasn’t finished investigating the rest of the Wiccans by a long shot. The truth was that when you took on a name like House Harcort, that House, that lifestyle, was supposed to become your life, to the exclusion of everything else. Almost, as I looked at Lia, as if you married into ancientry, into legend, and history. Into a proscribed way of doing things.

There was a bit of steel to Lia. I could see it after having cracked her friendship barrier. I think we are guilty sometimes of underestimating our friends. We put them into nice little boxes and get upset when they crawl back out of them. You go here, friend, and stay put––or else...

Fanishwar Harcort kept going on and on about our duty to our Houses.

The eyes of the watchers flashed upon the other Initiates and I. We were in our black hooded robes. I kept my head down, for the most part, and my fledgling Wiccan Mark carefully hidden. To Lia I had shown it and she exclaimed with rapture: “It’s almost like we’re sisters now. Your secret’s safe with me,” she said, and winked.

Here we were.

Someone was missing from the proceedings. I could see Pendderwenn, his pale and clammy skin anxious as ever; he nodded to me briefly and I smiled at him, but I made sure to look away real fast. What if he held my marker? It was too much to think about.

Maria Lenoir. Her dark eyes were as inscrutable as ever. Asher, I noticed, was missing from her retinue, but her consort, as I supposed him to be, Pier Alexander, conversed good-naturedly with her, and I remembered, in Lennox’s dream, that apparently Maria had assumed––no, usurped––power, as it appeared she had killed the Vampire King. One of those things it was better not to let anyone else know I knew about. She inclined her head to me, and I winked back. Maria smirked and turned her head away. Something I didn’t understand was how a vampire could hold a marker to a Wiccan. Were Initiates expected to go with them––for real––and to learn to suck blood?

Fanishwar, happily, was wrapping up her big to-do.

“Please, bear in mind, that if you are selected by our esteemed colleagues, the Lenoir, or wolf in mind, The Sons and Daughters of Romulus––” she said... Again, no ailuranthropes; Asher was right about that. They weren’t so much underrepresented as not represented at all. “––The covenant holds that you receive your magical education from a House of their choosing, and remain a friend to them, either the Lenoir or the werewolves, for the remainder of your life and the afterlife. For they hold your marker.”

She held it up; it was red as blood.

“And if war should renew itself––” she said.

Hisses and whispers of no, impossible, that will never happen, we are friends now.

“Then that House, that House, will be your House, and for that House, you shall fight; the ties that bind are many and complex. Blood and love. Love and blood,” she said.

“Love and blood,” they all repeated.

“A Wiccan in with vampires brings Wicca into their House. A vampire choosing a Wiccan and their school, acknowledges Wicca and the power of that school. And a Wiccan ‘raised’ by vampires, for want of a better word, respects those vampires, and will bear their messages, true and faithfully, into any House they travel. We bind ourselves with blood.”

“With blood.”

“Let our gathering renew our love––and prevent any ill-will. For what happened, happened. It was nobody’s fault.”

They bowed their heads.

Fanishwar Harcort stepped down from the podium, and I looked at Maria Lenoir, there, where Fanishwar returned to the judges’ table; she had an enigmatic look upon her face as though she had stolen into the Louvre and ate the Mona Lisa. Veruschka next.

“Ahem. Thank you for that, Mistress,” she said.

Fanishwar bowed her head; I suddenly realized who wasn’t here. Selwyn. He was off, I didn’t know where.

“Mistresses, this is a special Gathering,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. “The first in a quarter century.” Her voice boomed out across the Star Room. I noticed as she spoke lights pop on, which were held in the palms of the watching crowd. “Thirteen markers were sent out. Is she here with us, the One? We do not know. Probably. Maybe. Who knows? We do not know that she is not. For all we know, she might be. For all we know is that it was foretold. It’s as simple as that. Twenty-five years after the ending of the First War, we gathered; and then twenty-five years after that. And after that. And after that. From 1887 until now––we gather. She is the Chosen of the Chosen; the One Among the Many. And she is either here with us or she is not. But we gather to find out.”

Murmurs. More rustling of robes. I looked nervously around at all of the other Initiates.

“You hold your markers,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. “For five Gathering’s-worth, sixty-one have been sent out; and they have been bartered and traded and on and on. Is it guesswork or do you know something More?”

The lights died––and from overhead––starlight. It gathered and intensified onto each Initiate, one by one. Veruschka was doing it with her Wiccan Mark.

“Nora Blackknight,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. She was reading from her note cards. “A powerful potential. Beside her, Miss Larissa Nightbloom. My, we do have a preponderance of darknights. Miss Badgley Darknight, a shy, inquisitive girl, who makes up for this dichotomy by asking questions, a lot. Not so shy, after all, are we? Azura. She comes from the Ravenscroft family. They went extinct. Perhaps she’s back to reclaim what was wrongfully taken from her. Good luck, Miss Ravenscroft. Perhaps you’ll get a new name yet. Two P’s. Padget and Pilar. Both from non-magic roots, as are Astra, Lizette, and Shaharizan. Their last names don’t matter. What’s in a name is Wiccan, after all. Perhaps they’ll make new futures––and powerful ones, depending on who selects them. Next is Gemma Moonflower. An odd girl, not much is known of her. One day maybe she’ll finally speak. And, yes, there’s Lia. Halsey Rookmaaker is the final––and thirteenth––witch. An American. You take your chances with one of them. She’s apt to anger quite quickly. But our readers assure us, there’s more to her story than what we know. Can you find it?”

It was hard not to blush with the spotlight on me. And I thought what they read about us was supposed to remain secret! It was hard not to feel like a piece of human meat. A lapse had occurred. The twitters up in the stands were intense. With the light on me, I couldn’t see them. It leapt to the next girl beside me.

Veruschka had to apologize. “I forgot one,” she said. Vittoria stood there humiliated. “Vittoria––she doesn’t have a last name,” said Veruschka.

That was it; the Initiates were accounted for. All of them. The Star Room erupted in applause.

Vittoria’s heavily-lidded eyes were inscrutable; feignwork to hide the hurt and anger of being looked over by her own House, I guessed–– But was Vittoria destined for Ravenseal? Was it to be her Magic House?

Perhaps Ravenseal had passed. Maybe they were waiting for another Gathering. Twenty-five years from now. In that sense, we had all been passed over.

The act itself didn’t bother me; and it was hard to feel sorry for Vittoria––she had treated too many of us like that before. It was the insult I couldn’t abide. The First House was up. The First Marker.

“With the first pick,” said Veruschka Ravenseal, to various chuckles, holding the red marker with the name written upon it, both of the House and the Initiate it had chosen, “House Harcort selects Gemma Moonflower.”

At the name Harcort, Vittoria had flinched, infinitesimally, as if she had received a great shock and was trying to conceal it. She hadn’t been chosen first––as we all thought Vittoria would be. Gemma Moonflower had been.

It became obvious almost immediately that something was going on. Fanishwar, pleased with her new acquisition, greeted Gemma Moonflower, who actually opened her mouth to speak (“I’ve always wanted to see Piccadilly,” she said) and bowed to Veruschka Ravenseal who returned the courtesy.

Had Ravenseal traded its marker to House Harcort for some future consideration?

Vittoria did that tisk thing again. But this time it was like she couldn’t believe it. “You don’t know who I am,” she said underneath her breath. “I’ll show you.”

“Ladies...” Lux looked at me; hold your tongues, he seemed to say. I got upset with him, right there––but I refrained from speaking.

Lia looked sideways at me. Something was going on in her head, nerves, perhaps. She was standing on one foot, then the other. Something I had seen Ballard do before. He was up in the stands with the rest of them. Gaven was still Head Wolf, was he not? And as such, had a seat at the table in front of us. Whether or not he held a marker was anyone’s guess, he had never said. Harcort took Gemma Moonflower and the clapping died down.

Lux had said something about another reading––them potentially wanting to look into our minds again. It happened. Shaharizan was called into a back room. Several minutes elapsed. Then, Veruschka Ravenseal stood at the podium, to announce that Shaharizan had been taken as the second pick. There was a tremendous round of applause. It was by a House I had never heard of before.

Shaharizan became a twelfth, it was announced, something which was held in great esteem.

“Imagine selecting her as your last member,” said Vittoria scathingly; I knew how she felt. We had slipped further down the rung, she and I; we had not been chosen first or second.

I looked at Pendderwenn, who was sweating––I suddenly realized––he held a marker––and he wanted... me...

Two Initiates had already been chosen; obviously, if he didn’t get to me first...

Could another House be interested in me?

It truly was out of my hands.

“With the third pick––oh, this is interesting... With picks three and four, the House of Peril selects Pilar and Padget. The two P’s.”

Perfunctory clapping, my first whang of concern. That was four down! Had they read something in me they did not like? The Houses were picking the Initiates not based on how we felt about ourselves. Vittoria certainly would have been chosen first. She was clearly the most powerful. And I ranked fairly highly, if we were going based upon how we felt about each other. No. They were picking us based on our merits. Of which Vittoria and I seemed not to have any.

She had stopped tisking, Vittoria, and was now folding her arms in her robes. I saw her three digits. The fingertips were etched in onyx-hued minute lines. She caught me staring at them. “I bet you’d love to look; to see my Wiccan Mark,” said Vittoria. “I can’t believe those idiots have been selected over me. Even you would’ve been better. Mind you, that isn’t saying much.”

“Ravenseal gave their marker away,” I said. “They must have. They only have one spot, you see. They probably wanted to use it on somebody who’s a sure thing.”

“And you think I’m not? I may not be her, but I am badass,” said Vittoria, and threw her hair in my face.

I had to give it to her. Her confidence was unshakeable. I admired it greatly. “If you say so,” I said.

“Four down. Nine to go,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. “Again, I should take the time to remind those Initiates who may be wondering if they are to be chosen, there is more at stake here than just this ‘Mythic Chick’, as I have heard her referred to before.” She looked at me. “Some Houses simply want people who are good for them. It is their fortune to hold markers in whatever order. Do you understand?”

Pendderwenn gulped––and stared at me. He was giving me the heebie-jeebies.

That was blather, what Veruschka had said, and we all knew it. Everyone, each House, wanted the One. So did House Ravenseal.

I must’ve not been her. Besides, I wasn’t even from here. I was from New England. Well, not originally, but for all intents and purposes. I was a carpetbagger. Somebody who went from one place to another for some quick benefit. I didn’t know that’s what I had been doing––but I had been. I wanted to be selected as badly as the rest of them.

Being chosen stung, because you had to subject yourself to not being chosen. And to not being the Chosen One.

Let’s face it, I told myself, there’re only nine of us remaining––in the whole of Europe, for the next twenty-five years. And then we would have had our time, the Initiates and I. We would be passed over for new people. New Wiccans. Younger and more powerful.

The problem with being a potential was and had always been what happened to the ones who had it, but then it went away? It was like, how could we ever go on? I had come so close to my dream and now it felt like I didn’t deserve to be here.

“The Sons and Daughters of Romulus next,” said Veruschka Ravenseal.

* * *

We were given a break. It was weird to think that we were losing each other. Strange though it may sound, I was used to us being thirteen. Now Gemma Moonflower and the other three members of their respective new Houses were off––being Indoctrinated... Truly––and miraculously––and completely...

They were wanted.

It felt enviable. Who didn’t want to fit in, or feel like they belonged? I had been a Wiccan now forever and ever––even in the lean years when I didn’t have a Mark and couldn’t craft accidentally or on purpose––and I never felt that way, like I belonged.

I was always an outsider––even when I was in I was out. And especially at the Gathering. The Wiccans had a claim to her––whoever she might be––this One––and the werewolves and vampires. And that stake in something––in me, if I was to be Her––felt good. It felt like I was wanted. That I had not been abandoned. Or dumped in some hole somewhere. Some rota. That I had some value. Now I didn’t know. And it sucked.

It sucked worse than Pendderwenn, who couldn’t stop violating me with his I-want-you stare.

Or was I being double negative or impossible? Two-faced or whatnot?

Lia took my hand and whispered to me: “I really hope it’s you. I mean, I think you really deserve it, whatever it is. I’m––sure I’m not the One,” she said.

“What?” I said.

“I’m too old, for one thing. Twenty-four. You heard them. It’s like I’m practically a dinosaur. And my birthday’s coming up.”

“And you think that’s why you haven’t been selected?” I said. “Lia, you don’t really see yourself the way you are.”

“I don’t?” she said in a minute voice.

“Not at all,” I said.

Gaven called us over. We were standing in one of the many tunnels which went off in odd directions all over the secret underground Gatheringplace.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing–– Hi Halsey,” he said to me. Gaven took Lia’s hand. I let her go to him.

“I think I’ll just go elsewhere,” I said to them, but they didn’t hear me.

Lia was saying something like: “You shouldn’t be fraternizing with me. You have selecting to do.” He responded with something gruff. “I don’t care,” he said. Or whatever he said.

I was looking at some of the plants which were holdovers from the night of the Ball. Some other people were milling around. We had about an hour, Veruschka had said. The selection process would take the remainder of today and probably even tomorrow. I didn’t see what the big deal was? I put my hood up. There were just thirteen of us. Despite what they said, we had no more potential than anybody else. Besides, I rambled to myself, since when did somebody else care about someone’s potential––it was only what you could do, that mattered, and what could I do?

I was entering hard times. I could feel it. Where I wasn’t a kid anymore, but I wasn’t really an adult, either. I was stuck somewhere in-between.

I wandered down the passageway and bent to sniff at the nasturtiums, my head, and my hair, which was growing overlong, doing their best to hide my face. The chatter seemed to die down as I walked and contemplated... When, suddenly, I heard voices––two of them. Except this time they weren’t coming from far, far away. They were here with me now at the Gathering, and I was no more in some magic trance than the flowers I had been sniffing. “If an Initiate rejects a House, that marker is wasted––it’s tantamount to a crime. They don’t want somebody who makes their House look stupid––or worse, can’t be controlled...”

“Or is too powerful––Is that what you think, my dear––”

I heard something behind me and turned from the hissing voices.

Selwyn was standing there. The cold mind. It made my heart leap. His hair was disheveled. He held a finger to his lips, bidding me be quiet. I couldn’t explain it––there was something in his eyes; eyes so astonishingly blue I had only ever seen their like in my dreams before. I opened my mouth––to scream, yell, run, I didn’t know. Seeing him there had really shocked me. It was a moment before I realized I wasn’t supposed to like him very much.

Finally, my heart rate settled down. He continued to hold his finger up to his lips. I think he knew better than to grab my hand, because I would have screamed, but he beckoned me away from there, where the voices were talking––to someplace more light-filled; I did as he requested, though I didn’t know why. “You’re very mysterious,” I said. “I want to know why.”

He stopped when we were free of some of the darker tunnels; for no other reason than just to see, I looked into his eyes once more, but he kicked me out of his mind.

“You have aether––it’s dark,” I said.

His eyebrows went up.

“Where have you been?” I asked. “Why are you so disheveled? You look like you’ve just crawled out of something.”

It was true. Selwyn looked almost filthy. “Are those the same clothes you were wearing the night of the Ball?” I asked.

“Stop talking and listen to me,” he said. His voice was in a hurry.

Somebody walked by and Selwyn jumped at the noise, looking around to see who had made it; he put his hand out, as if trying to protect me. “I tried to get a message to you,” he said to me, “at the Wiccaning.” It was a moment before my mind caught up with what he was saying. His voice was gravelly, as though he had barely used it. He ran a hand through his hair and then put the full magnificence of his eyes upon me again; but not to look into my mind. “I just want to talk,” he said.

“You mean you jumped into my head at the Wiccaning,” I said, somewhat indignantly, “to see if you wanted to jump into my head?”

I listened for what his response would be.

“It was a wiccaning. Besides, I had to see what you knew, or didn’t know,” said Selwyn, and smoldered at me. As he spoke he kept an eye out. Not literally. He was just very attentive.

I only had an hour. I had to go.

“Wait,” he said, “this is important. Your mother and father.”

“What of my mother and father?”

“I don’t think you know what’s going on,” he said. I was so tired of hearing that. “But you will. And soon,” he said. He brushed himself off, and threw his head back, listening. He needed a haircut and a shave. I was not the only one hiding behind long black bangs tonight.

“Is that a threat?” I said. Despite my predicament of being totally alone with him, Asher’s words came back to me. Selwyn wouldn’t try anything––with everyone else here.

“A warning. Things are not safe, Halsey, especially for you,” he said.

“What do you mean? Explain yourself. And why are you acting like you know me?”

Somewhere I realized he had called me Halsey instead of Halsey Rookmaaker.

But he shook his head.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said. “A piece of advice until then. Watch your step.”

I folded my arms, much like Vittoria, and said, “Are you trying to be spooky, or is it just a gift, because if you think you can intimidate me, Selwyn...”

He blew a strand of hair out of his face, grinning broadly. “You have their spirit,” said Selwyn. “Not everyone has made themselves known yet––Pendderwenn, the Lenoir, the twins... They are only a few of the strange beings located here.”

“And what about you?” I said. “Who are you, anyway?”

But he was shaking his head. “You need to get back,” he said. “If you follow this path, and head toward the light––that’s very important––it will lead you.”

“Not until you tell me what you’re doing here,” I said.

Selwyn looked around. “I’m here for the same reason as you are, and the same reason as everyone else. Something happened a long time ago, and I think I may finally know what it was.”

He left me standing there, and disappeared back the way he’d come, but I was out of time. I couldn’t follow Selwyn. He gave me the heebers, to quote a Marek line, that was not unlike the way I felt about magic itself––tingly and whatnot. I followed the passageway back to the Gathering, to the Star Room.

* * *

It was only as I felt the sand beneath my feet that I remembered whose turn it was. The Trasteverean Werewolves would be making their selection at any second. Lia didn’t mean––she hadn’t meant––she wanted me to be selected by them, did she? Did I want to be a werewolf?

If I was being honest with myself, the answer was both yes and no. Yes, I wanted to be a member of their Pack, but no, I didn’t think it would be good for me. Thinking about it made me feel weird. Ballard’s family was, in a sense, my family. They were as close to a family as I had ever known. Yet, if I was to do what I had to do, I had to be free of them. Solo.

It would be one way for the werewolves to consolidate their power. In a sense, Lia would always be a werewolf. But me... It would be a major coup if The Sons and Daughters of Romulus had two Wiccans.

I thought about how I would feel if they picked Vittoria. Like they had done the right thing, probably. But whoever they picked, the nearest Wiccan House was the Roman House of Pendderwenn. Something about it, of the rundown nature of Pendderwenn, made me not want to go there. Then I realized it was a satellite of Ravenseal and that settled it. I would not be going to Pendderwenn.

Could an Initiate reject the House which chose them? Had it ever even been done before? I didn’t know if there was a precedent for it or not.

The rest of the Initiates and I stood in a row, waiting to be selected.

“With the fifth pick,” said Veruschka Ravenseal, holding up the marker so she could see it more clearly, “The Sons and Daughters of Romulus pick their own Lia Rosen as their Initiate.”

Lia was fifth. She was chosen. She breathed a sigh of relief, and went off with Gaven, leaving me standing there with not much enthusiasm for the ordeal to come.

The fact was, were I to be chosen now, I would be going somewhere I didn’t belong, and I had to go. I realized that now. Lux had been right. It would be like I was throwing my future away, if I did not. But that would mean leaving Rome, unless Pendderwenn took me––which I didn’t want––leaving my friends, and Ballard...

A little voice––leaving Lennox as well... Rome was his home, after all.

I didn’t know what to do.

A few last-minute meetings and negotiations were going on––markers being traded, people positioning themselves to get the last of the leftovers. The Wiccan dregs.

Vittoria laughed. “If they call that reading people, they must be illiterate. I’ve never been put through so many degradations in my life. And for what?” She must’ve meant the Wiccaning. “At least the dog’s back in her kennel,” she said, referring to Lia.

“There’s value to being underestimated,” I said.

“Speak for yourself,” said Vittoria.

The other V, Veruschka, was caught up in some last-second wheeling and dealing. “If he’s not coming, he’s not coming,” she said. “May we proceed?” She looked at the remaining delegates––all of whom nodded. Gaven must’ve been off indoctrinating Lia. Whatever that meant.

I was suddenly very, very, very happy for them. Gaven could relax now, and Lia could do whatever she pleased. She was with The Sons and Daughters of Romulus. She was free.

Veruschka smiled. “I am happy to say that with my own pick, House Ravenseal selects Halsey Rookmaaker.”

There was anarchy.

Veruschka motioned to me; Pendderwenn looked outraged. The two twins, I noticed, were clapping along with the rest.

I had never satisfactorily seen them before. For some reason, my eyes avoided the twins. They looked like they had no souls. No one spoke to them. Everyone avoided them. But they were allotted space––always. The twins had overseen everything since the Wiccaning. Why? Their eyes stared at me as they clapped their hands.

I caught Veruschka’s eyes again, who was beckoning me forward. At the sound of my name being called, time had seemed to stand still. Vittoria stopped me before I could go.

“Were you in on this?” she said.

“In on what?” I said. I was somewhat dazed.

“Never mind. Go. I wouldn’t trade places with you if I could,” she said.

She must’ve still been upset at being passed over.

“I didn’t know they were going to pick me,” I said, but she didn’t care. I wouldn’t let Vittoria walk away, however, thinking she could hold a grudge over me, because that’s exactly what she was trying to do. One second, I was being beckoned by Veruschka, my new mistress; the next, there was a gasp.

Vittoria was backing up––she was pantomiming wiping her hands of the whole affair. She raised them up and brushed them off and continued to walk backwards so everyone could see her.

“Vittoria, what do you think you’re doing?” said Veruschka Ravenseal. The twitterers twittered. The remaining Initiates stared at Vittoria.

Vittoria said, loud enough so that everyone could hear, “I’m done with this place. I have a last name. Goodbye.”

Lux stood up. “Vittoria...” he said.

“Don’t even waste your breath, Professor. I know where I’m not wanted,” she said. She looked at me––and then she whipped her head around and left the sandpit.

“My marker is worthless now,” said Julius Pendderwenn, and held it up. I could see a golden thirteen etched upon it. “Worthless!” he shouted. With Vittoria gone, there would not be a thirteenth pick. He stormed out of the place.

A part of me was, like, You thought I was going to be picked last, Julius Pendderwenn? But Veruschka Ravenseal was waiting for me. I stepped across the sandpit and reluctantly took her outstretched hand. She pulled me close to her, and began looking critically at me.

“You’re better than I thought,” she said.

But what did that mean for Vittoria? Was she really just going to leave the Gathering? She would be outcast. An eclectic. Unschooled.

* * *

I spent the rest of the day with Veruschka Ravenseal and her people––what looked to be various servants with a lot of measuring devices. They wanted to get a look at my Wiccan Mark. “I want to see what I’m dealing with,” said Veruschka Ravenseal.

I was still not used to it. To her.

“Absolutely not,” I said. I yanked my arm out of her reach. The move felt petulant. Like I was being stubborn or something. I was.

“Suit yourself,” she said. “But I hope you’ll begin to think of me as you should: as a friend, and as a mentor, and as your mistress, Halsey Rookmaaker. Or should I say Halsey Ravenseal? Isn’t that odd, now?”

“What is?” I said.

“Your name. They’re both HRs. Like in House Ravenseal. Halsey Rookmaaker.”

She dismissed her servants.

We were in a well-lit chamber off the Star Room. What I realized must be her private offices.

“Well, don’t be shy,” she said, and beckoned me over to a seating area––two chairs and a table. “Tea?” she asked, offering me some. She lifted the pot from the service and poured two cups.

I sipped my tea and said, “Why did you pick me? I thought you were supposed to pick Vittoria.”

“Yes, we saw that in her.”

“We?” I said. “What did you see?”

“Me. I saw what I saw. When you rule your own House, Halsey, you––that is to say, I––am obliged to take my own council into judgement. I prefer to talk to lots of mes.”

“What about Lux?”

“He’s a Styles Master, the quartermaster, a glorified servant, but you, I have big plans for you, Miss Ravenseal,” she said. She took a sip of her tea and winked at me.

“But what if I don’t want to be a part of your big plans?” I said.

Her smile hardened over her teacup. “See here. You owe me your allegiance. Is that understood? Don’t want it? Of course you do. You’re a twelfth. In Wicca, that is the luckiest number.”

That may have been, but Veruschka was number one. Maybe this was what Vittoria had been talking about, when she said she wouldn’t trade places with me if she could.

“Did you recruit Vittoria, and then pass her over for me?” I said.

“See here. I don’t think you know what’s going on. You are a Ravenseal now. And that, Halsey, means something. I looked at Vittoria. Sure I did. But I didn’t like what I saw, if you take my meaning. Now enough fun and games. I leave for Prague tomorrow. You shall follow after me, unless you wish to become homeless and Houseless. It’s a hard life. The Ravenseal name carries with it certain expectations––as well as responsibilities. We can’t just take any old crafter we choose. That would be anarchy.”

“I heard you were supposed to go to the Master House,” I said.

She looked uneasily at me.

“If it’s so great being Ravenseal,” I said, “why do you want to change? If you’re my Mistress, who’s going to replace you when you leave? Because I should be talking to her, don’t you think?”

She put her tea down––and slapped my face. Hard. The smack reverberated around the room.

“Now you listen to me,” she said. Sparks flew from her eyes. My face still stung where she had hit it with her Wiccan Mark. “If I tell you to get down onto your hands and knees and scrub the floor, you will do it. Including anything else I may want you to do. Is that understood? You’re a nasty, ungrateful little monster, who needs to learn her place. I leave for Prague tomorrow. You will be allowed some time to set your affairs in order, and then someone will be sent to collect you. If you defy me, I will destroy you. Is that understood? I won’t be made a fool, Halsey Rookmaaker.”

* * *

Dear Diary,

I don’t know what to do; I could use a three-dimensional friend to talk to right now. Ballard is MIA. Lia is spending the night with Gaven. You should’ve seen his face when he picked her. Like he could breathe again.

Pendderwenn erupted; which, for him, was saying something. He accused the Gathering of treachery; of depriving House Pendderwenn of its rightful heir. I think I would rather go with him than Mistress Ravenseal. Veruschka silenced him with a look; the rest of the Houses booed Julius Pendderwenn. Vittoria, meanwhile, was absolutely venomous.

But I was as stunned as she was. I think Veruschka traded down. She must’ve thought I would still be there at six. I wonder what she got in return?

The Houses have all been negotiating all this time. September. October. November. December. This whole One business is really important to them.

Some part of me resisted, when Veruschka called me.

I think she saw it because she got this impatient look on her face. Lux was as shell-shocked as the rest of them. It was clear he had steeled himself for receiving Vittoria No-Name into his Wiccan House. A House that is in Prague.

I looked at the twins. I never noticed how unnatural-looking they were. It made the hairs on my neck stand up.

When I looked at them, I saw their minds; it wasn’t so much a House as a fortress. We looked at each other keenly, when my new Mistress, whom I loathe, called me over.

“Who were those two?” I said.

She made a sound like a ship rattling. “Better you not know,” she said. It was clear she wanted to depart with me.

“Is that it, then? Are we going to Prague?” I asked.

The words coming out of my mouth terrified me. I had never said goodbye to my landlady. It felt too soon.

“No, but you are finished with Lux, for now. He’ll want to get you back and train you properly. Who knows? You may be the One, after all.”

“You mean you don’t know,” I said.

“Of course not,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. She was matter-of-fact, all business. “I chose you because I thought you would be best for us. If you ask me, there isn’t a messiah here––just some Wiccans and other things...” she said the last word dismissively.

“But what’s the plan now?” I asked. The remaining judges had just dismissed everyone because of the outbursts which had ground the selection process to a halt.

“Dinner and rest. And then we finish up tomorrow. You’ll have time to arrange your affairs, of course, and then someone will be sent to collect you.” She smiled and pinched my cheek. “You are so young. You remind me of me when I was your age.”

I assumed she meant her pre-blue hair days.

“Just tell me one thing,” I said. “Do you think I can really fit in?”

“I think you have the wrong idea of what a House is,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. “We don’t all sit around and watch TV all day.”

She left me standing there, staring after her.

I wondered if it were really true that the Master House had been showing interest in her, and then, if I could trust Veruschka Ravenseal? If she was a shoo-in, as it sounded like, she would know more of the twins’ mission than she was saying. They had to be here for a reason, didn’t they? Perhaps they were the two voices I had been hearing. In which case, I would need to watch my step.

The twins had had a strange symbol tattooed upon their faces. It ran from the bottom of their eyes. Shaped like a tremendous twisted thorn, it went down their faces and seemed to jump off at their chins. But it was their eyes––vacuous sucking pinwheels I could not escape.

“Well, come on, then,” said Veruschka Ravenseal.

* * *

I put the diary away. Why did it feel like everybody at the Gathering had manica langas, long sleeves? I couldn’t trust any of them. Selwyn, the twins, Pendderwenn. He would be more dangerous than ever. Perhaps Pendderwenn would try to start something; his marker had been stolen, after all, rendered obsolete. My friend and ally, Asher, was nowhere to be found. I remembered he said he was coming back. Okay. Something to look forward to. But when? I told myself. Lennox was agonizing. But Ballard... Ballard was the one it hurt me to think about... He must’ve seen that Lia and I had been chosen, but where was he now, and what was he up to? And did he even care that I was no longer going to be in Rome? Perhaps he could breathe a sigh of relief. I imagined it had to be hard for him, being my friend. I was always running around trying to find things out. My parents. What was I doing––not only here but existentially so? And blah blah blah.

No wonder Ballard wanted to get away from all that. He had his own problems. I was so far outside of the Pack that I didn’t even know what was going on anymore. Perhaps they were glad to be rid of me.

I could hear Ballard’s voice in my head. “You’re such a drama queen, Halsey.”

I missed his friendship; I missed seeing him with a grease rag in his hand. Our days pre- All of This were something I missed terribly. I also missed being called Halls. Yet, if I went with Veruschka to Ravenseal House I would be giving all that up, wouldn’t I?

Somewhere Lux’s voice said to me, “You always have a choice––even if it’s not a particularly good one, you have it.”

I had some soul-searching to do, and I couldn’t think of a better way to do it, than on my Gambalunga, the bike Ballard had built for me.

* * *

I went to go start it up. The only problem was somebody else waylaid me. What was it with me, walking down the halls at night? First one thing, then another, I told myself. When I stopped.

A pair of ravenous dark eyes were staring at me, out of slits in the pupils of cat’s eyes. “Asher?” I said.

But it wasn’t Asher. It was a tremendous black cat; its glossy black coat rippling with muscles.

It stared out at me like the thing I had seen in my dreams for the last four months, and then licked its tremendous snout with its heavy cat tongue. I saw its fangs gleam.

Certain that I had seen it, it turned and looked back, like I should follow it. I held my breath, undecided.

Was this what I had been seeing in my dreams? The black cat? It looked like a panther. Which was a mythical creature. Supposedly not real. Panthers did not exist. Much like a unicorn in that sense. Asher was a wereleopard. And from what he had said, it sounded like he couldn’t shift. This was something else. Somebody else. Because, when it looked at me, the cat registered an awareness that transcended its species. It was some shapeshifter? It had to be. It wanted to show me something. I decided to follow it.

We walked, the cat and I, through the corridors, to a place I had never seen before. The vampire side of things. The cat’s heavy paws hit the floor so lightly that I could swear it was not there. Maybe, in an existential sense, I wasn’t either. I had to do my best to remain as silent as it was. Some things were absolutely forbidden, and a living, breathing human Wiccan girl entering into the domain of Maria and the Lenoir was certainly one of them. But then we veered off again.

I could barely see anything. “Stop,” I said. The cat did as instructed, licking its nose.

I freed my arm from the robe––the one with the Wiccan Mark on it.

It was so faint, but the almost absolute darkness made my Wiccan Mark shine in a way I had never seen before. I could see it filling in. And, what was this? It was making some interesting shape. But it was too soon to tell. I didn’t know what it was. My Virtue was Ignorance, so far.

Concentrating as I had never done in my life, I tried to cull forth the magic. It was hard, because I didn’t know how exactly. Lux had never taught us. I guess he thought we would be too dangerous. Maybe that was why they had a Gathering, to prevent us––and by that I meant the other Wiccan Initiates and myself––from forming our own House.

Interesting idea, I thought.

It erupted in a dazzling flash the bright ball of light, shivering in my open palm. “See? Now we can look where we’re going,” I said.

The cat blinked. It didn’t need the light.

But I did. “Okay. I’m ready,” I said. “Let’s go.”

It seemed to nod, before leading the way.

Holding the ball of energy was an interesting experience. I had seemed to think it into existence, but only because I had seen Veruschka and some of the other fledged Wiccans do it before. Maybe you had to see it, before you could do it. Later. There would be time later. All the time in the world.

It shivered and hummed, the ball of energy. It was very bright. Within its core was a darker ball of energy. What I assumed must be the dark aether.

The cat continued to pad lightly through the corridors––when my brain clicked on. “Selwyn?” I said.

It stopped.

“It is you, isn’t it?” I said.

The cat turned and put its moon eyes upon me. But whether by a trick of the light, which I held––or some other magic––the yellow eyes, so fierce-looking, flashed suddenly astonishingly mind-numbingly blue. A stunning flash of azure I had only ever seen once before in Selwyn. And I would remember. He had penetrated my mind before with those sapphire beauties.

“You saved me,” I said. “It wasn’t Ballard, after all, it was you. You’re the Fourth Protector...”

I went to give Selwyn a big hug but he hopped out of my reach. “When Marek attacked me last summer,” I said. “You were watching out for me. You have been watching out for me. But why? You needn’t worry about him. In fact, I think Marek’s one of my protectors, too. He may have just been overzealous, is all. He has a thing about me, you see. But I’m seeing someone else. Lennox. Lennoxlove.”

The panther blinked and then licked its lips. For a magical creature he was very snuggly-looking.

“He’s house-trained, I swear. But then, I have another kind of House, don’t I? You, Marek, Lennox, and Ballard. You’re like the Fourth House. And I’m the Fifth of Fourth. So I guess that means we’ll have to Hive. No, that’s silly. We’re family,” I said. I couldn’t believe it.

The Selwyn-cat didn’t move this time, just pawed the turf uneasily.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” I said, “if you don’t want to. I would like to know how long you have been following me, though, and if it’s you I see in my dreams, because you don’t have to worry about me, I can take care of myself. There, you see?” I had shot the ball of light out of my hand; it flew down the hallway.

Selwyn followed after it at a trot. I could barely keep up.

He slowed. I nearly bumped into him. He held his nose to the ground. His panther ears swiveled forward.

“Hey––you’re a shifter,” I said, so that only he and I could hear. “You’re a wizard and a shifter. But I thought that hadn’t happened in a century. Not since––Rhea Silva, whoever she was.”

But Selwyn gave me a sphinx-like look and I shut my mouth. I could suddenly hear them, too, the other voices. The voices I had heard before.

They were here with me now, on the outskirts of Rome, in a tiny underground facility, which had been hollowed out to accommodate the Gathering. I put my hand on Selwyn’s back and kneeled down with him. At my touch, he shivered, but then relaxed. His powerful muscles were still in a crouch, as though he were stalking whoever was making the noises.

“Is it the twins?” I asked, making sure to keep my voice down. “Or, I know, Maria and what’s-his-name, Pier Alexander, they’re always whispering to each other.”

But Selwyn shifted his muscles, dismissing such claims.

“Then who then?” I said.

It was not long before I found out.

Chapter 23 – Vittoria’s Secret

I could feel every mystical vibration from when we had all been animals––my instincts honed from eons of magic in the blood. The voices were like the voices I had heard at Lennox’s family’s house. “She drew him with her blood.” That’s what Camille and Dallace had said. My mind had subconsciously been thinking about it all this time. Did I? Had I drawn Lennox subconsciously with my blood? Had I drawn Marek that way, too? Was I the Super Bitch? To quote Frobenius Foucart’s ugly words. Her? The One?

When I thought about my time together with Lennox, it was almost like it had been some other Halsey, some other Lennox. Not us.

We hadn’t been at Rat Rock at all. Somebody else had.

It was like we were in a trance. Even when we first met. When had I ever fallen for a guy like that?

And here. At this Gathering. Hadn’t I had a thing for Lux? And then Asher? And now... wasn’t I, in a way, attracted to Selwyn? Sure, he was much older––I didn’t know how old exactly. But when had that ever stopped me before? Wasn’t Lennox considerably older? And even Gaven. He was a tricenarian but he was also incredibly good-looking and if he had chosen to indoctrinate me, so be it, I wouldn’t exactly have complained. How could I? He should be on billboards, Gaven. Advertising cologne and world peace. But far from being a predator, he was a gentleman in wolf’s clothes. If he was still a werewolf. Something about the way Ballard was behaving made me feel uncertain.

Ballard wasn’t, was he––he couldn’t possibly be Head Wolf, could he? Il Gatto, the King of Cats?

I almost hissed the last word. Selwyn was a cat. How had he managed it. He was Selwyn, wasn’t he?

Halsey––and I’ve said it before, I told myself. You really haven’t got a clue about, well, any of it. Maybe what you were feeling about Lennox was put there by somebody else. Something else.

And then:

Were feeling? I told myself. Were feeling? I wasn’t getting over Lennox, was I?

The train of thought felt like an over-numbered Hive.

Selwyn seemed to sense my indecision. Around the corner was Something. Something I didn’t want to think about. I could sense that it was important. Selwyn wanted to show me it, after all, and when had he ever been exactly outspoken on anything? The inner sanctuary of his mind was averse to any kind of openness. Something about Selwyn––his quietness, for one thing––led me to believe that he had deep dark secrets to hide. And he had given out that he had known my parents––At the Wiccaning, when he had slammed his fist down. That was also important. Foolish me. I could have asked Lia any time if Selwyn had tried to read her mind? Or if it was just me? Instead Selwyn remained a mystery.

I wanted to pet him. He could have carried me on his back, if he wanted to. His body was one satin-black series of interconnected muscles, all flowing and ripply, with beautiful rosettes––spots particular to the mythical panther. He was breathtaking, in a Selwyn-cat kind of way. Absolutely amazing. When I looked into his eyes, I realized. He wasn’t cold. Just aloof. And maybe there was a reason for that. He didn’t have to be defensive with me. It was important he understood that.

So, I said, remembering the symbols, and speaking to myself. This was Lennox. And there, Ballard. And that, that was Marek. And this one must be Selwyn. I drew the symbols in my mind, and pointed each of them out to myself.

It looked like a spinning propellor. One... two... three... blades...

Four Protectors. A werewolf, two vampires, and a wizard who could shift. But if this was what Ballard had meant by being my full moon––by protecting me––he seriously needed to reconsider his commitment.

Could they really all have been here to protect me? If so, from what?

Selwyn could sense I had something on my mind.

“Sorry,” I said. “Where were we, and where are we? Because I don’t think we’re supposed to be here.”

The pack of muscles at his shoulder blades flexed. The light in his eyes that was usually blue became predatory. So I guessed that meant shifters couldn’t speak when in their animal forms. I adjusted my hood so only my eyes stared out and flexed the fingertips of my Wiccan W. It was like I was clawing the air or something. I waited for him to turn the corner, and the two of us to meet our destiny, together.

Selwyn-cat hunkered and listened to the voices. They were whispering something together. Hissing at each other.

“She scares us. We must––kill her. It is––imperative. Yes.”

“We cannot act until the Initiates are drawn. We must be patient.”

“No,” hissed the other one, “better––we shall pin it on him, yes.”

“Yes,” they agreed, one after the other.

“Silence. Come. Gather your forces. We must gather like they do.”

I wanted to find out who they were, but Selwyn refused. It was like he just wanted to let me know about them. He forbade me going forward. But the speakers, whoever they were, had already disappeared. Instead I was overwhelmed by a nauseous feeling. They were plotting something. Somebody was in danger. There were dangerous things at the Gathering. “I want to go,” I said. “Come on.”

He looked back at me.

“Come on, Selwyn. We shouldn’t be here,” I said.

Blinking, he turned to follow me.

* * *

Day two of the selection ceremony dawned with Lia, all smiles, and I, enjoying our breakfast together. She already knew that I had been chosen by Ravenseal. “I can’t believe it. Right? You must be really excited. Are you excited?” she said. “Because I would be. Ravenseal. They’re supposed to be the best.”

I knew she was only being kind. I decided not to vent to her about anything. There was no need to ruin her afterglow. But just when I was settling in for a peaceful day, Ballard happened.

Lia and I were going to see who else would be selected, but I had to confront Ballard first. Or, I didn’t know, slap him or something. So that’s what I did.

“Check your six, Bal.”

“Bal, is it?” I said.

I had just interrupted him and Paolo talking to some other werewolves about something called lungotevere embankments or something. “They prevent the Tiber from flooding the city, you see. Just like we do, eh? What is it? What do you want?” said Ballard to me.

It was the first time he had spoken to me in weeks.

“You’re a real shit, you know that, Ballard?” I said. I couldn’t help it, I stomped my foot. The tears had started to well.

He shrugged and left me there. “Come on, guys,” he said.

* * *

Some of the other Houses had chosen their Initiates. Coven got Badgley, which, go and figure. There was only polite clapping. A lot of talk, up in the stands where Lia and I were at, involved the Rookmaaker Choosing, as I heard it referred to. I put my hood up.

“Is it true her parents used to be in Pendderwenn? Where is Pendderwenn, anyway?”

“Probably off sulking. He lost his pick, you see. Oh, you mean the House? I don’t know. Somewhere.”

I didn’t want to hear anymore. I held Lia’s hand. Now that I was finally leaving Rome, we were closer than ever.

“Don’t listen to them, Halsey,” she said to me.

“It’s hard not to,” I said.

Veruschka continued her Selection duties. I wondered if the Lenoir had a pick. “With the tenth pick,” she said...

Nora Blackknight had just been selected.

I found it funny that some of the Initiates with names––that is to say, acknowledged Wiccan surnames––were being chosen after those without them. Nora Blackknight went after Astra, Shaharizan, and some of the others, who didn’t have last names, or pedigree, or provenance.

“Just because you’re in doesn’t make you in,” said Lia, referring to this Wiccan pedigree or provenance that I didn’t fully understand yet. “They take into account talent. Look at Vittoria... What happened to her, anyway?”

I told Lia.

“We’ll see her again,” said Lia. And then, changing tack: “Guess what I heard?”

“What?” I said, listening hard. I didn’t want to hear the rest of the voices anymore.

“You know that hiving business, you know why they do it?” said Lia.

“Why?” I said.

“It’s so that no one Wiccan House will get too big. No, listen to this. Gaven told me. Apparently that was what he was talking to those two Wiccans about, the day we came––what were their names, Stavros and Gisela? It’s called having a Storm of Covens, and it’s absolutely forbidden.”

I listened on, intrigued.

“It’s what the Lenoir were so scared about––a hundred and twenty-five years ago,” said Lia, “at the whatchamacallit, the meeting. It’s all in your book. I looked it up. ‘If a House,’” she said, quoting from the Magus Codex, “‘elects a leader––and that leader creates a Storm of Covens––’ you know, a bunch of Wiccan Houses all beholden to it––then that Household is said to be in breach and one of two things will happen. Either it must hive––which means number threes going to the Houses and them emancipating themselves fully and completely from their parent coven––or the Lenoir will be sent, to destroy it. The coven and its satellites. Anyway the Lenoir get to go kill that House and all of its offspring.”

“A Storm of Covens,” I said.

Lia was wide-eyed. “I forget what else exactly,” she said. “You’ll have to look it up. Anyway. That’s what Maria and all of them––” She waved her hand at all of the invisible vampires. “That’s what they were afraid of, when they signed the documents, agreeing to the peace treaty, in 1887. A single powerful Wiccan leader who could somehow unite the Houses, and, I don’t know, march against the vampires. That’s why there’re only twelve spots allowed in each House, and why choosing is so important. You don’t want to make the wrong choice.”

“And the Houses?” I said.

“Independent from each other. For the most part. Here’s the thing, though. Gaven says some of the Houses don’t play fair. They cheat.”

“What d’you mean?” I said.

She looked around at all of them. “Some of the Houses––” she said, “Ravenseal, for instance––”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Gaven and some of the other delegates think they’re trying to, and these were his words, grow their power. You know, handing over Houses to number twos, weak Adepts whom they can control. Pendderwenn, for instance. They get to elect who they want, you see?”

I nodded my head for her to continue. I knew this.

“Anyway,” said Lia. “It’s only a matter of time before one House gets too strong––and––blammo. The other Wiccans fear that it will march against them. A so-called War of Wiccans. Wiccan attrition or something. I don’t know. But it’s happened before. That’s what the First War was all about. And the vampires and other supernaturals––you know, us,” she said, referring to The Sons and Daughters of Romulus, “we got drawn into it, too. The War of the Houses. So I read, anyway.”

“What about the Lenoir?” I said.

“The Lenoir are powerful. They hide their numbers,” said Lia. She shrugged.

I looked around at the Gathering. Maria was still at the judges’ table, along with the twins.

“I’ll bet that’s why she’s here,” I said. “Maria. She wants us to, I don’t know, fight among ourselves––all of the Wiccans––or something. I mean, that makes sense. Magic was broken up at the 1887 Thing. She wants to keep breaking it up. To keep us in-fighting.” I looked at Maria and knew that it was true.

Lia said, “Look at this place. Look at the hierarchy. Some Houses are better than others. Just as some Wiccans, Halsey, are better than other Wiccans. We are picked in order of our significance,” she said. “Just something to think about.”

I clapped along with the rest of them. Larissa Nightbloom had just been selected. Apparently, that was it. Except for Vittoria, the Initiates had all been chosen.

“But what if a single House,” I said, “were to elect a leader who controlled all of the other Houses...”

The last Initiate was awarded by default. The Gathering was over. “It would be either join with them or die...” I said.

Lia shrugged.

We made our way back to our dormitories. I couldn’t help thinking about Vittoria and where she was right now. Good to her word, she had said goodbye to nobody and just left. I mean, apart from her epic goodbye. I decided I would flip through my codex and try and find out what her Wiccan Mark was, based on her W I had seen. It was a long shot but maybe it was in there.

Locke called to me. Lia went on without me. She was in no mood to speak with any of the werewolves, she said, apart from Gaven. Locke was one of the Team Leaders. An alpha. I realized that could be seen as a stepping stone to being elected Head Wolf.

“You have a note,” he said, handing me a slip of thick cream-colored parchment. It had been written on with a nib. I thanked Locke, who looked at me with his secretive eyes, but he wasn’t a Wiccan, so I didn’t have to worry about that––and broke the seal, opened the note.

“Dear Halsey,” it began. I went away to a corner to read it.

“You have until New Years––and then I will expect you at my home. Remember––I’m watching you. And keep a lookout for my man. He will come to get you.

VR”

Veruschka Ravenseal. The seal was an ornate waxen R. Veruschka said she was leaving after the finish of the ceremony. So I guessed this was it. She must be packing to leave.

I folded the note and put it in my pocket. Back at our dormitory, the werewolves were also getting ready to leave the Gathering. I saw Ballard, but he didn’t look at me.

Instead I laid down on my bed and pulled out my parents’ copy of the Magus Codex. I put my map of the Gatheringplace and the note from VR inside of it, when I was interrupted by a knock at my door. “I just wanted to say goodbye,” said Lux.

“You’re leaving?” I said. I got up out of my bed to––shake his hand. Our dormitories were like prison cells.

He saw me holding the book, with the papers sticking out of it.

“I see you’re modifying your codex. That’s good,” he said. “They’re ‘all different, accordingly.’” He smiled at me.

I didn’t know what to say to Lux. I think we had been intensely interested in each other, if however briefly, and then we sort of came to our better senses.

“You were a really great teacher,” I said, as if that cut through all of that stuff that was between us.

“You know, I envy you,” he said to me.

“Why?”

“A brand-new Wiccan––Chosen at the Gathering, no less! There aren’t many who can say that.”

I supposed.

“Well––you take care,” he said.

“Wait. Don’t go,” I said.

He turned back around.

“Yes, Halsey?” said Professor Lux, expectantly.

I didn’t have anything to say. I wanted to ask him about his Mark. I wanted to tell him that he was a world-class Crafter and that he didn’t have to run away from his magic anymore––just because of whatever had happened. Instead, I just shook my head and said, “Nothing. I’ll––I’ll see you later. Okay?”

“I have no doubt of it,” he said, and bid me farewell. It was foolish of me to think that life could stand still. That we could always have potential without ever having to do anything.

Lux’s awesome Wiccan arm waved goodbye at the door and he was gone. I stood there with the book in my hands. I didn’t know what to do. Flipping through it, I turned to the section on Marks. Distinguishing Marks and their features. I studied them all. Some of them were so beautiful-looking I could hardly stand it. I definitely had Mark envy. Belladonna. Deadly nightshade. Vittoria’s Mark was a flower.

Chapter 24 – Birthright

Wiccans more interested in the politics and ramifications of Hiving, would do well to consider the following. A House is a Hive, with one queen bee. She’s in charge.

I put my book down. No wonder Veruschka Ravenseal was so nasty––she could afford to be. She was Mistress of Ravenseal, one of the Three, elite. It was just as Lux had said.

Somewhere I found myself reading about Hiving. I wanted to see what Lia had been talking about earlier today. It was getting pretty late at night, and we had a big day tomorrow. Everyone was leaving. I looked down the page, to find an interesting paragraph.

If a House of thirteen or greater does not Hive, that House is in contravention of the Rules. One of two things will happen. Either its parent coven will come to its rescue, and the Houses, combined*, will make one Super House, in which case we have war. Or the vampires taking it upon themselves––as stipulated by the 1887 Convention––will come to rout out that House.

There was a footnote:

*If a House elects a leader, and that leader creates multiple affiliate covens, then a Storm of Covens is said to exist, and all such Houses shall be forfeit.

Which I guessed meant the Lenoir would come and kill them. I was beginning to understand it all, now. Ravenseal had satellites. Affiliate covens.

Pendderwenn, for instance.

But, to the outside world, it appeared House Pendderwenn was independent.

It wasn’t. If a war broke out––

If it ever broke out––Ravenseal would contract. Lux was right about that. He had told me that once before. Ravenseal was bigger than it looked because it controlled House Pendderwenn. But secretly.

How many Houses were beholden to Ravenseal, anyway? And was that Veruschka’s endgame? To control the Wiccan world? Whatever it was, it sounded like the Lenoir were sanctioned by the Houses to police the supernatural world. A concession no doubt to their size. I wondered how many vampires there were.

I was beginning to see the secret side of Wicca and I didn’t like it. It freaked me out. I snapped shut the book. The dust flew into my nose, making me sneeze. Lia turned above me, then went back to sleep.

I sat up in my bed and took one of the candles. Asher had never shown up. Wherever he was, it must be important, because he had never let me down before. Then, reconsidering, I blew the candle out and went to sleep. I had learned my lesson about wandering. You always meet people, I told myself. Asher was right––and Selwyn––and Gaven––and everyone. It was unsafe to walk around the Gathering at night. I was also beginning to suspect, with so many factions, that the world itself was a dangerous place. Rome, more than ever, felt like a bastion against all that.

I believed in the werewolves. In Ballard and Lia and us. In Gaven and all them. I suddenly understood why it was so important they did what they did. Rome was a foothold. A place of safety. A fire in the Night. It was Rome. And we were safe by it. It was worth fighting for.

I zonked out. Epic me had said her piece. But as I slept I had this uneasy feeling, like I wasn’t safe. Like none of us were.

I was on my Gambalunga again. Ballard and I were going somewhere. I knew because my mind did the thing where the moon became my headlight again. So the moon was Ballard and the headlight was my Gambalunga. Which meant that we were going somewhere. I mean obviously we had someplace to be. But the weird thing was, we weren’t moving. It was like we were standing still. It was one of those kinds of dreams. And since when did Ballard ever want to do anything with me, anyway? We were practically strangers. What was I doing to myself?

When this light snapped on.

It wasn’t a lightbulb going off in my head or anything like that, but I definitely saw stars. “Murgh,” said Lia. “Mrngargh. Nargh!” she said.

I woke up. The lights were on in our dormitories and our door––Lia’s and mine––was open. Asher was standing there. “I thought you stood me up,” I said, groggily, and then sat up in my bed.

Asher said, “There’s no time. Get dressed. Both of you.”

Lia said, “Why? What’s up?” But Asher had left. We looked at each other and did as he told us. I slipped into my robes. Lia did not. She put on her leather riding pants and her fire-red racing jacket. “Just in case,” she said.

We collided with the other werewolves, who headed from the dormitories, out into one of the hallways. Locke, Leander and Liesel were directing them, as was Paolo––

Lights were on down the hallway, shouting, loud noises.

“Where do you two think you’re going?” said Locke. He snapped his fingers at us, getting our attention.

Lia said, “We have carte blanche, remember?”

That put him in his place.

Locke soured at once. “I don’t think Gaven meant––” he said.

But Lia and I went on without him. The rest of the werewolves looked like they were mustering, the Team Leaders organizing them into groups. “What’s going on?” I shouted at Lia, who was racing ahead.

Pretty soon we found out exactly what was going on. We turned a corner and a huge ruckus greeted our eyes. Veruschka Ravenseal was standing there in her traveling robes. She looked like she was ready to depart. Gaven and Ballard were also there, as were the Heads of Houses Coven and Harcort. And so were the twins and the Lenoir. Maria was with Pier Alexander. Pier Alexander smiled at me and made strange clicking noises, which I guessed Maria could interpret. “Look who’s here,” he said. “Two Wiccan Initiates. What fun.” Something about his demeanor suggested Pier Alexander was above it all. He wasn’t the only one. Maria seemed to be smiling in an ambivalent way, too. She had that Mona Lisa look again, which must’ve meant she was trying hard not to laugh. “Does someone want to tell us what’s going on?” said Lia.

“Yes, yes, I would like to know that, too,” said Mariska Coven. Her hair was a mess––green bits of fluff going everywhichway. Mine must’ve not looked any better. I put my hood up. Ballard looked at Lia and I, but left it for Gaven to explain.

“Pendderwenn is dead,” he said. The air seemed to go from my lungs. “We heard a strange noise and came to investigate––”

“Who found the body?” asked Maria Lenoir, cutting through Gaven’s explanation.

“I did,” said Ballard. He looked at her, waiting for her to respond. She didn’t. Just smiled.

“We think the rooms should be searched––and this traitor––found. Yes.”

“Yes,” said the other twin to his brother. I had never heard them speak before. It was almost a hiss. Veruschka had her hand up to her throat.

“Absolutely not,” said Fanishwar Harcort.

Maria looked at her.

“The mind and our personal space is inviolate. That was agreed upon. Remember?” said Fanishwar, looking at Maria’s marigold eyes with her blue ones.

“We could read their minds,” said the twins. They had delicate voices, almost a whisper. It was like they were speaking to each other. We weren’t involved. By their, I took it the twins meant everyone’s minds at the Gathering.

“I agree,” said Maria at once.

“I won’t allow it,” said Gaven. The twins looked at him, but he just stared right back. Gaven wasn’t the type to be intimidated by anyone. Not even by them. Even if they were from the Master House.

It was a moment before I saw the half-open door and realized who must be behind it. Julius Pendderwenn. Dead.

“I––” I said.

“You wanted to say something, Halsey?” said Gaven to me.

“Maybe if we checked––the body,” I whispered, “it would tell us who––who killed him. Pendderwenn...” I said. My voice constricted; I could barely talk.

“There is no need. We have already performed that search,” said one of the twins. He held up three hairs. They were short, black, fine.

“Whatever it was, tore him apart,” said Maria, and stifled a grin. “Are you sure we can’t just peek?” she said to Gaven.

“None of my people did this. My word should be good on that score. As for any further molestation of our minds––” He looked at Lia and me. “I won’t allow it,” he said. “Not unless you wish to upset me.” He said it more delicately than even the twins.

“No,” said Maria. “I don’t wish to do that.”

“Then good,” said Gaven. “I suggest we continue to patrol the halls. And the delegates inform your Houses to prepare for departure.”

Veruschka looked at me.

“Unacceptable,” said one of the twins. “Let us use them. They will find your killer.” They had spinning red eyes. I realized the effect was a trick of my eyes––but I couldn’t help it. They bothered me big time, the twins.

“I don’t think you heard me,” said Gaven, and stood forward. I noticed, as he spoke, Ballard break off from Gaven, and circle to a position on the other side of the invisible circle they were making around the twins. Lia did also. Maria smiled at the unconscious aggression.

Something tingled in my fingertips.

“Careful, dog. If you draw a line between us, we might just step across it,” said one of the twins, and smiled. I looked at his evil face, which seemed to come alive. As he said it, his brother manifested as well. They were unnatural, creepy-looking things. They gave me the heebs.

Gaven neither flinched nor attacked. But stood his ground.

“Only something like you would threaten so broadly,” he said. “I want you out of my city immediately. This Gathering is over. Is that understood?”

“When we say it is,” said the twins. “But you are right. We will go.”

“And Pendderwenn?” said Veruschka. She looked through the open door. Now that it was time to draw lines, to pick sides, so to speak, it was clear who she was siding with. She was siding with the twins. They were from the Master House, after all––somewhere she wished to be.

“A Wiccan of no measurable import, and or skill,” said the twins. “Why someone would wish to murder him is a mystery to us.”

“He was a number two. Adept. Perhaps they want to give Pendderwenn House to a third. You know, a fledged Wiccan Elder,” I said.

“They?” said Maria Lenoir.

“Pendderwenn House is extinct,” said Veruschka Ravenseal, cutting me off. She turned her hardened expression upon me. “Julius was the last of that House. There are no more Pendderwenns. He will be given a proper burial, of course?” she said, turning to Gaven.

“Of course,” said Gaven. “We are very near our gravesite.”

Via Appia Antica, he must’ve meant––or the Columbarium. I didn’t know.

“I should think so,” said Maria. “We are standing in it. Are you two satisfied?” she said to the twins.

“This mystery isn’t worth solving,” they said. “We leave for Prague at once. Oh, and here are your hairs.”

The twin holding them, dropped the black hairs. They fluttered down to the ground. Looking at his brother, he said, “They almost look like cat hairs, don’t they? What do you say, Il Gatto?”

They left, but not before Gaven said “I want your things gone from Rome––take them with you.”

The twins hissed something, but whatever it was, I didn’t hear it. I was too busy looking at Ballard. He seemed to be looking at me for the first time in weeks. But instead of saying anything, he tapped Gaven on the shoulder, who nodded, listening to what Ballard had to say.

“Pendderwenn had no family, is that correct?” said Gaven to the Heads of the Three Houses.

“And no friends,” said Veruschka Ravenseal. “He was a mediocre wizard. You can bury him immediately. The Wiccan rites must be performed, of course.”

“Of course,” said Gaven. The other two Mistresses nodded, as if this made perfect sense.

Maria said, “Well, I’m leaving. Congratulations on another wonderful Gathering, everyone.” Which was weird, because for some of us, it was our first. And our last...

“Yes,” said Pier Alexander. “It’s so nice to get together. Let’s go, my dear.” He put his arm out for her to take it.

“Oh, and Halsey.” Maria caught my attention before she left. “Asher wanted me to tell you something, but I’ve forgotten it. Oh, he says you’re a very powerful young lady, and––I guess that’s it. Ta-ta.”

“Yeah. Chow,” said Ballard.

“Woof!” said Maria to Ballard.

She left us there.

“Did they ever get a pick?” I asked, but Lia shook her head. “The Lenoir never chose an Initiate,” she said.

“So I guess they’ll be taking Asher back with them?” I said.

But she pointed over my shoulder. At Maria’s leaving, Pier Alexander and the Mistresses had gone as well. I was glad to see the back of Veruschka Ravenseal, who gave me one last reproachful look before leaving. A look that said everything it needed to. She would be expecting me in Prague sometime soon. I had little more than a fortnight to get my affairs in order. Asher tapped my shoulder, as I turned around, and I gave him a gigantic hug.

He said, over my shoulder, to Gaven, “So––is that it, then?”

I released Asher. Gaven was nodding. “We just have to take care of the body,” he said. “I have to warn you. It’s pretty badly slashed up.”

“So you don’t think it was them, then?” said Asher.

“It’s too bad you can’t look into the minds of the dead to see evidence of who their killers may have been,” said Gaven. “Halsey, Lia... I have to say, if you don’t have to see this... I don’t think you should.”

Lia nodded. I picked up the three hairs. “These were on the body?” I asked.

“I’ll take them,” said Gaven.

“Come on,” said Lia. She took my hand, and we went back to our dormitory, but not before I dropped the hairs into Gaven’s outstretched hand.

* * *

Lia was restless. “I can’t think. And that poor man,” she said. We listened as the Team Leaders continued breaking up the werewolves into groups. Locke’s voice sounded above the rest. (“Patrol in groups. Use your noses. Sniff this monster out.”) They barked in acknowledgement. Suddenly the voices cut out.

Lia snorted. “He’s not staying around to be picked up by you lot,” she said to herself.

“Locke seems competent,” I said. “Although he isn’t exactly the nicest person...” It sounded like they had just transformed, changed into werewolves. Snuffling instead of shouting. I wanted to go see.

“How do you communicate with each other when you’re in your wolf forms?” I asked.

“Sorry, kid. That’s top-secret. And seems is right,” she said. She was back thinking about Locke again. “I can’t just sit here,” she said. “Don’t you want to do something? Or, I don’t know, get into a fight, or something?”

“Honestly, I don’t think I’m powerful enough yet,” I said. “Even you were chosen before me.” I laughed.

Lia snorted.

“What is it?” I said.

“Gaven. He said they all got together––the other werewolves. You know, at the Colosseum. Anyway, guess who they wanted to pick?”

“Who?” I said. “You mean at the Gathering?”

“You,” said Lia. “They wanted to pick you as their Initiate.”

“Me?” I said. I couldn’t believe it.

Lia nodded.

I didn’t know whether to be flattered––or... Maybe that settled it. Maybe I was supposed to be a werewolf––or well some type of shapeshifter. The dreams couldn’t be wrong, could they?

“They were giving me all kinds of crap. The one thing about a pack,” said Lia, “is there are no secrets. Too many ears out, and tongues wagging.”

Ears out, eyes out. I waited for her to vent some more.

“According to my brother,” said Lia, laying back in her bunk bed, which was above mine, “wolves have sharp instincts, terribly sharp, like their teeth, and werewolves even more so.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“You know, you say that a lot,” she said. But she was only joking. “I’ll tell you what I mean. You and me.”

“What about us?” I said. I sat up in my bed and looked up at her. “You’re not angry with me about something, are you?” I said.

“No, no, no. Nothing like that,” said Lia. “That’s Ballard who’s like that. But he’ll grow out of it. I hope. Gaven expects big things from Ballard. And that’s always difficult. Take us for example. First we were potentials, and now, look at us, one of us may be Her, this Chosen One; although if you ask me, His Hotness, Mr. Lux, is right about that, and it all sounds like hokum. But maybe some hokum with some truth. There are dark days ahead for us. I can feel it. But you know what I mean.... Maybe I only showed because you showed up.”

“Lia...” I said.

“That’s their theory, anyway. The other werewolves. And the Wiccans seemed to know about it, too. They sent that Invitation to me. And to you. They’re keeping track of us, Halsey. How did they know I was causing wall sockets to explode and my microwave to blow up? They didn’t see me accidentally craft, did they?”

“Did you?” I said, genuinely awed.

She looked down at me, nodding. “You must’ve shown, too,” she said.

I shook my head, but she said, “Maybe you just don’t know it.”

“Your Mark is more formed than mine,” I said. “I was never able to do anything. Why did they want me, The Sons and Daughters of Romulus... if you could do all of those things?”

“Well, that’s it, isn’t it?” said Lia. “The other werewolves have been taking me for granted, you see. But Gaven figured different. He didn’t want to take any chances on somebody else picking me, so he blew his pick on me. To protect me. Which is why some of the werewolves––Locke, for instance––have been calling for his head––and his Headship.”

“You mean they don’t want him to be Il Gatto, anymore?” I said.

“Correct,” said Lia. And already, Halsey, they are positioning themselves, for who will replace him. So instead of worrying about this Gathering, Gaven has to look over his own shoulder, at his Pack. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair at all. What you and I need to be is like this.” She entwined two of her fingers of her Wiccan W. “Strongass and together. You know what I mean?”

“Lia...” I said.

“I know right.”

“No. Look,” I said.

“What?” she said. She looked what my head was pointing at. Which was at my Mark. I had brushed the sleeves back.

There, in the darkness, where it was just the two of us, my Wiccan Mark flowered silver bright. It was a flower. Faint outlines of petals twisted up my right arm, wrapping themselves around my forearm, like a sleeve, almost.

It was an orchid.

My fingers tightened and this heat raced up my arm. It seemed to energize my entire being. I had swirls and flowers, and my Mark––I was either Grace or Goodwill.

“Lia...” I said, “it’s my Virtue.”

The orchid was twisting away from me like it was reaching for the sun, but there wasn’t any to be had; it writhed and twisted, newly-formed and alive. When I looked at Lia her jaw was hanging open.

It was full of the aether, the Mark, the source of my Wiccan power. My delta was on fire. It burned like liquid ore; my gut clenched. I had to grit my teeth; but as fast as it came the pain receded. It traced through my body, like forged steel hissing in water––forging me. Until it glowed and I put my robe sleeve down. I felt like I could do or be anything. It was awesome. The fire in my veins was gone. But as it had passed something new was there, I didn’t entirely understand yet. “Okay. That. Has. Never. Happened. To. Me,” said Lia, and meant it. She was nearly falling out of her bed.

“I nearly melted,” I said, gasping and breathing heavily.

“That must be what it’s like to be a Neophyte and to have your Mark. Your real Wiccan Mark,” said Lia.

I nodded.

Is that what this was? Did I have mine now?

“No one can know,” I said to Lia. “Not even Ballard, not anyone. If tongues waggle, I’ll rip them out.”

“No. I swear. It’s just between us. Promise,” she said.

“Sister swear,” I said.

She did her two-finger thing again––and winked at me. There was an energy in her bright eyes. “We’re going to need that power,” she said to me.

“Lia. The world is getting ready to shift. I can feel it also. What I thought was important, isn’t,” I said. “And what I never thought about before has suddenly become important. These people can’t be trusted. They’re all of them dangerous. And something more. I can’t explain it, but Rome is the key. That’s why they all wanted to meet here. To look it over. I think Gaven knows this. But he’s careful who he lets in on his secrets. You’re right about that.”

She nodded her head. “Do you know?” she said. “I feel dangerous. I mean really, really, powerfully dangerous.”

“We are,” I said. “We just don’t know it yet.” I flexed my fingertips. “But I think we’re beginning to find that out.”

“I can’t wait until I Burn,” she said, and showed me her Wiccan Mark. It was still nebulous. Under-formed. “I think you are her. If such a creature exists. The One,” said Lia. “Not even Vittoria––I’m sure of it––even she wouldn’t have a Mark like that. A flower. They’re really rare. I mean, from what I could see of her fingertips. I don’t think even any of the Mistresses had a Mark like that. And they’re from one of the Three. Heads. You must be super powerful.”

“But what good is Grace or Goodwill?” I said. And I didn’t say it, but Vittoria’s Mark––it was a poisonous flower––deadly nightshade. What good was my Mark against so much enmity in the world?

Chapter 25 – The Last Pendderwenn

Not having names, I realized, was a great way to mask allegiances. Who was Selwyn working for? What was his Mark? What was his House? And Marek? Was he with the Lenoir? They had a death warrant out on him. So Marek had told me. How did that work? Lia continued to talk about the Pack and her place within it.

“Lia, you’re safe. You’re one of them. It’s me. I’m not,” I said. “I’m off. Haven’t you noticed how brainwashed everyone is? If you aren’t from someone’s House, that’s it. You aren’t one of them. And if you are, you better toe the line, or it’s a threat, and an or else. I’m really scared about the state of Wicca,” I said. “But I definitely feel you. And I smell you, too. P-U. Is that you? It smells like wet dog in here.”

The snuffling was coming closer. I peeked up at Lia. She was snoring.

The snuffling was now at the slats in my door. Lia made a noise like Mrgnagh. And the handle turned.

Selwyn was standing there. Except he wasn’t a cat any longer. He was a man. And he seemed to be deathly afraid of being found out. I understood why.

The black hairs. Selwyn-cat had stood over Julius Pendderwenn’s dead body.

Of the two of them, one thing could be said for Pendderwenn, which could not be said for Selwyn. At least, with Pendderwenn, you knew where he stood. His allegiance had been to Pendderwenn House. So who was Selwyn’s allegiance to?

He held his fingertips up to his lips, bidding me to be quiet, but I was not some doormat, he could not step on me whenever he chose?

“Why are you here,” I said, “and what do you want? You come and you go, Selwyn, but who are you, anyway?” I was whispering so Lia wouldn’t wake up. Something told me if I had to use my Wiccan W it might just jerry-rig something up to ward off a sneaking cat. Selwyn must’ve needed every bit of his silent cat paws to get through the swarm of snuffling werewolves who were outside. “I know it was you,” I said. “They found cat hairs, Selwyn. Black bits of you. You killed Julius Pendderwenn. You slashed him up.”

He held his hands up. “I’m innocent,” he said. There was no blood on them.

“You could have washed them off. Or licked them off,” I said. “Your claws retract, don’t they, when you put back on your people suit?”

“I didn’t do it,” he said. “I was trying to save him. I––I swear. I’m trying to save you.”

“From what?”

“Halsey Rookmaaker...” he gasped. “You already know the answer to that.”

“Tell me, then,” I said. “And stop calling me Halsey Rookmaaker.” I didn’t like his voice. Like he knew what I wanted to know. Which was secrets. Selwyn looked like he was in a panic.

“I can’t do that,” he said.

“What, tell me, or stop calling me Halsey Rookmaaker?”

“Both,” he said. “Besides... People can’t just be told... They have to be shown.... And whatever this is... you need to see it...”

“What do you mean?” I said and realized that Lia had been right about that. It was the refrain of somebody who didn’t have a clue. Me.

I thought about waking her up, but Selwyn said, “There is no need to involve your friend in anything dangerous tonight. I certainly would not. You will be safe with me. Perhaps together we can find out what neither of us knows. Come, Halsey Rookmaaker. I wish to show you everything,” he said.

He held out his hand to mine. I glared up at him, but I put my hood up, and took his paw. He saw the flash of my Wiccan Mark, whereupon his eyes marveled.

“What is it?” I said, but he shook his head.

“Take your excellent motorbike,” he said. “We have a trip to make.”

“How far is it?” I said, but before Selwyn could answer he started to shake. His teeth chattered. Even his skull shook. It started doing funny things, like it was alive. Moving.

“I––really––hate––this part––” he said.

He transformed before my very eyes into the spectacular eight-foot-long, shining black cat; his fur was like velvet; his eyes, two gemstones sitting on jewelry cushions. In theory, there is always doubt, reasonable or otherwise, but look into somebody’s eyes, you see the truth, and his were saying: “Trust me.”

We disappeared into the night together. Selwyn padded through the cold stone corridors with me at his heels. We encountered no one. He seemed to have a preternatural sense. An intuition that was not unlike Ballard’s, who frequently got funny feelings around people. Selwyn’s was the ability to disappear.

In no time at all, I found myself standing before my Gambalunga. It spit and started. Selwyn bounded ahead. It took everything I had to keep up with him.

Soon, we had left the Gatheringplace far behind, and were out in countryside. I felt free. Like I could do anything. I opened the throttle and followed after Selwyn who disappeared over the hilltops like a flash in the night. I would have to give him a nickname in my diary. He ran like a bolt of lightning. Thunderpaws, I decided.

He was taking us towards Rome... The direction gave me pause. But not really. I wasn’t a werewolf yet.

I drew even with him and let the Gambalunga backfire––the citadel, shining in the distance, stopped. Selwyn cantered and then came to a standstill. He licked his snout and caught his breath. His blue eyes shined at me.

“You’re not a were,” I said, “weres are something else.” I blew into my hands. It was bitterly cold out. The seasons had passed while I was underground. “You’re a wizardpanther,” I said. “You did this by magic. The Maleficarum. Of course. Witches can turn into cats. And a wizard is a witch, if he knows witchcraft. I’m just talking to myself, trying to figure things out,” I said. “It’s like the whole King-Cat-Dog thing. But why, if you can do it, can’t Lia? Be magical and a shapeshifter. Because you’re not a shapeshifter. Or a natural shapeshifter, anyway. She’s a werewolf. Born with it. But you were not. You’re a wizard who learned to shift. Now I’m aware. We can continue now,” I said.

He paused and then did a double take. Selwyn-cat ran on and the wind through my Wiccan hoodie was like the hiss of being Marked. I watched him leap through the countryside. Pretty soon we were on the outskirts of Rome. To a place that I knew all too well. The late-night drivers didn’t see us, as we maneuvered through heavy traffic. First Ballard had shown me. Now Selwyn. I wanted to know why.

He caught his breath and then transformed back into a human being. The black panther disappeared behind an old newspaper stand, and Selwyn reappeared. I parked my Gambalunga and the motor cut out. “I’ve been here before,” I said, looking at the abandoned movie theater across the street. The letters, drooping from the marquee, spelled out disaster. Volt and Pouch had been hurt, I remembered, from standing guard duty here. I looked at Selwyn.

“The Dioscuri are inside of there,” he said.

“But why have you brought me here?” I said.

“Because I knew your parents. Kinsey and Maximilian Rookmaaker. They would want their daughter to know what happened to them. I want to know,” said Selwyn. “That is why we are here. Max was my mentor, you see.” He looked at me. “He initiated me. He initiated you too,” said Selwyn.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Come on, Halsey. Haven’t you been paying attention? How else did they know about you? The Lenoir? The Three? The Dioscuri? They have big plans for you.”

“I’ve been looking for Magic,” I said––and I didn’t like hearing that last bit again. It’s what Veruschka had said to me.

“You’ve been expected,” he said. He shook his black hair out of his face. Selwyn was sweating slightly. I realized it must’ve been from the run. I was glad I had my thick Initiate’s robe on. The stars of a cold winter Roman night were out and about. The wind was whipping through my hair. Not a headlight could be seen down the dark and empty street.

He turned to look with me at the movie theater. “I don’t know what happened to you seventeen years ago....” he said. “I was just a kid myself. I’m only twenty-six. Max, your father, said it was for your own protection. They sent you off. He was extremely powerful, Max––perhaps he knew something. He was in Pendderwenn House, you see. Back when it was a House.” Selwyn sighed. His breath gusted out in cold fog.

“The Rota...,” I said.

“Pardon?”

“I got stuffed down it. It’s what unwed mothers used to throw their babies into,” I said, “like a box at a kennel. Who knew I would one day be an animal, too? Maybe they were right to get rid of me. But then I got sent off to St. Martley’s, and they got killed, my parents did...”

“Which is the part I don’t understand,” said Selwyn. “But maybe they do.” He nodded his head at the movie theater. “They remember everything. I think they would remember this too. After all, the Dioscuri were there.”

“Pardon?”

Selwyn reached into his pocket. When he withdrew his hand, he was holding on to a large red Wiccan marker, with a six written on it.

“You had a marker,” I said, excited and then sad––it was the sixth pick, the one that had chosen me.

“Yes,” he said. “I held this marker, but I didn’t get a chance to use it. I wasn’t afforded an opportunity, really, to select you.”

“Me?” I said. I couldn’t breathe. If only he had gotten to me sooner. Veruschka Ravenseal wouldn’t have her hooks in me now.

“She’s waiting for me, Selwyn. Veruschka. And she’s in with the Master House. I can feel it. I’m... a Ravenseal now,” I said.

At the mentioning of the Master House, his teeth had flashed. He had to bite back some acid. They were inordinately large, his panther teeth. “You’re not,” he said. “...A Ravenseal––” when I didn’t look like I understood. I think he could see it, because he said, “Halsey, you don’t seem to understand what I’m doing here. I came here to select you. This marker is––”

“But it’s too late,” I said. “And I don’t even know which House you are with, Selwyn.”

He laughed. “Don’t you?” he said. “For being so clever, you really don’t have a clue, do you?”

“Wait––you’re not like my brother or something, are you?” I said. “Because that would really suck.”

He blew a strand of hair out of his face and shook his head. “No,” he said. He seemed to be sad about something though.

“Then what?” I said.

Selwyn paced. He was trying to reveal things to me slowly. He didn’t just realize I could be told everything. Finally, he stopped, and he said, “May I see your Wiccan Mark, please?”

I showed him. After all, he had shown me his transformation––that was something not even Ballard had ever done.

“As I suspected,” he said. “You have your mother’s Mark.”

“I do?” I said. Standing there, I realized it was true. I had seen it before. She, Kinsey Rookmaaker, had drawn it in her copy of the Magus Codex, which was now my copy. I had not put the two together until now. I was still so flushed with having my Mark, that I hadn’t realized my mother had had the identical same one. It was like my eyes were opened for the very first time... to my destiny, if I had one... I had her Mark. And I also had her Book. It felt special...

“Hers was a flower also. An orchid, if I recall,” said Selwyn. “It was very beautiful.”

I nodded. But he did not go on. Instead we stood like that for some time. Finally, he said, “I notice that you notice that I call you sometimes by your full Wiccan Name, which is Halsey Rookmaaker.”

“Yeah, and it’s annoying,” I said. “You’re not the only one, either. Lots of people do it. I wish they would stop.”

Why did I get the sense that he was leading me somewhere? That Selwyn was trying to show me something?

“Halsey, the reason you have a last name, and others do not,” he said, “is because you were born into a Wiccan Household, and we remember that. We honor it. It gives you status. Whether fair or otherwise.”

“It’s totally unfair,” I said. I didn’t need to motion for him to continue. Selwyn went on anyway.

“If I may,” I said. He took the red marker. “The reason you weren’t selected first––or fifth or even third or second––or fourth,” he winked at me, “was in honor of your parents.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Surely they must have gasped when your name was called––the people up in the stands, all of the witches and wizards?” Selwyn asked.

I nodded. “Vittoria was really upset,” I said. “She thought Veruschka was going to pick her. In fact, do you know if Ravenseal had the first pick, because it seemed to really surprise Vittoria? She had intimated, by look, and so forth, and by being mean, that she was destined for their House, and to be the first pick. Instead, she’s off. No one picked her. And with you not there, I just realized, Pendderwenn would have had a pick.... He needn’t have left...”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Selwyn. “But this marker is still valid. I’m sure of it. There can be no denying it. After all... ––Maybe that is what got him killed.”

But my mind was working on something else. Some other idea.

“Your Virtue isn’t Malleability, is it?” I said.

Selwyn looked surprised. “How did you know that?” he said. He pulled his sleeve back and showed me. It was faint, but it was there. Like it could be anything. Which I supposed helped him change. To be malleable.

“Lucky guess, I suppose. People don’t know you can turn into a cat, do they?” I said. I crossed my fingers behind my back, looking at him.

“Some people do,” he said.

“Does Veruschka? Do the twins?” I asked.

“I would think,” said Selwyn, “that anything Veruschka knows the twins must also know. You saw her cozy up to them. It’s only a matter of time before she becomes one of them––perhaps she’ll have red eyes then too.”

I expelled my breath, exasperated. It fogged before my face.

“One last question. Before I completely flip,” I said. “What happened to you? Because the night of the party, you were all clean shaven, and now...” I looked at his scruffy-looking clothing and his stubbly chin, “...you’re not.”

Selwyn said, “I went to go investigate the Lenoir––and I got trapped––somewhere. It was my own fault. But I’m out now. And we can right this. You don’t have to go to Ravenseal...”

He was trying to get me to see reason. The truth. That I was free.

“But don’t you see,” I said, “the shenanigans––”

I looked over at the place where the Dioscuri were at; I thought I had heard something shriek or something. But maybe it was just the wind. It had started to gust.

“If Veruschka traded away her first pick, and you just happened to go missing,” I said, “I mean to say, the two events are awfully coincidental, don’t you think? And if she knows that you’re a panther...”

“She doesn’t; but the twins do,” said Selwyn.

“Then it’s them. It has to be. They’re––setting you up, or something. The twins found black hairs, Selwyn, on Mr. Pendderwenn’s body. Your black hairs.”

The whole thing gave me an uneasy feeling.

“They know you can transform,” I said. “They’re trying to pin his murder on you. What slashed Pendderwenn up, anyway...?

Selwyn looked, I thought, significantly, when he turned to stare at the movie theater, once more.

“But I thought they were incorporeal,” I said, “that the Dioscuri could not be touched... or do the touching...”

“What do you know about them?” he asked.

“I know that they have a hive mind, whatever that means,” I said, “and that they remember things.”

“Do you know what the Dioscuri are?” said Selwyn.

“I don’t. But if they have long memories, they must be humans––and live for a long time. Are they Seers?” I said.

“The Dioscuri are people. Terrible people. I can’t say any more at this time. But here’s the thing––and this is the whole point––” said Selwyn. “When a coven Hives, breaks away from its parent coven, a whole host of things must happen––forms must be filled out and so forth. It is presided over by the Master House. It is almost their only function. To oversee Hiving. They send skilled Readers. The Dioscuri.”

“You mean the twins and the Dioscuri and the Master House––” I said.

“They’re all interrelated,” said Selwyn. “That’s right. But it’s more complicated than that. If you will follow me?”

“But I can’t––we can’t go in there. They’re sick. They do things––to your mind, Selwyn,” I said. “I’ve had experiences. I saw them in Lennox’s dreams, his memories, the things he agonized over. They were disgusting, foul, awful. They scared the you-know-what out of me. I can’t go in there. I can’t.”

But Selwyn had a card to play, the red marker. He was clutching it in his hand. “I thought you might feel that way,” he said. “So I will tell you everything that I know. Then can we go?”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Besides, that depends.”

“On what?” he said.

“Even Maria was afraid of them, Selwyn,” I said. “I saw her. The Dioscuri are terrible. She ran away. Asher has been helping me scry.”

“Has he?” Selwyn said.

“It’s what I’ve been doing unknowingly for the last four months, anyway. Seeing things. Hearing voices. I saw you. At least, I think it was you. You’ve been stalking me,” I said.

“But only to protect you,” said Selwyn. He didn’t show an ounce of remorse.

“And that’s another thing. I think you are supposed to protect me, or, well, be my Protector. There are things––they’re after me, Selwyn, the Dioscuri. I’m almost certain of it,” I said.

But he just shook his head. “They can’t affect you,” he said. “I mean, they can affect you, but not in that way. They can’t touch you. You don’t have to worry about them.”

“But my mind, Selwyn, I don’t want them penetrating my mind,” I said.

I was almost in a panic; I really didn’t want to go into the movie theater. I wanted to just hop on my Gambalunga and get out of Rome. Leave Europe. Get away from it all. The Dioscuri... The Lenoir... The other Wiccans...

But Selwyn wouldn’t hear of it. He was adamant. “We need to go in there,” he said. “I need to find out what happened to your parents. And so do you. And I need to tell you the rest of my story...”

I listened for him to go on.

“Seventeen years ago, two things happened. Your parents were killed. That’s one. And I think I know why. It’s because of the other thing that happened, Halsey Rookmaaker. The second part. They wouldn’t become a part of Ravenseal. Which is another thing you two have in common, your mother and yourself, besides your Wiccan Mark. She was adamant. She insisted they hive. Your parents were part of Pendderwenn House, you see. But with you in the mix that made thirteen. True, you weren’t Initiated yet, but you had been wiccaned. I was there at your true Wiccaning. It’s like a baptism for magical spirits; and you are one. Max had Initiated me. He was one of the most powerful Wiccans I ever knew––a true third. Something Julius couldn’t stand. It was an ill-disguised resentment that Pendderwenn was a puppet Head. A flunky of Ravenseal. Just Adept. And a man to boot. That had only happened one time before. Oh, he wanted his own House, all right, but Julius didn’t have the skill to lead it. When suddenly the Rookmaakers wanted out. But the rules must be obeyed and the Master House sent for. They came, the Master House. Along with the Dioscuri. The twins okayed the Hiving. They read your parents’ minds.”

“Those two monsters violated my parents’ minds?” I said. “No wonder they looked at me the way they did. They know something, Selwyn. The twins know something. Something I need to know. Or I don’t know.”

“Your parents were both fledged, Halsey, and in the primes of their lives. It would be an autonomous coven, led by your mother. A new Wiccan House. Veruschka was furious. So were the Dioscuri. But rules were rules, and the Rookmaakers had the approval of the Master House.”

“But what happened to them?” I said. “My parents, I mean.”

Selwyn nearly pulled out his hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I had my orders. Your father had given them to me. So I stuffed you in the place that would seal the deal. I put you in the rota myself. It was me,” he said.

“I stuffed you off to St. Martley’s, but not before the event, Halsey–– And not before this–– This marker––” he said. “This marker is your birthright. It is what I came back to give to you––and what I will stay for, unless you cannot bear the sight of me; in which case, I understand. This Marker can only be given to a House. And, as your surname is something you detest, or at least don’t like people calling you, I thought you should know why they do. This marker, Halsey, is your marker. If you will, it has your name on it. It is the marker that was awarded to the House of which I am the sole surviving member. I have been waiting for seventeen years to give it to you. It is your parents’ marker, and I think, if they were here now, they would want me to use it on you. Even if someone else has a prior claim this marker transcends their own, it supersedes it. It is so powerful, that claim, that everyone else knew not to touch you. But Ravenseal has always been afflicted by ignorance and arrogance and a willful disregard of the feelings of others. This Marker, Halsey, belongs to your parents’ House––a House which, upon a time, was here in Rome. It belongs to House Rookmaaker.”

My head exploded.

“Now will you come with me into the hive of those who didn’t want your parents to Hive, and figure out why the Dioscuri were so against a true third-level Wiccan running her own House, here in Rome?”

I didn’t know what to say. I nodded. I was an original member of House Rookmaaker. It was my House. My family. Not House Ravenseal. My obligation to Veruschka vanished on the spot.

I had listened to Selwyn, angry and in awe of this great secret, which had been kept from me. Perhaps even Mistress Genevieve knew; if so, she had never told me... And Veruschka Ravenseal had picked me anyway. That bitch. I longed to get back at her. I wondered what her angle was––or if Veruschka just prided herself on being an evil old cow. One thing was certain. On the doorstep, as I was, I had to find out, to know. Selwyn beckoned me forward. He had that magical grin again––we were on our way. Except now that I saw it, now that I knew I was going in there, my footsteps felt heavy. What was so evil that it couldn’t even be shown in a memory?

It was the effect of the Dioscuri. I knew that now. They did... something... to people... I wanted to know what.

Securing my hood about myself, I went to meet them.

Chapter 26 – Them

One thing was bothering me, or at least one thing that needed to be resolved before we went in there. Actually, two things––a two-parter. “Selwyn, if you and I and my parents were once coven members––and we are again, I agree––because I’ll never join Ravenseal,” I said. “When they died...”

Selwyn said, “I wandered. I sought things out for myself. I am roughly fledged. Neither a neophyte nor adept. I never went through any of the phases of a true Wiccan Fledged. Phases you yourself must go through, if you will.”

“Thus your pantherness,” I said. Selwyn was an eclectic supernatural. They sometimes had awesome powers.

“An old shaman in Florida taught me how to commune with animal spirits. It is an interesting branch of magic traditional Wicca-craft shuns. I do not mourn never having gone to school––From the invitation, to being read, and whatnot, the steps along the path to becoming wiccaned. In fact, I am proud of myself. I think Maximilian would be too. He didn’t believe in the Houses. He thought Wicca should be taught freely––and all Wiccans nurtured. That ideas should be shared. Which is why he adopted me. I come from nowhere, Halsey. Max rescued me. He pulled me out of the rota before he put you in it. But ask yourself this: if he would go so far as to raise someone who was not his own blood, imagine how much he must have loved you? You are your parents, I think. I know that we can find their House, if we look hard enough...”

A tiny tear was at the corner of my eye. Hearing this, it was like it was really real. Like my parents had really been killed.

“That’s––” I didn’t have the words. “Selwyn, that’s exactly what I was going to talk to you about. I got a letter from Veruschka Ravenseal, yeah. Guess what she said?”

He made to answer, but I shut him up. “She said I would be expected at her home, Selwyn––as in a physical address. The people I really want to talk with are the twins, but I know they will never tell me anything. And I also know they aren’t really people, they’re something else. Itses.” I said. “House Rookmaaker must be a physical address. Otherwise, those two blood-eyed skull-jackers would never have allowed my parents to Hive. You need a home if you’re going to have a House.”

Selwyn nodded. “My thoughts exactly,” he said.

“We need to go see what the Dioscuri know,” I said.

We turned to go into the movie theater.

I needed to scry these bastards... To look into the Dioscuri. Unfortunately, the old place was boarded up.

Selwyn told me not to worry about it. I watched in amazement as only his paw appeared––he manifested it single-handedly. He must have had amazing skill as a Shifter. He was holding it like a cat claw. “Selwyn...” I said.

“I needed you to come with me,” he said. “Besides, I didn’t kill that man. I don’t use my powers for evil. Unless I want them revisited upon me elevenfold, remember?”

“The Wiccan Rede,” I said.

“I believe in bad karma,” said Selwyn. “That your comeuppance cannot be escaped. Whoever did this to your parents will find that out. I promise you.”

He clawed at two of the boards, prying one of them loose. His long cat nail gouged into the wood. He stuck his tongue out.

I looked at the movie theater. It was decrepit, rundown, ancient-looking. Like all Rome.

“These monsters have not been here in years,” he said. “Since your parents died.” A strange aura hung about the place. “Then they slunk off with their masters. The Dioscuri work for the Master House. They are its servants. Which is why, if we are going to find out what happened, this is the perfect time. Prague is a fortress. Lux’s scars attest to that. The Dioscuri will soon be back there, and then we won’t see them again, until there is a war. And in that conflict, Halsey, they would fight for the strongest side. Their own.”

If he thought I could just hear this and just shirk it off––

“But my parents would want me to figure this out,” I said. “I know they would.”

Even Mistress Genevieve had said so. “Halsey has certain things she needs to figure out for herself,” she had said. There, I thought. That settled it. I was bound to go in. By the bindings of my blood, and filial obligation, I was determined to go inside.

Selwyn removed one of the boards. He ripped it out. Our way inside was clear.

“Do you think you could make one of your lights?” he said to me. It was pretty dark.

I was only too happy to oblige. I didn’t exactly know how, though. I was unschooled too. Psuedo-eclectic. A real moron.

“I think I think it into existence,” I said. “I don’t know precisely. The aether is a mystery to me. But if I try...”

My Light popped on. Selwyn’s eyes sparkled like sapphires, rippling gloriously in the gloom.

One by one, we slipped through the opening in the boards, into the abandoned movie theater. I couldn’t help thinking of Volt and Pouch. Two fourteen-year-old boys who were in the hospital, even still. Something waited inside, and I had to meet it. They had. And it had nearly destroyed them. But I had magic. And Selwyn was with me.

“Selwyn... I think you should become a cat again,” I whispered. “But first...”

He looked at me. “Yes?” he said.

“Shh. I think I hear something,” I said. We stopped and waited but it must have been my imagination; or my ball of Light. It hummed like energy. “Never mind,” I said. “Let’s go. Come on.”

We walked deeper into the lobby of the old theater. Chairs were upended, old posters hung pell-mell from the walls. No wonder the Dioscuri loved it. Nothing had been here in years. The dust was an inch thick.

Something was bothering me.

“Maybe the Dioscuri left already,” I said. “No, listen to this. When they found Pendderwenn, I was there. Along with the twins.”

Selwyn had transformed by this time into the panther, so he couldn’t interrupt me.

“Gaven was really upset,” I said. “So I guess that means he doesn’t like them any more than you do. The twins, I mean. He seemed furious at them. He told them to get their things out of Rome. He must’ve meant the Dioscuri. I’m certain of it....

“Ballard showed me this place,” I went on. “It must’ve been months ago. But the werewolves were spread thin. That’s why Volt and Pouch had to stand guard. And then... have you noticed how busy the werewolves have been lately? It’s like they haven’t even been at the Gathering at all. They must all have been here. Watching over things. These things. The Dioscuri.”

Selwyn had an itch and had to scratch it real quick. I didn’t know what I was doing. But I was missing something. Something important.

I shot the ball of Light and followed after it. But no matter where I went––what hallway or whatever––Selwyn and I never encountered anything, or anyone. The place was abandoned. Empty.

It came back again––the pulse in my stomach. Now it was in my throat. It interfered with my ability to breathe. Finally, it rushed into my head.

Selwyn was panting slightly from the exertion of having run everywhere. We had searched the movie theater from top to toe, finding nothing.

“I’m not the one they’re after,” I said. “It’s Lia.”

Chapter 27 – Misdirection

Selwyn bounded out of the theater. I rushed to keep up. I needed to get to my Gambalunga. I had been so stupid. Lia. They were going to kill her.

By the time I found my way out, Selwyn was nowhere to be found. It seemed like a very cruel trick, being called away from the Gathering. This was the Dioscuri’s last opportunity. It was finished tomorrow. The Gathering was fracturing. Like the symbol for the Wiccan wheel, the eight Virtues. Magic was split. We were splitting. “Lia...” I said. The Dioscuri were going to kill her. But why did they even want her––?

I found my way to my Gambalunga and started it up. The throttle stuck. It almost didn’t work. I had to take five seconds to fix it, but finally I got it figured out.

Gripping it by the handlebars, I flipped my wrist, and the Gambalunga spun about, the tires caught, and I laid a trail of thick rubber, as I peeled out, heading for the Gatheringplace and away from Rome.

I raced the moon over the countryside. I opened the Gambalunga full-throttle and headed toward the Gathering.

If I were writing in my diary, I would have said the following: That there was a faction within the Gathering that wanted all-out war, conflagration, the vibe of coming hardship. The unease Lia and I had felt was growing in my stomach.

How could I have been so stupid? I listened for any sounds of other motorcycles, but there were none. The wolves were all at the Gathering. Of course. That’s where the danger was. It was lucky I had such an awesome bike.

With a shifting of gears, I navigated the terrain, passed through the Roman countryside, coming to the invisible barrier––

There was fire, smoke, shouting, when I broke through. The Wiccans were squaring off against the werewolves. They had their Marks out. My Gambalunga backfired loudly. Ballard found me. But I had no time. “Lia,” I shouted. I raced past him. He had his hands full. Stavros and Gisela were telling the Wiccans to back off. “Bring out the cat!” shouted one of them.

I made my way down the hall. I had to get to Lia, fast. Months traipsing through the place had taught me the ins and outs of the Gatheringplace. I knew that if I went down this hall––and then that one there––and then through that foyer––

I used a secret passageway Asher had shown me.

It brought me to my dormitory. But Lia wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere.

“Lia... Lia...” I shouted hoarsely. The smoke had started to fill my lungs. My eyes. I could hardly see.

A distraction. For something else. It had to be. The sandpit. I didn’t know where else to go.

I raced from our dormitory, down the familiar passageways Lia and I had taken every day to get to the Star Room. But what good would my Wiccan Mark be against all of them––the Dioscuri? I had yet to levitate a grain of sand. Much less fight. I was totally unprepared. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t afford to. Lia needed me. I needed to save her––

A wave of nausea hit me––the feeling compounded by a whole host of figures, I saw, as I entered the Star Room. Lia was there with them. But they weren’t people, they weren’t even ghosts.

Chapter 28 – Last Rites

The Dioscuri were vampires. But unlike any vampires I had ever seen before. They were like smoke––roiling incorporeal forms, that rushed in and out of each other. I felt my mind grind like rusted gears.

Lia was prostrate, red leather jacket covering her Wiccan Mark, over by the obelisk, so she must have gotten out of bed. Something must have called to her. The Dioscuri. Like they had been calling to me for the past four months. Like I was her. The One. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. It was Lia... She was the reason they were all here. Hundreds and hundreds of them.

The Dioscuri hovered in mid-air and flew at me. Time seemed to stand still. I remembered a conversation I had had with Lia––before all this. It was the night she and I had gone out with the Initiates, what seemed ages ago. Roast chestnuts, I told myself....

Lia had said, “Remember what Veruschka was going on about, Initiation and so forth, and how it’s supposed to be lineaged?” She quoted from the Head of House Ravenseal. ‘There remains an unbroken link of every adherent back to the beginning,’” she said.

I made a face. “So what, Lia?” I said. I wasn’t exactly anxious to relive our time in the sandpit together, now that we were on our way to becoming fledged.

“So––you’re linked, silly, to your mom and dad,” said Lia. She made her Wiccan W and ordered three more chestnuts. We took them with us and went for a walk around the fountain.

“But who taught them?” I said, munching on mine, and walking through the stalls with her. The rain was coming down harder now, but we didn’t care. I let it soak my hair. Being underground for so long had made me claustrophobic. I needed to get out.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Lia, dismissing this line of questioning. “It’s like this One business. We’re all one Wicca. That’s what these people don’t seem to get–– Wiccans, the Mistresses, and so forth. At least the ones I talked to. They’re in charge, but they have no courage. It’s no wonder there have been wars. We don’t listen to each other. And I thought women were supposed to be all intuitive and good at that stuff. With the Mistresses in charge, I think we’re on our way to war, especially given this Chosen One business. See––everyone wants to find her, for her powers...”

“Which are?” I said.

“No different than yours or mine. Light and Dark magic. Coexisting together,” said Lia, “like the aether itself. Like this ball of Light,” she said, popping it on. “I have been studying it, studying it, and I think it is this aetherical two-ness, this dichotomy, in all of us. The Prime Mover may be able to manipulate the Wiccan World in weird and wonderful ways, but so can we. Don’t you get it? We are her. You and I. Whether we want to be or not, Halsey Rookmaaker. Which––funnily enough, I almost said witch––I suppose makes us dark. Perhaps we are at Oneness with the aether. In which case, we are the One? Or something.”

Her Zen-ness was on fire. She was my little buddha. My Liapooh. I didn’t understand a thing she was saying. But I sort of did. One of those rare occasions where the words were above my head but they made sense anyway.

“Oh, and be careful of Julius Pendderwenn,” she said. She shot her leather biker cuffs. “He’s got manica langas, you know, long sleeves. He may try and grab you for his own.”

She popped a roast chestnut in her mouth and I came out of it.

The starlight overhead vanished. They rushed at me, the Dioscuri. Where they went, they seemed to cut out the light. I was all alone in a sandpit with them––but I had my Wicca. Their hands grasping out for me were like claws, which broke upon me as they rushed to attack. I could see bits of things. Body parts. A head there; a limb; a torso. Suddenly, I was caught up in a huge mass of them. Was this what happened to vampires when they got too old? They were like ash. And they were crawling inside of me. I could see the remnants of their fangs.

Lennox had said something to me, but it was so long ago, I had almost forgotten it. What was it? It was a different place. A different time. I was changed now. So was he––if Lennox was even coming back. When I thought about him, I wanted him to, but I didn’t know. I hoped he did. What could he really want with me, if he had left me so quickly, though?

I didn’t know if he still loved me or not. If I ever made it out of this, I would put it to the test, though. I would put him to the test.

I saw Lennox’s moonlit eyes, from the balcony of my open French doors, staring in at me, to a place so long ago, it felt like another me. Like there were lots of mes, which was something Veruschka Ravenseal had said.

I mentally stuck her in a big fat rota. I didn’t want to think about her ever again.

We had lit a candle, Lennox and I. Two tapers. The Iron Roses. He had been like iron, cold and aloof. Part of me realized it was for my own protection. That he was looking out for me. That he really did care about me. He was my Protector. “I am a vampire,” he seemed to say.

It felt like memories were what I wished them to be. That they could alter, change. I colored them with my dreams. “I cannot be good for you,” he said to me.

Something primal called to me. He was my light, my love. I realized––I think I had always realized––that vulnerability.

“Halsey...” he said. “The only thing that can hurt me is you––if something happened to you.” It was like he was really there, standing in front of me, whispering softly into my ear.

“Don’t you get it?” I said. “That is my fear, Lennox. There are things. Terrible things, that you don’t know about me. I did not come directly to Rome. I have secrets. A past. Like you. But worse. Besides. Even if we have centuries, I will die. And you will live... Forever.”

“A forever without you isn’t living,” he said. “It’s a slow, torturous existence, un-overcome by any formal expiring. I want no part of it. You are my life, now. Without you, I would cease to be. I would be one of them.” He pointed to the Dioscuri. “Living death. Old as forever. That is what happens to vampires when they get too old.”

I looked. They were floating there, on the fringes of my awareness, waiting for me––like huge towering specters. But I was still too busy with Lennoxlove.

“You don’t ever feel that way, do you?” I said. “That life isn’t worth living?” I caressed his face with my fingertips, forcing him to look into my eyes.

I didn’t want Lennox to leave me, to abandon me, or to stuff me down the rota. I wanted him to come back, so we could be together.

I could feel it suddenly––the same dull ache, and then the wave of aether, like I was going to be sick.

Perhaps we had been on an accelerated clock, the Initiates and I. Lux must’ve known the Dioscuri were in town. He had prepared us to meet them. Otherwise, I told myself, he wouldn’t have shown us the dark aether.

And even Lennox, it came back to me, had been preparing for the Dioscuri. It was them. They were on his mind, when he said he was worried about me, and that age mattered in vampires, way back at the finger of rock, when he secretly revealed to me what they were. Lennox had called the Dioscuri mind readers. This must’ve been what he meant by that, because they were making me recall all sorts of things––but it was like the perspective had changed, like I was experiencing these visions anew, or for the first time––yes, for the first time.

But what, I asked myself, were the Dioscuri doing working for the Master House? The Lenoir couldn’t possibly be in league with the Master House, could they?

One thing was certain. The Lenoir didn’t purge their numbers. When vampires got too old, they became Dioscuri. I felt like I knew a great secret. One which could get me killed.

But what did they drink, what did the Dioscuri feed upon?

I wanted to see what the Dioscuri knew.

They were at my Wiccaning. My true Wiccaning, when I was a baby, and brought into this world. They must have seen what had happened to my parents. If so, my only way of figuring it out was through them. I had to know, to look inside of them, to scry the Dioscuri. But it would be dangerous.

Certain questions should not be asked, I told myself.

“They equivocate,” said Lux. “Being untouchable, what do they fear? And, as they cannot touch, their only resource for manipulating us, is us. The Dioscuri lie.”

The total omniscience of the Dioscuri terrified me. But that still didn’t explain what equivocation was.

“Using distortion to arrange something desirable to the Dioscuri, which can only be fatal to us,” said Lux, “often by suggesting it in a roundabout way. War, for instance.”

Vittoria had been listening. She clawed the air with her Wiccan W, when she saw me looking at her. She was not a wilting flower, or a shrinking violet. Vittoria was deadly nightshade. Belladonna. We broke into partners and the memory was gone. A new one had replaced it.

This time, Camille, who was talking to me about being immortal. But she had never visited the sandpit, had she? My mind was all over the place. “When you live for so long,” she said, “where is the joy in living, that you once knew as a child?” Lennox had said something similar. We were on their boat, the Bellezza Immortale, which had a kind of painful poetry to its name. Except Lennox equated it to artists, the vampire death, that was like living forever.

There are no Rembrandts, or Picasso vampires, he had said.

I sighed. “I should think not,” I said. “Could you imagine sitting for one of them? After they painted you, they would eat your soul.”

I hated listening to two vampires I cared about talking about the shortcomings of vampires. Or of dying.

Life was what you made of it. I had always thought so.

It wasn’t an endless, mindless existence. Surely they saw that?

But Lennox, instead of seizing upon it, withdrew from my rationale. His rakish hair was all over the place, blown about by the cool wind off the Lido. We were at Rat Rock. He was out, on the Finger of Rock, the cool line of stones that snaked into the lagoon water. It was Midnight. The serenity of the place haunted me.

I realized that, in a way, I was scrying myself. Reading my past. But these were the rooms that were opened to me, full of light, and the people I loved. And Lennox was a person. Perhaps I could help him renew his love of living, in being loved? If only he would love me back.

I asked him what he was doing, but he shook me off. It was obvious he was protecting me, keeping a lookout there on the Rock at night, with his light, hiding me from the Dioscuri. But there could be no preventing them from crawling into me. I knew that now. The sensation was like the blood draining from my veins. This coldness, followed by a numb disconnect.

I knew that Lia was on the fringes. I knew that they had tried to read her. But I also knew that she had resisted them. It was me. I was the weak one. I could hear her stirring. But it was too far away. I was too far away. It was me they were after. They were taking me away.

I felt like I was on the outskirts of a familiar dream––... That my future-seeing had been preparing me for this moment––

But the Dioscuri seemed to squeeze in tighter, becoming more and more One, a single entity. They formed a circle about me. I could feel them, like the aether itself, crawling into me. Somehow the Dioscuri were the dark aether. But it was bigger, more powerful, than they were.

Looking down at my Mark, I saw it writhe in pain. My flower was tearing from my skin. It felt like I was going to die or pass out. I didn’t know. Almost like I was connected somehow to the Dioscuri, in a way I didn’t fully comprehend. They floated before me and I saw into their eyes. Somewhere I heard Lia shout, but it meant nothing to me. I had to look. To know. I felt the many-fingered intelligence hover on the precipice and then enter my soul.

“You have darkness in you. We feel it. You could be Her. The One. It hurts us to look at you,” they said.

The Dioscuri were subtle, mysterious, complex.

“Why? What am I?”

The voices hissed at me. “We cannot tell you that.” Listening to them made my spine chill.

“What do you know of my mother and father?”

“They were Rookmaakers––yes...” said the Dioscuri.

“Am I the last Rookmaaker?” I asked.

“We see into you. We see––St. Martley’s.”

I saw Ballard again, leading an army. Except he was older. He had that scar on his face.

... It went down his neck, disappearing into his clothing. He looked scared. Gone was the curly head of hair, the happy smile.

“What have you to do with the Master House?” I asked.

It was imperative I get back to Ballard––to Lia and Gaven––to House Rookmaaker. I had to find it. Maybe I could––I don’t know––rebuild it or something.

“You are not who you think you are,” they said. “You are not Grace or Goodwill. You are the One. Join with us. Seek them out. Otherwise, you will suffer the fate of your parents. And everyone you care about will die.”

My Wiccan Mark flashed like quicksilver. It was conjuring the Light of its own free will. Lia’s quickly joined it. I could see her there, on the outskirts, trying to get inside. She was not alone. Selwyn was with her. It made my soul lift. They were trying to save me.

The light flamed. It quickened and brightened.

The petals of my Mark twisted down my fingertips, which became like a claw.

I was being ripped from the connection. The Dioscuri were leaving me. People were flooding into the Star Room. I could see them––the Wiccans, especially––with their robes like leaping, silver fish, and their bright heads of hair. But something was wrong. The werewolves were also there... Lia and Gaven and Ballard. Ballard who was racing to get to me. I could see him briefly. Who he was and who he could be. I think we both had our own destinies. He would need my help. If anything, it was up to me to protect him. To prevent the dream from coming true. But the Dioscuri were still in front of me. I couldn’t get out. Everybody gasped. Lia’s Light shut off as fast as it had come. I was looking at Selwyn, who was still with me––and then, the next second, the Dioscuri had flown into him. I saw Selwyn’s eyes––and the light in them seemed to vanish. He was gone. “Remember,” they said to me. “Look for them. We will see you again, Halsey Rookmaaker.”

There was a whooshing sound and they were gone, Selwyn with them. He was taken. They were gone.

I was left staring at an empty space. Lia was stirring. I looked up and two sets of powerful arms were pulling me and her up.

The werewolves were racing to protect us.

I kept seeing Selwyn’s eyes. And then––nothing.

There was a commotion, bodies pressing in against one another, the Heads of the various remaining Houses pointing their fingers at Ballard and Gaven, who were holding onto Lia and I. I saw Locke and some of the other werewolves. They looked nervous.

“The Dioscuri...” said one witch.

“Did they take him?” said another.

“Selwyn was here, and then just––”

“Good riddance,” said another one.

I saw a familiar head of hair. Mariska Coven’s. She was with some of the other Wiccans I had never met before.

“Shapeshifters looking out for shapeshifters,” she said. She pointed her finger at Gaven. It was a long, narrow, bony, evil-looking implement. Her hair was a mess. “We know where we stand finally, do we, then? You helped him escape. It’s a conspiracy. And after Selwyn murdered poor Mr. Pendderwenn,” she said.

“Mariska, please,” said Fanishwar Harcort.

But she was overruled by some of the other Wiccans.

“I think we deserve to know exactly what went on here, and how Pendderwenn was robbed of its last remaining member,” said one wizard, an older gentleman in robes the color of Selwyn’s eyes.

“I’ll tell you how,” said Mariska Coven. “He was murdered. Murdered, Torsten. And they’re in on it.” She pointed her finger at me, Gaven, all of us.

“It’s moot now,” said the wizard named Torsten. “The Dioscuri will take Selwyn to Prague, if that is where they’re headed. The Master House will deal with him. It’s finished. Pendderwenn is dead.”

“Oh, come now, you can’t really believe that. He must have been working with them. Selwyn must have been working with the Dioscuri,” said Mariska Coven. “There is an insidious plot to destabilize everything for which we have been working so long. There is Dark Wicca afoot. Where is my Initiate? We’re going. Come, Badgley.”

Mariska left the place, her feet flying over the sandpit. I saw Badgley leaving with her, for which I sympathized.

I looked at Lia who was coming out of her funk; it was clear to me we had a lot to talk about. She was being supported by Gaven, who picked her up, carrying her out of the sandpit. Where Il Gatto went, the werewolves followed. They pushed their way through the Gathering, daring anyone to challenge them. No one did. With Selwyn gone, the remaining Wiccans dispersed, and I was left staring at Fanishwar Harcort, who, of all of them, had always impressed me the most with her ability to keep her head about her. She held her Wiccan W up to mine, as I returned the gesture. And then I met with Ballard’s stare....

This was going to be difficult.

* * *

“I was supposed to protect you,” he said.

“Well, you’re talking to me again,” I said. “That’s something.” I didn’t know if I should be hard on him, or what. “Oh, come on, let’s go.” Some of the other Wiccans were staring at us. I was tired of being sociable. Yeah, that’s right. I’m with the werewolves. So what of it.

They could all bite me.

But he didn’t move. Instead, Ballard got down onto one knee, and he said, so that everyone could hear, “I’m with you, Halsey Rookmaaker. I won’t ever fail you again. I’m serious.”

“Get up, stupid. And don’t ever call me that again,” I said. But I was relieved. With Ballard back, I could figure out anything. Including how to get to Selwyn.

Ballard got up. “Are we good?” he said.

“Don’t you know I think you hang the moon?” I said. I looked at him, exasperatedly.

“I howl at the moon,” he said. But he smiled, nonetheless. Together we left the sandpit.

Chapter 29 – Epilogue

There were still some things to do. Namely, burying Julius Pendderwenn. The Wiccans had had a point. Something with claws had gotten to Julius Pendderwenn. Naturally, the suspicion fell on us, the werewolves. I included myself among that group. But an entire race of werewolves could not be condemned for one man’s death, could they? The Heads of Houses had certainly gone off as quickly as they could. But something interesting had happened on the last day of the Gathering. The Initiates had come up to me, one by one. Lia was still recuperating at her home, so she missed out. Whatever the Dioscuri had done to her, she was getting over it. Ballard had said that Volt and Pouch had milked their injuries for all they were worth, but, essentially, the two of them were okay, and I was glad to hear it. They were getting ready to go back to school. I said goodbye to the Initiates on Lia’s behalf. “We liked meeting her––and you,” they said to me. I returned the compliment. These were my contemporaries, my Wiccan coevals. “We’ll meet again,” I said.

“I’m sure of it,” they said.

They were off––to be Initiated––and to learn––whatnot. But I had other plans. Growing in me was the sense of what I must do.

Finally, everything was ended, and the Werewolves and I closed shop. The Gathering was brought to an end. There would not be another one for twenty-five years, at which point I would be forty-two, and Lennox, if he was still alive, would still be the same age. I felt him out there, wherever he was, and Marek, too; but it was Selwyn I was most worried about. I would not allow him to be kept by those evil monsters, wherever they were.

So, one night, just before the other werewolves and I were set to bury Julius Pendderwenn, I took Ballard aside. They had made me a member of the Pack, the werewolves, indoctrinating me into their family; in a sense, we did get two Initiates. Lia and I. Even though I was House Rookmaaker, I would still always think of them as mia famiglia, my family. I had not told them yet about House Rookmaaker. I figured I’d keep it a secret for a bit. Anyway, I could just imagine Lia’s response: “I’m not taking your last name, Halsey, I’m House Gaven,” she would say. They were due to be married soon. And then Lia and Gaven would be off, to Tuscany and elsewhere, for their honeymoon. Lia was going to be a January bride–– “At the New Year,” she said to me. Which just left Ballard and me.

I pulled him to the side of the road, on Via Appia Antica, which was where the werewolves buried their dead. As was their custom, the werewolves were sending Julius Pendderwenn off in style. “After all, he was from Rome,” said Gaven. And from my parents’ old House. He had wanted me as his Initiate, Pendderwenn. Even though the thought did not appeal to me, didn’t mean what had happened to Pendderwenn should have. It was imperative Ballard know that it hadn’t been Selwyn who had done it.

“Halsey,” he said. “Selwyn was in such a hurry he wasn’t able to sneak past us; he’s sly, but we managed to track him down–– But then the Wiccans spotted him, and it was anarchy. They seemed to think he had done it, killed Pendderwenn, especially after the outburst at your Wiccaning, where he had yelled at Pendderwenn, you remember? They had a past. Naturally, Selwyn took the blame. He was the perfect fall guy.”

“But he didn’t do it, Ballard,” I said.

“I know he didn’t,” Ballard said. “Like I said, Selwyn told us. We have ways of communicating that pretty much negate people lying to us. Selwyn couldn’t have fibbed. But by the time he told us about Lia, it was too late. We were besieged. Selwyn managed to get away. But then you saw what happened. Or did you?” He looked at me skeptically. “You looked pretty out of it. Those things didn’t hurt you, did they? Because, if they did...” said Ballard.

The werewolves were gathering to farewell the departed. The cypress trees stood like silent sentinels, high above us. Torchlights whipped like living flames in the cold night air. They were being held by some of the werewolves, as a sign of respect for Julius Pendderwenn.

Words were said and the casket covered over. Pendderwenn’s mound joined countless others. I said some kind words silently to myself, but they didn’t feel right.

Gaven, however, smiled, and said, “Julius’s fate shall be an interesting one, wherever he is. Come now. I’m famished, and my soon-to-be bride is cooking for us.”

There was a gigantic whoop, and I departed with the rest of them. Lia in the lead.

Rome was shining in the distance, when we came to our motorcycles. I started my Gambalunga, and Ballard said, “I told Gaven about what I said to you. About me being your protector or whatever. And he told me, no, he ordered me, to follow that instinct. So, I guess that means you’re stuck with me.”

Ballard smiled at me––and it was that old Ballard smile. The one the two of us shared, that was ours alone.

“I like knowing that you’re there to protect me,” I said. “It makes me feel special, Ballard, and like we can overcome, well, anything. So I guess I say: so be it.”

The other werewolves revved their engines, and I put my helmet on. Gaven and Lia were riding once more, in tandem, at the head of the Pack. The world seemed right again.

Ballard picked his feet up, and we headed over the countryside, following the well-worn path, which took us back to Rome.

I weaved absentmindedly through the other riders, coming, finally, to a position side by side with Lia and Gaven. They nodded at me. And then I opened her up and raced ahead to meet my destiny.

# # #

Adept (The Wiccan Diaries, Volume 3)

* * *

Table of Contents

Prologue – The Hunter

Chapter 1 – Her 18th Birthday

Chapter 2 – Ballard’s Problems

Chapter 3 – Luminarium

Chapter 4 – Il Gatto

Chapter 5 – The Race

Chapter 6 – Lupercalia

Chapter 7 – Grey Wolf

Chapter 8 – The Hollow

Chapter 9 – Watchtowers

Chapter 10 – The Fifth of Fourth

Chapter 11 – Voettfangs

Chapter 12 – Quintessence

Chapter 13 – The Council of Magic

Chapter 14 – The Trial

Chapter 15 – Spiritwalking

Chapter 16 – The S Bros

Chapter 17 – Epilogue

Author’s Note

Prologue – The Hunter

The moonlit lane crackled with the footsteps of the grave makers as they trundled their barrows upon the cobblestones leading to the quiet site. It was that half-light, somewhere between dreams and waking, in which they toiled with their backs. These two were in an unusually somber mood.

Men accustomed to the sight of death were, nevertheless, mere traffickers in bodies. The mysteries of the grave were not their business, even if they lived with it, in dirt under their fingernails, the earthy, raw odor pervading their very clothes. Not to mention the unusual circumstances.

Philosophically, they were being paid. And well. Money for silence, for questions unasked; money for their obliviousness, and guarantees to keep the secrets of the tomb. An old business, timeless as the stars that watched over them.

Yet not without its little surprises.

As anyone who ever took money to perform a hushed deed knew, the covenant was sealed––in blood, or out of it....

Warily, they crested a small hill, overlooking the ancient relics: moss-grown crypts with burnished plaques, or else nondescript plots, with headstones in various sizes and degrees of ornamentation. It was endlessly unnerving despite years of experience, skulking through the graveyard at this late hour, two shapes hunched with their profession, a motley pair of mobile silhouettes where everything else was still, except the slow roll of shadows as night shifted overhead.

They needed to be quick. They weren’t actually supposed to be here, for a very simple reason. Death had been lax of late. The exception obviously stowed in a burlap sack the leader pushed forward in his handcart.

He stopped. “Do you hear something?” he asked.

“Quiet as the tomb,” replied his cohort half-mockingly. They were in a hurry, and he didn’t have time for his friend’s misgivings. He already had enough himself to last a lifetime.

“Not the tomb,” said the other. “Him.” He pointed to the outline of a figure bundled uncomfortably in a fetal position, its limbs overhanging the metal rim of the wheelbarrow.

The man behind sighed melodramatically, lifting his eyes up to the heavens, before shaking his head. He had a pair of spades over his shoulder he put down forcefully, striding from behind the leader to look at their charge.

“I don’t see anything wrong with him, other than the fact he’s dead.”

“Or she,” said the Leader. “After all, it could be a girl.”

“It could be. Or it could be nothing. Actually it is nothing. Not anymore. Now can we get on? The last thing we need is to be taken for a pair of grave robbers, by some night watchman.” Then he looked appraisingly at the body. “Very tall for a girl. What do you say we take a peek?”

“I don’t like it André. And I thought I heard something.”

“What,” said André, “a moan? Give me a––”

“There! You heard it again!”

André dropped down to his knees. He had heard it. Barely perceptible at first, but there, like a groan, but soft, muffled––like a whispering voice, almost. The body remained immobile.

“You felt it, it was stiff as a board,” hissed the man called André, the first inkling all was not right. “Bodies don’t just reanimate, even if they are––well––you know––” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word magical.

The other man, whose name was Thierry, agreed, nodding silently at first, before joining André with his nose pressed nearly to the outline of the head. “I have heard it said that they are marked, sometimes,” he said. “And that this mark can do special things.” They stood like that for some time, hunched, not daring to move. Nearly fifteen minutes had elapsed before either of them spoke. It was Thierry who broke the silence.

“Where did you say this body came from again?” He asked. The same muddled thoughts seemed to be going through both men’s minds. What to do if their worst fears were true, if they had been charged with the burial of a living corpse...?

André said, “I didn’t, and neither did you, remember? We’re not supposed to be here.”

“Because it could be him,” said Thierry, somewhat shakily.

“Who?”

“You know, the one who’s been in the news––Peter Panico.”

“I don’t buy it. And I don’t think this could be him.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing,” said André, “you’re either one or the other, but not both.”

“There’s an easy way to check that,” said Thierry, but fell silent at the look from his comrade.

“For another, those were the work of a monster not easily quelled, I don’t think...”

“Look at the size of him, André. They say the life of one is forfeit upon entering this place. Besides, there are claw marks. If we could just check––”

“No.”

André was adamant.

Leaving the rest of this argument unspoken, they moved on, the plan resolved, agreed upon without words. They would dig. Or, rather, re-dig. The essence of the job was in secrecy. No evidence, imprints or otherwise, could be left behind. If I am right, thought Thierry, time will tell. No more murders.

It was an encouraging thought.

It was almost like something was going on. Their business had never been this busy––nor André so on edge.

It was arduous going, at first, the soil hard with the winter frost. The age of the grave didn’t help matters. Soon they would be rid of the stranger. Least he’d have company, they thought. He was too big to be a she. Thierry recognized that now. Did they even come in females? He reckoned they must have.

This seemed to amuse him. Anything to deflect from the desecration. Still, André was uneasy, and he couldn’t help thinking Thierry had a point. It would be wise to see who they were burying––if just for piece of mind; but the price said otherwise. They had mind readers, after all. The Lenoir would know....

One mistake was all it took to get killed––and, strange though it may have sounded, André valued his reputation. He wouldn’t let Thierry lead them astray with their temptations.

It was nearing 4 a.m., the sun would be up in a few hours, when they found what they were looking for. Throwing their shovels on top of the precarious mound, they popped quickly back down––thinking all the while: hurry, hurry––to brush back the dirt from the cheap pine lid of the coffin, which had lain undisturbed for nearly two decades. Amazing how it had survived intact all this time.

“We could forgo this bit,” said Thierry, who had suddenly realized the time. They had wasted too much of it with their consciences.

André removed his pry bar in response. So be it, thought Thierry, taking it from him, not relishing the sight that was about to greet them.

Thierry worked deftly, tearing at the wood. It gave in splinters and breaks. At his motion, André hopped dutifully from the grave. Thierry pried with all his might. Nails jarred from wood, reverberating in the freshly dug hole. And he bent it back, going so far as to step upon the occupant within. He felt the lace of her gown underfoot. Now if somebody checked, there would be two corpses––the woman, and the stranger––buried here.

“How much time do we have?” he asked. They were almost done.

André looked uncomfortably at the approaching dawn. A life of servitude had bestowed in him an accuracy of measures.

“Just enough to throw the dirt back on, I’d say, if we want to sneak out before the light.”

He did not like to think what would happen if they got caught. Apart from trespassing, and other illegal acts, the identity of their man should be known by no one. That was the agreement. They were referred by certain unscrupulous clients who did not forgive mistakes easily; all other considerations were insignificant compared to what would happen if they failed.

“No! How much time do we have to do the rites?” Thierry hissed.

Shaken, it was a moment before André could respond. “Well?” said the latter.

He listened fretfully to Thierry wheezing below him. Slowly the words of their client came back to André. He shuddered. There had been something depraved in that figure, unnatural, as though he had done terrible things, and would do them again. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

Thierry stamped his foot; unwise, given what he was standing on. They heard bone crack. “Careful,” said André. He heard his own everlasting doom there. Again, he crept to the body in the burlap sack.

He would have to touch it, real soon. Then he’d know. It would be hard, awkward; settled in its discomfiture the way old compost lay, sickly to the touch.

Either that, or spring at them!

Nothing would shock him now.

It all went back to the client. Night stretched into night, in his memories of their meeting, as though daylight would never come again. An illicit one-time act––that was the way André liked to think of it; but this time was somehow different, more unsettling.

André had never murdered anyone. He didn’t think he could. But he knew what murder felt like. And he had never felt this before.

He looked at Thierry, who seemed preternaturally paused, as if he, too, were undergoing the same set of moralistic crises, heaped one atop the next.

“Do you get the feeling,” he said, “like we shouldn’t be doing this?”

Thierry grunted, clearly troubled.

“Say we don’t,” said André, “say we take this guy, we...”

“He’s dead,” said Thierry. “If we heard anything, it was his ghost talking.” He was irritated by the hesitancy he perceived in André’s voice. “Let’s get this over with.”

Then he looked up. André looked frightened. A fear was on his face that could not be tossed aside, or in a pit and covered over with what remained of the night.

“I don’t want to do this,” André said.

André had a plan. They would cover over the coffin, lid and earth, making it look to unsuspecting eyes like nothing had happened there. Suspecting ones were another matter.

Implausible though it seemed, André wasn’t certain, whether in a day or in a year, somebody would be sent, to check up on the contents of the grave, to see if the contract had indeed been fulfilled. But there was nothing else for it. With doubt indecision had been born.

Probably he was being paranoid, but it was time to take action. What could this man have done, he wondered, to warrant––

Quickly, and with aching backs, they began forcing the dirt back from where it had come. Within minutes they had finished, both men doing their best to make the site look undisturbed. It was biting cold and all about them remnants of dying grass rose in feeble patches.

The moon had gone, as they trundled back the way they’d come, replaced by the first rays of wintry sunlight, their burden still in their possession. It was late December––freezing in Paris. A sheet of ice half a foot thick glazed over the Seine. It was so cold, Thierry noticed his breath fog before his eyes. His breathing was labored, both with trundling their cargo––if anything it had kept growing in size; it was very heavy now––and the new exertion of his and André’s choice. Something had stopped their hands on the brink of completing their mission (which had never happened before)! And now they were stuck with––whatever it was.

“Are you thinking what I am?” he said.

André nodded. “The old man will know what to do,” he said. “They say he studies. Maybe he will take it off our hands.”

“Not that,” said Thierry, who stopped short to rest against a small aspen tree. “First we must know what we are taking him.”

It was the thieves’ code, both men knew it. Given where the body came from, there could potentially be a considerable amount of heat upon it: interest from unlooked-for foes. The only kinds of bodies they buried were the ones nobody wanted found. Which begged the question: What if it were? Tales get around. Pretty soon you pay for your kindnesses, they thought. They didn’t want to bring the old man a looked-for body.

But André had enough. He stabbed first one spade into the ground, then the next. It was fantastically quiet out. “Are you saying that you think we should check this fellow?” he said. “We can’t keep dithering, Thierry.”

“Stolen radios make bad pawns,” said Thierry philosophically.

“Your knife please,” said André. “Hurry! I don’t want to be known as the ditchdigger of Père Lachaise. We’ll see what this fellow knows or if he’s as mundane as I find you.”

Thierry handed André a small butterfly knife. It whicked open in André’s hand.

He started at the neckline, piercing the burlap with the point of the blade, working his way up to expose the chin. There was no pulse.

If experience had taught both men one thing, it was how to recognize Death. For all intents and purposes, the body before them was dead.

Soon, the head was exposed. André pulled the hood back crumpling it behind as a makeshift pillow, revealing the face.

The features were striking. This person, whoever he was, would move through society extraordinarily easily, both in the supernatural world, with all its variation, and in the mortal world. It was strange how there was a definition between the two, almost defined by death. Fringe though they may have been, even Thierry and André could sense that supernaturals sometimes died. Something was coming. If they could’ve guessed, hardship. For them and everyone else.

A myriad of far-fetched ideas paraded in front of both men’s minds, each more outlandish than the last, until they were consumed by choices, wondering, Which option shall we take? First things first, however: they would need to get a look at the Mark; concealed, for now, but not forever. “We need to get a look at this fellow––before we bring him to that old bone conjurer,” said Thierry shrewdly.

André balled his fingers into fists. Why was it always him?

Cautiously, he held one out until it flowered into five gnarled, veined tentacles, and he touched the sack.

There was no reaction––unless it was the reaction of André’s heart beating. “See? Told you,” he said. “Dead.” He breathed a sigh of relief. The powerful form in the burlap sack remained immobile.

But then what had that whispering been?

André wet his lips, anxious to resolve this. He could sense Thierry’s uneasiness. The Mark. Just the Mark. And then they could get this over with. Either the body would give up its secrets, and remain dead––in which case, they would give it a less-ignoble burial, probably in the old man’s garden––or...

He withdrew the blade. Puncturing the burlap had nicked the skin. There was blood on it. Running blood. André gasped. Thierry shook his head. It was there. The Mark.

The skin had the fine silvery penstrokes they had only heard about but never seen before. What had the client said? You must say the words?

That was very important. The Last Rites....

Looking at the huge form before them, the only words André could muster were how? How had the body seemed to double in size the last half hour? As though it were still alive––or worse––changing.

The face was hardening, becoming bolder, the skin tighter. André had never heard of bodies altering so drastically. Hair was forming where there had been none.

What had the client said? This work must be done before first light.

“I don’t think we’ll ever get it there in time, Thierry.”

“In time or out––just as long as it’s off our backs.”

“I think we’re too late.”

The figure was rising up, stepping from the wheelbarrow––Thierry and he tried to run––its shroud falling to the wayside––but it was too late.

“Something wicked is in the works––we’re dead because of it.”

“Its Mark. Look at its Mark, André!”

On its feet now, the figure was even more massively intimidating than they could possibly have imagined. Who had not wanted it seen, and why? They slammed into a crypt wall, trying to escape, turned, staring at it, their backs to stone. Confusion and fear somehow jammed together, locking up their ability to move.

“But you c-can’t be––” said Thierry, looking at it. The shadow advanced.

André didn’t care what the old legends said. This thing was huge. It was here now, before them. Sizing them up. André hadn’t meant for things to get so out of hand.

“We t-tried to s-save you,” he said, trembling before the onslaught of the shadow.

Suddenly the light shone.

They were transfixed by the hunter’s Mark.

And then it spoke.

“Stormr hamrinum,” it said. The words a kind of mélange, a confusion of color and sound and––

The grapefruit-sized ventricle at its elbow released a surge of magic. The invocation, a brilliant orange fireball, engulfed the night sky. It seemed to envelop Thierry and André; before they knew it, fire, like burning coal, had invaded their bodies, rushing to their very souls. Halsey Rookmaaker woke screaming––the writhing bodies still with her, like shadows from a dream.

For a moment that lasted an eternity, it felt like the monster was in her bedroom with her. It was kneeling, when a voice sounded: “The war is starting. Battle lines will be drawn. She and the vampire are headed towards Prague. Find the other one and kill him. Do not let it survive.”

“And them?” said the Hunter.

“The Dark Order shall rise again, my old friend.”

Chapter 1 – Her 18th Birthday

I felt like I had run really far and stopped––my heart rate was off the charts. Who had that figure been and why was I seeing him? True, he had been really big––hulking even––but even in my dreams I could feel what the other men had been thinking. Their perceptions of him colored the flash-memory. He had grown, changed, shifted, killed. It had been really dark. I wished I had seen him better. But did I?

It was a second before I realized they were dead. That I had seen it happen. And that it was probably real. Père Lachaise was in Paris, France. I had seen something which had happened a great distance away.

I reached to turn on the light, but the lightbulb blew out. This was something which had been happening on a regular basis, and I wondered why it hadn’t happened before. Probably because I needed to know it was possible before I could do magic. Which was a depressing thought.

I didn’t like to think that I was so much of a follow-the-leader that I had to wait for Lia to tell me she had been blowing up microwaves and stuff before she realized it was the craft that was doing it. The magic spark in her skin or whatever, her core self, that was saying, There’s something going on here. You’re coming into your Self.

My Self was in her nightgown in her four-poster, shivering slightly, because the wind had knocked open the French doors, and when I looked he wasn’t there. Lennoxlove Lenoir, one of the vampires from France. When Hunter, and what I had just seen in my visions, I realized he hadn’t been one, either, a vampire. Then who had the Hunter been?

Somebody looking for something.... That’s all I knew. I think instinctively I knew that. Boxes of empty Sylvanias littered the floor. I gave up and lit the Iron Roses, two entwined candle holders like roisin dubhs, black Irish roses, with links to northern Wicca.

When I looked up LENNOXLOVE in a search engine, it gave me a place in Scotland. Which was weird. Maybe that was where Lennox was from. I had always taken him for American. It was too depressing to think about. What did I really know about him, other than the fact that he was really good-looking, with long, dark hair that shot out dynamically just so. He was always making interesting shadow figures, creeping into my loft. My landlady didn’t know. She thought I was just a loner. A stupid ragazza.

I fetched from the bedside Volume number two of my Diaries, feeling the heavily-worn pages with my fingertips. It had had a Mark. The hunter had had a Mark. That seemed to clunk in my brain as something which was important.

But that wasn’t possible, was it? He was a shifter. I had seen him change into a wolf––or a kind of wolf. There hadn’t been one in over a century. A witch or wizard and a shifter. A witch or wizard shifter. So others had said. I saw him changing, becoming something more than he was––which is what I wanted to do.

I sighed, letting my mind wander: So be it, I thought; which had become, of late, my motto, with so many lightbulbs being destroyed. They were collecting like the bones of dead things in my trash can.

I wrote out the last few lines in my somewhat loopy handwriting and closed the diary. Dedication... Erm––I thought a bit...

Let’s see...

I hit upon a likely line and wrote the following:

To my amanuensis, Lennoxlove Lenoir, and as some have taken umbrage, I can only stress that the remainder of the Diaries shall be written through my eyes only; forgive him his trespasses, even if he isn’t in this volume, much.

Let them make of that what they would, I thought, before realizing the likelihood of any reader actually reading this far was beyond unbelievable. But then all of this was. Vampires and werewolves and me. I was a Wiccan. A Neophyte now, to be more precise. There was also Adept, and then those who were Fledged; the great end-all be-all, Fledged; the steppingstones to magical apotheosis.

As for why no one would read this––well, that was one of the Lenoir’s rules, wasn’t it? To shut the hell up about the existence of vampires. The other rule was don’t make too many vampires. Would I be held accountable if this account were to somehow get out? I had been in the world six months. Long enough to know better. But I had never been indoctrinated, in the Wiccan sense. True, I had taken the Rede, a kind of Hippocratic oath, but I had never sworn allegiance, or, in fact, sided with one group over another, unless verbally. Maria Lenoir knew, for instance, that my heart was with the werewolves and with her cousin, Lennoxlove Lenoir. Almost like I was torn. In truth, the predicament had never been difficult. If anything, it felt like the right thing to do. As if I was born to be split. Like magic itself.

Not one or the other––but both my Lennoxlove-allegiance and my werewolf-allegiance existing simultaneously. It felt natural. Just...

Stop defending it, I told myself.

But if it got out that I was running around with a pack of werewolves, and with the only vampire in Rome, would the Lenoir come for me?

It was a chance I would have to take. I would be willing to take. Writing was like therapy, to me. I felt better when I did it. It helped me make heads or tails, X, Y, or zed, of things. Plus, if I wanted to attain the highest Wiccan standard (and I did), I would have to keep the diary. Fledged wasn’t something I could do in a controlled environment. I had thrown my future away, after all. Wiccans wrote. Kept Books of Shadows.

Briefly other Wiccan Initiates––Shaharizan and so forth; Gemma Moonflower and the like––those who were going to established Wiccan Households, such as Harcort, or the Covens. There was also the House of Peril and some other ones, chief among them Ravenseal. It was said Ravenseal was the best. Then why didn’t I want to join it? What was it about the easy opportunities and likelihood of running into ‘the best people’, at Ravenseal, that bothered me so much? Was it that I was fraternizing with the enemy? (They had selected me at the Gathering. Which was kind of a recruitment-type thing.)

No––I was in this by myself.

It was winter finally, fully and completely. For the past six months, since I had been on the mainland––first in Paris and then traveling down through the oddly-shaped boot which formed the Italian Peninsula, where I mostly stayed––I had grown used to what I referred to as the Mediterranean lifestyle, easygoing and rich in sensory stimulation, funded of course by my vast financial resources. I was independently wealthy––but you could’ve fooled me. For the first seventeen years of my life I had been raised in New England, in an all-girls’ school, the kind most parents would be horrified to send their children to. St. Martley’s Academy for the Gifted was a school for freaks. I didn’t know why, but I would probably always think of St. Martley’s that way. As a place I had escaped from. And now I was free.

It was cold being free. Rome was as inhospitable as it had ever been––at least climactically; on a personal level, it was icy, windy and chill-inducing. That’s really where our story starts, on my eighteenth birthday, when I was altogether lonesome for an entirely different reason. Oh, I had friends, all right. In fact, two of them were getting married. As Lia said, there was no point postponing the inevitable. Her heart’s joy was found in Gaven. The King of all who were werewolves.

My heart was lost.

I got up from my bed, because I always wrote supine. It helped the blood flow, you know?

The lavender hangings around my four-poster reminded me of the one I seemed destined to live without. Since scrying Lennox, he had shut me out completely. Why had I fallen for him so hard, when it didn’t even make sense? Lennox was of immortal make and I-I was not. How could I ask him to love me when he would just have to leave me, whether through age or some other mishap? And then, if I did die (if? I asked myself), would I really want him seeking out the kind of happiness we might have shared together, in someone else? The answer was most definitely not. I didn’t care if that made me selfish. And then, for my own morbid amusement, I thought about it: of me dying and him and everyone else being left behind. In particular, I liked the grief and devastation, with regards to other people mourning me. I saw Ballard punching a wall––but then Liesel, this really hot older werewolf hamrammr chick walked by, and he forgot his grief. Lennox, in the dream-revery, didn’t show any emotion, just remained sullen: something I intuited to mean his sense of guilt at dragging me into this world. But I had dragged myself. My pink and wigglies squirmed pleasurably. Maybe, I thought, he would light a candle––two candles––the Iron Roses––keeping an eternal vigil over me, or at least on my birthdays, as years became centuries and we––that is to say, he and I, or the memory of me, at any rate––passed into the millenniums untouched and together.

It changed suddenly, and my eyes were like his, or like his family’s, Dallace and Camille’s; like colored planets of raging storms, or swirling tempests: the eyes of the lamia. The Latin for vampire made me think of something else, maybe because I had been studying orchids.

Could two people walk through a world eternal and unchanged together and forevermore and really have anything to talk about, or would it all seem like one long burdensome journey?

I had to get this down in my diary, before I forgot it, but my diary was already full.

Two of them were. I put the now-finished second volume beside its sibling, on my small wooden bookshelf, I had purchased from an antiques shop down in Via dei Condotti, on the strada where I lived, with, of course, my landlady’s permission (she wouldn’t approve a refrigerator, and now I had a melted half-tub of rocky häagen-däaz I had been dipping into the last twenty-four hours with increased lethargy, the name of which was Sundae Mooning. I figured that fit me to a T, or an H, as the case may have been). True to her word, my landlady had kept everyone––including herself––from entering my room, for the two or so months since I had been gone, figuring out what I already knew: that there were some people in this world who could do extraordinary things.

I didn’t say good things. Just things. And sometimes, magical things.

Thinking the thought made my skin tingle all the way down to my Wiccan Mark. I had been persistently, failingly obliged to try not to look at it, every possible second, but had failed miserably in my self-imposed abstinence. It was an itch too easy to scratch. It was so unlike me to have this physical proof, this everyday, full-time reminder of what I had the potential to become: someone in this world who could do extraordinary things. I felt that potential like a solid mass in the pit of my stomach. As for the Mark, it was docile now, but an hour ago it had been raging unchecked inside of me, writhing and twisting up my arm. Orchis halsey or whatever.

It had been so bad I had felt like there was another part of me I didn’t entirely understand yet that sometimes had control over me. Like there was someone else––or something––inside me; a submerged part of my identity, like a stalk, almost, which puts out leaves, and then one day, bam, there’s a flower there. My Wiccan flower.

My orchid.

I looked up what it might be called, its genus and so forth––but whereas Vittoria, who was my nemesis, could be said to have nightshade, I had no real clue what my orchid was. I just knew that it was a flower-Mark and therefore that my virtue was either Grace or Goodwill and that it looked badass; and as I didn’t want others to know what it looked like, I showed no one. But my landlady wasn’t any ordinary person. In fact, she was extraordinary. She could tell there was something different about me the first time I returned and she threatened me.

She said “Hmph!” and “Snrgh!” And then looked down her long, pointed nose, at me. “I’m watching you,” she said to me.

She jabbed at her own two eyes with her index and middle fingers. Instinctively I looked for her Wiccan Mark, but there was none.

I couldn’t meet her gaze lest she penetrate my inmost thoughts, but I nodded. “May I go to my room, now?” I said, as straight faced as I could manage.

She nodded, slowly, and like I had done something wrong. And, leaving her, I felt like I had. Why did she hate me so much? And why didn’t I just move out? I had crossed an ocean by myself. I could do anything.

It may have sounded weird, but in that moment, I realized, anywhere else and I wouldn’t have been as safe. She was... watching over me or something... I couldn’t explain it. It was almost like my landlady was one of my Four Protectors.

* * *

Eighteen and Wicca.

No, that was no good.

The Diary of a Teenage Drama Queen.

Too melodramatic.

Halsey Rookmaaker, Teenage Witch.

It sounded like I should have pom-pons or something.

I settled on The Wiccan Diaries. Volume III.

Being one year of the life of an of-age witch, I wrote. For so now I was. It was December 21st. My birthday. I put the pen down and thought about that, and my Diary.

I must become Adept, I told myself.

I did not forget that it was in this year, those who had the Craft passed the particular milestones (which, I had no idea what those were) enabling them to matriculate––a funny college word for go on––to the next level. After Adept, it was up to the individual, I was told, to become Fledged, but I had a problem. A big, big problem. And it wasn’t going away. Every day it got nearer. What to do about Ravenseal?

What to do about the Wiccan House that I had been selected to attend?

And the fact that, if I didn’t go with them, I would have no House.

I ran my hand over the notebook I had constructed. I had built it by hand, with absolutely no help from the tracery of veins which carried magic into my fingertips, out of binder’s needles, bees wax and thread, sewing the signatures together, finishing the boards off in a plum-colored cloth with the help of my PVA (polyvinyl acetate). I absolutely adored the written word––I almost wrote Wiccan Word, wondering if there was one, some all-powerful phrase which could point me to all the aforementioned milestones––and had a very practical reason for keeping the Diary. It helped me with all of the thinking of things. I could go back and look at this, that, whathaveyou, and analyze trends.

Was it not like the book of magic, the codex given to new practitioners, as they wrote down their discoveries? Except my Diaries were for me alone. I would not be passing them on. Unless...

Only a second-degree or greater Wiccan could Initiate someone. One of the ardanes, or rules, which governed all of Wicca.

I was not yet even able to do that––Initiate someone––to say, “Hey, you should come check this out! I’ll show you The Way!”

Which was kind of the point.

I did not yet know The Way.

I had been so adamant about following my principles I had alienated myself from the only people who could instruct me in the Art of becoming more than I was. And I had not yet told Ravenseal of my choice to reject their invitation, so-called, which was obviously a summons. Veruschka, its Head, had told me she would be sending someone from Ravenseal to fetch me. Thinking about it made me shiver. “Blessed be. Or something,” I wrote in my diary.

I couldn’t think. I gave it up as a bad diary entry.

Was it Lux? Was that who was coming? Or I know. The Master House. Was Veruschka already a part of them? It was said they coveted her. Which, I couldn’t see why. She had candy-colored blue hair and was two-faced, Veruschka: appearing friendly, charming, and then selfish and mean-spirited. I still remembered the trick she had played on Vittoria. I had to stop right there. I didn’t like thinking about Vittoria, especially as she had so thoroughly, and awesomely, emancipated herself from any Wiccan Household. While I––I was behaving like a coward. I couldn’t even make up my mind. About Vittoria. About anything.

What I really needed was someone to talk to, a kind of magical guide––someone who had been through all of the steps and could instruct me as to how to avoid this or that false step, or whathaveyou. Someone who could rhapsodize about Wicca, about what to expect; instead, there was only me, and Lia, if I included her, but Lia was twenty-four going on thirty-five and married with kids. You could see it in her eyes. She didn’t need Wicca the way I did. And then I realized.

She was outgrowing me, she was outgrowing magic.

Of course, Lia was no stranger to losing things.

She had lost her animal. When she became Wiccan she could no longer transform. Apparently being Wiccan precluded being a shape changer, and vice-versa, one or the other. Witch- or Wizard-Shifters, those who could do both, were very rare. So rare that there had not been one in over a century. Rhea Silva, whoever she was, was the last. It was said she could transform into the shape of a wolf and also do castings. Which I guessed meant her paw must’ve had a Wiccan Mark on it, or something.

I sighed and watched the inflamed candles whip about in the draft coming from my open French doors, half expecting to see Lennox standing there. But he hadn’t shown.

Not that I had expected him to. After all, I was me, and he was who he was––entirely out of my league, vampire hottie person.

What would he need with me when he had all the world, what with his new superpowers and everything? All that I could offer would be to hold him back.

Part of me wished for him to be standing there, to experience the raw awesomeness of his presence, while the other, unknown part of me, said: whatevers. You have work to do, kiddo. And, yes, I did.

Moreover, I felt a kind of destiny, when I considered that it was up to me to re-open––if that was even the right word––my parents’ House.

I had kept the knowledge of their Wiccan House absolutely secret, telling no one of House Rookmaaker––for, so I thought, Selwyn would have wanted it of me. He was a false mage. A roughly-fledged, unschooled guy. Thinking about him was painful. I didn’t like not knowing where he was. Selwyn was my only other Housemate. A fellow Rookmaaker. A fact which I had not really thought about before.

Just then my hand began tingling. It had been doing this off and on for the last few hours. It would burn with heat, like at its Forming, and then the heat would subside; it wasn’t painful, just alarming. And I think it meant something. But I couldn’t be sure.

That was like everything in my life that may have meant something. I had been kept so in the dark about everything to do with my past, I didn’t even know what was real anymore and what wasn’t.

I wasn’t delusional or anything. Just a bit confused.

I looked unwillingly at my writing desk I never used. It had my laptop on it, but there was also an unopened letter given to me by my indefatigable landlady who watched the comings and goings of all. She was as steadfast as the alarm I felt every time I looked at the letter on my desktop. I had been avoiding reading it for days. Mostly because I didn’t want to know what was in it. But in a way I kind’ve already did know, or so I thought. If I had learned one thing from Mistress Genevieve, people have a way of surprising you––she certainly always did. I didn’t even know how she knew I was even here. But she did.

She knew it as certainly as she knew everything else in this uncertain world.

I was scared to read the letter she had sent me. Would she be angry, upset, if she knew what I was up to? Had she just grown tired of the other students at St. Martley’s, and so reached out to scold me one last time, her most disappointing pupil ever?

It sat there, the letter, looking like the underbellies of some spiders I have seen, warning me against it; but I had to know. I weighed the likelihood of the letter containing anything good against the reality that I had run off, quit St. Martley’s, and abandoned my mistress. Which was Genevieve.

Coward, I chided myself. Pick it up and read it.

I came to the letter, managing the first part.

Her letter felt like a paving stone in my hands. I felt the weight of her judgment and it terrified me.

Something about it made me think she had written to me in all caps, like she was screaming, or worse, like whatever she had to say was so spot on I wouldn’t be able to countermand it. If she said come back, I would come back. And then where would I be?

There were ten days left until the Turning. When invented Time turned over and the world got to start over again. I lived surrounded by change. The only one who stayed the same was me. Essentially, what had magic accomplished for me? If I were being honest with myself: not much.

And still a part of me thought: He didn’t come...

The rest was busy with this letter, a letter which could disillusion and disenchant, not to mention, disenfranchise, me––and probably, though I didn’t like to admit it, perhaps pull me back from the precipice; for so I was about to go over, cross a line, take a stand, announce myself to European witchcraft and wizardry: The girl who was chosen has selected to be un-Chosen.

An anagram of Rome was More. And my struggle with wanting to know more was at odds with a small part of me which missed St. Martley’s, missed going on, matriculating, Graduating.

This letter was my Graduation. I had to open it. To stare its contents down.

I slit it with my fingernail and gave myself a paper cut––and I pulled out the letter, watching as my blood darkened and stained the fibrous material. Halsey girl, it said. And I knew I would be all right.

Your Mother and Father––rest their souls––elected me your Guardian. We go on, when we are through, we graduate––and so now you are Eighteen. Something happens to a witch when she turns eighteen. It is said that if she does the thing right, she will come into her inheritance, whatever that may be. Oh, do not look for your inheritance in a letter, young girl. Do, however, please find enclosed––and it’s long overdue––something which (I almost wrote witch) you have earned, which is Your Diploma. We go on. We graduate. We Come Into our Powers. Which I’m sure you know, if this letter finds you well. I wonder what your band of Wiccan purity and innocence looks like. For so I have struggled to keep you Innocent and Pure.

Do not say NOTHING HAPPENS, for Life is a gift. As is our Marks.

You are Marked by the love of your family, and if, for whatever reason, you should ever find yourself in a hard place, just think of them, and what they would do. The answer is in your soul, Miss Rookmaaker, as I hope St. Martley’s is. You are with us, as we are to you. And if your family won’t help you, then I will. Or maybe that’s wrong. Maybe even Maximilian (whose name means “greatest,” btw) Marked you in ways so innocent and profound, that your father knew would be needed––he even saw fit to elect me

Your Godmother.

One last thing. I have observed the Past comes back to us when we need it most. When you were under my roof, you needed some sense put into your head. I foresee that good taste is not your problem. Rather, you feel too much. Let go, Halsey girl. Be like the satellite, which tumbles free from the confines of the earth. Magnetism pulls us back to the beginning. You to yours is a powerful tug. Embolden your heart and remember that I love you.

Genevieve

P.S. Becca is becoming really problematical. I tried to show her how to make a proper Wiccan W and she made a Q instead. Q for quiddity.

P.P.S. Don’t tear your Wiccan diploma up. It may come in handy. It’s time you forgave me for being so hard on you: when I see potential all I want to do is whip it into shape, fledge it. You possess all the hallmarks of a truly great witch. Remember to practice the four D’s: Desire, Dedication, Determination, and Discipline. And, above all, follow your Mark. Some witches have road signs laid out for them. Others do not. Open your eyes! Because... Those who remain Adept stay that way forever. While the truly Fledged––well, hopefully, you’ll see.

This thing last. Be reckless in your affections. Think what you yourself would tell your younger self and listen to her. Be external. Create lots of yous. Life ends or it never begins. G.

* * *

I turned to the diploma emblazoned with the St. Martley’s crest. My name and my 18th birthday, which was custom, said that on this day, I was ready to begin. But to begin what?

Being a Neophyte, I felt, was like being a freshman in college, a new beginning: but I was without campus or guidance, and I was on my own. There was no ‘come back’ in Mistress Genevieve’s voice; only acceptance, essentially, at what had been my choices.

Careful not to bleed on it, I inserted the diploma, and the letter, back into the envelope, sticking the entirety into my desk drawer, my mind like one of those mulchers, gobbling up the accrued wisdom of St. Martley’s and, of course, Mistress Genevieve’s, fabulous wooden rings.

Standing in my room above my beloved Via dei Condotti, I blew out the candles and let the nighttime consume me. No one had been in contact with me for over a week, not since the Gathering.

He didn’t come...

Chapter 2 – Ballard’s Problems

Beyond shopping, I hadn’t been out of my apartment all week. Even the werewolves had been keeping their distance, the familiar growls of their motorcycles an all too distant memory. It was 6:00 a.m. The sky outside the color of pitch. The sound of the rushing water was like rainfall, as I held my hand under the bathroom faucet, which flopped and spattered dirt from the shivering pipes, until they began to flow cool and clean, and I dabbed at my forehead, which was the source of my problems. You’ve been alone too long, I thought. My three Wiccan fingertips (thumb, middle, and index) looked like silver leaping fish. The intricate swirl of lines culminated in a fingerprint––an ornate crosshatching at the tip of my right index finger, which was unique. I wondered briefly if there were southpaws, in the world, left-handed Wiccans... I figured there must’ve been.

I read over Mistress Genevieve’s letter again, committing it to memory, and carefully opened my codex––all while managing not to get any of the pages wet, as I took a bath. I figured I would continue on with my practicing. Lux had said there was a correlation between Mark-development and hard work. I didn’t want to be left behind just because I was lazy. Two things fell out of the codex.

First was a map of the Gathering, which I crumpled up and threw in a wastepaper basket, with some smaller lightbulbs from the bathroom vanity: all exploded, naturally. Next was a letter from Veruschka Ravenseal, in which she had threatened me. (“You have until New Years––and then I will expect you at my home. Remember––I’m watching you. And keep a lookout for my man. He will come to get you. VR. Veruschka Ravenseal.”)

Several things occurred to me.

First: Genevieve had said “lots of yous;” Veruschka Ravenseal had once said she preferred to talk to lots of herself. Maybe Genevieve and Veruschka were talking about the same thing. This Wiccan concept of being in more places than one. But that was a Half-Lighter thing, wasn’t it? According to craft ardanes, the use of them (of the Ashers of the world; those who could scry) was illegal. Then how was Veruschka seeing me? Unless she could turn invisible, and had stalker tendencies, I didn’t see how she could be watching me. Keep a lookout for her man. Was I supposed to be watching like they could? I gave up, confused. I also threw her letter away. The bath was becoming lukewarm and I postponed my magical education to get a soak. Half-Lighters are only illegal within the contexts of war, I told myself. Veruschka may be perfectly able to look at you whenever she pleases. I exhaled underwater. So be it.

It was the 22nd. Not counting today, I had nine days to prepare for the arrival of her man, and to think up some excuse to placate them both. Maybe I would just tell Veruschka and him to shove it. I could still feel her handprint from where she had slapped me. It made me angry. Did I have any say-so or would I have to go with them?

No––I was eighteen––I would do what I pleased.

The water erupted from the tap in a rhythmic pattern.

It had been so long since I had seen Lennox, I had gotten used to thinking of him as someone who was perpetually elsewhere.

Not having him was almost as bad as wanting him in the first place. It made me ache all over. There was no cure.

I decided to put my mind to other uses. Such as what the Dioscuri had meant when they told me to find... them. But unlooked-for Lennox’s specter seemed to materialize before me.

This was silly. I’m not dreaming, am I? I said to the Lennox-hallucination, who seemed to glimmer before me. He vanished as if in response.

Had something inside of me broken?

Maybe I couldn’t see Lennox because there was nothing to see. When I scried him there was just darkness, like the dark aether. Had Lennox survived the Agonies?

Or had he been––killed?

I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t seen him in months. I needed to get out. Something.

Ballard.

I needed Trastevere; the ancient cobblestones; the erratic helter-skelter of the streets; the dirty laundry hanging in the sky, across those streets; the oldness; the I-don’t-give-a-damn, and, of course, the smell of the Tiber, the rich flow of the blood through the Old World.

The intrusion of reality left a sobering aftertaste in my brain-mouth. Why had I not foreseen this? I had felt it. But it had come on so gradually. Distance was never good in a relationship and Lennox and I had the ultimate distance––being that we were separate species. Lennox a vampire, I a witch. But, then, something was going on. After all, how many times did a vampire fall in love with a witch? He was clearly older than I was. World-savvy. He also didn’t seem to have a problem acquiring money. He could do what he pleased. Would he leave Rome too?

I was already beginning to perceive of myself as a wanderer. Like one of those eclectic witches or wizards––like Asher or Selwyn; or, said a little part of me, Vittoria, wherever she was.

It was because I didn’t have a House––a three-dimensional place where I could learn and train Wicca. I needed to find it. House Rookmaaker.

It felt good thinking about other things. We should do this more often, I told myself sarcastically, and then wondered if I would be like one of those old cat ladies––the gattare, as they were called, here in Rome––though if people realized there were other Cats in the world, such as I Gatti, I don’t think they would be so hasty to criticize them––incapable of social intercourse with anyone but felines.

I felt slashed-up, woebegone. I had no recourse to St. Martley’s, or to Mistress Genevieve. I would write to no one, I would interact with no one. I stopped short at ripping my four-poster apart, lest my landlady think I had gone completely off my head, and refrained from kicking in the slats of my closet door. Neither would I smash the Iron Roses, or break my laptop. Lennox inspired no desire to rearrange my room. But I felt his absence heavily, and wondered why he had so effectively booted me from his brain. As Infester had said: they will have a Power... A Power of Sight.

Maybe the prophecy meant two others––that Lennox and I weren’t meant for this... existence... or to be together...

The House, the House...

Rome for me was poisoned. I had nowhere to go. I wouldn’t just rush off, but I wouldn’t stay either. Admittedly, I was in a terrifying place, a place I had not been in for ages, since I came to Rome––and worse, my visa was running out. Somehow I had been so overwhelmed by this unbelievable inclusion in an as-yet un-understood magical world that I forgot I was also part of the hopelessly mortal, mundane world, where things such as ninety-day stays existed, and there was a EU (European Union) and a Schengen Agreement. People could pass to-and-fro across relatively open borders. I did not have carte blanche like I did within the spectral community of werewolves, whom I realized I had never fundamentally seen alter their shapes. Ballard was Ballard, and Lia moreso. I had only their words and the fact that Il Gatto, who was Gaven, had ordered his werewolf boys and girls to fight back revenants and bloodsuckers––a werewolfy thing to do. A very long daymare whipped through my head like a satellite on the periphery of House Ravenseal, which would be squashed, destroyed, especially as I was only officially a Neophyte and couldn’t conjure my way out of a paper bag, but even more officially, because I somehow recognized that whereas Ravenseal was good for giving face time to things such as band together and work for the common good, etc., etc., and striving to prevent the past, in reality they were headed up by a tenacious she-bitch who wouldn’t for a second pause in destroying my parents’ House. Especially as you needed someone third-degree or higher to run your own autonomous coven. And as has been said, I was not. More on that later.

Selwyn. I didn’t know why I had not been thinking about him. It was my fault he was gone. But to go, I would need something more; to get him, I would need something more. After all, I didn’t speak Czech. And then there was the fact that the Dioscuri and the Master House seemed to be connected––and that meant the twins and who knew what else? I couldn’t go up against all of them. I couldn’t go up against any of them! I needed help. Selwyn was in Prague, in the Districts of Magic, which was located northeast, past the Alps, through Slovenia, Austria. It was landlocked. It was called Praha. Prague. The Czech Republic. It was winter there, which would mean snow, but I didn’t give a damn. I would take my Gambalunga, the motorcycle Ballard had built for me. But what about Ballard? Would he want to go with me? Would Lia let him go with me? After all, he was the only reliable mechanic good enough to run his Uncle Risky’s motorcycle shop. I felt an itch––a dangerous itch, in my fingertips, which I could not ignore––and then the heat rush happened again; I gave myself over to it, like a dull throbbing, wondering if this was it for me. If all I would ever be was some pulsating freak monster all by herself. The intoxicating stirring spread to the remainder of my limbs––to the very core of my being. Where it raced through my Mark, I could feel a surge of Power. I was suddenly so lonesome I could howl. Would Lia take kindly to me rapping on the door this early in the morning? She was still living at home.

I couldn’t help it. I needed to get away. To hell with the Diary. I grabbed my helmet from out of the closet: fire-red to match my bike. And then I stopped, because something red was poking out of the detritus.

Embossed with the number six, it was the red marker Selwyn (and House Rookmaaker) had been awarded, but hadn’t been able to use, prior to the Gathering. The marker I didn’t even know I had. It must’ve fallen out of my pocket or something. Selwyn must’ve slipped it in there before––when I was busy, when I wasn’t looking. Unbeknownst. I picked it up and thinking better tucked it into my new Diary, Volume III. I grabbed a black hoodie, throwing it on the bed, and fetched out my riding boots. In moments I was dressed in a pair of old Levi’s-brand jeans, and my book, with the marker in it, tucked inside my helmet. I put my hood up. My landlady said nothing as I walked past her. I didn’t even look at her. If anything, we had come to an understanding, the two of us. I was damaged goods and it was good that I was on my way out. I supplied the “I hope I never see you again,” and got out. Deranged. Damaged. Dead. In my soul and in my mind. But so what? I was over it. I didn’t care anymore. Lennox was a free agent––he could see whomever he pleased.

Camille’s ghost-face looked reproachfully at me as I imagined what she would say. Breaking up meant more than never seeing Lennox again.

Sigh. Blank face. Sigh.

It meant losing an anchor, without which I was adrift, alone, and in dire need of companionship. Do nothing to yourself, I told myself.

My blood would not abate; instead a recklessness overwhelmed me. I found my Gambalunga in the park and started it. It was so cold out my breath fogged. Pretty soon both I and the Gambalunga were snorting, and running under the power of our own resolve. For I needed it now, that resolve, and the reassurance of my Gambalunga, more than ever. Ballard was my true anchor. The only one who was, quote-unquote, always there for me.

* * *

I spent the remainder of the early morning cruising, in spite of my so-called resolve. This involved veering wildly through alleyways (vicoli), cutting through traffic, which never seemed to let up, racing traffic lights, just in general trying to lose myself. The second-guessing, which had plagued my spirit, was over. Lennox––was gone. He was free.

The muffled fits of my Gambalunga sounded silent in the muffled globe surrounding my head case––I mean headspace. Even the old stick of the throttle was gone. I watched as the last of the stars raced across the sky, and the moon (some would call it a supermoon) wheeled over the many monuments whose names I had never bothered to learn.

The torre dell’Orologio (I had looked that one up) was the name of the watchtower I had seen in Venice. But then a mental block appeared. Thinking about Venice was off-limits. Everything to do with––him was. I would have to create new thoughts, a new persona; I would have to be somebody else, yes. I decided I would start immediately. Lots of mes. The old me was gone. The new me was chilled to the bone, teeth rattling, yet faster, faster––almost as though I could facilitate the change by speed alone. Why weren’t they wheeling fast enough, those stars? I wanted the morning. The sunlight unto tomorrow. Not to have to think about nasty, depressing yesterday. Or what the future would hold for me. But sun. And a blazing star. Because then I could forget. Because then I needed to. Yes. I needed to.

* * *

I was a wet dog. A bedraggled old soul stuck in a young soul. I needed a Ballard “in his own sauce,” so to speak––the lemony-fresh scent of his small ho-vel. And then it hit me, the pitiful state of my whatevers. Literally I had a diary and a motorcycle. Nagging me was the realization that I had lineage––a name, a birthright. My own House. But that Wiccans were supposed to be lin-e-aged. Literally produced through a factory-like process to become Fledged; which I would not be, and, therefore, checks and balances, there must be a higher authority, mustn’t there, The Master House, for instance, who looked over Wiccan Initiates and made sure they were progressing correctly? But I would not be subservient to them. It wasn’t what my parents had wanted. I had failed in my faithfulness to––him. (The whole Lux thing came to mind.) I would not in my charge to them. House Rookmaaker had to become my priority––but first Ballard, and then Selwyn, if I could. But I had one advantage, with regards to the black cat––Selwyn was sneaky, a virtuoso. And who knew? Just because I had seen him go, didn’t mean they had grabbed him. Maybe he knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe, in that moment, he had been protecting me––à la the prophecy of sorts––and had been willing to face whatever on my behalf. Would I let him?

He was my Protector. Somehow, I didn’t see why that should equal a death sentence.

In a bad situation, then, anything can mean anything, and there is no certainty. Keep your eyes open!

I swerved, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision, and throttled back. Mistress Genevieve’s words came back to me. Road signs, I told myself.

The pounding in my head was beginning to lessen somewhat. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I think I just wanted to feel road beneath my tires, to put the jeopardy of my life in my own hands.

For too long it had felt like others had been controlling me. Here was something I could do. And I realized something else. Before, I had looked into Wiccanings on my computer, baby baptisms for cutie Crafters: infant whathaveyous. Wiccanings indoctrinated––there was that word again––young ones into the community of Crafters; but it didn’t say you had to become one. I would have a choice. I knew that now. To do whatever I wanted.

And if I turned my back on it, on Wicca, so be it. I knew my parents would not disapprove. I was free to live my own life. And so a crossroads was before me. To do one thing or the other? Walk from Crafting or take it up, and so follow it... to the bitter end.

My mind was already made up. The fact of wanting to see Ballard was my answer. Risky had wanted Ballard and I to hook up––you know what I mean. Not Lia and me; or even the werewolves and me; but Ballard and me.... It felt special. Like I had an assignment. A destiny. Together he and I could figure––out––well––anything. In which case, I existed in a state of whatevers. Step one was the boy with the curly, dark hair. My lifemate. My destiny-amanuensis. I would dedicate myself to the proposition that he and I had no choice, that we should do this; and therefore must.

We were fated to do this, to find House Rookmaaker, just as Risky had been fated to do whatever he had done––somewhere, someone or other was looking out for us.

This monologue coincided with my snaking my way through Rome, to Trastevere. It was silent, in Trastevere. No distant zipping through the vicoli on Ducatisti. Peaceful. The new dawn of a new day.

But then looks could be deceiving. I had to remind myself of the imminent changes, in the wolf pack.

Hopefully the transition of Gaven being Il Gatto, to someone new, would be a smooth one. The Wolves were only feral for so long, and then they got put out to seed––or stud. The marriage of Lia and Gaven was wonderfully coincidental, didn’t I think? I only hoped they were managing it well, especially Lia. She was giving up a lot to be with Gaven. We’ll see, I told myself.

I needed a voice––someone’s––to douse the sense of hopelessness, welling within my breast. I felt the indefinable pull of my choices. But also that maybe I did not have a choice. That maybe I had been born into something. My four D’s were Marek, Ballard, and, of course, Lennoxlove Lenoir and Selwyn; and in a way I loved them each, distinctly. If I needed protecting, from whom was I in danger? Again the question.

I turned the corner, into a grey-lit alleyway, and wouldn’t you know it, there was the Rosen Family motorcycle shop. The metal roll-up door, which led into the garage, was already opened, welcoming in a bright new day, which was the start of tomorrow.

D for Defenders, I told myself. My full moon was waiting.

* * *

I cut the engine and stepped off my Gambalunga––Ballard had once told me that thievery in Trastevere was non-existent; no kidding. The last thing someone needed was a pack of werewolves who could smell them, hear them, bite them, track them. You did not mess with I Gatti. The exhaust toot-tooted and that was it. I looked for the telltale sparks coming out of the door, but there were none. Whoever was in there, it didn’t sound like they were working.

“Ow!”

I heard someone cursing. Ballard stepped out, sucking on his thumb.

“Tired of being everyone’s biotch,” he said. Apparently, he hadn’t heard me approach, because he went on in that fashion, mumbling to himself, until, randomly, he cracked a smile and started chuckling. It was a moment before I realized he had a pair of earbuds in his ears and was listening to rap music.

The familiar grease rag dangled out of his back pocket of his jeans which were frayed at the bottom, and he was holding a bloody crescent wrench.

I played a little game, sitting on my Gambalunga, with how long it would take him to see me, flipping the visor of my helmet up. Something which I really liked about Ballard was how committed, emotionally, he got in things. Whatever he did, he did it all of the way. So I was not surprised when he didn’t notice me. Whatever he was thinking about, it seemed to consume him.

Speaking of Ballard, it was like he had gone through a growth spurt of sorts. Ballard, the sixteen-year-old, didn’t look like Ballard, the sixteen-year-old, anymore. He had always been on the scrawny side; I don’t mean runt of the litter, but he had never exactly challenged the rest of the members of the werewolves, as far as size was concerned. They were all six nine. He was not. Now, however, it looked as though he had somehow managed to split the difference. Ballard was six three at least; he had put on half a foot. And he had also filled out in the shoulder area. Which didn’t seem possible. I hadn’t been gone that long.

I guessed he was growing up, literally before my very eyes.

I watched him for another minute or two. It looked like something was puzzling him. The smile became a grimace and he turned to go inside.

Our eyes met.

Something incredible happened. Caught as he was unawares, I saw the look of the werewolf behind his eyes. It was only a flash but it was there. Even when he saw me staring, he didn’t bother turning away. Instead, it was like the animal inside of him was standing on the edge of a great forest––and then it turned to go inside. Ballard, however, stood his ground.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he said, but only because it was witty and suggested supernatural things were afoot. “How are you, Halls?”

I shrugged, still on my motorcycle. He smiled at me, and then I broke down completely. The whole Lennox thing had subconsciously rearranged me. I realized now that it was a thing. That I was missing Lennox hard. Where was he, and what was he doing? I guess it was lucky Ballard was good at fixing things, because that fit me to a T. What the H? I had come for general repairs and maybe a grattachecca.

Ballard shuffled his feet momentarily, uncertain how to proceed. I sniffed unselfconsciously, scrunching up my eyes, and flipped down my visor. My diary was strapped below my seat.

“I’ll be all right,” I said. It echoed in my helmet-top. He was over to me in a second.

“You never told me this motorcycle was so expensive,” I said. “I mean ridiculously expensive, Ballard.”

“Well, if you are who those Ravenseal wackjobs say you are––and my Uncle Risky...” he said, but cut it short.

That last one had some clout. Ballard believed in Risky. They all did. I had never heard Risky’s name mentioned without some kind of awe in the voice of the speaker. It was Gaven who gave Risky his biggest credentials, calling him the greatest werewolf to have ever lived. Somehow, just then, I thought Ballard could take the prize. He held me and nuzzled my helmet-top. “Something happen?” he asked me, sincerely.

I just held him. Implied was the beatdown he’d put on whoever had hurt me.

“No.” I shrugged and wiggled some more. He liked to rock me when he hugged and I didn’t mind. It kind’ve meant something more, but I didn’t mind that either. I was beginning to realize I was free.

I sniffed again and gulped down my runny nose, saying, loudly enough so that he could hear: “I want to be I Gatti or well affiliated with you at least.”

Ballard wiggled some more.

I popped up my visor, better now.

“Jeez, your eyes are sore,” said Ballard.

“Did you hear me?” I asked.

“Check. You want to be a werewolf. What’s bothering you, anyway?” he said.

“Nothing. I need a grattachecca,” I said.

“You got it,” said Ballard.

I waited in his shop while he went to make us some––and there I encountered the salt-and-pepper countenance of the sly, elusive, Risky Rosen, Ballard’s uncle.

It was a portrait which hung on the wall.

“Actually,” said Ballard, returning with our grattacheccas––which really should have been grattachecci, “Rosen is my father’s name. Risky and my mother were siblings, remember? But it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?” I said, eating the ice and syrup concoction.

“Well, because we don’t have the hangups you guys do––you know, about family names and all that. Excuse me, House names. That’s silly. And it’s going to breed nothing but contempt.”

“Where is Ballard and what have you done with him?” I asked, only half serious, but it seemed to have a big effect on him.

“I just don’t get why Wiccans have to reject where they come from, is all. I don’t understand why they have to lose their names,” said Ballard.

“How does Lia feel about having to take Gaven’s name?” I asked. “Or is she going to hyphenate?”

“Meh,” said Ballard. “Oh no!”

“What? What is it?” I said. I looked around, wondering what was going on.

Ballard was alarmed. He raced to his old PC. “No! My part! Now I’ll never get it.” He slapped the keyboard. “I’ve just been outbid,” he said, turning the computer monitor, so that I could see.

I looked: intake manifold and gasket kit.

“Is it too late?” I asked.

Apparently he had just lost out on the only one. “Now my motorcycle will never run,” he said. He sucked his thumb again, and then ate his grattachecca, looking like he had come to the end of his existence.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I said.

He gave me a withering look.

“Can’t you use one of these?” I said. I pointed to the other bikes around the shop.

There were literally twenty of them, all on racks––each of which was undergoing some kind of minor operation. “They suck,” said Ballard, dismissively, and reverting again to his woe-is-me attitude. “That’s it, then,” he said, defeated. I felt like I could relate. Given––I thought––the whole Lennox thing.

I looked at my Gambalunga––and then reconsidered; I loved it too much to give it away, even if it did cost a hundred thousand dollars, and could solve all of Ballard’s problems. “I guess I won’t be Il Gatto, after all,” he said, reminding me. Ballard shrugged.

The race! How could I have forgotten?

“We do three laps to see who will be the head cyanthrope, remember?” he said, looking as dejected as I had ever seen him in my life. Cyanthrope was someone who turned into a dog (a werewolf).

“But I thought it was for a year––” I said. “I thought the race was for a year.”

Gaven had won it just last summer. He still had six months to go, didn’t he?

“It only lasts as long as you have a tail, and can shift, and as Gaven can no longer transform, it’s time to elect a new leader: by racing,” said Ballard. He looked like he was going to be sick.

Gaven. I wondered how he was doing?

“Oh, he’s all right,” said Ballard. “After all, he’s got Lia. It’s sickening the way he makes puppy-dog eyes at her. Like he has no self-respect. Always chasing after her. And the sounds she makes. It should be outlawed. I can’t wait until they’re no longer under my roof, you know what I mean?” He made a retching face.

“I think it sounds romantic,” I said.

He just rolled his eyes at me.

“She says fetch and he fetches. It’s like, I don’t know, she’s emascu––what is it? Emasculated him. Or something,” said Ballard.

“Good use of ‘Or something’,” I said. “Maybe he just knows what’s important.”

But thinking about it made me hurt inside, so I stopped.

“Besides,” I said. “You’re too young to be Head Wolf. They’re all twentysomethings, remember? And you, you’re a kid.”

“Not you too,” said Ballard. “I would have taken it last year, won the race,” he said, “if fate hadn’t intervened. Or did you forget?”

“There’s just the small matter of you falling off your racing bike,” I said.

I didn’t tell him that what I really wanted was for him to be with me: free. I couldn’t have him settling down here. Not if we were going to Prague together.

“Sorry. It’s just,” I said, “last time you nearly died. And I care about you too much. Besides, you have all kinds of time, I mean, don’t you?”

“What d’you mean?” said Ballard.

“Well, I mean, you’re, you know, and most of them are, well, you know. You’ll be it longer than they will, won’t you? A werewolf, I mean.”

“I guess,” said Ballard, who looked like he hadn’t been listening.

“They only started turning when they were how old, whereas you, I mean you’re really young. According to Gaven, it’s unprecedented, a werewolf being so young.”

“I’ll have no more ‘according to Gaven’––or Gaven’s orders––thank you very much,” said Ballard.

“You know what I mean, Ballard,” I said. “You’re special.”

“I am not!” he said. I had finally gotten under his skin. He looked angry about something.

It hit me that maybe he had been living with obligations of one type or another himself––to be a werewolf or something.

“Are,” I said. “And I won’t hear differently.” I slurped my grattachecca.

He apologized for his outburst.

“I’ve just been stressed out, is all. Sándor and Septimus––my twin older brothers––well, they’re coming to the wedding, and my parents will be there. You know, the people who raised Lia and me––and never told us about––about any of it,” said Ballard. The bitterness had crept back into his voice. I assumed he meant his condition of having lycanthropy. Being, in Italian, lupo mannaro. A wolf-man. But it should really be lupo boy-o; I didn’t want him growing up too fast. I decided to steer us in a new direction.

“I bet it’s gotta be tough,” I said; he stumbled with the translation of gotta, but then nodded his head, clearly an understatement on my part. I bit my lip. Something in me wanted to ask him to show me a werewolf transformation immediately. I think I was thinking about the monster I had seen. I wanted to know that there was some difference between it and Ballard. And between Rome and the outside.

Ballard looked like Atlas. The weight of the Werewolf World on his shoulders. Plus, he was really buff.

“There’s a statue of Rhea Silvia,” he said, “called the Capitoline Wolf, an Etruscan bronze in the form of a she-wolf. Romulus and Remus get to suckle Rhea Silvia, you know, they get to grow up with it, lycanthropy. Be mothered. Whereas I. It’s like it got thrust upon me. I was weened of lycanthropy from infancy. And now it’s back. And, like you say, the gift is showing itself early. Gaven is convinced it is a sign, but the others are skeptical. And something else is going on,” said Ballard. “You remember Locke?”

It took me a second, but I nodded my head. He was a taciturn, unpleasant sort of werewolf, Locke––one of the old Team Leaders from when we had the Gathering; Locke gave me the creeps, which I knew I shouldn’t have said, so I kept my mouth shut. It was almost like Locke, though an impressive specimen, physically, was aloof, outside of the Pack, while being paradoxically esteemed within its group. (It wasn’t a fraternity because there were female members in I Gatti. All except for Lia, who had lost her Gift, while acquiring Wicca. Something else she shared with her soon-to-be hubby, was the absence of their animals. Gaven was no longer a transformer, being that he was over thirty and old.) “Anyway,” Ballard said, “Yeah. Locke’s been making trouble.”

By troublemaking, Ballard said, “Locke’s been angling to be in charge, you know, politicking.”

“You mean he wants to be Head Wolf?” I said.

I asked Ballard why this was so bad, but he just scowled.

“So Locke’s been campaigning, so what?” I said. In fact, I was glad Locke did anything so normal as speak. He had certainly never opened his mouth in front of me before, except once.

But Ballard insisted it was not how it was done.

“How what’s done?” I asked.

He looked at me. And again, I saw that menacing, prowling something, behind his eyes. The shade of the werewolf.

“Il Gatto is a distinction earned through daring,” said Ballard. “It’s like riding the biggest wave, or k-killing the most dangerous bear. You don’t just talk your way into the Headship and are elected Il Gatto. Everyone knows it’s a motorcycle competition. In I Gatti, we race for it!” His fist was in the air. It was important I understand how macho and badass werewolves were.

“So when is the race?” I asked.

This was the wrong question.

“Never, if Locke gets his way. He keeps saying the next Il Gatto will be the most important in our history, and whoever is elected, it should be because they’ll be the best fit for ‘the particular problems we will face.’ Or some such. I’m not good at all that talking. I prefer the actual doing. You know? Something Locke fails at completely. He’s all talk. No. Don’t start. I know what I’m talking about. If he gets elected,” said Ballard, “you’ll see what I mean. Rome will fall to pieces. Again. Gaven picked the wrong time to get old.”

I thought about that. In fact, I had a theory: that the Head didn’t matter so much. It was the body politic and all its processes which gave the Head its power. Without the worker bees there could be no queen bees.

It was impossible that Wicca not intrude on my dream scenario. In Wicca, females ruled. The werewolves seemed to be patriarchal; now Locke wanted to change all that. Maybe Lia could be Head. I asked Ballard.

But he cut me off. “Please. The Head should be a dude. Pure and simple.”

“Why can’t women participate?” I asked, indignantly.

“Lia only mattered when she was Gaven’s thang,” said Ballard, not without smiling. “When he was the Head. Now that he’s not... the crown, or whathaveyou, is being held in interreges, waiting for the new one to be––yuck––figured out. Gaven’s a puppet Head only. A figurehead. A lame duck. That’s it. Gaven is a lame duck. Those are the words.” Ballard smiled.

“I’ve always considered Gaven to be a cool cat,” I said, “despite his being a werewolf.... Meanwhile, Lia is an Alpha cyanthrope...”

“Alpha, beta, beta, alpha,” said Ballard. “And she’s not a cyanthrope, she’s a witchanthrope.”

“Don’t be such a misanthrope. You know what I mean, she’s got a good head on her shoulders,” I said.

“There’s just the fact that she can’t transform any longer,” said Ballard.

“Has it not come back?” I asked, wondering about Lia’s transformation, and if possible, if she could somehow become the first Shifter Witch in a century––since the great Rhea Silva, who I didn’t know anything about, but kept thinking of. I didn’t know why, but it felt like Rhea Silva was our mother. Like she was Lia’s and my mother. Our Wiccan mother. Our precursor, maybe. That we had been brought into a great tradition. Which was like my Mark. I had my mother’s Mark. The hoodie was keeping it under wraps. Good thing about winter––it hides your Marks.

Ballard just sighed.

“It’s hard being the one who’s never chosen,” he said. And then: “Gaven–– he’s like one of those dogs running around with its hindquarters strapped in a two-wheeler; you know, gimped?”

“Ballard...” I said.

“They treat him like a dead man walking, or worse, like a leper. He’s wandering aimlessly. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s sticking around for her. Lia. Before I met you, when Lia was first shifting, she used to be in and out,” said Ballard. “My parents were really worried. They didn’t know what was going on––which I’ve just learned was a complete and utter lie. They did know what was going on. They just wouldn’t tell me. Anyway––they wondered why she kept running around with that dratted boy. Now, apparently, they’re going to rewrite the past and say they knew Gaven was the Pack Leader, and an alright dude. Apparently the old Leader whom Gaven replaced, Lorenzo, had run off. I forget what happened. Actually, I think he was banished. I’ve been thinking about the cats. They say a new cat will have to get thrown out of his home range and wander to find a mate. That’s sort of the same with wolves. You realize that there’s only one, quote-unquote, mating pair within a pack of wolves, right? In the wild, they form packs of between six and eight. But we’re werewolves, so it’s a little different. And the pack sizes are larger. Our pack’s never been this large before. And there have been squabbles,” said Ballard, his mind all over the place. “They say the sin of large families is backbiting. Whatevs.”

I didn’t know if I was a bad influence on him or what. But I waited for Ballard to talk again.

“Anyway. What I was saying is Lia and Gaven are like this,” he said. He entwined his fingertips. “They don’t want him coming back. Gaven,” said Ballard, making sure I understood.

“Wait... What?” I said.

He sighed.

“It’s a hard life being a wolf. Moreso when your own pack turns on you.”

“I Gatti has turned its pack––I mean its back––on Gaven?”

“Not to his face,” said Ballard, unhelpfully, “but you get the gist.”

“No. I really don’t,” I said. “Explain.”

“Gaven is old,” said Ballard. It seemed obvious to him. Then why did I feel like I was missing something?

“You don’t mean to say––” I said, “they don’t want him around anymore?”

“Bingo,” said Ballard, and winked at me.

Now I was completely confused. And I was starting to get angry. Gaven was Gaven. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. I focused on Ballard with my eyes to get him to elaborate. Maybe he could see the fierceassness behind my eyes. Maybe he thought I would put a jinx on him. Whatever it was, he started talking more explicitly, in a way I could understand.

“Gaven can’t shift. He is no longer one of us. Before you get upset,” said Ballard, “it was my advice that the Council, the Werewolf Council, you remember, make him a lifetime member of the Pack, a consiglieri, you know, a respected advisor, someone on the board of trustees, that sort of thing––that’s why I haven’t been around, I’ve been busy–– Happy birthday, by the way,” he said to me.

“Thanks.”

“––but apparently it’s against the rules, and now he’s a dummy figurehead waiting for his successor. I didn’t make the rules,” said Ballard, who could see me getting visibly upset. “In fact, the Council, of which I’m not a member––too young, remember?––suggested that I was colluding with him, that Gaven was trying to exert his waning influence to choose his successor, but then that’s how Locke is, he makes everyone so paranoid, to the point where they turned away from Gaven. It’s almost like he’s outcast, or worse: like Gaven’s a non-person. A non-wolf. NWG. Non-wolf Gaven.

“But it’s only during Wolf Councils. Of course, everyone’s going to be at the wedding. They think it’s a good thing. They want Gaven gone and maybe his honeymoon will help expedite the transition. Out of sight, out of mind. Or something.

“Gaven is like that old wolf,” said Ballard, which was a kind of echo from the man himself. “With him here, no one else can establish dominance, become an Alpha.”

But I had had enough.

“You cannot become an Alpha,” I said angrily. “Either you’re born with it, or you’re not. And I know Locke. And he’s not. Despite what others may say!”

Locke was not an alpha dog. Nor was he a beta. He was a tertiary character who was a whining cur and I wouldn’t let him treat Gaven this way. I wouldn’t.

“But you forget there’s also Paolo, and some others,” said Ballard. “They all want their shot. In the absence of Alphas someone will rise to seize the Alpha Headship in their stead.”

“I don’t care,” I said. “Gaven should be Head. He’s oldest and he’s the wisest. And he’s the hottest. So there.”

Ballard just sighed though.

Apparently I wasn’t a werewolf so I didn’t understand.

“Do you know what happens when someone new and younger comes in? Either the old make way or there’s civil war. Gaven knows this. He doesn’t want to be the cause of discord. Especially during these troubling times,” said Ballard.

I snorted.

Ballard did his so-be-it look.

Ballard had a point, but I had the rest. Hadn’t I seen Ballard, in one of my dreams, as Head of the Pack? Not Paolo. Not Locke. Not even Lia. But Ballard. I decided to keep it to myself. But my Diary had to know. And I made a vow to myself that I would get it all down.

This new sometimes-wise Ballard was really annoying. I missed the old hothead. But now he contained distinctions. I would keep my eye on that.

Locke was a bozo––there could be no denying that; and if he was leading the Council, perhaps it wasn’t such a leap that he would become Head Wolf. I rubbed my Wiccan fingertips together, itching to pick a fight.

As far as mating pairs went, all the werewolves hooked up with each other. Ballard said they had extraordinary sexual appetites. Maybe they just needed to go with their instincts on this one, whatever that meant. But it did explain one thing. Why there were no old werewolves in the Pack. They had all been ostracized.

Chapter 3 – Luminarium

Ballard had reinvented himself: he was more self-confident, less of a kid, more inclined to talk impromptu and passionately on various subjects, and his mind raced, like a million out-of-control Gambalungas.

He was working on a crutch or a clutch or a brake lining or something, which was all technical mumbo-jumbo to me, while I wrote in my diary. He took the opportunity to look at it again, and comment that, Didn’t I know better? “What would happen,” he said, “if your Diary fell into the wrong hands?”

I shrugged. “They would be entertained? Besides,” I said, “imagine if there were the Risky Diaries, if he had kept a journal? What might we know then?”

He nodded, thinking about it.

“You haven’t, you know, found out anything, have you?” he said. “I mean, when I was... I mean... did you?” He looked at me bug-eyed.

“You mean when you were ignoring me, Ballard? No,” I said. “I don’t know anything new. Why?”

He looked relieved.

“Good,” he said. “That way we can figure things out together.”

It was like that whole episode in October-November-December was forgotten about.

I looked at him curiously. For whatever reason, he and I were linked. It was like we were lineaged to each other. Descendants of the same problem. What had Risky and the Rookmaakers been up to, that it got the Rookmaakers killed?

And Risky. Whatever had happened, he had never spoken about it to anyone. Not even Gaven or Lia. If Risky wasn’t a Rosen, who was he? What had happened to him? What happened to the Rookmaakers, and what was Risky’s role in it? Risky had left Ballard a cryptic note, along the lines of find Halsey Rookmaaker. But now what?

The absence of any answer was my biggest problem in life. Risky was dead and my parents too. But then, the secret must lay in House Rookmaaker. I abused my diary gnatting at the problem.

Ballard was rocking out to his beat-up boom box, music I had never heard before. I must’ve looked all weird, sitting cross-legged with my hair in my lap. I needed a haircut. I couldn’t be left standing around not knowing what to do, if I was going to have my own House. I was a Mistress now. The Rookmaaker of Rookmaaker House. Me. It felt like something which had been unearned. And I wondered why my parents had left it to me? If I was ever going to be worthy of House Rookmaaker, I would have to start earning it now. Unbidden came the image of the two gravediggers, and the words: stormr hamrinum. I looked at my Mark, wondering if I should try it. Reckless, said a small voice in my ear.

The words had been spoken, like a magic spell, or an incantation.

I needed someone who could teach me the ropes––instruct me in the ways of Wicca––because only then could I exercise my power––and keep House Rookmaaker from becoming the kind of place I imagined the Ravenseals had become––decadent, hierarchical, and competitive in a way which was disadvantageous to everyone except those few at the very top.

My parents would’ve wanted Rookmaaker to be a place of inclusion, I felt; and since I had no one else to discuss the matter with...

I bent my head over the paper.

“How’s the vampire situation in Rome going?” I asked, wondering if Ballard’s family was still hunting them.

Ballard looked up. His forehead slick with sweat.

“It’s like they’ve vanished,” he said. He went back to his work. So apparently the vampires were all gone.

With Rome now definitively the werewolves’, I would be free to develop House Rookmaaker unencumbered by outside influences.

And if the Lenoir, or House Ravenseal, or the Master House tried to interfere with me, woe betide the individuals who got on the wrong side of us.

It will flourish like a roisin dubh in the hot Roman sun, my Wiccan House––wherever it was.

* * *

Things to do by Magic (a list). I wrote: fly, turn invisible; I made a list, ticking them all off, fully intending to learn each one.

Next, I made a chart of all the known werewolves in Ballard’s family––and their proclivities....

There was Locke... And Paolo, of course; Liesel, Lia, Gaven, Ballard. There was also Raina, Lorentz, Blunt, Giorgio, Berenice, Michelle––Pendderwenn. It was funny. There was actually a werewolf named Pendderwenn. I had thought that was a Wiccan House, yet here it was, being used by a daughter (not son) of Romulus. Oh, I remembered, writing it down. There was also Leander, another one of the Werewolf Team Leaders. I listed who was alpha and who was beta. I thought a bit, for if I had missed one. Volt and Pouch, I wrote. I didn’t know the Pack dynamics well at all.

Who were all of these lycanthropes?

Plus there were lots more of them––the ones I had never directly ‘met’––the other shape shifters.

I stood with my back to Ballard and looked at the motorcycle shop, my eyes wandering to the open garage door. Rome was like a wonderful shining metropolis which held the glitter of my future happiness. The past was receding. Ballard’s past. Mine. The seven hills were like a fortification, defending us. Somewhere a horn sounded, a statue was crumbling.... And all the while I thought of him, and how we had come so close to our dreams, only to feel them abandon us, like the fog which rushes in and rolls out, each morning. A blanket of filth overhung Rome. I would miss it, when I left. I would miss the romantic notion that I would miss Rome, but I would miss Rome, nonetheless.

So there were four big ones: Paolo, Locke, Leander, and Liesel (who was a chick); and also the big three, Gaven, Lia (another chick; I don’t know why that interested me so much), and Ballard.

Something else occurred to me. With House Pendderwenn now extinct (and by that, I meant, all of its members now dead), mine was the only Wiccan House in Rome. In a way I had already fortuitously met the neighbors. What is more, we got along. Which was really big news. I saw Rome as a small community of like-minded pre-, post-, and current shape changers. And me.

(Post would be what happened when you got too old, and pre, like Volt and Pouch, and those types: adolescents not yet into their powers; which is what Ballard should have been; but he wasn’t, he was alpha dog; in point of fact, my alpha dog.)

Ballard continued to work on the strange and sparkly motorcycle, while I thought about this, and who should be the new Il Gatto.

He could not refrain, however, from asking the question I had hoped Ballard would avoid. Namely, what had happened between me and––what’s-his-face? Lennox?

It’s over.

We’ve moved on.

I’m flying solo now.

I’m going to become a lesbian.

“Please don’t bring up the past, Ballard. I’m trying to block it out,” I said. “Do you mind?”

But he just said: “I liked those two bloodsuckers. What were their names, Dallas and Chenille?”

“Not helping,” I said. I put my fingertips to my head as though I had a migraine. And I did. If I could’ve given it a name––I would’ve named it Ballard. Ballard Rosen.

He just chuckled.

“If you strike those poses for too long,” he said, “eventually you become them. What’s that?”

“I don’t need any more sophomoric Ballardisms, thank you very much,” I said, looking at what he was pointing at. So much for secrets. My Wiccan Mark was burning like fire.

“It’s really real,” he said. “Look at that! Halsey, it’s like you’ve been tricked out or something. You’re marked.”

Ballard whooped; I did not.

He couldn’t stop staring at my Wiccan Mark. I still had my hoodie on. Part of me was, like: Show me yours, I’ll show you mine, Ballard. But he needed to know. He needed to know that there were things which were happening and we had a part to play. So I pushed back my sleeve.

It was like I was revealing to him my sex. Ballard looked at it like he had never seen one before. He licked his lips. He was all excited.

“This is my Wiccan Mark, Ballard Rosen. There are eight Wiccan virtues, but this one’s mine. Honestly, it’s like you haven’t even seen your sister Lia’s before,” I said. I was thinking something was up with her Mark and like Lia didn’t want it to be seen or something. Ballard’s tool clunked.

“Show me some magic,” he said. He had a hungry look on his face. Was something up with Lia? What wasn’t he telling me? If she was hiding her Mark from Ballard, it must’ve developed a certain way, maybe even wrongly.

I made my Light pop on; he ooh’d as I shot it around the room. And then it disappeared. Rosens hiding things. Imagine that.

I needed no reciprocation from Ballard. I just wanted him to know that I was badass. Not that I didn’t want to see his werewolf. His titchy little were-Ballard. “We have to get out of these abstractions,” I said. “Only what is real. I think, you know, you have to choose between the life you imagined, if you follow me, and the life you actually end up having, Ballard.”

He nodded, glumly.

“You can’t reasonably keep doing something without it becoming who you are,” I said. “I think we have two lives, the one in which we imagine what we can be––movie star, film director, President of the United States; and the other one, the one that’s actually important; the one that’s actually who we truly are. I don’t want to say I want to be this or I’m going to do that––because I won’t. I do want to say that I need your help, and that, together, I think we can do something, which is really important. I also want to say that I don’t want to fight anymore––unless it’s with Vittoria.” I cat-clawed the air. “We need to be like this.” I did the finger thing. And then for good measure, I said “strongass and together,” as Lia had once said to me. “Chasing dreams is good until you catch them,” I said. “What I want is real, Ballard. You know? Because anything else, you throw your life away trying to catch it, and then one day it just turns its back on you, and you’re left hanging in the wind. Like a wet and floppy pair of skivs, you know what I mean? And I don’t want to be a wet and floppy pair of skivs. Do you?”

“I know what you mean,” he said, “it’s like truth and lies. The truth only hurts. Whereas a lie, if you don’t like it, you can just disregard it, and pick up some other truth. Maybe reality is lies, did you ever think of that?”

Marriage, a boyfriend, family––Wicca, magic, a sisterhood, a place, a feeling of purpose––

Those were the things I craved. Maybe they were all lies. I shot my sleeve down, and said, “Sometime––not now, but sometime––I am going to want to have a talk with you, Ballard Rosen. It’s about what we are, and what we want––but for now, I want you to finish that motorcycle. Whose is it, by the way?”

Liesel’s––he said it was Liesel’s. It was hot pink with lots of chromoly.

“You don’t mean to say she’s angling to be alpha dog too?” I said.

“Angling, shooting for the moon,” he said.

“Never mind that. It’s not important,” I said.

It was a mark of Ballard’s gentlemanliness that he was helping Liesel to improve her chances of winning this motorcycle competition––because, despite what he said, a big part of Ballard wanted to be in that race. I knew he did. He had ambitions of being Il Gatto himself. He couldn’t hide it from me. And then, I imagined, Liesel wouldn’t look on Ballard so unfavorably. I asked him how it had gone with her. He said: she said she was too old for him. A subtle way, he said, of the pack reinforcing its belief that he was too young to join them. (“A very Lockean point of view,” Ballard called it.) “But you did kiss her?” I asked, referring to Liesel.

Ballard blushed; I decided not to pursue the subject. The last thing I needed was to be on the outs with any more of the crucial people in my life. But he said, “We may have gotten that far. Yeah.”

“Oh, Ballard, congratulations!” I said.

He kept his thank-you speech to a minimum.

But how to resolve this Locke situation?

The Pack couldn’t be under Locke––it couldn’t. All you had to do was use Locke’s argument against him. The next Il Gatto would be the most important in their history––our history, because I had been made an honorary member.

Ballard took a swig from his moonflask.

“Life is interfering. Do you feel it?” he said.

“I want you to enter that race, Ballard. And I want you to try to win it,” I said. “Okay? We’ll talk later, Ballard, all right?”

“Okay,” he said. And then: “I can’t imagine Locke parlaying with the House of Houses. They would eat him alive.”

“Let me deal with Locke. I’ll––figure something out,” I said.

Something had passed between us––maybe Ballard saw the Wiccan in me. Whatever it was, we were like this. And that’s all I could ever really ask. To be like this with somebody. I think that’s all any of us could. Because when you find somebody you can be intertwined with––

First things first, I thought, huffing: I needed an excuse to get away from my obligation to Ravenseal House. Luckily Ballard supplied me with one. “I forgot,” he said. “Lia wanted me to tell you. The date’s been shifted.”

“What date?” I said.

Perhaps he could see that I was having trouble concentrating, because Ballard waited for me to make eye contact, before continuing. I brushed the hair out of my face. “Ballard?” I said.

“Lia’s wedding. You didn’t forget, did you?” he said. He smiled at me. I laughed back, chagrined. “No. Of course not,” I said.

“Good––because you’ve got a whole month and a half more to think about it,” he said. He looked at me, as if to say, What fun!

It was a moment before I understood what he was saying.

“It’s called Lupercalia,” he said, “a werewolf holiday, here in Rome, happening this coming February. The thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, if I remember correctly.”

“You have a holiday... celebrating... werewolves?” I said. “Publicly?” I couldn’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. “And Lia’s wedding will be on that date?” It made no sense. Weren’t they supposed to keep it quiet––that they could shift? Wouldn’t this make it harder for Ballard’s family to hide the fact that they were werewolves?

“Wait. There aren’t people who know––are there?” I said. “That you can––that you are––I mean, you do keep it a secret––don’t you––? Or try to? That you shift.”

Ballard gave me a pitying look.

“Did you know that there were werewolves?” he asked. “Did I? Did my sister Lia? Or Gaven? Of course not. Anyway, it’s called the Wolf Festival, Lupercalia, and it’s thought to exorcise this city of evil spirits––which is exactly what we do, so maybe somebody did talk, an old Defender or somesuch. Although I can’t think whom.... Lupercalia is also good for pregnancies....” he said. “What?”

“Ballard––L-Lennox is not––”

“Oh, come on. You can’t even say his name.”

“He’s not evil,” I said.

“Then where is he?” he asked. I couldn’t answer his query. “Ah-hah!” he said.

“I’m sure he’s just been––delayed––is all,” I said.

“If you say so,” said Ballard.

Hadn’t I just said we shouldn’t fight?

“Look. I just––care about you. All right? If he’s... leading you on...” said Ballard.

“He’s not! You have no idea how complicated things are for him,” I said. Teenage emo-queen person.

“You mean, the fact he’s a vampire, and we’re his mortal enemies, and we’ve drawn a line, and said you to your corner, and we to ours, and now he’s broken that, by coming to Rome? Gee––I never thought of that,” said Ballard.

“The Lenoir told him to come here,” I said.

“Exactly. And in the process––threatened the sanctity of our sovereignty––or something.”

“He’s never fed here, Ballard––Lennox is a good vampire. He only drinks Blood Cups.”

“Whose blood, Halsey, is in those Cups?” said Ballard. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to fight. This place”––and here I thought he meant Rome––“is like––I dunno––like my luminarium, or something. It’s where I come to be myself, if that makes sense. It’s where I can reflect.”

He was speaking about the garage. “It’s almost January,” he said. “Soon it will be the Wolf Moon. Then there’s the Worm Moon and the Blue Moon, the Hunter’s Moon. All kinds of moons. If I drop my pants, I can show you the Ballard Moon.” He laughed, cutting the tension.

“You’re so hipster,” I said.

“Rome is a bastion. It protects us. I am not like my brothers and sisters. I am more powerful. And I am this––this werewolf, that I am, for all time; only Gaven and I have spoken of this. You must know, Halsey, because we are linked. You need to know there is this connection between us. It does have the wider effect of complicating our relationships with the other supernaturals. I and my family, we are bound, through oath and pledge and centuries, to being Protectors of Rome––and now I feel this same kind of connection with you, I don’t understand it. I know that you are soon to leave us, and that you will ask me to go with you.... What you and I are about to do transcends the Sons and Daughters of Romulus,” said Ballard. “We’ve never had a member of the Pack protect an outsider before. You are one of us, Halsey Rookmaaker, a Romulan Daughter.”

“Wait... what?”

“For Lia, she continues to be over-the-moon. Gaven is the One. It’s only a matter of time before they decide to have kids. I have spoken to Gaven...”

“Wait... what?”

“How else am I supposed to interpret these feelings?” he said. “I feel you hurting inside of me. Almost as though––no, it’s as though–– It causes me physical pain. Your pain is my pain.”

When I meant for Ballard to show me his, I hadn’t meant all of this.

“I am working to keep these feelings under control,” said Ballard. “Probably, because I know how you would feel, if I told you. Terrified––or like we couldn’t be friends anymore. But there is an upside. I think I will always know when you are in trouble.”

He dropped the torque wrench he was carrying, as if my emotions were causing him physical pain.

Ballard––felt things. It was almost like he was standing naked before me. He was showing me his. “But you don’t feel that way about me. Do you?” he said.

“Wait... what are we talking about?” I said. I was confused. More than usual.

Was Ballard talking about what I thought he was? Was I supposed to be a Romulan Daughter––more than just honorarily? And these feelings of his. I needed him to explain that. He knew when I was in danger?

“You and me,” he said.

“What about us?” I said, before I could stop and think.

“I understand if you don’t feel that way about me,” he said, talking at cross purposes.

“Wait... Ballard...”

“Never mind. It’s all right.”

My Mark prickled, flaring painfully––I slapped it with my off hand. Maybe it was in conflict with who I was. It was really starting to hurt. Maybe I was in conflict with myself. Had Ballard just declared himself to me? “WAIT,” I said, out of breath from the pain. “I don’t want to lose you, Ballard,” I said.

He made some laughing, dismissive hand gesture. “Honestly, I don’t even think that’s possible,” he said, tapping his forehead.

“Huh? What does that even mean?” I said.

“Ask Lia. I know I have.”

“Ball-ard,” I said.

“It’s nothing. Lia just thinks that––if she’s magic, maybe I am too. And maybe that’s, you know, why I could see you coming––when I did.”

He was wiping off his hands, searching for another tool. Looking at me only every now and then.

“My senses are heightened,” he said, “all right? I get these feelings. Like I’m... constantly on edge or something, I don’t know what it is.”

“Has it ever happened before? And what precisely is it?” I asked.

I came forward to help him.

“But one thing is certain––” he said. “You and me, we’re supposed to do something.”

He waited for me to say something. I nodded my head. I think my brain had stopped working.

They will have a Power... A Power of Sight...

“Look. It’s all right. I can deal with it,” he said. “It’s not like I have a choice about the way I feel. Only Lia thinks it may be a Risky thing. Like I haven’t got enough to worry about, I may also be the ghost of my dead uncle.”

He laughed humorlessly.

Ballard’s emotional state was my main priority. He had dropped anvil-sized hints of his feelings for me in the past––which was why I had encouraged the Liesel thing, but apparently that hadn’t worked out. Now what was I supposed to do?

“We need to talk about this later,” I said. “Definitely later. Right now, I want you concentrating on that race. I––have some things I need to do.”

Meanwhile, Ballard’s feelings may have been caused by something else, entirely. I didn’t want to diminish them, but couldn’t they have something to do with the fact that––he was my Protector? Maybe he was bound, as he said, to see inside my screwed-up head, or to at least know when I was out of sorts. Out of mind, out of sight. A power of Ballard.

“That’s what Gaven said,” he said. “He seemed to think they were natural feelings, my instincts, my prickly apprehension when you are not around.”

“So you can’t read my mind...”

Ballard looked at me defiantly. His words held a separate meaning.

“I only see the real. Not the unreal.”

If Ballard’s Protector thing was the reason he was getting these feelings... about me... that would make me Her. The Wiccan Prime Mover. Which I was not. I couldn’t possibly be. I was sure of that. Lia––I needed to speak with her. I decided to go home first. I asked Ballard about the race––the Il Gatto triple circuit of Trastevere. He said it would be sometime after the New Year but before Lia’s wedding, “If...”

“That’s right. If....” I said.

With Ballard teetering on the precipice, Locke was even more of a thorn in my side.

* * *

When I got home, my landlady was in a funk. “Not you too?” I said. She eyed me beadily.

“You have new hallway person,” she said, “living down hall.”

“You mean a new Housemate?” I said.

She nodded, but there was something calculating in her look. Like she was waiting for me to do something. I decided to effect my escape forthwith, before my landlady could criticize me further. It was at the vending machine I saw her... This new person...

She was exiting the door beyond the hall, with her back to me, pulling at a handcart, when she turned, facing me. It happened in slow motion.

One second, I was getting an energy drink, the next––

I saw a bunch of cardboard boxes, and was just about to say hello––perhaps go over the do’s and don’ts of the place, such as do avoid the landlady, do not look too directly at her––when I saw who it was... Vittoria... Her forehead creased. “You,” she said. She looked at me, menacingly.

I saw her look at my Wiccan Mark. Luckily, it was concealed underneath my sleeve.

“Me,” I concurred.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “You don’t mean to say you live here?”

“For a while now. Why?”

“That’s just perfect,” she said.

I wanted to know where she had been––what she was up to; if she was any nearer to figuring out this whole Wiccan thing? If, in fact, it required kowtowing to the likes of Ravenseal?

“None of your business,” she said.

We stared at each other for a full five seconds. Finally, I nodded, and turned the key to my room. “You suck, Vittoria,” I muttered underneath my breath.

* * *

It was important I emancipate myself. Seeing Vittoria there––remembering how she had done it, I sat at my desk, removing the stationery from my desk drawer. Next, I fished out the brochures from when Vittoria and I had been Initiates, during the whole recruitment phase. I flipped through some of them. All the Initiates had swapped brochures like trading cards. London looked magnificent. Old, otherworldly. But it was Prague which stopped my eye. The brochure for Ravenseal was ornate. I found its address. A letter addressed there would reach her, I was sure. Veruschka Ravenseal.

Someone had written on the stationery before me. So I pulled off a few pages with the ghosts of scribbles on them, and began afresh.

To Whom It May Concern... Though privately I knew it would go directly to Veruschka...

I was flattered when

I really enjoyed meeting

I thank you for your interest in selecting me

I need more time to sort out certain of my affairs.

Obviously, I wrote, that means a delay in when your man should be sent. Why SHOULD he be sent? I don’t NEED––

I decided to begin again:

Dear Veruschka.

It’s me, Halsey. I’ll be there later.

In Prague, I mean.

My friend is getting married.

I want to be here, for the ceremony.

Don’t send your man. Just don’t.

Halsey.

That would have to suffice. I didn’t sign it Rookmaaker. At this point, whatever happened would. If Veruschka Ravenseal was coming for me, so be it. I sealed it and flipped through the brochures some more, looking for a way out.

The fact was, Rome was home. I didn’t want to go anyplace else. Perhaps I was becoming like Lia. Set in my ways.

Prague scared me. I didn’t know why.

In fact, I did know why.

It was almost like they thought they could do whatever they pleased, in Prague––with the Hunters and somesuch. Hadn’t Ravenseal ever heard the word no before?

The delay was dishonest, but I didn’t care, I had things to do. For starters, it had become imperative I find my Wiccan House immediately.

Chapter 4 – Il Gatto

Our sleek heads broke through the cover of cloud, going up the mountainside in the ski lift, Lennoxlove strapped to his Burton. I had never seen him in the sun before. “I didn’t know vampires skied,” I said.

“Snowboard, actually,” he corrected.

Below us I could just make out the tiny figures of Dallace and Camille. It was a moment before I realized Camille had also been a Wiccan (as if it could go away). There was more to her story; I chided myself for never having asked it, the question I needed to have answered. She and I were practically family.

I watched as she pulled off a spectacular McTwisting something-or-other, backside quadruple whatever. Straight into Dallace’s arms.

Lennox looked happy.

I felt the chairlift ticking below me: we were high up. And then, I don’t know how this happened, it was like he was controlling it. Lennox pulled a lever and we stopped.

And we swung, high up, between the sheer sides of a plummeting gorge.

Lennox said, “We never let anyone come this far who hasn’t first committed to going all the way.”

I assumed he meant me.

“Lennox... I really––I don’t know what you mean...” I said, beginning to shake, and looking over the side of the lift. He had just warned me against something. What? Dallace and Camille’s smiling faces were gone. Instead, I was hanging over an abyss.

And then the large metal cable which supported us began to give way, giving that eerie whine of taut tearing steel. And––

“Lennoxlove...” I said.

We began to fall.

* * *

I woke from the dream––sweating profusely, tearing myself away from the memory of it. He had reached out for me, when the wind had whipped us apart. I could still feel his fingertips grasping for my own.

And then I looked around, groggy-eyed and confused, for I had just heard him. Here in my bedroom. Lennoxlove. And I thought for a moment he had come out of my dreams, a kind of hallucinatory experience I had not had since I was a child, when the world held a kind of charm which could only be interpreted as magical.

My eyes refused to focus. I continued to stare around in a confused sort of way. It was almost like raven song. It put me in mind of some fabulous dream; but I was awake, I couldn’t be dreaming. I saw him standing there, on the edge of my balcony––the French doors leading into my bedroom. I smiled incoherently, one of those lush smiles, when the things of your obsession seem to be on the brink of being yours. But also realizing that something was not quite right.

I felt my hair and did a quick breath test––my heart knocking uncontrollably.

Still, I was angry at Lennox for taking so long. He could’ve at least written to me. Becca and Mistress Genevieve had, and they were thousands of miles away. Yet with Lennoxlove, nothing.

“I invite you,” I said.

He stepped into my bedchamber, all hair and silhouettes. First his eyes, which were glowing like lavender lanterns, followed by the rest of him. The hallucination vanished; I was left staring at my hands in the dark.

The scene shifted. Lennoxlove was staggering over the hard and cracked earth. Everything about him, all the land and sky, had been scorched. Destroyed. The earth consumed in a poisonous fume. They were fighting. I could see witches and wizards, werewolves and vampires, and other things, besides. Flame erupted from the earth. There was shouting. Bodies moved through the smoky black murk. Vittoria... her eyes shining contemptuously from out of the dark... stared at me. It was like I was seeing from a great height. A terrible and ravaged plain. This would come to be.

This is what the world will be.... The vision changed. I saw the Hunter entering upon a heath––a dark ball of light shining in his hand, until I woke, gasping for air, feeling the bed springs creak. My mind exploded in a rush of stars. What was going on?

I crawled out from under the covers that had twisted themselves around me, still laying on my bed, fully dressed in my jeans and black sweatshirt, and fitted on my boots, listening to the sounds in the hallway.

Shadows crawled along the ceiling of my room. Headlamps roved along the walls. It was the middle of the night. It was a moment before I realized where I was at.

I heard motorcycles outside. Voices. Lots of them. Revving their engines.

My head was spinning. I felt outside myself. If I didn’t move, it was almost like I wasn’t here.

In a trance, then, I fetched my helmet and got out of bed, walking to the door. I opened it just as Ballard was preparing to knock. “Surprise!” he said. “We thought you might be up for a little late-night skullduggery.” A pair of watchful, dark eyes, looked out at me from the doorway, down the hall. Vittoria was standing there, wondering what was going on. Ballard did a double take. She was dressed in her nightgown. Maybe he could sense she was my enemy. I told him to “c’mon.”

“Keep it down, will ya? Some of us are trying to study! Enjoy your dog walk,” she said, slamming the door.

Ballard again exhibited his strange connection to my landlady––she didn’t threaten him at all. Instead, just smiled. “I like you,” she said. “You good boy. Yes.”

“I just love her,” he said.

“Ballard, she’s insane. This place is insane.” I fit right in.

Vittoria–– What was she studying for?

I felt guilty. I should be levitating things. Instead I needed to buy more lightbulbs.

When I got down on the street, they were all there. Paolo and all of them... Gaven and Lia and Liesel and Leander and the rest of the wolf pack. Alphas and betas, commingling. All on their motorcycles. I looked for Locke but he was nowhere to be found... There must’ve been thirty of them, all in their helmets, astride their bikes, or else standing around, striking poses. The six nine of the six nine. It was inevitable in so much awesomeness I feel out of place. I stowed it––along with my uneasy feelings about my new neighbor. Vittoria living down the hall from me was just too much of a coincidence, didn’t I think? I wondered what she was up to. Then, about what it was about Vittoria that I did not like.

I settled on the fact that she had a flower-Mark, like mine––except it was onyx not silver. Was it that we had things in common, that I did not like? Vittoria’s virtue was either Grace or Goodwill, after all, the same as mine. Could anyone whose virtue was either one of those two things really be that bad? Yes, I decided.

I did a little whathaveyou, twirling so Lia could see me decked out in my rider’s garb; it pleased her I had become so biker-ish. “There she is. There’s Halsey Rookmaaker,” she said. Liesel was on hers. I could hear it running fast and steady, thanks to Ballard’s ministrations.

Gaven said, “What’s up, Halsey?” He didn’t look like he was suffering the ostracization described by Ballard. In fact, he looked happy. The rest as well. Maybe riding did that. I always felt happy when I rode. Free-like. As always, when I looked at Gaven, my mouth watered. “We just thought you’d like to take a spin,” he said. “We’re having a party––at my place.”

Pretty soon, we were all on our bikes, Ballard riding a generic one. “The blue moon will ride again,” he promised, referring to the monocoque of his other one––of a blue moon breaking through the storm clouds.

“But the race,” I said.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said. It was clear he thought little of the spare: a jumble of tubes and wires under a coat of primer paint, so that he looked like a grey wolf.

Gaven’s place turned out to be La Luna Blu, The Blue Moon, a werewolf-friendly tavern, in Trastevere. It was centrally located, in the heart of the anti-vampire movement. Any time here, I felt like I was split in two, in due, as the Italians say. My Lennox-allegiance at odds with all of them. But so be it. When it mattered, Gaven could be clear-thinking, solid, leader-like––and work for the interests of all. But he was no longer Head Wolf. He existed in a state of semi-retirement. His perpetual alertness somehow diminished, subdued, as if his coolness had somehow mellowed out and he had become even more super awesome.

Lia and them were racing while I drank my Succo del Gatto. It banged in the back of my throat. A caffeine kick plus something extra.

I was on my Gambalunga, listening to its peculiar whine: a rapid throaty rise and fall: thinking about my addiction memoir. For so the Wiccan Diaries had become for me, a place I wanted to exist in entirely––with Gaven and all of them; and with Lennoxlove, wherever he was at.

Not Prague. Not Ravenseal. Not being told what to do. No. I realized I was too old to ever again be under anyone else’s thumb. If that made me eclectic––so be it, I was eclectic. Badass and whatever.

Liesel’s cycle fired; she and Lia were going toe-to-toe.

The other racers whooped, cheering them on. It was just a straightaway, at the end of which they circled back, neither having outmatched the other. But I heard a rip-tear and suddenly Lia disappeared.

It was quite something watching her maneuver her bike into a standing wheelie. A trail of acrid smoke whomped into the air.

They were blowing off steam, like the smoke which issued from Lia’s rear tire. The werewolves were relaxing.

For them that meant doing things which were reckless. After all, endangering themselves on two-wheelers was nothing compared to the Cold War they seemed to be in with the other supernatural enclaves around this world.

Lia banked into a group of guys and was off her motorcycle in no time, coming over to talk to me. I could remember being jealous of her. Now I had only admiration for Lia. Maybe I was being unfair to Vittoria. Judging her.

Judging her correctly... I said to myself...

If I could have, I would have said Lia walked with a certitude belying the fact that she was so screwed up. We both were. After all, how many times had we changed? She into a werewolf––and us both into Wiccans. Lia was the only one I could talk to about magic. Simply because she was the only one I talked to who was magic. What Vittoria and I did wasn’t talking. It was showing off. Warning each other to stay away. Whereas, Lia and I were friends.

The requisite looker-on deposited into her hand a fresh Succo del Gatto. Lia popped the top, and said, coming over to my Gambalunga, “I’ve always loved this bike. It was Risky’s, didn’t Ballard tell you?”

My Gambalunga hummed some more. Ballard... I had no idea... Lia could tell it on my face. “He lied to me,” I said.

“That’s my little bro. He does things like that,” she said. “Seemed to think you deserved it.”

If he lied to me about my Gambalunga, what else had he lied to me about? If I couldn’t trust Ballard, who could I trust?

“Lia. Race for Il Gatto,” I said.

She eyed me.

“That may not be wise,” she said. “But it may be fun.”

The exhaust snorted.

“It’s Il Gatt-o, not Il Gatt-a, Halsey. O not A. Masculine, not feminine. The Head Wolf is usually a guy,” she said, as if I didn’t already know that.

In this case, usually meant always––and we both knew it.

“In fact, I wanted to talk to you about that,” she said. “But first, I think you need a refill. We’ve been having a hectic time of late, and this is an opportunity for all of us, irrespective of gender, to let our hair down, so to speak, even if we’ve shaved it all off.”

I watched her go in her tight-fitting leather pants, and wondered if she would even want to assume the Werewolf Headship. Would I? Did I? With House Rookmaaker?

We hadn’t really spent that much time together, Lia and I. Part of me knew that I was guilty of keeping my friends at bay. I hadn’t even told her about my House––Ballard either.

The dog star, Canis Major, was bright in the heavens. Lia came back with a newspaper under her arm I saw Gaven give to her.

She scrunched up her eyes at the front-page headlines, folding the paper under her arm. “So...” she said.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“It’s nothing.”

I waited for what she had to say. She seemed to drink her drink and ponder what she had just been reading. Weighing it on her Lia scales.

“Right. The race...” she said. That seemed to be what everybody was talking about––who would win; who would be the new Il Gatto...

I heard Liesel say to Ballard, who was hanging on her every word, a short distance away: “Greek werewolves actually put Wicca back into its box. Wholesale rejection of magic was key to their philosophy. The Greeks were after a kind of harmony without magic. It was the Romans who let it out of the box again. So I guess we failed in our duty. That was actually what the Renaissance was all about. To try and get back to the Greek perfection. Do away with Magic. Instead, we opened Pandora. You can see the results.”

Liesel said: “Know thyself. Nothing in excess. Those were the two rules ancient Greeks lived by. I like this little touch here, you did with my motorcycle.”

Ballard licked his lips. “You know we are them––the Greeks,” he said.

“I guess what I’m saying,” Liesel went on, “is that if I’m elected Head Wolf––I will try and take us from being out of whack, back to that place of harmony, which is vital if we’re to sustain ourselves.”

Ballard only nodded.

“Oneness––not twoness,” said Liesel. “Maybe, you know, that is why Lia can no longer shift. After all, she’s Greek. Maybe she was not supposed to have dabbled in magic.”

Lia quirked her eyebrow at me. “Do you see what I have to put up with?” she said, but in a lighthearted way, so that only I could hear.

“It is a little rude,” I said.

Together we watched the moon spinning through the galaxy. Gemini––the twins––all those.

Lia said, “Pretty soon the werewolves will be sending up white smoke, electing a new leader. Gaven’s out. Someone else is in. There will be a new Il Gatto.”

“If you mean it can’t be you, just because you can’t shift––” I said.

“Il Gatto is for werewolves only,” said Lia.

“We need you, Lia. The pack needs you. Or Gaven––. Can’t he just hold on?” I was thinking of FDR––who was President of the United States for twelve years. Rules could be broken, term limits stretched, if warranted.

“They’ll just see it as Gaven controlling the pack through his werewolf bride-to-be. Bear in mind, to them I’m just a wannabe. They won’t go for me being Head Wolf,” said Lia.

“If it’s a race, they’ll have no choice,” I said. “How good are you, anyway?”

“You mean, at racing bikes?”

She paused and then her thumbs came up. I saw her Mark. It hadn’t changed much, but mine had. I wanted to tell her all about the itching-scratching-burning thing.

“It could be a warning––” she said. “If you’ll let me, I had a point, though.”

“The race, Lia. It’s the only way.” Then Ballard can come with me, I thought, happily.

“We have something called a Quirinal. It’s a therian court of Rome. Locke heads up the Quirinal. He’s like a dissenting voice,” said Lia. “The Supreme Wolf––or I don’t know. A counter to the Head Wolf. Not in opposition, just a check, to Il Gatto’s power. That way we don’t have any Julius Caesars, you know, rogue macho badasses, who want to commandeer the Pack. Just Coriolanuses.”

“Coriolwhatuses?” I said.

“The name means Defenders of Rome. Us. It prevents warmongering. Having a two-headed monster with Gaven and Locke in charge, prevents any rash decisions. If we wanted to fight, there would be a lot of ‘people’ we could engage in battle with, you know what I mean? So many people. So many monsters.

“Next point. See,” said Lia, “Gaven is very clever. He recognizes change is coming. His, ours, yours, mine, my brother’s, the Pack’s, Rome’s.”

...What about my change?

“In a sense, he has consolidated our power. Rome is both a werewolf and a Wiccan town now. Because of you––and, well, me–– and the fact that Risky knew your parents.

“Before you ask,” she said, “we don’t know anything about that. When Risky was Head, neither one of us, Gaven nor I, was into our cyanthropic primes––we were not werewolves yet. That was before our time. Anyway...” She tapped her finger to her nose and winked at me. “We are linked, you and I. Wicca and werewolves. Wiccawolves. Gaven and the rest. But Locke could destroy all that. Which is why Gaven and I have decided not to go on our honeymoon. We will stay for the time being, to watch over Rome––even if we are on the outside. If what is coming is, it means our plans will have to change.” She nodded her head at me. “Change is a good word,” she said.

Lia couldn’t go away with Gaven, who had to stay––and I couldn’t stay with Lia, because I had to go away. Selwyn was out there. I couldn’t explain it. I just felt that leaving Rome was important. At least temporarily. Everything had been building toward it. And I had to take Ballard with me.

It was quiet while we thought––everything else cancelled out.

“The Sons and Daughters of Romulus is no longer my House,” she said. “But with Gaven as my husband, I’m in. Man and wife is one entity, one flesh, kind of like werewolves with their animals. Gaven is my animal and I am his. Plus we love each other. What I’m saying is, regardless that I cannot shift, I am bound to the Sons and Daughters of Romulus through Gaven. He is my blood. My husband. In a sense, I am both a witch and a shifter. A witch shifter. Which is why Gaven made you an honorary member, Halsey. You are a witch, but you are also with us, now, a shifter. A witch and a shifter. So in a sense, we’re both Witch Shifters. Haven’t you thought that you might enter the race?”

I could feel my mind going fuzzy––not unlike the onset of revelation––with the implications of what Lia had just said.

“We bind ourselves with blood. Gaven and I is just another steel hoop. A Wiccan in with werewolves brings Wicca into that House, don’t you remember that? That’s what the Mistresses said, anyway, and that’s what I believe,” said Lia. “You are an honorary daughter of this tribe.”

“I can’t shift,” I said.

“Neither can I,” said Lia.

“No––I’m not a werewolf. I’m not anything.”

“Stop it,” she said.

I knew who I sounded like. Like Ballard. Something had been eating him up inside. Maybe the same something which was currently chasing after me. The who am I? question. I needed to check my own inner-luminarium––to see what was up. That reminded me...

I fetched my diary from underneath my seat. I had the letter to Ravenseal tucked inside it. “You shouldn’t leave that lying around,” said Lia, referring to the diary. “In case you missed it, we generally enjoy gossip, werewolves. The more scandalous the better. Somebody might try stealing it.”

I nodded, oblivious to the threat. What could happen in Trastevere? Then deposited the envelope in a red mailbox in the wall––and put my diary back. It reminded me of La Bocca della Verità, the mailbox, the Mouth of Truth, when it snapped shut on my fingers. I was leading people on––the Ravenseals, Ballard; I wasn’t telling them what I knew, how I was feeling––and Ballard himself had been so transparent. A major steppingstone for him. Lia needed to know about my Wiccan House. And the fact that it was the nearest one. She would not have to go someplace else. Lia could study here in Rome. With me. That was big news. Yet, why wasn’t I telling her? It was just as much her House as it was mine.

...About something else I had also been mum, and it was doing things to my head. The fact was, if I instigated a fight by rejecting House Ravenseal––even though they had gotten up to some serious shenanigans at the Gathering––and by all rights I belonged to my parents’ House––

Breathe, Halsey. Relax.

Who would defend me? My defenders? Who were they? Lia and Ballard and Gaven and the pack?

I had always felt things were after me. Was I a paranoiac, or had I good reason?

No––something was after me. If I could’ve put a name to it, the hunter. Hadn’t Camille described to me the city of Prague, in a scene so long ago I could barely remember it, as the birthspark of Wicca? As being overrun with vampire hunters? And was that who this fellow was?

Was he after Lennox––? Or Marek?

The Lenoir had a death warrant out on Marek. Marek told me so.

Were they the ones who were employing this monster? Was it the Master House who was doing it––? Sending this thing after me? Was it after me? And my tingling? Did it mean something? Was my Mark giving me premonitions, like my visions had been, visions that had a nasty habit of coming true?

It was like a hallway full of doors had been laid before me. Open this one, go here. Open that one, die.

I could see the Master House, in my mind, with Mistress Ravenseal in tow, saying I told you so; and You better join with me, or else. She was a third-degree, after all. Fledged. Maybe Veruschka knew something I did not. Like who I was.

You didn’t think of that, did you, Halsey? I told myself.

What was going on? Was anything going on?

Would I be willing to put my friends in harm’s way for something so selfish as my own Wiccan independence? Would they step into the fray on my behalf?

Yes. Immediately, the answer was yes.

Some dogs just like to hunt.

It made me feel bad. And selfish. And like a pariah.

Mistress Genevieve’s line about the satellite spinning out of control, came back to me. In a sense, I was a satellite of Ravenseal. Rookmaaker House hived from Pendderwenn, which had hived from House Ravenseal, which was one of the original magical Houses that had split.

But Pendderwenn was not, in truth, emancipated from its parent coven, which was Ravenseal. Pendderwenn was a puppet House. Or had been. It no longer existed. It had been led by a weak number two. Julius Pendderwenn had been merely Adept, when he was killed–– As I would be, in a year, if things worked out, when I was done being a Neophyte––if I matriculated that far, and didn’t die.

I had fear of not advancing.

Pendderwenn House had never really broken from Ravenseal. So Rookmaaker breaking from Pendderwenn shouldn’t really count, should it?

Genevieve was right––I was too much in my head.

I didn’t care. I had to figure this out.

If I rejected the Ravenseals, my House would have a hard time standing on its own, as I was only level one, a Neophyte, and not a Mistress; not capable of leading my own House. Nor was I exactly legally allowed to do so. There were rules against it, but there was also the fact that the Lenoir upheld the rules, and as they had allowed Julius Pendderwenn to lead his House (and he was a guy, and only adept)....

Maybe you could break the rules so long as you still appeared weak? It was only when Houses got too big...

I couldn’t let the werewolves stand in for me. I wouldn’t. Whatever was coming, I would have to face it alone. Or with Ballard. Perhaps that was why I had felt so reticent about sharing the fact that Rookmaaker House existed at all. Had Selwyn told anyone? The rest of the magical world had known about my House. They had sent me a Marker. I had it safely sealed away in my Diary.

Lia...

She would have to study somewhere.

I looked at her. She was wearing long sleeves, manica langas. But that may have just been the weather. Rome was cold. Almost like the winter, which had been freezing in Paris, had crept down to the other magical cities: Rome and Prague.

You to your corner, we to ours.

“Lia, is anything happening with your Mark?” I asked. “Ballard made it sound like you may have had something going on.”

“I’m perfectly all right,” she said. “I haven’t been practicing, but everything’s all right. Are you okay?”

I said that I was fine, which, I didn’t know why I said that; just that I didn’t want Lia to get involved. I didn’t want people worrying about me. Lia had her wedding. And the fact her whole family was coming into town. Gaven was calling her. It was a weird night. Lonesomelike.

“Can you hold that?” she said. She ran and jumped into his arms.

Maybe I was just in a funk. It really was the first time I felt alone since I had come to Rome. Spiritually, emotionally. I flipped open the newspaper and looked at the front page.

IMMOLATION RESPONSIBLE FOR GRAVE SCENE INSIDE PÈRE LACHAISE

PARIS––For generations, Paris youth have partied openly at the gravesites of some of History’s most famous dead people. Lighting candles, drinking beer. An activity which has been called into question, of late, following the discovery, over night, of two bodies authorities say spontaneously combusted. Paraphernalia found near the corpses suggests they were up to no good.

According to one investigator, who spoke on condition of anonymity, “as this is still an open case,” he said, “and I don’t want this psychopath doubling back on me,” there was another set of footprints there.

According to the source, they’re looking for somebody who may be on a lunar schedule. “A lone wolf. A rogue, as they’re referred, with abnormally-shaped feet. He left paw prints behind.”

This rogue is considered armed and considerably dangerous. “How else did he fry those two individuals?”

Europol has posted a red notice along with a descriptor index of the subject. Be on the lookout for anyone with signs of hypertrichosis: a hairy disorder which makes you break out in fur, and perhaps, dog feet.

As is typical with arsonists, they always come back.

As if, on cue, my Mark began prickling again. I rubbed it surreptitiously, stifling the impulse to say ow. There was a picture of Emmanuela Skarborough, Ballard’s cousin, underneath her byline. Although she did not become a werewolf, any doubts I had that Skarborough did not know of the supernatural world, were quickly assuaged. I wondered briefly what would happen if they found out about all of us? The normal people, I meant. Would it be werewolves and witches versus people in tanks? Or vampires versus the Vatican? I hoped we never found out. Something told me the supernaturals would have a field day. Why hadn’t Ballard mentioned anything to me about this? And why were the werwolves so interested in it?

I could answer that.

Because werewolves in Paris was strictly forbidden, just as vampires in Rome was. And this hunter read like he was a werewolf. I sighed. You to your corner, we to ours.

Should I tell Ballard and his family about what I had seen?

Paris will blame Rome.... I thought. Especially as it’s in the news. The Lenoir don’t like that. They prefer to keep things as quiet as possible. But then, this thing, whatever it is––man or beast, or man-beast––must be I Gatti. I mean, what other werewolves are there?

Paris must experience enough murders, without the werewolves contributing to them. They are vampires, after all.

I needed to talk to Lennox. Somebody. Anybody. Lia, Gaven...

But I couldn’t bother them. Lia looked so happy. Gaven too. They were dancing, the music spilling out of La Luna Blu, along with the rest of the werewolves.

I needed to get to the bottom of this. It was imperative Ballard and I work together. But, why hadn’t he told me?

* * *

The days were passing rapidly. Apparently Ravenseal got my letter, because they never sent their man. We were already well into January, with still no Lennox. Wherever he was, I hoped he had a good reason for abandoning me? Otherwise, why be so cruel? I decided not to bother Dallace and Camille with this. They would just get worried. But then I remembered.

One of Camille’s gifts was she could sense where people were at. And how they were doing. Since she hadn’t told me about Lennox, I figured he was okay. The alternative was Lennox was dead, or just didn’t want to see me anymore. In which case, Camille would inform me as soon as possible. And that would be that. The fact that she didn’t, meant that he was still alive. A small but solid comfort!

Meanwhile, I had been studying Wicca, reading my codex. But something was missing.

The book gave few specifics. Like a cookbook without recipes. It showed you pictures of things, just not how to make them. Maybe that was a check against eclectics learning on their own. I needed somebody’s help.

Fetching out my diary, I turned to the last page, and drew two columns out. Column one, I headed SPELL; column two, EFFECT.

Under SPELL, I wrote “stormr hamrinum;” under EFFECT, “the fire spell.” For so the Hunter had immolated the two gravediggers, saying those words. I had clipped the Skarborough article and tucked it inside my desk drawer.

The last time Skarborough was writing articles, it was because Marek, Lennox’s older brother, was out on the loose. He eventually came to find me. I wondered where Marek was now. Then, if he really was one of my Four Protectors.

The race for Il Gatto had been scheduled. In almost Gaven’s final act as Head Wolf, he had demanded that the tradition be upheld. He said, “The winner is the best fit for Il Gatto. Always.” So, I guessed that meant it was on.

Locke had grudgingly agreed, so I’d heard.

Ballard was in a constant state of flux. “Do you realize I could win this race?” he said. “Do you realize I could lose?”

He was in his shop, working night and day, on his motorcycle. He had apparently cannibalized some of the other motorcycle’s parts, without their owners’ consent. The long-term fixer-uppers that were in various states of disrepair. “But I had to, didn’t I?” he said.

“This is a win game, not a lose game, Ballard,” I said.

“Exactly. And I want to win,” he said. “I will be Il Gatto.”

Meanwhile, I had a dilemma. I had internalized what Lia had said, about me being a she-wolf, a lupa mannara, as she called it (“Lupa is the Roman slang for prostitute,” she said. “Proof of the prejudice against a female being Il Gatto”), even if it was just honorary, when I realized it was another hoop––another link, so to speak; and that if Lia wouldn’t race for Il Gatto, maybe I should; I could bind the two Houses together. She said she wanted to be on the lowdown. Disappear. I said down-low, Lia. “Gaven and I are to be invisible when we marry,” she said. “At least for a year.”

Lia was right. It was important we and Wicca––we Wiccans and werewolves––be like this. Like Wiccawolves. And how better than at least by trying for the Headship? I decided therefore that if they would let me, I would race for Il Gatto. A small part of me felt my own insecurity flinch at the fact that maybe if I could do this, then maybe one day I could earn the right to be Mistress of Rookmaaker House. As though being Il Gatto were somehow a steppingstone...

Also, I wanted to see if I could do it. Race. Compete. Win.

Ballard was all for it––“So long as you don’t win,” he said. He seemed to think that would be really bad of me, if I somehow managed to outlast him.

“Then you’ll just have to stop me,” I said.

He laughed. “Don’t worry––I intend to.”

Ballard said, “It gets really hairy in places.” He seemed to regard me skeptically. “Fights sometimes break out during the race,” he said.

“I can deal,” I said. I huffed. But I asked him: “Are there lots of issues with the race, like that?” I was hurt that he wasn’t taking my chances more seriously.

Ballard said, “There is some cheating––and nudging. Lots of nudging. Hey, just stick with me. I’ll watch out for you!”

I was scared about this mid-race fighting thing he described to me––and the fact that it sounded like they brawled, throwing fists and whatnot.

If we could road race we could also road rash.

It was really scary.

I had no intentions of letting Ballard babysit me, however.

“Thanks, Ballard,” I said, dropping it.

At least we were working on our bikes together. Ballard was showing me how to take care of mine. “This piece goes here,” he said, showing me how to repair the drive shaft on my Gambalunga. Risky was looking down at us from the wall. He seemed to be winking about something. As though everything was going according to some plan or other.

I didn’t see how. After all, until Lia had suggested it, I had never thought of entering the race––either because it was too dangerous, or I wouldn’t be allowed. Either way, the pathway had opened before me like a holeshot, and I intended to take it. “I’m ready,” I said.

“I hope so,” said Ballard.

Chapter 5 – The Race

The day of the race dawned with a curious sensation in the pit of my stomach, abject fear. What had I gotten myself into? It was a day spent with the Werewolves. Everyone would be there, including the Quirinal. They were the ones who ruled on things, their power checked only by that of Il Gatto. It was the Quirinal that had decided to allow the Gathering. It was the Quirinal that had decided to continue purging Rome of vampires, even though it annoyed the Lenoir. The Quirinal also kept tabs on former werewolf members. Ballard told me.

“They know, like, the secret identities of all of us,” he said.

I decided not to bring up the Hunter––and that the Hunter sounded like a werewolf––and that maybe, just maybe, the Hunter may have been a former member of the Pack?

Vittoria was still in her room, when I headed downstairs. My landlady was nowhere to be found, like she was on vacation or something. It was the first time she had ever abandoned her post.

Part of me was nervous, feeling like I had gotten myself in over my head. The other part was excited. Ballard’s nervousness had shifted in the night. Now he regarded the race as a great opportunity. “How often do you get a second chance at anything?” he said.

Apparently, there were no rules. It was a free-for-all.

“Has anyone ever died?” I asked.

“You mean been killed? Just a few times,” said Ballard.

There’s a load off. The prospect of dying didn’t seem to phase Ballard. I wondered why not, and why he looked so schoolboyish and giddy-like? If his disregard for the consequences of crashing could somehow trickle down and ease my shaking nerves. “So, you’ll just need to make sure your bike is tip-top,” he said. “And it is. And then, just, ‘Good luck!’”

I gulped, nervously. He was excited. I had the pants, the boots, the helmet, the bike. Just not the experience. Abstinence had deprived me of certain life lessons. Among them, how to ride really really fast on a motorcycle without getting myself killed. But my Gambalunga was up for it. “So this is the broomstick of a modern-day witch,” said Ballard, admiring Risky’s old motorcycle, and perhaps trying to lift my spirits at the same time.

I had taken to researching the track, in the days previous, looking for weak spots; and the riders, if there were any weak links. There didn’t seem to be. I felt like I was prepared to the best of my ability. It was a month since my last birthday. If I thought anything would just happen, Wiccanwise, because I had turned eighteen, it didn’t seem to. Wicca had to be earned. Having finished the codex, I had reached a Wiccan dead end. Now what?

Go it alone, I thought.

When we were in the sandpit, Vittoria was always the one who could do things best. She certainly had come in with the most skill. But, then, if I couldn’t find information, how had she? It was annoying. She had been learning spells. I knew she had. How else to describe the small bangs, which issued forth from her room, late, late at night. A small part of me wanted to be learning spells. But instead I was doing this. Racing motorbikes. Maybe Vittoria just wanted it more. Wicca...

Did she? Did she want Wicca more than me? To not have been drafted by the Ravenseals! No wonder she was so upset, she had been hurt, rejected. I understood how that felt. It gave her an edge, like I had gotten comfortable, and she had not. Like I expected things to be given to me. To just be handed out.

But Wicca had been handed out. The Mark was there, on my forearm. Given, not earned. And, I thought: Could it be taken away?

By not working hard, the Adept stayed that way forever. So Genevieve had said. My codex too. The Mark stopped advancing. Dulled, faded with age, ceased to be. Camille’s was barely recognizable. Almost as though she had abandoned Wicca. It had left her. And Lia’s?

I resolved to work harder. But first––this race; and then––the future...

That was a scary word, the future. Two scary words. Especially as my mind kept throwing strings out into the future. Future-seeing.

No one knew, for instance, or guessed, that I was crazy, that I had seen things happen, before seeing them happen. That I was clairvoyant or whatever.

What was this gift?

I had seen many things, some of which I didn’t entirely understand, but some of them I think I did now. Visions––a version––of the future. As though it could change.

Did I have the power to change the future? To prevent Lennoxlove dying, wandering the barren wasteland? Or Ballard and I doing whatever we had been doing?

I had seen us breaking through trees once, Ballard and I––except it was like I was him––like I had undergone a change myself. It was difficult to describe. I had even seen the Gathering several months beforehand. I remembered being in a circle, being READ as the Wiccans would say, except the figures had appeared shadowy, nebulous. The whole event had. I didn’t know what it had meant, back then. Until it happened.

Before they happened, I was in the dark with these moments.

The dreams could alter. The future was not set. I gulped. Perhaps these premonitions were leading to someone, or something. I hadn’t thought of that. Were there other people out there like me? There must be. Other future-seers? People who could manipulate the world?

How or what happens, we decide, Halsey.

Trastevere was silent out. The windows shuttered, shops closed, alleyways empty. This oldest of old enclaves was giving itself over to the werewolves, and to their traditions. The Roman walls had come up. Outsiders were forgotten about. The non-existent carabinieri (police) were nowhere to be found. The early-morning streets were primed for illegal street racing.

We met, all of us, in the piazza outside the doors to La Luna Blu, the Riders, werewolves, and spectators. There were some this time. More than active I Gatti––these must be inactive I Gatti. The Old Defenders. The werewolves who ran the shops, and kept the peace, and didn’t whisper, lest the secret get out, that there were shape changers in our midst.

There were a great many of them.

Ballard and I marveled.

We weren’t the only ones. The rest of the Riders flipped open their visors to look. I saw them exchanging glances. There was Liesel. The pink rider. Ballard on his grey. A handicap he could not abide.

“I would’ve been finished with my motorcycle in a day or two,” he said. But when he revved his engine, you could tell the replacement had some guts.

Leander, a svelte, tanned, gorgeous rider, on a silvery-pearl motorcycle, I GATTI displayed proudly on its side. The purring, opalescent motorcycle sent shivers down my spine.

“Do you like it?” said Ballard, motioning to the motorcycle. “My own design. I Gatti-brand. I figure Trastevere is moving up in the world. Why not as the hub for my own motorcycle company? I’ve worked on Leander’s, just about everyone’s bike here.” He looked dewy-eyed at his accomplishment. “I’m a glutton for causing problems for myself. Anyone of them could win. Including you.”

“Take your marks!” said a voice.

Locke was on a bullhorn. The crowd seemed anxious. Whoever won would be calling the shots from now on.

I made a perusal of the rest of the riders. Each of us had ghosted through the alleyways in the days previous. I saw Michelle, Berenice, Paolo, Pendderwenn, myself, Ballard, Liesel... two other ones.

Absent was Lia. She really did intend to take a step back from the Pack!

“Get set!”

I took the opportunity to look over Locke again. He had changed in recent weeks. He was more austere. I never knew he had powers equal to that of Il Gatto. The werewolves were led by a two-headed monster.

The Quirinal, on the one hand, and the Head Wolf, on the other, who was... going to be the winner of this race!

A Rider lurched forward. “False start!” bellowed the bullhorn. “Do it again and you’re disqualified!”

There were nine of us in all. Of the entrants, I was the only one who could not shift. An outsider. Even on my motorcycle, I still felt that way. Like I shouldn’t be here.

Locke whispered something to Gaven, who looked nonchalant, comfortable in his own skin.

There was not much for Gaven to do now, except wait.

“Very well,” said Locke, through the bullhorn. My nerves spiked painfully. “Not now!” I whispered to my Mark. It throbbed mercilessly.

“We’ll go on Lia,” said Locke. “And, Paolo, if you mess up again––!”

Ballard and I were side by side. Middle of the pack.

I checked the stands, where those who were in the know, stood up, jets of water in the background, shooting from a fountain, behind them. I was racing for the Headship, the Head of the Pack! It seemed to hit me just then. What would I do if I actually won?

My Gambalunga started having fits. Just show. Just show, I thought. My hand revving the engine, raring to go.

Lia sauntered to the head of the double column of Riders, making a show of sass. I knew why Gaven liked her so much. She took her place and the excitement in the air shifted palpably. All attention was focused on her. Lia had magnetism. Every teenage hormonal guy there was in to her.

A litany of words in my head: slow in, accelerate out. Going over what I needed to know. If you get lost, follow the septagrams; they’re engraved at the turns... Don’t die, I told myself.

It happened. Lia raised her hands and the audience gasped. Her Mark flared in her zeal to get us underway. It flashed like a medallion of gold in the morning light. I heard someone shout: “We love you, Lia!” She jumped in the air and shot down her arms. We were off.

Ballard zipped ahead of me as my clutch stuck and my engine backfired. It was just enough that I made a fool of myself. But I did what he taught me––and the last thing I saw before they disappeared around the bend, was his taillamp, and Ballard’s face looking back at me, making sure I was all right. I put the Gambalunga into gear and shot forward. Lia grimaced. “Get ’em, Halsey!” she shouted. I passed her by.

Red in the face, I put it into second––then something really happened. I started flying––not literally, just going really fast.

The Gambalunga shot ahead, and I made it to the bend. The shout of the crowd was behind me now. I felt lost in a maze, but I had navigated these chambers before. In the distance I could hear the roaring engines speeding through Trastevere ahead of me.

Okay. Three laps, I told myself.

The speedometer redlined. I could hear the engine protesting. My nerves were gone, replaced by an alertness I didn’t quite understand. I was pleased to note that I didn’t seem panicky; instead, I was methodically looking for my next mark.

The seven-sided star! There it was! The septagram...

They meant otherkin, the seven-sided stars––ailuranthropes, and whatnot; cyanthropes and so forth; those who were not exactly all-human, but interested in them. Such as us, and Asher, and Selwyn. Was that me? Was I part something-else––but interested in being human? The introduction of elements fantastic, and otherwise, in my mundane world, didn’t seem to have made an impact yet on the inner-city life of Rome. I wondered if that would hold. If those who did not know, would remain ignorant of the magickals?

WHAM!

Someone ran out at me and tried to throw me off my bike. It was a moment before I realized who it was. Michelle!

She had slammed into a wall, and was trying to take me off my bike; hers was broken. I flipped her off, swerving slightly, and continued on my way, the sounds getting closer, thinking: one Rider down!

Seeing Michelle’s face when she had tried to unseat me made me want to win the race now more than ever.

Maybe Lia, Ballard and Gaven were the exception. Maybe the rest of the Pack didn’t want me here. Like Liesel said, Magic should be put back in its box. They should mothball me.

What about Lia? I suddenly understood what it was like for her to not fit in, to have a Mark. Maybe being marked meant being on your own. Like you had a bull’s-eye on your back or something.

I zipped down a straightaway seeing the back of the nearest rider in front of me. It was Liesel this time; I was on her in a flash. She didn’t try and hit me. Instead, she swerved behind and drafted on my rear tire, rubbing it.

Gaven had a point––you had to be slightly crazy to win this race.

Liesel was playing it safe. Going too slow. I felt like I understood something, in that moment, about Leadership. How you had to do what others weren’t willing to do. To be reckless...

I shot ahead of her, but she seemed to have latched onto me. All right. So be it. Play follow the leader!

My Mark was prickling. I felt on fire. I wished it would stop. I had to get to the head of the pack. This couldn’t be good.

Three laps wasn’t very much time. I needed every second to get where I was going. Maybe I was like a lightning rod, walking around; all the spontaneous crafting... the smashing of lightbulbs, etc., blowing things up. I looked back at Liesel. I shouldn’t, I said to myself. No... I can’t... don’t blow her up...

Liesel rubbed my wheel again as we caught up to the next group of riders––we shot into the piazza, one lap down! I thought I recognized somebody in the stands, but it couldn’t be. The audience gasped. I narrowly avoided wiping out. Liesel’s cheap shot nearly put me into the wall. Ballard was nowhere to be found. He must’ve been further ahead! Winning! I wondered if he was head of the pack? Then if I wanted him to be? Paolo was a beta, after all. The Pack needed to be headed by someone powerful. In the absence of Gaven, Ballard truly was the second-best candidate to head them up. He was special. Different. Whatever.

Always with werewolves there were repercussions. There would be certainly for whoever won or lost this race.

I refrained from any magic usage, even though my Mark was paining me terribly. Such as putting Liesel into the wall. The Mistresses had taught me patience––to not lash out in anger. I had learned to control my desires. Maybe that was the point! To let slights against my existence truly slide.

Leander, the kinda beautiful one, did something, then, that was really nasty. So much for looks.

It looked, momentarily, as though Berenice was out of it, but she recovered quickly. As a group, we took a sharp turn, Liesel still on my flank. I guess it was to be expected, the infighting. Romulus killed Remus, after all. It was in the wolves’ natures to betray themselves, to destroy each other. Gaven was so selfless. How had he managed? You’ve got to fight, to win! I was giving up being a twelfth. I had chosen Rome instead of Ravenseal, a wolf instead of a witch, my gut for prestige.

I decided to go! Just go! The Gambalunga hit the straightaway and I left them all behind. Go! Go! It whizzed beautifully through the sharply twisting alleyways. The Gambalunga’s thrumming engine echoing off the high stone walls. It had gears I had never found before.

I turned a corner, in fifth place, and they were all there: the crowd, and the last four riders; Ballard, Paolo, and two others. We raced through the piazza, alone together. Ballard looked surprised to see me. When we disappeared around the bend, Paolo flew into the two masked riders, Ballard with him; they were grappling one another, single-handed, holding onto their motorcycles. It seemed to be Paolo and Ballard versus the two of them. I didn’t know what to do.

I tried to do the tire thing on the two riders, getting in the middle of the fracas, but they just ignored me. When one of them put Ballard’s face in the wall, however, I lost it. Sparks glinted off Ballard’s helmet-top, catching in the slipstream off their racing bikes, and flew into my face. It was like I was in a shower of stars. I watched as Ballard’s muscles rippled. He fought against them.

Paolo wobbled.

There was a whooshing sound, followed by a hard thudding SMACK!, and he was off his motorbike!

I saw him flying through the air. He starfished. I narrowly avoided running him over. I could see him looking up, shaking his fist at us, as we disappeared down another alleyway.

Ballard’s helmet was all messed up. He took it off and winged it at the remaining two riders. I heard it clatter a few times on the cobblestones as we disappeared down the vicolo.

In my angst, I had paid little attention to these two, but I saw who they were now. Blunt and Giorgio.

Two betas.

The only thing I knew about them was how much they seemed to desire alphadom and the Headwolfship. Either their instincts were telling them to murder each other, or these two were psychopaths. Maybe we all were. We were about to break into the opening, when it happened again. Blunt was trying to put Ballard’s head into the wall without Ballard having his helmet on, Giorgio helping.

“Halsey, don’t!” said Ballard.

It was two against one.

Something glinted in Blunt’s eyes. “Let’s give her a proper welcoming,” he said to Giorgio.

The two of them dropped back.

Ballard raged. “Leave her alone!”

“If she thinks she can be in charge,” said Giorgio, “let her prove it.”

They dropped back and came at me. I hadn’t planned on this. Ballard let out a cry of rage. But it was too late.

We came into the piazza and a giant BOOM! sounded. Blunt’s and Giorgio’s motorcycles went flying out from underneath them. They face-planted, sliding across the finish line, their motorcycles on fire. Ballard and I finished one-two. I had to look back to see them. Flames licked at the charred motorcycles. What was wrong with me? It was pandemonium. In that moment, I had seemed to think the words. I looked at the husks of the motorcycles, paint curling in the flames, and felt sickness well within me. Nausea instead of butterflies. I had nearly killed them. Worse, I had used dark magic.

Stormr hamrinum. Ballard was the new Head Wolf. Which was good––because I didn’t deserve it.

Ballard’s fist was in the air; it was over. Blunt and Giorgio were getting up, no worse for having escaped death–– But their rides were wrecked!

They came to congratulate Ballard, along with the rest of the pack, Paolo and the other racers belatedly crossing the finish line. It seemed to drag on forever. Then why was my heart still racing? Like I was a danger magnet. Or worse, mistress of danger!

Someone said, “No hard feelings, Halsey, huh? I thought you did really well. Runner-up!” Liesel was shaking my hand for some reason. I said something or other. Apparently the races were always this way, she said. “Pretty weird, huh?”

Then why had I lost myself so completely? The rest of them were over it––no big deal––but not me. My blood was still up. Liesel was amused. “For a newbie chick you’re OK,” she said.

“Thanks, Liesel,” I said.

I could feel it coursing through my body, the blood. Others were coming to congratulate me. Giorgio and Blunt echoed Liesel’s water-under-the-bridge line––when someone behind me coughed, unexpectedly.

I turned, mechanically.

My landlady was standing right there, smiling at me, with an electric energy in her eyes.

“You very fast,” she said. “Yes, indeed.”

I think I waited for my mind to catch up with the rest of me. What was going on?

“You’re a werewolf?” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You need practice sed esse in silentium. Shh with talk of werewolves. Very fast, very fast.”

The knowledge that my landlady was one of us––

“But you never told me.... Vittoria....” It seemed to clunk in my brain.

“She’s my niece,” said my landlady. “You be nice to her.”

“Why?” I said, dumbfounded.

But Ballard came over to me then, and she melted away.

“Ballard, my landlady is a werewolf,” I said, in a daze.

“She must be one of the old Defenders,” he laughed, exaggerating the words. It was his coronation celebration.

“Ballard, you’re Head Wolf!” I said.

* * *

Lia’s wedding to Gaven on the Lupercalia was approaching like gangbusters; I had little time for anything else. The worst part was Ballard was so busy. He and Gaven were initiating THE CHANGE, as they called it. Gaven was passing the keys to the kingdom over to Ballard, his protégé. Which meant I was never going to see the youngest Il Gatto in their history ever again (“It’s official. I am,” he said). Instead, I was stuck with Lia, and her wedding planning. Her train of baggage included me; I was to stand there, and do that, and act according to her preadolescent daydreams of the big day. No, thank you. Wedding, this, wedding, that. Lia, Lia, Lia. Which would have been okay normally, but I had things to do. Sigh. Blank face. Sigh.

They walked over coals during Lupercalia, but I was getting dragged through them. I felt like I needed to be in twelve places at once. Maybe if there were more of me.... But Lia’s babble-talk was infectious. Any high and mighty she may have had about sticking around for any noble reasons was secondary to the fact she was going to be spending so much alone time with Gaven. I started wondering about Wiccan couples. “Is there a marriage system in the culture?” I asked. “Can people in one house marry people in another? Is same-house marriage forbidden? What about marriage with non-wizards and witches, Lia? Or eclectic witches and wizards, hey? Shape shifters, and the like. Can they marry into Houses? Or can they only marry each other, and non-magicals? If marriage, as we define it, takes place, what is the ceremony comprised of, who performs it? Who approves Wiccan marriages? Is there a document of marriage issued or are the partners marked, body and soul?”

Okay––she knew I was crazy. That look proved it.

“I would think a third-degree Head of House could marry two people, Halsey,” she said. “But I can only tell you how it’s done for werewolves. The girl, me, is given a moonvase; that’s the female symbol for werewolf. The boy, Gaven, is given a moonflask; the male. Would you like to see Gaven’s moonflask I bought him?” She opened a drawer and slid out a small oblong box, fetching it from tissue paper. It was crystal, the moonflask, with a gold stopper shaped like a heart. “This is what I’m giving to him,” she said. Her face shined, giving me the magnetic Lia smile, beaming at me like headlights.

“Lia, are there other werewolves in the world?” I asked. “Besides I Gatti.”

She looked confused by the question, putting the moonflask away. It was very beautiful, I told her.

“Some,” she said. “But I’ve never met them... I don’t think. Why?”

I was thinking of my landlady––and Vittoria... If they were related, if my landlady was a werewolf... Then what the H was Vittoria?

“I’ve heard of one group. The Benandanti...” she said. “And there’s another... The Grigori. My brother would know more. He’s Head Wolf! One of the things which happens is Gaven tells Ballard everything. Like presidents about Area 51 and Roswell––he gets brought in on all the secrets.” She shrugged.

“That’s pretty!” I said.

“Do you like it? I’m thinking of vajazzling myself with Swarovski crystals,” she said. She was off in Dreamland again.

So Gaven was telling Ballard the pack secrets––I almost wrote pact secrets––like it was an ancient magical passing on or something; we had broached this subject before, Ballard and I, and Gaven and I. There was more apparently to the werewolves than I knew...

Lia’s TMI hit me then. I wondered who had told Gaven the pack secrets, when he had become Head Wolf? Maybe Ballard would tell me some of them, if I asked. I could probably trick it out of him. But, no, I wouldn’t do that. Ballard would tell me when he was good and ready, or not at all.

“Your eyes are so pretty. Like amethysts. Gaven’s a lucky dawg, Lia.”

* * *

More bangs issued from Vittoria’s room. They weren’t so much an annoying nuisance as a reminder to work harder. Pretty soon my Fledged status would be in jeopardy. Everything seemed to have been pushed back until after the wedding, including House Rookmaaker. I suddenly had a terrible thought. Sometimes Wiccans getting together were called Houses, even if it was just in their minds, and there wasn’t an actual location.

What if my parents’ House existed like one of these Houses? In the mind only? It could be imaginary, couldn’t it? Non-corporeal? Was House Rookmaaker fake?

The vending machine sounded. I peeked through the peephole. Vittoria was out there, sweating profusely, guzzling an aperitif. It was like she had aped my entire existence down to the Red Bull.

I was supposed to be the only Wiccan in Rome.

And, well, Lia too. But that’s it.

Vittoria went back in her room and the banging started up again.

Ugh. I didn’t like all of these secrets. A part of me wanted to go ask Vittoria what she was up to, but I knew what she’d say. “Mind your own business,” or, “Don’t be such a Coriolanus, asshole.”

Was she my wolfsbane? I gave her the finger through the wall. The next night was worse, like she was hammering nails into my head, or something. “That’s very interesting!” she said.

* * *

I booted up my MacBook Pro and typed in Benandanti, feeling the headrush as the words came up, and the energy drink went down.

SEE BENANDANTUS | WEREWOLVES

For kicks I typed in my parents’ names into the search engine, but KINSEY AND MAXIMILIAN ROOKMAAKER returned nothing. I wished I could type in WHAT’S THE POINT? or HELP. WEREWOLF, RISKY returned nothing either. LORENZO, I typed.

BOOTED FROM HIS HOME RANGE. | TOOK UP IN STROMOVKA.

Whatever that meant. Where was everything? There was no wiki for any of this. A bang went off. Vittoria...

I hissed the hated name, silently to myself. A lightbulb exploded. It was my last good one. Why did she have to be here? Couldn’t she just leave me alone, in peace?

I GATTI. The only thing that came up was Ballard’s burgeoning motorcycle company. He needed a better website designer.

I paused infinitesimally.

THE LENOIR, I typed. It felt forbidden.

Why did I feel like they would know if I was trying to access their secrets? I redefined the search. PARIS, THE LENOIR, VAMPIRE, COVEN.

It gave me something. A link. When I clicked on it, I got an error message. 403. Forbidden/Access Denied.

The jolt in my stomach had nothing to do with the campari I was drinking.

I was at the website I had been to before. The one with the snowflakes, the falling symbols. The Wiccan website. Were the Lenoir connected to this? Ballard needed to be here for this!

401 Unauthorized

Access denied. Red flags came up. I looked for the FBI. Briefly, I imagined the Lenoir kicking down my door. But they couldn’t get to me here, could they, not in Rome.

Oops! You’ve crashed the Internet!

I connected back up and typed some more secrets into the search engine. The breeze was playing havoc with my hair. I kept the French doors open, hoping Lennox would return.

PARIS. COVEN. THE VAMPIRES. LENOIR.

By hitting enter I was stepping over the invisible threshold which separated my kind from Lennox’s other family, breaking the rules. The search held a proviso, a warning against it. It was akin to Lennox’s dream-warning. We only let those come this far who have committed first to going all the way. What was this commitment? Did I want to become a vampire? I needed to know where he was at! If I tampered too much with them they would probably give me an ultimatum: join with us or die. But the electronic safeguards surrounding the Lenoir were impenetrable. My search yielded several actors, actresses, an old historical figure. But no actual Paris vampire coven. Disappointed, I shut down my computer and went to bed. My dreams filled with explosions, and Lennox, zombying the land, alone and without hope, and suchlike general un-at-easiness.

Chapter 6 – Lupercalia

The wedding day emerged sparkling from the dawn, a fine layer of snow vanishing by mid-morning, followed by a blinding hot Roman sun. Everyone said the winter had been the longest in memory. It was February 14th, Valentine’s Day. I arrived to the Rosen family residence, flush from my early-morning ride, having spent the time battling traffic and my own growing sense of uneasiness over who the werewolf had been I had seen in my dreams. I decided I would tell Ballard as soon as possible––About the Hunter and so forth. Ballard was the new Il Gatto, after all. He needed to know. If anything skullduggerous was going on, it was his business, was it not? But Ballard was not at the Rosen family residence. They were.

I found myself in the garage, with two strangers I had never met before in my entire life, and they were banging on Ballard’s computer, trying to get it to work.

“No, I think it’s dead. How old is this thing, anyway?”

“Hello,” said the other of the two.

They were standing there, staring at me. I stood on one toe, then the other. Meeting new people always made me nervous. Some Head of House you’ll be, I thought. I wondered if I had what it took to be the leader of House Rookmaaker.

“My name is Halsey,” I said.

The leader of the two said “You’re Ballard’s girl, aren’t you?” Their broad grins widening into identical smiles.

“Well, his friend, actually,” I said.

“We’re Sándor and Septimus.”

I chuckled nervously: jinx. They had said it together.

The shorter of the two (Sándor) had on a houndstooth jacket and sported a curious diamond-shaped soul patch under his bottom lip. It pointed downwards to a necklace with a pendant shaped like a swirl. His brother, Septimus, was more wild-looking, with hair to rival even Lennox’s; it was moussed in careless spikes, and his eyes gleamed with a certain wondrous light.

I suddenly found myself being stared at––looked over––studied. “Dogs are usually kept by witches as familiars,” said Sándor to his brother, nodding my way. “And vice-versa.”

Someone came in just then, from the doorway leading upstairs. “Are you Halsey? I’m Cyno. Ballard’s mom. These two aren’t bothering you, are they?”

She was tall and slender, exactly like Lia. I had expected someone zaftig. “How do you do?” she said.

She saw the red Gambalunga. “Ah! Risky’s bike!”

“Do you––I mean––do you guys know––what’s going on here?” I asked, looking around at all of them.

I don’t know what I expected. Just that I was feeling lonely, and I needed a shorthand, commonality––Something––between the four of us.

“A wedding, I think,” said Septimus. I felt like I was standing on uneven ground. But he was joking––joking. Why did I always have to be so super awkward?

Sándor, his eyes shining, said, “You mean the fact that there are vampires and we guard Rome from them and so forth?”

“We had no idea,” said Septimus, who smiled at me.

“We’re in on the family secret, Halsey,” said Sándor, “don’t worry. In fact...” He looked at his brother. “Can I say?”

“If you must... She’ll find out anyway,” said Septimus.

“Ballard recalled us––Cyno here too,” said Sándor. “She’s kunos oura. That’s Greek for our little predicament of being shape shifters. You know, anthropomorphs?”

“Loup garou,” said Septimus.

“Lycanthropes,” said Sándor.

“Vyras, berserkind, lupins... wearers of wolfs’ skins... wargs, beast men, Versipelli, turncoats, oboroten, geroul, wer-wulfs, moonpeople. Cut the man, the fur shows through,” said Septimus. “We are initiated Halsey, to the transmutandi corpora nostra, but are unable to shift, unlike some people. Lia’s upstairs, by the way.”

“We need to get you both ready,” said Ballard’s mom, who seemed to be waiting for them to be quiet, before talking to me. I was enjoying their jambalaya of word soup.

I felt that familiar sensation, like I was new to something, and I was trying to keep up. Were Sándor and Septimus what I thought they were? And why had they been recalled? Obviously, something was going on. I wanted to know what.

Lia was in her dressing room, which had been converted from one of the spare bedrooms, when I arrived. There were a lot of spare bedrooms these days, considering who had lived here. It was like Ballard’s entire family had gotten out of Rome. Sándor, Septimus... His mother and father... Suddenly they were all in town.

Lia was in a chair being groomed by Liesel, who was doing her hair. It looked like the two of them had been pulling an all-nighter. Lia’s hair was done up in an extremely intricate, finger-busting, braid, with gems knotted into it, so that they shimmered down her neck. “You’ll be the most wonderful angel the stars have ever seen,” said Cyno, glowing at her daughter. Lia wasn’t the only one getting made over, however. It was my turn in the chair next to her. Clothes racks were behind us, just waiting for our attention.

“For you,” said Lia, opening a small drawer in the style center they had set up, and handing me a clasped jewelry box. Cyno yanked at my hair. “Do you mind, dear?” she asked.

“No. Go ahead.”

It was just the four of us. Lia and I in our undergarments, our Marks shining. Both Cyno and Liesel exclaimed when they saw mine. I opened the finger box. A small ring sat on a velvet cushion. “Silver and zoisite,” said Lia. “I thought it would match your delta––and the way it swirls down to your fingertips.” She looked almost dreamily at me.

I held up the ring, and thanked her. Engraved on it was a triskele and the words HARM NONE; “to commemorate our wedding,” said Lia. “Mine and Gaven’s,” she elaborated unnecessarily. “The others are getting moonstones, but I wanted yours to be special. Wiccan.”

Cyno yanked. “Tricky customer, eh?”

“Lia, I don’t know what to say,” I said. My Mark flared, and I slapped it. “Ow!” I said. Hers was like gold, and I remembered what Lux had said about Marks being mysterious and all. My own was filling in. The silver ink like mercury, constantly changing. But Lia’s was unalterable. Like it knew what it wanted to be. Like it had been cast that way forever.

I didn’t have that luck. I was wishy-washy; she was not.

I put on the ring and let Lia’s mom continue with my hair, forgetting what I wanted to say. What was there to say? It was clear Lia and Ballard’s parents loved them––even if they never told them what was going on: about vampires and werewolves and Risky... and, said a certain part of me, my parents...

“The guests will be arriving soon,” said Cyno. “Other Supernaturals, including from Houses. What fun!”

“Gaven invited them,” said Lia, interpreting my look.

Liesel pronounced herself finished. Lia sighed. “Thank goodness!” she said.

I got suddenly nervous. “You don’t mean to say from House Ravenseal?” I said.

“Sure. Why not?” said Lia. “Only they couldn’t make it.” She frowned and then said, conspiratorially, “Something came up. Gaven told me. Ballard’s looking into it... But Harcort is coming,” she added brightly. “Do you remember Fanishwar Harcort and Gemma Moonflower? They’ll be here. And of course the other je-rouges. I asked my brothers and they said vulkodlaks usually congregate in mid-winter. This one seems to be going on forever, though.”

The knowledge that Ravenseal had been invited superseded whatever else Lia had just said. If they had come, why hadn’t Ravenseal come-come?

She and the vampire are headed towards Prague. Find the other one and kill him. Do not let it survive.

AND THEM? said the Hunter.

What had happened?

Maybe Ravenseal had sent Lux. Was he in danger? What had happened to him? I needed to see Ballard immediately. Especially if he was holding out on me. We didn’t used to have secrets. Now, with his Il Gattodom, it felt like a wedge was being driven between Ballard and me. Cyno said, “You look marvelous, dear.”

“I’ve never actually been to a wedding before,” I said. I was thankful Lia had spared me the whole bridesmaid thing. It was going to be a very simple ceremony. “Just your attendance is necessary,” she had answered me.

“It’s easy. Just don’t flub the toast,” said Cyno.

My heart rate spiked uncomfortably. “You’re sweating, dear. Relax. I’m finished.” She trilled. “Done. Beautiful. Done. Fabo, fabo.”

* * *

I had studied quite a bit about lycanthropy. So I knew, for instance, that their eyebrows were supposed to meet in the middle, and that werewolves had swinging, ape-like strides. Not to speak too unkindly of them.

There was also the aversion to wolfsbane. If you called their names three times (“Ballard, Ballard, Ballard...”) they were supposed to come round and stop being werewolves and so forth. Also, there was a great deal to do with remorse; something about the crimes they had committed, and how werewolves felt guilt. But these were Roman shape shifters. When I tried calling Ballard three times, he stayed gone.

“You’re not getting married here, are you?” I asked Lia, indicating the small apartment over their garage.

“No, of course not,” she said. “But I do have to go. Your chaperone will be arriving directly.”

“But where––?”

Lia was escorted from the room. The sun had gone down. Even indoors I could feel it. Like a sixth sense.

There was a knock at the door and Ballard came in. He wolf-whistled playfully. “You look great,” he said. Then he said “Wow” to me.

I was in a black gown. It was see-through in parts. It was very Stonehenge. My hair done up in a twist. I wore my hood down. I had on a Gaelic earwrap I had bought on Via dei Condotti, which was a black-thorn earring thingy, which curled itself along the outer rim of my ear like a snake; it reminded me of the Iron Roses, actually; the Harm None ring, and, of course, my mother’s locket, were also on my person. “Wow,” Ballard said again.

“And you!” I said brightly.

The wolves wore earthy tones, the ladies in green, velvet-flocked tops (so Lia’s mom had said), with satin trim and Chantilly lace. The men, in russet-colored outfits, that made them look like woodland hunters. Ballard’s quadricep muscles were showing. It was said to honor their heritage. “We want you looking like a Wiccan,” said Cyno. I had been tempted to ask her how she felt about her daughter being one––but I didn’t know Cyno that well. In any event, she seemed to be happy; so I guess I had my answer. Now there was only the matter of getting there. I couldn’t go on my Gambalunga. Not in this, I thought. There was no way.

“Not to worry,” said Ballard. “I’ve brought my ape van.”

Swinging strides, I thought. I wondered if he would transform for me––not into a werewolf... but into the old Ballard. “Your chariot awaits,” he said.

It was clean this time. And Ballard had given the ape van a new paint job. And he modified the interior. Now there were side-by-side seats. But we had to scrunch together. “You’re really hot, Ballard,” I said.

“Thank you!” he said.

“No, your skin.”

“Wolf, remember?” he said, as he started the ignition. “It helps when it gets freezing. Though I’m not sure you would think so when you saw me steaming. Giving off heat. That I’m hot,” he said, when he saw I wasn’t keeping up. “To use your expression.”

“I did want to ask you about that,” I said. “Not about your general good-lookingness, which is obvious. No––it’s about this rogue, who’s out there.”

Ballard’s ape van backfired.

“Who told you about that?” he said. “It’s just... No one’s supposed to know––including you. Look, sorry,” he said.

He looked sheepishly down at me from up at the roof where his head was bumping the top.

“Do you think this vehicle fits you?” I asked.

“I refuse to grow out of things. Now tell me, please. Who told you that there was something out there? A rogue?”

“Is that an order, Your Headwolfship, sir?” I asked in an unctuous tone.

“It’s not like that,” he said, “I’m not–– Something’s out there, all right. We already encountered it once. It’s like it wants something.”

“You’re supposed to talk to me, Ballard. Risky put us in this together,” I said, “and you’re keeping secrets––when you swore that we would be like this.” I finger-thinged right in his face.

“Don’t do that. Don’t disregard my feelings,” I said, when he laughed.

“No. It’s just... you should see your face. You look like an angry kitten. It’s kind’ve cute,” he said. “Although it is hard to be frightened of you, you know.”

“I do know––and don’t you? Come on, Ballard, put it together.”

“What?” he said.

“What d’you mean what?” I said, mystically aping his voice. It was like I was talking to myself. “The race, Ballard. So don’t tell me I’m a pushover. We wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t saved your life. Remember?” I trailed off, angry at myself for saying these things. Don’t say them just to say them––even though you know they can be cruel and harmful...

Ballard repeated the well-worn phrase “What do you mean?” But this time upset.

“Do not tell me that you failed to see that I actually did magic during the race?” I said. “It’s like I’m a lethal weapon. I shouldn’t be allowed to exist. So don’t tell me I’m not frightening.” I was nearing hysteria. “I know perfectly well who I am, thank you very much.” Which was a complete and utter lie.

“Okay... who are you?” said Ballard, playing along.

I hissed.

“You’re a flat tire,” said Ballard.

“Close. I am Halsey. Hear me roar.” I cat-clawed the air. The little ape van wobbled down the road. Me, the terrible kitten.

Ballard said, “You’re right. I should have kept you informed. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

“I do. It’s because you think you have to protect me. I’m not a little girl. Which is why I also have something I need to come clean to you about, Ballard.” Guilt swelled within me.

“Wait... you haven’t been... You have been,” he said accusatorially. “You’ve been keeping secrets. Halsey Rookmaaker, you tell me this instant.”

“Charming, Ballard.”

“Do you like it? I was using my mother’s voice. It’s kind of like the kettle calling the pot black or Whatever. But I’m over that now. This little get-together’s like a passing of the baton, don’t you think? Pretty soon we’ll have secrets we don’t tell them.” He pointed to invisible parents. My own were dead.

I nodded my head. “It’s on us now,” I said, “whatever it is. Which is why you should have told me everything. And why you’re going to tell me, now. Aren’t you, Ballard?”

“Last time I checked,” he said.

I slapped him hard on the chest, because it was the only thing I could reach. We were nearly to wherever we were headed, leaving Rome behind. I felt like a sardine. When suddenly he outbursted.

“The Skarborough article––I knew it!” he said, slapping the steering wheel.

“These little outbursts of yours should come with a warning label,” I said.

“No, it’s just––she doesn’t listen. And quiet. I’m Il Gatto. I won a race, so you have to do what I say.”

“That’s pretty much exactly how I say it in my head,” I said, nodding in agreement.

But he refused to be lighthearted. “You stay in your head too much,” he said. “You’re like your friend, that chick who lives down the hall.”

“Who? Vittoria...” I said.

“Yeah. You two should get out more. Or hang out. Craft in common.”

“Actually, I hate her, she’s my nemesis, and I never want to see her again, but what else have you got, Ballard?”

“The door that squeaks loudest deserves the most attention,” he said.

“What does that even mean?” I was looking at him pointy-eyed.

“Nothing. I just made it up,” said Ballard. “But you get my point.”

“No––I really don’t. And as for needing your advice, I’m older than you, by about two years, so why you think you can give me it... Are you even allowed to drive yet? Trust me, Ballard, Vittoria just wants a little nudge, before she goes full evil. I’m waiting, by the way... For you to tell me what’s going on.”

We continued down the empty stretch of road. (Getting married in the evening was an unusual choice. I supposed it had something to do with Trastevere’s connection to the mysterious drama of otherkin cultures.) “Tell me,” he said, “have you ever heard of the Benandanti?”

“Aren’t they werewolves? Lia told me.”

Ballard grimaced.

“She shouldn’t have said that. The benandanti are indeed werewolves––but from a northern sect. Actually, they embrace all kinds of change. Your friend Asher is one of them, and he was an ailuranthrope. His mother was a Benandantus. Gaven told me. He also told me to keep an eye on Asher, when we were at the Gathering––but then you and I weren’t speaking. It’s not important. Anyway, this thing may be a rogue from their tribe. I have people monitoring north of here. Several teams of Riders, in fact, are tracking it... The hunter...

“But he’s clever, whoever he is. Always manages to elude us. Which is why I closed the border. Ravenseal made an unscheduled incursion, two weeks ago––this was when Gaven was Head Wolf. He turned them back. Didn’t know what to think. Apparently, they were coming for you. Do you know anything about that?”

“Who was it? Who was it from Ravenseal?” I said.

“Some inspector or other. The point is, we don’t want it coming down here to Italy, the monster. I’ll fill you in after the wedding, okay? Honestly, I was going to anyway. There just hasn’t been a moment to catch up. Hopefully when things settle down, we can do more you and me stuff. Have you been doing any research?”

But it was too late. We were at the campagna, the countryside surrounding Rome––and it was filled with people, and Lia’s wedding was about to begin. I didn’t like this new regimented lifestyle.

* * *

Huge tents stretched upward in the night sky, rockets of cypresses overhanging them, including one rather large pavilion, under which sat a multitude of chairs and tables, and what looked to be a dance floor. Great. I think my flesh-eating butterflies were back. I had been so busy haranguing Ballard to tell me stuff I forgot one of my duties tonight was to address the attendants during a wedding toast. Public speaking was not my forte. Ballard however seemed entirely at ease. He stuck by my side even when several of his men made their way through the swarms of people and wizards and werebeasts to whisper into his ears––sometimes simultaneously. I had seen these same warriors hang on Gaven’s every word.

Ballard had transcended. His burgeoning self-confidence tempered by the knowledge of his own self-worth. I envied it immensely. I was so used to feelings of inadequacy, within myself, that it was hard to realize Ballard was no longer on my level.

Wiccans went their separate ways, when they matriculated, stuffing each other down their respective rotas. It was down in the book. After the passage on karma, there was the fact too many of us couldn’t be together. We had to Hive. Break up. Split apart. I hoped I wasn’t losing Ballard. If he had to stay, after all...

He was supposed to go with me––to Prague––to the Districts of Magic.

I felt Prague, which was supposedly the Mecca of all Magic, call to me. Would I go there alone?

It felt like I needed to go there. It was where Magic was from, after all.

Perhaps my Virtue was I had no choice. After all, I was Marked (I almost wrote Marekd), and I was tired of hiding that fact.

Regardless that it writhed and twisted up my arm, my Wiccan Mark was set, was it not? I was the last and final Rookmaaker––so Risky had said. Well, apart from Selwyn. Him I needed to rescue. I suddenly understood what Ballard had said about being so preoccupied with things. My head felt more full than normal.

Meanwhile, the Ravenseals were after me, and I still hadn’t managed to begin looking into my parents’ House. The knowledge that the Ravenseals had come to get me was mind-numbing. Why had they come down to Rome, if not to drag me back? This wasn’t going away... And Gaven had shut them out. Why? Did he think they were in cahoots with the Hunter? Ballard had also instinctively called it that.

But then I realized who the Ravenseals were in cahoots with. The Master House. It was said they were recruiting Veruschka Ravenseal, The Master House. Although, I couldn’t think why. I shivered.

...Halsey Ravenseal...

Even in my head it sounded like an evasion. Know thyself.

But who was I?

Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major started––Ballard and I had to hurry to our seats. Lia was in one of the tents waiting to come out. It was down a stretch of grass to the rows of seating, hundreds of figures taking their places, seated before a beautiful hand carved gazebo––with intricate figures representing trees, carved into it, dripping Italian yellow jasmine and trumpets of honeysuckle, blooming, even in this mid-February.

There was something in the air. My fingertips tingled with it. What I guessed was the proximity of so many other mages.

As was customary, the witches and wizards had dressed in various-colored robes, with bright silver symbols shining on them, and had outlandish hair. This is what some of the symbols looked like:

I recognized them from the website I had seen. But I had questions, and no answers were forthcoming. It was like we were communing with something, all of us. Something pagan and primal, here in this get-together.

Ballard and I were seated several rows back and to the side of Ballard’s mom, who was across the aisle from two older people I didn’t recognize but could only be Mr. and Mrs. Overstreet, Gaven’s parents.

Mrs. Overstreet had her handkerchief ready, while Mr. Overstreet (who had endowed Gaven with his incredible good looks) smiled on appreciatively, as his son stood waiting for his bride-to-be. I was pleased to note Gaven was in a tux. Some ceremonies superseded those of being a werewolf.

All too soon, the music lifted, shifting into The Bridal Chorus, and we all looked back as one. A collective gasp as the onlookers beheld Lia for the first time, being escorted down the aisle by her father, who placed her hand into Gaven’s––her wedding dress was a trail of flowers and gems.

Gaven simply radiated triumph.

Lia’s father took his seat next to Cyno and the nuptials began.

I was expecting the same old, same old. Which is ironic, since I’d never been to a wedding before. Instead of traditional wedding vows, however, Lia had prepared Wiccan ones.

When it came time to speak up, or forever hold our peace, Ballard cleared his throat, but whatever it was, he let it pass, and as no ex-flames for either party stepped forward, that was that. The minister announced that Gaven could kiss the bride. Which he did.

There were quite a few wolf whistles––and then just applause, glorious and prolonged, because Gaven and Lia were now husband and wife. “Let no man put asunder––nor werewolf neither!” said the minister, spitting out his n’s.

It was about to get out of hand, as Mistress Genevieve would have said. A band had been called in. There were a lot of jumping and dancing children and adults. Gaven pulled off Lia’s garter and she threw the bouquet. They weren’t leaving yet, were they? I wanted to have a talk with them first. To tell Lia and Gaven to go to Tuscany, or the Caribbean––and not to worry about Rome. But I knew they wouldn’t. I had never met two people so fastidious about responsibility.

Ballard shook off his shoes, and I watched him, to various whoops, moonwalk his way across the hot coals; they had built a firepit, I Gatti, outside the pomerium, the ancient protective border, which encircled the city, like a protective enchantment ringing Rome. Who was keeping control of things while the werewolves were away from Rome?

I had entrusted my motorcycle to the security of Trastevere. But it didn’t look like there were any werewolves that could be there. They were all here! Volt and Pouch, two younger-looking ones were doing a raucous dance with several teenage girls, who cheered them on, before joining in with them exuberantly. Had they experienced the Calling, yet, any of them?

The band died; or was dragged off; and the fireworks started. Two warlocks, who had helped build the Gathering, let loose with a barrage of showstoppers. The guests all ooh’d and ahh’d. The warlocks were showing them their truespirits. Things got quickly out of hand. It was only then that I saw how afraid everyone was. The two wizards were dueling each other for whoever could produce the best pyrotechnical explosion. The rockets were being let off by their hands. Literally. Fireworks erupted from their W’s like Wiccan bombardments. One Wiccan did this two-handed one which caused the sky to erupt in a blaze of violet stars and his hair to go all white. There was a chain reaction of explosions, culminating in a giant, ruby-encrusted heart, which floated above our heads, with a golden G & L written into it, for Gaven and Lia, that started burning in the center, like embers in a fire, drawing energy into it; and then, with a deafening explosion, which could be heard all around, dinner was served.

The guests were seated according to their proclivities––which meant I got put with several werepeople––but also, a witch, a wizard, and––Gemma Moonflower. She was the first Initiate who had been Chosen at the Gathering. Harcort had taken her. They were a British coven of witches and wizards; a kord, as was more proper, of ros an buccans. I looked, before I could help myself, at Gemma Moonflower’s Mark, only to find it covered over. When would this impulse to hide our true natures go away? I wondered.

I hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. There was everything and then some, including several foreign dishes, with exotic-sounding names, I had never seen before, including some which squiggled and leaped I assumed were must-haves for certain of Lia’s and Gaven’s more rapacious dinner guests. The facial hair in the throng was hirsute. I wondered if this was a werewolf thing––like Wiccans with their Marks? Was it written on a person what they would become? Just as the Hunter had seemed to transform, becoming who he really was?

I settled on a snow pea and arugula salad.

Determined to have my share of la dolce vita, I ordered also a rosso, red wine; and for the main course––I looked down the handwritten Italian menu: words like gnocchi, ragù, and antipasto jumped out at me––I ordered the lip-smackingly-good-sounding semolina dumplings, with a side of porcini mushrooms, and dipping sauce. “Very eclectic,” complimented my waiter, a werewolf, before pulling a face. I was too busy admiring Lia and Gaven to notice. They were sitting in the pavilion, at a raised table. I recognized Cyno, of course, and her husband, Jim, sitting with them, along with the Overstreets. Ballard was nowhere to be found.

Jim and Cyno had known Risky.

Somehow it felt like Risky was here with us, even though I knew that Risky was dead; that Risky and the Rookmaakers was a linked phrase, and I should learn it––every in and out, and subtle intricacy of their existences, which had been connected.

I took a sip of red wine and plopped a mushroom in my mouth. It wasn’t so much the toast, which was causing me uneasiness, but the need to progress; like when I used to dream I had forgotten to do my homework, at school, and Mistress Genevieve would whack me. My appetite was nil. Instead I had more rosso. Hic.

If all of these other people had managed to cross the border into Italy, how had the Hunter been denied...? With charms and spells?

Maybe Lia had helped.

Did she know any?

She had charmed Gaven, all right...

I realized there were no vampires present––that the invitation extended to wizards and anthropomorphs only. Why?

I thought of Lennox, and if he would have been invited?

The vampires were at the Gathering too, I whined privately to myself.

I had not hallucinated Lennox in a while. Perhaps more wine.

I motioned to a waiter who poured me another glass of vino. It tasted excellent.

Gemma was in her own happy world, humming to herself while she ate. Table talk ranged from the God and Goddess Wicca to Lupercus and The One. I heard the words nox, sangoma, quadrangle, and sneezeweed. Apparently that last one was for a Mark that was underdeveloped. That person was said to have sneezeweed for an arm. The Adept stay that way forever. Next was handfasting. “I thought that was interesting how they did their wedding vows,” said a witch from an enclave in Bern. “Never quite heard it put that way before. How did it go?”

A wizard said, “‘As long as love lasts,’ Miraphora, dear, became, ‘so long as our powers hold.’ And ‘till death do us part,’ ‘till my spirit leave me...’”

“Yes, that. Strange, if you ask me. They should bring back telltown marriages, or at least publish the bans; any sort of wishy-washiness, and I start looking for divorce lawyers. Hands in pockets should be your own, Artemis, don’t you agree?”

“Eat your soup, Miraphora. They look happy––don’t jinx that.”

“He’s a werewolf,” she said. “You know what that means, Artemis? Half-Lighters. It should be kept separate. My own Mistress, Goodiefeeder, always said so. ‘Magic’s magic,’ she would say, ‘and there’s just no getting around that.’ The cubs will have craft. You know full well, Wiccans and werewolves shouldn’t mix... It’s barking mad. Shh... let’s hear what they have to say...”

“With pleasure.” It was clear he desired a different seating arrangement. Gemma looked surprised when she heard words coming out of speakers, and saw a microphone being passed around. “Goody!” she said.

“Is she not quite all there?” Miraphora whispered to me. But I didn’t answer her. The toasts were about to begin.

Paolo, Gaven’s best man, was first. “I always like these,” said Miraphora, “especially when they’re raunchy.” She consumed her rosso double-quick and became all ears––straining for anything to condemn or ridicule. I questioned if anyone had actually invited her.

As for Paolo, who had lost the race, Ballard said something to me very interesting––after we had finished and he was proclaimed the victor. He was talking about life, and how it’s a long race. “Not everyone’s made themselves known yet,” said Ballard. “Some people start out strong while others fade away. It’s like life. You don’t know until it’s over, who won or lost. That’s why––that’s why I’ve been developing the idea of BSB.”

BSB was this thing he had started going on about.

Bigger. Silenter. Badassesser.

“It all goes back to Locke,” he said, “and his opinion about the new Head Wolf being chosen, instead of winning a race.”

When he said it like that I thought about Wiccans being chosen––it didn’t seem fair.

“So why shouldn’t Gaven nominate Paolo, do you see what I mean?” said Ballard. “Only, because Gaven didn’t, it must’ve meant he saw something in Paolo he didn’t like. Leastways that’s what Locke said. There is that sense that Paolo was passed over. That Gaven saw him as an inferior werewolf. A stigma which has carried forward––even though the election never took place.”

I think I understood what Ballard meant, finally. Letting me race was like the opposite of that. Gaven had shown faith in me. House Rookmaaker was bonded more to the Sons and Daughters of Romulus now because of it. I hated that the Sons and Daughters of Romulus were losing Gaven. Locke’s power was also subtly reinforced by the fact that he could smear people. And if you didn’t agree with him, he could bend your words.

Was being on the Quirinal lifelong? He didn’t seem to have any term limits, whereas the winner of the race was for twelve months only. Politics, Halsey.

One thing Gaven had, and Ballard did also, was they looked so much more the part. Superficial, maybe. But wanting to follow somebody, you needed something in them to admire. Why not looks? There was no such admirableness in me or Locke.

Thought: If Rome was a two-headed monster, could it be a three? Had it been? With House Rookmaaker?

Paolo tapped his knife to the crystal goblet before him and the talk died down. A strange winging in my insides. Nerves galore.

“I have known Gaven and Lia all my life,” he began. “We played together as small children. So I know why Gaven started shaving his hair. It was because of Lia. Usually it’s the opposite. The boy pulls the girl’s hair, and because of that, she doesn’t like him anymore. Well Lia would pull his hair, and Gaven––five years older––would sulk, and have a cry, and she would get the horsey chair––which is what she was after. Instead of alienating him, however, Lia’s attentions made Gaven fall in love with her. I have never seen two people who are more in love. He gets her, and she gets him. They click. I just hope their offspring take after the mom.”

Paolo made an off-color joke, which had Miraphora nodding her approval.

“Gaven did find his cool, though, eventually. It just took twenty years, right, Gav? Seriously though, I wish you guys a lifetime of love. Here’s to the bride and groom!”

Gaven’s parents were chuckling; Mr. Rosen laughed uneasily, but Cyno mollified him with a pat on the hand. Paolo sat down and poured himself a drink.

Ballard took the mic. “Well, sis... You’ve just married a man who’s grey-haired in his early thirties. You’re not some kind of succubus, are you? Don’t answer that. I love you and I am glad you’re out of my house.” I ended up drinking every toast. “To you and Gaven,” said Ballard.

“Just love each other, I guess,” I said, when it was my turn. It was almost time to farewell them.

Gemma and I noticed each other. She flashed me a dazzling smile. “Halsey––blessed be!” she said. Which I returned with a flash of my own Wiccan W.

Lia and Gaven were making their way out to the lawn, where the moonlight was darkening, and the music was playing.

Someone was making a list of all the trees the party makers had imported. It was a moment before I realized who it was. Fanishwar Harcort. “That’s firethorn, and, oh, look, a Prague viburnum! Who would think that in the Trnava, they would be given a run for their money? That’s the Slovak Rome, dear. I see some yesterday-today-and-tomorrow, fleshy-flowered hearts-a-burstin’. The G is silent. That’s possumhaw. And ninebark. Woof, woof...!” She did it all nine times. “Woof, woof, woof!”

I made my way through the assemblage (“...bloodroot and heliotropes,” following behind me), lost in an infinity of stars and meteor showers; there were some whoops that the fireworks show was about to begin again, but really it was just the heavens conspiring to bless Lia’s wedding to Gaven––when I heard a peculiar voice behind me, so unusual I had to stop to listen.

“––piccan wotentials––hic––wotential piccans––potential wiccans. There are two of them here, so I hear––”

“What about Lia?”

“Who? My cousin? She doesn’t count,” said the voice. Hic.

I crept closer.

“Who are you, anyway?” she continued, in her bossy voice. There was a musicality to it.

“Me? I’m nobody.”

I peeked from behind the Prague viburnum.

Emma Skarborough took another sip from her champagne flute. I would recognize her anywhere. “‘To Lia––For helping me out of paper bags; and for showing me that they were paper bags.’ Preposterous toast. Who thanks their wife during a wedding? Silly boy.”

“So you don’t think their love will last?”

“How can it? She’s a witch. He’s nothing. Not anymore. I give it six months. Especially with this predator out there. Grigori. You know what they are.”

“No. Tell me.”

“That was Rasputin’s name. Grigori Rasputin. He was one of them too. Hairy face.” She pulled her hand down over her chin, indicating a beard.

“But what are Grigori?”

“Hunters, dear. Holed up in Prague, somewhere. Very dangerous. Their roots aren’t in lycanthropy, although that is a common misconception. It’s in witchcraft their power lies. The Grigori used to be right there with the watchers and the protettori––Until he came...”

“But him I want to know about. I’ve been reading about him,” said Vittoria.

“I can’t think where,” said Skarborough. “That’s forbidden. Something happened to Lenoir. What was his first name again? Oh right. Mercaccio.”

“So Lenoir was a man?”

“Yes, he was a man. A wizard, in point of fact. The worst. This is something not even the Lenoir like to admit.

“But––”

“Magic split, remember, dear? You’ve seen the symbols. You know what they mean.Vittoria was hanging on her every word. Her long, corvus-colored hair, slicked down, like two sheer waterfalls, highlighting heavily-mascaraed eyes.

“You to your corner, we to ours. To Paris––the vampire; and to Rome––the wolves... my dear famiglia; but to Prague,” said Emma, “magic kept. And the old war was ended. But not before He changed everything. Oh yes, He changed it all. Some of us think it is just a timeout, a respite, if you will, a rest between perils; and that this THING is the first sign of... darker days...

“Indeed, the Dark Order is rising again... in Prague; or is very nearly risen. Avoid that place! AVOID IT! I say. For those who do not stay away must get sucked up in it. And the Last War––will be the beginning––of the middle––of the end. I need a refresher.”

Vittoria was left standing there; I hid behind the viburnum before she could see me. Grigori––Rasputin––a man called Lenoir?

Before Skarborough left, she said, “It’s apt, don’t you think? Lenoir’s name being Italian––the first one. There’ll be a second. Oh yes. There will be.”

“But what about this One?” said Vittoria. “The Chosen One––wait––come back––”

“It was foretold. It’s that simple,” said Skarborough, who suddenly realized she had found an attentive audience. “They call her The One and have a private name for her––such names being tremendously powerful, and susceptible to dark magic. But you need a Mark. And you don’t seem to have one––unless you’re keeping it hidden from me. You’re not, are you?”

“But what they? Who calls her The One?”

“My drink; I need my drink.”

“And who are the protettori?” Vittoria called after her.

Tipsy, Emma wobbled away. I left. Ballard found me wandering on my own. I think I was in a daze. What was going on? One thing was certain. I knew now what Vittoria had been up to, and what she was after. She was trying to find out more about ‘this One’, and the secrets to being the Wiccan Prime Mover. Which is what I should’ve been doing.

But she couldn’t be, could she? I mean, that was the one thing that was given, not earned? Oneness. No matter how hard you wanted it, it couldn’t just be taken, could it?

Or could it?

Gaven and Lia were about to head off. It was about that Ballard wished to speak with me.

Chapter 7 – Grey Wolf

Everyone met to farewell Gaven and Lia, pelting them with rice and last wishes. “May you have many happy new moons together,” they said.

Ballard, meanwhile, dragged me back to my viburnum. A tall and beautiful tree, it was overshadowed by only one other in this story.

I tried shushing him but he was adamant. “What... is it, Ballard?” I said. I managed to catch a glimpse of the bride and groom, as they departed the reception, on their new matching motorcycles. Good luck, you two, I whispered. Miraphora’s jinx would have no lasting repercussions, I hoped. Only Ballard was antsy, and he started pacing, always a danger sign.

I had other things to worry about: Like the fact Vittoria was becoming fledged faster than I was. Somehow I didn’t think the Wiccan Prime Mover would have any difficulties passing from neophyte to adept.

As for male Wiccans, and especially wizards my own age, I had never really met any of them. If I opened House Rookmaaker, I would probably be training with some of them. Which would be an awkward situation. A Mistress––me––but without any formal education... Instructing all of them.

First, Ballard’s problems... I would worry about my own when I got there.

“You wanted?” I said.

“Guess who I just spoke with?” he said. He seemed elated about it.

“Who?” I asked.

“My sister,” said Ballard. “Guess what she just said?”

“What?”

“She and Gaven are not going on their honeymoon!”

Ballard fought with some inner struggle. The burning rush had come over my Mark again. It felt like it was on fire. Maybe that was my proclivity? I stifled the gasp, which longed to escape from my lips, biting back the pain.

“Well, that’s just––I mean–– So?” I said.

“So. Now I can go with you, silly!”

“You couldn’t have before?” I asked.

“Rome,” he said, “cannot be free of my bloodline. It’s very complicated.”

“What about your mother and father? Or, I know, Sándor and Septimus?”

“My parents are leaving––they’re headed back to Greece. As for the twins–– We could use them,” said Ballard, “but they don’t like to get involved. ‘We’re arcane scholars. Tell us when there’s a fight––then we’ll be ready...’”

“But I thought they couldn’t shift?” I said.

“Their prowess lies elsewhere,” said Ballard. “How long do you think we’ll be gone, anyway, when we leave?”

We could go tomorrow, today, this very minute, I told him. And then I could rescue Selwyn.

“It’ll be two weeks, at least,” I said.

His face fell. “So long?”

“Ballard... Are you sure you really want to go with me? Prague’ll be dangerous.”

It hit me that I might be leading my friend into danger.

“You can stay behind, if you want. But I have to know,” I said. Which was perfectly true.

I had seen Ballard bend steel––leap to humanly impossible heights. But where we were going, the other side had powers as well. I understood now that there was an Other Side. That otherkin cultures encompassed more than just Rome. There were the Grigori, for one thing––to speak nothing of the Benandanti.

I didn’t realize how cold it was. Ripples of heat came off Ballard.

Mistress Genevieve’s words came back to me, about recklessness.

“Tomorrow... we’ll leave tomorrow...” I said.

But it would mean planning, leaving people behind.

“How will we get there?” said Ballard.

“Our motorcycles, obviously.”

He nodded, folding his arms. He was my protettore, my protector, my defender. I seemed to foresee great danger lying ahead for us, hope, hope. But we could overcome that, could we not? “I am just a Neophyte,” I said, practically to myself.

“You’ll have me,” said Ballard. “I’ll protect you.”

“Maybe you’re like my Risky,” I said.

There was the sense that the evening was ended. I and Ballard were leaving––we were going to find whatever there was to find.

I played a kind of game, there in my head, making a list of all the things I wanted to find out. Foremost was the Rookmaakers: Who had killed them, and why? Then about Risky, and what his deal had been; and, okay, if it meant learning magic, so be it. Anything to make me a better spellcaster. Given the dreams I was having, the fact Ravenseal had tried to grab me, I was being dragged into a world far older than I could possibly imagine. There were new names coming up. Ballard was right. The players had not all made themselves known yet. There were others out there. And whether they were like me or not, whether they liked me or not, there was something I had to do––and Ballard had to do. Risky had set us a mission. We were bound to it as the werewolves were to Rome.

“Won’t Locke and the others be upset you’re leaving them?” I asked. “You are still Il Gatto, after all.”

“What good is being Head Wolf,” said Ballard, “if you can’t act like it?”

I was worried that leaving Rome would cause him undo problems.

It was only then I noticed Vittoria staring at me across the way. It gave me the heebie-jeebies.

“What is Vittoria doing here, Ballard?” I said.

“I invited her. Why? She’s actually quite nice, you know.”

I, at least, had hidden, while I eavesdropped on her. She gave me the Wiccan W, which in Vittoria’s mind meant something else.

“No reason,” I said.

Did she know I was going to Prague? I suddenly found myself fighting the tingling sensation in my fingertips. Did I want to duel Vittoria? I huffed and Ballard dropped it.

You just don’t like that she’s special and you’re not, I told myself, viciously.

Sándor and Septimus walked by, engaged in an argument about Gaelic symbology, “It’s under your nose,” said Septimus.

“It’s not.”

“It is, little brother, and over your head.” (Sándor being noticeably shorter than his sibling.) When I looked for Vittoria, she had gone.

“I’ll meet you tomorrow. Okay? At your place...” I said to Ballard.

He got all dreamy-eyed: “My place,” he said.

“And then we’re leaving Rome,” I said.

As for Vittoria, if she wanted me, she knew where to find me.

* * *

Still images flashed across my dreams that night of the Master House, then various shots of different alleyways. A pair of watchful, dark eyes were following me... Vittoria’s, but worse...

It was out there, waiting for us. To what, attack me? I was foolishly rushing toward the Hunter.

What other option did I have? I needed to carry on with what I had started, namely the continuation of my magical education, because as much as I wanted to know, Ballard needed to know.

What had Risky meant for us to find out?

I could hear Ballard now: “I’m different. I know I am.” Only, he thought it was a problem, whereas I was inclined to think more along the lines of its having been meant to be.

After all, he was the youngest Head Wolf in history, one of the Four. His skills were definitely meant to protect me. But from what?

He should be awesome, shouldn’t he? BSB. Bigger. Silenter. Badassesser. He had shown early. Why? And why did he seem so superior to any other werewolf I had ever known, including Gaven?

I could hear Ballard now: “I’m not badass. I’m not special.”

It didn’t make sense; but when had anything? The only reason I had decided to go was because the werewolf had said the vampire and she were headed to Prague. Not Ballard and she. The vampire and she. This thing was obviously hunting somebody––but not me.

I slept late. Even though Ballard and I were rested, it meant, unfortunately, that we were on a night schedule. “I don’t want to get lost,” I said. We were at his place.

That was anther thing... My time in the EU was up. I would have to go back to the United States real soon. It had been ninety days... Twice that––three times... My visa had run out... What if we got stopped?

Ballard told me not to worry about it. “We’ll fix that, eventually,” he said, referring to my visa. “Something good about connections: As Head Wolf, I have some. Until then, we’ll take the Back Way.”

He winked at me. We were getting ready to depart.

What was this Back Way, and how did we find it? He showed me the map.

“I had it laminated,” he said, pulling it out, “in case it rains.” On it was our route. The map showed a zigzagging line, through Italy, and then over the Alps, through wild country. It was only then we started making our way East, through Austria, Slovakia, and the Czech Republic. A giant golden star showed Prague. I got goosebumps just looking at it.

“Where’s your stuff?” he asked me.

I shrugged. “I want to go light,” I said, but he shook his head.

“That’ll never do,” he said.

He explained to me about the wild and how being prepared was our only option. It was like the old Ballard, illustrating, diagramming... If the Wolves ever got in a fight, at least they’d be prepared.

“I brought my backpack,” I said helpfully, holding it up and showing him.

In it were things like my diary, and the red marker Selwyn had given to me; I also brought my diploma from St. Martley’s. Those were my true credentials, proof that I belonged in the Magic world!

If they rejected Ballard, I could vouch for him. Hadn’t he said something about potentially being magic? But then thoughts of vampire hunters crept into my imagination, and I put myself on guard.

Be reckless, not dumb, Halsey....

Ballard gathered and augmented my pack. He put things like cans of food, and even a can of engine oil, in it. I looked at his pack, and saw how massive it was. I tried lifting it, but it made a strange clinking noise when I lifted it; besides, it was way too heavy for me. Tethered to the outside was his moonflask; it glugged with some unknown liquid. When he was done, my pack looked almost like his. “There!” he said. “Now, if we die in the wild, at least it will take a while!”

Next, he showed me my Gambalunga––I had a grattachecca while he explained.

Ballard had rigged up a new system of onboard flips and switches––mechanical magic––for it.

“This is your booster,” he said, indicating the tank fitted under the seat; it said NOS on it (nitrous oxide systems). “For emergency use only,” he said.

I gulped.

“We may run into things while we’re out there,” said Ballard, “so I want you prepared. This is the Jesus bolt. Because if it breaks, you see Jesus.” He smiled. “So don’t wipe out.” It was the race all over.

I nodded my head. “I’m ready,” I said.

“I do love having a purpose. I told you the blue moon would ride again,” he said. I sat waiting on my motorcycle while he got on his. The last rays of the sun were going down. My pack felt heavy; but it would get lighter as we went. I watched him heft his own onto his back, and then he shut and locked the garage door.

“Thank you, Ballard,” I said. “For everything. You get points.”

“I always wanted to score with you.”

A sign, which read GONE FISHING, hung on the door. Ballard’s motorcycle sank with the weight of him. It groaned unnaturally. We started our engines.

I was to follow him out of Rome. It was an amazing moment for me, to know that I had started this alone, and that now I had Ballard, and together we were going to the Districts of Magic. I wondered what it would be like. The whole flight to Prague was one big check-it-out thing. What if I didn’t like what I saw? It would not be easy, but then, that was the point, wasn’t it? Just hearing the engines, I got the sense the Past was around the corner. Maybe if I looked for it hard enough, it would reveal itself to me, including certain secrets I wished to find out.

The previous volumes of my Diary were preamble to the adventures to come.

Ballard flipped his visor down and gave me the thumbs-up. I returned the gesture. We lifted our feet and headed down the vicolo, into the smog and monuments, leaving Trastevere behind us.

I felt like one of those dogs––exiled, in a way. Like Ballard and I were being booted from our home range. I didn’t know when I would be back. Could be never, I told myself. I had given my landlady four months’ rent. She literally cackled in my face.

“I am going. I may not be back.”

“Stupid ragazza,” she said. Like she knew something I did not. It made me feel uncertain about everything.

But that was over, now. All of it was. Ballard and I were going. We were leaving Rome.

* * *

We drove that night past Vatican City, and onto the autoroute, which took us out of Rome. I supposed things were different between Ballard and me now. Always before our objective had been to see What if... What if there were vampires out there? What if there were werewolves? What if witches and wizards really existed and I was one of them? Well, we had our answers now. It was the truth which eluded us.

We stopped to top off our fuel tanks before we put some miles behind us.

Ballard told me about the benandanti (“Witch-fighting werewolves,” he called them), who used to battle evildoers, in order to protect their crops. “They were called the Hounds of God... Those Who Do Good.”

“Are they still around?” I said.

I was wondering about my landlady. She seemed to be one. Or Grigori.

Ballard shrugged. “Werewolf, witch, and vampire myths are wherever you go. In the Philippines the Aswang are all three. The Benandanti are no different... They were thought to originate in Venice...”

We would be passing it shortly. It was almost like a fourth magic city, was old Venice.

“...The Benandanti also existed in Rome and Germany...” said Ballard. “We should go looking for them, when we get to Prague....”

I wasn’t really paying attention. “Don’t you see, though, the old Histories are cross-mutating, interbreeding,” he said.

How come Dallace and Camille had been allowed to create their own magic city? They were vampires, after all. Yet they seemed to pay no allegiance to Paris. Why not?

Ballard removed the nozzle, and put the cap back on his fuel tank. “The last thing we want is to be drawn into a three-way war. There have been stories about disagreements in the past, between the Grigori and the Benandanti, and us... I figure I can introduce myself around. See what’s up,” he said.

My head felt like it was going to explode. Find Them––Look for them.

The weather was changing. It was becoming colder. We got back on the autoroute; finally it started to snow.

Neither Ballard nor I had any thoughts of stopping. The snowflakes felt otherworldly. As though there were two worlds––the one, non-magic, the other, magical.... The impulse to continue was so strong in us that in consequence we made very good time.

I eased my helmet off, riding momentarily no-hands, and came alongside Ballard. My hair––already long––flew behind me in a whipsong of wind and fury; my eyes stinging with how fast we were going, I changed to a higher gear. I passed the mile markers without really having passed the milestones, Wiccanwise. What, if anything, would we find? I rode without any particular fondness of feeling, content in the deep-seated assurance that I rode to nowhere.

The Dioscuri had set me a mission. They were the Enemy, vampires changed with longevity––they knew things, foul things, things I wanted to know.

We passed like shadows in the night. Always––always––I looked behind me. I didn’t know why, but it felt like we were being followed. We flew past police speed traps, but whoever the two ghosts were, the officers never found out. Ballard knew his geography well. I saw him ease up, steering with one hand, while he looked at his map with the other. We ghosted like that some time––the ever-helpful moonlight bright on my tires, as I cut through the snowfall which was turning to sludge. A pale light was coming over the horizon. Mountaintops filled my vision. Ballard signaled for us to take the next exit; there was a roadblock ahead he said we needed to avoid; I followed after him. I was all for risking our way through Central Europe, but he said: “I’m taking no chances.”

We wound our way through surface streets, passing small towns; Ballard assured me we would get to Prague, eventually. I didn’t know what to think. He hadn’t lead us astray, yet.

We drove to Verona, when the trek got really hard. The sweeping countryside gave way to hills––craggy, dramatic, out-of-nowhere. The scree threatening landslides.

“It’s only going to get worse,” he said.

The Dolomites were northeast. At the town of Giazza, on the Monti Lessini plateau, I saw a spectacular view. Mountain ranges filled with trees, and snow, there in the distance. The Alps were directly before us. The roadways began becoming perilous. A picture-postcard, Giazza was snowed under. We passed vineyards, dead or dying, when my Gambalunga started having fits. We decided to give it a rest, the Gambalunga, not the trip, to see what we could see. Some soul saver. We slept until evening in motel rooms.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” said Ballard, “for it is the end of our comfort, when it goes. Soon we will have to leave the road behind us––any food will come either from our packs, or the cunningless game misfortunate enough to wander into our traps.”

He showed me the map––the “place of trees,” the Stromovka, as he called it, the deep swaths of forest surrounding Prague. The Czech Republic lay in the heart of Central Europe. Our path lead right through it.

“That is our route we are taking,” he said.

“There are no roads,” I noticed.

He readjusted his pack. “Not to worry,” he said.

And to think, I told myself, if I had just taken the Eurorail, I could practically be there by now. Prague was beginning to feel like a million miles away. But then I remembered about my status as an illegal alien and shut my mouth. Ballard had to see what was wrong with my Gambalunga first. I moved our stuff into our rooms; a fast, laborious trip. I plopped on my bed in the unknown room. Ballard popped his head in. “I topped the oil off,” he said. “Your Gambalunga should be okay. It’s just old. See you tonight.” He was anxious to get his shut-eye. I shut and locked my door and then fetched out my diary. I had decided to make use of my time by creating a travelogue, an ongoing narrative account of my Roman exodus, and our journey to parts unknown. My pen whizzed across the page. The elastic catch-all on the exterior of my bag was becoming satisfyingly full of coke-bottle caps and other souvenirs. I could hear Ballard snoring through the paper-thin walls. When his head hit pillow, he went right out.

“Something is wrong,” I wrote. “It’s like the Spring is late. It’s nearly March. It shouldn’t be this cold. Maybe it just stays extra cold extra long, where we’re going.” I pulled out my guidebook, something I had not been obliged to do for a very long time. There was a section on Northern Italy. Apparently I could expect more freezing cold, because the guidebook assured me Central Europe did that. I shook my head. What had I gotten myself into? At least it wasn’t December. I couldn’t explain it... Even though the weather was supposed to be cold, this felt wrong... Unnatural...

I put my book away. Lennox and his eyes were coming out of the darkness after me: they were feral, hungry-looking. Before I knew it, I was awake.

Central Europe seemed like the Dark Ages to me, when I looked at it on the map. I knew it was silly Western superstition––but that was where Transylvania was at. Ballard’s map showed Europe’s major rail routes, like a crisscrossing web of interconnected pathways. Still, when I looked at the map, all roads seemed to lead to Paris, not Rome; mildly off-putting

“You always do that,” said Ballard. We were eating our way through strawberry landslides. The waitress seemed to think we were both crazy, sitting outside in the cold. But Ballard and I had become supernaturally acclimated: He with his radiator-like heat, and me my throbbing mark. “Grimace...” he said.

I had slapped it. I made a noncommittal noise.

“Sometimes it hurts,” I said.

“Your mark, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

Paris would have to wait. I couldn’t go there until I knew Wicca... Even though it was where Lennox was from...

There was nothing on the map about finding the actual Districts of Magic. Almost as though they were off the beaten path, or worse, hidden. How did one enter an unseen world?

By going there? Trying to find it? I told myself.

“I think we have to stumble our way upon it,” said Ballard, who didn’t know either. He wiped his hands on a napkin and we paid up.

From here on out, the path, according to the map, would be one long winding, vertical road, up into the snowy-filled Alps.

* * *

They were beautiful, those Alps. The narrow roads filled with sharp, hairpin turns. I felt revitalized after the long rest. Perhaps it was all the talk of Ballard’s People, but I thought I saw one––a real, live werewolf––there, on the periphery of my vision. We were out of the Boot, headed East, leaving Italy––zigging and zagging our way up, past drifts of snow banks. Headlamps of passing cars preceded curious faces, as they passed us by. I fetched out my hoodie. It felt thin against the onslaught of wind, but what the H? The Alps were crazy––huge plummeting drops, with other, perilous, points. Soon the roads were empty. What I thought I saw was a giant, shaggy grey wolf. When I looked again, it was gone. It was just Ballard and I. Hypothermia was beginning to set in. “I need to stop,” I said. My non-Wiccan fingertips felt like ice cubes. They were about to fall off. We had to battle on. There was no stopping. We had to get through here––the Alps were killing Ballard and I. The maps hadn’t prepared us for this.

The border crossing was coming up. Soon we would be in Austria. But something was with us. A second traveler.

I caught glimpses of it, here and there––hallucinations. I didn’t know what to think.

A pair of eyes, always on the outskirts... They would seem to melt away, when I looked, and then come back.

We had to get out of the Alps. I didn’t like stopping for the night here. And Ballard seemed uncomfortable. We were aware of the Hunter, even though we could not see him. “I think he’s out there,” said Ballard. I shivered, remembering the vision I had seen: Of it killing the two gravediggers. They had been burying it. Why?

The air was slick with moisture––my knobby black tires grabbing the asphalt, the Gambalunga humming along. It left me feeling terribly exposed.

Still, I felt something powerful and ancient and primal stirring within me; my own get-up-and-go. It would be morning soon. The Grey Wolf couldn’t hide from us, then. I didn’t know what Ballard’s reaction to it would be, when and if he saw it. “I can’t explain it, but I felt as though something was watching us,” he said. Maybe it was a member of one of Ballard’s teams of riders. They were patrolling the northern border. Lost, astray, rogue. It, the Grey Wolf, had disappeared and we were briefly alone.

It flashed through my mind, the vision I had seen, Ballard and I, racing through the trees; it was like we were after something––or something was after us... But there had been a third person... And he, or she, was with us––and we were together––and we were headed––... somewhere.

We were through the Alps, into Slovenia, in a region of karst––beautiful, exotic fissures of limestone; the snow so bad here we had to fit snow chains on our tires. That explained the clinking sound I had heard coming from Ballard’s pack. He was full of wonders.

We made a light supper of shellfish paella. Our days and nights were starting to get themselves un-confused––soon the light would come. That just left the problem of first watch. Ballard was getting feelings. “Might as well stay up,” he said. “I want to figure out what they mean.” Because it was out there––we both could feel it. What would we do if the grey wolf actually attacked us?

That night I had visions of eyes and a dark-filled voice saying Come––Be with us. The vision changed. I saw him. Lenoir! It must’ve been. As he spoke, things unbidden crept into my imagination. I heard clashing, rapiers whipping magically through the air––I saw wizards and witches, engaged in combat, meeting in heaths, to settle some ancient grudge. And there was also a fire-blade, blacker than the rest; and it could not be beat.

He was entering upon a heath, Lenoir, the wicked weapon in his hand, where others were fighting. But as he passed they died, slain by his comrades, spread like an infection. And there was also a stone circle. Come––Be with us.

Nobody fought with swords anymore. Who would? It was very much an anachronism. My mind rebelled against it.

I could hear the tongues of scorching fire, clinking hammers, the hiss of steel. But no faces. Ballard nudged me. I woke shouting. The face of the hunter, coming out of the darkness. It was time to leave, he said. Clink-clink, clink-clink, clink-clink. He had a strange look on his face, Ballard, and had stayed up the night.

* * *

Austria was one long rolling hillside of dairy farms and fat cows––leastways, that’s how it appeared to me. I missed Rome; I missed the heartbeat of the city. Soon we would be in Slovakia; from thence, the Czech Republic. My travelogue was filled with names like souslik, gyr falcon, Grey Wolf.

Near Bratislava we got lost in a hornbeam forest. I saw kingcups and peach-leaved bell-flowers. Ballard kept repeating phrases: “Put him off! Gotta get lost! Lose him!” He was more manic than a maniac. Nothing could convince him against the route we had taken.

I completely understood! Hadn’t I listened to that same mysterious voice, which was the voice of premonition?

Because, despite our rudderless wanderings, I knew Ballard and I were destined to meet up with a third member of our pack; who, for some reason, I had always imagined to be Lia. But she couldn’t shift anymore, could she? Then who had been the other wolf I had seen in my dreams of this moment?

We crossed in secret from Slovakia, to the Czech Republic, and walked our bikes across. The ground was covered in trumpetcreeper and snapdragons, not to mention mounds of sneezeweed. I still wore my Harm None ring. It was on the index finger of my right hand.

More of the Prague viburnums––fitting since we were almost there. I wondered who would come for us, if we managed to traipse into Prague. Surely, not the Dark Order.

I don’t know why, but I was thinking about Vittoria, and her role in this. And about Ballard’s proposition that I should make her feel welcome somehow.

It was four days since we had left Rome; four days of traveling through swamps and peat bogs, rock quarries, and over mountain tops; and now we had a new obstacle; the omnipresent twilight under dark forests, which made seeing where I was going impossible: I nearly crashed a million times. The crackling twigs and other detritus littered the floor––and so endless.

One felt compelled towards drastic lashings-out. Trees were everywhere. It was silent under their canopies, which stretched on forever. I was not used to feeling so stifled. In truth, it was like being back at St. Martley’s. But worse. Here there was no end in sight. It was just tree after tree.

A happy and flickering fire jumped at the roots of a Silver Linden, under which we made our camp. Ballard and I fashioned walking sticks. We had marched our way through so much smelly swampland my boots squished with the stuff. They were off, now, drying by the fire. Prague was only about a hundred miles away, he said. If Ballard and I didn’t get out of the forest soon, we would have to turn cannibal. I didn’t fancy muzzleburgers. “What makes you think you would win?” said Ballard, somewhat indignantly.

The paella was gone.

A twig snapped. My heart rate spiked uncomfortably. I felt the adrenaline flow through my veins––but that could’ve been Dark Magic; the aether was inside all of us, remember, I said to myself. Every witch and wizard, whether we wanted it or not. Ballard stiffened.

I was too busy fashioning my walking stick. I decided to make the point extra sharp, like a spear. That way if any wild boar were in the Stromovka, I wouldn’t have to eat Ballard.

Ballard got to his feet and went to have a look around. I could hear him striding through the trees, trying to scare off whatever was after us.

Not even the stars could penetrate to where we were at; it was impressively dark.

I gripped my walking stick. The flames crackled; their embers shooting into the air. It was silent for miles around. Ballard put on another log. The fire caught and spit. “Goodnight,” he said. He crawled into his sleeping bag. I was left staring at the flames, not really seeing them.

Isn’t it funny? I thought. Here I am, all the way out here...

Hours passed, Ballard snoring softly beside me. It happened rather fast. One minute, I was warming my hands by the fire, admiring the firelight glinting off my ring, the next the whole length of my right arm began glowing with silver-bright magic.

It appeared like moonlight, under the trees, glowing soulfully there on the extreme edge of my vision. The four paws of the grey wolf standing resolutely. My orchid woke up and began twisting towards it––reaching for the wolf.

It dipped its head to me, as if smelling. Ballard turned gently in his sleep. “Can’t stop now! I will be Risky!” he said, incoherently

Ballard sat up and the grey wolf vanished.

Sound returned to the forest floor. I hadn’t heard it coming; I hadn’t heard it leaving. It was almost like the grey wolf hadn’t been here at all; and, looking to the place where it had stood, I thought I might have hallucinated it, entirely. Instead of hunting me, it had been like the grey wolf was standing guard over me.

* * *

We had come across a path, in the woods, and were riding it, Ballard with his compass in one hand, and his map in the other. Something about the total lack of anything––it made you want to get there; we spoke very little. Stromovka was everywhere. The place of trees.

Still––all day I couldn’t stop thinking about the grey wolf; for some reason, now that I knew what it was, I couldn’t tell Ballard, who continued to be on edge. I couldn’t think why?

Our motorcycles zipped up and down the hills, following the trail. Somebody had been here. I supposed it was like Faith, and that eventually we would all get to wherever we were headed. Small comfort, given there was no ending in sight.

“I can’t take it anymore!” said Ballard. He swatted at his head. “Seeing things. I’m tired of it! And the trees!”

For fourteen hours, we alternately rode and walked the forest floor. The last chugs of the Gambalunga sputtered and died. The gas was gone. In Ballard’s motorcycle as well.

He crumpled, and then picked himself up. We put our heads down, walking our bikes two more hours, silently in the dark.

“I’m spent. I can’t go anymore,” he said.

A fire was kindled; we ate our frugal supper. Night, rich and thick, clotted our eyesight. The taste of beans was little more than a reprieve from starvation, there in Stromovka. We began finally to despair.

“I’m dying,” said Ballard. “It’s over.”

When, suddenly, my eyes popped open. The tingling in my fingertips was back––like premonition. I held a trinity of stars in my fingertips, one for each digit. The last thing I had seen was the moonlit grey wolf, which seemed to rush out at me, from my dreams, before fading away. But now my eyes were wide open, and there was something else out there.

“Ballard... Ballard... Ballard...” I repeated in the dark. I felt myself calling to him three times. It was like I was all alone.

I looked at the flickering flames of the fire, the tongues of which had been allowed to fade during the night. The sky was a dull leaden color, like lead in pencil. When I realized: sky! We were on the edge of an opening. “Ballard!” I shouted. Nobody answered. At least not who I thought would answer...

He appeared. He appeared so suddenly and silently, at first I didn’t recognize him. His eyes were like electronic diamonds, shining from the dark––like a snake uncoiling itself, preparing to strike. He slithered from the trees.

My Mark was blinding me with its sterling light. Is that what this is? I thought... A warning sign?

The hunter stood at the edge of the forest, sniffing as the grey wolf had done; instead of protecting me, however, the intent of the hunter could not be denied. He had come there to kill me. Ballard as well. Ballard.... I thought.

“Your friend, where is he?” he said. His voice hissed and rasped like it hadn’t been used in a long time.

I looked and saw his mark. He showed it off brazenly to me. Tribal, like twisting thorns. No Virtue was ever shaped like that. What was he?

“I-I don’t know where he is,” I said. “He’s gone. He left.” I gulped, appreciating the truth of my words.

I couldn’t keep the note of hysteria out of my voice; I was all alone. Still, there was no reason Ballard should die with me. If I was going to depart this life, it would be just me going. But where was Ballard, and what was he doing?

“His motorcycle is still here,” said the hunter shrewdly. He threw his neck back and sniffed the air; I could hear the powerful inhalations of breath. “I cannot descry his scent. I have been tracking you four days––since Italy, when you foolishly crossed from the protection of Rome, all the way to me––time enough to lock him down. My Master will be most pleased.” He smiled maliciously. The glint in his eye was nothing next to his teeth: sharp points which sparkled in the gloom.

I saw his beautiful, angelic face, before it turned menacing. Tentatively, I tried reading his mind.

“That does not work on me, she-witch,” he hissed, his voice metallic. “I am Grigori. The last of my kind––as... are... you...”

“W-What do you want?” I said. “Why are you trying to hurt me?”

“Trying?” He shook his head. “As if you could stop me,” he said.

“You said we were alike. I thought Witch- and Wizard-Shifters couldn’t be,” I said.

“There hasn’t been one in over a hundred years, I admit. Surely you have heard of Rhea Silva. She was a powerful witch, before I killed her.”

He stepped into the small clearing. “Now––about us...” he said.

I could just see a sickle of the moon, overhead.

“Why are you after me? Why can I see you in my dreams? If you’re not dead, then why were those two gravediggers trying to bury you?” I said.

Must keep him talking.

“My master told me you were special,” he said. “At least––potentially...”

“What does that even mean?”

“Halsey, get away from him.”

Ballard was back––he stepped under the tree. I was still in my sleeping bag. I managed to get out of it, while he stepped between us. Even though Ballard had undergone a growth spurt, he was nowhere near the size of the Grigori, who was seven feet tall and bristling with rage.

“Things have changed, Rayven,” said Ballard. “Tell your master, he had his chance. It’s over now.”

“He has magic, Ballard. Be careful,” I said.

I put my boots on while they talked. Next, I fetched my walking stick. At least I had a weapon.

The hunter shifted his footing.

I knew from premonition what came next, but it seemed impossible. His eyes were on me; I knew that look; I had seen it before. What had Ballard called him? Rayven? Why were he and Marek so interested in me? Who was I? I’m nobody, I thought.

As if on cue, the aether in my arm began throbbing painfully. It wanted to fight.

“You may not fear me,” said Ballard, talking fast, “but you are in danger.”

Rayven smiled, showing his teeth. I heard shouting in the distance. Voices drawing near. Ballard looked at the hunter. “Last chance,” he said.

It happened.

The hunter crept forward in a stalking motion, the fingers of his forehand like claws––pointing them at me. “The witch is mine,” he said.

“Don’t worry, Halls,” Ballard said to me. I stood motionless, unable to prevent it from happening.

A spell erupted, hitting the tree trunk next to me, which exploded. “Vargr noctum....”

The hunter was reloading. He pointed his Wiccan Mark at Ballard.

Ballard howled. There was a sound like lightning. The ground exploded. It rocked me where I stood.

Ballard was no longer there. He had been replaced by a huge, husky, electric-white werewolf.

Ballard bared his fangs and shot at the hunter, who fired his mark. The massive animal dodged the ineffectual magic, latching his teeth onto Rayven.

I heard a quick succession of lightning strikes––one, two, three... there in the distance, the voices drawing closer.

Rayven stumbled backwards, wounded––his eyes briefly flashing my way. Anger and disappointment were etched on his face. “So be it,” he said.

He pointed his mark at me.

I heard the words, without understanding them.

It happened in slow-motion.

A huge womp as the spectrum-visible flash of light erupted my way.

The spell connected with Ballard squarely in his chest. He had thrown himself between us. Ballard fell in a heap.

The Hunter backed away, pointing his finger at me. “Remembr,” he said. A trail of ribbon-like tendrils left his fingertips and crawled through the air––connecting with me. “Soon,” he said. I had a momentary impossible fantasy. No. It couldn’t be....

Rayven turned and was gone.

All thoughts turned to Ballard. I raced to him, there at the edge of the forest. There was a huge, sickly-looking gash down his left side. His pristine white fur matted in blood. His muzzle had been cut.

I put my hands on him, completely powerless to prevent what was happening. He was covered in blood. I heard howls behind me. I could feel others arriving.

Ballard breathed in and out. Something in his eyes. I felt somehow connected to him, as if either he or his wolf were trying to communicate with me. It was like a poorly-tuned radio station, or current passing through a faulty electrical switch, in out, in out. I heard him say my name.

“Halsey?” he whispered to me...

Only, the Ballard Wolf had still not shifted back; I was talking to his Animal.

Chapter 8 – The Hollow

Magic was in Ballard’s wound. A curse. I could see it spreading through his limbs. Hadn’t I known what was out there, and I hadn’t said anything. By not including Ballard, I had allowed this to happen. If my parents were here they would be so ashamed.

“Patience!” said a voice behind me.

I turned and Asher was stepping into the clearing. He was wearing his spotted leather pants and matching indigo vest. A symbol dangled on a chain from his neck. It looked like a fang with a swirl inside of it.

“Dobry den, Halsey Rookmaaker,” he said to me.

“Please! You have to help him!” I said. I didn’t have time to fathom how Asher could be here. “I’m... not Adept! I don’t know what to do!” I said.

He bent his head over Ballard, tying his dreadlocks behind him with a purple rubber band, and began feeling at the fringes of Ballard’s wound, probing with his fingertips.

The ground was rumbling with more cyanthropes. I could hear them changing into dogs. Someone was barking orders. I kept hearing the word koruna, I later learned was Czech for crown. Then I remembered, Asher was one of the Celeres, bodyguard to the Magister Equitum himself. The Werewolf King. Is this where they lived? The Stromovka must be their home range––Central Bohemia, the region surrounding Prague.

As if in answer, I heard more explosions; one of the men transformed right in front of me, but I was still too dazed to really notice.

“He needs a doctor,” Asher said. “That foul! Do you know what he did? Never mind.... There is not much time.”

The light in Ballard’s eyes was fading fast.

“I cannot stop the bleeding,” said Asher. “It is... too late...”

It was everywhere, in the mud, all over us. Tears began streaking down my face.

Ballard, you can’t leave me. You can’t... I didn’t know what to do.

A storm was raging through me, a reckless storm––if I didn’t do something––something soon....

“I will give you some time,” said Asher.

“That’s it? You can’t just quit,” I said, indignant, but Asher repeated his line:

“It is... too late, Halsey Rookmaaker.”

The werewolves were running through the Stromovka, searching for Rayven, who would not be caught––I realized that now. Rayven had a plan for me––to kill me, if he could. Some other voice had kicked in. Some other me. First things first, I needed to stop the bleeding. The only way how was to cauterize the wound.

I looked at the Spellcaster’s Mark running down the length of my arm, and thought, fire?

Stormr hamrinum could do it quickly, but it could also get quickly out of hand. The fire spell consumed everything in its path. Could intent and forcefulness change its intensity? At least if I messed up, Ballard’s pain would be short-lived.

My fingertips sparked. As if, either they knew what to do, or Mistress Genevieve’s recklessness was taking hold of me. I put my hands on his wound, the blood seeping from between my fingers, and as carefully as I could, said the magic words.

Warmth spread from my fingertips. Magic warmth. Where my hand moved, I could feel the bleeding begin to let up; the magical energy was draining from me, however. Could I die, if it got too low? It made me lightheaded; yet giddy, because the tissue around Ballard’s wound was knitting itself of its own accord. Then I remembered: Magic healing. Werewolves had accelerated recuperative properties. Good thing too. Silly Ballard. He had just jumped devil-may-care in front of Rayven––to protect me.

Asher looked on, wide-eyed.

“I didn’t know you could actually do magic,” he said.

Neither did I. I could see Ballard breathing again; it was ragged at first, and he was going to have a scar, but still.... I broke the connection, wiping the sweat off my brow, smearing Ballard’s blood on my forehead.

“He is not ready to ‘give up his ghost,’ then,” said Asher. “Perhaps you are the One.”

Asher looked at me with penetrating fire-opal eyes––somehow warmth and respect mingling there.... Two of his men appeared who updated him on the search for Rayven.

“He is gone––the trace is muddled––we picked up that other scent as well––whoever they are, they’re crafty.”

Asher nodded. He directed them to take up Ballard’s body. “We will follow behind. Laurinaitis, if you could, please take some of your men and set the perimeter. Perhaps one or both will show themselves tonight, and wander into our traps.”

Asher grabbed Ballard’s motorcycle and I followed after him.

* * *

As we walked, I brought him up to speed on everything that had happened in the last few days, including the grey wolf.

“Rayven said that I was different, Asher, the last of my kind, that he was too. He couldn’t mean I’m Grigori, could he? I mean, am I? The Sons and Daughters of Romulus don’t have magic, do they? And this Grigori did, somehow.”

“He both is and is not Grigori.... Slow down, tell me about the grey wolf; for I do not know of it....” said Asher.

“It felt familiar. As though I had seen it before, but couldn’t remember where. I thought––well, I thought I might be one of them, a daughter of Romulus. Instead it’s like I’m becoming––Rayven–– It’s like he’s a shape shifter, but a wizard as well––and I might be too... potentially...”

“Have you ever experienced ‘the Calling’?” said Asher. “It’s what happens to a young shape shifter, before they turn. At birth... a tutelary spirit watches over them. This grey may be your spirit-animal. Good rule of thumb––or fingers, in your case: Don’t discount the possibilities. Everything may be important or nothing at all.

The twilight under the trees made the day night. I still had Ballard’s blood on me. I didn’t think it would ever wash out. In the back of my mind was the knowledge I had failed him. I kept remembering Ballard fighting the Grigori, dueling Rayven. Now I got a sense of him as a fighter opposing the Dark Side. We all were. Rayven must be one of them. A member of the Dark Order, an enemy. I felt the handlebars of my Gambalunga, thinking, Risky, what have I done to your nephew?

I was filthy, starved; I needed a change of clothing. Compared to Ballard, however....

I noticed my feet traveling downwards, my stride increasing. A bowl full of some ethereal moonlight spread before me. It was a moment before I realized it was midday, time ceased to matter in Stromovka. I felt my Wiccanness awaken under the canopy of trees. No earthly place I had been to was like this Hollow. A tributary of the Vltava trickled through it, the small twisting stream full of leaping, silver fish, before it reached the river that ran through the heart of old Prague, plunging through the Districts of Magic, the places I needed to go.

As I passed through the Stromovka it seemed to disappear behind me, swallowed in the tangles of Moonfire, concealed in the elder trees. It was Golden Hour––the time of day when the mysteries of the world seemed at their ripest, proof time moved differently here.

Could it be? Had the Dioscuri meant for me to find Stromovka? They were Seers, after all. The oldest kind. Perhaps they saw me coming here looking for Them––Find Them.

ENOUGH. The word exploded through my head. I will make my own Destiny. ME. I refused to live thinking otherwise. I put my hoodie up.

“Something is bothering you. What is it?” said Asher.

“Magic, my own especially. Of what kind is it, who gave it to me, and how will I develop it? Becoming Adept really. But now this thing’s out there, what makes me think I can become Adept at all? Those kinds of things. And then there’s Fledged... and who knows what that’ll be. Nothing’s easy anymore, is it? For if I am magic, shouldn’t I be able to manifest, to invoke? To banish, transmute, do away with, alter... levitate, entrap... part? To imbue, see things, project, shield, ward, demystify? Shouldn’t I? I am without any of the things you would expect from one with my supposed gifts. My curse, therefore, is to know what I don’t know; or, rather, to know what I am capable of, without knowing what I am capable of; to know what has escaped me and will not come back––

“My parents, and Risky...” I said.

“And I know. And I hate it. I hate myself for allowing this to happen to me. But I don’t even know who I am, so even my hate’s misguided. In short, I am lost, Asher, and I’m beginning to think, I may never be found. What do you think about all of this?”

“That you shall. You shall be found, Miss Rookmaaker. I do promise you that,” he said.

I looked at him, skeptically.

“Now, now,” said Asher. “Don’t be like that. Don’t be sullen. Very few people, magical or otherwise, have the wherewithal to find the answers that they seek; you should be glad that you do. I have seen it in your face. In the way you’ve lost yourself here in the Stromovka. Biding your time, figuring things out....”

I could not honestly say that I had been doing any of that. More, just randomly seeking out information. I told Asher, who sighed. It reminded me of the old times. He turned every ounce of his cat-eye cunning upon me.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said, “if you should solve this mystery. Which is the mystery of your life. Open your eyes. Everything may be important, or nothing at all. Don’t discount the possibilities.”

“You know, sometimes you are spectacularly awesome,” I said.

A flash, and we were standing in his village. Just bang.

“That is what happens when you unburden your mind,” he said. He raised his arms before him, as if inviting me to take it all in.

I began to hear the murmur of voices; until now, they had been concealed behind shadows and the figures of trees. Looking up from the Hollow, I could see a flash of sky––it was nighttime already. The stars were peeking through. The small intrusion a reminder things were not as they appeared outside or within the Prague forest.

In a sense, the Stromovka was like a resting place, a respite, of sorts, from the outside world––where I could figure out my dreams.

Sparkling lights twinkled in the trees. Rosemary and juniper sprung from simple stone columns, concealed in the undergrowth. There were vines and creepers, a whole alien world. It swallowed me whole.

“Welcome!” said Asher. “To the home of the Benandanti!”

Dark eyes peered at Asher and I as we passed. They looked scared. Like something was happening. It was absolutely necessary I get Ballard back. I didn’t work without him.

“We must present ourselves,” said Asher, “to the Magister Equitum. At which point, the burden of what to do next will be decided. A lot has happened, since last we met.”

I watched as a little girl ran up to me and said “Uvítat.” She had striations of purple and green and gold, in her skin, and other exotic colorations. “Is she...?”

“An eclectic,” said Asher, who watched her run away. “Her name is Sienna.”

She was extraordinary. When I looked again, she was gone. But then her eyes poked out and I saw Sienna peeping at me. Just extraordinary. It was like she was a chameleon....

I was suddenly nervous. Ballard should be here, I thought. I was runner-up. I couldn’t parlay with the Magister Equitum. No way! It was overstepping my bounds.

* * *

A domov was prepared for me. It was a bungalow in the trees. It had a round window and sparkle lights. But also a bed, wardrobe, and writing desk. I could peek through the window as I wrote in my diary. The domov moved with the movement of the trees; it was very high up.

Asher was anxious to make me feel at home. After all... I would be staying with the Benandanti for a long time. “At least until Rayven’s caught,” he said.

The Magister Equitum agreed.

When I asked him how long that might be, Asher replied, “Who can say? We haven’t caught him yet.”

As for the domov, these were the lights I had seen in the trees. The effect was like magic. The arrangement had its perks, but also one rather large drawback.

Selwyn.

Even now, he must be with those––those things––there in Prague. The M.E. said we were very near to it.

There wasn’t a thing about it I could do. My orders were to stay put. Rayven seemed beyond fledged––invincible––whereas I–– I couldn’t stop thinking about the spell he had done. If I should wander, and be caught.... If Rayven should catch me....

I fetched out my diary and found the page I was looking for. A part of me realized how backwards this was. Trial and error wasn’t exactly the best protocol for learning how to duel. Was it going to take my death to figure out which spells could kill you? I was suddenly thrust into the real world and I was unprepared for it.

That was the entry I had made, so many months ago. We were now into March. I bit my lip and scribbled fast, filling the chart in. Vargr noctum, I wrote; that was the spell Rayven had used to almost kill Ballard––but he had pointed it at me. How come?

I didn’t know what precisely vargr noctum meant, but Ballard was in deep trouble.

I put a question mark beside it, and then I wrote remembr.

Somehow, this one didn’t seem quite so baffling.

Rayven had shown me a memory––one of his memories, in point of fact. I stared up at a great mansion. Damp. Derelict. Destroyed. The grounds filled with willow trees. It was swampy underfoot. Filth and decay were everywhere. It looked Dead.

Rayven stooped and I got a close-up of his clawed hand. In it was a sign, covered in moss. I wondered how long ago this had been? Why was he showing it to me?

Rot had eaten away at the sign, but clearly delineated were two words. He howled and the moonlight broke through the willow trees.

The sign said HOUSE ROOKMAAKER.

Why had Rayven wanted me to see this, and when had he ever been to my parents’ House? It was almost like he was encouraging me to find House Rookmaaker. The memory-vision had been only a flash, but I wouldn’t forget the mansion, or the grounds, anytime soon.

It was real and it was in ruins.

Something else, and it made me nervous....

We tried to save you....

That’s what the gravediggers had said. We tried to save you. They said that to Rayven. Save him how? By burying him? Were they working for the Dark Side?

It must have had something to do with the Last Rites. I wrote that in my diary. It must have had something to do with what’s happening in Prague. Is something happening in Prague? And if they didn’t save Rayven, is he in danger? It was my only hope.

“The war is starting. Battle lines will be drawn. She and the vampire are headed towards Prague. Find the other one and kill him. Do not let it survive.”

“And them?” the hunter had asked.

“The Dark Order shall rise again, my old friend.”

The Grigori had acknowledged the words––which had set him on his mission, a mission, apparently, that had something to do with me.

I scribbled the words in my Diary for a second time. I flipped back to the original entry, but I hadn’t really thought about the words until now. Almost like the visions were waiting for me to catch up with them. My diary was suddenly hugely important. Maybe I should let Ballard read it. Perhaps the abridged version. Some things were too private, I thought. And I didn’t know what I had said about him. My memory was like a sieve. It let things out.

“He’s right the way he is. He’s too important to be just friends, and he’s too important to be something else––”

That was dated around the time of my birthday, when big things were supposed to happen to me, that Diary entry. It was in regards to Ballard. I turned to a fresh page and drew out the following:

But where did werewolves and vampires fit in on the list?

An explosion rocked the base of the tree I was in. For one split second I thought Ballard was all well and had come to see me again. But voices were running around. Something was going on. Battle lines will be drawn.

Whose side would I be fighting on? And Ballard? And Lennox?

What were these sides?

Good/Evil, I wrote.

Vittoria.... As for Houses... Where were House Harcort, House Coven, and House Ravenseal, in all of this? Where was my House?

The past, the past––the allegiances are in the past. I didn’t know them, and because of that––I didn’t know the past.

I threw my hands up in the air.

“I need to figure out everything,” I wrote. “Because until I know––I don’t know.” I closed my diary and lay with it under my chin. My mark prickled apprehensively; it was still glowing. I looked at it under my sleeve. He’s here––Rayven’s still here, I thought. He must be out there still, running around. Asher assured me: “Our defenses are too secure for him to get through.”

For now, I thought.

The war is starting.

She and the vampire are headed towards Prague. Find the other one and kill him.

* * *

Not me. Not her. Kill HIM.

It felt like a breakthrough.

Maybe Ballard was Rayven’s target.

Do not let it survive.

I didn’t understand that bit. I had a crazy thought for five seconds. What if.... What if there were two Prime Movers?

Bear with me, I wrote in my Diary.

What if Rayven and his Master were saying there were two Prime Movers, the Wiccan Prime Mover, whoever she was, and another one.

Literally, find the other One.

Full stop.

A male Prime Mover. Kill him....

There was more to this––in fact, a lot more. What she was headed toward Prague, anyway? Me? As if.

And if I was her, who was the vampire? Surely not Lennox.

Wherever Lennoxlove was, he wasn’t here, and I hadn’t seen him in a long time....

Do not let it survive.

* * *

Since entering the world––in Rome, Infester––I had seen the world turn from crystal clear, to metaphor and symbol... even to prophecy.

I didn’t know how to explain it, except to say it was very much like déjà vu.

Weren’t the symbols, in a way, like the visions saying they were going to come to pass?

You don’t know you have déjà vu until you see something for the second time, and then realize you’ve seen it before. And then it shocks you and you think––

Something is going on.

The echo of the prophecy was coming true. The symbols were leading me somewhere.

The war is starting, I thought.

What if... What if the Them isn’t the benandanti? What if the them the Dioscuri wanted me to find is the Dark Order itself?

Chapter 9 – Watchtowers

A few days had passed, in which I did not think about leaving, though, quietly, I had been preparing myself for the ordeal, mentally more than anything. The rundown mansion on the outskirts of Rome had become a refuge of sorts, since seeing it, a home I wished were mine, instead of Stromovka. I thought of it often. Absently I wandered its willow trees, wondering what had happened to the old place, and if I would ever get to it. It was like a House of my mind––imaginary, but for the prospect of finding it. The weeds, which had overgrown the old place, cut out the light.

The emptiness of it! The solitude of House Rookmaaker! I was entering a new phase. I didn’t know where I was going to! Whom I should meet? What obstacles would be overcome?

Suddenly, my emotions got the better of me. I wished I could remain here forever. But then another feeling intruded. I didn’t know what to call it, either destiny or purpose. I had terrible things to do, I knew that now. I had been selected. For what, I did not know.

A bitterness ate at my heart. What would I not give to have some of the answers that I sought? And who would I not confront, to know what had been done to me? And what I had to do?

Then, there was this pursuer, whoever he was, this creature, Rayven. A wizard and a shifter. Part of me wanted to go looking for him, to lay a trap, perhaps, finding out what he knew. He must know something, I thought.

The ring was on my finger. My Harm None ring. I had not removed it since Lia told me to put it on. “Do you know the secret?” I asked of it.

The ring did not respond. It was not magical, per se. Important, yes, but the article in itself did not give its wearer special attributes, unlike, say, the tridents my old Styles Master Lux had worn. He needed those tridents, otherwise he couldn’t craft. And I thought about that. It was an altogether mysterious and unnerving object, the Harm None ring, especially as the Wiccan Rede––an oath I had taken––suggested that evildoers should be punished elevenfold. Would be. Or perhaps they could escape? The crimes against my family were monstrous, but who had perpetrated them? The necromancer I fought against? Was he this master Rayven had spoken to? And, if so, and my parents had been unable to defeat him, could I? They were adults, after all. Fledged. Educated in the ways of Wicca. I was not. In fact, judging by my circumstances, and the destroyed nature of House Rookmaaker, I was well on my way to becoming an eclectic––a magical outcast with rudimentary-to-no real-world skill. My-world skill was in thinking. Big lot of good that will do, I thought, wondering about words like wheelhouse and skill set, and if I had them.

One bright spot, and it made me feel better: Knowing a magic spell, I had been able to perform it, twice now. Stormr hamrinum. The fire spell. Once, when I nearly killed Blunt and Giorgio––and again, when Ballard was healed, presumably.

He had been ill so long I had begun to think I had done more harm than good. The only thing holding me back from going to Prague was Ballard, and the fact we had begun this journey together. Somehow, I felt, I needed him with me, should I continue to the Districts of Magic, that place that was like a beacon to me, daring me to find it.

As for the ring, it was a part of me now. Had always been. Would always be. It spoke to something larger than myself: What had been done to my parents... The crimes against them....

Harm None. It was the Wiccan Rede in a nutshell. The golden rule. I could remember reciting the Wiccan Rede verbatim. Remembr, I said to myself, working a magic that was already in-built.

“I––Do Solemnly Swear––I had said––That I will not use my Powers [plural], for any wrongdoing, unless I am prepared to have that wrongdoing visited upon me elevenfold....”

It was the same oath that all non-initiated Neophytes swore before being indoctrinated––including, I presumed, Lenoir himself!

Was there karma? Was there divine retribution? Could I have justice? Both for my parents and their Wiccan House and for me? I swore to myself, there in the Stromovka, that I would see my House rebuilt. It was my birthright. I would not rest until it––and everything else––was put to rights. Until I stood on its grounds––and saw it––and Knew––everything.

It would be important, if Ballard and I were to continue, to have the utmost confidence in each other’s instincts and abilities. Mine for his was of the highest regard; but what was his for mine? There was craftiness in Ballard, I imagined age would hone, until it would become like second nature in him to perform feats of daring. As for my own abilities, who knew? So far they had proven themselves to be quite lackluster. There was no way, I thought, that I could be the Wiccan Prime Mover, if I could not excel at magic. And then I thought, who really is the Prime Mover? The Super Bitch? That seemed like an important question to have answered. One that had been scratched, but not sufficiently punctured.

What could she do, and why could she do it?

Holding the ring up to the light of the rising sun I saw it glow there like fire––a magic fire––the one which burnt within me. Could I kill who had done these great wrongs to my family? Would I? The triskele engraved on my ring danced in my eyes. The triskele could represent all kinds of things. They used it in recycling . Three different arrows pointing in the same direction, like an ouroboros eating itself. Something out of nothing. Or the new from the old. I decided the triskele, which was much simpler, as it appeared on my ring, and looked like this represented my mission, and that the ring was a reminder to push on––through whatever fear or foul place––to the places I needed to go. Which meant becoming Adept.

But what was Adept? How did I become it? And, if only a fledged could lead House Rookmaaker, how did I become her? By becoming Adept.

* * *

Massachusetts spoke of the Blizzard of ’78. This must’ve been like that. Spring was coming, but there was one last good snow––it iced the eaves and weighed down the trees. I would stand in it, thinking of St. Martley’s. It came down so fierce it was like the snow was battling an invisible army.

Asher told me of a lake, spectacular, really, buried deep within the woods. I could go to it, he said, while I waited for Ballard to get better. I think the other benandanti were sick of me. Anyway––I said I would––so that’s what I did, even though the snow had yet to thaw, and the lake––wherever it was––would probably be frozen over.

It was, when I finally found it.

The Vltava fed into the lake. It was pretty, hemmed in with Douglas firs and cranberrybushes; they looked like Christmas trees, fat with snow.

No matter how much I wanted to forget, the Stromovka would not let me. I played a little game, seeing if I could open the Power of Sight between me and Lennox, if I could hallucinate him. It didn’t work. Instead, I flipped open my Diary. It was my confidante, my counsellor, and my therapist.

Today’s entry was on my mother. My reckless, misfit, genius, intolerable, dead-as-ashes, in-the-can––

I knew her no better than a handshake. Who was I kidding? The sun had risen and set, just as it had on her life. I had never shared anything with my mother. Boys I was crushing on... my first kiss.... Still––how do you pick up the pieces of a life un-lived? I felt like I was on the outside, looking in; like the ice of the lake was a mirror, reflecting back at me her face, which was mine. If we shared Marks... I mean to say, was I anything like her? Did I want to be? Who was Kinsey Rookmaaker, anyway? Who had she been?

I felt pale in comparison. A nobody. A gulf existed between me and her, I didn’t think would ever be surmounted.

It was snowing again. So thick I couldn’t see. I put my hoodie up, watching the blizzard impact the trees––thinking about too many things––when a voice behind me interrupted my musings....

A spell came instinctively to my lips, which shocked me––like I was ready, like I wanted to fight––but it wasn’t Rayven; I flinched, catching myself, turning back around; it wasn’t even a Grigori. It was a woman (my age, or thereabouts), but she looked older, grown up. Like she was an adult and I was not. Like she was fledged, and I was not.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said. “The trees and whatnot.”

Excellent use of whatnot, I thought.

“My name’s Manon, by the way,” she said.

I could see the tell-tale points at her fingertips––the swirls, which meant she was a spellcaster like me. She had long pale slender-looking legs, and a heart-shaped––casually pretty––face, all angles and eyeliner; and like me, she didn’t seem to be cold. Maybe it was her Mark. I caught a glimpse of it, as I turned back around. She was wearing a tunic dress, black like her hair. In complete contrast with the weather.

“Sometimes I like to come here,” she said. “This being one of those times. And you are?”

“Halsey Rookmaaker––The Wiccan,” I said, catching a glimpse of myself as I may have appeared to outsiders. Was that who I was?

“What are you thinking about, or do you mind my asking?” said Manon.

I twirled my Harm None ring.

“Nothing. I’ll––I’ll see you later,” I said. I needed to be alone. I got up to go.

“Don’t go,” she said. “We should talk some, compare notes. I’m Wiccan too.”

“Are you Fledged? I thought eclectics couldn’t be. What House are you from?” I demanded.

“Does it matter?” she said.

“Yeah––it kind’ve does... to some people.”

She stood on top of the snow, whereas I slushed in it. “Ooh, look!” she said.

I turned and saw a grey wolf stepping out of the trees, the grey wolf. It was the same animal that had been shadowing me. Come to have a look.

It sat still, watching me. The same bright know-it-all look, the same sparkle, in its eyes.... It sniffed, putting its head down, and then trotted closer––lifting its paws in a curious way. I watched it sniff closer to me. And then it sat, very wise, and continued to stare.

Perhaps it had been trying to get to me for a very long time. Was it leading me somewhere––or no––protecting me––probably it wanted me to keep going––to keep searching––To find my way to Prague––all the way to the Master House itself!

My eyes lit up.... But that didn’t make sense...

It padded across the ice, disappearing into the trees. Don’t go, I thought. Now that it was here, I wanted the Grey Wolf to stay forever. I’ll come back, I promised. Later....

“That’s very good luck!” said Manon. She reminded me of Gemma Moonflower, in a way––all brightness and pep. “Well––see you!” she said.

“Yeah. See you later,” I said.

She left me standing there, wondering if the Grey Wolf was who I thought it was? It seemed impossible, but for the instinct telling me otherwise.

* * *

I sought out Asher, making my way back through the trees. If Ballard awoke and I had any luck, I could bring him up to speed on who I thought the grey wolf was. I imagined what his reaction would be. “You found out–– and I wasn’t––there...”

“Asher,” I said, arriving out of breath, anxious to put my theories to the test. He was deep in conversation with Laurinaitis; they were eating their dinner, there in the Hollow, at a table that had been set out, like at a camp. I wondered how their hunt was going, and if Asher and Laurinaitis were any nearer to catching Rayven?

Ballard’s motorcycle was over by the tree near mine.

“May I join you?” I asked. Other people were departing back to their domovi, leaving the picnic area.

Asher and Laurinaitis looked like they were vegetarians. That seemed to tally with the idea I’d had. It sent me into a major brain wave–– But Ballard is a meat eater, I thought. Later, I said again. Right now, I needed answers. I sat down and they offered to fetch me dinner, but I could not be bothered. What is food when there is figuring out to be done?!

“Halsey, Laurinaitis, Laurinaitis, Halsey,” said Asher.

“Pleasure.”

“So, you’re a witch, huh?” said Laurinaitis, shaking my hand. “I’m an ailuranthrope.”

“What animal do you turn into?” I asked.

Laurinaitis flashed his fangs at me.

“A jaguar,” he said.

Perfect. It was good luck, really, Laurinaitis being here...

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” I said. “Both of you.” Their reactions were encouraging. “I was wondering about shifting. But first, what is that symbol you are wearing around your neck, Asher? It looks like a triangle with a swirl inside of it.”

“Oh, this? This is the Wiccan-slash-benandanti symbol for rebirth,” he said. “And everyone knows the pyramid is indicative of our people.”

“Why is a triangle that points upwards a symbol for the benandanti?” I asked.

“It’s complicated,” said Laurinaitis, who jumped in.

I didn’t flinch, stutter, double take or WHATNOT. None of that.

“There are four cardinal points, Halsey Rookmaaker, North, South, East, and West. This pendant is like the arrow of a compass. It points North,” said Asher.

“Go on.”

“North is for Benandanti. Lorn––would you like to?” He passed the pendant to Laurinaitis.

“With pleasure,” said Laurinaitis. Laurinaitis put the pendant down on the bench and angled it so we all could see. He angled it down.

“You’re from Rome, right?” he said. It was getting late, and Asher lit a torch to put over us.

“Me? No––Massachusetts. Why?” I said to Laurinaitis.

He angled it that way, across the Atlantic Ocean, to St. Martley’s.

“Well, we are from Rome,” he said. The keratin in his nails was thick. Laurinaitis kept them clipped, but even in man-form they were deadly. How must he look transformed? Like Ballard? Or no. Selwyn. Selwyn who was a cat.

“But I thought... there were the Sons and Daughters of Romulus,” I said, “and then the Grigori and the Benandanti? That they were separate. ‘You to your corner, we to ours,’” I repeated.

Laurinaitis hissed at the name Grigori. “Lump the first and third together, not the second,” he said.

“The Sons and Daughters of Romulus––and the Benandanti,” I said. “Better?”

He turned the arrow back down. I knew of whom he was thinking: Rayven. What was with the enmity between their two “covens”?

“You’re Wiccan, right?” he said.

“I am. But I’m uninitiated,” I said. It was starting to feel like an excuse.

“Not anymore,” said Laurinaitis. “Asher? What d’you say?”

“She needs to know,” he agreed.

“I agree....” said Laurinaitis. “Halsey, have you ever wondered why Il Gatto is the King of Cats, and the Werewolf King the Magister Equitum? Why a wolf is a cat, and a cat a dog? Compounded by the fact equus means horse, which is simply tradition and has no bearing on the matter whatsoever? If anything, Rome should be where the King of the Wolves resides, Digby Doubleday, our packhead’s non-pack sobriquet. Today there are domesticated cats, but no ailuranthropes, in Rome, is that correct?”

I nodded, confused.

“The reason is the Last War,” said Laurinaitis. “We really should have Manon here with us, Asher, and Enzo.”

Something in me clicked.

“Lorenzo? Is he here?” I said.

Both Asher and Laurinaitis shook their heads.

“He died, unfortunately,” said Asher. “Perhaps we should start with that.”

“Lorenzo used to be Head Wolf,” said Laurinaitis, “the position your friend Ballard currently holds––but he got thrown out of Rome. They gave him the boot––the benandanti as well.”

“Rome is shaped that way,” said Asher, who drew a shape of the Italian Peninsula in midair with his finger.

The pendant on the table looked like an upside-down, all-seeing eye. The diarist in me snuffled ahead. Maybe indoctrination was knowing? It was going to be a long night, but I needed to know this. Asher and Laurinaitis continued on...

“The Grigori were not as they are now,” said Laurinaitis. “They’re still mean and nasty, yes, but before––during the War––they had numbers.

“Following the Covenant of 1887, the respective covens, kords, clans, and dwayles, went their separate ways––you to your corner, we to ours, never to fight again. We hoped. Which should’ve been an end to it. But the Grigori marched against the Sons and Daughters of Romulus, and very nearly destroyed us. The Council of Magic was busy elsewhere, rebuilding their world, while ours was falling apart––a clever trick, to turn their backs on us, after we had decimated ourselves elevenfold saving them. Prague owes Rome. Never forget that, Halsey.

“Erasmus had helped to turn the tide. Hiving had been initiated, but Lenoir had been cast out. In one respect, Hiving is good,” said Laurinaitis. “In every other, it is monumentally bad and always has been so. But. Hiving. Was. It had happened. That was the material point. You look like I’m losing you, and maybe I am, but I assure you, all will be made clear.

“The problem with coming into something in the middle or the end––and let us hope it is not––is you never hear about the beginning,” said Laurinaitis. “We will now endeavor to indoctrinate you into the Past.

“It was Rayven who killed Vanity Ravenseal, Erasmus’s Mistress. On the orders of the vampires, some said. But Rome was in turmoil. The Grigori were all but extinct; they liked to fight amongst themselves, and so were undermined from within. Like a dead House, a conflict arose between the Roman Packheads. The Head Wolf, a cyanthrope named Crispus, was all for finishing the Grigori off. After all, they had attacked us! But his brother, Domitius, who was Head of the Quirinal at the time, thought otherwise. ‘Haven’t we suffered enough?’ said Domitius one day. Crispus disagreed and overruled him. It was within his power. ‘We must end this threat to us,’ he said, ‘once and for all.’ That night, Domitius killed his brother, and it was Romulus and Remus all over again. Rome was in free fall.

“With Crispus gone, the Quirinal was in power. But a small faction of us rose from within––not Eclectics, per se, but fully-fledged werewolves and otherkin kind.” His eyes lit up like fiery bijoux. “Before the splitting, Rome embraced all forms of permutation––there were a million words for the things we could do. Loup garou and berserkers and so forth. Unfortunately, there were not enough of us to put an end to the Grigori, as should have been done––but we maintained Crispus’s last wish, that the Grigori should be watched. So that is what we have done. We broke from the Sons and Daughters of Romulus and headed north. To Stromovka. And so became the Benandanti. Those Who Do Good. But how do we good? We do good by keeping an eye on those who do bad.”

He pointed through the opening of the Hollow with his finger directly to Prague and the Districts of Magic. The places I must go. I felt a prickle of fear.

“The Stromovka circles Prague,” said Laurinaitis. “It surrounds it . Like a great magic circle. And the only thing––the only thing––between the Grigori and Rome, between the Dark Order and Rome, is us.”

“You mean––you’ve been watching all this time?” I said. “For a hundred plus years? For what the Grigori will do....”

“‘Watching’ is a good word––as will be shown. But it was not the Grigori alone, our vigilance extended to. It included the Dark Order.”

* * *

I did the math in my head. The European Covenant of Magic was signed in 1887. That would make Rayven hundreds of years old––an expert spellcaster. Way beyond fledged. Better than me.

“Don’t forget,” said Laurinaitis, “some of us can live for extraordinarily long times. Rayven, as he’s called, is ancient. In the lexicon of the Grigori, he is the worst.” He passed me an aperitif. The snow had let up, but the torch-side chat continued. “Prague was bad then,” he said. “Now it is a dangerous place, even if you don’t have magic.”

“The Dark Order is spreading,” said Laurinaitis. “Magic is growing once more from Prague, unfurling itself from the Districts of Magic. That knowledge alone would require this gathering–– you know, I think we should get Manon,” he said to Asher.

“We know you wish to go there,” continued Laurinaitis, as Asher got up to go, “––to Prague,” he said.

“Don’t do it. The friendship of our two families is paramount––perhaps we can repair old ties, and settle this matter once and for all––and reunite the Benandanti and Rome––because by going alone to Prague the Grigori have the advantage. But together....”

Did he mean what I thought he did? Were the Benandanti still interested in eliminating the Grigori? And if so, did they need our help? It had been a hundred and twenty-five years––five Gathering’s-worth since the Dark Days. As for two families, I wasn’t a part of the Sons and Daughters of Romulus. Not really. Families lived in houses and I still needed to find mine. For once, I was glad I had not won the race. It enabled me to go my separate way. Meanwhile, did the Sons and Daughters of Romulus need Ballard back?

“Think about it. Ravenseal is tottering. The Master House wants them. And when they say they come for you, Ravenseal comes on behalf of them. Surely you know this?” said Laurinaitis. “If we do not come for them, the Grigori will come for us––that is their plan. We grow our numbers––but so do they. And there are other parties involved, such as the Master House. Our story’s getting out of hand. The Magister Equitum will wish us to speak coherently, you two. Everything depends upon it.”

Asher and Manon were back. Manon looked tousle-haired. “I was sleeping,” she said. “Hello, Halsey.”

“Hi.” I nodded. “But why me?” I said. “Who am I?”

“The two shall be explained,” said Laurinaitis. “But right now, as an answer to your question, I will say this––it was your parents, Kinsey and Max R, who set things in motion. A greater Gathering may indeed be in order down the road, where others will be included, but for now let us rattle this out together. Ballard knows everything of which I’m about to tell you.

“How does he know? It’s simple. As Head Wolf, Ballard is privy to certain inside information. As was Lorenzo before him. But unlike Ballard and Gaven, Lorenzo got in the face of the Quirinal,” said Laurinaitis.

“The Quirinal had forgotten the Last War, you see, or wished to. When the covenant was signed, that was the end of it. But for the Grigori....

“The aftermath resulted in a xenophobic desire of sorts––you to your corner, we to ours. Even those few of the Lenoir––who had taken on the name of the great wizard––as a hunter will display his horns––were excommunicated, banished from the city. Rome fell to ruin and the werewolves to their bane––that of willful ignorance. Rome used to be very cosmopolitan. But the Quirinal wished to forget everything. The war, the other sides... Even,” said Laurinaitis, “their own magic. Yes. The werewolves have some. Occasionally, one or two of them will discover it. Meanwhile, the rest of them feel content to put it in its box, until today they do not know they possess it. Don’t you know that the Sons and Daughters of Romulus happen also to be Wiccans? We all do. But Wiccans of a certain type. Magic is in many voices, Miss Rookmaaker.”

“It’s true,” said Manon. “Magic split, but we all got a piece. Even the werewolves.”

“What about the Grigori? Do they have Magic?” I asked, thinking about Rayven, and wondering if his mark could be explained some other way. If perhaps Lenoir had given it to him, specifically, and the others were merely nasty?

“The Grigori have a brand of magic; so do the Sons and Daughters of Romulus; so do we. Eclectics is a term traditional Wicca-craft uses to shun. The Three wish to remain elite, and so are limited. And that is good,” said Manon.

“The real purpose in Hiving,” said Laurinaitis, “was as a check against The Second War. The Wiccan purges, they called it. Wizards and witches were wiped out during the war––killed mainly by each other. The otherkins being in it, we acquitted ourselves well, but blood was everywhere, and on everyone’s hands, including the vampires. It made it convenient that so few wizards and witches were left. Their numbers fit with the number thirteen. Thirteen-or-greater became a rallying cry of sorts––covens had to split, hive. Peace was the order of the day––like the reduction of nuclear arms––but a false peace. Everyone knew the Dark Order still existed. But who cared, if in the short-term wounds could be healed, and the days of darkness finally be forgotten?

“I have often thought of those three words: The Last War. Is it the last war because there is another one coming? Or is it the last war because we all die and so magic will be wiped from the universe? In any event, the Last War never really ended. It simply stopped.”

“At the beginning of this, I asked you about rebirth, which is the symbol on this necklace,” I said, “and you said it was like a compass, that there were four cardinal points...”

I turned it up and saw the symbol for fire , which also meant north (or Prague) to me.

This was like that . Only inverted in a way. The vampire symbol became the symbol for otherkin: The Grigori, the benandanti, and the Sons and Daughters of Romulus: or in my mind werewolves and ailuranthropes. .

The north symbol was also a delta or change. My fourth Protector would have a connection to fire. Fire pointed north. All the way to Selwyn. Could that be it or was I reading these tea leaves wrong? If this was Lennox and that was Ballard, was I in a love triangle with them both? Did I want to be? I remembered Infester’s words. He was really the symbol master––the one who taught me they came before us––that the symbols were the key to my own destiny and the destiny of others.

Rebirth...  This swirl doodad, here, factored in, somehow.

Laurinaitis held up the necklace. And here I thought I was done with the symbols.

“The four points, North, South, East, West, are for the Watchtowers,” he said, “the protettori as they were called, those who defended Magic.” He seemed determined to make me “get it.” Some Chosen One. Everyone at the table looked at me like I was clueless; I felt like I was. Excuse me if I had never been indoctrinated before.

“Before he died, Pendderwenn told me my parents were Watchtowers. Powerful Wiccans, he called them. But who are the Watchtowers?” I said.

“It’s who they were,” said Laurinaitis pointing the triangle back down.

Grabbing some carrot sticks off his plate, Laurinaitis chomped them, until he made this symbol:

“This is the Wiccan symbol for EARTH,” he said.

He dipped his finger into the salad dressing. “Earth. Air. Fire. Water.” He drew them all out, joining them together.

“What does that look like to you?” he said.

I shrugged. “Like the four cardinal points?” I said.

Laurinaitis seemed pleased. “If you imagine them shooting from Prague, you have a fairly accurate representation of the initial splitting of Magic,” he said. “Like a compass rose on a map.”

“But wait,” I said. “Magic split into Three, the Covens, the Harcorts, and the Ravenseals, did it not? So why are there four Houses?”

It reminded me of my Four Protectors. One, two, three, four of them.

The Protection symbol had a fourth point, right in the center, which I had understood to mean Selwyn. But if that were the case, what were the symbols protecting me from?

From this? I filled it in mentally in my head. Was this accurate? Were they protecting me from all comers? From all corners? From the vampires in Paris? From the evil witches and wizards and Grigori in Prague? And from enemies closer to home? Now that I thought about it, it was an awful lot like the triskele on my ring . Three circles, and a center. The Protection symbol could also be drawn this way .

My ring was my Four Protectors.

“Actually,” Laurinaitis said, “there’s five. Look in the center of the four and you’ll see a fifth element.” 411. I need help, I thought.

He pointed them out. “Can you guess what this is?” he said, pointing to the circle, number 5. “I’ll help you.

“You have been told about it before. You must’ve been, if you were selected. Neophytes aren’t allowed to not know this, Halsey Rookmaaker.”

I was drawing a blank. Manon helped me out. The only thing that I could think was that it was my full moon, the circle, or a magic circle? That it represented Ballard, somehow. I didn’t understand. Manon was rubbing her three Wiccan fingertips together, willing me to figure it out.

Finally, I got it.

“The aether,” I said. “The is the aether.”

Laurinaitis nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “The circle is the fifth element, and it is also called spirit, or soul. It is the ethereal, the intangible, the unbelievable, without which there is no magic.”

So did that mean my three circles were surrounded in Magic? Ballard, Lennox, Selwyn, Marek? That they all could craft? Or were they protecting me from Magic? I didn’t understand. Magic split FOUR ways––But there are only THREE Houses––but there are FIVE elements––and there are Watchtowers. What came next?

My heartbeat started doing funny things.

I was thinking about the four triangles shooting off in different directions. Earth, Air, Fire, Water. Like a House of Fire, or a House of Air. And spirit, or soul, the fifth element, which was this . The intangible, the illusory.

Was that accurate?

Somehow it was all connected, like a Rubik’s Cube, but whatever it meant, I couldn’t solve it. It was too complicated. I couldn’t get it all to line up.

Manon said, “Not to worry, Halsey Rookmaaker. We will help you figure this out. Now, in fact.”

She gathered up all of Laurinaitis’s carrot sticks, putting them back on his plate, and said, “The answer is The Fifth of Fourth.”

Chapter 10 – The Fifth of Fourth

The torchlight flickered over us, almost as if an invisible hand had been reaching out to snuff it.

“You know what this looks like, don’t you?” said Manon. “Us meeting here.... Like an insurrection. The Lenoir and the Master House will be quite interested to know what we’re doing here––quite interested, indeed.”

“We can no longer be disinterested,” said Asher. “The war is coming.”

“I’m in. Tell me. You’re freaking me out,” I said.

“The thing about supernaturals, Halsey, is there is always some small sign, a tell or otherwise, which encourages outrageous speculation: Oh, he must be a wizard. Do you see her? She’s magic, no doubt. We judge each other by our Marks. Which reminds me...”

She pulled back her sleeve and showed me hers. “So why I think I should talk in spirals,” she said...

It was Insight. Under my hoodie my orchid began to writhe and snake its way along the length of my arm.

“The Last War was a time of intense fear and paranoia,” Manon began, “and the lines––ever drawn––were clearer then. I have seen the old headlines: Murders, ritualistic killings; a period of crossover, during which the world of fantasy and magic intersects with the world of the mundane. This Rayven fellow killed two gravediggers––recently––and it was in the news! That has always been our great fear, and the reason we build fortresses! But during the time of the Fifth of Fourth we came closer than ever before to being found out.”

“But what are Watchtowers?” I said. “What do they do?”

Asher and Laurinaitis grinned ear-to-ear.

“It will be tied in a bow. Wait for it. And get me pen and ink! I’m tired of these carrot sticks!” said Manon.

I went, as rapidly as I could, to my domov, and fetched out my diary and pen. She took the Diary and opened to a fresh page, clicking the pen, and proceeded to draw several intricate designs. How could I fail to believe in the symbols when others put stock in them?

“This is the sign for Adept,” she said. “What you’re trying to become. Two horns, pointed up, a second-degree. Not to be confused with the septagram.”

She drew the seven-sided star as well.

“The septagram is quite literally the ancient symbol for Magic. You see it engraved all over Rome. The Sons and Daughters of Romulus have forgotten who they are, and think the septagram means only otherkin––or shape changers. Not so,” said Manon.

Was this why Lia could craft? Had she found her magic? Was it already there, latent within herself? And if so, did Ballard have it? He must have! They were brother and sister!

I was suddenly anxious to test it out, but he was still laid up, Ballard. Being treated. I was forbidden from seeing him. Was something really really wrong with him?

“We need to flip the pentagram,” said Manon, “so it’s like a body––with a Head. Or one horn. There.”

I watched her fill it in.

“Now look here. Magic split into Three. Houses Harcort, Coven, and Ravenseal. True, the rest of us possess magic, but the original Hiving was these three Houses, when they split.

“Flagrante.” She drew the pentagram out in fire, there in the air, where it hovered before us.

“Four points, and a fifth, which is spirit, or soul,” she said, pointing to where the head should be.

I looked at the SPIRIT , thinking it was the crucial piece––and mentally word-hoarded what she’d just said. If I couldn’t do magic by thinking it, I would ape it instead: flagrante, I thought.

“The Fifth of Fourth is actually a reference to the five elements and how the most important one, aether, , is the one that cannot be seen. In essence, it’s the magic within us,” said Manon.

“You can’t see air either. Unless it’s smog,” I said.

“But let’s look at the other points first. You remember how we flipped the pentagram from two horns up, to where it became like a figure for a human being? A lot of scholars get upset that fire , which points north, ACTUALLY points south. You have to flip it, remember? So Fire is south, east Air, west Water, and the north Earth. Backwards. Like this.”

“I suppose it makes sense, the closer you get to the equator the warmer it becomes. Fire is Rome.”

I was quickly becoming confused. Now fire was this? It looked like Sándor’s soul patch.

“Interestingly enough, look where spirit resides now,” said Manon, pointing down. “Some scholars see that as a sign of impending doom, but I just see it as an earthly reference to the resting place of the dead. Which brings us to the symbol of rebirth .

“This symbol ,” said Manon, “has rebirth inside a delta, which is the symbol for change. Change is of course a direct reference to lycanthropy. But specific to shape shifters is the idea of their animals. Cut the man and the therian shows through. The ancients used to believe that. This is where spirit comes in. The shifter has within him or herself a protector, or guardian spirit, called a Lare, which is the aether itself. Still with me?”

“Sort’ve.”

“Now, repercussion holds that if the animal dies, the shape shifter does as well. That’s not quite true. If I am a werewolf and I shift and am killed, I die. If, however, my therian is cut––it may die, but I go on living... It’s called therian exorcism and it’s very deadly.”

“Even when we lose our power to shift, we are still connected with our sangomas––unless they are cut from us,” said Laurinaitis.

“We can discuss parallaxis more in depth later––for now––” said Manon, “we need to get to the Watchtowers. It used to be there were crossroads to Rome, where a man would stand, like a guard, or sentry. And these posts were called Watchtowers; and their guards, watchers. There were always Four. East was Aldebaran, south Regulus, west Antares, and north Fomalhaut. The original Watchers represented the four elements, and to this day are invoked during the ritualistic casting of magic circles. North, South, East, West. Like this:

“So in a sense, the stands for Rome. But I had not heard that the Watchers were back. Who told you that your parents were Watchtowers?!” said Manon.

“Julius Pendderwenn,” I said. He hadn’t lied to me, had he? Manon looked skeptical.

“So far as I know the last of the Watchtowers were killed during the purges of the Last War,” she said. “Your parents couldn’t’ve been them. It was Lenoir, Halsey, the Dark Lord, and his servants, who destroyed the last Watchtowers, igniting the powder keg, which lit the war.

“Everybody died. There was a rumor a necromancer was to blame. A cult of Lenoir had sprung up. Misguided, foolish. Enamored of what he had done. What he was doing...

“He managed through charisma and craft to siphon off from the other houses certain of their up-and-comers, what he called The Fifth of Fourth. Aurelia Peril and Electra Goodiefeeder being two notables.... Some pretty badass Wiccans joined with him. Not to mention Rayven and the Grigori. He wanted outsiders, the ones who felt disenfranchised. So naturally his rhetoric found a foothold with the young.

“They joined him in droves. Soon his spies were everywhere. You found them in every House. Lenoir had an army of devotees, willing and able to do his bidding. It was the perfect marriage of the Fledged and the Forgotten. At which point he set about to do what he did....

“Lenoir held the opinion any jurisdiction an organization might have over magical power would denude the limits to which you could take it. The Three should be abolished, and if no one else would do it, he would. What started out as guerrilla warfare, eventually gained a following. Erasmus of Ravenseal––the soon-to-be Head of that House––convened a secret council, The Fraternity of Secrets, in which all influential witches and wizards willing and able, were summoned to go over what would be done about the upstart, known simply as Lenoir. No one had ever seen his face; if you did, you were dead. He was like a bad rumor––hushed up for too long––then, suddenly, released! He was on a crusade for his own glorification. Ideas didn’t matter anymore. And his pranks were growing more numerous, and more deadly. Lenoir’s genius was he recognized a way to justify the atrocities which were already begun but were soon to rage across the century! He was going to redefine Magic!

“War was coming. Misguided. Abstract,” said Manon. “But at the top they knew exactly what it was about: control. Who would have it, and who would not.

“Lenoir was going to wrest magical control from the Families. And he did. That was the purpose of the Last War.”

“But how?” I said.

“The answer is The Fifth of Fourth, a rogue faction of magic, which broke from the trine of other Houses. The Dark Order began as The Fifth of Fourth, Halsey. It was Lenoir’s House. Quite literally, a fifth, or portion, of the other Houses, creating a new, fourth House. In point of fact, The Master House!

“After his defeat, we refitted it to a new purpose––funny how magic and imagination seldom go hand in hand. Covens and the Covens, Lenoir and the Lenoir. The Fifth of Fourth became headquarters for the body responsible for regulating Hiving, The Master House, there in Prague––

“As for the Watchers––or Watchtowers...,” said Manon, “they were unparalleled in their skill and craft––Bronwen, who was the East; Rayven the West; and Marek, who was a vampire, the South.

“Yes––Rayven was one of them,” said Manon, misinterpreting the way my gut had clenched.

“As for the North? It was Lenoir. He offered the other Watchers power; only Rayven accepted. It cost him his soul.”

“The others were destroyed,” said Asher. “Rayven corrupted––Bronwen murdered––and Marek forsaken–– We don’t know what happened to him.”

“The line of the Watchers was ended. It’s interesting,” said Manon, “when he bent Rayven, Lenoir took the mother lode of Rayven’s power into himself––rather than share it with his ally. Rayven is powerful but nothing of what he was––for he had been a Watchtower.”

“It took an act of betrayal to destroy them,” said Laurinaitis. “It’s because of Rayven that shape shifters are now called turncoats. Even the Grigori hate him, and revile his name.”

I kept Marek to myself; Manon couldn’t possibly be referring to someone else.

If what she told me were true, Lenoir was the necromancer who had tried to kill me. Lennox didn’t know! No one did! Marek should have told me! He was one of my Four Protectors––my protettori. The Lenoir wanted him dead. He was a murderer. But from how it sounded, it didn’t sound like Marek could die.

“They guard magic, Halsey. The Watchtowers guard the Chosen One.”

* * *

Dear Diary, why had Mercaccio Lenoir wanted to destroy Rhea Silva? Was it so that he could take her power?

Something was up. I couldn’t explain it, except to say I knew things, things I had to keep secret. This Marek revelation threw me for a loop. I thanked Manon, but uneasily. Just as I carefully extricated my Diary from her grasp. I kept asking myself, Did Lennox know who Marek was? He couldn’t possibly. Marek gave no hint.

It was like Marek was hiding from me. He spoke in riddles. It left me uneasy. Like he knew things and wouldn’t say.

That was exactly his game! A game of riddles and lies! Yet why did I trust him so much? Lennox may have drunk blood cups but Marek did not. He was a vampire, in fact and in fangs.

I flexed my fingertips. The she-witch is MINE.

Why did Rayven want me so badly? And Marek? Why did he? Was it because I was her? Perhaps they were attracted to the Chosen One.

She and the vampire are headed toward Prague.

Find the other one and kill him.

Do not let IT survive.

The Dark Order shall rise again... my old friend...

Selwyn. I needed to find him; he must know something. Even if he doesn’t think he does, I can draw it out of him. Was there a way for surfacing repressed memories?

It surfaced, like a question mark. Who was Frobenius Foucart? The person who had signed my mother’s and father’s Magus Codex. And if I had theirs, whose codex had Vittoria received? Was she being whispered to, even now, in a voice from beyond the grave?

* * *

Giant hourglassfuls of Time ran minutes-for-days, leaving my Adepthood feeling increasingly out of reach. Where was Rayven now and what was he doing? Had he returned to Prague, to his master?

I knew I should feel some kind of fear, when I heard the name Lenoir; but instead, there was only the desire to meet him, if I could.

Unbidden, came the voice of the necromancer who had claimed the life of my parents. A crazy idea had come into my head. If necromancy existed, maybe I could learn it. Would it be possible to speak with Kinsey and Maximilian Rookmaaker? Talk directly with Risky, instead of all this pussyfooting around? Necromancy dealt with communicating with the dead. But then another voice intruded: Don’t you think if they could speak to you, they would, Halsey?

Yes, I thought. I needed to speak with Ballard.

Something had happened to him, when it was just the three of us, and Rayven, sensing defeat, had cast his magic spell, to end my life.

It had hit Ballard instead of me and done something to him.

“Flagrante!”

I traced my name in fire, there in the air. The rook was the castle on the chessboard.

Rookmaaker.

Castlemaker.

King-maker.

If something more permanent than a scar had been done to Ballard, I didn’t know what I would do.

I had seen him with a scar. In my dreams. And I had also seen him leading an army. Ballard had been standing before a collection of soldiers, getting ready to go into combat, his left side marred by a twisting old wound... like he had been cut...

It was weird. Had I seen him, or was it just one of many visions my imagination had cooked up to pain me with? Did everything I saw come true, or could I change things?

The age-old question, really. Was I to be the master of my own destiny? Or was Rayven? Or the symbols? Or Lenoir? Or Marek? Or any of the people who had an affect on my life? Mistress Genevieve...

The only value in knowing what’s to come, is being able to prevent it, when it does.

She and the vampire are going to Prague.

Whatever gifts I had Lenoir had them as well. He could see things before they happened. How else did he know what I was about to do?

I got the sense of sitting across a giant chessboard from a grand master. Lenoir had made his turn. Now, it was mine.

Did he really believe that he could change the future and I could not? That I would somehow just put up with it?

Lenoir may have had this selfsame gift of future-seeing, but the question now was, how to hone it? I fetched out my diary and scribbled a training regiment, and then inked it out, irritated.

I had my Four Protectors. I was going about this all wrong.... The entire Grigori and everyone else could come after me. I had Ballard and Selwyn, Lennox and Marek; I had my House.

I needed to set up my world, to gather to me all of the important people in my life: Lia and Gaven, St. Martley’s.

If they would....

We needed our own Gathering.

Dear Diary..., a word-puzzle perhaps, but is she the Super BITCH because she can transform into a dog, a female B-I-T-C-H, or is it because she’s just really mean and nasty? I shut out my light and went to sleep, snuffling ahead like the grey wolf, for what lay in my path.

* * *

So much for a resting place. Prague was close by. I could feel it. Trees were less secure than the solidity of Rome. Stromovka could not compare to the pomerium and the Aurelian Wall.

Ballard––Ballard hurt––Ballard cut––Ballard destroyed––

I put my foot down. The benandanti would let me see him––right this minute––or else––

I brought my petition to Asher. He was one of the Celeres; they all were. It was spring and the canopy of trees overhead let in joyful light. Perhaps he could see my wrath.

“I will secure it. Please wait here. You are not waiting,” he said.

“I want to go with you,” I said.

So that’s what we did.

The nurse, a wraith of a woman––she had clawed hands, and a warty nose––said “He’ll live. But barely,” referring to Ballard. “You may see him, einhendr.”

“Thank you, I guess,” I said.

I was allowed in.

I climbed to the topmost domov, where Ballard was being held, and broke through the treetops: and there, in the distance, was Prague. I saw it! But no golden dome sparkled in the afternoon sun.

It looked dark over Prague. I turned my eye away, and saw Ballard, where he lay on his bed. His eyes wide open.

“Some view, huh?” he said.

“Oh Ballard.”

“I know it looks bad, but don’t worry. I heal all right, in the end.”

He was wrapped in gauze like a mummy, but I could see half his face, which was smiling.

“Is there pain? How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?”

“Just Rayven,” he said.

That reminded me.

“You should have told me,” I said.

“About what?” he demanded.

“About Rayven... and stuff. You knew his name! You know everything.”

Ballard huffed. I sat on the end of the bed, where he grimaced.

“One of the perks of the job,” he said. “I figured we’d go to Prague––and well––whatever. Gaven told me about Rayven and the Dark Order. And about me. I have an it, inside of me, a thing, my therian, or something... A Lare...”

“So it isn’t Risky?” I said.

“What? Who?”

“Nothing––it’s just––they made it sound like reincarnation––and I thought... Maybe your animal was like the ghost of your forebears––you know––spirits.”

I drew the circle out in midair, thinking, Is there a spell for everything?

Ballard’s eyes got big. Had anyone ever told him he was magical before? I figured I would keep that secret, for now, until he was ready to hear it. He’d certainly kept secrets from me before.

“Risky’s dead,” he said. “Believe me. He’s not coming back.”

“I’m just glad you’re back, Ballard.”

It felt like Risky had been watching over me. Maybe the grey wolf was Risky’s animal, his sangoma? A Lare.

“Me too,” said Ballard. “Don’t tell them, but I’m looking forward to getting out of here.”

“When can you get out of here?”

I was thinking about Prague.

He leaned forward. Where the bandages ended, his skin was reddish and raw. I had the sense Grigori magic––magic used by the Grigori, their incantations, and so forth––was different from spells such as Wiccans used, or the Sons and Daughters of Romulus, if they still had any left (suddenly, I didn’t feel so guilty about that racing stunt). That the words themselves were particular to the individual who uttered them, depending on which coven they were from. Fire could be invoked in many languages.

“Don’t tell them,” said Ballard, “but I’m getting out of here soon. I want to go with you––To finish our journey!”

“You need to rest, Ballard. Prague can wait!” I said.

The old lady who had been looking out for him, came back; Ballard rolled his eyes. “She’s manic,” he said.

“Your time is up. He needs rest,” she said to me.

“Now you know how I feel about my landlady,” I whispered to him.

Ballard looked at her, mutinously.

“Remember,” he said to me. For a split second, I thought he had been trying to put a spell on me. “We’ll go––together.”

* * *

Ballard could stay here, but I couldn’t. Time seemed to be doing funny things to my head. For some reason, Rayven had been trying to cut out my animal––my therian––as if I had one! Do not let it survive. Otherwise, why had he uttered that particular spell? He had aimed it at me. Why, unless he thought I had a therian. What were the Lares?

Did I have a therian? No matter what Ballard said, I knew the grey wolf was important.

With that thought, I would meet it, and if my feet just happened to carry me to Prague, so be it.

It was a wrench leaving the Gambalunga behind. My personal property would be safe, including my Diary, which I left strapped under the seat, in preparation for a quick getaway. The benandanti wouldn’t like it if they knew I was leaving them––heading to Prague on my own.

It was just me and my hoodie, gone to find the lake. The snow had melted away and it was raining. A light drizzle pitter-pattered solemnly on the ground.

If Grigori had magic, then did vampires? Does Lennox? Does he have a Mark like mine? Camille did, I thought.

Thinking about Rome, I got an uneasy feeling––like we had been gone too long. Now, it was only a matter of finding the grey wolf. Then Prague, and Selwyn if I could.

I doubled back, fetched my backpack, and quickly scribbled two notes.

To Asher, Laurinaitis and Manon:

I came here for a purpose––and until I finish it... I can’t discuss any plans for the future without first seeing Prague for myself––

Tell Ballard I’m sorry. Please watch over my Gambalunga.

Halsey

P.S. Don’t worry. I’m supposed to be meeting someone.

Next I wrote a letter to Lia. I made sure everything was in order––that I had all my stuff––and then I went––headlong, into the trees––chasing after it.

* * *

Part of me knew I was being really stupid. After all, if the grey wolf was after me, so was Rayven, but I didn’t care. I had to figure certain things out for myself, regardless of what happened to me, even if that meant getting myself killed, or, or injured, or something.

A recklessness had come over me––like there were lots of mes and current-Halsey, what I might call this-me, couldn’t be on her duff for very long.

BE RECKLESS. Okay––I would be.

Genevieve was my Godmother. She had my back. But she also had been preparing St. Martley’s for war. Why?

Combat and fight mechanics.

That was code for The Atlantic may protect us from European witchcraft and wizardry, but guess what? Oceans can be traversed! And forests! Wizards and witches can fly!

The Stromovka was a stopgap, a band-aid, nothing more. Things were being drawn to the oldest of magic cities––including me. My boots were already caked in mud before I hit upon the path which led to the lake.

I figured I’d start there. See if I could catch sight of the grey wolf. Maybe it was trying to get me on my own. There was nobody else around. Come on, come out.

My pack felt light. I only had my personal effects. The letter to Lia would be dispatched once I got to Prague. I didn’t even have Ballard’s map with me. I knew Prague was yonder. Perhaps the area around Prague was like a siphon. It could sift lost souls.

What if you were marked for something? I told myself. Something no one else could do. But you had to change who you were, to do it? Could you go through with it? Or would the transformation be even more than you could bear? If it changed you enough, would you cease to be you?

I was thinking about the Super Bitch, this so-called lupa mannara, my quintessence. This animism, like a solar eclipse, or the ring of fire. When the sun was occulted by the moon, it created this fringe, the ring of fire, which blotted the other out, like the ring on my finger, except inflamed. Harm None.

I stepped into the clearing and Lennox was standing there.

“What kept you?” he said.

The “Leh” part of the sentence got stuck on the way out. Was this what my Power of Sight was? Things being taken for granted and just happening?

I was sure he wasn’t an hallucination.

Stepping closer into the clearing, he echoed my footsteps.

“I haven’t seen you in six months,” I said. “And you think you can just stand there, looking all cool like that?”

“Pretty much. Yeah,” said Lennox.

He ran his hands through his hair, the act a kind of nonchalance.

“Besides, you need my help,” he said.

I pushed past him.

“I’m going to Prague. You know, that place filled with vampire hunters? I can only assume your parents meant the Grigori,” I said, referring to Dallace and Camille.

He tried lifting branches out of my way––viburnums and so forth.

“We need to talk,” he said. He wasn’t trying to stop me.

His violet-colored eyes looked like flames in a lamp.

“And the Understatement Award goes to.”

“I’m serious,” he said.

“So am I.”

Privately, I thought: I’m a Neophyte now. Out of my way, buster.

“Stop doing that,” I said.

“I was just trying to help,” he said. He let the clump of witchhazel go, and it slapped me in the face.

The words intrigued me. “It’s a deal,” I said. “You help me in Prague. Then we’ll talk.”

“Deal,” he said.

I held out my hand for him to shake. The contact caused an electrical reaction, such as a storm within my brain. No fair, I thought. He put his hood up and I followed suit.

The sun was setting by the time we stepped from the trees. Finally, after what felt like months, I was free of Stromovka. The Vltava was glittering with the lights of the city. Prague was in the distance. The Districts of Magic. I had made it.

Chapter 11 – Voettfangs

Lennox lost no time in warning me against the places we were headed. He didn’t seem to need to be filled in, either, which meant either he didn’t care or he already knew what our mission was; in which case had he been stalking me? I knew that was in his nature, but still––

“Beware eye contact––and guard your mind. We need a procurer––I know the perfect place,” he said––all paranoid and shizz.

I wanted to see all the magic spilling from the streets.

Lennox, however, warned me against such overt interest in the goings-on within the Districts of Magic.

“Wait until we get there,” he said. “You’ll see.”

We were crossing the Charles Bridge, to a place called Golden Lane, where Cubist houses twisted in the night sky. The Velvet Revolution had changed Prague. Now Art Nouveau blended with more modern styles.

Everywhere were shops and cafés. Gargoyles and gutter spouts, bell towers cupped with bronze tops, Gothic rib vaulting, scraffito; not to mention the foraging monks and the Sisters from other convents––I almost wrote covenants. When they crossed paths with Lennox and I, they crossed themselves. It made me feel unnatural.

“Just wait,” Lennox kept saying. “Just wait.”

He tried to engage me in conversation, but I said, “Later. Just wait. And stop cheating.”

He did apologize for missing my birthday. I noticed him look through the shop windows. Lennox strolled, as if he didn’t have a care in the world; I was more hunched. There were a lot of people around, shopping and so forth. I kept expecting someone to jump out, or I dunno, attack me or something, forgetting I had a vampire with me: he could move ultra-fast, and rip, tear, gnash, and who knew what else? One of the things I needed to ask him about was the Agonies. Then I remembered our deal, and thought, crap. No talking.

I was over the whole angry-with-him thing––but he wasn’t to know about that. For all he knew I had given up on him completely. I was seeing someone else––that’s it––I had a new boyfriend––Ballard.

Old Town. Surely the entrance to the Districts was here somewhere.

Golden Lane was awash with brightly-colored houses––all kinds of shops–– Book dealers had their wares stacked neatly outside.

I made a list of everything I would need––thinking about the fortune that had been left to me. Books, alembics, chalices, athames, crystals, candles, fiery wands–– There was a whole world of Wicca to tap in to!

A world of cauldrons and broomsticks––familiars and unfamiliars: swords and potions and so-forths.

I realized that that was what the soul spirits were––the things that were in Ballard and me, and within Lia and Gaven, and all the Romuluses and Remuses––not to mention the benandanti––witches and wizards traditionally kept dogs and cats as familiars. What if they were born with them? Had I had this little soul parasite in me forever? What was it?

Asher had once told me that true Eclectics––those disparaged wanderers without any House––were often the result of wizards or witches who’d mated with shape shifters in an effort to produce Wizard Shifters, what I was trying to become.

Had either my mother or father been an Eclectic? And was that why Rayven had been sent? To squash out my animal?

Dark-eyed beautiful men and women passed me in the street. “Hold on,” said Lennox. He went up to a newspaper vendor and took out what looked like several silver coins. “Just as I thought. Attacks have been happening two-a-day in Letná Park,” he said, reading the newspaper. He pointed. “You see it, over there?”

I looked. A plateau of trees high above the city, looked down on us. “Joggers, people out walking their dogs....” said Lennox. “When you get back home, take out a subscription to several of the dailies; I do.”

“Have attacks been happening a lot lately?” I asked, thinking about Rayven, and if whether or not Lennox was up to speed. Of course he was! The benandanti watched and waited, but so did vampires––that was almost their only job description! Watching... seeing everything around you die...

“You have to read between the lines to see the supernatural at work,” said Lennox. “...but yes, Halsey! Come on.”

We started heading into the darker parts, when he warned me, “It is imperative you do what I say––no don’t argue! You’ll see.”

I took his word for it.

Just then––a shout––someone screamed! Three kids my age came running past. They had blue eyes, like headlamps in old automobiles, literally glowing in the dark. Lennox pressed me to the wall. “Aetherheads,” he whispered to me, nuzzling my jaw. We disappeared into the shadows.

From under his arm, I saw an enraged witch pull back her sleeve and shout: freki, ulfr, valdyr!

Three gigantic wolfhounds erupted from her fingertips; they were like smoke.

“Menskr málaferi; I’m getting too old for this,” she said, before disappearing down the lane after them.

“What language is that?” I asked. “I’ve heard it before.”

“It’s Grigori. Come on,” said Lennox. “We’re nearly there.”

I followed him down the alleyway, listening as the witch chased after the aetherheads. Apparently, they’d stolen her purse. Several bangs issued from the direction they’d come, a cobblestone path which seemed to twist out of sight––not a place sane people would go, I thought.

It was a reaffirmation of the knowledge that magic could be invoked in a variety of languages; I wished to learn them all.

“And––can––you know––vampires do magic?” I asked.

Lennox laughed; it was like old times. “I thought we weren’t talking anymore,” he said.

“We’re not––but if we were––” I said. “Can they?”

“Vampires are powerful creatures; we rely more on instincts, but yes, we have magic––a little.”

“Cool.”

It seemed obvious. After all, they could live forever. My perceptions of magic were changing. Now I was a Wiccan, and I knew what that meant. Not a vampire. Or a werewolf.

It was halfway to the question I really wanted to have answered––that of Marek and the Watchtowers and the fact of his having been one. Surely, Lennox knew about Marek and his past? He was Lennox’s mentor, after all.

“It was you in the woods,” I said. “The other scent Laurinaitis spoke of!” My time in the Stromovka seemed like a distant memory.

“If I could’ve come sooner, I would have. But they make that difficult,” said Lennox.

“And the aetherheads?” I asked.

The alley we were in was lit by moonlight. Obviously, if the aetherheads had come from it, we must be close to the Districts of Magic. Where were they?

Lennox paused.

“Power can be bottled and sold, the same as any drug,” he said. “Their eyes were glowing because they’ve lost their souls. Aetherheads are worse than zombies! Addicted to the aether, they’ll do anything to acquire it. We’re here...”

I had been so busy talking, I hadn’t noticed how twisted up we’d become. And Mistress Veruschka wanted me to come live here?! There was no way! A wrought-iron gate stood before us, I was sure hadn’t been there a moment before. Instead of the Golden Portal, which led in to Prague, or Golden Lane, down which we’d come, I was standing at a Gate––the Gate, in point of fact. Because the moment my eyes adjusted, I saw a new, secret lane––the entrance to the Other Prague, as I had called it in my imagination––The Districts of Magic. I wondered how the witches and wizards had managed it.

If magic had split, I imagined the explosion to have leveled Prague. Only, it had happened in secret. As had the First War. No one knew about it! It wasn’t in any history book I’d ever read! Was there an alternate magical history that I would have to become attuned to?

The non-magic world disappeared on the spot. So did the safety blanket of my old world, the place I had come from, and back to which I could never go; not after seeing all this! It was unlike any place I’d ever been. All-magic.... I saw what that meant, suddenly!

“We don’t have any of this in Rome,” I said to Lennox. Then, I thought: Do we?

As for St. Martley’s, Mistress Genevieve would’ve whisked us out of a place like this so fast our heads would’ve spun! There was an endless variety of shops and cafés; if anybody but a witch or wizard saw them, they would need to be silenced, the shops were so obviously magical.

Only a witch or wizard could see them, I recognized. That must be it. But what about a vampire? How did Lennox know of the Districts of Magic? And was there more than one? And if I was just seeing this now––what else had I missed?

I still couldn’t believe that Lennox could craft.

I grabbed his arm and took him over to a café. They all had names like At the Sign of This, or At the Sign of That; such a linguistic setup was commonplace in Prague. We were At the Sign of the Double-Edged Sword.

I kid. It was The Spyglass Café. My pockets were empty. I had no cash. Lennox removed more silver coins, pressing them into the hands of the waiter and ordered two rauoskeggjaor, cinnamon-topped latte macchiatos, then he turned, and smoldered at me. “These are skillingr,” he said, indicating the tiny silver coins. “I knew we would be in Prague. I saw it; as I’m sure did you.”

He passed me a tiny coin and I looked at it. It was stamped with the Golden Dome. So much had gone unsaid, I really didn’t know where to begin. Not saying was worse than not knowing. Perhaps Lennox had his reasons for never informing me of things.

“The vendor. Was he a wizard?” I asked.

Lennox had given the newspaperman magic money––the skillingr.

“Skillingr, to non-magicals, becomes regular money,” said Lennox. “He saw what he wanted to see.”

Maybe I saw what I wanted to too––had I ever thought of that? But it was weird to think the money could look like euro, if need be. I would need to get my hands on more skillingr, if I was going to go shopping, I told Lennox––because, let me tell you, I said to him, my eyes beheld.

Primarily I wanted a dictionary of spells––if such a volume existed––and in all languages! Books were the order of the day. Where were the books?

“That’ll have to wait,” said Lennox. “Now tell me about Selwyn.”

So he did know....

Our drinks had come. “Thank you, gildisbrodir; enjoy!”

Mine hissed with some unknown magic. Lennox thanked the waiter, who departed.

For all the neon lights and come-hitheryness of the Districts of Magic, cracks in the wonderland were beginning to appear. Don’t look at the lights, I told myself. I didn’t want to be dissuaded from what I had to do. I needed to stay focused. Lennox was right. Still––it couldn’t hurt to at least peek, could it...? Where was the Master House?

“Well––when you were gone––I met him––and that’s another thing, Lennox––my parents left me a House––” I said. “––Selwyn told me––”

He put down his drink. His hood was so low I saw only his eyes glowing out of the darkness. I couldn’t be sure but it looked like something like victory passed his eyes. He obviously knew the power a Wiccan House entailed.

“And when we get back––I’m going to go looking for it!” I proclaimed.

House Rookmaaker. I smiled fiendishly.

My eyes probed for the Master House––and then to Lennox’s sleeve.

“Hopefully, we can take care of that as well,” said Lennox.

He asked for all the rest of the pertinent information, which I gave to him: the marker; Selwyn; Veruschka Ravenseal (“So why she thinks she can win me,” I said).

“The place we’re going to is called Massimo’s,” said Lennox. “But first, I think we should do some shopping!”

It was the magic word. We spent two hours going through the stores. Lennox wasn’t kidding, when he said Praguers stayed up late. It seemed to get noisier the later it got. As everyone came out, I saw nothing of vampire hunters or any of that kind of stuff. Rather, the magical inhabitants of the city were stocking up on things like amulets and lunoculars and horoscopes. Lennox bought me a silver necklace made of apatite––blue asparagus-stone.

The lady who sold it, kept going on and on about its metaphysical properties. “It aids in communication, sir, ’tis a most spiritual stone, and may be used as an elixir against weight gain, thus its position on the Mohs scale. ’Tis also known as the Stone of Acceptance. Will you receive it?

“And for you, Miss?” she asked me. “Ah, black onyx, combine it with silver as a mirror onto the soul!”

The silver chains were engraved with the word Italy, making me feel homesick?

Lennox and I left the apothecary’s shop, him with onyx, and me the apatite; onyx offered protection, and I liked that word (or should it be ward?).

I looked and looked for spell books, but there were none. It can’t be just the codex, I thought, disappointed. Maybe crafting was an oral tradition––spoken, not written down. The only problem was, I couldn’t see myself speaking it with anyone, unless we were in a duel; by which point I wouldn’t have very much to say to them anyway! Finally, I found the place.

It was in an out-of-the-way dungheap, which didn’t speak well for the literacy of wizards. It was run by a pair of warlocks. They reminded me of the S Bros, actually, Sándor and Septimus––finicky and like they knew stuff. The shop was called Voettfangs––and it was run by the Voettfang brothers, Samuel and Stig Voettfang.

Stepping over the threshold, a silver bell tinkled, and I felt a rush of immense pleasure. It was just as a shop should look with umpteen heavy cases full of books––some so old and neglected they were filled with dust––stacked right up to the ceiling, and all over the place. Books were everywhere, and on all things. I wanted to live here. There was a spiral staircase which led to the next level. It was like navigating a forest. Stacks and stacks of books were in all directions. They were simply everywhere, stuffed in cases, or else stacked higgledy-piggledy wherever space could be found; and where there was no space one simply re-stacked the books to make space available. I didn’t know how I was ever going to find anything. It was a mess. Confused. Out of order.

“Not to worry,” said Samuel Voettfang, the head of the shop; his brother, Stig, had his face in a book of numbers. “Now, how can I help you?” he said.

Er––right. For such a small and claustrophobic place, they were way too big––facial hair was everywhere. The Voettfangs were more like lumberjacks than librarians.

“I’m looking for a book of spells,” I said.

“Ah, now. What degree are you? No––don’t tell me! Let me guess.... A Neophyte, correct?”

“Well––yes,” I said.

“Uh-huh,” said Samuel Voettfang. Lennox had wandered off someplace––I saw him flipping through books by the window display. An old-fashioned press, with movable type, sat in the window. I remembered his immense collection back home.

Voettfang nodded. “I know just the thing,” he said. “Now where is it?” He began rummaging through his books. They toppled on top of him. “Neophyte... Neophyte... N for––Here we are!”

Pleased that he had not just pulled out The Idiot’s Handbook to Becoming Adept, I looked at the new volume. “Unadorned––but specifically for Neophytes,” he said.

It looked rudimentary. The title was NEOPHYTE: HOW TO SURVIVE YOUR FIRST YEAR OF MAGIC by Swillard Mannfall. I’d already done that, thank you very much.

“Have you got anything more advanced?” I asked, thinking of Vittoria and her training, and sure she was making headway.

Voettfang grabbed it back. “Not to worry,” he said. “Advanced... advanced... Let me see. Ah! The Illustrated Magical Arts, Volume I. A picture book. No? You’re right, you want something advanced-advanced. Trying to be Adept, good on you!”

Perhaps he could see I wasn’t kidding around.

“Don’t worry. Not to worry. Now where is it?” he said.

He dug through his books some more. “Ah-hah!” he finally shouted. “No, that’s not it!” He looked like his shop had never let him down before––but it was giving him a serious run on the matter. “Ah!” He lifted out a huge leather-bound tome. It was falling apart, the pages spilling out of it. “Some light foxing––boards knocked––but it will do––it will do,” he said.

He put it down on the counter where it thudded, causing the lightbulb next to me to explode. Or possibly that was me.

“The Everything Book,” he said. “...If you want more, you’ll just have to figure it out for yourself.” It sounded perfect.

“Book of Shadows, obviously–– well-beyond fledged––my only copy too–– Unannotated–– The language is kind of tricky–– Are you sure you don’t want something easier?”

My only question was how I was going to carry it out of the shop? Voettfang looked good-naturedly at me and I shook my head. “This is the one––I want this one,” I said.

* * *

Lennox settled up with him. I promised to pay him back, in full. It went into my backpack, which was suddenly full (full of secrets and things to learn). The Everything Book––even in my head it sounded fantastic––and sure to make me fledged.

“A word of advice––just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should,” said Voettfang.

As I left I heard his brother say “They always want to become Fledged––thinking it means something.”

“Just because you’re a numskull,” said Samuel Voettfang to his brother.

* * *

“Where to now?” I asked Lennox. “Massimo’s?”

My bag felt heavy. I wanted to be home right now, so I could peruse the The Everything Book thoroughly. Here were things that could not be found on the Internet. And I’d tried. Voettfang had handed it to me like it was dangerous––like he was glad to be rid of it––and maybe he was. Still––it looked very old, and very used; like the secrets it contained were worth knowing.

Voettfangs went into the back of my head as a place to revisit on the off chance I ever found myself in Prague again.

“If anybody knows what’s been going on, or where your friend is, it’ll be Mas,” said Lennox, slipping his onyx necklace out of his pocket and putting it on.

But, how come Lennox looked nervous, like we were in danger? Were we? This was Prague, I thought. Of course we were!

I hurried after him, down the cobblestone street, until finally, we turned a corner, and there, glowing in the distance, was the Master House!

It looked like Broadway, with the Master House stuck in the middle of Golden Lane. What I was not prepared for was just how many of them there were: hundreds upon thousands of witches and wizards jostling every which way. All of whom, it may be said, could not possibly be in magic houses. It was just impossible. Who were they with, anyway? Not Eclectics. For some reason I felt Eclectics were unwanted here.

The golden dome dominated the skyline––which was lit up with pastel light. That was where the twins were at! And Selwyn...

I suddenly felt very small. What could I do? There were streets which led off in all directions, but they all came here, and at its center, The Master House.

Before I did anything else, I found a mailbox which was nearby and sent off the letter to Lia, explaining what had happened, and where Ballard was now. The Sons and Daughters of Romulus needed that information. Perhaps they could come and get him. I did drop one interesting tidbit, however. “Guess what?” I wrote. “I may finally be able to explain how you can craft and be a werewolf at the same time––or at least one at a time.”

I was still unsure how wizard-shifters did both simultaneously. I guessed being a werewolf was a magic all its own––but maybe with The Everything Book I could find that out.

I felt so lighthearted, it was a moment before I felt the omnipresence of something evil. “Is it always like this?” I asked, mugged by the atmosphere.

Lennox was incognito. I imagined a Vampire hunter swooping down on him––wondering if that was not just the product of a gullible mind. Perhaps Camille had been kidding when she told me of the Vampire hunters.

“A curfew is in effect––they have to get indoors soon,” said Lennox, indicating the shoppers. They looked like there was a tremendous weight upon their shoulders.

The Master House was to blame. I could feel it. Lennox pointed to something.

Flyers had been stapled around. “BEAST ON LOOSE. SKILLED CRAFTSMEN AND WOMEN REQUESTED––TO STOP THE KILLING.” As if we’d do otherwise.

Faces of victims had been pasted one over another on a center pole in front of the Master House, which was big and imposing, built of marble, like a modern-day Pantheon. All except for the dome, which shone like gold. Looking up at it made the hair stand up on the backs of my arms. I don’t know why.

Nobody came or went from the Master House. For all its authority, it looked cold, austere, unoccupied, silent and empty. Later... I thought.

Right now Lennox and I were on our way to Massimo’s––but I spared a moment for the dead men and women and their children and dogs––all killed in Letná Park. That was on the edge of Stromovka. Maybe that explained how the benandanti had not stopped whatever it was. They didn’t know about it.

We turned down a lane. Someone came out at me; I reacted instinctively. “Spare some change....” His eyes on me, I formed the W. I could see the blueness. An aetherhead.

I handed him the skillingr Lennox had given to me before we continued on our way. “I wouldn’t go down there, miss,” said the aetherhead.

“Is magic that addictive?” I asked Lennox, trembling.

To the aetherhead, it must’ve been. Always I had felt like I had something inside me––some other me––I attributed to the fact I had been leading a dual existence: on the one hand, a student at St. Martley’s; on the other, everything that had happened since I started keeping The Wiccan Diaries. Would Prague furnish me an answer to this seeking feeling I’d always had in my guts but been unable to do anything about, or would it only add to the mystery and confusion?

What is power, if you don’t know how to use it? I thought. Aetherheads were magic––until they were junkies. Could Wicca really be abused that badly? How would I know when I did?

Lennox said, “At first, the aether is neat and fun before it grabs hold of you. Afterwards, everything is harder, including the magic.... It’s Fledged in a bottle, is what it is––until it wears off...”

He stopped. “Remember, we mind our own business and they mind theirs––it’s when people forget that, we get in trouble. Sed esse in silentium. The silent existence. Come on,” he said.

He opened a door I didn’t even know was there, and raucous sounds came out. You to your corner, we to ours.

I wanted the no-talk rule abolished.

Lennox and I walked into Massimo’s, but it wasn’t called Massimo’s. It was called Tungleskins; a reference, he assured me, to moonlight, and the fact nothing good ever happened past midnight, especially in Prague!

The talking died down at once and everyone eyeballed the newcomers.

Where was Ravenseal, in all of this? Or the Council of Magic? I wanted to see everything I’d turned down by not coming to House Ravenseal.

Lennox led the way past Wiccans and warlocks and whathaveyous. I think I saw one man with a face like a crocodile, but it couldn’t have been! The bartender gave us a stern look. He hissed when we spoke. “Tsss-o... Tsss-o...” he said.

Lennox plunked down his skillingr. “Gimme two. Clean glasses, this time, Menelaus.”

“Lennox! ’S that you? Only, I’m not allowed to serve you drinks. You know that. MASSIMO! MASSIMO!” he shouted.

“Quiet!” hissed Lennox.

“Mas told me not to let you in. ‘I don’t want that vampire barking around here, no more,’ he said to me.”

“Where is he? Get him, Menelaus. But first, our drinks, if you please.”

“Right,” said Menelaus, pouring two jiggerfuls of some murky liquid, which hissed and smoked, and smelled like menthol.

“We’ll be over here. I’m sorry I yelled at you,” said Lennox.

“Right you are, Lennox. Always happy to help one of the brotherhood!”

Lennox raised his glass to me, while Menelaus went to fetch his boss; “––bottoms up,” he said.

I tipped mine back and he followed suit. This chill went over me––followed by a kind of euphoria which was intoxicating. “Whoa. What was that?”

Lennox poured himself another one. “That,” he said, “is the aether; one shot won’t hurt you, Halsey. Besides, we’re going to need it––and you’ll be glad of the taste––now you know what it feels like.”

My blood was boiling. Menelaus came rushing forward––he was a giant, walrus of a man.

“I told you. I told you you were going to get me in trouble, Lennox.”

“IS THAT THE VAMPIRE?” shouted a voice. I could hear Lennox clench his teeth. “You should be in Rome! Along with the rest of the relics! Ha! Ha! Ha! HAAAA!”

“How are you, Mas?”

“Better, now you’re here. I suppose you’ve heard,” said an even more gigantic man, he had arms like barrels, and the ground thudded when he walked. “Tricky things, the Supernaturals––and when one’s on the loose....”

“So you think it is someone in the community?” said Lennox.

“Definitely. It’s definitely a player. Hi, how are ya? What’s with the hoods?” said Massimo. “Look, you shouldn’t be here, Lennox. They’re looking for you. Marek too. Spies all over. Menelaus, why are we standing around?! Find us some chairs!” he shouted.

“But sir! You said I was never to let––and these were your words, sir––that bloody vampire in here ever again! Not after last time...”

“About that,” said Mas, disregarding the bartender and throwing his arm over Lennox’s shoulder, who buckled with the weight; he led us to an out-of-the-way booth where we could talk; “I really must thank you. If you ever need anything––anything at all––now’s the time. Tell me, Lennox, what do you need?”

I wouldn’t be surprised if he and Lennox exchanged a series of secret handshakes there and then. I caught the whiff of something criminal about Massimo. He had a skullduggerous mind, with an eye for any advantage. But what did that say about Lennox? Or me, for that matter?

He clapped his hand over his mouth. “Too much generosity will kill me, but a promise is a promise, Lennox. How is the old devil, anyway?”

“Occam? He’s fine. He’s in Paris.”

“Good. That’s good, Lennox. Who is this, anyway?” he said, pointing to me.

“A friend. Someone with power, Mas. So you best be careful. She isn’t to be trifled with.”

“No, of course not!” said Massimo, winking at me. I returned the gesture.

Menelaus was back.

“Your drinks!” He was off again, irritated with us. I was still not sure whether or not I should be angry with Lennox. He slipped me the mickey, after all. I wondered what the aftereffects would be? Currently, I was sort of tingly. Everything seemed far away, like it was doable. Like nothing phased me. Or maybe that was just because I was happy. Which I guessed meant Lennox was off the hook. Still, I wanted another drink.

Massimo raised his glass. “Welcome,” he said, “to Tungleskins! That’s what we call it, when a beast of unknown origin is on the loose, a tungleskin. What I want you two to do is find it, and then, if you please, kill the monster, do you think you can do that for me? In return, I’ll do you a favor.”

He sang the last part.

“I’ll look into whatever you want––but no promises, Lennox! They’re too easy to make!” said Massimo. “What do you want, anyway? I know you didn’t come here for the company, Lennoxlove.”

“His name’s Selwyn. Halsey will fill you in on the rest?”

“Ah, so that’s your name, is it! And a good one, too. Well, my dear, tell old Mas.”

It was a moment before I could respond. “The Dioscuri grabbed him from me, in Rome,” I said. “He can turn into a black cat––a panther; and he’s Eclectic.”

Massimo rubbed his hands together. I was uncertain how much I should reveal, but if it meant saving Selwyn’s life... “Good, good, that’s good,” he said. “But, did you say Dioscuri? All right, all right. A deal’s a deal. I’ll see what I can do. But I’ll want a pelt. Something I can hang over the bar, Lennox. It would be nice to have this place filled up again. I have debts, you know. Not that that matters. Do you remember Barney? Eaten. They found his mackintosh. Blood all over it. You stop this whatever-it-is, and I’ll find your friend. Do we have a deal?”

Lennox and Massimo left off with business, and after several toasts––none of which I drank––the meeting was concluded.

Maybe it was the aether, but it didn’t seem to hit me, until just then: We were going into the forest to find this creature––to kill it, if we could––as soon as possible. I unzipped my bag and pulled out the Everything book. It was never too late to become Adept.

Chapter 12 – Quintessence

Could it be? Was the tungleskin doing these killings the grey wolf? What else could it be? Yet, I had always imagined the grey wolf as a kind of sangoma. My therian. Somehow made corporeal.

But then I remembered the snow and thought, It can’t be; the grey wolf made no paw prints... So how it had eaten anybody....

The following night (because Lennox was a vampire, so naturally the best time of day would be to creep in the woods at night) we left our hotel room, and made our way to Letná Park. It was past the Hunger Wall, all the way to Lookout Point, from which we had a stunning view of the Vltava as it flowed past Prague Castle. It reminded me of Rome, in a way, with the many bridges crossing the river, and how the Tiber sparkled at night.

An Englishman, passing by, warned us to be careful. “It’s not safe after dark,” he said.

A small restaurant and café were closing. Tourists were heading down the stone steps, abandoning Letná Park, which led to the embankment below. We were soon alone.

I had flipped through the Everything book back at the hotel room, learning some quick spells. The Grigori section was full of hard-R words. Words like noranveror and smáskitligr. Lennox had watched me studying, lost in thought. It wasn’t until I hit upon an especially potent spell called a feiknstafir, that Lennox said, “I’m Marked too, you know. My scars.”

He was focusing on my orchid as he said so; it hadn’t pained me in a while, my orchid.

His “scars” were a collection of silver bite marks at his throat and both of his wrists.

“He’s still out there, my Maker. I’ll know it when I find him,” he said. “We’ll be connected.”

I hadn’t realized it before, but Lennox and I were on the same kind of quest. We were both searching for our parents––and our pasts. What was it, I wondered, about needing to know where you came from?

I thought of Lennox traveling the world, searching for his sire. It seemed lonely. Perhaps.... Only, I didn’t say so.... Maybe he should let it go...?

Would I? Could I, now that I was on the trail of my parents? Was this what they would have wanted for me, to be in Prague with a vampire?

“You know, at some point the doors stop opening for you,” said Lennox, “and then you have to start opening them for yourself.”

The problem was, I didn’t know where to begin. I put my hood up, concentrating hard. Were the non-magicals aware of the thing roaming their forest?

I thought of Ballard laid up, and Lia and Gaven out of commission––

Rome needed Lennox––and, okay, me, too––which was another reason for scolding myself for neglecting my studies.

But there was something else, at work: It just seemed right that a vampire, witch and werewolf should get along... It sent a message.... That we were strong, united... whatever... that Lennox, Ballard and I could lead the way.

Without meaning to, I put my arm through his, when something ahead of us snapped.

I was still so full of the aether, it made my pulse pound. Who was out there? I hadn’t forgotten the Dark Order. Perhaps this tungleskin was one of them.

I could feel Lennox tense beside me. I shot the Light ahead of me, whereupon it flew into the trees like a meteor. “Ow!” said a familiar voice. “Halsey? What did you do that for?” said Manon, stumbling out of the trees.

She stepped from behind a spruce tree, clutching at her head, dressed in a traveling cloak, her midnight-black tresses tumbling down her backside. “And why are you with a vampire?” she asked me, incredulously.

I made the introductions:

“Lennox, Manon, Manon, Lennox. She’s a witch,” I said to Lennox.

“I’m only Fledged. The Magister Equitum sent me to find you. It’s not safe to be in Prague at THIS TIME. Remembr,” she said. She formed her Wiccan W and shot it at me; I flinched, involuntarily. What was it with people thinking they could just do magic on me, whenever they felt like it?

“The Dark Order is mobilizing,” said Manon. “They’ll get you, if they can. The moon is in the Fourth House.”

“So?”

“So,” said Manon. The spell had taken over and I suddenly found myself in her dreams––in her memories...

I didn’t know where I was. Marsh, bog, or fen. There was a house, a manor, in the distance. I came to the edge of it, and there, in the background, I saw them.

“I’m not an Eclectic,” said Manon. “I used to belong––to have a House––until they came. This is what happened to my Family. And why I joined the benandanti.”

I didn’t know what I expected. The Lenoir?

But these weren’t vampires. They weren’t even humans. They were Grigori. How long ago had it been since her Family had been attacked?

“They came and destroyed my House, and I-I’ve wandered ever since,” said Manon.

It was ringed in fire, the House. Wizards and witches appeared, coughing, from the smoke, brandishing their marks, and were struck down by the Grigori, who tore at their flesh. This rage was filling inside of me. Not for myself, but for Manon. “I was number twelve,” she said, “until they were destroyed. I came home, and then I hid––I was too scared to fight...”

I watched as the Grigori blocked the wizards’ spells. They looked like Rayven, only worse; huge and intimidating with massive claws––their upper torsos malformed and twisted, packed with muscles. Their skulls wolfish, to fit all their teeth.

Had my parents misbehaved? Was that why they were destroyed? Had these things been sent to kill them? Somehow I needed to learn everything I could about the Dark Order and the Master House; but that would mean Prague, and the Grigori––

She cut off the image playing in my head––yanking it from me––the way Manon’s whole life had been taken from her.

“The Grigori were wiped out, slaughtered, but they’re back now,” she said. “They’re back. And nobody cares, Halsey. My House was destroyed, and no investigation was ever begun––I think the Master House covered it up. The Grigori were never good about thinking for themselves. Cruel and inhuman, almost their only pleasure derives from killing. It would have taken somebody to unite them. Somebody sent them to my House. Someone powerful.”

Lenoir... It had to have been... Only, why? What did he want? They didn’t just attack of their own accord, did they?

Lennox cut in. “It wasn’t us, I can assure you of that. The Grigori and Our House split after the First War. We’re leaving this fray. Paris is withdrawing.”

“Then who is it?” said Manon, a questioning in her eyes that would never go away.

In Manon’s memory, the Grigori had fought well––blocking spells, sending their own in retaliation. They had a visceral claw-and-tooth approach. They also fought in numbers.

I perused House Rookmaaker in my mind. Where was it, and how did I get there? There were no obvious signposts. Willow trees? Where were those? I felt directionless, delirious, and deciduous.

The Grigori and someone else had taken over and were destroying Houses. I thought of the story I had heard about the Dark Lord. Perhaps Lenoir’s idea of redefining magic was making everyone an Eclectic. Destroying authority? It sounded like something I would do.

If so, maybe only the Big Three were immune (Houses Harcort, Coven, and Ravenseal) and, okay, the Master House, itself. Should I have gone to Ravenseal? It would be safer, I thought.

No; I made the right call. I was sure of it. Yet, a prickle of fear shot through me, causing my orchid to writhe up my arm. What if they came looking for me? What if the Grigori and whoever else came back to finish off my House and get me?

I knew Rayven was back––He was a Watchtower, after all––perhaps... ––no... They’re gone; and nothing you do can bring them back...

My parents were dead. I needed to take my own advice. Let go, Halsey girl, I said to myself, repeating Mistress Genevieve’s words.

That left the Dark Order––those evil witches and wizards and otherkin kind who had been responsible for the First War–– Who were they? And were they the ones trying to stop me from forming House Rookmaaker?

It was cold and wet; the sky opened up and began to pour. Manon fell in step beside me. Lennox and I briefed her on the thing which had been killing in the forest “...so obviously it’s one of us,” she said, “a magical... spirit... or something or other...

“We should split up––no, listen––Halsey and I over here––and, Lennox, you that way; we’ll go twice as fast–– I’ll watch out for her, I promise,” she said.

So Lennox headed down the left fork, and Manon and I the other. Pretty soon it was pitch-black. Not even the stars peeked overhead. I decided to use one of the spells, I’d learned, which would enable me to see in the dark. It was an interesting effect. Everything went night-vision green (“Wow, you have dog’s eyes,” said Manon, “the way they look in the dark”); now the forest stretched before me; I could see depth and detail. I motioned to a fork in the path up ahead. Manon put her fingertips to her forehead like she had a migraine. Suddenly her aether surged.

Her eyes looked the way Rayven’s had done, filled with energy. “You want to split up?” she said, mischievously, with Lennox out of earshot.

“I don’t know,” I hedged, stepping on one toe, then the other.

“If anything happens, just scream, I’ll come find you. Swearsies.”

So that’s what we did. It was like the three of us were spreading out, circling. Like we were a coordinated pack. Still, what would it be like to fly? To skim the treetops, staring down? At least you’re Crafting, I told myself.

I played a little game with myself, there in the trees, imagining I was breaking through the willow trees, about to find my House. I should’ve just asked Manon why someone would want her coven destroyed? What were they up to that the Grigori had been sent?

You’re either IN or you’re OUT, I suppose... A part or apart... Still, it was the first time I had ever heard anyone use the term Family, when speaking of a House––like they were tight-knit. No hierarchy in her group, I thought. I knew when Manon said she was a twelfth, she meant it the way a child does who’s the youngest in a house. She had escaped. They had protected her. They hadn’t given her up. Neither had my parents.

Maybe, whoever this tungleskin was, it had just run away. Poof. Gone. The way Manon had escaped when the Grigori had come looking for her House.

Here was a problem. A fundamental curse. If I wanted to know, at what price would I begin to learn the things I needed to find out?

Ballard had helped me, and look what happened to him. He’d nearly been killed. Maybe splitting up was a good idea, or breaking up. Maybe, I dunno, I had to do this on my own, instead of leading other people astray. But that would mean starting over. Could I forget my past to find the future?

My orchid twisted alive. What did it mean? Was it a feiknstafir? A Dark curse latched onto me?

If what I thought was coming was, would I be able to handle it, or would the ones I cared about be drawn in? That was a dilemma for which there was no easy cure. I got down onto my hands and knees and crawled through the underbrush. The night vision made everything surreal. At any moment, I expected to stumble upon Rayven, so used was I to overhearing things I should not. Perhaps I’d talk to Manon about reinstating her House. She was Fledged, after all? That meant she could lead her own House.

“Blindr,” I whispered.

I turned off the night-vision spell. Suddenly, the woods came alive. I thought I heard something move ahead.

“STOP IT,” I hissed, slapping my orchid.

I could hear small animals scurrying for their meals. Of the two senses, sight or sound, I found hearing immeasurably superior, but there was also a sixth, magic, sense, tingling in my fingertips. Why did I suddenly have déjà vu? Perhaps it was because of what I had heard back at my birthday, in December, when Lennox hadn’t shown, and I had envisioned Rayven for the first time. He had kneeled down and a hissing voice had rasped:

“The war is starting... Battle lines will be drawn... She and the vampire are headed towards Prague...”

Well, the war was starting; I could feel it. Lines were being drawn––alliances forged––Houses hunted down and destroyed––others renewed. She and the vampire were in Prague... ME! I was her. Something fell into the pit of my stomach. Find the other one and kill him––

* * *

Ballard! I heard screaming. Lennox came crashing through. “Halsey, where’s Manon?”

I opened my mouth to scream, but no words came out.

“B-B-Ballard,” I whispered, trembling.

“Ballard’s in trouble?”

“Manon, find Manon...” I said.

I felt myself falling––and then it was like I was flying, weightless through the air––I opened my eyes––there were bonfires in the distance––we broke through the trees––sailing across the face of the moon–– Lennox was carrying me!

How could I have been so stupid? I wasn’t special at all! It was Ballard! Ballard was different––special––everyone said so.The first thing Rayven had ever said to me was, “Your friend, where is he?” He wasn’t interested in me at all. It was Ballard! Hadn’t Gaven told me to look out for him?

Idiot. Selfish, I berated myself.

Lennox was somehow flying through the air––I remembered thinking I would have to be fledged before I experienced that. What if Ballard somehow d-died? I couldn’t bring myself to face it. What would I do, then? Where would I go?

Find the other one and kill him–– Of course they were after Ballard. He was Head Wolf, Il Gatto, the leader of the Sons and Daughters of Romulus... but this was before that had happened. Before Ballard had won the race. Lenoir had communicated with Rayven in my dreams. It hadn’t happened yet! They could just as soon have been talking about me. I was runner-up. It must have been something within Ballard, they wanted stopped; something even he didn’t know about. The Grey Wolf. Do not let IT survive. It had to be.

“Rookmaaker... everything... Rookmaaker...” I whispered deliriously.

I felt ourselves land, and me being passed over. “Take her, Manon. You were right. I will go faster.”

“Halsey, you have to wake up.”

Something cool slashed through me. “WAKE––UP!”

“I’m here––what is it?”

But where was I?

“We have to hurry, come on!” said Manon. Lennox had dumped me off on her. She dragged me to my feet.

Suddenly, I heard it, and Saw.

Explosions, fire in the night. The benandanti were in trouble.

Lennox, I thought.

My consciousness came back to me; Manon ran ahead. We were on the edge of Stromovka; I could see firelight in the distance. Prague was behind us. Stromovka was burning.

I battled my way through the trees after them, finding a well-worn path I knew by heart. It brought me out to the lake; from there it was a straight shot to the Hollow itself! The trees were all on fire. “BALLARD!” I shouted. If I was going to save him, I’d better do something quick. Lennox and Manon had already jumped into the fray.

Smoke rose, spreading thick about me. I coughed, putting my sleeve over my mouth.

My Mark! It was astonishingly, blindingly bright blue! The only time that’d ever happened, it meant Rayven was nearby. Was he? Of course he was! The Grigori had come burning! He must’ve been leading them! They were the THEM his Master had been talking about! The Dark Order!

I flew down the path, feeling prickers and things dig into my skin, trying to remember the spells I’d learned.

It was no good. I was doomed. I couldn’t see anything. And then my feet started going downhill. The hollow was full of impenetrable, black smoke. I didn’t know where I was going, but I saw spells erupting suddenly, everywhichway...

Curses flew from one figure to the next, hitting some, flying past others. I found myself vápnlauss, without a weapon, wondering what to do. Are you a witch or aren’t you? Craft, I told myself.

But I couldn’t just craft. Not without first finding Ballard...

His domov. I skirted the upper edge of the Hollow. A meteor struck near my feet. Rayven wanted Ballard. Maybe they were back... And Ballard was one of them... The Watchtowers... That would be it. He was my Protector, after all. If so, what exactly did Watchtowers do, and was that why Ballard seemed to be on Rayven’s hit list?

Was Lennox, or Marek, or Selwyn? But the Watchtowers were destroyed; my parents were destroyed.

A blast from someone’s Mark erupted my way. “Skjotleikr.” My mark flared and suddenly I began to run really fast. It couldn’t be this simple... it couldn’t...

“Sundr!”

I fell on my face and slid through the moist earth. It was like I was paralyzed. A Grigori stood over me, drawing back his clawed hand, dripping fangs drooling on me.

Suddenly, Laurinaitis appeared. “Come at me, small-guts,” he said.

I could only watch as the Grigori prepared to strike.

Laurinaitis’s face had taken on the characteristics of a jaguar. He plowed into the Grigori, bowling it over. They began to duel.

It happened lightning-fast, each brandishing their spells at the other––Laurinaitis was tricky; he executed a series of blindingly-fast feints. All too soon, he dispatched the Grigori. At the same time, I got to my feet. “Are you okay, Halsey?”

But there was no time––“no time...” I shouted. I raced ahead.

I continued toward Ballard’s domov, Laurinaitis going the other direction.

* * *

The fighting continued around me. I stayed low, doing my best to breathe. It was around here somewhere. The flames were spreading thick and fast. What would the benandanti do without Stromovka? I couldn’t believe Rome had stuck their head in the sand. They had forgotten.

I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. The benandanti had never forgotten. They watched and they waited. They hadn’t let their guard down once... Neither would I.

Why, if things were so bad, hadn’t Mistress Genevieve ever said anything about it? Was she protecting me the way it felt my landlady had sometimes done? Yet, Risky had set Ballard and I down this path. Why?

I found Ballard’s tree, and was just about to scale it, when a voice behind me made me turn fast.

“Mine at last.”

I whipped around and Rayven was standing right there. If he was a Grigori, why didn’t he look like one of them? He was scary, but essentially a wizard. They were monstrous. I didn’t get it.

“What––do––you––want––Rayven?” I said. Whiny––but so what.

He came forward, appearing from the smoke. I looked and saw my Gambalunga––pity I couldn’t just jump on it and ride away. Being in his presence, I saw why he had been a Watchtower. There was something smooth, urbane, about him. Yet, he had been corrupted. How?

“You truly are alone,” he hissed.

I snapped. I formed my W and thought of the worst feiknstafir I could imagine, before uttering it. It wasn’t enough. Rayven blocked it easily and sent his own spell shooting my way. “N for Neophyte. For not ready yet,” he said. His eyes lit up. “I don’t believe it...”

Out of the darkness, the tungleskin had crept. It was the grey wolf. But it wasn’t evil... It wasn’t even there to kill me...

“That’s one of the Lares,” said Rayven, astonishment coloring his features.

I looked at his Mark; back to my own. Both of ours were glowing. There was no telling what Rayven’s Virtue could be. Did he even have one? We were connected somehow, to the grey wolf, there in Stromovka.

Rayven stepped forward and its fangs flashed. What was going on?

Figures were appearing out of the smoke, dragging the wounded––a great cry went up and the full blaze of the bonfires lit up my face. What was it that I wasn’t getting? Who could make me understand? My Harm None ring flashed.

I don’t know what made me say it––he was withdrawing, maybe that was it––but I said, “I’LL BE WAITING FOR YOU, RAYVEN. DO YOU HEAR ME? I’LL BE WAITING FOR YOU!” I shouted.

He turned and was gone.

Quickly, I went to check on Ballard. The room was empty. Had he been gotten? When I came back down, they were all coming into view, including Ballard... the fire was following them. Oh no.

I would like to say we magicked our way out of it. But there are some things that not even the best intentions can solve, and an out-of-control fire burning through the forest is one of them. A great smoke overhung Stromovka, much the way a veil of something evil overhung Prague. I would find out soon enough. About everything.

* * *

I quickly made a list of to-dos. Do find out about Selwyn. Do find House Rookmaaker. Do get back to Rome. Do the things Houses are supposed to do. The trouble was, I didn’t know what that meant, exactly. The only thing I could think was what St. Martley’s had taught me––abstinence, control––

It had been a place where young witches were educated, but not in magic.

Quickly, an idea began to form––a sense of what House Rookmaaker could become. A place far from Prague, and all its rules––a place hemmed in by power––because I had the wolves––a place for anyone.

House Rookmaaker would become a place for New Magic. A kind of oriflamme around which the Eclectics could rally; after all, I was uneducated too. Perhaps not knowing any better was a virtue. Did Ballard know any better when he became Head Wolf? Would I, when I led House Rookmaaker? Besides, my parents would’ve wanted it that way. The problem was thirteen-or-greater. I had no idea whatever else Houses had to genuflect to.

Perhaps the idea of a House was what was wrong.... Perhaps there should be no Houses at all! Did I ever think of that?

Ballard and I grabbed our motorcycles. The benandanti would make their way to Rome. I informed them of the letter I’d sent Lia, explaining what had happened to Ballard. “Don’t be surprised if they expect your visit,” I said. Then Ballard and I prepared to depart. We were still going to Prague.

Manon came running over. “We’ll look for you, Halsey, and Ballard.”

“Blessed be––or something,” I said.

And then Ballard and I were off. It was a short drive to Prague––but we passed through a wasteland of ash. This was what happened to Houses that did not get along. Certain rogue entities were sent to destroy them. Somehow, I imagined it would be much harder to send Rome up in flames, but it had been done before, and others would try.

Chapter 13 – The Council of Magic

Was Lenoir the necromancer I had fought with? If so, could he bring back all the dead? Perhaps the Dark Order would rise again.

My mark was silent now, free of the shooting stabs of pain I had been obliged to endure since turning eighteen; one would think, given a place such as this, where the Grigori were prevalent, it would be acting up, but no, it was either connected specifically to Rayven, or something else was going on.

Coming around the bend, the entrance to the Districts of Magic appeared. Not a soul was in sight. “So this is it, huh?” said Ballard, unimpressed. “And what’s-his-face will be there?”

Two misshapen figures in cloaks were huddled in a corner looking at us. Ballard unraveled his bandages, brushing himself off; for the first time, I saw his scar. It was worse, somehow, than when I had seen it before. Badly-knitted flesh disappeared down his neck, to hide in his undershirt. What was this strange precognition that enabled me to see things before they happened?

I deliberated, but again refrained from telling Ballard about my Wiccan House. When I had ironclad proof, when I found the place, then I would tell him about House Rookmaaker.

At the Sign of Magickal Objekts & Wonders, an old thrift store, a witch sold Ballard and I a Star Wheel (“For my Luminarium,” he said), an eight-sided wheel remarkably like the website I had visited; “Spin it to know which virtue thou shalt be,” said the old crone, spookily.

We spent the day catnapping on benches, going through shops, or else lollygagging around, waiting for when it got dark.

Golden Lane had become a wasteland. Leering gargoyles stared down at us––their mouths opened in silent screams. The ground began to slither and shake. It was like my body was in scales. Fire spewed from the earth and an orb of white light surrounded me.

What is happening to me? I wrote in my Diary, when I woke up.

I had gone down the street as it twisted out of sight, willing myself not to panic, when a voice behind me had called my name. “Halsey!” Ballard continued to snore beside me. I had no idea how long I had been asleep.

I woke Ballard, who clutched at the Star Wheel, wiping the drool off his mouth. “What is it?” he said. “I was having a dream. We were running...”

Was he having the chase nightmares like I had been having?

“I think I may know how to find Selwyn,” I said. I explained to him what I was thinking about.

“I don’t know if that’ll work,” said Ballard. “I’ve never done it on purpose before.”

“But you will be able to?” I asked. Now that I’d had the idea, I couldn’t think of anything else. A note of desperation was in my voice.

“What if I hear them?” he said, dropping his voice so that only I could hear. “It’s like a CB radio. If I turn into a wolf, and use my powers to detect Selwyn, I might hear him, sure; in which case we can find him; but there are others out there, Halls, who might hear me. It works both ways. When I’m turned, I hear the Grigori, and the benandanti. It’s like this shadow world. How else do you think I knew where to find you when Rayven attacked? He may not have shifted, but his mind was on the hunt.”

“I thought you had a feeling-thingy?” I said, remembering when he used to get bad vibes.

“This is my feeling-thingy––only it’s getting powerfuller––powerfullest––whatever––I’m becoming badass,” he said. “The true Head Wolf.”

Was I a fool? Ravenseal was after me.... But I had provenance, a birthright. The red marker was in my bag, along with my diploma from St. Martley’s. “We can’t fight them all,” said Ballard, “the Ravenseals and the Grigori––there’s no telling how many of them there are in Prague... I’d be giving our position away or something... Plus, Selwyn would have to be in cat-form,” he said. “I dunno. It seems awfully risky. What we need is backup.”

* * *

We couldn’t use telepathy to find Selwyn for fear others would find us. In which case, Ballard and I would be in deep trouble. First things first, I went to the hotel room to fetch out my bag. Ballard waited in the lobby. I left the Star Wheel on the table, along with a good-bye note to Lennox, telling him where we’d gone. The concierge was most helpful. “Ravenseal? Hum. You might want to check the Directory,” he said. He slammed a behemoth red-leather volume on the counter, flipping it open. “Here you are. Ravenseal... with an R. Big House on the left. You can’t miss it,” he said. His finger slid down the Directory; on every page were lists of Houses... Wiccan Houses...

“Are these all real?” I asked, staring at the list with my mouth hanging open.

“Certainly, they’re real. The Directory is no laughing matter, Miss. It’s kept very up to date, according to the solstices. Why?” he asked.

“N-Nothing...”

“Halls, what is it?” said Ballard.

“And this holds every House? Even the ones that are extinct?” I said.

“Especially the ones that are extinct,” said the concierge. “Otherwise, how would we know which ones are still alive? Honestly, it’s like you aren’t even a witch.” He looked on sadly. “If you want, the new one’s just come in, you can keep this one if you want? The Directory gets shorter every year, almost as though Magic were dying.”

“I really appreciate this, sir, really!” I said. I stuffed the Directory as quickly as I could into my backpack along with the Everything book.

“It’s past the Master House. You be careful, Miss.”

* * *

“You know they’re after us, right?” said Ballard. “Ravenseal. And you want to go there? To their House?”

“Lux can help us, Ballard. He’s a Styles Master.”

I felt giddy. Here was a way to find my House. The Directory revealed instructions not just to find the secret location of House Ravenseal, but all Houses, including my own.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure they’re a great House!” said Ballard. “And Ravenseal would be the perfect vantage point from which to spy on the Master House, but I don’t think you should go there, Halls.”

“Why not?”

“For one, Lia’s grown very fond of you.”

“And the second reason?” I asked, snuggling up to him.

“Vampires aren’t exactly welcomed in Prague,” said Ballard. “He won’t be able to visit much.”

Would Ballard join my House? Could he, now that he was Head of the cyanthropes––of all the cyanthropes, because the Benandanti still owed him their allegiance. The Bennys had essentially hived from the Sons and Daughters of Romulus––but Lux, who had taught me of hiving, was right: Houses didn’t just break from other Houses, not really.

“Traduttore, traditore. Gaven was right. Look at this place,” said Ballard. He stared up at the Master House. “I could just peek, you know? If Selwyn’s in there...”

“He may not be turned, Ballard. Come on,” I said, dragging him away.

We rushed through a crowd of shoppers, down the Lane as it forked to the left, until we were walking along a hedgerow, out of town. The Districts of Magic were disappearing behind us.

According to the book, Ravenseal House was somewhere down this avenue, we just had to find it. I stopped to get my bearings, but also check my House.

Hair blowing helter-skelter I found the page I was looking for. “R, R,” I whispered to myself, turning the pages frantically. Ballard must’ve thought I was a madwoman.

A new tingling was in my fingertips. Was I about to discover the secret whereabouts of my House?

“It’s not here,” I said, flipping through the Directory despondently.

IF YOUR HOUSE IS NOT LISTED, said the book, SEARCH THE BACK OF THE DIRECTORY.

Of course. The index listed Houses no longer with us.

THESE ARE THE HOUSES THAT WERE, BUT ARE NO LONGER, said the book.

I flipped to the back. Whereas the living Houses––those that had not been eradicated––listed physical addresses, along with those who were in them, their Heads and so forth––what I called the dead Houses listed only the House names and dates of obliteration. No other information was presented. No wonder the book was shrinking. There were hundreds of them... Thousands of listings... Houses from the past that had been wiped out––most of them pre-dated the twentieth century––but no House Rookmaaker. I didn’t know where it was at.

Hoping it was some kind of mistake, I turned to the title page, but it was last year’s copy. Rookmaaker, if it existed, should’ve been listed. “But it’s not!” I said, slamming the Directory shut.

Ballard seemed antsy––“Um, Halls?”

“Yes, Ballard?”

I flipped back to Ravenseal. A list of eleven names was presented, with Veruschka’s at the top.

HOUSE RAVENSEAL

&
its Members

Veruschka Ravenseal *

Rumor Scroop *

Balthasar LeFlaq

Pirapong Bonewits

Rosamund Rasmussen

Tatiana Tower

Polixines Derevjanik

Pericles Pike

Lara Tanner

Djonga Hardesty

Lux Aeterna *

––missing

*Symbols next to names denote powers not usually associated with Wicca-craft. Names ranked in order of their significance.

Lux was at the bottom. I got a kind of icy prickle when I saw the twelfth spot, where I should have been listed. No twelfth. Missing.

“I hate to bother you and all, but you might want to get ready for a fight,” said Ballard.

“What?”

I looked up. Two witches and a wizard were making their way down the hedgerow. It was getting late and the clouds were making parhelia, sundogs, bright spots of light on either side of the sun, which may have been their Lights. The Wiccans were shooting them at us.

I put my book away, stuffing it into my backpack, when suddenly Lux appeared. Comprehension dawned on his face.

“Halsey? What are you doing here?” he said.

“Hello Professor Lux.”

He formed the W. The talons were on his fingers, tridents which helped him to craft. Had he been? That would have been unusual. He didn’t normally do magic.

I hoped he didn’t inquire as to the further development of my Mark. As always when I was around him, I felt my shortcomings like a hard edge, cut into my flesh.

Ballard seemed to encourage a confrontation. The sun was not fully down yet. I didn’t want to get into anything without Lennox present. We were still within the purlieus of the Districts of Magic, were we not? I hadn’t been caught on Ravenseal territory, unawares, had I? If so, I didn’t know what I would do.

Lux looked towards Stromovka. The cloud of ash had still not dissipated. How must I look? I got an uneasy feeling, like Ravenseal knew what had happened, almost like they had been in on it. But what did they know of the Benandanti?

Ballard shifted infinitesimally.

“Right. Introductions,” said Lux. “This is Pirapong Bonewits––” he said, pointing to a tallow candle of a witch––“and Rumor Scroop––”

“Hello,” I said.

“Ladies, allow me to introduce Miss Halsey Rookmaaker!”

“Wait, not the Miss Rookmaaker?” said Bonewits.

“As in our twelfth?” said Scroop.

“Turned us down, I’m afraid,” said Lux.

Rumor Scroop continued to stare at me like I was a bug.

“It’s not right,” said Bonewits.

“No, it’s not,” said Scroop. “I think you should come along with us, now, dear. Leave the dog. I daresay it’s not Housebroken yet.”

“Now, now,” said Lux. “Clever pun aside––that was rude.”

Ballard let the insult roll off him. The only question I had was why Risky and my parents had been so rock-steady, being as they were, respectively, a wolf, a wizard, and a witch, when it didn’t seem like the two sides got along? Werewolves had originally come to Rome to get away from wizards and witches.

“Well? Are you coming or not?” said Scroop. She made what looked like a C instead of a W, reversed and laid horizontally, and then pointed her two fingers at me. “I’m waiting,” she said, dramatically. She had hair tinted the same color as her mistress––shocking blue––in a wave down her left eye; snakebites; and a stud in her upper lip. Her eyes were like two black holes sucking upon the irises and on the tips of her eyelashes were decorative white droplets.

Why was it the most powerful Wiccans looked this way? I immediately cautioned myself against her. How powerful was she, anyway?

I shook my head no.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” she said. Wicca light shone from her eyes. “We are a House. The House, in point of fact. Council or no, you will serve this House!” said Scroop. “Come, Pirapong! Our Headmistress shall know of this! Better not dally, Lux.”

The two of them turned on their heels and left.

I looked at Ballard, who continued to mutter under his breath: “I know what you can do with those three fingers,” he said.

“We better leave,” said Lux. “Before––before they come back.”

* * *

“I apologize again for her threatening you like that,” he said. We wended our way along the hedgerow back into Prague. “They––well––they bully Eclectics. Scroop’s number two. She will become the Head of House, once Veruschka leaves.”

“So Veruschka does mean to go to the Master House, then?” I said.

“If only I could leave as well,” said Lux, who sighed.

It was dark, now. The Districts were coming alive with magic. Lux bought three newspapers: London, Paris, Rome, paying for them with some skillingr, from his pocket. “There! You see?” he said, pointing to the front-page headline on one of them––I could see London’s Millennium Wheel on the cover.

PRIVATE SCHOOL IN ASHES FOLLOWING MYSTERIOUS FIRE

LONDON––The British skyline was lit up last night as a series of rare lightning strikes targeted one of the city’s oldest buildings.

According to one eyewitness, London’s House of Peril was reduced to cinders following the crazy cloudburst that seemed to avoid every other major structure. “Lightning is never this destructive. Much less this vicious,” said the eyewitness. “Crazy.”

“The House of Peril. Isn’t that Padget and Pilar’s House?” I asked.

“Here’s another one,” said Lux, nodding his head.

HE’S BACK. UNKNOWN ARSONIST STRIKES AGAIN.

PARIS––The banking world is in upheaval following the break-in overnight of one of Paris’s oldest institutions. “Forget the Rothschilds. Banque du Sang is one of the oldest––if not the oldest––bank in existence. How anyone could’ve broken in there, much less torched the place, is beyond me,” said Rufus Séverin, member of the Chair of Trustees, himself one of the largest shareholders in Banque du Sang.

“Banque du Sang?” I said.

“Vampire gold,” said Lux. “Banque du Sang means ‘blood bank’; it’s where they store their mana; one n, not two, as well as the wealth of the Paris underworld. Someone broke in there. Read.”

Rome was next. I took the newspaper with trembling fingers.

GANGLAND VIOLENCE ERUPTS AS ATTENTION IS DRAWN TO MOTORCYCLE CLUB IN TRASTEVERE

ROME––Vigili urbani, the city’s municipal police, responded Sunday night to reports of bag-snatching and other disturbances committed by individuals racing motorcycles. It turned deadly, however, when police discovered the whereabouts of their secret lair. By Emma Skarborough.

“‘Upon arrival, a fight broke out,’” I read, “‘whereupon the gang’s hideout, La Luna Blu, went up in flames.’––Oh, Ballard––” I said. “‘Members of the so-called motorcycle pack fled into the night, along with a number of wild dogs, police believe may have been involved in a heavily-financed illegal underground dog-fighting ring.’ What? Isn’t she, like, your cousin? What is she doing?” I said.

Ballard snatched the paper out of my hands. “‘Mr. and Mrs. Gaven Overstreet are expected to face an inquiry into the illegal goings-on, along with heavy fines and possible jail sentences,’” he read. “Halls, I need to get back.”

Three attacks, in three papers, in three different cities––Gaven and Lia in jail–– “That’s not even counting the Benandanti,” I said to myself. The Stromovka had burned down just last night. I looked at Ballard, wondering how much we should tell Lux. He was Ravenseal, after all. Better not, I thought.

“Professor Lux, someone’s destroying Houses, why?” I asked.

“Not just Houses,” said Lux. “The Vampire Bank was attacked too, although it survived. It’s been happening for weeks... Arsons, brushfires... it’s code.... You have to know how to interpret the headlines... It means the Dark Order is back....”

There was a series of lightning strikes, followed by bodies emerging from the aether. Professor Lux scrambled to adjust the rings on his fingers. Wizards and witches were popping into existence everywhere, including Lennox.

Veruschka was with Bonewits and Scroop. They were looking indignantly at me. “You!” said the Head of House Ravenseal. Others were materializing as well.

“Seems we’re all here,” said another wizard, a stranger, I’d never met him before.

“House business, Blackstock, the Council has no jurisdiction,” said Veruschka, her nostrils flaring.

“I’ve heard otherwise,” cut in the wizard named Blackstock. He pointed to Lennox. “According to this vampire, Halsey Rookmaaker is free of any responsibility to your House.”

Veruschka was irate. “You can’t be serious? Vampires are not trustworthy, Artemidorus.”

“I can prove it,” said Lennox. “Or rather, Halsey can.”

“Vampires are our allies,” said Blackstock. “Besides, Veruschka, the proof is in that young lady’s backpack, if you’ll listen...” The Council of Magic was stitched in silver on his magic robes.

“What proof? What are you talking about?” said Veruschka.

“Just that she belongs to another House,” said Blackstock, smiling pleasantly.

Lennox motioned for me to unzip my backpack.

I took it off and unzipped it, kneeling down; there were dozens of witches and wizards present. The Directory spilled out along with the Everything book––but also my Wiccan diploma and the red marker.

“May I?” said Mr. Blackstock.

I handed him the marker along with my diploma from St. Martley’s.

“Ah, yes, Genevieve’s House! And what’s this? A Marker? Well, well, seems you were supposed to be selected by someone else.”

BANG! Ballard transformed into a werewolf. Several of the witches and wizards reacted, brandishing their marks, before settling down.

“She runs with wolves, Artemidorus. Werewolves. You know what that means,” said Veruschka, insinuating the worst.

Ballard snarled––but his attention was drawn elsewhere––to the Master House, itself.

“See? Not broken. What did I tell you?” said Scroop, snidely.

“It’s not that, it’s just––”

Veruschka suggested we take “it” off the streets, but Artemidorus overrode her.

“Go on, Miss Rookmaaker, what is it?” he said to me. We were obviously on his territory.

He handed me back the Marker.

I held it up, rubbing it with my Wiccan fingertips. This was mine, I thought. It meant I was supposed to be taken by a different House. Not Veruschka’s. Only, the person who was supposed to have done so, wasn’t able to select me––had been prevented. By whom? The Lenoir? The Master House? I looked at Blackstock....

“I’m Halsey Rookmaaker––and, well, House Rookmaaker,” I said. “The person who gave me this was in my House. Only, he’s an Eclectic. We both are. But that’s all over with, because I believe I can find my parents’ House–– I belong in Rome, not in Ravenseal.”

I looked at the Marker with the number six on it. Where I had been rubbing it, words had appeared. Written on the Marker, in handwriting that could only have been Selwyn’s, was a message:

“BEWARE THE DARK PATH.”

Blackstock motioned for a witch, who whispered in his ear, briefly. “I see,” he said.

Ballard continued to sniff and paw the ground. Had Ballard taken the opportunity to see if Selwyn was really at the Master House? His fur was standing on end. I looked at him, thinking, What is the Dark Path? Hurriedly, I rubbed the Marker. The message disappeared. I rubbed it again. It reappeared. There must’ve been some kind of spell put upon it. I erased it before anyone could see.

“According to Siobhan,” said Blackstock, “there is no record of House Rookmaaker in our Heraldic Hall. However, the Marker was sent––which means, either the Hall of Records has made a mistake, which I doubt, or someone does not want that House found.”

“There! You see? She belongs to me!” said Veruschka.

“Having said that,” Blackstock went on, “I have read no rule that an Initiate must absolutely complete a course of study with any House, regardless of how they may have been selected. Miss Rookmaaker, is it your intention to join House Ravenseal? They would do wonders for your career, you know?”

I shook my head no.

“Then, if you’re certain,” said Blackstock, “I have no choice but to free you of that commitment, and that, Veruschka, is final. Now, Miss Rookmaaker, you are aware that magistrae, or mistresses as they’re sometimes known, outside of Prague, must be thirds, are you not, if they’re to lead their own House? Even if you were to find House Rookmaaker, I could not let you proceed, unless it was held in interreges––an interim Head running the show until the day you turn fledged––at which point the House and its running would be turned over to you––with all of the responsibility that that entails. So that’s what I’m recommending. I’m going to give you an opportunity to solve this little puzzle. If House Rookmaaker exists––as you say it does––and you can find it––then I’m sure we’ll have gained a wonderful new House––or an old House, as the case may be. Veruschka?”

She eyed him, saying nothing. “Good,” said Blackstock. “Then, if there’s nothing else––”

“There is one other thing,” said Lennox.

“By all means. Anything for one of the Lenoir,” said Blackstock.

Privately, I thought, Who would attack the vampires?

Lennox whistled. Massimo appeared, followed by Menelaus.

“He’s raving––and that’s when he’s coherent,” said Menelaus, dragging someone behind him.

“We think aetherheads got to him, sir,” said Massimo, showing us.

Selwyn was with them! He looked terrible: Hair all over the place, like he had been held somewhere against his will, or worse, driven mad...

I tried reading his mind, but it was shut down. The aether cloud was still around Selwyn. I could not penetrate it.

“We think someone may have done something to him, sir, tampered with his mind, likesay. He’s not cut,” said Massimo proudly. “His therian is still intact.”

The rest of the wizards made way for Selwyn who stood before us––his hair was disheveled, his eyes a dazzling shade of blue.

“Aether. I knew it,” said one.

“I haven’t seen this brand of magic before,” said Blackstock, peering at Selwyn intently. “It’s almost like–– but no––that’s impossible. Lux––you’re a virtuoso––see if you can read his mind.”

Blackstock stood back. Lux rolled up his sleeves. I again was treated to his amazing mark. But whatever he tried, it didn’t work.

“Even with the tridents, my magic is too weak,” he said.

“The reason I ask,” said Blackstock, “is because I’ve read about this. But it was so long ago. It’s something the Fifth of Fourth used to do. Mess in wizards’ minds. But they’re gone now––they cannot be back––”

“I have reason to believe that that is not entirely true, sir,” said Lux. “I assume you’ve been reading the newspapers?”

“Houses are being destroyed. So what of it?” said Blackstock.

“Wasn’t that His maneuver, sir? I mean, back in the day? He was a necromancer and they never die,” said Lux.

“But the Dark Lord back––it’s just impossible––”

“You know I’ve told you about this Hiving business will come to no good,” said Lux. “Wizards and witches should be able to make their own decisions. The ardanes are more like amendments, after all––they can be repealed.”

“Even if that were so, we cannot fight Shadows. Let them come out into the open, Lux.”

“But this type of enemy does not fight in the open, sir,” said Lux. “Whoever’s doing this is organized––everywhere. It’s just as He operated before.”

I watched Veruschka out of the corner of my eye, but if she was involved in any of this, she didn’t let on.

Ballard trotted off into one of the corners and came back as himself. I tried to read his eyes, but he avoided my gaze. Selwyn was alternately in and out, mumbling nonsense words, or else catatonic. “Sed esse in silentium,” he hissed, “sed esse in silentium.”

Blackstock said, “They must be copycatting, Lux! That’ll be it! They read what He did––but they have not his power, none have. No! I’ll hear no differently!”

Lux tried to protest but Blackstock overrode him. “I will monitor the situation. The Council of Magic is not a rash body. We need more time, Lux. Let’s see how things develop. Until then, I suggest we all go about our business. Agreed?”

“Aye!” said the members of the Council.

“May I say my piece now?” said Veruschka. “Because I’ve been patient long enough.”

“By all means,” said Blackstock.

“That ‘sed esse in silentium’ business, it means ‘the silent existence’; it’s what the vampires in Paris are so big on, Arty,” said Veruschka. “Before you start talking about the Dark Order and dredging up unfortunate memories you might want to have a talk with them. After all, they’ve made it their business to destroy Houses.

“As for Miss Rookmaaker, she may ‘go her own way,’ yes, but I’ll be watching her, and I’ll be ready. You can bend rules only so far before they break, and there I’ll be, Miss Rookmaaker.”

The Ravenseals departed. You to your corner, we to ours. Lennox had the Star Wheel in his arms, ready to go. My Gambalunga, I thought, Ballard’s motorcycle; we needed to get our stuff.

Lux knelt beside Selwyn and put his three fingertips on him. I watched as the panther slowly materialized. Selwyn was gone, but not forever. The black cat was in his place. Its blue eyes shone and Professor Lux stood back. “His therian will look out for him until he’s ready to return,” he said.

The touch of Selwyn’s fur was electric. Ballard and I had accomplished what we’d set out to do. Now, it was getting back that would be the challenge.

Chapter 14 – The Trial

The trouble was we were about six hundred miles from Rome, and you couldn’t exactly take a giant black panther on the Eurorail.

The sun was pale in the east and the Silver Lindens ranged high overhead, when we finally left Prague. It was just Ballard and me. Lennox was taking Selwyn back separately. Selwyn’s mind was still a blank. That part of him was too deeply submerged, I wrote in my Diary. Still, half a protector was better than none, especially as Selwyn had giant claws and could rip to shreds anyone who tried messing with me, Veruschka, et al.

So what if I didn’t want to join their House? They should’ve just taken Vittoria, anyway. I bet she’d go with them, if they’d just ask her real nice. Perhaps I’d suggest it to her, when I got back: Hey, V, good news! Ravenseal has an opening! Now you can leave here and never come back, biiitch!

Ballard and I were making our way through Central Europe. Crossing borders reminded me again my visa was up. Naturally, we avoided several spot checks.

The thing was, I needed a permesso di soggiorno, a permit to stay, when I got back to Italy. Otherwise, the EU could kick me out. I could apply for a work permit, but those were difficult to get.

“Mr. Person In the Questura––please, please, please,” I said to myself, “I was born in Rome, I just can’t prove it––but if you check my Wiccan House–– you know, where the magic’s at––”

I was a foreigner who wasn’t, an émigré who never emigrated. Plus, I didn’t exactly have time to work a day job. Things were out there. I needed to open House Rookmaaker. The Grigori were coming. They had already attacked once in a maneuver to unseat us. Before I knew it, Ballard and I were in the Veneto, the plains beneath the Dolomites. The last of the drumlins receded past my taillamp. Here were lakes so blue, I saw the sky reflecting back at me. If only I knew what to do, I thought.

* * *

It was the twentieth of May; the annual solar eclipse floated over Rome, welcoming us back. Beat, I looked forward to getting back to my room. But on the outskirts of Rome, we were prevented from advancing by a line of motorcycles and their Riders revving their engines, looking at Ballard and me like we were total strangers. I couldn’t tell who they were. Just, that they were not the usual I Gatti. Or were they? They kept their helmets on and their visors down. We couldn’t see their faces.

Ballard cut off his engine. On every Rider were black leather jackets with the words The Warlockes stitched into them. Who were The Warlockes? I wondered.

The leader of their pack stepped from his motorcycle. I could see “I-Gatti” stenciled on it. It was a bike Ballard had worked on. A lot of the bikes were like that.

Paolo lifted his visor.

“Sorry, Bal, can’t let you pass,” he said. “You or your girlfriend.”

“What the hell is this?” said Ballard.

“New rules, kid, for a new regime.”

Ballard walked past him. “I see other Riders, but they don’t show me their faces. Who put you up to this?” he said. “Wait, let me guess, Paolo. The War-Lockes? Locke did.”

He drew his finger across a pink Rider’s jacket who could only have been Liesel. She fidgeted, nervously. “I see how it is, now,” he said.

“It’s not just Locke, Ballad, the Council said, as well,” said Paolo.

“Yeah, but Locke is the Council,” said Ballard, coming back to him. “You know I want a trial, right? I am still Head Wolf, Paolo.”

“Don’t push it, Bal.”

But Ballard, getting on his motorcycle, did push it.

“A trial, Paolo. It’s the only way.”

Liesel wasn’t the only Rider I recognized. Blunt’s and Giorgio’s square frames were unmistakable... as was Lysander’s. Who else was here?

“Ballard, what is it? What are they doing?” I asked.

“They want to exile us, Halsey.”

* * *

So not only did I have a House to find. Now, I might not be able to. We passed through them without a further glance. Why, I thought, was Locke stirring things up? Ballard waved good-bye and I sped off for Via dei Condotti, to my landlady.

* * *

BANG!

Vittoria was still in her room. I thought about asking her what she was up to, but decided against it.

There was a flop at my door. This was something that had been happening ever since I took out those newspaper subscriptions. If something was happening, I’d know about it in a heartbeat. Same old, same old, I thought, flipping through them––but wait...

There was an article by Emma Skarborough, in La Repubblica, on stray Roman tabbies in Largo Argentina––which was a place near here: “Calicoes, gingers, smoky grays––Roman grimalkins have always had their place in Rome––and their supporters––until now,” she wrote.

I read the rest of it. From the way it sounded... but, no... You’re dreaming, Halsey. She would never do that... But would she?

I booted up my laptop and checked my e-mail. I felt guilty not having checked it in so long.

Nothing.

Nothing from nobody––niente...

The IX website was still going strong. Stars and symbols falling from the header. Nothing had changed. It was still counting down, still bothering me.

I thought about the Riders, wondering what their reactions might be if the Grigori attacked and Ballard and I weren’t in Rome to help defend it. Boy, will they be sorry when we’re gone, I thought. No more Chosen One. If I am. If House Rookmaaker was within the city limits, and I was exiled, could I still go there? I decided to ask Ballard.

On the way, however, two members of the vigili urbani tried stopping me. Rome was in full crackdown mode against us. How had the Riders managed––? I swerved out of their way and fingered the accelerator.

The shop was empty. Being on the outs with I Gatti didn’t seem to have bothered Ballard. In fact, he was working on his own pet project. A logo for his new motorcycle company.

“What d’you think?” he said, showing me the insignia he’d created in his notepad.

“I figure every time I sell a custom jobby I’ll slap one of those on the side of it,” he said. “Maybe create a new army. The Ballards.” He smiled at me, happily. “If you want,” he said, “I’ll make you one for your House. It’ll have to be eclectic, though, or represent them.”

“I think right now I’m homeless,” I said.

“Still no luck finding it, huh?”

I shook my head, no... not that I’d tried finding House Rookmaaker yet. Still, what would the insignia for it look like?

Rooks are birds––too close to Ravenseal, I thought.

Ballard took the sketchpad back.

Maybe, I thought, I wasn’t supposed to find House Rookmaaker? In which case, was I going against my parents’ wishes? They stuck me down the rota, after all. It was on their orders Selwyn shipped me off to St. Martley’s. Or someone did. Maybe they had no intention for me to come back to Rome. But Risky had....

I looked at him, up there, smiling. Why had he intended Ballard and I to meet?

“You know,” said Ballard, sketching a picture, “a place that big would have to be noticeable. Your House, I mean. You couldn’t just put it anywhere.”

“If only I could ask the twins,” I said. “You know, the Master House? They signed off on it. They must know where House Rookmaaker’s at.”

What if House Rookmaaker’s not in Rome? I thought. I couldn’t remember seeing any willow trees, anywhere near here...

“I keep thinking my parents’ House is in Rome, but from the way Wiccan covens like to keep their distance, maybe it’s not?” I said.

...Pendderwenn had hived from Ravenseal, and look how far they’d traveled. They’d come all the way to Rome. Where had my parents gone when they left House Pendderwenn?

“I wish Risky was here. He would know. Maybe he did know...” I said.

“Done!” said Ballard. He obviously hadn’t been listening.

I looked at what he’d drawn, thinking, What are my parents hiding? What is Risky hiding? And where are they hiding it?

“Maybe it’s big, Ballard. Maybe it’s so big they knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it, or you. Not yet, anyway.”

Then, why do I feel like I’m running out of time? I thought to myself.

* * *

It was a cat, which I liked.

“Can you add ‘House Rookmaaker & its Members’?” I asked, showing him where.

Ballard obliged.

“No problem,” he said. He quickly drew it out. “There! Finito! Done!”

The question was, who were the twelve names that were going to be listed under House Rookmaaker? I thought about that before filling them in.

HOUSE ROOKMAAKER

&
its Members

a list

Selwyn-cat

Ballard

Lennox

Marek

Me

Gaven

Lia

Sándor

Septimus

Asher

Laurinaitis

Manon

Meeting Ravenseal had ticked me off so much I wanted nothing to do with ordinary magic––or them. To embrace outsiders––That was what House Rookmaaker was for. As Rome had embraced me, before it banished me, I thought, acidly.

The problem was, I’d already filled it in, and there were still more openings needed. Could a coven have more than twelve spots? Was there any way?

ROME––It’s called The Palio. A three-lap horse race in Sienna, Italy. Except the Roman version involves motorcycles and the winner is declared Head Wolf. A strange moniker for the leader of a gang known as The Cats. By Emma Skarborough.

Did she know what she was doing? Ballard’s cousin had just outed I Gatti. And here I’d thought I could start my own House. My stuff was all unpacked––Directory, Everything book––but it would have to wait––everything would.

What would happen if they found out about us? If the non-magicals knew that supernaturals existed? It went against the sed esse in silentium, The Silent Existence.

I kept finding myself in extremis and to top matters off, Ballard’s trial was coming up. My trial was coming up. What was I going to do?

* * *

Tourist season kicked off in Rome with record temperatures and the motorcycle ban was lifted. Ballard’s shop was filled with customers, finally. The money was rolling in. Unfortunately, that meant I’d lost my ally in all things supernatural. Lia and Gaven had been released on bail, so we weren’t the only ones facing the heat. La Luna Blu had been gutted by the fire. But they were rebuilding, and some of the Warlockes had crossed the divide separating the two werewolf camps, and were helping I Gatti rebuild it by clearing out the charred remains.

Gaven was prematurely and quite quickly old. His hair had turned all-white while in jail waiting for the Quirinal to bail him out. But of course that just made him look even more handsome. He reminded me of the Grey Wolf, or like Risky. Perhaps all ex-Il Gattos looked like silver foxes.

A calmness had come over Rome––a quietude. But I knew better. Rayven was still out there. Every day lost brought us closer to doom.

“Severe hailstorms... hundreds of lightning strikes...” The news was filled with calamities and natural disasters––but no more mysterious house fires had been reported.

If anything it felt as though the Dark Order was building up to something big.

One good thing had come from our trip to Prague––even though it had enabled Locke to potentially engineer Ballard’s ouster. And that was the Benandanti, who were now back. Once Lennox returns, I thought, we’ll have a nice little army.

* * *

The S Bros, Sándor and Septimus, had been preparing Ballard and I for our trial, the following week. They’d opened a shop in Via dei Condotti, called S Bros, which was very swank. And it was there that we adjourned, to discuss the case. S Bros reminded me of the Voettfangs’ shop, in a way. Dusty books and other things scattered the tables and bookshelves. Maybe Via dei Condotti could be the new Golden Lane. Antiquarian Row.

Ballard said, “I get it. Leave me alone,” to which they replied, “Locke’s crafty. He’ll lead you into traps. You need to twist his words, Ballard.”

Having a verbal duel was a lot harder than studying magic, especially as you couldn’t afford to make mistakes. “One false word, it’s over,” said Sándor. “Locke’s a xenophobe––it means he’s afraid of Paris, London, Prague––all of us.”

Septimus pretended to cross-examine me.

“Stop stuttering. And don’t fidget. Stick to the facts,” he said.

By the end of it, Ballard and I didn’t know what to do.

* * *

The next few days I withdrew from everybody else, doing my best Vittoria impression, and began to work on my House.

It was annoying to think that it was going to be held in interreges until I came to be––or if I ever was––such-and-such. Like I wasn’t old enough. Like I needed their permission. I was just irritated, is all. I didn’t like being told what to do. Like I needed their help. All this Locke talk. Maybe there was some kind of key I needed to unlock my House.

I will find it; my blood will lead me there....

But so far there had not been any breaks and I had been led more by fantasy than any familial connection.

What happened to my parents? And what was Risky’s role in it?

Maybe he was encouraging them to hive... I thought... and he got them killed before the plan was finished. Yeah. Maybe that’s what got them killed, I wrote in my Diary. Because they led the werewolves with them! That’s why they’re not in The Directory! Their House was never started! House Rookmaaker is invisible! An abomination!

But I had seen it––unless it was all some kind of trick on the part of Rayven. Not even Vittoria’s banging around could discourage me from that line of reasoning––yet Mistress Genevieve had warned me against being too often in my head. Like it was dangerous.

Siobhan, the Hall of Records woman, said there was no record of my parents’ House anywhere.

Think, Halsey. Why would they cover it up? Who would cover it up? Maybe it wasn’t covered up? Why would a House exist, but not be listed? What was it about their House that it had not been included in The Directory? Was there anything about my parents that I didn’t know?

I was the de facto head of a House that didn’t exist––on paper. But it was real. I was sure of it. I need to know, I wrote. I need to know that they didn’t just leave me. They didn’t die for nothing.

But who could I turn to?

I gathered all my stuff––Diary, Directory, Codex, Everything book––emptying the desk drawers.

The Rookmaakers were getting powerful––that much is clear. They had a lot of influence. The Rookmaakers were trying to break away. To form their own House, I invented wildly. Mistress Genevieve’s letter fell out––followed by Ballard’s––

And Selwyn’s Marker; I grabbed at it hungrily, rubbing the Marker with my Wiccan fingertips––

Risky and them were up to something––maybe this is the key...

“BEWARE THE DARK PATH.”

* * *

“What is out there? The truth? What is that? Somebody’s truth. Isn’t necessarily ours,” said Ballard, when I had whispered to him what I’d found, the next day. “Why didn’t the Dark Order want Rookmaaker hiving from Pendderwenn?” he said. “Because of their plans? What are those? Whose plans are those?”

Sándor and Septimus were still going on and on about what we needed to do. I kept thinking about House Rookmaaker and the Dark Order.

“Rayven showed it to me, Ballard. He used the Remember Spell. He must want me to find House Rookmaaker. Although, I can’t think why.”

“Hmm, let’s think,” he said, “so he knows where to find you, so he can kill you...”

“Oh yeah. Right,” I said.

“Are you two paying attention? Because he’ll most likely use the witch argument.”

“Which argument is that?” said Ballard, drawing an appreciative nod from yours truly.

* * *

It happened. There was a knock at Ballard’s roll-up door in his motorcycle shop one day and Emma Skarborough appeared, with her notebook in hand and a look on her face of deepest cunning. She made some wisecrack about Ballard and I playing Spin the Bottle.

“What do you want, Em? Following up on your latest hit piece?” said Ballard.

“Cousin, I had to warn the public. Besides,” she said in her unusually nasal voice that made the hairs on the backs of my arms stand up, “you should be thanking me. With motorcycles taboo, everyone will want one. And you are?” she said to me.

“Nobody,” I said. I got on my motorcycle to go. “C’ya, Bal.”

“Wait a minute, wait just one second,” she said. “I recognize that bike. That’s Risky’s bike. It belonged to my uncle. Ballard wouldn’t just give it to anybody. Who are you?”

“What’s it to you?” said Ballard. I realized immediately he’d made a mistake.

“Something’s not right here,” she said. “The stories in the news––even though I put them there. You’re up to something. Both of you! I can feel it! What is it? The only stories worth knowing aren’t necessarily what people are willing to tell me. At the same time, I would never dig. No, I would not.” She eyed me beadily and began scribbling in her notebook.

Ballard closed the door on her, saying “Get out!”

“She’ll get you next,” I warned. “You better be careful, Ballard.”

* * *

ROME––Purse snatching pays. How motorcycle gangs are funding their lavish lifestyle. By Emma Skarborough.

I read and I reread––I still couldn’t believe it.

“Thankfully, with her visa up, Miss Rookmaaker of Via dei Condotti, will be booted back to America where she belongs! It’s been a year! Surely the Questura will be interested to know how an unemployed teenager with no work history and no family connections is affording her rents in the posh shopping district?”

I gulped.

With Skarborough on my case, I’d be out of Rome tomorrow, even if the werewolves didn’t banish me. Why was my rent so cheap, anyway? I thought.

Ballard took the pragmatic point of view. “At least she’s after you now,” he said.

“I’m not kidding, Ballard! You have to apply in advance for a permit to stay, and I didn’t! I’m done for!”

“Don’t you see? She’s lumped you in with us. We protect our own, Halsey, at least I do.”

“Right... The trial,” I said, wondering if I was going to be kicked out.

Emma Skarborough was nothing––nothing compared to the trial. I could always put out a hit piece on her––with my fists. But if the werewolves banished me...

The thing about politicians, I wrote in my Diary, is they put their faces on everything, but their souls into nothing. Would Locke destroy what Ballard and I were trying to build? Could he?

“Just remember,” said Septimus the day of the trial, “there are others besides Locke on the Quirinal. They’ll give you a fair hearing. Reason with them.”

“Stick to the facts,” said Sándor. “They can’t possibly kick you out.”

Ballard and I nodded. It was almost time to go. Despite their warning, my heart rate skyrocketed.

“We’re behind you one hundred percent,” they said.

We made our way to the Colosseum on motorcycles. All too soon, we were coming through the fog, and the stadium appeared, wolf-shapes running through the bars. The trial was by moonlight.

“They’re over here,” said Lia, pointing to us. She and Gaven came running over. Ballard and I greeted them, but it was like I couldn’t concentrate on anything.

The full twelve members of the Quirinal were present in the pit, almost like a House, flanked by the werewolves known as The Warlockes. It gave me the creeps.

Someone lit a fire. It was the second time I’d been to a Wolves’ Council––gone was the sense of solidarity. If anything, it felt more like a witch-hunt.

I looked at each face of the Quirinal, wondering if they knew how full of it their leader was?

Locke said, “From Lupercalia until two weeks ago, you both have been missing. Where have you been and what were you doing, that you left us in the lurch?”

“We went to Prague,” said Ballard, “I had business there. Halsey went with me.”

“Why not tell us beforehand?” said Locke. “Why close the border so we cannot follow?”

Apparently, Il Gatto’s prerogative had prevented them from coming after us.

“It was a private matter,” said Ballard.

“Private from us?” said Locke.

Ballard clenched his fists, but said nothing.

“The border was penetrated at the start of the new year,” continued Locke, “by wizards calling themselves Ravenseals. They seemed to think they had some rights to your friend, Miss Halsey Rookmaaker.”

“I don’t get the question,” said Ballard.

“I’m trying to illustrate that when it comes to your friends, you’re willing to stand your ground, even when the other side has call to be there,” said Locke.

“If you mean,” said Ballard, “would I stand here and let them take her––no, not unless she wanted to go.”

“Thank you.” Locke held up a letter from the Ravenseals. “They sent me this. Apparently, Miss Rookmaaker has a House? What’s more, it’s here in Rome.”

I could see Veruschka’s handwriting. What shrieks and oaths had she put out against me, anyway? Between her and Skarborough, I’d take Skarborough any day.

Brandishing the note, Locke said “There are quite a number of rules or ardanes regarding Wiccan Houses. Quite a number. I will read to you a list of these rules. Because, apparently, we’re in quite a bit of trouble. Ardane Number One––” He cleared his throat “––Only a third-level Wiccan may lead her own House. Good so far. Ardane Number Two,” said Locke, “Only twelve members to a House. Ardane Number Three: Only a second-degree and up may initiate someone. Ardane Number Four: Only someone initiated may attend secret Gatherings, well, well––secret Gatherings. Ardane Number Five: If a coven becomes thirteen-or-greater, that coven must Hive. Ardane Number Six: If there is no number three, one will be appointed by The Council of Magic, well, well, well. Ardane Number Seven: Houses in interreges will be monitored and the transfer of power overseen by––excuse me The Master House. You are still a Neophyte, correct, Miss Rookmaaker?” he said to me.

“Me? Yes. Why?” I said.

“The reason I ask, do we really want outsiders having so large a say in what goes on in our city?” said Locke. “Appointing officials and the like? Overseeing... monitoring us.... I say not. Bear in mind that there are other unwritten rules,” he informed his colleagues.

If Rule Number One could be broken, I thought, could Rule Number Two? For all that was written in the codex, there was a lot more that was unwritten. Locke had a point.

“The fact is, if she breaks the rules,” said Locke, “the vampires can come here and kill us––it’s called a Storm of Covens. Which puts us in a quandary.” He pantomimed concern. “Do we vouch for her and die, or do we cut her loose? Ballard has already said he will fight to protect her––and you know how fond he is of drawing lines––of forcing conflicts. Which means Miss Rookmaaker has the power to draw us into a war. Not only with Prague but with Paris. Witches and vampires. On top of which, they would be justified in coming here. It’s in their rules! And I quote: ‘Any Storm Leader opens her House to being drained by blood-drinkers.’ Unquote. She’s also sleep-ing with a vampire! One of the Lenoir! Our enemy! Lennoxlove Lenoir!”

The way he said it. The other werewolves were looking at me, particularly the Warlockes, like I was some kind of scarlet woman. Locke gesticulated wildly. “What secrets have you been whispering about us, late, late at night, Miss Rookmaaker?” he said, to nods from the Warlockes.

“My turn,” said Ballard, “because I have a lot to say also. It was Lennox, Locke, who helped fight back the zombies. Lennox, who helped protect Halsey and me at Club Change. If anything, her relationship with him strengthens our ties with vampires.”

“Ties with vampires... And Skarborough... She’s your cousin,” said Locke. “Not telling her what we are, are you, Ballard? Otherwise, how would she know?!”

“For that she has her own two eyes, and a brilliant mind––Oh yes, Locke, which, I admit, runs in my family,” said Ballard. “She may be outing us, but she’s also drawing out our enemy. We dueled him. Halsey and I fought a Grigori named Rayven this spring. Which brings me to my point, Locke. The Grigori are out there. They have attacked us already. But now there is a new group, pulling the strings. An insidious, evil Dark Order. And if we do not band together now––right now––we’re done for....

“I know,” said Ballard, “that you’re scared––and you should be. But we have allies, other fighters. I am speaking, of course, of the Benandanti––whose magic, Locke, we also possess. What do you think I was doing in Prague? Taking a vacation? I wanted to see it for myself. It is a stronghold of magical power. But so is Rome. So are the werewolves. The septagrams are not wrong. They’re everywhere here. If the Benandanti can craft, so can we. The septagrams literally mean magic! We just need to find it!

“If, in the scope of things, humans and paranormals discover we co-exist, so be it,” said Ballard. “Better that than they’re left undefended. Which is what will happen if you gut Rome, by continually dividing us!”

Ballard looked at the Warlockes.

“They are coming. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow,” he said, “but soon. Halsey’s House is in Rome, and either we protect it, we embrace our strengths, or divided we’ll get torn apart. This is something Risky knew. I think he must have known,” he said to me. To the rest, he said, “The wolves are to have magic. We are to find it. That is why I have given the Benandanti asylum here in Rome. Do you know, I think that’s what they’re afraid of, Locke? That is why Rayven and the Dark Order tried to kill us, and that is why they’re burning Houses. To divide Rome––to divide the world. So, yes, I protect this city. I protect it even when you won’t. I protect Rome because you won’t.”

“A pretty speech. But it doesn’t negate the fact she’s opening the border,” said Locke. “Her interest here runs counter to The Sons and Daughters of Romulus. As for this vampire called Lennox, we don’t know who made him. We don’t know who he answers to. Sires have a kind of control over their progeny. I would be concerned we’re letting ‘people’ in whose allegiances we cannot vet; that in a bad moment, we might find ourselves stabbed in the back.” He pointed his finger at me. “She draws danger to us. Should a conflict arise, and Rome is put in peril, we are honor bound to defend it, to defend her. What will the humans think? Paris will need to eat something, when they come.”

Ballard said, “I trust Halsey. Besides, we are in this together––the Sons and Daughters of Romulus, House Rookmaaker, and the Benandanti. That is a lot of supernatural firepower to contend with, Locke.”

“Exactly. Provocation,” said Locke. “If the other side sees us building up our army, what’s to stop them doing the same, the ardanes?”

“Those don’t say anything about werewolves––or, for that matter, eclectics, Locke,” said Ballard.

“I would like to say something,” said another member of the Quirinal, an older gentleman, named Regan, he didn’t look as though he could transform anymore. “I knew Risky––not well, but I knew him. And I think he would agree with his nephew, insofar as we should see what comes of Miss Rookmaaker’s endeavor to find her House. Just because it exists is no guarantee of finding it. Upon a time we used to have Wicca here. I am speaking of House Pendderwenn, naturally. And now Lia Overstreet, one of our own, is a Wiccan. Whether we like it or not, magic seems to be creeping back into Rome––and as you say, Ballard, the septagrams support this as perfectly natural. Therefore I support we give Halsey the opportunity to find her House. There’s no danger from outsiders until she finds it. And we’ll be learning something about ourselves. The fact that Rome could contain this secret under our very noses, is remarkable. If such is the case, what else don’t we know about Rome?”

“Hear, hear!” said another werewolf.

Locke protested, but the rest of the Quirinal overruled him.

“Let her find her House. Then we’ll decide,” said Regan.

“But, we have the opportunity, to head this off... gentlemen!”

“Our decision is final, Locke: Quirinal will reconvene later this year,” said Regan, “at which time we will decide what is to be done about Il Gatto––whether or not he is to be impeached; and about his friend, Miss Halsey Rookmaaker. As for myself, I hope she finds it. Lia will need someplace to study.

“Now, the next matter seems to be our kin to the north, Those Who Do Good. How can that be bad, if they do good here? Therefore, I propose we back Il Gatto in his decision to quarter them in Rome, at least temporarily, until they can find a new home to replace the one that was burned down by the Dark Order. Does anyone disagree?

“Well––no,” said Locke.

“Anyone else? The Benandanti shall stay, then. With them and the Warlockes, I think we’ll be okay for now. It’s almost like magic is in your name, isn’t it?” Regan said to Locke.

Chapter 15 – Spiritwalking

Ballard’s motorcycle shop showed no signs of letting up. Liesel’s hot pink motorcycle was in for almost constant repairs. The Warlocke jackets were few and far between and June was a furnace of heat. If anyone asked, the Benandanti, who had set up camp outside Rome, were Roma, traveling gypsies, passing through; in actuality, Coven City, as it was called, was a collection of tents on the outskirts of Rome, in campagna, through which magical travelers must pass. The campagna was the new Aurelian Wall and Asher and his protettori our guards. If any Grigori attacked, we’d know about it.

As far as my visa went, no police officers had come banging in the night, threatening to deport me, which was good, because I had nowhere else to go. Either I made it here, or I was done for. What would happen, I wondered, if I did leave Rome, if Rayven somehow tracked me down, and I had to fight him single-handed? Or for that matter, the entire Dark Order?

Skarborough continued limning our existences in almost daily updates, but cannibal motorcycle riders, and ravening werepacks, etc., etc., just didn’t have the same cachet as terrorist attacks, or the latest school shootings. Thankfully, things were settling down. Which meant I could finally start on my House.

I still had not made any headway on my House or on becoming Adept. Maybe, I thought, magic and I don’t mix. All I had to go on was a memory, after all, and Rayven’s memory of House Rookmaaker was highly colored. I couldn’t trust it. If I followed the septagrams––you know, the ones scattered throughout Rome, I told myself... but, no, they would probably just lead me in circles. The races for Il Gatto were like ouroboroses, or like my ring, Harm None: Everything went back to the beginning and my thoughts went nowhere. Who had engraved the septagrams, anyway? The old Defenders? Who were they?

Silence was an enemy. There was no history of anything––especially in Rome––and think about THAT, I told myself. Maybe if Risky and the others had been more like Emma Skarborough, or my parents had written anything down, but all I had to go on was my stupid codex and Selwyn’s marker.

What was the Dark Path? Was it like Golden Lane? Who was on it? Again, did my parents want me finding out anything or didn’t they? If only I had someone I could talk to, someone expert... hold on––

What I really needed was someone from the past, someone who had lived a long time, someone like a vampire. Unfortunately, I had no idea where Lennox was at. What had been keeping him and Selwyn? Was anything wrong? If only I could scry Lennox. But that no longer worked.

I left my apartment and went for a spin, thinking: Dark Path... Dark Path...

Is there a spell that can hide a House? Maybe only someone who’s seen House Rookmaaker can find it. The trouble was, anybody who could tell me about House Rookmaaker was either dead or a cat.

There’s got to be someone who knows where it’s at! If it’s not in the Directory, where is it? A House that big, somebody would have seen it!

Nowhere had I come across anything pertaining to House Rookmaaker, not in my books, and especially not in my Magus Codex. My parents had left it to me, but what good was it? I couldn’t ask Lux. He was a Ravenseal. Ballard? He knew less than I did. Gaven and Lia? They were busy with La Luna Blu. The Quirinal? As if.

Maybe... hold on––

There was somebody who could help me; someones, in point of fact: Sándor and Septimus, Ballard’s twin older brothers. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? What had Ballard said, they were arcane scholars?

If anyone would know about the Dark Path, they would!

I reversed course, bringing my Gambalunga about––

A bell tinkled within the shop when I arrived, announcing to the S’s they had a visitor––another visitor, because the shop was already full; customers were buying moon charts, powdered wolfsbane packets, amulets and Roman candles; the whole city had lycanthropy fever...

Or maybe they just wanted protection from us. If the Mundanes only knew, I thought. I could see Septimus’s hair spikes bobbing through the shop––he was helping somebody. I stopped to listen.

“Necromancy... that’s a dangerous subject matter. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a book on runes?” said Septimus.

“No––necromancy.”

“Entering Into A Flesh Agreement With The Dead and Hester’s Demonographie. I can order them for you, but it will take some time,” said Septimus, “considering they’re on the list of banned books.”

“When?” said Vittoria.

“At least a month.”

There was a pause, during which I hid.

“I don’t like waiting, but you’re the only dealer in town,” said Vittoria in her soft voice. “Do please hurry.” She handed him the list and shuffled off, past a large Antikythera Mechanism behind which I had hidden myself.

So Vittoria was summoning the dead––and she was in a hurry. This couldn’t be good.

“They don’t bite, Halsey,” said Septimus, indicating the books when he saw me lurking awkwardly behind a stack. He was unfolding the list Vittoria had given him, clearly grimacing.

“Hold on. I’ll be right back, okay?” he said. I watched him type the titles into his computer, ordering copies. Didn’t he know who my next-door neighbor was?

I grabbed for the first book I saw and started flipping through it. If Vittoria wanted to find out about the dead, so could I.

“Ah, Beatrice Cenzi. She was beheaded in 1599,” said Septimus, “in Palazzo Cenci for witchcraft and murder.”

“Huh?”

“The book you’re reading, Murders in Rome. It’s all about Roman witchcraft.”

“Would it have anything on septagrams?” I asked.

Septimus shook his head. He asked me if there was anything else, but I honestly couldn’t remember. Instead, I bought Murders in Rome and spent the remainder of the day reading it. It was all about The Witchcraft Acts, repealed human laws forbidding the “unnatural” in Rome, and how Wicca, as it had become known, had been “misidentified with the Church of Satan.”

Witch hunting had been big in Rome, “the old witch-cult,” as it was called, purged, and the Practitioners hunted down and murdered, or else converted from their false practices. Beatrice Cenzi was one of them. But she was framed for murder. According to the book, witches and wizards used to meet in secret. That was still happening, wasn’t it? Secret Gatherings....

It was the first time I realized the non-supernatural world had already heard about us; either they didn’t care anymore or the Mundanes didn’t believe in the old witch stories, but they definitely knew. “If magic is to exist,” concluded the book, “then it shall be in secret, and its practitioners hidden.” Translation: If House Rookmaaker is to exist, then it shall be in secret, and its boundaries hidden. I needed to look for something hidden. How?

The problem was this was Rome. It may have had ruins, but they were historical ruins; as for the rest of the city, it was a major, thriving metropolis. I typed urban decay into the search engine. It gave me back what looked like a war zone, steel and concrete rubble, ruinous gutted buildings, fallen into the ocean; or else boarded-up and abandoned homes reclaimed by wilderness. So House Rookmaaker would look. I was looking for somewhere forgotten. A part of the city that no longer existed, or had been overlooked. Somewhere a Wiccan House and its occupants wouldn’t be noticed, in case The Witchcraft Acts were reinstated. A place to gather, in secret.

“Are you still listening to that Shakira song?” said Lia. She had dropped by Ballard’s motorcycle shop to pick something up. “My brother has discovered the twenty-first century.”

“Shut up, Lia.”

I had been regurgitating for Ballard the last few hours, hoping he might offer something up, something insightful, something Ballard-like...

“Still scratching a living, I see.”

Lia’s werewolf pun was the last straw.

“Chillax––I’m going,” she said. Ballard shooed her out the door, rolling it down on her.

“Problems?” I asked.

“With Lia? Always. No.... It’s just my idiot cousin,” said Ballard. “Apparently Em’s investigating the Dark Order, now. Locke put her up to it.”

The idea that Skarborough would be so bold. “She can’t honestly think she can publish what she finds out, can she?” I said. “The repercussions––”

“She’s just after a story,” said Ballard. “I’ll deal with the repercussions.”

He slapped a decal on the side of the bike he was working on. For not wanting to be found out, it sure looked like he was advertising I Gatti. “You were saying?” he said, admiring his handiwork.

“The symbol of the cat... the House crest... the one you drew for me... Maybe one of my parents was one...” I said. “An eclectic, I mean... That would explain how they could know Risky... They wouldn’t have the prejudices against shapeshifters Prague has...”

I was thinking of Rumor Scroop.

Ballard said, “I think your parents must’ve known Risky because they were Wiccans in Rome and he would’ve made it his business to know them. As for whether or not they transformed.... Maybe that’s why you were having those visions––you know, about the Grey Wolf or whatever.”

“What, like I’m trying to find my way home? Back to my past?” I said.

Ballard shrugged.

“We’ve talked about the Calling before,” he said. “If this grey wolf is your animal, maybe it’s trying to reconnect with you, become one. They’re called Lares, spiritwalkers, Halsey––Our therians are often in limbo until they reconnect with us. Do you remember Alec, and how he was the first werewolf? As he would come back, so would they? Well, it’s a story about Lares, and reincarnation. When we die, our Lares are banished, and when we are reborn, they find us. Maybe this grey wolf is one––a spiritwalker, I mean. Your Lare...”

“What, you mean like a banished spirit?”

I was trying to keen in on what Ballard was telling me, but it sounded nonsense.

“A Lare, or wolf-spirit, caught in the aether,” said Ballard. “It would make sense. There’s been an uptick in the number of werewolves transforming. Volt and Pouch, you remember them? They’re transforming, and they’re only sixteen! Trastevere is overflowing with dogs!”

“Yeah, but Ballard, I’m not a werewolf!” I said. “I can’t have a––a Lare inside of me, can I?”

“We don’t know that,” he said. “You were born in Rome, remember? You might. Maybe you are one of us.”

From the way it sounded, the Lares just wandered, waiting for another soul to inhabit. Whose Lare had the grey wolf been?

But Ballard repeated: “It is your Soul Animal. Trust me.”

In the Stromovka, Asher, Laurinaitis, and Manon had spoken to me about Lares, and how the symbol for aether, which was a circle, , was also the symbol for the dead. Could Vittoria be on to something? Something like... necromancy? I thought.

Maybe the grey wolf was one of my parents, come back from the dead––or else trying to reconnect with me. But if Risky couldn’t come back, how could they? And if it was one of my parents, did it prove one of them had been an eclectic? Ballard and the Benandanti were talking about finding their magic. Was I discovering a new angle to my own? Could I see the dead?

“Can your spirit animal leave your body?” I asked Ballard.

“Only during repercussion. You die, but your Lare stays on, lost in limbo, waiting for you forever,” he said sadly.

“What, like to come back?”

“It’s just a legend,” said Ballard.

* * *

Talking with Ballard had given me so much to think about it was morning by the time I finally closed my eyes. Right. Find your House. THEN we’ll deal with the Lares. But I couldn’t put my mind to anything. Was the Grey Wolf a Lare? If so, it was in limbo. I had to find it. To help it. Whose Lare, or spirit animal, was it, anyway, mine? That was ridiculous. Risky’s? My mother’s? My father’s?

Shifters were eclectics––unless you were a witch- or wizard-shifter, but those were rare, hadn’t happened in a century.

“Maybe that’s why House Rookmaaker isn’t in The Directory,” I told Ballard the following morning. “Because it’s an eclectic House. Prague wouldn’t like that. You saw how Scroop treated you, when she found out you were a cyanthrope. It goes against their worldview. It’s prejudice, is what it is. Them versus us. I may not transform, but I am a member of the Pack.” Good thing the Sons and Daughters of Romulus placed no such scruple upon House sizes, I thought. This was bound to get ugly.

“If I can’t find my House, probably it’s because the Rookmaakers––my parents––knew to hide it. I’m on to something, Ballard. I can feel it. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

* * *

I flipped open the Everything book, back at my apartment, thinking about the marker and Selwyn’s message: Beware the Dark Path. The marker was a warning to me––but I was all too reckless. I AM MY PARENTS’ HOUSE. THEIR ORIFLAMME. The standard for which their House stood. It can only be led by a Level-Three Wiccan. Me. I must become Fledged.

Did I want to just skip Adept? Jump straight to the Super Bitch? The all-powerful? The Chosen One?

If I was wiccaned, maybe there wasn’t really any choice. Choices are illusions, Halsey... someone sent you down this Path––Think! If I had to guess, Lenoir.

Who else could it have been? Maybe Lenoir was the Grey Wolf. Preposterous.

Then who?

In times of old, when magic spread,
and wizards, ranked, split off,
the following was compilèd.

Feverishly, I began flipping through the Everything book; for the first time in a long time my magic flared. But that was just my mark. The last time it acted up, Rayven was close by, but he couldn’t be here now, could he? Maybe it was because the book dealt with Grigori magic and Rayven was one of them, that my Mark was flaring. It spiked painfully, glowing blue.

I turned to the table of contents and found what I was looking for.

The Everything book was broken into sections. Section One dealt with Wicca; Two: Other Beings; Three: Dark Magic.

Rayven floating in my memory, I turned to Other Beings.

SHAPESHIFTERS––GRIGORI, BENANDANTI, THE SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF ROMULUS, THOSE WHO DO BOTH.

I flipped to where it directed, holding the Everything book under the candle flame of the Iron Roses, to THOSE WHO DO BOTH. The Grigori could transform and do spells, yet why could not Wiccans, or the Benandanti, or even The Sons and Daughters of Romulus? Once Lia turned, she could no longer TURN, I wrote in my Diary. It was like a lightbulb went off in my head––before it exploded. The Grigori had Grigori Magic. Unfortunately, such a revelation could mean only one thing. Our enemies are a lot stronger than we are.

There was even a picture of a Grigori. I looked at the vile form and felt myself shiver. So this was what they looked like:

Much fiercer than other werewolves, the Grigori possess an array of feiknstafir, and are handleggers, Those Who Do Both.

Under the safety of my four-poster, they were a lot easier to look at. Did “handlegger” mean what I thought it did? I looked it up in the glossary.

HANDLEGGER––the ability to transform, to conjure magic; to craft, Mark and paw. THOSE WHO DO BOTH.

The Grigori were handleggers, they could do both. Shift and craft. Rayven had a Mark. But if Lia had one also––? Could Ballard? How did the Sons and Daughters of Romulus and the Benandanti find their magic?

I looked again at the picture of the Grigori. They looked like monsters. Yet they had none of the cunning of Rayven. He was a Watchtower, after all, before he was bent.

The Grigori can be fought. If Rayven can fall, so can they! I wrote that in my Diary. But could Rayven be defeated?

I didn’t like to think what would happen if we fought them all. We could lose, we could definitely lose.

* * *

For some reason I expected the Grigori to have a bastardized form of magic, but they didn’t. It was just in Grigori language. In fact, handlegger was actually handleggr. Hard R. A lot of the spells were like that. I memorized the Grigori spellbook as far as I could. It went on for hundreds of pages. There were thousands of spells. Spells for all kinds of things. I whispered one and the candle flame went out. Another, and the French doors slammed shut.

The preface to the Grigori section listed a caveat which held true for all of magic:

Nota bene: Magic drains––

YOU, if you let it. That’s what makes dueling so difficult. Therefore, be most assured of where you stand, or you’ll not be the first spellcaster to die where he stood, embattled with an out-of-control hex.

So not only was it difficult to learn magic, but if you messed up, magic could kill you?! I had to look into that.

* * *

My head hit pillow and I fell into a troubling dream. Dallace and Camille were screaming. There was a battlefield. The earth cracked, and flames rushed forth. Lennox and Selwyn dueled a contingent of wizards....

Suddenly, I was falling through the air. I landed, flump, in a strange circular room. One of the twins from the Master House was there. But he wasn’t a twin. He was making lots of himself. Am I spiritwalking? I thought, looking at the mirrors on the walls. Is that what I’m doing? But that would mean–– Was I a Lare? Was I dead?

WHERE IS SHE? WHAT IS SHE DOING? We will not be able to control her. RAVENSEAL was ordered to control her. Their failure leaves us no option. THE MASTER HOUSE MUST INTERCEDE.

NO, said the other twin. We will couch it in the covenants––USE THEM. Yes––USE THEM. The Dark Order is in Prague, and they are very worried, very worried, indeed, about Halsey Rookmaaker. Of all the Initiates, she showed the most spirit. Now she may walk the Dark Path and find out the secret they have been waiting centuries to possess... unless––yes, unless...

I don’t think she knows how to find it, nor do I believe she has the POWER to open House Rookmaaker, to go her own way.... Will she figure out what she needs to do and follow the signs? Or bend like so many Houses have done before her?

Her parents and that werewolf planned ahead––they hid House Rookmaaker where only someone like her, someone Eclectic, could find it. If she is an Eclectic, then all she has to do is FOLLOW THE CATS. Yes––FOLLOW THE CATS. They will lead her straight....

* * *

I fell awake. Was the grey wolf somehow connected with me? What did that mean, follow the cats? What did I Gatti have to do with anything?

Because Risky was working with the Rookmaakers, to keep House Rookmaaker hidden, I thought. Then, how did Rayven find it? Because he’s a shape changer. Maybe only a shape changer can find House Rookmaaker. ECLECTICS...

One of my parents must’ve been one...

Was I?... AM I...

Am I?

* * *

Think what you know, Halsey. You have a Mark. But so does Lia. But she can’t transform anymore... Maybe you have to be a Grigori to be a handlegger.

But Lia used to be a Wolf, I said to myself.

DARKPATH... DARKPATH...

What if I was sitting on something so radical, so game changing, the consequences of it being found out were enough to kill to prevent? Again, what if my parents didn’t want me finding House Rookmaaker? They’d hidden it on purpose, after all...

Yeah––for me to find it.

FOLLOW THE CATS.

* * *

I leapt on my motorcycle, passing through the base of the Seven Hills. Eventually I entered the old historic center east of Trastevere at the Lower Tiber Bend. Lennox’s place was nearby, but I didn’t stop.

At first I thought “follow the cats” meant I Gatti, but it didn’t. It was more literal. As in, follow the cats. Literally. Thankfully, I had kept the newspaper article. At last, Skarborough did something right.

STRAY ROMAN TABBIES IN LARGO ARGENTINA

Calicoes, gingers, smoky grays––Roman grimalkins have always had their place in Rome––and their supporters––until now.

Largo Argentina. I needed to go to Largo Argentina. I pulled the map from my wall, scanning the index. Largos were streets. It took me a while to find the one for Largo Argentina, but it was there. A few minutes on my computer gave me the details. It was about a mile away. Julius Caesar had been killed there.

On my bike again, I found the place. But this couldn’t be it.

Buses came and went, the whole place had a kind of touring feel. Could my House really be located somewhere so––so mundane?

But if it’s hidden––said a voice––maybe your parents intended for your House to be overlooked!

Largo Argentina was very normal, except for all the cats. They were simply everywhere: longhairs, shorthairs, Siamese, Abyssinian, spangled, Burmese, bobtails, manx, munchkins... Napoleon emperor cats, ragamuffins, ragdolls, Savannah, Siberian, sphynxes. But the most common breed was the housecat.

Buried below street level was a kind of pit. It was to here the cats were traveling. Pillars shot out of the pit, and a full Roman ruin was revealed.

Only here could something be preserved, I thought. Tall, faceless buildings looked down upon us. Passengers shuffled busily past. But nobody stopped to look where they were going. And nobody paid attention to the cats.

They were mewling on the ancient Roman steps, the cats, or else basking in the sun. Others were looking at me.

I parked my motorcycle, taking off my helmet. Something of the lawless legend persisted from the Skarborough articles. Bus passengers kept their distances from me. I stepped into the road and crossed hurriedly. The cats were gamboling. I stopped to pet one and then looked into Largo Argentina. Follow the cats...

The twins had been afraid that I would do something––open House Rookmaaker––maybe train Eclectics––but they didn’t think I had the “power” or guts.

If I hadn’t traveled out-of-body, I would never have gotten this lead, I thought. Still––what if it were hocus-pocus? What if there was no House Rookmaaker buried in Rome, waiting for me to find it? If House Rookmaaker was hidden, maybe even I couldn’t find it.

I thought of Golden Lane, how you could only find Golden Lane if you knew where to look.

Only someone eclectic could find House Rookmaaker. But how?

The area was off-limits. I stood at street level, looking down into Largo Argentina, aware that if I was found out, I would probably be arrested. A multitude of cats was frisking about; I wasn’t sure what I should do. But the twins knew where House Rookmaaker was; they’d been here before, when they okayed my parents’ House. It must be here!

That settled it. I walked through the ancient rubble, past the cats, but no inspiration came to me. Several arches were in Largo Argentina. I walked toward them, but as I did so, something caught my eye.

A symbol, engraved in one of the columns, a symbol I had seen before. The Wiccan-slash-benandanti symbol for rebirth...

Asher told me that.

It was an eclectic symbol.

My heart rate accelerated.

The swirl. It was the symbol for rebirth. It meant they came back.

Lares, I thought.

What did it all mean? Feeling I was in the right place, I began walking over to the secret arches. They were hidden below street level. They fell in shadow; I couldn’t see what was beneath them.

I thought of my parents––murdered––forgotten. Was it possible––? Could it have been them who engraved that symbol on that pillar? What did it say about their House?

Three arches, one higher than the rest, stood in my view.

I could hear shouting––revelers coming from The Campo, a local hotspot. The oriflamme––they must’ve been eclectic, my parents––Could they come back? But I was elsewhere. The arches also had markings.

Three interlocked rings, which I had seen before, and on the center one, almost like a button, the symbol for Protection connected and became one.

My Harm None ring flashed. Somehow I knew, instinctively, what to do.

I reached out my index finger with the unique swirl of magic patterned upon it and pressed the center arch with the symbol for the three rings upon it and something––as they say––happened.

Writing began to appear––words written in cursive, there on the doorway.

Welcome to House Rookmaaker.

I stepped back from the magical archway, which had begun to shake, the three doorways like the symbol for Protection, becoming one. Stones shifted. No one had been here in eighteen years. Not even Rayven. But, if it was my House, how had he gotten through?

I was suddenly terrified what I might find.

What if, what if whatever I found, didn’t look like House Rookmaaker? What if I was digging where I shouldn’t be? What if Locke was right and Prague would use this as an excuse to sneak their way into Rome? To oversee us. Would I be beholden to them, after all? What if I couldn’t become fledged? I’d never shown any great aptitude. Would we be monitored forever?

It was almost like the symbol for the Wiccan-slash-benandanti sign for rebirth was a symbol for House Rookmaaker. Like House Rookmaaker was being born again. Like I was its mother.

Rome was gone. This hush crept over me, as I left the city, and entered the grounds. Willow trees were everywhere. Lightning flashed across the sky. Vines crept through the iron bars, which had been broken open and were hanging off their hinges. It was darker here, twilit. House Rookmaaker stood in the distance––a huge manor surrounded by a high hedge and a thick iron gate, below a tumultuous sky.

Lennox...

If the Grigori had come burning in the night, where were the scorch marks?

House Rookmaaker stood; yet it was my parents who had been eliminated. Not my House. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the thunderstorm raging through me.

I fought my way through the branches and looked back at the silver shining archway I had come through. It was engraved with many runes. This place––wherever it was––was between two worlds. Like Limbo.

Only those who knew, could come here. House Rookmaaker... Yet a tiny suspicion began to form in the pit of my stomach. What THEM would the twins use? What them was it, in the ardanes, whose responsibility included punishing rogue Houses? What them had come here to kill my parents and destroy my House?

Had the vampires come to rout out this House?

Such a realization could mean only one thing. It wasn’t the Grigori who had done the destroying. Someone else had eliminated Kinsey and Maximilian Rookmaaker. If I had to guess:

Vampires...

Chapter 16 – The S Bros

As I thought it, I felt a shiver ripple through me. Lennox was the only vampire in Rome, yet he had never said anything about my House. Ever. What did that say? That he didn’t know about it, or he was covering things up?

I decided not to condemn him just yet. Let Lennox talk about House Rookmaaker––then we’ll see, I told myself.

As for the House...

Did all Wiccan Houses have such spells put upon them? They must, if they were to hide, to be hidden. Yet the Grigori could crack that magic, or else they knew where each House was located. The Directory I was sure said nothing about any of the special things you would need to do to find Wiccan Houses.

The sky overhead interested me, particularly because it was so storm-filled. The Dark Order was out there––even the Council of Magic had refused to take action. Houses are left on their own, Halsey.

Well, not mine...

I would contact Prague immediately. Now that House Rookmaaker had passed to me, a number three would need to be found, into whose hands it could safely pass, until I became Fledged. Was this my inheritance, to have my Wiccan House held in interreges?

I felt exposed. Great roots of willow trees fed at a stream that passed through the hidden grounds, their towering branches drooping over the place. Some searching and I found the sign Rayven had dropped. Years of muck covered it until it was unrecognizable. Eighteen years ago he had come here. Why?

Had I thought I could move right in, I was mistaken. The inspector would need to be sent from Prague. Accordingly, I wrote to the Council of Magic straightaway.

Mr. Artemidorus Blackstock

The Council of Magic

Golden Lane, Prague

It’s me, Halsey.

I’ve found my place.

It’s in Largo Argentina, Rome, Italy.

Do please hurry.

The unwelcome visitor, as I called the inspector, would be sure to remove the running of House Rookmaaker from my control. Ardane Number Six was explicit: If I could not find a number three, one would be appointed for me. I needed to hurry, unless I wanted the Council of Magic spying upon House Rookmaaker forever.

Gaven was the first person I thought of, but he couldn’t lead a Wiccan coven. My dream choice, Mistress Genevieve, already had one; if I chose her Prague would definitely see this as us building up our power. Which meant I was down to one. One person who could get the job done.

“Sure, I’ll do it,” said Manon.

“You are fledged?” I said, still on my motorcycle, outside Coven City. She nodded, fervently.

“I can’t deny that it’ll be nice to have indoor plumbing again,” she said.

My landlady was AWOL when I got home. I sipped an aperitif and studied some magic but understanding the Grigori was secondary to what I was going to say to Lennox when he arrived. The only plus side was that now I’d found my House, Selwyn could stay there. I imagined him roaming the grounds, scaring the other Housemates. Who knew having a House could be so difficult, though? Manon was a dynamo, simply everywhere. When I’d envisioned opening House Rookmaaker, it hadn’t been with a bunch of strangers. House numbers was the bane of my existence. To become Adept should be my first priority, not having a good time. If only my friends were in House Rookmaaker, it would go against the oriflamme, my parents’ wish House Rookmaaker be open to all.

Invitations were sent out and Initiates invited, but I was removed from the process.

One good thing: you didn’t have to be a Rookmaaker to be in House Rookmaaker; a love of the Goddess seemed to be the only prerequisite. We got around the House numbers by not having instructors, many of whom were eclectics, be in House Rookmaaker. But the Initiates had to be. There were many blessed bes. Unfortunately, that left no room for Ballard, or even Lia, who, as a werewolf, could train in secret, anyway. When the inspector arrived he went over the rules with us, including several do’s and don’ts. “If you observe the ardanes,” he said, “there will be no problems.” And if we didn’t? I thought. He and Manon disappeared to talk about “number three stuff,” and I was left alone outside the archway. It had been a year since I had been in Rome; a y’r’n’a’d’y, as the saying went. I threw my leg over my Gambalunga and went to find the S Bros; the sun crept over the sky like a red flame.

Their shop was busier than Ballard’s––and that was saying something.

Tourists were buying amphorae, ancient Roman jars, useful for candle making. But I wished to discuss something a little more pertinent to modern times.

Sándor and Septimus welcomed me inside. It was nearly closing time, when I arrived, and they had a large order of pessoi they wished to tinker with. I heard the cash register ring up a bunch of items. Finally, I was the last customer in the shop. I wondered if they would kick me out. Sándor cleared his throat. And the Dithering Award goes to...

I felt like a bad customer.

“Don’t freak,” I said. “But I have something I need to talk to you guys about.” I had my backpack on, which I put on the counter. Out came Selwyn’s red marker. Beware the Dark Path....

They read the message, while I conveyed to them how it had come into my possession.

Sándor made way for Septimus, who shuffled through the stacks.

“Hammersmith or Aeschylus?” he shouted.

“Hammersmith!” shouted Sándor.

Septimus returned, carrying a heavy book. He flipped through it. “There!” he said, turning it, so I could see.

“But that’s a symbol!” I said.

And so it was. The Wiccan symbol for protection.

Septimus flipped the page and showed me the three rings becoming one––just like my House, I thought.

“This,” he said, “is the symbol for the Dark Path. The so-called Path of Enlightenment. It’s kind’ve difficult to explain. Magic split, remember, Halsey?”

You to your corner, we to ours, I thought, nodding, while he tugged at his soul patch.

“But how is that the symbol for the Dark Path?” I said, stunned that it had been engraved on the archway to my House.

“According to this book, the purpose of the Chosen One is to reunite Magic,” said Septimus. “Three becoming one. Like so:”

The Protection symbol collapsed upon itself. Three interlocked rings becoming whole again. But if that was engraved upon the doorway to my parents’ house....

“It’s all there in the symbols––” said Septimus. He flipped through the book to a symbol I had seen before. The Triple Goddess. A moon and two halves, itself like the symbol for protection. “Even in the steps to Becoming––Neophyte, Adept, and Fledged––there are three steps,” he said. “The triskele, or three symbol, is the Dark Path. Unite the magic that split. Turn it into one. That is the secret purpose of the Chosen One and why everyone wishes to find her. Because anyone who controls her would be unstoppable.”

“So the Triple Goddess is...”

“The Triple Goddess is the Wiccan super-chick with the power to walk the Dark Path and unite magic,” said Sándor. “It’s a prophecy, you see, of someone like yourself, who will undo what was done.... The Triple Goddess herself!”

But what was done, I thought, and was that why the Dark Lord was after me? Was I the Triple Goddess? This super-chick? Of all the Initiates, it was me, according to the twins. I was the one who showed the most spirit. Whatever that meant. Now she may walk the Dark Path, and find out the secret the Dark Order has been waiting centuries to possess...?

I thanked the S’s, but really I had more problems than solutions. I still needed to discover how far Vittoria had progressed in raising the dead?

When I went upstairs, I dug into the Everything book, and began familiarizing myself with necromancy. The trouble was, it was almost impossible to understand. I had never seen more tricky magic.

Objects, shapes, runes.... Circles––according to the book––protected that which was within... demons entered physical world.... Payment for summoning flesh... certain objects... specific instructions... time, location... method of gathering items... The widespread belief dogs could see the dead....

Hold on. It got me to thinking of the grey wolf, and if it was a Lare–– Shoot, I almost had it.

Wait a minute... Hold on, I thought.

According to the book, dogs guarded the gates of Hell, right? Cerberus, the three-headed Greek dog....

I almost had it again.

What was my subconscious trying to tell me? Dogs accompanied the Goddess––check––who guarded the Gates––check. Dogs were all mixed in with death. Too bad Ballard wasn’t here, I thought.

But, wait a sec; I had read something somewhere before. What was it?

I flipped to the benandanti section of the Everything book, Those Who Do Good.

ACCORDING TO LEGEND, THE BENANDANTI DESCENDED DOWN INTO HELL TO DO BATTLE WITH THE WARLOCKES [SIC], ACCOMPANIED BY THE GODDESS, WHO WOULD HUNT LOST SOULS.

Hunt lost souls. What did that mean? I flipped shut the book and then opened it again and reread it. It was on the tip of... on the––hold on.

I slammed shut the book and began pacing––I had a six-pack of Succo del Gatto and would stay the night, if need be.

By Goddess did whoever wrote the book mean the Triple Goddess? What did hunting lost souls entail? I had heard of the Land of the Dead, or Hades, as it was known, but did it really exist? And then it clicked.

Where was it? Where was it? I thought. I had read about it before. I dug through months of scattered newspapers on the floor, but it wasn’t there. It wouldn’t be! It couldn’t be! I hadn’t taken out the newspaper subscriptions yet, had I? That article would be in my desk drawer...

I went over to the desk and fetched it out and lo and behold it was there, the Skarborough article I’d read nearly six months before.

IMMOLATION RESPONSIBLE FOR GRAVE SCENE INSIDE PÈRE LACHAISE

PARIS––For generations, Paris youth have partied openly at the gravesites of some of History’s most famous dead people. Lighting candles, drinking beer. An activity which has been called into question, of late, following the discovery, over night, of two bodies authorities say spontaneously combusted. Paraphernalia found near the corpses suggests they were up to no good.

According to one investigator, who spoke on condition of anonymity, “as this is still an open case,” he said, “and I don’t want this psychopath doubling back on me,” there was another set of footprints there.

According to the source, they’re looking for somebody who may be on a lunar schedule. “A lone wolf. A rogue, as they’re referred, with abnormally-shaped feet. He left paw prints behind.”

This rogue is considered armed and considerably dangerous. “How else did he fry those two individuals?”

Europol has posted a red notice along with a descriptor index of the subject. Be on the lookout for anyone with signs of hypertrichosis: a hairy disorder which makes you break out in fur, and perhaps, dog feet.

As is typical with arsonists, they always come back.

Dog feet, I thought. It was a story about Rayven. The story.

I paced––thinking.

Okay. I spiritwalked or whatever. I was out-of-body. It wasn’t the first time. For some reason, I Saw that night. Maybe Rayven wanted me to see him come back. It wouldn’t be the first time he showed me something secret. What do we know about Rayven, Halsey? Think. He’s a Grigori, a Watchtower, a lone wolf. He immolated those two guys in the graveyard.

I hadn’t thought about the gravediggers in months. But then it occurred to me: Skarborough wasn’t there–– I was....

I was the only person alive who knew what had happened in the graveyard. I could recall it with perfect clarity. But what did happen? I had never fully analyzed it before.

“Remembr,” I said.

I played the event back in my head. It was like it was being shadow-cast across the inside of my skull. There had been two gravediggers. Check. Thierry and André. They had been burying somebody. Rayven. But he had gotten away. He had been raised. They had been sure Rayven was dead. Had he been brought back to life, there and then?

Wait a sec.

Rayven was dead––he was dead when they started burying him; but then he had been raised. Someone had raised him. The gravediggers had until first light to do the Last Rites, the Last Rites. What were those?

I flipped through the Everything book to Dark Magic, but it didn’t have it. Maybe some forms of magic you had to practice to become adept at. Perhaps they couldn’t be written down, those spells; yet the Voettfangs had assured me, this was the book; if a spell didn’t exist in here, it didn’t exist at all. But necromancy did exist. It was some of the most complex magic imaginable. The covenants.... I thought. Maybe there was one that prevented arcane knowledge from being passed down, forbidden knowledge. 401. Access denied. The Last War had been fought, after all, to destroy Dark Magic.

Those books Vittoria ordered were on the banned list of books, right? You’re doing it again, Halsey. Making lots of yourself. Find the S Bros. Talk to them.

After all, if anyone would know about the Last Rites, it would be them.

Feeling like the Everything book should be retitled the Some Stuff book, I went to seek out the twins. They were downstairs, in their shop. I took the newspaper clipping with me.

Was Rayven close by? My mark was glowing faintly. He couldn’t get through Coven City, could he? Not without raising the alarm. Still, why was my mark glowing? Perhaps it had something to do with all the supernatural energy currently headquartered in Rome; initiates were coming in. Plus, the inspector was here. What if he finds something? It was his job to dig into my parents’ house, to make sure everything was copacetic. What if it’s not? If his virtue is insight.... What if the inspector finds something compromising?

S Bros, S Bros,

Answer the door before my mind explodes.

They came downstairs, rubbing sleep from their eyes, and let me into their shop; I bounded in. I couldn’t help it; even if I was unwelcome, the gnomes of my invention had come out to play. Sándor was the first to finish the article and say So what? Perhaps if I helped him along, I thought. I’d never done the Remember Spell on another human being before. How tough could it be?

Their eyes crisscrossed and Rayven rose up in the graveyard; the fire spell erupted, killing the two gravediggers... We were back, once more, on Via dei Condotti, by the time the memory faded. Sándor snapped his fingers, out of breath. “I know that,” he said. Both twins read through the article once more.

“So you know what it means?” I said.

Sándor nodded. “Immolate. To mactate someone. Immolation. It’s a ritual sacrifice. You use fire, don’t you see? Stormr hamrinum. It’s the fire spell, right?”

“So?” I said.

“So, Rayven’s a demon, Halsey. Paraphernalia––it all makes sense! How else do you bring someone back, in what other form? Unless they’re a zombie, or some other ill-shaped entity. You use objects.”

“How about a vampire?” said Septimus.

“Not the same thing,” said Sándor. “Here––look––read the article again. So far as I know, no one has managed to conquer death, to bring someone back. Not in the whole history of magic. At least not permanently. And there have been a lot of necromancers who’ve tried––some of whom were quite skilled. Which is kind of the point. If the Dark Order has somehow managed to raise the dead.... See, the Wiccan Rede is explicit,” said Sándor. “Wrongdoing will be visited upon the wrongdoer elevenfold. Therefore: harm none. Yet, to raise the dead, to bring someone Back, you must first make a flesh offering, to sacrifice by fire; in other words, kill someone. To immolate them. Sacrifice is in the definition of immolation.”

“So the Rede...” I said.

“You are going against it,” said Sándor. “You are bringing upon yourself bad, bad karma. What is eleven times worse than murder––? Anyway, the most that someone could raise would be a demon. Actually, it’s more like they’re summoned; the conjurer works his spell, encircled and protected, by magic. If done right the demon cannot get to him. But it can strike others. Its master tells it what to do. That’s what makes it such a formidable being; if summoned properly, the demon, or shade, cannot go against its master’s wish. What does whoever conjured it want, anyway?”

“Me,” I said. “He wants to kill me.” Lenoir, I thought.

Rayven had tried to get to me. In Stromovka, when we were alone, Rayven dealt with Ballard, then turned his attention to me. The vargr noctum spell. Kill it. What it?

It would have enveloped me, had it not gone off course; if not for the benandanti, Rayven would have succeeded in killing me; he was certainly annoyingly persistent. But, did that mean what I thought it did? That I had a––a something inside of me? A limbo-spirit or whatever. Vargr noctum was used to cut out the therian.

If Rayven was a demon, how did I kill him?

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Sándor. “Something like he is cannot be attacked and killed. Haven’t you heard anything we’ve said?”

“Can’t he?” I said.

“For one thing, he’s already dead,” said Sándor. “For another, only the wonderworker who conjured Rayven can send him back to the everlasting, to the spirit world from which he came. He was artificially ripped, remember? The necromancer––”

“Lenoir. Rayven was raised by Lenoir,” I said.

“Whoever,” said Sándor. “He has complete control, now, Halsey. Rayven must do what, all right––Lenoir––tells him to do. And if that’s coming after you––”

“Ideage. Major ideage,” said Septimus, holding up his hand.

Sándor gave way to the look of epiphany on his brother’s face.

“Rayven’s after her, right, but is he?” he said. “Stay with me, here; and make a pot of tea. Go back to what the two gravediggers said at the end, because that’s what Rayven has to do. Perhaps if we deconstruct it, we can figure out his master’s intentions.”

Sándor put on a pot, and I thought back to the dream; the words may as well have been written in stone, graven on the insides of my eyelids.

“The war is starting. Battle lines will be drawn. She and the vampire are headed towards Prague. Find the other one and kill him. Do not let it survive.” But, so what? I thought.

But Septimus said, “Don’t you see? The Lare you saw, Halsey, in the Stromovka, the grey wolf, if it was interested in you, why hasn’t it come back yet? Did it lose its way, or is it after someone else?”

“Hold on... no...” I said.

“Oh yes,” said Septimus.

“You think the Lare, that is the grey wolf, is Rayven’s Lare; that somehow it’s trying to reconnect with him?” I said.

“Rayven is tethered precariously to this existence; the only thing that can knock him out, is his spirit animal,” said Sándor.

“It would try to protect him,” said Septimus. “It would try also to save his soul. That’s what the gravediggers were doing when they had Rayven and were trying to perform the Last Rites. But he murdered them. We tried to save you, they said. Remember?”

And when Rayven had cornered me for a second time, I thought, in the Stromovka, and said Mine at last, That’s what he was after––me. But he had been afraid of the Lare; it showed its fangs to him and would have attacked Rayven, if Rayven hadn’t skedaddled. The Grey Wolf was tracking me, because Rayven was tracking me. It all made sense. The Grey Wolf was Rayven’s Lare. Do not let it survive.

“Which just goes to show,” said Septimus, “how unnatural the raising of the dead truly is. Lenoir would want his servant not to have to worry about the Lare or the Last Rites, to keep him tethered––useable.”

Lenoir took the mother lode of Rayven’s talents, his abilities. So Laurinaitis said. Did Lenoir want Rayven’s soul now, as well?

“You’re forgetting the Rede,” said Sándor. “The Wiccan Rede to Do No Harm. Rayven had his chance, Halsey. He made his choices. If he has a soul, perhaps it can be saved, but that isn’t what you should be worried about.”

“No,” said Septimus.

“We have to stop him,” said Sándor.

“What about the Last Rites?” I said.

“To destroy Rayven, we must first find the grey wolf. Either that, or kill Rayven’s master, and I don’t think you want to go up against him just yet.”

“No.” I shook my head––but that would mean leaving Rome, leaving everything; starting over, in a way. To find the grey wolf, would Rayven have to be near me? I asked.

Sándor nodded. “And therein lies our great advantage,” he said. “After all, Rayven wants you dead.”

I felt like I had taken a wrong turning, only to find myself, mysteriously, back at the beginning. Rayven... His Lare... the Last Rites...

Somehow I needed to find out everything I could about necromancy, even if that meant going against the Rede––

I could take Rayven’s soul, thus destroying him beyond the reach of his master; only, the Wiccan Rede kept stopping me... There was no way around it. I was going to have to address the Wiccan Rede.

Rayven’s a demon. So if he was brought Back, I thought... The gravediggers were trying to save Rayven. That’s what they were doing when he murdered them; so, if I murder Rayven...

Am I helping him? Maybe by reuniting Rayven with his soul, I can kill him. But his soul is in Limbo... or no––that’s his spirit animal...

How do I murder somebody without dooming myself elevenfold? And what about this flesh offering? I thought. I couldn’t exactly raise the dead without doing some serious Dark Magic. It must take huge amounts of magical energy to raise the dead––energy I don’t have... unless––

Chapter 17 – Epilogue – The Dark Path

I flipped through the Everything book, back in my room, thinking about the Dark Path.

Nota bene: Magic drains––

YOU, if you let it.

If I was going to stop the Dark Order from rising, first off, I couldn’t do it today; I wasn’t ready yet; I hadn’t learned enough. If I summoned Rayven now, he’d probably just end up killing me.

The S Bros told me about the Dark Path, but that didn’t give me any clues how to walk it, or if I should. What I needed was a guide...

I booted up my laptop, typing my request into the search engine. It was still counting back from IX, the Roman-numeral web site.

When I had thought the grey wolf was Risky, I thought he was protecting me–– But if he was Rayven’s Lare... It created a whole new sort of problem for me.

I opened a second window, doing a quick search for Lares––

There were different types. The Lar Familiaris was a family spirit––A Guardian. What had Mistress Genevieve said? “Your Mother and Father––rest their souls––elected me your Guardian.”

I reread the letter.

I already had a Lare. A guardian, in a way. Mistress Genevieve. I had been in Rome, now, thirteen months, time enough to figure out certain answers were not necessarily here.

Let’s look at what you know, Halsey. Parents murdered––raised overseas––

You’re eighteen–– According to Mistress Genevieve, that is the year, apparently, We Come Into our Powers... (“Magnetism pulls us back to the beginning. You to yours is a powerful tug.”)

What if she’s right? If so, Rome would be my beginning... St. Martley’s my middle, and now... Was this the end?

A psychopath and his henchman were after me... Until I knew why, I’d be stuck in shadows, locked in a mystery.

Risky was the lar familiaris of Ballard’s family, not mine––enos Lases iuvate––their paterfamilias. It was his job to protect their secrets...

Somehow, Risky had managed to safeguard not only the truth, but us ever finding out about it––

I scribbled a long and detailed note to Ballard, which took me most of the night, before finally ripping it out of my Diary. I continued adding P.S.’s, crafting it, until it was perfect––or as nearly perfect as I could make it. After all, it was imperative Ballard not flip out, when he read it, which is exactly what he’d do, if I messed it up. I had been looking at the web page for hours, when it occurred to me: The sitemaker’s name was listed at the bottom of the page––the webmaster’s name.

I scribbled it down, feeling like I had my first lead.

I wrote another letter, addressing it to Manon, basically apologizing for leaving her in the lurch.

Vittoria was still up––I could hear her moving about; it was a shame there weren’t more spots at House Rookmaaker. But Vittoria was like me––a wanderer, eclectic. “Besides,” I wrote, adding another postscript, “subpar magic––even ordinary magic––isn’t enough anymore, Ballard, not really.” If I was going to walk the Dark Path, I had to become Adept, Fledged, Beyond Fledged... Everything was packed. Laptop, my books...

Volume IV would either be a doorstop or a dead end. Still, I couldn’t help thinking I had come up short. My time in Rome was ending, perhaps forever; a plan was forming.

Dressing, I gathered my things.

I left my room and crept into the hallway.... Downstairs, past my landlady. She twitched in her sleep.

Sándor and Septimus let me into their shop.

“Now, remember: wait until I’m out of Rome,” I said, “then you can tell him. All right?”

They nodded. They seemed to take for granted my leaving. I handed them the page I had ripped from my Diary, to give to Ballard.

“When the moment is right,” I said.

One good thing: Now that Skarborough was on the case, she would keep Ballard informed of my hunt for the Dark Order.

“How will you get past the Riders?” asked Septimus.

I shrugged. “Magic––maybe. I dunno,” I said.

I threw my leg over my Gambalunga. Part of me felt like a coward, like I was running away; the other part, that I was running towards something.

Could my visions, like those of Lenoir, change? In the recurrent vision I had of Ballard, where he led the army, he stood alone. I was not there.

Unless what I saw was a chimera, the war was going to happen. Battle lines would be drawn.

I was a neophyte, unfledged. To figure out the hints which had been dropped my way, I would need to find real magic. The Dioscuri had set me a mission, after all, to find them––whoever they were––so that’s what I’d do.

As for House Rookmaaker, somehow I didn’t think my parents’ bequest lay simply in the stone and mortar of a long-dead House. Rather, I had a role to fulfill. And, if I had to walk the Dark Path... so be it.

A crossroads was before me––a choice. The Perseid meteor shower flashed across my vision, overhead; I waved good-bye to the S’s, weaving my way through Rome. A list was forming in my head of the things I would need to do, and the places I should go; a list of impossible complexity, which I memorized there and then.

Paris... Find the website... Find the webmaster––Look into Them...

Numbly, not really thinking about it, I headed onto the A1 autoroute, away from Rome.

Whether or not I made it was beyond the point. Whereas before, I had been in the dark, this time they would be––the Dark Order.

Ballard would be all right; he had the twins; he had Lia and Gaven; he had his own magic to find out. Besides, something told me, if he left Rome now, he would be exiled forever, the Quirinal would never let him back in.

Ballard needed Rome; I did not. I just had this inkling, like a preternatural intuition, really, which the current Il Gatto would definitely understand, about being reckless; otherwise, maybe not tomorrow, but someday, I would find myself face to face with something I could not defeat, because I had been too scared to try. My backpack felt heavy, as I rode out of town.

The north star was Fomalhaut.

I thought about circles and souls, Steampunk, and the Last War; a House of Spirit and of Fire; and I thought of my House; and I thought, This is my world now; and I’m prepared to fight for it. So, this is it, for now, I wrote in my Diary.

Checking to make sure all the flips and switches were in order, I accelerated my Gambalunga away from Rome, towards the City of Light.

# # #

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The Wiccan Diaries, Vol. 1

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Table of Contents

- Copyright

- Neophyte (The Wiccan Diaries, Volume 2)

- Chapter 1 – Arguments
- Chapter 2 – Venice
- Chapter 3 – Lost Cause
- Chapter 4 – In the Muck
- Chapter 5 – Gambalunga
- Chapter 6 – Munchies
- Chapter 7 – Wolf Tales
- Chapter 8 – Nightmares
- Chapter 9 – Campagna
- Chapter 10 – Welcome
- Chapter 11 – The Rota
- Chapter 12 – Volt and Pouch
- Chapter 13 – The Styles Master
- Chapter 14 – Problems
- Chapter 15 – Party
- Chapter 16 – Hiving
- Chapter 17 – Wizard Donuts
- Chapter 18 – The Wiccaning
- Chapter 19 – The Aether
- Chapter 20 – Seeing Paris
- Chapter 21 – In the Dark
- Chapter 22 – Houses
- Chapter 23 – Vittoria’s Secret
- Chapter 24 – Birthright
- Chapter 25 – The Last Pendderwenn
- Chapter 26 – Them
- Chapter 27 – Misdirection
- Chapter 28 – Last Rites
- Chapter 29 – Epilogue

- Adept (The Wiccan Diaries, Volume 3)

- Prologue – The Hunter
- Chapter 1 – Her 18th Birthday
- Chapter 2 – Ballard’s Problems
- Chapter 3 – Luminarium
- Chapter 4 – Il Gatto
- Chapter 5 – The Race
- Chapter 6 – Lupercalia
- Chapter 7 – Grey Wolf
- Chapter 8 – The Hollow
- Chapter 9 – Watchtowers
- Chapter 10 – The Fifth of Fourth
- Chapter 11 – Voettfangs
- Chapter 12 – Quintessence
- Chapter 13 – The Council of Magic
- Chapter 14 – The Trial
- Chapter 15 – Spiritwalking
- Chapter 16 – The S Bros
- Chapter 17 – Epilogue – The Dark Path