Neophyte / Adept (12 page)

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?