Neophyte / Adept (39 page)

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?