Neophyte / Adept (42 page)

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, berser
kind
,
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.